Murder Strikes Twice: A Catrina Flaherty Mystery, Book 2 (Catrina Flaherty Mysteries)

by Pendelton Wallace

  The wine swirled as it cascaded down the side of the glass. It smelled like ambrosia as Catrina held it to her nose.

  An angel touched her.

  She dropped the glass, stood staring for an instant at the broken glass and puddle on the floor, then ran back to her office. Opening her purse, she pulled out her wallet. Where was it?

  Opening a small pocket on the side of her wallet, she pulled out a medallion. Clutching it to her breast like it was the Hope Diamond, sweat broke out on her brow.

  Catrina looked at the calendar on the wall with tears in her eyes. Just five days shy of her eleventh birthday and she almost blew it.

  Damn, I was going to blow eleven years for a shitty glass of Chardonnay?

  No case was worth it. She could almost hear Mike Connelly, her mentor at the police academy and her sponsor, say to her. He must have said it a hundred times, “No case was worth it.”

  Catrina concentrated hard and slowed her breathing. She looked at her medallion, her ten-year medallion. What an accomplishment. Pride filled her soul.

  One glass is too many and twenty is never enough.

  She put the devil behind her, still breathing heavily and opened the Barrett file. A box popped up on her screen informing her that there were new entries. Catrina clicked on the link.

  Hmmm . . .

  Higuera had been doing some detecting for her. It looks like poor Mr. Barrett got $450,000 in life insurance money from his first wife’s death.

  Finally, a break in the case?

  Three different insurance companies. That was smart. No one company was going to cover a teacher for almost half a million bucks. But three policies? Why not? Especially if you knew you wouldn’t have to pay the premiums for long.

  What’s this? He had three insurance policies on Lauren too. They totaled $4.5 million. No wonder he’s looking at yachts.

  And speaking of yachts . . . Leah had been at work too. There were lots of emails between Barrett and a yacht broker. Leah attached them to the report. The first ones were sent before Lauren’s death. How could Brody have known he was going to come into enough money to buy a million dollar yacht?

  And check out these floating gin palaces he was looking at, all of them in the million dollar neighborhood. The Barretts had a nice income, but not enough to afford a yacht like that.

  Here was more. This confirmed what Tami told her, a lot of research on Glacier National Park. But was that so unusual? After all, they were planning a vacation there. It was natural that he would research it, but Brody made notes. He researched the hiking trails, when the park was busy and when it was not. Was this a smoking gun? Could she use this to get a search warrant?

  The pieces were beginning to fall into place, piece by piece. This was like doing the world’s largest jigsaw puzzle.

  If Catrina could get her hands on the map Tami said she saw, she’d have some solid evidence. She could take that to Jennifer and have Barrett arrested.

  Catrina was too excited to type her report. She dropped her notebook off at Abiba’s desk along with a note asking her to enter the data for her.

  ****

  After a sleepless night, Catrina decided to interview Bill Price, Brody’s best friend.

  It’s best to catch him off guard first thing in the morning.

  Higuera ran a background check for her. Price was on several dating sites and a couple hookup pages. He was a player.

  A Mike Wallace ambush interview seemed like the best tactic. Now she needed to assemble her arsenal.

  She elected to dress in business attire, but make it a little sexy. She chose a short A-line black skirt, a sheer white blouse with a lacy black bra underneath and a fitted black blazer. Checking herself out in the mirror, she buttoned her jacket.

  Perfect.

  With the jacket closed, she was a professional business woman, but when she unbuttoned the jacket . . .

  Dressed for combat, Catrina headed down the stairs.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she flipped on the light. The basement looked like any other one-hundred year old cellar. A furnace filled the center of the room with ducts leading off in all directions like some giant, mechanical octopus. A washer, dryer and utility sink were against one wall. An old tapestry Catrina crafted in college hung on the back wall.

