Greg McKenzie Mysteries Boxed Set—Books 1-4

by Chester Campbell

  “Right,” I said. “He’s still up to the same old tricks, cutting corners to save money. Doing shoddy construction. Thanks a million, Ted. You did a terrific job in a short time.”

  “As you well know, Boss, in this business sources are everything.”

  “True. You obviously have some good ones.”

  “Well, my Los Angeles source just got off leave and hasn’t had time to do much on Evan Baucus. Shouldn’t take him long, though. Hopefully I’ll have something for you by Monday. And speaking of sources, I just thought of one that might interest you. Do you remember Red Tarkington, the NCIS agent we worked with at Pearl Harbor?”

  “Sure. Sharp guy.” We had worked with the Navy investigator on a smuggling case in Hawaii not long before I retired.

  “I ran into him in Washington a couple of months ago. He’s stationed at Pensacola NAS. I told him about your condo down there. He said you should call him sometime. Maybe he can give you a little help.”

  I thought of something else Ted might be able to do. “Are you still in touch with your FBI contact, the one who helped us out with the Israelis last year?”

  “Yeah. He’s still in New York.”

  “See if he might be able to find some info on an outfit called Perseid, Limited. They’re based on Grand Cayman.”

  “Shouldn’t be any problem. How do you spell it?”

  I told him. “Thanks, Ted,” I said. “Be sure and give Karen our love.”

  “Will do. Say, how is Jill making out with her PI assignments?”

  “Fantastic. Turns out she has a real knack for this sort of thing. She’s especially good with women.”

  “I may be calling on you two for some help,” Ted said.

  “Any time, buddy. We’re in your debt.”

  When I related the conversation to Jill, her eyes widened. “Sounds like Detrich is just the sort of guy who would do what we think he did.”

  I stretched my arms and ran a finger gently down the side of my face. The Band-Aids were still intact. If those hoods worked for Detrich, I really owed him a takedown.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Now all I have to do is find the proof.”

  Chapter 37

  I called Boz Farnsworth’s office and got a youthful-sounding female voice. She informed me he was due back from the tennis court at any time now. I identified myself and said it was urgent that I speak with him. Surprisingly, he took me at my word and called back about fifteen minutes later.

  “What’s so urgent?” he asked.

  “I’ve received some other information that concerns you,” I said. “We need to get together and talk about it.”

  “I’ve got enough problems. I don’t need to talk to you about anything.”

  “I think you do. I’ll have to turn over my investigative files to the sheriff soon. As it stands, they will haul you in for a very rigorous interrogation.” A bit of an exaggeration, perhaps, but not entirely out of line. “You’d be a lot better off talking with me now and getting things straightened out before they get any messier.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Not on the phone. It has to be one-on-one.”

  “Does it concern that hearing on Monday?”

  “That and other things.”

  “Damn you, McKenzie. Have you been talking to Sherry again?”

  “I’ve been talking to a lot of people and learned a lot of things. What time can we meet?”

  His heavy breathing gave me a picture of a man in turmoil. Clearly I had struck a nerve, or at the very least, piqued his curiosity beyond a point where he could disregard the possibilities.

  “Be here at one o’clock,” he said in an angry voice.

  “You can count on it,” I said.

  At ten till one, I let Jill out at Sacred Heart Hospital for her therapy session. She hated to miss the confrontation with Boz, but after getting her arm bumped around last night, she was acutely aware of the need to get back to the rehab routine. A few minutes later, I parked beside Boz’s Corvette in front of the white brick building that housed BF Inspections and went inside. The owner of the young female voice was nowhere to be seen, but the blustery would-be tennis pro was in his office.

  He took one look at me and said, “Wreck your car?”

  I grinned and gave the excuse I’d decided on for future questioners. “I had an unfortunate encounter with a gravel driveway.”

  “Where’s your wife?”

  “She had a physical therapy appointment. She had rotator cuff surgery a couple of months ago and is in rehab for it.”

