Dirty Money

by Liliana Hart

  “They took the Tahoe in to be repaired. Cheek can drive us into town, and we’ll grab the Suburban. Crime scene is in King George.”

  “What about Doug?” I asked.

  “Lewis is here for the night, and Chen and Durrant are working the perimeter until midnight. He’ll be fine until we get back.”

  I nodded and grabbed my bag. “Is it wrong that I hope Roy Walsh is an acquaintance of these people?”

  “No, but my gut has said from the beginning we’re going to have to let Roy go. All we can do is hope karma comes back to bite him in the ass one day.”

  “Sometimes your gut is a pain,” I said.

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to put a quarter in the jar for earlier,” Jack said.

  “I have four stitches in my face and a serious lack of wine in my system,” I said. “Do you really want to ask me that question right now?”

  “Yep,” he said. “You told me to hold you accountable no matter how grouchy you got.” He grinned and dug in the drawer for a quarter, and then he dropped it in the jar. “I’ll spot you this one though.”

  I narrowed my eyes and said, “You’re a class act, Lawson.”

  “Anything for you, Doc.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The victim lived in an upscale neighborhood in King George proper. It was a gated community with a guard who took the names of anyone who entered. I was driving since we were in the Suburban, and I handed the guard my credentials as we pulled up to the gate.

  The guy was mid-forties and bulked up past the limit of his uniform sleeves. His head was cut in a close buzz and he had a chubby, pug-like nose that seemed out of character with the rest of him.

  He looked at my credentials and then shone his flashlight into the Suburban. Jack held up his badge when the light flashed across his eyes for the second time. “Open it up,” he said. “And just leave the gates open on both sides. There’s going to be more personnel in and out.”

  “No can do, Sheriff,” the guard said. “These people pay for their privacy. It’s my job to make sure they get it.”

  “You’re going to want to leave both gates open,” Jack said. His smile was razor sharp, and I just shook my head and pressed back against the seat so I was out of the way. “A homicide trumps an HOA. And I’m sure you didn’t hassle my deputies or the EMTs when they came through, just like I’m sure you’re not going to hassle anyone that comes in after. Right?”

  They stared at each other a few seconds longer and the guard mumbled something before he shoved my credentials back through the window. He punched a button and the iron gates on both sides slid open. I pressed the gas and drove through, barely clearing the Suburban.

  “He seemed nice,” I said. “Maybe a potential new hire?”

  Jack snorted out a laugh and said, “Take a right here.”

  There was a small lake with fountains and white lights that led into the addition, and there was a bridge that arced over the water and led to a golf course.

  “Wow,” I said. The road was smooth and winding, and every blade of grass, shrub, and flower was precisely tended to along the path.

  “Lots of old Virginia money around here,” Jack said. “They like to hire their own security to patrol the area instead of using the sheriff’s office, so we rarely make trips out here.”

  “Unless someone dies,” I said.

  “That’s pretty much it.”

  Red and blue flashing lights cast eerie shadow off homes and trees. There was a police unit and an ambulance parked in front of a big white house. It literally looked like a smaller version of the White House.

  “That’s not over the top at all,” I said, pulling in behind the police unit. “I bet they’ve got a helipad somewhere.”

  “That’s a sucker’s bet,” Jack said.

  I went to the back of the Suburban and pulled on my coveralls and gloves, and then put my camera around my neck and slung my bag over my shoulder. Jack took a pair of gloves from my box and put them on, and I grabbed a couple pair of sterile booties.

  The front door was open, and we waited until we got to the threshold before we put the booties on over our shoes. I didn’t have to step inside to recognize a palace when I saw one. Everything from the marble floors to the chandeliers dripped with opulence.

  A grand double staircase arced from each side of the foyer and met at the landing on the second floor, but it didn’t end there. The arc of the staircase was the biggest aquarium I’d ever seen, and it was full of exotic-looking fish.

  “Is that a shark?” I asked. “Who actually owns a shark?”

