by Nick James
Shit, shit, shit. “I’d be only too happy to draw that up for you, Camila. If you could give me the correct spelling of your name I’ll do it right now.”
“Wonderful, and should we say, you’ll have this to me by the fifth of every month, you know, just to make it all look above board.”
“I’d like nothing better,” Bobby said then bit his tongue and typed up the rent receipt. He printed off a copy and handed it across the desk to Camila just as she stood.
“A real pleasure doing business, Mr. Custer. You must stop by at the end of the week to see our progress. Perhaps it would be best to call first,” she said and handed him a card with just a phone number printed on it and nothing else.
Chapter Twelve
For the next three days Bobby casually drove past the house on his way home although there really wasn’t much to see. For two days there had been ladders leaning against either side of the house, but fortunately no one had been outside to see him drive past. By Thursday night the dumpster in the front yard had been hauled away, and one of the thugs was on his knees planting what looked like bushes for some sort of a hedge in front of the porch. He had been on his knees with his back to the street and never noticed Bobby driving by.
Midmorning Friday Bobby dialed the number on the card Camila had given him. She answered on the fourth ring.
“Si,”
“Hello, Camila, Bobby Custer here, calling to see how you’re coming along.”
“Oh, Mr. Custer, how nice to hear your voice. The usual headaches, but we seem to be making progress.”
“Would it be an intrusion if I stopped by this evening, oh say around seven?”
“Seven? Yes, that should work. You will see a big change, I think.”
“See you this evening,” he said and hung up.
A little after three that same afternoon his office phone rang.
“Bobby Custer.”
“Mr. Custer, I have a detective Woodley and another man here to see you,” Marci said. Bobby could hear the stress in her voice.
“Oh, wonderful, please send them back, I’ve been expecting them,” he lied. He stepped out of the office and watched Woodley and a younger man in a plaid sport coat walking toward him. One look told you they were both cops.
“Detective Woodley, great to see you again,” Bobby said. “Please, come in. Can I get either of you a cup of coffee?”
“Nice to see you, again,” Woodley said sounding like he didn’t really mean it. “I’d like you to meet Sergeant Tim Sharkey, he works with me. In homicide,” Woodley added after a two step pause.
Bobby smiled and shook hands with Sharkey, thinking what an unfortunate name for a detective. He looked to be mid-thirties but could have been a young-looking forty-five. Close-cropped blonde hair, cold blue eyes, a steel grip that didn’t seem to fit the slim figure, unless he was maybe one of those obsessive marathoners or ex-military, with Bobby’s luck possibly a Ranger or Special Forces. Either way his presence didn’t bode well for the purpose of their visit.
“Coffee, tea, something to drink?” Bobby asked again.
“Coffee would be great, black.” Sharkey said as Woodley shook his head no.
“Give me just a moment and I’ll get that coffee,” Bobby said then cursed himself all the way to the break room and back for giving the two of them some time alone in his office.
“Here we go,” Bobby said as he hurried back in and placed a full mug down on the desk in front of Sharkey. “I can’t attest for the quality other than it’s hot.”
“And the price is right,” Sharkey smiled and took a sip.
The two of them, Sharkey and Woodley, were sitting in the client chairs. Bobby settled into the chair behind his desk then made a production of closing the files on his desk reminding himself not to mention Woodley’s wife, Christine or Brad Carey.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Two of you, I’m guessing this has to be official.” He smiled and looked from one to the other.
Sharkey reached for the coffee mug again and sipped as Woodley talked.
“Actually we’re really just looking for some general information at this point. Trying to get a better understanding of a particular situation.”
“And what situation would that be?” Bobby asked. He smiled then ran through the laundry list of unfortunate incidents in his head that they might be trying to tie him to. The list was long enough that he skipped it almost immediately and started going through a list of defense attorneys he could call.
“How well did you know a gentleman by the name of Jonathan Bannon?” Woodley asked.
He suspected the look of surprise or maybe even shock on his face was apparent. It wasn’t lost on him that Woodley said “did” rather than “do.”
“Jonathan? Well, I know him a little, somewhat. I, I guess if you’re asking me. You do know that he is married to my former wife, Frances. I believe they’re happily married, have been for four maybe five years, but I mean, I really have no idea. He, um, owns some sort of software company or something that has to do with computers. I don’t know much about it, I presume he’s successful. We had discussed, briefly, an investment opportunity, but he was a little hesitant to give me any real financial information which, under the circumstances, I sort of understand.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Sharkey asked.
“The last time, I couldn’t say for sure. I suppose I might still have text messages that would give the exact date. A few weeks back, met at his office actually, Bannon Dynamics, it was only the second time I’d ever met him.”
“Why there?”
“At Bannon Dynamics? Oh, his idea, if I recall. He was hoping to get me to invest in the company. To be quite honest, I went away from the meeting thinking he was probably on some pretty thin ice, at least financially. Although, he did mention some sort of order he had pending from, oh God, China, I think. Like I said, that was only the second time I had met him. I really didn’t know him.”
“And the first time?”
