Greg McKenzie Mysteries Boxed Set—Books 1-4

by Chester Campbell

  “That’s interesting,” I said. “Your Mafia friends used the same words when they attacked me in Orange Beach the other night. Except they didn’t mention the sheriff.”

  “I have no Mafia friends.”

  “Well, your boss at Perseid, Limited certainly does,” I said. “I’m sure he provided the link to the New Orleans hoods. I suspect he’s also the one who provided you with the name Evan Baucus...Mr. Fletcher.”

  Seeing the shock on his face was worth the trip out here in the cold, dark night.

  “How did you...?”

  “What’s this Mr. Fletcher business?” Greta asked, her voice rising, her look turning ugly.

  “I’m afraid your husband is actually a disbarred lawyer from Cheyenne, Wyoming,” I said. “He disappeared from there a few years ago, leaving behind a wife and daughter.”

  She stared open-mouthed and then exploded. “You bastard! I knew you weren’t all you claimed to be, but I never thought it would be anything like this. I’m glad I told Mrs. McKenzie about your secret hobby.”

  “You told her?” Baucus said in disbelief.

  “That’s right,” I said. “That little clue gave us the idea you might have a Night Owl Pass. When I checked the list, there you were. You had access to the combination lock at the gate. You could have given it to Tim, then driven up the beach around one o’clock to meet him and fire the shot that looked like a suicide.”

  “That’s preposterous. Why would I do that?”

  “To save your hide. When Tim produced his plans and showed where they had been altered, the little plot you and Detrich had dreamed up to save money would have been exposed. You needed Tim dead and those plans destroyed.”

  Baucus stood quite still. The reality had begun to sink in. He looked trapped and deflated.

  “I’ll admit I wanted those plans,” he said. “And I got them. But I didn’t kill Tim Gannon.”

  “How did you get the plans?”

  “I found the key to your condo on the floor in The Sand Castle lobby early that morning. I was on my way back from checking on that sorry drunk, Detrich.”

  “How did you know it was the key to our condo?”

  “It had the Gulf Sands chain with the unit number on it. I’d been by there with Tim not long ago.”

  I frowned. “How did the key get in The Sand Castle lobby?”

  “Evidently Tim had come by for a final look on his way to the Seashore. I figured he dropped it accidentally.”

  “So you took the key and headed for Gulf Sands.”

  “I did. I reasoned if the key was here, Tim would not be there. I had told Greta I needed to figure a way to get those plans. When I drove over to your place and saw nothing of Tim’s Blazer, I went in and found them on a table.”

  “You also erased the file in the laptop, didn’t you?”

  Baucus nodded. “But none of it would have been necessary if that damned balcony hadn’t collapsed. I still don’t know why it did. Claude assured me there was no chance of anything like that happening. He said it might not even crack for several years.”

  Greta was watching him, a look of scorn twisting her face. “I’m glad they found you out, Fletcher. I, for one, don’t believe a damn word of that crap about finding the condo key at The Sand Castle. You found it in Gannon’s Blazer. You killed him.”

  “That’s the way it looks,” I said.

  Greta’s eyes were ugly in the Mercedes’ headlights. “You’re damned right. I’ll testify against you, Evan whatever-your-name-is, and I’ll gladly watch you burn for it.”

  Baucus waved his arms, trying to fend off his problems. “I didn’t do it, so help me God.”

  I smiled at him. “Oddly enough, I believe you.”

  “You do?” It was Jill who spoke, looking shocked.

  “Sorry, babe, I neglected to tell you what finally clicked in my brain. Seeing that cell phone on Alvarez’s desk did the trick. Remember, Baucus and his wife both said he got a phone call around twelve-thirty and left The Sand Castle. But his cell phone records showed a call was placed to Tim Gannon at our condo at 12:42.”

  “I didn’t make it,” Baucus said. “I didn’t take the phone with me.”

  I nodded. “That’s right. You and Greta both told us you got a call, handed the phone to her and left.” I turned to Greta. “You made the call to Tim, arranged the meeting for right here. After you shot him, you found our condo key, took it back to The Sand Castle and left it where you knew your husband would see it.”

