by S F Bose
Sam stared at his pen spinning around his middle finger. Then he put the pen down and looked up. “It’s a longshot but maybe Justin was bringing in additional money from other activities like fantasy sports leagues. A second option is that he knew someone who would lend him the money he needed to invest with Sweet.”
I thought about the two options. “Those are both possible, I guess.”
Sam rubbed his eyes. “The good news is that Mitch should be able to give us a better picture of Justin’s finances.”
He left to make some telephone calls and I updated the case board while my memory was fresh. I noted, “sports gambling?” near Justin’s name. I also included the battery conviction, restraining order, money problems, and some of the comments like “abrasive,” “difficult to work with,” and “temper tantrums,” for Mark Sweet. He still sounded like a prime suspect to me and I looked forward to our meeting with him that afternoon. Maybe we can wrap this up sooner than I thought.
Chapter 29
During the forty-five minute drive to our meeting with Mark Sweet, Sam and I discussed the interview. We decided we’d share the questioning and went over the areas we wanted to cover. Sam pulled up a long driveway that curved through a forest of mature trees. The driveway ended in a large parking lot that surrounded a two-story, brick office building.
We hurried through the cold, January air to the front door and up the elevator to the second floor. When we entered Suite 202, a friendly receptionist looked up.
“Mark Sweet’s office?” I asked.
She consulted a list on her desk and said, “Mr. Sweet is in 202-P. You go down this corridor, turn left, and follow that corridor to the end. Turn left and he’s in the first office on the left.”
“Thank you. Are these all different companies?” I asked, waving back at the corridor of mostly closed office doors.
“Yes, indeed. Each company has private office space but shared support services,” she replied with a smile. I noticed she was eyeing Sam, who was oblivious.
We thanked her and went each corridor until we reached the door that said “Mark Sweet, Real Estate Development.” I took my phone out and started the voice recorder. Then I knocked on the closed door.
“Come in,” a voice shouted. I shot Sam a look and opened the door.
It was a small and boxy office without any windows. Sweet’s desk faced the door and had two visitor’s chairs. There were a couple of file cabinets and a computer printer on the left wall. Some bookshelves and a long table lined the wall to the right.
Mark Sweet sat behind the desk watching us warily, his thin frame glasses sliding down his nose. He didn’t stand as we entered. My first impression was that he looked older than 54. He was a husky man with a big chest and shoulders. His face was florid. I noted his neatly styled gray hair and trim beard and mustache. However, his gray suit jacket was rumpled, his white shirt wrinkled, and his red tie loosened and stained with something. He remained seated.
I approached and stopped at the office chairs in front of his desk. “Mr. Sweet, this is Sam Nolan and I’m Liz Bean. We have a meeting scheduled,” I said.
Sweet stared at my head. “Why’s your hair white? Is that some new fashion thing or something?” His voice was higher than I expected for a big man.
“Or something,” I replied, suppressing a groan.
Sam walked up to the desk and showed Sweet his PI license. “We spoke on the phone earlier, Mr. Sweet.” Sweet glanced at the license and grunted in reply.
“Have a seat,” he said, sitting back in his chair and watching us. Sam took the chair to the left and I took the other chair. I put my phone and gloves on the edge of the desk.
“So this is about Justin Church’s murder? I already talked to the police about that,” he said gruffly.
“We know, Mr. Sweet. We’re investigating another side of Justin’s death and would really appreciate your help,” I replied with a smile.
“Okay,” he said. “I just want this to be over. It’s the worst thing I’ve been through.”
“I can understand that,” I said sympathetically. “Now, you were going to talk to Justin about a business deal of some sort?”
“Before you answer, Mr. Sweet, we know that Justin wasn’t going to invest in a real estate deal. We’re not here to jam you up. However, we need the truth. It could help clear you as well,” Sam said.
“Clear me?” Sweet barked.
“Well, you know the guy who finds the body…” Sam replied and let the thought hang in the air.