“Oh, maybe a month before that, I ran into them at Kincaid’s. I just happened to see him and Frances, and I stepped over to their table to say hello.” Careful, Bobby thought, don’t mention Angie. “I couldn’t have been with them for more than a minute or two. They seemed to be celebrating something and, well I just wanted to say hello.”
“They were drinking?” Woodley asked.
“Yes, martinis if I recall, but then it is a bar and restaurant.”
“How would you describe their condition?” Sharkey asked.
“Condition?”
“Were they enjoying themselves, talking, silent, upset?”
“Well, actually I’d say they were feeling no pain. Frances was probably over-served by that point and I would have pegged Jonathan at close to that. But I didn’t give them a breathalyzer if that’s your question,” Bobby said then laughed nervously. “Why do you ask?”
“Tell us about your meeting at Mr. Bannon’s office,” Woodley said.
Bobby was beginning to believe the two detectives were on the level and really just looking for some information. “The meeting. Well, to be honest, it was somewhat disappointing. Bannon Dynamics is in a suite of offices, nice place, actually. It’s just that no one else was there. I don’t mean he was alone, which he was, but there was no sign that anyone else was employed by his company. It appeared to me that it was clearly just Jonathan. I don’t mean it was after hours. What struck me was the place appeared empty, no desks, no phones, a couple of outdated computers. I remember there was a coffee mug that had been sitting on a desk in the warehouse area for so long the damn thing had mold growing on it. I’m not joking, it really did. The warehouse was absolutely empty, and it was a good-sized room.”
Sharkey sort of frowned and exhaled which Bobby took to mean something like “I knew it.”
“Matter of fact, I had to wander in and find Jonathan, no one else was around. He was in his office running a vacuum across the c
arpet and sipping a bourbon. I don’t know, I thought that was sort of strange, but maybe it was just a long day. Anyway, I told him a couple of times I couldn’t even think about investing until I saw his financial statements. You guys probably know I don’t have a lot of money. I can’t take a chance on something not working, I certainly don’t have deep pockets. Anyway, he never agreed to show me the financials and after a few very short phone calls we just sort of drifted apart. To tell the truth, I took that to mean he had probably found a better option, his bank, someone else, maybe a fund of some sort. In all honesty, his needs were way out of my league.”
“That was the last you saw him?”
Bobby thought it might be wise at this point not to mention the two of them so drunk they had to be helped into Morris Moncreff’s SUV. “Yes, that early evening at his office. As I said, he called me a few times. We basically had the same conversation which ended with me saying I needed to see his financials. I should also tell you that I let some of his calls drop into voicemail. They were coming through late at night, one or two actually after midnight. I figured he might have been drinking or something.”
“When did you last talk to him?” Sharkey asked.
“Couple of weeks back. I had a call, no wait, actually I had a visit from his wife, my ex, she wanted to know where I stood on the investment thing. I told her the same thing, you know, I needed to look at the financials first.”
Woodley seemed to be staring off into space, thinking something over.
“Hey, what’s going on, is he in some kind of trouble or something?” Bobby asked, hoping he sounded worried as opposed to happy.
“Unfortunately they were found in their car, in the garage.”
“Huh?”
“They’d been asphyxiated. Looks like they pulled into the garage, shut the garage door and left the car running.”
“You’ve got to be kidding, when in the hell was this?” Bobby was genuinely shocked.
“Four or five days ago. Apparently they were out somewhere. At least they appeared to be dressed for it. The car was on empty, looks like it probably ran out of gas in the garage. Autopsy results show Mr. Bannon at four times the legal alcohol limit.”
He recalled the two of them weaving back and forth as Hippo held them up. “And, and Frances, is she okay?” Bobby added a pleading sound to his voice hoping it didn’t sound too contrite.
“Apparently she was fairly intoxicated as well. In fact, she was stretched out in the back seat with a bruise on the side of her head and a skinned knee that would have been consistent with a fall. There may have been a recent sexual interlude.”
“In the back seat of the car?” Now Bobby didn’t have to fake his shocked surprise.
“It would seem that way.”
“He wouldn’t have hit her, would he, Jonathan?”
“Doesn’t appear to be the case, coroner would have picked up on some sort of tell-tale bruising of the hand, in fact I know they checked for indications of that and didn’t find anything.”
“Jesus Christ, I don’t know what to say.”
Sharkey shot a look over at Woodley and then they simultaneously got to their feet.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. Custer. Like I said earlier, we just wanted to get some background information.”
“I wish I could be of more help. If there’s any question I can answer for you please don’t hesitate to call. Like I said, under the circumstances, she being my ex and all, I just haven’t had a lot of contact with either one of them. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t even tell you where they lived. They never invited me over.”
Woodley nodded like that made perfect sense, then said, “Appreciate your time, Mr. Custer.”
“Nice to meet you, sir, sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Sharkey said.
“There is one thing,” Woodley said. “Would you be willing to come down to the office and submit to a DNA test?”
“You can’t be thinking I had something to…”
“No, not at all, but it would help us eliminate one more name. I’m sorry if this seems indelicate, especially under the circumstances. But it might help speed our investigation along.”
