“I like Transparent Ozzie. Don’t stop. Just…I don’t know. It’s difficult, but we can work through this.”
“Hell yes, we can. Together, we’re unstoppable.”
She laughed, and I let out a full breath.
I then explained my plan.
She said, “I don’t understand why you don’t confront Winston and Franklin about this right now. Or, frankly, have you thought about going to Porter, or even calling your friend at the FBI?”
“You mean Alex?”
“Her or that Nick fella. Doesn’t matter. If it wasn’t already, this shit suddenly feels like quicksand.”
“I promise not to step in any of it. The shit or the quicksand.”
No giggle on the other end. Then, “Be serious, Ozzie. This is no joke. Drake is pure evil. If Franklin is tied to him, then this is much bigger than an affair and a murder. And I’m not trying to reduce murder to a traffic ticket. We can’t be a team if one of us ends up in the hospital for asking the wrong question at the wrong time.”
I’d never heard Nicole so worried. Usually, she was more adventurous, understood that taking risks was part of life. Her attitude made me think about my decision…for about two seconds.
“I’m not going to meet up with an assassin. I need to speak to Franklin’s wife and make sure that the video wasn’t lying.”
“I don’t get it. We saw it with our own eyes.”
“I know. But this is something I can control. I need more information. The video doesn’t explain everything.”
“Be careful. And call me.”
I asked if she could be at the apartment when Mackenzie got home from school. She said she had two late-afternoon meetings, but she would either move them or take them remotely.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I’d do anything for Mackenzie. I hope you know that.”
Hearing those words warmed my heart like she couldn’t possibly imagine. We said goodbye, and I sped all the way to Bergstrom International in south Austin. Three hours later, the plane landed in DC.
With my laptop safely tucked away in my backpack, I exited the MD-80 jet at Dulles Airport in the nation’s capital. As usual, the line leaving the plane was like watching cold molasses drip off a spoon, but the payoff in the end wasn’t nearly as sweet.
I nodded at the captain on my way out of the plane, hoofed it up the ramp, and spotted a sign for ground transportation. I hopped into a cab and gave him the Kiefer address.
“Nice area. You must know some rich folks.” The cabbie was wearing a red Washington Nationals baseball cap backward.
I shrugged and told him I was in a rush. It took just over an hour—Beltway traffic sucked—before the cab pulled in front of a large Georgian-style two-story home. It had a stately appearance. Red brick, black shutters, red front door, a brass knocker. I paid the cab driver and took a quick look around, almost expecting to see Secret Service personnel walking the grounds. I saw only a man and woman taking a jog down the street.
I used the knocker on the front door and waited. The door cracked open to reveal a nose. A prominent one at that.
“Go away. We have nothing to say to the press,” a man’s voice said. Then the door slammed shut.
The press had hunted down Elaine? And I thought I moved quickly.
I knocked again and waited. For at least a minute. And then another minute.
Dammit.
I’d flown a thousand miles only to be turned away. Fuck that.
I walked over to the side driveway and walked toward the back. In the corner of the driveway, just in front of two large spruce trees, was a basketball goal. Might be for the grandkids.
I stepped over a white picket fence that stood three feet high and spotted a woman on a raised deck. She was wearing sunglasses and sipping a drink while reading a magazine. Just as I was about to call out to her—I didn’t want to scare her—a growling dog appeared from behind a bush. I was in no danger. Well, no danger of being wounded. The white Chihuahua was nipping at my running shoe, then jumping back and growling.
“Chico, get over here right now!”
The woman was standing at the edge of the deck. She had on jeans, a blue T-shirt, and a North Face jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail.
The dog kept surging at my feet.
“Is he hurting you?” she asked.
“No, I’m fine.” I leaned over and tried to pet him, but he hopped backward. As soon as I lifted back up, he attacked my shoes again.
“Come here, Chico, right this very moment!”
The dog didn’t listen. I took the opportunity to walk toward the deck stairs.
