Chasing a Dead Man

by Kathryn J Bain

  They took a table at the window, the second from the door behind an older couple who appeared to be discussing an upcoming cruise.

  “You want something?” Jane asked.

  “Marcia would kill me if I filled up before dinner.” Winston glanced at the menu standing between the salt and pepper shakers. It appeared to have been printed off a home printer instead of through a print shop.

  “Why don’t you call and tell her you’re eating with me? Give you a chance to see the gang.”

  There was silence for a moment. Jane figured Winston was contemplating it.

  “Sounds good.” Winston got on her phone and texted something.

  A woman came around the counter with a small green pad in her hand. Her name tag read Eileen. “What can I get you?” she asked.

  Eileen took their orders and then, after filling their glasses from the soda machine, she returned with their drinks. She slid a green receipt onto the table upside down. Jane took it. Just shy of $3.50.

  “Do you know anything about the insurance agent a couple doors down?” Jane asked the short, plump woman.

  “Not really,” she said. “The police were there a couple weeks ago according to my assistant manager. They apparently came in to talk with her, but they didn’t really say what was going on. Not that we could help much. We only ever saw one person going in, and that was only a couple of times.”

  Jane pushed the straw through the paper and shoved it into the drink. “Who was the person you saw?”

  “Who wants to know.” The woman’s voice became curt.

  “Sorry, I’m Jane Bayou, a private investigator. This is Winston Black.” Jane took out her card. “Someone murdered Mr. Evers. Just wondering about his staff, and if anyone might have had it in for him because of work.”

  “Murdered?” The woman pressed a hand against her heart. “I didn’t hear about that. I don’t watch much news.”

  “His wife hired me to look into it.”

  “To be honest, I think I only saw a guy there two or three times. Dark hair, good looking.” She looked out the window with excitement in her eyes.

  Jane couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be calling all her friends to talk about her work neighbor getting murdered. Making it sound as if she knew him well. It’d probably be her most popular post on social media.

  “Is this him?” Jane pulled out her phone and showed Eileen the photo of Pamela’s husband.

  “Yeah. How terrible.”

  “Ever see anyone else?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  “Thanks anyway.” Jane pulled a ten from her crossbody bag. She tossed the bill on the table as she stood. She sucked down the rest of her drink and tossed the Styrofoam cup in the trash can by the door.

  The two headed to the barbershop next door to see if the barber had anything new to add. He didn’t.

  Back at the insurance agency, Jane pressed a hand and her face against the window. A reception desk, two chairs for waiting, and a credenza filled with brochures were all she could make out. She counted three businesses until the end.

  “Where are we going?” Winston slowed as they reached the final business.

  “Checking on something.”

  Jane walked around the back. Cold rain ran down her collar. Winston followed, her Gucci purse bouncing against her side. Jane paused and looked at the attorney.

  “Might be a good idea for you to go back to the car and stay dry,” she said.

  “Why?”

  Jane raised her eyebrows.

  “I’m fine.” Winston raised her chin.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” In the alley, Jane counted three of the closed back doors. At what she assumed was the insurance company, she knocked.

  No answer.

  She tried the doorknob. Locked.

  Jane glanced around, then dug in her purse for the lock picking set Cam had given her as a joke when she’d received her license. If he had any idea how often she used it, he’d have a fit.

  “Wait.” Winston grabbed her hand. “You can’t do that. It’s illegal.”

  “Listen, you have a bar degree to worry about. My license didn’t take near as long to get.” Jane pulled out her car keys. “Why don’t you sit this one out.”

  Winston stared at her a moment, then took the keys.

  Jane waited until she disappeared around the corner, then shoved the tool into the lock until the doorknob twisted. She waited a beat to see if an alarm went off.

  Nothing.

  Glancing up and down again, seeing no one, she slid inside.

  She looked in the first closed door she came to; a small empty room. The room across from it held the bathroom with a roll of dusty toilet paper hanging from the dispenser. About four feet forward were two more closed doors. She opened the one on the left. Empty. Same with the other.

  She walked to the front and slid her finger down the dusty reception desk. She picked up the phone. No dial tone.

  “Fake business,” Jane muttered. “But for whose benefit?”

  She turned to leave, then paused. She recalled the bank statement in Evers’ desk. Where did he get the eight thousand dollars each month if he wasn’t working?

  Blackmail? Money laundering? Drugs?

  Any one of which might get a person killed.

  Chapter 14

  Winston read through a few articles on the legality of owning and using lock picking tools. If she was going to get in trouble being out here with Jane, she needed to know how serious.

  A dark blue sedan pulled up next to her. She recognized the driver instantly – Charles Iverson. He walked around to the other side of his car, leaned back against the passenger door, and stared at the insurance office.

  Winston sucked in a deep breath and got out of the Toyota. The rain had subsided, but the air was still cold. She wrapped her arms around her torso.

  “Surprised to see you here,” he said.

  “Back at you.” She forced her tone to stay even.

  “Where’s Jane?”

