Aida Morris was at the top of the courthouse steps, pacing restlessly.
“Whole town’s gone crazy, and I’m guarding an empty building,” she said. “Hey, Horace, Meg.”
Denton grunted and trotted inside.
Was she not in on the secret, or was she being careful in case of eavesdroppers?
“At least you’ll have a good view of the fireworks if you’re still on duty then,” I said.
“What’s up with him?” she asked.
“Long story,” I said, shrugging. “Looking for a stray piece of evidence. I’m supposed to be the spare pair of hands if he needs me.”
“Good hunting then.”
I walked inside and she returned to her pacing.
Denton was waiting in the middle of the huge, two-story entrance hall.
“Can I take my head off now?”
“Okay by me,” I said. I was reassured when I realized that his voice was so muffled by the gorilla head that even people who knew Horace might not realize it wasn’t him inside, so odds were his presence had gone undetected by anyone who wished him ill.
We finished exploring the first floor relatively quickly. Denton seemed focused on finding papers, and there weren’t any to be found in the entrance hall, the courtrooms, or the emptily echoing judges’ chambers. Then we ascended to the second floor and the real search began.
And for the first two hours, it was uneventful to the point of boredom. We methodically ransacked the few offices used by the FPF onsite staff. We learned that Colleen Brown had collected McCoy and Roseville pottery. Lieutenant Wilt of the security staff had decorated his borrowed office with taxidermied heads, presumably of things he’d shot himself, since his walls also contained a number of framed photos of him holding up newly slaughtered animals. Leonard Fisher appeared fond of motivational slogans and posters, and owned a copy of nearly every business-related self-help book published in the last decade.
But most of the offices were empty. If we’d been Horace and his colleagues, we’d still have gone over them carefully—for a murderer looking to change from bloodstained clothes to clean ones, what better than a vacant office? But for our purposes, vacant was useless.
From time to time, when we were on the town square side of the building, we could hear snatches of the entertainment on the bandstand. The ballet gave way to a swing band, and eventually I could hear the opening strains of the patriotic music from Michael’s students’ pageant. About the time the Revolution began, we left the second floor for a quick scan of the third, which I gathered was unoccupied. I assumed my tour of duty in the courthouse was nearly done. I was almost sorry. The air-conditioning wasn’t down at the arctic level where the lender had been maintaining it, but the building was still cooler than the outside. And it was restful. No tourists asking questions. No fretting over whether all the acts would show up—and finish—on time. No pangs of anxiety every time an outsider went near the entrance to the crawl space. Just trailing after Denton, who seemed to find no need for small talk as we rummaged through the drawers, shelves, closets, and in-baskets of the enemy.
Then, peering into the first room we came to on the third floor, I spotted something suspicious.
Chapter 38
“This is odd,” I said, stepping in and gazing around. “This was the mayor’s office. Our old mayor—by the time Randall was elected, we’d vacated the courthouse. Actually, this is where Mayor Pruitt’s administrative assistant sat. The mayor himself sat in there.”
I pointed to the door leading to the inner office. Denton went over and tried the handle.
“Locked. So what’s odd?”
“Why would someone be using this office, instead of one down near everyone else?”
“Are you sure anyone is?” He was looking around with quick, darting eye movements.
“Computer’s on. The screen’s gone dark,” I added, following his gaze. “But the power button’s lit and the fan is whirring.”
He cocked his head, listened, then nodded.
“You’re right,” he said. “Could be nothing. A lot of people just leave their computers on all the time. I think the idea is that shutting it down and turning it on again causes more wear and tear than just letting it run. No idea if that’s true. Maybe someone just left it running and never came back.”
“Not turning it off at the end of the day, okay,” I said. “But someone’s been using it since the mayor and his secretary left. It’s been over a year. We had power outages this winter. Look, there’s trash in the trash can.”
“Could be they use it whenever distinguished visitors from headquarters need a temporary space.”