EASY GREEN

by Bill WENHAM

  Payback time for at least one of them, he thought.

  Chapter Seven

  When Factor got to the station, Streeter was waiting for him in the interview room. Does this woman ever sleep, he wondered?

  “Good morning again, Mr. Factor,” she said. “You’re looking a lot better.”

  “Why am I here, ma’am?”

  “Further developments, sir.”

  “And they are?”

  “The autopsy has been completed,” Streeter told him.

  “Already?”

  “Yes, sir, we had asked for a rush and you’ll be pleased to know that the woman in the car wasn’t your wife.”

  Factor felt a mixture of relief and irritation.

  “I didn’t think it would be,” he said. “So, who is she?”

  Streeter pulled a wry face.

  “Ah, that’s something we still don’t know just yet, sir.”

  She watched Factor’s face carefully for a reaction as she said, “But we do know she was murdered.”

  “Burned, you mean?”

  “That too, sir, but her face had apparently been deliberately smashed to prevent immediate identification. The autopsy showed she’d been battered before the fire. She was dead, with her neck broken, before she was burned, thank God, and I believe it was done deliberately to throw suspicion on to you, Mr. Factor.”

  Factor stared at her but her last sentence had apparently not registered with him.

  “Then how do you know it wasn’t Dellie?” he asked.

  “DNA, sir.”

  Factor continued to stare at her.

  “And how exactly did you get samples of my wife’s DNA, lieutenant?”

  Streeter just shrugged.

  “With your house keys, Mr. Factor. We didn’t think we’d need a search warrant. After all, I had already been inside the house accompanied by you. Since it was a possible crime scene, I wanted to identify the victim as soon as possible. We checked for DNA while you were sleeping off your drunk down here.”

  She gave him a long, cool and challenging look.

  “Surely you don’t have any objections, do you, sir?”

  Factor shook his head.

  “No, of course not. I’m relieved that you were able to prove it wasn’t Dellie so quickly,” he said, and then another thought occurred to him.

  “You didn’t take a cell phone off the hall table as well, did you?”

  “No, sir, we did not. Was it yours?”

  Factor shook his head again.

  “No, it belonged to my partner,” he said.

  “Ah,” Streeter replied, as if his comment had just explained everything.

  “Ah?” Factor questioned. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Streeter’s expression softened.

  “Is he what the argument was all about? I assume your partner is male, right?”

  Factor nodded.

  “Right on both counts, lieutenant. I suspected, no, more than that, I was sure he was having an affair with my wife.”

  “And now she’s gone missing?” Streeter said.

  “Yes, but I didn’t hurt her, ma’am. I wanted her back. I certainly didn’t want to get rid of her.”

  Streeter smiled.

  “We have a rather peculiar situation here, Mr. Factor. Your wife going missing under those circumstances is perhaps understandable and if she is found to be alive and unharmed, then it’s really not a police problem. It would be something you’ll need to sort out between yourselves, I would think.”

  She paused and gave Factor another cool and appraising look.

  “What is our problem, Mr. Factor, is a murdered woman who just happened to be on fire in your driveway. You don’t know who she could be nor why she was killed, do you?”

  Factor looked shocked and affronted.

  “No, of course I don’t. I was miles away when that happened.”

  “So you say, sir, but have you remembered where you were yet?” Streeter asked.

  Factor shook his head.

  “No, I haven’t. Frankly, lieutenant, I haven’t even tried to remember. I didn’t think it was important. I was extremely pissed off and I just drove. You know how it is.”

  “Actually, sir, I don’t know how it is, but please continue.”

  Factor thought for a moment or two, realizing that Streeter would immediately pick up on any wrong word he uttered.

  “Dellie and I were arguing about Jim Willoughby,” he said quietly.

  “Your partner?”

  “Yes, but it really wasn’t an argument as such, because I did all the screaming and yelling and she really didn’t get to say very much at all.”

  “And?”

  “I just slammed out of the house and drove away, extremely angry, like I said.”

  “And how long did you drive for, Mr. Factor? Where did you go?”

  Factor thought for a moment.

  “I drove for about twenty minutes. Half an hour, max., maybe. I didn’t notice and I was so angry that time really wasn’t an issue. I was…..”

  Streeter interrupted him with, “When you left the motel this morning, how long did it take you to drive back home?”

  Factor thought about that for a moment.

  “Well,” he said, “I know I left the motel right at 4 a.m. because there was a clock on the wall behind the front desk.”

  Streeter checked a small notebook.

  “We got the call at 4.15. I arrived at the scene at 4.25 and you were already there, right? How long had you been there?”

  “Just a couple of minutes and then you showed up.”

  Streeter gave a satisfied nod.

  “That narrows it down, Mr. Factor. If what you say is true, it looks like you were no more than twenty minutes away. So, do you feel like helping us with our inquiries?”

  Streeter gave him a quick grin.

  “Isn’t that what they always say in the movies?”

  Factor ignored her comment.

  “Help you, how?” he asked.

  “I’m going to drive you back to your house, sir. Then I’d like you to drive your own car, just as you did last night, but without all the anger, please. Together, you and I will try to find this mysterious motel of yours and try to verify your story.”

