Death in Nostalgia City

by Mark S. Bacon

  “Kevin’s on the run.”

  “What? Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I just listened to his last phone call. He told his girlfriend we were after him. Said he was going to hide out somewhere in Phoenix,” Kate said. “I called him earlier and had to leave messages. Maybe that spooked him.”

  “Or maybe he heard from Bedrosian. Did you listen to the other recordings?”

  “Didn’t have time. It would take hours.”

  “Did he say where in Phoenix he was going?”

  “No. He just said he was going to see someone named Toby.”

  “Do we know who that is?”

  “Not that I know of. You coming in? We’ve got to meet with Max and his attorneys.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Max said we can’t talk to his hotshot criminal attorney until late today or tomorrow. We’re meeting with the civil specialists after lunch.”

  “Wish we could get our hands on Waterman,” Lyle said as they hung up.

  Kate looked at her watch. If she skipped lunch, she would have an extra half hour or so to listen to more of Kevin’s phone calls.

  Toby. The name meant nothing. Kevin had never mentioned anyone--wait. She remembered something. She checked to see that all the FedPat evidence was in her briefcase, then she left her temporary office and took an NC cab to the print shop. She remembered hearing Kevin talk to a friend who worked in printing. Now, what was his name?

  When she walked into the printing office, it came to her. Before long, she had as much information as a smile and a touch on the arm could elicit from Drew, the assistant print shop manager.

  ***

  “Lyle, are you back?”

  “Just pulling into the parking lot.”

  “I checked with a friend of Kevin’s who works in the print shop.”

  “Does he know where he is?”

  “No. But he said this guy Toby is manager of a restaurant.”

  “Which one?”

  “He doesn’t know the name.”

  “Know how many restaurants there are in Phoenix?”

  “Let me finish, Lyle. He said it’s a place where they cut people’s ties off and stick them on the wall. It’s in Scottsdale. That help?”

  “Yes. I know it. Cactus Sam’s Barbecue.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “You know as much as I do about FedPat and Bedrosian. Why don’t you talk to the attorneys? Show them the evidence. I’ll try to track down Kevin. We could use him about now, at least I could.”

  ***

  Two hours later, Kate had twice explained all the evidence she and Lyle had collected. She’d played the Renke recording and outlined the entire case against FedPat, murders, sabotage, and all. Sitting in Max’s office, the two attorneys, Roger Reese and Anabel Genet, listened, asked questions, and took notes.

  “We’d never have advised you to get into a contract like this one with FedPat in the first place,” said Reese, a middle-aged man with gray temples in his otherwise shiny black hair.

  “Already done,” Max said. “Now we want to bury these bastards.”

  “We should be able to do that nicely,” Genet said, “if all your evidence holds up.” Her wardrobe and makeup were expensive but restrained. She had a pleasant smile that probably gave antagonistic witnesses a false sense of security. “Obviously, a lot will depend on the criminal proceedings, but the civil side of this will never get into court,” she said. “FedPat will settle. As soon as Mr. Bedrosian is even questioned by police, I propose we call the president of FedPat, Mr. Shaw, and make a few suggestions.”

  “Could make a few damn suggestions to them, myself,” Max said, “starting with sticking the whole--”

  Genet politely raised a finger to silence Maxwell. “We’ll start,” she said, “by asking them to forgive the balance of the loan and pay damages of course.”

  “They won’t like that,” Max said.

  “They would like going to court even less,” Genet said. “Not to mention the publicity. Nothing like this happens in a corporation without other employees being involved. Perhaps Mr. Shaw knew nothing. Perhaps he was aware of everything. I suggest we push for a quick settlement. I’m assuming you’re not interested in having this linger in the media, either.”

  “Of course,” said Reese, “we must report all this to the authorities. Any police investigation will benefit your cause, but it sounds as if Mr. Deming might be a problem.”

  Genet nodded. “I understand what you’ve said, Ms. Sorensen, about his being slandered by the police. Nonetheless, he doesn’t sound like the kind of person we would want to be deposed--questioned for the record--by FedPat counsel.”