  “Very clever, Mr. McKenzie.”

  Greta’s face was a gargoyle of hate. And now she held a gun in her hand. I hadn’t counted on that. It appeared to be a long-barrel revolver like something out of the Wild West, maybe a Smith & Wesson .44. It would hold six bullets and enough destructive power to punch large holes in anybody who got in its way.

  “You’ve complicated things a bit,” she said.

  “I could understand your husband shooting Tim,” I said. “But why you?”

  “Evan didn’t have the balls to do anything like that. I’m surprised he even sicced those Mafia guys on you. He told me that night what a disaster it would be for us if Tim Gannon produced those plans and proved the construction hadn’t been done right. He said he’d get somebody at Perseid to do something, but I knew it would be too little and too late. I had invested my future in this bastard and his projects. He was my ticket to fortune if not fame. I saw everything going down the tube unless I did something right then.”

  I shook my head. “How the devil did you manage to handle a guy as sharp and athletic as Tim Gannon?”

  “Pretty good, wasn’t I?” she said, grinning. “We’d been here all week, and I’d jogged into the park a lot. I saw a path over the dunes well past the ranger station cameras. I knew where Evan kept the gate lock combination. As soon as he left, I took my gun and the phone and ran up the beach. I called Gannon, told him Evan wanted to meet him right away and settle the matter of responsibility, then read him the combination. I keep in pretty good shape, but I was winded by all that running in the sand. I had just gotten my breath back when he drove up.”

  She pointed the pistol at me. The Beretta might as well have been on the moon. She read my mind. “Keep your hands up where I can see them.”

  I raised my hands. “What did he do when he saw you instead of your husband?”

  “I aimed this big hunk of pistol at him and told him to do exactly as I said. I had intended to use it on him. My dear old daddy gave me this gun years ago. The serial number was filed off. I’m not sure where he got the thing. Probably from some unsavory friend. Anyway, I told Gannon to lower his front windows and move into the passenger seat, that Evan would be here in a few minutes. Then I moved around the front of the Blazer, keeping the gun pointed his way. I was coming around the fender when I saw him reach for the glove box. He didn’t know how fast I could move. I was at the window before he could get his hand out. When I saw his gun there, I knew I was in luck.”

  “Why?”

  “I knew his fingerprints would be on the gun. I had on rubber gloves I use sometimes when I’m re-potting plants. So I shot him with it, then dropped the gun at his feet. I found the condo key while raising the windows. Then I locked the doors and left.”

  “You were lucky in more ways than one,” I said. “Sergeant Payne was so sure of his suicide theory that he made no search of the area on the right side of the Blazer. I’m sure you left some evidence you had been there.”

  She nodded. “The deputy turned out to be a big help, all right. And things were going fine until you showed up. When I realized how much you knew, I figured I had better point you in the direction of my beloved husband. Your wife was very helpful with that.”

  “I really appreciate the help,” I said. “And I’m glad we have these witnesses to your confession.”

  She laughed. “Sorry. I don’t intend to leave any witnesses.” The barrel swung on me, and everything stood still as I coiled up for my lunge at her and acr
oss Jill. If I didn’t survive, perhaps Jill would.

  At that moment, Ranger Ricky Alvarez stepped out of the darkness across from us, his weapon aimed at Greta Baucus. “Drop the gun, Mrs. Baucus. You’re under arrest for the murder of Timothy Gannon.”

  As she turned, startled, I pulled the Beretta from my belt. Her big pistol was swinging on Alvarez. I barely had time to aim and fire.

  Raw fear and adrenalin affected my aim. The nine millimeter hit the big revolver, spinning her around in shock and breaking her trigger finger. As the revolver headed for the ground I was already hurling myself at Jill. When it discharged on impact the bullet went harmlessly out over the darkened lagoon.

  “Oh, God, Jill—your shoulder!”

  “I’m okay, I’m okay.” She clung to me.

  I got us up and gestured with the Beretta to Alvarez. “Let’s forget I brought this into the park.”

