Power Struggle

by Carolyn Arnold

  They stepped aside, and once through, Jeremy led the way to his office. He took them to a simplistic space furnished with a metal desk, metal filing cabinets, two metal-framed chairs facing the desk, and a leather chair on the other side. That’s where Jeremy took a seat. He gestured for Madison and Terry to sit in the chairs facing him. They did so.

  Jeremy leaned back and regarded them with a reserved curiosity. “What is it that I can do for you?”

  Madison pulled out a photocopy of the letterhead with the message and extended it across the desk to Jeremy.

  He took it. “What’s this?”

  “That’s the prison’s letterhead,” Madison stated matter-of-factly. “Do you recognize it?”

  “Of course, I do.” His face scrunched up in confusion. “I’m just not understanding what you’re getting at. And where did you get this from?”

  “We’ll get to that.” She pointed to the letterhead. “Is that a recent design for the letterhead?” She wanted him to confirm what Mark had told them.

  “Yes,” Jeremy said.

  Madison nodded. “We’ll need to know who has access to this particular letterhead.” Madison figured she knew the answer but wanted to hear it from him.

  “The office staff.”

  “No one else?” Madison pressed.

  “That’s right.”

  “So office staff… That includes you?”

  “Yeah,” he said slowly and shifted his gaze briefly to Terry.

  Madison pointed to the paper. “Do you know whose handwriting that is?”

  “I have no idea.” Jeremy went to hand the sheet back to Madison, but Madison didn’t reach for it. Jeremy let it drop to his desk.

  Madison eyed him as a predator would its prey. “Do you have any idea why this would end up in the hands of a civilian?”

  “The prison letterhead? No idea.” Jeremy fell quiet. “You said you were going to tell me where you got it…”

  “In the home of a murder victim.” She tossed it out there nonchalantly, studying him.

  Jeremy’s reaction was nonexistent. No emotion registered on his face or came through his body language.

  “The man’s name was Jimmy Bates.” She again observed his body language, and this time Jeremy’s shoulders tensed. “Do you know him?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Should I?”

  “Should you? I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

  Jeremy’s brow was glistening with sweat, his gaze ping-ponging between them. “You think I had something to do with his murder?”

  “Should we?” Madison countered.

  Jeremy swallowed roughly. “I didn’t.”

  Given the warden’s physical tells, he seemed guilty of something.

  Madison leaned forward, putting her elbows on her knees. “Let me put this out there. That letterhead could have only come from someone working in the prison office. You said so yourself.” She paused and he nodded. “Then it has to be someone on staff here. But you don’t recognize the handwriting?”

  “No. As I said.” Jeremy shifted his body in his chair, his gaze darting around the room.

  “Would you mind giving us a sample of your handwriting?” Madison began. “You know, just so we can rule you out as communicating with Bates.” It was time to flip things and play up being his friend and on his side. They didn’t have enough to get a warrant signed for this.

  “I don’t even know this Jimmy person.” Jeremy seemed to speak just to fill the brief silence.

  “Then it shouldn’t be a big deal.” Madison tossed in a smile to throw the man off guard, and he returned it.

  He proceeded to pull a piece of paper from the tray of a printer on his desk and held his pen over the page. “What should I write?”

  “If you would write out your name and the numbers that are on the letterhead I gave you, that would be perfect.” She was plastering on the sweetness awfully thick and realized that maybe she wasn’t as horrible an actress as she had thought.

  “Sure.” Jeremy scrawled something down on the page. “Here you go.” He handed her the paper, and he had done just as she’d asked of him.

  “Wonderful. Thank you, Mr. Schultz,” she said, slapping on more charm.

  “You can call me Jeremy.” He grinned, obviously getting too comfortable.

  “Now, there is one other thing we’re going to need your assistance with, Jeremy,” Madison began. “But this one isn’t as much of an option.” She presented the warrant for the visitor logs.

  “What’s this?” he asked timidly.

  “We’re interested in the visitors logbook,” she responded.

  “What for?” Arched brows and skepticism.

  “We’re interested specifically in Jimmy Bates. We need to see if and when he came to your prison, as well as who he came to see.”

  Jeremy wriggled his fingers for Madison to drop the warrant into his hands, but she didn’t sense impatience as much as discomfort. She handed the paperwork to him, and Jeremy read down the page for a while. “I’ll get a copy of the logs sent over to the station.”

  “That works,” Madison agreed. “When should we expect them?”

  “A few hours?”

  “All right.” Madison got to her feet. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “Yep, don’t mention it.” Jeremy waved to the door, and Madison got the distinct impression he was rushing them out of there.

  -

  CHAPTER

  8

  GREG BERGER’S HOUSE WAS LOCATED in a gated community in the south end of Stiles. It was eight o’clock by the time Madison and Terry got there, and a woman in a maid’s apron answered the door and let them inside. The foyer was grand with a wrapping staircase and wood floors. She left them to announce their arrival to Greg and returned a few moments later to escort Madison and Terry to a sitting area.

