by S F Bose
Chapter 31
When I got to the office, the door was locked. Fumbling with my keys, I unlocked it and disarmed the alarm. I went to the conference room and shed my parka and messenger bag. Then I quickly ate a glazed donut, washed down by the Café’s strong coffee. I took a deep breath. Sugar and caffeine helped me to think.
I slid my laptop out of the messenger bag and plugged it into the network. After uploading interview files and doing summary notes for the online case file, I updated the case board.
I added an event for the attempted torching of the Emporium. I updated Ben’s entry with “Alibi for the Emporium fire.” For Mark Sweet I added “Money Needs” and “Emporium sale” under motive. Then I added, “Sig P226 in bag,” “Lied about Smitty’s,” “Was with girlfriend (Nikki) before visit to Emporium.”
Sam arrived a little after 11:00 a.m. After throwing his parka and bag on a chair, he stretched. He wore gray sweatpants, a faded, red UW tee shirt, and a black hoodie. His Irish tweed flat cap perched on his head. Sliding into the chair across from me, he scooped up a bagel and a packet of cream cheese.
I looked at his flushed face and asked, “Were you out running?” Sam lived in an old house north of town. On weekends, he liked to take long runs in the neighboring countryside.
“No, I was working the heavy bag at Spiro’s. Got out some of my aggression,” he replied and smiled. Spiro ran Spiro’s Fitness Club near the police station.
“I haven’t been there since before the holidays. I use a heavy bag and speed bag I hung up at home.”
Sam attacked the second bagel. “Working out at home does save some time and money.”
“But you don’t get Spiro yelling at you and giving you tips,” I replied, eying a chocolate donut. Spiro was thirty-five, conditioned, and came from the “In your face” school of boxing. He understood both technique and motivation.
“Some days I just want to pound the bag,” Sam said. I knew what he meant.
I grabbed the chocolate donut. After devouring it and sipping Abbie’s high-octane coffee, I sat back in my chair. “I have news,” I said and Sam’s black eyebrows darted up.
I filled him in on how Sid had stopped the attempted arson and that Peter and Martha were okay.
“You think the killer tried to torch the Emporium?” Sam asked.
“I’m not sure. The murder and attempted arson are so close together. It’s hard to believe it’s a coincidence.”
Sam nodded. “Still it could be unrelated.”
“Could be. To be safe, I confirmed with my mother that Ben was home at 4:00 a.m.”
“I’ll ask Newmont to follow up with Sweet to see where he was at 4:00 a.m.,” Sam said. “I have to make sure Sweet contacted them, anyway.”
“Can you ask Newmont to check with Damian too?”
“Sure, I can ask,” Sam agreed. “You know, it’s also possible the killer hired someone to torch the Emporium for some reason. That way he could set up an alibi.”
I sipped my coffee. “Yeah, I’m hoping our guy is stupid and did it himself.”
He stared at the case board for a minute. “Justin is killed in the Emporium. Then less than a week later, someone tries to set the Emporium on fire. Why?” His nut-brown eyes shifted to me.
“Well, it inspires fear. Maybe someone is trying to scare Peter and Martha into selling out?”
“That’s a possibility. It seems heavy-handed for Sweet though,” Sam said.
“He didn’t seem very subtle to me,” I replied and Sam laughed.
“It could also be someone with a grudge against Peter and Martha or the entire family,” I said. “Maybe they have an enemy we don’t know about.”
Sam thought about it. “I don’t know. They seem so nice. But you can never tell. It’s also possible there’s something in the Emporium that the killer wanted to destroy.”
“What?” I asked.
“No idea. But it’s another possible motive.”
“It is,” I agreed. We sat in silence for a minute.
Then Sam stirred. “I have news too. Mitch sent me profiles on Justin, Ben, Jimmy Dietz, and Eddie Spaghetti Klein. I’ll forward the email and attachments to you. But I can give you the high points.” He got up and unbuckled his bag. Out came his laptop, paper notebook, and a bottle of Sobe. Sitting down again, he flipped through his notes.
I pulled my messenger bag over and slid out my notebook and pen. After a second, I looked up and Sam was staring at me. He looked uncertain.