  He actually showed a bit of concern. “One of my tennis partners had that recently. He says it’s bad news.”

  “I’m sure Jill would agree.”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “So what’s this new information?”

  “A few questions first. I understand you and Claude Detrich were at a bar down the beach after the accident. Which one was it?”

  “The Key Hole.”

  We didn’t frequent the bars, but I had seen the Key Hole in passing near the Alabama state line.

  “What did you talk about?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “The accident, of course. What probably caused it.”

  “What did you conclude?”

  “That it was Tim Gannon’s faulty design specs. Like I told you before.”

  “What time did you and Detrich leave the bar?”

  He hesitated before answering. Finally, he said, “What do you want to know that for? You think somebody killed Tim, don’t you? Are you implying that it might have been me?”

  “I only want to establish what time you and Detrich left the bar. That does not imply anything.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to read me my rights before you ask a question like that?”

  I smiled. “That’s called Mirandizing. It’s only done after you arrest someone for a crime. My investigation is not an official police matter...yet.”

  “My dad has some high-powered legal advisors. I think I’d better call in somebody before we talk any further.”

  I shrugged. “If I were a law enforcement officer and you asked for an attorney, the questions would have to stop. I’m not, so it doesn’t matter. But let me give you a little advice. If you are merely being interviewed, like we’re doing now, when nobody has suggested you might be guilty of anything, and you start asking for lawyers, the cops are going to think he’s got something to hide, he’s done something wrong. Then they’re really going to bear down on you. Understand?”

  His hands folded and unfolded nervously. I suspected he was beginning to sweat despite the air conditioner going full blast. Finally he nodded.

  “Okay. Once more, it’s a real simple question. What time did you and Detrich leave the bar Friday night?”

  “Around midnight or a little after. When he drinks a lot, he can get pretty rowdy. They asked him to leave and he started arguing. I didn’t want to get involved, so I left. I’m guessing they threw him out shortly afterward.”

  “Sherry Hoffman came to the party with you,” I said, “but she left before you did. Do you know where she went?”

  He looked more than a little annoyed. “You’re damned right I do. She went to Tim’s...uh, your condo. After I left the bar, I drove by there. She was parked beside his Blazer. I saw her come out in a big hurry. She got in the car and slammed the door like she was pissed. I tried to follow her, but, well, I guess I’d had a little too much to drink myself—I lost her.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I was madder than hell. Tim was this Mr. Goody Two Shoes, a married guy with kids, and Sherry was my date. I sat in a parking lot on Sorrento for a bit, working up a good rage, then decided to have a showdown with him. I drove back over to Gulf Sands, but his Blazer was gone.”

  “Do you remember what time that was?”

  He thought about it for a long moment. Then his face brightened. “Yeah. I remember. I looked at my clock—stared at it, in fact. Said 12:50. I thought: I’ll bet the ba
stard’s gone over to her house. So I drove over there. Her car was parked out front, but no sign of Tim’s. I decided to hell with it and went home.”

  “Okay. This involves the hearing,” I said. “When Walt Sturdivant came by here to look at your plans the other day, did he tell you their original of the plans was missing?”

  “Yeah. He said something about the computer file was gone, too.” Boz grinned. “Sounded like a convenient excuse.”

  “Tim had a copy with him down here. It’s missing, too. He also had a laptop computer, which we found in our condo. The Sand Castle file had been erased from it. But Walt took the laptop back to Nashville and had a software recovery firm work with the machine. They recovered the file, so there’s a copy of Tim’s original specs available now. They show the larger rebars and the higher p.s.i. concrete, like Walt remembered.”

  “No shit?” He looked astonished.

  Walt hadn’t seen the file in the laptop to confirm it, but I had no doubts after listening to Sherry tell how Tim had pointed to where his plans showed the correct specifications.

  “Who could have tampered with the original and made bogus copies?” I asked.

