by Tom Turner
One of the things that Ransom mentioned in a number of them was that he was hoping to get into law school. He mentioned Harvard and Yale, with Stetson, in Florida, as a backup. Crawford found that curious, since Balfour had told him that Jamie had flunked out of college twice.
Crawford also found a number of emails to Lila from a professor of hers at Palm Beach Atlantic College. They started off strictly teacher-to-student in tone, but over the course of a month, the professor seemed to get a little more familiar. Crawford spent three hours on Lila’s computer, going over her Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram accounts, as well as through her emails. Then he spent an hour on her cell phone. There were a few things on it he couldn’t open up.
At the end of it, he felt he knew her almost as well as her uncle did. It was a little past 1:00 a.m. when he stopped. He decided that first thing in the morning he was going to ask Ott to go talk to Jenny Montgomery to see what light she could shed on things.
He took one of the sheets and spread it out on the leather couch, then placed the pillow at one end. Then he went into the small bathroom and brushed his teeth with the toothbrush Balfour had provided him. He went and stripped down to his boxers, climbed into his makeshift bed, and pulled the sheet up over him.
But he didn’t get to sleep for over an hour, his brain was churning through and processing everything he had just learned in the past few hours.
He ended up having a lot of strange dreams. In one, he and Dominica and Lila Bacon went skiing together, somewhere out west, Colorado maybe. Lila broke her leg and there was no ski patrol around, so Crawford had to ski down the mountain with Lila on his back. Which was a pretty neat trick, since although Crawford had gone to college in the middle of ski country—Hanover, New Hampshire—he had never skied a day in his life.
Twenty-Three
Crawford woke up to the smell of bacon and five minutes later Balfour came down the stairs with a plateful of eggs, bacon, and toast.
Crawford looked up at him and smiled. He had to admit it, it beat the hell out of his blueberry donuts at Dunkin’ Donuts.
“Least I could do for making you sleep down here,” Balfour said.
“It actually was pretty comfortable,” Crawford said, looking at his watch.
It was seven-thirty. “You had any calls yet?” he asked Balfour.
“Not yet,” Balfour said, putting the tray down on the coffee table in front of the leather couch. “You find out much on Lila’s computer and phone?”
“Plenty,” Crawford said. “I feel like I know her now like she was my own niece.”
“You’d make a good uncle, Charlie.”
“Thanks,” Crawford said. “I’m going to call Ott. I want to have him talk to Lila’s friend Jenny Montgomery, see if she can give us some help.”
“Good idea,” Balfour said. “Jenny is her best friend. Probably knows more about Lila than us uncles do.”
Crawford chuckled. “Do you know a professor of Lila’s named Arthur Sandusky?” he asked, taking a bite of toast.
Balfour sat down in the chair opposite the couch. “Yes, I think he’s her college advisor. Marketing professor, I’m pretty sure.”
“Marketing?”
“Yeah, Lila wants to go into the advertising business. Up in your old stomping grounds, New York.”
Crawford got up off of the couch and put his pants on over his boxers. He was feeling less than professional discussing a case in his underwear, sitting on his makeshift bed. “It seemed as though in the course of a month’s worth of emails the guy’s tone went from professorial to…let’s just say, a little friendlier.”
Balfour shrugged. “I don’t really know anything about the guy.”
Crawford picked up Lila’s computer. “Well, so listen to this: ‘Lila, I think you’ve got a big career ahead of you in advertising. Don’t hesitate to ask for my help. I’m happy to be of assistance in any way possible. Best, Professor Sandusky.’ Then, like, three weeks later: ‘L, You make the class something I so look forward to. I always wonder what chic outfit you’ll show up in! xxx, Arthur.’”
“Jesus, I see what you mean,” Balfour said, shaking his head. “That’s really creepy.”
Crawford nodded.
Then he finished off the piece of toast and picked up the shirt Balfour had left for him on a blue club chair. It was a green silk shirt with a multi-colored peacock on the breast pocket.
