Death Vetoes The Chairman (Lizzie Crenshaw Mysteries Book 7)

by Teresa Watson

  T.J. took three plates out of the cabinet, and pulled out the silverware. “I have a contact I can get in touch with after we eat. Do you know his last name?”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea if Garth is his first or last name.”

  “My full name is Garth Christoph Banks,” he said, putting two bowls on the counter by the other dish. “My father is British, my mother is American.”

  “Explains the slight accent and the manners,” Owen said.

  “Yes, I suppose it does,” Garth smiled slightly as he took three serving spoons out of another drawer. He fixed a plate of food, put a fork on the edge of the plate, and brought it over to me. “It won’t be necessary to call your contact, Agent Roosevelt. I think we should all pool our resources and work together, don’t you?” He took a Dr Pepper out of the fridge and handed it to me. “But not today. Ms. Crenshaw needs some rest, and I need to talk to some people before we talk.” Walking over to the stairs, he turned and looked at us. “Be ready by 10 a.m., and wear something warm.”

  “Have you heard anything from Patricia about Jake?” I asked him.

  “He’s holding his own, which is a good thing.”

  “Well, I didn’t see that one coming,” I said after he left.

  “I wonder what made him decide to talk,” Owen said as he fixed his own plate of food.

  T.J. said, “I wonder if he’s going to tell us the truth, or if we’re being set up.”

  “At the moment, I don’t care,” I said, taking a bite of the casserole. “I’m going to eat this wonderful meal, I’m going to take my medication, turn on the TV, and fall asleep. You two can do whatever you want.”

  The guys played a few more games of pool before joining me in front of the TV to watch a college football game. I have no idea who won, because I fell asleep before halftime.

  I woke up the next morning in my bed upstairs. T.J. was asleep in the chaise lounge, just like Jake had done a couple of nights ago. As I started to get up, every muscle screamed in agony, and I grunted, which woke up T.J. “What’s wrong?” he said, sitting up.

  “Just sore.”

  “I saw the bruises when I tucked you into bed last night.”

  “How did they look?”

  “Well, it’s a good thing purple is your favorite color.”

  I pulled back the covers and looked at my bare legs. They were definitely purple. I swung my legs over the edge of bed, and T.J. helped me to my feet. “I’m going to take a hot shower. Sweats are going to be my best friend today. I hope that doesn’t offend anyone.”

  “I’m sure everyone will understand.”

  “Frankly, my dear, at this point, I don’t care if they do or not,” I replied as I shuffled toward the bathroom.

  An hour later, after a shower, a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits and a life-giving Dr Pepper, we were back in Garth’s SUV. “Where are we going?” I asked him from the back seat.

  “To my office.”

  I looked out the window and noticed there weren’t any buildings around. “Wait a minute, this is the road to the airport, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “We aren’t going to be flying anywhere, are we?”

  “No, ma’am, we’re keeping our feet firmly on the ground, I assure you.”

  “Have you heard anything from Patricia?”

  “She told me last night that Jake was awake for an hour last night. The doctor said he’d probably sleep through the night, given all the trauma his body had been through. The best thing for him right now is rest. She was going to go back later today.”

  “Wait, she was at the house?” I said, shocked. “Why didn’t you tell me? I wanted to talk to her.”

  “Because she didn’t come home until 5 a.m. She went straight to bed.”

  Garth turned down the airport road, and drove us to the Mathias hanger. He parked on the backside, shut the engine off, and turned to face us. “I must ask that what you see and hear today is kept between us.”

  “What is this, ‘Mission: Impossible’?” Owen laughed.

  “I’m trusting you with something that is very important to me, and I would hate to have that trust violated,” Garth replied.

  I put my hand on his arm. “You have our word. If either one of them talks, I’ll take them out myself.”

  He grinned. “Well, I hope you won’t have to take such drastic measures, Ms. Crenshaw.”

