by Nick Vellis
Ellery looked over the form without making eye contact with me and asked, “What was your relationship with Kristin Wagner?”
“Detective, I met Kristin Wagner once and spoke to her on the phone once, no that’s twice on the phone.”
“You can’t deny your involvement with the victim. The last call she got came from your number. Why did she text you early this morning? Why did you kill Detective Wagner, Everett? Why?”
I sat for a moment trying to decide how to respond. Yep, she was using the Reid Technique. This wasn’t going to go anywhere positive on this tack. I tried to remember my father’s warning about being too clever, but it didn’t work.
“Detective your confrontational style is making me uncomfortable. Can we leave the questioning to Detective Queen? He doesn’t seem as angry as you and besides he doesn’t appear to be a pissed off bull dyke.”
Queen stifled a laugh, but I thought Ellery was going to come unglued. She sucked in her breath and her eyes bugged out. She was pissed and as a result useless for the rest of the interview. She kept it in, kept her seat, and held her tongue though. I had to give her chops for that.
“Has any one every mentioned to the two of you that together your names make the name of a famous mystery writer?”
Queen chuckled again which further pissed off Ellery. My work here is through, I thought.
“Yeah we get that once in a while. Look Everett, we’re trying to work the homicide of a cop here.”
“I know and I have a lot to tell you, but I’m not going to be handled. You want to be punks with me, I can take it and I can give it right back. I interviewed thousands in Iraq, no lie. I’ve taught interview and interrogation techniques for the Army. Most importantly, I have people who will tell you where I was last night. So, you want to be bad asses we can play all afternoon. You won’t get anywhere, you will have no information, and you’ll be talking to my mouthpiece. You two get off your high horse and you will have my full cooperation. Let’s start over and let me tell you what I know.”
Ellery’s blood pressure was still falling when I began laying out what I knew about Kristin Wagner, which wasn’t much. I told them how I knew Kristin and about her involvement with Cary Hunt. I told them about the pictures too. I gave them a list of who I was with and when the previous night.
There was a connection between the deaths of Luck Taylor, Rad Wozninek, and Stephanie Hunt as well as Kristin Wagner. The cases crossed three jurisdictions making them a forensic and administrative nightmare. Now I had made friends in yet another Central Florida law enforcement agency.
When they let me go, I called Charlie. He gave an earful for not waiting for him, but he was relieved I was I OK. My next call was to Roscoe to ask for a ride. He wasn’t in a very good mood either.
“What do you want?” he said when he answered.
“I finished with the Altamonte detectives,” I said. “I think they believed my story.”
“I’m glad someone does. Look, I’ll be at your place later. I’ve gotta to see a man about a horse. Can you get a cab?”
I was pissed with Roscoe for leaving me stranded, but by the time I got home, I was over it. The only way to get my neck out of the noose was to figure what was going on. I drew out a link diagram showing the known connections between the various people on the big whiteboard hanging on my wall. Then I did a timeline beginning with General Hunt’s blackmail letters through Kristin Wagner’s murder.
I decided to call the golf pro, Jon Canning. He’d seemed to have his finger on the pulse of things when I’d spoken to him before. Maybe I’d catch him between lessons, but only if my luck changed. He answered on the third ring and I took it as a good sign.
“Mr. Canning, this is Mac Everett. We spoke last week?”
“I’m not supposed to talk to anybody about this crap. The cops have been crawling all over this place,” he stormed.
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry about that,” I said. “Things are moving fast and it’s a messy business. But please, I think you can help,” I pleaded.
“Whad'ya want?” he said warily.
“Greer has been trying to raise money for a while, right?”
“Yeah, about a year, maybe more,” he replied.
She’d been trying to get a bankroll since before she was fired.
“When did Stephanie Hunt start working with her?”
“It hasn’t been long. A couple months, maybe six weeks before she was killed, I guess. People were talking about it, but it built up sort of slow like.”