It was a long way from standard-issue cop wear.
Probably cost about a month’s salary, Crawford thought, seeing the Maus & Hoffman label, a pricey shop on Worth Avenue. “So I was thinking about why a kidnapper would have picked Lila.”
“Yes. And?”
“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but why wouldn’t you pick the kid of someone—no offense—who was really, really, really rich? You know, billionaire rich. Who could easily come up with the ransom money.”
“No offense taken,” Balfour said then took a sip of coffee. “I agree. Why screw around with someone who’s just a little bit rich.”
Crawford picked the plate up and put it in his lap. “Anyway, I’m still going with the kidnapper being either someone you know or someone Lila knows.”
“Makes sense to me,” Balfour said.
Earlier Crawford had flashed to a scenario, which he was not about to share with Balfour. It was a disturbing phenomenon that had probably been around forever. There were certain kinds of men who—if they couldn’t have the women they wanted—would in the end, destroy them. He could think of more than a few cases that he had seen close up. He knew a cop up in New York—in fact, they had been pretty good friends—whose wife had kicked him out because, basically, the guy never came home. Then she started seeing another man. The cop pleaded with her to get back together with him and when she said no, he strangled her to death.
Crawford knew too little at this point to suspect this was a possibility in this case, but had uneasy feelings about both Jamie Ransom and Arthur Sandusky.
Twenty-Four
Crawford called Ott at the station at a little past eight.
“How was it sleeping in a ten-million-dollar house?” Ott asked, sounding fully caffeinated.
“Lemme tell you, his basement beats the hell out of the master suite of my palace any day of the week,” Crawford said, taking a swig of his Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.
“So what did you find out from Lila’s computer and phone?” Ott asked.
“Ninety percent girl stuff, ten percent…very interesting.”
Crawford proceeded to tell Ott about the Jamie Ransom and Arthur Sandusky emails, along with the ones back and forth to Jenny Montgomery. They agreed that Ott would go interview Jenny Montgomery. Ott was going to look into Ransom and Sandusky, but not interview them. Crawford and Ott feared that questioning them would tip their hand that they were regarding them as possible suspects, and thus jeopardize Lila’s life.
Crawford had hung up with Ott and was pouring a second cup of Dunkin’ Donuts into his mug when he heard David Balfour come charging down the stairs.
“Hey, Charlie,” he said before he got into the room. “I got a call, a real short one, didn’t even have a chance to get down here,” he was clearly amped up. “The voice sounded like it might be someone I know.”
Crawford turned to Balfour, mug in hand. “Who?”
“He was still using that voice distortion thing,” Balfour said, “but I noticed an accent, a Spanish accent.”
“So who do you think it might have been?”
“Valentina’s husband, Luis, is a guy who can’t hold down a job,” Balfour said. “In the last year alone he’s been a waiter, a bartender, my driver, and guess what? A construction worker.”
“Wait a sec,” Crawford said. “Hasn’t Valentina been with you for, like, forever?”
“Yeah, she has, and she’d never have anything to do with this. No way in hell,” Balfour said, shaking his head. “But she and Luis are kind of estranged at the moment and he’s always strapped for
cash. Hits me up from time to time, makes me swear I’ll never tell Valentina.”
“Where’s all the money go?” Crawford asked.
“Guy’s got a gambling problem,” Balfour said. “Meaning he spends more time at the Seminole Hard Rock down in Hollywood than at home. Valentina took me aside one day and told me about it. I feel so bad for her ‘cause she works her ass off. Not just for me but others on the side.”
Crawford nodded. “You said he was your driver?”
Balfour took a quick belt of coffee then looked a little sheepish. “On those nights when I know I’m going to have a few more than I should,” he said. “When I don’t want your brothers in blue spotting me weaving down South County Road, I call up Luis.”
“Very wise,” Crawford said. “So what’s he like? I mean, could you see him carrying through with something like this?”
