by V. M. Burns
“So, Chip was using Dad’s business to ship drugs into the United States?” Stephanie looked at Officer Harrison.
He nodded. “That’s what it looks like. We knew there was some drug ring that was getting drugs into the area, but we didn’t know how they were doing it.”
“I don’t understand. How on God’s green earth were they getting all those drugs into and out of the country,” Dixie asked.
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way. We know drug traffickers use Interstate 94 that goes from Detroit to Chicago as one main thoroughfare. Turbo and I have been involved in quite a few stings on that stretch of highway.” He sipped his coffee and looked over at Turbo, who looked up when he heard his name but immediately went back to sleep. “We didn’t know they were shipping directly to Lighthouse Dunes. So, that has the Vice Squad and the DEA boys really excited.”
“Great.” I sipped my coffee.
“You don’t think Dad knew?” Stephanie asked the question I’d been pondering ever since Turbo discovered the first bag of drugs. How much had Albert known? Despite all of the changes over the years, I still found it impossible to believe Albert would be involved in anything as serious and shady as drug trafficking.
I shrugged. “I don’t believe he knew. If he did, I don’t think he would have given Bambi the Corvette.”
“But, if she knew about the drugs, that would explain why she was so freaked out when the car was stolen. Maybe they hadn’t gotten the drugs out of the car yet.” David yawned.
I nodded. “I don’t think Chip expected your dad to take the Corvette. However, once he gave it to Bambi, he probably figured he had plenty of time to get the drugs.”
“Why wait?” Dixie asked.
“Maybe he thought the police would be watching them.” I looked at Officer Harrison. “Especially, after you gave him the ticket and gave him the evil stare down.”
He smiled and took a sip of coffee.
“I don’t think Albert would have given Bambi the car if he’d known, but…” I shrugged again.
Detective Harrison stared at me. “Something else is bothering you. What?”
I smiled. Detective Harrison was either very good at reading people, or he had been around me long enough to notice when something was bothering me.
“Well, I just feel like I’m missing something. Chip was smuggling drugs using Albert’s car dealership, and he was embezzling money.” I stared into my cup for a long time. “It just strikes me as odd. I mean, I don’t know a lot about Chip, but, to be completely honest, he’s never struck me as smart enough to pull something like this off.”
“I know what you mean.” Stephanie leaned forward. “Chip used drugs. I could see him being involved in this business, but he certainly wasn’t smart enough to mastermind the whole thing.”
Officer Harrison raised an eyebrow. “You think there’s someone else involved?”
I shook my head and stifled a yawn. “Frankly, I don’t know what to think. I’m tired and my brain is all muddled up.”
Dixie leaned forward. “Well, I’ve been trying to figure out why he killed Albert.”
“Why or if?” I stifled a yawn.
“What do you mean, IF?” David asked. “Who else could have done it?”
I looked at Officer Harrison.
“As far as I know, Chip Nelson hasn’t confessed to killing Albert. In fact, he vehemently denies killing him.” He shrugged. “But then he’s vehemently denied being involved in drug trafficking too.”
“How can he deny it? He was caught red-handed?” Dixie asked.
“He claims he was set up.” Officer Harrison stood up. “He lawyered up and refused to say anything.”
“Lawyered up?” I asked.
“It means he executed his sixth amendment right to legal counsel,” Stephanie said. “And, I’d be surprised if his father will let him say anything.” She rubbed her neck. “I know I wouldn’t.”
“He’s been crying like a baby for his daddy, but, for some reason, Daddy hasn’t come running,” Officer Harrison said.
My yawns would no longer be stifled. I yawned and started a chain reaction of yawns with David and Dixie.
“Don’t do that.” Dixie yawned.
“Sorry.” I blinked. “What time do I have to be at the police station?”
Officer Harrison looked at his watch. “Get some rest. I’ll let them know you’ll be in this afternoon.”
