Chasing a Dead Man

by Kathryn J Bain

  Jane found it hard to believe if you were sober you wouldn’t know you drove into someone. “Do you know the name of the company he worked for?”

  “I sure do. They’re the ones who got the insurance money.”

  Jane perked up. “Insurance money?”

  “Yeah, $100,000,” she said. “Went to them instead of his family. We tried to fight it, but an attorney said it wouldn’t do any good. My brother had signed the Change of Beneficiary form a month before he died. Didn’t help the company themselves paid for the policy.”

  “What business?”

  “The Caldwell Company in Live Oak, Florida. Maybe you’ve heard of them.”

  “No, but Live Oak’s about an hour or more west of Jacksonville.”

  “Barely worked there six months before he got killed.” She let out a huff of a breath. “And they didn’t even help with the funeral costs.”

  “Did anyone from the company show up at the funeral?”

  “Not a one. It was like he didn’t really exist to them. I couldn’t even find anyone who’d ever met him when I called.”

  “Would you mind if I get what information you have on this company?”

  “If someone there stole my brother’s I.D., I’d love to know about it. Didn’t like any of the people there. All rude, not willing to talk to me at all.”

  Jane gave Ms. Solis her email address. Hopefully, she’d fare better with the company since she wasn’t after money, just information. Before she finished up the call, Ms. Solis also agreed to send copies of the insurance forms, including letters between her and the company.

  Five minutes later, real estate agent Ms. French responded. She would discuss her son’s death by email only. People could be skittish about telling strangers stories of loved ones, especially with all the rip-off artists out there.

  By the time they finished going back and forth, Jane discovered Abbott French had been homeless, worked for the Caldwell Company, also, and had a $100,000 life insurance policy that the company collected on upon his death. There was still no one arrested for her son’s death either.

  She did a quick search on the internet about naming a company as your beneficiary. The insurance is usually placed on a person who has a key-position in the company. She couldn’t imagine a homeless employee who made one hundred dollars a week counted.

  She picked up her phone and dialed Mr. Smirnov’s number.

  “Hello.”

  “Mr. Smirnov, this is Jane Bayou. We met earlier today.”

  “I remember. I haven’t found anything yet.” He sounded disappointed.

  “That’s okay. I’m just checking, could your son have worked for a place called the Caldwell Company.”

  “Yeah, that was it. That’s it.”

  “Do you know what he did for the company?”

  “Not really. The insurance policy claimed he was some sort of Vice-President, but he never seemed to do much work for them.”

  “Thanks. I’ll talk to you later if I find anything.” She swiped her finger across the phone.

  A chill raked down her back. Three different people, all with the same amount of insurance and all working for the same company. And all dead by hit-and-run.

  She glanced at the address of the Caldwell Company in Live Oak. A physical address and post office box. She flipped back to Andrew Smirnov’s postal address. Same mailing address. Andrew Smirnov was the person collecting the insurance funds on all those dead people, including his brother Randall.

  Jane hated what she was thinking. She was close with her siblings and would never hurt any of them.

  Too bad some would rather have money than the family member.

  The front door opened, causing the office bell to ring. Brenda spoke to whoever it was who had entered. After a minute or so, her voice rose.

  “Jane asked if you could step into her office when you came in. She must have found something good.”

  “What makes you say so?” Winston asked.

  “Because she’s smiling like the Cheshire cat.” There was a second of silence, then Brenda went on. “Either that or she got herself some last night.”

  Jane laughed. “Hey, how about both,” she hollered. She couldn’t wait to tell Winston what she’d discovered.

  ***

  It took all of Winston’s power to concentrate on the paperwork after what Jane told her on the Evers’ case. Andrew Smirnov. An insurance policy about his deceased brother.

  Brenda knocked on the doorjamb. “There’s a lady by the name of Meg Herbert on line one. She said she met you at the morgue.”

  “Yeah. She’s the real Phillip Evers’ mother.”

  “She asked if you had a minute to talk to her about something she discovered in her son’s things.”

  Winston’s eyebrows rose and, after exchanging pleasantries, the woman got to the purpose of her call. “I came across an insurance policy in Phillip’s things.” She paused. After a second, she went on. “When he first signed up for it, he made me the beneficiary, then a couple weeks ago, he changed it to some business called the Caldwell Company. I was wondering if you ever heard of it.”

  Winston straightened. “Actually, I work with a private investigator who is headed to their address right now.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “I was hoping to go myself.”

  “How about I let you know what she finds out?”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “What did your son do for the Caldwell Company?”

  “It says here, he was a Vice-President, though I don’t know how. He never really stayed on any one job long enough to get much experience doing anything, and he’d been a high school dropout” she said. “I know you’re busy, but the reason I called is the picture on the license attached to the policy.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s not my son.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “In order to get the policy, apparently you needed to give blood and have some sort of medical exam. The face on the license for the exam is not Phillip’s.”

