Dead Man's Game

by Paul Carr

“Were you two close?”

  “We liked each other’s company. I’m a widow, and he came over for a brandy a few times a week. I don’t cook much anymore, and this was the first time I invited him for dinner.” She sighed. “I have all that food in the refrigerator now.”

  “Did you see him the day before yesterday?”

  “We had drinks on the deck that evening. He left about ten.”

  “How many drinks?”

  Seeming to blush, she said, “We had several.”

  “You didn’t talk with him after that?”

  “No. I expected him for dinner the next day.”

  Dalton asked about seeing any strange cars the night after the drinks.

  “I didn’t see anybody over there. Of course, the hedge blocks my view, and I can’t see his driveway without going around to the street.”

  “Did he say anything about still being in pain from the knee injury?”

  She shook her head. “No. He walked just fine. Didn’t even need the cane anymore.”

  “Okay. The last time you saw him, did he seem down about anything?”

  “No…not down. He did seem preoccupied about something, though. When I asked him if anything was wrong, he said, ‘No, I think everything is going to be okay now.’ He didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t seem suicidal, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  What he had said to her didn’t sound suicidal to Dalton, either. Dalton had spoken with him on Friday, the day before, and Owen had already backed out of testifying. It sounded as if he thought that would keep him safe.

  They left and went back to Owen’s house. The ME had the body in the van and stood next to his car, about to get in.

  “The lady next door said she last saw Mr. Owen at ten Saturday night,” Dalton said. He expected a terse response based on his last conversation with the doctor.

  Dr. Bragg nodded. “I think he died about 36 hours ago, but I’ll know more after I’ve had a chance to examine him. Tarver said you don’t think this is a suicide.”

  “No. I think he was murdered so he couldn’t testify in the lawsuit the Gunns filed against Raven Gardner.”

  Shrugging, Bragg said, “It certainly looks like suicide, but I’ll check him over thoroughly and get you my findings by the end of the day.” He reached for the door handle and turned back. “Oh yes, the sheriff dropped by this morning. He speaks highly of you.” Bragg actually smiled.

  “Thanks for passing that on.” He didn’t know how it happened that the sheriff had visited and said good things about him, but he was glad he had. It would make his job easier if he and the ME got along.

  Tarver said they would be another hour. Without getting in the CSIs’ way, Dalton and Crook scanned through the house for anything that might explain Owen’s death. When they came up empty, they headed out. In the car, Crook said, “What do you think happened back there?”

  “I’m guessing Owen was buzzed from brandy when he had a visitor. Probably somebody hired by Lawyer Vici or William Chan. You could get in the back door with a credit card. The intruder could’ve pointed a gun at him and told him to swallow the pills.”

  “If somebody did that, I don’t know how we’d go about proving it.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid you’re right.”

  They got a late lunch of tacos and chips at a food truck and ate in the shade of a large oak. When they got back to the office, Dalton found an email from Tarver for their work at the Hess crime scene. Compared with the results from Ringo’s file, there was nothing new. Except for one thing: the phone had two sets of fingerprints on it: those of Wilbur Hess and of Riley Gunn. Why would Riley’s prints be on it, unless the phone belonged to him? They had to get it unlocked. It seemed the only piece of evidence with any promise.

  He went over to Crook’s desk, who had also been perusing the CSI email. They discussed the possibility that the phone could have belonged to Riley Gunn, and that Hess probably took it when they went there and killed him.

  Crook leaned back in his chair. “Why do you think he hid it in his closet?”

  “I’m guessing it has something on it he wanted to save, maybe because it incriminates the person who did the killing.”

  “Yeah, could be.”

  “I’ve been thinking about William Chan’s involvement in all this,” Dalton said, “and I’m gonna pay him another visit. While I’m gone, how about setting up Sheffield and his girlfriend to come in later today? That is, if they haven’t been hitting the sauce again.”

  “Sure, I can do that. You think it’s a good idea talking to Chan? He seems to have some juice around town.”

  “If I make him mad enough, maybe he’ll slip up and show his hand.”

  Crook shrugged. “Or get you fired.”