Sweet snorted. “The police sure treated me like a criminal. Can this be, you know, confidential?”
“We can’t guarantee that, but we will be discreet,” I replied.
“Like I said, you’re not in our cross-hairs. We just need information to help someone else,” Sam added.
Sweet thought about it and nodded.
“Okay. What the hell?” Sweet said, folding his arms on the desk and leaning forward. “About a year ago, I made a deal with Justin. If he persuaded his parents to sell the Emporium, I’d take him in as a partner on the development deal. I also guaranteed him a twenty-five thousand dollar bonus once the sale closed.”
I was surprised, but forced myself to focus on Mark Sweet and not look at Sam.
“What were your plans for the Emporium?” Sam asked.
“I have designs drawn up for tasteful, premium condominiums. Very rustic looking. Another option would be a classy, multi-floor shopping mall.” Sweet’s eyes bounced between us looking for a reaction.
“But that property is in the historic district,” I said. Sweet just waved one hand in the air dismissively.
“I know I can package a deal that the Village Board will like. That’s the least of my worries.”
“So what happened to your deal with Justin?” I asked.
“Beats me. He was gung-ho at first. I’d talk to him on the phone at least once a week. Periodically, I’d go to the Emporium to make a pitch to Peter and Martha. Then Justin was supposed to work on them after I left. However, back in the fall, he seemed to lose interest.”
“September-October timeframe?” I asked.
Sweet looked pained as he thought back. “Yeah, that’s about right. He started ducking my calls and lost his enthusiasm.”
“You never confronted him?” Sam asked.
“Actually, I did. It was around Thanksgiving. I ran into him one night, leaving the Village Tavern. I asked him what was going on with the Emporium and that we had a deal.”
“What’d Justin say?” I asked.
“He said we didn’t have a contract, so there wasn’t any deal. Then he said something else had come along that he was working on. I asked him what, but he wouldn’t say. Then he said he was shooting for the steak and not chicken feed. Can you believe that crap?” Sweet’s voice rose even higher.
“What happened then?” Sam asked.
“When I ran into him that night?” Sweet shifted in his chair and fingered a coffee cup on his desk. “Well, he was sort of sneering at me. Justin could be a real pain, sometimes. I got angry, gave him a shove, and called him a few, choice names. I had ten years on him, but knew I could take him, if I had to. He turned like he was going to walk away. He was swearing up a storm. Then he spun around and came running at me. I sidestepped and tripped him. He went flying. I could tell he didn’t know how to street fight.”
“Was he hurt?” I asked.
“Nah, he was fine. He jumped up and swore at me some more. His glasses flew off and he was yelling about that. He found them and kept yelling. Anyway, I told him he was giving up a lot of money and I walked toward my car.”
“Justin walked away too?” Sam asked.
Sweet shrugged. “I don’t know. He shouted ‘Chicken feed’ at me, but I kept walking and didn’t look back. That was it.”
“Then why did you go to see him at the Emporium?” Sam asked.
Sweet shrugged his shoulders. “I wanted to mend fences and get him on board again.
I had drawings of some of the projects in my bag to help him see the possibilities. I also planned to raise his bonus to forty thousand dollars,” Sweet said. “I really wanted that property.”
“Did you call ahead that day?” I asked.
“No, I wanted the element of surprise.”
“Where’d you park your car?” Sam asked.
“That day?” Sweet sipped whatever was in his cup. “North end of the East Parking Lot, across Founders Road.”
“What kind of bag were you carrying?” I asked. Sweet reached down and held up a black canvas messenger bag with a shoulder strap.
“Okay thanks. Can you just run through what happened that day?” I asked.
Sweet made a face. “Okay. I got to the Emporium around 4:45 p.m. and found it closed, which was strange. I rang the bell and nobody came to the door. Then I knocked for a while.”
“You thought Justin was inside?” I asked.
“Yeah. When I walked toward the front porch, I saw some lights on inside. I figured Justin or his parents were in there.”
