by Deanna King
She sat pensively for a few moments, a wry smile on her face.
“Ahem.” Lucky cleared his throat to remind her that they were there.
“I am sorry. Ten months ago, my mother had confided in me that my father had been slapping her around. It was infrequent at first and he was sorely apologetic the next day saying it was the alcohol. You know the story I am sure. When his drinking binges came more than three times a week, she got to where she would stay clear of him altogether. I think it was about four months ago, he lost on a large investment and got very depressed, the drinking got worse. If my father did kill her then himself, I understand why. I wished she had tried to leave him sooner.”
Shayla no longer cried; all the emotions that the surviving goes through—sadness and sorrow, anger and hatred—afterward the guilt overwhelmed you because you lived and they didn’t. Emotions were waging a war inside of her. Jack wasn’t sure which end of the spectrum Shayla was at, but he felt that she had all feelings rattling inside that were trying to escape one right after the other. It had been that way with Cole, he understood.
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
“My mother had her own money but she wouldn’t give my father or Sean another dime. She told me that my father was angrier than ever and got even meaner. You see, Dad gave Sean start-up money for that stupid telecommunications business he calls Red Hawk Tel-Com. Like the red tail hawk. His motto is that he is the eye of the hawk for his customers.” Her laugh was involuntary. “He was always a goober. His business is in the red, the building is about shot, and he has other money problems that my mom told me about.”
Tears she didn’t know she had left filled her eyes, it was apparent to see that she and her mother had been close.
“Sean owed a great deal of money for gambling, and on a get-rich-quick scheme. He wanted her to sign over his trust to him early.”
Jack gave Lucky a sideways glance.
“She didn’t want to do it?” Lucky pressed her to go on with her story.
“My mother is, sorry, she was,”—she exhaled—“a very staunch believer on a few things. If you wanted something, you had to work hard to get it. If it was a dream you felt was worthy of your hard work then it was worth it. If you had to wait because getting to your dream took longer and you had to work harder, you learned patience. Sean didn’t know anything about hard work or waiting, he wanted things to fall neatly into his lap. Patience was not a virtue he exhibited. Our mom thought thirty was the right age to have the responsibility of a large amount of cash. I’m six years older than Sean is, and I received my full trust four years ago. He doesn’t know how much. It was substantially more than she was leaving him due to the fact that the money he received for his business start-up came from his trust.”
A fresh set of tears escaped her, and she took a few more Kleenex, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then continued.
“My mother thought that was fair since I wasn’t given any extra money for a start-up business. Instead of the five million, he would receive three million. He took two million to start his business, saying that would tide him over until it was up, running, and profitable. Sean’s mistake had been to out and out purchase that ratty building and the empty corner lot, in case his business grew exponentially. Land in Houston is high, and that area is growing. He paid a very hefty price, and then his cash flow dried up. Now with our mother gone, I’m the trustee of his trust, and I’m like she was, hard as a rock. She made me promise to uphold her wishes if she were to die, and Detectives, I intend to do just that.” She drew her lips together in a tight scowl and crossed her arms to solidify her statement.
Shayla Burdett’s life was going to change in many ways, and not all the changes would be pleasing, even after this horrendous part of her life was behind her.
“Your father, did he have any pull for your brother with your mother? I mean, I heard your father and Sean were close and that he was a daddy’s boy.”
Shayla laughed a true belly laugh. It was a nice sound to hear coming from a woman who had the shroud of gloom descend on her life.
“No, not a daddy’s boy at all, he was ‘the son.’ ” She used air quotes. “Sean loved to pretend they were close to get what he wanted. My father wanted to make something of himself, and he did try. But when it came crashing on top of his head, he gave up. He thought my mother should care for it all and that wasn’t her way. My mom and dad turned into oil and water and weren’t ever going to mix again. I’ll tell you something else she told me—she had a lawyer and was filing for divorce next month.”
Jack figured that Marta had been seeing a lawyer.
“What about the relationship Sean had with your mother, how was that?”
“He hated her, she was never on his side. He would always say she wanted him to fail and he whined constantly, but she’d helped him all she could. She wanted him to grow a pair of balls. Oh!” Shayla let out a groan then blushed. “I’m sorry, that was not very ladylike at all.”
“Ma’am, this business we do is not for the ladylike, don’t worry about it, please go on.” Jack smiled. He liked this woman, she was a decent person all the way around.
“They had what I would call a hate-hate relationship. She loved him because he was her son, but she didn’t necessarily have to like him, and in fact, she didn’t like him at all, and he knew it. He always thought she should give him everything he asked for, but that wasn’t her way.”
Rich kids. Jack scowled. They expected the parents to dig into their wallets whenever they asked.
“About the divorce, did your father have any idea?” Lucky wondered how much Marcus Stegwig had figured out.
Jack was itching to get to the pool house.
“He had his suspicions. I’m sure he knew that if she left him, she would be giving him a settlement. That’s what I find peculiar. Why he would kill her and then commit suicide…the prenup was set up when they got married.”
