Death in Her Eyes (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 1)

by Nick Vellis

  I hated myself. I’d never have an opportunity like this again.

  “Why don’t you get out of here so I can get dressed?” she said softly. There was a mix of disappointment and anger in her voice. “I’ve never done the walk of shame without getting laid.”

  I backed out of the room. Any red-blooded guy would have jumped her bones until he couldn’t breathe, but I couldn’t. I knew her father. I was working for her. I just couldn’t bring myself….Ashton came out of the apartment and headed straight for the door without a word. She was pissed and I couldn’t blame her.

  “Hey wait,” I called.

  “Why?” she said. I could see the tears in her eyes. “You’ve humiliated me. Do you want to rub it in too?”

  “Look, I’m wound up in this case. I have a lot to prove and…”

  “And what, you don’t want me?”

  “No, I do, but I have a habit of screwing up a good thing when it comes along. I…”

  “Well, you’re running true to form,” she sobbed. She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

  I stood there trying to find some crumb that would salvage the situation. I had nothing. My only choice was to get my head back in the game, make some progress. I had to clear Cary Hunt.

  I dove back into my internet searches on the names I had. Howard Neal was the head vet out at Ocean World. Derrick McArthur was a former Orlando Magic basketball player; cut from the team after one too many bar room brawls and more than his share of positive drug tests. Luck Taylor was what they used to call a playboy. He spent his time spending money, backing rap ‘artists’ and chasing women. There was no hint he connected to gambling, big time or otherwise. There wasn’t anything incriminating on the internet about these guys. I decided I’d drop in on them unannounced.

  My Google search on my early morning visitor, Greer, produced some interesting results. She, it turned out, had been the Research Director at Perimeter Marine Research and was the alleged aggressor in a sexual harassment complaint. The best article was from Research Today.

  Perimeter Marine Research Chief Executive Sued for Sexual Harassment

  Principle Research Investigator, Dr. Nancy Cameron, filed a complaint in Federal court Friday, alleging sexual harassment, emotional distress, and wrongful termination. According to the complaint, Cameron was recruited by Dr. Sharon Greer, a senior director of research and Cameron’s direct supervisor. According to lawyers representing Cameron, the two women had worked together previously. The complaint says that Greer ‘coerced’ Cameron to have sex on multiple occasions. The incidents took place in Greer’s office and offsite the complaint says. Greer promised a ‘bright future’ at Perimeter Marine Research and unlimited funding, and threatened that she could ‘take everything away from her.’ Cameron’s lawyers told Research Today that the women never had an intimate relationship prior to the harassment.

  The complaint says that once Cameron rejected Greer's advances, she received poor performance reviews and less important assignments. Cameron reported the harassment to human resources and the company did not perform a proper investigation and ultimately fired her. A Federal jury awarded a judgment of $250,000.

  A few other articles mentioned that settlements were typical in harassment complaints, but the ‘egregious nature’ of this case made a settlement impossible. I’d have to find out more about Dr. Greer.

  I set up appointments with Tawni Williams and Libby Davis for later in the day then called Marco. When I got his voice mail, I left a message for him to check on the names I’d developed and Perimeter Marine Research.

  The phone rang and when I answered, Stan Lee was in the middle of shouting something. He wasn’t a happy camper. The man needed an intervention more that I did.

  “What the hell are you into Mac?” he barked. “Are you trying to get me fired?” he demanded.

  “Hello, to you too, Stan. I’m very well thanks,” I purred.

  “Are you kidding? Cut the crap. Some friend you are. I liked it better when we weren’t talking. Could you have told me? We talked for God’s sake…you could have sent a text - something, anything to let me know that schmuck Raven pulled you in last night…

  “It was early this morning,” I corrected.

  “…this morning. Would it have been so hard? You couldn’t give me a heads up?”

  I couldn’t get a word in edge wise. I could only imagine the grilling he’d had.

