by Martin Brown
Fred Winters was about to leave, but when he caught Holly’s eye, he simply could not resist taking another swipe at Michael’s reputation.
“I just want to tell you,” he began with an angry look in his eyes, “I respect how you and your colleagues felt about Michael, but in truth, he was anything but a good guy.”
“Why is that?” Holly asked innocently.
“Well, like a lot of people in the news business, you only know a small part of the story.”
“And the rest is…”
“Michael was an extortionist. He shook me down for a nice little payment every month to keep my mouth shut. I told this to your buddy over there,” Fred said, as he pointed toward Rob.
“Well, did Michael keep his mouth shut?”
“Yes, my money bought his silence.”
“Wow, thanks for telling me. I wonder if there were others he targeted.”
“Well, there was this guy who was big in the Novato Chamber, Marv Reagan; he spent years paying Michael. For all I know, he might have been sending him checks up until he read in the IJ that someone shot Michael dead.”
“How many years do you think that would be?”
“Well, it goes back to when Michael lived in Novato, more than twenty-five years. I guess he figured it was a lot cheaper than getting his butt kicked by his wife.”
“I guess she’s pretty scary, huh?”
“Well, she’s been one of Marin’s top divorce attorneys for many years; I guess for Marv that was scary enough.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Early the following morning, Eddie, bringing coffee and pastries up to The Standard’s Sausalito offices, sat down with Sylvia, Holly, Rob, and Ted to hear what they had learned. All of them, working on tight deadlines for various stories, scattered after the reception, but took the time that evening to write detailed notes on their separate conversations.
“I think we can begin by agreeing that Michael was running a blackmail business on the side,” Holly began. “In fact, let me correct myself. I suspect his side business was working at Walt’s Cameras. His real profession and his main source of income must have been extortion.”
“At this point, I don’t think there is any doubt about that,” Ted said, as he looked around the table to see everyone nod in agreement.
“Holly,” Eddie said, “take us through that aspect of what you learned.”
“Sure, it was simple. Fred Winters, the guy who Barbara Marks left her husband for, made a point of telling me that he was the target of one of Michael’s stings. He wouldn’t say how much he had paid Michael to not tell his mom he was cheating, but I assume it added up to quite a bit. If he hadn’t broken up with her over another affair, I suppose those payments to Michael would have kept rolling in.”
“Equally amazing to me,” Rob added, “Winters told me much the same.”
“You think Winters is a suspect?” Sylvia asked. “Sounds like a pretty angry guy.”
“Well, he certainly gets his name on my list,” Eddie responded. “But it’s kind of unlikely that a guy is going to blow off steam like that when he’s the killer. But you never know; it certainly takes all types. If any of us set a fire, we’d run like hell. But then there are those rare cases where arsonists like to stay and watch the havoc they have caused.”
“I can go you one better,” Holly said excitedly. “Winters said he knew of another victim in Novato; the guy’s name is Marv Reagan. He thinks that he was paying Michael for twenty-five years or longer.”
“Wow,” Eddie said, as he shook his head. “I’m starting to think your suspicion is correct; this was likely Michael’s real career, and that’s not good if you’re hoping for a quick solution to his murder.”
“Why is that, Eddie?” Sylvia asked.
“Well, put the squeeze on three people and you’ve got three suspects with a motive to kill their blackmailer; make it thirty and you’ve got quite the cast of suspects. Equally troubling is we may never know if he had five or fifty victims. We stumbled across the whole extortion angle when I interviewed Juliette Parker.”
“Eddie, can’t you get a court order to go after the contents of his mailbox?”
“We could. I want to learn more before we go that route. First off, was it a PO Box inside a post office or was it one of several private places that offer mail drop collection for clients? If it’s an actual postal box, we have to step up to a federal level; if it’s a mail service location, it can be handled through the county court system. I suspect I can pay a visit to Fred Winters; he should at least have an address he used during the time he was caught in Michael’s web.”
