Deep Six

by D P Lyle

  She scoffed. “And we both know how much you and your dickwad father care about the law.”

  “What do you want, Tammy?”

  “The truth.”

  “Ask Walter.” I disconnected the call.

  One thing you can say about Tammy is that she’s relentless. Took one minute, two minutes, and three minutes for her to call back three more times. All before I could reach the deck table where Nicole, Ray, and Pancake sat. Each time I bounced the call over to voice mail. I had nothing to say, and she wouldn’t listen anyway, so why waste time and breath?

  I slipped into the vacant chair next to Nicole. The Gulf was calm, moonlight silvering the crests of what waves there were, the evening breeze light and warm.

  “I ordered you tequila,” Nicole said. “Thought you’d need it after a chat with Tammy.”

  “How’d you know it was her?”

  “Intuition.”

  Ray raised an eyebrow.

  “Tammy wasn’t exactly thrilled with us dragging Walter into this,” I said.

  “Walter drug himself into this shit,” Pancake said.

  “Somehow Tammy doesn’t think that absolves us of our sins.”

  Ray chuckled. “No surprise there.”

  The drinks arrived.

  I took a sip of the chilled tequila. Nicole was right. I needed it.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Henry called from the plane,” Ray said. “Wanted an update.”

  “And?”

  “I told him the guy seeing Barbara was Walter. Figured why wait.”

  “What’d he say?” I asked.

  “You mean after he regurgitated his tongue?”

  “Can’t say I blame him,” I said. “Lucky he didn’t have a stroke. I mean, finding out your wife is murdered and the last guy to see her was a friend.”

  “This is definitely a screenplay in the making,” Nicole said.

  “Probably common out there on the left coast,” Pancake said. He rested his elbows on the table. The long-necked Pabst Blue Ribbon he held seemed downright Lilliputian in his massive hands.

  “Except for the motive part.” Nicole draped her hair over one shoulder. “In LA screwing around is the norm. Part of doing business. Not worth whacking someone over. Money and power and good scripts, on the other hand, are worth killing for.”

  Ray smiled at that, tipping his own PBR in her direction. Ray’s way of saying, “Good one.”

  “Anyway,” Ray said, “I told Henry that Walter admitted to the affair but denied he harmed Barbara.”

  “He believe that?” I asked.

  “Actually, he did.” Ray drained his beer.

  “Really?”

  “He knows Walter’s a wuss. Couldn’t kill a garter snake.”

  That was true. Walter was a wuss.

  Ray continued. “I also told him that Walter wanted to hire us to find the real killer. He said he did, too.”

  “What are we going to do?” Pancake asked.

  Ray shrugged. “I guess we’re working for both of them.”

  “Can we do that?” I asked. “I mean talk about conflict of interest.”

  “If they both agree, I don’t see why not.”

  “This is now like totally LA,” Nicole said in a mock Valley girl accent.

  “The screenwriter at work,” I said.

  “Plots are where you find them.”

  “Pancake’s started sniffing around in Henry and Barbara’s world,” Ray said. “See if Henry had any troubles. Or maybe a motive of his own.”

  “You mean like his wife humping a neighbor?” I asked.

  Ray nodded. “Or maybe some business dealings that went sideways. Pissed someone off. That sort of thing. Meanwhile I’m rolling into Walter’s world. We should have something by tomorrow.”

  “What do you want us to do?” I asked.

  “Us?” Ray looked at Nicole. “You part of this now?”

  “If you let me,” she said. “After all, I was there from the beginning. So to speak.”

  Ray shook his head. “No can do. I think we’ve already compromised client integrity enough by allowing you to know what you already know.” He hesitated and then said, “Unless you’re on the payroll.”

  “Then hire me,” Nicole said. “I think I like this PI stuff.”

  Ray hesitated and then said, “I suspect we could do that. Mainly to keep an eye on Jake. Don’t let him screw up.”