“What?” I asked.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll just put this on the table. Mitch looked into Ben Katz. No problems with the law, other than some anti-war marches in the sixties and land preservation marches more recently. No arrests or convictions. The strange thing about Ben is that he’s filthy, stinkin’ rich.”
Sam stared at me while I absorbed his news. My mind went blank. “Say again?” I asked, my eyebrows darting down into a frown.
Sam checked his notes. “Ben is wealthy. He, his brother, and sister inherited millions each from their parents. The parents were real estate investors and developers in Chicago. The mother was also from a wealthy family and inherited when her parents passed on. Evidently, Ben has invested his share wisely. All of the siblings share in an annual trust payment too. He also makes big bucks from inventions and patents.”
An image of Ben flashed through my mind. Wild gray hair, thick gray beard, glasses, stained tee shirt, ripped jeans, and flip-flops with socks.
“That can’t be right. Ben is ‘Mr. Frugal.’ He lives like a man who has no money. He fixes everything instead of buying new. He’d rather make toys for Becky’s twins than buy them from a store. Mom stopped going to the day spa for massages and mani pedis for a while because Ben thought it was too expensive. He usually rides his bicycle or a motor scooter in decent weather. And you’ve seen how he dresses.” I said.
Sam frowned. “Mani pedis?”
“Manicures and pedicures,” I replied and he shook his head.
Without another word, he handed me Mitch’s report. It included everything Sam had detailed. Mitch was good. He didn’t make mistakes. I shook my head.
“That’s a mindbender. I wonder if Mom knows,” I said, more to myself than to Sam. “Well there’s nothing here that screams murderer.”
“I agree. No history of violence. Obviously, no monetary motive. Let’s move on to Justin.”
“Ben’s idea of a big night out with Mom is ordering takeout food,” I muttered.
“Okay, moving on,” Sam repeated. “Justin did have money problems. Like Peter and Martha said, he had a failed marriage and two failed businesses.”
“What kind of businesses?”
Sam flipped open his laptop. A few minutes later, he said, “One was a landscaping business and the other was computer repair.”
I groaned. “How do you fail with a landscaping business in Mystic Grove? There are trees and lawns everywhere.”
Sam shrugged. “I think Justin’s real problem was his gambling.”
“So he was a gambler!”
“In several ways. For a while, he tried trading stocks and lost some money there. Then he decided to trade currencies. At first, he made money at that, but then lost more. Mitch did some digging and confirmed that Justin liked sports betting.”
“Was he bad at that too?” I asked. I got up and added the new information under Justin’s photo.
“Hard to say. Mitch said Justin had a very modest bank account. He did confirm the monthly trust payments. He also saw some transfers to and from a Sports Book,” said Sam. “Anyway, Justin moved in with his parents a little over two years ago.”
I was surprised. “That long ago? I didn’t realize that.”
“Also, he couldn’t find any insurance policies related to Justin. So that angle is dead.”
“No connections with Sweet?”
“No, nothing in the report,” Sam replied.
He flipped through his notes. “Let’s see. Eddie K
lein is next. He’s an old friend of Justin’s. They went to school together and stayed friends. Eddie is 42, divorced, and has one grown kid and two teenagers. He’s an electrician and rents a house near Fitchburg.”
“Any red flags?”
Sam shook his head. “Not really. Klein looks clean.”
“Where’s the ‘Spaghetti’ nickname come from?”
“Mitch didn’t say and I’m not sure I want to know,” Sam replied and laughed. I added Eddie Klein to the case board with an arrow to Justin. I labeled the arrow “friend.”
“Last but not least is Jimmy Dietz. Mitch said he looked interesting. Dietz is 36 and single. His parents died seven years ago in a car accident. His sister, Nina Emory, lives in San Francisco. Divorced with two kids. Jimmy has a B.A. in philosophy from the University of Wisconsin,” Sam said.
“This is the guy Justin met through Eddie Klein?”
“Yeah, that’s what Martha said. Mr. Dietz was convicted of Class A Misdemeanor Battery and served nine months. He was fined too.”
“Really? When was this?”
“Fourteen years ago when he was 22,” Sam replied.
“Did Mitch have details on the case?”
