“Good ole Reggie. Yeah, he’s got a rap sheet big as this desk. Likes to beat his girlfriends. I’m sure they were happy when he got locked away.”
“What about this Martinez? According to the case file, he lives with the mother. Does he have a record?”
“Yeah, mainly drug possession. He’s your typical sperm donor. Once she got pregnant, he took off and moved in with someone new. Two kids later, that relationship ended, and he returned to Susan Xavier for a couple months, then left again. When the two boys got older, their mom couldn’t handle them, so she just let them run wild. Seems Martinez moved back in shortly after Joseph’s death.”
Winston wasn’t sure if any of this information could help the Newberrys. Might even make it worse knowing Joseph had free rein to do what he liked, and the justice system let him loose after his first robbery.
“That’s about all I got, so, what’s the other case?” Charles asked.
“Phillip Evers.”
“Ah, the guy who isn’t truly dead.”
“You know it wasn’t the husband killed?” Winston leaned back in shock. She didn’t recall hearing anywhere that the police were aware of this.
“Oh yeah. We just didn’t want it to get out, but we’re actively pursuing it. Can you imagine how the news is going to react to this one?”
“Do you think the wife is involved?”
“She claimed not to recognize Evers when we showed her his mug shot earlier. But with a case like this, everyone in the United States is a suspect.” He grunted a laugh. “What’s your alibi?”
“Home, no witnesses.” She smiled. “Is there anything you can tell me about her missing husband?” She paused, then added. “Jane’s looking into it.”
“The only thing we can’t figure out is who the guy is, what he was up to, and where he’s taken off to.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
She let out a sigh. “And that’s everything.”
***
Jane shuffled through the driver’s licenses. Joseph Toomey, Abbot French, Dale Connors, and Randolph Smirnov. That made five false names if you count Phillip Evers. Jane assumed he had the Evers’ identification with him.
“Would the real Phillip Evers please stand up?” she muttered.
“Lunch is ready,” Pamela hollered through the opening to the attic.
“I’ll be right down.” Jane felt around in the small cavity from which the licenses had fallen. Her fingers hit on something metal. She pulled out a key with the number twenty-seven engraved on it.
Jane shoved the key in her crossbody purse next to the licenses. She shut the small door in the rafter then headed to the opening on the floor. She flipped off the light and climbed down. Pamela met her at the foot of the stairs. Jane folded the steps before lifting the trap door, allowing it to slam shut over her head.
“Can I ask a favor?” Pamela asked.
“Sure.”
“Can we not discuss anything about this until after lunch?” She reached up and appeared to be fixing her hair. “I’d just like a break from thinking about it for a minute or two.”
“No problem.” Jane followed her host to the kitchen. The smell of chicken noodle soup hung in the air, reminding her of Mom’s house. Some days she missed being a kid. Two white bowls sat on the island with steam rising from the liquid inside. Beside each was a sandwich on wheat bread.
“I made you a turkey sandwich also.” Pamela pulled out a chair at the island and sat. “I guess I should have made sure you weren’t a vegan or something.”
“I definitely love my burgers. And steak. And turkey.”
“Good.” Pamela raised a spoonful of soup and blew on it before putting it in her mouth. “I’m sorry if I sounded short back there. I want to help as best I can. I have a doctor’s appointment later regarding my wounds and am hoping for a good report.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed.”
“You’ve been through a lot,” Jane said. “And a gunshot’s hard on a body. Too many chances of infection.”
“The doctor said he wanted me to rest up to four weeks. Won’t even let me work, though I do so from home.”
“Could be concerned about the stress.”
She nodded her agreement. “I feel like I can’t move forward with so much up in the air right now. I just need a break from it all.”
“No problem.” Jane sucked in a noodle. The soup was too salty for her tastes, but she had been hungrier than she realized, and she gobbled it down. As she chewed, she glanced around the home.
Pamela’s black-and-white checkerboard patterned tile floor in the kitchen appeared new. No food stains or scuff marks. Even the stainless-steel appliances appeared new. A hanging rack of pots and pans dangled in the air in one corner. On the stove, a red-handled teakettle sat. She’d decorated the tan living room sofa with colorful pillows. A television mounted on the wall hung above a mantle with tchotchkes. A large recliner was in the perfect place for watching the television mounted on the wall. On the end table was a lamp filled with shells. Jane figured both the chair, and the lamp, had to be Phillip’s because they didn’t go with the rest of the room.
“Sweet tea?” Pamela asked, bringing Jane’s attention back.
“Sure. Thanks.” Jane finished the soup and moved to the sandwich.
“So, tell me about yourself.” Pamela peeled off a bite of sandwich with her fingers.
“What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know.” Pamela hesitated. “How’d you become a private investigator?”
“I was a Master-at-Arms in the Navy. Most people know that as the military police. When I came out, I got married and had a kid. Decided I wanted something I could do at the house. Got involved in looking up information on resumes for a couple HR departments. Then I got into researching missing persons for a couple attorneys. When my daughter came along, I got licensed so I could do more.”
