The Fitzgerald Ruse by Mark de Castrique Page A

the hour was, I called and woke her. I gave a condensed version of my conversation with Calvin and warned her to be careful. I promised to meet her at the office as soon as I finished with Ethel Barkley.
    The other person I trusted was Nathan Armitage. He not only knew everything about Nakayla and me, he also ran western North Carolina’s largest protective security firm. If Calvin and I were going up against Blackwater-trained operatives, I wanted more than the Asheville Police Department on my side. But, it was late and Nathan was still recuperating from a gunshot wound. He’d have to keep till morning.
    I deadbolted my door and closed the blinds. Calvin’s signal was like something out of an old spy movie. He must still be keeping his cell phone inoperable and untraceable. I’d be careful with what I said on mine.
    I removed my leg and stripped to my underwear, too tired and sore to bother with pajamas. I slid between the cool sheets and hoped to fall asleep quickly.
    Two images kept tormenting my mind: the body of Amanda Whitfield crumpled on my office floor like a child’s discarded doll, and the swastika stamped on the lockbox, a symbol of death and destruction that made the Ali Baba conspirators look like shoplifters.
    Sick or well, Ethel Barkley was going to give me the information I wanted.

Chapter Eight
    I asked Ruth, the clerk on duty at the Golden Oak’s front desk, to ring Ethel Barkley’s apartment and tell her I’d arrived. Ruth had called at seven to let me know Ethel was being released from observation. If the woman thought my seven-thirty appearance to be a little early, she didn’t comment, but immediately made the call. She probably knew Ethel well enough not to be surprised by anything the old lady might be up to.
    My working day had started when I telephoned Nathan Armitage at six. He was awake, drinking coffee, and reading the Asheville Citizen-Times account of Amanda’s murder. I’d told him I’d been attacked but I didn’t want to get into it over the phone because some very sophisticated players were involved. He agreed to meet me at my office at ten.
    I found Ethel Barkley standing outside her door waiting for me. The previous afternoon, she’d been wearing a housecoat. This Wednesday morning, at a time when most of her neighbors were probably still sleeping, she had on a lavender dress my great-grandmother would have called “Sunday-go-to-meetin’.” She didn’t look like a woman who had fainted the night before. I could see the welcoming smile fade from her face as she realized I was walking toward her empty-handed.
    “Are you okay, Mrs. Barkley?”
    “What happened?” Her voice shook. “Wouldn’t they give it to you?”
    “We need to talk.” My harsh whisper frightened her.
    “Do you want your money first?”
    “The police will be here in less than an hour.”
    Her magnified eyes behind the glasses seemed to double in size. “The police? You went to the police?”
    “They came to me. Now let’s step back inside before someone else hears your business.”
    I gently took her arm and guided her into the apartment. Her weight, light as it was, fell against me, and I feared she might stumble before I could get her seated. My blunt statement about the police shocked her more than I’d intended, and I decided to proceed more delicately. I didn’t want her fainting again.
    I eased her down on her loveseat. “Would you like some water?”
    “No.” She took a deep breath and squared her frail shoulders. Wariness replaced the panic in her eyes. “Why the police?”
    “Someone broke into my office last night and stole the lockbox. They murdered the night security guard, a young woman who was working two shifts to support her invalid husband.”
    Ethel Barkley shuddered and a sob caught in her throat. “No. They wouldn’t have. Not after all these years.”
    “Who are they?”
    “I don’t know. They never came.” She looked around the room as if seeing things beyond