  Winston looked at him. Something in his voice said he already knew.

  “She went around back. We figured I’d stay dryer in the car.”

  “I’m fairly sure I know what she’s doing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean she makes a habit of going into places she shouldn’t.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ve already searched it.”

  Winston’s face heated.

  “So, how are you doing?” he asked.

  “Me. I’m fine.”

  “Marcia didn’t seem happy to see me the other night. Does the rest of your family hate me also?”

  “Don’t know. Haven’t seen my family in years.” The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted it.

  He jerked upright and stared at her a moment. “I never thought you killed Steve. It’s just we always have to look at the spouse.”

  “I know.” Winston’s skin crawled recalling that time of her life—being put under a microscope. The police discovered Winston Black wasn’t her real name. She wasn’t sure if they ever bought her lies about her past, or if they ever found out who she really was. It was only natural they would look at her as a suspect, especially since the night before she’d caught Steve cheating. If a neighbor hadn’t confirmed her alibi in Hilton Head, and Jane hadn’t broken the real killer’s alibi, she’d probably be spending her life in prison.

  She had never really worried much about him thinking she’d killed Steve. Maybe it was the other secrets she worried he might find out. But why?

  Jane came around the corner of the mall. She stopped and looked both ways before stepping down onto the road though no cars were coming.

  Charles’ eyes lasered in on her.

  Winston looked away as Jane neared. She wished she’d warned her about Charles, but it would have looked too obvious if she started texting when he pulled up.

  “Look who showed up.” She nodded toward Charles.

  “I see,
” Jane said. “Detective.”

  How could she look him in the eye after breaking into that office?

  “Got a call from the barber next door,” Charles said. “We asked him to call if anyone came by asking about the insurance company. Guess who he called us about?”

  “Little ole me,” Jane glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the barber’s shop.

  “You know those tools you have hidden on your person are illegal.”

  “Only if you plan to use them to burglarize some place,” Winston said. “They’re not illegal to own.” At least that was what most of the articles she’d reviewed had said.

  Jane let out a low laugh. “Pays to bring my attorney along.”

  “So, did you use them to break in?” Charles didn’t seem to find the situation any funnier than Winston did.

  “If I had, I didn’t intend to steal so, no burglary, besides, there’s nothing to take.” Jane raised her hands palms side up. “But then I guess you already know that. What do you make of it?”

  “Why don’t you tell me.”

  Winston didn’t understand what was going on, but they both seemed to know what the other was taking about.

  “It’s my experience,” Jane said, “if there’s dust on the TP, no one’s using it.”

  “You think the business is just for show.” Winston’s heart raced.

  “A show for what?” Charles asked.

  “Not what. Who. Pamela Evers, I would assume.” Winston raised her left shoulder in a shrug. “What better way to convince her he’s an insurance agent then to have a place of business.”

  “What if she wanted to visit him at work?” Charles looked down at his shoes.

  “Could have pointed it out, then had a ready excuse of dinner or something,” Jane suggested.

  “You think this guy was that smart.” Charles straightened up.

  “Smart enough to convince everyone he was Phillip Evers and still not be found, even by the JSO.”

  A nerve ticked above Charles left eye. “Maybe Ms. Evers is in on whatever score he had planned.”

  “Then why let everyone know he was still alive?” Winston said. “If she’d kept quiet, she’d be collecting seven hundred fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Except we knew it wasn’t her husband.”

  “Only because she said so.” Jane pointed her finger in the air. “You’d have thought she was married to the real Phillip Evers, and probably have never known there was an imposter.”

  Charles looked at her for a second, then nodded. “Probably.”

  “You would have thought she was the widow of a dead guy.” Winston agreed. “You’d have looked into the murder without ever knowing her husband was out there somewhere waiting for her to collect a large sum of money.”

  “Maybe that’s the deal.” Jane took her keys from her pocket. “He waits until she gets the money, then shows back up.”

  “Why?”

  “To finish the game and get it all.”

  “You think she’s in trouble?” Charles asked.

  “Someone followed Jane after she left Pamela’s house earlier,” Winston said. “It’s a good bet she was who they were watching.”

  “What type of car?” Charles asked.

  Jane described the SUV and gave him the details of what had occurred.

  “We’ve kept a car nearby just to keep an eye on her with that other shooter still at large.”

  Winston figured it was more to see if her husband showed up.

  “I’ll have them look out for this SUV.” Charles walked back around his vehicle. “Do yourself a favor, Jane. Keep your little toys at home where they belong. Most officers aren’t as forgiving as I am.”

  Jane waved with all five fingers and walked around to the driver’s side door of her car. Winston got in the passenger side.

  “As exciting as that was, I don’t like cutting it that close with the police.” Jane let out a loud breath. “Not to mention Cam would be ticked having to bail me out of jail.”

  “Good thing I’ve got money,” Winston said. “Just do me a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t do that to me again.” She watched Charles drive from the lot.

  Jane put the car into gear, and they rode in silence back over the Buckman Bridge until they arrived at Jane’s house.

