by D P Lyle
“He’s not alone,” I said. “Seems like the killers get all the ink. And TV coverage. Bundy, Gacy, Dahmer. It’s a universal disease.”
Sally smiled. “Hopefully, this will put an end to that.”
“Probably not,” Nicole said. “But maybe it’ll make a dent.”
“So, what can I tell you?” Sally asked.
“Betty Lou said you were close to Frank and Sara Clark.”
“Oh, yes. My late husband and I considered them our closest friends. More than simply neighbors. And after my husband passed, Sara and Frank were lifesavers.”
“Sorry about your loss,” Nicole said.
“We were married twelve years when he got cancer. Lung. Took him in less than six months. It was an awful time.”
“I suspect so,” I said. “I lost my mom the same way.”
Sally looked at me. “It’s so sad. To watch them simply disappear. Eaten alive.”
I remembered it well. Mom under ninety pounds before she passed. Not to mention the pain. Deep, dehumanizing, uncontrollable pain. Took all hope for a graceful exit off the table.
“Sara was my anchor,” Sally continued. “Wouldn’t let me drown in self pity. Made me saddle up and move on. At a time when giving up, crawling into bed, seemed the only option.”
“That’s what friends do,” Nicole said.
“We became even closer after that.”
“What about Frank?” I asked. “How did he handle Sara’s death?”
“He was distraught. Sad. I had to be his anchor. Of sorts, anyway. We sat and talked many times. He managed to do his job, but his enthusiasm faded. I could see it. I’m sure the folks down at the police station could, too.”
“You must have helped,” Nicole said. “He seems like he’s back at it full speed.”
Sally smiled. “I hope so. But, the truth is, Frank is a tough guy. Always was. The kind that soldier on and do what’s necessary. I think he would’ve landed on his feet anyway.”
“Unlike what you and I went through,” I said, “Sara’s death was sudden, unexpected. I’m not sure which is worse.”
She released a long, slow sigh. “Me, either.”
“From everything we’ve heard, they were a perfect couple,” Nicole said.
Sally gave a short laugh. “Not perfect. Frank worked too much. Drank more than Sara would’ve liked. But, overall, they were solid.”
“But no real problems?” I asked.
“Nothing important. The usual couple stuff.”
I saw her glance at Nicole. A look. Like she might have something else to say but couldn’t—or wouldn’t. I searched for some reasonable way to continue this thread without seeming too curious. I got nothing.
My cell buzzed. I pulled it from my pocket and glanced at the screen. For once, and only once, I was glad to see it was Tammy. She had a knack for calling at the exact worst time. Like when we were in New Orleans in the middle of a standoff with Tony Guidry and his crew. This could have been one of those, but right now, it was a welcome escape strategy. I felt leaving the two of them alone, for some girl talk, would be a good move. Never thought I’d think this, but God bless Tammy.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I need to take this.”
I walked outside.
* * *
Nicole waited until Jake pulled the front door closed. “And?” she asked.
“And what?”
“I got the impression you had more to say.”
“No. Not really.”
“No or not really?” Nicole smiled.
“I can’t.” She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be right.”
Nicole scooted to the edge of the sofa, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “It’s just us. This goes nowhere else.”
“You’re doing a story on the victims and the families. How could it not go further?”
“It won’t. I promise.” Nicole looked down at the carpet for a beat and then back up to Sally. “Something’s on your mind. Something that’s heavy. I can see it. Something you’ve never told anyone before. Am I right?”
Tears gathered in Sally’s eyes. She looked at the carpet, her head rotating slowly back and forth. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
Nicole decided to roll the dice. She slid from the sofa, dropping to her knees before Sally. She grasped the woman’s hands. Cold, trembling. She gave them a soft squeeze. “Whatever it is, it’s eating you up. I can feel it. And it’ll keep eating until you let it out.”