  Factor looked at her.

  “Why are you doing this for me?” he asked.

  She smiled.

  “Well, sir. First of all, it’s my job – and second, I don’t think you’ve actually done anything wrong. Apart from getting drunk as a skunk and driving while you were still stewed, that is. So, are you okay with this?”

  Factor gave her a grateful smile.

  “Sure, let’s do it,” he said.

  Chapter Eight

  The motel turned out to be easy enough to find. Factor drove and Streeter watched out for the exits for him. They made a couple of wrong side trips but struck it lucky on the third attempt.

  The bar was exactly where Factor had said it would be, if they found the right exit, and the motel was right across the road.

  It was Sunday and still only mid-morning. The bar was closed so they drove on over to the motel and parked. A different desk clerk was on duty. Streeter flashed her badge and asked to see the previous night’s registrations.

  Factor’s name was in the computer as occupying room four for one night. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “So, I guess I’m off the hook,” he said to Streeter.

  She just shrugged.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “Maybe?” Factor echoed. “Why maybe, for God’s sake? This proves I was here.”

  “Kind of, Mr. Factor. But proof is a very strange thing, sir. For instance, this only proves that someone checked in here under your name. It doesn’t prove, however, whether it was you. And if it was you, it doesn’t prove if you left or what time that might have been either.”

  Factor pointed to the clock on the wall.

  “I told you. It was 4 a.m. by that clock.”
/>
  Streeter gave him a bland look that clearly said, “Really, Mr. Factor! – you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “But…..” Factor began.

  “You didn’t check out, sir, if you were even here at all, that is. I recall you saying there was no one at the desk here when you left your key, right?”

  “Well, yes, but…..” Factor blustered.

  “But, nothing, Mr. Factor. There is no reason at all why you couldn’t have left here well before 4 a.m., murdered the victim, started the fire and drove a block or so away until you saw the emergency vehicles show up. You also have a key to the burned car right?”

  “Yes, but…..” a shocked Factor started to say.

  Streeter smiled.

  “That’s what could have happened, Mr. Factor, but I don’t think it did. I happen to believe your version of the events is the correct one, luckily for you.”

  Factor looks both relieved and puzzled.

  “I’m grateful but I’m also curious, lieutenant. Why do you believe me?”

  Streeter grinned at him.

  “Because I just don’t believe you’re that good an actor or liar, Mr. Factor.”

  Factor said, seriously. “You had me very worried, ma’am. Please don’t do that to me again. Arrest me if you have to but please don’t toy with me like that.”

  Streeter continued to grin at him.

  “I’m a cop, Mr. Factor. It’s what we do. Anyway, we’re through here. I’ll call the bar later, just to verify that you were there as well – and your condition when you left it, of course,” she said.

  They left the motel and got into Factor’s car.

  As he started it, Factor said, “So, I’m not a suspect anymore then?”

  Streeter shrugged.

  “I didn’t say that, Mr. Factor. You’re just not very high on my most wanted list at the moment but let’s get out of here. I don’t want any of my cohorts to see me leaving a sleazy motel in the morning with a married man, thank you.”

  Factor gave her another shocked look.

  “As you just said yourself, they’d probably think you were my toy boy and I’d never hear the last of it. You know what cops are like.”

  Factor managed a weak grin as well.

  “I do now,” he said.

  She smiled back at him.

  “I’m just kidding you, Mr. Factor – and just for your information, I never, ever, kid around with people I think are murderers.”

  Factor simply nodded, shrugged, put the car in gear and pulled out of the motel’s parking lot.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, lieutenant,” he said.

  “Liz,” she said. “I’m lieutenant to my subordinates and to all criminals, however petty their crimes may be, but I’m just plain Liz to my friends.”

  Factor looked over at her and smiled.

  “Well, thank you, Plain Liz,” he said.

  Streeter reached over and pushed his chin back over to face the windshield. She was amazed to feel a jolt like an electric shock race through her body as she touched his face. Come on, Liz, she thought. Get a grip on yourself. The guy is certainly very good looking and extremely wealthy, but he’s also married and a few hours ago you had him pegged as a wife murderer. You’re a cop, damn it, so smarten up and just do your job, girl!

  She gathered her composure and said, “You just keep your eyes on the road and don’t be so cheeky, Mr. Factor.”

  Factor grinned, still facing the windshield.

  “It’s Dean to my friends, lieutenant – if you’d care to be one.”

  Streeter didn’t reply. This man’s wife had just gone missing and here we are almost flirting with each other, she thought. Nice, rich guy or not, he doesn’t seem to be overly concerned about her disappearance. Back away, Liz, she chided herself again. He’s not for you – much as you might like him to be.

  They drove the rest of the way back to the police station in silence.

  Factor dropped Streeter off and continued on home in a very peculiar mood. He should have felt relieved to be free and no longer a real suspect, but his mind was in turmoil. He knew something had happened in the car but he wasn’t free to follow it up, even if he wanted to. Did he even want to follow it up, he wondered? He loved his Dellie very dearly. Didn’t he?