“Oh,” she said, walking down the steps. “He’s after your shoelaces. Chico thinks shoelaces are enemy number one.” She picked him up.
I introduced myself. She removed her glasses and looked me over. “You’re not from the media, are you?”
Her crow’s feet were difficult to detect, but her almond eyes looked like a map of red rivers. She didn’t look much older than forty. This had to be Elaine Marshall. “How did you know?” I asked warmly.
“Oh, they tend to announce themselves right away and either have a phone or a notepad in my face.”
Apparently, she wasn’t aware of her father, I assumed, fending me off at the front door. I glanced toward the house and saw a wall of paned glass, but the daytime glare didn’t allow me a peek inside. I just hoped Dear Old Dad wasn’t about to walk outside with a rifle, demanding that I get off his property.
I then told her my name and that I’d been hired by her husband and his lawyer to look into the investigation.
“I’ve been expecting you, or someone like you,” she said matter-of-factly. With Chico against her chest, she fell into a cushioned chair and then motioned for me to take the chair next to her.
“So you’re okay talking to me?”
“No, not really.” She put her glasses back on and turned to look straight ahead. I wondered if she was hiding tears. “But I can’t completely run and hide from my past. ‘Have to face it,’ I tell the kids. ‘Rip off the bandage.’” She laughed but didn’t have much behind it.
I crossed my legs, which drew a quick growl from Chico. I uncrossed my legs and rested my backpack over my shoes. She grabbed a treat from a bag on her side table and gave one to Chico, and then she stroked his tiny head. “That’s my boy, Chico. Good boy.”
I glanced at the kitchen, wondering how much time I had with Elaine before the man of the house made his appearance.
“Just a few questions about your husband and—”
“I only ask one thing, Mr. Novak. Please don’t refer to Franklin as my…you know. The divorce is pending.”
“This isn’t a new development?”
“Oh, no. We’ve been back and forth with lawyers for at least six months while still living under the same roof, for God’s sake. Spent over twenty grand so far.” She looked to the house. “All I can say is thank the Lord for Mom and Dad.”
I nodded, wondering why Franklin wouldn’t have told me the truth about his pending divorce. Like Nicole had said, maybe it was just easier for him to lie. A natural instinct.
“I guess he didn’t tell you about that, did he? He probably didn’t tell you a lot of things.” Bitterness ruled her voice. It wasn’t surprising.
“Have you guys had money problems?”
She turned and looked right at me. Was she rolling her eyes or what? I couldn’t see behind her sunglasses. “You’d think that anyone who made an average of six hundred K a year for the last ten-plus years would have no money problems. Yet, we have money problems. But mainly he’s got a lying problem. Oh, he’s also got a dick problem. Bet he didn’t tell you that.”
I didn’t budge. I couldn’t afford for her to lose it and walk off.
She pulled another treat from the dog-food pouch and gave it to Chico. A few seconds passed as she scratched his back. She finally huffed out a breath. “I’m sorry for being so crude. You were
n’t hired to hear the details of our sordid lives.”
A tear trickled down her cheek, but she swiped it away in quick order.
I gave her a moment, then said, “If you don’t mind me asking, what led to the money problems?”
She made something of a scoffing sound. “Franklin’s appetite for everything he couldn’t have has always been over the top.”
It didn’t make complete sense, but I had an idea of where she was going with this.
“Cars, summer homes, exotic vacations all over the world…he wanted it all. Felt like he deserved it all.” She adjusted her glasses. “And I left out one category: women. He didn’t just cheat on me with one or two girls. No, he had to taste every wine on the menu. At times, I wondered if he was a sex addict, but I knew that would just give him another excuse. Another reason to justify what was really more of an addiction to not telling the truth.” She spat those last few words out.
“I don’t know what to say. Just because I’m being paid by him doesn’t mean I agree with the way he has treated you. I’m sure it’s been tough on you and the kids.”