  “I have no idea. Baucus has an original, but he knows nothing about structural design.”

  “Could it have been Detrich?” I asked.

  His eyes betrayed a fleeting doubt. “I wouldn’t want to speculate on that.”

  “Walt will have that computer file with him on Monday. Would you like to speculate on what they’ll be looking for at the hearing?”

  Now he really looked uncomfortable, and I thought of Sherry’s hair-pulling comment.

  “If they’re after a scapegoat, it better not be me.”

  Jill was just coming out of the rehab center as I headed in. She looked about like I had felt this morning.

  “Rough session?” I asked.

  She sighed and let her left arm swing freely at her side. “Taking a week off probably wasn’t the smartest move I’ve made lately. I’m sure Vickie would say I told you so. I go back again Tuesday. How are you feeling?”

  The aches and pains definitely had not gone away, but concentrating on the investigation had helped push them into the background. “I’m still motivating. As long as nobody punches me in the stomach or bangs my side, I’ll probably be okay.”

  “How did Boz take your visit?”

  As we drove back to Perdido Key, I gave her a play-by-play account of the hostile session in the office of BF Inspections. But I didn’t get so carried away that I neglected to watch out for the Cadillac assault team, or any suspicious vehicle for that matter. The trip was uneventful on that score.

  “Looks like you’re steadily narrowing in on Mr. Detrich,” Jill said when I reached the end of Boz’s account.

  “Yeah, it looks that way. The only thing that bothers me is we still haven’t had the opportunity to quiz the other major player, Evan Baucus.”

  Having said that, it came as quite a shock when we arrived back at Gulf Sands and found this message on the answering machine:

  “Mr. McKenzie, I think we need to talk. This is Evan Baucus. I would appreciate it if you would call me at The Sand Castle.” He left a phone number.

  Chapter 38

  At four o’clock, I parked the Jeep in a visitor slot and Jill and I walked toward The Sand Castle’s ornate entrance. The iron grillwork had arabesque elements, with flowers and unusual shapes, and the stonework helped give the feeling of entering a real castle on the Mediterranean coast. Inside, the contrast of medieval and modern was striking. The small lobby was bright and airy, its walls covered with swords and shields and other armament associated with the Middle Ages.

  Following Baucus’ instructions, we looked to the right of the elevator and saw an entrance numbered 101. I knocked and the door was opened by a man with a full, round face, brown hair and mustache. He had a stocky figure and was several inches shorter than me. I guessed him to be around sixty, as Walt had said. His stylish attire—blue suit, white shirt, quiet silk tie—marked him as a man with expensive tastes. I always look to the eyes for a clue and found his the color of ice on pavement, his expression patronizing.

  “Mr. and Mrs. McKenzie?” he said, his features relaxing into a soft smile. “Please come in.”

  We followed him into a spacious parlor with large windows flanked by flowing beige drapes, offering a magnificent view of the white sand beach. The room was furnished with earth-toned sofas and chairs. A stylized wet bar that no doubt closed to make a fancy piece of furniture stood open at one side. I took everything in with a slow gaze and more than a touch of envy as I compared it to our modest layout at Gulf Sands.

  “Please have a seat,” Baucus said, just as his wife walked in from what I guessed was one of three bedrooms. “I believe you met my wife in Biloxi.”

  She smiled and waved. “Hi. Nice to see you again.”

  Instead of the unsophisticated small-town girl in a green tank top, Greta Baucus had been transformed into a graceful figure dressed in a long azure gown that looked simple but elegant. What had not changed was the full bust that struggled for space, and the wrist burdened with baubles and bangles of gold.

  Jill and I sat on a large, overstuffed sofa. I squirmed a bit, attempting to find a comfortable position that wouldn’t put pressure on my battered left side. I also felt a bit uncomfortable because of my casual attire. I wondered if the Baucuses’ fancy duds were meant to impress us or if they were really dressed for a night out.

