“Hold it. All of you. Just stop. Mr. Ashton will be making an announcement later this afternoon. Nothing will be said until that time. You’re wasting your time trying to get to him just now,” she said shouting over the crowd. They all backed off to some degree.
“I’m serious. He will only make a statement in an organized fashion. So just back off and he will cooperate with you. If not....well, he won’t talk to any of you,” she said and quickly closed the door.
“What are you doing?” he asked in amazement.
“Giving you some breathing room. You need to come to grips with the fact that everything you have done in the past has just come home to haunt you. They will be digging into everything. If you have any skeletons in your closet, they are about to be discovered. I don’t care how minor they may seem to you, to them it's news and you are fair game. You need to take charge of them or else they will eat you for lunch. Hold a press conference, get them on your side or else you will be dog meat,” she said.
Jim just looked at her. What was going on? His world was coming unglued and he didn’t have the vaguest notion why.
“Alright. If you think that's the best thing to do,” he stammered at last.
“I know it is. If you don’t, they will turn on you and you will look like the bad guy. If they are wrong it will be told someplace on page 29. If you're smart, and I think you are, you will use them to your advantage. Just be careful. If they think they are being used, they will come back with a vengeance,” she told him.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.
“Because you seem like a good guy, one who is caught up in something that you had nothing to do with. It’s just a feeling. I’m usually right about people though,” she said and opened the door.
The crowd had, for the most part, backed away from the door. She opened it wider and pointed her hand to Ashton as if presenting royalty.
“Mr. James Ashton. Mr. Ashton your press awaits you,” she said.
Jim stepped on to the front porch and looked at the growing crowd. They were all pressing forward to get as close to him as possible. This was totally out of his league and he knew it.
“All I have to say at this time is that the police have taken my statement and are working on following up any clues they have. I do not know what those may be. You would have to ask them about that. My involvement is that of a husband whose wife is missing. Nothing else. I have received no threats or ransom demands. For all anyone knows she could be safe and sound someplace or she may be hurt. I can’t answer many of the questions you may have because honestly, I have a million of my own. I do not know what has happened to either Stephanie, my wife, or Carla, my partner’s wife,” he told them.
“Did you kill them?” one of the reporters yelled out.
“No. I did not kill them. To my knowledge they are not being considered dead. The police have said nothing like that to me,” he replied.
“Why was your partner’s wife spending time at your house while he was out of town?” one reporter asked.
“She was not, nor has she ever been at my house when my wife was not present,” he replied.
“That’s not what the police are telling us. They say she was here making a cozy dinner for you,” the reporter insisted.
“You have wrong information. Carla Larkins is the wife of my best friend and business partner. It is ludicrous to make such accusations,” he angrily replied.
“What about the phone calls, especially the one on the night your wife disappeared?”
“I know only what you seem to know. Someone either used my phone or else there is some kind of mistake,” Jim said, realizing how lame that sounded. No wonder they were suspicious.
“Look people. What I really need is your help in solving this. I want my wife back. You have huge resources. You can reach millions of people. Help me. I am asking for your help in this matter. In return I will answer your questions as factually as possible. I just want my wife back,” he said as he turned and opened the door and stepped back inside.
He could still hear them clamoring as he sat down on the arm of the sofa. Carrie had not come back inside and for that he was grateful. He just wanted to be left alone. The phone rang. He was hesitant to even answer it but he did.
“Jim. What’s going on? I have reporters and news people all around my house. What have you done?”
“Nothing Terry. I have the same thing. I guess the police have let the story out. It was bound to happen at some point,” Jim said.
“I don't know what this is all about but I can tell you, from where I sit, you have landed in a heap of trouble. I don't know what you have done, but if I find out you harmed Carla in any way.....” he said, not bothering to finish the sentence.
“Terry, listen to yourself. You know me better than that. Have you ever seen me make a pass or act any way inappropriate toward Carla?”
“So what? They say the husband is always the last to know,” Terry shot back.
“You’re just feeling the uncertainty. Don’t let this cloud your vision. I had nothing to do with any of this. I’m a victim just as much as you are,” Ashton said.
“Something isn’t right. If I find out you’re involved, then God help you,” Terry said and hung up before Jim could reply.
He started to call him back but thought better of it. He knew that Terry had to stew for a while before they could really talk reasonably. He had been down that road too many times.
The phone rang again but he decided not to answer it. He would monitor all calls through the answering machine. After the message had finished he heard a voice saying, ‘this is Plantation Publishing. We want to make you a book offer about the murder of your wife. Please call immediately and let’s see what we can work out’. The message went on to give the person’s name and phone number with an urgent request to call immediately. So now Stephanie has been murdered. Just like that. It was a strange world we live in, he decided, shaking his head. ‘Where are you Stephanie?’ he shouted in his head, but no one answered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Detective Logan sat at his desk with a stack of papers and files. Discarded hamburger wrappers, French fry boxes and half used condiments took up any remaining space. Two large boxes sat on the floor between him and Detective Winston.
