Page 23 of Alibi for Murder (Colby Agency: The Next Generation #2)

“An accident, what else?” Rivero shook his head and considered his inspiring view yet again. “The official conclusion was that his truck fell off the jack onto him while he was working under it.”

Allie winced. Steve sent her a reassuring look.

“I watched your parents for weeks to find the right opportunity to connect with your father.” He took another of those long pauses.

“There was a carnival in Woodstock. Your parents took you. I followed them, and while your mother rode with you on the carousel, I approached. A crowd of fathers and grandfathers were gathered in a cluster to try getting photographs of their offspring aboard the wooden horses. I pretended to be one of them. I got as close to your father as possible and told him who I was. In those days, I always wore disguises when out in public. It was the only way for me to have a moment of peace.”

“Comes with the territory,” Steve pointed out. From the videos he’d watched of Rivero’s heyday, he had loved every minute of it.

“Why my father?” Allie asked, the ache of the question in her voice. “Why not someone else?”

“Harvey had given me the names of those who knew the most and who I might be able to trust. I certainly didn’t want to approach anyone who would out me. Otherwise, I might have ended up under a car like poor Harvey.”

“Or dead on the side of the road with your wife.”

Allie’s words hit their mark. Rivero grimaced.

“The truth was,” Rivero went on, “Jerry was looking for a way out. He’d been contemplating just leaving town. Taking his family and disappearing. But your mother wouldn’t hear of it.” His gaze settled on Allie once more. “Your mother didn’t want to leave her parents, and they refused to move.”

Allie’s expression warned that his words stabbed deep. Steve knew she had loved her grandparents. The idea that a single decision on their part caused this had to be immensely painful.

While she struggled for what to say next, Steve asked, “What about the Regers? Dennis and Lucille? Were you watching them as well?”

“The redhead.” Rivero nodded. “Those two were a bit on the strange side. The husband, Dennis, was from Germany. He spoke with a heavy accent. He’d met Lucille in New York when he moved to the US.

He’d decided to take a short vacation there before continuing on to Woodstock to join Ledwell.

They had recruited him from a competing firm in Berlin. ”

Steve understood now. Lucille was likely the FBI connection. Apparently, the Bureau had been watching Ledwell even then.

“I’m sure your friends at the Bureau told you they were assets,” Rivero said, echoing Steve’s thought. “It was actually Lucille who was the agent. Dennis was the target she turned once he was in position at Ledwell.”

“If the FBI had some idea what Ledwell was doing all those years ago,” Allie spoke up, “why did they allow them to continue with research and development that was not allowed at the time?”

Rivero laughed. “Well, Ms. Foster, if you haven’t learned this yet, let me bring you up to speed.

The government works in mysterious ways.

They were willing to keep an eye on Ledwell in hopes of making sure the government benefited.

Besides, the CIA gets what the CIA wants.

The trouble was, Ledwell was aware. They were very careful about what they allowed to be disseminated to the government.

They used Dennis Reger to pass along what they wanted the Bureau to know.

This, of course, was the CIA’s idea. The two agencies do not play well together.

If Potter and Fraser tell you differently about any of this, it’s only because they’re ignorant of the actual facts or they’re in denial.

At this point, I’m stunned the feds even still fish around Ledwell.

They’re clearly getting what they want, or this would have ended years ago. ”

“Did you warn my father that what he was doing by helping you might be dangerous?”

Steve understood she felt her family had been betrayed by this man, and they likely had been. But he doubted that her father had not been aware of the risk, perhaps not to his family but certainly to himself.

“He was well aware,” Rivero insisted. “We all were. He saw things that troubled him, and he couldn’t live with the idea of keeping those secrets. When two of his colleagues on the team died under suspicious circumstances, he was ready to do something.”

“Do you have proof of what he and the janitor saw happening?” Steve wasn’t sure it was even relevant at this point, but there was no statute of limitations on murder.

“I had what I needed to do my story.” Rivero didn’t actually answer the question. “I had photos and copies of documents.”

“Had?” Steve nudged for clarification.

“My office was robbed. My home. My car. They found and destroyed everything.” He tapped his temple. “Except what I have right here. They couldn’t take that because I vanished before they got the opportunity.”

Steve shared a look with Allie. This was the reason the much-touted story never surfaced. It was why he’d never gone to anyone who might be able to stop what was being done at Ledwell. Because he had no proof of what he believed—beyond what was in his head.

“Do you believe they killed my parents?”

“Of course they did. Just like they killed four other members of his team as well as Harvey and no doubt anyone else who got in their way.”

“Do you have proof of any sort?” she demanded.