Sam turned to his laptop and clicked away for a minute.
“Okay, Mitch said it was a bar fight,” Sam said.
“It’s always a bar fight,” I observed and he chuckled.
“Dietz was at a bar and started chatting up this girl. She was there with another guy. The guy warned him off and Dietz replied with something threatening. They fought and the other guy ended up with cuts, scrapes, and bruises. The bartender broke it up and called the police when they wouldn’t leave,” Sam said.
“They were drinking, right?” I asked.
Sam nodded. “The defense attorney must have been a crappy lawyer. Dietz had a clean record and had just graduated from UW. I think a good lawyer would have prevailed. However, that’s beside the point. Dietz was convicted, went to prison, kept his nose clean, and his father paid his fine.”
“What’d he do after he got out?” I asked.
“He worked in a couple of different sales jobs for eight years. Then he was a personal trainer for seven years. Now, he’s a manager at Paulie’s Pub and Pool Hall in Madison. He’s been there for four years.”
I shook my head. “I’m missing the interesting part. This sounds mundane. Except that Jimmy was violent once in his life and got caught.”
“Once that we know about. Mitch did some more digging. The listed owner of Paulie’s Pub and Pool Hall is Angela Bruce, currently residing in sunny Florida. Angela is the daughter of Ansell Benedetto, who is a known bookie and wise guy. He’s supposedly retired.”
“Mafia wise guy?” I asked in surprise.
Sam nodded. “They call him Mr. B.”
My neck tingled. “You think Jimmy Dietz is working for Mr. B?”
Sam stretched his legs and folded his arms. “Not sure. Mitch didn’t find any financial connections between Mr. B and Paulie’s Pub.”
“If Justin was a gambler, being friends with Jimmy Dietz may have given him access to a bookie,” I said.
“It’s possible. That would mean cash payouts and no paper trail,” Sam agreed. “We can ask Eddie Klein and Jimmy Dietz about that.”
I gulped down the remains of my Farmhouse Café coffee. Then I jumped up and added Jimmy Dietz and Mr. B to the case board. I drew a “friend” arrow from Jimmy back to Justin. I also drew a box for Paulie’s Pub. Under Mr. B, I wrote “Bookie/Mafia” with an arrow to Paulie’s Pub and a question mark. I labeled the arrow between Jimmy and Mr. B with a big question mark. Then I stepped back and scanned the board.
“This could change things. Maybe Justin placed bets with Mr. B and couldn’t pay up. So they whacked him,” I said.
“Whacked him? Are you reading those crime novels again?” Sam asked and I laughed.
“I do like my mysteries,” I said. I sat down in my chair across from him and leaned forward, my eyes locked on his. “Come on, Sherlock, you know this is a much more interesting scenario than we have with the other suspects.”
He laughed. “Sherlock. That’s cute. I agree, though. This is intriguing. However, I learned a long time ago to just follow the facts. Arriving at conclusions based on coincidence always leads to trouble.”
“You’re going to give this to Newmont, though, right?” I asked.
“I am, but not until late Monday. We’re going to talk to Klein and Dietz first. I want us to be the ones to break the news of Justin’s murder and see their reactions.”
“Monday? Why not tomorrow?”
Sam shook his head. “Monday works better. I’m going to ask Klein for a meeting about some electrical work I want done at my house. He won’t have any idea we’re looking into Justin’s murder.”
I nodded. “And for Dietz?”
“I think we should just go down to Paulie’s Pub after we talk to Klein. We’ll see if Dietz is there. I have the feeling there’s no ploy I can use to schedule a meeting with him that wouldn’t make him suspicious.”
“Makes sense,” I agreed. “If you forward Mitch’s email and attachments to me, I’ll update the online case file.”
“Done deal,” Sam said after a few clicks on his laptop.
***
I spent the next hour in my office updating the case file. Then I sat back and thought about Jimmy Dietz and Mr. B. Did Justin have enough money to place bets with them? A grand a month with no real expenses might be enough to gamble. If so, I could think of a few solid scenarios that made Jimmy Dietz and Mr. B better suspects than Ben.
A knocking sound brought me back to reality.
