by Mike Befeler
She grabbed the door handle and jumped in. Moments later Daggett charged out of the house like a mad bull. Mark clicked the doors locked as Lee crashed against the car. Mark’s eyes met Daggett’s.
Those eyes sent Mark a message of instant death.
Mark punched the accelerator. His car shot ahead, leaving Daggett alone on the sidewalk.
CHAPTER 27
Cheryl Idler continued to cry.
“What did he do to you?” Mark asked, noting that she also sported a black eye.
“He’s an animal. He got mad, threw a plate at me and punched me in the face.”
“Do you want me to take you to the police or emergency room?”
She abruptly stopped crying. “What for?”
Mark glanced over at her and saw that she’d narrowed her eyes. “Say, don’t I know you?” she asked.
“We met at a benefit at the Dairy Center several weeks ago.” Mark reached for his cell phone. “Do you want me to call the police to report the attack?”
“No.” She grabbed his arm. “I just want to go home. Can you drive me to—”
“I know where you live,” he said, hearing the subtle southern drawl in her voice.
She stared at Mark carefully again. “You didn’t appear outside Lee’s house by chance. What’s your involvement here?”
Mark shrugged. “Just an interested party. I also know that the night of the Manny Grimes murder you drove a vagrant named Old Mel to the North Boulder Recreation Center.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“That same man was murdered last Friday night. Whoever murdered him also attacked me.”
Cheryl sat in silence. She brushed her hair back and put her hand to her bruised cheek.
She had clammed up and wouldn’t say anything further, so Mark tried a direct approach. “Who asked you to pick up Old Mel?”
“I told you,” she said with a scowl. “I don’t know any Old Mel.”
They pulled up in front of Cheryl’s house. She opened the car door and without so much as a thank you, ran up the walkway, let herself into the house and slammed the door.
Mark sat in his car thinking. Cheryl Idler was obviously lying. With this group of sleazeballs, they all seemed guilty.
He climbed out of his car and circled the black Jaguar parked in the driveway, testing the door and finding it unlocked. Retreating to his own vehicle, he extracted a pen flashlight from his glove compartment. Then he opened the passenger-side door of Cheryl’s car and flashed the light around the seat area. Something reflected light back. He bent down and picked up an object from the floor. His hand held a silver cross, the missing part of Old Mel’s earring.
After Mark returned to his car, he looked in his rearview mirror. Bright headlights zoomed toward him.
Suddenly, a black Lexus pulled up behind, then rammed his car.
He jolted forward in the seat.
He turned the key and started the engine.
The Lexus rammed him again.
Mark shot forward, and the car followed. He reached the bottom of the hill and turned right in front of a car heading down Broadway. He could see the lights from the Lexus merge in behind.
He made an abrupt left, cutting off an approaching car, and accelerated down the street. Then he took another quick left. Two more turns and he had lost his pursuer.
Not wanting to return home, he checked into a motel for the night.
A glorious Colorado November day greeted him the next morning—the first warm one in over a week, after nights of subfreezing temperatures. Mark returned to Cheryl’s house and knocked on the door. She answered, dressed in jeans and an old sweatshirt. She had tried to hide the bruise with makeup.
“We need to talk,” Mark said bluntly.
Cheryl’s gaze darted around, and then she focused on Mark. “Why should we?”
“Because you’re implicated in the murder of Manny Grimes. Why don’t you level with me rather than trying to deny that you drove Old Mel to the rec center.”
Mark held up the silver cross. “I found this missing part of Old Mel’s earring in your Jaguar. Just tell me what happened.”
Cheryl looked angry, but then her face changed as resignation seemed to set in. She sighed. “Why don’t you come inside?”
They sat on wooden chairs around a table in her brightly lit kitchen.
“Start at the beginning and tell me who asked you to take Old Mel to the rec center.”
Cheryl’s wide-eyed gaze met Mark’s direct stare. “My husband, Ken. Manny blackmailed him, and Ken wanted me to take that vagrant to the North Boulder Rec Center to help teach Manny a lesson.”
“Why did you help?” Mark asked.
“I thought Ken only wanted to scare Manny. I never realized it was more than that. When I found out afterwards what Ken did, I turned to Lee. I can’t live with a murderer.”
“It seems to me you’ve traded in one violent man for another.”
“Yeah. I seem to attract losers.”
“Tell me how Manny blackmailed Ken.”
“I came across a whole series of email messages between the two of them,” Cheryl said. “Ken usually turns his computer off, but one evening I heard him swearing. He stomped out of the house without shutting it down. Later I went into his office to retrieve a pen and jostled the computer desk. The screen saver disappeared, and I found an email message in front of me.”
She paused and walked to the sink to refill her glass with tap water. Mark tried to guess what she would say next, but decided he’d just let her speak.
“That message frightened me. It was from Ken to Manny. Basically, it said, ‘You’re a dead man. I refuse to pay any more for your blackmail. Kiss your wife one last time, because you’re history.’ But the saving grace—he hadn’t sent it yet. I searched through his email folders and found a whole series of messages describing blackmail, payments and places to meet. It appeared that Ken had been going along with this for over a year.”
