“Yes?”
“Catrina Flaherty? This is Detective Wainwright of the San Bernardino Sheriff’s Department.”
“Detective. Yes, I remember you.” Catrina reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a yellow legal pad. She rummaged around for an ink pen. “Do you have news for me?”
“Yes. We found a body of a middle-aged man in the desert. Actually, some hikers came across it.”
“Randall?” Catrina asked. Could her quest be at an end?
“It’s really hard to say.”
Catrina’s heart stopped.
“The body was burned. Animals scattered the bones. Most of the teeth were missing. The fire destroyed any chance of identifying the body through fingerprints or dental records.”
“Crap. That doesn’t help much. What about DNA? You can get DNA from the bones can’t you?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“It isn’t going to be easy. The fire pretty much destroyed any chance of getting DNA from the big bones. As I said, the bones were pretty scattered. The best way to find DNA after a fire is in the small bones, fingers, toes, etc. The coyotes must have gotten them. We haven’t recovered any yet.”
“Jeez.” Catrina threw her pen down on the desk. “Where does that leave us?”
“We did find one tooth. A molar. The lab boys will take a shot at it. They might be able to recover enough DNA to ID the body.”
“Let’s hope. How long will that take?”
“C’mon, Mrs. Flaherty. You’ve been in the business. You know the real world isn’t like it is on TV. This isn’t Law and Order or CSI. If they can even extract any DNA, it will take at least a couple of weeks to determine an identity. That is, if we can find a match. I’ve asked the Seattle Police to get us a DNA sample we can compare to.”
“You can’t hurry it up any more?” Catrina wanted to know now.
“I’m afraid this isn’t a high-priority case. It will have to go through the same process all of our other cases go through. The sheriff isn’t going to pay the lab extra to expedite it.”
“I get that, but two weeks?” Catrina leaned forward onto her desk.
“There are some three hundred and fifty tests that have to be done to establish identity. If this is a homicide then we need evidence we can take to court. We need one hundred percent certainty.”
“Okay. I get it. Thank you for calling me. Let me know when you have something.”
“Oh, Mrs. Flaherty, there’s something else.”
“Yes?”
“There was a bullet hole in the skull.”
“What?”
“Yeah. The vic was shot. Then someone moved the body. We didn’t find any traces of blood. And they set it on fire. Used gasoline or some other accelerant. They didn’t want this body identified.”
****
Catrina pulled her Explorer into the parking lot next to the Anderson & Associates building in Kent. The gray sky matched her mood. She wasn’t quite sure why she felt compelled to report to Anderson. He wasn’t her client.
“Catrina Flaherty for Mr. Anderson,” she said as she entered the doorway.
“You can go right back, Mrs. Flaherty,” the receptionist said. “Mr. Anderson is expecting you.”
Dan Anderson met Catrina halfway down the hallway. “Catrina, good to see you again. So soon.”
He was dressed in his standard business casual, tan Dockers, a tan turtle neck and a camel hair blazer.
He is sure a good looking man, Catrina thought. “Dan.” Catrina said and extended her hand.
Anderson led her into his office. “What can I do for you today?”
“I’m not really sure,” Catrina said, seating herself. “I have news on the Randall case and I can’t report to your sister. I guess I’m reporting to you instead.”
The dark stained arm chairs matched Anderson’s dark oak desk.
“News?” Anderson leaned forward in his chair. His eyes blinked rapidly. “Are you still working on that? I thought you dropped the case.”
“Not by a long shot.” Catrina pulled her notebook from her purse. “I got a call from the San Bernardino Sheriff’s department. They found remains in the desert.”
“Oh God. It’s really him isn’t it?” Anderson seemed to let out a sigh of relief. “I mean, he didn’t just fake his death. He’s gone.”
“They don’t know if it’s Dick yet.” Did Anderson look surprised? “There was a bullet hole in the skull.”
