Perverted Justice

by Michael Arches

  “No problem,” I said. “I hate to intrude on you and your family at such a difficult time, but—”

  “Don’t mention it,” David said. “We want you to find my dad’s murderer as soon as possible. By the way, aren’t you the one who killed that Russian assassin?”

  I had no idea what that had to do with anything, but I nodded. David offered me a fist bump and a slight smile. “Great work, deputy.”

  Mark settled back in his chair. “Ask whatever you need to know, Ms. Morgan. I’m sure if you get out of line, David here will pipe up.”

  I’d never been one for sneaky stratagems, so I just went straight to the point. “Here’s the long and the short of it. I need to eliminate as suspects any family members who might’ve benefitted financially from Sherman Blatter’s untimely death.”

  Although I paused to give David a chance to complain, he sat silent.

  “Okay, let’s get it on. Who will benefit financially?”

  Mark steepled his fingers together. “I suppose, his kids might. Sure, but…actually, it’s complicated. Everyone will benefit a bit. We get to use the condo again. That’s a plus. In addition, Sherm’s kids will take his share of the trust’s monthly payout.”

  “I’m lost already,” I said.

  “Before Sherm died,” Mark said, “the family trust set up by my parents distributed company profits to them and their children, namely me, Sherm, and our two sisters. Once both of our parents passed on, us four children each received twenty-five percent of the trust income, paid every month. At the moment the trust pays out about eighty grand, which means I get about twenty. Each of us siblings can spend the money any way we wanted, including giving some of it to our own children and grandchildren. My understanding is that Sherm kept most of his.”

  He glanced at David, who nodded. “I was getting fifteen hundred a month, and so were my brother and sister.”

  I did the math in my head. “Now, you’ll each get almost seven thousand a month. For how long?”

  “As long as the company stays profitable,” Mark said. “In the past, our income has grown steadily. I expect that to continue as long as the metro area keeps growing.”

  That was almost certain, and even if Denver’s economy tanked, almost seven grand a month was worth killing for. “I definitely need to know more about Sherman’s children. Let’s start with you, David, you obviously live within a reasonable driving distance of Aspen. Can you tell me where you were from noon on Saturday until five p.m.?”

  He surprised me by smiling. “Easy enough. In honor of Aunt Agnes’s birthday, most of our family, all except Dad and my brother Sid, attended a play. A matinee showing of The Lion King. It’s back in town and happens to be one of my aunt’s favorites. Big hit with the kids, too. Afterwards, we all drove to a restaurant she loves, a French place on East Colfax. Dinner and a party. We stayed there until at least seven.”

  David seemed to be in the clear, but he might have a greedy partner. “Any significant other in your life?”

  “Ellen’s my wife, a kindergarten teacher. She was at the birthday bash, too, along with our twin girls.”

  So much for them. “Tell me more about Sid.”

  Mark laughed. “He’s got a fantastic excuse for missing the party. He’s a Marine, stationed on Okinawa.”

  I couldn’t hide a grin at hearing about a fellow jarhead serving his country. “Semper Fi. I’ll need the name and contact info for his superior officer.”

  “You bet,” Mark said.

  Okinawa had to be one of the better alibis I’d heard lately. “Terrific, now, David, tell me about your sister.”

  For some reason, that wiped his grin off his face.

  Chapter 5

  “Emily is a little out there. Gentle as a lamb, and she was at the party on Saturday.”

  He had my full attention when he said, “out there.” That was usually code for either mental health problems or wildly eccentric behavior. “Don’t get shy now. Just spit it out.”

  David lifted his hands in resignation. I felt a tingle of excitement from a possible lead.

  “What I mean is that Emily, who now calls herself Otter Tail, is a twenty-first century hippie. She’s dialed back the hallucinogens over the last few years, mostly because I threated to have her place raided. She’s still fully committed to sex, pot, and rock and roll.”

  “She’s a Buddhist,” Mark said. “Claims that during her last life, she lived as a sea otter off the coast of Monterey. Goes back every year for the jazz festival and swims in the kelp to restore her connection to the eternal sea.”

  I searched his face for humor, but he seemed sincere.

  David chimed in again. “And you should understand one more thing, Detective. She doesn’t care about money—not at all. Gives away most of what she earns to those less fortunate. Works part-time for a little enviro group that pays minimum wage. No benefits.”

  I looked at the older man.

  “True. She also works for me part-time. Reviews grant applications for our nonprofit foundation. Otter does a good job and saves me some work, but the main reason I keep her on is so she gets health insurance.”

  My buzz faded, but I still held out hope of a decent lead. We had plenty of eccentrics in Aspen, and most were harmless. Plus, she had a strong alibi. “Does Otter have a significant other who might look forward to a dramatically enhanced lifestyle?”

  The two men glanced at each other and couldn’t seem to decide what to do with their hands. One pinched the skin on his neck, and the other scratched his forehead.

