Killer Listing

by Vicki Doudera

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “I felt sorry for her. She was lonely.” He shook his head. “You can believe me or not, I really don’t give a shit. I’m telling you I didn’t kill Kyle.”

  Jack Cameron put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. “Then who the hell did? Your wife?”

  Foster McFarlin’s eyes flickered but he kept his face neutral. “Chellie? She’s too concerned about becoming governor to do much of anything.” He gave a harsh chuckle. “I’m not saying she was any fan of Kyle’s—they had a thing going back since college—but I can’t imagine her committing murder.”

  “Doesn’t mean it couldn’t have happened.”

  “No,” McFarlin agreed. “People do things all the time that don’t make any sense.” He thought about his former business partner, by all accounts a reasonable, bland kind of guy, the one he could invite to a Dolphins game and know he wouldn’t have plans. Not the type you’d think would turn around and sue you for fraud as soon as the market went south. McFarlin felt a sour taste in his mouth just thinking about the web of lawsuits tangling around him like a noose …

  He turned his attention back to Cameron. “Chellie didn’t do it.” He didn’t add that a private investigator had assured him of that very thing only hours before. “I’m wondering if the cops have talked to Marty Glickman.”

  “Glickman? Why?”

  “Kyle tried to sound like it was no big deal leaving Barnaby’s, but I think they gave her a hard time. She made a hell of a lot of money for that company, and as the franchise owner, Marty did not want to see her go.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know about you, Cameron, but in my experience, people don’t like losing money.”

  Jack Cameron staggered to his feet. He held the wall for support and waited for a wave of nausea to pass. “That’s the first thing you’ve said that makes sense, McFarlin. You’re right. Money is the last thing some people want to lose.”

  _____

  Darby had just sat down in the patio with her salad when she heard a knock on the door. She peered out Helen’s peephole and saw the haggard face of Jonas Briggs.

  She opened the door. “Jonas, come on in. What brings you to this neighborhood?”

  Briggs entered the bungalow and shook his head. “I’m on my way home. Sorry to intrude, Darby, but I’m really frustrated. This case has got me climbing the walls.”

  “Can I get you something? I’m having a salad and a glass of wine. Care to join me?”

  He gave a sheepish grin. “I’ve got a sandwich in my pocket. I would love a glass of wine and a few minutes of your time.”

  Darby led the way to the patio, grabbing a plate and another wine glass along the way.

  “I know Helen is in the hospital,” Briggs continued. “She’s going to be okay, right?”

  “Yes. She’s hoping to be released tomorrow. She looks great and is in very good spirits.”

  “Thank God.” Briggs sat down and gave a big sigh. He regarded Darby with a wary smile. “You sure you’re up to this? Listening to the rantings of a stymied off-duty detective?”

  “Absolutely. Let’s see what you and I can figure out.” She set his plate on the table, poured him a glass of wine, and sat down expectantly.

  Jonas put a wrapped sandwich on the plate and took a gulp of wine. “I’ve learned over the years to trust my gut, you know, that feeling inside that tells you something?”

  Darby nodded. “I call it intuition—same thing.”

  “Yeah, well here’s what my gut tells me about this case. The murders of Candy Sutton and Kyle were committed by the same person.” He paused and gave Darby a raise of his eyebrows.

  “Kyle and Candy spent several hours together last week, looking at properties all the way down to Venice.” He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “I know that means they were gabbing it up in Kyle’s Miata the whole time. That was the way she operated, you know? Made you feel like you were best buddies while you were house hunting.”

  Darby nodded, remembering that Jonas Briggs had worked with Kyle at one point, so he spoke from experience. “You’re thinking that Kyle told Candy something significant during that ride. Candy didn’t remember it at first, or she didn’t think it was important, until the other day.”

  Jonas’ face looked more animated. “Exactly. Candy had no idea how important her piece of information was, so she didn’t feel a sense of urgency. She told DiNunzio that she was busy on Friday and that he would have to come today. You don’t do that if you think you’ve got something really crucial to report, right?”

