Blue Goodness (Michael Kaplan Mysteries)

by David W. Cowles

  “Does anyone else know what you did? Stewart Lamb, for instance?”

  “No. Definitely not Lamb. A couple of times when I drove out to the mine I took my old girlfriend along for company—not Jennifer, someone else. I don’t think she was aware of what I was doing.”

  “Let’s hope not. If you’re positive no one can connect you to the animals, I wouldn’t worry about that matter, if I were you. You have more pressing things to be concerned about.”

  Hogg lowered his head. “Yeah. I know.”

  KIMBERLY TOLD MICHAEL she had an errand to run, but would be in the office by nine. He was glad he would have some time alone in the office before she got there. He wanted to talk to Myra, privately. More and more, when he talked with his wife on the telephone, he felt uncomfortable having Kimberly listening over his shoulder. He dialed Myra as soon as he sat down at his desk, about eight forty-five. She answered on the first ring.

  “Hi. It’s me,” he said cordially, as if there was no friction between them.

  There was a long pause. “I know.”

  “How’ve you been?” he asked, trying to make small talk.

  “As well as can be expected,” Myra replied tersely. “I’m a little surprised to be hearing from you so early this morning, though.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?” Michael took the bait.

  “I figured you might have been up all night with your date. You’ve become quite a playboy, Michael. First a blonde bimbo, then a carrot-topped bitch, and now a sultry brunette.”

  “Uh, uh, what do you mean?” he stammered. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m talking about the woman with long black hair you were with last night.”

  It took a few seconds for it to sink in that Myra was talking about Soozie, who had worn a black wig to the restaurant. “How do you know who I was with last night? What are you doing, Myra, spying on me?” he sputtered angrily.

  “I have ways of finding things out, Michael. This is a small town, remember? People talk.”

  “We were having a dinner meeting.”

  “And it ended up in her bedroom—right? With all the lights off, except for the television.”

  How did she know that? Had she put a private detective on his tail? “Yes, we went to her apartment,” he confirmed. “I had to go there because of a story I’m working on for the Times. That’s all there was to it.”

  “You should get a new line, Michael. You gave me the same excuse about the woman with orange hair you had dinner with the night before. Whatever. It doesn’t really matter. Why did you call me, Michael? Get to the point. I don’t have all day.”

  “I want a divorce. I’ve fallen in love with someone else.” Why in hell did I say that? I don’t mean that at all! Michael reeled in agony.

  “Say that again, Michael.” The words were spaced, slowly and deliberately.

  “I want a divorce. I’ve fallen in love with someone else.” Damn! I said it again! What’s the matter with me?

  “And who’s the lucky woman?”

  Michael was confused. He had no answer for Myra’s question. “I, uh, I don’t know. Nobody, I mean. I love you, Myra. I want us to get back together. As soon as possible.”

  “Before or after the divorce?”

  Kimberly entered the office before Michael had a chance to answer Myra. “Let’s talk about this later,” he hedged. He had to buy some time to get his thoughts together. “Someone’s in my office right now.”

  “Okay, Michael,” Myra said impatiently. “When you’re ready to come clean, you know where you can reach me.” She hung up before he could get a chance to say goodbye. He stared at the telephone handset for a few moments before putting it back on its cradle.

  “You didn’t have to get off the phone. You could have just told me to leave,” Kimberly said icily. “I take it that was your girlfriend Soozie?”

  “No. It was Myra.”

  “I knew it had to be one or the other for you to clam up like you did when I walked in. What did your loving wife want so early in the morning?”

  “She didn’t call me. I called her. I told her I want a divorce.”

  Michael’s statement knocked the wind out of Kimberly. She sat down on the edge of her desk. “Did I hear you right, Michael? You’ve decided to call it quits with Myra?”

  “Please, Kim, I don’t want to talk about it right now. I don’t know why I told Myra that. There are a lot of things I need to straighten out in my head.

  “I’m going to drop by Oscar Stein’s office. Unannounced. Hopefully, he’ll have the time to see me. Then, I’m going to see Forrest Glade at the pet cemetery. I should be back in time for us to have lunch together.”

  “I’d love that.” Perhaps my little fit this morning had more effect on Michael than I realized, Kimberly mused. If I play my cards right, Michael will soon be all mine.

  Twenty-Seven

  MICHAEL ENTERED THE LOBBY of Oscar Stein, Chartered. He handed his business card to the receptionist—a thin, older, dark-haired woman dressed in a conservative gray business suit. She disappeared behind a large door and returned moments later with a big smile on her face. “You’re in luck, Mr. Kaplan. Mr. Stein has a few minutes available and will see you now.”

  Michael followed the woman into Stein’s private office. It was awe-inspiring. He had never been in a lawyer’s office that was so large and luxuriously decorated. He was sure Stein’s domain was every bit as impressive as the Oval Office in the White House. For a brief moment, Michael felt a tinge of jealousy and regretted not pursuing the practice of law himself.

  Stein stood and stretched over his massive desk to shake hands. “Sit down, Mr. Kaplan. Are you here as a prospective client, or do you want to interview me for the Times?” he asked.

