“The rumor mills at the station were just starting to roll as I left. Even so, all I know is Lucas Tor is dead from a car bomb, he was a local contractor, it happened in his garage and you managed to beat the Feds to the scene.”
“That’s a nice summary. You know how they are about explosions these days. The agent in charge—do you know him—Charles Cranston?”
Jackson shook his head.
“He said he’d get a preliminary report back to us in the morning. Their crew was finishing up when I left—taking the car and the body off to their lab.”
“The body?”
Leola grinned. “Don’t go getting possessive, Low. Homeland Security has one hell of a lot more time, staff and state-of-the-art equipment than we do. Unlimited funds for them these days, you know. Besides, Cranston says he’ll give us full info ASAP, along with a copy of his lab’s findings.
“I’m not terribly eager to follow this one up, anyway, since we have more than enough cold cases and a few warm ones to keep dredging through. But, should it all get kicked back to us, I’ve got one of our officers there overnight. And the garage is safely roped off. Place is a mess, as you can imagine. There were three cars in the garage at the time—Mrs. Tor’s BMW, Lucas’ van next to it, and his Jag next to that. His body—what’s left of it—was in the van. He took most of the explosion in the face and right arm. A ten gauge at ten inches couldn’t have done more damage.”
Following a generous bite of chicken and a comment about how it would be hard to find a better recipe than his mother’s or a better cook than her son, Leola added, “Cranston suspects the bombing had something to do with what happened at the federal courthouse this morning?”
“How could it have anything to do with a bomb threat at the courthouse? Cranston must still be a leftover of the old Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. After a while their heads get full of bomb fumes from sniffing the stuff.”
“That’s the AFT’s job, to sniff out connections, but I can’t understand how there could be any this time. I may change my mind if I ever get to see what we have on Tor.”
Turlow ignored the hint. “Cranston have anything to say about the explosive?”
“Dynamite. Primitive, but effective. It was most likely a wired cell phone—something that’s easy to do, according to him. Internet has several sites with detailed directions. Connected to an explosive, it becomes an ideal remote-controlled bomb. When it rings—bam! Cranston says it’s a cheap and common method in the Middle East. Reason he figured it was a cell phone is there are pieces of Nokia type plastic all over the car and buried in Tor’s corpse. Also, the Spatter King says whatever it was went off in front of him, probably right in his face.”
“Kerry King was there, too?”
“Of course. Where there’s blood, he’s bound to show up—like a vampire. That’s what I told him, but it doesn’t faze him a bit. As soon as he could, he was all over the body with a tape measure and camera. Driving Cranston nuts. Then King turned gorilla when they started hauling the van and body away. He insisted he wasn’t anywhere near finished. They finally agreed to let him go along.”
“Suspects?” Turlow peered over his drumstick at her.
“Mrs. Tor, naturally. She was in the house at the time. She says she didn’t know her husband was in the garage. Thought he was at his office or off to one of his building sites. She’s obviously much more concerned about the damage to her car than she is about losing a husband. The BMW was smashed. Windows broken and dents all over the side facing the van. Even so, if we’d let her, she’d have probably driven it off to the repair shop while we were there.”
“Anyone else?”
Leola grinned. “Hey. Why do you think I wanted you to bring home the file? When do I get to see it?”
“Don’t be impatient. We haven’t even finished the main course, and there’s dessert, yet. Your favorite, by the way. Strawberry ice cream.”
The meal over, the table cleared, the dishes in the dishwasher, Turlow broke out the file. “I skimmed through it, and it looks like you’ll have your hands full with this case.”
“It sure does.” Leola said, as she leafed through the pages. “Tor has a record. Arrested and charged with handling stolen goods. Weren’t you on the force back then?”
“Yes, but I was just a rookie. I wasn’t involved, though I heard plenty about it at the time. He was money-laundering and fencing for a syndicate specializing in burglarizing warehouses. He plea bargained and got a suspended sentence at the others’ expense. Three of his buddies got the short end of the stick—twelve, ten and six in the pen.”
“Hmm.”
Turlow nodded. “I’m sure you’re figuring those three are prime suspects, but I can eliminate two of them right off. The twelve-year con was knifed and killed when he was in less than two months. The six-year one lead a riot and is still in the pen with lots and lots of time tacked on. Number ten just got out two weeks ago. His name’s Frank Abel. I copied down his address and the name and address of his parole officer. I figured you’d be interested.”
“I sure am.”
“You’ll be even more interested when you check out Abel’s background. He served a hitch as a Navy seal before he specialized in cleaning out warehouses. I imagine he could wire a phone to dynamite using one hand—with his eyes shut.”
Leola looked thoughtful. “Much as I’d like to dump all of this in Cranston’s lap, we’ll have to start in interrogating tomorrow—just on the off chance he decides it’s our baby.”
“We’d have a tough time explaining it to the chief if we did nothing, and then suddenly had to take over the case a week from now. You going to work this with the African Princess?”
“God, Low, you’d better never let Bretna hear you call her that!”
Turlow grinned. “I promise to be careful. There are a couple of Hercule Poirot reruns on 5, tonight. Let’s watch and see how a real detective works.”
“Sure. Best thing to do after a gourmet meal like that. Just sit and relax”
“And I can think of the best thing to do after we’ve relaxed.”
Leola laughed, hugged him, kissed him enthusiastically and said, “I’m looking forward to after relaxation.”
“Hey. Cut it out, or we won’t get to see the movies”
***
Sergeant Bretna Brown was raring to go and voiced her enthusiasm in no uncertain terms after hearing the details of the crime. “Yo, Lieut, lets beat the Feds to the solution.”
“We’ve got our work cut out for us.” Leola couldn’t help but remember Turlow’s nickname for the homicide sergeant. It seemed especially well suited for the curvaceous brown-skinned woman who, with no effort on her part, invariably made male heads turn.
“So where do we start?”
“You can pick and choose. It’s a long list of possibles, plus one witness who actually saw the explosion.” As she spoke, she pushed two sheets of stapled paper across the desk.
“Wish I’d been there with you—at least to see the Feds in operation. The tavern brawl I was covering at the time sounds pretty dull by comparison. Hey! I know the witness—Melville Haines. He’s worked on my Honda. I don’t know what kind of witness Mel’ll make, but he’s a damn good mechanic. My Civic has been purring away for at least ten thousand miles after he tuned it. How come he’s a witness?”
“Mrs. Tor called Honda/BMW Motors yesterday morning. Her car wouldn’t start. Manager finally sent Haines out to the house after lunch. He got there just in time for the explosion. Two minutes sooner, and he would have been in the garage. I talked to him, but he was too shaken up to make any great sense. There wasn’t really much he could tell us, anyhow, except he got there a few minutes after two. Other than that, about all he reports is one hell of an explosion. He didn’t see anyone entering or leaving the garage.
“He’s the one who called 911 first, by the way. It took Mrs. T several minutes longer. My guess is she must have been in shock. I know if I’
d have been in the same building with that blast, I would have been.”
“How was she when you got there?”
“Paula Tor wasn’t a bit shaken, by then, and was actually much more concerned about her BMW than about her husband. From what I can make out, she spends most of her time listening to audio tapes and sunning herself by their pool. A regular lady of leisure. Didn’t expect her husband home so early. In fact, she called him just a few minutes before the explosion.”
Bretna’s eyes opened wide. “Called him?”
Leola grinned. “I know what you’re thinking, but no cigar. His own phone was sitting on the passenger seat, pretty bunged up, as you may imagine. Quick check with the phone company shows both a call from her house phone and a call to his cell phone a minute or so before the explosion. She says it rang twice, then nothing. She tried again, and got his voice mail, so she gave up. By the time she got back to the pool, the blast rocked the house. If anything, that practically eliminates her as a possibility. No other call from the house phone or her cell phone within minutes of the explosion. There was one a half-hour earlier to the car company, and that’s it for afternoon calls. Of course, she may have had another cellphone squirreled away somewhere, but it doesn’t make sense for her to be setting it off while Tor was in their garage.”
Brown looked quizzical.
“According to the Fed agent, it’s almost certain someone triggered the dynamite with a phone call—though Tor could have set if off.”
“You mean he could have just accidentally tripped it?”
“Cranston—that’s the special agent—suggested it as a possibility. We should be hearing from him this morning, and maybe he’ll have something more to say about how it went off.”
“So who are these suspects?”
“One’s an ex-con, former partner in crime to the victim. Another is Tor’s current business partner, who may or may not benefit from the death. The others are sub-contractors. Tor was a contractor and, according to his wife, he was always bickering with the subs. I’ve got addresses and phone numbers at the back of the file. And, of course, there are terrorists unknown—if Cranston’s suspicions are borne out.”
“What makes the Feds think there may be terrorism involved?”
“Coincidence, which they don’t think is coincidence, I guess. The trial of the bomb suspect at the courthouse was suspended yesterday morning because of a bomb threat. I’m sure Cranston has half of his department trying to make a connection.”
The conversation was interrupted by the phone. Moments after answering it, the lieutenant broke into a smile and punched the speaker button for Bretna’s benefit.
“More and more it sounds like it’s in your bailiwick,” the voice boomed out. “The bomb-threat call to the courthouse was four hours before the call triggering off the blast at Tor’s garage. There’s nothing we can find to tie him to the bomber on trial.”
“Anything from the lab on the explosion?”
“They work government hours. I’ve got a rush on it, though. So we may have some results by tomorrow. I do know already that the dynamite has a traceable tag. We’ll get on it and get back to you. We picked up Tor’s papers, from both his house and his office—boxes and boxes of them.”
Cranston obviously caught Bretna’s groan. “Relax. I put the whole staff on them. We’ve got them nicely sorted. Nothing to connect him to the courthouse bomb scare, so I’ll have the whole shitteree delivered to your doorstep this afternoon.”
“Thanks. Lucky us.”
“I knew you’d be happy about that.”
“Anything else besides lots of paper?”
“Yeah. We didn’t need the lab to spot a few fragments of duct tape in the van. They indicate the device was probably stuck up under the dashboard. Looks like Tor found it, picked it up and…Has your blood-spatter expert reported to you yet?”
“King? No, not yet.”
“Well, I’ll let him tell you what he’s figured out so far. Quite the guy. We could use someone like him.”
***
The choice of the first suspect had been an easy one to make. A check with Abel’s parole officer gave them the ex-convict’s phone number. The call produced only an answering machine. Van Damm didn’t leave a message.
The victim’s business partner was next on the list, with no phone call necessary. “Let’s not give him any advance notice,” Leona said, as they eased out into the traffic from the station lot.
If looks proved anything, Tor’s company was a thriving one. Torwood Contractors, Inc. was no construction shack located in a yard full of rebar, concrete blocks and plywood. Instead, it consisted of an entire floor of a new office building in the high-rent district. Griffin Harewood was even more of a surprise.
Expensive suit, silk shirt, custom tie—the clothes were the outer trappings of a middle-aged male who valued appearances, beginning with a body obviously toned by regular, strenuous exercise.
“What can I say, Lieutenant? When I heard what happened—and I didn’t hear about it until the evening news—I couldn’t believe it. Luke killed in an explosion? But this isn’t the Middle East. Things like don’t happen.” He paused. “Yeah. I guess they do. But not here. Not in a local garage. Not to just an ordinary businessman.”
“Was he ordinary?” the lieutenant asked while Bretna bent to her notebook.
“Yes. He most certainly was. I know, I know. He had a—what you might call a criminal past. But he’s been squeaky clean since then.”
“So you know of no one who might have wanted to kill him?”
“No one.” The answer came after only the briefest hesitation. Then, “He was having some problems with Leon Russo, one of our subcontractors, but I can’t believe Leon would have even considered—you know—even thought of killing Luke.”
Leola shifted tack, having quickly decided Russo had now been moved up the list, though it was also possible a herring had just been discretely pulled across the trail. “What happens to the business now?”
“The business? Why, nothing. Nothing. We were full partners, but his share of the partnership will go to his heirs. His wife, I suppose. Business is booming, so I don’t expect anyone will want to tamper with it.”
“Can we see the agreement between you and Lucas Tor?”
“Certainly. I’ll even give you a copy. A Federal agent was in yesterday afternoon and cleaned out Luke’s office, but I have my own copy of course.” As he spoke, he flipped on the intercom and gave instructions to his secretary. “Lornie McDougal drew it up, by the way, so if you have any questions about it, see him.”
Leola knew McDougal, a flamboyant and successful local attorney, and knew Lou was even better acquainted with him. It was something to look into, but right now, “How well did you know Mrs. Tor?”
A head shake. “My wife and I didn’t socialize much with Luke and Paula. They didn’t have any kids, and we’ve got four pre-teens. Maybe you know what having school-age kids means. My wife spends her time driving the girls to dance class or our son to ball games. Not many spare hours for visiting friends, I’m afraid. Just generally we didn’t have much in common with the Tors—except for business of course.”
“How well did they get along?”
Leola noticed a change, a more careful choice of words. “I guess it was what you might call an open marriage.” The room seemed to take on an ominous quiet—enough so the soft click of computer keys in the outer office could be heard.
Harewood cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’ll find out sooner or later, so I’m revealing no state secrets. Luke had a girlfriend. She occasionally came by here, and they’d go out to lunch together. Sometimes off to dinner. He didn’t hide it.” A shrug. “Didn’t flaunt it, either.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Sure. As I said, he made no bones about the relationship. Gave me her address and phone number in case I ever needed to get him in an emergency. It’s right here.” He punched a few buttons on a handheld, then rotat
ed it for the sergeant’s benefit. She dutifully copied down Connie Somers name, address and phone.
***
“The circle widens,” Leola said on the way down in the elevator.
“By that, I take it you mean one more suspect.”
“Exactly. I’m not sure what her motive would be, but a lover is always a suspect.”
“What about him?” Bretna aimed a thumb upwards.
“You heard what his secretary said. He was in his office from one-thirty to two-thirty with a customer. No phone calls out. We’ll check with the customer and with the phone company. If it bears him out, then we can cross off Griffin Harewood…barring a hit man, of course.”
“Or maybe a hidden cellphone.”
“Damn! It must have been nice back in the days when there were only landlines.”
On the way out to the car, Bretna finally voiced something she’d been mulling over. “He doesn’t exactly look like the type who would play with dynamite, even if he is a contractor. For one thing, I don’t think he’d want to get his suit dirty.”
While the sergeant drove, Leola busied herself with phone calls. The first one produced: “No answer at Connie Somers’. Phone just keeps ringing. Look, we’re close to Tor’s house; let’s drop by and do a thorough job on Paula Tor. This is as good an opportunity as any, and it will give you a chance to survey the crime site.”
Bretna glanced over at her passenger. “You looking to find out if she knows about the other woman?”
“Something like that. But maybe we should get more details on what Paula did all day—besides pool sit.”
“She could have wired the phone to the dynamite before he left in the morning. Is that what you’re thinking?”
“Exactly. And it may have been intended to go off while he was gone. Then his phone was in a blank area and her call didn’t work. Remind me to check with the phone company about all of her calls yesterday morning. I didn’t get anything but a record of the afternoon calls—or lack of them.”
Expect the Unexpected Page 51