  “Right. Keep going.”

  “Whoever killed Candy knew her routine and that she walked Fang at five thirty every morning.”

  “Why was she in the alley?”

  “Throwing away Fang’s—er—droppings. She put them in that dumpster after every walk.”

  “So the killer was waiting there?”

  “Yes.”

  Darby thought a moment. “Okay, so then we have to ask ourselves, what was that piece of information, and how did the murderer find out about it? Was it a coincidence that she was killed the night before she was due to talk to you? Or had the murderer planned all along to silence her permanently?”

  “I’ve got some thoughts on that,” Briggs offered. “I think our suspect found out and had to act quickly, before Candy talked. He or she may not have known Candy, but they did know Kyle. And one more thing—I would bet you that that he or she is left handed.”

  Darby couldn’t help but smile. “You sound like Sherlock Holmes. ‘He walks with a limp, my dear Watson …’”

  Briggs grinned as well. “Elementary, my dear Darby, and I wish I could take credit for it. Kelly McGee, in my department, worked with the medical examiner on that, and I think she’s on to something.”

  Darby smiled. Good for you, Kelly.

  Briggs took another bite of his sandwich and frowned. “The thing I can’t figure out is, how did the murderer know we were going to question Candy? That seems to suggest they knew each other.”

  “From what I understand, her list of acquaintances—male, anyway—is pretty long.”

  Briggs took another gulp of wine. “We have her client database and it is extensive. Plenty of names that you’d recognize, including McFarlin and the Camerons.”

  “The Camerons?”

  “Yup. Father and son seem to have had the same taste in high-paid escorts. John Cameron wasn’t one of her most steady clients, but his name appears a few times.”

  Darby shook her head. “Can this get any more complicated?” She took a sip of her wine. “Jonas, I’m not sure if it will get us anywhere, but why don’t I look into Kyle and Candy’s appointments last week? See where they went, what properties they saw?”

  “Can’t hurt.” He finished his sandwich and balled up the plastic wrapping in his hand.

  “Still no witnesses to Candy’s murder, right?”

  “Just Fang.” He thought a moment. “On the bright side, we do have a confession in the Lieutenant Governor’s mugging. Two teenagers, both under eighteen. Not exactly the hardened criminals she wants everyone to believe are popping up across the state.” His jaw tightened. “Any luck on finding out where she was on Monday?

  Darby nodded. “I made a few inquiries. Chellie was in Miami.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Special meeting of another task force. When I questioned Mindy Jackson, she said the Lieutenant Governor very rarely screws up her schedule. Anyway, her flight back was well after Kyle’s murder occurred. It seems impossible that she could have been at that open house when Kyle was killed.”

  Jonas sighed, rose from the table, and shook his head. Worry had once more settled on his features and he looked drawn and tired.

  “Honestly, we’re not any closer to solving this thing. We might as well have just found Kyle’s body an hour ago.”

  Darby’s face was grim. “It’s not like you haven’t been trying, Jonas. What we need is a good old-
fashioned break in the case.”

  The detective nodded and headed toward the door. “Order me up one of those, okay?”

  _____

  Minutes after Jonas Briggs had headed out into the warm Saturday night, Darby’s cell phone rang with a call from Helen. Grabbing a pad of paper and a pen, she sat on one of Helen’s comfortable couches and answered.

  “How’s it going, Darby?” Helen sounded upbeat, although her voice was low.

  “Fine. Jonas Briggs was just here for a visit, but I’m alone now.”

  “Great. Got a counter for you on Tag’s place. You ready?”

  Darby listened while Helen rustled some papers. “Hang on, it’s here somewhere,” she said. “Okay … I think I’ve found it …” She let several moments pass. “We’ll take it!” She let out a laugh. “There are a few minor changes for Mr. Kobayashi to initial, but nothing major.”

  “That’s terrific.”

  “I’ll say. Tag is ecstatic. He likes Kobayashi and wants to close as quickly as possible.” Darby heard her speaking to someone in a surprised tone. “I’m afraid I need to hang up, Darby. Seems cell phone use is frowned upon in this hospital. Did you know that?”