  “Lifestyles of the rich and famous,” Jack said, and then called out, “Hello?”

  Martinez popped his head out from the kitchen door. He always had a smile on his face, and he always looked like he’d just done something that would get him in trouble. Martinez was very popular with the ladies in King George.

  “Hey, Sheriff,” Martinez said.

  “Thanks for calling us right away,” Jack said.

  “Sure thing,” he said. “I had ten minutes until end of shift. Ten minutes and I would’ve been on my way to scoring with the finest woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Jack asked. “What happened to Julia? Last week she was the finest woman you ever saw.”

  Martinez shrugged and his grin widened. “She had a beautiful face and a lot of bridal magazines sitting around her place. It was a little creepy. I think she was measuring me for a tuxedo while I was sleeping.”

  Jack snorted and then said, “Where’s the vic?”

  “Here in the kitchen,” Martinez said. “The wife is in the master bedroom with Holly.”

  “Who’s Holly?” I asked.

  “New girl,” Martinez said. “Looks like bubble gum fluff, but swears like a sailor. The wife is pretty distraught.”

  “Well, she watched her husband die a horrible death in front of her,” I said, following them into the kitchen. “It’s not for everyone.”

  “I think she’s more distraught over the dog,” Martinez said. “She kept asking the EMTs if they could revive him, or if she could give blood to help save him.”

  “She wanted to give blood to her dog?” I asked.

  “Yeah, well,” Martinez said, shrugging. “Takes all kinds.”

  The victim was lying on the floor not far from the sink. He was an older man, maybe in his late fifties or early sixties, but he was in good shape. He wore a pair of silk pajama pants and a white T-shirt, and it was obvious he took care of himself. He had a full head of sandy blond hair that was stylishly silver at the temples. There was a small silver tin on the floor next to him and several pills scattered about.

  “Where are the EMTs?” I asked Martinez.

  “Back with the wife,” he said. “She was pretty hysterical, and she was going into shock.”

  “Any attempts to resuscitate?” I asked.

  “No,” Martinez said. “He was DOA when we got here. EMTs checked for a pulse and didn’t find one, but since poisoning was suspected after the dog died, we all kept our distance.”

  “Where’s the dog?” Jack asked.

  “I’ve got him bagged up,” Martinez said. “I figure you’d want samples from him too.”

  “Good,” I said and knelt down beside the victim. “What time did the call come through?”

  “7:38,” Martinez said.

  “Already dressed for bed,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. “What’s his name?”

  “Warren Buchanan,” Martinez said. “Age sixty-four. Wife’s name is Isobel. She’s thirty-seven. She’s the one who called it in. The husband complained of a headache after dinner and he came into the kitchen to take something for it. They keep aspirin in the cabinet next to the sink. She said he washed the pills down with water, made a sound like he was choking, and then fell to the ground.”

  There was a glass sitting next to the sink with a couple of inches of water left in the bottom. Jack collected the water so we could ge
t it sampled, and then he bagged the glass.

  “The wife said Warren had his cell phone in his pajama pocket, so she used it to make the 911 call,” Martinez went on. “The dog actually came in and started eating the pills that had fallen when she was on the call with 911.”

  I looked over at the tin in question and picked it up. Most of the pills were on the floor, but there were a few still left in the box. They were small red-and-white capsules, not normally what you’d see when taking plain aspirin. I closed the box and read the label, but I already knew where it had come from.

  The Witches’ Brew Apothecary was a fairly new business in the grand scheme of Bloody Mary businesses, having only been open the last ten years or so. It had a prime spot in one of the front-facing shops in the town square, and Esmerelda Owens was not only the owner, but she was also a licensed toxicologist and herbalist, and she made everything from soaps to toothpaste to aspirin.

  Esmerelda’s packaging and labels were very distinctive and old fashioned looking. “Please tell me one of these wasn’t recovered from the Walsh home,” I said.

  Jack already had his phone out and was calling Nash on speaker. “

  “Hey, Sheriff,” Nash said.

