government should keep
their nose out of taxpayers’ business.”
Reggie’s eyes widened. “Do you think someone
was blackmailing him?”
“Probably just the opposite,” I grumbled.
Wisely, Reggie left that alone.
I continued, “It says here you were supposed
to leave the cash in the box this past Tuesday by midnight. Did you
already do that?”
“Yes, shortly after returning from my trip.
I’ve spent time day and night since, watching the building to see
who comes in and out to determine if I recognize anyone. However, I
still have a business to run…for now. If I canceled all of my
appointments and camped out there twenty-four-seven, I’d either
start losing clients or my staff might get suspicious.”
“No one then?”
Reggie shook his head. “Ridiculous of me to
do that, considering most of my clients have staff who run their
errands. But I did go inside this morning before coming over here
and the bag of cash was still there.”
“Whoever it is may wait awhile before
collecting,” I mused aloud. “Wait until the furor dies down.”
“Or they know my car,” Reggie supplied.
I picked up the notepad and scanned the list
I’d started. “Okay, so who among your clientele have been unhappy
with your work?”
Reggie waved his hand about and slipped back
into the accent. “Not a soul vould dare be displeased vith a
Reginald von Braun design.”
“Still, I’ll need a client list.”
“Proprietary information, darling.”
“You want my help? This is me helping.”
He snorted, returning to full-on diva mode.
“It’ll have to be a print-out. I can’t have any of the staff
discovering an email.”
“That’s fine. What about the girlfriend in
San Antonio?” I asked, returning to the local versus non-local
conundrum like a hamster racing in the wheel to nowhere.
“We just started sharing identifiable
personal information once we started talking on the phone. That
would’ve been about two weeks ago, after the letters
arrived.”
“The timing of your meeting with her is
interesting,” I surmised with a tap of the pen against my lips.
“She might’ve gleaned more hints from you earlier than you
realized. I need a name and any history you know on her.”
“There goes my private life,” Reggie
muttered.
I ignored him. “Then last, what can you tell
me about your gang years.”
A definable shudder passed over him, sending
silk ruffles rippling like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon.
“I’ve not thought about that time in so long. At least not until
all of this started.”
“What was the name of the group?” I asked,
ready to detail every painful memory like a court reporter during a
trial.
I hoped Reggie realized I wasn’t trying to be
pushy or bitchy on purpose. If we didn’t go through this exercise,
he just might find himself sitting in a courtroom for real.
“You do realize this is a dangerous line of
questioning.”
“But it’s gotta be done,” I urged. “Name that
gang.”
“Will you promise to treat this as a path of
last resort?” Reggie begged.
“As all the cop shows say, a good
investigator goes where the evidence leads. Gang name, please.”
He returned my pointed stare before
relenting. “The Switchblades.”
I flipped through the notepad and wrote on a
fresh page. “Do you remember the leader’s name?”
“Yeah.” Reggie’s voice dulled. “Switch.”
“Switch from the Switchblades?”
“It was a local group. He kinda started
it.”
I had to work hard to stifle a chuckle. This
was not a time to hurt Reggie’s feelings or belittle any concerns.
“Did you ever know his real name?”
He scrunched his forehead in concentration.
Lips pursed before the light of remembrance widened his eyes.
“Tomas. Tomas Ricardo.”
“Two first names?” I questioned. “Seems a bit
odd. Are you sure that’s his real name and not another cover?”
“Oh, yes. I remember stories about him being
teased as a little kid. That’s why he created the gang