by Sandra Balzo
‘Does that help?’ Amy asked after a moment.
‘It answers my question but still gives Lynne half an hour to drive the five minutes to her husband’s office.’
‘And push him out of a window? Why would she do that?’
‘Exterminating a louse?’ Sarah was leaning against the door jamb.
‘But as Lynne keeps pointing out, she was in the process of divorcing the louse,’ I argued for the defense. ‘She didn’t have to kill him.’
Sarah came farther into the room. ‘Even our black widow admits death is cheaper than divorce. Especially when you add in the cost basis thing.’
‘Cost basis?’ Amy asked.
‘When you sell something,’ I said, willing to share what little I knew, ‘you have to pay tax on your profit. That profit is the difference between what you spent for the property, called the cost basis, and what you got when you sold it.’
‘Minus improvements,’ Sarah, the former real estate broker injected. ‘But forget about that for now. What’s important is that if you inherit property the basis isn’t what was originally paid for it but what it was worth when the owner died.’
‘Even a spouse?’ Amy asked, her face lighting up.
‘Bingo.’ It seemed as though Sarah had been doing her research. ‘And I’m betting Lynne Swope was already calculating just how much she’ll save on taxes next year when she brought it up on Friday.’
‘But Lynne was talking about my brother at the time,’ I reminded my partner.
‘Whose stash was cash. Don’t you get it?’ Sarah was now leaning, both hands on the desk. ‘It was in Swope’s head at the time because she’d been thinking about doing away with hubby instead of divorcing him. She had it planned the whole while.’
‘But the news said the Swopes were “in the midst of a divorce,”’ Amy said. ‘So she had filed.’
I really had to ask Amy what news app she used. ‘Exactly. Why even start divorce proceedings if you planned on killing the guy?’
‘It is kind of a red flag,’ Sarah admitted.
‘Red flag for who?’ Amy asked.
‘The detectives,’ I said. ‘They always suspect the spouse, so Sarah means why would Lynne give them even more reason? Why not just pretend everything was fine in the marriage and then kill him?’
My partner wasn’t willing to discard a perfectly good theory yet. ‘Because Swope didn’t have a history of depression or any other condition that suggested he’d do himself in. If Lynne wanted it to look like a suicide she had to provide a reason.’
‘And divorce did that,’ Amy said, nodding.
I was mulling it over. ‘Ted’s kicking William out of the practice might have sufficed but Lynne wouldn’t have been able to predict that was going to happen.’
‘Exactly,’ Sarah said. ‘Maybe that’s why she tried to stop the papers from being served. A viable reason for the guy to take the final leap dropped into her lap. No reason to dirty everything up with divorce.’
Did Sarah have a point? Could Lynne have been upset about Ginny’s coming home not because of the divorce notice but because she was planning to kill William that night and didn’t want her daughter in the middle of it? Only problem was: ‘Lynne was on the phone trying to call off the server when we walked into her office that afternoon. Before Ted went ballistic.’
‘We only have her word for that,’ Sarah said. ‘The woman could have been ordering pizza for all we know.’
True. Just because Lynne said it didn’t necessarily make it true. I already was going in circles, so thought I might as well take a drive.
TWENTY-EIGHT
My shift might be over but I had no intention of going home. First stop, the Morrison.
Stephen Slattery was outside on the circle drive, supervising the placement of a bronze plaque.
‘The Morrison by Slattery,’ I read.
He turned. ‘Maggy! Great to see you.’
‘Same here,’ I said, returning his hug. ‘I’m glad to see you’re keeping the name.’
‘The Morrison has been a destination for visitors for nearly a hundred years. You don’t mess with that if you’re smart.’
‘And you’re smart.’ I stepped back to get a better view of where workers were setting up scaffolding on the east side of the stone building. ‘Though it’s been looking shabby for the last ten.’
‘The upkeep of a building like this is nonstop. The owner got behind when money got tight and once that happens it’s nearly impossible to catch up.’
‘Without a huge injection of cash,’ I added. ‘Which the Slatterys have.’