  Chapter 23

  Thanks to her radar detector, Jane saved almost a half hour heading to Live Oak.

  She hadn’t been here since the Suwannee River Jam a couple years before. Nice small town, good people.

  She sat in the buffet restaurant across from the Caldwell Company located in a small strip mall. There was only one other business in the strip mall, a salon called Styles & Smiles two spaces down. Doing a quick walk around the building, Jane discovered each had a door in the back along with the one up front. However, two picture windows made it easy to watch a woman in the salon and a man on a computer in a separate office.

  Jane couldn’t be sure which company the man was with, but one thing was clear, he wasn’t Pamela’s missing husband.

  Two cars were in the lot. The one in front of a hair salon was a Nissan Sentra, the other vehicle a BMW parked in front of the man in the window.

  She’d considered going into the salon for a trim, but the chances of the stylist knowing any employee of the Caldwell Company were probably slim unless she turned out to be a girlfriend or relative. Anyone who worked for the Caldwell Company would be more likely to grab coffee or lunch from the restaurant.

  Jane piled a plate with salad from the salad bar and took a booth at the window so she could watch across the street. Several napkins ripped when she pulled them from the full dispenser. Steam hit her face from her coffee. Surprisingly, some of the best she’d ever had.

  While sitting in the booth, she used the free wi-fi to check on the camera watching the Jeffries house and basketball hoop. She scanned through the saved video. A few cars drove by, but Jeffries spent his time just sitting and rocking. A young man had come from the house across the street and used the basketball court. Mr. Jeffries watched from his front porch.

  She sent the video feed along with a text to the insurance company. So far, no movement from the insured.

  A couple walked up and used
the coke machine not too far from her, giggling and laughing about the different flavors available.

  Before heading to Live Oak, she’d researched Sunbiz.org, Florida’s corporate information site, for any information on the Caldwell Company. Nothing showed up. Even doing a Google search produced nothing. She hated going in blind.

  A black SUV drove up and slowed. Jane straightened. The driver wasn’t Smirnov. He glanced around but kept driving. She let out a loud sigh. Too many black SUVs to find the one that had been following her in Jacksonville. Thinking they might have changed vehicles; she had kept an eye out for anyone behind her as she drove to Live Oak but caught no one suspicious.

  She got up and used the facilities then returned to her spot. For the first time since sitting, a young girl walked over and took her empty plate.

  “You know anything about the company across the street, the Caldwell Company?” Jane asked before the girl could disappear again.

  “The Caldwell Company? No, why do you ask?”

  “It’s not important.” Jane stood, tossing a five on the table for a tip, though the waitress had done little work. “Thanks.”

  “Thank you,” the girl said with exuberance.

  Jane walked to her car, keeping one eye on the guy in the office who stared at his computer screen. A Toyota Camry pulled in next to the Nissan. A blonde woman got out of the car and walked into the hairdressers.

  At four thirty-eight, Jane’s cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen.

  “Winston, what’s up?”

  “You find out anything yet?” Winston asked.

  “Yeah, restaurant across the street from the Caldwell Company has real good coffee.”

  She laughed. “Well, while you’ve been dilly dallying around, I got a call from Meg Herbert, the lady I met at the morgue.”

  “What’d she have to say?”

  “She sent a photo of the man who did the medical checkup for Phillip Evers in order for him to get life insurance. Guess who he worked for?”

  “The Caldwell Company.”

  “I’m sending you the photo now.”

  Jane waited for the document to load. “It’s Andrew Smirnov,” she said upon seeing the license.

  “This is going to destroy Pamela,” Winston said.

  “Yeah. It explains those licenses.”

  “I agree. What now?”

  “Now, I try to make a nuisance of myself before the business closes.” Jane opened her car door.

  “Jane, these people might be responsible for at least four murders.”

  “All hit-and-runs. Don’t think they’re going to drive me down inside the building.”

  “Don’t forget the Evers’ shooting.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Please, be careful.”

  “That’s my middle name.” Jane headed across the street to the front door of the Caldwell Company.

  ***

  Gabriel filled out the Claim Upon Death Form from the insurance company on Phillip Evers’ death. At least he’d come away with something from this mess. He forged the signature the best he could. Smirnov had always been the signer of the forms.

  His phone buzzed. A text from Employee 368.

  PI vehicle parked across the street.

  It took all his power not to jerk his head in that direction.

  He responded: Don’t stop.

  Employee 368: I’m two blocks down watching her watching you. She’s heading your way.

  Gabriel glanced at the woman walking across the street. A bit broad in the shoulders for his tastes. Could just be the way she was hunched over from the weather. Employee 368 apparently led her right to his door. He’s been making too many mistakes.

  The whole operation was falling apart. People were getting too close. He needed to get out of the country, find somewhere safe for him and his family. Somewhere with no extradition treaty with the U.S.

  Employee 368: Anything you want me to do?

