Deadly Guild (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 3)

by Renee Pawlish

  I thought for a second. “And all of these people you mentioned know the code to disarm the security system?”

  He frowned. “Yes.”

  “This is complicated,” I said. He didn’t reply.

  “Could we get your son and daughter-in-law’s contact info?” Spats asked politely.

  Hackenberg sighed again. “Of course.” He gave us that information as well. “I don’t see how this is possible, though,” he said. “All the cars were in the garage, just as I left them.”

  “How long were you in New York?” I asked.

  “A month. My wife and I go there to see friends, and I have some business.”

  Spats stared at him. “Would your son borrow your car?”

  His eyes narrowed. “To commit murder? Of course not. My son has never been in trouble.” His leg twitched. He was irritated by that.

  “Anyone else?”

  “No.” He stood up. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this short. I’ll let you talk to Carol and Fred, and then I do need to go. I have an engagement this afternoon that I need to get ready for.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “May we talk to your gardener and butler now?” I asked Hackenberg.

  “Of course.”

  He led us out of the office and found Fred, the butler. Spats began talking to him, and Hackenberg and I walked back through the house. We passed a huge dining area, a kitchen done in copper, and a den with the biggest TV I’d ever seen. Hackenberg opened French doors and I followed him through a patio area arranged with two glass tables, a bar with granite countertops, and two barbecue grills. More oak trees shaded one side of the back yard. A large pool filled a sunnier area. Past the pool were several beautiful flower gardens. I followed Hackenberg around the pool, and we walked down a path to a sitting area near the gardens. A woman with long, dirty-blond hair was kneeling down at a flower bed, pulling weeds and dead flowers. Hackenberg approached, and she looked up with a smile.

  “Hello, Mr. Hackenberg. I should be done with this area today.”

  Hackenberg smiled at her. “I’m sorry to bother you, Carol, but this homicide detective would like to speak to you for a moment.”

  She wore gloves, and she brushed sweat off her brow with the back of her wrist. “Whew, it’s hot today,” she said as she stood up. She was about my height, but with longer legs and a shorter torso. She had on baggy shorts and a sleeveless blouse. I wish I could look that good when I was out doing yardwork.

  “Sure,” Carol said. “A homicide detective? What can I help you with?”

  I began. “Mr. Hackenberg says you have access to the house when he’s on vacation.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “I need to get into the house to water the plants, and when the Hackenbergs are returning, I put vases with fresh flowers around the house. Mrs. Hackenberg likes that. Plus, I take care of the gardens.”

  “What were you doing early yesterday morning?” I asked her.

  Hackenberg was listening for her answer as closely as I was.

  “I was home, in bed.” She was baffled. “My husband can verify that.”

  I didn’t answer. “What about a week ago? Tuesday overnight?”

  “The same,” she said. “In bed with my husband.”

  “Does your husband have access to the house as well?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I have the combination to a lock box that’s on the front door when Mr. Hackenberg is out of town.” She glanced at him, now nervous. “I’ve never told my husband the combination. He mows the lawn and does the outside work, so he doesn’t need it.”

  “Is there anybody else at your house besides your husband?” I asked.

  “No, my kids are grown, and they don’t live at home.” Her brow furrowed. “What’s this about? Wait, are you questioning what I’ve told you?”

  “No, I’m not.” I smiled to keep her calm. “My questions are routine. However, I’d like to talk to your husband, if I could.”

  “Of course. His number is …” She pulled out her cell phone and forced a laugh. “I never dial his number, so I don’t remember it.” She looked it up and gave it to me, and I wrote it down.

  I held my pen at the ready. “And your last name is?”

  “Manning,” she said.

  “Do you know Nicole Lockwood or Jonathan Hall?” I went on.

  She shook her head. “No, should I?”

  I studied her closely. She seemed relaxed, not bothered by my questions. “Do you ever use the Hackenbergs’ cars when they’re out of town?”

  “Of course not.” She was indignant and looked to Hackenberg for validation.

  “I don’t believe you ever have.” He came to her defense.

  I smiled at Carol again. “Thank you for your time.”

  “You can’t tell me what this is about?” she asked again.

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid not.”

  She shrugged, carefully dabbed her brow again, and turned back to the garden. Hackenberg walked me back into the house.

  “Are you satisfied with our answers?” he asked as he led me through the house to the foyer, where Spats was waiting.

  I ignored that. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Hackenberg.”

  He stared at us, bemused but also a little perturbed. “I do hope you find your answers. I am at a loss as to who might’ve taken my car. It’s just preposterous, and I think you’re looking in the wrong direction.”

  I smiled, and Spats nodded curtly. Hackenberg watched as we walked to my car.

  “What’d the butler say?” I asked Spats.

  “He was in and out of the house, right after the Hackenbergs left, and shortly before they came home. He was impassive, says he knows nothing, he was home when Nicole and Jonathan were murdered. I’ll check with the wife, but I don’t buy him as a killer.”

  I nodded. “I’ll park on the street,” I said as I drove down the driveway. “We need to talk to the neighbors. You take the Nelsons, see what you can find out. I’ll tackle the Godwins.”