Stephen grinned, his dark eyes sparkling. ‘Don’t hate the money, Maggy. Love what can be done with it.’
I laughed. ‘Is that your new mantra? When we last spoke you weren’t quite so philosophical.’ Stephen’s relationship with his parents could be tense.
‘Keeps me sane,’ he said. ‘That and being here instead of at the Arms in downtown Milwaukee.’
‘Your folks don’t often make the fifteen-mile trip west?’
Stephen indicated I should go ahead of him through the heavy double doors. ‘They’re east-siders. To them, going to Brookhills is—’
‘Slumming?’
‘More like unnecessary. They do appreciate the grand dame, though.’ He swept his arms wide as he stepped into the lobby.
Though the burgundy and gold rugs had faded and the flocked wallpaper was loosening a bit, the three-story lobby of the Morrison was still awe-inspiring. ‘“Grand dame” is the perfect term for this place. Are all hotels women?’
Another grin. ‘Only the good ones. So what brings you here today?’
‘Being nosy. What else?’
‘I was hoping you’d missed me.’ The eyes were intent on mine now. ‘Still seeing the sheriff, I take it?’
The glow I’d felt at the first sentence – at least somebody was attracted by me – was dampened by the second.
Stephen must have seen it on my face. ‘Did I say something—’
I waved it off. ‘No, it’s not you. Pavlik and I broke up and it’s still kind of fresh.’
‘How fresh?’
‘Like twenty-four hours fresh.’
‘Ouch.’ He put his hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. You want to sit down? Have coffee or something?’ He gestured toward the café in the back corner of the lobby.
‘Thanks, but a raincheck, maybe?’ Though judging by Rita Pahlke’s opinion of the Morrison’s coffee we’d best do it at Uncommon Grounds. ‘I need to run by Ted’s office this afternoon too.’
‘OK.’ He still looked penitent.
I liked that in a man. ‘But can you do me a favor and confirm that a couple guests are staying here?’
Apparently he wasn’t penitent enough. ‘That’s not really what we do, you know. Privacy and all?’
‘Would it help if I said they’re both possible suspects in a homicide investigation?’
‘Does that mean we can expect the sheriff?’ He held up his hands. ‘Not that he’s not a perfectly nice guy.’
‘Hey, I don’t want to see him anymore than you do.’ I wasn’t above using my break-up with Pavlik to get what I wanted. ‘So if you can just confirm that Rita Pahlke and Clay Tartare are staying here, I can be on my way. Maybe even head off the sheriff’s deputies.’
It was a bald-faced lie but Stephen bought it. He really was too good for me. ‘They are both guests, though separately, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
It wasn’t, but it was good to know. ‘So two rooms. Could you check to see when they arrived and for how long?’
‘The same day, I think – Friday.’ He sat down at the concierge desk and tapped the computer. ‘Actually, I’m wrong. Ms Pahlke arrived on Thursday and Mr Tartare on Friday for just one night.’ Another couple of key taps. ‘Though he extended that.’
‘So Clay is still here?’
Stephen nodded. ‘Until tomorrow. Both of them.’
‘I’d like to talk to
Clay Tartare.’ I gestured at the red phone on the desk. ‘Is that a house phone?’
‘It is,’ Stephen said. ‘Do you want—’ He interrupted himself. ‘There’s Mr Tartare now.’
I turned and saw the tall man getting off the elevator. I gave Stephen a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank you and call me, OK? For coffee?’
He smiled. ‘Better yet, wine. Which I recall is your beverage of choice.’
‘Amen to that.’ I hurried away and caught Tartare at the front door. ‘Clay?’
He turned. ‘Maggy, right?’
‘Right.’ I stuck out my hand. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk on Friday. I know Ted is very grateful that you let him know what was going on.’
He shook my hand. ‘Going on?’
With William and your office and all.’ Admittedly, it was a little weak. ‘Can I buy you a cup of coffee?’
Tartare hesitated, then, ‘Sure – why not?’
Why not, indeed.
The coffee, when we were finally waited on, was as awful as I’d been led to believe.