“What did you do next?”
“When Ken came home that night, I confronted him with what I had accidentally discovered. He became furious. I told him to find some other solution. After arguing for over an hour, he finally agreed to teach Manny a lesson without killing him. Then Ken lined up the vagrant and enlisted me to take the man to the rec center. But Ken really carried out his original intent and murdered Manny. I copied the email messages and turned them over to the police. That’s when they arrested him.”
“There’s still one thing I don’t understand. Why would Ken tell Old Mel that his name was Manny?”
She blinked. “I don’t know.”
When Mark returned home, he paced back and forth in his living room, trying to piece together what he had heard from Cheryl. At first she didn’t want to discuss Old Mel, but then reconsidered and opened up like a boiled clam, laying all the blame on Ken. Why would she do that? Of course. She had already told the police about Ken’s activities, leading to his arrest, so she had nothing to lose by divulging the same information to Mark. The phone rang, and he jumped. He picked it up to hear the voice of his son, Norm.
“I have some information for you concerning Lingan Ling.”
It took a moment for Mark to remember that he had asked Norm to track down the Taiwanese company linked to Jacob Fish and Creo Tech, as well as Ken Idler and Idler Enterprises. “Thanks for following up, Norm. What did you find?”
“It turns out that both Microsoft and Oracle have filed suits against them for software piracy. Although they’ve been identified as one of the fastest growing companies in Taiwan, the litigation could put an end to that.”
“Anything further that links Jacob Fish?” Mark asked.
“Not Jacob specifically, but Creo Tech is identified as one of eleven companies that have distributed some of the tagged code. Turns out Microsoft has come up with an imbedded identifier. If someone illegally copies their software, the code leaves a unique footprint. Much like dye exploding in a bag of stolen
money. Products sold by Creo Tech and the ten other companies have this tag that’s been traced to Lingan Ling.”
Mark’s heart leaped. “This all fits. Jacob Fish is involved in software piracy. Now if I can determine if that link had to do with Jacob Fish wanting to kill Manny Grimes.”
“Did it involve blackmail, Dad?”
“That’s possible. Ken Idler has been arrested for the murder, and Manny was blackmailing him. I’m not convinced of Idler’s guilt. Maybe Manny also blackmailed Jacob Fish.”
“Might be worth pursuing that path.”
“When I went through Manny’s files I found evidence of the Idler blackmail, but nothing on Jacob Fish,” Mark said.
“Was this Manny a friend of yours?”
“Not exactly a friend, but he’s the one who insisted I go in for a physical exam that led to the diagnosis of my prostate cancer. I always thought highly of him, but, apparently, he lived a much different life than I would have ever guessed.”
“Sounds like you should revisit the Manny side of the puzzle,” Norm said. “See if you can find any indication of large payments.”
Mark thought back to when he had read through Manny’s files. He had found the note from Jacob demanding that Manny give up his investment in Creo Tech but nothing specific hinting at blackmail. Still, he might have missed something. “You make a good point. I’ll have to go back and check.”
After hanging up, Mark called Barbara Grimes. He wanted to go back to her house to learn more about Manny, as Norm had suggested.
No one answered.
Frustrated, Mark slammed the phone down. He’d have to try again, maybe go over after his lunch appointment.
Mark basked in the sun as he waited at an outside table along the Pearl Street Mall for David Randolf, the ex-Creo Tech employee, to arrive for lunch. He figured he might as well enjoy this sunny day since the weather forecast indicated a drop in temperature again over the weekend. Resting his hands on the round table, separated from the passersby by a metal railing, he watched the collection of people move by: teenagers on skateboards, children chasing each other, shoppers carrying packages, a few business people in casual attire. He looked across the walkway and spotted several people sprawled out on the courthouse lawn, enjoying the sunshine and warmth.
He picked up the menu and realized hunger gnawed at him. The thought of pasta all’uccelletto made his mouth water.
When David arrived, Mark motioned him to the empty chair. “I’m curious, and there’s another item I want your help with. Help me understand how Manny Grimes became an investor in Creo Tech and introduced Jacob to Lingan Ling in Taiwan.”
David frowned. “We made a good profit and achieved our financial plan, but Jacob wanted more. One of our products fell behind schedule. Jacob began searching for an income boost that would drive up short-term revenue and profitability. Manny appeared right then with the Taiwanese connection.”
“With Jacob’s receptivity to Manny’s idea, what led to the acrimony between the two of them?”
“Jacob likes to run his own show. Manny began stopping by every day and acting like he ran the company. That infuriated Jacob. They had a confrontation that most of the Boulder-based employees overheard. Then Jacob threw Manny out of his office. Bodily.”
Mark remembered how mad he had seen Jacob before and smiled. “I can sure picture that scene.”
“Not pretty. Manny’s your size. Jacob literally pulled him up, dragged him from the office and pushed him out the door. As Manny stumbled, Jacob yelled, ‘You come back here again and I’ll kill you.’ ”
Mark raised his eyebrows. “How many people heard that threat?”
“Probably thirty employees.”
“What happened next?”
“Manny didn’t come back. Jacob strutted back to his office and slammed the door.”
