by R Weir
“You were pushing-on my injured leg. I would have-confessed to-anything to make-the pain-stop.”
With the DA there I decided not to respond to the allegation.
“Then-you sent those-men to beat-me up.”
“Absolutely not!” I answered.
“They mentioned-your name. You told-them I confessed to-stalking Emily.”
“I spoke to only the police on what you said.” I lied on that count as I did tell two people, Emily and Melissa.
“It is-what they said. They kept-kicking me-and kicking me-until I was out.”
“What did they look like?” I asked.
“Here are the descriptions he gave us,” said the DA. “They are somewhat vague, as his memory of the event is a little shaky. Pretty general and could fit many people.”
I read through it and agreed, so it wasn’t much help without some other info. It was close enough to fit two men I had encountered a few days earlier in the employ of Brandon Sparks. Since he’d taken an interest in the case, it wasn’t a big leap to think it may have been them. I wouldn’t share my gut emotions on this until I had more to go on.
“Anything jumps out at you via these descriptions?” asked the DA.
“Like you said, they are pretty general and could fit a lot of people.”
“No holding out on me,” he threatened. “It would be bad for your career to do so.”
Threats on me rarely worked, especially from a politician. “Well, I didn’t send anyone to beat him up, if that is what you’re implying! I do my own dirty work.” After the words came out I wished I could take them back.
“Oh really,” he answered. “What is your alibi again?”
“I checked and he was seen by forty people at a party,” interrupted Mallard. “I talked with several who witnessed him there, so it couldn’t have been him.”
“OK, it wasn’t him directly. He could have sent someone to do it. You’re still number one on my suspect list.”
I wanted to say “Number one with a bullet,” but I’m sure he wouldn’t think that was funny. “You’re wasting your time,” I answered. “I may not have liked the guy, but what happened to him is not my style. If I’d put him down, I would have left him down and walked away. Nobody deserves a beating like this.”
The DA stared me up and down several times, trying to read me, then turned to Rickie. “Anything else to add, Mr. Ward?”
“I want-to tell him something-in confidence,” he said while pointing to me. “Please turn off-the recorder.”
I walked over and leaned down so Rickie could whisper in my ear after the DA pressed the stop button reluctantly.
“I know-you didn’t believe-me before, and neither-did anyone-else I told. Emily did-sleep with me-on the one date-we had. That is-the God-honest truth.” He stopped to catch his wind and continued. “And she did-call me-and asked me-to come-to her office-to discuss-working there. She also-made suggestive comments-to me of a-sexual nature. She lured me-to her office.”
I straightened back up and looked at him. I wasn’t sure what to believe, but he seemed to be telling the truth, or at least believed he was. If it were true, the question was why. I stepped back and filed this away under the heading of new information.
“I said-what I-wanted to-say on the-record,” he said. “I’d like-to rest now-as I’m tired.”
We all cleared out of the room, the DA grabbing his tape recorder and locking it away in his satchel. We moved out of the ICU and headed towards the elevators. I waved to Rickie’s attorney as the DA took the car down. I wanted to talk with her alone. I asked Mallard if he could wait downstairs while I conversed.
“OK,” he grumbled. “This is no taxi service. I need to get back to my caseload before the Captain chews me out. He’s starting to imply we are going steady since I’m seeing so much of you.”
The public defender was a younger woman, probably fresh out of law school, as they normally were. She was fairly short, with long black hair, and appeared to be Hispanic. She had a serious look on her face, almost angry, as I looked at her. I wasn’t sure she would talk with me, since she probably perceived me as the enemy, but I had to ask.
“So who bailed him out?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “We had not arranged to bail him out as he had no money. I was trying to get the bond lowered or even removed completely since he was broke, and likely nobody would back him because of his financial past. So I was totally surprised when I got the call he’d been beaten. Initially, I thought it happened in jail.”
“It would seem to me, he was bailed out to settle a score.”
She shook her head in agreement. “Yes, that is probable and why the police believe you are a suspect.”
“I didn’t like the guy, but I wouldn’t put down that much loot to lose just to beat the crap out of him. It had to be someone with deep pockets where losing it was an afterthought.”
“Any ideas who?” she asked.
“Nothing concrete,” I answered. “At least I won’t share with you as of yet.”
“Well, if you do get something, call me,” she said while handing me her business card. “I don’t care about his past; he didn’t deserve this, and I’d like to prosecute the persons responsible.”
“Agreed.”
“So did what he tell you in confidence change matters any for you?”
“Maybe,” I replied. “It’s just another piece of the puzzle that gets stranger by the second.”
She held out her hand, which I shook. She walked away as I contemplated what my next move was. As usual, I wasn’t completely certain. So I took the elevator down to find Mallard before he left me behind.
Chapter 22
Meeting with Emily the next day for lunch was on the agenda, but I also wanted to talk with Adam King. I decided to forgo a workout and drop in on him. I didn’t want to announce my visit because I’m sure he wouldn’t see me otherwise. Popping in might get me a few minutes with him. Of course he might throw me out on my ear, or at least try.