  “That would definitely be full-time employment,” Nicole said.

  “Funny,” I said.

  Ray shrugged. “Probably won’t work anyway.” He looked back at Nicole. “Legally, if you’re going to be inside these investigations we need to protect the company. Confidentiality issues. If you’re an employee those aren’t a concern.”

  “Cool.” She clapped her hands. “I’ve always wanted to play PI. Do I get a code name? Or a badge and gun?”

  “You’re dangerous enough with a car,” I said.

  She mussed my hair. “Wimp.”

  Ray smiled. “No badge. No gun. No code name. But you’ll get a shiny little plastic ID. Pancake’ll make it up for you.”

  A camera appeared from Pancake’s canvas bag. He aimed it at Nicole. “Smile.”

  “My hair’s a mess,” she said.

  “The way you drive your convertible, I’m amazed you have any left,” I said.

  She gave me a “get real” look. “Major wimp.”

  “Don’t matter,” Pancake said. “All gnarled like that makes you look badass. Now hold still.”

  She did and he snapped a couple of pictures. “I’ll print it up and laminate it as soon as we’re done here.”

  “What’s my salary?”

  Ray shrugged. “Whatever Jake says it is. Since you’re his sidekick, he’ll be paying you.”

  “I always wanted to be Tonto.” She looked at me. “So how much?”

  “Didn’t I just pay you? In your shower.”

  “Not much of a payment.” She flashed a wicked smile.

  “The claw marks on my back would indicate otherwise.”

  She laughed. “But, I’m more of a cash girl.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I’ll let that slide.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So how much?”

  “A dollar a day,” I said.

  She gave me a mock pout. “I feel so cheap.”

  “Okay. Make it five.”

  “Daddy Freakin’ Warbucks here,” Nicole said, yanking a thumb toward me.

  I smiled. “Or we could work out something else.”

  “And I’ll let that slide,” Ray said. “Anyway, Henry’s plane gets in at ten-thirty. Your first duty will be to go with Jake to pick him up.”

  “Seems the police would meet his plane,” I said.

  “Henry arranged for a sit-down with Morgan tomorrow.” Ray waved his empty bottle toward Carla Martinez who nodded back from her station behind the bar.

  “Where are we taking him?” I asked. “To a hotel?”

  “Home.”

  “The police are finished there?”

  Ray nodded.

  “I’m not sure I’d want to go home just yet,” I said. “I mean after what happened. Seems weird to me.”

  “It’s Henry’s choice,” Ray said. “So pick him up and deposit him there.”

  “Will do.”

  “And be cool.”

  “Always.”

  Carla handed Ray a fresh beer. “You guys want any food? Or are you drinking dinner tonight?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE TRIP TO the airport in Mobile should have taken thirty minutes. Took fifteen with Nicole as pilot. She treated the highway like it was part of the NASCAR circuit. Door handle to door handle and triple digit speeds. Several screaming horns, friendly fingers, and flashes of high beams fell in her wake. She seemed not to notice.

  “Do you have a wall somewhere decorated with speeding tickets?” I asked.

  “If I did it’d be empty.”

  “You’ve ne
ver been pulled over?”

  “Sure. Just never got a ticket.”

  “I see.”

  “A smile and a little cleavage works wonders.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  She maneuvered past a delivery truck and then whipped around an SUV, alternating the brake pedal with the accelerator. “Not sure you qualify.”

  “What’s wrong with my smile?”

  “I don’t think that’s the important part.”

  Hard to argue with logic.

  My body ached with tension from the death grip I had on the dash and door handle by the time she wheeled into the parking deck, snatched a ticket from the automatic dispenser, and spun up to the third level. She parked along a low concrete wall, facing the airport runways. An American Airlines flight lifted into view, engines whining.

  “There were plenty of spaces on the lower levels,” I said.

  “More people, too. Up here, we’re alone.”

  “So?”

  “So, we have thirty minutes.”

  “At the risk of being redundant, so?”