  He nodded toward Hackenberg’s mansion. “What’d you think?”

  I turned onto the street and pulled over. “I don’t know. He has enough money, he could pay people to lie for him.”

  “You don’t buy it, though.” He frowned. “Me, neither.”

  “Did he let someone borrow his car?”

  He had his hand on the door handle. “I don’t know.”

  We got out. “That leaves us with a lot of people to talk to. If he’s telling the truth, someone used his car to drive to the Princeton Motel.”

  “Meet you back here,” he said.

  He headed down the street to the Nelson’s mansion, while I went across the street to the Godwin house. Or mansion, as it looked to be almost as big as Hackenberg’s, but in a Tudor style with well-manicured evergreens on either side of the porch. My phone rang, and I stopped to answer.

  “It’s Chad Lattimore,” he said. “I’m at the Starbucks. I have orders to watch for a man who’s average height, a little heavy, with thinning brown hair. And a class ring on his left hand.”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s come in the coffee shop.”

  I smiled grimly. “What’s he doing?”

  “He skipped coffee, went to a table.”

  “Does he have his laptop with him?”

  “Yes.”

  I looked toward the street. Spats was engaged, and I needed to talk to the Godwins. I couldn’t get away yet. “Stick with him. I’m tied up, but I’ll connect with you soon.”

  “You got it.”

  I slipped my phone in my pocket, rang the bell, and waited. A moment later a taller woman with long, grayish hair opened the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you Mrs. Godwin?”

  She pinched her mouth. “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  I showed her my badge and introduced myself. “I just had a conversation with your neighbor, Mr. Hackenberg.”

/>   “James?” She looked past me, as if she could see his house through the trees. “What’s going on?” She quickly frowned. “Where are my manners? Would you like to come inside? It’s hot today.”

  I thanked her, then followed her inside to a foyer smaller than Hackenberg’s. She led me around the corner to a warm, comfortable living room with wood-paneled walls and beamed ceiling. She gestured to an upholstered sofa, where I took a seat, and she went to a love seat across from me. She rested her hands on her knees. “Oh, my manners again. May I get you anything? I have an assistant, but it’s her day off. I can’t make you what I’m drinking, but I could get you something out of the refrigerator.”

  I shook my head. “No, thank you. I’m in the middle of a homicide investigation, and your name came up.” I felt as if I’d seen her before, but couldn’t place where.

  “Well, since you said you’re a homicide detective, this is about a murder?” I didn’t answer, and she said, “Go ahead and ask your questions.”

  “Thank you. Mr. Hackenberg says that you and your husband have access to his house while he’s gone.”

  “That’s correct. When James and Mary go on vacation, they want us to keep an eye out on the house, even though they have a security system and we’re in a gated community.”

  “Have you or your husband been to their house recently?”

  She thought about that. “I went over to their house once while they were gone. I needed to drop off some mail. You’d think our mailman could get it right, but no. Why?”

  “What about your husband?”

  “I don’t think he went over there. I don’t know why he would.”

  “Have you or your husband ever borrowed the Hackenbergs’ BMW?”

  She shook her head and laughed a little. “No, we have our own cars, why would we borrow his? Did someone say we did?”

  “I’m just trying to gather some information,” I said.

  She held up a hand. “I’m afraid I can’t help you so far.”

  I asked her about Nicole Lockwood and Jonathan Hall. She denied knowing either of them, and said I’d have to ask her husband whether he knew them.

  “What about the Princeton Motel?” I asked.

  “I don’t know it. Where is it?”

  “On West Colfax.”

  Her face wrinkled in distaste. “I’ve never been there, and I’m sure my husband hasn’t.”

  “Do either of you go down to the Platte River?”

  She looked perplexed at this question. “Never.”

  “Where were you and your husband around one a.m. yesterday morning?”

  “We were home, of course. Earlier that evening, my husband and I had gone to a dinner with some friends, and then we were home for the rest of the night.”

  “What about a week ago, on Wednesday? What were you doing that night?”

  She thought for a second. “We were home all evening.”

  “Would anyone else besides your husband be able to verify your whereabouts yesterday and last week?”

  “I don’t think so,” she repeated.

  “I’d like to talk to your husband. Is he here?”

  “He’s at work right now. I’m sure he could talk to you later, but I know he’s tied up in meetings all afternoon.”

  “I’d still like his number, please.”

  “Of course.” She got up and went into another room, then returned with a piece of paper. “That’s his office number.” She remained standing. “Is there anything else you need?”

  I got up as well. “Not at this time. I appreciate your talking to me.”

  “Of course,” she repeated. She led me to the door and I went outside.

  As I got to the street, Spats was leaning against the Escape, looking as dapper as ever, even after half a day’s work. He was just finishing a call, and he slid his phone into his pocket.

  “Well?” I asked him as I unlocked the car and we got in.

