by Stephen John
“I don’t see that many books checked out under this name.”
“He mostly comes in and reads magazines. I also see him using the computer and surfing the web,” she said. “He uses the one in the corner when it’s open.”
I knew the computer she referred to. It sat in the corner and was the only computer in the library that was positioned in such a manner that no one could see the screen over his shoulder. It was very popular for that reason alone.
“How often would you say he comes in?” I asked.
“It used to be once a month or so, but lately, it’s been two to three times a week. Why?”
“Oh, just curious, I just saw him in here yesterday,” I said. “I hadn’t met him before.”
“He is really handsome, but I think he’s a tad old for you,” Roberta said.
“That’s not why I was asking,” I told her.
“Really?” she said, “Because you seem very interested . . .”
“I was just . . .”
“Plus, he seems to have an appetite for the more . . . mature woman,” she said, flashing a wicked smile.
“Is that so?”
She raised her eyebrows and smiled again.
“Oh my god. Are you and he . . .?”
“Oh, heavens no,” she said, “I’ve been happily married for twenty-five years, but it is fun watching him try.”
“He flirts with you?” I asked.
“Oh incessantly,” she said. “And I’m not the only one.”
She nodded toward Agnes, a sixty-five-year-old employee who became a librarian less than five years ago, after retiring from a career in catering. She owned and ran quite a substantial business. The rumor was that she sold her business when she retired and received a hefty sum for it. She was heavier and looked careworn, certainly no raging beauty in the traditional physical sense. She was also known for her stiff personality. Gus Proctor had to be twenty years her junior.
“Agnes?” I said. “What’s the attraction there?”
“No idea,” Roberta said, “but if the rumors are true, Agnes and Gus have already taken their relationship to . . . how do they say it . . . the next level.”
She flashed a naughty grin. I fought back a gag reflex.
“That’s interesting,” I said. “Do you know if Agnes has a garden?”
She shrugged, “I have no idea. I just know she’s been seeing him a lot, lately. Why do you ask?”
“Oh nothing. He’s a gardener, right? I was just wondering. So, Agnes with a much younger man, huh?”
“Good for her, as far as I’m concerned,” Roberta replied. “We live but once. But remember, you didn’t hear that from me.”
She smiled and started to walk away.
“Roberta,” I called.
She turned back around, “Yes?”
“Do you have the number for that I.T. guy the library uses when the server crashes?”
“Eddie McCoy?”
“That’s him,” I said. “Can you text me his number? I have an issue at home I want to ask him about.”
“Will do,” she said.
When I got back into the car, I phoned Ben Harrison, my CIA partner, who has continued to help me remotely from time to time. The call went straight to voicemail. I left a detailed message, asking him if he could check into Gus Proctor’s background. I wondered, in particular, if the gardener had any prior arrests.
Chapter Fourteen
I was halfway through The Aconitum Murders when Victor called.
“I have bad news,” he said. “The back log for ordering a private autopsy is several weeks out.”
“That is horrible news,” I said.
“Whatever trace gas elements of Aconitum that may be in the urine may have dissipated long before an autopsy is actually performed. It will certainly be questionable.”
“Maybe we can try the M.E. again,” I suggested.
“I just got off the phone with him, the daft bastard.”
“That doesn’t sound encouraging.”
“The M.E. will not change his mind,” Victor said. “He says Emma was under a doctor’s care, she was on meds, previous condition, nothing unusual about the death, waste of time and money . . . yada, yada, yada—you know the bloody story.”
“I’m sorry, Victor.”
“It’s a setback, but I will push on. How about you?”
“I found something very interesting—actually two things. One helps us, the other doesn’t.”
“Do tell,” he said.
“First, I asked my CIA partner to check into Gus Proctor’s background.”
“And?”
“He’s clean, well at least for anything really suspicious. He has had one prior arrest—possession of marijuana. It was a small amount.”
“You’re right, that doesn’t help us,” he said.
“The only thing odd in the report is that the arresting officer noted that Gus was unusually nervous and fearful of the police—to the point of paranoia.”
“That’s interesting,” Victor said. “There are a great many people who have an inherent fear of authority, but I don’t see how that might help us. You said you had two things?”
“Yes, and this is quite interesting. It turns out that Gus Proctor checked out a couple of books. One was called, The Aconitum Murders. I’m reading it now. The storyline dates back to 1936. It goes into great detail as to how a man committed a murder without detection using Aconitum.”
“That could be very useful when the time comes,” Victor said. “Maybe Mr. Proctor was using the book as a how-to guide.”
“There’s more,” I said.
“Tell me, Miss Fortune.”
“It turns out that our loveable Gus Proctor is quite the Romeo,” I said, “and he has a taste for older women.”
“Why am I not surprised? Lonely women with money, undoubtedly?” Victor pondered. “How do you know that?”
I told him about my conversation with Roberta.
“We suspected it, of course, but it sounds as though you have found some corroboration?”
