by AJ Basinski
I explained to Janosz about the second letter allegedly from her in which she referred to going to China to visit her sick mother even though she certainly was aware that I knew her mother was already dead. “I think that was a sign that she was giving me that she had not left on her own and was being forced to write the letter or that someone else wrote the letter for her.”
“Mario, why don’t you come into my office tomorrow and let’s talk some more about your involvement. In the meanwhile, I will check into the prior DA’s file and see what he has on this case.”
“Sure,” I said. I wondered if he could tell how relieved I was.
“See you at ten.”
Chapter 30
Janosz had asked me to meet him at his office in Fort Myers the next day. He greeted me at the door to his office. “Welcome, Mario. This is a very different circumstance from the last time we saw each other, isn’t it?”
The last time we had met was in a courtroom when Sun Li had plead guilty in connection with the drug smuggling case back in Miami.
“It really is very different. Very,” I said as I sat down on the dark blue, cloth-covered guest chair opposite Janosz. I thought that Janosz looked pretty much the same as he had when I last saw him. He was tall, with dark blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He spoke with a slight Polish accent.
“Coffee?” Janosz asked me.
“Sure, I’ll take a cup. Black, no sugar. Thanks.”
Janosz then walked over to the Keurig coffee machine in the corner of the small office and brewed a couple of cups of Starbucks. I was surprised at how small and bare the office was. The only thing on the walls was Janosz’s law school diploma. According to the diploma, he had graduated from Villanova Law School in Philadelphia, magna cum laude. Must be pretty damn smart, I thought to myself. At one time, after I had been on the police force in Los Angeles for a few years, I had thought about going to law school myself. I knew that if I had become a lawyer, I might have had a chance to become an FBI special agent, which had been my goal since I was a kid. A law degree, if not a prerequisite, was certainly a way to get a leg up on the job. But it was not to be. And that was one of my many regrets. I think if you were to stack them all up, they would easily reach from here to the moon.
As we sat around his large, rectangular conference table in an adjoining room, Janosz began, “Mario, thanks for coming in this morning. As you can see, I have plenty of matters I have to address here in my new job.”
As Janosz said this, he pointed to stack after stack of files which were piled up at the other end of the conference table.
“All of these demand my immediate attention in one way or another. But since I knew that you were coming in this morning, I took a look at the file on the Sullivan and Blakely murders and found only this.”
With that, Janosz produced a single piece of paper stapled into a manila folder which he handed me. I looked at it closely. It was a letter from the National Life and Casualty Insurance Company to the prior District Attorney inquiring about the circumstances of the death of Amanda Blakely. It said that there was a half million dollar policy on the life of Amanda Blakely and that the policy paid double that if she died from anything other than natural causes. Being shot to death would apparently qualify. The last thing that the letter mentioned was that the beneficiary named on the policy was Elsa Pierce.
“This is the entre file?” I said, somewhat startled.
“That’s it. Apparently, Shipley had not been giving any reports to this office as he is required to do when conducting an investigation, particularly a murder investigation. He is directly under this office. I don’t know what Shipley was thinking. The prior DA was obviously a lame duck when this all happened just a few days ago at the beginning of the year. And he never followed up since he was spending all his time looking for a new job with a defense law firm in town here, which he ended up getting. I’ve spoken to him and he admitted that he really dropped the ball on this one. Mario, I want you to handle this investigation. I have a lot of faith in you and I know you will get to the bottom of this, particularly if you are correct that the disappearance of Sun Li is somehow tied into these murders. And the first thing you might want to do is to follow up with the insurance company about this insurance policy.”
This was exactly what I wanted to hear. “I’ll be happy to follow up with the insurance company and anything else you and I can think of.”
“Great,” said Janosz with a large smile on his face. “I’ll have you sworn in as a deputy assigned to my staff and we’ll be off and running. Thanks, Mario. I know that we will work well together.”
Chapter 31
This insurance policy put a whole new perspective on the case. Shipley’s theory was that Sullivan was killed because of the Cuban gold which he presumably had found. Shipley suggested that Sullivan might have been bragging about his find, just as he bragged about the women he bedded. And that may have been his downfall. Made sense if there really was the gold. My Cuban friend in Miami had denied that there was any gold. Of course, I had to consider whether he was telling me the truth or maybe he was trying to put me off the scent, if the Cubans were somehow involved in the murders. I certainly was not about to discount that possibility.
Now with the discovery of this insurance policy, it looked like maybe there was a definite incentive for Elsa to do away with her longtime friend and partner. A million dollar incentive.
But, despite her cold hands and apparently equally cold heart that I had seen that first day I had met her at the B&B, I was not convinced that Elsa was the murderer. Sure, I knew that a million dollars could be a very strong motive for murder. But was it enough to cause this artist of a certain age to commit murder? And not just one murder, but two? And why would she kill Sullivan anyways? How did he fit into all of this?
