“Do you have a theory that might fit those facts?” I asked.
There was a pause and then Mr. Banning said, “Maybe a hunter took down that bull elk and there was a dispute over it. I’ve seen guys lose their tempers over a hunt. One thing’s for sure; the killer didn’t use a guide. A guide would have kept a dispute under control.”
I continued to interview Joe Banning for nearly an hour without learning anything else useful. It was possible that Banning’s description of the crime was accurate, but I was still leaning toward premeditation. Premeditation implied motive, and that might be my best way to proceed. I needed to follow-up with his out-of-state client to confirm Banning’s alibi, but he looked like a dead end. He didn’t have a motive, and if his alibi checked out he didn’t have opportunity.
I called the DEA office in Phoenix and made an appointment for 4:00 tomorrow with Grant Emerson. The drug angle was still on my list of possible motives, and I might as well discuss it while I was in the Phoenix area.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sean dropped off the list he picked up from the guards at Forest Highlands. It would take him some time to follow up on the list by finding addresses and phone numbers.
I was preparing to leave for the day when June knocked on my open door. “Sir, here are the records you requested.” She walked away before I had a chance to say thank you. I needed to work on that relationship. Maybe, Margaret would have a suggestion.
I put the folder with information on the Cantors and Dr. Boatwright into my briefcase together with the sign-in list from Forest Highlands and headed home.
The foliage along Oak Creek was at the height of its autumn color. I felt mellow and calm by the time I reached home. Sedona has a way of making daily problems disappear. Some people claim it’s the vortices that New Agers use to channel energy, but I think it is the beauty itself that provides the real magic.
Margaret and I enjoyed leftover Green Chili Stew and freshly made Jicama Salad on the deck. We drank hot chocolate laced with cinnamon as we watched the sunset’s lasts rays illuminate Wilson Mountain. By the time we were ready to go inside, Margaret had learned everything that happened that day in the case. She hadn’t made many comments and seemed to assume that it would take more research to get anywhere.
I pulled out the reports that June had given me just before I left work, and we took turns reading them. Mostly, it was a collection of newspaper articles that she had found through the Lexis Nexus service and through a search of the Arizona Republic’s database. They were in chronological order beginning about ten years ago.
The first article was an announcement of the engagement of Alexis Isaacson to Zackary Cantor. It was from the Philadelphia Inquirer and described Alexis as a local debutante and one of the two heirs to the Isaacson department store fortune. The article described Zackary Cantor as being in his final year in the medical degree program at Johns Hopkins. The wedding was to be held on the grounds of the Philadelphia Museum of Art in June. A gossip columnist writing at about the same time described Alexis as a classic beauty with a $100,000,000 trust fund. An announcement of the wedding also made the New York Times.
When Margaret read about the trust she said, “Looks like she wouldn’t need to kill the doctor for an inheritance, and the money she brought into the marriage from a trust would not be community property.”
“But she’s my best suspect.” I protested. “She knew where the doctor would hunt, and she lied about being with her sister in LA.”
“So find another suspect. Former debutantes with trust funds just dump their husbands and find new ones. They have no need to kill them off. I guess she could have some motive other than money, but she shouldn’t be at the top of your list.”
We continued reading. The Cantors had a very public profile once they moved to Phoenix. They seemed to attend every charity event and gave generously and publicly to local non-profits. That lifestyle would put them in contact with the Phoenix area elite, and it appeared that Dr. Cantor had built his practice catering to them. The only negative notes were legal notices about malpractice suits. There were four of them in ten years, all settled out-of-court without leaving a public record of the details. I assumed that was not an unusual number of lawsuits for a cosmetic surgeon, but it was something I needed to check.
Steven Boatwright’s file was skimpy. There was a paid notice in the Arizona Republic welcoming him to the practice and a few mentions of his appearance at social functions in the Phoenix area. There was no information from newspapers that predated his arrival in Arizona. June had checked with Washington Medical School to confirm his graduation and left a note in the file verifying he was a graduate.