“In the case I know of, I’m pretty sure, yes. One of the women at the library is a sixty-five-year-old woman who is a retired business executive. She works at the library part-time to stay active, but rumor has it she has a substantial nest egg. She drives a Mercedes.”
“A Mercedes—a proverbial telltale sign of wealth. Let me guess,” Victor said. “She’s widowed, I take it?”
“Divorced,” I corrected, “for a long time.”
“Vulnerable, likely lonely as well,” Victor said. “This could be the beginning of a pattern.”
“Do you think I should warn Agnes?” I said.
“It’s a little early, don’t you think?” he said. “Right now, you have nothing concrete.”
“What if I find Gus and question him?” I said. “At the very least, it may make him back off any plans to kill Agnes.”
“The problem with that is that you will then alert Mr. Proctor that he is under an investigation, albeit an unofficial one. He will be on guard. He can form alibis; he can start to cover his tracks. The advantage we have right now is that he has no idea anyone is looking at him.”
“Victor, I can’t stand by and allow Gus to continue to plan Agnes’s murder,” I replied.
“I know,” he said. “Sit tight for the remainder of the day. Unless he’s the world’s biggest idiot, and I don’t think he is, he wouldn’t kill again after such a short time. We will move fast—I promise. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“A little more digging,” he said. “If our new friend Gus does have a taste for the more mature and financially flush women, and he lives in Thibodaux, he may very well have developed a pattern near home before expanding his horizons.”
“Let me know what you find,” I said, and hung up.
My phone rang within seconds of hanging up. I thought it might be Victor calling back, but I didn’t recognize the numbe
r.
“Fortune, it’s Eddie,” I heard a young male voice say.
“Eddie!” I replied. “Thank you for calling me back.”
Eddie McCoy was a young I.T. whizz kid the library used for server work. He was intimately aware of the library system. He’s also had a crush on me since the day I arrived in Sinful.
“What can I do for you, Fortune?” he asked.
“I need a favor,” I said, sweetly. “The internet stations at the library can be tracked by individual users, correct?”
“Yes,” he said. “Each user is required to key in their personal library card number and password before using the computer.”
“So, if you wished to track the web surfing activities of an individual user, you could do that pretty easily?”
“Well . . . yes, but I’d need a court order to do it,” he said.
“Court order?”
“Yes, it’s in our written privacy agreement. The user has certain expectations of privacy,” he said. “Unless the user is trying to access illegal or restricted sites, I can’t pull individual activity without a court order.”
I was worried something like this would come up. I seriously doubted that web surfing for sites related to Aconitum plants would send up any red flags.
“What if I needed some information from you . . . you know, under the table?” I asked, even more sweetly than before.
“Fortune, I . . . I’d love to help, but . . .”
“It would be would be quick and easy for you,” I said, smiling. “I thought maybe you could pull some easy data for me.”
“I. . . I . . .”
“Look, I’ll sweeten the deal,” I said. “I’ll make you dinner, how’s that? We’ll hang out. My place—7:00 p.m.”
“I don’t know.”
“Pretty please,” I pleaded with my most endearing girly voice.
There was a pause. I allowed the silence to linger.
“Well, okay, tell me what you want.”
I pumped my fist and silently mouthed a big, “Yes!”
I told him what I needed; he seemed surprised. I hung up, knowing that I used my girlie voice to manipulate him. It made me feel bad . . . but only for a moment. I was on a mission.
Chapter Fifteen
“Oh, my word,” Ida Belle said, after I updated her and Gertie. “That is quite the setback. It’s hard to believe getting an autopsy performed is that difficult.”
“It’s certainly more difficult when there’s a backlog and the doctors and police think no foul play occurred,” I replied.
“It seems to me you have plenty,” Gertie said. “You have the connection between Gus and Emma through Maxine. We know that Gus had access to . . . what did you call it, again?”
“Wolfsbane,” I replied. “It’s also called Aconitum.”
“Whatever. We know he had access to the poisonous plants through Maxine’s garden, which he planted himself; we know he checked out books which provided details as to how the poison could be used to kill without detection, and now you know that he is entering into multiple relationships with single, older women who have money. That seems like plenty to haul him in in for questioning.”
“It probably would open the doors to question him,” I replied, “but what we have now would never be enough to have him arrested, much less gain a conviction—it’s all circumstantial. No money was stolen from Emma, so we have no motive. We have no evidence he used Aconitum on Emma. We suspect he’s preying on older women for money but can’t prove it. Most importantly, we can’t place him at Emma’s house on Friday night near the time she was murdered. We need real concrete evidence before we haul him in.”
“It bears the question,” Ida Belle said. “If he was out to steal her money, what went wrong?”
“We know she inquired about an offshore account in the Cayman Islands, but she never went through with it,” I said. “The money is still in her account.”
“Maybe she died before she completed the transfer?” Gertie said. “But why would he kill her before she transferred the money?”
