“The call from the bank and one from a burner was the only incoming. The call he was on when they left was to a judge. Sheriff’s report says the judge answered Pendleton’s question about DNA being admissible as evidence that a person is heir to an estate.”
Evie whistled. “And the judge said?”
“It depends. Since it’s a civil and not a criminal case, and it’s unlikely there will be opposition, then mostly, it depends on the quality of the DNA match and the company handling it. The trick, of course, is to find DNA from Aaron Ives. Pendleton did not receive an unqualified yes or no.”
Evie frowned. “I think I want to know who the judge called after that. Do we know the judge’s name?”
“Oswin had the same thought. He went one step further than the sheriff. The judge is an old pal of Senator Swenson, used to do law work for him.”
Sixteen
After stayingin his office Friday night, creating a mailing list of Norton’s clients to let them know he was now in charge and available, Jax was ready for more interesting action on Saturday morning.
He climbed on his motorcycle as R&R took the steps down from the kitchen, still feeding their faces. Jax had planned on escaping before Evie knew their plans. He could always grab a bite later. He scowled at his cheapskate friends.
“Tell me you didn’t tell Evie,” he stated flatly.
Reuben, the clueless professor of engineering, licked cinnamon roll off his fingers. “She knew. Mavis says there’s bad juju or something and we should stay home.”
“Mavis don’ know us.” Roark, the reckless Cajun, climbed into the van, ready to rumble. “We invite trouble. We’ll be in and gone before anyone knows.”
“Unless you’re planning on breaking in, someone knows. Do you have a key?” Jax idled his bike impatiently as Professor Reuben dangled a key out the van window.
Maybe they could do this before Evie figured out how to reach the storage unit without a vehicle. There should be no reason for trouble. They had the paperwork and permission to inspect the machines. But his gut said the same as Mavis’s crystal ball—bad juju ahead. He wanted Evie out of it.
He’d feel a lot better if he could discount voting machines as a motive for his father’s murder—and Clancy’s suicide. Not that the machines in a tiny town like Afterthought could affect any major election, but it was a thread that had to be tugged just to see what unraveled.
Roaring through the early morning humidity, Jax was debating if they could demand an inspection of any DVM machines in Charleston when the van veered into the city’s storage area. A chain-link fence protected a messy accumulation of heavy equipment, pipes, and tin sheds. Surely they didn’t keep electronic equipment in a tin shed with no a/c? They’d only find fried wires, if so.
The top-knotted professor hopped out to unlock the gate. In puzzlement, he held up an open padlock. “How many keys they got?”
“Looks like utilities use the lot. Makes sense there’s more than one.” But Jax’s gut clenched as he studied the area.
“Rental van, one o’clock. More dan one person onsite.“ Roark had always been their front man, with uncanny hearing. “Open da gate,couillon. I’m goin’ in.”
As an officer, Jax had been all about caution and protecting his men. His team, on the other hand, had been all about getting the job done by any means available. Jax could scarcely keep them out of a civilian storage area unlikely to be blown up by enemy IEDs.
He followed the van toward a concrete block building—with its door already open and voices inside.
The Cajun whistled and pointed at the building’s roof. Jax tilted his head. Evie waved at him from the flat roof.Crap on a stick.Glaring, he ignored her wave and followed Reuben inside. He’d swear she had to fly to arrive before them, but with Evie, dropping from a drone or a kite or...
He quit speculating as his eyes adjusted to the interior. Two men in moving company overalls were loading folded-up machines onto a platform trolley.
“I told the mayor’s office I’d inspect the machines here.” Reuben might be a nerdy engineer, but he strolled through the dim warehouse with the tensed muscularity of the military officer he’d once been. “You don’t need to move them.”
“We got orders to pick them up.” One of the burly movers slammed a machine onto the trolley.
“Those are expensive electronics. You can’t handle them like that. I need to inspect them before they leave city property.” Wearing a bone-adorned topknot and tribal scars, Reuben rolled up his shirtsleeves, flexing muscles in classic intimidation. Jax wasn’t worried about the prof, unless someone pulled a weapon.
“Nothing on the work order about inspection. These are going to the scrap heap. We’re behind schedule as is.”
This was why Jax was here. Despite his wind-blown look, he could pull off authority in collared shirt and tie. He drew out his cellphone. “Your work orders, please. It’s highly irregular to remove machinery without proper authorization, and there is nothing on the city agenda about a recall.”
The smaller man in baggy blue grumbled and headed for the door. “Finish loading, Davis. I’ll take care of the suit.”
Ignoring all of them, Reuben zeroed in on the machines still stacked against a wall. Jax left him to it.
Outside, Evie had affixed herself like a hood ornament to the cab of the rental truck. She crossed her shorts-clad legs, grinned, and talked into her phone. Roark leaned against his utility van, bronzed, muscled arms crossed, observing cynically. Jax kept his Glock locked in a safe in the office, but R&R would both be armed. The trick was to keep his men from going for their weapons.