  Michael remembered Mark Caruso had advised him to hire an attorney, but he knew he could not afford the fees Stein charged. Besides, Stein could not represent both him and Hogg; there would be a conflict of interest. “I’d like some information about one of your clients. It’s for an article I’m writing for the Times,” Michael told Stein.

  “May I call you Michael?” Stein asked. Michael nodded his head. “Michael, I’m sorry, but, as much as I might like to help you, I can’t. I’m prohibited from revealing confidences disclosed by my clients. Since you’re not an attorney, you might not know about the attorney-client privilege. You journalists have a similar privilege in the Shield Laws. You’re familiar with them, perhaps?” he asked patronizingly.

  “Oscar—may I call you Oscar?” Michael asked. From the look of surprise and irritation on Stein’s face, it was obvious the man was peeved by the request for reciprocal familiarity—even judges always called him Mr. Stein, whether from the bench or at social occasions—but he grunted a reluctant acknowledgment of approval.

  “As it so happens, Oscar, I’m a member of the California Bar, so I’m quite familiar with the attorney-client privilege. I would never even consider asking you questions about privileged subjects. Actually, my presence here relates more to you and your legal ethics.”

  Stein’s brow furrowed and he tugged at his stubble of beard. Where was this impertinent young reporter headed? “Go on.”

  “A videotape cassette has come into my possession. Don’t ask me where I got it. As you reminded me so gratuitously, Oscar, Shield Laws protect my sources. The tape is of you and Gunther Hogg, taken by a hidden camera right here in this office. The same camera is probably focused on us now. Let’s see—according to the angle of the shots, it should be right about there,” Michael observed, pointing upward and to the wall at his right. “Oh, yes. There it is. I can see the reflection of the lens in what appears to be a copy of Tolstoy’s War and Peace—the book with a bejeweled leather binding. The lens is ringed with rhinestones. How clever.

  “On the tape, Gunther Hogg tells you he’s planning to murder Stewart Lamb. You do nothing to deter him. On the contrary, you say you’ll pretend you didn’t hear what he said.

  “Now, since you
’re an expert on criminal law, what I’d like to know is this. In your professional opinion, Oscar, will you merely be brought before the Nevada State Bar’s Ethics Committee for a slap on the wrist, or will a grand jury indict you for conspiracy in the attempted murder of Stewart Lamb?”

  Stein glared at Michael for a full minute. When the attorney finally spoke, his words seemed to lower the temperature in the room by thirty degrees, but Michael’s skin burned as if he had a fever. “What is it you want? Money? Is this an attempt at extortion?” he asked angrily.

  Michael stood and returned Stein’s stare. “No. I don’t want your money, Oscar. I’ve already gotten what I wanted: your reaction to the knowledge that your conversation with Gunther Hogg will soon be made public.”

  “Where is the tape now? Have you turned it over to the police yet? Please sit down, Mr. Kaplan. I’m sure we can work something out.” The arrogance in Stein’s voice had disappeared. Michael thought the man sounded pathetic. Stein soon learned he was better at litigation than he was at negotiation.

  Michael’s voice was filled with determination and contempt. “The tape is in a safe place for now, Oscar. As soon as my article appears in the Times, I’m going to give the cassette to Metro. Whatever happens then will be up to them.”

  With that final statement, Michael turned on his heels and left Stein’s office. He did not even bother to have the receptionist validate his parking ticket.

  FORREST GLADE CHECKED the final name against the records in his computer. “All of these animals are interred here at Fairlawn,” he stated conclusively. The pet undertaker handed a sheaf of photocopies of Hogg’s ledger cards across his desk. His lips curled down and his mouth puckered like he had been sucking on an unripe persimmon. “These others are not, even though the ledger entries indicate the owners were invoiced for their pets’ burial at my cemetery.” Glade passed a much larger stack of paper to Michael.

  Michael took a rough count. There were about a dozen sheets of paper in the first group, more than a hundred fifty in the second. “Will you be willing to testify to that in court?” he asked. “I’m sure most of the owners are going to want to sue Hogg.”

  There was no hesitation. “Certainly. What that man did is appalling. Not only did he desecrate the pets’ remains, he defrauded their owners.” Glade’s voice seethed with bitterness.

  “You also have a cause of action against Hogg,” Michael informed Glade. “He cheated you out of your profits on the transactions. You should contact your lawyer immediately.”

  Glade nodded. “Good idea. I’ll give him a call this morning.”

  “I’ll make sure the story of Hogg’s fraud gets printed in today’s Times,” Michael told Glade.

  “Good. I read the article you wrote yesterday. Knowing cherished pets are lying at the bottom of a mine shaft greatly saddens me. I wish there was something I could do to help alleviate the situation.” He tipped a white handkerchief to the corner of his eyes. An idea suddenly came to him. “Wait a minute. Maybe there is.”

  Michael’s right eyebrow arched. “Oh? What’s that, Mr. Glade?”

  “I’ll have my crew retrieve the animals from the mine and bring them here for burial on our grounds. Since I won’t be paid for doing so, I can’t afford to provide each of the pets with individual vaults and graves, but I can put them into a common final resting place, topped with a dignified memorial marker listing all of their names.”