  “I hope not, either. And for the last time, please call me Lizzie.”

  We got out and followed Garth through the side door of the hanger. We walked across the concrete floor, and stopped in front of a wall of steel shelves. Grabbing the edge of one shelf, he pulled it toward him, revealing a grey metal door. There was one key lock on the left side of the door. Garth pulled out a separate set of keys, selected one, and unlocked the door. Behind the door was a set of stairs that went down.

  “A bit cloak and dagger, isn’t it?” Owen said as Garth flipped a switch on the wall, lighting up the stairway.

  “Micha has said that on more than one occasion,” he replied as he led the way down.

  “Who is Micha?” I said.

  “My computer expert, or as you would say, a computer geek.”

  We got to the bottom of the stairs and walked down a hallway to another door. This time, Garth pulled out a small card, and ran it through a scanner that was on the right side of the door. It slid open, and we entered a large room painted a sunny yellow. “Just because we do our business underground doesn’t mean we need to use dark colors,” Garth explained. “The yellow makes us feel less confined.”

  “Says the man who doesn’t spend a lot of time down here,” a female voice replied.

  He led us over to a large desk area, where a young woman sat in front of three large computer screens. The first thing I noticed was the brown French braid that went down her back. When she turned around, I saw green eyes behind a pair of black nerdy glasses. She had on a well-worn University of Virginia hoodie, navy blue sweats and tennis shoes. She looked me up and down. “A woman after my own heart,” she said, pointing to my sweats. “These are just way more comfortable than jeans or dress pants.”

  “I totally agree.”

  “He doesn’t,” she said, jerking her thumb in Garth’s direction. “He has been trying to get me to wear nice outfits for three years. I keep explaining to him that no one sees me down here in the Pit, so no one is going to care what I wear.”

  “I’m Lizzie Crenshaw,” I said, holding out my hand.

  She shook it. “Micha Michaelson.”

  “Micha?”

  “My mother was going through her Russian literature phase when she was pregnant with me. The doctor told them they were having a boy, so they chose Micha. When I turned out to be a girl, they kept the name anyway. My brother’s name is Jean-Pierre, but he prefers to go by Peter.”

  She turned to the other two. “You must be Owen Greene,” she said, shaking Owen’s hand. “Sheriff of Ellis County, Texas, correct?” He nodded. “Have you ever arrested your mother or sister for running their gentlemen’s club? Man, I bet that would be rather awkward during the holidays. ‘Now, Mom, don’t forget about your court date on Monday.’”

  Owen’s face turned red as T.J. and I laughed. “Thankfully, it’s not that kind of club,” I told her. “And if he ever arrested either one of them, his mother would disown him for sure.”

  “The retired FBI agent,” Micha said, looking at T.J., “now a deputy in a small town. Quite a step down, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Not really,” he replied, glancing at me. “There are benefits to living there.”

  She arched her right eyebrow. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Did you bring us here so she could give us a rundown of our personal lives, or is there a reason we’re in your secret lab?” Owen asked Garth.

  “I asked Micha to do some checking on Ethan, to find out just how many other women he’s assaulted over the years.”

  “Isn’t that classified or pro
tected information?” I said. I wasn’t happy about the idea that someone could hack police or hospital records and find out what had happened to me.

  “Not if you know the way around firewalls,” Micha said. She must have been able to tell what I was thinking, because she reached out and took my hand. “It won’t go beyond these walls, Lizzie, I promise. And not to be insensitive or belittle what happened to you, but you are one of the lucky ones.”

  I resisted the urge to jerk my hand away. “I certainly don’t feel lucky.”

  Micha picked up a folder off her desk and handed it to me. “Compared to Rachel Samuels, you are extremely blessed.”

  Taking a deep breath, I opened the folder and gasped. The photo staring back at me was of a woman who had been severely beaten. One eye swollen shut, a cheek cut open, and red marks around her neck. T.J., who had been looking over my shoulder, snatched the folder from me and closed it.

