by Jim Riley
"No. I mean, yes." The widow ran a hand up her arm. "I don't know. I wasn't looking for the damn letter opener. It was always on top of her desk. It was probably there Wednesday until she used it to kill my husband."
"What did you and your husband discuss?"
"That is none of your business. Why? Was little Miss Donna listing in the hallway? Why don't you get her to tell you? She seems to know everything else."
"So you can’t say for sure if the letter opener was on Donna's desk. Is that correct?"
"I don't remember. I didn't take it if that is what you're implying."
Baton Rouge
Monday Morning
The Living Word Ministry sanctuary was packed to the brim. The Central High School District closed the high school, the junior high, and all the elementary schools so the students could attend the service for Tommy Netterville. The quarterback was a member of the Zoar Baptist church in central, but the pastor realized that even their large facility was not big enough to hold all the local mourners.
Niki squeezed into a few next to Dalton Bridgestone. The senator postponed his flight to Washington so he could see his nephew one last time. Dalton whispered in her care, "I want to introduce you to my sister, Wendy. She can tell you what is bothering her, and why she doesn't think this was an accident."
"This isn't the place or the time. I can call her tomorrow and introduce myself. I don't want her to bother her when she is burying her son."
"It was her idea," Dalton said. "She told me last night that the sooner she knows the truth, the sooner she will have some peace."
Wendy Netterville sat in the pew directly in front of Dalton and Niki. She was accompanied by her other two sons, both of them in a state of shock and disbelief. Wendy did not cry during the entire service, though the rest of the entire congregation wept openly, including the men and the football players.
The pastor spoke in glowing terms of the young athlete. He said Tommy was sure of his salvation, and he knew he was in heaven this very moment. He spoke of Tommy's involvement with the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, and the fine example he set for other students. He mentioned Tommy's mission trip to the poorest sections of Mexico. Throughout it all, Wendy Netterville nodded, but she did not shed a tear.
After the service, Tommy's body was transported to the cemetery where his father was buried. After a brief homage, his body was lowered into the earth next to his dad. Wendy took a yellow rose and tossed it into the grave on top of her son’s coffin.
Dalton and Niki met her at her vehicle about fifty yards from Tommy's final resting place.
Dalton put his arm around his sister. "This is Niki Dupre. She is the one I told you about."
Niki stepped forward. "I'm so sorry. I didn’t have the honor to meet Tommy in person, but I felt like I knew him from everything Dalton told me."
"Thank you," Wendy replied. "Dalton tells me you're the best investigator in Louisiana."
Niki blushed and glanced at Dalton.
"I think he might be a little biased."
"Even if he is, he trusts you, and right now that's important to me. I want you to find out what happened to my baby."
Niki watched Wendy shudder as if an electrical jolt passed through her body.
"Wendy, I will look into it, but the medical examiner said it was an accident."
The grieving mother shook her head. "I know it wasn't an accident no matter who says it was. Look, this isn't for Tommy. He is sitting beside his dad this morning telling him about the last pass he threw to win the game. They're both laughing and having a great time. This is about me. I need to know."
"When is a good time to get with you?"
"Can you meet me tomorrow morning? You can come by my house, and I'll tell you everything."
"Okay. I'll be there."
Monday Afternoon
Tiger Eye Investments
"Howard, I understand you and Scott had some words last Wednesday, the day he was killed."
Niki stared at the young man.
Howard Jenkins looked like a professional investment advisor. His well-groomed hair shone jet black. This custom suit never touched a discount rack, sewn of the finest material. His shoes were smartly polished, and the cuff links were made of pure gold. Howard's office was as immaculate as his apparel. Niki saw not a single piece of paper out of place. Even his trash basket containing no waste.
"That old fart had words with everybody. I don't think he liked himself, much less anyone else." The dapper young man smoothed down the sleeve of his shirt.
"What did you discuss with Mr. Wilson?"
"Company business. I'm not sure I can divulge that to an outsider. It might not be legal."
Niki slid her chair closer to his desk. "I'm a federal investigator. It is not only legal for you to talk to me, but it is required. If you want to remain in the securities business, I recommend that you cooperate and answer my questions truthfully."
Howard pushed his chair farther back from his desk, creating more space between himself and Niki.
"Hey, I don't have anything to hide. That old man didn't get along with anyone here, including Ashton. The only one he was nice to was that dimwit at the front desk. That had nothing to do with her tremendous intellect either. She was only nice to him because he was her boss. I wasn't important enough for her to pay any attention to me."
"You still haven’t said what you and he discussed last Wednesday."
"He didn't like status of some of my accounts. I guess he didn't notice the stock market has fallen like a rock the last few weeks. I don't know anyone that is doing well in this crappy market."
"From the files I've looked at, Scott seemed to be doing well."
Howard sneered. "I don't know. He never told me about his accounts. He got to look at mine, but I didn't get to look at his."
"Did Scott have some suggestions for you about the direction of your investments for your clients?"