  Darby smiled and hung up the phone. St. Andrew’s Isle was as good as under contract. She gave a slow exhalation and left Hideki Kobayashi a message to call her. Forty million dollars was no small chunk of change, but she knew he would be pleased.

  She sat down on Helen’s comfortable couch and flipped through a home decorating magazine, trying to clear her mind before she went to bed. Minutes later, fatigue had overtaken her, and she was asleep.

  Darby dreamt of her childhood home on the island of Hurricane Harbor, Maine. She was barefoot and running across the grass of the old farmhouse when she spotted John and Jada Farr in the kitchen window. Happiness and gratitude washed over her as she flung open the kitchen door. They were talking to each other, but turned, smiling, and held out their hands.

  Darby tried to walk to them. Her legs were heavy, immobile, and she looked down to see why. At her feet was a giant snake, wound tightly around her ankles, and preventing her from movement of any kind. She stretched out her hands and tried to say “Help me,” but the snake was writhing up her body, faster than she could have imagined, and now she could feel the rough scales of its skin against her lips …

  She woke with a start. She was asleep on Helen’s couch, a nubby chenille pillow under her head. She sat up and forced herself to think about the dream before she lost recollection of the images. The snake was a frightening memory, but the faces of her parents—their smiles, the graceful way her mother had been leaning against her father’s broad shoulders—had been worth the terror.

  She checked to see if Mr. Kobayashi had returned her call, but there was no message. First thing tomorrow, she thought. She would give him the good news about St. Andrew’s Isle, and ask more questions about the Nihon Maru and her mother.

  After a quick run through the winding streets of Serenidad Key, Darby showered, dressed, and drove to Sarasota’s fashionable St. Amand’s Circle where Hideki Kobayashi had asked to meet for Sunday brunch. He stood and gave a small bow as she approached the table.

  “Ms. Farr—always a pleasure to see you again,” he murmured.

  “And you.” She sat down at the round table, smoothing her skirt over her tanned legs. She smiled up at her client.

  “I have wonderful news regarding St. Andrew’s Isle,” she began. “Our offer has been accepted. There are a few minor changes to the contract, but nothing substantive.” She opened up her file and showed him where Tag and Helen had modified the closing date by several days, requested less time for inspections of the property, and inserted language about contracts and the sale.

  Hideki Kobayashi nodded, and smiled. “I am satisfied and prepared to sign.” He took a pen out of his jacket pocket. “If you would indicate where I do so …”

  Darby went over the documents with him and watched as he initialed and signed in several places. She then called Helen Near and left a message alerting her that the property was now under contract.

  “Congratulations,” Darby smiled at him. “It is a fabulous estate and really suits you. Will you be living there full time?”

  Hideki Kobayashi shook his head slightly. “Unfortunately, not at first. But I will come to the island whenever possible, and I know much of my family will enjoy the estate’s grounds and the lovely swimming pools.” He smiled. “My granddaughter Momoko has already asked when she can get a slide!” He chuckled. “She is what you might call a ‘hot ticket.’ My son and daughter-in-law are constantly amazed at her quick little mind.” He smiled again, the fond grandfather.

  Darby took a sip of her water. Her client pointed at the menu, eyebrows raised.

  “Come, let’s order our food and something pleasant to drink, and then I will tell you about the Nihon Maru.”

  _____

  Jack Cameron woke up slowly and painfully, rubbing the places where Foster McFarlin’s punches had connected. He groaned. The guy was a hell of a fighter—that much was true.

  He’d spent a good part of the evening on his fishing skiff, thinking about Candy and Kyle, and wishing he could drink away the pain caused by their deaths. He took a long swig of a diet root beer and sighed. Alcohol and pills were out of the question. That road got him nowhere, and he wasn’t going down it.

