by Rayna Morgan
"You can help me the most by finding out who did this to put my mind at rest."
• • •
Tom made arrangements to interview Angelo Russo early before the lunch crowd gathered. Dapperly dressed in a striped suit, red tie, and matching pocket square, the owner of the Apex hurried over as soon as the Detective entered as though he had been watching for him. The man seemed on edge, full of nervous energy. "Let's go to my office. The cleaning crew will start vacuuming soon. We won't be able to hear."
The interior of the office was as plush as the restaurant with a spectacular view of the ocean.
"I'm still shaking from the news. I've known the man for more than half my life. Who could have imagined such a terrible thing happening? I can't believe it. Have you seen Julia? How is she taking it?"
"You haven't spoken to her?"
"Briefly. I didn't find out until this morning. When I called, there were people with her. She said she'd call back, but I haven't heard from her. My wife and I are planning to go see her as soon as the luncheon service is under control."
"I understand you and Barrett were business partners."
"That's right. Barrett, Julia and I are co-owners of the Theatre at the Harbor. Barrett and Julia are co-producers as well."
"What will happen to the Theatre with Barrett gone?"
"It will depend on what Julia wants to do. Don Carson made us an offer several months ago to buy the property, tear the Theatre down, and build a luxury hotel on the site. If Julia is interested in pursuing the offer, we will. If she decides to hold onto the Theatre, I'll probably consider selling her my interest."
"Were those your plans before Barrett's death?"
He leaned back, steepling his hands in front of his face. "Actually, no. Barrett wasn't willing to relocate the Theatre. He felt a location as good as that would be hard to replicate."
"Did you argue about it?"
"Who told you that?"
"It was reported to be a source of contention between the two of you."
"I admit we weren't in agreement over the sale, but there's nothing which would have jeopardized our friendship."
"Not even the affair he had with your wife ten years ago?"
Angelo's body stiffened. His lips narrowed and crows' feet pinched the corners of his eyes. "That was a long time ago, Lieutenant."
"Some people never get over their spouse cheating on them, especially when it happens with their best friend."
"It was a harmless fling. Camilla was young and because of my preoccupation with my business, she was lonely. The fault lay with me as much as with her. We forgave each other and moved through it."
"And you didn't have suspicions they had rekindled their amour recently?"
The restaurateur tried to appear calm in voicing a denial. The eye tic and throbbing vein in his forehead suggested other emotions were at play. "Certainly not. We closed that chapter in our life. We're happier now than we've ever been."
A soft knock on the door interrupted them. Angelo answered impatiently, "I'm in a meeting."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Angelo jumped to his feet. "That's my wife now, Detective," he said walking to the door. "Ask her yourself. She'll tell you how wrong you are."
A petite woman with a demure quality entered.
"Come in, darling. Forgive me; time escaped me, but yes, you're right on time."
Tom rose as Angelo walked his wife into the office, making introductions and seating her. He walked back around his desk. "The Lieutenant has come about Barrett's death. He has a question which may be painful for you but tell him the truth. As soon as you've talked to him, we'll go over to give Julia our condolences."
"If you don't mind, Mr. Russo. I'd like to speak with your wife alone."
Angelo looked startled but quickly regained his composure. "Of course. I'll be with the chef when you're finished," he said blowing his wife an air kiss. Leaving the door open, he walked down the hall.
Tom closed the door and remained standing. Giving her a moment, he took note of her chic designer clothing. The cost of the sunglasses she removed probably equaled Tom's monthly rent. She looked fragile, the kind of woman a man wants to protect and take care of. "I'm sorry to intrude at a time like this, Mrs. Russo. I understand you and your husband were close friends of the deceased."
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Angelo's known the Masons since they were all in their twenties. I've known them since my husband and I got married."
"Do you have any ideas at all as to who may have wanted to hurt Mr. Mason?”
"Of course not. He was well liked, not for his talent alone but because he had a good heart. He was a kind man." Tears welled in her eyes.
"I hate to ask this, but I'm afraid I must. I know you and Mr. Mason had a relationship at one time."
"I told you we were friends."
"I mean an extra-marital relationship."
The color drained from her face. "That was years ago. How dare you bring it up at a time when our hearts are breaking for Julia."
"I only mention it because rumor has surfaced the two of you may have become romantically involved again."
She stood up, bringing herself to her full height of five feet. "When Angelo took me back after my one and only indiscretion, I vowed I would never do anything to hurt him again. I love him with all my heart; he's the only man I've ever loved."
"Then how do you explain your late night absences from home. Who have you been spending your evenings with while your husband is running the restaurant?"
"What I do is none of your business. I hate you; I hate you for even suggesting …"
She broke into tears and ran from the room passing Angelo at the maitre D's desk. "I'll see you at home later."
Tom strode casually down the hall heading toward the front door. Angelo grabbed his shirt sleeve and spun him around. "What did you say to upset my wife?"
Tom quietly but forcefully removed Angelo's hand. "Calm down, Mr. Russo. She may simply be overwrought by your friend's death." He turned to leave. "You need to get that temper of yours under control when it comes to your wife. Emotions like that can get a man in trouble."
