by BV Lawson
She laughed. “Seriously? And this from a former TSA executive.”
“Had me scratching my head so hard I drew blood. The PD haven’t found anything in his e-mail. Just a few messages from former colleagues, the how ya doing, want to meet for dinner variety. Cellphone was also a dead end. More standard TSA contacts and family. All leads the police are following.”
Drayco made a note to buy Sarg that extra breakfast or lunch later. With Halabi wanting Drayco as far from the case as possible, Sarg was using his more “official” channels to follow the police investigation and keep Drayco up to date. It wasn’t a position he enjoyed being in, having to rely on Sarg and Benny Baskin to keep him in the loop.
The trio spent an hour checking through the rest of the condo, with Drayco adding more details about his “guest” the previous evening. Sarg put his hands on his hips. “Sure would love to know what Mystery Goon was up to. Guess if he’d meant you harm, you wouldn’t be here right now. Gave you a little souvenir, though, didn’t he? That’s a lovely bruise on the right side of your neck.”
Nelia stopped riffling through a set of books when Drayco mentioned Iago and bit her lip but didn’t say anything. She picked up another book and examined it. “I have more mysteries for you. Benny wormed it out of Halabi that the witness who called police the night of Jerold’s murder used a mechanical device to disguise his voice.”
Drayco finished checking a desk drawer, slamming it shut with more force than he’d intended. “Definitely sounds planned, not a heat-of-the-moment thing at all. Luckily, I have a couple more people to add to Jerold’s anti-fan club.” He filled them in on his meeting with Gogo and Lauralee.
When he described Gogo’s dragon tattoo, Sarg chuckled. “Appropriate. Drayco, the dragon.”
They re-converged in the front room, where Drayco fingered items on a table that included a miniature Nikon camera, a toy stun gun, toy handcuffs. Another joke on Jerold’s part? He studied photos on the same table, a picture of Jerold, Gogo, Lauralee, and a man who must be Kegger, the pianist, all with their instruments. Jerold was standing away from Gogo, close to Lauralee. Nowhere in the condo did Drayco see any mementos of Ophelia, Jerold’s murdered ex-wife.
Sarg nodded at the key from the aquarium in Drayco’s hand, “I would do some checking on that for you, but—”
“It would appear too much like an official FBI case.”
“And I’m tippy-toeing around the line as it is.”
As Sarg uttered those words, Drayco heard the sound of a key being inserted into the front door. A woman walked in, haloed by the bright sun behind her. She took one look at them, put her hand over her heart, and toppled to the floor.
Chapter 16
The elderly woman, who told them her name was Imogen Layford, sat on a sofa in Jerold’s living room, fanning herself all the while she apologized. “I musta gave you folks a scare. More’n you gave me.”
Nelia handed her a paper cup of water they’d scrounged for her out of the kitchen. “Just glad you feel better now.”
“Oh, I do, I do. Jerold’s my neighbor. Was my neighbor. Still can’t believe he’s dead and murdered. He was gone a lot, you know. Asked me to take care of his fishies while he’s away. No one’s told me to stop, so I just keep doing it.” Her voice had a slight twang, and she added a little “uh” at the ends of words ending in “T.”
Nelia looked over at the tank with the fish floating on top. “From the looks of it, you might not have to do that anymore.”
Mrs. Layford followed Nelia’s gaze and put her hand over her heart again. “Oh, dear. I had a spot of the stomach flu. Didn’t think an extra day would hurt.”
Drayco said, “I doubt his family will mind. Did you ever meet any of them? His daughter Ashley or his brother Edwin?”
“I met Ashley once, not long after Jerold moved in. Seemed like a pleasant young thing, and she had that nice Chinese boyfriend with her.” Mrs. Layford lowered her voice. “I wasn’t spying, mind you, but I heard a little yelling. Thought perhaps the daughter didn’t get along with her father. Love or money, isn’t that what it usually boils down to?”
Drayco sat beside her. “You said Jerold was away a lot. Did he say where he was going so frequently?”
“A bit of a mystery, that. He didn’t say, you see. But he didn’t take a suitcase, neither.”