  “If Pamela’s husband is the one in the SUV,” Winston asked, “why do you think he’s still in town?”

  “Money would be my best guess.”

  “Do you think he’ll contact Pamela?” Winston asked.

  “I’m almost betting on it.” Jane nodded “I just hope Pamela’s smart enough not to go off with him.”

  “Do you think she would?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you saying if after thinking your husband was dead, if he showed up, you wouldn’t want to go with him?”

  Winston knew the answer. She’d be more than eager to jump in a car and disappear with Steve. But unlike Pamela, if Winston took off with her dead husband, she wasn’t putting her life in danger.

  Chapter 15

  Winston walked into her house. All was quiet. Marcia and Carlos were probably at their own home by now. She’d enjoyed her evening. Jane’s kids were always fun to talk with. She’d forgotten the wide-eyed amazement of a child Liz’s age. Then becoming a teen and believing you were more grown up than you really were. Thinking the world would never touch you.

  She and Steve had discussed adoption since Winston couldn’t have children, but they never carried it through. He was at the height of his career, out touring. He wanted to wait until he was home more often. And she never pressed the issue.

  In too many cases, abused kids grew up to become abusive adults. A hollow feeling came over her.

  Shoulda.

  She mentally shook from her mind the nickname her mother had given her. While her mother said it with a smile on her face, no child should grow up hearing they should have been aborted. Winston learned throughout the years Mom never loved any of her children. Which was why she didn’t care what Dad did. As long as he kept her happy, that was all that mattered.

  Too bad she hadn’t married a good man.

  In her bedroom, Winston changed and reclined onto her bed and pulled a pillow against her chest. She’d give anything to have Steve back. To not be so alone. Even if he cheated, she knew deep inside he cared for her, and she him.

  Her fingers touched the empty space next to her, the spot that used to be his. If she’d only stayed home that night. But she couldn’t handle the thought of sleeping in the same bed where her husband and his mistress had just had sex. So, she ran away.

  Something she was good at.

  She shook her head to get her thoughts clear. If she didn’t get sleep, then she’d be a mess in the morning. And that wasn’t fair to the Newberrys who would be there first thing.

  ***

  Winston was running late the next morning, and the Newberrys were already waiting for the phone conference when she arrived.

  “I sure hope something comes of this.” Fran said as Winston entered the conference room. She tugged on a tissue. “I just want it over.”

  “It won’t be over if those people get rich off our son dying.” Stuart’s brow narrowed, and his jaw tightened.

  Winston offered her apologies, then dialed Kimberly Shea’s number. While on hold, a commercial for the personal injury firm came over the line. She and Winston had sat next to each other at a luncheon for the Jacksonville Bar and instantly hit it off. Any time Winston had a personal injury case to refer, she always sent them to Kimberly.

  Winston tapped on her desk with the tips of her fingers.

  Once the commercial died out, piano music took over. Memories flooded in. Steve had been proficient on the keyboard. Even had a full scholarship to Julliard. After two years, he left to sing in a rock band. But when they were alone, he’d sing and play for her. It took until last year to give his
piano away after reading that a young girl had lost hers in a fire.

  The music disappeared, and the phone line clicked, bringing Winston back to the present.

  “Winston, good morning.”

  “Good morning. I’m here with Stuart and Fran Newberry,” she said. “How are you today?”

  “Doing well. How is everyone there?”

  A collective fine went around the room. After a few more pleasantries, Winston brought up the case.

  “As I told you,” Winston said, “they want nothing out of this but to stop Joseph Xavier’s family from profiting.”

  “I did a bit of checking to get a feel for it. The problem is this attorney, Leland Coleman, is notorious for taking cases he wouldn’t win if he went to trial.”

  “Why would an attorney take a case he couldn’t win?” Fran asked.

  “Because he knows it’s less expensive for insurance companies to settle than to fight. He’ll get something just to walk away. He receives an average of between ten and twenty thousand per case.”

  “I don’t care if it’s a dime.” Stuart scooted forward in his chair. “I don’t want him to get anything.”

  “I understand.” Silence came over the line. After a few seconds, Kimberly added, “By settling, he takes the decision out of the hands of the court and jury.”

  Mr. Newberry slammed his hand on the desk. “Their piece of garbage shot my son, who wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

  His jaw was so tight, Winston wondered how he could speak. She rolled back an inch or two, trying to get away from his anger.

  “I know there are corrupt cops out there,” he continued. “I’ve even tangled with a couple. But the officers who shot Xavier weren’t doing anything wrong. And I’m sick of seeing that mother on TV complaining how she has to spend the rest of her life without her son. Well, so do we.”

  “It must be hard,” Kimberly said. “But all might not be lost.”

  Winston could almost picture the other attorney pointing a finger in the air.

  “What do you mean,” Winston asked.

  “We can’t do anything about the parents suing the police,” Kimberly said, “But I have come up with an idea. I don’t know if it will work, but it might be worth a shot.”