Determined to finish this, I hurried over to the door, which was cracked open a couple of inches from where Vaughn had forgotten to pull it shut behind him. I plastered my back against the wall, then crouched down and tipped my head forward so I could peer through the opening between the door and the frame.
Vaughn stood about ten feet away, pacing back and forth across the loading dock.
I frowned. He wasn’t a smoker, so this wasn’t some cigarette break. So what was he doing?
I got my answer two minutes later, when a car rounded the corner of the building. It was an older navy sedan, big, stout, square, and worn, the sort of car that criminals recognized the world over. A cop car if ever I’d seen one. One of the guards at the shack must have called Vaughn to let him know that he had a visitor.
The sedan rolled to a stop, and a man got out, carrying a thick, overstuffed manila folder. In contrast to Vaughn’s business suit, the other man was dressed down in khakis, scuffed brown boots, and a loose white cotton shirt patterned with bright pink, garish roses. A straw hat perched on his head, hiding much of his dark brown hair, although he tipped the hat back on his forehead so he could get a better view of his surroundings. His pale eyes flicked over the compound, his gaze cool and assessing as it went from the construction equipment to the outbuildings to Vaughn standing on the loading dock. Oh, yeah. If he wasn’t a cop, I’d eat one of my own knives—point first.
Great. Now my mistakes were starting to multiply exponentially. Because not only did Vaughn have a visitor, which meant that I couldn’t kill him right now, but that visitor also happened to be a cop. Fletcher was going to love this. He wouldn’t come right out and say “I told you so,” but he’d definitely be thinking it.
Still, I held my position, trying to think things through and see how everything played out. Why was Vaughn meeting with a cop after hours? As far as Fletcher had been able to determine, Vaughn didn’t have anything illegal cooking with the po-po, other than a few necessary bribes. But Fletcher had said that there was something about this job that felt slightly off. Maybe Vaughn having a cop on his payroll on the sly was it. Cops in Ashland didn’t like their meal tickets being murdered. That was one of the few things that would prompt a thorough, comprehensive investigation into someone’s death. In those cases, the cops were all too eager to find whoever had cut off their cash flow and punish them accordingly.
I studied the cop some more, but I didn’t recognize him. Maybe Fletcher would know who he was when I described him. In addition to all of the criminals in town, the old man also kept tabs on the inner workings of the police department, including who was moving up, who was on his or her way down, and who was getting pushed aside in terms of power, prestige, and position.
The cop tromped up the steps to the loading dock. Vaughn stepped forward, and the two men shook hands.
“Nice shirt, Harry,” Vaughn said.
Harry, the cop, grimaced. “A birthday present from my daughter. You know how much she likes roses.”
Vaughn smiled. “I remember. How did she like the snow globe that Charlotte sent her for her birthday?”
“She loved it,” Harry replied. “Especially since it was full of pink glitter. Naturally, pink is her favorite color right now. She’s still talking about it. She’s looking forward to the party and seeing Charlotte again.”
Vaughn nodded. Among all the info that Fletcher had uncovered, he’d learned that Vaughn planned to throw a huge party in a few weeks in honor of his and Charlotte’s birthday, which was on the same day. Friends, distant relatives, business associates. Vaughn had invited practically everyone he knew to his party, and he was going all out with the food and decorations, according to Fletcher.
Too bad Vaughn himself wasn’t going to make it to the big celebration.
Vaughn nodded again. “Good. I’m sure Charlotte will be happy to see her.”
The two men fell silent, although Vaughn couldn’t quit looking at the folder in the cop’s hand. I wondered what secrets it contained that were so important. Finally, Vaughn sighed and jerked his head at the folder.
“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what you found out.”
Harry hesitated, and sympathy filled his face, momentarily softening his flat cop stare. “Maybe you should read through the file first. Then we can talk about things.”
Vaughn kept staring at the folder. “So it’s as bad as I feared, then.”
“Worse, actually. All of your suspicions were correct.”
“You’re sure?”
Harry nodded. “I’ve been over all of it. Witness statements, building manifests, material logs, work orders. I even had a Stone elemental I know come in and take a look at the actual crime scene, including the rubble that was cleared away. He agreed with your assessment. You were right about what happened.”
Crime scene? He must have been talking about the terrace collapse at the restaurant. The one that had so many people screaming for Vaughn’s blood and money. He must have gotten his cop buddy to look into the accident—only it sounded like Vaughn thought that it hadn’t been an accident after all.
“Dammit.” Vaughn pinched the bridge of his nose, as though he suddenly had a headache.
I frowned, wondering what suspicions the cop had confirmed and why the knowledge upset Vaughn so greatly. But it didn’t much matter. All that did was making sure that Vaughn got dead. That was what I was here for; that was my assignment, my job. Nothing else. No matter how much curiosity that file raised in me.
Vaughn dropped his hand from his face and composed himself. Harry gave him the file. Vaughn sighed and slowly hefted the folder in his hand, as though it weighed as much as one of the cinder blocks out in the compound.
“Thank you for looking into this for me,” Vaughn said, reaching out and shaking the other man’s hand again. “You were the only one I could trust.”
Harry gave him a thin smile. “What? You mean you put more stock in an old, washed-up cop from Blue Marsh than in Ashland’s finest?”
Blue Marsh? I’d never heard of it, but the quirky name sounded like some sort of small town. I made a mental note to ask Fletcher where it was later.
Vaughn barked out a harsh, bitter laugh. “You know what the cops around here are like as well as I do.”
Harry nodded his agreement, then looked at his friend again. “So what are you going to do?”
This time, Vaughn stared at the file in his hand as though it were a poisonous snake, one that was about to bite him. His lips curled with disgust. “What I have to. I have to make this right, no matter what it costs me.”