Greg McKenzie Mysteries Boxed Set—Books 1-4

by Chester Campbell

  Plenty of time to get to the National Seashore and shoot Tim, I thought. He could easily have driven up the beach.

  “Sergeant Payne told me he saw Tim talking with you and Claude Detrich before he left,” I said. “What did you discuss?”

  He shrugged. “Tim was worried about the possibility of lawsuits. And we talked about the cause of the accident. We had all looked at where the break occurred. I’m no engineer, but it was obvious from the way the steel bars had bent that they were not large enough for the weight of the balcony. Tim simply made a mistake when specifying the rebars to use. It was a tragic mistake.”

  “If the plans he furnished specified larger rebars and stronger concrete as Tim’s assistant, Walt Sturdivant, says, the copy Detrich has must have been tampered with.”

  “I don’t see how,” Baucus said. “If that were the case, then Mr. Sturdivant should bring their original set down here to show some proof of it.”

  “Their original was stolen, too,” I said. “We think it was taken by the same Oliver O’Keefe who was a draftsman there until he quit last week.”

  If the shock on his face wasn’t genuine, he was a good actor. “Are you telling me that New Horizons has no set of Sand Castle plans?”

  “That’s right.”

  He rubbed one hand down his cheek and across his chin, appearing completely absorbed in thought. And then a smile spread slowly across his face. “Now it makes sense. Don’t you see? O’Keefe worked for Tim, right? Tim must have called him Friday night after the accident, instructed him to take New Horizons’ plans and destroy them. Then O’Keefe came to Biloxi and stole mine. That would leave only the copies held by Detrich and Farnsworth. Then New Horizons could claim the plans here had been tampered with. It could relieve them of a big liability.”

  I shook my head. “What good would it do without an original set of plans that showed the proper specifications? As you indicated, they’d have no proof.”

  “Yes, that was the fallacy in the plot, wasn’t it? In his distraught state of mind, Tim was hardly thinking straight. But I’m sure he had put his family’s interest foremost, what it would mean for them. It’s all such a tragedy.”

  “He has an answer for everything, doesn’t he?” Jill said as we made the short drive to Gulf Sands.

  “Yeah,” I said. “And the problem is he made everything sound so plausible. Did that bit about Tim calling someone in Nashville Friday night strike a familiar chord? It was basically the same scheme Sergeant Payne came up with. And, remember, that was a possibility I had thought about when we first got here.”

  “So where does this leave us?”

  “Still grabbing at Claude Detrich’s coattails,” I said.

  Back at our condo, I checked the videotape from my mini-camera and found no trace of the black Cadillac. I guess I should have considered it a good thing, but I was getting antsy—I wanted to know the identity of the guys who had worked me over. Before re-starting the videotape, I switched the camera input to the TV screen. What I saw moments later did not bring any cheers.

  I called out to Jill. “Come take a look at this.”

  She came in from the kitchen and stared at the TV. Two green-and-white cars from the Sheriff’s Office were pulling up to the front of the building. They were out of view when they parked, so I had no idea who got out. I reset the videotape and switched off the TV. About a minute later, I heard a loud knock at the door. There was a button to ring the doorbell, but whoever was knocking obviously wanted to emphasize their presence.

  I opened the door to find Lieutenant Cassel standing there with Sergeant Payne behind him.

  “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” I asked, smiling.

  “We need to talk,” said Cassel. No smile there.

  The look he gave me did not indicate he came bearing an olive branch.

  “Please come in,” I said. I led them into the living room, where Jill stood beside the balcony doors. I introduced her to the lieutenant. Payne nodded his recognition.

  “Have a seat,” I said, motioning toward the sofa.

  I sat beside Jill on the love seat.

  “The sheriff called me a while ago,” Cassel said, eyes fixed on mine. “A good friend of his, a prominent citizen of Pensacola, contacted him with a complaint. He said his son was being badgered by you and he wanted it stopped.”

  I played dumb. “Who have I been badgering?” I asked, looking perplexed.