Logan had been a detective for fourteen years and each year the world seemed to get a little more bizarre. Kids killing parents for insurance, teen gang wars and white collar crime were increasing at an alarming rate. Each year his job became more demanding. It used to be that all you had to do was catch the bad guy and lock him up. The court would perform due process and off they went to jail.
Now you practically had to make an appointment to even talk to a suspect and if you had one of the new wave judges the perpetrator would most likely get a wrist slap and end up suing you for harassment.
Detective Winston had been on the force for eleven years and had been wounded twice in the line of duty. He was tenacious when it came to digging up the truth. They were sorting through the items that they had just removed by warrant from both Terry Larkins' and Jim Ashton’s houses. Neither was very happy but there was nothing they could do about it.
Terry had his lawyer present but Ashton had just taken it in stride. He even seemed somewhat dazed by what was going on around him. Reporters were camped out at both places waiting to talk to the two men.
“We need to get these down to ballistics,” Winston said, indicating the three guns that they had taken from the search.
The 9mm. Beretta belonged to Ashton and the 357 Python and Smith & Wesson 41 magnum had come from Larkins' home. All three were properly registered so they would be returned after a ballistics check was made.
“Larkins is into heavy fire power,” Winston commented.
“Sure seems like Ashton goes for more lead throwing ability. Must be a bad shot. Still, the 9mm ain’t kids’ stuff,” Logan said.
They went through the boxes, logging each item and making
written comments when necessary.
“Larkins said he found this coat at his house and it’s not his. Looks almost brand new,” Winston said, holding up a Lands End coat.
“Nice jacket. Let me see it,” Logan’s said taking it from the box of items that had been taken from Larkins' home. He went through the pockets and found an ‘inspected by’ tag on one side. In the inside pocket he found a gas receipt that was signed by James Ashton. He held up the slip to Winston. Winston took the slip and read it carefully.
“Now what do you suppose Ashton’s coat was doing at Larkins' home if he hasn’t been there in some time, at least according to him?” Logan asked.
“The date on the ticket is from Tuesday. That’s the day he called in about his wife being missing. I thought he said he only called Carla Larkins? Get your notes,” Winston said.
Logan flipped through his notes, “yep. Here it says that he called to see if Larkins' wife had seen Stephanie. He goes on to say that he did not call or see her again. So what is his coat doing there?” Logan said, closing his note pad.
“That seems like a good question to ask Mr. Ashton,” Winston said returning to the boxes. They shuffled through the rest of the items but found nothing useful. Forensics had gone over the BMW belonging to Stephanie Ashton but found little of use. They did find a pair of men’s tennis shoes, size 10 1/2 in the trunk.
“We should ask about the shoes. As a matter of fact why don’t we play prince charming and have Cinderella try them on for us?” Winston asked.
“I shall fetch our coach,” Logan said with a swooping motion with is hand.
They first stopped at the DA's office and went over the evidence that they had gathered. They felt they had enough to bring him in at least for further questioning should he elect not to volunteer. The DA quashed the notion.
“You do not know for certain that it is his coat or those are his tennis shoes,” the Assistant DA said.
“Hey, if the shoe fits, let him wear it. Look, too much just isn’t panning out with his story. First we find a list of phone calls to Larkins' wife...”
“That you can only say for sure were made from his house. His wife could have made them,” the Assistant said.
“Excuse me? Did you miss something here? He reported his wife missing before the phone calls were made,” Logan said, coming out of his chair.
“Doesn’t prove he made the calls.”
“And the coat. It has a gas slip signed by Ashton on Tuesday. He told us he had not seen Mrs. Larkins or been to their house. How did the coat and gas receipt get there?” Winston asked.
“Don’t know. I do know that you cannot prove he left it there,” the Assistant DA said, playing with a pen he was holding.
“And the tennis shoes?”
“It’s his wife’s car. You ever leave anything in your wife’s car? I left my golf clubs in the back of my wife’s car for over a month,” the young man said.
“I doubt it. You guys can’t go a month without playing golf,” Winston mumbled.
“It was winter. The point is there is no real evidence yet. Have you stopped to think there could be some other common link?”
“Like?” Logan asked.
“They own DigitCom. Both their wives are missing. Maybe someone is trying to get to them through their wives,” he pointed out.
Both detectives just looked at him and then at each other. This kid had been watching too many movies.
“Okay, Logan said at last, “We’ll just ask him some more questions but I’m telling you there is a lot more to this. He is either hiding something or someone has set this boy up good.”
“Just make sure you advise him to have an attorney present. You cannot bully him into waving his rights. It would do no good to get a confession that is inadmissible,” the young ADA warned as they headed out the door.
“What a twit,” Winston said.
“Guy watches too much Blue Bloods, if you ask me,” Logan said disgustedly.
They arrived at Ashton’s and had to fight their way through the mass of reporters that were clamoring for Ashton to come out and talk to them. Jim was just about ready to call the police and see if he could have them removed when he saw Logan and Winston pushing their way towards his door. He waited until they rang the doorbell and then quickly opened it and ushered them in. Questions started being shouted out as soon as he opened the door.