“Enter,” I shouted and laughed at the look on Sam’s face as he came through the door between our two offices. He laughed and fell into one of my guest chairs, stretched out his long legs.
“We’re all set. We’re going to see Eddie Klein on Monday at 10:00 a.m. at his home office. Then we’ll try to catch Jimmy Dietz at the pool hall,” he said. I added the morning meeting to my phone calendar.
“Okay. Any news on Sweet?”
“Yep. He called Chief Durand and came clean. They’re hauling him in to make a new statement. I also shared your scenario of Sweet as the killer.”
“Good. What did Matt think?” I asked.
“He was open-minded about it.” Sam stretched his arms over his head and hooked his hands behind his head. “I also touched base with Newmont and told him about Ben’s alibi for the fire. He said he’d gone to see both Ben and Sweet. Your mom vouched for Ben and Sweet’s wife confirmed they were home at 4:00 a.m. Next week, Newmont’s going to talk to Damian about the notes we got. I’m guessing he’ll ask then if Damian has an alibi for the fire.”
I nodded. “I keep thinking about the gambling angle. If Justin was placing bets through Mr. B, it opens the door to a lot of scenarios that could have resulted in his murder and even the fire.”
“I agree. We’ll see where the facts lead us. Hopefully, we’ll find some strong suspects who will take the heat off of Ben.”
“Sounds like a plan. Is there anything else we need to get done today?”
“No, we can call it a day. I have to hit the road, shortly,” Sam replied, checking his watch.
“Hot date?” I asked, shutting down my laptop.
“No,” he said and laughed. When I looked up, Sam’s face had reddened. “I’m driving down to Chicago to see my dad, granddad, and brother, Ethan. They’re playing a gig downtown.”
Some of Sam’s family performed in a classic rock, garage band called South Side.
“Neat! Are you going to play with them?” I asked, packing up my bag.
Sam stood up and stretched. “Not tonight, I’m too rusty. Hey, you wouldn’t want to go with, would you? They’re really good.”
“Oh, rain check? I’d love to go see them, Sam, but I can’t tonight. My ex-boss has been at the B&B for a couple of days now. I’m sure he wants to talk about my plans. I’ve bee
n ducking him.”
Sam’s eyebrows darted down into a frown. “Your plans? You quit, didn’t you?”
“I did. But when I decided to quit, Raven told me to take an unpaid leave of absence and think about it. There’s evidently a ‘cooling off’ clause in the contract I signed. I’m sure that’s what he wants to talk about.”
“Raven? He wants you to go back east to Worldhead Global Security?” Sam asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Then I saw his worried face. “Sam, this is no big deal. I had my reasons for leaving Worldhead. I’m not going back ever. I like being a gumshoe. Raven just needs to hear that from me.”
“Gumshoe,” Sam repeated and laughed so hard I ended up laughing too. ”Okay. I just thought you were free and clear of Worldhead. They never said anything when we called for references.”
“They wouldn’t.” The Worldhead human resource contacts would follow protocol and never reveal my real role there. All they would confirm is that I had been an interpreter and translator. They definitely wouldn’t reveal my status. “Don’t worry. This is just a formality.”
“Okay. Well, enjoy the rest of the weekend, if you can. Let me know how it goes with this Raven guy. See you Monday.”
“You too, Sam. Rain check?” I asked again.
He smiled. “You bet.”
Chapter 32
I called Raven on the drive home to see if he’d be free for dinner at the B&B. He was and we agreed on 6:00 p.m. I dressed down in jeans, a red University of Wisconsin hoodie with Bucky Badger strutting his stuff on the front, and hiking boots. I didn’t even zip my parka for the short walk to the B&B.
When I walked into the large dining room, it was half-full. Grandma Addie and Great-aunt Nana Anna Doyle sat at a large round table in back. Sitting with them were the Blackwells, a couple in their 60’s, who lived on a nearby farm. Nancy Blackwell was a stocky woman with short, white hair and glasses. She had a deep voice and no-nonsense manner. Her husband, David, was tall, thin, gray-haired, and had a pleasant smile. He was a practicing psychiatrist. Nancy bred and trained Great Danes as service dogs. Raven stood next to the table chatting with Addie. He wore a suit and clasped his hands behind his back.