Anderson’s hand went to his chin. “I knew it. I told you. It was the Mafia. He was laundering money and must have crossed them.”
“There’s no evidence that it was the Mafia, or anyone else.” Catrina crossed her legs. “Why would you suspect it was a Mafia hit?”
Anderson tossed his hands in the air. “Who else could it be? I knew Dick was in over his head.”
Anderson’s eyes flitted around the room, looking anywhere but at Catrina.
“Will this clear Karen?” Anderson asked.
“I don’t see how,” Catrina said. “Karen doesn’t have an alibi. If the body they found was Dick’s, Karen could just as easily have killed him as anyone else.”
“No. She couldn’t have done it. She doesn’t have it in her. Listen, Catrina, why don’t you just drop the case. They’ve found his body. Karen isn’t here now. She’s taken a powder. You don’t really have a client. Let the police handle it. I’m sure they’re very competent.”
“What if Karen doesn’t come back?” Catrina’s voice dropped. “What if something happened to her too?”
“No. No. She’ll be back.” Anderson grabbed the edge of his desk with both hands. “Like I said, she’s a drama queen. When the dust settles, she’ll come prancing back in like a conquering hero.”
“Why are you so interested in my dropping the case, Mr. Anderson?”
“Dan. Please. I’m just looking out for my sister. She’s not really very smart with her money. She must be spending a boatload on this. Now that the police have found the body, why don’t you just call it a day? Let Karen collect the insurance money and we can all go home happy. You don’t think there’ll be any problem with the insurance company, do you?”
He seems awfully interested in the insurance money.
“That all depends. If the police rule that it was Dick and if they can’t pin the crime on Karen then she should be able to collect. If they indict Karen, if they can prove that she had anything to do with Dick’s murder then she wouldn’t get a thing.”
“Well, they can’t prove anything. I mean, Karen didn’t have anything to do with it. The insurance has to pay off.”
“Why are you so worried about the insurance?”
“She’s my little sister. I need to look out for her. I’m a money guy. I know what’s important. If she collects the insurance, she’ll be set for the rest of her life.”
“Um-hm.” Catrina looked at her notebook.”Did you know that Dick had a cabin on Camano Island?”
“Uh... no. I mean yes. I mean, I knew he bought some property up there a few years ago. I’ve never seen it though. Why?”
“Dan, where were you last night. Say, between six and nine pm?”
Anderson looked like he’d been sucker punched. “Ah, let’s see.” His eyes flitted around again. “Here, I was right here. I worked late.”
Catrina made a note in her book. “I see. Can anyone verify that?”
Anderson’s eyes rolled up. “Uh… No. I was alone. I mean everyone had gone home by then.”
“That shouldn’t be much of a problem.” Catrina smiled at Anderson. “My partner, Ted, can look at a file and tell when it was last opened. You wouldn’t mind, would you, if Ted took a look at your computer files? It would help clear you.”
“Clear me of what?” Anderson’s breathing became quick and shallow.
“Oh, we had a little incident last night. Someone tried to blow my partner up.”
“Oh God. Tried? Is he okay?”
“He’s f
ine. They didn’t do a very good job of it.”
For just a second, a look of surprise passed Anderson’s face. “Well, I, uh... didn’t open any files. I didn’t use my computer.”
“What were you doing in your office all that time then?”
“I was studying. For my continuing education credits. I was reading from books and magazines.”
****
Catrina climbed into her Explorer and headed north on the East Valley Highway back to Seattle. The radio blasted her favorite 80’s rock station.
Something wasn’t quite right with Dan Anderson. Was he really just a concerned brother?
Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the display on her radio. It read “Joyce Lovejoy.”
The insurance investigator. Why would she be calling?
Catrina pushed the button on her phone. “Hello. Catrina Flaherty.”
“Hi, Catrina, this is Joyce Lovejoy with American Life. We met in Las Vegas a couple weeks ago.” Joyce’s voice came over the stereo speakers.