  “Bosley Farnsworth, the Threshold Inspector for The Sand Castle project. I warned you, McKenzie.”

  “I presume the complainant was Denton Farnsworth,” I said. “Did he specify how I had badgered his son?”

  “The sheriff said you had been asking a lot of questions.”

  “Which he voluntarily answered.”

  “What about this claim you had evidence to turn over to us that would warrant bringing Farnsworth in for questioning? Where’s the evidence?”

  I shook my head slowly. “I told Boz I’d have to turn over the results of my investigation soon. I did not say I had any evidence now.”

  “So you’re just bluffing. You don’t have sh—” His eyes flashed toward Jill, then back. “You don’t have proof of anybody doing anything. You don’t know if any crime’s been committed.”

  “I know another set of The Sand Castle plans has been stolen,” I said. I told him what Baucus had said about the theft in Biloxi. Then I added, “I know somebody is seriously concerned that I’m getting close.”

  When I related the story about the two heavies who had cornered Jill and me last night, he gave me a skeptical look. “That what happened to your face?”

  “Right.”

  He glared. “Did you report it?”

  “No. We were in Orange Beach. I had made turns into some side streets in an attempt to elude them, so I didn’t have a clue as to where we were. I also didn’t see the tag number. I only knew they were a couple of hoods from Louisiana, probably New Orleans.”

  “I suppose you’re gonna tell me next they were Mafia wiseguys.”

  “I don’t know who they were,” I said, getting fed up with his attitude. My voice turned as testy as his. “But now that you mention it, they were rather swarthy looking.”

  “Well, McKenzie, if there were any such guys, I’d say they hit the nail right on the head. You’ve had your nose into too many people’s business. And you’d better pull it back before it gets chopped off. If you’re retired, you’d be wise to start acting like it. I talked to a friend in Nashville who told me you don’t like cops. Well, I guaran-damn-tee you’re gonna like ’em even less if I have to come out here again.”

  With that, he stood up and snapped at the sergeant. “Let’s get out of here, Payne, before I get mad.”

  When I came back from closing the front door, Jill looked up. “If that wasn’t the real thing, I’d sure hate to see him when he gets mad.”

  Chapter 40

  “Since you haven’t seen any further evidence of those two horrible men around here,” Jill said, “would we be safe in making another try at Doc’s tonight?”

  I nodded. “You bet we would.” But I made a mental note to be ready with the Beretta. There are legal restraints to an armed response, but I would be well within them.

  Fifteen minutes later, we turned west again. The air was cool, the temperature dropping as dusk approached. The morning’s overcast had broken up, leaving the sky a playground for a dazzling spectacle, a swarm of clouds tinted by a multi-hued sunset that shifted with the grace of a Tai Chi exercise group. I had difficulty keeping my attention focused on the business at hand, but we reached the restaurant with no suspicious sightings.

  Doc’s was always busy on Friday nights, even as early as we had arrived. After standing in line for twenty minutes, we were ushered to a table. We settled on shrimp salad and chatted about trivial things during the meal. I knew it was time to set Tim’s murder aside and let the air clear a bit. As we talked, Jill wondered what was going on back in Hermitage, wheth
er the grass would need cutting again (I certainly hoped not), how the Titans would make out in Sunday’s game and what new painful exercises Vickie would have dreamed up for her at the Rehab Clinic.

  When we got back to Gulf Sands around 7:30, we found a few more cars in the parking lot than before we left. Weekends usually brought an influx of guests. We saw lights on in two other units near ours. As soon as I opened the door, I heard the answering machine beeping. There was a message to call the Rev. Charlie Brown.

  “Good evening, Charlie,” I said when he answered. “Did you get a look at that sunset this evening?”

  “Wasn’t it gorgeous? Makes you want to believe in God, doesn’t it?”

  “You’ve got a point there. What’s up, my friend?”

  His voice turned serious. “I had a disturbing call this evening. J.W. Payne wanted to know if you had questioned me about Bosley Farnsworth. He said the boy’s father had complained that you were harassing him.”