“Not really,” Balfour said. “But, you know how it is, sometimes desperate men do desperate things. I mean maybe he’s in way over his head.”
Crawford nodded.
He was thinking about loan sharks. How desperate they could make a man feel.
Twenty-Five
Ott called Jenny Montgomery and told her he’d like to speak to her as soon as possible about her friend, Lila Bacon.
“Is she okay?” Jenny asked immediately.
“Yes,” said Ott without further explanation. Jenny said her first class at Palm Beach Atlantic wasn’t until one in the afternoon, so Ott made a date to meet her at ten-thirty. She lived in a small rented house that she shared with another young woman on Washington Street in West Palm Beach.
Sitting in her cramped living room, Ott remembered the array of dumps he’d lived in through college. Women’s places were always way neater and had a lot fewer beer cans and cheap liquor bottles on every available surface. Jenny was wearing a t-shirt, blue jeans, and flip-flops, a pretty young woman with no make-up.
“I appreciate you seeing me,” Ott said. “As I said, Lila’s fine, but I need to ask you some questions.”
“I called her after I got your call,” Jenny said, “and didn’t get her. You sure she’s okay?”
Ott nodded. “But I need you to promise you won’t mention this conversation to anyone,” he said. “Not a word, okay?”
She nodded.
“And please, don’t try to call her again,” Ott said. “You’ll just have to take my word for it, it’s better this way.”
She nodded again.
“Thank you,” Ott said. “So if you would, first tell me about relationships Lila had with men.”
After he spoke, Ott realized that it sounded a little abrupt. A little too quick out of the gate.
Lila frowned like the subject of her friend’s boyfriends was the last thing she wanted to talk about. She looked away and cleared her throat. “Well, she had quite a few guy friends.”
It was a start. “Could you give me a few names?”
Jenny scrunched up her eyes. “Um, there’s this one guy Jamie. It’s kind of like…I never know the status of their relationship from one day to the next. He’s pretty persistent, if you know what I mean. The type of guy who always gives her stuff. You know, flowers and stuff. She likes him, but…”
“But what?”
“He wants it to be more serious than she does. I mean, he’s older, so I think he’s thinking of like…marrying her.” Her lips tightened like she couldn’t think of anything much worse.
“And she isn’t ready for that?”
“No, I mean, she’s nineteen, a sophomore in college,” Jenny said. “I don’t think the idea of dropping out and making babies is of much interest to Lila.”
“But she hasn’t actually broken it off with him, has she?”
Jenny started twirling a strand of her brown hair. “Lila isn’t so great at saying no. She’s always so sensitive about not hurting guys’ feelings. I told her that could get her in trouble, but…”
“What about, do you know a professor of hers named Arthur Sandusky?” Ott asked.
Jenny’s head snapped back. “How do you know about him?”
“Her uncle.”
Jenny nodded. “I guess it’s not all that uncommon.”
“What’s isn’t?”
“You know, professors hitting on their students,” she said. “Thank God it’s never happened to me.”
“So that’s what happened?”
“Him hitting on her?” Lila asked.
Ott nodded.
“Yeah, I mean, she would never have been the one to initiate it,” Jenny said.
“So just how far did it go?” Ott asked.
Jenny’s face got red. “You mean…? No, definitely not. The guy just wouldn’t leave her alone. Same as Jamie, I guess. Except more so actually. To the point where he kind of turned into a stalker. Lila told me he followed her home to her uncle’s one time.”
Ott was busy taking notes.
“I think he did something, or said something maybe, that really creeped her out. She finally told him to leave her alone,” Jenny said. “Said she had a boyfriend. But I think he was like really obsessed. I think she finally just dropped out of his class. He was her advisor too. So now she’s in the process of trying to get another one.”
Ott looked up from his note taking. “Wow, that’s a pretty drastic step.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Jenny said. “I think she really liked the class too.”
“That’s too bad,” Ott said. “So back to Jamie Ransom, are they still seeing each other?”