Sally fought back tears. Not successfully. She said nothing for a full two minutes. Nicole could sense her internal struggle. She wanted to talk. Some secret that was obviously a heavy burden, evidenced by the slump of her shoulders, the sadness that etched her face, the tear trails that marked her cheeks.
Sally let out another long sigh. “Sara was seeing someone.”
“As in an affair?”
Sally nodded.
“Who?”
Sally extricated her hands from Nicole’s grip and shook her head. “I can’t say.”
“Again, can’t or won’t?”
Sally looked toward the front window. Nicole followed her gaze. Jake stood in the front yard, phone to his ear, an exasperated look on his face. One she had seen before. Tammy. She buried her smile.
Sally closed her eyes and rubbed both temples. Nicole held her breath, waited, letting Sally mentally play it out. Which way would she go? Open up or shut down? Nicole was hoping for the former but got the later.
“I can’t,” Sally said. “In fact, I’ve already said too much.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have told you about Sara. It’s not fair to her.”
Nicole rose from her knees and returned to the sofa. “Did she tell you about the affair? Tell you who it was?”
“Yes, and no.” She shrugged. “She did tell me she was seeing someone. She was very guilty about it. But she never said with who.”
“So, you don’t know?”
Sally hesitated. As if still wrestling with what to tell and what to keep hidden. “I can’t say.”
“You know,” Nicole said. It wasn’t a question.
Sally shook her head.
Nicole glanced across the living room toward the dining room window that faced the Clarks’ home. “You saw him. Coming and going. Didn’t you?”
Sally hesitated, then nodded.
“But you can’t tell me who it was?”
Sally shook her head.
“Afraid of the backlash?” Nicole said. “Creating a stir?”
Another hesitation, then Sally said, “It would at least do that.” Her gaze again dropped. “And for no real purpose. Talking about the past won’t bring her back.”
“Did Frank know?”
“No. Sara was sure of that.”
Nicole struggled with whether to press Sally for more or back off and let it go for now. She felt that knowing was critical, but if she continued, Sally might feel cornered, or threatened. Which was better? Press on or leave the door open for another time? Finally, she said, “You can relax. Your secret’s safe.”
The front door swung open. Jake came in. Sally’s shoulders jerked to attention and she wiped tears from her eyes with the back of one hand.
“What’d I miss?” Jake asked.
Nicole glanced at Sally. “We were just talking about how much she missed Sara.” Nicole stood. “Sally, thanks for talking with us.”
Sally stood. “I’m glad you came by.” She laid a hand on Nicole’s arm. “Gave me a chance to tell someone what a good person Sara was.”
* * *
After we climbed in the car, I asked, “What was that about?”
“What?”
“Something went on in there after I left.”
“You’re not only cute, you’re smart.”
I shook my head as she fired up her Mercedes. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Sara was having an affair.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“WHAT DO YOU mean she was having
an affair?” Pancake asked.
We were sitting at our de facto office—the gazebo near the marina.
“You know,” Nicole said. “Boy, girl, clothes off, in bed. I’ll draw you a diagram.” She laughed.
“You’re funny.” Pancake looked at me. “She’s funny, Jake.” Then back to Nicole. “In a mean and evil sort of way.”
“I told you,” I said. “You just didn’t believe me.”
He bounced an eyebrow at Nicole. “But I do want to see your etchings.”
“Speaking of affairs,” Nicole said. “How about you and Laurie Mae?”
“Nice girl.” He smiled.
“And? What did you guys do last night?”
“Went down the road here to a bar. Country music, beer, cowboy and cowgirl types.”
“And?” Nicole wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily.
Pancake smiled. “Nice girl.”
Ray jumped in, bringing the conversation back on point. “Who was Sara Clark seeing?”
“She wouldn’t say,” Nicole said.
“She say why she wouldn’t tell?”
Nicole shrugged. “Small town. Dead friend’s reputation. Expose someone else’s infidelities. Create a stir where it’s better to let things lie. Probably all those reasons.”