“Any value in posting someone to watch Michael’s collection box once we do know the location?” Sylvia asked. “It would be wonderful to know if he did have a confederate who might still be collecting checks.”
“I strongly suspect after Sunday’s front page story on the life and times of Michael Marks, victims checks to his mailbox have quickly dried up,” Eddie said with a short laugh.
“True,” Rob added. “Michael’s demise must have been welcome news for those who were on his monthly payment plan. Of course, for those believing that he had an avenging angel ready to smite anyone who might have harmed their blackmailer, his killing must have them expecting a package any day now to be delivered to their nearest and dearest.”
“Well, if we’re wondering how long Michael’s list runs, I’ve got a fourth name to add to that list,” Ted offered.
“Who?” Eddie asked
“Walt Douglas told me of a rant by a guy known as Al D.; do you remember him?”
“Al D., as in the old rocker?” Eddie asked.
“That’s him; bought himself a nice house over in Blithedale Canyon, probably ten or more years ago.”
“Do you think this guy Walt is a reliable source?”
“Well, for starters, no one person in Mill Valley enjoys gossip more than Walt. He’s been known to bullshit, but given what we know already about Michael, this would seem to fit. Not to mention, if you were looking to shake someone down, I think Michael was smart enough to track people who had some real scratch.”
Ted filled everyone in on what Walt told him about Al D. and then added, “Is there a little bit of extra color thrown in? With Walt, that’s probable, but given what we know, Eddie, you should put Al D. on your list.”
“Agreed,” Eddie said with a smile.
“And let me tell you one other thing from a Mill Valley perspective,” Ted added emphatically. “This whole idea that Michael made his money from blackmailing people is going to spread from one end of town to another like a brush fire.”
“That’s probably a good thing for us,” Eddie said. “It’s like shaking an almond tree. The more you shake, the more nuts you get. From what you told me Sunday, the question of how Michael made his money has long been a popular topic of gossip. The bigger the buzz, the more people coming forward, and that’s great for finding answers.
After a pause, Eddie asked, “What else?”
“I spoke with Barbara Marks,” Sylvia said.
“Anything of value that you want to pass along?”
“Just this, Eddie, the woman believes that all their lives began to unravel the night she decided to go off with Fred Winters and leave her husband and two sons behind. Obviously, her decision had a vast impact on all four of them. Last night, I kept wondering if Michael started extorting money from people who were having affairs as his way of lashing out at his mother?”
“Could well be,” Rob volunteered. “But I don’t know if that moves us any closer to finding his killer.”
“I would agree, with one significant exception,” Eddie offered. “In a family meltdown like the one the Marks experienced, there can be a domino effect of unintended consequences. It’s one more thread in the fabric of a bigger story. It might well lead to a dead end, but the family’s trauma should not just be set aside.”
“No, that’s true, Rob,” Holly said. “Michael wa
s obviously a complex person; it’s hard to say, at least for now, where this all began…other than Barbara’s sudden departure. But given how long ago Fred Winters began paying hush money, it’s very possible he was Michael’s first target. If so that gives weight to the idea that this all grew out of one family’s trauma.”
“All true, people, but we’re losing the main focus: Who killed Michael Marks?”
“Joanne Hill,” Rob began, “I want to throw her into the mix. She’s a teacher at Old Mill Elementary; she dated Michael for a couple of years…”
“Was it serious?” Eddie interrupted.
“Serious enough that she slept over frequently and asked me if I knew who was investigating his killing. I said you, of course.”
“What’s her interest?”
“She says on more than one occasion she saw Michael take a box out of the floor in which she claims there was a large amount of cash. He was a little tipsy each time. He obviously tried to be low key about it, but didn’t do a very good job.”
“Sounds like I need to take a look and see if that box is still there.”
“Do you need to get a warrant to do that?” Holly asked.