  Dalton drove to the Key West Star Resort where vehicles crammed the parking lot. The only space he found was all the way in the rear, a good quarter mile from the entrance. Perspiration beaded under his shirt by the time he reached the chill of the lobby. He took the elevator to the fourth floor. As he exited, the door to Eon Harbor’s suite opened. Jack Ringo and Douglas Vici backed out, still talking with someone inside, presumably William Chan. Dalton eased down the opposite direction and into an alcove. The two stood there another few seconds talking in inaudible tones before heading to the elevator.

  Why would Ringo meet with William Chan and Vici? Dalton wondered if he could be involved with the Asian company. With this new development, he decided to forgo confronting Chan. He waited until the elevator doors closed and the car descended before stepping over and pressing the Down button. As he exited in the lobby, Ringo strode out the front door. Vici waited a few seconds before leaving, maybe so he wouldn’t be seen with the detective.

  Something nagged at Dalton as he got back in his vehicle, started the engine, and got the air blowing. The thought eluded him, and he pulled out of the lot into traffic, headed back to the office. While the meeting with Chan and Vici could be innocent, it didn’t look good. Dalton decided he would keep the incident to himself. He would need something more concrete before accusing a police detective of anything illicit.

  He went to his desk and did a computer search on Jack Ringo. Few links popped up, only one a social media account. Dalton accessed it and peered at a photo of Ringo, seemingly from a few years before. His background indicated that he had been with the KWPD for eleven years. He had lots of connections. Dalton scrolled through them, but recognized the name of only one: Raven Gardner. He wondered how long the two had known each other, and if his visit to William Chan could be on her behalf. Dalton had mentioned Vici’s alleged threat against Riley Gunn to several people, Ringo and Vici included. It seemed odd for Ringo to meet with Vici and Chan about that.

  Backtracking over his notes, he couldn’t help but wonder if Ringo might somehow be involved with the murders. He could have known Wilbur Hess from a drug arrest, and might have known Riley, too, but what would be his motivation? As a cop, the relationship with Vici and Chan could be that of a fixer. The visit Ringo had made the week before to chastise Dalton about harassing the company came to mind. He’d said Chan had complained to the Mayor. It seemed strange that he had gotten there so quickly, since Dalton had just left Chan’s office about an hour before. Maybe Chan hadn’t called the Mayor at all. Maybe he had a direct line to Ringo.

  The nagging feeling came back, and Tara Sand’s photo at Mallory Square floated behind his eyes. He accessed her social media page, found the photo, and zoomed in to 300 percent. The image became blurred and grainy, but the man in the background drinking beer and watching the sunset looked a lot like Jack Ringo. The guy was tall and had dark hair, and though slimmer than the current Ringo, the build was similar. Dalton punched in the number for Tara Sand.

  She answered this time, maybe recognizing the number from his card. He asked if she knew Jack Ringo. She hesitated, then said. “Why, yes, I know Jack.”

  “I wondered if he’s the person in the background of your photo of you and Riley at Mallo
ry Square.”

  “Hmm, maybe. Hold on and let me pull it up?” After a few seconds, she said, “Yeah, that’s Jack. I dated him a few times when we were in college, but I was hung up on Riley and broke it off. I think this picture was right after that. He still hung around with us. Why do you want to know about him?”

  “Just covering bases. Were the two of you ever together later, as a couple?”

  She drew an audible breath. “He phoned a couple of months ago, and we went out a few times. Then Riley came back on the scene, and we seemed to pick up where we left off when we were young. I told Jack we didn’t have a future together, and he pitched a fit, got drunk, and came by my house. I wouldn’t let him in, and he stood outside yelling, calling me and Riley awful names. I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t call the police.”

  “When was that?”

  “About three weeks before Riley died.” She paused and then said, “Wait, you think Jack had something to do with Riley’s death?”

  “I’m just looking for motives. Jealousy is a strong one, but there are some others where Riley is concerned.” Dalton paused, and then said, “Has he ever been involved with Raven Gardner?”

  “Not to my knowledge. As I recall, he didn’t care much for her.”

