by B. T. Lord
Although Jenkins gave off the air of a serious, professional financier, in reality, he lived for gossip like most people in Twin Ponds. His eyes brightened at the thought of some scandal having to do with the town pervert, which he quickly blinked away when he saw Cammie staring at him.
“I was very sorry to hear about his unfortunate death.” Cammie and Rick remained silent and he inwardly cursed that neither one of them was going to tell him anything. He sniffed. “You have the key, I assume?”
“We do not.”
“I’ll have to get our maintenance man to drill open the box.”
“We’ll wait.”
He tried to assert his authority by staring her down. It didn’t work. She coolly met his look. Feeling uncomfortable under her unremitting gaze, he had no choice but to pick up the phone and call maintenance.
A few minutes later they were in the basement of the bank where the safety deposit boxes were located.
“Hey Sheriff, hey Rick,” Willie, the maintenance man, greeted as he shuffled in with his drill. He was sixty-five years old and so thin, Cammie often wondered how he managed to move, much less walk with his tool belt on, which looked as though it weighed more than he did.
“Hey, Will,” Cammie answered. “How’s the wife?”
“Good. She’s off in New Hampshire visiting her sister. Always leaves me a ton of food.” He patted his scrawny stomach. “Gotta be careful I don’t pack on the pounds.”
Cammie quietly kicked Rick before he could say anything.
He got to work and in no time drilled through the lock. “There you go,” he said.
Jenkins took the box and handed it to Cammie. He then walked them to a room where there was a desk and four chairs.
“Is there anything else you need?” he asked, hoping that as the bank manager, they’d ask him to stay.
“No thanks. We’ll let you know when we’re done here.”
He waited a moment longer, just in case they changed their minds.
They didn’t.
His shoulders slumped slightly as he closed the door behind him.
“He’s really gotta get a life,” Rick said when they were alone.
They both looked down at the box. “If this contains porn, I swear I’m going to personally go over to the Crypt and spit on Steepman’s corpse,” Cammie replied.
“Maybe it contains the answer to how he was able to afford all that stuff.”
“Here goes nothing.” Cammie stepped forward and positioned the box so they could both look inside at the same time. Taking a deep breath, and praying it didn’t contain porn, she flipped back the lid. They both bent over and peered inside.
“Shit,” Rick replied.
“Shit,” Cammie repeated.
They looked at each other, then back at the box.
It was empty.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Why the hell would Steeper the Peeper keep an empty safety deposit box?” Rick exclaimed angrily.
“Hmmmm.”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “I always get nervous when you say ‘hmmm.’”
Cammie closed the box and opened the door. Jenkins, who’d been leaning against the door, almost fell inside.
“I was just – er – I wanted to make sure you didn’t need--” he stammered, red faced at being caught eavesdropping.
“How did Mr. Steepman pay for this box?” She swiftly interrupted him.
“He wrote out a check every year. In fact, he always paid well before the due date.”
“How long did he have it?”
“He rented it nine years ago.”
“Do you have the exact date when he rented it?”
Jenkins nodded. “When you called, I looked at his file. He rented it July 30th, 2008.”
“How often did he check out his box?”
“Never.”
“Never?” Both Cammie and Rick asked simultaneously.
“That’s correct. We have no record of him coming in to check out his box.”
As she and Rick climbed the stairs, the bank manager was on their heels. “Is there anything wrong? I can assure you, there were no irregularities.”
“Don’t worry. Everything is fine.”
“Will you be needing the box again? I can certainly keep it for you--”
“No, we’re done with it.” She fixed Jenkins with a stern look. “I’m sure I can count on your discretion. We simply needed to make sure Mr. Steepman had no paperwork that might point to relatives or next of kin that should be notified of his death.”
“Oh, of course, of course. I perfectly understand. It was terribly sad, him dying of a heart attack.” Despite his attempts to appear nonchalant, his twitching eyebrow gave him away. Cammie affected a somber look.
“Death is always sad, Mr. Jenkins.”
Stepping out into the hot sun, Rick smiled at her. “Smooth, Sheriff. Very smooth.”
“That’s my motto. Nip it in the bud whenever I can.”
They walked down the street towards HQ. “Steeper the Peeper was crazier than I thought,” Rick replied. “Imagine, spending that money to rent a safety deposit box only to keep it empty.”
“Actually, it makes perfect sense. I had a feeling about this, and today confirms my theory.”
He looked at her in frustration. “You’re talking in riddles, you know.”
She chuckled. “When we get back to the office, you’ll see the method to my madness.”
When they entered HQ, they found Emmy with her nose buried in her computer.
“Can you put the search for Margo’s bank account aside for a moment and pull up the background information on Steepman?” Cammie asked.
Emmy’s fingers flew over the keys. A moment later, she turned to the sheriff. “What are you looking for?”
“What date did he have the accident that ended his house painting career?”
She scrolled through the pages. “May 30th, 2008.”
“I thought as much.”
“So what’s this theory you’ve been working on?” Rick asked.