I really was craving a Montecristo cigar right about now, but except for the one I had with Shipley the other day, I hadn’t smoked a cigar in almost a year. And I really didn’t want to resume cigar smoking again. In the past, it had seemed to help stir up my creative juices during the course of an investigation. I would have two or three a day. A pretty expensive habit also, at ten dollars apiece. Not surprisingly, I guess, since I had quit smoking those Montecristoes, I had actually lost a few pounds and sure as hell felt a lot better overall. I had even begun working out at the gym on board the ship every once in a while. My friend, Doc Philips, the ship’s doctor, had said my blood pressure and cholesterol were both down. Something to celebrate. My father had died at 56, just one year older than I was now. I certainly hoped to make it past that age.
As I drove back to the Inn, I asked myself: who else might want Amanda dead? Who else in addition to Elsa stood to benefit from her death? These are the type of questions I needed the answers to. But where to begin? I thought that if I could find out why Amanda was killed, I was certain I would also find out why Sullivan was killed. Shipley led me to me to believe that it was the discovery of the Cuban gold that was the incentive for the murders. Janosz apparently believed it was the insurance proceeds. Which was it? Or was it something altogether different that lay at the bottom of these two murders? And how did the disappearance of Sun Li fit into all of this. That was what I would have to find out. But where to begin? I knew time was running out. I had to act quickly.
Chapter 32
District Attorney Janosz had suggested I start my investigation by contacting the insurance company which had issued the policy on Amanda’s life. And I would do that, of course. But I decided to begin my investigation by seeing if I could find out more information about the exact nature of the relationship between Elsa and Amanda. According to Shipley, there had been all those rumors suggesting a sexual relationship existed. Was that it? Maybe a spat between two lovers had led to Amanda’s death. Or was the connection something altogether different? Something nobody knew about.
I decided that I would start by contacting a friend of mine who worked at the FBI crime data center in West
Virginia. We had worked on several cases together years ago when I was still on the LAPD. I was hoping he could help me out now.
Emile Yugovich was the head of the missing persons’ section at that facility, located in the mountains just outside Clarksburg, West Virginia. Odd place for an FBI data center? Not when you consider that the now deceased, long time senator from West Virginia, Robert C. Byrd, Jr. was once one of the most powerful men in the United States Senate and the king of the pork barrel. Senator Byrd had done a lot for that largely impoverished, “wild and wonderful” state of West Virginia. If you have ever driven through there, you probably noticed that it sometimes seems like half the bridges, roadways and government buildings in West Virginia have his name chiseled in granite, and, apparently, with good reason, in light of all he did for his home state over his many years in Congress.
“Hello Emile,” I began, “This is Mario Morales.”
“How the hell are you, Mario? It’s been a helluva long time since I last heard from you. I thought you might already be dead and buried.” Emile laughed as he said this but I did not think it was particularly funny.
“No, I’m still very much alive and kicking. In fact, I’m still doing some detective work,” I said.
“Oh yeah. No kidding. I thought you had retired from this whole gumshoe business? I know I would if I didn’t have a wife and five kids to support.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I did retire from the LAPD but I launched a new career as the head of security aboard a Caribbean cruise ship.”
“Sounds exciting,” laughed Yugovich. “So, what can I do for you, Mario? Somebody lose their passport or something?”
I ignored the jibe and continued, “I’m actually down here in Southwest Florida, working a case of murder. Two murders actually. I guess you would say that I’m sort of a special deputy for the DA here on Palm Island.”
“Palm Island? Never heard of it. Sounds like some vacation spot to me. I haven’t had a vacation in twenty years. What the hell can happen down there? Somebody get too much sun and keel over? And you tell me you got two murders?”
“You would be surprised what goes on down here,” I said. “We have a double homicide and one of the suspects is this older lady who is an artist and who runs a Bed and Breakfast on the island.”
“You gotta be kidding me,” Yugovich laughed again. “Those old geezers down there must be getting too much sun and humidity, or something.” Yugovich always did have a good sense of humor and he really seemed to be enjoying himself.
“Something like that, I guess,” I responded. What else could I say?
“Well, what can I do for you, Mario? I’m sure you’re not just calling to pass the time of day or tout the virtues of some remote Florida island that nobody has ever heard of.”
I described what I knew about the two murders and told him that the DA had identified Elsa Pierce as one of the suspects.
“Look, Emile” I said, “What I would like to have you do is to run a check on Elsa and the deceased, Amanda Blakely, to see what connections they may have. There have been all kinds of rumors floating around down here. Some people say that they were once both nuns and are now lesbian lovers. Another rumor is that Elsa was once married to some rich New York banker. Who knows what’s true and what isn’t? Maybe it’s all true. Who knows? That’s exactly the kind of information we need to find out. And while you are doing that, maybe you could also run a check on the other victim, a fellow named Mark Sullivan?”
“How is this Sullivan guy connected to these two women?” asked Emile.
“Good question. All we know for sure is that they were murdered in the same way, by the same gun. That’s what I need to have you find out: how they were connected in death since they seemed to have nothing in common in life.”
“Okay, Mario, I’ll do the best I can. I’m plenty busy with the stuff I’m working on for my people here. We got to handle tons of inquiries from all over, not only from our agents but also cops from everywhere. And everything is always a rush job. But you know what, I always have time for you. Still, it might take a couple days.”
“That’s fine, Emile, just get back to him when you can. One thing though, a good friend of mine, a young woman, may have been kidnapped by the murderer. So, if there is any way you could move it along, I would be extremely grateful. My number is 239-123-4567. And thanks, I really do appreciate it.”
“Oh, hell, Mario, you know I’d do anything for a good guy like you. Also, I guess I should have known a woman was involved. What is it that they say, ‘cherchez la femme?’ Don’t worry brother, I’ll take care of it. ‘I guarantee it,’ as that guy on television used to say. Hey, I like that: ‘I guarantee it.’”
Chapter 33
Early in the morning of the next day, I got a call from Yugovich. I was surprised to hear from him so quickly. He really must have put me on the top of his list.
“Hold onto your hat, Mario, I got some real interesting stuff on those two women and that Mark Sullivan character that you wanted me to check up on.”
“I’m all ears,” I said, as I grabbed a pen and paper to write down the information that Yugovich was about to give me. ”Go ahead,” I said.
“First of all, that Sullivan guy, you know, he has a record. Nothing really major, a couple of arrests for shoplifting in some convenience stores in South Carolina and a fraud charge for passing a bad check for a couple hundred dollars in Charlotte. He somehow managed to get probation or get the charges reduced or dismissed each time. Never spent any time in jail.”
It was pretty much as I had suspected. Sullivan was a small time hood who never really amounted to much of anything. I was sure he had gotten by on his smooth talk and good looks.
“Anything else?” I asked. “That’s not too surprising to me, to be honest.”
“Well, here’s the real kicker. Sullivan was the son of Amanda Blakely.”
“You’re kidding?” I gasped into the phone.
“No, I am not kidding, Mario. Would I kid about something like this? Well maybe. But this time I’m not kidding. I have a copy of Sullivan’s birth certificate in front of me right now. According to the birth certificate, he was born in Charleston, South Carolina in 1982. So, that would make him 34. The mother is listed as Amanda Blakely.”
“And the father?” I asked anxiously.
“’Unknown’, according to the birth certificate.”
“Holy shit,” I said. “Are you sure it’s the same two people?”
“Positive. But there’s more. The person listed on the birth certificate as delivering the baby was a midwife known as Elsa Doolittle. “
“Who’s that?” I asked. “Sorta sounds like a fairy tale name.”
“I checked the court records and Elsa Doolittle changed her name legally to Elsa Pierce shortly after the baby was born.”
“Wow that sure puts a new spin on this whole case. Mother and child killed by the same gunman. I wonder why no one on the island seemed to know about the relationship.”
“I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that,” Emile continued. “Sullivan was put up for adoption shortly after he was born. ‘Sullivan’ was the name of his adoptive parents. Apparently, he never knew either his real father or his mother.”
“So you think that maybe he just found out who his mother was?”
“Seems a likely possibility, don’t you think?”
I had to agree with him. That would explain why he recently turned up on Palm Island and why he had checked into the B&B.
“Emile, thanks.”
“Anytime. And good luck. And let me know how this whole thing goes down. This is a lot more interesting than I thought it would be when you first called.”
Chapter 34
My next call was to the National Life and Casualty Insurance Company. It was the life insurance company which had issued the policy on the life of Amanda. When I called the home office in Hartford, I asked to speak to the claims agent who was handling the file.
“Just fine. Thanks for asking. My name is James. How may I help you, Lieutenant?”
”James, I am investigating a murder down here in Palm Island, Florida. Your office sent a letter to the District Attorney down here about the policy that was issued by your company on the life of one Amanda Blakely. Does that sound familiar?”
“Yes, Lieutenant, I am very familiar with that matter. I am handling that claim. Now, who exactly are you working for on this matter?”
“I understand that you can’t be too careful. I’m working for the new District Attorney for Pine County, Tomas Janosz.”
“Ok, what would you like to know?”
“First of all,” I said, “I understand that the claim has not been paid to the beneficiary, one Elsa Pierce.”
“Yes, that’s correct. Anytime there is a claim being made on a policy involving a potential homicide or suicide, we always turn the matter over to our in house investigators. And we hold off making payment until they are satisfied that the beneficiary is not involved in causing the death.”
“I see, should I talk to one of your in house investigators?”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” James replied. “I have the latest report right in front of me. I would be happy to share the information in that report with you, if you want, Lieutenant?”
“James, that would be terrific.”
“Sure. First of all, we discovered that this beneficiary, Ms Pierce, is in substantial debt. She has a jumbo mortgage payment due next month on a B&B she partially owned with the deceased.”
“How much is that?” I asked.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. And if she doesn’t pay it then, the house will go into foreclosure and she could lose the place completely.”