She took a few sips of the water from the paper cup. “Jerold was such a nice man. Said hello and would joke about my little bichon. Or ask if I’d won the lottery yet. He tole me I should enter Mrs. Senior America.” She gave a little cackle.
After the cackle turned into a coughing spell that made her drink more of the water, she apologized and continued, “Now Jerold’s brother, Edwin. He’s a nice man, too. I switched to Edwin’s pharmacy ’cause it’s close by. I didn’t have nothing against my old pharmacy, but I can take a bus to this one, it’s just two stops down. Guess I need my meds changed, ’cause I’ve been taking a turn for the worse since. Old people don’t like change, you know.”
Drayco smiled. “Old is relative, and change can be overrated.”
She reached over and patted his cheek. “Aren’t you a dear boy.” She smiled sadly. “Poor Jerold. Used to joke about my chewing tobacco, too. Gave him some to try. But he started gagging, and his nose turned red like one of those cartoon characters with steam coming out their ears. Such a sensitive stomach he musta had.”
“Did you witness any other arguments involving Jerold?”
“Not a peep out of him, ordinarily.”
Drayco was glad to see Imogen had recovered the pink in her cheeks but was disappointed she didn’t have anything newsworthy to tell them. He wasn’t ready to give up. “Did you see anyone unusual or hear anything odd the night Jerold died?”
“The police asked me that, too. Unfortunately, that’s my bingo night, you see. We have a bingo club here at the condo. In the rec room.”
She frowned, her face pensive. “I forgot to ask the police something, though. That lottery thing never panned out. Sent in the money as I was told, but never got one whit back. It’s been three months. You think I should call Canada?”
Sarg coughed, and Nelia’s eyes widened.
Drayco asked, “How much money did you send?”
“Close to three thousand, as I recall. Put a money order in the mail, just like they told me to.”
Right now, Drayco was betting he, Sarg, and Nelia were thinking the same thing. Getting Mrs. Layford back the money she’d been scammed out of could be next to impossible.
“Do you still have a copy of that lottery notice?”
She shook her head. “I hate clutter. I threw it away.”
That would make it harder to track down, but he made a mental note to call a friend at the FTC, to at least add it to their database. There wasn’t enough evidence for the FBI and the U.S. Postal Inspection Service to get involved. Canadian lotteries, Jamaican, Costa Rica, Nigeria ... the victims of the fake schemes had been scammed out of billions over the past couple years alone.
The trio walked with the elderly woman back to her condo to make sure she got in safely. Then Nelia took leave of the two men to head for a study group session, but not before she aimed one parting shot in their direction. “Her story reminds me of a man who scammed elderly women out of home repairs on the Eastern Shore. The sheriff nabbed him, thankfully. Sleazebags. Castration’s too good for them.”
Sarg watched her drive off. “Remind me not to get on her bad side.”
Drayco didn’t have a chance to add just how fierce she could be because his cell rang. It was Benny Baskin with another update, bless his overworked hide—Drayco had found out after the fact the attorney already had a couple of other high-profile cases when he agreed to defend Maura.
He listened to Benny’s news and replied, “You sure? Good work. And thanks, Benny.”
After hanging up, he explained to Sarg, “Benny learned Jerold’s Will left everything to Ashley. All two million dollars of it, spread out
over several bank accounts. If he lost everything via ‘bad investments’ as she said, where did all that money come from?”
“Do tell,” Sarg rubbed his hands together. “Sounds like it’s time to interrogate the newly rich estranged daughter again, don’t you think?”
“I’ll arrange it.” Drayco looked back at Mrs. Layford’s condo. She waved at him through the window. The FTC guys had heard countless stories like Imogen’s lottery fraud before, but it was still worth a try.
Chapter 17
“Halabi’s not budging from his belief your mother killed Jerold?” Sarg’s hand hovered over the door handle to Kicks and Sticks, where Ashley had agreed to meet them. “Despite the fact Ashley hated him and just inherited a cool couple mill?”
Drayco shook his head. “Not according to Benny’s sources.”