She moved her magazine to the side, picked up her phone. “I was just looking through some pictures, all the stages of the kids growing up. Brought back a lot of memories.” She paused, scratched Chico a couple of times. “Franklin…he was hardly in any of those pictures. He missed out on so much. And for what? The hunt. That’s what he’s about. The hunt for money. The hunt for the deal. The hunt for the woman.”
She sniffled and looked off for a moment. Seeing someone break down right in front of me was no fun. It had been one of the more unfortunate aspects of my job when I was a practicing attorney, and even now, as a PI. But I was being paid by her, uh…significant other to ask her these questions—although it was apparent he didn’t want me talking to her. I’d learned a lot, but I had to know one more thing. The most important reason I’d traveled this far.
“Elaine.”
She picked up her phone and started swiping her screen, looking at pictures again. She was acting as though she had a hearing issue.
“Elaine?”
“Sorry. When I feel sad—and it’s something I’ve felt for so many years it’s hard to count—I try to find a way to break me out of the misery. Pictures do that for me. Look at this one of Mason with his girlfriend at homecoming. Aren’t they the cutest couple?”
She showed me the picture. The kid was tall, lanky, stood at least a foot over his date. He had a huge smile on his face.
“That’s pretty cool. I have a daughter. She’s nine. I think about what she might be like in high school, all the friends she’ll have, all the memories she’ll make.” I paused for a second. “Sorry for getting off track.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine with it. In fact, I prefer to talk about our kids than…” She looked at my hand and appeared to notice my ring. “At least one couple in this world is getting it right.”
I glanced at my ring finger. “It hasn’t been easy. In fact, it’s been a little complicated.”
“Ha. That’s what we all say.” She sipped more of her drink. “Sorry for being so cynical. It’s not really who I am. But then again, I’m not really sure who I am.”
Another tear snaked down her face. My heart was breaking for her, but I still had one more question. The central question to why I’d traveled to the East Coast.
“Elaine, I need to know if Franklin was at home two nights ago, around four in the morning.”
“The time that his latest conquest was murdered,” she said, her tone flat.
“Yes. Pamela Connor.”
She started petting Chico again, although he was completely out by now. “I suppose I shouldn’t dehumanize her any more than she already has been. She has a name. I’m sure she has friends, family. And I’m sure they are grief-stricken.”
I nodded, prepared for a biting comment about how he had not been home, had been off screwing his floozy. I even put one hand on my backpack, ready to hit the road as soon as I heard the confirmation.
“I’m not proud of this…” She looked at me, then down at Chico. “But two nights ago, Franklin and I had sex.”
I had to remind myself to close my mouth.
“It’s weird,” she said, running her hand along the side of her hair. “But I feel like a slut. A slut for sleeping with my… Damn, I almost said it myself.”
I released my grip of the backpack. “So, Franklin was at home two nights ago?”
“You sound surprised.”
“Well, I…uh…”
Thankfully, she ignored my stuttered response. “He came home late, as usual. I recall the clock reading 1:40 a.m. He sleeps in the guest bedroom but still takes showers in our master bath. I tried ignoring him. I’ve become pretty good at that lately. I fell back asleep, and then I heard the shower go off. The next thing I know, he was in bed, kissing my neck, and… Well, I’m sure you don’t want to know all the gory details.”
I tried to smile, but I felt certain I looked horrified.
A bird came down and sat on the deck railing. I eyed Chico. He didn’t care anything about the bird. My shoelaces were another story. I made sure to keep my shoes covered by my backpack.
My gut instinct was to ask the follow-up confirmation question of, “Are you sure?” But that would have been ridiculous.
Unless she was lying for him. I looked at her. Her lack of confidence was as obvious as the bird sitting on the railing, and just as jittery. She went from petting Chico to picking up her phone and looking through more old photos. She smiled at a couple of pictures, and then her expression went blank. Then, back to a grin. If she was lying, then they should rename the Oscars “the Elaines.” Or something like that.