“Think about it. Steepman has his accident May 30th. Two months later, he rents a safety deposit box that he doesn’t use for the next nine years.”
“Really?” Emmy asked.
“Add to that the fact that his house looked like it was something out of Architectural Digest and it only points to one conclusion.” She looked at her staff, who stared back at her in bewilderment. “You and I just talked about this, Rick.”
“Oh yeah, right. He was blackmailing someone.”
“Bingo.”
“Are you saying he knew who murdered George Peabody?” Rick asked.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Wow,” Emmy murmured. “That puts another spin on his death.”
“And in the manner of his death,” Cammie added. “I bet he used the safety deposit box as a ruse to make the person he was blackmailing think he had something on him or her. Keeping it in a bank made sure his victim couldn’t get to it.”
“So let me see if I understand this,” Rick replied. “George gets whacked ten years ago. Someway, somehow, a year later, Steepman finds out the identity of the whacker. He manages to blackmail him or her for a whole boatload of money. Then, the bones are dug up, and we all find out George never rode off into the sunset to begin a new life in Bangor.” Suddenly, Rick snapped his fingers. “Whoa, I just thought of something. I’ll bet Steeper got greedy. The killer had to be panicking once the bones came to light. He decided to ask for more money to keep his mouth shut. Only he never imagined his greediness would sign his death warrant.”
“You get to keep your job for another year,” Cammie quipped.
“No wonder he was killed the way he was,” Emmy replied, her eyes wide with horror. “Whoever he was blackmailing really wanted to make him suffer.”
“Shit, if someone was blackmailing me for nine years, I’d want them to suffer too,” Rick admitted.
Cammie
began to slowly pace back and forth. “Our investigation needs to shift gears. We need to dig deeper into what happened nine years ago. Emmy, contact that guy who was using his credit card to buy that stuff for Steepman. Maybe he can give us more detail on what Steepman was up to back in 2008. Rick, go back and talk to Steepman’s neighbors again. Jog their memories. Our little perv was cannier than I gave him credit for. He didn’t make any phone calls from his landline, and he had someone else buy his stuff for him. However, nine years is a long time. A mistake could have been made. One of the neighbors might have seen something that they’ve either forgotten or don’t think is important.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Cammie walked back to her office and began to write her hypothesis on the victim board. She was just finishing up when Emmy came in.
“Sheriff, I found something I think you’re going to like.”
Cammie turned and faced her. “I’m all ears.”
‘You were right. Mrs. Peabody did have a third bank account. This one was under her first married name - Mrs. Margo Brooks. And guess what? There’s $11 million in it. I was also able to find the sheriff who investigated Mr. Brooks’ death. His name is Lloyd Palmer. He’s retired now, but here is his phone number.” She was surprised when Cammie didn’t look pleased. Instead, her expression darkened. “Is everything okay? I thought you’d be happy with what I found.”
“Oh I am, Emmy. You did a terrific job as usual. I’m just thinking about Bill and what he’s going to think when he finds out about Margo’s stashed millions.”
“Oh,” the young woman murmured.
“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that right now.” She held up the phone number Emmy had just given her. “I’ll give Sheriff Palmer a call now. When I’m done, I’d like you to call Margo and ask her to come down here.”
Cammie shut the door to her office, picked up the phone and dialed. The call was immediately picked up.
“Hello,” answered a low, rumbling voice with a pleasant western twang.
“Is this Sheriff Lloyd Palmer?”
“I was. Who is this?”
Cammie introduced herself and gave him a rundown of why she was calling.
“Believe me, Sheriff, I tried my best to find any evidence to prove it was a homicide,” Lloyd replied, “but I just couldn’t find it. Now, I’ve investigated dozens of hunting accidents in my time and sometimes a hunting accident is just a hunting accident. This one, however…I don’t know. If he was murdered, his killer did an excellent job covering their tracks.”
“Sounds like your gut was telling you it wasn’t an accident.”
“It don’t matter what my gut says if I can’t find the proof to back up my suspicions. To be honest with you, Sheriff Farnsworth, there was something about the whole scene that didn’t sit right with me, but I just couldn’t find the smoking gun.” He sighed. “Every law enforcement career has that one case that gets in your soul and doesn’t let go. This one is mine. Now that I’m retired, I’ve gone over it and over it, but I still can’t figure out what I missed. If I did miss anything.”
“What was your impression of Mrs. Brooks?”
“To be honest, I found her to be a bit of a cold fish. Oh, she had the proper reaction when I showed up at the campsite, you know, crying and grief stricken. But I have to say, it was a very controlled crying, if that makes sense. She wasn’t one of those women who fell apart at the thought of losing their spouse. In fact, it was her behavior that got my gut going.”
“Why? What did she do?”
“How many people do you know who can tell you precisely and up to the second where they were and what they were doing at any given time?”
Cammie sat back in her chair. “I see what you mean.”
“And now you’re telling me she may have murdered husband number two?”
“Like you, I can’t find the smoking gun yet.”
“Well, good luck on that. If she is some kind of black widow serial killer, she needs to be put away before some other poor guy falls into her web.”