  “I’ve spent my morning answering crazy questions about you and the Hunt case. They’re going to come unglued when Doc Wilson puts out his revised cause of death.”

  I’d seen Stan stand his ground against an Iraqi tank; RPGs and even a red faced Major from the Inspector General without giving an inch. The brass must have given him a real going over. That was why I left the department, that and the murder charge.

  “You got out of there with your skin intact, I assume?”

  “I did, and I had to promise them yours to do it. If you don’t keep me in the loop…look, we have to resolve this thing, and quick.”

  “I’m waiting for Greer to call. Did you get the tail on her?”

  “Yeah, a team picked up her trail. They followed her for a couple hours then lost her. Did you get anything out of her?”

  “Your call interrupted our chat. I didn’t get to ask her about Mrs. Hunt.”

  “That’s all you got?”

  “She could have killed the tennis pro.”

  There was silence then he said, “She told you…”

  “No,” I replied. “I have a lot to prove and it’s going to take lot of work to do it.”

  “OK. I get it, just keep me in the loop, will ya’ please. I’ve got a lot riding on this one,” Stan said.

  “Will do Stan, will do.”

  Back at my computer, with my feet on the desk, wireless keyboard in my lap I cast a wide net on the internet. I tried to find a connection between Greer, the Hunts, and a deadly neurotoxin. Greer was a marine biologist. The Hunts were real estate and investment moguls. A little more searching turned up a professional social networking site that had Greer’s CV. One thing that caught my eye was she’d done antitoxin research in Southeast Asia. Was that a connection?

  I was on the way to interview Stephanie Hunt’s friends when my cell rang. It was Ward Barber. This was going to be good.

  “Mac Everett,” I said.

  “Mr. Everett, Ward Barber here. I believe we’ve had a misunderstanding,” His manner was cool and businesslike.

  “No, not at all Ward,” I replied. “What’s on your mind?”

  “The unpleasantness last night, that was uncalled for, don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean,” I asked.

  “Don’t crack smart with me mister. I can buy and sell you twenty times over. What’s the big idea?”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you Ward,” I mused. “As I told that pinhead Alan, I don’t like being tailed. If I’d done what I told him I’d do, I’d have blipped those two hoods and dropped them in your office when I came to take out Alan at start of business this morning. But I didn’t do that did I?”

  “Look here, Everett…”

  “No, you look here, Ward. Keep your people out of my way, out of my way and out of my sight. I’m going to get to the bottom of this case and neither you nor your clown squad is going to get in my way. Have a nice day, Ward.”

  I hung up on him before he could say another word.

  I met Tawni Williams, an advertising VP, at her office in the Bank of America Building. I recognized her face from one of Stephanie Hunt’s group photos.

  “Mr. Everett,” she said as I was ushered into her plush office. Her manner was icy. I tried to imagine her with a personality. My hostess was a stick thin woman with auburn hair. Her narrow face had sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin. Pair of hazel eyes peered out from below plucked brows and set in deep dark hollows. Her long pointed nose hooked over continually pursed lips, painted bright red in an unsuccessful effort to mask their thinness.
The gaunt features of her face were a reflection of her body. Everything from her skeletal arms to her doll-thin waist screamed of unnatural skinniness. Her tailored business suit did nothing but accentuate a bloodthirsty image. Unsmiling, she offered her hand as I approached. It was clammy and hard. I took it and as I looked in her eyes and saw hate and distrust. I knew nothing she would tell me would be the whole truth.

  “As I said on the phone Stephanie Hunt was my best friend. I won’t help get her killer off.”

  “I understand, but there’s always the possibility that her husband didn’t do it,” I replied.

  “Come off it, it’s always the husband,” Williams croaked.

  “True, but in this case the cops only have circumstantial case. There’s no sign of domestic abuse. Can you shed some light on that?” I suggested. If I could lead her a little bit she might just spill what she knew.

  “No, I never saw him hit her, if that’s what you mean,” She replied.

  “Did you see any sign of an affair?”