  “His normal routine with women started with a casual dinner, followed by flowers for a couple of weeks. He might even send a gift or two. After that, he would switch things up a little, depending on the personality of the woman. A trip to Vegas for one young lady; another time, a ski trip to Vail. He assaulted those two women on their trips.”

  “Did they file charges?” T.J. said.

  “All the women except one filed charges, but they never made it very far into the system. Daddy dearest always paid them off, and the women suddenly developed amnesia.”

  “What about Rachel?” I said.

  Micha looked at Garth. “She was beaten to death,” he replied. “She was the one who went on the trip to Vail. Her parents reported her missing when she didn’t show at their house three days after she was due back. Ethan told police that he had left early due to an emergency business meeting, and therefore had no idea what happened to her. They found her body in a ravine after the spring thaw.”

  “But the picture here shows fresh injuries,” T.J. remarked.

  “That was the first time he assaulted her,” Garth said. “He wanted to make love, and she politely declined.”

  “That didn’t go over well, I’m sure,” I said.

  “No, it didn’t,” Garth agreed. “He beat her, and then had his way with her. He took her to the hospital, and according to their records, she wouldn’t let them do a rape kit, and she wouldn’t file charges.”

  “Good God,” I said, sitting down in a nearby chair.

  “How many women are we talking about here?” Owen said.

  Micha turned around, tapped a few keys on the keyboard, and pulled up a spreadsheet. “Over the last twenty years, at least seventy-five women.” She turned to face me. “You’re number seventy-six.”

  “And Edward Winthrop paid off all those women?” I said incredulously.

  “Not all of them,” Garth said. “Even though they all filed charges, Ethan and his father made it nearly impossible for them to find a lawyer to take their case. Edward’s reach is very wide, and if enough pressure is applied, you can make anything go away. A well-placed article in the newspaper, and suddenly, you’re a social pariah. Eventually, a majority of the women moved away, or simply wanted to get on with their lives. It just wasn’t worth having their whole lives destroyed.”

  “But you’re the exception to the rule,” Micha pointed out. “According to their phone records, there were a lot of calls going back and forth between Texas and Virginia. I can just imagine what was said.”

  “Ethan was told to make the problem go away,” I said. “What about his high school years?”

  “That’s a bit more difficult,” Micha said. “Juvenille records are sealed, and not even my magic fingers could get us those files.”

  “Sage mentioned that there was one woman who moved to Dallas, Marie Erickson.”

  Micha wrote the name down. “Anyone else?”

  “As much as I hate to say this, we need to look for the other victims, and then check their alibis,” I said. “There has to be a way we can find out without disrupting their lives too much.”

  “We could ask Sheriff McDonald,” Garth said. “I’m not sure how cooperative he will be, but given the circumstances, we might be able to get some information from him.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Owen replied. “We do our best to protect assault victims to keep their attackers from finding them if they move away.”

  “What if we ask Kassandra or Sage?” I suggested. “They mentioned being part of a support group.”

  “I think they will be greatly offended if you suggest that a member of the group could have killed Ethan, as well as attacking you and Jake,” Garth said.

  “What if we perused Edward’s bank accounts?” Micha said. “If he paid off most of the victims, there has to be some kind of trail. A check, or even a transfer to another account.”

  “Good luck getting a search warrant for that,” Owen replied.

  “Who needs a warrant?” she grinned.

  “I do NOT need to hear this,” Owen said. “I’m an officer of the law, even if I’m in a different state.”

  “Hear what?” Micha said with an innocent look on her face. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “I think we need to talk to Edward,” I said.

  “What? Why?” T.J. said.

  “Like I said last night, it’s too much of a coincidence that our accident happened right after we had dinner with him. My gut tells me he’s involved.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” T.J. shook his head.

  “Why? Afraid I’m going to strangle him in front of witnesses?”