“Not really. The place is a crime scene and I’m the lead investigator, so I’ve got a fair amount of latitude to poke around, particularly when there could be a connection between the victim’s activities, legal or illegal, and his death.
“Speaking of money, I have one last thing to share,” Holly added.
“That is…” Eddie said.
“I spoke to Michael’s brother, Christopher.”
“That’s his younger sibling, correct?” Eddie said, as he scribbled a note.
“Yes, I’m sure of that. Well, he stayed in Fresno, and I guess he’s early fifties now. He told me that he does investment counseling. I might be nuts, but I’m wondering if he might have helped Michael move around some of his money. I mean, for all I know, it’s all sitting around in cash boxes under his floorboards, but maybe he worked with his brother to funnel some of that money into legitimate investments.”
“Well, setting aside the issue of whether Holly is nuts or not,” Rob volunteered, as Holly stuck out her tongue at him in response, “I think she’s onto something.”
“Could well be,” Eddie said with a smile. “Certainly I need to get down to Fresno and dig up a little more background on the family. By the way, did anyone get to see Milton Cook the camera shop owner Michael originally worked for up in Novato?”
Sylvia, Ted, Holly, and Rob all looked at each other and realized that Milton had been overlooked. Eddie pulled out Cook’s photo and each of them said they did not recall seeing him at the service or the reception after.
“Any reason for him to be on your list?” Rob asked.
“Sure, we know it was in Novato where Michael first started selling and learning about cameras. It’s also where he nailed Winters and this guy Reagan, possibly his earliest victims. It would be interesting to see what Cook knows about Michael’s activities in the community during the time he was working for him. If nothing else, it might help lead us toward some additional victims.”
“This whole thing is astounding to me,” Sylvia said, sitting back and taking a deep breath. “I thought all of us knew Michael far better than this. It’s as if he was two different people. The kind-hearted community volunteer and the ruthless extortionist.”
“It’s always amazing to find out deeply hidden secrets about someone you thought you knew,” Eddie said. “It’s something that happens a lot in my business.”
“And I’ll bet one of those secrets got him killed,” Rob said.
Eddie smiled at his old friend and said, “That would be my bet too. But there’s one other angle to this that’s just as important.”
“What’s that?” Holly asked instantly.
“The money. You can’t set that aside. As of right now, there’s potentially tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of dollars hidden away somewhere. Maybe it’s all under Michael’s floorboards, but I doubt that. Michael has lived as a criminal for decades now. Starting from the time he began extorting money from people. It’s hard to say where the criminal life will lead but that kind of cash can easily be a roadmap to murder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
After meeting with Rob and his team, Eddie’s curiosity regarding Milton Cook and how Michael’s work as an extortionist began continued to grow; but before moving on to that issue, there was another elementary school teacher he wanted to visit.
Eddie stood at the front door of Joanne Hill’s small cottage perched near the end of Edgewood Avenue. Located high above Mill Valley’s cozy downtown, the home was surrounded by a stand of massive redwoods that hid the sun for most hours of the day.
In spite of the time that had passed since she and Michael had talked about becoming a committed couple, Joanne was still very much the same. Married twenty-two years to an engineer with the Marin Municipal Water District and with two daughters, one a Berkeley college freshman and the other a junior at Tam High, she wondered anew what her life would have been like if Michael had agreed to her suggestion that they marry.
“He was fascinating, brilliant, and infuriating,” she told Eddie with a half-smile and a far off look. “We were a pretty happy couple, but I wanted marriage and a family, and frankly, I think he was scared to death by the whole proposition. I knew about his mother leaving the family, and I think he could never bring himself to fully trust another woman. I told him that I was not her, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t get through to him. After a while I gave up trying. So we drifted apart.”
“At yesterday’s service you mentioned to Rob Timmons that you wanted to tell me about a cash box that he kept. Any chance you know where in his place he kept it?”
“That’s easy. There was a small closet in that bedroom of his; he pulled open a floorboard, and it was right there.”
“Did you see the contents at all?”