  Catrina pulled the wall hanging aside to reveal a locked steel door. She punched in the combination and placed her thumb on the scanner. The latch clicked. She opened the door and stepped into the room.

  The secret room was a gun shop with benches and cabinets lining the walls. Catrina stood in front of a large blue steel cabinet and dialed the combination, then swung the doors open.

  A folding stock Street-Sweeper semi-automatic shot gun and an M4 assault rifle hung on pegs. Several hand guns and knives filled the bottom shelf. She pulled out a drawer to reveal seven passports, an FBI badge and ID, a Homeland Security Badge and ID and her Child Protective Services ID, along with several bundles of hundred dollar bills. It would take an expert to tell that any of these identifications were fake.

  She placed the CPS ID in her purse.

  Should I take the Glock?

  Thinking a moment, she grabbed the .25 caliber Berretta and thigh holster and returned back upstairs.

  Opening her garage door, she started the Explorer and drove south to Tukwila where Price had an office.

  It wasn’t hard to find The Price is Right Realty. It had a big sign on a busy street. Catrina stepped through the glass door into the strip mall office.

  “Good morning, may I help you?” asked the bleach-bottle blonde behind the reception desk.

  “Yes, I’m here to see Mr. Price,” Catrina answered.

  “Oh, he just came in. Let me check with him.” She got up and wiggled down the hall.

  This could have been any real estate office anywhere in the country. Four oak veneer desks filled the common area decorated with colorful pictures of homes on the walls. Framed licenses were tacked on the back wall.

  “Mr. Price will see you now, Mrs?”

  “Flaherty, Catrina Flaherty,” Catrina said, as she marched down the hallway to the office.

  She wanted to get Price before he had a chance to think about what she wanted.

  “Hi, I’m Bill Price,” the tall, well-built man said. He stood at least two inches taller than her and she was wearing three-inch heels.

  “Mr. Price, I’m Catrina Flaherty.” Catrina extended her hand.

  “What can I help you with, Mrs. Flaherty?” Price asked as his large hand enveloped Catrina’s.

  “Please, call me Cat.” Catrina unbuttoned her jacket and seated herself in the comfortable chair across from Price’s desk. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Price’s eyes went to her chest.

  She inhaled.

  He’s going to be easy.

  “About?” Price seated himself in the leather swivel chair behind his desk. “Are you looking for a new home?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Price. I’m not in the market for a home.”

  “Bill, please call me Bill.” Price’s flashed a million dollar smile.”Maybe you’re thinking of selling your home?”

  Catrina dug the notebook from her purse. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a few questions about your friend, Brody Barrett.”

  The smile left Price’s face. “What about Brody? Why are you interested in him?”

  She had to play it carefully here. Catrina knew that as soon as she left the office, Price would jump on the phone with Barrett.

  “I’m from Child Protective Services.” She reached in her purse and held up her fake ID for Price to see. “I’m working on a complaint about his daughter.”

  “I don’t see what this has to do with me.” Price looked anything but cooperative.

  “This is all very routine. Whenever CPS gets involved in a case, we do a thorough background check on the parents. We can’t be too careful, you know. We’re charged with looking out for the best interest of the childr
en.”

  “Once again, I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

  “I just have a few questions for you, Mr. Price . . . ah, Bill.” Catrina gave him a seductive smile. She wasn’t going to give him the chance to refuse to play ball. “How well do you know Brody’s daughter?”

  Price looked a little confused. “I’ve met her. I mean, she’s only a kid. I’ve seen her with him several times.”

  Catrina pulled up her bra strap and leaned forward. “And how did he treat her? Is he a good dad?”

  Price’s eyes followed her hand as she reached inside her blouse. “Ahh . . . No. I mean, yes. Not just yes, but hell yes. The guy doted on her. He was always doing things for her and her mom.”

  Catrina tapped her pen on the notebook. “Do you think that the Barretts provided a good home for Debby?”

  “Hey, I’m no expert on kids, but yeah. They seemed to have their shit together.”