  An older man was settled in a wingback chair next to a roaring gas fireplace with a closed book on his lap. He lifted his head when Madison and Terry entered the room.

  “Mr. Berger, these are Detectives Madison Knight and Terry Grant,” the maid announced.

  Greg sat there motionless, his face set in a scowl, and given the depth of the wrinkles around his mouth, it was an expression he wore often. His hair was white and his eyes were a faded blue shadowed by sagging brows. His eyebrows were thick and a dark brown but salted with white hairs. Long ones curled at the edges in desperate need of trimming.

  “You may take a seat,” the maid said, breaking the quiet in the otherwise silent room, which had been haunted only by the ghostly ticking of a clock.

  Madison and Terry sat on a couch that faced Greg, and he dismissed the maid with a wave of his hand. He settled his gaze on Madison. “Why are you here?”

  “You might have heard that Jimmy Bates was murdered,” Madison responded.

  “Yes, I’ve heard. His father, Rodney, is a dear friend of mine, Detective.”

  “And Jimmy was one of your employees,” she added.

  “If you have questions about Jimmy or his work life, it might be best that you speak with my son. He runs the company now.”

  And how she’d love to speak with his son about a couple of things. Yasmine, for one, and Bates, for another. “Yes, but we understand that your son is away on business this week.”

  “And surely, he’ll be back.” A slight sardonic grin. “You can talk to him then.”

  Madison licked her lips, summoning her patience. “As I mentioned, this is a murder investigation, and—”

  “I understand it may be an urgent matter,” he said dismissively

  “It may be?” she ground out, trying to hold back the anger rising inside her. Who did this guy think he was?

  “I’m not sure how I can help you.” Greg slid his gaze to Terry. “I certainly didn’t kill him.”r />
  “Do you know who did?” she fired back impulsively.

  “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

  “Given your friendship with Rodney, you don’t seem too shaken by his son’s murder,” Madison said.

  He shrugged. “I hardly knew the boy.”

  “But you were close to his father?” Madison served back.

  “It was a friendship that grew over the years.”

  “So you weren’t always close?” Terry asked.

  Greg looked at Terry. “We went to school together, got our accounting degrees. Then he went his way and I went mine. It’s common for people to grow apart after graduation.”

  “But at some point, you became close again,” Terry said. “You described Rodney as a dear friend of yours—in the present tense.”

  The clock on the wall might as well have been thunder in the otherwise silent room.

  Greg shifted his book on his lap.

  “When did you reunite?” Madison pressed.

  “Forty-five years ago, give or take.”

  Rodney had been arrested and charged forty-four years ago. It seemed all too coincidental and neat. She had a gut feeling that Greg had taken over, at least in some form, for the Mafia’s accounting matters after Rodney was imprisoned. And now, given the letterhead from the prison where Dimitre was serving time, it was really getting hard to dismiss the likelihood that Jimmy Bates had been mixed up with the Russians somehow.

  “How did you happen to find each other again?” she asked.

  “A conference.” His response wasn’t charged with any energy, and it had come quickly, almost as if he’d prepared for the question.

  She cocked her head. “What kind of conference?”

  “For accounting,” he deadpanned.

  “So you hit it off again? I mean, obviously,” Madison said, tossing the words out in a lighter manner. “You ended up bringing Rodney’s son, an ex-con, on board with your company without any experience.”

  “The least I could do. But that wasn’t actually me. It was my son’s decision.”

  “Ah.” Madison smiled. “But you still pull the strings.”

  Appeal to his pride and ego.

  Greg settled back into his chair, his posture relaxing. “I did found the company.”

  Madison nodded. “And you ended up paying for Jimmy’s schooling. That’s very generous. It couldn’t have been cheap.”

  Aggression licked the man’s features. “What are you getting at, Detective?”

  She fought to the urge to gloat. He’d as good as admitted to being involved with the decision to educate and hire Bates. It made her want to come out and ask him directly if he or his company was working for the mob. But if she did, he’d likely have them shown out and she still needed to ask him about his son, Lyle.

  Terry beat her to the next question, though. “What certification did Jimmy end up with?”

  “His CPA.”

  “That’s a—” Madison started.

  “Certified public accountant,” Greg finished, interrupting her. His arrogant tone bespoke that everyone should possess this knowledge.

  “So he would have known how to prepare and read financial statements?” Madison tossed out.

  “Of course.”

  “Investments and tax returns?” All these avenues would come in handy for hiding and laundering money.

  “Absolutely, but I’m not sure those things were his main focuses within the company,” Greg replied.

  “Which? Investments or—”

  “Both.”

  “But he was responsible for the preparation and presentation of financial reports to the board of directors?” She wanted clarification.

  Gregory cleared his throat. “Listen, I don’t know all that my son had the man doing, nor do I have a list of his job description and responsibilities handy. You said you were already down at the firm. I assume you spoke to Sylvester Stein?”