“Who did your research?” Margaret asked.
“She’s a recent NAU graduate named June Rosetta. She seems to have a funny reaction to me. I get the feeling that I intimidate her even though I try and act pleasant.”
“You’re a very sexy fellow and look great for your fifties. Maybe she has a crush on you. Tell me why you think she’s intimidated.”
“This morning when I went by her desk, she spilled coffee on herself when she saw me. She seems reluctant to enter my office and sort of hands stuff to me and then rushes off.”
“When you’re concentrating, you can have a very intense focus that might seem frightening to a girl who doesn’t know you. She’ll get used to you. Support people always think you’re wonderful. Rose Rios still hates the fact that you are now working out of the Flagstaff office.”
“Maybe, but I have a feeling there is more to it than that.”
The next morning at breakfast, Margaret asked, “What do you think happens to a doctor’s practice when he dies at a young age?”
“I assume the other doctors in his clinic would absorb the patients. They might bring in someone new if they were shorthanded.”
She smiled and nodded in agreement. “Exactly, and which doctor would have the most time to take on new patients? The newest one — the same one who is also fooling around with the late doctor’s wife, a woman who just happens to have a hundred million dollar trust fund.”
“You think Steven Boatwright should be on top of my suspect list?”
“He’s a better prospect than Alexis Cantor. He’s not in great financial shape and he stands to benefit even if he doesn’t end up married to an heiress.”
I mentally reconfigured my suspect list to accept Margaret’s conclusion. There was still the drug angle that I needed to understand.
After breakfast, I headed to Scottsdale. It’s a two hour drive. The Scottsdale Cosmetic Surgery Center was a prominent post-modern building on Scottsdale Road in the northern part of town not far from the exclusive shopping areas and resort hotels. I reached the clinic about twenty minutes before my first appointment, which was with Mrs. Morrow, the business manager of the clinic.
Rather than wait in the reception area, I went to a nearby Starbucks. I was enjoying a cup of black coffee in the back when a familiar woman entered. A handsome young man held the door open for her. It was the icy beauty, Amanda Brandt, who I’d last seen at the medical examiner’s office in Flagstaff. She was well dressed with perfect makeup. She was not the type to put on a white nurse’s uniform or lab coat.
The young man with her had a military bearing. He walked past me towards the restroom while she stood in line for their drinks. Amanda’s friend was a short-haired blond. He was tan and extremely fit, but there was something else. I recognized the look in his eyes as he seemed to check out the Starbucks for possible threats. I had seen that expression from other combat veterans while I was in the army. He noticed me looking at him, and his eyes moved down to the strap of my shoulder holster visible under my navy blazer. He glanced back at my face and seemed to decide I was a cop. He continued to the restroom with a slight nod.
Amanda did not look in my direction, but she seemed to relish the stares she was getting from every man in the room. When her friend returned, they left with their drinks. I saw them lea
ve in a pale blue Lexus with the young man driving.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The reception area of the Scottsdale Cosmetic Clinic was beautifully decorated to appeal to its upscale clients. Original oil paintings decorated the walls, Indonesian masks stood inside one glass case, and Chinese ceramics filled another. There was no receptionist desk; rather, a well-dressed woman approached each person, greeting many by name and providing refreshments to those who wanted something while they waited. Almost all of the clients were here for voluntary procedures not covered by insurance. The clinic staff clearly saw themselves as sales representatives for the doctors they supported.
I was escorted immediately to the business manager’s well-appointed office. Mrs. Morrow was a plump affable woman in her fifties. She got out from behind her teak desk to shake hands. “Captain Damson, everyone in the clinic loved Dr. Cantor. We’ll do everything we can to help. We were closed yesterday for the funeral, but everyone is here today and very willing to talk with you.”
“Thank you for setting things up for me,” I said.
