T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 01 - Southern Fatality

by T. Lynn Ocean

  Dirk responded with a give-me-a-break look.

  “I really don’t have much to tell,” I said. “I haven’t uncovered anything more than your boys.” He clearly didn’t believe me and looked to Ox for help. Ox just shrugged a shoulder and delicately drank his wine, from the glass.

  “Look,” Dirk said, planting his elbows on the linen-covered table and leaning toward me. “How about if we just compare notes. See if maybe we can help each other out.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “You go first.”

  He did, and I didn’t learn much more than I already knew. Neither the ransom note, nor Chesterfield’s home had yielded any suspect fingerprints or other usable evidence. The Feds had run background checks on virtually everyone within Chesterfield’s organization and were still talking to people who knew Jared, including past professors and current friends. They hadn’t uncovered anything unusual. No dusty skeletons had jumped out of any opened closets. And the consensus on Jared was that he was an honest, hard worker. Didn’t take things for granted. Was intelligent, had made good grades. Achieved a perfect record of discipline at the Citadel, a notoriously tough South Carolina military academy. Was proud to be training with his father and had never wanted to do anything other than work in the family business. No steady girlfriends, rarely dated, and wasn’t into drugs or drinking. Didn’t smoke. Had a very bright future ahead of him.

  When it was my turn, I told Dirk everything I knew. Except about the Social Insecurity virus, the reports of a problem by Eddie Flowers before he was shot, and the little embezzlement scam that the Hertz couple had pulled. Since I was working for Chesterfield, there were confidentiality issues.

  “There were reports of a black Mercedes-Benz at the Water Street Restaurant during a disturbance,” Dirk said. “Descriptions of a man and woman resembling the two of you were given by witnesses. In fact, a young lady would like your phone number, Ox. She’s a bank teller. Said you were amazing to watch as you took down all the bad guys, and that you were polite, too. Picked up the tab for their drinks. Her exact words were, ‘the gorgeous dark-skinned one with the tight ass.’”

  Ox smiled.

  “She didn’t say anything about the other one?” I asked, insulted. Maybe she hadn’t gotten a good look at me, as I took down Gary Hertz.

  “Yeah. She said you stood there and watched the whole thing, staying out of the way,” Dirk said. “Described you as ‘the tall redhead with big boobs.’”

  “It wasn’t exactly like that,” I said and Ox’s smile got broader. “Besides, my hair is more brunette than red. I believe the colorist at the salon called my latest shade a sun-kissed chestnut.”

  “Want to tell me about it?” Dirk said.

  “Just a few thugs that Gary Hertz put on Chesterfield. He was mad about losing his job as the property manager for the Bellington Complex,” I explained. “We didn’t see any need to stick around after we reasoned with them.”

  “Why’d Chesterfield get rid of Hertz?”

  “Suspected him of dealing drugs,” Ox said. It was a good answer, since Hertz was now in jail on drug charges. And even though the answer didn’t satisfy Dirk, it would satisfy his bosses at the police department.

  “Yeah, well,” Dirk said. “The three boys you left behind at Water Street all had priors. And the Hertz couple was a good bust for narcotics. Gary squealed and we picked up the wife yesterday. Captain said to tell you thanks. Off the record.”

  “Tell him no problem,” Ox said, “off the record.”

  We sat at the table a while longer and surveyed our surroundings. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, even the suits who tried to be inconspicuous in a crowd that had now grown to four or five hundred.

  “Shall we go mingle?” I said to Ox when our glasses were empty.

  “It is what you’re suppose to do at one of these things,” he agreed.

  Leaving Dirk at the table to finish his food, we walked for several minutes before approaching Chesterfield and a group of men. After introductions, I heard the word “SIPA” and my attention span perked up and zeroed in.

  “Senator Ralls serves on the finance committee,” Chesterfield was saying. “We first met four or five years ago, when the committee had just begun discussing Social Security reform.”