That fit. The blackmail letters showed up in June and July and Cary Hunt left town on August 5th.
“You heard anything around the clubhouse about the killings?”
“Heard anything, that’s all these MIRCs talk about.”
“MIRCs?”
“Sorry, Members of the Idle Rich Class. It was even money Hunt killed his wife, until Rad turned up dead, that is.”
“What are you hearing now?”
“Mrs. Hunt was mixed up with Sharon and Rad in some deal. Greer was trying to raise a lot of dough.”
“You know how much she was trying to come up with or why?”
“I heard 2 million.”
“Mind telling me who you heard it from?”
“Well in for a penny, Candi told me Sharon Greer asked her father for 2 million and he laughed in her face. She’s enjoyed telling me about it over and over,” he said. “I’ve no idea what it was for. It never came up.”
“What else did she say?” I asked.
“Well, I don’t remember,” he replied slowly. “She said something else. The little tramp is always running off at the mouth about something. It usually don’t make no sense.”
“Anyone else talking about the murders?”
“Well, no, not really.”
“Who’s doing the most talking? It’s Candi isn’t it?”
“Now I don’t know, I shouldn’t be spreadin’ tales,” he said
“Do you know how I can get in touch with her or her father?” I asked.
I got Levin’s number and his daughter’s from Canning. When I reached Levin he was terse and gave a brief, “No comment,” before slamming the down the phone. I guess he thought I was a reporter. His daughter was another story, but I expected that.
“Sure I remember you,” she cooed when I got her on the phone. “You’re, like, the tall blond guy who was talking to Rad the day before he died. He was a good friend. Do you know who hurt him?”
It was tough to sound slutty on the phone, but even lamenting the passing of her tennis coach she sounded like a TV reality character, all gush and no decency or brains.
“Not yet, Candi. I think you might be able to help me with that. You mind answering a few questions?”
“Sure, I can meet you anywhere. Anywhere we can be alone, that is. Your place would be you know, like really cool. We could hang out, have a few drinks, maybe smoke a little pot and I can tell you everything,” she said. Her tone had turned to lascivious in 2.4 seconds. “We could get real comfortable together. You know, I’ve never done it with a private detective. It would be so bad.”
This kid had real problems. A slut is a girl who will sleep with anyone. A bitch is a girl who will sleep with anyone, but you. This girl was obviously the former.
“Candi, that’s a tempting offer,” I said. “Let’s get this out of the way now, on the phone,” I insisted.
“Oh,” she said. I could feel the weight of her disappointment. “All right, if you’re in, like, that much of a hurry. Maybe we can hook up some other time. I can make time for you.”
“Sure Candi, maybe the sixth Thursday of next month,” I said. She didn’t even pick up what I’d said.
“Awesome-sauce, what do you want to know?”
“I’m trying to find out about the money Sharon Greer was trying to raise. Do you know why she wanted it?” I asked.
“It was for her business. Stephanie said it was real cool. It’s a secret.” She lowered her voi
ce to a whisper.
“Did she tell you about it?”
“No, Stephanie did,” she replied. “She said they were going to do high tech research on sea life, make new species, and invent life saving drugs. It sounded crazy cool. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
Greer hadn’t worked in eight months. How she was going to do all this cool stuff was just smoke and mirrors.
“That’s OK Candi. So Stephanie came with Sharon Greer. What did she say?”
“I didn’t really understand the science part, but she introduced Sharon to daddy.”
This girl was a total ditz. “What did they talk about?”
“I don’t know. I waited outside while they talked business. I sat by the pool.”
“He, your father, turned Greer down, I hear?”
“Yeah, big time! I could have told them he wouldn’t go for it. My daddy doesn’t believe in anything that’s not at least thirty years old, and as for women, well he wouldn’t give a woman a dead battery. So I showed him.”
“What do you mean, you showed him?”
“He was ranting for hours after they left. I got so pissed. Then zowie, I had an idea. I called Stephanie the next day.”