  “We’re on the trail of Kevin Waterman,” Kate said. “If we can persuade him to testify, to explain everything he knows--”

  “That would improve our position,” Genet said.

  “And,” Reese said, “it would help Deming in criminal court.”

  “Who is counsel for the criminal charges?” Genet asked.

  “Slade Foster,” Max answered.

  “Good choice. Considering the charges against Mr. Deming, you’ll need him.”

  Max looked at Kate. “Where is Lyle?”

  Chapter 65

  Cactus Sam’s Barbecue was a steak house, popular with tourists and locals alike. Chefs cooked steaks over wood-fired grills behind glass windows so patrons could watch. Two of the restaurant’s simulated log walls were decorated with ties allegedly cut from over-dressed patrons. Lyle had finished his New York, cooked rare, and had just ordered coffee when Kevin Waterman walked in.

  Waterman didn’t see him. He entered with another man Lyle supposed was Toby Hawkins, the restaurant manager. Kevin sat at the bar. Hawkins walked around and poured him a beer. Then he leaned over the bar and patted Kevin on the shoulder. Lyle watched as Toby said something to Kevin then walked into the kitchen. A moment after he’d gone, Waterman swiveled his stool and looked around the restaurant. Lyle turned his head.

  Lyle wished he could meet up with Waterman in the parking lot, but it might be hours before he left. Then he thought about waiting until the restaurant emptied out. Again, a long wait, and Waterman might spot him if he was the last customer.

  Since Kevin was alone at the bar, Lyle decided to take a chance. He walked over and sat down on the rustic, high-back stool next to him. Kevin jumped. He looked at Lyle for a second then averted his eyes.

  Lyle placed a firm hand on Kevin’s left arm on the bar. “Stay put.”

  “You’re Deming, aren’t you,” Kevin sputtered. “Oh, my God. You’ve got to help me.”

  This was a new approach.

  “They’re after me. He said he’d kill me like Rich Kovak if I didn’t keep my mouth shut and help them.”

  “Who said this?”

  “I never saw him before. My boss--the big boss--told me I had to cooperate with them. He’s crazy. They all are. He lied to me. I should have known. I thought it was too good to be true.”

  Lyle tried to make sense of Kevin’s babbling. “Who’s the big boss, Bedrosian?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’d he tell you to do?”

  “He said I had to help these, these--” Kevin tightened his grip on the beer glass. “They’re following me.”

  “Settle down. Here, have a drink.”

  Kevin took two long swallows, choking on the second.

  “Who’s following you?”

  “These guys. They said they’d kill me, don’t you understand?”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “No. I couldn’t.”

  “Because you helped them sabotage Nostalgia City and kill--”

  “No. Never.”

  “You and Bedrosian talked about it.”

  “I just kept the books. Yes, I talked to Bedrosian about what was happening. But I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “You set it up.”

  “No.”

  “You knew what was goin
g on.”

  “I didn’t--I didn’t know he hired hit men. I thought they were accidents.” The accountant’s shoulders sagged. He took another sip of beer. “I hoped they were.”

  “So Bedrosian suckered you along, and now his thugs are going to kill you if you talk.”

  Kevin turned and looked around the restaurant again.

  “There’s a way out of this,” Lyle said.

  Kevin shook his head slowly.

  “Yes. We already have evidence on Bedrosian and the guys he hired. We know what he did. Someone named Renke killed Kovak, and we can prove it. This is your chance. You can show the police you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  Kevin looked up. He reminded Lyle of crime victims, people too scared to testify, too scared not to. He didn’t think Kevin was faking.

  “They’ll kill me.”

  “I’ll take care of them.”

  Kevin finished his beer. He looked around the restaurant again then stared at the wall behind the bar. “What--what can we do?”

  Lyle wanted to drag him back to NC, but it was late. “We’ll find a place to stay then drive up to Polk in the morning.”

