The Oedipus Murders

by Casey Dorman

  For the next hour, the detectives, whose names turned out to be Jensen and Morovitch, went back and forth between the tow truck driver, the crime scene detectives, and George. The crime scene people were still poring over the car, but the paramedics had taken the body away. The two detectives were mostly interested in Lucas Bonaventure and the phone call that George had received in which Sherry had told him about someone calling and telling her to come to the office building for an interview with a company that didn’t have an office in that building.

  “I suppose she could have been mistaken and gone to the wrong address,” George volunteered.

  “It’s more like someone knew she’d be here,” Detective Jensen, the young surfer type who’d talked to him earlier, said. “Probably that same someone slashed her tire so she couldn’t leave. Is that the kind of thing your patient is capable of doing?”

  George told him that he couldn’t divulge anything about his client because of confidentiality.

  Jensen shook his head in disgust. “I’m gonna talk to the DA about how far your confidentiality extends and I want to do that before we go any further. I want you to come in tomorrow so we can get a statement. I think you can tell us more than you’re saying, doctor.”

  The detective was right. All of Lucas’ statements to him were covered by client confidentiality, but nothing Sherry Bennett had told him was confidential. She hadn’t been his client. Everything she’d told George about Bonaventure’s stalking, his threats, his talking to her mother, were things George could tell the police, probably things he had an obligation to tell them. And he had the added incentive that it would point the finger of guilt away from him, although the two detectives seemed to be satisfied with his story and no longer regarded him with suspicion.

  “So I can go now?”

  “You’re free as a bird,” Jensen said without smiling.

  George headed for his car. He was going to pour himself a tall gin and tonic as soon as he got home, maybe more than one.

  Chapter 23

  “I can’t talk to you very long,” Lucas told Ben Murphy, whom he has just led into his den and offered a chair. “I have an appointment at noon.” He didn’t mention that the appointment was with Detective Jensen of the Irvine Police Department, who wanted to talk to him about Sherry Bennett’s murder, which had been all over the morning news.

  “This is mostly a courtesy call,” the detective said. “Bert didn’t want you thinking he was doing anything behind your back by hiring me and putting up his own reward.”

  “No problem. Bert can do whatever he wants to do. It has nothing to do with me.”

  “It’s his daughter, but it’s your wife who’s missing. Whatever Bert does has a lot to do with you.” The old detective’s expression was bland.

  “I mean he can use his money to do whatever he wants,” Lucas answered, his irritation evident in his voice. “He doesn’t have to ask my permission. He hasn’t talked to me since Regina disappeared, except to call and say he’s putting up his own reward and that he thought mine was too small to be useful. I could tell he thought I was being cheap, even though he didn’t come right out and say it. He can use you, Mr. Murphy, but I’m working closely with the Newport Beach Police Department, which I think is perfectly capable of finding my wife.”

  “Even after three weeks and still no clues?”

  He stared at the private detective. It seemed odd to him that his father-in-law with all his money and after offering a million dollar reward for information, would hire someone like this to try to find his daughter. The man was wearing a pair of faded jeans, an open flannel shirt over a tee shirt, a baseball cap, and sneakers. His hair in back hung in a short white braid that just touched his shoulders. He was tall and skinny and looked more like an aging hippie than a private detective.

  “You’ve made your courtesy visit. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  Murphy stood and began walking around the den, his pace leisurely. He appeared to be examining the books on Lucas’ shelves. “I know you’ve told the police, but once more for me, can you tell me what happened that led to Regina going out by herself that night?”

  “Nothing happened. We ate dinner; she had a few glasses of wine, then she went up to her room. I heard her showering, and I thought she was going to bed. Then she came downstairs all dressed and told me she was going out. That was the last time I saw her.”

  Murphy was running a finger over the spines of the books on the shelf. “Did you argue? Was she angry when she left?”

  “We’d been talking. We weren’t arguing. She didn’t seem angry to me.”

  “Talking about what?”

  “She wanted to go on a vacation. She said she was bored. I told her I’d love to take a vacation, but this is the worst time of year for me, too much to do at work.”

  “So you argued.”

  “We didn’t argue. She wanted to take a vacation right now and I wanted to postpone it until I could more easily take time off work.”

  “Where’d she want to go?”

  “Europe, she said, France and Spain, I think. She’d attended school in France for a year during college, some kind of exchange thing, and she had never been back.”

  “She’d never been back to Europe since college?”

  “No.”

  “Where do you usually take your vacations?”

  “We have a cabin at Big Bear, we go skiing on the weekends during winter. She likes to ski. We don’t leave Newport Beach very often; why would we? It’s like Santa Barbara. It’s got everything you could find anywhere else.”

  “Except your wife didn’t think so.”