  “Well, now that you mention it…”

  “I can barely move, T.J. Trust me, I don’t have the strength to wring his neck. Although, the idea of shooting him in the knee to get him to talk is an intriguing idea.”

  The men just looked at me, but Micha laughed. “Olivia is going to like you,” she said.

  “Who’s Olivia?”

  “Just another member of our group; you probably won’t meet her. She would definitely approve of your idea.”

  “Ah. Well, let’s get a hold of Edward. Garth, why don’t you call him, but don’t mention that I’m going to be there,” I told him. “Tell him that Patricia would like to see him at the house.”

  “I strongly suggest that we have McDonald there with us,” Garth replied. “We don’t want Edward to claim later that we beat anything out of him.”

  As we got ready to leave, I made one more suggestion. “We need to check out Kassandra Sherwood and Sage Kingsley, too.”

  “Any particular reason why?”

  “There were only five people who knew what Ruthdale Simpkins said to Jake and I the day she was murdered: Ruthdale, Jake, me, Kassandra and Sage. The only people we mentioned it to before she died were the other two.”

  “So you think one of them talked to someone else and told them what Ruthdale said,” T.J. said.

  I nodded. “Whoever they talked to didn’t want Ruthdale to tell anyone else about Ethan’s alibi the day Jessica died.”

  “But that also puts Kassandra and/or Sage at risk as well,” Garth said. “And we don’t know that Mrs. Simpkins was killed because of what she told you.”

  “Just check them out, please.”

  “Can do. I’ll let Garth know when I’ve got something.”

  T.J. wrapped an arm around my waist as we left. “Which one of those women do you think is involved?” he said quietly.

  “I’m not sure,” I replied. “But I think one of them told someone, and I think that someone is Edward Winthrop.”

  Chapter 27

  Garth called Edward and invited him for lunch. While he managed the meal details, I gingerly dragged myself upstairs and took another hot shower. What I really wanted to do was to crawl into bed. They always say you hurt more on the second day than you do the first, and considering how much pain I was in, I was inclined to agree.

  T.J. thought it would be a good idea to wait until after Edward got there before joining them in t
he dining room. He placed a chair near the doorway, where I would be able to hear what they were saying without being seen. This was going to be one interesting conversation.

  Edward showed up about 12:15, and Garth introduced him to T.J. and Owen as they sat down. “Where’s Patricia?”

  “She’ll be here shortly. She had some last minute details to take care of,” Garth replied. “You know how it is. Excuse me, I’ll go and get the main course.” He came into the kitchen a minute later. “He’ll see you as soon as you walk into the room. When are you going to come in there?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll play it by ear.”

  He nodded, pulled a dish out of the oven, and carried it into the other room. “I’m afraid this is the best I could do on short notice,” he said. I heard him place the dish down, and the clanking of utensils as the meal was served.

  “I haven’t had a homecooked meal in quite a while,” Edward said. “It smells wonderful.”

  No one said anything for a few minutes. “Since you’re here, Mr. Winthrop,” T.J. said, “I was wondering if you could tell us about the meeting you had with Jake and Lizzie the other night.”

  “That poor girl. She demanded money from me to keep quiet about what Ethan allegedly did to her.”

  “Really?” T.J. replied, sounding surprised. “I had no idea she was planning to blackmail you.”

  “The bruises she showed me looked like they were done with make up. She was quite believeable, actually. Even the waitress felt sorry for her. Luckily, I’ve been through this many times before with other women Ethan has dated and scorned.”

  “Where they still at the restaurant when you left?” McDonald said.

  “Yes, they were.” Well, at least he told the truth about something. “I had an important meeting and I needed to get back to town.”

  “So you have no idea what time they left?” T.J. said.

  “I’m afraid not,” Edward told him. “I heard about their unfortunate accident, though. Two lives lost at such a young age. I’m sure Patricia is simply devastated. Did the young lady have any family? If not, I’d be honored to help pay for her funeral.”