Ray clasped his hands before him on the table. “How’d she find out?”
“Sara told her,” Nicole said. “She was guilty and needed to tell someone. She and Sally were very close. Sara never told her with who, but Sally saw him, coming and going.”
“So to speak,” Pancake said.
Nicole smiled. “True.”
“So, she knows who the guy is?” Ray asked
“Yes. But she wouldn’t tell me more than that.”
“Did she think Frank knew?” I asked.
“She said no, she didn’t think so.”
“But she’s not sure?” Ray asked.
Nicole shook her head. “I doubt she could be sure.”
“If he did, it would be a motive for murder,” I said.
“Damn straight,” Pancake agreed.
“Maybe you can chat with her again,” Ray said. “After she’s had time to think about things.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Nicole said. “That’s why I didn’t press her harder.”
“That’s because you’re smart.” Ray smiled.
Nicole gave a mock bow.
Ray jerked his head toward Pancake. “Tell them what you uncovered today.”
Pancake pulled some pages from a file folder and slid them toward me. The header said it was from Pine Key Farmers and Merchants Bank. The one where Noleen Kovac had worked. Where she and her brother, Tommy Lee, had their accounts. The first two pages showed a listing of Noleen’s accounts and balances. From back when she was alive. The third showed the same for Tommy Lee. And the final three showed an accounting of their joint trust.
“It looks like Noleen and Tommy Lee did business there for many years,” Pancake said. “The entire time she worked there. The trust was set up over four years ago. By the parents shortly before they died.” Pancake slid that page to one side and tapped it with his index finger. “You can see the original amount was just north of three hundred K.”
“That’s adult money,” I said.
“True. And it didn’t sit dormant. Noleen was the principal trustee and she made several investments—stocks, bonds, that sort of thing. Looks like she knew what she was doing because over a couple of years she made the two of them another sixty thousand.”
“No withdrawals?” Nicole asked.
“None.”
“That goes along with what Patti Ryan over at the bank told us,” I said. “Tommy Lee wanted to use some, but Noleen discouraged him. Patti, too, for that matter.”
“Well, his patience paid off,” Pancake said. “Now, if you look at the bottom of each page, the accounts were zeroed out. Tommy Lee found another bank and moved everything there.” He removed pages from another folder. “He transferred everything to Commerce National. After Noleen’s death.”
I examined the pages. Tommy Lee had set up three accounts. Personal checking and savings—where most of the trust money ended up—and a business account under Kovac’s Charters. The balances in each were healthy.
“Shortly after getting the inheritance stuff worked out and after moving the money to his new bank, Tommy Lee transferred a hundred K to his business account and traded his old boat for the new one.”
“Could be a motive for murder,” I said. “If we assume the sister was blocking the money going to him—and as executor I assume she could do that—then taking her out of the picture leaves Tommy Lee free to do as he pleases.”
“That’s a hefty motive for sure,” Pancake said.
“So, what’re we saying?” I asked. “That Clark killed his wife and Tommy Lee killed his sister?”
“Maybe,” Pancake said.
“But, they both have alibis,” Nicole said. “Tommy Lee was out on the water when Noleen was killed and Clark was on a bridge with a load of witnesses when his wife was murdered. At least, that’s what he said.”
“We could ask him again,” Ray said. “Make sure. If we can do it without creating suspicion.”
“I might have another way,” Pancake said. “I ran across a newspaper article about that accident. We could chat with the reporter. I forget her name, but she works for the local paper. She was there. That’d give us an independent corroboration of Clark’s alibi.”
“That’s not really the problem,” I said. “In both murders, Billy Wayne’s DNA was present. Right? So, Clark I get, but how would Tommy Lee frame Billy Wayne? He had no access to the evidence.”
“He does know Frank Clark,” Pancake said.
“That well?” Nicole asked.
“They do go way back,” I said.