  “She wanted to get away. I can understand that. I didn’t oppose the idea, just the timing. Don’t try to make more of this than it was.” Lucas’ tight smile showed his growing irritation with the detective’s questions.

  “And what was it?’

  “A typical after-dinner discussion between a husband and wife.”

  “And then you didn’t notice that she didn’t come home until when you woke up the next morning?”

  “I went to bed early and I’m a sound sleeper.”

  “You had a lot to drink?”

  “That’s none of your business. Why are you questioning me? I don’t know what happened to Regina.” He was leaning forward in his chair, as if he were about to stand up.

  “Just trying to be sure that I have all my facts straight.” He bent down as if he was reading the title of one of the books. “You’ve got a lot of psychology books here. More than a dozen books by Freud.”

  “Those are Regina’s.” Lucas eased back in his chair.

  “She didn’t major in psychology, did she? My granddaughter is majoring in psychology at UCSB.”

  “Romance languages. Regina majored in Romance Languages.”

  “Like French?”

  “French, Spanish, Italian, she could read and speak all of them.”

  “But you never took her to Europe?”

  “I think we’ve been over this.”

  “Right.” Murphy pulled a book from the shelf. “The Interpretation of Dreams. Interesting title. Somebody’s spent a lot of time with this one. It’s pretty well worn. You ever read it? It’s by Sigmund Freud.”

  Lucas shook his head. “I told you the psychology stuff was Regina’s interest. She read a lot of Freud.”

  “She in therapy?”

  “No.”

  “How about you?”

  “Why do you want to know that?”

  “Just wondering. Have you gone to a therapist?”

  “I
’m seeing one now. It’s been hard for me to handle Regina’s disappearance. I’ve been anxious. I’ve seen a psychiatrist a few times.”

  “Somebody local?”

  “He’s in Newport Beach. But before you ask, he’s not allowed to talk to you. What I tell him is confidential.”

  “Why would I want to talk to him?”

  “You seem to want to know everything about me.”

  “Not really. It’s Regina I’m worried about. Anyway, I guess I’ve asked enough questions.”

  “Good, because I’ve got an appointment. I have to go to.”

  Murphy stood waiting for Lucas to get up. When Lucas stood, Murphy held out his hand. “Good to see you again, Lucas. Last time we met it was at yours and Regina’s wedding. You probably don’t remember. So many people that day. Anyway, it’s too bad to meet again under these circumstances.”

  “Right,” Lucas answered, cautiously. “Good luck with following up the phone tips. I hope someone gives you something useful.”

  “Me too,” Murphy said as he headed for the door.

  Now Lucas had to talk to a real detective, one who worked for the police and not for his father-in-law. He could feel his anxiety starting to rise.

  Chapter 24

  Detective Frank Jensen hung up the telephone. Abe Reynolds, the Newport Beach detective in charge of Lucas Bonaventure’s missing wife’s case hadn’t been able to give him much information about the businessman that he was about to interview. Reynolds had voiced his suspicions about Bonaventure but had no real evidence against him. The most helpful thing Reynolds had been able to tell him was that Susan Lin, the psychologist who was working on the case, had pegged Bonaventure as a psychopath.

  Jensen was young—in his early-thirties—but it wasn’t his first homicide case. He had worked on a case with Susan Lin a year ago and he had a lot of respect for her opinion. He’d minored in psychology in college himself, and he knew what the term psychopath meant and that Doctor Lin wouldn’t have used it loosely, especially about someone who wasn’t even officially a suspect in their investigation.

  “I’m devastated to hear about Sherry Bennett’s death,” Lucas said, as he sat down in the chair opposite Detective Jensen’s desk in the Irvine Police Station. The room was tiny, and one side was floor-to-ceiling glass, although it was frosted so no one could see in. The detective’s desk was Oak and marred by numerous chips and scratches. There were two hard-back wooden chairs covered in green plastic cushions in front of the detective’s desk, and Lucas was seated on one of them. “She’d been a valuable employee for over two years,” he continued. “She just quit my firm last week. I’m not sure why you called me in on this, though.”

  Bonaventure might not have appeared “devastated” to Jensen, but he certainly looked uncomfortable. He loosened his figured silk tie as soon as he sat down, as if he were finding it hard to get enough air. There was a thin film of perspiration on his forehead. His eyes kept darting toward the leather-bound notebook in which the detective was taking notes. Despite possessing the computer literacy of his fellow Millennials, Detective Jensen preferred a pen and notebook, the time-honored recording tools of all the detectives in his department.

  “Miss Bennett told someone that she was afraid you were following her last night. I understand that she’d previously complained that you were stalking her, harassing her.”

  Lucas looked over at the door. “I was worried about her, that’s all. She misinterpreted my worry. That’s why I backed off. But that was all in the past. I certainly wasn’t following her last night. Why would I?”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Do you think I killed her?”

  The young detective gave Lucas a flat stare. “I asked where you were.”