I nodded. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
“Yes. Thank you. I’ve never been so happy to see the cavalry come riding in as I was at that moment,” Dixie said.
He nodded. “My pleasure.”
Stephanie went to let him out and the rest of us went upstairs to get some sleep.
Having been up all night, I thought sleep would come easy, but unfortunately, it proved elusive. I tried to empty my mind and lie still, but try as I might, my mind would not shut down. Instead, the events from the past week tumbled through my head like a tennis shoe in a dryer. The images and events from the past few weeks tossed and tumbled around. I tried to lie still and not wake Aggie, who was snuggled up next to me.
Seriously, had it only been one week? I thought back. Pictures flashed through my mind. The picture of Albert sitting across the table from me telling me he not only wanted a divorce, but he wanted to move his skinny girlfriend, who was younger than our children and dumber than a box of rocks, into our home, my home. That was followed by the picture of Albert walking out of the house with Bambi the night before he was killed. The next picture was the look on Stephanie’s face when she learned her father had been killed. The picture of Albert in his casket was followed by the picture of Chip Nelson standing in line to give his condolences after the funeral. That picture infuriated me more than all the others. In fact, I was so angry, I got up and paced to relieve the stress.
I had only taken two passes around the room when I heard a faint knock on the door. “Come in.”
Dixie opened the door a crack and stuck her head in. “Did I wake you?”
“Not at all.” I motioned for her to come in and continued to pace.
“I thought I heard you moving around. You couldn’t sleep either?”
I shook my head. “Something’s not right, and I can’t put my finger on it. My brain won’t shut down and allow me to sleep, so I just stopped trying.”
“What’s bothering you?” Dixie sat on the bed and stroked Aggie.
I stopped to think if I could put my finger on what was bothering me, but eventually I just shook my head and kept pacing. “I can’t describe it, but something’s missing. Stephanie’s right about Chip Nelson. He’s a drug addict, but I can’t believe he managed a drug trafficking operation. He just wasn’t…” I searched for the right word.
Dixie nodded. “I get what you’re saying. He isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.”
I nodded. “Exactly. He’s much more likely to have thrown a big party on his yacht for his friends and consumed all of the…whatever he was importing.”
“So, you think he had a partner who was working behind the scenes to arrange everything?”
I nodded. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Dixie lounged back against the headboard. “I don’t think any of this really makes sense.” She caressed Aggie. “What were you mumbling about when I came in?”
“Oh. I was just thinking about what a total hypocrite Chip Nelson is. He came to the house and stood in line to give condolences when he had, in all likelihood, shot Albert in—”
I stopped abruptly.
“What?” Dixie sat up. “I know that look. You’ve thought of something.”
“It’s just…at the repast, the Nelsons were all standing there together, Marilyn, Charles and Chip. Charles cleaned up the mess Chip made. He’d always cleaned up after Chip and Marily
n. Albert used to call him the ‘Cleanup Man’ because he cleaned up everybody’s messes.” I paced.
“Well, with a son like Chippy and a lush for a wife, I’m sure he’s had a lot of practice cleaning up messes.”
“There’s something else.” I thought. “Several years ago, Charles Nelson ran into some financial trouble. He nearly lost his house, his yacht…everything. Then, something happened, and he was back on his feet and right as rain.”
“What happened?”
I shrugged and then turned and continued to pace. “No idea. Whatever it was, he was richer than ever…He used to make frequent trips to Paris and the Riviera.”
Dixie whistled. “You don’t think…”
“I don’t know what to think, but I do know his financial turnaround coincided with Chip working at the car dealership,” I stopped abruptly and stared at Dixie, “and Albert turning his business into an import car dealership.”
“But he’s an attorney. Surely he wouldn’t be involved in anything illegal!”
“He is an attorney. He’s a very smart attorney. He’s certainly smart enough to mastermind an international drug trafficking ring.”
