“He was a pretty good looking guy,” I said. “He definitely had that distinguished doctor thing going for him.” I dropped the truck into gear and pulled out of the lot and onto the street. “Probably makes about a million a year, you know, if that kind of thing matters to you.”
“You think I should call him? Or would that be too forward?”
“I should probably get you home” I said, ignoring her question. “You know, doctor’s orders, and all.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. You didn’t answer my question though. What do you think? Should I call him?”
I picked up the card looked at it for a second, tore it in half and tossed it out the window. “You must have hit your head harder than you thought. You’re clearly not thinking straight.”
Sandy laughed and watched the card slip away into the wind. It was the best laugh I’d ever heard.
“I memorized the number,” Sandy said.
“My ass, you did.”
“Already entered it into my cell phone.”
“Uh huh.”
“I did. Want to see?”
“Want to hand me your phone before I roll the window back up?”
Like that, all the way back to Sandy’s. Twenty minutes later we were at her place. I walked her to the door and by the time we got there I could see the adrenaline wearing off. There was an awkward moment at the door, then Sandy stood on her toes and kissed me—quick—on the lips. “I’ll get with you after I rest for a while, okay?” Sandy said.
“How about tomorrow?” I said. Then I pulled her close and hugged her for just a moment before I turned around and headed for my truck. When I looked back she was already inside.
I was in love.
She worked for me.
It would be trouble.
I didn’t care.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The older I become the more I have begun to notice not only the evolutionary changes taking place in our society, but the ebb and flow of resistance that comes with those changes, particularly in middle aged men such as myself. Usually, just when I have convinced myself that I am still of the age of a younger and smarter generation, something happens to remind me that time is not just something we measure but something that exists with an unending and ubiquitous rhythm. No matter how badly you would like to slow the clock, you have no more control of such universal mechanisms than you do the beat of your own heart.
When I got back in my truck I had a message waiting for me on my cell. It was Rosencrantz, telling me that he had Dugan’s office sealed and his computer was already on the way back to the lab for processing. Rosencrantz and Donatti were the other two members of my team. I hired both away from the city, Rosencrantz from Sex, and Doantti from Homicide. They are my unofficial leg breakers. If I need muscle, I went to Rosencrantz and Donatti. Rosencrantz answered on the third ring. He sounded bored.
“Uh, listen, you guys haven’t beaten anyone up or anything, have you?” I said.
“Hey, boss, come on,” Rosie said. “Give us a little credit. We’re highly trained investigators. Besides, I haven’t beaten anyone up for over a week.”
“Uh huh.”
“If you were thinking about getting something to eat before coming over here I wouldn’t bother. When they heard the boss was dead someone made an executive decision and catered in about ten grand worth of food. We’ve interviewed Dugan’s secretary, the entire executive team and their secretaries as well. Everybody except the executive committee is walking around here bumping into each other like a bunch of zombies or something. Nobody has any useful information for us at all and there’s a ton of food here that’s going to go bad if someone doesn’t start eating it. I’m thinking maybe I should take some home with me. In fact, you know that Crime Scene tech, big Al, the one that weighs in around two eighty or so? I saw him fill four or five evidence bags with Swedish meatballs and bacon-wrapped shrimp before he left. The bottom line is the only real thing I’ve learned so far is that no one uses the word ‘secretary’ anymore. They prefer ‘executive assistant.’ Who knew?”
I thought for a moment then said, “Didn’t you go to New Orleans last year?”
“Two years ago, but yeah. Went for Mardi-Gras. I got you that Ragin’ Cajun T-shirt, remember?”
“Sure. You flew down, right? How were the stewardesses?
“Fine I guess. I don’t really remember. Why do you ask?”
“Never mind,” I said.
See what I mean?
* * *
I pulled away from Sandy’s and after about a block I realized I didn’t know where the Sunrise Bank headquarters were located. I pulled over to the curb and tried to Google the name from my phone, but the signal wasn’t strong enough and I didn’t have the patience to wait. I called Rosencrantz back. He was still eating.
“What’s the address over there. I tried the Google and it wouldn’t come up. I don’t know where I’m going.”
“You know,” Rosie said, “I’m not exactly sure. Donatti drove. I was sleeping.”
“Well, find someone and ask will you?”
“Don’t need to. I’m standing right next to his secretary.” Then obviously to someone else I heard him say “Ouch, hey, that’s assault on a police officer. Okay, okay.” Then, back to me he said, “What I meant to say was, I’m standing right next to his executive assistant. Then a few seconds later: “Okay, Jonesy, got a pen?”
* * *
City traffic. A slow drive to the bank. I spoke with my dad on the drive over. Together my father and I own a downtown Jamaican bar called Jonesy’s. “Listen pops, I’m going to be tied up tonight, if you’ve been watching the news.”
“Can’t miss it,” Mason said. “Nothing else on.”
I try to work as many hours as possible at the bar, but when I’m on a case, it falls to my dad to pick up the slack. “That gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it, son. I’ll see you when I see you.”
