by Kieran York
“Summer’s message was this.” I thought I’d brighten up his day with a little sarcasm. “Tom, she said not to spray the crime scene with too many cop fumes.”
Tom Powers grimaced. In spite of himself, the Chief liked the three of us. He should, I thought as I studied him. We’d helped him solve a few homicide and other crimes. He knew we helped keep the Palms clean. The last solved murder case had been a huge Trevar’s Team contribution to the Chief. He was promoted from lieutenant to Chief. Even though he might dispute our investigatory methods, he knew we’d gifted him. Now, we were all invested. Rachel Rosen was the best police officer he’d ever had working for him. When she became part of Trevar’s Team, he resented it.
We approached the bereaved widow. She looked up at us.
“Mrs. Perrault, I’m sorry for your loss. I know this is difficult for you,” I issued my condolences. I recalled first meeting her. She’d taken a very long look at my face. She examined me. She told me that I needed to use more concealer around my light blue eyes. Also, she mentioned that my wide smile needed a touch brighter lipstick. She did like the longish blonde curls that surrounded my face. Flare, she’d called my hairstyle. I’d called it keeping curls out of my face. Oh, and I really needed to highlight my cheekbones. But, she ended by saying that she would donate – that was the word, - donate some of her product to assisting my loveliness. I had shuddered.
Tom interceded. “Mrs. Perrault here, she’s got no idea who killed her husband and shot Rachel.”
Through sobs, Glenda Perrault spoke up, “We have our enemies. But why try to kill us?”
“I intend to find out,” I issued my intent.
While Glenda was out of the room, taking a call with a family member, I moved nearer to Tom. “What’s your take on Glenda?”
“When I questioned her, she reminded me that she would have been the second victim. That shot was aimed at her. Rachel got in the way.” Tom stood at attention. “That, she inferred, meant that she couldn’t have been implicated.”
“Any leads so far?”
“Nothing. Look, Trevar, I usually try to keep you out of police business. This case is different. I’ll give you all I get. I’ll do anything to find this perp. You know how highly I think of Rachel.”
Silence was obviously giving me time to reciprocate. I finally murmured. “Thanks. And we’ll be cooperative with you, Tom.”
On my way to my lunar blue Mercedes convertible, I checked the bush area to the side of the mansion. The killer could easily have escaped by boat. Everyone was in protective mode. They might not have heard, or seen, a small vessel. Maybe a cigar speedboat. Quiet, fast. Or perhaps the perpetrator had gone out via a tunnel under the boulevard.
For now, I would depend on the Palm Beach PD’s reports. I could rehash later. I drove furiously to West Palm where the Perrault Cosmetics office/factory was located. Certainly, the investigators had been there, or perhaps they were still there. I would in no way impede their investigation, I considered with a slight grin. They couldn’t talk with all the employees at one time. They would be starting with the big wigs. The executives were probably used to lying with a straight face. Most of the employees were dressed in similar white smocks with coral-colored piping
Naturally, with news of the founder of the company, and their employer murdered, and his wife nearly killed, they were rattled and emotional. I watched as a flurry of activity from a large front office was taking place. Clusters of employees were entering, leaving, and chattering. I accessed the room without anyone noticing me.
Wishing I was bedecked in a white smock with coral-colored piping, I noticed a woman looking at me from across the room. In her early sixties, I gauged, she looked stately. Dark complexion, black hair streaked with gray, and a large frame, she appeared to be in command. She approached me, and I held out my hand. She had not wanted to shake. I was intruding. But she finally complied, as she asked, “May I help you?”
“I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” I said as she took my hand. “I’m Beryl Trevar. My firm oversees Glenda Perrault’s security.”
“Not terribly successful,” her voice was staunch, harsh. It fit her stodgy attitude.
My jaw clamped a moment. “My partner is in Critical Care because she took a bullet to save Glenda.”
“I’m sorry, I’m shaken over this. Forgive me, I’m Felipa Cerilo, Glenda’s assistant.”
“Ms. Cerilo, I’m now investigating the murder. I hope you can help me.”