“She had to give him money?” Jack’s forehead lifted a smidge.
“Yes, a divorce initiated by either party, my mother would be forking over two million dollars to him. My father would take the money, but then he would be poor and living below his common standards.” The disdain showed in her eyes.
She looked around at the room they sat in. “This house is very nice, nice furnishings and we always had very nice clothes, ate in the nicest restaurants. As a family we had wonderful vacations, some I have very fond memories of, but Detectives, my mother was never one to squander money, just opening the windows and letting it fly, it wasn’t who she was, and it’s not how she accumulated her own fortune.”
The case was fresh, and they hadn’t pulled financials, but Captain Yao said she was worth a mint.
“What was your mother’s net worth, Shayla?”
“Around $13.5 million, she didn’t brag about how much money she…”
Shayla didn’t finish her statement, the look on her face changed in a split second. The revelation had just hit her that she was the recipient of this wealth. That thought hadn’t crossed her mind during this ordeal. Her life was about to change.
Jack and Lucky saw every emotion from A to Z cross this young woman’s face.
“Ma’am, I wanted to make sure you understand the search warrant before we begin.”
“Can you tell me one thing if you would, and I would appreciate your brutal honesty?”
“Yes, ma’am, what do you want to know?”
“Did my father kill my mother then turn the gun on himself? Or is this a murder?”
“Shayla, I can’t give you a definitive answer, I hope to be able to as soon as I can.”
Jack couldn’t tell her what he thought. He had his own
idea, but he kept that to himself.
“Then let’s go to the pool house.”
They followed her toward the back of the house. Jack saw that losing her mother affected her more than anything else did. He didn’t miss the remark about her mother-in-law and saw something behind her eyes. Shayla Burdett was getting out of a situation he presumed not so unlike her mother. Often with close family members like this daughter and her now-deceased mother, the apple just never left the tree.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The pool house was not unlike Sean’s office—in disarray, and in a paramount mess. Clothes and shoes strewn all over the place, and in a far corner sat a metal shelf with an array of pool chemicals and pool cleaning apparatuses. Evidently, the upgrade to the pool house had been some mere furniture and an oversized rope rug. There was a full-sized bed in the middle of the room. On one wall there was a large chest of drawers, next to that was a long dresser, and on top a seventy-inch television, cable equipment, and the latest video gaming system available on the market with more than fifty game boxes. Jack noted there were all kinds of military games to play. In the back corner closer to the head of the bed there was a single-door fridge and a small microwave stand with a microwave on top littered with empty dinner boxes. Apparently, Sean ate in his “room” all the time. So much junk, it looked a bit like a garage would look, with a bed slap-dab in the middle.
“Do either of you mind if I go back into the house? I am going to put on a pot of strong coffee. I need a jolt, the drive was long, and I drove straight in. Would either of you care for a cup?”
“No, ma’am, you go right ahead, I’m sure you’re exhausted and not just physically either. When we’re done, we’ll knock on the back door.”
Shayla Stegwig Burdett looked at them both, and with a steadfast look told them, “You do your job, Detectives, I want to get to the bottom of this. I need to get to the business of burying the dead, and my kids need me to get back to Dallas to take care of them.” With that statement, she was gone and back into the house.
Latex gloves and booties on, they went to work, again sifting through crap piled everywhere.
“Find anything yet, Jack?”
“Not yet, but look at this place, it is worse than a pigsty. I venture to say that Beatrice Gonzales does not step foot in here, not because she couldn’t handle it, but because he doesn’t allow her in. Man, there is dried-up food on his bedcovers, the trash smells like dead fish, I think it’s…let’s see…” Jack bent over to sniff. “Yep, what I thought, there is a half-eaten can of sardines molding in this wastebasket.”
“Well shit, I thought for sure we’d find a gun. Keep looking, this pigsty could hide all his dark dirty secrets.” The neat freak in Lucky wanted to take a fire hose to the room.
Jack picked up a heap of clothes and was about to shake it out one by one when something hard fell to the floor at his feet. He whistled.
“Pay dirt.”
Lucky walked over and looked at what lay at Jack’s feet. A large Ziploc bag and inside was a .22 caliber semi-automatic, and a folded piece of paper from a yellow legal pad, and it looked damp.
As Jack bent over to retrieve the oversized Ziploc baggie, a voice sounded behind him.
“What in the hell are you doing in my room? You have no right whatsoever.”
Sean Stegwig stood at the doorway, his face red, his hands balled up in fists at his side. The boy was furious, and he hadn’t heard his sister walk up behind him
“Sean, they have every right to be here.” She held up the search warrant. “This is the search warrant, this isn’t your house, and for that matter, they have my permission, not that they needed it with this warrant.”
Sean jumped, startled, and then he stepped through the pool house doorway. “No, big sister,” his voice dripped with contempt, “it’s not all right with me.”
“Ma’am, we’ve got this.” Dawson Luck flipped his strap to unholster his gun.
