Palm Beach Pretenders

by Tom Turner

  “I doubt it,” Janice said. “I don’t think he knew the guy. They went to different schools, and Rich was older.”

  “Well, thank you,” Crawford said. Then to Figueroa, “On another subject, Arnie Stoller told us that you and he split the management of Paul and Mindy’s money. His sense was that you have around fifty million dollars under management. Is that about right?”

  Figueroa shot a glance at Janice, then swung right back to Crawford. “Yes, that’s about right, I’d say. Not that I check it every day.”

  “Understand,” Crawford said, then to Janice. “So that’s all your mother’s money now?”

  Janice shrugged. “I assume so,” she said, her hand on her forehead. “I’ve never seen my father’s will.”

  “As far as Robert Polk, Xavier Duke, and Duane Truax go, why do you suspect them, Ms….Bartholomew?”

  “I’ll tell you why: Duane, because he thought he was going to get Carla’s money, though I bet Addison would fight that in court. Robert Polk, because he’s been chasing Carla for years and she humiliated him a couple of times at the wedding—”

  “Yeah, he was really furious, you could tell,” Figueroa added.

  Crawford shot a look at Ott, whose eyebrows were arched.

  “And Xavier Duke because…because he’s a lowlife,” Janice said.

  Crawford held up his hand. “One at a time, please. We know about Duane being the possible beneficiary of Carla’s money, but how did Addison intend to block that?”

  Janice fielded the question. “Because Carla had started a divorce action, I heard, which stated that Duane was not going to get a cent of hers. So, it was down on paper. His money from racing was his; her money from acting was hers.”

  “Okay, and you said Polk was ‘furious?’” Crawford asked Figueroa. “How did you know that?”

  “Addison told me,” Janice answered for her husband. “She said Carla was really nasty to him. A rich guy like Polk isn’t used to that.”

  Figueroa was nodding. “I noticed Carla treating him like a dog a couple of times. I kind of felt sorry for him.”

  “Except it’s hard to feel sorry for a billionaire,” Janice said. “I wondered why Carla wanted him at the wedding in the first place.”

  “So you’re saying Carla asked her sister to invite Polk to the wedding?” Ott asked.

  “As I understand it,” Janice said. “Ever notice how he looks like a mole?”

  Ott shrugged. “I don’t know, I haven’t had the privilege of meeting the man yet.”

  “Trust me,” Janice said. “It’s no privilege.”

  “But do you really think Polk might have followed your father and Carla down to the pool and shot them?” Crawford asked.

  “Well, I think he could have. Absolutely,” Janice said. “Have you done your homework on him?”

  “You mean about being a hunter?” Crawford asked.

  “Yeah, exactly. I mean most people think of him as just a rich businessman and that’s all,” Janice said. “But back when he was younger, I guess before it became unfashionable to kill animals in Africa, he was like this great white hunter. Someone told me he’s got a trophy room full of lions and tigers and every other dead animal known to man.”

  “Yes, but we’re talking about executing two human beings in cold blood,” Ott said.

  Janice raised an eyebrow at Ott. “You said you haven’t met him yet, so I’ll tell you, he’s a cold-blooded man.”

  Crawford glanced at Ott, then back at Janice. “Okay, so tell us what you know about Xavier Duke, please.”

  Janice sighed and looked out the window. “To be honest, I don’t know much about Xavier Duke. I just heard somewhere that his movies were financed by the mafia.”

  “But is it safe to say that falls more in the ‘hearsay’ department, Ms. Bartholomew?” Crawford asked.

  “Yeah, I suppose it is,” Janice said. “But I’m sure you’re checking him out anyway.”

  Crawford nodded and glanced over at Ott, who gave him a look that said he was all out of questions.

  “Well,” Crawford said, getting to his feet and taking out his wallet, “we appreciate you taking time to meet with us.” He handed Janice and Figueroa a card. “If you think of anything else, please give us a call.”

  Ott met Janice’s eyes. “We’ll let you know when we have something,” he said. “By the way, just curious, but your receptionist mentioned that ‘Bartholomew’ was your professional name. What profession are you in?”

