by Rayna Morgan
* * *
As Lea waited impatiently for the street light to turn green, she thought how grateful she was Jon hadn't come with her. I could use another set of eyes to keep the van in sight, but this is hardly the kind of adventure I want my son to be part of.
The moment the light turned, Lea flattened the gas pedal, throwing Spirit back against the seat. "Sorry, big guy, but I don't have time to stop to put your seat belt on."
Spirit dug his claws into the car seat and held on for dear life, all the time staring straight ahead in the direction where Gracie had gone.
If I'm right about these guys wanting to get out of Buena Viaje as fast as possible, there's only one route that will give them access to the freeway headed north. Under the overpass to the frontage road running parallel to Main Street.
"They'll have four or five stop lights before they hit the freeway," Lea reasoned aloud. "If Tom got Paul’s call about my needing help, he'll be thinking the same thing. Hopefully, he's already on his way to intercept them."
Spirit cocked his head listening attentively without averting his eyes from the road.
The fact there were few cars on the street was to Lea's advantage. Thank heavens, Buena Viaje is usually wrapped up tight by ten o'clock at night.
But just as she sensed she might be closing the gap, a motorcycle roared around her, forcing her to jam on the brakes as the light turned red. Lea's hands were sweating as she gripped the wheel. Come on, come on, come on. Time seemed to be standing still and the van was nowhere in sight.
Gunning the engine again before the light changed, her heart dropped as she realized how close they were to the Pier and the last intersection before the freeway access.
"I'm afraid we've lost them, Spirit. I guess I was wrong in my theory about their escape route."
She rounded the curve and drove toward the parking lot at the Pier. That's when she saw it. The lights shone on a single vehicle in the otherwise empty lot: the black van parked at a hasty angle. She swerved the car into the lot so fast Spirit was pitched across the seat, landing against the door.
Lea was so happy to see the van she lost all sense of caution. Almost before the car had rolled to a complete stop, she jumped out leaving Spirit behind barking anxiously. Approaching what appeared to be an empty vehicle, she could see the front doors were wide open leaving the interior lights on. There was no one inside.
The back doors were closed. She walked toward them with great apprehension until she heard the familiar sound of Gracie's barking. Throwing the doors open, she suddenly found herself on the pavement with seventy pounds of dog on top of her, licking her face.
"Okay, girl, you're safe now," she laughed, throwing her arms around the dog. “Thank goodness, you're safe. Let's go get your brother before he breaks through the car window."
With Spirit circling Gracie licking her mouth to show her how happy he was to see her, Lea reached for her phone. In the middle of telling a greatly relieved Paul that she found Gracie and would be heading home, she heard a cacophony of dog wailing coming from under the Pier. Heading toward the noise, Lea expressed exasperation: "I'm ending the call, babe. The dogs are raising a ruckus over something. Let me round them up so I can get out of here."
Lea walked along the Promenade leading to the old wooden structure. The Pier was a favorite attraction for fishing, picnics, and views of the coastline and Islands, but she was in no mood to enjoy the view. She felt impatient crossing the beach as her shoes began filling with sand, certain the dogs had found a dead seagull or leftover hot dog to scuffle over.
Discovering the cause of their agitation, she wasted no time punching Tom's number in her cell phone.
"Where the heck are you, Lea? We've been up and down the frontage road. No sign of the van."
"I found the van abandoned in the parking lot at the Pier. Gracie was safe in the back."
"Darn it. I'm glad you and Gracie are safe but I hate losing those guys."
"Sorry to tell you, Tom, but the burglars escaping isn’t your biggest problem."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean Gracie and Spirit just found a dead body under the Pier."
* * *
By the time Lea got the dogs settled in the car, Tom had arrived. Even as she related to Tom exactly how she found the abandoned van and the dead body, the parking lot began filling with police cars and other vehicles. Before they finished their conversation, a team of crime scene personnel had begun to search the scene and collect evidence. Another officer cordoned off the area with yellow cones.
"You better hang around long enough to let them get your fingerprints, Lea. They'll be taking all the prints they can get off the van. Yours will show up because you opened the back doors to let Gracie out. Then you can go home. I'm sure Paul's worried sick. Stop by the station tomorrow to sign a statement detailing what you told me."
Lea ran her fingers through her long hair tucking it behind her ears. "What a night. The first dead body I've ever found; I hope it will be the last. At least you'll have a witness if you catch those burglars, or should I call them murderers?"
"That's the first thing I need to figure out. Whether or not these crimes were committed by the same perpetrator. Was the victim meeting the burglars and got into a confrontation that ended in them killing him? Or was he already dead when they arrived?"
"Too bad your witness can't tell us what the burglars did."
Tom scratched his head. "What witness are you talking about, Lea?"
"The four-legged one in the back of the van. At least she'll let you know if she ever sees . . . or smells . . . those guys again."
Tom smiled, looking over to where Gracie sat in the car with her head hanging out the window. "Unfortunately, her identification wouldn't hold up in a court of law, but it will sure let me know if I've found the right guys."
The Detective turned to the man approaching him. "We've identified your vic, Tom," the coroner reported. "Driver's license in his wallet says he's Neal Henderson. Age twenty-eight. Local address."