“Joyce, yes. How are you?”
“I’m doing fine. I’m calling because there’s something that’s bothering me about the Randall case. You’re still investigating it, aren’t you?”
The Kent Valley countryside slipped past Catrina’s windows. Farms with cows and sheep interspersed with warehouses and factories.
“Yes, I just left a meeting with his brother-in-law.”
“That’s why I’m calling,” Joyce said. “I’ve gotten several calls from Mr. Anderson. He seems awfully interested in a policy he isn’t a beneficiary on.”
“What kind of calls?” Catrina asked.
“First he wanted to know if the policy was double indemnity. Then he keeps asking how the investigation is going. There’s a lot of money involved here, so I understand the interest. But why is he calling me? Why isn’t Mrs. Randall calling?”
“Maybe he’s just looking out for his sister’s interests. Is it that unusual for a relative to be calling you?” Catrina merged onto I-405 to take her north to town. The countryside changed to shopping malls and office buildings.
“Yes. As the investigator, I hardly have any contact with the beneficiaries. I do my job, fill out a report and turn it in to the underwriters. They make the final decisions. No one ever tried to influence my investigations before.”
Why would Anderson try to influence the insurance investigator? The money, of course. He was awfully interested in the insurance policy when they spoke. But what difference would it make? They would need a body to prove that Randall was dead then they would need for Karen not to be charged with the murder. But even so, Anderson wouldn’t get a penny. It was all Karen’s money.
“You said something about double indemnity?” Catrina asked.
“Yes. Mr. Anderson asked about the policy’s double indemnity clause.”
“And what exactly is that?”
“Mr. Randall purchased a double indemnity clause with this policy that pays out double if he is the victim of an accident or is murdered. If the police prove a homicide, the policy will pay out two million dollars.”
“Whew! The plot thickens.”
“I was wondering, since you’re on the location there in Seattle, if you could do a little digging for me. I’ll pay the going rate. I need to know more about this Mr. Anderson. I’m sure you’re already looking at him.”
I-405 merged with I-5 and Catrina moved into heavier traffic. Traffic always sucked at this time of day.
“What do you need to know? I just left a meeting with him.”
“I just want your impressions. Do you think Mr. Anderson might be capable of harming his brother-in-law? Does he have a gun permit? Does he have any criminal record?”
“A gun permit? You must have heard from the San Bernardino Sheriff’s office.”
“I have my sources.”
“I’ll dig into it. I’ll get back to you in a day or so.”
Catrina hung up the phone and pulled off the freeway at the Madison Street exit.
Was Anderson capable of murder? They had a body now, well, at least some bones. It would take a couple of weeks to determine if it was Randall, but could Anderson have popped him? For what reason? What was his motive?
Sure, his sister would come into a lot of money, but how would that help Anderson? Would he kill someone just to help out his sister?
Catrina found a parking space in the same block as Jerry’s Gym, an occurrence that almost never happened. The parking gods were smiling on her.
She needed to think. She did her best thinking banging away at a punching bag.
Catrina changed into her workout clothes in Jenny’s office, hung her bag and started lightly tapping away.
Anderson asked her to drop the case. Why? Why should he care? Was he afraid of what she might find out? Did he think she would learn something the police wouldn’t? And what about the bones they’d found in the desert? Were they Randall’s? Was he dead or was this another dead end?
The physical exercise let her mind run free. Something was bothering her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Anderson. Something was wrong there. She went back over their conversation. Then it hit her. The bomb threat she received at her office flashed back into her mind.
“Just listen,” the caller had said. “I’m telling you to drop the Randall case. It’s not good for your health. As a matter of fact, to prove my point, I suggest that you evacuate your building.”
Drop the Randall case. Wasn’t that what Anderson had been asking her to do? That couldn’t be a coincidence.
She knew what she had to do. She began formulating her plan for tomorrow.
