The company name was Premier Farm Equipment. This man must have known her husband well. Why else would Dean carry more than one of his cards? Farm equipment, she thought, baffled. It was just so odd. Even if the guy was a golfer, it was hard to picture her husband hanging around with a farm-equipment salesman. If all else failed, she’d have to go to San Diego and pay this man a visit.
Arriving at the airport, Kathleen passed several signs before she spotted the red and white letters of Jet USA. She made a sharp right into the driveway. Slamming on the brakes, she flung open the door, adjusted her jacket collar, and checked her blond wig in the mirror.
“Can I help you?” a professional-looking man in a white shirt and dark slacks asked, seeming to be more interested in her legs than in being helpful.
“I don’t know,” Kathleen said. “That all depends on what you have to offer? Are you a pilot?”
“That’s what I do,” he said, smiling. “Why don’t you come in the office?” He raised his arm, directing her to go up the small flight of stairs.
Dean had not only tried to kill her, he had taken her self-esteem. Maybe if she acted like an attractive woman, she would be perceived as one. Most men didn’t focus on a woman’s face, as had just been proven by the pilot. At least she didn’t have to worry about extra weight. She’d lost all interest in food. She walked past the man and slowly climbed the stairs, letting her hips sway. “What’s your name?”
“Ralph Hayward,” he said. “I’m fairly new here. They just transferred me in from North Carolina. I’m sorry. I don’t know all the customers. And you are…?”
“Kathleen…” she said, stalling while she considered if she should use her real name or a phony one. “Sheppard,” she continued, remembering the name on the business cards. Using “Masters” at the golf course had only hurt her chances of finding her husband. It was time to go undercover and see if she could make some real progress. “My boss, Dean Masters, asked me to come down and get a printout of his recent flights. You know, he likes to watch the expenses.”
“I know what you’re talking about,” Hayward said. “Luxury and convenience come with a price. Would you like something to drink?”
Looking at two jets outside the small window, Kathleen noticed the water dispenser. “Water,” she said. “I can get it myself. You go ahead and get me that information. I have to be back at the office as soon as possible. I’m the one who holds the fort down, you know.”
“Right.” He went behind the small desk and tapped on the computer. Kathleen’s back was turned. When she bent over to fill the cup, the typing stopped. The pilot was sufficiently distracted. The few attributes she still possessed were a pair of great legs and a nice ass. She could ask this guy for his wallet and he’d probably give it to her.
“Nice airplanes,” she said. “Are those the ones my boss travels on?”
“Be with you in a minute,” said Hayward, sending the document to the printer and then picking it up and walking over to stand next to her. “Looks as if Mr. Sheppard takes the smaller jet, like the one over there on the left. He must travel alone or in smaller groups.”
She turned around and snatched the papers out of his hand, seeing the name Matthew Sheppard on the header. What kind of farm-equipment salesman flew around on a private jet? Multiple trips were detailed to Las Vegas, New York, Santa Barbara, San Francisco, and San Diego. “Got you,” she said, just loud enough to be heard.
“Excuse me? Is there a problem?”
Collecting her composure, Kathleen folded the report in half. The last thing she wanted was for Dean to find out she was on to him. Several important elements of her husband’s existence were at Hayward’s fingertips. “Nothing, just that this report you gave me is for my husband, not Dean Masters. I might as well take his, too, since you’ve already printed it. You can save a stamp that way.”
“Oh, so sorry,” said Hayward. “Sure. No problem. You know, I have to work a lot of hours and sometimes I have trouble focusing. Give me a minute and I’ll have the other one for you.”
“And you say you’re a pilot?” Kathleen teased, trying to cover her excitement at getting just the information she wanted. She was supposed to be home recuperating. But lying around the house feeling sorry for herself would accomplish nothing. She’d lain around enough in the hospital. Going after Dean kept her mind off the pain. What remained she controlled with Percodan.
“Well, I’m focused when I’m in the air. So you need Masters, too?”