Lea overheard the coroner's remarks. "Oh, no; I know him. He worked for one of my clients."
"What can you tell us about him?"
"Not a lot. He works for Don Carson, the big real estate developer. Don's son Adam and Neal went to high school together. Football heroes at Viaje High, surfers, heartthrobs from what Don complained about. Girls used to distract both of them but his son was more studious. Neal was the Casanova."
"Do they both work for Carson?"
"No; Adam went back East to one of the Ivy League schools. He hooked up with a girlfriend and found a job there when he finished graduate school. Don thinks his son will come back here once he's married his girlfriend and they're ready to start a family.
Neal stayed out here and went to the state university. He went to see Don about a job as soon as he got his business degree. Since he was like a second son to Don, he was given a management position right away. Didn't have to work his way up the corporate ladder."
"Was there any resentment about the favoritism Don showed?"
"Not that I’ve heard of, but I'd be surprised if there wasn't. Don has always been one of the most influential business people in the County and his son is well liked and respected. From all accounts, Neal was considered to be a 'pretender to the throne' so to speak."
"Interesting," Tom mused, "And definitely worth looking into. There could be a motive for his murder other than the burglary."
"Besides, what possible reason would Henderson have for meeting with a gang of burglars?"
"What possible reason, indeed," Tom pondered. “Right now, I've got to get back to my crime scene investigators. See you at the station tomorrow."
Lea didn't need further convincing to get her fingerprinting done and leave the scene as quickly as possible.
Chapter Four
Driving to Valle Verde the next morning, Tom punched in Ken Crosby's address on his handheld GPS unit. He was familiar with the small town where Ken
lived, but didn't recognize the name of the street Ken recited when Tom called to ask if he could stop by. Tom didn't want to call attention to the person unnecessarily by requesting that he come to the station for an interview. At the same time, Tom hoped the man might be a little more forthcoming if he was interviewed in the comfort of his own home.
Fifteen miles north of Buena Viaje, Valle Verde got its name from its location in a small valley surrounded by hills. The beauty of the terrain made it a magnet for artists, musicians, and health enthusiasts. With a population of only twelve thousand people, it boasted art galleries, boutique hotels, and a variety of artisan shops. One of the most popular weekly events was the Farmers Market held every Sunday featuring organic fruits and vegetables, local jams and honey, and homemade bakery items.
Tom rolled the car windows down and his shirt sleeves up as he drove. Being inland from the ocean made Valle Verde much hotter than coastal towns, especially during the summer when temperatures could soar over one hundred degrees. During the dry season May to November, the meaning of Valle Verde, Green Valley, was incongruous as the hills turned from verdant green to golden brown. It was still a month or two until the sizzling summer heat would arrive, but Tom knew the area was already on fire alert due to the ongoing drought the County had suffered.
Parking in the shade of a quartet of cottonwoods, the Detective took a moment to observe. Ken's house was small but the exterior was well kept: recently mowed yard, freshly painted shutters, large pots of colorful flowers on the front porch, and bird feeders hanging from the shade trees. The front yard was hemmed by a wood fence. A pop-up camper parked in the driveway appeared to be well cared for.
The man answering Tom's knock was casually dressed in jeans, plaid short-sleeved shirt, and boots. His thin but muscular physique was offset by a leathery face, probably a by-product of a profession spent mostly outdoors. Still, he appeared ten years younger than what Tom knew to be his age of seventy-one.
Opening the screen door, Ken shook hands and gestured toward the kitchen. "Come on in. I've been expecting you. Got a fresh pot of coffee brewing."
Tom inhaled the aroma of coffee beans and the rich fragrance of a jacaranda tree flowering in the back yard.
Ken poured the hot liquid into ceramic mugs and pushed one across the kitchen counter. "What kind of information have you come for?"
Appreciating Ken as a man of few words, Tom got right to the point. "I was hoping you might be able to provide some insight into Neal Henderson, the young man found murdered at the Pier. I understand you both worked for Don Carson."
Pride was obvious in Ken's voice: "I worked for Don Carson more than twenty years. I started as a worker on a construction crew and worked my way all the way to Construction Manager. I was Don's Construction Manager on more than forty projects in the County over the years, both residential and commercial."
"I understand Neal was managing Don's latest projects."
"That's right. He is . . . or maybe I should say he was." Ken motioned for Tom to follow him to the front porch.
"Don and I had always worked on projects together. Don handled the planning and financial side of it. He hired architects, arranged for financing from lenders, and went to the Planning Department to get all the Permits we needed. I was in charge of the construction side of the business. Then, Neal Henderson came back to town after graduating from the state university and everything changed."
"Changed how?"
Ken tilted his chair back. "He convinced Don to restructure the company so there were two positions in the Construction Department: a Project Manager and a Construction Manager. The Project Manager oversees the administrative needs of the project, including budgeting and funding, but has an on-site Construction Manager involved in the day-to-day personnel and site supervision. Neal injected himself as the Project Manager and made me the Construction Manager."
"So you continued to oversee the day-to-day construction activities but reported to Neal?"