Mark took a sip of iced tea and looked to the side as a group of loud teenagers sauntered by. “Did Jacob mention Manny after the day he threw him out of the office?”
“His name came up in a conversation regarding Lingan Ling. Jacob said, ‘That son of a bitch is history.’ ”
“No love lost there.”
Mark gazed again out toward the mall. The small hairs on the back of his neck stirred.
There stood Jacob Fish with his arms crossed and his eyes blazing murderously.
“What the hell are you two doing together?” Jacob shouted.
“We’re enjoying a quiet lunch,” Mark answered, facing Jacob as he would when backing away from a bear.
“I bet you two did this.” Jacob threw a newspaper over the railing. It landed on the table and knocked over a glass of water.
Mark thrust his chair to the side to avoid ending up with a wet lap. Then he picked up the paper.
An article by Al Lawson in the Denver Post business section bore the title “Go Fish.” It recounted some of Jacob’s illegal business activities.
“David, you signed a confidentiality statement,” Jacob shouted. “If I find you’ve told anything to this snoop, I’m taking you to court.”
David’s eyes smoldered. “You’ve already caused me enough problems. Why don’t you just continue your walk on the mall?”
Jacob balled his fist and leaned forward.
Without a railing as a barrier, Mark thought Jacob would fly right on top of David.
A policeman stopped to talk to someone three tables away.
Jacob stepped back.
“Don’t think either of you can mess with me.”
He shook his right index finger at Mark in particular, spun on his heels and stomped away.
“Charming person,” Mark said.
David Randolf’s face looked white, drained of blood. “He’s deranged. I guess I should be glad I’m no longer working for him.”
Mark shook his head. He thought of the fine line between genius and insanity. Had Jacob gone over the edge and murdered Manny?
CHAPTER 28
Mark drove to the main Boulder library, navigating through streets peppered with traffic circles and speed bumps. He admired the intent of limiting cars to a safe speed, but these impediments only kept people on the road longer, spewing more pollution into the air. Pollution made him think of the four sleazy suspects.
He spent the rest of the day researching Idler Enterprises. Finally, as dusk approached, he abandoned his futile search and packed up his notes. Outside, he started his car and drove home, still contemplating the latest events. Something didn’t feel right. He couldn’t see Ken as the murderer in spite of everything Cheryl had said. He didn’t trust her—it seemed too convenient that the blackmail led to the murder.
That night Mark put on his grubby clothes and drove by the crack house again, determined to find “Clyde,” the man Old Mel’s ex-roommate had said was hired to go to the rec center and attack Paul Crandall, the player who had taken Mark’s place.
This time Mark’s luck improved. Two men sat smoking on the front steps. Mark drove past them and parked on a side street. He waited until he saw no one in sight, hopped out of the car and walked back toward the house. At the same time he mussed his hair.
As he approached the house, he slowed to a shuffle. Think old, down, spent. He only needed to remember prostate cancer to achieve the right frame of mind.
He stumbled up the walkway, and one of the men on the steps shouted, “Where you going?”
Mark scratched his arm. “Lookin’ for Clyde. Owes me some money.”
The other man, wearing a torn jacket, eyed Mark carefully. “Don’t know any Clyde.”
“He said he’d be in there.” Mark pointed toward the house.
“Guess someone gave you bad information. Beat it.”
Mark tried taking a step forward, but one of the men gave him a shove back toward the street. “Get moving, pops.”
Mark staggered back the way he had come, and once out of sight of the two men, jogged briskly around the block. He spotted an alley and crept along in the dark until he fo
und the back of the crack house.
He tried the back door, but found it locked. Prowling along the side of the house, he discovered a window with no screen, open a couple of inches. He peeked in, but the room remained in darkness.
Pushing the window up as far as he could reach, he boosted himself up and dove through the opening.
He landed on a hardwood floor.
“Keep it down in there,” someone shouted from outside the room.
Mark waited to let his eyes adjust. He saw the faint outline of two men lying on the floor. Neither moved.
He stumbled around the room until he found a doorknob, turned it and peered out into a dimly lit hallway.
He shuffled out, his body sore from landing on the hardwood floor, and found a living room, where he could see some people on the floor, leaning against the walls.
He took a breath and growled, “Where’d goddamn Clyde go?”
“Shaddup, ya jerk,” someone slurred. “He’s probably upstairs.”
Mark lumbered back into the hall and up the stairs. In the first room he entered he found a man lying on a cot. He went over and shook him.
“Clyde?”
“Get your fuckin’ hands off me. No Clyde in here.”
He tried two more rooms, garnering equally unreceptive replies.
Opening the last door, he heard a moan, and as his eyes adjusted, he spotted a man in old clothes and worn-out shoes.
“You Clyde?”
“What’s it to you?”
“We need to talk.”
“Go ’way.”
Mark shook him again. “Clyde, I have more money for you.”
“Money?”
“I’m going to give you fifty dollars. You don’t have to sit up, but you need to answer some questions. Wake up if you want the money.”
Clyde’s eyes flickered open, his eyelids twitched and then his eyes shut again.
“Clyde, can you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
“You remember going to the North Boulder rec center three days ago?”