  These days, he wasn’t so sure if she loved him, after this thing with Willoughby. I have no actual proof though, he thought, but Dellie hadn’t denied it either when he’d confronted her. She’d just said he should trust her – and he did trust her – didn’t he?

  At another large house in the same area another man was wondering where the hell his wife was as well.

  She’d gotten a phone call from a female friend who’d asked her to visit. His wife told him that she’d be ‘back in a while’ when she left. That was at six thirty the previous evening. The man had watched TV until about 11 p.m. and had then gone to bed.

  It wasn’t until about nine the following morning, Sunday, that Paul Thatcher realized his wife, Patti, hadn’t come home at all the previous evening from her visit.

  He phoned several of her friends, but none of them had called her or had seen her. At first, thinking that she’d visited the friend, talked until the small hours and had stayed over, he wasn’t too concerned. She’d done that kind of thing several times before.

  However, after phoning all the names in Patti’s book with no results, and hearing about the blazing car in Dean Factor’s driveway on the morning TV news, he began to worry.

  He called the police to say he believed she was missing and her friend, Dellie Factor, was also missing, according to the news story.

  When Streeter was advised of Paul Thatcher’s somewhat frantic call, she had a good idea who the burned and mutilated body might be.

  It was a fair guess that Patti Thatcher was the body in the autopsy room. Within a couple of hours and a visit to the Thatcher home, DNA samples had proven, beyond any doubt at all, the burned body was that of Patti Thatcher. Was perhaps Dellie Factor the friend who had called her, or had someone else?

  The question was, why was she killed, why in such a manner and by whom? It was also possible that Patti Thatcher had arrived at the Factor house in answer to Dellie’s call and had been waylaid by the murderer, who ever he or she was. It was also possible Dellie herself had been abducted by the same person as well.

  If Streeter had known who he was, or even of his existence, the driver of the pickup could have answered all those questions for her. Patti was killed merely as a diversion. Patti had been hit in the mouth and face several times with a hammer after she’d been killed, just to prevent an immediate identification. Just long enough to have Factor questioned by the police.

  He could have also told her that both Patti and Dellie were killed within a hour of each other. He’d killed Patti within a hundred yards of her own house on her way to visit Dellie.

  Patti had been placed inside the Cadillac and set on fire, but the Thatchers, although one of his targets, weren’t his main ones and there would be many more. Even Dellie Factor wasn’t an important target. She was merely a means to an end, as was Patti.

  Dean Factor was a prime target – and even he wasn’t the main one!

  Chapter Nine

  The following morning, Monday, having been unable to contact Willoughby at all on the previous day, Factor strode into the Easy Green Garden World’s corporate offices in Saginaw.

  Factor slammed open the door of Willoughby’s office suite. He was seated behind his massive walnut desk and smiled when he saw Factor. He greeted him with, “Hi, Dean, how was the trip?”

  Factor glared at him.

  “Where the hell is my wife?” he yelled angrily.

  “What?”

  “My wife. Dellie. You remember her, surely, don’t you? Where the hell is she?”

  Willoughby stood up, frowning.

  “How should I know where she is? She’s your wife!”

  “Nice of you to notice that finally,” Factor sneered. “Y
ou’ve been seeing her!”

  Unperturbed by Factor’s outburst, Willoughby smiled.

  “Of course I’ve been seeing her,” he said.

  “While I was away?”

  “Of course, while you were away. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if you were there.”

  “Oh, it was a surprise alright,”

  Willoughby frowned again.

  “She’s told you about it already?”

  Factor shook his head.

  “Well, hardly. She’s been missing since Saturday evening.”

  Willoughby stared at him.

  “Hang on a minute, Dean. Are we talking about the same thing here?” he asked.

  Factor glared at him.

  “I’m talking about your affair with my wife. What are you talking about?” Factor snapped at him.

  Willoughby just laughed.

  “You’re kidding me, right, Dean. Why on earth would Dellie and I have an affair? You and I are partners and friends, buddy. You know that.”

  “Then why were you seeing her behind my back – and staying over in my own house – buddy?”

  “I just told you, Dean. Dellie and I were planning a surprise for you when you got back. A business surprise, pure and simple and nothing devious, pal, just business.”

  “Okay,” Factor muttered contritely. “But where the hell could she be?”

  “I’ve no idea, Dean. I haven’t seen her since Friday afternoon either. I’ve been away all weekend skiing with a young lady I’ve been seeing. We just got back early this morning.”

  “Not Dellie?” Factor said

  “No, Dean, of course not Dellie. My weekend companion was Cheryl actually.”

  There was a discreet cough from the office doorway. Their secretary, Cheryl Morton, stood there with a shocked look on her face. She was holding a copy of the early morning paper. Someone had made themselves some very good money with a dramatic cell phone photo before the media arrived.

  “I think you should see this, Jim,” she said. She’d heard almost every word of Factor’s shouted confrontation with Willoughby.

  She handed Willoughby the paper with its front page color photo of the blazing car. Although the flames obscured most of the figure, it was obvious that someone was inside the car. The headline read: