“No vacations?”
“I was supposed to get a month each year, subject to Mr. Wudbine’s schedule. It never seemed to work out. Like this June, I was going to take several weeks of vacation, but ended up serving as an administrative assistant to Elliott Wudbine when he visited clients in Asia and Europe. The person who usually accompanies Elliott was very pregnant, so I was pressed into service. That was unusual, I’d never worked for Elliott before. Elliott was a lot less demanding than his father. Mr. Wudbine worked day and night, didn’t sleep much, and expected those who worked for him to be available at his beck and call.”
“And your job title?”
“My contract reads concierge. Let me explain. I became an intern at Wudbine Investments right out of graduate school. After six months I was offered a full-time position to continue doing all the things I was assigned during my internship. When it came to giving me a contract, the HR director didn’t know exactly what title my position should have. She had heard about some high-tech firms employing concierges and decided the term best described my work assignments.”
“So what do you do?”
“Anything and everything. My major task is looking after his calendar and each item connected with that—travel and lodging arrangements, restaurant reservations, tickets for cultural and sporting events, and scheduling the corporate jet. Mr. Wudbine often made it available to his political friends. There were related secretarial duties, also. And Mr. Wudbine demanded that his coffee be prepared in a specific way. I was a barista in college. I probably got this job because of the coffee.
Ray did his best to suppress a smile.
“And then there were the flowers. Mr. Wudbine wanted fresh-cut flowers in every room. Gull House and the home in Kenilworth have greenhouses and gardeners, so we produce some of the flowers we use. I also acquire additional stock from commercial sources. You might say I run a small florist operation.”
“Do you do things for other members of the household?”
“Mr. Wudbine worked very closely with his daughter-in-law, Jill. I primarily worked for the two of them, and also occasionally for Elliott.”
“How about Mr. Wudbine’s wife, Brenda?”
“During my tenure she hasn’t been around much. I don’t think I’m giving out any secrets to tell you that Brenda is a hopeless alcoholic, an embarrassment, really. I’m sure you noticed her condition last night. She’s either at Betty Ford or a health spa in Arizona, that’s were she spends most of the winter. Brenda also has a serious heart condition. The spa has special diets and exercise for heart patients.
“Brenda hates Chicago, she’s almost never there. She does like it up here. Shows up in the spring and stays until early September. I think it’s the only time the two of them are in residence together for an extended amount of time. When she’s up here, she takes over the flower arranging, something she did earlier in their marriage. I still look after the inventory and ordering.”
“Yesterday, please outline where you were from…let’s say midday until after the murder?”
“Like I was telling you, Mr. Wudbine worked seven days a week starting early in the morning and sometimes running into the evening. Yesterday was just another workday. He had several major projects going for the foundation, new initiatives for the fall. He had a long planning meeting with Jill in the morning. So I spent my morning with them. We had a working lunch. I spent the afternoon organizing the material we had developed during the morning. Then I went to the beach for about an hour, came back, showered, grabbed a quick dinner, and headed for the theater. I did a walking meditation, trying to get in the head of my character.”
“And how about Mr. Wudbine? Do you know what he did the rest of the afternoon.”
After lunch he’s usually in his gym working out under the guidance of Ms. Mickels. After the workout they usually go sailing for a while. I saw them coming in when I went to the beach. Then he planned to have Alyson fly him to Traverse City to meet Elliott’s plane.”
“Have you noticed anyone around in recent days with whom you were unfamiliar—at the house, the auditorium, or the colony?”
“No.” She paused for a long moment. “I mean, there are lots of people around, many I don’t recognize, but no one who seemed menacing or out of place.”
“Were you aware of any threats against Mr. Wudbine? He did have a security person here and the fairly elaborate system as well,” Ray observed.
“Everyone does that. There’s a lot of paranoia out there, not that Malcolm was particularly paranoid. And it may be sort of a status symbol, too. Mr. Wudbine liked showing off Alyson Mickels, she is a lot classier than any of the personal protection specialists in his circle. He was vain in that way. Don’t get me wrong, Sheriff, Mr. Wudbine was an absolutely wonderful man. And he was enormously generous with me and a real mentor. But we all have our things, don’t we?”
“So when did you arrive at the theater?”
“The curtain was at 8:00. I was there around 7:15. I was probably the first member of the cast to arrive. There was a cocktail party at Verity’s cottage. Most of the cast attended. They arrived at the theatre as a group. Running a bit late, I might add. There was a real scramble to get into costume and makeup. I’m so glad I was ahead of them. I needed time to settle in, if you know what I mean. I haven’t been in a play since high school, and that was only a bit part. This role is very challenging, and I was quite nervous.”
“When did Mr. Wudbine arrive?”
“He got there about 10 minutes before the opening curtain. He wanted my help dressing, but I was getting ready to go onstage. I had a major part in the first scene.”
“Walk me through what happened from the opening curtain until you knew something was very wrong.”
“Well, I was onstage sitting at the dinner table. I was incredibly nervous. Then the curtain went up, and we were off. From that point it just seemed so natural. There wasn’t one muffed line, not one. I was feeling exalted when I got back to the green room. By that time Mr. Wudbine was in his costume. He had those horrible, bloody wounds and was capering around. To be truthful, I was a bit irritated with him. I wanted to be left alone. Fortunately, one of the crew led him onstage.”
“And then?”
“Things got very confused. I’ve thought back over it. There was that lightning and thunder. The building shook, the lights flickered. A little bit later they went out. I was sitting at a mirror checking my makeup when they went out. I just stayed put. Then the lights came back on. I was still at the mirror when I could tell something was wrong. I could hear it in the tone of people’s voices. And you know the rest of the story. Eventually we were allowed to leave.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I left with Jill. Elliott was waiting outside the stage door. And Alyson was just beyond the auditorium. We all went up to Gull House. Jill broke the news to Brenda and the others. We were all stunned, people talked quietly for a while.”
“And then?”
“Eventually I went back to my apartment, sometime after midnight. And this morning I showed up about nine to see if there was any way I could be of assistance to Jill or Elliott. I’m sorry, Sheriff, I don’t know more. I just can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill him. Like I said, he wasn’t perfect. But he did a lot more good than harm.”
24
Ray held Elliott Wudbine in his gaze. “I’m sorry for your loss and this intrusion on your time. I’m sure you understand that the investigation has to go forward as quickly as possible.”
“Sheriff, I can’t imagine what I might know that will be of any use. My father was a good man. I don’t know why anyone would want him dead.”
“When was the last time you saw your father alive?” Ray took in Elliott’s perfectly ironed, button-down shirt, the smell of tobacco, and the bulge in his shirt pocket. Elliott was lean, looked worn beyond his year
s, his brown hair thinning at the temples.
“He came with Ms. Mickels to pick me up from the airport in Traverse City. It was a magical flight back, the brilliant sunshine, the lakes and forests. However, we could see a mass of dark clouds coming across the lake from the west. After what’s happened, they were an ominous warning—if you believe in that sort of thing.”
“So you arrived back at….”
“I think it was after 6:00. The helipad is on the back of the property. Mickels drove us up to the house in a golf cart. Father and I went into his library for a few moments to talk. We have a couple of acquisitions that we’re negotiating, and I wanted to fill him in on the details. We had a drink, and then I excused myself. I wanted to see Jill before she left for the theater. I got to our cottage just in time. She was heading out as I arrived. Then I found something to eat and wandered down to the theater in time for the opening curtain.”
“Where were you seated?”
“In the back row. The annual summer play is always a sellout. There was some kind of screw-up. I’m not used to sitting in the back.”
“Were you alone?”
“No, Alyson Mickels was already there. She had the seat next to mine. The curtain went up. Jill made it through her first scene. I know she was quite nervous, but you couldn’t tell watching her. The scene came to an end, and by then the rain had started. After the curtain was down, I was on my feet. My back was killing me. Alyson excused herself, she was worried about the cart.”
“So what did you do at this point?”
“I did these back exercises I can do standing in one place. Then I settled back into my seat and started looking at my e-mail. The lights went out. I sat there in the dark and continued to read my e-mail. Eventually the lights came back on. Then Richard Grubbs came out, and I couldn’t quite catch what he was saying, but everyone was leaving. I walked off to have a cigarette and eventually got a call from Jill. I went in and got her, and Alyson drove us and Pepper up to Gull House to absorb what had happened and to try to figure out how to tell my stepmother. And not too long after that you appeared with Grubbs.”
“He’s your father-in-law, isn’t he?”
“After a fashion. Jill had a falling out with him years ago. They don’t talk. I bear him no rancor, I just never see him.”
“Ms. Mickels has told me that one of her jobs was working as a liaison to the firm that provides security to your corporation.”
“That’s correct,” he responded, pulling out a cigarette pack, looking at it briefly, then returning it to his pocket.
“Had your father been subject to any threats?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Why the need for…?”
“It’s part of the business of doing business. There are threats out there, especially against the financial industry. You know, the growing class warfare and all. You’ve got to be proactive. Everyone is doing it: key cards, fingerprint locks, cameras, photo IDs. With the right planning and equipment, you minimize possible risks.”
“But there was a problem, wasn’t there. Your father was murdered. Can you think of anyone who might have a motive to kill him? There might be some history connected, someone holding a grudge for an actual or perceived wrong ten, fifteen, twenty years ago.”
“I don’t think so. I certainly knew my father quite well, better than most sons. That said, who of us knows everything about anyone else. We all manage to irritate people along the way. I’m sure he did that a lot. He was demanding, wanted everything done yesterday, and he wanted everything done his way. He was very direct, didn’t beat around the bush. But I don’t think his aggressive manner would be a motivation for murder. He just wanted the people around him to perform at the same level he demanded of himself.”
“How about on the business side?”
“My father was hardly involved anymore in the day-to-day operations. He was chairman of the board. I run the business.”
“Any pending litigation against your firm?”
“No, nothing.”
“Any disgruntled employees or former employees?”
“Not in recent years. No one that I can think of.”
“How about investors?” asked Ray. “I understand some of the colony residents once had investment accounts with your firm.”
“That is true. In the 90s we had a division that did portfolio management for small investors. Our opening threshold was a million dollars. A few colony residents had accounts with us. They raved about their investment returns, and a number of other people approached my father asking if they could open accounts with us. Not one of them met our threshold, not even close, but Father created a special category for these people with a minimum investment of a hundred thousand. Back then you couldn’t miss in this business, the market was exploding. All of our clients did well, much better than the Dow. And then the dotcom bubble burst. Everyone took a beating, our clients included. People of means tend to take the long view. They know markets are variable and will come back with time. It was the small investors that came unglued, in our case the very people that my father reached out to help. At that point my father decided that these small accounts produced more aggravation than profit. We guided these customers to other firms, or returned their money if they so directed.”
“And everyone was happy with this arrangement?”
“When people lose money, even if it’s money they made in the run-up, not funds they actually invested in the first place, they’re unhappy. For the born bitchers in the group, providing logical explanations is a waste of time. What you need to know, Sheriff, is my father was no Madoff. The only losses our customers ever experienced were due to normal market fluctuations.”
“Is your company currently experiencing any financial problems?”
“Absolutely not. One thing about my father, Sheriff, was his remarkable sense of timing. While he may have been out of the day-to-day operations, he still provided strategic direction to our investment strategy. We were out of stocks before this last market collapse, and we came back in about the time things bottomed out. So we’ve done extremely well. I’ve been in the business for about twenty years, and we’ve never made this kind of money before. My father poured much of his profits into his foundation. He was committed to doing good works the last part of his life.”
“Is there anyone who would profit by your father’s death?”
“No, well, I would. And I guess my stepmother would.” His face reddened, Ray interpreted this as a flash of anger, but Elliot’s tone was unchanged. “We’re hardly starving. Our lives will not be altered by the inheritance. In point of fact, I could retire now and live comfortably for the rest of my life.”
“How about his personal life? Any romantic relationships that might have soured?”
“Sir, my father has had a long, and by all appearances, successful second marriage.”
Ray noted a second flash of anger. He wondered what was motivating it.
Elliott pulled out his cigarette pack again and fumbled with it. “When will we have my father’s body? We want to start organizing the memorial service.”
“Later in the week. I’ll be able to tell you tomorrow. What are your plans?”
“Jill and I are working on that. We’ll probably do something in Chicago. It’s just too difficult to get flights into Traverse City before Labor Day if you have to come commercial. However, Father would have probably liked something up here. He looked on Gull House as the major accomplishment of his life. His will stipulates that his ashes be spread on the shore.” He paused, withdrawing a cigarette from the pack. “Now, Sheriff, if there is nothing else….”
“I will need to talk to you again in the course of the investigation. Oh, and there is one more thing. Could I get a list of the people who are or were once customers of your firm?”
Elliott’s response was slow in coming
. “I don’t know what to tell you, Sheriff. I’ll need to ask our legal people, see if we would be violating any securities or privacy laws. I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
Ray watched him go, Elliott stopping briefly and lighting a cigarette as soon as he dropped off the porch onto the sand trail that led away from the building.
25
Hanna Jeffers was waiting for Ray when he returned home in the late afternoon. His boat was already secured to the roof of her Subaru. “I’ve got all you stuff packed.”
Twenty minutes later they were carrying their boats and gear from a parking lot to the Lake Michigan shore. Ray launched first, Hanna Jeffers following him. Once he got beyond the pilings, the remains of a dock left from the lumbering days, he stopped and waited. As she approached he capsized, hanging upside down in the cool water, looking at the sand bottom, the kayak rocking in the gentle chop. Then he moved to the right side of his boat, pushed the paddle out of the water, swept the blade from the bow toward the stern, and gracefully rolled up. After a few breaths, he capsized again, slowly performing the same maneuver.
Hanna glided next to him, rafting her boat against his, bow to stern, leaning on his deck. “Good hang time. I was wondering if I needed to give you the hand of God.”
“Silence, I wanted complete silence.”
“What’s going on?”
“Too many voices. I’m trying to get through the static.”
“If you want to talk about it, I’m happy to listen.”
“Let’s paddle. I need to burn off some energy. That seems to work better than anything.”
“Where to?”
Ray looked out to the Manitous, and then glanced at his watch.
“I’m willing if you are,” said Hanna, observing his actions.
“We have about three hours of light and maybe an hour of afterglow. We would have to haul ass the whole way.”
“So let’s do a gear check. Radios, navigation lights, tow packs, food, and water.”
Death in a Summer Colony Page 12