  “I’ll have to report it,” he said, cuffing Greta, careful of her rapidly swelling hand. “But I’ll also report that I authorized you to bring the weapon in to assist me. Now I’d better call Sergeant Payne to come out and get the prisoners.” He hesitated. “When she was turning on me, I didn’t want to kill her.”

  “I know,” I said. “Neither did I.”

  Alvarez secured Baucus with another pair of cuffs. “Sir, you’ve just admitted to conspiracy to breaking and entering, plus stealing and altering plans. I think Escambia County can find enough to take you out of circulation for a long time.”

  “I imagine Harrison County, Mississippi will be interested in questioning him, also,” I said. “And Mobile County, Alabama will probably want to know what he had to do with the death of Oliver O’Keefe.”

  Jill had been listening quietly. Now she spoke up. “Don’t forget Orange Beach, Greg.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s one I owe you for, Mr. Fletcher.”

  Chapter 54

  We had driven up to the gate by the time Sergeant Payne arrived. The Baucuses sat in the rear seat of the National Park Service car, which was parked behind my Jeep. After the arrest, Alvarez had marched them back to where his car was hidden in the large turn-around at the boat launch area.

  Payne stepped out of his patrol car and looked around, surprised, when he saw Jill and me standing beside the ranger.

  “Who did McKenzie kill?” Payne asked, his voice booming through the chill night air.

  I grinned. I had heard the ranger tell him to meet at the gate and pick up a murderer and an accomplice.

  “Nobody,” Alvarez said. “Mr. McKenzie just solved a murder for you. Tim Gannon didn’t commit suicide after all. Mrs. Baucus shot him.”

  The screeching of tires beside the gate announced the arrival of a highly agitated Lieutenant Cassel. He jumped out of his car and hurried over to where we stood, eyes flashing between Payne, Alvarez, Jill and me.

  “What did he do now?” Cassel asked, pointing at me.

  “Ricky says Mr. McKenzie caught a murderer,” said Payne.

  “He what?”

  Alvarez ordered Evan and Greta Baucus out of his car and explained to the two deputies what had happened.

  The chagrin on Cassel’s face almost made me smile as my adrenalin settled down. “I thought I told you to let me know when you had something,” he said, glaring at me.

  I shrugged. “It all came together pretty fast, Lieutenant. I thought it would work best to get them over here to the Seashore right away, and Mr. Alvarez agreed to the plan. There wasn’t time to involve anybody else.”

  “I should have known you’d pull something like this,” Cassel said. “We picked up the two characters from New Orleans this afternoon. They deny knowing anything about you. Or anything about anything, for that matter.”

  “Why didn’t you call and let us know?” I asked.

  That brought a crack of a smile. “Like you said, it all happened pretty fast. I hadn’t gotten around to that yet.” He turned to Sergeant Payne. “You read ’em their rights?”

  “I took care of that, and Mrs. Baucus needs some medical help for a broken finger,” Alvarez said. “From what they admitted back there in the road, this thing goes pretty deep. It’s all mixed up in that Sand Castle accident.”

  “He’s right,” I said. “And you’ll find when you run his prints that Mr. Baucus is actually a man named Wilson Fletcher from Cheyenne, Wyoming.”

  “The hell you say.” Cassel was frowning again.

  But I wasn’t through. “You’ll want to bring in his co-conspirator, Claude Detrich, also. They were both involved in altering Tim Gannon’s plans so they could use cheaper materials, which led to the balcony collapse and those two deaths.”

  It was getting too much for the lieutenant. He turned to Jill and me. “You two had better come with me and give a statement.”

  “I’ll need to do the same,” said Alvarez.

  Jill and I didn’t get back to Gulf Sands until nearly eleven o’clock. But despite the late hour, I knew I had to call Sam Gannon. Fortunately, he hadn’t gone to bed yet.

  “The case is closed,” I said. “The guilty party is under arrest.”

  “You got the murderer?” Sam asked.

  “Right. But until late this afternoon, I was sure it was somebody else.”

  After I finished telling what had happened, Sam was silent for a moment. Then he breathed a deep sigh. “Greed. Pure greed. I hope she gets the chair, or whatever they do in Florida. Wilma probably won’t agree. I guess I should be more forgiving, myself, but I find that hard to do.”