  “I’ve got you on speaker,” Jack said. “I’m at a scene with Jaye and Martinez. Gotta DB who took some pills for a headache. The dog ate one off the floor and died too.”

  “We collected several pill bottles and prescriptions from the Walsh house,” Nash said.

  “This one is a little rectangular tin from the Witches’ Brew. The pills are red-and-white capsules.”

  “I know what you’re talking about,” Nash said. “That’s a match. We recovered something exactly like it.”

  “I need you to bother whoever you need to bother to get someone to test those pills right now,” Jack said. “I’m going to have someone drive down this sample to you so we can get a match.”

  I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. We were about to have a countywide panic on our hands if we weren’t careful. Everyone shopped at the Witches’ Brew, including us.

  “You got it, boss,” Nash said and hung up.

  “We’ve got to do this very carefully,” Jack said. “We’re going to have to call in the CDC.” Jack looked at Martinez. “I want everyone on alert and available. Check with the other funeral homes in the area and see if any heart attacks or unsuspected deaths have come in over the last few days. I want a warrant for Esmerelda Owens’ home and the Witches’ Brew.”

  “You got it,” Martinez said and left the room.

  Other deputies were starting to show up and I could hear Martinez briefing them in the other room.

  “There’s no way Esmerelda did this,” I said to Jack. “She’s a little nutty, but she’s not a killer.”

  “We’ve got to start somewhere,” Jack said. “Let’s get the body transported and put on ice for the night. Resources are going to be thin between guarding the house and the warrants, so I’d like you to wait on the autopsy until morning when someone can be with you.”

  I wanted to argue. I wanted to get Warren Buchanan on my slab and open him up, especially now that I knew what I was looking for. But I didn’t argue. I understood Jack’s position, and I didn’t want him to worry about me needlessly.

  The EMTs and Officer Riley came into the kitchen, and I recognized Shelly and Joe from our earlier encounter.

  “You’re looking better, Doc,” Shelly said.

  “Better than you,” I said, looking her up and down. “I could take a nap in the bags under your eyes.”

  “We got the call just before end of shift,” she said. “That’s usually how it happens.”

  I knew that to be the truth. Jack or any one of his cops could tell you on the days where there’s absolutely nothing going on, something catastrophic and time consuming will happen just before shift change. It was just one of those perks of being a public servant.

  “We gave the wife a little something to calm her down,” Shelly said. “Hops is still in the bedroom with her, but the wife can’t seem to get past the dog. She keeps talking about Schwartz like he was a person, and how heartbroken everyone is going to be to hear the news.”

  “Wait a second,” I said, looking at Jack. “Deputy Holly Hops?”

  Jack grimaced. “Like Martinez said, she looks like cotton candy fluff. The name fits her perfectly.”

  Riley snorted. “She might look like cotton candy fluff, but I wouldn’t want to face off with her in an alley. She sometimes gets a look in her eyes that make my balls crawl right up inside my body.”

  “Beautiful imagery,” I told Riley.

  “The dog’s name is Schwartz?” Jack asked Shelly.

  “Short for Schwartzkopf,” she said, smiling a little. “Apparently, Warren was a Stormin’ Norman fan.”

  “Who’s Stormin’ Norman?” Riley asked.

  “Geez, kid,” Shelly said, “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-three,” Riley said, clearly offended.

  “Riley,” Jack said. “I want you to bag up any remaining pills and then drive them and the container straight down to Nash in Richmond.”

  “You got it,” Riley said, grabbing an evidence bag. He was already wearing gloves.

  Jack turned his attention to Shelly and Joe. “Do you think you guys could get the vic suited up for transport? I’d like to see if I can get anything out of the wife while it’s still fresh.”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff,” Joe said.

  “Oh, now you talk,” I said, giving him the side-eye.

  He grinned sheepishly, and he and Shelly got to work on getting Warren Buchanan bagged up and on the gurney.