  “She told me he was sleeping with someone, if that’s what you mean. Frankly, I didn’t understand the attraction between them.”

  “Why is that?”

  She hesitated, realizing she had opened a door.

  “Um…they weren’t compatible,” she mumbled.

  “How’s that?” I asked, anxious to exploit her slip.

  “She was lively and loved life. She liked to have a good time and he was married to his work,” she replied.

  “Did she have complaints about his long hours?”

  “No, not exactly, ah, she liked to travel…”

  “I understand they traveled a good deal, separately and together,” I responded.

  I didn’t mind lying to this broad. She’d do the same to me if she ever said anything important. Fortunately, she was looking to the left retrieving facts and memories.

  She nodded.

  “You were close with Mrs. Hunt?”

  “Yes, we knew each other a long time.”

  “What can you tell me about her habits?”

  “What are you driving at Mr. Everett?

  “What can you tell me about what she liked to do, where she went, who were her friends? That’s what I’m driving at.” I said. “Look I’m sorry your friend was killed, but I have a job to do. I want to find out who killed your friend.”

  “She played a lot of tennis. She was competitive.”

  “That’s helpful, what else? Did she do drugs or gamble?”

  She fell silent, and then continued ignoring my question. Her eyes flicked to the right while she formulated a story.

  “Four of us have hung out since college, me, Libby Davis, Stephanie and Sharon Greer. You won’t get me to say anything against Libby or Sharon either.”

  Her dodging my question was as good as telling me. Stephanie Hunt did drugs or gambled. Her success with tennis told me it was the latter.

  “Have I tried to trick you? I don’t work like that,” I said.

  “No,” she hesitated, trying to decide what to say next. “The four of us have been like sisters since our freshman year. We went to grad school separately, but we stayed in touch and continued to be close. Libby and I are both married. We don’t want any trouble,” she said.

  I noticed she didn’t say happily married. I couldn’t quite picture this cold fish enjoying wedded bliss.

  “Look, the four of us were very close. That’s all I’ll say.”

  “You mentioned knowing about Mr. Hunt’s affair, did Mrs. Hunt ever talk about her own extracurricular activities?”

  “You’re not going to smear my friend’s reputation,” she shouted as she leapt to her feet. “You …”

  “Of course not,” I assured her, “it’s just that it has come up. The prosecution won’t bring it up, but you can bet the defense will. Several people at the country club have insinuated…”

  “Let them insinuate all…”

  I held up my hand to hold her back, “Several people have insinuated they knew about her affairs and others have admitted sleeping with her.” Lying to her was getting easier. “We have to look at all the possible motives and suspects.”

  “The police have their man,” she said with defiance.

  “Yes and the police are still investigating. If you help me, we could identify the real killer. If it is Cary Hunt, well that’s fine with me, but if someone else is responsible…” I let the thought hang in the air between us.

  After a few moments, she took a deep breath and began, “Stephanie was…flirtatious.” She waved her right hand with a flourish. “She enjoyed teasing people…teasing men. Sometimes they took her too seriously and, well, she slept with them to avoid a problem.”

  “She piss off anyone in particular?” I asked.

  “I guess,” she admitted. “There were a few people who weren’t too happy with her.”

  “A few men she ‘teased’,” I made air quotes around teased. “Who were these men?”

  “Well I don’t know…”

  “Come on.”

  “All right. You know, you’d make a good ad account executive Mr. Everett. You’re persistent.” She took a deep breath and began, “Howard Neal was upset she wouldn’t see him again. I don’t think they were together more than a few times. Derrick McArthur, the basketball player, threatened her at the clubhouse one night, but he was drunk, as usual. He said some awful things. Oh, and Luck Taylor, he tore up the…”

  “I heard. So you see there are a couple suspects besides Cary Hunt.”

  “Have you to spoken to Sharon Greer?” she asked. Her tone was almost cooperative.

  “What was their connection,” I replied.