  “I was at home, working at home.”

  “By yourself?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He hung his head. “My wife is missing. You know that, right?”

  Jensen nodded. “I know that. I’m sorry about your wife.” He smiled perfunctorily. He preferred keeping his demeanor neutral when he interviewed someone who could become a suspect.

  “Her disappearance has had me very upset. I’m afraid I’ve acted a little strangely. Some of my behavior toward Sherry Bennett was because of that. I’m trying to get some psychiatric help.”

  “From Doctor Farquhar?”

  Lucas raised his head, a look of alarm on his face. “How did you know that?”

  “Doctor Farquhar was the one who found Miss Bennett’s body. He said she’d called him to tell him that she thought you were stalking her.”

  Bonaventure’s eyes widened in surprise. “Doctor Farquhar found her? I don’t understand.”

  “He said that she had called him because she was afraid that you had set up a phony job interview and that you were going to show up in the parking garage where we found her.”

  “Doctor Farquhar said she told him that? I don’t understand. Why would she even be talking to him? She wasn’t his patient.”

  “We verified that she called him. He told us what she said. Do you admit that you were harassing Miss Bennett, that you were stalking her?” The young detective’s square face looked innocent enough, but his eyes had a steely quality when he looked at Lucas, waiting for his answer.

  Lucas returned the detective’s hard stare, but he finally had to look away. “That’s how she perceived it. I was trying to help her. You can ask Doctor Farquhar. He should have told you that already.”

  “He says he can’t talk to us about you. Not unless you give him permission.”

  “It sounds as if he’s already told you a lot, even without my permission.” Lucas’ anger was barely concealed behind his tight smile.

  “He’s told us what Sherry Bennett told him, not what you told him. He made that distinction clear to us. We have to get your permission to talk to him about anything you’ve told him. I presume you’ll give that to us unless you’re hiding something.”

  Lucas heaved a dramatic sigh. His face showed his irritation. “You have my permission. Do you want me to sign something?”

  “We’ll do that later.” Jensen looked down at his notebook, turned a page, and then seemed to find something he’d been looking for. “Do you know anything about Eureka Industries?”

  Lucas’ expression was blank. He shook his head. “Never heard of them. What do they do?”

  “Apparently nothing. That was who Miss Bennett had an interview with last night. Except they don’t exist. Torelli Associates, an employment agency, was contacted by someone who said they were from this Eureka company and asked them to set up an interview with Miss Bennett for last night at their firm. Only they gave a fake address. Torelli said your company paid for their services.”

  “That’s true. We use them to help our former employees find employment. But we don’t have any knowledge about who Torelli matches them up with. We’re out of the loop once we’ve referred them to Torelli.”

  “And who makes the referral to Torelli?”

  “One of my employees. It’s not something I have anything to do with.”

  Jensen flipped a page in his notebook. “What is that employee’s name? I’d like to talk to him—or her.”

  “Certainly. It’s Mrs. Schwartz, one of my secretaries.”

  Jensen wrote the name in his notebook. “It looks as if the interview was a set-up. She wasn’t a random victim. Someone wanted to kill her.”

  “She went out with a lot of men; even some from my company, I think.”

  “Can you give me some names? Phone numbers?”

  “Gary Olson was the one I knew about. I can give you his number
after I get back to my office.”

  “Do that. It sounds a little odd for someone she dated to go to this length to get her to drive somewhere. Why wouldn’t he just make a date with her?”

  Lucas shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn’t make sense to me either. Maybe she’d stopped seeing him. Maybe she refused to go out with him.”

  “We’ll talk to him.” Jensen sat back in his chair, and then glanced at the clock above the door. “Anything else you can tell us about Miss Bennett?”

  “She was very flirtatious, very provocative. That’s what I was warning her about. I thought she wasn’t using good judgment around the men in the office.”

  “You thought what she was doing was dangerous for her?”

  “I think I was proved correct.”

  “So you think it was an admirer who killed her?”

  “I really have no idea. You’re the detective.”

  “Right.” He opened a file drawer in his desk and rustled around in it for a minute, then came out with a piece of paper. “Here’s the release of information form. Put your doctor’s name on it and then print your own and sign it.”

  “And you’ll talk to him?”

  “I’m not sure. But at least we’ll have your permission to do so.”

  “I think he can convince you that I had no ill intentions toward Miss Bennett. I was distraught about my wife, and I was acting strangely at work, and it bothered her. I’m sorry for that. He’ll tell you that, himself.”

  “Then you don’t have anything to worry about,” the detective said, giving Lucas a polite smile.

  Lucas signed the paper and left. As soon as he was out of the room, Detective Jensen picked up his phone. “Captain, do we still have access to Doctor Lin, the psychologist we’re sharing with some other departments? I think I’d like to pull her in on this Bennett case.”