Robert B. Parker's The Bridge

Allie poured the tea for Sebastian.

“There you go,” she said.

Sebastian nodded.

“Oh,” he said. “I thank you so very much.”

“Well, you are so very welcome,” Allie said. “It’s not every day I get to prepare a splendid cup of tea for an English gentleman.”

“We got some business to finish up here with Mr. Winthrop, Allie,” Virgil said.

“You go right ahead,” Allie said, as she took her shawl from the coat rack by the door and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’m late meeting Nell in town as it is. I’m helping her to distribute flyers for the opening of the show.”

Virgil nodded.

Allie looked to Sebastian.

“I’m sorry I’m not available to share some proper tea with you, Mr. Winthrop, but duty calls.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Sebastian said, as he got to his feet. “Perfectly understandable. Perhaps some other time.”

“Perhaps,” Allie said. “That’d be wonderful.”

“Until then, Miss French,” Sebastian said with a bow.

“Until,” Allie said.

She gave Virgil a kiss on the cheek and walked out the door.

“Lovely,” Sebastian said, as he sat back in his chair. “Simply lovely.”

“The First Baptist Church of Appaloosa?” Virgil said.

Sebastian nodded as he picked up the teacup. He took a sip and grimaced a little.

“Yes,” he said with a slight clearing of his throat. “The church. It seems there was a transaction between the landowner and the church.”

Sebastian picked up the folder and thumbed through the pages.

“The land the bridge was built on,” Virgil said. “Deeded the land over to the church?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Who’s the executor?” I said.

“The First Baptist Church’s pastor,” Sebastian said. “A Mr. Ashley Epps.”

Virgil looked to me.

“Ashley got his hand in the till?” Virgil said.

“Again,” Sebastian said. “This might all prove to be perfectly legitimate.”

“Or perfectly pla

“That, too,” Sebastian said.

“The trustee as recipient of the deed would have to file this, right?” I said.

“Yes,” Sebastian said. “The deed is filed with the county clerk at the county courthouse.”

“That’d be Curtis Whittlesey,” I said. “I was shooting pool with him the night I received word about the bridge. He never said anything about this. Fact, he was the one who first mentioned Cox’s name to me. Telling me he was the contractor that was building the bridge.”

“And Cox?” Virgil said. “Where’s he fit in to all this?”

“He would have had to know about the business-interrupting endorsement on the policy, wouldn’t he?” I said.

“Not necessarily,” Sebastian said. “The policy belongs to the Territory Bridge Authority and the church’s business-interruption endorsement is attached to that policy, you see.”

“We asked Cox if he knew of any motives and he damn sure didn’t mention this,” Virgil said. “He could be in on it.”

“Yes,” Sebastian said.

“Sounds like a bunch could be in on this,” Virgil said.

“Yes,” Sebastian said. “Precisely, and precisely why I’m here. The whole payout will go through and nothing will ever be done about it unless there is a way to link the business-interruption endorsement to the actual blowing up of the bridge. It’s that simple.”

Sebastian opened the file and put it before us on the coffee table.

“Here we go,” he said. “It’s all in here. The property the bridge was built on was owned by a man named Thaddeus Cotter.”

Virgil looked at me and shook his head a little.

“You said was owned by Thaddeus Cotter?” I said. “Was?”

“According to the paperwork I have here,” Sebastian said. “He’s deceased.”

“When did Thaddeus die?” I said.

“Approximately one year prior to the begi

Virgil walked around the room for a moment, thinking. He stopped in front of the fireplace and turned to face us.

“Cotter is the name of two of the men we caught that did the dynamiting of the bridge. No doubt they are related to this Thaddeus.”

Sebastian nodded.

“I see where you might be going with this,” Sebastian said. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but this sort of business comes up quite a bit in my line of work. The matriarch or patriarch leaves an asset to an organization such as a charity and or church and those next in line are disgruntled and retaliate.”

“No,” Virgil said. “They instigate.”

I nodded.

“The land belongs to the church,” I said. “The church collects, the preacher collects, the brothers collect, maybe Cox and maybe even Whittlesey.”

“Yep,” Virgil said. “Them Cotter boys could have made a deal with Ashley Epps.”

“Could have threatened him,” I said.

“That, too,” Virgil said.

“Hard to know how deep this goes,” I said. “The goddamn whole of Appaloosa could be in on it.”

Virgil nodded.

“Only one way to find out,” Virgil said. “Can you go ahead and pay this out?”

“Certainly,” Sebastian said. “In fact, we’ll have to. Unless I can prove fraud, the company will have no choice.”

“Turn on the lamp,” Virgil said. “And let’s see what kind of night-flying bugs we get.”

I nodded.

“Wire the money,” I said. “See who shows to collect.”

“Yep,” Virgil said, looking at Sebastian. “Bug knows where it’s going by the light of the moon, but once he comes close to a bright flame he don’t know if he’s coming or going.”

Sebastian looked at me and smiled a little.

— 72 —

After discussing the situation at length, the best plan we could come up with was to set the trap and see what happens. We didn’t know what degree of corruption there was associated with the blowing up of the bridge. What we did know was the First Baptist Church of Appaloosa would be receiving a sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

Who the money would ultimately end up with, however, was uncertain.

The request for the money to be wired to the First Territorial Bank of Appaloosa went out the very afternoon Sebastian paid us a visit. The following day, and prior to the money’s arrival, we had set up a strategy.

We knew Ashley would be the recipient of the funds, and he did in fact make a trip to the bank the very afternoon of the transaction. He carried a large satchel.

We didn’t alert the bank because we didn’t want to draw attention to any wrongdoing on either side. Who knew who could be involved in the scheme?

We watched our suspects from a distance.

Chastain kept an eye on the court clerk, Curtis Whittlesey; Virgil watched G. W. Cox; and Sebastian and I followed Appaloosa’s mayor and preacher, Ashley Epps.

I was tender in my chest and my whole upper body was sore, but my movement was improved and I had been getting around pretty fair for the last few days.

It was Wednesday evening, and Sebastian and I were positioned outside in the dark alley behind the First Baptist Church of Appaloosa, listening as Ashley Epps wrapped up an impassioned midweek sermon to a full congregation.

“He sounds mad,” Sebastian said.

“I take it you’ve not spent much time in these parts?” I said.

“No,” he said.

“Well, it’s just what the preachers do here,” I said.

“Fascinating,” he said.

“Particularly preachers with Baptist outfits,” I said. “They get after you like a cete of badgers. Want to scare the hell out of you.”

“And for what purpose?” Sebastian said.

“It has to do with going to Heaven or Hell and what have you,” I said.

“No, no, I understand,” Sebastian said. “I’ve heard something about this. It’s a bit different in my country.”

“How so?” I said.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, it’s nothing like this, I assure you. It’s much more reserved.”