Bessie nodded, “Maybe changing her mind made him angry,” Ida Belle said. “Maybe Emma threatened to call the police.”
“Those are certainly legitimate motivations,” I admitted.
“All speculation at this point,” Gertie added. “Fortune is right. There isn’t enough information to go on, yet.”
“I take it you still don’t want to alert him that anyone suspects anything?” Ida Belle asked.
“Correct. Right now, he still thinks he’s home free,” I said. “I haven’t even mentioned his name to Carter.”
“But it would be helpful if we could gather some information about him, right?” she asked.
“Of course, it would,” I said. “Guys in his line of work typically maintain a portable office in their trucks; ledgers; appointment books; estimates; that kind of thing. What I’d really like is ten minutes alone in that truck to see if there’s anything relevant there.”
Ida Belle nodded and smiled.
“I think I can arrange that?” Ida Belle said.
“What are you up to?” I asked, suspiciously.
“Yeah, I’m kind of curious about this myself,” Gertie said.
“I have an idea,” Ida Belle replied. “It’s a little risky but since when have we let that stop us?”
“You’re scaring me a little,” I said. “Tell me what you have in mind.”
Ida Belle spent the next ten minutes taking me through her idea. It was a good idea, but as she said, it did carry some risk. However, with proper precautions, the risk could be minimized. After I laid out my idea, I bit my lip, looking for a reaction.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I say we do it,” Gertie said, slapping her knee when Ida Belle finished.
I raised my eyebrows and shrugged, “Ida Belle?”
“I don’t have a better idea,” she admitted. “I’m in.”
“Okay then, I’m setting it up,” she said. “I’ll call you when the arrangements have been made.”
I went home, changed into my sweats, and headed for the lake for my afternoon run. My jogging time was a great opportunity to clear my head, but today, my heart was not into running. I cut my run short and hopped in the car. I drove to Mark Baker’s Accounting Offices; my clothes still damp with perspiration. Mark was in and agreed to see me right away.
I asked him point-blank for more information about the whole Cayman Islands account.
“I told you, Fortune,” he said. “I’d love to help you, but . . .”
“Mark, Emma was murdered,” I said.
He paused, “That’s what Victor thinks, too.”
“Mark, look, you’re a good man. You were a good friend to Glory and her mother. No one believes us, but we know it’s true. I need you to help me out here.”
He sighed and paused reflectively. He pulled off his glasses and wiped them with a kerchief as he thought. After another moment of silence, he spoke.
“Okay. Emma initiated the opening of an account in the Cayman Islands, against my strong objections. She said it was for tax sheltering purposes, and she is not entirely wrong. Many people use offshore accounts to save on taxes. It’s a complicated system for an uncomplicated woman, however, and it frequently raises flags with the IRS, so I thought it was a bad idea, and I told her so.”
“Do you think it was Emma’s idea to begin with?”
“No, I don’t, but I can’t prove it,” he said. “She would come with a list of questions and read them off, almost as if they were prearranged for her by someone else.”
“Did she ever come in with anyone besides Maxine?” I asked.
“No, and Maxine always stayed in the waiting room,” he said. “She never actually took part in any of the discussions. I think Maxine was just being a friend and drove her around.”
“So, you don’t think Maxine was pulling the strings?”
“No, heavens no,” he said. “Maxine is also a cli
ent of mine. I’ve known her for years. She’s never shown any interest in such things.”
“Have you ever heard the name, Gus Procter?” I asked.
He paused for a second or two to reflect, “No. Who is it?”
“Not important. Tell me why the transfer never took place,” I said.
“Really, Fortune, this is all making me uncomfortable.”
“Mark, do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“You know I am trying to help.”
“I do.”
“Then tell me.”
He sighed again.
“On her last visit, she seemed, I don’t know . . .disappointed . . . upset,” he began. “She said she was terminating the account setup process and would no longer be transferring money to a Cayman account.”
“Did she say why?”
He shook his head, “I asked her if she minded telling me why she had a change of heart, and all she said was that it was for personal reasons.”
“That’s all she said . . . personal reasons?” I repeated.
He nodded.
“Did she do anything else?”
“Yes, she said she needed an additional $5,000 from her account to cover some expenses. She wasn’t specific as to the nature of the expenses. I knew she was involved in the school theater remodel, so I didn’t think anything of it. I made a transfer from her cash account and cut her a check.”
“For $5,000?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t ask any questions?”
“No. It was her money.”
“Do you know if that check was cashed?”
“Yes, she apparently went from here straight to the bank and cashed it.”
“When was that?”
“About six days ago.”
“Mark, I tried to cash a check for $1.20 on Monday. The account balance in her bank account was zero? She didn’t deposit that money.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. All I know is we wrote her a check against her trust, and she cashed it.”
“Is there anything else you can think of that might help me get to the bottom of this?”
“No, but if I think of anything, I will certainly call you.”