  A hearing was coming up on his arson case and he’d need to be in total control. He’d discussed his options in an hour-long meeting on Friday with his attorney, and the normally calm professional seemed frustrated with Jack’s lack of detail about Belle Haven’s fiery end. The truth was, he just didn’t remember contacting anyone about torching it. The lawyer had suggested using temporary insanity as a plea, saying a jury would understand taking such a desperate action in the wake of his wife’s murder, but Jack had dismissed the idea. He was through with using excuses, no matter what the consequences.

  “What if I say I don’t remember?” Jack had asked. “What will a jury think about that?”

  His attorney had shrugged, a gesture Jack found almost laughable. “It depends on how sympathetic we can make you.” He frowned. “We are going to need to talk about Kyle, you realize that. Your separation, her affair with Foster McFarlin—”

  “No!” Jack’s eyes flashed and sprang up from his chair. “I won’t trash her name just to clear mine.”

  “But it’s the truth!” His attorney was frustrated. “You’re the one who keeps harping on the truth, not me.”

  Now it was Jack’s turn to shrug. The truth was, he loved a ghost. He loved Kyle Cameron, always had, and probably always would. The fact that she was dead didn’t take that love away.

  He thought back to his encounter with the tiger shark. What had happened down there, between him and the fish, to set him on this new course in life? People didn’t just “snap out” of depression, and yet somehow Jack had. His doctor couldn’t explain it—no one could.

  Jack got out of bed and surveyed his surroundings. Fishing trophies from his teen years, old diving magazines, and a well-oiled baseball glove still adorned the shelves of his childhood room, although his old twin bed had been replaced with a queen. He’d been here since he and Kyle had separated, enduring the open hostility of his father and his mother’s pitying smiles.

  Time to leave Casa Cameron, he thought. Time to finally grow up.

  _____

  The waitress cleared away the brunch dishes from Darby and her companion and brought them both more coffee. Hideki Kobayashi leaned closer to Darby. “Now that we have finished our breakfast, I want to show you something.” He produced a five-by-four-inch glossy black and white photograph of two smiling Japanese men standing on the deck of what looked to be a large wooden boat.

  “This,” he said, pointing at the man on the left, “is Denjiro Kanno, the former chairman of my company.” He glanced at Darby who gave the photo a closer look. “And this,” he said, indicating the other man who wore gla
sses and was a head taller than the Chairman, “is your grandfather, Tokutaro Sugiyama.”

  Darby’s eyes widened. “My grandfather?”

  “That is correct.” He watched her face closely before continuing. “When you told me your family name and that your mother had been on the Nihon Maru, something jostled in my brain, some little memory of something that I could not quite grasp. I did a little research and came up with this photograph.”

  “Did my grandfather work for your company? Genkei Pharmaceuticals?”

  The older man nodded. “He was a scientific officer. I did not know him, but I know he was regarded as a brilliant man.”

  Darby looked into her grandfather’s face but the photograph was fuzzy and his features were blurred. “This is amazing. I never met him, but my mother spoke of him often.” She looked up from the photo. “What is the connection between the Nihon Maru and your company?”

  “We are the ship’s corporate sponsor. It was Denjiro Kanno who got our company to help raise funds for its construction. It is, as I think I told you, a replica of a very historic vessel.”

  Darby nodded. “I remember you saying that. My mother sailed to Boston on this ship as part of a delegation from the Tokyo Tourism Bureau.”

  Hideki Kobayashi nodded. “Yes, that part is true.”

  Darby looked at him sharply. “What do you mean ‘that part?’ What part is not true?”

  Her client gave her a steady look. “I will tell you what I know, but I warn you—the truth is not always easy.”

  Darby felt a queasiness in her stomach. What was he talking about?

  “In the early 1980s, a book was published in Japan that shed light on a shameful piece of our history, a series of events which most Japanese people did not even know.” He looked down at his hands as if he was feeling remorse for whatever long-ago actions he was about to describe. “The book described unspeakable crimes that took place at the time of the Second World War, in a part of northeast China. They involved human experimentation.”

  Darby’s heart was beating hard. What did this have to do with her grandfather?