  I followed Jack out of the kitchen and toward the back of the house. The fish tank was the first thing you saw when you entered the house because it was on the inside of the enormous staircase, but what you couldn’t see from the front was that the fish tank continued along the wall and ceiling, creating a tunnel that led into the master bedroom.

  “That’s kind of creepy,” I said, looking up. It felt like the shark was following us. “What happens if there’s an earthquake, or if the glass cracks?”

  “Fortunately, that’s not our problem,” Jack said.

  Jack and I were very fortunate. We lived in the kind of house most people never got the opportunity to experience. With that being said, the Buchanan's house made ours look like a log hut.

  The master bedroom was almost as big as our entire first floor. The east wall was floor to ceiling windows, and it gave a perfect view of the pool that glowed blue from the underwater lights.

  The bedroom had its own living area, and everything was white. Everything. The carpet, the furniture, the bedspread, and the walls. It was the whitest room I’d ever been in. Even the woman lying on the bed was wearing white silk pajamas and covered with a white throw. Her hair was white-blond, and her nails were French tipped. She had a cool pack over her eyes, and she was breathing evenly.

  The detective sitting in the chair at the side of the bed did remind me of cotton candy fluff. She was cute as a button and looked like she belonged on the high school cheer squad instead of sitting there in her uniform and a weapon strapped to her side. Her skin was peaches and cream, and she had freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her hair was pulled into a tousled ponytail. I wanted to ask her how she did it.

  “Is she asleep?” Jack asked.

  Holly gave him a megawatt smile that was so bright it almost hurt. “No, sir. She’s just resting.”

  I almost tripped over my own two feet the second words came out of Holly’s mouth. She sounded like a two-pack-a-day off-road trucker.

  “Mrs. Buchanan,” Jack said. “We’re about to transport your husband. Is there anyone we can call for you so you’re not alone?”

  Isobel Buchanan removed the eye pads and scooted up on the bed, so she was propped up on her pillows. She had the refined, delicate bones of royalty, and the lips of an excellent plastic surgeon. Even though her eyes were slight
ly swollen from crying, her skin was flawless, and she looked pretty close to perfect. She also had the spaced gaze of someone who’s been given a nice dose of Valium.

  “My mother is coming,” she said, holding up her phone. “I texted her earlier. What about Schwartz? What’s going to happen to him?”

  “He’s being transported with your husband so samples can be taken,” Jack said. “We believe your husband was poisoned.”

  Jack moved closer to the bed, and Holly got up out of the chair so he could sit down. I stayed out of Isobel’s line of sight, and Holly came to stand next to me. Women tended to want to talk to Jack once they got a good look at him. Jack had that alpha presence that made anyone around him pay attention.

  Almost like clockwork, Isobel’s eyes widened, and she changed her posture on the bed so her very excellent body was displayed better, and her pajamas slipped off her shoulder, showing the delicate skin.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I’m Sheriff Lawson,” Jack said.

  “Oh,” she gasped. “Imagine the sheriff himself coming to check on me. I do appreciate your service.”

  Holly and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. I felt a kindred spirit in Holly.

  “I know you’ve been through a traumatic event, losing your husband like you did,” Jack said, emphasizing the word husband since Isobel had apparently forgotten that she’d been a married woman up until about an hour ago. “But I’d really appreciate it if you could walk me through what happened. Whoever did this to your husband and Schwartz needs to pay.”

  Tears sparkled in her eyes at the mention of Schwartz. “My poor baby,” she said. “Do you think he suffered?”

  “No,” Jack lied. “I think he went very quickly.”

  “Thank you for that,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with an actual handkerchief.

  “You said your husband was complaining of a headache?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, we had dinner with the Carmichaels tonight,” she said. “They’ve been dear friends for years. Oh, my.” She brought her hand to her chest dramatically. “I’m going to have to let Lorraine and Tommy know what happened. They’re going to be devastated. Tommy and Warren had a lot of business dealings together.”