  I made sure that the level of scotch on the rocks in the senator’s cocktail glass never dipped below half and, by the time the featured band began playing, the senator and Ox were on a first-name basis and swapped stories like old war buddies. I learned that the finance committee had to give their blessing to all brokerage firms cleared to handle SIPAs. I learned that Senator Sigmund Ralls, from Georgia, owned a vacation home in Wrightsville Beach, which was less than half an hour’s drive from the Block. I learned that his wife had darting, dark eyes and that I didn’t much like her, even though she smiled and nodded at all the right times. Her expression was unattractively pinched tight, as though she were commanding a troop of one hundred men instead of just one. And I learned that Sigmund Ralls had a son, but was openly disappointed and critical of the kid. The same kid who coincidentally knew Jared.

  “Damn kid is smart, Walton is,” the senator said, taking special care to pronounce all of his words correctly so as not to appear drunk. “But he’s damned lazy. Doesn’t have any ambition. Got kicked out of school for a year, but instead of getting a decent job he’s still sucking the tit, living at our beach house. I was hoping a good military college like the Citadel would straighten him out …” He took a hearty swallow of scotch, allowing some of the crushed ice to fall into his mouth with it. “I’ve often wished Walton could be more like Jared Chesterfield. That kid has got so much going for him, and now this. Kidnapped! Who would’ve thought?”

  I wanted more details, but Ralls’s wife was not going to let that happen.

  “Darling,” Hanna Lane Ralls gently interrupted. She clearly didn’t want her husband airing the family’s dirty laundry. “Let’s go take a walk. I’m sure Mizz Barnes and Mister Oxendine would like to visit with some of the other guests.”

  Obliging her, the senator bid us good-bye. He was a bit unsteady as the two of them walked toward the Chesterfield office building. That’s where the bathrooms were, and a continuous stream of people flowed in and out.

  I wanted to question Chesterfield on the relationship between Jared and the senator’s son, but he was the center of a dynamic crowd. Getting him alone would be nearly impossible.

  Ox and I roamed and ate and drank and chatted with the upper echelon for another hour. Deciding that the evening wasn’t going to produce any case-breaking clues, we collected Bill and Mindy and were preparing to leave when Dirk caught up with us. His two-way radio crackled discreetly with blasts of anxious conversation.

  “An employee was just found in one of the restroom stalls,” Dirk said through a worried frown. “She’s not breathing.”

  After asking Bill to drive Mindy home, Ox and I followed Dirk to the scene, weaving our way through an unknowing crowd of partygoers. Emergency medical technicians were unable to revive the woman, who another employee identified as Darlene, Chesterfield’s personal secretary.

  ELEVEN

  Nobel Prize winner and late British philosopher Bertrand Russell once said that there is much pleasure to be gained from useless knowledge. The man was a genius but I must disagree with his assessment. There is much frustration to be gained from useless knowledge. Or, perhaps the knowledge I had at the present was useful but I just didn’t know it yet.

  The body count from Chesterfield’s staff had now risen to two and there was no plausible explanation as to why somebody poisoned his secretary with a lethal dose of tranquilizers and sleeping pills. An empty, shattered glass was found in the bathroom, and another staffer recalled seeing her with what appeared to be an orange juice and vodka. But none of the bartenders remembered serving her. It would have been easy for someone to grind up the pills in advance and simply mix them into her juice, which would have masked the taste. Until they
had evidence to the contrary, police were treating the death as an accidental overdose, but I didn’t think so.

  To make things even more baffling, the third time the kidnappers made contact was no more specific than the original note or the first phone call. Nine days had passed since the kidnapping and again, the call was placed with a doctored cell phone that was untraceable. This time, though, the caller was female. And when I listened to the recorded conversation, I figured two things. One, her voice was disguised. Two, the kidnappers were purposely stalling.

  “Listen, asshole,” she said when Chesterfield answered. “We told you no cops, but you didn’t listen. So, now it’s going to cost you more to get Jared back.”

  “Hey,” Chesterfield said. “I spoke to a fellow before. Who are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter who I am. We got what you want. Jared. That’s all that matters.”

  “Let me talk to him. I need to know he’s really there with you. Otherwise, I could be talking to anybody.”