  Catrina moved to the edge of her chair and let her skirt slide up her thighs.

  Enough foreplay, its time to get down to business.

  “How long have you known Mr. Barrett?”

  Price stared at Catrina’s legs for a moment. “What the hell? I’ve known him since high school. We were on the football team. We won state in our senior year. I was his fullback, he was the tail back. I’ve been opening holes for him on the line ever since.”

  “And you went to college together?” She leaned forward slightly and touched her collar bone. She knew this drew his eyes and gave Price a view of her cleavage.

  “Yeah.” Price struggled to stay focused. “We both got scholarships to the U.”

  Catrina let her black pump dangle from a toe. “Can you tell me about how Mr. Barrett met his wife?” She glanced at her notebook, “Lauren?”

  Price seemed to be in his own little dream world. “Uh, yeah. He met her on ChristianSingles.com.”

  “Was that unusual for him?”

  “Not really. I mean, he had no interest in church when we were in school, but after he started his business, he found religion.”

  “Was he sincere about his religious beliefs?” She couldn’t think of any other way to tempt him.

  “I . . . I guess so. I mean, he never talked about it with me, but he went to church with his wife every Sunday. He said he got lots of donors from his church.”

  “So, he met Lauren on ChristianSingles?”

  “Yeah. Like I said, he used it all the time. He was dating two other women when he met Lauren. We had a big chat about it one day.”

  “And?”

  Price leaned back in his chair. “He came over to my house. We had a few beers and Brody told me all about it. He had these three chicks that he was interested in. He’d done research on all of them. I think he chose the best woman to be the mother of his child.”

  “Research?”

  “You know, he had information about them and their families.” Price continued to stare at Catrina’s cleavage. “He ran credit checks on them, got their financial profiles.”

  “That seems a little cold.”

  “You don’t know Brody. Always the analytical type. He wanted to start a family, but he wanted to do it right. Anyway, he told me that he was going to marry Lauren. You know, she had the best profile. I mean, the girl was a doctor and all and had a bunch put away in her retirement savings, she owned this expensive condo down by Pike Place Market. What’s not to like?”

  “Did he say anything else about her?”

  “Only that she was real needy and seemed desperate to get married and have kids. She was a few years older than him, you know. The biological clock thing.”

  Catrina got up from her chair. “Thank you, Mr. Price, you’ve been very helpful.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re not leaving now, are you? Maybe I could buy you a cup of coffee, we could do lunch?”

  Catrina smiled and buttoned her jacket. “Oh, and by the way, it would be better for Debby if you didn’t tell Brody about our little chat. Let’s keep it our little secret. Maybe you could give me a rain check for when this is all over.”

  ****

  Sergeant Tom Bremen had been on “The Job” for more than twenty-five years, the last ten of them on Seattle’s elite homicide squad. He would have been good looking except that some childhood disease had left his face badly pockmarked. In high school the kids called him “Crater Face.”

  Tom had few weaknesses. He was as hard-assed as they came. His only Achilles heel was a beautiful blonde private detective. Despite her continued refusals to marry him, she had him by the short and curlies and he knew it. He never could refuse her anything.

  What was with that woman anyway? Didn’t all gals want to get married and raise kids?

  Well, they were both probably beyond that anyway, and Catrina did have a son working at Microsoft.

  If the Captain ever found out what he was working on, he’d spend the rest of his career on foot patrol at the Market.

  Tom pulled his unmarked Crown Vic into the parking garage at the King County Sheriff’s department. He called ahead and his old friend, Jake Cromwell, waited for him. He and Jake went back to their days in the Corps.

  Getting off the elevator on the third floor, Tom stepped into the Homicide Division. Jake turned from his desk as Tom walked into the room.

  “Semper Fi.” Tom raised his hand and waved.

  “Look what the dog dragged in.” Jake got up from his chair and extended his hand. “What’s brought you slummin’ today?”

  Tom heartily shook his friend’s hand. “I got a couple of questions for you about an old case. You got a few minutes?”

  “Sure, Gunny, sit down. Wanna cup a joe?”

  “Can we go somewhere else? This is kind of sensitive.”

  Cromwell reached for his jacket and pulled a Glock 17 from his desk drawer. “Sure, let’s go to the coffee shop down the street.”

  They chatted about old times in the Corps and the police academy while they rode down the elevator and walked the block to the Early Risings Coffee Shop.

  Tom was a regular drip man, none of these fancy, expensive coffees for him. Jake ordered a latte.

  “So, what’s up?” Jake asked, as they found a table.

  “I’m curious about an old case. I looked it up and you handled it. Seven years ago a woman named Julie Barrett died in an accident.”

  “Barrett . . . Barrett . . . Yeah, I remember that. She was crushed by her car when the jack slipped.”

  “That’s it?” Tom sipped at his coffee. “What can you tell me about it?”

  “What’s going on here, Tom? That case was closed years ago. It was an accident. Is there some reason to re-open it?”

  This is where it got dicey. He couldn’t tell Jake about Catrina without explaining why he was helping her. Catrina was like the plague in the law enforcement community. No one wanted to get near her. A cop just didn’t sue the department.

  “Something just came across my desk. The husband, Brody Barrett, got remarried. His second wife died in another questionable accident. Both times he got beaucoup insurance money. It smells funny to me.”

  Jake set down his coffee and clasped his hands in front of him. “Tom, I’ve known you a long time. If you want a favor, it’s yours.”

  Tom breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’m gonna tell you,” Jake said, “I never felt good about that case. I always suspected something funny, but I never found any evidence that I could take to the DA. Finally my lieutenant told me to close it. He said it was an accident. He didn’t want to spend anymore manpower on it. He wanted to make his ‘solved’ rate look good.” Jake let out a deep breath, like he had been holding something in for a long time.

  “Do you remember anything unusual about the case?” Tom asked, then sipped at his coffee.

  “Well, I can tell you the thing that bothered me the most was that another driver, let’s see . . . ” Jake rolled his eyes up. “His name . . . it was a color. Yeah, that’s it, White, Scott White
. He stopped to help.”

  “So, what happened?”

  Two pretty college-age girls picked up their coffees and looked for a table. Both men stopped to watch.

  “I gotta get me one of those,” Jake said.

  “You wouldn’t know what to do with it if you had it.” Tom smiled at his friend.

  “Anyway, Barrett said he didn’t need any help,” Jake continued. “That didn’t quite jibe with his story. He said that he hurt his back so his wife had to change the tire. If he was asking his wife to change the tire, why wouldn’t he have accepted help from White?”

  “Good question. What did you find out?”

  “Nothing. When Barrett refused help, White asked if he would like him to shine his headlights on them so they could see better. Barrett refused and sent him away.”

  “That insures privacy,” Tom said.

  “A dark night on a lonely road, no witnesses. It sounds like a recipe for murder to me.” Jake turned his attention back to the college girls.

  “The plot thickens.”

  ****

  Brody’s silver S-Class Mercedes pulled into a no-parking zone in front of the First Hill apartment building. He wore an Armani suit with a deep-blue silk shirt, open at the collar. A thick gold chain hung around his neck.

  He climbed a flight of stairs and rang the buzzer.

  “Hi.” A voice came from within the apartment. “Who is it?”

  “Brody Barrett,” he said.

  The door opened and a tiny woman stood in the doorway.

  The girl fascinated him. He knew from Internet research that she was twenty-six years old. The top of her head only came to his chest. Long blonde locks curled down her back and blue eyes sparkled up at him. She’d be the girl next door, except for her exceptionally large bust line. Not a problem for Brody.

  “Hi Hailey, I’m Brody.” He held out his hand.

  She reached out and shook it.

  “Come in, I’m almost ready.”