  He tipped his head, thinking. “Julia’s a nice lady. Petite, and a spitfire. I get the impression she’s not too fond of Hackenberg, that the friendship is mostly between the husbands. She says they popped over once to the Hackenbergs’ house while they were in New York, just to check on things, and they’ve never touched the BMW. They were home both nights of our murders, and only her spouse can verify that.”

  “You believe her?” I jammed the key in the ignition.

  Spats adjusted his vent so the cool air would blow on him. “Yeah, I do. She told me where her husband works, and I just got off the phone with his office. He wasn’t available. The receptionist said I’d have to try tomorrow. So I will.” He fiddled with the vent. “What about the Godwins?”

  “I talked to the wife. She seems nice enough, but her husband was at work. I’d like to talk to him before I eliminate them from my list.” I scowled. “I feel like I know her from somewhere, but I can’t place her.”

  “It’ll come to you.”

  “I hope so. Those things bug me. I’ll drop you by the station so you can get your car. Can you tackle Hackenberg’s son and daughter-in-law, too? I’m going to see if I can talk to Eve Godwin’s husband.”

  “Sure.” He fiddled with the vent. “You know Hackenberg’s on the phone with his kid right now, asking him if he borrowed the old man’s car.”

  I nodded. “If he’s the one, he’ll have time to cook up a lie.”

  “Yep.” He felt the air. “Nothing we can do about that.”

  “We also need to talk to the security firm for the neighborhood. If there’s a guard at the gate, would he or she remember the Hackenberg BMW coming and going early Wednesday morning?”

  “I’ll check that as soon as I can.”

  I was silent for a moment, then wondered aloud, “Someone drove Hackenberg’s BMW to the Princeton Motel. Who is it?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Marilyn stood in her kitchen and stared out the window. She had been surprised when the detective had come to the door. She wondered what the police knew. She couldn’t tell from the conversation, and had wanted to ask more, but she didn’t dare look too curious.

  She wasn’t worried about her husband lying for her. He was gullible, had been their entire marriage. She performed certain sexual favors, and he did anything she wanted. He would do so now, too.

  As soon as the detective had walked out of the house, she’d called his office and talked to him. She told him to make himself unavailable for the afternoon, and that if a homicide detective called to talk to him, to say that she had been home with him early yesterday morning. He only objected to the lying a little, then said he’d do as she asked. He had been out of town on business until last night, had no clue what she had done while he was away. She also knew that he saw women when he was gone. He wouldn’t want anybody to know that information, so he would lie not only to cover up his indiscretions, but because she would make promises to him when he got home. His sexual appetites were insatiable, whether it was with her or someone else. It was his downfall. She moved away from the window, fixed a drink, and thought through her short conversation with the detective. Had she made any mistakes? She didn’t think so. She’d stayed calm, and hadn’t revealed anything. She was certain that there was no way she could be caught.

  Another thought occurred to her. Should she try to contact Teddy Roosevelt? Would he want to know that the police were asking questions, not only about her deed, but about Daffy Duck’s as well? She shook her head. No, she would stay silent. Her deed had been flawless, and even if she could reach Teddy, all he would likely do was worry. Besides, the group had been shut down, and Teddy had said no one should have contact with each other anymore.

  Marilyn downed the rest of her drink, dismissed any doubts she had, and went into her office.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  By the time I reached the station, Lattimore called again.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “The subject stayed at the table for a little while, and he kept looking at his
watch, like he’s waiting for someone. No one showed up, though, and then he left. He looked kind of mad.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “He went south on Wadsworth. Now he’s sitting outside an office building near Belmar.”

  Belmar is a newer shopping and urban neighborhood, in what was formerly downtown Lakewood. It had replaced an old shopping mall, and now included several blocks of restaurants, bars, stores, and a movie theater, along with nearby office buildings, condos, and townhomes. I knew the area, had been to an outdoor skating rink there with Harry last winter.

  “Keep watching him,” I said. “I’m headed that way now.” I ended the call with a victorious smile.

  “What?” Spats asked.

  “We found Chuck, the guy Lola was with. I’m going to see if I can talk to him now. You follow up with Hackenberg’s family. And make some calls, see if his alibi does check out.”

  He tapped a finger to his forehead in salute. I left him at his car and sped west on Sixth Avenue, then south on Wadsworth. At a stop light, I looked at the piece of paper Eve Godwin had given me and called her husband’s office.

  “Mr. Godwin is tied up all afternoon,” the receptionist told me. “May I take a message? He may not be able to return your call until tomorrow.”

  “No message,” I murmured and ended the call.

  Traffic was thick, and I was worried I’d miss my chance to talk to Chuck. I sped around a semi, and as I neared Belmar, I ran a yellow light. I did not want to lose an opportunity to talk to Chuck. As I waited at a light at Wadsworth and Alameda, I called Lattimore.

  “Where are you parked?”

  “I’m near the FirstBank, right by the Chick-Fil-A. Your guy is parked in a white Hyundai near the doors to the office building.”

  As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw the car he meant. I could see someone inside. I also saw another man sitting in a nondescript car at the other side of the lot.

  “Watch me, okay?” I said to Lattimore. “I’m going to go talk to him.”

  “I’ve got your back.”