  I knew what he meant. Right now I wasn’t feeling too kindly toward several people, most notably those goons from New Orleans. But I’d soon get over it. And Sam would eventually reconcile himself to the loss of his son, though he would have a difficult time, considering Tim’s death had resulted from a decision made to satisfy such selfish ends.

  After Sam and I had finished talking, Jill got on the phone to speak with Wilma and put everything in perspective.

  “Such a terrible thing,” Jill said, “but now we know the other tragedy—the fall of that balcony with two people killed—was not Tim’s fault. You still have a lot of good memories, and you have those three boys.”

  We wound up spending more time on Perdido Key than intended, with all the aftermath of the arrests. We gave more statements to the sheriff’s investigators, and the county building inspection people talked with me at length about what I had learned regarding the missing Sand Castle plans. We signed statements for the Orange Beach police and were visited by officers from Mobile and Biloxi. I even got a call from the FBI.

  Greta Baucus was so furious over her husband’s deception that she agreed to tell everything she knew. And as Jill had surmised, she knew plenty. Sheriff’s investigators in Mobile found witnesses to the Mafia enforcers’ presence on Dauphin Island. Strands of hair found in Ollie O’Keefe’s car matched those of the man with bushy black hair who had clobbered me in the face. He was indicted for murder, with his partner as an accomplice.

  Baucus/Fletcher and Claude Detrich faced charges ranging from theft to forgery of official documents and conspiracy to murder. The DA was looking into additional counts dealing with the deaths from the balcony collapse. The Perseid Partners president was also indicted in Biloxi for bigamy. Baucus and Detrich were a contentious pair who ended up ratting on each other.

  True to my word, I said nothing about Boz Farnsworth’s tennis date on the afternoon he supposedly watched the balcony concrete pour. But his conduct at the hearing set in motion an investigation to determine his fitness to continue as a Threshold Inspector.

  The Rev. Charlie Brown invited us to dinner at his house one evening as a peace-making gesture. Also present were J.W. Payne and his wife Mona. She was an attractive woman, not nearly as large as her husband, with a soft voice and a friendly smile. She and Jill got along well from the start. The sergeant and I came around more slowly.

  By the end of the evening, however, we were J.W. and Greg.

  “
Mona sometimes accuses me of being pig-headed,” J.W. said. “I’ll admit, when I make up my mind about something, you’d better provide more than a reasonable doubt if you want me to change.”

  “What does it take?” Charlie asked.

  “A preponderance of evidence.” Grinning, he looked across at me. “And, by George, you sure came up with it.”

  The day before we were to head for home, the weather turned summery again. Mothers with young children multiplied on the beach, returning buckets and shovels and sand castles to popularity. Men and women with fishing poles dotted the shoreline, where a modest breeze flapped the caps and bonnets that protected them from a persistent sun.

  Late that afternoon, Jill and I headed out in our shorts and rubber sandals for a final walk on the beach. I stayed along the seaward edge, where the cold water felt stimulating, washing over my feet with each sweep of the foaming surf. Jill chose the high ground, where the sand was less firm but drier.

  “You had no idea things would turn out anything like this when we started down here, did you?” she asked.

  We were walking away from the sun toward the National Seashore, where the Star Pavilion rose in the distance.

  “I wasn’t even convinced a crime had been committed,” I said. “But I thought the possibilities were intriguing.”

  She grinned. “Well, the investigation certainly chased away the restless, bored old Greg I had been enduring for so long a time.”

  “Was I that bad?”

  “Pretty bad.”

  “On a scale of one to ten?”

  “Eleven.”

  I grimaced. “I guess maybe I wasn’t the best of company.”

  “You were the pits, dear,” she said. “But I think I know the antidote.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Get back into the detective business. Since we came down here, you’ve been the most pleasant you’ve been in ages. You even act like you’re thoroughly enjoying Florida for a change.”

  I stooped to examine what appeared to be a starfish stuck in the sand. What I pulled out was only three-fifths of the creature.