Searching the Web I discovered his office had moved from the last time we had met, just off of downtown, on Grant and 6th Avenue. I put the address into the smartphone and drove on down, the directions being barked out on the speakerphone. Upon arrival I deduced his building was a big step up from the dump he used to work out of. No home/office like mine, but a suite with a couple of offices and people working for him. Once parked, I found the entrance on the third floor leaning on my skills at reading the lobby directory. “Detective Royalty, King Detective Agency” said the sign on their office door. Small-time no more; he had transitioned to the big leagues.
The sign really should have said “Royal Pain in the Ass!” Last time we met, maybe six years ago, we’d angrily crossed paths as he tried to pull a client out from under me by lying to him. I had been working for about a week trying to discover what his soon to be ex-wife was up to. She had been bleeding him dry, charging up huge debt on their credit cards, and rumor had it sleeping with several different men. I followed her around, but she had been tipped off and she wasn’t leading me anywhere. Adam got wind of the case from a friend and lied to my client telling him I was goofing off, trying to rack up hours and expenses. I confronted him about the situation, when he told me to buzz off and shoved me into the hood of a car, knocking the wind out of me and badly bruising my ribs. I took two steps and decked him with a punch to the eye that swelled up almost immediately, showing him I wasn’t going to let him steal away business. He stayed down on the ground and I walked away, having made my point. I hadn’t run across him since, remaining leery if his name came up in any of my dealings.
I strolled into the office, but the front desk chair was vacant. I rang the little bell where it said “Ring for Assistance.” About two minutes passed and Adam made an appearance. He didn’t recognize me right away, at least not completely, a “I know him” expression gracing his mug. He appeared pretty much the same as I remembered, about my height and build
, looking in good shape, with short blond curly hair and sideburns. He wore a casual blue polo with beige slacks and black Rockport dress shoes. He stepped over to me without offering his hand as he searched his memory. It took him a minute but he finally recalled. He didn’t come off completely pleased but wasn’t seemingly mad either.
“The butler of detectives,” he stated, trying to be humorous. “Jarvis Mann, if I live and breathe. It’s been a long time.”
“Adam King. You appear to be doing well for yourself,” I said. I wanted to be snarky and push his buttons, but I took the high ground.
“You still in the business?” he asked with just a slight smirk.
“Yes, I am. No third floor office but paying the bills.”
“So to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“My current client is a woman you did some work for in connection with Bristol & Bristol. I’d be grateful to get your thoughts on the case.”
“OK. Why don’t you come back to my office?”
He waved me on and led me through his door. The room was disorganized, with papers everywhere and not a storage cabinet in sight, the top of his plain wooden desk his filing system. Empty cans and food-wrapper waste had failed to find the trash can and littered the water-stained beige carpet. The atmosphere was musty and in need of an air freshener. Finding a seat in his patched-up leather chair, he moved some of the stacks out of the way. The cushion on the guest chair was old and cracked. I wanted to stand for fear of being infected but resisted being rude. I navigated around the Burger King waste and sat down. If he had one of those BK paper crowns they gave to children, I don’t think I could have controlled my laughter.
“I’ve done a lot of work for Bristol & Bristol through the years, so you’ll need to be more specific,” Adam said.
“Emily White, though you probably know her last name as Remington. She was trying to leave her husband and she claimed he was stalking her. Back about five years ago.”
Now from what I recalled, Adam’s memory lacked staying power, and he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. But surprise, surprise: he knew right away whom I was referring to. He even had a little twinkle in his eye at the mention of the name.
“Oh, yes, I remember her,” he stated without hesitation. “Hard to forget a face and body like hers. What has she hired you for?”
“Someone has been stalking her again.”
“Her ex-husband?”
“Not completely certain. A suspect is in custody, but he has recanted his statement, after initially confessing.”
“Lawyers always screw up neat and tidy conclusions.” He rocked back and interlaced both hands behind his head. “Ask away.”
“What did you turn up the last time?”
He stopped for a second to ponder the question. “Why should I tell you? You remember confidentiality, I assume.”
No shit, Sherlock was my gut reaction, but I held it in. “Of course I do. Contact Tony Bristol himself, as he gave me your name. Or even Emily White, my client. She is aware I’m digging into this from all angles.”
“Well, with our previous encounter, I don’t think I should. But what the hell! It was long ago and I might enjoy reliving those moments. Give you a little more padding on the time sheet so you can move on up to my side of town.”
Still smug, as always. I let the padding shot slide.
“The case was pretty straight forward and her ex, I forget his name, easy to check up on. I followed him for about a week, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. He mostly worked, played softball, had a few drinks afterwards and went home alone. From what I could tell, no stalking was happening. Using my contacts with the various phone providers, I got a list of calls on his cell, home and work phone. I wanted to determine if he had been calling her. Well lo and behold, several calls existed between them, but it appeared she initiated all of them. So I asked myself, why?”
He had a can of generic cola sitting on his desk and he took a long sip, after grabbing some peanuts from a bowl buried behind one of the stacks of papers. The breakfast of champions.
“So I confronted her about it over the phone and she denied it. Said I must be mistaken. I pointed out I had a copy of the records and how it would be easy to prove if his lawyer got ahold on it.” He made it sound like a threat to give it to Mark’s lawyer. The scuttlebutt on Adam detailed this as standard operating procedure. “So she said she had something she needed to tell me, but didn’t want to say it over the phone, and could we meet for dinner somewhere. It was her dime, so what did I care. During the meal she tells me her life story and literally started crying. She swore up and down her husband was ruining her life and she had to be free of him, and the calls were to ask him to leave her alone. She sounded overwhelmingly convincing and, softy that I was, I felt sorry for her. I explained we’d take care of the records while warning her to stop calling him, as it would work against her.”
“What happened then?” I asked.
“We pieced together evidence, nothing real damning, but enough to get them to not put up much of a fight.”
Piecing together evidence meant made up and falsified in his world. That also was standard operating procedure in his practice.
“What about Brandon Sparks? Any contact with him?”
“Never heard of him,” Adam replied with a straight face.
I left it alone but he was lying.
“Did you ever track down Mark, the ex-husband?” I asked.
“Yep that’s it, Mark,” he said proudly. “Only once. He insisted he wasn’t following her, but I didn’t believe him. Emily was a babe, as I’m sure you are aware, and one I’d nail in a heartbeat. She maintained quite a hold on him, from what I could tell. Once you’ve had a taste of her sweet nectar it’s hard to let go!”
“Anything else you’d like to share with me?” I said, thinking certain facts were left out. The “nail in a heartbeat” and “taste of her sweet nectar” made me think there was more to the story.
“Nothing you didn’t already learn,” he replied. “And if you don’t, it’s best to find out on your own. I don’t want to make it too easy for you. More time for you to bill her for!”
With his last shot I got up from the chair and headed for the door. No handshake or thanks from me today. I still didn’t like the guy and figured he felt much the same. If I hung around any longer, he’d taste my knuckles for lunch. I reached the front door and Adam spoke from behind me.
“Hey, Jarvis,” he stated. “I shouldn’t say this, but I’ll give you a word of advice from one colleague to another. Be very careful, as the lady is not always what she seems.”
Chapter 23
After leaving King’s building I headed back towards Emily’s office, trying to absorb what I had learned. For all I knew, King may have been screwing with me. It wouldn’t be too surprising after what happened between us in the past. On the other hand, if he was telling the truth, it gave me a couple of things to work with, especially the last line the lady is not always what she seems. This added to the questions I still needed to get answered, along with twenty others rolling through my brain.
I called Emily on the phone and we decided to meet up at The Great Northern, where I’d had lunch with Jeanine last week at around noon. She said she could take two hours to talk over the case. Once I arrived I saw her inside sipping on a drink. I sat down in the booth across from her. She looked somewhat tired and stressed, as if all of what was going on was weighing her down. I gave her my super-smile hoping to elicit a response, but it was weak at best.
“Tough day?” I asked after ordering a Sprite.
“Yes, somewhat,” she responded. “Just tired. I didn’t get a lot of sleep these last couple of days.”
“Sorry to hear,” I stated. “I know all of this isn’t easy.”
We both ordered off the menu, she got the Chicken Pot Pie, while I chose the Monte Cristo like the last time, which had been outstanding. I stared across the table after the waiter had left and waited fo
r Emily to speak. By her eyes she knew what I wanted answers to, so I resisted pushing it.
“How did I meet Jim,” she finally stated. “I think you’ll be upset with me, as I didn’t tell you the whole truth about myself as you asked me to. I left out an encounter with him. I was embarrassed to mention it. It was something important I should have revealed to you that first day.”
I sat patiently, waiting to hear more, letting the confession play out.
“I’d had one of those weeks,” she began. “We’ve all had them where everything you do or touch falls apart and turns to crap. We lost a big client, had two other possible bids fall through and I had to fire someone, which is never pleasant. By the time I left work Friday evening I was in a terrible mood. Normally I’d go home and put on some pajamas, eat a quart of ice cream and watch a sad movie via Netflix on the Roku.” She stopped and sighed for a few seconds. “But then my friend, Karen, the one I stayed with recently until the house was ready, called me itching to hit the town. I told her about the week and how I planned to stay parked on the sofa and mope. And she was just like ‘I’m coming to get you and we’re going to get stupid drunk.’ I tried to tell her no, but she hung up on me. It wouldn’t matter what I said, for I know her too well. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and drag me out the door no matter how I was dressed. So I got changed and we went to Boone’s, ate some food and downed Tequila for several hours. Way more than I should, but I was trying to leave my bad week behind.”
The waiter brought her second lemonade, which she quickly drank about half of before continuing.
“Well, two gentlemen came over and asked if they could buy us drinks. I think Karen was eying one of them earlier as we were chatting. He started talking with her while Jim made small talk with me. He was an attractive guy and I was pretty loaded, so we began flirting with each other. From there we decided to go out dancing. We went to a nearby club they knew about and spent the next hour cutting the rug, so to speak.”