“Okay. Then what did you do?” I asked.
Sweet thought for a second. “I called Justin’s cellphone and it rang and was about to go to voicemail, so I hung up. Then I thought I’d leave him a message. So, I called him again and left a voicemail.”
I nodded. “Then?” I prompted.
“I kept knocking and ringing the doorbell. I called his cellphone one more time and there was no answer. I even kicked the door a few times. Nothing.”
“Were you angry?” I asked.
Sweet was upset. “Yeah, I was angry. I was sure Justin was inside and was ignoring me. So I went down the porch steps and walked toward the back of the Emporium. I saw lights on in one of the rooms on the east wall, which pissed me off more. When I reached the rear of the building, I saw the back door of the Emporium was open. I went up the steps and knocked on the door. Then I went inside and shouted Justin’s name.”
“Did you hear any voices?” Sam asked.
“No, it was very quiet and dark. Just inside the door I smelled a perfume and stopped because I thought someone might be in the room.”
“Could it have been a men’s cologne and what did it smell like?” I asked.
Sweet shrugged. “It could have been cologne. I don’t know how to tell the difference. I remember thinking of lemons and oranges but then there was a more spicy smell.”
“Okay, then what happened?” Sam prompted.
“I started walking forward again. I saw light coming from a room toward the front and walked toward it. As I got closer, I realized it was the parlor. I kept calling Justin’s name as I walked. When I went into the parlor, I stopped by some chairs and saw him on the floor. I froze for a few seconds. Then I registered the blood and saw his eyes were staring. That’s when I panicked. I thought the killer might still be in the house, maybe upstairs. So I ran out of the Emporium and all the way to Founders Road. Then I stopped.”
“Why did you stop?” Sam asked.
“I was out of breath. And I felt sick.”
“Is that when you called the police?” I asked.
“No. I was sort of in shock. I kept seeing Justin in my head. When I calmed down, I walked back around the Saucy Shop to Bridge Road. I stood by the Saucy Shop door facing the Emporium. That’s when I called the police.”
“Where were you before you came to the Emporium that day?” I asked.
Sweet stroked his beard. “I stopped out at Smitty’s Gun Club to shoot my Glock 19. Like I told the cops, I was there from 2:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m.”
“Did the police have you sign a witness statement?” Sam asked.
Sweet’s eyebrows darted down. “Yeah, they did.”
“And it included stopping at Smitty’s and what you said you did after you found Justin Church?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. I told them what I just told you. What’s your point?”
“Are you sure you were at Smitty’s before you came back to the Village?” Sam asked. I glanced at him. He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes locked on Sweet.
“Yes! Call Smitty if you want. He already confirmed to the police that I was there,” Sweet snapped.
“I did talk to Smitty,” Sam said quietly, “He came clean.”
Sweet’s face turned pale. “What? What are you talking about?”
“I know that you weren’t at Smitty’s before you went to the Emporium. I also know you paid him a big bribe to lie to the police,” Sam replied.
“You did?” I said, my eyes cutting to Sweet. “Are you insane?” Then I looked back at Sam.
“Providing false information to the police in writing can buy you a felony charge,” Sam said quietly.
Sweet slumped in his chair. He took his glasses off and rubbed his face with both hands. “This is such a mess. I was so scared.”
Sam sat back in his chair. “We need the truth about three things and maybe we can help you. What really happened at the Emporium? Where were you before you went there? Did you kill Justin Church or have any role in his death?”
Sweet dropped his hands to the desk. “I did not kill Justin or have anything to do with it. I swear to God!” He fumbled with his glasses as he put them back on.
“After you found the body, it took you approximately twenty-four minutes to call the police that night,” Sam said. “It doesn’t add up. Tell us the truth about what happened.”
Sweet exhaled and puffed his cheeks out. “Everything happened the way I said inside the Emporium. But when I ran outside, I remembered I had my Sig P226 in my bag. I freaked. I thought if the police searched it, they’d think I killed Justin.” He looked at both of us with wide eyes.