“Please,” Kathleen told him, leaning on the edge of his desk as she peered down at the computer screen. His eyes followed her finger as she pressed the Enter key. Reaching up behind his head she stroked his hair. “You’ve done good, Ralph.” Grabbing the additional pages, she walked out the door and down the steps.
Once inside the Cadillac, she hit the automatic door locks, backing up and speeding a mile down the street before she pulled off and parked to look at the paperwork. On the first page of the Dean account, the payment column jumped out at her. It read, “Payment by Check KDM Real Property.”
This was Kathleen’s corporation!
Dean had been paying for this absurd extravagance with her money. She looked at the total on the third page and gasped. The amount for the year read $623,497! Her husband was not only a murderer, he was a thief.
She retrieved her cell phone from the floorboard and called her business manager. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cohen isn’t in the office right now.”
“I want his cell phone number,” she demanded. “This is Kathleen Masters.”
“Okay, Ms. Masters,” the woman said. “Can you hold on for a minute?”
After a few seconds, she came back to the phone. “He just walked in. I’ll transfer you to him now.”
“Alec Cohen here.”
“Good,” Kathleen said. “I’m coming to see you. I need an explanation of why you were paying Jet USA for my husband’s traveling expenses. This is unacceptable. What were you thinking?”
“You sent me a letter approving my disbursement of those funds,” Cohen told her. “Don’t you remember?”
“No, I don’t,” she said, furious. “Dean hustled me. How many more of his expenses are you paying?”
“We should talk about this in person, Kathleen,” Cohen said. “Take some deep breaths, and your mind will clear. I’m sure we’ll work through this problem. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal.”
“My mind is clear, very clear,” Kathleen shouted. “Are you getting a kickback from Dean?”
“There must be some kind of misunderstanding. Everything’s going to be fine. You still have plenty of money in your accounts. When will you be here?”
“A ‘misunderstanding’ is an understatement. You’ve paid out over six hundred thousand dollars to Jet USA. God knows how much more of my money you’ve squandered. My husband is gone, Alec. He tried to kill me, and you’re paying his bills.”
“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for all of this,” Cohen said, his voice cracking. “We’ll figure this out when you come in. Please try not to be hysterical when you show up at my office. You’ll upset my employees and clients.”
Kathleen ended the call without saying good-bye. Her husband had been draining her dry and all Alec was concerned about were his employees and clients. She placed her hand over her stomach, resting her head on the steering wheel, fighting against the pain. She fumbled with the clasp to her purse, found the bottle of Percodan, and tossed the pills into her mouth, washing them down with the Coke she’d been drinking. Dean might have stolen millions from her. What did Alec mean when he said there was still money left in the accounts? How much money? She’d broken her back selling real estate for years while Dean was jetting around the country on her dime. She felt like smashing her fist through the windshield, but she had enough scars already.
How could she have been so stupid, allowing this hideous man to snake his way into her life?
Kathleen started the car, but her body was sh
aking so much that it was impossible to drive. Her attention returned to the reports she’d left lying side by side on the center console. She wasn’t sure if her eyes were deceiving her. The papers were very similar. Both Dean Masters and Matthew Sheppard had made trips to San Francisco, New York, Santa Barbara, and San Diego on numerous occasions. The only difference was where the trips had departed and who’d paid the bills.
Main Street Corporation was the payee on the Matthew Sheppard bill. Kathleen wondered if she could trace it through the Department of Corporations. How many other women was Dean stealing from? Suddenly everything slammed together like a freight train.
Dean was Matthew Sheppard!
Since Brian Irving had never even called her back, she knew it was up to her to stop Dean. She knew he wouldn’t give up the luxury and status of flying on his private jet, particularly since he probably thought she was still picking up the tab. Now she understood why he’d tried to kill her. He couldn’t allow her to file for a divorce, knowing the truth would surface. As soon as Dean found out she’d been asking questions, which he would eventually, he would come back to finish what he’d started. The only way she could keep that from happening was to get to him first.