As they entered the studio, Drayco pointed out the weapons display to Sarg, who gave a low whistle. “Those could do a world of hurt.”
They stopped to watch Gogo wrapping up a session, then followed a staffer to the same room where Drayco met Gogo and Lauralee the other day. Like Lauralee with her cigarettes, Ashley seemed equally determined to flout the fitness discipline in the place, polishing off a candy bar with a gulp from a sugary soda.
Gogo followed on the heels of Sarg and Drayco and took a chair next to Ashley as he used a towel to wipe the sweat from his face. “I just saw you two days ago, Mr. Drayco. What is it this time?” He wasn’t the least bit out of breath.
Drayco introduced Sarg, then replied, “Jerold Zamorra’s Will. Which I understand was read to Ashley yesterday. She told us her father squandered his money, yet he left her a little over two million dollars.”
Gogo didn’t let Ashley answer. “So? Maybe he stole something and sold it. Maybe he finally found a winning stock market formula. Ashley told you she and her father weren’t exactly on speaking terms. She wouldn’t know how much money he had.”
Sarg asked her, “Is that true, Miss Zamorra?”
She crossed her legs and propped the soda bottle on top of her knee. Her foot jiggled back and forth making the liquid in the bottle slosh around. She didn’t seem to notice. “That Will must be old. My father invested all the money he got after my mother’s death into stocks. Lost a lot of it. Hell, I thought he’d lost all of it. And besides, even if he did have money stashed away, I’ll never see a penny of it. The creditors will snatch it.”
Sarg pulled out his notebook. “That inheritance from your mother—where did she get her money?”
“My mother’s business was good. She knew my father wasn’t Mr. Financial Guru, so she also took out a term life insurance policy. In case something happened to her. Well, something did happen to her, didn’t it? He killed her.”
“About that life insurance policy and the rest of her inheritance—if she was afraid of Jerold, why leave him two-thirds? Why not bequeath it all to you, Miss Zamorra?”
Ashley hesitated. “I never said she was afraid of him.” She glanced sideways at Gogo. “And for all his faults, he could be charming. Persuasive. He had her fooled.”
“Had us all fooled,” Gogo said to Sarg, staring at the little notebook where Sarg was taking notes. “Ashley trusted Jerold, too. He invested Ashley’s share of the money she inherited from her mother for her. Gone, just like his.”
Drayco studied Ashley, her quivering lip, the jiggling foot. She hadn’t been this nervous last time he spoke with her. “You knew your father was bad with money. If you also believed he murdered your mother, why entrust your money to him to invest?”
“Guess there was part of me that still thought of him as Daddy.” The quiver increased. “Sure looks like I inherited his bad-money-sense gene, doesn’t it?” She uttered a harsh, brown-forked laugh that made Drayco wince and seemed to surprise even Gogo.
Sarg moved closer to the younger man so that he was staring down at him. “You had no idea Ashley stood to inherit that much money?”
Gogo whipped the towel off his neck and matched Sarg’s stare with one of his own. “I know that game, what you’re implying. That I want to marry Ashley for her money or would kill Jerold for it. If you think that, you’re as insane as Jerold was.”
Ashley’s quivering lips formed a slight smile as she turned to Gogo. “Marry? But your parents want you to find a nice Chinese girl.”
“I don’t give a shit what they say. Or what the police say. Doting, honorable Asian son, my ass. No one tells me what to do.”
Sarg quipped, “From the looks of those nasty-looking blades out front, I can see why.”
“And no one’s accusing anyone right now,” Drayco added. “As I mentioned earlier, the police don’t have you as suspects, and we’re just shooting for the truth.”
Gogo was still frowning as he reached over to squeeze Ashley’s hand. “That woman they arrested for the murder? You said the police are certain she did it. Don’t blame Ashley. Blame that bitch.”
Sarg looked over at Drayco and said quietly. “If she’s guilty, then she’ll stay behind bars.”
Gogo added, “And frying, too. I mean Virginia has the death penalty, right?”
Drayco tried to keep his face neutral, but Gogo was correct. The state also held the dubious honor of executing the highest percentage of death row inmates, something he didn’t want to dwell on. After years of picturing his mother dead, he’d hate to see her die that way.