  “Piss off.”

  Chesterfield kept his cool. “Lots of people are claiming to be in on this,” he lied. “You could be another nut wanting attention.”

  There was a pause before Jared’s voice came across the line.

  “Hi, Dad.” He sounded very tired. “I’m okay, I’m not hurt or anything. I—” The phone was taken from him in midsentence and the woman came back on. She sounded around thirty, maybe older.

  “Satisfied?”

  “Tell me what you want. And, when do I see my son?”

  “The price has gone up to three million. Three million dollars. Get the cash,” she instructed.

  “I’ve already got the cash. Ready to go,” Chesterfield said, although he didn’t have the money on hand. “How do I get it to you?”

  “You’ll hear from us in a few days.”

  The line went dead.

  It didn’t make sense. Chesterfield practically begged to give them the money and they didn’t bite. Hungry fish always took the bait and greedy fish often snagged an empty hook. Was the real motive behind the kidnapping something other than ransom, and had Jared been in on things from the start? Even though he wasn’t a computer whiz of the caliber to create such a virus, he could have provided the insider information from Chesterfield Financial. Whoever the culprits, they were stalling for time and my gut told me Social Insecurity must be the reason why.

  As promised, Bill hadn’t scheduled any modeling jobs for the entire week and declared that he was going to spend it with me, even if I was working. We stopped by Chesterfield’s penthouse to check on developments with the agent stationed there. Because it was a shift change, there were two and they were comparing notes. I’d brought a container of hot steamed oysters, a pack of saltines, cocktail sauce made with freshly grated horseradish, and a six-pack of Corona beer. Although the on-duty agent chose not to drink, the rest of us washed the feast down with a brew while Lolly treated Bill to a tour of the penthouse.

  I heard snippets of their conversation and determined they were chatting about home accessories and fashion designers and Bill’s latest modeling gigs. They may as well have been speaking French for all I could understand.

  My mobile rang, and it was Spud asking for a ride to the automotive repair shop. They’d sucked all the water out of his car, checked the engine compartment, given it a tune-up, repaired the damaged front fender, and prepared an invoice for nine hundred and ninety-eight dollars. His insurance deductible was one thousand. He was positive that the car repair people were in cahoots with the insurance people.

  To respond to his telephone tirade would have been paramount to pouring Wesson oil on a stovetop grease fire, so I ignored it. “Sure, I’ll take you to get the car,” I told him. “But who’s going to drive it back?”

  “Oh, I got Bobby with me. We’re at home.”

  Bill massaged the back of my neck as we drove to the Block to retrieve Spud. The tips of his fingers pressing into my neck muscles felt so good that my eyelids wanted to shut in ecstasy and I had to remind myself I was driving. I needed to keep my eyes open. I asked him what he thought about Chesterfield and Lolly’s place.

  “It’s gorgeous,” he said, “especially for a short-term thing. Makes me wonder what their permanent home in New York looks like.”

  “Did Lolly tell you anything about Jared? Friends, funny stories, that kind of thing?”

  “No, not really. She’s as surprised by the whole kidnapping thing as everybody. She said Jared has always been polite to her, even though she’s the new wife.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He’s a vegetarian. Or is it a vegan? Anyway, he doesn’t eat any meat except seafood.” I didn’t see where that tidbit of information would help lead me to Jared, so I let it pass.

  “Anything else?”

  “Don’t think so. From all the photographs I’ve seen though, he sure is a handsome kid. My friend Tommy would go crazy over him.”

  “Tommy? Like a guy Tommy?”

  “Yes, a guy Tommy,” Bill said with exasperation, as though I’d asked a dumb question. “Jared is good looking, smart, polite, and wealthy. He’d be the catch of the century for somebody like Tommy.”

  “Jared Chesterfield is gay?” It opened up a whole new realm of possible motives for the kidnapping. “How do you know he’s gay?”

  “You didn’t notice his room?” Bill said, as though there was a flashing neon sign hanging on the wall that declared, A HOMOSEXUAL SLEEPS HERE.