“So you’re thinking this is more than just someone passing out and not turning off their vehicle?”
“We have to look at all options, that’s one of many. So is a heart attack, for that matter.”
“Well, no I, I don’t have any problem having a DNA test. Do I call you or just go down? What?”
“We’ll let you know. I appreciate your cooperation.”
Bobby shook hands and tried to look suitably shocked. Once the two detectives left the office he closed the door behind them, then gave himself a high five and did a sort of victory dance.
Chapter Thirteen
It took a couple of hours before he calmed down enough to phone Camila. “Si,” she answered, then half laughed once Bobby identified himself and asked if now would be a convenient time for him to stop by.
“I would love it, Mr. Custer you won’t recognize the place. You’ll see we’ve been working very hard. We’ve saved your house and made lots of improvements, too.”
“I’ll see you shortly,” he said thinking he could only imagine, and hung up.
He stopped on the way and picked up three bottles of wine. He had to park halfway down the block due to all the cars once he arrived and he half grumbled to himself about someone having a party. He rolled two bottles under the passenger seat and carried the cheaper of the three up to the house.
The newly-planted hedge around the front of the house looked to have been recently watered. There were three new wooden stairs leading up to the front porch and the section of the porch roof that had sagged had been repaired. Turned wooden spindles painted with an accent color the same red as the door now formed an attractive railing around the porch. Two new wicker chairs, a wicker couch and matching end tables were comfortably positioned at the far end of the porch. The large front picture window and, in fact, all the windows on the first floor now sported a decorative wrought iron grill, bolted over them. All the better to deter prospective burglars Bobby presumed.
He knocked on the red front door and realized the door was actually solid metal apparently another preventive precaution.
When no one answered the door he rang the newly-installed doorbell and listened to it chime from inside the house. He glanced up at the porch ceiling and noticed two security cameras positioned in opposite corners that would encompass the entire porch. Camila opened the door a moment later and stood there smiling. She was holding a glass with what looked like salt around the rim, Bobby guessed a margarita.
“Mr. Custer how nice of you to call. We’re all out in the backyard, please come and join us. Oh,” she said looking at the seven dollar bottle of wine Bobby cradled in his arm. “How thoughtful, but you shouldn’t have. Please, please come in,” she said then stepped aside and graciously held the door open for him.
As soon as she closed the door she headed through the dining room toward the kitchen. Bobby stood as though bolted to the floor and stared at the refinished living room and dining room. The broken windows had been replaced, the holes in the wall were repaired and everything sported a fresh coat of paint. He noticed what he took to be a sort of decorative wainscoting on the exterior walls about five feet high and maybe just an inch thick. Strange, not at all fancy and he intuitively rapped his knuckles against it. It wasn’t plaster and it certainly wasn’t wood, it was, he guessed, solid steel.
“Mr. Custer?” Camila called from the kitchen.
“Just looking, nothing short of amazing,” he said wondering about the steel-sheeted walls as he skirted around a dining room table and headed for the kitchen. A crystal vase holding a bouquet of pink roses sat on the dining room table, directly below the new light fixture.
Just as in the front rooms steel sheeting wound around the exterior walls. White kitchen cabinets hung from the ceiling along the walls while the bottom cabi
nets formed a U making a counter to sit at. None of the cabinets had doors and the counter tops appeared to be neatly fitted pieces of plywood painted a battleship grey. The nonfunctioning kitchen refrigerator had been replaced by a larger brushed chrome unit, newer by thirty years and surrounded by cabinets on either side.
“Please excuse the mess, countertops won’t be in for another two weeks and all the cabinet doors arrived with the wrong color.” Camila shrugged her shoulders and shook her head as if to say “it figures.” She took a long sip from her glass then headed for the open backdoor. “Come out and meet everyone.”
There were about a dozen people standing out on a large bricked patio. A foundation and large pad of concrete had been poured just past the patio for a three-car garage. Piled next to the pad were all sorts of lumber, sheets of plywood and two pallets of roofing shingles.
Bobby recognized Ignacio in a t-shirt and camouflaged shorts standing behind a large chrome gas grill. The three thugs who had been with him earlier in the week were standing around sipping beer, a number of young, attractive women in very tight shorts and skimpy tops seemed to have physically attached themselves to the men.
Camila stood on the back stoop, clapped her hands and said a sentence or two in Spanish that ended in “Bobby Custer.”
Everyone seemed to smile and nod, two of the men raised their beer bottles, Ignacio wore a broad smile, or was he laughing? Bobby couldn’t be sure.
Camila issued some sort of order and the crewcut guy with no neck bent over, lifted the lid on a plastic cooler and opened a bottle of beer. Bobby caught the bulk of a rather large pistol that was tucked into the back of his trousers under his shirt. He brought the bottle of beer over and handed it to Bobby.
“Gee, thanks,” Bobby said.
The guy flashed a quick smile then hurried back over to Ignacio and the grill.
“Join in the fun. We’ve all worked hard this week,” Camila said.
“I have to say I’m nothing short of amazed. Who did you get to do the work on such short notice?”