  Gabriel: Hang tight. You might need to take her out if she gets too close.

  The bell on the front door buzzed indicating a visitor just entered the office. Gabriel blew out a deep breath and got ready.

  ***

  A guy was sleeping at the front desk when Jane walked into the front office. Other than the reception desk, there was no other furniture. No brochures to tell what they did, nothing except a head and a bell. The place reeked of sweat and dirt. She lightly tapped the bell with her finger, not wanting to give Rip Van Winkle a heart attack. The guy lifted his head slow, like he was raising a fifteen-pound ball on his shoulders. He rubbed his eyes.

  “Yah,” he muttered.

  “Good morning,” she said in a sing-song voice. “I need to speak to whoever’s in charge.”

  “No one’s here but me.”

  “Then you got someone ripping you off ’cause I believe there’s a guy working in the office behind this wall.” Jane pointed over her shoulder with her thumb.

  “Whatever you are selling, we ain’t buying.”

  On the way across the street, she decided to play it straight. She already had enough to get the cops interested.

  “I’m not selling anything. The name’s Jane Bayou.” She handed her card across the desk. “I’m in a private investigator from Jacksonville, and I’d like to speak to the man in that office about a murder.”

  The guy jolted back then said, “What makes you think the boss knows anything about a murder?”

  “I’m not saying he does, but he can either talk to me or spend his evening speaking with the cops. Choice is yours.”

  Sleepyhead stared at her for a moment before he finally got up and walked from the room. When he returned, he scooted back behind the desk and plopped down in the chair.

  “Boss’ll be out in a minute,” he said.

  “So, what exactly is it you do?” She knew plenty of people who would like the job of sleeping all day. Her son, Luke, for one.

  “Just sit here, answer the door.”

  “You get lots of visitors?”

  “You the first.”

  “You’re a lucky man.”

  The guy smiled; half his teeth were missing.

  Shoes slapped on the cement floor, and the guy from the window walked out. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Bayou, I’m Gabriel Yates, how may I help you?”

  “I’m looking for a man by the name of Anthony Smirnov.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Funny, he’s been the agent on at least four insurance policies for your employees.”

  “I work with a lot of independent insurance agents.”

  “He also has the same mailing address.”

  “Must be a mistake.” The guy swallowed hard. “We have a lot of employees we ensure all over the country. There’s bound to be mishaps.”

  “Let’s try this. What is it that the Caldwell Company does?”

  “We deal with merchandise. Import and export.”

  She worked to keep from rolling her eyes. Pretty non-descript line. “What do you import and export?”

  “Just about anything you want.”

  “So, you’re movers.”

  “We don’t move furniture. More like high-end pieces.” The guy’s snide tone told of his ego. The BMW outside was undoubtedly his. “If there’s nothing else.” He glanced at a Rolex on his wrist. “I have a phone conference in about two minutes.”

  “Can we stop the crap? Your mailing address and Smirnov’s being the same makes him connected to this business. Now, you can talk to me or I can speak to the sheriff and see what he thinks about all this.”

  “All what?”

  She didn’t move.

  The guy put his hands up as if surrendering. “Just don’t let Smirnov know I talked to you. He can be crazy sometimes.”

  “So, where is he?”

  “He called about a month ago and said he was getting out of town and wouldn’t be able to get us any more policies for a while.” He glanced at Sleepyhead who listened in then
turned back to Jane. “Let me guess, you work for the woman he dumped after draining her bank account.”

  “Actually, he’s involved in a murder.”

  “Murder?” Yates shook his head so hard, if he’d had marbles inside, Jane would have heard them rattle. “I know nothing about his personal business.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “No. He had a place in Miami for a while, but I think he sold it.”

  She couldn’t get a read on him. He might be telling the truth. Or a decent liar. “Do you have a card on you?”

  “Yeah. I don’t want any more trouble than he’s already caused me.” He handed her a business card with raised lettering from his front pocket. Gabriel Yates, III, President, The Caldwell Company. The Live Oak address and phone number on the card.

  “By the way,” Jane said. “I’d be careful about collecting on the rest of your insurance policies.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Turns out a lot of false IDs were used with some of them.”

  Yates stared at her for a moment, then turned on his heel and headed back to his office, slamming the door behind him.

  “Give this to your boss if he wants to talk.” Jane placed her business card on the desk of the sleepy man. “How long you been working here?”

  “About four months.”

  “If I were you, I’d quit.” She winked and headed out the front door.

  She caught sight of Yates tossing something in the trash. After a second of considering going into the salon, she headed to her car.

  Yates was staring at a computer screen, so Jane glanced in the salon next door. It had a high divider wall between the cutting area and waiting area. There was a large display of shampoos and conditioners. The stylist was dressed in dark red, her hair held up on the back of her head by a large clip. Signs in the window announced they were having a special on some of their products and walk-ins were welcome. The lady who’d entered earlier had her hair coated with foil. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get caught in a lightning storm.