Read Online Big Sick Heart: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery by Mike Markel - Free Book Online
Authors: Mike Markel
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out the warm air with its stale metallic smell. “Okay, here’s
Research Associates,” he said as I sat down next to him. “What do you want to
see?”
“I want to see whether the organization has any
money.”
“To see if Ahern really travels with the debate
for his spending money?”
“Yeah. Any reference to other people in the
organization? Any photos of the staff or the headquarters?”
There was a home page, with a little bio of
Jonathan Ahern and a thumbnail photo of him. No other people, no list of
contributors, no endorsements. The address was a P.O. box. “Looks like Ahern is
the whole show,” Ryan said. “Let me look at the source code, see if there’s any
credits to someone for making the site.” He hit a few buttons. “No. It’s an old
FrontPage template. Ahern could’ve made it himself in half an hour.”
“Okay, go to Soul Savers,” I said. Ryan pulled up
the site. “Now we’re talking.” While the site was loading, we saw a video
montage of Arlen Hagerty speaking to a packed church, Arlen hugging a little
black girl at a picnic, Arlen with a furrowed brow sitting at a table in a
business meeting, studying important-looking documents. “Looks like the Arlen
Hagerty Show, huh?”
The video faded into a screen that linked to other
videos and all kinds of information about the mission, position papers, photos
of Arlen Hagerty with national political figures, and instructions on how to
get involved with the mission and donate to its causes. Ryan clicked on About
Us, which pulled up a group of photos of a stately three-story brick building
on a broad expanse of land, the lush green lawns accented by ornamental
fountains and massive rock sculptures. White clouds dotted the brilliant blue
sky, the sun rays glittering off the golden cross atop the building.
One of the photos was a group shot of the
headquarters staff, with Arlen standing proudly in front of a group of a dozen
mostly young, well-scrubbed staffers. They were named in a caption.
Ryan said, “No Connie in the picture, or
Margaret.”
“That’s interesting, isn’t it? I can understand
why Connie isn’t there, but you’d think he wouldn’t diss Margaret. What’s she
called in the list of officers?”
“Vice-President.”
“Uncool. It’s an expensive site, though, isn’t
it?”
“Judging by its size and complexity, I’d say we’re
talking about a full-time person to maintain this. It wasn’t made by a
secretary.”
“Yet no space for Margaret.” I got up out of the
chair. “Let’s track down Connie.”
* * *
She was in the coffee shop
off the lobby, sitting at a small table in the corner, half hidden by a pillar.
“Are you Connie de Marco?”
She looked up, then paused. “Yes.”
I touched my shield. “Detective Karen Seagate, my
partner Detective Ryan Miner. Mind if we sit down?”
Connie’s face was impassive. She nodded, gesturing
for us to sit.
Ryan said, “First, we want to express our
condolences. Arlen Hagerty was an important part of your life. His death must
be quite a shock to you.”
She sat there, her expression blank. “Thanks.”
I said, “We’d like to talk with you about him. Can
we talk here?”
Connie had finished a plate of something that had
syrup on it. A big glob of butter, still round from the scoop, balanced on the
side of the plate. A cup of coffee, half empty, sat on the table. To its side
were three empty creamer cartons, each with its torn corner pointing to the
bowl holding the full cartons. Next to each empty carton was an empty packet of
sugar, aligned neatly. “Here’s fine with me,” she said.
“All right, thanks,” I said. “When did you last
see Arlen Hagerty?”
“Last night. We were going over arrangements for
the next few days. Next stop was going to be Lewis and Clark State College in
Idaho.”
“Where did you meet with Mr. Hagerty?”
“In his room, about 10:30 last night.”
“Was this an unusual meeting in any way?”
“No, we
Research Associates,” he said as I sat down next to him. “What do you want to
see?”
“I want to see whether the organization has any
money.”
“To see if Ahern really travels with the debate
for his spending money?”
“Yeah. Any reference to other people in the
organization? Any photos of the staff or the headquarters?”
There was a home page, with a little bio of
Jonathan Ahern and a thumbnail photo of him. No other people, no list of
contributors, no endorsements. The address was a P.O. box. “Looks like Ahern is
the whole show,” Ryan said. “Let me look at the source code, see if there’s any
credits to someone for making the site.” He hit a few buttons. “No. It’s an old
FrontPage template. Ahern could’ve made it himself in half an hour.”
“Okay, go to Soul Savers,” I said. Ryan pulled up
the site. “Now we’re talking.” While the site was loading, we saw a video
montage of Arlen Hagerty speaking to a packed church, Arlen hugging a little
black girl at a picnic, Arlen with a furrowed brow sitting at a table in a
business meeting, studying important-looking documents. “Looks like the Arlen
Hagerty Show, huh?”
The video faded into a screen that linked to other
videos and all kinds of information about the mission, position papers, photos
of Arlen Hagerty with national political figures, and instructions on how to
get involved with the mission and donate to its causes. Ryan clicked on About
Us, which pulled up a group of photos of a stately three-story brick building
on a broad expanse of land, the lush green lawns accented by ornamental
fountains and massive rock sculptures. White clouds dotted the brilliant blue
sky, the sun rays glittering off the golden cross atop the building.
One of the photos was a group shot of the
headquarters staff, with Arlen standing proudly in front of a group of a dozen
mostly young, well-scrubbed staffers. They were named in a caption.
Ryan said, “No Connie in the picture, or
Margaret.”
“That’s interesting, isn’t it? I can understand
why Connie isn’t there, but you’d think he wouldn’t diss Margaret. What’s she
called in the list of officers?”
“Vice-President.”
“Uncool. It’s an expensive site, though, isn’t
it?”
“Judging by its size and complexity, I’d say we’re
talking about a full-time person to maintain this. It wasn’t made by a
secretary.”
“Yet no space for Margaret.” I got up out of the
chair. “Let’s track down Connie.”
* * *
She was in the coffee shop
off the lobby, sitting at a small table in the corner, half hidden by a pillar.
“Are you Connie de Marco?”
She looked up, then paused. “Yes.”
I touched my shield. “Detective Karen Seagate, my
partner Detective Ryan Miner. Mind if we sit down?”
Connie’s face was impassive. She nodded, gesturing
for us to sit.
Ryan said, “First, we want to express our
condolences. Arlen Hagerty was an important part of your life. His death must
be quite a shock to you.”
She sat there, her expression blank. “Thanks.”
I said, “We’d like to talk with you about him. Can
we talk here?”
Connie had finished a plate of something that had
syrup on it. A big glob of butter, still round from the scoop, balanced on the
side of the plate. A cup of coffee, half empty, sat on the table. To its side
were three empty creamer cartons, each with its torn corner pointing to the
bowl holding the full cartons. Next to each empty carton was an empty packet of
sugar, aligned neatly. “Here’s fine with me,” she said.
“All right, thanks,” I said. “When did you last
see Arlen Hagerty?”
“Last night. We were going over arrangements for
the next few days. Next stop was going to be Lewis and Clark State College in
Idaho.”
“Where did you meet with Mr. Hagerty?”
“In his room, about 10:30 last night.”
“Was this an unusual meeting in any way?”
“No, we
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