"You got it. He basically took over a lot of what Don used to do himself by convincing Don he should start taking it easier. Encouraged the boss to take his wife on those cruises he'd been promising her for the last several years but never found time for. He found a willing accomplice in Mary. Once she thought Don might finally have free time, she conspired with her friend at the travel agency to put enough pressure on Don he would have felt like a heel to refuse her any longer."
"But the new arrangement didn't sit well with you?"
Ken cradled his mug. "I couldn't complain. I still had my position as Construction Manager alright. But I felt Don was turning over vital parts of the business to Neal, things he should have been keeping a closer eye on. Things weren't the same."
"Was Neal hard to work for?"
"You could say that." Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he looked Tom directly in the eyes. "Don't misunderstand me. I'm not trying to speak ill of the dead. I'm only relating the facts as I saw them. To answer your question, yes, Neal was a hard man for everyone to work for."
"Hard to work for as far as being demanding or in other ways?"
"Having a boss who's hard to work for isn't a lot of fun, but I'm sure tough enough to do it to get the job done. But working for a boss who’s dishonest and unethical, that's where I draw the line."
Tom's head jerked. He'd heard from other people about Neal being arrogant and pushy, but this was an entirely new slant. "Can you clarify?"
"Just what I said. I never had any proof to take to Don, but I'd spent too many years knowing when projects begin to run off the tracks. Like what was happening to Neal's projects. They were behind schedule and over budget. The worst thing, I suspected he was substituting cheaper materials than what the plans called for to make up for cost overruns. That kind of foolhardy move can get you in a lot of trouble when the Building Inspectors come around."
"Did you ever confront Neal with those allegations?"
"Sure I did. I mean, I didn't like the arrogant son of a gun, but I wanted him to succeed for Don's sake. Don thought of Neal as a second son, and any man wants to be proud of a son. Besides, I didn't want him to undermine Don's reputation."
"How did Neal react?"
"Not good by any definition. He ranted and raved about my questioning his abilities because I was jealous. Told me I was over the hill, out of touch with new trends in construction management. He finished by laughing, saying I couldn't prove any of it, and if I was smart, I wouldn't go around raising doubts, especially in Don's mind, about what kind of job he was doing."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "You mean he threatened you?"
"Not in so many words, but he made it clear he wasn't going to let me stand in the way of his getting to the top."
"You think he had plans to take over Don's business someday?"
"I think he saw it as a strong possibility, especially if Don's son stayed on the East Coast."
Tom peppered Don with more questions. "What happened between you and Neal after the confrontation? Why did you end up leaving? Were you fired or did you leave of your own volition?"
"Oh, Neal could never have taken things to that extreme. For one thing, Don would never have heard of me being fired." Ken cupped his hands behind his head. "Instead, Neal did whatever he could to make my job unpleasant. It got to the point where it wasn't fun anymore. So I told Don I was ready to retire."
"Was it true?"
"Not hardly. Don was ready to semi-retire and start traveling with Mary, but I would have worked another five years at least. I lost my wife nine years ago of cancer. My job was what I got up for in the morning." Don swallowed hard, turning his head to the side. "Like I say, once it became work and not something I loved doing, it was time to leave."
"Were you bitter about how Neal forced you out?"
"Nope. First of all, he didn't force me out. It was totally a decision I made for my own peace of mind. Secondly, Don gave me a generous retirement bonus in appreciation of all the years we'd worked together.
Something totally unexpected but enough to let me devote all my time to a lifetime passion."
"Which is?" Tom asked with interest.
Ken smiled for the first time, and his eyes twinkled. "I've been flying for recreation for years but I'm doing something now I've wanted to do my whole life. I'm building my own plane from scratch. A sweet little biplane I'm building in my garage. Can't wait for the day when I take it up for the first time. May be a little scary," he chuckled, "in case I've made any mistakes. But it will be a once-in-a-lifetime thrill."
Tom laughed. "You're a braver man than me. But you've got a lot more construction knowledge than I have, too. I'm sure it will be a beauty."
* * *
Tom took his time getting back to the station, enjoying the view of the ocean as he drove away from the valley. He'd like to eliminate Ken Crosby as a suspect.
Ken seems like a nice guy and it appears the man has found his own sense of peace with the way things worked out at Carson's company. Or is the sense of peace I detect a result of Ken having already wreaked his revenge on the man who brought his career to an unhappy ending?
Tom knew better than to dismiss any possible suspect without reviewing means, motive, and opportunity.
Ken could have easily driven to the Pier and had a confrontation with the victim on the deserted beach without being noticed. It's easy to see Ken is an avid physical fitness practitioner. He would have had no problem overpowering Neal if circumstances so dictated.
Which brought Tom to the next question: Could Ken have known Neal would be at the Pier that time of night? Was it merely a chance encounter between the two men, setting off a deep seated hatred and anger in Ken which led to the fatal outcome?
Tom explored another possible motive: Had Ken been privy to information Neal was involved in the burglaries? On the fatal night in question, was Ken looking for proof to discredit Neal for good in the eyes of Don Carson? Had things gone terribly wrong in his quest for proof?
The Detective knew it was too early to remove Ken Crosby from his list of suspects.