  “I’m an interior decorator,” Janice said, turning to her husband. “I didn’t exactly think Pawlichuk or Figueroa were names that had the panache of, say, Sister Parish or Mario Buatta.”

  Ott laughed. “I’m guessing those are famous interior decorators,” Ott said. “Football players are one thing, decorators…um, not so much.”

  * * *

  Crawford and Ott walked back to the parking lot. Off in the distance, Crawford spotted a large, shiny, midnight-blue automobile with a license plate that caught his attention. It was noticeably larger and shinier than anything else in the lot. He walked over to it.

  He turned to Ott a few feet behind him. “And who do you think JPF might be?”

  Ott smiled. “I got a pretty good idea.”

  “You’re a car guy,” Crawford said. “How much does that thing go for?”

  Ott walked up to it. “Well, that my friend is not just any old Bentley, but a Bentley Mulsanne.” Ott licked his lips. “530-horsepower V8. Zero to sixty in four point one seconds. You could drive that sucker into your garage for a mere…three hundred thirty thousand. Oops, sorry I forgot, you don’t have a garage.”

  “Get out of here! Three hundred thirty thousand?”

  “Yeah. If you really hondled the dealer, maybe three twenty-five.”

  Crawford turned and walked back to the Crown Vic in a daze. He reached for the door handle. “And this. What could we get for this old beauty?”

  “The Vic? Maybe eighteen K,” Ott said. “If we detailed it first.”

  Crawford shook his head in amazement. “Ol’ Janice has got some seriously expensive tastes.”

  “No shit,” Ott said, turning the key. “By the way, has there ever been a more bullshit word than panache?”

  “Yeah, iconic,” Crawford said, without hesitation.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Everything’s iconic these days,” Crawford said. “The iconic film director, the iconic vacuum cleaner, the iconic breakfast cereal…I mean, shit, enough.”

  Ott laughed. “So, what did you make of what they had to say?”

  “I thought the thing about Polk was good info and everything else was shit we already knew. Or else, pure speculation.”

  Ott nodded. “Yeah, but sounds like Polk’s definitely got a motive,” he said. “What was your take on George?”

  Crawford shrugged. “I don’t know, man, if I had fifty mil to invest, I’m not sure I’d be breaking George’s door down.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s what family connections are for,” Ott said. “And what was with that English accent of Janice’s?”

  Crawford nodded. “You mean the English accent that seemed to come and go. Like she had to remember to flip the switch,” he said. “One thing’s for damn sure, between those earrings, the necklace, and the rock on her finger, I guarantee you she was sporting at least three hundred K worth of jewelry.”

  “You think it was all real?” Ott asked as he stopped at a light.

  “Yeah, definitely.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I once had a girlfriend with very expensive tastes,” Crawford said. “Which was maybe why it didn’t last.”

  Ott was shaking his head. “So, between the Bentley and the jewelry…over six hundred K, you’re saying.”

  “Yup,” Crawford nodded. “Another thing about her: I got the sense that she was one of those whiner daughters.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, to get her way she w
hines and moans and complains. Wears you down until she gets what she wants,” Crawford said. “I’m guessing Papa Paul got a big dose of that on a regular basis.”

  Ott nodded. “So, you thinking that’s how George ended up with Paul’s account.”

  Crawford nodded. “Could be,” he said looking at his watch. “So next stop is Mindy again. Who, by the way, seems to be the exact opposite of her daughter.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, my take is she keeps her whining and moaning and complaining pretty much to herself.”

  * * *

  Their second meeting with Mindy Pawlichuk took place in the library at Mar-a-Lago. Mindy was wearing a loose-fitting, blue pantsuit with her hair in a bun again. She was stoop-shouldered and looked even more weary than the first time they talked to her. Like life had worn her down.

  Crawford scanned the room looking for some of the things he had read about in Yelp, but it just looked like a normal library with many shelves of books that probably hadn’t been read in years. If ever.

  “I hope you’re feeling better, Mrs. Pawlichuk,” Crawford said. “We won’t take too much of your time.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I feel a little better.”