He shook his head. “Jerry was bringing me proof that night. He and your mother were taking you and leaving right after he met with me. Your grandparents had figured out something was very wrong and urged them to go. That night, he would give me what I needed, and then the three of you would disappear. But he never came. Hours later, I followed every route between his home and where we were to meet until I found the car in the ditch, almost hidden from view.”

The pain that captured Allie’s face then made Steve’s chest tighten.

“There was nothing I could do for them. They were dead. But—” he took a big breath “—I searched the car, and whoever killed them had obviously already taken the files because I found nothing.” He stood, walked to the fireplace and wiggled a stone free.

He removed something from the space behind it and brought it to Allie.

“This was clutched in your mother’s hand.

” Then he plopped back into his chair as if he’d dealt his final hand and was waiting for her to top it or to fold.

The delicate silver chain wasn’t large enough for a necklace. A bracelet, Steve decided. Tiny silver blocks hung on the thin line of silver.

“This was my baby bracelet.” Allie’s eyes filled with wonder. “My grandmother said my parents put it in the time capsule they made when I was born.”

Rivero must have had the same thought as Steve because they both asked at the same time, “What time capsule?”

“The day I was brought home from the hospital,” she explained, seemingly unaware of their tension, “my parents added this bracelet and both my and my mother’s hospital bracelets to the time capsule they had prepared. They buried it in the backyard.”

Rivero turned to Steve. “If they took this out of the time capsule because the mother wanted to take it with them when they left—” the man had to take a moment to get his emotions under control before he could go on “—maybe the only thing they planned to give me was the location of the time capsule.” He stood, started to pace.

“It makes total sense. That way they wouldn’t be caught transporting the only evidence that existed outside the walls of Ledwell.

Oh my God, all this time. Why didn’t I think of that?

The bracelet meant nothing to me.” He turned to Allie, his entire being on alert.

“We have to find that time capsule. Now. ”

Foster Residence

Ridgeland Avenue, 2:30 p.m.

Allie wasn’t sure they had fully convinced Mr. Rivero they would keep him apprised of what they discovered.

He’d called every twenty minutes for the past hour and a half.

He wanted to come but hadn’t been able to bring himself to leave the house.

Allie had read about and watched movies and documentaries about people who couldn’t leave their homes, but she’d never seen it firsthand.

“I’m sorry.” She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

“I really thought it was in the butterfly garden.” She remembered seeing photos her grandmother had taken of the big day.

Allie looked around. “It was right here.” She surveyed the various flowers and shrubs that attracted butterflies, all surrounded by a cute little picket fence.

“We should have a look at those photos if you know where they are.”

“Good idea.” One she should have thought of nearly two hours ago.

She hurried into the house and to the bookshelves where all those photo albums were stored.

It took a minute, but she found the one that held the photos from that year—the year she was born.

Her grandmother had been very careful to ensure all her albums matched and all were dated with a gold metallic marker.

It was an obsession of hers, she’d said.

Allie flipped through the pages, found the right one and grinned. The butterfly garden had been a lot smaller then. She carefully removed the photo that provided the best overall shot of her father digging the hole.

She hurried back outside to where Steve waited, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the shovel in hand. Like her, he’d started to sweat quickly in the afternoon sun.

“This is it.”

He wiped his hand on his thigh and accepted the photo. After studying it at length, he turned around slowly, surveying the garden enclosed with that white picket fence. At least it had started out white. It had faded and chipped in places. Something else Allie needed to take care of.

He pointed to one of the lilac bushes. “I think it might be under part of that bush.”

Allie bit her lip. The lilacs had been her grandmother’s favorite. “Be really careful. I’d hate to kill the bush.”

He pointed his shovel toward it. “There are times when sacrifices must be made.”

She laughed, mostly because she was emotionally drained and physically spent. The small silver bracelet felt cool in her hand, but she couldn’t bear to let go of it. Her mother had been holding it when she died. And this was for her parents. “Just do it.”

It didn’t take a lot of imagination to conjure up images of her parents rushing out here in the darkness of night to dig up the time capsule they had planted four years prior.

She could see her father doing what he had to do once it was out of the ground, stuffing evidence inside while her mother picked through the mementos that had been hidden there.

Allie could see her holding the delicate silver chain—the very one she now held.

Tears burned her eyes, and she forced away the images.

Get this done, Al.

To his credit, Steve took his time and used extra care when digging around the base of the bush. At last the blade of the shovel slid into the ground, and there was a distinct metal-on-metal sound.

Steve smiled, crouched down and started to dig with his gloved hands.

Allie held her breath, afraid to hope but unable to stop herself.

The dirty object he withdrew didn’t look like the one in the photos. A frown worried her brow. Wait…

He wiped the dirt away, and there it was…the stainless-steel cylinder-type canister she’d seen in the photos.

Maybe she would finally have the evidence she needed to uncover the truth.