“Mr. Stegwig, it is in your best interest to take a step back and stay calm.”
“Please, Mrs. Burdett, go back into the house.” Jack looked at the boy. “You move over here and take a seat on that chair now.”
“Detective Luck, please keep Mr. Stegwig there, by whatever means necessary.”
Jack retrieved the Ziploc baggie from the floor. He laid it on the end of the bed and then picked up more clothing, shaking it out, talking to Sean.
“Is this your gun, Sean?”
“No, I don’t own a gun, that’s my father’s.” He smirked; it was not a becoming look for the kid, and Jack wanted to slap the smirk off his face.
“Why are you hiding it then? There’s a note of some kind. I have yet to read the note. Any talking we do, we’ll be doing at the station. Do I make myself clear?” Tough cop Jack emerged.
Sean was quiet while his face turned three shades of red, and if smoke were to exit out one’s ears from anger, the place would have looked as if it were on fire. But the boy just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
“You’re freaking joking. You’re going to arrest me for taking the suicide note and my father’s gun? I was trying to avoid the disgrace of, well, you know, the fact that my dad killed my mom and then offed himself, and that’s a lot to live with at my age.”
Standing up Sean took a step toward Jack as he shouted out at him, then he looked sideways at Dawson Luck who had taken his gun out and had it aimed at him. Dawson Luck knew when he saw a caged tiger and Sean Stegwig fit the bill.
Sean sat back down, his eyes on the gun, and he clamped his teeth together so tightly that had his tongue been in-between his teeth he would’ve bitten it off.
“No, we’re not going to arrest you, but you keep yelling and don’t stay seated, I will just for fun, so shut up. Are you going to go peacefully or are we going to have to cuff you? It’s in your best interest to come with us to the station so we can sort this mess out.”
That false assurance that he was not under arrest, reassured Sean Stegwig. The detective had said they were going to talk and sort this mess out. That was okay. Then he would explain what had happened. He knew that if he explained it, he could clear it all up.
“Yes, sir,” not a trace of anger in his voice, “I’ll be happy to go to the station with you and get this mess sorted out.”
Dawson Luck holstered his Glock but left it unstrapped.
Sean watched as Jack finished the search, and had Jack been looking at the boy when he put his gloved hand into a wastebasket full of papers that sat in the far corner, he would have seen Sean begin to sweat.
Jack took out the crumpled pages to what looked like trust paperwork, the same paperwork found in Sean’s trash from his office dumpster. He found the wadded-up trust release. The second of two, his mother’s signature was on both of them, written two different ways.
Without saying a word, he took an evidence bag out of his pocket and placed both of the crumpled forms in the bag.
“Okay, Mr. Stegwig, you ready to take a ride?” He turned and looked at the kid. Jack’s eyes were as hard as hazel-colored marbles.
Sean jiggled his nerdy head, and Dawson Luck took him by the arm and led him out.
“Mrs. Burdett.” Jack rapped on the door.
“Yes, Detective West, you through with your search?” Her eyes bore into her brother’s face, and at that instant, Jack saw the hatred and disapproval she felt for him. He assumed that she was making her own deductions. He had already made up his own mind, now all he needed was to put all the pieces together.
“Yes, ma’am, for now, we are. Sean’s going with us, he has some things he wants to explain to us. If you would, please don’t let anyone touch his room while we are
gone.”
She looked at Sean then back and Jack. “Do what needs to be done, Detective.” She stepped back a few steps, crossed her arms, and glared at her baby brother.
“Stand right there, Sean, I want to talk to Detective Luck.”
Jack watched the boy from the corner of his eye. Sean Stegwig was not acting as if he were a badass now. Nor was he acting like the poor little rich boy who the rest of the world owed. If Jack didn’t know better, he’d guess the boy needed a clean change of shorts, when Lucky unholstered his Glock and aimed it at him. He had no pity at all for Sean, and if it turned out he was in the clear he could care less, he didn’t like the boy whatsoever.
“We’re going to the station, and I’m going to put him in a room. I want you to take the bagged evidence, the gun, and the forms, drop it off at the forensic lab. See about prints on the gun ASAP.”
“Whatdaya want me to do if this goes to the back burner, Jack? I mean, the lab’s been busy.”
“Have someone call the captain, this woman was high profile, and I’m surprised we stayed on the case and weren’t bumped by the High Profile Division detectives. Get the wheels moving then come back to the station, text me, let me know you’re back.”
“I’m on it once I drop you and him off at the station.” Then he stepped away and toward Sean.
“Sean, go with Detective Luck, I’ll be there momentarily.”
Without a fuss, he walked out in front of Detective Luck knowing that he needed to keep his cool. Dawson Luck had no problem taking his gun out and shooting him, no sense in tempting him.
“Do I need to get him an attorney?” Her voice betrayed her; she didn’t care a fig about that boy.” Look, Detective West, you may think I am being cold. Sean and I are six years apart, and we’ve never been close. If he is why I’ve lost my mother, I’ll do what I have to do, perhaps even less.”