Pamela brought over two glasses filled with tea and placed them on the island. “And are you a loner walking the dark streets at night watching cheating spouses?” She gave a hint of a smile.
“That’s the stereotype.” Jane laughed. “I hate spying on spouses. Luckily, I don’t do that much, but I do spy on people claiming workers comp injuries.” She took her final bite of her sandwich.
“And your children keep you from becoming a loner.”
“And a husband, four siblings, my mother, and an extended family. What about you? Other than being an award-winning swimmer.”
“How’d you know?”
“It’s those investigative skills.” Jane tapped her temple. “That and I saw some of your trophies.”
For the first time since they’d met, Pamela’s smile reached her eyes.
“More than award-winning. I just missed out on the Olympic team seven years ago.”
“Wow.” Jane stared at the woman.
“I love to swim,” Pamela said. “I don’t know what I’d do without my pool.”
“Sounds like Winston. She has an Olympic pool at her place.”
“You guys must be good friends working so close together.”
“We are.” Jane drank down the glass of sweet tea.
Pamela let out a loud breath and placed her napkin on her lap. “Okay. Now that we’re finished, you can ask me your questions.”
“Are you sure I have any?”
“I’m assuming.”
“Here goes. Did you ever meet any of your husband’s friends? Ever go to a place he liked to hang out where he seemed familiar to people?”
“No, we stayed home most of the time. Occasionally, we’d go out to dinner, The Outback or something along those lines. Not one place in particular.” She paused, then added, “I take it you didn’t find anything.”
“Just this.” Jane pulled out the key she’d found. She waited for a reaction but got none.
“What is it?” Pamela’s brow creased. “It looks like
a weird key.”
“It is,” Jane shoved the key back in her pocket. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it belonged to a storage unit. In this city, the big question is which one.” She pulled out the licenses and spread them out on the table like a dealer with a deck of cards. “I take you know nothing about these either?”
Pamela stared at the licenses. She used one finger to pull one toward her. Her lip wobbled. Her husband was up to something she apparently knew nothing about. She spun another, then another until she came to the last. Her hand trembled. Four different names. One face.
Her husband’s.
“Do you recognize any of the names?” Jane nodded her head toward the licenses.
“I’ve never heard of these people,” Pamela said. “But it’s definitely Phillip in the picture. What do you think they mean?”
“I can’t be sure yet.” Jane scooped the licenses into her hand and slid them back into her purse. “I’ll do some research to see if I can determine who these people are, and if they have any involvement with your husband.”
“Why would he need these licenses?”
Jane shrugged. “He could be hiding from someone wanting to do him harm.”
Pamela shuddered at the thought. “If so, that could mean he’s still in danger.”
“Yeah.”
“We need to find him.” She skidded her chair back.
“That’s the game plan.” Jane remained seated. “However, to do that, I need to figure out where he would be. If he’s using an alias, that will be hard. Unless he’s using one of these.”
“But wouldn’t he need the license?”
“In most cases but given all that occurred the night of the shooting and how fast the police got here, it’s doubtful he had time to think that far ahead.” Jane’s phone buzzed in her jacket pocket in the other room. They both looked in the direction, but Jane ignored it. “Have you felt like anyone has been in the house since everything happened?”
“You mean broken in?”
“Not necessarily. Your husband, I assume, would still have a key.”
Pamela thought about the silhouette she’d seen. “I thought I saw someone.” She hesitated, then added, “In the yard last night.”
“Could it have been him?”
“I don’t know. Might have been my imagination.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I’m still jumpy.”
Jane reached over and placed her hand on Pamela’s arm. “It’s going to be awhile until you get over that terror. But you do need to keep an eye out. We don’t know why all this occurred. Call me or the cops if you think you see something suspicious. Anything.”
Pamela nodded.
“The night of the shooting, or a day or two before, did your husband act like something was up?”
“What do you mean?” Pamela’s brow furrowed like she was trying to remember.
“Was he looking out the window a lot? Checking the rearview mirror of the car?”
“No. Nothing unusual. We were just planning on the baby.” She swallowed hard.
“Except he moved his gun to the drawer.” It was clear to Jane that Phillip knew something bad was about to occur.
Chapter 11
Winston rubbed her tired eyes. She tried to focus on the trust document in front of her, but with all the charitable bequests, it was taking her twice as long to finish. Her mind wandered off and on.
This time of year drove her crazy, always thinking about Steve. She needed more than just work to get her mind off it.
A knock sounded on the door.
“You don’t have to knock, Brenda.” It was something she’d said over the years, but knew she was wasting her breath. Brenda was too considerate of others to just barge in.
“There’s a phone call for Jane. Her friend, Fred McCay, from the M.E.’s office is trying to reach her.”
“I’ll take it.” Winston picked up the phone from its cradle. “This is Winston Black. How are you, Fred?”
“Doing great. Long time no see.” After a few more pleasantries, he asked to speak with Jane.
“She isn’t here at the moment. Did you try her cell?” Winston could picture him rolling his eyes at her question.
