“I sure would,” Orlando said.
“During the times we are talking about, there was a company named Pelican Winds, a developing firm, and it was run by a man named Aukland Davis. Davis wanted to build a huge hotel and a condominium on the Linwood Springs beach. By the way, you’ve seen the beach, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the most distinctive item, or should I say items, on the beach? The items that catch your eye immediately?”
“The two tall condos,” Orlando said. “I’ve seen the name, but it slips my mind at the moment.”
“Ocean Heights,” Waylon said. “I think it was two years before Lyndon died, the developer won zoning and city approval for his projects. I’m sure you noticed that nothing else on the beach is over two stories.”
“I did notice that. The two condos looked a bit incongruous. They must be about fifteen stories each.”
“I think it’s twenty stories.” He laughed. “I’m at the age when minor details can slip my mind. Many city residents did not like the vote, and did not like how the beach looked with the two condos on the sand. Linwood Springs residents did not want condos, hotels and other tall buildings going up in the city, as they had in other Florida cities. There was considerable resistance. The level of density on the beach was one of the issues in the campaign that Lyndon won. Before he won, the council had made some vague promises about no more high-rises on the beach, but they hadn’t passed any low-density laws, which Lyndon promised to do.”
Waylon paused to refill his glass again. He took a big sip of the Scotch. “I heard a rumor that Davis and his business partners were going to present their proposal to the Linwood Springs City Council, a proposal that would build both the condo and the hotel. The condo, like the Ocean Heights, was twenty stories. The problem was, they would never have gotten approval with Lyndon’s 3-2 ‘Beach walker’ majority on the council.”
“And if Mayor Richardson had been re-elected, the low-density crowd would have kept a majority.” Orlando said.
“That’s very true.”
Waylon took another large gulp of the Scotch. “One of the other councilmen running that year was Dalton Fasse. He was an ally of Richardson’s, but he was a native, and had lived his entire live in Linwood Springs, and was liked and respected. I don’t think he could have been defeated. And, although the council was in the news often, Fasse himself was low profile. A lot of people who may not have agreed with his local politics, had a cup of coffee with him at a local restaurant. When he ran in a local election, he typically was the top vote getter. Lyndon, though, because he waged a one-man crusade against the city government, was a catalyst for a lot of hard feelings.”
Orlando thought for a moment.
“So, you’re saying the Pelican Group needed one vote. Fasse was so strong a candidate that they could not defeat him. That means they had to defeat Mayor Richardson, or find some other way to get him off the council.”
Waylon nodded.
“When Richardson was out, I heard the Pelican Group was planning to present their proposal to the city. That stopped when his wife won the election. That meant there were still a vote shy. Richardson being on the council stopped a project that may well have been worth millions. Also, I heard rumors that Mr. Davis was hurting financially. He, and possibly a few of his business cronies, needed this project to go through. When it didn’t, the Pelican Group went out of business a few years later. They were financial high rollers who were suddenly no longer at the tables. In a situation like that, often a few bribes change hands. I think the developers of Ocean Heights spread a little money around, but I could never prove it. But if you can’t bribe the councilman, and tens or hundreds of millions of dollars are in the pot, what do you do?”
“Drive recklessly,” Orlando said.
Waylon swirled the liquor in his glass.
“That might be one option,”
“I should tell you that I did try to track down this story, but I couldn’t get the proof, so for now, it’s only speculation. My editors reminded me that I had given them a few facts that had no connection, at least none that we knew of, and the paper could not print speculation. We could not suggest, or even hint, that Davis had anything to do with the crime, unless we had proof. And of course they were right. I had a theory, but no evidence to link the Pelican condo proposal with Lyndon’s murder. No one else considered Davis a suspect. Now, I’m not stupid enough to think he actually drove the car. He would have hired someone to do it. I still think he was a viable suspect.” Waylon filled his glass again. Orlando thought it was the third, and possibly the fourth, time he had done so. Waylon stuck out a finger.
“One, I think Davis was ruthless enough to carry out the car attack. With eight figures on the line, I don’t doubt he might try something violent. Davis was rich. With that type of money, he could have easily found a place to hide the car or destroy it. Then he pays the driver off, and tells him to leave Florida and never come back. But the best laid plans of mice and business developers…He didn’t expect Lyndon’s wife would run and keep the seat in the family. Few people agreed with me, but I still say he was a suspect.”
“Do you know where he is now?” Orlando asked.
Waylon shook his head. “No, I haven’t thought about him for a number of years. And the Pelican Group, as I said, went bust a few years after the murder. Davis didn’t stay around here. If you want to try tracking him down, you can also look for a man named Karl Eversong. He was Davis’ right-hand man, and officially a vice-president of the company. I always thought he was just a high-class thug. He would ‘solve’, if you know what I mean, any little problem the company had.”
“So, if Davis set up the crime, you think Eversong would have carried it out?” Orlando said.
Waylon nodded. “He might have. Of course, if they did it, it was all for nothing. They didn’t win the seat, and the condo and hotel were never built. The city council passed a low-density ordinance. That’s why there are no more high-rises on the Linwood Springs beach or surrounding areas. Which was one benefit Lyndon’s friends brought to the city.”
Orlando jotted down his final notes, then flipped his notebook shut. “If you’re right, that would answer what, to me, was one puzzling aspect of this case; the sheer savagery of it. If the two wives had been walking with Mayor Richardson and Bayridge, four would have been killed. You’d kill four people in a political dispute? That seemed particularly cold-blooded. But if Eversong was basically a problem solver, so to speak, and there was that much money on the line…”
“Yes, I only met Eversong twice back during those day. He struck me, from the first minutes, as a cold-blooded man. To be honest, I think he could have run down four people and not thought twice about it. He could drive to a restaurant after the deaths, and have a good dinner with no indigestion. Sadly, I don’t know where he went to either, after the bankruptcy.”
“Pity, he’s a man I’d like to talk to,” Orlando said. “I think I’ll find him, no matter where he went to.”
CHAPTER SIX
Emily poured a cup of strong black coffee and filled a glass with red wine. She liked to sip while hacking. She thought hacking was gainful employment, and it had any number of benefits. After all, it was an inside job with no heavy lifting. It could be exasperating and time-consuming, but no heavy lifting. She turned on her computer as she sipped the wine. She wondered if she should begin watching her wine intake. She could drain a good size wine glass quickly while hacking. She came from a wealthy family, so she didn’t have to worry about costs. She had purchased some bottles of wine that were definitely not discount brands, but she had found a favorite, Dark Horse, that was priced incredibly cheap. Fourteen dollars and ninety-five cents could purchase a bottle that she thought compared favorably to wines that cost three times as much. She sipped from the glass and smiled.
Maybe it was the name that she liked. She had grown up riding. There was a horse
ranch not far from her parents’ house. She had begun riding at an early age and she loved her horse, Ebony Star. She had been thirteen years ago when Ebony was born. She had a picture, in her house, of her with the day-old colt. From that day, a bond had developed between them. She often thought the bond with Ebony was stronger than the bond with boyfriends. After all, boyfriends could, and would, betray you. Horses were more loyal. Ebony’s main weakness was, she was a bit lazy, as well as being a bit overweight. Emily knew she had to go out and exercise her four-legged friend more often. At times, Ebony was not enthusiastic about trotting on the trails on the horse farm. But when Emily insisted, the black stallion could run like the wind.
Ebony had two friends at the ranch. The three horses usually ran together. Chief was a brown and white gelding, and Trouble was a golden mare. Trouble, despite the name, was a gentle horse who liked to be around others. When Emily went to the ranch, she usually carried carrots and apples for the three. If the horses were out in a field when she arrived, all three would trot briskly toward her, knowing she had treats.
So, for a lady who loved horses so much, it was only natural she liked a wine named Dark Horse.
“OK, let’s see if I’m in for a long night,” she said.
She heard a rustling near her feet and saw Cassie, her golden retriever, sprawled near her chair. She had owned Ebony since the horse’s birth, and had adopted Cassie seven years ago, when she was a puppy. She couldn’t imagine life without them. She reached down and petted Cassie.
“I need to walk you soon, don’t I, girl. I will. After you look at this computer for a while, you want a break. So we’ll take a walk soon,” she said.
Cassie eagerly nodded her head. “She understood a few words and ‘walk’ was one of them. She also understood ‘wait,’ although she didn’t like to hear that word. ‘Roast Beef’, however, was one of her favorite words.
She turned toward the computer and began hacking, the coffee cup on one side of her and the wine glass on the other. She slid her fingers over the keys noiselessly. She felt a pang of guilt when hacking. In today’s high-tech society, a man’s or woman’s whole life could be explored by a hacker sitting in his living room. Could Orwell have even imagined such a future? It’s one thing for an all-powerful, totalitarian government to keep track of a person’s every move. But for a guy or girl in pyjamas to keep track of your movements, while sitting in a living room? She really didn’t know which was worse.
The wine glass was empty and the coffee cup drained, she sat back and rubbed her neck. The information she had found would please Orlando, because there was nothing dramatic, at least not yet. She wondered if she should walk Cassie, but instead, reached for the wine bottle and refilled her glass. Then refilled the coffee cup.
“Just a few minutes, Cassie, then we’ll take a long walk. We’ll walk down to the lake. You’ll like that,” she said.
She slid her way into the virtual forest and headed for the medical section. Nothing looked too exciting. Sasha had some trips to a gynaecologist and an obstetrician. Probably the regular doctor for Sasha. If she wanted to have a child, but was having problems, that would account for the trips. Then Emily saw something that raised her eyebrows, and sent alert alarms through her.
A trip to the hospital. An emergency room visit.
Orlando hadn’t said anything about a medical emergency, but maybe he didn’t know. Besides, sometimes an ER trip turns out not to be an emergency. She wiggled through the virtual file and found what she wanted.
“Oh, this was an emergency,” she said. “Oh, my…” Her family was not religious, but some reason, her parents did not think they should say the name of God in vain, and forbid any swearing using the name of the Deity. If not, she would have used a phrase including the Lord’s name.
Once, when Cassie was about three, she was at the horse ranch. She enjoyed the trip and ran around constantly, and she kept nipping at Ebony, although Ebony had indicated her displeasure. Emily had also indicated her displeasure with a stern neigh, which Cassie ignored. After Cassie nipped one more time, Ebony kicked her hind leg back. The hoof caught the Golden full in the stomach, lifted her up and bounced her about five feet away. Emily had gasped, afraid the Golden had been killed or seriously injured. But Cassie leaped up and walked around. Emily had been so relieved.
But looking at the computer, Emily gasped as loudly as she did when Cassie was kicked.
“Oh, my….” she said. “Oh, no. Please tell me…”
She stumbled from the chair, trying to catch her breath. She coughed and stammered, then grabbed Cassie’s leash.
“I need some air. Let’s go for a walk,” she said.
###
Orlando had read somewhere that tanning can age a person and will increase wrinkles, but the former Sylvi Bayridge had a gorgeous tan and, for a person who he guessed was almost sixty, she didn’t have many wrinkles. In her two-story, luxurious house on the beach, she had obviously been sunning herself by the pool before she came to the door. Most sixty-year-olds should not wear bikinis, but the red suit, underneath the light blue beach shirt she wore, looked fine on her. She had light brown hair, green eyes and a round, pleasant face. Orlando sensed the woman was intelligent. Gazing into the bright, determined green eyes, he had the feeling she was tough too.