  “Get out of the car.”

  I did. I looked around. The third floor was poorly lit and sparsely populated. A dozen cars, only one parked nearby. A jacked-up red pickup, its sides and oversized wheels splattered with dried mud, “Crossroads Off-Roading” stenciled on its doors in white lettering.

  “Now what?”

  She stood next to the wall and watched as a United flight hit the air. “Isn’t this great?”

  It was. The plane elevated slowly, turned away from us, its engines bright red dots that shrank and finally winked out.

  “Cool.”

  “Want to do something really cool?” she asked.

  “Like what?”

  I heard a zipper.

  She wiggled from her jeans and bright red thong, letting them bunch at her ankles. She leaned, straight-armed on the edge of the wall. “I think you can figure it out from here.”

  “Is this a good idea?” I looked around sure that someone was watching from the shadows.

  “We’re down to twenty-five minutes. Get over here and do your thing.”

  “My thing?”

  “Okay, my thing.”

  I did.

  Another plane, Delta this time, rose, the sound of its engines mingling with Nicole’s soft moaning and my own raspy breathing. The night suddenly seemed much warmer. Four more flights departed before we reached the finish line. I zipped up. Nicole tugged her thong and jeans up.

  “Feel better?” she asked.

  “I was just fixing to ask you the same thing.”

  She smiled. “A lot better.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “You give picking someone up at the airport a whole new meaning.”

  “Let’s go meet Henry.”

  We found Henry at baggage claim. He stood near the carousel, cell phone to his ear. He looked, well, normal. I expected him to be pale and drawn and red-eyed and exhausted. Henry was none of that. His suit and shirt were crisp, his tie snugged. He looked as if he was heading to a business meeting. He nodded as we approached but continued his conversation.

  What I heard went like this:

  “Get the partnership agreements and the other papers together and meet me in the office at ten.”

  “No, I should be finished with the police by then.”

  “Yes, the attorneys should be present.”

  “No, that’ll have to wait until the death certificate’s finalized.”

  “Why? Because she’s not legally dead until she’s legally dead.”

  He disconnected the call and slipped the phone into his jacket pocket.

  I shook his hand, introduced him to Nicole, and then asked, “Everything okay?”

  “Barbara was a partner in the company. Her death will create a mountain of paperwork and BS.”

  Really? That’s his concern right now? I felt a little off-balance. “Sorry for your loss.”

  Henry nodded. “Thanks.”

  This was odd and not what I expected. Henry seemed distracted. Definitely not torn up over Barbara’s death. Seemed all business as usual. Was he in shock or did he simply not care? Did he have her whacked?

  He seemed to sense my confusion. He sighed. “I’m sorry. I guess that sounded cold. Or uncaring. Or whatever.” He shook his head. “Truth is that we have a lot of deals in the works. Things that could unwind very quickly if investors felt the company was wobbly or in any kind of trouble.” He looked at me. “The business world never takes a day off. Hell, it never even takes a nap.”

  I nodded. “I understand.” Though I’m not sure I really did.

  “Howard Hughes died on a Monday,” Henry said. “He was on a plane flying from Acapulco to the medical center in Houston. I have a friend, a doctor, who was there in training at the time. He and the staff knew Hughes was on the way. They also knew he was dead. But the world didn’t know. From what I understand, the powers to be in the Summa Corporation, Hughes Company, and maybe even the Feds, squashed the news until after the New York Stock Exchange closed that day. They feared his death would ripple, maybe even crash, the markets. He was that big. The delay gave the Summa folks until Tuesday morning to reach out to investors and assure them that business as usual would continue.” He shrugged. “Not that my little businesses are in that league, but the principle’s the same. Nervous investors make poor decisions. We can’t afford to let that happen.”

  “I guess that’s true,” I said.

  After collecting Henry’s luggage, we packed into the car. I drove. Nicole protested, but I countered that her driving might give Henry a heart attack.