“I see you have reached celebrity status,” Logan said, pushing a hand holding a microphone back out the door.
“It’s crazy. I was just thinking of calling for police protection. They are becoming more aggressive by the hour,” he said.
“They have deadlines. Wait until around 2:00 p.m. They will really start getting worked up then,” Winston added.
“I’m glad you’re here. Should I go out and give them a statement?” he asked.
“We are not here to advise you on what you should or shouldn’t say to the press. All I will say is that they will hear what they want to hear and print what they want to print. The truth is not a concern for most of them. They just want to tell a story. If what you say happens to back up what they believe, then all goes well. If not, they just change the facts to fit the story,” Logan said bitterly.
Ashton stood there dabbing his forehead for several seconds. “I don't know what to do. I don’t understand what’s happening. Terry is upset with me and thinks I may have had something to do with Carla’s disappearance. This is looking really bad for me isn’t it?” Ashton asked.
Neither of the detectives spoke for a second or two, finally Logan said, “Worse than you might think. I need to get a couple of things straight with you. No bull. No dancing. If you want your lawyer present, now is the time to get him here.”
Jim looked at the two detectives. Their eyes said it all. His shoulders sagged and he walked over to the couch and sat down heavily.
“I don’t want my lawyer. Just ask your questions,” he said.
“Are you sure? We can wait,” Winston said.
“Go on. Let’s hear it. This must really be bad,” Ashton said.
“It isn’t good. Is this your jacket?” Winston said, taking it out of a white plastic bag and holding it up.
“Can I see it?”
“Sure. Look it over,” Winston said, handing it over to him.
Jim looked it over and said, “I have one just like that but it’s not in that kind of condition. Mine is a couple of years old and has a tear by the right pocket. Why?”
“We got this from Larkins’ house. Look in the inside pocket if you would,” Winston said.
Jim fished out the gas receipt. He immediately saw his name signed on the bottom of the ticket. He looked at it carefully. It certainly looked like it was his signature.
“I don’t get it. I’m sure this isn’t my coat. It’s in too good a shape. Look, I have mine in my closet,” he said, getting up and starting down the hallway.
He went to his closet and rummaged through the back of the closet but could not find his coat.
“It’s here someplace,” he said, starting to throw clothes out onto the floor.
The two detectives watched with an amused look on their faces. Finally it was apparent it was not in the closet.
“I don’t know what could have happened to it,” Ashton said with a bewildered look on his face.
“All right Mr. Ashton. What about these tennis shoes?” Winston said pulling out the still damp shoes.
“Those are mine. No doubt about it. They are wet,” he stated.
“Where did you see them last?”
“I think in my car trunk. Stephanie and I played racquetball ball last week and I left them in the trunk,” he told the detectives.
“We found them in the trunk all right, of your wife’s car,” Logan said.
“Her car? I suppose that could be. I think we took her car that day. She did drive, come to think of it,” he said, snapping his fingers.
“How nice,” Winston said.
�
�Listen, the shoes are mine. I left them in her car after racquetball. The coat is not mine,” Ashton insisted.
“And the receipt? Is that your signature?” Winston asked.
“It would seem so. I did buy gas that day, but I don’t know what it’s doing in that coat pocket. It is not my coat,” he said heatedly.
“Let’s just recap here,” Logan said, “You haven’t talked to Mrs. Larkins but the one time and we have a record of several calls made from this house. You have a coat like this one, but yours is missing. The receipt is yours but you don’t know how it got into a coat that doesn’t belong to you and just happened to be found at Larkins' house. Those are your tennis shoes that we pulled from the trunk of your missing wife’s car but you left them there after tennis.”
“Racquetball,” Ashton corrected.
“Excuse me, racquetball. Is that about it Mr. Ashton?”
“I can see how this looks. I can’t explain any of it. All I can say is why would I call 911 if I was in any way responsible?”
“Happens all the time. Everyone thinks they are so clever and cops are so dumb. It isn’t like that in real life,” Winston said, pointing a finger at Ashton.
“Maybe you want to think about this before you say anything else,” Logan said.
Ashton looked from one man to the other and said, “Charge me if you’re going to. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“All right for now. I hope for your sake nothing else you didn’t own or never saw before shows up,” Winston said, pushing Ashton aside and heading for the door.
“I didn’t do it,” Ashton shouted at his back.
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s what they all say. Prisons are full of people that didn’t do it,” Winston said, still trudging through the house.
“I didn’t do it,” he said again, this time to Logan.
“I have to tell you, it looks really bad. Detective Winston is right. You had better hope nothing else funny shows up or it’s really going to get very difficult for you.”
“This isn’t bad enough?” Ashton replied.
“We are just getting started. You need to think things over. We’ll be in touch. Here is my card. Call if you can think of anything that will be of some use,” Logan said and followed Winston down the hall.
Avarice or Innocence (JOHN LOGAN FILES Book 1) Page 7