  Lyle watched as Kevin explained to his friend Toby he was leaving, then they walked out into the hot, dry desert night.

  “You have a car?”

  “It’s at Toby’s.”

  “Good,” said Lyle. “You can go with me.”

  As they drove out of the parking lot, Lyle was mulling the options for spending the night and thinking about which direction to turn. When they paused at a stop sign a few blocks away, a light-colored sedan sped toward them from a side street. It didn’t stop. Just before it smashed into the driver’s side of Lyle’s car, the driver hit the brakes. The sedan skidded and spun up alongside them. Two men were inside. “It’s them,” Kevin shouted.

  The man closest to Lyle pointed a pistol at him. He motioned for Lyle to pull over.

  Lyle nodded to the gunman then slowly slipped his car into reverse--and jammed down the accelerator. The Chevy Camaro jerked backward. Lyle spun the wheel, turning the car around abruptly. As he shifted forward and picked up speed, he glanced in his mirror. Traffic was keeping the other car from turning around. From the darkness behind them came a flash. And a gunshot. Almost simultaneously, a bullet slammed into the trunk of Lyle’s car.

  Damn. Lyle tried to decide if his pursuers were trigger-happy idiots or serious killers. Either way, he was in trouble. Kevin clutched the door handle and Lyle worried he might jump out.

  Lyle took a sharp turn and hoped he lost the gunmen. He came to the end of the block and turned again. Headlights spun quickly around the corner behind them. Lyle tried to recall the faces of the two men. He had seen them for only a second or two. Was the driver wearing funny glasses? What was it about his face? He looked familiar.

  Lyle slid the Camaro out on to a busy, well-lit commercial street. He kept up his speed, racing through a stop signal on yellow. He looked in the mirror again. The light sedan was a block and a half back. They had a little cushion of space. Before he could relax, traffic suddenly stopped in front of them. A semi-truck was turning into the street from a parking lot.

  The signal behind them changed. The light-colored sedan was moving. Lyle couldn’t wait. He veered off into the opposing lanes. He had to get around the truck. He swerved back into his lane, just missing an oncoming van. A low cry issued from Kevin’s throat. Behind them, the gunmen swerved out of the lanes, too. They were closing. Another flash and another gun report. This time the rental car’s taillight shattered.

  In a second, another flash lit up the night, only this one came from the beacons on top of a cop car. A police cruiser sped up behind the light sedan. Lyle strained to see behind them. He swerved over a lane to stay ahead of his pursuers and the police.

  As the police cruiser closed in on the sedan, a second police car shot across an intersection and blocked the way. The driver of the sedan must have panicked because he turned sharply to the right, jumped a curb, and crashed into parked cars. Lyle made a quick left at a light. He tried to put as much distance as he could between himself and the police cars. His passenger shook as they sped down a side street.

  Once clear of the accident scene, and the Scottsdale cops, Lyle realized what he had to do. He needed help. Marko was his only choice. He also remembered where he’d seen the driver of the other car.

  Chapter 66

  “Kate. It’s me. I found Waterman.”

  “What’s he say? Did you have him arrested?”

  “Not now. He’s going to help us.”

  “Lyle, you didn’t--”

  “What, beat him up? ’Course not. Matter of fact, I saved his neck.”

  “What?”

  “Some of Renke’s men tailed him from the park, but we gave them the slip.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Lyle grinned as Marko set a cold soda down in front of him. He was slouched in a big lounge chair in the den of his former partner. “Turns out, Kevin didn’t have anything to do with the sabotage.”

  “He didn’t? But the phone calls.”

  “Guess we heard what we expected to hear. Bedrosian was stringing him along. He used Waterman to find out what was happening at the park, but our friend the bean counter didn’t have a clue.”

  “I don’t understand. Why’d he run from us?”

  “He wasn’t running from us. Renke’s men paid him a visit and told him they’d kill him if he talked to the police or anyone. Said they’d kill him like they killed Kovak.”

  “Kevin told you this?”