CHAPTER NINE
It had been three days since the beating, but Tom had been unable to interview the victim who had been in a coma. By the time the doctor finally called with the news the patient was conscious, the Detective was anxious to talk to the Stage Manager not only about the beating but the murder as well.
Walking into Eddie King's room at the hospital, Tom winced. The patient's head was wrapped in a bandage, one eye was swollen shut, and a large purple bruise covered his cheek.
"I'm glad to see you've returned to the land of the living, Mr. King," Tom said, offering his card to the invalid who brushed it aside.
"I don't need your card; I know who you are. The Doctor told me you'd be in to see me this morning." He sounded completely lucid although his breathing was slightly labored. "You can call me Eddie."
"I'll make this brief. I know you want to check out of here."
"The Doc tells me I’ve got to take it easy for a day or two, but I have to get back to work today. I need the money." Eddie looked away, unwilling to make eye contact. Tom surmised he was dealing with a man who was both stubborn and proud. Being incapacitated was not a condition he was used to or happy about.
"I need you to identify the thug who did this to you, and why. But first, I have some bad news, unless you've already heard."
"You mean about Barrett." He let out a heavy sigh. "Art Patton stopped by this morning to check on my condition. He told me. Said you're calling it murder."
"That's right. Mr. Mason was poisoned." The chilling word hung in the air. "Who do you think might have done it?"
"I have no idea. Barrett was a complex man. Some people saw him as outgoing, brash, and emotional; slightly overbearing at times. But his love of acting was real. He had a deep, consuming passion for the Theatre."
"Did you kn
ow there was an offer to sell the Theatre on the table?"
"I was in his office when he got a call from his partner begging him to sell. He didn't pay any attention; he had no desire to let go of what he enjoyed most in life."
"It wouldn't have meant giving up the Theatre. He could have moved to a different location," Tom suggested.
"Barrett loved acting so much he would have been happy performing for an audience of one. Julia's the business side of the equation; she's interested in the money. The easiest way for Barrett to assure her the profits she was looking for was to foster ticket sales to tourists visiting the Harbor."
"Do you think Julia would have been willing to sell?"
"I can't speak to that. I didn't have much contact with her. In fact, I tried to avoid her as much as possible."
Tom pursued the obvious ill-will Eddie felt toward Julia and took the opportunity to follow up on a tip Julia had given him. "Mrs. Mason told me you owed her husband a bundle. Apparently, he loaned you some money to cover your gambling losses. Does that in any way suggest a motive to you? Did you want to erase the debt hanging over your head once and for all?"
Eddie looked surprised and then amused. "Murdering Barrett would have been a little difficult being in a coma. Even you can see that, can't you, Lieutenant?"
"Arranging to have someone murdered is not much harder than arranging a beating."
"You implying someone was pulling the strings of the thug who beat me up?"
Tom avoided the man's attempt to steer him off course in his line of questioning. "You may have set the whole thing up days before it happened. Besides, we don't know yet the exact kind of poison used. It could have been ingested by the victim sometime before it shut his system down."
The patient shrugged his shoulders. "I'm surprised Julia told you about the loan. What reason did she have to divulge that information?"
"Her husband has been murdered. I think she's seeing everyone right now as someone with a possible motive. You're not the only one she has reservations about."
"I'll admit I was none too happy when Julia confronted me about my gambling. Barrett must have told her at some point. I would never have approached her with the money issue. I knew she wouldn't loan me the money, and she wouldn't have approved Barrett doing it either. But you're wrong if you think I killed Barrett to get rid of the debt." He reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. After wetting his lips, he continued. "The fact is the debt no longer existed. Barrett and I made an arrangement which allowed me to pay it off in full."
"Where did you get the cash?"
"I didn't. My standard contract with the Theatre for each production is I get salary plus fifteen percent of the take. The last two times, I didn't take my fifteen percent cut. The reduced cash flow was tough, but it got my loan to Barrett repaid. That was important to me. Barrett and I were all squared up before this production started. When the play opened, my fifteen percent of each night's take would have started. It would have eased the current situation I'm in with my bookie. With the producer dead, the play will never open. That's the last thing I would have wanted."
In Tom's mind, Eddie's explanation brought to question the source of the tip. Could Julia as the business partner been unaware Barrett had changed the terms of Eddie's contract? Was she intentionally trying to mislead him? Those were questions Eddie couldn't answer. Tom decided to move on. "Let's talk about your beating."
"That's a sore subject." The patient's attempt at a joke ended in a grimace when his cut lip cracked.
"From what I've found out about you, I'd guess the beating was a message from your bookie."
"I'm afraid you're right," Eddie admitted, looking out the window. "My errant ways finally caught up with me."
"You referring to your gambling addiction?" Tom asked harshly.
"I've never admitted to it being an addiction." Eddie appeared to be searching for an answer somewhere outside. "Maybe it's time I did."