It was time to buy a gun.
CHAPTER 33
Thursday, October 19—3:45 P.M.
Marcus steered his dark green Range Rover to the Ventura branch of the Bank of America. Grabbing his briefcase from the passenger seat, he went inside. “I need to get into my safety deposit box,” he said, smiling at the girl at the counter.
“How are you, Mr. Wright?” Tammy Deerfield said, her eyes lighting up as she handed him a form to sign. “I’ll take you in now.” She took him into the vault, located his box on the row next to the bottom, and inserted her key into one of the two locks. Their heads were almost touching as Marcus bent over to put his key in the other.
“You smell great,” he said, receiving a shy smile in return. He carried the metal box to one of the private rooms and closed the door. Lifting the lid, he removed the neatly organized stacks of bills and placed them on top of the counter, exposing multiple CDs that were labeled with codes and dates. Underneath was a black steel container with a combination lock. Sorting through it until he found the CDs he was seeking, he then deposited them in his briefcase and locked it. Before closing the safety deposit box, he took a stack of hundreds and slipped the bills into his jacket pocket. Finished with his business, he left the room and handed the box back to the clerk. “How is it going with your boyfriend?”
“Not too good, we broke up last weekend,” Tammy told him.
Marcus followed her out of the vault. “I’m sure there’s dozens of guys looking for a pretty girl like you.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she replied, downcast. “I’m just disappointed, you know. I thought everything was going so good.”
“It’s hard to know people these days,” Marcus said, slipping his key back into his pocket and walking out of the secured area into the lobby of the bank.
“Marcus Wright,” a male voice called out.
Hank Sawyer was sitting in a chair, a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. Surprised to see the detective, Marcus said, “What brings you here? Opening a new account?”
“I’m a public servant,” Hank said, pushing himself to his feet. “We don’t make that much money. Anyhow, I like to stick to one account. Keeps things simple.”
“Simple is good,” Marcus said. “Did you catch Holden?”
“No, he’s still on the loose,” Hank told him, a stern look on his face. “Right now, I’m more concerned about you than Holden.”
“What does that mean?” Marcus said, watching as the detective slid his hand inside his jacket. He must be wearing a shoulder holster, he thought. Is he reaching for his gun? And how did he know I would be at the bank? He must be following me. Cop or not, Hank’s infatuation with Carolyn could have reached an irrational state, Marcus figured. Determined to protect the contents of his briefcase, he pressed an autodial button on his cell phone that was programmed to alert his personal security service.
Hank moved toward him. “Mr. Wright, we have preliminary information that tells me that you may be dangerous.”
“Incredible,” Marcus said, shaking his head in dismay. “Have you lost your mind, Hank? Does Carolyn know that you’re following me around and harassing me?”
Hank spit the toothpick clenched between his teeth out into a trash can. “She knows what I know.”
Tammy was pretending to do work at her desk, but it was obvious that she was listening more than working. “If you’re going to cause a scene,” Marcus told him, glancing over at the teller, “we should go outside.”
Not waiting for Hank, Marcus strode toward the door. When he stepped outside into the sunlight, he saw the black Suburban already parked at the curb. “I’m not sure what’s going on inside that thick head of yours,” he told the detective as the two burly men in dark suits stood by sullenly, waiting for his signal, “but you don’t have any idea who you’re dealing with.”
“You’re right.” Hank put on his mirrored sunglasses. “That’s going to change, though. Watch your back, Wright. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Then you might as well join me for lunch,” Marcus told him, hoping to turn things around.
“No thanks,” Hank said. “I don’t eat with suspects.”
“Now I’m a suspect?” Marcus exploded. “What am I suspected of doing, stealing your girlfriend? Forget lunch. We probably wouldn’t enjoy each other’s company.”