  “I know. Sergeant Payne and his boss, Lieutenant Cassel, were over here late this afternoon. Cassel used badgering rather than harassing. Same difference, I guess.”

  “I told J.W. I considered our discussion confidential. I thought about calling Denton—we’re still good friends—but I didn’t know if I should. What got him so upset?”

  “Boz Farnsworth has some serious problems. He approved the installation of that balcony when he should have known it wasn’t constructed properly. I questioned him about that and about where he was Friday night after the accident. When I put a little pressure on him by talking about what the sheriff might do if they hauled him in, he got uptight and called his dad.”

  “Would you like me to talk to Denton and explain things?” Charlie asked.

  I knew I was not likely to win any popularity contests around here with all the dirt I was digging up, but it didn’t bother me. I had managed to keep a steady succession of people unhappy during my years in the Air Force. Anyway, I never had much sympathy for guys who did nasty things and got caught, thanks to my efforts.

  “I guess not, Charlie,” I said. “After that hearing on Monday, I expect Boz will be the one doing the explaining.”

  “What hearing?”

  “The county building inspector is looking into the cause of the accident Friday night. Everybody involved will be there.”

  “I suppose we’ll see all about it in the newspaper. Have you had any luck in finding out if somebody else was responsible for Gannon’s death?”

  “I have a pretty good idea who killed him, but I don’t have the proof yet. I’m trying to put the pieces together now. Hopefully I’ll know more by Sunday.”

  “Good luck,” Charlie said and hung up.

  Jill came in with cups of cappuccino and sat beside me. “Had any ideas about how to make some headway with Claude Detrich?” she asked.

  I took my cup and sipped thoughtfully. “He’s probably here, but we don’t know where he lives. I wonder...”

  I walked over to the counter, got the phone book, and thumbed through the D listings. There was a Claude Detrich listed with the address of an apartment down the beach.

  “This has to be him,” I said. “Since he’s been working on the project for over a year, it’s logical he would have a phone here.”

  “Are you going to call him or drop by?” Jill asked.

  “I seriously doubt he’d issue an invitation if I called. We’d better just drop in and see if we can catch him at home. Maybe in the morning.”

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t have a hangover.”

  “Good thought,” I said. But I was considering something else. If he was our man, it would likely bring another visit from the New Orleans contingent in the near future.

  Chapter 41

  Claude Detrich had a second floor apartment in a rustic gray building on the opposite side of the road from the beach. The structure appeared to stand on stilts, with room for parking underneath. It was angled back toward the stretch of water called Old River, which separated Perdido Key from Ono Island, a finger of land that housed an exclusive residential area. Jill and I arrived at the apartment around ten o’clock on Saturday morning. With the temperature hardly out of the fifties, our jackets felt good. I had on my Titans cap to deal with the beaming sun.

  The Detrich who answered the doorbell appeared a bit less sinister than the one we remembered from the Gulf Royale Casino. This one looked more like a short-haired fat boy in brown shorts and an extra-extra-large T-shirt. But the deep-set gray eyes and the circular mustache-beard carried the same anger I had seen Wednesday night in Biloxi.

  “What the hell do you want, McKenzie?”

  “I’ve turned up information I think would interest you,” I said. “May we come in?”

  Detrich snorted. “I know who you are and what you’re up to. I don’t give a damn what you turned up.”

  “You’re going to be asked a lot of tough questions at that hearing on Monday. I can tell you some things that are likely to come up.”

  He eyed me suspiciously, then glanced at Jill, weighing his options. Finally he jerked his head toward the interior of the apartment. “Come on in.”

  We walked into a small living room furnished in a style that might have been called Modern Chaos. There was a cheap brown sofa, a modernistic floor lamp, a pair of striped beach chairs, and a too-large wooden desk with matching chair beside the window. The most striking feature of the place was the clutter. Shirts, pants, socks and other assorted items of clothing were scattered about, covering one chair and part of the other. Jumbled sections of newspaper lay on the floor and across one end of the sofa. Empty beer cans were lined up on the desk, a stack of blueprints on the floor at one end.