“You’re very welcome. Everyone assumed from the press accounts that Dr. Cantor was killed in a hunting accident until the article in this morning’s Arizona Republic. Clearly, you’re not here to talk about an accident.”
“The evidence does not support a hunting accident. We’re investigating this as a probable homicide.” I felt that being honest about the investigation would elicit the most support from the doctor’s colleagues.
“Oh my. He was such a caring, wonderful man.”
I waited for Mrs. Morrow’s tears to clear before continuing. She was willing to explain Dr. Cantor’s financial arrangements with the clinic. He was a shareholder in a professional corporation that owned the clinic and had a variety of other medical related investments. All of the physicians were owners and had set things up so that the corporation was the only entity that could buy their shares if they died or retired. The price would be set by an independent appraisal. She estimated that his shares were worth more than fifteen million.
Dr. Cantor’s patients would be cared for by the remaining physicians according to their available time. Mrs. Morrow commented that it was nice that Dr. Boatwright had time to take up the slack since most of the doctors are fully booked three or more months out.
“How does a young doctor afford to buy his shares in the professional corporation?” I asked.
“We make him a loan with his shares of the clinic as the collateral. For example, Dr. Boatwright has five hundred thousand borrowed from us and invested in our stock. Many other employees also have shares. We’re all kind of partners with our doctors in sharing the profits. It keeps everyone very patient-oriented.”
“What happens if a doctor leaves the practice?”
“He or she is required to sell the shares back to the corporation, but no doctor has ever left this practice. Some support people have owned shares and moved out of state or quit working altogether. No one has ever quit just to move to another local job. This is the best place to work in the state.”
“I was told that Dr. Cantor made three million dollars last year. Is that possible?” I didn’t mention that his wife told me. I was curious if she had been embellishing her story.
“That would be a conservative estimate if you consider the appreciation in his shares. He took less than a million in cash dividends, bonuses, and salary. Most of the money is retained by the corporation for other investments. Dr. Cantor was the clinic’s biggest revenue producer; he also had the most shares and the largest bonus. I’m not comfortable in discussing the other physicians’ compensation with you.”
“I met Amanda Brandt when she came to Flagstaff to identify Dr. Cantor’s body. I assume she is well compensated too.”
Mrs. Morrow hesitated. “Yes. She has the highest compensation among the staff.” Did I hear a note of reproach in her voice? Perhaps it was more common for the business manager to be the highest paid staff person.
“Did I see her drive up in a new blue Lexus?” I asked.
“The doctors bought it for her for Christmas as a special bonus. She can really help our physicians free up their time for additional patients.” There was a definite hint of disapproval or maybe envy in her voice.
“I think a young man was driving. Do you know him?”
“Sure.” She smiled as if enjoying a chance to gossip. “That would be her friend Trevor Joyce. He’s been out of the army about six months and not really found himself yet; he drives her to work so he can use the car. Trevor has had a couple of odd jobs, but he’s not been able to keep them. She claims he spends his days looking for work. Amanda has been very patient with him, but frankly, I think she’s grown tired of him sponging off of her.”
“Is there anything at all that you can tell me that might explain why Dr. Cantor would be the target of an ambush? Can you think of any disgruntled employees or unhappy patients that I should speak with?”
She wrote down two names on a post-it note and handed it to me. “The first name is the attorney who’s handling the case for us. The second name, Karla Sheen, was fired for complete incompetence and chronic tardiness. She’s charged us with sexual harassment, but it’s a totally bogus claim. She seems vindictive enough to do almost anything.”
“Was the charge specifically against Dr. Cantor?”
“He and Dr. Boatwright were both named. The bogus assertion is that the men insisted she engage in sex with both men at the same time. Dr. Cantor was completely faithful to his wife and has never said anything suggestive to anyone who works here. It’s total bullshit. She is just after money, and the more outrageous her claim the more she thinks the doctors will want to settle.”