  “All right, thanks for the information. If you speak with Ringo, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention our conversation.”

  She agreed and they hung up.

  Crook called and told him Sheffield and his girlfriend were due at four, which was in twenty minutes. “He assured me they haven’t been drinking today.”

  Dalton reviewed his notes on their visit to Sheffield’s condo. He wanted to go over his alibi again and make sure it was solid. Also, the guitarist hadn’t seemed to remember anything about Eon Harbor. That seemed odd since the band had stayed in the company’s hotel by that name in Thailand.

  When their visitors showed up, Crook put them in an interview room and Dalton joined them. He led off with the question about the alibi.

  Sheffield shook his head. “I don’t know why you keep asking about that. We both went straight home after the party and crashed. We’d been up for about twenty hours and were exhausted. We slept like the dead.”

  “Is that your recollection, too?” Dalton asked the woman, Richele Graski.

  “Yeah, sure. We were zonked.”

  “Could your friend here have left during the night without you knowing about it?”

  Richele frowned. “No, dude, we slept together, and I’m a light sleeper.”

  “Okay, Mr. Sheffield, when I asked you at your condo about Eon Harbor, you seemed to draw a blank. I’ll ask again. What do you know about that company?”

  “I don’t remember you asking me that, but it seems like we stayed at a hotel by that name somewhere in Asia. Is that what you’re talking about?”

  When asked about it at his condo, the guy had said he’d never heard of the company. Now he suddenly remembered. He was slightly drunk the first time. Dalton supposed that could have caused his lapse, but he didn’t think so. “When you were there, did you know what happened to Riley that caused the band to cut the tour short?”

  The guitarist leaned forward on the table, his eyes narrowed. “Yeah, he got sick and ended up in the hospital. I didn’t buy that business about a stomach ailment. Riley probably overdid it with the drugs. He was bad about that.”

  “Wilbur Hess was his primary source of drugs. Did you know that?”

  Sheffield leaned back, and blinked a couple of times. “Yeah, that was pretty much common knowledge.”

  “How about you? Did Wilbur sell you drugs, too?”

  “Hey, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but I didn’t have a problem like Riley did.”

  “Did you know that Wilbur Hess was murdered the same day as Riley Gunn?”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. Sad. I liked Wilbur.”

  Sheffield’s words sounded sincere, but he also seemed guarded about something. “On the night of the party, Gunn and Casey snorted cocaine in Gunn’s bedroom. Did you join in?”

  Sheffield frowned. “No, I didn’t. You can ask Richele.” He turned to her.

  She hesitated a beat, then said, “That’s right. The only ones I saw going to Riley’s bedroom were Riley and Colin.”

  They talked another few minutes, but Dalton didn’t see the interview going anywhere. The alibi was what he had wanted to nail down, and if the two were telling the truth, they had confirmed that. He thanked them for coming in and they left. When he got back to his desk, he noticed his voicemail light blinking. He accessed it and listened to Dr. Bragg say, “You better come over. I have something to show you.”

  When he entered the autopsy room, Bragg stood next to the table, pulling a cover over Blake Owen’s body. “Let’s go over to my office.” Dalton met him there and Bragg got behind his desk. “I’m halfway through the autopsy, but thought I should let you know about this. Mr. Owen had a large amount of a narcotic in his blood. Enough to put down a horse. He did swallow drugs consistent with the labeling on the empty pill bottle at his home, but two pills were still in his stomach, dissolved but not digested. That told me he died within seconds after swallowing them. It occurred to me that he might have taken more of the drug earlier and decided he needed the last two to do the job, but that didn’t seem likely. If you wanted to kill yourself with pills, you would take the whole bottle at once. So, I looked him over carefully and found bruising around his neck.” He punched keys on his computer and turned the monitor so Sam could see. “Here, take a look.” It was an image of the neck and upper chest. Small, darkened spots appeared around the neck area. “I think these were made while someone held him from behind.” He brought up another image and zoomed in. “This is the back of Owen’s neck. The red spot at the edge of his hairline is the injection point for a hypodermic. Around that spot, I found a trace amount of the narcotic that killed him.”

  Dalton raised an eyebrow. “That means two people were involved. The one who held him and the one who gave him the kill shot.”

  Chapter 10

  As Dalton returned to his desk, the phone rang. He answered, and the voice on the other end said, “Hey, this is Deputy Wilson. I’m the one you told to canvass the neighborhood around Blake Owen’s house. I called a couple of times while you were out, but I didn’t want to leave a long message on voicemail.”

  “Did you come up with something?”

  “Only one person saw anything out of the ordinary. Might not be worth mentioning, but you wanted to know about any strange vehicles. An old man named Bobby Carson, who lives around the block from Owen’s house, said he went out to walk his dog and saw a dark SUV drive by going really slow. This was about eleven, night before last. The vehicle parked in the driveway of the vacant house next door and two guys got out. Carson said he was behind a bush and didn’t think they saw him. They didn’t say anything that he could hear, and he went back into his home. He said he got to thinking about them, wondering if they were up to no good, and went out about thirty minutes later. The SUV was gone.”

  “What about a description of the men?”

  “Nah, Carson said it was too dark. He couldn’t tell me the make of the vehicle, color, or plate number, either.”

  Wilson gave him the man’s address and they hung up. Dalton wondered if William Chan had a dark SUV. He searched the motor vehicles database, found a black Range Rover registered to Chan, and printed the page.

  Crook dropped by and said, “I’m heading home.”

  Dalton gave him a quick rundown on the call from the deputy and on the ME deciding that Blake Owen had been murdered. Crook seemed disinterested, ready to leave. They had already discussed the likelihood that Owen was murdered, and that didn’t seem to surprise him.

  “Why don’t we go over tomorrow and check out that guy’s story,” Crook said.

  “Yeah, sounds good.”

  There didn’t seem any reason to tell his partner he didn’t plan on waiting until mor
ning. A few minutes after Crook left, Dalton phoned Jack Ringo.

  “Just wanted to alert you about a murder on Stock Island. It’s outside your jurisdiction, but I thought you might be interested, since it probably figures into the other murders we’ve been investigating. A guy named Blake Owen. You might remember that I mentioned him when we were going over the murder files. He’s the environmental engineer who planned to testify for the Gunns in their lawsuit against Raven Gardner.”

  “Yeah, I remember, and one of your deputies told me about Owen when we crossed paths today. He said he thought it was a suicide.”

  “It looked that way, because Owen took some pills, but the ME found a puncture mark where a narcotic was injected.”

  Ringo remained silent for a few beats, and Dalton wondered if the call was just distracting him from something else he had going on, or what he’d said caught the detective by surprise.

  “You there?” Dalton asked.

  “Yeah, I’m here. Let me know if you find a link to the Hess murder.”

  Dalton sensed he was about to hang up and said, “I saw you this afternoon at the Star Resort. You were ahead of me and I didn’t get a chance to speak.”

  Ringo paused again, then said, “Must’ve been around four. I dropped by there to get information for some people I know who’re gonna visit later in the week.”

  “I thought I saw Douglas Vici there with you.”

  “Douglas Vici. Who’s that?”

  “Raven Gardner’s lawyer. Riley Gunn told his lawyer that Vici threatened him if he didn’t drop the lawsuit.”

  “What’re you getting at? You accusing me of something?”

  “No. Not yet. I did wonder why you were talking with Raven Gardner’s lawyer, though.”

  Ringo hung up.

  Dalton replaced the handset in the cradle wondering what Ringo was up to. Since he lied about the Star Resort, it could mean he was involved in the Gunn and Hess murders. The tall detective could’ve been the shooter.

  He left the office, drove to Blake Owen’s neighborhood, and found the address Deputy Wilson had given him. After parking on the street, he examined the area where he thought the dark SUV might have parked, looking for tire treads. When he didn’t find any he strode through the back yard to a three-foot-wide drainage ditch. The other side was Blake Owen’s back yard. There were shoe impressions in the soft earth. He took photos and called CSI Tarver, hoping he might still be working. Tarver answered.