  “We did,” she said.

  “Well, then, I have nothing more to tell you on that.” He pursed his lips, and his posture tensed.

  “Fair enough,” Madison said. But she was still curious why Greg had assumed all the financial responsibility in educating and employing Bates. It wasn’t unheard of for companies to assist their employees in getting supplemental education directly related to their jobs, but most didn’t pay for college.

  “You were good friends with Rodney,” Madison began, “but I think there’s a lot more to why you helped out his son.”

  Greg angled his head. “Oh, you do, do you?”

  Madison’s heart was pounding. In her mind, it was getting harder to dance around the feeling that Greg and Rodney were both connected to the Russian Mafia. Rodney may have just passed his position on to Greg, which may have explained why Rodney’s son was given special treatment and leniencies. “I think you might have owed Rodney a favor.”

  “Me?” Greg’s nostrils flared, and his face went bright red. “I do not—and did not—owe that man a thing!”

  Madison held up a hand in an offering of apology, even if it wasn’t sincere. Regardless, it seemed to calm Greg somewhat, and she was thankful because they hadn’t even gotten around to talking about Lyle yet. She had a feeling this conversation was on borrowed time, though, so she maneuvered things in that direction. “When was your son’s business trip planned?”

  Greg looked her in the eye. “How would I know?”

  “You aren’t close?” Terry jumped in.

  “We have our differences like any father and son, but we get along fine.” Greg crossed his legs and set his hands on his knee. “I just don’t keep track of his schedule or his whereabouts.”

  “What about his love life?” Madison asked, doing her best to erase the images of Yasmine as she told them about how Lyle had abused his power and taken advantage of her.

  “What about it?” Greg asked.

  It was taking all her willpower not to blurt out that he’d raped a woman. Instead, she gave a casual shrug. “Do you know if Lyle is seeing anyone?”

  A shadow crossed over Greg’s face, and his mouth set in a straight line. “Why are you asking so many questions about my son? Do you think he killed Jimmy for some reason? Over a girl, no less?”

  “We’re just following all our leads,” Madison responded.

  “Well whoever made you think that my boy was involved in Jimmy’s murder should be shot.” Given the throbbing vein in the older man’s head, Greg’s words seemed to carry some sort of promise.

  Madison glanced at Terry, then back to Greg. If she started to ask about Lyle’s relationship with Yasmine specifically, who knows if it would paint a literal target on her back. “I never said anyone named your son.”

  Greg stood. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  Madison got up and closed the distance between them. “Thank you for your cooperation,” she said drily.

  Greg was all hard lines when he responded, “You are welcome. Now get out of my house.”

  Back in the car but still in Greg’s driveway, Madison turned to Terry. “That man is hiding something.”

  “They all are,” he moaned.

  “Are you being serious with me right now or mocking me?” It was hard to tell sometimes, despite how much time she spent with him.

  He met her eyes. “One-hundred-percent serious.”

  “He’s obviously a violent man,” she said. “When he thought someone put us on to his son and said they should be shot, I could easily imagine him pulling the trigger.”

  “Me too. And did you notice that he never showed any signs of grief about Bates being murdered?”

  She buckled her seat belt. “Wasn’t lost on me, either.”

  “And he played along for a bit about hiring Jimmy, but when it was put to him that he had done so as
a favor owed to Rodney…” Terry shook his head.

  “He lost it,” she finished. The image of the older man turning bright red would be stuck in her mind for a while. She didn’t understand why he had reacted so strongly, but she sure as hell was going to find out.

  -

  CHAPTER

  9

  IT WAS NINE AT NIGHT when they left Greg Berger’s house, making it the ideal time to follow up on another lead—Club Sophisticated, where Bates had been the night before his death.

  Trendy music blasted from inside when Terry held the door open for Madison. There was a good-sized crowd spread out at the bar and the tables. It was definitely a classy place, as Cynthia had said it was, decorated with dark wood and accented with classic touches of white.

  Behind the counter was a mirrored wall with three tiers of glass shelves mounted to it, showcasing a vast selection of alcohol. Madison was certain some of those bottles were well beyond her pay grade.

  Madison wedged between two men at the bar. Both looked at her, but one huffed and left. Oh well, more room for her. She and Terry held up their badges to an approaching bartender, and his smile faded.

  “We’d like to speak with someone about a man who was here last night around ten thirty.” Madison had to shout to be heard over the din. “Do you know who would have been working the bar then?” She was banking on the hope that whoever had tended bar that night would be available now, but if not, she and Terry could always visit them at home.

  “I was working,” he said sourly. “I’m always working.”

  “And what’s your name?”

  “Gary.”

  Madison pulled up a photo on her phone of Bates and extended it to Gary. “Do you recognize this man?”

  Gary leaned across the bar and studied the image, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Gary?” she nudged.

  “Never seen him before.” His gaze met hers briefly but flicked away. He swallowed roughly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.