I was quite sure it was the first idea she’d had in maybe ten years, but I decided to bite. “What was that?” I asked.
“Huh?”
I wondered if Candi was high or just plain stupid. Either one was a possibility. “Candi, what was your brilliant idea?”
“Well, my dad was spouting off about Stephanie’s super rich father-in-law and why wasn’t she asking him for money. So I suggested she try her husband’s dad. What could it hurt to ask?”
I couldn’t believe what I’d heard and that I hadn’t thought of it. Stephanie had asked all right. She’d asked for twenty-five million dollars in three threatening notes. She’d been killed before she could collect it, or had she? The problem was Greer was only looking for two million.
“Do you remember when this was, Candi?”
“Let’s see. It hasn’t been long, maybe a few weeks or maybe a couple months, oh I’m not good with dates. You sure we can’t hook up. I know a thing or two, you know, experienced, and I’m a fun date.”
“I’m sure you are Candi.”
“I’m free this afternoon or even tonight if you want to meet somewhere. Your place would be great. You sure you don’t want to hook up. I know we could have a good time.”
I fended off Candi’s last-ditch professional grade flirting by promising to keep in touch. I had no intention of keeping that promise.
I dialed Ashton, hoping she’d answer and she did.
“Oh, Mac. What do you want?”
“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” I replied.
“I don’t think you should call me for a while,” she suggested. “I’m on my way to the Altamonte Springs Police Department now.”
“What did your father say?” I replied.
“It wasn’t what I expected. He said you weren’t a bad sort. He insisted I take a lawyer with me, but...”
“But you said you were a lawyer so you didn’t need one, right.” I speculated. “Look, we know you didn’t do anything, but it’s never a bad idea…
“Not you, too!” she shouted. “Look…”
“I know. You can take care of yourself. Just be careful. These two detectives are good. It’s a male-female team. Try to direct your answers to the guy,” I advised. “He’ll be more accepting of what you have to say, and it won’t hurt if you show a little leg.”
“OK, thanks.” She said. “Mac, I don’t think we should see each other for awhile, either.”
I wasn’t shocked or even surprised. “Whatever you say Ashton, I understand. I’ll keep working…”
“Mac…I’m sorry.”
Then she was gone. The old Mac would have grabbed a drink right then and there. The bottle was still in the desk drawer. The old Mac might’ve held a gun in his lap all night trying to decide if he’d do it or not. My Beretta was in the drawer too. That was the old Mac. The new me was mad, damn mad and determined.
I went back over all my notes, trying to pull out the smallest overlooked detail. Greer was looking to raise two million and the blackmail was for twenty-five. Was it connected or not? I went back to the photocopies I’d made of the crime scene photos and reread the report summaries. What was I missing?
I was about to give up when the door buzzer startled me.
“Yeah,” I said into the speaker on the desk.
“You havin’ a pity party up there?” Roscoe growled.
“Come on up,” I shot back. I hit the button to unlock the street level door.
Roscoe burst through the door with a pizza in one hand and a liter of Dr. Pepper in the other. “I come bearing gifts,” he proclaimed as he put the pizza on my desk. “Got any ice?”
“You know the way,” I said, pointing to the kitchen.
He disappeared into the kitchen and was back moments later with two glasses of ice and a roll of paper towels. The pizza smelled good and I suddenly realized I was hungry.
Roscoe opened the Dr. Pepper, poured two glasses and handed one to me. He grabbed a slice, slapped it on a paper towel, and took a seat.
“You have this figured out yet, Captain?” he asked.
I gave him a constipated scowl. “Shut up and pass the pizza,” I said. “Thanks for bringing it, by the way. I’m starved.”
I grabbed a slice and sat back, munching on the spicy crust as grease ran down my face. “You know, you missed your calling not doing pizza delivery,” I snickered as I caught the mess sliding down my chin with a paper towel.