Tom waited, giving the man time for some soul searching. After several moments, Eddie looked back at Tom, rubbing a hand across his brow. "It started as harmless entertainment; pari-mutuel wagering. It was a way to play the ponies without leaving the county, which I was seldom free to do. My mistake was listening to the vultures who hang around the betting windows at the Finish Line."
"You know betting other than pari-mutuel wagering is illegal?"
"Same as I know betting shops are illegal. Doesn't stop bookies from finding ways to place people's bets; doesn't stop bettors anxious to cash in on the next big purse. They know law enforcement doesn't have time to enforce illegal betting activities."
"How were you initially contacted?"
"At the Finish Line, bookies use runners to make initial contact. They convince people that betting on the side instead of at the pari-mutuel windows is more exciting. They show people how with smaller pools of money, bigger payoffs are possible."
"Who are these so-called runners?"
"The one who talked to me was the waiter who served my drink."
Tom described the waiter he had interviewed at the Finish Line.
"Yeah, that sounds like him."
"Did he place the bets for you?"
"No way. He's just a young kid trying to earn a few bucks over and above the tips he was making. He told me someone would be in touch the next time I came. The thug who beat me up took it from there."
"Did betting with him pay off for you?"
"The first few times, it did. I raked in major bucks." He focused on a space in the air between them. "Now that I think about it, they may have arranged that to reel me in. They were more than willing to loan me money, with interest of course, so I'd keep betting. The losing streak which followed put me in over my head."
"Why did they decide to get physical?"
"When it came time for the marker to be repaid, the bookie's henchman came looking for cash I didn't have. I was tapped out with nothing coming in until the production opened. I took some chump change from the ticket sales, but the galoot only laughed when I offered it." A shiver ran up his spine as he relived the thrashing he had received. "He laughed before he turned nasty."
"I've been holding back some good news until I heard your side of the story."
"The only good news I need is knowing that hooligan is behind bars."
"That's exactly where he is."
Eddie's face lit up. "You got Hector in jail? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I wanted to hear your side of the story. It's pretty much what I expected to hear, but it doesn't let you off the hook."
"You mean I still have to testify against him?"
"Not just him. I want the bookie he works for. Who gave the order to take care of you if you didn't make good on your loan?"
The wounded man's hesitation irritated Tom. "Don't be stupid, Eddie. I can't protect you or prevent this from happening again. Be realistic. Think about the position you're in. The production won't re-open. You have zero money coming in which means you have no way to repay your loan. We may have Hector locked up but the bookie won't have any problem finding a replacement."
"I'll take my chances on keeping myself alive."
"Think about it, man. You're more than a bad debt to Hector's boss now; you've become a liability. He'll send Hector's replacement after you, but it won't be for the money. He'll want you finished off to clean up any loose ends."
Eddie dropped his head, circling his thumbs in his folded hands. Tom stopped breathing. Seconds passed. The two words Eddie whispered next were music to Tom's ears: Mickey Flynn, the bookie long suspected of fronting the Kingpin's gambling operation.
• • •
It was almost noon when Tom arrived for his appointment with Chad Stewart. From what he had learned about the family wealth, he was not surprised at Chad's digs: a condominium in the plushest complex in town with a view of the ocean which didn't quit, full gym with lap pool and sauna, laundry service, and twenty-four-hour security.
T
he doorman called from the lobby but it took several rings before a groggy voice answered testily, "Okay, okay. Send him up."
Chad answered the door in pajamas, robe, and bare feet, running a hand through thick, wavy hair. "What a god-awful time of day to be up," he complained. "Couldn't I have come to the station later?"
Tom's choice of time and place was intentional. He wanted Chad in the comfort of his own home where he was less likely to have his guard up and before he'd had time to gather his wits. He declined Chad's offer of coffee hoping his counterpart would forego the caffeine as well, but Chad quickly downed his first cup.
"Nice digs, Stewart, and convenient being so close to the Theatre."
"Yeah. Bike paths all the way so I ride my bike back and forth for rehearsals. Frees up the Porsche for my roomie to use. So what can I do for you this bright, cheerful morning, Lieutenant?" he asked, without bothering to open the drapes to let in some sunlight.
"I'd like to hear about the altercation you had with Barrett the day before his death."
"Ah, so our little donnybrook was overheard. It must have been an outsider. The regulars were so used to hearing squabbles between Barrett and me, they accepted them as our normal method of communication."
"Please answer my question."
"Sorry. I digress and your patience runs thin," Chad said, pouring himself a second cup of coffee. "Barrett was informing me of his dastardly decision to blackball me from any future acting gigs at the Theatre."
"What was his reason?"
"He called it my lack of talent, but he had it in for me from the first day we met. He resented my so-called 'in' with the Director. Said I was only on stage because of my family's social standing. But I earned my reputation with the Director fair and square through other plays we did together."
"I can confirm that with the Director?"
"You don't believe anything I say, do you?"
"It's not my job to take things at face value. Why else do you think he had it in for you?"
"I imagine it was because I wasn't overwhelmed by his charisma the way other young actors were. Nor was I suitably appreciative of his stories about his hard knock climb to fame.