“Like I said, off and on.”
“And Jamie is planning to go to law school. Do you think that’s…to impress Lila maybe?”
“I’m sure it is,” Jenny said. “But he’s moved on to something new.”
Ott looked up from taking notes. “You mean, not going to law school?”
Jenny nodded.
“Really? Like what?”
“He went to some seminar—Lila told me—about flipping houses. You know, make a million in a month or whatever.”
Ott chuckled.
“So he told Lila he was going to make a fortune in Palm Beach real estate,” Jenny said. “He just needed to get his grandfather to lend him a little money, learn some stuff about construction, and he’d be off to the races.”
Ott looked up again, riveted. “‘Learn some stuff about construction.’ Is that what he told Lila he was going to do?”
“Yeah, he told her he knew a guy who was a carpenter. He asked the guy if he could be his assistant or something for a while.” Jenny shook her head and smiled. “Even to me that sounded a little, um, naïve. You know, like go pound a few nails for a week, and boom, you know all about construction. I mean, really?”
Ott nodded. “What about…what do you know about a golf pro?”
Jenny didn’t react at first. “Oh, him,” she said. “Yeah, I think he works at some club in Palm Beach.”
“Okay, and what’s he seem like to you?”
Jenny shrugged. “Nice guy. I don’t know him that well,” she said. “They aren’t really going out anymore is my take.”
“Has Lila been going out with anyone else on a regular basis, to your knowledge?”
“Nah, that’s pretty much it,” Jenny’s eyes cruised the room then came back to Ott. “I’d put her in the ‘still looking’ category.”
Twenty-Six
Ott walked into the station house and the receptionist, Bettina—don’t call me Betty—caught his eye. “Gentleman over there wants to talk to either you or Charlie,” she said, pointing.
Ott looked over at a man reading a magazine. Both the magazine and the man had a lot of mileage on them. It was Rob Jaworski from Clyde Loadholt’s poker group. The guy who talked a lot. Ott toyed with the idea of sneaking back to his cubicle, avoiding him altogether. But then he decided he didn’t want to have to keep ducking him. Might as well get it over with.
“Mr. Jaworski,” Ott said, walking over to him. “What can I do for you, sir?”
&
nbsp; “Hello, Detective,” Jaworski said, looking up and smiling. “Just wanted to see if I could help you some more on Clyde’s murder.”
Rather than go all the way back to his cubicle, Ott sat down next to Jaworski.
“I can use all the help I can get,” Ott said. “Whatcha got?”
“Well, remember I told you last time there was real bad blood between Clyde and his granddaughter?”
“Yeah, sure do.”
Jaworski put the magazine down on a side table.
“I remembered something else,” Jaworski said. “Clyde telling me once she threatened to kill him.”
Ott watched two motorcycle cops walk in and give him a wave. “So you’re saying it was way more than just bad blood. And did Clyde take it as a serious threat? I mean, you know how kids get pissed off and say crazy things. Like they’ve got no governor.”
Jaworski looked out a window then slowly came back to Ott. “I know what you mean. I can’t honestly remember how seriously Clyde took it, Detective. It was a long time ago.”
Ott chose to suddenly remember an appointment he didn’t actually have. “Well, thank you again for stopping by with that information, Mr. Jaworski,” he looked down at his watch. 10:25. “I’ve gotta go jump on a conference call at ten thirty.”
Jaworski looked like he had no idea what a conference call was.
Ott stood.
“Oh, okay, so, you mean…we’re done?” Jaworski asked.
“Yes, sir, I think we’ve about covered it,” said Ott. “I appreciate you coming in. I think I can take it from here.”
As if right on cue, Ott’s phone rang. It was Crawford. “Oh, there’s my call now,” Ott said.
Jaworski nodded and walked away.
“Hey, Charlie,” Ott said, dropping his voice. “Perfect timing.”
“What do you mean?”
Ott watched Rob Jaworski walk out the front door of the station and go south on County Road.