  “You caught me before I had time to clean up,” Detrich said.

  Like he cleaned house every morning after breakfast.

  He scooped up the papers and dropped them behind the sofa. “You can sit over here.”

  Jill and I sat on the sofa, and he eased his large frame onto a beach chair that appeared in danger of collapsing. I sat gently, too, though the soreness in my side had eased as the large bruise shifted into a patch of many colors.

  “You know Tim Gannon’s father is the one who asked me to look into what happened down here,” I said.

  “Yeah. And I know you’re the people who own the condo where he was staying.”

  If he had sent the New Orleans pair after me, that was a given. I was also sure he had talked with Boz and Baucus.

  “We found a laptop computer Tim had left in our bedroom,” I said. “Someone had tampered with it early Saturday morning, erased The Sand Castle file that contained Tim’s original plans and specifications.”

  “So what? I got a set over there,” he said, pointing toward the floor beside the desk.

  “Boz Farnsworth has a set, too. Where did yours come from?”

  “Same place as his. It’s a copy of what Gannon furnished Evan Baucus.”

  “You might be interested to know that Walt Sturdivant, Tim’s assistant, says the rebars and concrete Tim specified originally are different from what he saw on Boz’s plans.”

  “Then I’d say he was a damned liar.” Detrich twisted his face into a scowl.

  “Walt took Tim’s laptop back to Nashville and had a firm that specializes in software recovery work on it. They recovered The Sand Castle file. Walt confirmed what he remembered. He’s bringing the information down here Monday.”

  From the look in Detrich’s eyes, I was sure this had not been happy news.

  “The only thing that counts are sheets with Gannon’s seal on them,” he said. “That’s what I’ve got.”

  “What you have is a copy. Evan Baucus says the original was stolen by a man named Oliver O’Keefe. The same Oliver O’Keefe who quit last week as a draftsman for New Horizons Architects and Engineers in Nashville. That was just before Tim’s plans disappeared. He’s the same Oliver O’Keefe, I might add, who lived on Carondolet in New Orleans and worked at Paige and Wilson C
ontractors when you did.”

  Detrich’s face reddened. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

  “You tell me, Mr. Detrich. That’s an awful lot of coincidences.”

  “I think you’re full of shit, McKenzie. You’re digging in dry holes.”

  “Boz Farnsworth told me you left the Key Hole Bar Friday around midnight. Where did you go from there?” I asked.

  He doubled his fists and planted them firmly against his broad waist. “Where I went anytime is my private affair and none of your damned business.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Your face looks like somebody’s already worked you over once. You’d better get the hell out of here while you still have a few teeth left.”

  I stood, facing him. “Why are you afraid to tell me what time you left and where you went?”

  He stomped over to the door and jerked it open. “Out, McKenzie! You stay the hell away from me if you know what’s good for you.”

  With the comforting bulk of the Beretta under my jacket, I wasn’t worried about my safety. But I didn’t like the prospects of what might happen to Jill. I ushered her through the door and toward the nearby stairs.

  “You sure have the formula for making folks unhappy,” she said. “Sherry and I parted the best of friends. Maybe you’d better let me do the questioning in the future.”

  I wasn’t sure whether to throttle her or laugh. But she had a point. When you have a big organization behind you, like the district attorney’s office or the United States Air Force, you can be as confrontational as you want with very little danger. Taking that tack when you’re on your own is not without peril. But I hoped by giving Detrich a lot to think about, maybe shaking his confidence, I could induce a slip-up that would allow me to nail him. I’d just have to wait and see.

  When we left Detrich’s apartment, Jill suggested we continue a couple of miles west to Orange Beach and hit the big supermarket there. We had been so busy the last few days that we hadn’t found time to replenish our food supply. Then, as we left the grocery, I made the mistake of not directing her straight to the Jeep. A colorful blouse in a nearby store window caught her eye. By the time she got her fill of shopping, we had wasted most of another hour, putting us back at Gulf Sands after noon.