  “Of course I noticed his room. I searched it,” I said.

  “Green and mauve cabana stripes, coordinating lamps with Tiffany inlay? Ceiling fans in the design of palm leaves? And it’s neat, for another thing.” Bill quit massaging my neck and turned his attention to the contents of his blazer pocket. He fished out a sleeve of Dentyne and offered me some before tossing a few squares in his mouth.

  “You deduced, just by seeing Jared’s room, that he is gay,” I half-stated and half-asked.

  “I assumed you would have picked up on the obvious, you being a trained professional and all,” he chided. “But Sam doesn’t know, of course. Lolly said that Jared is very deep in the closet.”

  “But Lolly knows,” I thought aloud, “and Jared knows she knows?”

  “Of course,” Bill said, repocketing the chewing gum. “It’s just something they don’t discuss. Lolly figures it’s not her business. If Jared wants to tell his dad, he will.” Maybe Lolly was smarter than I’d given her credit for. She knew when to stay out of something. On the other hand, she should have come forth with the information when Jared went missing.

  “Jared probably thinks his dad would disown him if he knew,” I mused. “And to think that the kid went to a military academy. They’d have tied him to a tree naked and painted him pink if word got out on campus.”

  “It wouldn’t have been good,” Bill agreed.

  “What about boyfriends? Is Lolly aware of anyone special?”

  “I asked her that because I was thinking of setting him up with Tommy if they ever find him, and she said no, definitely not. Jared doesn’t date at all. He hasn’t brought anyone home since they moved into the Bellington Complex. Males or females.”

  “If the modeling and actor thing ever falls through, maybe you should consider investigative work,” I said, wondering once again if my few hours of retirement had turned my brain to mush. Had any of the suits assigned to the case uncovered what Bill figured out during a ten-minute tour of the Chesterfield place? And how would Chesterfield react if he learned that his only son may never produce heirs?

  Bill replied that he would happily be an investigator, but only if it was a character in a blockbuster movie.

  “Did Lolly ever talk about her parents or her family?” I wanted to know.

  “Well, I didn’t know her before college and we lost touch afterward. I remember that she used to visit her mother during breaks, but she never talked about her dad. I assumed her parents were divorced or something.”

&
nbsp; “Hmmm,” I pondered aloud. “Lolly said earlier that her parents were traveling in Europe. But if they know about the kidnapping, why aren’t they here to help her deal with it? For that matter, why isn’t Lolly sticking close to her husband’s side, to help him deal with things? She seems to be gone a lot.”

  “She always was one to do her own thing. Selfish, I guess. In school, we use to tease her about how the world revolved around her. Like, if the football team lost a game, she’d swear they did it to make her lose the five-dollar pool.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I really wish you would drop this thing with Chesterfield. And why won’t you tell me what it is that you’ve found?”

  I couldn’t stop the annoyed look that tightened my features. “I already told you, Bill, that there isn’t anything solid to tell you. Besides, you know I don’t discuss my work.”

  “Not even with me?”

  “Especially not with you,” I retorted.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “You don’t have to bite my head off.”

  The two of us never argued and I didn’t feel like starting now. He continued massaging my neck and we dropped the topic of my work.

  Spud and Bobby were ready and waiting when we got to the Block. With a melody of old-age grunts, they climbed in the backseat and we headed to the auto repair shop. Jersey’s Faithful Taxi, at your service.

  “Got your checkbook, Spud?” I couldn’t resist asking. Bill gave me a reprimanding slap on the leg and Spud muttered something about where I could put his damn checkbook. Then he added something about how the state ought to provide the Vaseline when they were going to screw someone.

  “You’ve got to be careful about letting friends drive your car,” I said, egging it on.

  “Aww, you all know it wasn’t my fault!” Bobby cried.

  “A thousand damn dollars. For crying out loud,” Spud grumbled. “Anyway, there won’t be no need for a deductible next time.”

  “What next time?” I eyed my father in the rearview mirror.

  “Nothing. All I’m saying is that, when I get rid of the stupid car, I won’t have to worry about any more déductibles.”