She turned, motioning me. “Let’s go to my office.” Her office looked as if it had to have belonged to her. Staid, all-business, and completely traditional. Slip an Underwood typewriter on her desk, and a planter, and it could have been type-casting. “Please sit. I’m uncertain if I can be of any help. Everyone has their enemies. It’s the time we live in.”
Felipa began to immediately thaw. She saw us as coworkers now. She was a feisty, Plutocratic assistant to one of the world’s most glamorous women. And I had obviously rated highly enough to penetrate her fortress.
“And who might want Wendell and Glenda killed?”
“That’s a quandary. I can speculate. Wendell had many, many enemies. But Glenda, I don’t believe anyone’s hatred of her would cause this. Some consider her a diva. An elitist. But they don’t know her kind qualities. Certainly, she’s brusque, and there are those jealous of her, but as far as business dealings, that was Wendell’s department.”
“Do you know Wendell’s enemies?”
Looking both ways, then leaning across her desk, she whispered, “I’m not telling anything that isn’t public information. Dr. Curtis Rhodes is a minor partner, but he claims all the formulas were his. Wendell threw some money at his project, and ended up owning the lion’s share of patents. Dr. Rhodes spends his time in the lab. Doesn’t say much, but doesn’t hide his disdain for the Perraults.”
“They hijacked his invention?”
“Yes. In his eyes. However, if it hadn’t been promoted by Wendell and Glenda, he’d still be in his basement surrounded by tubes of face cream. I find him a despicable little man. Very arrogant.” She scrunched her face and gave a dramatic shake of her head.
“Anyone else?”
“Competitors, maybe a few disgruntled employees and customers.” Filipa’s arm lifted into the air as she remembered, “Oh, speaking of customers. Two months ago, a lawsuit was settled with an irate client. A middle-aged woman had a reaction to the Precious Allure Glow Cream. It left her partially blind.”
“And the judgment was?”
After Glenda testified that there was ample caution about getting the product near the eyes, and her testimony was convincing, the jury awarded only a pittance. I mean, who sticks Glow Cream in their eyes? Absurd!”
“I read something about that case.” I paused, dipping into the recesses of my memory. “Multimillion dollar suit.”
“Right. Twenty-five million. But the jury only awarded her one-hundred thousand dollars. A pittance when you consider what she asked for. Wendell made a statement of sympathy, but felt the case should have been dismissed.”
“The woman’s name?”
“Olga Carleton. She lives in West Palm with her husband, Rex. As I recall, there were no past lawsuits for her. A leg injury for Rex. Middleclass, both work. One grown child. Olga has a temper. She couldn’t hold her tongue in court. She wasn’t at all a sympathetic witness.”
I nodded. I knew the type. I smiled, “Felipa, when I was a defense lawyer a few years ago, I cringed when a witness showed too much emotion. Goldilocks. It should be in the center. Riding the medium of the road. Mad as hell doesn’t work, but just enough righteous anger is good. Too disinterested, and the jury won’t be sympathetic.”
Felipa finally gave up a grin. “That’s right. I did hear that you were an attorney.”
“I was. Still am, just not practicing. But after I cleaned up all that dirty cash from springing drug dealers, I got a conscience.” Our gaze met, and I felt I’d just reeled in
a reliable confidential informant. Felipa had been cooperative, and in the future, would be willing to tell all. I stood. “Thank you so much, Felipa. You’ve assisted me and I appreciate it. If you can think of anything else that might help, please let me know.” As we shook hands, I also offered, “And our conversations will remain confidential, I promise.”
That was obviously Filipa’s concern – that I’d keep her information private. Her body language screamed out about the worry of confidentiality when she began to inform.
Checking my phone, I saw that Summer had text me about Rachel’s condition. She was post-op, and hanging on. Dr. Zachary had given that bit of news to Summer earlier. Naturally, hearing Rachel was alive gave me a boost. I’d wanted to look up Olga Carleton to see if she had any sharpshooters in the family. Being pissed over losing a lawsuit was standard. I was certain that Olga had mentally spend twenty-five million numerous times. She got chump change, and needless to say, probably was ‘murderously’ enraged over the court decision.