  “If you would, please,” Ott jumped in, “can you tell us about Arnie Stoller, your family investment counselor?”

  Mindy just shrugged. “I actually never met the man until the wedding.” She let out a short sigh. “I’m not proud to say I had one of those old-fashioned marriages where the husband made all the financial decisions. At least Paul let me see the financial statements.”

  “So you did see them?”

  Mindy nodded.

  “And, if you remember,” Crawford said, “how much money did you and Paul have with Mr. Stoller?”

  “Last time I checked,” Mindy said, “around seventy million, I think.”

  “And the rest of the money—fifty million, approximately— was with your son-in-law George Figueroa, right?”

  Mindy sighed again. “Yes, that’s right,” almost like she didn’t want to be reminded.

  Crawford decided to probe it. “And they both had pretty good results?”

  “Yes, well, George is an accountant,” Mindy said. “Not a money manager.”

  “And, if you don’t mind me asking, how do they get compensated?” Crawford asked. “Isn’t it usually a percentage of the amount managed?”

  “I think so, but I’m not really sure,” Mindy said.

  Crawford figured George had to get at least one percent, which worked out to $500,000 a year.

  Crawford leaned closer to Mindy. “On another subject, what about Xavier Duke? He was at the wedding. What can you tell us about him?”

  Mindy came close to shuddering. “I’ve said maybe ten words to that man in my entire life,” she said. “He’s one of Paul’s…unsavory friends.”

  “Did Paul have a lot of ‘unsavory’ friends?” Ott asked.

  Mindy didn’t hesitate. “Too many.”

  “Do you know where Paul knew Xavier Duke from, by any chance?” asked Crawford.

  “No, and I hate to think,” Mindy said. “A couple years ago, I asked Paul what Duke did for a living and he smiled and said, ‘Let’s just say, he does movies for mature audiences.’ I knew right away, I wasn’t mature enough for them.”

  Crawford realized it was a joke. Not exactly a knee-slapper, but up until that time he had no idea Mindy Pawlichuk had any sense of humor at all.

  “And do you know where Mr. Duke lives, by any chance?” Ott asked.

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t. But if I lived near him, I’d move.” The ol’ gal was positively on a roll now.

  Ott thrummed his fingers on the coffee table next to him. “Mrs. Pawlichuk, another guest at the wedding was Robert Polk. Was he also a friend of Paul’s?”

  Mindy put her hand up to her chin. “No, he wasn’t. I don’t think they had ever even met before. Talk about traveling in different circles…I remember my son telling me that Carla asked if Polk could be invited. This was like six months ago. He was supposed to be her—what do they call it—plus-something…?”

  “Oh, plus-one, you mean,” Crawford said.

  “Right,” Mindy said. “But later on, I heard she asked that he be disinvited. But I guess by then it was too late because it was after the invitations went out.”

  “And you have no idea why she wanted to disinvite him, I take it?”

  “No idea,” Mindy said.

  “And, Mrs. Pawlichuk, we heard about a football player by the name of Joey Decker who crashed the party and got into an argument with your husband. Did you happen to see that?”

  “Yes, I did actually. It didn’t last too long because Rich and some others broke it up.”

  “And what happened next?”

  “He was told to leave and did. I asked Paul about it and he told me not to worry about it.” She flashed a wan smile. “Good, old ‘don’t-worry-about-it’ Paul.”

  Crawford looked at Ott. Ott gave a quick shrug.

  “Well, I think that’ll do it,” Crawford said.

  “We appreciate you seeing us again,” Ott said.

  Crawford nodded. “Yes, thank you very much for your cooperation.” Normally he would have added, ‘And again, sorry about your loss.’ In this case, though, he felt that for Mindy Pawlichuk her husband’s death might be more of a relief than a loss.

  She’d probably do just fine with her hundred and twenty-five million and without the man who had earned it.

  Twelve

  Crawford and Ott had a few minutes before Duane Truax was scheduled to meet them at the station. They were in Crawford’s office, Ott facing the whiteboard.