  “I’ll put that in my article, also,” Michael said. “How soon will you be able to start?”

  Glade checked his calendar. “My crew has some time available tomorrow morning. You’ll have to give me directions to the mine, however.”

  “No problem,” Michael smiled. “It’s easy to find. I’ll fax a map to you when I get back to my office. Your men will have to take a rope ladder with them. There’s no other way to get down into the mine shaft. Oh, yes. I’d better warn you. There’s a terrible stench of death inside the mine—probably from all the mucous and slime on the rotting carcasses. I rented a self-contained breathing apparatus and wore it down in the mine. I’m sure if I hadn’t, I would have become violently ill from the stench.”

  “Yes, of course. I completely understand. You were smelling cadaverine,” Forrest stated matter-of-factly.

  “Cadaverine? Such a repugnant word—what does it mean?” Michael asked.

  “Cadaverine is a liquid ptomaine with a putrid odor. It’s produced by the microorganisms that cause flesh to decay. The smell can be terribly nauseating. Most of my employees have gotten used to it—though I never have, I must admit.” Whenever Glade smiled, lines formed in the corners of his eyes.

  Michael looked at his watch. It was nearly noon. “I’d better be on my way. I’ll have to hurry, if I’m going to get the article in this afternoon’s edition.”

  Glade stood and shook Michael’s hand. He bowed slightly, in a gentlemanly, Old World sort of way. “Please tell your lovely wife I said hello. I’m sorry you didn’t bring her with you this morning.”

  Michael spoke through clenched teeth. “Kimberly had quite a bit of work to do at the office today. Next time, perhaps.”

  “Next time.”

  AS MICHAEL DROVE BACK to his office, he felt a great sense of accomplishment. Thanks to Soozie Snyder and Forrest Glade, he had the proof he needed that Hogg had dumped the animals down the mine shaft. He had confronted Oscar Stein about his knowledge of Hogg’s intent to kill Stewart Lamb. Moreover, the videotape should get him off the hook with Mark Caruso. Perhaps best of all, both stories would make the front page, and E.J. Geller would be pleased at his investigative reporting skills.

  On a personal level, Michael was less than satisfied with himself. It seemed that every time he talked with Myra things became worse. Worse yet, his friendship with Kimberly had blown completely out of control. He’d sloughed off her advances for months, believing her to be harmlessly flirtatious, but this morning she made it perfectly clear she was dead serious about wanting to have an affair with him. Mark Caruso was right. He had no business staying at Kimberly’s house. He should have recognized that without having to be told. He would move his things to a hotel. Tonight. Tomorrow, at the latest.

  Soozie was another impending problem, but he couldn’t quite figure out why. In the light of day, Michael realized he had no real feelings for her, but last night something had occurred—he wasn’t sure what. He was definitely attracted to her, but of course had no intention of acting on his desires. Not as long as he was married to Myra.

  Michael never made it a secret that he was in love with his wife. He couldn’t understand why Kimberly, and now Soozie, refused to accept that fact. They knew he was married. Why would they want to try to get him into bed? Was it merely for the challenge? Was sex only a game with them? He wished they would back off and leave him alone.

  He adjusted his rearview mirror. A faded blue Honda Accord, about six or seven years old, had been following him ever since he left Fairlawn Pet Cemetery. He’d guessed right. Myra had hired a private detective. What a waste of money, he thought. Nevada is a no-fault divorce state. She doesn’t have to prove anything to get a divorce, if that’s what she wants. All she’s doing is torturing herself. And for what? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Except for that one time with Soozie, of course, and he still didn’t know how that tryst came about.

  Divorce. Damn. How did their misunderstanding escalate to that? Somehow, he was going to have to convince Myra everything she believed him to be guilty of had no basis in truth, that she had been misled by circumstantial evidence.

  When Michael pulled into his space in the Times’ parking lot, he noted the blue Honda had stopped and was backing into a slot at the curb.

  “I HAVE GOOD NEWS and bad news,” Kimberly told Michael. “Which do you want first?”

  “Give me the good news.”

  “Bill Dover just called. He wants to take us to the Lost Doberman Mine. He says he’s pinned down the location precisely.”

  �
��That is good news,” Michael grinned. “Maybe we’ll be rich! When can we go?”

  “He said his work is going to cost us. Dinner. Tonight. Bill’s a big man, and our cars are too small to seat three people comfortably, so he’s offered to pick us up at my house,. at six.”

  “Okay. That’s fine with me. That’ll give us time to shower and change before dinner. Now, give me the bad news.” Michael braced himself.

  Kimberly’s face looked like she had just swallowed a worm. “Your girlfriend’s been calling you all morning.”

  Michael assumed a similar expression. “I don’t have a girlfriend, Kimberly. You know that,” he stated with firmness.

  “You know who I’m talking about. Soozie.”

  “Whatever Soozie wants can wait,” Michael decided. “I promised to take you to lunch today, and I’m hungry as a bear. I’ve had a very productive morning, so there’s a lot to tell you. And when we get back from lunch, there’s a mountain of work for us to finish before the deadline for today’s edition.”