“You must be David Orlando?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“I was intrigued by your call. You can come in, if you promise not to call me, ma’am. I’m just Sylvi.”
“And I’m David,” he said as he walked in.
“I was out sunning myself. Do you mind if we talk out by the pool?”
“Not at all.”
The two-story beach home was beautiful, and Orlando wondered as they walked if the woman simply wanted to show it off. The outside of the home was trimmed in blue and white, with a lawn so green it could have been painted. The Florida room faced the Atlantic Ocean. The property was about fifty yards from the beach. Two servants smiled at them as they walked by. To Orlando, the swimming pool looked as big as football field, with deep blue water splashing the white cement sides. There was also ample cushioned furniture, blue to match the house, and a large portable bar, with an umbrella and a third servant, a medium-age man who looked perfectly content mixing drinks.
Sylvi eased down on a lounge chair and picked up a drink. She pointed to a sun table next to her.
“There’s an umbrella, so we have shade.”
“It’s very nice.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“No, thank you.”
She stripped the shirt off and eased down on the lounge chair. A yellow straw was in her drink. She brought it to her lips and sucked some of the liquor. Orlando noticed there were not many wrinkles on her body, either. She kept in good shape.
“I must ask, David, how did you ever get connected with a murder case involving my late husband and Mayor Richardson? To be honest, I haven’t thought about it for years. Probably no one else has either.”
He smiled. “I was hired, Mrs….Sylvi.”
“May I ask by who…oh, I guess the Richardson family is still trying to hunt the killer down. That’s understandable. I’m not downgrading your talents, David, when I say I think you have an impossible task. If state and local people could not find the killer in a quarter century, I doubt you can either.”
“But I’m a combination of Sherlock Holmes and Travis McGee. Those two could solve anything.”
Sylvi sucked more from the drink. “I’m aware of who Sherlock Holmes was, but who is Mr. McGee?”
“He is a fictional private detective created by writer John D. MacDonald, who was an excellent mystery writer, and also lived in Florida for most of his life. He lived over in Sarasota. He wrote approximately twenty books featuring McGee, and I’ve read all of them.”
“I’m sure you have his charm, all literary detectives have charm, but I don’t thi
nk even Mr. McGee could solve this case. Anyway, what would you like to ask me?”
“I understand that your husband had a falling out with a former business partner named Augustus Crone. I wondered if you knew anything about it.”
She laughed so hard some of her drink spilled over the cup and landed on her bare stomach. “Falling out. Now that’s a nice way to put it. Falling out, in the sense that the Hatfields and the McCoys had a falling out. Or, that Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr had a falling out. They were friends and business partners for a while, and ended up hating one another. I don’t know the details of their falling out. I tended to keep out of Allan’s business affairs. I really didn’t care about the details. To be honest, I was his trophy wife, and trophy wives generally are not experts in real estate or other businesses.”
“His trophy wife?” Orlando asked.
“Allan’s first wife left him after about eight years, but they were going their separate ways, and sleeping in separate bedrooms long before that. She hated him so much she took a straight settlement at the divorce. Give me this much money and I’m out of your life. That was fine with Allan. He got a bit of a break, because she had no interest is his business, either. I forget how much the settlement was, but it was only about six months after the divorce that Allan got his first breakthrough. He was doing all right before that, but…I think he had some stock that tripled or split, or whatever it was. It increased his income by…gosh, I’m trying to think… Possibly, at least a quarter of a million. After that, the income just kept going up by leaps and fiscal bounds.”
“But what about Mr. Crone.”
Sylvi sat up in the chair but shook her head. “Sorry, but I don’t know the details of the breakup. I know Augustus thought he was cheated in a deal, but it was done in a very cunning way. It cost him money, but he had no legal recourse. Well, he did, but the legal case wasn’t strong, and would probably just cost him high legal fees. So, he let it go. The two parted with mutual acrimony.”
Family Ties Mystery Series Box Set Page 19