  He had three lists: ‘Suspects,’ ‘Family,’ and ‘?’ Under Family, he wrote ‘Janice/George’ and looked as though he were pondering what to do next.

  Crawford raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

  “I feel like Janice and George should also be in the question mark category too,” Ott said.

  “Okay, so put ‘em there,” Crawford said.

  The question mark category was kind of a holding pen. A name could go from there to the ‘Suspect’ category. Or could disappear off the list altogether.

  “There’s just something hinky about those two, don’t you think?” Ott asked. “I mean, I’d let George handle my paltry account, but fifty mil? NFW. And Janice…if she’s an interior designer, you’d think she would have done something about George’s office. Not exactly Better Homes and Offices.”

  Crawford smiled. “Ah, I think it’s Gardens—”

  “Yeah, I know, Charlie. It was my little joke.”

  “Good one,” Crawford said, checking his watch. “Hey, I’m thinking we could ask our friend Jaclyn Puckett what she knows about Janice and George.”

  “Good idea,” Ott said as his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  “A guy to see you out front here,” said the receptionist.

  “We’ll be right out.”

  * * *

  Duane Truax had parked in front of the Palm Beach police station on County Road. The car he was driving was a Dodge Viper with an Alabama license plate that proudly proclaimed, FASTEST. He sat in Crawford’s office wearing jeans and a Valvoline t-shirt.

  “Thanks for coming in,” Crawford said.

  “Sure. What didn’t we cover last time, boys?”

  Ott leaned toward Truax. “I spoke to Chelsea, the bridesmaid you took to Rachel’s”—the West Palm Beach strip club—“and she said you dropped her off at her hotel at 9:30.”

  “Yeah, around that time, I guess,” Truax said.

  “So what did you do then?” Ott asked.

  “Went back to the bar at Mar-a-Lago.” Truax scratched at his three-day growth.

  “Straight back?” Ott asked.

  “Yeah, why?” Then his expression changed. “You’re not suggesting a detour by the pool on the beach, are you, Detective?”

  Ott eyed him hard. “Just asking.”
/>   “I said I went straight back.”

  Crawford’s turn. “And, Mr. Truax—”

  “You can call me Duane. We’re almost old friends by now.”

  “So, we know that you and Carla Carton were in the process of getting a divorce, correct?”

  Truax rolled his eyes. “Yeah, man, we went through this last time.”

  “I know we did,” Crawford said. “But speaking of your divorce, isn’t it true that you would inherit quite a bit of money—actually millions of dollars—if you were married to Ms. Carton as opposed to getting none of her money if you were divorced?”

  Truax groaned and shook his head. “So I guess that’s your way of saying I had a motive to kill Carla?”

  Crawford remained silent.

  “Maybe you’re unaware of the fact that I have a pretty damned good career on the NASCAR circuit. So why don’t I just rattle off a few statistics, in case you boys aren’t part of the seventy-five million NASCAR fans in America.” Truax starting using his fingers to track his list: “Revenue last year was 3.1 billion dollars. The average number of fans at a NASCAR race is ninety-nine thousand. The average salary for a NASCAR driver, including endorsements, is 7.5 million…” Truax shook his head and closed his fingers into a fist. “You boys getting the picture here? If you don’t believe me, you can look this shit up.”

  “Thanks. We believe you—”

  “Not to mention, I was Driver of the Year.”

  Ott had done his usual thorough research. “As a matter of fact, I am one of the seventy-five million NASCAR fans in America, Mr. Truax, and am aware of everything you just said. I congratulate you on being Driver of the Year…back in 2005, I believe it was?”

  Truax scowled.

  “And, I think I’ve got my facts right, weren’t you number thirty-seven on the money list last year?”

  Truax looked like if he had a helmet handy he would have bashed it over Ott’s head. He stood and Crawford saw what looked like a coffee stain at the bottom of his Valvoline T-shirt. “I don’t need this shit from you two,” he said. “Just a couple of fuckin’ clowns who got absolutely no clue who shot Carla and Pawlichuk. Just throwing shit at the wall trying to get something to stick.”