I stirred the second of two creamers into the murky brew. ‘I assume you’ve heard that William’s death wasn’t suicide?’
‘Detective Taylor called to tell me.’
That, in itself, was interesting. I’d been one of the first to find William but nobody had told me anything. ‘Are you a suspect?’
‘I hope not, though obviously I had reason to be angry with William.’
‘But his death isn’t going to end the investigation – which I assume is being done by the dental board?’
‘Correct on both counts.’
‘So you could lose your license.’
Tartare met my eyes. ‘Overbilling and suspected prescription drug abuse. It doesn’t get much worse.’
He had that right. ‘Ted told me about the upcoding. What kind of prescription drugs are we talking about?’
‘Painkillers that we prescribed in the office – things like Vicodin and Percocet.’
I’d been the wife of a dentist long enough to know that drug abuse is a real problem among dentists and medical professionals in general. ‘William was on painkillers for his back. Was he prescribing for himself?’
‘Too risky,’ Tartare said. ‘From what I’ve been told these were real patients and legitimate prescriptions. Swope would send the script to the pharmacy in our building to be filled while he finished up with the patient.’
‘Your pharmacy was dirty, too?’
‘I don’t think so. But William arranged to have the pills delivered to the office for the patients to pick up at the front desk as they left.’
‘The medication you prescribed as well?’
‘Unfortunately. He had me convinced it was providing a service to our clients. All very convenient until the supposed narcotic painkiller wasn’t as effective as simple acetaminophen or ibuprofen.’
‘He switched them out?’
‘That’s my theory. There were also some forged prescriptions but I think that was his daughter’s work. William wouldn’t have been that stupid.’
‘Ginny.’ It fit with my theory she’d been up to no good in the dark dental office.
‘Whole damn family is nuts,’ Tartare said, staring into his untouched coffee.
‘Including Lynne?’ I asked.
‘Especially Lynne. And I’m not just saying that because she dumped me, which I’m sure you know all about.’ Now Tartare was looking me straight in the eyes.
I could feel my color rise. ‘Yeah, well, maybe I heard something.’
‘And it’s true.’ He stood. ‘But I realized very quickly that I was the lucky one.’
‘Lucky?’
‘Sure,’ he said, picking up the coffee-spotted check. ‘I’m still alive, aren’t I?’
TWENTY-NINE
Clay Tartare’s trashing of Lynne had been a surprise.
But by the time I got to Ted’s office I realized that Tartare had said exactly what you’d expect if he and Lynne were involved. Far smarter, of course, than declaring undying love for the widow.
While Thorsen Dental wasn’t open, the rest of the building was and the parking lot was half full. Parking next to Ted’s Miata, I waved to the worker mowing the lawn and rounded the corner on the sidewalk before detouring onto the grass. The spot where William’s body had lain was newly mown, only the knotted remains of yellow tape and a few small pieces of glass marking the scene.
Continuing to the front entrance, I took the elevators up to ten. Thorsen Dental was dark beyond the rippled frosted glass sidelights, the door closed and locked.
I didn’t expect an answer when I rapped and I wasn’t disappointed. Pulling out my phone, I punched up Ted’s number and waited.
A click. ‘He didn’t want to go to school. What was I supposed to do, tie him up and throw him in the trunk?’
‘Nice greeting,’ I said into the phone. ‘And I’m not here to scold you.’
‘Here where?’
‘Outside the office door. Open up.’
Getting no immediate answer, I realized Ted was weighing his options.
‘I parked next to your car,’ I told him. ‘No use pretending you’re somewhere else.’
A clunk from inside the office was followed by an expletive.
Finally, Ted opened up. He was rubbing his knee.
‘You might want to turn the lights on.’ I pushed the switch by the door and nothing happened.
‘Diane turns the main power off when she leaves.’
‘And you can’t turn it back on?’ I reached through the reception window to the main switch and flipped it.
Ted blinked against the light. ‘I didn’t want visitors. For all the good it did me.’
‘Sorry. But your son and your deceased partner’s daughter showed up at my workplace wanting me to help prove that my financial advisor didn’t kill said deceased partner.’