“Yes, I was bad. I know I shouldn’t have, but I looked. You see, he had told me more than once that if we were going to get married he wanted us to have, ‘a proper wedding reception and a nice honeymoon.’ One night when he fell dead asleep after we finished sharing a large bottle of wine, I went and took a look. I was paranoid that he would catch me, but from what I saw, it held a stack of hundred dollar bills. Easily fifty or more.”
“Were you ever tempted to make a withdrawal if you could?”
“On a teacher’s salary? Hah! What do you think? Still, I was pretty upset about it.” That must have been like 1991; back then, that amount of money would have paid for a lovely wedding reception and probably a nice honeymoon as well. Not long after that, I gave up on the idea that we were ever going to get married. I was so tempted to ask him about the money, but I was too embarrassed to tell him that I had looked in the first place. Was he a drug dealer? Ever since he was killed there has been a new rumor about him every day. The whole town is buzzing about it.”
“As you might suspect, I can’t go into any details about the investigation. I can tell you privately that there is substantial reason to believe he was engaged in illegal activities.”
“I understand the need for discretion. Teachers, particularly in today’s world, have to be very careful about what they say. I’m so glad we never married. But whatever he was involved in, I’ll always feel sorry for him.”
“Why is that?”
“He was a wounded bird. That’s probably what I found so attractive about him. He was strong and vulnerable all at the same time.”
While Eddie was meeting with Joanne, Rob and Holly were putting the finishing touches on that week’s edition of the Mill Valley Standard. They agreed to go with the headline: “Police Investigate Beloved Mill Valley Photographer’s Murder.” The hard news aspect of the story was thin, so they filled the balance of their coverage with a collection of photos they called, “The Best of Marks.”
Rob got Eddie to give him some comments he had not gi
ven on Friday afternoon to the IJ. Rob knew that the weakness of a weekly was the seven-day gap between stories, but its strength was to tease out facts that could be difficult to obtain when faced with an endless series of rapid deadlines.
Ted was given the job of writing the lead, in which Eddie said that the investigation was proceeding, under the assumption, “that this was a targeted hit and not a random shooting.”
Eddie went on to explain, “If we can understand why Michael was the killer’s target, that could take us a long way toward an arrest.”
Eddie left Hill’s home and drove the short distance down to Mrs. Fitzsimmons.
“Hello,” he said with a smile. “Remember me?”
“You’re that nice detective with the sheriff’s department that was here last week, when Michael, that poor boy, was killed. Eddie Austin, right?”
“Guilty,” Eddie said with a warm smile. “I don’t mean to trouble you, but I need to enter Michael’s unit. Would you have a key handy?”
“Of course, let me get it. Do you need me to come along?”
“No need to disturb you; I’m just taking some measurements out on the porch so we can make sure our records are straight.”
“Well, let me go get that key. You know, I’ve had trouble sleeping these last five nights. The night it happened, I don’t think I slept a wink. What an awful, awful thing. Do you know when the crime scene tape will be removed and I can have people come in there and clean? I don’t know if or when I’ll re-rent the unit. I’d just like to know it was cleaned out. I don’t know what I should do with his things.”
Eddie smiled benignly, hoping she would soon stop and get him the key to Michael’s unit. He knew in such situations it was wiser for him to smile and nod than to engage in conversation. Finally, she sighed, smiled, and said, “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
Eddie had no intention of taking any measurements, and knowing that the placement of Michael’s porch left her no angle to see what he was doing anyway, he came in and went straight to the spot he had just learned about. There was a small oriental throw rug thrown over the floor of the closet. On top of it were several pairs of shoes that Eddie took care to pull out and place behind him. He then lifted the carpet and turned on a small powerful flashlight. It was then he could make out the outline of where the floorboards had been neatly sliced and then sanded and polished back over. It was a well-done bit of work, and Eddie believed that Michael must have taken care in the hope that it would have gone unnoticed.