Dr. Curtis Rhodes didn’t exactly enjoy being left behind when the Perrault Cosmetics stock surged. He’d developed the recipe wrinkle-killer. A lower echelon vice-presidency in the company was beneath him. So, had Dr. Rhodes gone from wrinkle-killing to President/CEO killing?
These two leads would need to wait. On my phone was Summer announcing that Rachel was being taken to I.C.U. A nurse told Summer that when she was fully conscious, visitors would be allowed for a few minutes with her.
Rushing, yet staying within the speed limit, I directed my vehicle toward the hospital.
Rachel was alive. Stable enough to visit.
I’ve never excluded searching out nonessentials. My goal was resolution. When I begin an investigation, I never ignore the events and items that seemed to be unimportant. For those might be the unexplored clues that could bring a case to its conclusion. Some minuscule hints are pointers toward resolution. Some footnotes along the way begin to bulge out as the case goes on.
Solving crime was a destiny for me. This case was officially about revenge.
Chapter 2
While biding our time, the waiting room was becoming more congested. I updated Summer on what I’d found out about the homicide.
Summer frowned as her head tilted. “It had to have been a hired hit. A well-executed ambush. Professional hitman. Knew how to sanitize, a crack shot, had a well-planned out plot and getaway. And I was only fifty yards from the shooting. I looked up to see where the gunshots were coming from. The far opposite side was where the shooter was. The killer knew there was no way to overtake him from that spot. Naturally, I went to Rachel. I’d seen out of the corner of my eye that one of the bodyguards had taken after the killer immediately. So, I wasn’t too worried. The guard couldn’t apprehend the shooter. Regardless, I would have helped with Rachel first. I knew she could be dying.”
“Your decision saved her life. The perp was too far ahead to be caught.” I clutched Summer’s arm. “Security didn’t even get a blink.”
“Right. The bodyguard returned immediately, shrugging. He hadn’t seen anything except the spot where the rifle and spent casings were left behind. He knew better than to go near that spot and compromise the evidence.” Summer’s head sagged. Her dark eyes closed. The lids ticked nervously. “A sniper-style shooting spree. Two intended victims. One murdered. So maybe the purchased perp will only get half a payment.”
I thought out loud, “Now we need to find out who purchased the services of this gunman. Someone funded this homicide. Assuming it is a man, and I believe it probably was male, the assailant was schooled in execution.”
Murders for hire was always tricky. Nearly always, I’d found, it was much more difficult and took a great deal more time. Following the money was a trail with question marks scattered all over it. Motive was little more than the elusive currency chase.
Professional contract murderers had no motive, other than a paycheck. To search for the criminal contact one needs to know or have a suspect. Then backtrack from there. Is it an elimination killing for power, money, or revenge?
Our firm’s best chance at finding a hitman would be on the street. As the song goes, we have C.I.s in low places. Low-budget contracts are usually sloppy, and often get caught by shooting off their mouth. Along with shooting the vic. Drug or drink makes them loquacious They brag. They are usually goons who have nothing else to brag about.
Trevar’s Team had a few confidential informants in elevated places. While defending some of Palm Beach’s elite, I’d secured some powerful C.I.s. Influential. We took care to protect all of our sources. And those being paid were provided top dollar.
One confidential informant didn’t need money, nor would she take it. Coming to mind first was a madam named Mandy Jewel. It had been her stripper name forty-five years back. I’d met her nearly twenty-years ago when I’d successfully represented her exclusive shop of sweeties. It was when I was just getting my law firm started. Now, Mandy at age sixty-five was a gorgeous woman living the life of a rich Palm celebrity. Society forgave her former years of indiscretion. She was even invited to some of the most prized social gatherings. She was aware of nearly everything going on in Palm. When it came to information, she was a jewelry shop filled with mounds of pearls, and she freely threw them in my direction. She wasn’t out for money when she provided me with information. Never a charge, she would tell me everything she knew. And she not only knew intimately the interworking of crime. She knew the juicy parts as well.