“He may very well be the mastermind behind this whole business, but how are you going to prove it? You don’t have any evidence.”
I paused. “That isn’t entirely true. I just might have the proof after all.”
CHAPTER 16
We gave up trying to sleep. Instead, we showered and headed to the police station to give our statements. Stephanie notified my attorney, and Christopher met us at the station. I had a brief moment of panic when I got to the front door of the Lighthouse Dunes Police Station. The last time I was brought here, I was handcuffed. I took a deep breath and walked up to the counter.
Dixie and I were taken back to the cubicles, where the detectives sat. I couldn’t help turning to look at Officer Harrison’s desk as I passed by on my way to Detective Wilson’s desk. In years gone by, employee status could be determined by the size of the office. In the cubicles of the twenty-first century, status was determined by how close those cubicles were to windows. Detective Wilson’s desk was next to a window and well lit.
Once we were all seated, we relayed our stories to a young man who typed it up. Detective Wilson asked very few questions, only interrupting to clarify a point periodically. I felt bad about dragging Christopher out as he had very little to do. He barely spoke and mostly sat with his legs crossed and listened. While we waited for the policeman to print the statements, I stared at Christopher’s shoes. He had one of his legs resting on top of the other, and his shoes were very visible. Christopher was immaculate, even in casual attire. Today he wasn’t wearing an expensive, hand-tailored suit, but a pair of slacks and with soft leather shoes. Something about those shoes captured my attention.
“Anything wrong? Did I step in something?” Christopher looked at the bottom of his shoe.
“No. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been staring at my shoe for five straight minutes,” he joked.
“It’s just…well, you dress really well.”
Christopher smiled. “Thank you. I guess we all have our vices. For some it’s cars or jewelry.”
“For me, its dog shows,” Dixie added. “One year my husband added up the amount of money I spent on dog show competitions and…well, he cringed.”
Christopher nodded. “I love nice clothes and shoes.” He held out his leg. “Berluti, hand burnished, made from a single piece of leather, without visible seams, from Paris.”
“Beautiful.” I tried not to stare, but they were works of art, rather than mere shoes. I forced my brain away from Christopher’s shoes. “You have a point about vices,” I mused. “For Chip Nelson, it was drugs. Marilyn Nelson went for alcohol, and…Charles Nelson…”
“Yes?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin as I hadn’t heard Charles Nelson come up. “Oh my God. I didn’t hear you come up.” I stared. “Dear God, Charles, are you okay?”
He looked horrible. He had two black eyes and a white bandage covered his nose and he used a cane. One foot was in a compression boot that looked like something Herman Munster or Frankenstein would wear. “Yes, Thank you. Just a little accident.”
I waited, but no explanation came. Underneath his tan, I saw a slight flush. “What happened?”
“I fell…down a flight of stairs at the house.”
“I hope you’re going to be okay.”
“Broken nose, bruised ribs and a broken foot. I’ll heal.”
Even with all of his injuries, I had to admire the way he dressed.
Charles Nelson was immaculately dressed in a suit I could tell wasn’t purchased off any rack in Lighthouse Dunes. In fact, I would bet money that suit had been purchased and handmade for him. I looked at his shoes and noticed the same, hand-crafted leather as Christopher Williams.
“Are those Berluti shoes?” I asked.
Charles Nelson seemed slightly taken aback but nodded. “Yes, they are.”
I remembered Dixie mentioning he was a snazzy dresser, but I didn’t think I really had thought about Charles Nelson or his clothes very much previously. However, now I noticed. His fingernails appeared to have been manicured, and he had a large watch that caught the light from Detective Wilson’s window and cast a shadow on the wall.
Christopher noted my interest in the watch. He raised an eyebrow. “Nice watch. Is that a Hublot Berluti watch?” He mused. “Platinum case with eighteen karat white gold screws and a Venezia leather-embossed dial and strap.”