“I’ll probably be in later if I get the chance, if you’re still there. Guy’s gotta eat.”
“A guy does,” Mason said. Watch your back now.”
“No worries, Pop. No worries at all.”
* * *
A half hour later, I consulted the lobby directory, took an elevator to the fourteenth floor, and found Rosencrantz chatting up an attractive mid-forty-something woman with cat-eye glasses and big hair. She wore a conservative dark gray business suit over a thin white blouse. Doantti was across the hall and stood in front of what must have been Dugan’s office, arms crossed, a bored expression on his face. I walked up and after Rosencrantz made the introductions, he walked over and stood next to Donatti.
“So,” I said, “Ms. Brennan, on behalf of the state of Indiana, let me express my condolences regarding Mr. Dugan.
“Please, call me Margery. And thank you. Why don’t we sit.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just walked around the corner to a small conference room. I followed her into the room and discovered Rosie was right. Someone had ordered catering, and quite a lot of it at that. I pulled out a chair, popped a shrimp in my mouth and sat down. The shrimp was good.
Great, in fact….
* * *
Once we were settled: “So, Margery, about Mr. Dugan. I’d like to get a little background on him and I’m thinking you’re probably the best place to start.”
Margery gave a little snort. “I don’t think it matters where you start, Detective, as I’m quite sure you’ll get the same sort of background information from anyone you speak with.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Franklin Dugan was a son of a bitch.”
Well, that was something, I thought.
“Let me guess…not really what you expected to hear, right?”
“Well, I guess not, to tell you the truth.”
Margery took a moment before her next statement. “Look, don’t get me wrong, Detective. I just don’t know how else to put it. He really was. A son of a bitch, I mean. But
everyone knew it. He even referred to himself that way. It’s just a business thing. We’re in a tough business here. People think banks, and then, you know, they think friendly tellers, warm smiles, free toasters with a new account and all that—or maybe not so much anymore, with the economy the way it’s been—but our business isn’t like that. We’re not a regular bank. We deal exclusively with religious institutions. And let me tell you something,” Margery bit into a shrimp and shook the tail at me, “These religious guys? I don’t care who they are…” She started ticking them off her fingers. “You’ve got your Catholics, your Protestants, your Methodists, your Baptists, your Lutherans, not to mention the Scientology nuts and the Mormons—who in my opinion are a whole class of nuts all by their damn self—they’re all some very tough hombres when it comes to their money. So if you’re going to lend them money—and that’s what we do—you’d better be a son of a bitch when you’re dealing with these guys or they’ll take you straight to the cleaners.” Margery dropped her chin and looked out over the top of her glasses. “All in the name of Jesus Christ, mind you.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I liked her immediately. I ate a few more shrimp and thought about what she’d said for a minute. I said, “Huh,” which made Margery giggle, which made her look about ten years younger. “What?”
“When you said ‘huh,’ you sounded just like a cop.”
“I am a cop.”
“You don’t look much like a cop. Your hair’s pretty long. You look like you should be running a bar, or something.”
I felt my mouth fall open a little, and Margery smiled. “I’m just messing with you a little. I Googled you before you got here. Your bar is sort of famous, you know. I’ve never been myself, but now I’m thinking I might have to stop by.”
“You should. We are sort of famous, in the city, anyway. So, listen—“
“It’s Google, by the way. Not the Google.
“Excuse me?”
“I could hear you on the phone when you called for the address. You called it the Google. There’s no the in there.”
“It kind of feels like we’re getting a little side-tracked, Margery.”
“That’s only because I’ve already told you everything I know. The people you really want to talk to are in the board room. The Executive Committee. They’re in an emergency session right now.”
“Well, gee, Margery, I haven’t even asked you any of the tough questions yet.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for starters, why’d you kill Dugan?”
Didn’t even phase her. “Oh, honey, I didn’t kill Franklin. He might have been a son of a bitch, but he’s been my meal ticket for over twenty years.”
“Well what are you going to do now?”
“You know, to tell you the truth, I think I’m gonna retire and lay on the beach. I’ve got a fair amount of stock, a 401K, and a husband that died and left me with a pretty fat life insurance settlement. Life’s to short to punch someone else’s clock, you know? Especially when you get to be my age.”
I popped another shrimp in my mouth. “Well, okay, lets go talk to the Board.”
“Take me to your leaders, huh?”
“Yeah, something like that.” As we walked down the hallway, I said, “Hey listen, about those shrimp. Where do you get them? They’re fantastic……
* * *
“They are fantastic, aren’t they?” Margery said. “Well, believe it or not, they’re farm raised by a couple of guys up in Elkhart. They took over on a foreclosed RV plant a year or so back, over a hundred thousand square feet of it in all, put in a bunch of tanks and heaters and whatnot and started growing shrimp. Or is it raising? Anyway, they’re doing something right because they’re the best damn shrimp I’ve ever had. You should get some for your bar.”