Mandy Jewel would be a start on the information gathering. There were drug dealers that I’d also unchained. Some even unclenched information. Sort of a comp deal. Rachel often teased, sometimes not so much teased as accused, that I had single-handedly defended and unleashed more dirtballs than any other attorney in Florida. I’d always joked that she’d always round them back up again. It was a lucrative deal for my bank account. Guilt finally ravaged my conscience.
Summer’s neck bent forward as she blurted, “This is going to be a tough solve. And we’re one team member down.”
“I was thinking about that,” I replied. “Rach is going to need rest, and someone with her. We can split duties, and double down. We need more interrogations at the Perrault’s Mansion, and at the offices. Names that I have included are Dr. Curtis Rhodes, Olga Carleton, and I definitely want to check with Mandy Jewel.”
Summer’s tittering burst like a firecracker. “Mandy. What made you think of her?”
“Who better knows the upper crust, and the underbelly? And if I ask her, I think she’ll keep her radar switched on.”
When Doctor Zachary motioned for us, Summer and I followed her into a consulting room. “Sorry it’s been so long, but it took a little longer in recovery. She seems to be coming out of the anesthetic. I’m going to allow you both to visit her, but only for a few minutes. Please don’t upset her in any way. She’s alive, but it was a very close call.” The attractive physician looked down a moment. “She fought harder than any patient I ever worked with. I don’t want for her to slide back now. Understood?”
In unison, Summer and I shook our heads affirmatively. “We promise,” we vowed.
“I’m serious,” Hanna’s voice deepened. “I’ve got a lot of excellent cross-stitches that sewed the hole that tore her lung open. I’m not losing her after the best stitch-work I’ve ever done. To say nothing about hemming the flesh and skin.”
“With our cooperation and carefully watching her,” I asked, “what is the prognosis?”
“She’s had ballistic trauma, pulmonary contusion. A clipped blood vessel, and lots of repair work. Vessel was severe, but I expect a full recovery. If she doesn’t pull stitches, get infection, or in any way disturb her wounds, she’ll heal. Rest, and rehab. I’d say at least a week or two of hospital care. Then a month for the initial recovery, including rehab. This is under the best of conditions.”
Walking into Rachel’s small unit felt surreal, abstract. Tubes were attached, and her upper chest was wr
apped. A breathing apparatus feed her air and sounded as if it were attempting to play an accordion recital. Blinking open, her eyes were filled with a wild recognition.
I neared her, and squeeze her hand. “Rach, we’re here.”
“Glenda?” she groggily questioned.
“You saved Glenda’s life. You were shot. Wendell was killed.”
Her police training kicked in. Emotions were strengthening. “Heard gunshot. Wendell fell back. I saw nothing after I made a dive over Glenda. Sorry.”
“They want you to rest, Rach,” Summer instructed. “You’re still in critical condition.”
“Doctor is an angel,” Rachel reported with a very small, adoring smile.
Summer and I sniggered. “You’re going to be just fine.” I leaned and kissed her forehead. “We love you.”
Rachel’s eyes were beginning to flutter as she fought to continue. “I love you both. Careful.”
When her eyes bobbed shut, I saw Hanna’s shadow. “She needs rest. Why don’t we talk?” the doctor suggested. “My office is cramped, but private.”
We followed her to the small cubical of an office. “She said you’re an angel,” Summer reported as she sat.
Hanna grinned. “So, she hasn’t lost a sense of humor. But I can be a mama bear when it comes to protecting my patients.”
“Is she going to really going to be alright?” I somberly questioned.
The doctor answered, “Yes, if she’s given time to repair. That’s where the two of you come in. I’m not joking when I say that I need your cooperation. She’ll need rest. I’m thinking she’ll be needing a couple days in I.C.U. Then probably at least a week of hospital.”
Summer said, “Earlier I gave all the insurance information to the front desk.”
“We’ve had a call from Perrault Cosmetics and they’ve signed off on all expenses. Including post-surgery for any cosmetic care.”