"Hah! If I listened to him, I would never make any money. He was way too conservative. He never liked to take any risks unless everything was stacked in his favor."
Niki looked back at her notes.
"I understand that he traded in derivatives, calls and puts. Aren't they risky by their very nature?"
Howard shook his head. "I don't have a clue about calls and puts. He wanted to teach me, but I’ve got better things to do than listen to some old windbag trying to teach me about trading. I already know everything I need to know. This horrible market messed me up."
"So you did not use derivatives? Is that what you said?"
"No. IPO's are where the big money is."
"IPO’s?"
The young broker smiled. "Initial public offerings. That's when a company offer shares of their business to the public for the first time. Then anyone can on part of what was a private company."
"And how do you make money with an IPO?"
"It's so easy. It's like stealing, but it's legal. I buy shares of these companies as soon as they come out. Then I wait for the price of the shares to go up, and I unload them. It's so simple that even that airhead on the front desk could do it."
"If it is so easy and so profitable, why were your accounts doing so poorly?"
"They weren't doing poorly. No account goes straight up. My investments were in a short-term decline because we are in the middle of a bear market."
Howard slid his chair to the side of his desk so he could get a better look at Niki. He took his time examining her from top to bottom.
"You know," he said. "I could make time to teach you all about the market. How about we get together after work? I think we might make a good team together."
"Sorry, Howard. I got a good business and a good investment advisor. I'm satisfied with him."
Howard smiled. "You may be happy with your portfolio, but I can make you happier in other ways."
"No, thanks." Niki turned her chair to face him directly. "I also have someone that makes me happy outside of my portfolio
."
"That doesn't bother me, Ms. Dupre. I don't mind sharing. I'm just that kind of guy."
Niki's blood pressure rose. "But I'm not that kind of gal. Now, I would prefer it if we got back to discussing your relationship with Scott Wilson."
He edged his chair closer to her.
"I prefer to discuss my relationship with you. That'll be a lot more fun for both of us."
"I doubt it, Mr. Jenkins. You will not enjoy the way I would conduct that discussion."
"Oh, rough play, huh? I can get into that."
"Believe me, Howard. You're not getting into anything with me. Now If you don't mind, tell me about your conversation with Scott Wilson."
Jenkins sighed and moved his chair away from Niki and back behind his desk.
"He wanted to tell me the same thing he always wanted tell me. He said my strategy was way too aggressive and risky for my clients and their present positions. I told him to mind his own business, and I would take care of mine. You can't make money in any market unless you are willing to take a risk. I'm willing."
"Did you use the same strategy for all your clients?" Niki asked.
Jenkins picked up an expensive pen from his desk and toyed with it.
"That's my strategy. That's what I'm good at. Why would I want to do something else?"
"Were all your clients the same age? Did they have similar incomes? Did they want the same thing from their investments?"
Jenkins snorted. "You're starting to sound like old man Wilson. He didn't have a clue either."
"I take it he wasn't pleased with your decision to use the same strategy regardless of the clients objectives."
Howard leaned forward in his chair.
"Look lady, these old folks may check off a 'capital preservation' box on the 'generate income' box, but they really want the same thing. They want to make as much money as they can. It doesn't matter which box they check, they want me to build their wealth."
"Was your job in jeopardy?"
Jenkins leaned back while smiling. "You don't know who I am, do you?"
Niki looked at her notes. "If you are referring to the fact that Ashton Johnston is your uncle, yes, I know who you are. To me, that is irrelevant."
Jenkins rolled his eyes. "Then you don't understand how it works in the real world. The old man couldn't touch me, and you can't either."
Niki leaned forward. "For your information, my report will go to the United States Senate. I don't believe they really care to whom you are related. They will care, however, if a member of this firm is ignoring the stated objectives of its clients."
Jenkins eyes widened.
"What will be in your report? I thought you wanted to know who killed Wilson, not about dissatisfied clients."
"My report will be comprehensive. It will include all facts I uncover. I intend to be thorough." Niki replied.
Jenkins flipped the pen into this pullout drawer. He picked up a letter opener and gently stroked it.
"You may want to reconsider how you fill out your little report, Mr. Dupre. I’d hate to see you stumble into an accident. Know what I mean?"
"I know exactly what you mean. You can't intimidate me with your connections, so you're trying to intimidate me with threats of violence. That sum it up for you, Mr. Jenkins?"
Jenkins dropped the letter opener back into his drawer.
"Hey, I'm not trying to intimidate anyone. I would hate to see you get in over your head. That's all."
"I'm glad you are concerned about my health. I’ll keep that in mind."
Niki rose and walked to the door of his office. She turned to face him.
"We'll be talking again, Mr. Jenkins. In the meantime, you may want to consider a new line of work."
She shut the door behind her.
Monday Afternoon
Tiger Eye Offices
Niki went two doors down to the office of Sam Gonzales.
"Hello, Mr. Gonzalez. I'm Niki Dupre, and I'm investigating the murder of Scott Wilson."