Ted sighed and in apparent surrender waved for me to follow him back to his office.
‘Convoluted but right up your dark alley, I would think.’ He sat.
I followed suit. ‘I’m trying to quit getting sucked into these things. For all the good that’s doing me so far.’
‘What? No more stumbling over bodies, no more sleuthing?’ Ted pulled a patient file toward him and flopped it open, no doubt in an effort to appear too busy to talk.
The gesture reminded me of Pavlik the last couple of times I’d been in his office. ‘Not if I can help it. I don’t see a way out of this one, though, so stop acting like you have better things to do and help me.’
‘Why do you need my help?’ He slapped the file folder closed. ‘The sheriff must have told you Swope’s death wasn’t a suicide. You couldn’t have warned me an apparent homicide took place in my building?’
Since I wasn’t about to tell him about my break with the sheriff, I just said, ‘I didn’t know either until an hour ago. Are your building tenants freaking?’
‘People want to feel safe. Somebody being pushed out a window is bad on two counts: one,’ Ted held up an index finger, ‘whoever did it is still out there. And two,’ his middle finger joined in, ‘the glass must break pretty damn easily.’ He shot a wary glance toward the big pane in his own office.
‘I’m not sure it was that easily,’ I said. ‘There was an oxygen tank on the ground near William’s body. If his death had been a suicide, I’d assume he used it to break the glass before he jumped. Now I’m thinking it was the murder weapon, or at least what sent William out of the window to break his neck ten stories below.’
Ted chewed on that. ‘The tank was from the nitrous cart we found in his office.’
I was picturing the thing: two cylinders on a cart with tubing that connected to the piece that goes over the patient’s nose. One tank – the oxygen – would be green. The nitrous oxide tank was blue. ‘Why would it be in an office? It’s used in the treatment rooms, isn’t it?’
‘That’s what I told the investigators when they a
sked.’ Ted was eyeing me suspiciously. ‘What’s going on? Why are you brainstorming with me?’
‘It happened here in your building. I think you have a stake in all this and should be involved.’
We might be divorced but I’d been married to the man for nearly twenty years. Ted wasn’t buying it. ‘Right.’
I surrendered. ‘Pavlik and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.’
To his credit, my ex didn’t gloat. He even seemed to feel bad for me. ‘I’m sorry, Maggy. I know you cared for him.’
‘Thank you.’ I was trying to be as mature as Ted. ‘We had … professional differences.’
A moment of puzzlement. ‘I see.’
‘So anyway,’ I continued, ‘why do you think the cart was in William’s office?’
‘If I had to guess I’d say he was out of prescription drugs to abuse and taking the edge off with the nitrous.’
‘So you knew he was an addict?’
Ted shrugged. ‘It fits. The back pain he’d bring up sporadically but always using the same words—’
‘College lacrosse injury.’
‘Exactly. He said it to you?’
I nodded. ‘That night on the porch when he got up from the chair.’
‘Yet he asked me to help him move his new desk and didn’t seem to feel a twinge. And then there were his eyes.’
‘What about them?’
‘I knew he was on painkillers so it wasn’t surprising his pupils were nearly pinpoints, especially with all the light in here.’ He swept his hand toward the window. ‘But it seemed constant. And then there was the B12.’
‘A vitamin?’ It seemed like a reach.
But Ted surprised me. ‘Regular nitrous oxide use – or abuse – lowers your body’s ability to utilize B12 so abusers often take a supplement. Wisely, I might add.’
‘Is nitrous oxide dangerous otherwise?’ I asked. ‘Beyond the vitamin deficiency, I mean?’
‘It can be. For our use with patients, it’s combined with oxygen. That’s why there are two tanks on the nitrous cart. But kids get hold of it in whippets—’
‘What’s that?’ I interrupted.
‘The small canisters used to charge whipped cream and stuff in professional kitchens. Nitrous’ effect is short, so you have to inhale repeatedly. Without the oxygen mix the brain can be deprived of oxygen.’