“Shut up. I’m retired, remember? I figured I owed you somethin’ between the way I talked to you earlier and the going over you probably got in Altamonte Springs,” he mumbled.
“It was about what I deserved for getting that woman killed,” I fretted.
“Forget it, ain’t your fault, ‘ol buddy. How about we try to figure out whose fault it is?” he chided. “I see you’re using the white board. That’s good.”
When Stan, Roscoe, and I’d been together in Iraq, I’d used a half dozen whiteboards to track information we pried out of high value prisoners. It worked for me then. I hoped it would work for me now.
“Yeah, the only thing I’ve come up with is…”
“Mrs. Hunt wasn’t involved with Greer from the beginning?” Roscoe interrupted as he scanned my scribbles on the time line.
“Apparently not.” I replied.
“When did you say General Hunt got those blackmail notes?”
“It fits. They came a few days apart, about the time Stephanie became involved with Greer. I even talked to a girl this afternoon who says she suggested blackmail to Stephanie. Not in so many words of course,” I offered.
“Oh, of course.”
“Greer was trying to raise two million, but the blackmail was for twenty-five? It doesn’t add up.”
“Maybe the money was going to more than one person,” Roscoe suggested.
“Good idea,” I said. I got up and wrote, ‘partners in blackmail’ with a question mark on the white board.
“Nothing on who she was seeing?” Roscoe observed still looking at my scribbles.
“Well it looks to me like Greer and Stephanie Hunt were hooking up,” I said. “Sharon Greer thinks Cary Hunt was sleeping with one of their friends, but we know he was seeing Kristin Wagner.”
“Could be he was sleeping with both of them,” Roscoe mused.
“That’s two good ideas for you. Want a job?” I joked as I wrote a note about Libby Davis and Tawni Williams on the board.
We both stared at the white board, hoping it would talk to us.
“You know what this looks like to me?” Roscoe said.
“What,” I said looking more closely myself.
“Maybe your retired general paid the blackmail. That’s why he called you off,” Roscoe said.
I sat back and slapped my forehead. Why h
adn’t I seen it?
“That’s brilliant Roscoe. I missed it completely.”
“Why don’t you call General Hunt and ask if he paid up? That would explain why the notes stopped.”
“Of course!” I exclaimed. “That’s why he closed the case and why he didn’t call me when his daughter-in-law was killed. I’ll give him a call.”
I whipped my cell phone out and dialed the familiar number, not knowing how I’d be received. Norris answered on the third ring.
“Norris, this is Mac Everett. Is the general available?” I asked.
“No, Mr. Everett he is out for the evening. When he left tonight he said to ask you to come round tomorrow morning, if you called.”
“Thank you Norris. I can be there by ten. Will you let the general know?” I replied.
He anticipated my calling. Was this about Ashton, I wondered?
“Norris, how did he seem to you when he said I would call?”
“I wouldn’t know, Mr. Everett,” the butler replied.
“Well thank you, Norris. Please let the general know I called and he can expect me in the morning,” I said.
“Thank you, sir, and good night,” Norris said.
Roscoe had a quizzical look about him and said, “What was all that?”
I sighed and put my hand to my chin, then said, “He wasn’t there, but he expected me to call.”
“Is that so strange?” he asked.
“I guess not.”
I sat staring at the wall, eyes narrowed in concentration. As the silence lingered, Roscoe reached for another slice. He’d seen my semi catatonic contemplation before.
I shook my head, trying to create data that wasn’t there.
“I don’t know what to think,” I said at last.
“Well, maybe you can find out more when we talk to him tomorrow,” Roscoe offered.
“Whada ya mean we?” I asked. “You’re not going.”
“Sure I am. You need me,” he said with a smile. “You’ve got a concussion, remember? You shouldn’t drive.”
“Yeah, but you’re not going,” I insisted. “I need you alive.”
“Let’s try a different subject, then, what was the name of that poison the ME found?” he asked as he took out his notebook.