The time flew by. Before she knew it, she was covered in sweat and exhausted, hungry too. She had some leftover lasagna in the fridge that would be perfect. Her mind was racing. A shower and a glass of iced tea would put her to sorts.
She gathered her things and headed to her car. It was a short drive to her Capitol Hill home. She pulled into her driveway, picked up her purse and gym bag and climbed out of the Explorer.
She didn’t hear the shot. She didn’t know what hit her. She didn’t have time to react. Something smashed into her chest, throwing her back against her car. She slumped to the ground.
She put her hand over the hole in her chest, felt the flow of blood into her hand then passed out.
Chapter 24
The fake ID had worked well for him in Key West. It worked just as well in the Bahamas.
Clayton found a dive bar near the waterfront. It wasn’t one of those fancy tourist places, it was the kind of place where a person could disappear. The open windows and thatched roof made him feel like it was outside. Smoke clung to the rafters under the thatch and Bob Marley played on the juke box.
A few men, most likely fishermen, crowded around tables and two pretty girls swayed to Marley’s tunes.
Just his kind of place.
Clayton made his way to the bar and took an empty seat. The tall, skinny bartender looked towards him for a moment then went on about his business, as if to say “You’re not important.”
Clayton grabbed a stale pretzel from the bowl on the bar and waited. Eventually the bartender came over.
“You got ID, mon?” the bartender asked.
Clayton flashed his million dollar smile. “Thanks, man. I never get tired of being carded. I guess I’ve just got a baby face.”
No one would really think he was a minor anyway. With his size and movie star good looks, it was easy to pass for twenty-one.
He reached in his pocket for his wallet, removed the Florida driver’s license and handed it to the bartender.
The skinny black man studied the card. It said Clayton was twenty-nine. What twenty-nine year old wouldn’t be delighted at being carded?
“You’re just fishin’ for a bigger tip,” Clayton said. “Save it for the women.”
The bartender held the card up and looked back and forth from it to Clayton’s face.
Trouble?
“What can I get you, suh?” the bartender asked.
“Beer.”
The bartender handed the drivers license back to Clayton and turned to the bar and returned with a cold bottle in his hand.
Clayton took a long draw and turned to face the room then leaned back with his elbows on the bar and took in his surroundings.
The bar was pretty sketch. Like something out of an Indiana Jones movie. Big black men sat at the tables with their sleeves rolled up, wearing sea boots. A handwritten menu hung slightly off level from the wall announcing the day’s fares. It was all fish.
Don’t these people ever get tired of fish? Clayton thought.
The bartender nodded his head to one of the dancing girls. She sidled up to the bar.
A moment later, she walked over to Clayton.
“Is this seat taken?” she asked as she pointed to the stool next to him.
“No, go ahead.” She was a beauty. With shiny black skin, long dark hair and eyes like coal. She wore a loose floral-print dress and a gold cross around her neck.
Clayton was so taken by the dark beauty he didn’t notice the bartender pick up the telephone.
“You not from around here?” she asked.
“No.”
“You here to fish?”
He grabbed a handful of the stale pretzels. “No. I’m a writer. I’m here to work on my book.”
“You hear that, mon?” She turned to the bartender. “He says he’ a writermon.” She turned back to Clayton. “What you write?”
“I’m working on a book about a kid who takes on The Man and wins.”
“You want to dance, writermon?”
Clayton shook his head. “I’m not much of a dancer.”
“You come with me.” She took his hands in hers and dragged him onto the dance floor.
Jimmy Buffet sang about Margaritaville.
She started to sway. He watched her hips move to the rhythm of the music. Her hands were almost hypnotic. He started to shuffle his feet and move his hands.
He was lost. Time had no meaning. Song after song played. He couldn’t take is eyes off of her. The way she moved in time with the music, her bones seemed to melt.
Bikini Baristas: Ted Higuera Series Book 4 Page 24