“But way back and well enough to help him frame someone for murder are two different things,” she said.
I couldn’t argue with that. It was a big leap. Not impossible, but without some other connection, unlikely. “Maybe he paid Clark to help him?”
Pancake shook his head. “Didn’t see anything like that. No big cash withdrawals. And these things are usually handled that way. Ten, twenty thousand disappears and someone ends up dead.” He scratched his chin. “Nothing like that in any of these records.”
“Maybe he had a cash stash at home?” I said.
“Like in a coffee can?” Nicole asked.
“Funny. I suspect a lot of his business is cash. Tips and things like that for sure. If he wanted to keep that income off the books, he’d avoid putting it in the bank.”
Pancake nodded. “Probably not a coffee can, but maybe a home safe.”
Ray gathered up the documents, scanning each. “There’s some truth in that. Over a few years, he could’ve easily accumulated several thousand. And, when he needed it, it was right there.” He squared the pages and placed them on the table. “But that doesn’t feel right to me.” We all looked at him. “I don’t see Clark potentially trashing his career, or his life, for a few grand.”
“Maybe it wasn’t money,” I said.
“How so?” Ray asked.
“What if Clark helped Tommy Lee with his problem in exchange for Tommy Lee helping him? Clark supplies the DNA and Tommy Lee does the killings? For himself and for Clark?”
“Interesting.”
“I’m just thinking out loud,” I said.
“That’s actually clever,” Ray said.
Did he say that? Did I hear him correctly? Ray saying I had a brilliant idea. Well, not all the way to brilliant, but clever is a huge step.
“That wouldn’t require moving any money around,” Pancake said.
“But it requires a conspiracy between Clark and Tommy Lee,” Ray said. “And if Tommy Lee did do both murders, his alibi would have to be trashed. We’d have to show he wasn’t on the water the night his sister was killed.” Ray sighed. “And he’d need to be available for
Sara Clark’s murder.”
“But if he did,” I said, “Clark could easily plant the DNA when he worked the scene.”
Ray nodded. “Very easily.”
“Strangers on a Train,” Nicole said.
“What?” I asked.
“The Hitchcock movie. Two strangers decide to kill each other’s wives.”
“Good movie,” Pancake said. “Based on the Patricia Highsmith novel.”
“Yes,” Nicole said. “Raymond Chandler did the screenplay.”
Pancake nodded. “Starred Farley Granger and Robert Walker.”
How’d they know all this? I barely remembered the movie. And I would’ve never pulled Farley Granger out of my ass.
“You’re thinking Clark and Tommy Lee might have cooked something like that up?” Ray asked.
Nicole gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m saying it’s happened before. At least in a movie.”
Ray tapped a finger on the table. “Since both apparently have alibis for when their wife or sister were murdered, they could have done exactly that. Clark takes care of Tommy Lee’s problem and Tommy Lee takes care of Clark’s wife. Clark supplies the DNA in both cases.” He shook his head. “Not sure I buy it, but then again, I’ve seen stranger stuff.”
“How could we prove that?” I asked.
“First step would be to check out alibis,” Ray said. “If they did something like that, and, again, I’m not saying I completely buy into it, they would each need alibis for the time of the murders.”
“And the other one would have to be off the grid, so to speak,” I said.
“Exactly,” Ray said. “The questions then become, what were Clark’s and Tommy Lee’s alibis for the murders? Where were they when the wife and sister were killed? Were their alibis solid?”
“Clark was working a shoplifting and then an auto accident when his wife was killed,” Pancake said. “Chief Morgan and Munson both confirmed that. Maybe that reporter will, too. Tommy Lee was out on a night charter when his sister was murdered. So he says.”
“But, where was Tommy Lee when Sara was murdered?” Nicole asked. “And Clark when Noleen was?”
“There you go,” Ray said. “That’s what we should focus on. The key is doing it without pinging anyone’s radar.”