  “You survived,” she said.

  “I got lucky.”

  I wound down the deck, paid the gate attendant, and headed toward the airport exit. I studied Henry in the rearview mirror. He looked calm and relaxed. I had a million questions I wanted to ask, but Henry beat me to it.

  “Any new leads on who did this?” he said.

  “How much did Ray tell you?”

  “He told me about Walter. Said you made a video. Walter leaving around midnight.”

  “That’s right.”

  He looked out the side window as if watching the scenery go by. “I must say it’s not what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know. But not Walter.” He sighed and then turned his gaze to the rearview mirror, where our eyes locked. He looked down. “This might sound strange, but I’m actually relieved it was Walter.”

  This guy was full of surprises. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess because Walter is a friend. He and Barbara were always close. I didn’t know they were this close but close nonetheless.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Nicole said. “On some level.”

  “A friends with benefits situation I can understand. I was afraid it was some young beach stud.”

  “Any reason to suspect that?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say Barbara was a very friendly person.”

  Nicole twisted in her seat and looked back at Henry. “What do you mean?”

  Again he sighed. “This isn’t her first indiscretion. There were three others that I knew of. Last one was a few years ago. I thought she was beyond all that now.” He looked out the window again, unfocused. “Guess that wasn’t the case.”

  “Do you think Walter killed her?” Nicole asked.

  “Anything’s possible, but that would surprise me. Walter doesn’t seem the type.”

  “Killers often don’t,” I said.

  “True. But Walter would be a stretch.”

  “He was the last one to see her alive.”

  “Maybe,” Henry said. “Unless someone came along later. Did you see anyone else around? When you were there making the video?”

  “No.”

  “The beach was very quiet that night,” Nicole said.

  “You were there?”

  “We had sort of a spy date.”

&n
bsp; “Spy date?”

  Nicole shrugged. “Didn’t want Jake to be lonely on his stakeout.”

  “You work for Ray?”

  “Sure do. Sort of. Mostly just hanging with Jake.”

  Henry nodded. “Still, I don’t see Walter as a killer.”

  “Just an adulterer?” I asked.

  “That’s a long way from murder.”

  “Passion can be a motive. Maybe an argument? Maybe she was going to break it off? Some guys don’t handle that well. Maybe things simply escalated? That sort of thing.”

  “I suppose.”

  “What about you, Henry?”

  “Me? I was in New York.”

  “A man of your means would have no problem hiring someone.”

  Henry’s gaze snapped to mine in the rearview mirror again. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t like where this is going. You accusing me?”

  “Just asking the questions that have to be asked. You can bet Morgan will.”

  “I’m sure.” His narrowed eyes relaxed. “And I’ll tell him like I’m telling you now—no way. Barbara and I had our differences. She had her affairs. I worked too much. Wasn’t the most attentive. But in the end we loved each other.”

  “And she was part of your company?”

  He nodded. “From the beginning.”

  “What happens to her ownership shares?” I asked.

  “They go to me.”

  “Could be a motive,” I said.

  “Jake, get real. They were mine anyway. We were married.”

  That made sense. And if the profits, dividends, whatever went into the family pot, Henry had no reason to off Barbara. At least not a financial one. Unless a divorce was in the offing.

  “Anyone with a grudge against you?” Nicole asked. “Or your wife?”

  “Definitely not Barbara. She was easygoing. Most of the time. I mean she had her flare-ups. Could be a perfectionist at times. But nothing that would bring this her way. Me? I’ve stepped on a few toes. Bested some folks in business deals. Software is big business. Real estate, too. Lots of money involved. Very competitive. It can be . . . what’s the word? . . . confrontational at times.”

  “My point,” Nicole said. “Money and competition can lead down some dark alleys.”

  “And be a strong motive for murder,” I added.

  “Why would such a person, if such a person exists, kill Barbara?” Henry asked.

  “Maybe you were the target,” I said. “Maybe they thought you were home.”