“I think I might….if you could get me the number. Do they deliver all the way down here?”
“Oh, honey, are you kidding me? They’re shipping these little buggers all over the country. I don’t know what the growth rate of farm raised shrimp are, but they’ve got a three month waiting list last time I checked.”
“Well, shoot. I was hoping to get some sort of quick. I’ve got a Jamaican chef who works for me. You wouldn’t believe what he can do with fresh seafood.”
“Get with me before you leave, then. I’ll see what I can do about that waiting list for you. I’m sort of friendly with one of the owners……”
CHAPTER EIGHT
We got to the end of the hall and Margery gave a single knock on a set of Mahogany double doors and stepped inside. I followed. There were four people at the far end of the room—three men and a woman—all seated in high-backed leather swivel chairs at the end of an enormous, well-polished conference table. The room was windowless and the lights were set at a low level. The man at the head of the table, a tall balding guy with bushy eyebrows and a Jay Leno chin spoke without looking up. “Margery. I was certain I made my position clear. This is an emergency session of the executive committee and we are not to be disturbed. Close the door on the way out, if you please, and leave it closed. I would prefer not to have to lock it, but if you can not or will not follow my direction, you will leave me with no other choice.”
The room was long, forty feet or so by my estimation, so I thought I could get away with it. I pulled Margery close by the elbow, lowered my voice a little and said, “I thought you said Dugan was the son of a bitch.”
Margery spoke from the side of her mouth. “I did. And he was. That’s James Marriott, absolutely no relation to the hotel Marriott’s even though that’s what he likes everyone to believe. He’s an asshole, but just the regular sort. Whatever you do, don’t call him Jim. It’s James. I’ll leave you to introduce yourself.” She gave me a pat on the shoulder. “Have fun.”
Great. I stood still for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the lighting then I walked the length of the room, pulled out a chair one spot removed from one of the men and sat down. Didn’t say a word. Just stared at the people at the table.
“Who the hell are you?” Marriott said.
They were all well dressed. Expensive suits, gold watches, sparkling jewelry, cuff links for the men, diamond earrings for the woman. In front of each of them was a leather-bound note pad with an embossed golden cross overlaid atop of a more subtle—but still visible—shining sun, with the words, Sunrise Bank at the top. Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard myself say, oh brother.
“I asked you a question, young man. I don’t like to repeat myself. Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Detective Jones, with the Indiana State Police. I’m here to speak with—“
“Well Detective,” Marriott said, “We know why you’re here, and believe me, we are happy to oblige you in any way we can, but at the moment, given every thing that has happened this morning, tragic as it is, we hope you will understand that in the immediate we are extremely busy. So thank you very much for stopping by and, I think I speak for everyone here when I say that we will be in touch at our earliest convenience.”
Wow. It was a fine effort, I had to give him that. I thought of what Margery told me…..What ever you do, don’t call him Jim. “I understand, and I can even appreciate your position, Jim. But here’s the thing—”
“It’s James,” Marriott said through his teeth. Not, Jim. James.
“Yes, well, that’s fine. James, then. So, as I was saying, the thing is, time is sort of critical for us. The quicker we can—“
“Detective, you’re not listening. The loss of Franklin this morning is going to have devastating effects on our company unless we take immediate action. Our stock is already off over fifteen percent since the opening bell an hour ago and our investors need to know—need to be assured—that our company is solid. That is what we are doing now, or rather, that is what we are trying to do. So, once again, thank you for your interest in this matter. A representative of our organization will be in touch with you and your people as soon as possible. Please clo
se the door on your way out, and take your two thugs out there with you. I have notified our security personnel to assist you and your associates to the door. Last time I checked, this is still private property on United States soil and at the moment, you are not welcome here. That will be all, Detective. Good day.”
Thank you for your interest? “Just out of curiosity, Jimbo, how many of your security staff did you call?”
Marriott’s jaw was clenched, and he hissed through his teeth. “I will not tolerate your blatant disrespect of me and this organiza—”
“How many?” I asked again.
“Six,” Marriott said, his voice smug. “Two for each of you.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the papers that Rosencrantz had given me and slid them across the table to Marriott. “That’s a search warrant. It allows us access to this building, your offices, your computers, files, and just about anything else we want or need to look at. Your offices are now part of a crime scene in an on-going investigation. I suggest you forget about your stock for a few minutes, Jim, and start assisting us with our job.”
Marriott ignored the warrant I’d slid across the table. “Who is your supervisor, young man? I want to speak with them immediately.”
“I work for the state, Jim. I already told you that. My boss is Cora LaRue. You’ve probably never heard of her. A lot of people haven’t. But her boss is Governor Hewitt McConnell. I know you’ve heard of him. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, the Governor is a past board member of your institution and currently serves as the lead member of your Council of Advisors. As I understand it, the council is there to advise the board. Do I have that right, Jim?”
Voodoo Daddy (A Virgil Jones Mystery) Page 5