“She didn’t answer,” the man said. “She said to call if anyone showed up to claim Phillip Evers’ body. His folks walked in a few minutes ago.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” Winston hung up and texted Jane letting her know McCay had called. She waited about a minute for an answer. When she got no response, she typed, I’ll head over for you.
Might be a good distraction.
Thirty minutes later, Winston pulled into a parking spot at the Duval County Medical Examiner’s office on Jefferson Street. Fred McCay met her in the foyer, then took her through a security door with a swipe card. McCay was tall, wearing green scrubs, and had a mask hanging around his throat. He took her to a room with a coffee machine and water. She was glad there were no smells from the backroom.
“Are they still here?” she asked.
He jerked his head and kept his voice low. “In there talking with the police. Their names are Harold and Meg Herbert. I slowed up the paperwork. Once it’s out, this place will be a madhouse.”
A door down the hallway buzzed, allowing someone to enter or leave elsewhere.
“I imagine reporters will start calling soon,” she said.
He took a sip of coffee. “This case is too weird for them not. Then the parents show up after a friend saw a news story about their son.”
“How awful.”
“I’ll say.”
A man and woman sat in a small room across from them. The woman held a handkerchief in one hand while the man gripped the other. She dabbed at her eyes every few moments while speaking with Charles Iverson. The woman looked way too young to have a son about thirty-five. After Fred left to go back to work, Winston leaned back against the wall just out of sight of the door and listened in to what was being said.
“So, you don’t know who Pamela Evers is?” Iverson asked.
“No,” the father said. “Like we told you before, we didn’t know any of his friends. We hadn’t seen him since he got into drugs.”
Winston glanced inside the room.
The woman’s shoulders stiffened. “My son had his issues, but he was getting over that.”
“He was a homeless bum,” the man said.
The woman jerked her hand free.
The man patted her leg. “He needs to know the truth, dear, if he’s to find out what happened.”
“Then you just go ahead and tell him!” The woman shot up from her seat. “But remember, this bum was my son.” She tore from the room, almost knocking Winston over. Mrs. Herbert disappeared inside the lady’s bathroom down the hall.
Winston caught Charles’ eye and nodded she’d look in on her. She grabbed a cup of water near where the coffeepot sat. She found Mrs. Herbert leaning over the sink, splashing water on her face. A cross necklace dangled from her throat.
“Here, this might help.” Winston handed her the water.
“Th-thank you.” The woman sobbed. After a moment, she looked at Winston in the mirror. “I hate this is all anyone will remember about him.”
“What’s that?”
“That’d he’d been living on the streets, doing drugs. I prayed everyday he got well.” She glanced at the ceiling. “I hope he did.”
“We might never know, but if he accepted God, even at the last minute, he’s in Heaven.” Winston stepped toward the woman and put her hand on her shoulder. “My name’s Winston Black.”
“Meg Herbert.” She looked at herself in the mirror and combed a hand through her hair. “My husband doesn’t understand, but then Phillip wasn’t his.”
“Stepson?”
She nodded. “I just don’t get how this happened. In his postcards, Phillip said he was doing better. Found himself a job and was getting clean. Even talked about coming to visit.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Who w
ould do this to him?”
“Hopefully, you’ll have the answers soon,” Winston said. “Did your son ever mention the company he was working for?”
“No.”
“How often did you speak with Phillip?”
“I hadn’t heard from him in over two years, then out of the blue, we got a postcard a couple months ago. After that they came pretty regularly.” Her voice trembled. “Every week or so.” Ms. Herbert blew her nose in the tissue. “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
“Not yet.” Winston explained a man had been using her son’s name, and there’d been a shooting. At first police thought it was the homeowner who had died. But it, in fact, turned out to be her son, Phillip. “We’re trying to locate the imposter, hoping he can answer all our questions.”
“Do you think he killed my son?”
“We don’t know.”
“I just don’t understand. He’d said he was getting sober, wanted to visit the farm we have in Georgia. I can’t help but wonder if it was just words, and he was into something terrible.”
“Could be he just ran into the wrong person who killed him to aid his own getaway.”
“So, you don’t think my son tried to kill that pregnant woman like the papers are saying?”
Winston had no doubt he was in on the home invasion, but why give this woman more to suffer with. “We don’t know all the facts. It seems odd that if your son was getting straight, he’d go from drugs to murder.”
“Thank you for giving me the hope my Phillip was a good man when he died.”
Winston stood with the woman a few more minutes, then walked her back to the waiting room. “If you think of anything,” Winston said, “please feel free to call.” She handed Ms. Herbert her business card.
“You’re a lawyer?” Ms. Herbert stared hard at her. “I thought you were with the police.”
“Pamela Evers, the woman married to the imposter, hired an investigator in my office.”
The woman nodded, then took Winston’s arm. “Please, ask her to let me know what she finds out, even if it’s bad. I need to know.”
Winston would leave that decision up to Jane. She waited until Mr. Herbert joined them before she left.
Chasing a Dead Man Page 6