He forced his attention back to his current companions. Perhaps it was Ashley, operating alone or with Gogo, who made the decision to carry out their own form of execution?
Gogo’s cellphone chirped with the same “Kung Fu Fighting” ringtone Drayco had heard on his first meeting with the young man. Gogo hopped up and went out into the hallway to take the call. This time, he didn’t bother to lower his voice, mentioning Lauralee by name. As it became clear that’s who was on the other end, it was equally clear both of them were upset.
Drayco gleaned a few details, the words “arrested,” “police,” and “bail” catching his attention.
Gogo hung up, stalked back into the room, and threw the phone down on his chair. “Goddamn it. Lauralee got picked up for shoplifting. She needs bail and a ride home. But I’ve got another class in ten minutes.”
He glanced at Ashley, but she shook her head and said, “And I’ve got to get to work by three o’clock. Inheritance money or no, I can’t afford to get fired.”
Gogo pulled some bills out of his pocket and counted them, then thrust them at Sarg. “You’re cops, right? She’s at the Arlington Detention Center.”
Drayco looked at Sarg, who shrugged and then grabbed the bills from Gogo. Time to do their impression of bail bondsmen.
§ § §
Drayco entered the Arlington Detention Center, this time with Sarg along for the ride. That fact came in handy when Drayco spied Detective John Halabi and sent Sarg along with the money to bail out Lauralee.
Sarg didn’t seem too upset to be dispatched solo. As Drayco watched him vanish around the corner, it struck home how close in age Lauralee and Sarg’s daughter Tara were. Where was Lauralee’s father right now? Why hadn’t she called him instead of Gogo?
Detective Halabi’s narrowed eyes and scowl showed how he felt about seeing Drayco. Halabi motioned for him to follow as they headed into an empty interrogation room where he closed the door.
“You’ve been talking to people. Asking questions.”
“A few. Enough to discover there are plenty of motives and shaky alibis going around.” Drayco didn’t sit down. Neither did Halabi.
“I thought we were clear on that issue. I realize this is your mother, but I shouldn’t have to remind you that interfering with a police investigation is a crime.”
“Did you get the autopsy results?”
“Now there you go asking me questions. Again.” Halabi sighed. “Benny Baskin will get hold of that info, anyway. The M.E. found four stab wounds to Zamorra’s chest, plus the dent in his head that matches the shape of the base of the
cabinets. He was stabbed and fell, unconscious. Probably died within a couple minutes.”
“All four stab wounds made by the same knife?”
Halabi paused. “Apparently. Three were deep. One more shallow. The shallow one had less bleeding and—”
“It means Maura McCune’s story could be true.”
“Or she stabbed him a fourth time after he was dead. Doesn’t prove a damn thing.”
Drayco walked over to a dark window he guessed led to an observation point on the other side. Was someone watching them right now? “What about Ophelia Zamorra’s killers? You said it was allegedly a random attack?”
Halabi scratched the back of his head. “Don’t see how that’s related to the McCune case. But yeah, the sixteen-year-old punks were caught on camera at two other robberies using stolen ATM cards. Good thing criminals are morons.”
“Were they also caught on security cameras at the bank where Ophelia Zamorra was murdered?”
“An hour before, according to the M.E.’s time of death.”
“They used a stolen ATM card, left, and then returned later and decided to kill someone? Why?”
“Who knows? Maybe they dropped something and came back to get it. Saw an opportunity and took it. If you want to read the novel, go bother the Falls Church PD.”
Drayco ran his finger along the top of one of the chairs. Cold, hard steel—like Halabi’s face right now. “And these ‘punks’ weren’t caught on camera in the act of murdering Ophelia?”
“She was slain outside the camera’s range.” Halabi bent over to place his hands on the table. “What does it matter to you?”
“That camera business is awfully convenient. Did these two suspects admit to murdering Ophelia?”
“Why would they? Less damning proof, smaller sentence.”
“How was she killed?”
“Hit over the head with an ordinary baseball bat left at the scene.”