“Can you think of anyone else I should talk with?”
Mrs. Morrow opened a file cabinet and retrieved a folder. “These physicians are the finest cosmetic surgeons in the southwest, but we get an occasional malpractice claim. Our insurance carrier handles them, but I have a record of them. There is one pending claim that involves Dr. Cantor and five settled claims in the past two years. That’s not unusual because some procedures have a 5% to 10% failure rate. The patients always have to sign a statement that they understand the risks, but we still get claims.” She wrote down the names of all the pending or settled cases that involved Dr. Cantor.
“Is there anyone in this group that stands out as a possible murderer?” I asked.
“This last one is the most troubling. Mathew Andrews is a male model who had a series of procedures, including a chin implant. According to his claim, the implant caused debilitating sleep disorders, including surgery-induced sleep apnea and severe snoring. In addition, he claims that a nerve was damaged causing a loss of facial muscle control on the right side of his face. Mr. Andrews maintains that he is permanently disabled and cannot continue with his modeling career.”
“Why do you single him out as the most troubling?”
She handed me a sheet of paper from the folder. It was a copy of a restraining order prohibiting Mathew Andrews from coming within one hundred feet of Dr. Zackary Cantor. There must have been some kind of confrontation to have warranted issuing the order.
It was past time for me to move on to my next appointment. I added Karla Sheen and Mathew Andrews to my suspect list.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The morning passed quickly with continuous meetings. I didn’t learn much related to the case, but the employees and physicians all claimed to respect and like Dr. Cantor. They also seemed to think working for the Scottsdale Cosmetic Clinic was the best job in Arizona. My most interesting meeting, the last before a lunch break, was with Amanda Brandt.
Amanda spoke respectfully of Dr. Cantor and seemed anxious to help, but her manner was still cool and reserved. I assumed that a woman with her extraordinary beauty had to put on an icy exterior to avoid getting constantly hit on by guys. It was her way of saying no without being asked. She answered every question but explained that her relationship with Dr.
Cantor had been strictly work related. She knew nothing of his personal life or why anyone would have a grudge against him.
“Did you know an employee by the name of Karla Sheen?” I asked.
“Most incompetent nurse we’ve ever employed; it was a relief when she was fired,” she said.
“Did you know she filed a sexual harassment complaint against Doctors Cantor and Boatwright?”
“I’ve heard. Dr. Boatwright is young and single and maybe flirts a little, but Dr. Cantor would never have approached Karla. She’s a cow with saggy tits and a broad rear, and Dr. Cantor’s wife is a true Jewish beauty. Karla wasn’t really the proper type to work here in the first place.”
Everyone I’d met, except for Mrs. Morrow, was young and very attractive. Amanda didn’t think Karla measured up to her standards, but I suspected that few women would.
“Do you remember a patient named Mathew Andrews?”
“Sure; we don’t get a lot of young men like him. He had the works done over a period of a couple of years— bum implants, pectoral implants, liposuction, and several facial surgeries. Frankly, he gave me the creeps, but he was a good client. His parents kept paying the bills. We got afraid he’d end up weird looking like Michael Jackson; Dr. Cantor had to tell him he had done enough. Some people are never satisfied with their looks and go way overboard on surgery. Why do you bring him up?”
“There’s a malpractice lawsuit, and for some reason, Dr. Cantor had a restraining order issued against Andrews. He must have felt threatened.”
“Dr. Cantor never mentioned it to me. Mathew might seem pretty scary; he hovered near the edge of sanity most of the time. Maybe, he should be a suspect.”
During lunch, I called Mathew Andrews’ attorney. He was willing for his client to meet me, but he wanted to be present for the interview. I specifically mentioned the restraining order and that got the attorney’s attention. We arranged to meet at his office at 5:00. It was close to the building where I’d be meeting with Grant Emerson of the DEA at 4:00.
The Dead Man at Doyle Saddle Page 6