Sam Gonzales pushed back his chair. His Hispanic ethnicity was obvious. His jet black hair and brown eyes indicated a Hispanic background. His attire, while neat and professional, was not of the same quality as Howard Jenkins’s wardrobe. He looked up from his chair at Niki.
"I heard you were nosing around asking a bunch of questions. I'm surprised it took you this long to get to the Mexican on the staff."
"I'm talking to a lot of people that work here, Mr. Gonzalez. Your race is not a consideration."
The young man scoffed.
"I bet. There aren't any Blacks working here, so I had to go to the top of the list."
Niki sat in the chair opposite him without being asked.
"You are on my list to interview, but not because you are a Hispanic. You are on my list because last Tuesday you had a serious disagreement with Scott Wilson. Would you like to tell me about that?"
Sam shook his head. "No, I would not."
Niki was a little surprised.
"You understand that I can get a subpoena requiring you to answer the questions. I'd rather do it informally, but I'll leave that up to you."
Gonzales blew out a breath.
"Go ahead. Make your case against the brown guy. After you waste your time with me, then you can find out which white guy killed him."
"I'll be glad to move on, but first I’ll need for you to be honest with me. What was the argument about last Tuesday between you and Scott Wilson?"
Gonzalez sighed.
"One of our clients made up a story about me and told Wilson. He asked me about it and I told him it was garbage. That was all there was to it."
"Sorry. I think you may not be telling me everything. From what I’ve heard, there was a lot of yelling going on in the conference room. That doesn't sound like a simple conversation to me."
"We lost it for a little while. But that didn't last long. When I left the conference room, everything was cool between us."
"Then why did you stay in your office all day Wednesday with the door closed? That doesn't back up your story that you guys were buddies again."
"Me and Wilson buddies? That would never happen. I don't know who all you talked to, but that clown didn't like Mexicans. He thought we should be deported, no matter our status. He wanted to get rid of me, get me fired."
"Did you tell your client that his investment was guaranteed to make money? That his portfolio was not at risk?"
"That's what Wilson said. It was a bunch of bull. If you're in the market, then you’re at risk. Everybody knows that."
"It seems as if your client was convinced that he was not exposed to the risk of a fluctuating market."
Sam's eyes flashed with anger.
"He's just mad because I put his money into what he wanted me to, and it went south on him. He has nobody to blame except himself."
"Sam, why were you in jail?"
Niki could see the muscles in Sam's face contract.
"What's that got to do with anything? My history is just that. History. It has nothing to do with the present.”
"I understand the Scott Wilson believed in technical analysis. That means he believed that history repeats itself. Your history says you're capable of stabbing someone in the back."
Sam sagged in his chair.
"That was a long time ago. I was a different person then. Who I was back then isn't who I am now."
“What did you plan to do to settle the issue with your client and Scott Wilson?"
"The only thing I could do. I talked to Ashton Wednesday afternoon. He understood my position and said he would talk to Scott. I don't know if they ever talked to not. After Scott was killed, it all kinda blew over."
Niki smiled.
"That was convenient for you, wasn't it?"
"I don't appreciate what you’re implying, Mr. Dupre. Comments like that can get you in trouble."
"That is the second time I've been threatened today. I'm getting a little tired of it."
"Mr. Dupre
, you're the one that brought up my past. You might want to remember that while you're here. History might repeat itself."
"Yeah, you're correct. You went to jail and you might go there again."
Monday Afternoon
Tiger Eye Investors
Niki continued down the hall to the office of Dale Blocker. She rapped on the door, but got no response. She rapped harder with the same result. Donna walked up behind her.
"If you're looking for Dale, you're looking in the wrong place."
Niki laughed.
"Out again?"
Donna glanced at her watch.
"I'd say he's probably on the back nine by now. Or he could be finished with his round and playing poker in the clubhouse. He thinks if he doesn't make it on the professional golf tour, he can make a living playing poker."
"Where does he play? Is he a member somewhere?"
Donna nodded. "Copper Mill in Zachary. It's one of the better courses around. But the main requirement for Dale is that it has a bar. That's number one on his list."
"Okay, no problem. I'll catch him later at the club or here. Which office belongs to Danny Mayfield?"
"Right next door. I hope you're wrong about Danny. He's really a nice guy, one of the few."
Niki knocked on Mayfield’s door, and it opened immediately. She was surprised to see a young man no older than herself. He was conservatively dressed in a gray suit with a black tie. His tie and suit matched with a hint of red splashed throughout.
"Mr. Mayfield, do you have a moment? I’d like to talk to you."
"Sure, Miss Dupre."
The youngster motioned for her to sit in a chair.
"And yes, I know who you are and I know why you're here."
She grinned as she sat. "Thanks, I appreciate your hospitality. That's a pleasant surprise after my last two conversations with your coworkers."
Mayfield had a natural smile. "You must have been talking to Howard and Sam. Don't worry about them. Their bark is a lot worse than their bite."