“But you didn’t kill Justin,” Sam stated.
“You’re damn right I didn’t!” Sweet replied, his voice rising again.
“So why would the police think you shot Justin then? Your Sig wasn’t the murder weapon, right?” asked Sam.
“No, it wasn’t, but I had just found a man shot to death with a lot of blood and…it was spooky. I freaked and ran. When I got outside and remembered my Sig, I panicked even more,” Sweet said.
“Why did you have a gun in your bag?” I asked. I remembered that Mitch said Sweet had a concealed carry permit.
“I was at the University for a meeting in the morning. I’m licensed for concealed carry, but can’t carry on school grounds. It’s their policy. I hate not having my gun with me. So I hid my Sig and holster in an inner compartment in my bag.”
“You left the gun there after your meeting?” I asked.
Sweet ran a hand over his beard. “It wasn’t a very good meeting and I was distracted. I forgot the Sig was in the bag, until I ran out of the Emporium.”
“Okay. What happened after you left the Emporium?” Sam asked.
“I ran to my car, dumped the bag in the trunk, and ran back around the Saucy Shop like I said. I stopped to catch my breath. Then I called the police and waited for them.”
Sam nodded his head. “And once again, you didn’t kill Justin?”
“I did not,” Sweet replied firmly.
“Where were you before you went to the Emporium?” I asked.
Sweet hesitated.
“Don’t lie,” I warned.
“Okay. I was with my girlfriend. My wife is this up and comer at an inventory company. She travels a lot and was gone from Saturday until Tuesday.”
“Girlfriend’s name?” I asked.
Sweet looked at me and shook his head. “You don’t need that. Why involve her?” he asked.
“To prove you’re telling the truth,” I snapped.
Sweet looked deflated. “Nikki Fremont.” When I asked for her telephone number and address, he rattled both off.
Then Sweet’s head snapped up. “Look, we can’t tell my wife about this. She and the kids can’t ever know about Nikki,” he said urgently.
“Is that where you went after the murder?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. I stayed with Nikki M
onday night. I was so shook up I contacted my doctor and he called in a prescription for me. I picked the meds up Tuesday and went home. I was in bed when Cindy got back from her business trip.”
“Anything else you left out in your original story?” I asked. Sweet frowned and shook his head.
“Good. Now, did Justin ever talk about religion at all?” I asked.
Sweet’s eyebrows shot up at the transition. “Justin? No, we never talked about religion.
I nodded. “He didn’t quote Scripture or anything?”
“Never,” Sweet said.
“Have the police seized any of your weapons?” Sam asked.
Sweet pulled a face. “Yeah, they surprised me with a warrant at my home. They took my Glock 19, the Sig Sauer, some older 9mms I own, and two suppressors. We live in a police state,” he said bitterly.
“The Sig was the gun you had in your briefcase?” Sam asked.
“Right.”
“You own suppressors? Why?” I asked.
Sweet cut me a look of disdain. “They’re legal and I have the paperwork to prove it. I use them when I target shoot at my buddy’s house in the country. He has an outdoor range and a cranky wife.”
“Did you have a suppressor with you when you went to the Emporium that day?” Sam asked.
“No!” Sweet’s voice hit a new high and his face was even redder than before.
“Okay, do you know Jimmy Dietz or Eddie Spaghetti Klein?” I asked.
“No. Are those real names?” he asked and I nodded. Sweet shook his head. “Never heard of them.”
I checked my notes. Sam and I had agreed to ask Sweet about Damian since they were both in land development. The anonymous letter we’d received also put Damian on the list of people we needed to look into.
“Do you know Damian Fletcher?” I asked.
“Yeah, I know Fletcher. We’ve worked together from time to time,” Sweet said, taking his glasses off again and rubbing his eyes.
“How was he to work with?” I asked.