“What about the other two men who were part of the hunting party?”
“We checked them out thoroughly. As you know, when a case like this comes up, you always start with who had the most to gain by the victim’s murder.”
“And they obviously had nothing to gain?”
“They were wealthier than Mr. Brooks, and they’d been business associates and friends since the 1980’s. There was only one person who benefited from his death and that was the woman who inherited his hefty estate – Mrs. Margo Brooks.”
This was exactly what Cammie had been thinking. After thanking Lloyd for his time, she hung up. She then asked Emmy to call Margo.
Forty five minutes later, an angry Margo arrived at HQ.
“As I told you earlier, I’m very busy arranging the civics award banquet. It’s in two weeks and I really don’t have time for this.”
“It won’t take long.”
“I don’t understand why you keep asking me all these questions.”
Cammie gave her a direct look. “Because we’re trying to find out who murdered your husband.”
That shut Margo up, through it didn’t mollify her anger. They walked into the conference/interrogation room where they sat down opposite each other at the long table. Cammie took the file Emmy had given her and opened it up in front of her.
“As part of standard operating procedure, I am required to inform you that this interview is being recorded.” Margo suspiciously looked about and finally saw the camera in the top corner of the ceiling. “I just wanted to clarify a few things,” Cammie said as she looked through the papers in the file. “You said in an earlier interview that due to George’s gambling addiction, you were in financial straits. That’s why Bill was quietly helping you out by depositing money into your bank account every month.”
“That’s correct.”
“How much did you inherit upon the death of your parents?” Margo stared at her in surprise. “Didn’t you tell Bill it was $750,000?”
She remained silent.
Cammie withdrew a piece of paper and placed it in front of Margo. “Do you want to explain that to me?” Margo looked down at the paper, and the color drained from her face. “That’s yet another bank account you have, this one under your former married name of Margo Brooks.” When she saw Margo wasn’t going to respond, she continued. “According to the probate records, you inherited $4 million from your parents, and $10 million from Avery’s estate. So why did you tell Bill you’d only inherited $750,000 from your parents, an inheritance you claim George blew through in no time at all?”
Although Margo fought to keep her features still, Cammie noticed her jaw muscle tighten. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied in a tight voice.
“Bill believes you inherited $750,000, not $4 million.”
“If that’s what he told you, he was mistaken.”
“Tell me what happened the day Avery died.”
“Why are you asking me about Avery?”
“Please answer the question.”
Margo grew noticeably uneasy. She continuously curled and uncurled her hair behind her left ear. “Every year Avery took his colleagues out on an elk hunt in Montana. He requested that I accompany the group to act as hostess.”
“Did you hunt as well?”
“Yes.”
“Were you any good at it?”
She shrugged. “I was a fair shot.”
“What about crossbow hunting?”
This time she went still. “It wasn’t my favorite,” she replied evenly.
“What happened the day Avery died?”
“There were four of us stalking a buck. It went into a dense forest and we decided to separate to see if we could flush it out.”
“Did you shoot your crossbow?”
“We all did.”
“How do you know if you were all separated?”
“Because that’s what the oth
er men said. Honestly Sheriff, the authorities investigated this thoroughly. It was ruled an accidental death. The forest was thick. Even with the orange camouflage we all wore, it was still hard to see. Why are you making me relive a day that is still terribly painful?”
“Did George enjoy woodworking?”
Margo was momentarily nonplussed at the sudden change in direction. It took her a moment to answer. “Yes, he did.”
Cammie took out the photo from her file. It was a close-up of the sledgehammer handle found in the forest. “Do you recognize this design?”
The woman studied the photo. “I do. For George’s 45th birthday, I ordered a set of custom made woodworking tools that had that design on the handles.”
“Do you still own those tools?”
“God, no. After George left, I gave them to Mayor Barnes.”
“Do you recall exactly when you gave them to Bill?”
“If you’re looking for a specific date and time, I can’t help you. I just remember that it was soon after George left Twin Ponds that I decided to clean out his workshop. I had no need for all those tools, so I asked Mayor Barnes if he wanted them. He did and I gave him the whole lot.”
“So you were pretty sure George wasn’t coming back?” Margo blinked in surprise, realizing what she’d just said. Cammie continued. “Do you recall where you were on April 14, 2007?”
“That was ten years ago! How in heaven’s name would I remember where I was on any particular day?”
“That was the night your husband called Bill and demanded $50,000 in exchange for leaving town and never returning. And for keeping mum about your relationship with the mayor. Did you know about that meeting?”
“I most certainly did not.”
Cammie sat back in her chair. “You know Margo, there’s one thing I just don’t understand, no matter how many times I look at it. I’m hoping you can help me out.” Margo instantly stiffened. “You came from a wealthy family. You grew up with money and travelled in those rarified circles of the rich, so I get why you married someone like Avery Brooks. I even get why you became involved with Bill Barnes. What I don’t get though, is why you’d involve yourself, much less marry a high school math teacher?”