  “Yeah. Talk about naive. He heard everyone talking about a crisis, but he still thought they were accidents. He says he couldn’t understand why security searched his car. Maybe he spends too much time on spreadsheets, I don’t know.”

  “Sounds like he’s figured it out, now.”

  “Completely. He’s scared shitless of Renke and his men, but he’s agreed to testify against Bedrosian. Since his talk with Renke’s men, he knows that Bedrosian hired all the murder and sabotage. It all dawned on him and he’s overwhelmed. Angry, too.”

  “Then he’s what we need, Lyle. I talked to Slade Foster late this afternoon. He’s staying at NC. He thinks we can get the charges dismissed--mine, too. Kevin’s testimony will be our insurance.”

  “Did you ask him about talking to the police or county prosecutor?”

  “Yes. He thinks it could work. He’s heard of the prosecutor here, but he wants to meet with you first. Can you be here tomorrow morning?”

  “I’ll bring Kevin with me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m staying with my friend, Sergeant Markopoulos. Waterman’s asleep on a couch in another room.”

  “So we go to the authorities tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow’s the day. I’m also going to have Kevin call Bedrosian in the morning.”

  “What for?”

  “I’d like to have him repeat the things he told Kevin the other day, only with a real Phoenix police sergeant listening in.”

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

  For a moment, neither of them said anything.

  “Lyle,” Kate ventured, “if Kevin wasn’t involved, that means someone else --”

  “It sure does. We’ll talk about that tomorrow too. I have an idea.”

  ***

  “So you and Kate are quite the team,” Markopoulos said when Lyle hung up.

  “She saved my bacon in Cape Cod. Guys had a gun on me when I was in bed and she smashed one of them in the face.”

  “In bed? Where was she?”

  “Close enough to flatten that guy’s nose. In fact, I think that same guy is the one who was driving the car tonight.”

  “If so, he got away. I just talked to Scottsdale. They collared the guy with the gun--he had a record--but the driver slipped out somehow. They’re still looking.”

  “Are they going to hold him?”

  “You bet. Assault, resi
sting. They’ve got plenty until Waterman can substantiate other charges.”

  “I’ll testify too, as soon as I--ahem--clear myself.”

  “The Scottsdale cops who chased the driver said he had some sort of clear shield over his face.”

  “He did. I didn’t figure it out at first, but it’s probably like the kind NBA players wear to protect a broken nose.”

  Chapter 67

  Lyle tried not to be overly optimistic the next afternoon when they met with the county prosecutor. Ross Vincent, present holder of the office, wanted to talk to everyone: Waterman, Kate, Marko, Max. Especially Max. Sheriff Wisniewski and Rey Martinez were also there.

  A few hours before, Lyle had met with Slade Foster, the pretentious--but nonetheless overwhelmingly successful--criminal attorney Max retained for him. Foster agreed that Lyle had enough evidence to take to the local prosecutor, but the interstate nature of the various charges pending against him would take time to sort out. The important thing, however, was to act fast to secure murder charges against Bedrosian and his henchmen. Foster said that Vincent could bring the U.S. attorney into it, but he thought the county attorney would be eager to play a leading role in a high-profile case involving giant corporations, murder, and extortion.

  As it happened, the San Navarro County attorney already knew half the things Lyle had planned to tell him. Vincent had talked with his counterpart in Boston, with the Boston and Peabody police, Sheriff Wisniewski, the Scottsdale police, and even Clyde Bates, whom Lyle persuaded Max to exclude from Vincent’s meeting.

  Kevin Waterman explained his conversations with Bedrosian, including one that morning, which Sergeant Markopoulos substantiated. Bedrosian admitted the attacks on Nostalgia City were his idea and warned Waterman that police could consider him an accessory to murder and assault. He told Waterman that Max had finally agreed to his offer to turn over control of Nostalgia City, so Bedrosian had ordered Renke’s men to clear out. Kevin was to come back to Massachusetts as soon as possible to avoid questioning by Arizona authorities.