Raptor's Ridge by William Florence

Author:William Florence [Florence, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781947290747
Publisher: WildBlue Press
Published: 2018-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY

Unscrambling the Locks

TUESDAY, 11:49 A.M.

“He used to say, ‘Think big.’ I can still hear him: ‘Think big, Doctor Strand, and the rest will take care of itself.’ I always wanted to ask, ‘The rest of what, exactly, Mister Bohn?’ And now I’ll never find out – I’ll never get the chance to ask him what he was talking about.”

We were sitting in the third kitchen at Raptor’s Ridge, and Doc Strand was reminiscing about the time that he’d spent in the mansion as the owner’s personal physician. Russell Vineyard had joined us, and the three of us were enjoying a glass of the butler’s choosing: an exquisite, 140-year-old cognac, Hardy Perfection, which, we’d been told, cost thirteen-thousand dollars for a single bottle.

“It’s the oldest unblended cognac in the world,” Vineyard said. “Its run was limited to 300 crystal decanters from Daum. To say that it is exceedingly rare is understating the obvious. Mister Bohn bought a half-dozen bottles on a whim.”

“It tastes a bit like coffee,” I said after a sip, trying my best to look suave in front of what I jokingly thought of as the hired help.

“Yes, with a hint of oak, maybe, and …”

“…chocolate,” Vineyard said, finishing Doc Strand’s observation, and we raised our glasses in a toast, content for the moment.

The cognac was all right, I suppose, but I wouldn’t be ordering any at Windjammer’s, my favorite local watering hole, anytime soon – even if it cost thirteen dollars a bottle … and it would have to on my salary.

We’d sought refuge in the kitchen on the advice of Bill Kohlmeyer, who ordered us to stay out of the way of his crack forensics unit but to remain available in case we were needed.

“Get a drink or something while we poke around and make sure everything’s secure,” he’d suggested. The police chief also issued me a separate command: “Keep your piece handy and your wits about you – just in case.”

I found the part about having a drink better advice than his secondary directive, but I still was cautious about what I was trying – and how much I might consume.

For the past two hours, the area’s best forensic specialists – gathered from the State Police crime lab, the city’s team, and the county’s three top experts – were busy sweeping every room, hallway, corridor, passageway, nook, cranny, floor, wall, ceiling, piece of furniture, adornment and knickknack, fixture and feature, item of clothing. An entire team of computer experts arrived and set up shop in the sitting room near the foyer. Literally hundreds of fingerprints were being captured and run through AFIS, the national Automated Fingerprint Identification System. Blood-work and other evidence also was being collected and entered into the computer banks.

The effort was nothing if not efficient.

The paddy wagon had arrived earlier to cart the five surviving goon squad members back to the county jail, with Bob LeRoy, the tirelessly efficient sheriff, overseeing the transfer.

No sign of either Deeker brother had been found.

The media hordes

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