I lifted from my chair as she continued sifting through pictures. I looked over her shoulder at her phone. It was a picture of her other child. He looked more like a fireplug. “I see your youngest resembles his uncle.”
She lowered her glasses and looked at me with round eyes. “Noah? Oh, help me.”
“Why would you say that?”
“That guy has problems.”
I knew she was probably bitter at the whole Marshall clan, but she’d drawn me in. “Like?”
“Like he holds grudges. He’s hated Franklin since the day I met him. I know Franklin wasn’t always there for his mother or Noah, but Franklin has tried to make amends. It just wasn’t in the cards.”
I felt like I needed to clean out the wax in my ears. First Rhonda and now Elaine having something good to say about Franklin.
“Noah is a control freak.” She reset her glasses again. “And, frankly, he’s not very nice to women. I’ve seen him treat women like trash, like their sole purpose in life was to service him.”
“Service?”
“I think you know what I mean.”
That kind of service. Temperatures were in the fifties, but I started to sweat. I wiped my forehead.
She started shaking her head. “Noah is a bad influence. That’s why I keep the boys away from him. As for Rhonda…well, it’s rather obvious why we’d stay clear of her.”
I nodded and then shook her hand. “I appreciate your candor.”
She pursed her lips. “It’s funny. I think I could have killed Franklin with my bare hands any number of times that I found out he was cheating on me. Now, when he’s accused of doing something that could put him behind bars for the rest of his life, he won’t go to jail because he had sex with me. Crazy world we live in.”
She’d summed up my thoughts perfectly. I wished her well and walked off the deck. I could hardly wait to call Nicole and let her know what I’d just learned.
16
I’d already pulled out my phone to dial Nicole when I stopped at the end of the Kiefer’s driveway. A cab was parked in front of me, the engine rumbling. Someone sitting in the back seat opened the door and waved me over.
“Ozzie, hey. It’s me.”
“Me” was Tracy Rowlett, a reporter from the Austin American-Stat
esman. Last I saw him, he and his significant other were celebrating their engagement. He must have been the press member who’d already tried to speak with Elaine.
I walked to the door, leaned in. “What’s going on, Tracy?”
“I think you know.”
“So the paper flew you all the way up here? From what I could tell at the Kiefer house, I’m betting you didn’t get your desired interview.”
He patted the bench seat next to him. “Get in. Let’s talk.”
I looked around the neighborhood and thought about the pros of telling Tracy anything I’d just learned. None came to mind. “I need to get to the airport. I’m heading back to Austin.”
“So am I. Come on. You know me. I’m not some serial killer. Let’s just talk. What’s the harm?”
I sighed and then gave in, hopping into the back seat. I looked at the driver. This one was wearing a white Washington Nationals cap. At least it was facing forward.
“So, how’s the engagement process going with Heather?”
“It’s great. Like you said, lots of cake tastings. I think I might put on a few before the wedding.” He patted his belly…which wasn’t there.
Tracy was joking. He was thin and always dressed like a prepster, at least one who worked for a newspaper. Always wore sneakers of some kind. Today, he had on some gaudy pair of high-tops that I was sure was a signature shoe by some NBA player. Probably cost half as much as the ring he’d given Heather.
“So, here’s the deal…” He paused, perhaps trying to find just the right term to convince me to share everything I knew.
I jumped in. “You need me to save your ass because you convinced your editor or publisher or whatever you call your boss that Elaine Marshall would be able to provide the evidence on whether Franklin had an alibi. And I say ‘save your ass’ because newspapers don’t have money to be flying reporters around. This isn’t the 1970s, when journalists were respected and papers actually made money.”
He turned his palms upward. “Thanks for the reminder. But you’re only partially right.”
Partially? Now I was curious. “Wrong decade?”
He ignored me. “Let’s start by sharing some facts. I’ll start off, and then you can chime in.” He waited, but I didn’t acknowledge his game.
ON Fire (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 5) (Redemption Thriller Series 17) Page 8