“What makes you think I’m interested in living the high life?” Hank asked. “I uphold the law, and to some people that’s mighty important. We don’t have anything in common. In my mind, that’s a positive, not a negative.”
“You don’t have Carolyn,” Marcus said, getting in the detective’s face. “And if I have anything to do with it, you never will. Back off, Hank. You’re out of line here. What will your supervisors think if they find out you’re using your badge for personal reasons?”
The detective’s expression told it all. His face became red, and his hand clenched into a ball. “I won’t let you hurt her.”
“Who says I’m going to hurt her?” Marcus said, fed up. “I don’t know who’s feeding you this bullshit about me being dangerous, or if you’re just manufacturing it. Find the guy who assaulted Carolyn and shot her son.” He continued toward his car.
“Not so fast,” Hank said, latching onto his arm. The two large men rushed up and intervened, breaking his grip and pushing him aside. Hank kept his balance and flipped open his jacket to pull out his gun. A moment later, he came to his senses and placed it back in the shoulder holster.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Marcus told him. “Shoot me, and you’ll be the one who goes to prison. If you want to arrest me for a crime, then handcuff me and read me my rights.” He held his wrists in front of him. “Go ahead.” When Hank didn’t respond, he smirked. “That’s what I thought. Leave me alone, all right? I’d hate to see something happen to you, mainly because it would break Carolyn’s heart. Unlike you, I really care about her.”
“Are you threatening me, asshole?” Hank barked. “I’m a police officer. I can do anything I damn well please.”
Marcus surged forward into his face. “I’ve never been afraid of anyone, and I’m not going to change now. Do whatever you have to do. Talk to my friends, follow me around. I don’t break the law, and I don’t run around accusing innocent people.”
He proceeded to his car and opened the door, driving off and leaving Hank standing on the curb.
The detective returned to the bank, approached Tammy Deerfield, and flashed his badge. “I see you know Marcus Wright?”
The girl looked around. “Yes,” she said. “He’s a nice man. Did he do something wrong?”
“What would make you think he did something wrong?” Hank said, leaning against the counter.
“I heard you arguing with him,” s
he told him. “I didn’t know you were a police officer.”
Hank reached into his pocket and pulled out a small evidence packet containing the safety deposit key Carolyn had removed from Holden’s house. “Does this look like one of your safety deposit keys?”
Tammy stared at the key, then looked up. “I can’t really tell,” she said. “It looks like all the other safety deposit keys I’ve ever seen. You really can’t tell one from the other. There’s no box number on it.”
“Then how do you find it?”
“We follow a specific procedure,” she explained. “The customer comes in, fills out a form with his name and box number, then we verify his signature and the teller initials it before we take him into the vault. It takes two keys to open the box. No one else is allowed to enter the box without a court order unless the customer has left us with specific instructions in case of his death. Without the customer’s key, we can’t even open the box.” When he just stared at her, she continued, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No,” Hank said. “I think you’ve told me everything.” He would have to get a court order, and Marcus could have ten safety deposit boxes scattered throughout Los Angeles. It was days like this that he wished he’d never gone into police work.
Back in her office, Carolyn booted her computer and typed up the interview she’d taken this morning. There were twelve victims, and since they were all young boys, she’d scheduled the appointments at their homes. Doing it this way could take almost triple the time, but she decided the victims had already spent enough time away from their homes during the trial. Sometimes the legal process could do more damage than the crime. The boys needed to forget what had happened to them, not memorize every detail and suffer the embarrassment of having to discuss it repeatedly with strangers.
After a half hour she realized that all she was doing was staring at her monitor. How could she think, after what she’d heard from Mary and Hank? She had slept with Marcus only a few days ago, even told him that she loved him. Even if he wasn’t involved in anything, why had she moved so fast? She’d only known him a short time. Was it because of what had happened with Holden? Most women wouldn’t have wanted to be with any man after such a terrifying experience. But her son had also been shot, and Carolyn had needed to be comforted.
Sullivan’s Evidence Page 33