  Evan Baucus sat in a large chair, Greta standing behind him like a portrait of the dutiful spouse. “I understand you’re interested in making a substantial investment in Perseid Partners,” he said.

  I was wary. He obviously did not get our Pensacola phone number from his wife. “Yes, we have discussed it,” I said. “Jill is a pretty sharp investor. We own shares in several limited partnerships. But I’ll have to confess, it was not just our interest in making an investment that brought us to your door in Biloxi. I had hoped you would be at home. But since you weren’t, we took the opportunity to have a nice visit with your wife.”

  “I see.” Baucus had a neutral expression. “And what was your actual mission?”

  “As I suspect you know, we are friends of Sam and Wilma Gannon, Tim Gannon’s parents. Tim was staying in our condo here at Gulf Sands. Sam asked me to come down and look into the facts surrounding his son’s death. He finds it quite hard to believe his son committed suicide.”

  Baucus nodded. “As I’m sure any parent would be. However, I trust your findings are the same as those of the sheriff and the Medical Examiner?”

  “Actually, I haven’t completed my investigation yet. I still have several loose ends to tie down.”

  “Are you aware of the hearing scheduled for Monday in Pensacola?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m looking forward to the testimony.”

  Baucus frowned. “I envy your enthusiasm. I’m afraid I don’t share it. The bad publicity has already caused this project a great deal of harm.”

  “I understand your concern, but don’t you think determining where the blame belongs is important?”

  “Unfortunately for your friends, the blame clearly rests with Tim Gannon’s design.”

  I leaned forward against the ache in my ribs to emphasize my point. “Are you sure it isn’t the fault of the contractor? Tim’s assistant says the plans called for heavier rebars and stronger concrete than Claude Detrich used.”

  I had called Walt before leaving Gulf Sands. He confirmed the laptop file called for the stronger materials.

  “That’s not true,” Baucus said bluntly. “Tidewater used the plans supplied to us by Tim Gannon’s firm.”

  “Detrich only has a copy,” I said. “Do you have the original plans that Tim gave you?”

  “No,” he said with a troubled look. “Oddly, my set of plans is missing. We had a break-in at the office over the weekend. Somebody took the plans.”

  I looked around at Jill and frowned.
“That’s weird.”

  “Quite,” he said. “Fortunately, the police found some fingerprints. They were able to identify a man named Oliver O’Keefe. They said he was originally from New Orleans, but he had been working in Nashville. I didn’t have time to check on it before we left Biloxi, but at last report, O’Keefe had not been located.”

  I knew where he was probably located—on a morgue slab in Mobile.

  Chapter 39

  As Jill and I digested that blockbuster, Baucus looked around with a contrite smile. “Where’s our manners, Greta? See if Mr. and Mrs. McKenzie would like something to drink.”

  “I can brew some decaf,” Greta said.

  We politely declined, and she moved over to sit in a nearby chair.

  I decided to take a different tack. “I understand Tim started the rescue efforts after the balcony collapsed.”

  Baucus leaned back in his chair and built a teepee with his fingers. “Yes, he did. Actually, he was quite resourceful. I liked the young man quite a bit, you know. It’s a shame all of this had to happen. He was obviously very distressed by the casualties. I suppose that’s what pushed him over the edge.”

  “Do you recall what time he left here that night?” I asked.

  “It must have been around eleven, wasn’t it, Greta?” He glanced across at her. “Wasn’t too long before we went to bed. There was so much confusion after the accident. Trying to satisfy the sheriff and keep the media at bay. It seems almost like a dream now. A nightmare.”

  “Your wife said you got a phone call about twelve-thirty that night and left again. What was that about?”

  The fleeting glance he cast toward Greta was full of daggers. “The call had nothing to do with The Sand Castle. It was a personal matter. Greta answered the phone and gave it to me, or I might not have taken the call. After hearing some unpleasant news, I gave the phone back to her and left. I was gone about an hour.”