Charles Nelson tilted his head in surprise. He pulled on the cuffs of his handmade shirt sleeves. “Yes, it is.” He buttoned the jacket of his suit like a naked man concealing his body.
“I love Hublot.” Christopher stared admiringly.
Charles Nelson pulled at his collar. “Yes, well, I was looking for Detective Wilson.”
Detective Wilson came around the corner. “Detective Milton will have your statements ready shortly. Please review them and sign.” She then turned and escorted Charles Nelson down the hall.
“What a snazzy dresser,” Dixie said.
“I see what you mean about vices,” Christopher said. “That Hublot Swiss watch is five figures.” He held out his arm and exposed his watch. “Rolex, no diamonds, four figures. His suit was tailor-made, British.”
“How can you tell it’s British? I mean, I could tell by the quality of the material and the way it fit that it wasn’t an off-the-rack suit he picked up at a department store, but what specifically told you the suit was made in Britain?” I asked.
Christopher smiled. “It’s the cut mostly. Did you notice the ticket pocket?”
“What the heck’s a ticket pocket?” Dixie asked.
“It’s a small flapped pocked above the right hip pocket on a jacket. It’s a very British look. I think it dates back to a time when businessmen took the train from their country estates into the city and needed a convenient place to put their rail ticket. The buttons are distinctive. Henry Poole, Savile Row. Plus, the hand stitching around the lapel and before he buttoned his jacket, I noticed the lapel buttonhole and boutonniere loop.”
I shook my head in puzzlement.
“It’s a hand-stitched loop behind the buttonhole of the lapel to hold the base of a flower.”
“Wow. Do men still wear flowers on their lapels?” Dixie asked.
Christopher shook his head. “Sadly, most men don’t, but it’s a nice touch.” He paused for a moment. “The shirt was bespoke Charvet.” He leaned close. “Bespoke, custom made in French.” He kissed his fingertips to his lips. “Absolutely the best shirt in the world. The detail…” He shook his head. “Did you notice the way the stripes all matched. The left cuff was the slightest bit shorter than the right to allow for the watch. The workmanship was magnificent.”
We nodde
d knowingly.
“The shoes were Berluti, also bespoke and hand burnished. Premium crafted patinated soles and hand-wrought Berluti ankle motifs.” He took off one shoe and pointed out details as he talked. “Similar to mine, they’re made from a single piece of leather to avoid seams. Colored lining and leather soles are like walking on a cloud.” He put his shoe back on.
“I have no idea what you just said, but it doesn’t matter.” I shook my head. “The bottom line is Charles Nelson wears really expensive, hand-made, bespoke,” I used air quotes, “clothes and shoes.”
“Heck, his clothes have been to more foreign countries than I have,” Dixie said.
“In a nutshell, he’s wearing over fifty thousand dollars,” Christopher said, knowingly.
Dixie whistled. “Fifty thousand dollars?”
Christopher nodded. “Conservatively. The watch could be worth that by itself.”
“How did you get to know so much about clothes?” I couldn’t help asking.
He grinned. “I love clothes, and I have a twin brother who’s a buyer for a high-end store in New York. He travels to Paris and Milan several times per year and keeps me updated on the latest fashions.” He looked serious. “But, what does that tell us? I mean, so what Charles Nelson likes to spend a lot of money on clothes?”
I bit my lip and stood up. I needed to think. I paced. I shared what we knew about the troubles Charles Nelson went through several years ago and how he managed to turn things around about a year ago.
“That was the same time your husband’s car business started importing cars, isn’t it?” Christopher asked.
I nodded. “The embezzlement was too sophisticated for Chip Nelson to have worked through on his own. I’m a certified public accountant, and it took me a bit to recognize some of the accounts and the holding companies.”
“I doubt if Chippy could tell the difference between a liability and an asset,” Dixie said.
Christopher leaned back. “You think Charles Nelson was involved?”
I nodded. “Not only involved. I think he masterminded the entire thing.”