  “They were very close of course. Steph introduced her to a few of our friends. Not everyone was happy with that.”

  “Do you know what she’s doing?” I asked.

  “Not really,” she replied.

  It was a lie.

  “I think we’re through here Mr. Everett. You can see yourself out,” she said, abruptly ending the interview.

  I went to la Cosina, a little Mexican cafe on East Colonial to talk to Libby Davis. She’d agreed to meet me there for an early dinner, rather than at her office at Loch Haven Park’s Orlando Science Center. She’d said she didn’t want her bosses to know about her involvement. The statement made me wonder what she had to hide.

  I asked for Ms. Davis and the hostess lead me to a woman sitting alone in a dark corner. In contrast to the almost masculine Tawni Williams, Libby Davis was the embodiment of femininity. An attractive woman in her thirties, her delicate features gave the appearance of a much younger woman, but the age lines around her eyes and mouth told another story. Long chestnut hair hung loose to her bare shoulders framing brown eyes. Her sleeveless dress took advantage of her curves and offered more cleavage than the office dress code should allow. She offered her hand without standing as I introduced myself. Her dark eyes held fathoms of pain.

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice Ms. Davis,” I said as I took my seat.

  “As I told you on the phone, I have to get back to the museum. I have a fundraiser tonight. I’ll have to eat while we talk, if that’s all right.”

  “Fine,” I replied.

  “You’re welcome to join me,” she said breaking into her best smile. She crossed her legs flashing more than a little thigh. I bet she raised a lot of money for the museum. Yeah, with those legs I was sure she did.

  “Thank you, no,” I said. I was reconsidering when Libby’s steaming chile relleno arrived at the table.

  “This place is still family owned, three generations, but that’s not what you want to talk about is it? Mr. Everett, I’m married and like most people I’ve done some things I wish I could take back.”

  “Ms. Davis, I’m not out to hurt anyone, but there’s been a murder and things have a way of coming out. What do you have to tell me?” I said gently touching the back of her left hand as it rested on the table. I looked into her dark sad e
yes. They were pretty and held painful secrets.

  She bit her lip. Her eyes flitted from side to side for a moment then went down and to the left. She was working herself up to talking to me, rationalizing. Finally, she put down her fork, leaned toward me, and said, “Stephanie’s husband couldn’t have killed her. He loved her. I … I tried to get him to take me home with him twice. Stephanie put me up to it of course. I tried hard and he was a dear. He turned me down so sweetly. He loved her despite what she was.”

  I took her hand, and she didn’t pull it away. We sat there, holding hands, looking at each other, and then I broke the spell.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Do you know who Stephanie was seeing?”

  Her eyes washed over my face. I felt her heat.

  “I know she slept with several men at the club. There was nothing to it, of course. There was…” She stopped midsentence. I could see her mind whirring. “She was bored with Cary,” she continued, “Lord knows why. He’s wonderful, a hunk, kind, handsome, and rich, but she wanted something more,” she wrinkled her eyes in concentration trying to find the right word, “no not more, maybe different. She never seemed to be satisfied and was always looking for more.”

  Her thoughts were confused, but I could see the truth in what she said.

  “Were you surprised when Cary Hunt was arrested?”

  “Yes I was. As I said, Stephanie had me test him. I felt dirty doing it, but he passed. I never heard Stephanie say they had problems. She was just bored.”

  “Why do you think that might be?”

  “Oh I don’t know. You know, she liked going to parties, getting into the social scene, and having fun. He was more a…”

  “More a workaholic?”

  “Oh no, he had regular hours. He traveled a good deal, but he was home a lot too. It was Stephanie who was always doing something or gone off some place.”

  “How’s that?”

  “She traveled a lot. She went to China, Peru, spent a couple weeks in Europe more than once…”

  “She did all this with her husband and was bored?”

  “Oh no, she didn’t travel with Cary. She went with Sharon. I think he was too busy to go off with her, or maybe she just didn’t want him along.”