  After a long pause, Mark said, “We have no idea. She frequently moves from man to man, and occasionally from woman to woman. The latest one I heard about was Will Somebody.”

  David shook his head. “As of ten days ago, it’s Pierre. Don’t know anything about him.”

  “I need to talk to her,” I said, “and maybe to her latest guy.”

  “I’ll set something up as soon as I can,” David said. “I need to be there. She’s incredibly naïve when it comes to legal issues.”

  “No problem,” I said. “I’m almost done taking up your time. How did Sherman end up in the family condo in Aspen?”

  David rubbed the back of his neck. “He got incredible blowback from killing that poor lion, and he lost all of his friends here. People who recognized him out in public spat on him. He needed to get away. Most of the family was pretty annoyed with him, too. When he suggested moving up to Aspen full time, we said, ‘Terrific.’ It was a chance for him to get a fresh start, and that’s a tolerant community. We didn’t find out about the stripper until later.”

  Mark grimaced. Candy was obviously a sore subject.

  “As soon as she’s gone, everyone in the family will be able to use the Aspen condo again?” I asked. “Do I got that right?”

  David blew out a deep breath. “Yeah, but I doubt any of us killed Dad to get him out of there in time for ski season.”

  When he said it that bluntly, it did sound ridiculous. “Of course not. Listen, I know you’re anxious for Candy Kaine to move on, but she may be important to my investigation. She’s the kind of woman who—intentionally or inadvertently—makes some men do crazy things. Could you leave her in the condo for a while—”

  Both men clenched their jaws.

  “I know it’s a sacrifice,” I said.

  David groaned. “Dad was never good with money, and I’m sure she’s bled him dry. We’ll let her stay a week. No more.”

  I glanced at Mark. He nodded.

  “Perfect,” I said. “Moving right along, what about his personal property? Where does that go?”

  The two shifted in their seats. Finally, Mark said, “Not sure. Bart, our lawyer, will know. Happy to call him.”

  “No need,” David said. “Dad’s dead broke. In fact, he owes fifty grand to his former medical partners. My brother and sister and I don’t expect anything more than a few family photos and the lion’s
head. Jesus, what are we going to do with that?”

  “We’ll all throw in to cremate the poor thing,” Mark said.

  I sure as hell wasn’t going to step into the middle of that.

  After a long pause, I said, “I assume the lawyer is the executor to Sherm’s estate. Have him send me a copy of the will and a statement of Sherm’s current assets and liabilities. If you can do that, I probably won’t need to talk to him.”

  David gave me a thumbs up.

  “Any other questions?” Mark asked with a hopeful voice.

  Linda had sent me a handful of photos from Shermie’s phone that she or Skip didn’t recognize. Most were women. I didn’t know any of them. “Can you look at some pictures? Just tell me if you recognize any of these folks.”

  “Sure.” Mark flipped through the pics but kept shaking his head. David did the same.

  “Okay,” I said, “one last thing, and it’s a particularly tender subject.”

  I gave them a few seconds to brace themselves. “It turns out, Sherm had advanced pancreatic cancer. His prognosis was very poor. Did either of you know?”

  David looked skyward. “Jesus, why didn’t he tell us?”

  Mark rocked back and forth. “I knew something was wrong. He called me a week ago. Early in the morning. His voice was slurred, which meant he’d started drinking already. Said he’d gotten terrible news recently but wouldn’t say what it was. Promised to come see me and tell me in person. Never did. I planned to call him this week.”

  I’d tortured these poor bastards enough. “Okay, I’m done,” I said and stood. “Thank you so much for your cooperation. Oh, I have to call for my ride. Do you mind if I wait in your lobby?”

  “I can give you a lift to downtown,” David said, “if that’ll help.”

  Mark shook my hand—no doubt thrilled to be rid of me—and showed us out of his office. In the lobby, I called Willow. She was still at the Federal Reserve branch downtown. David knew where that was and took me there. Along the way, he called his sister and arranged for a meeting at two p.m. Then I told him a little about the business with the Russian. It seemed like, forevermore, I’d be known as the lady cop who’d shot a Russian assassin.

  He dropped me off outside the Federal Reserve, and I thanked him again for his help. Then I wandered over to a nearby café and waited for Willow to finish her business.

  -o-o-o-

  Willow and I ate lunch at a Jamaican restaurant in LoDo that she’d read about online. The jerked chicken was particularly good, but pricey.

  While we ate, I summarized what I’d learned about the Blatter family and answered her questions. Then, I asked, “How do you feel about sticking around Denver until after a meeting with Otter and David?”

  My girlfriend grinned. “I made a hundred thousand dollars this morning. I think I can take the afternoon off.”

  I knew she charged high rates, but Jesus Fucking Christ. “You expect the Federal Government to pay a hundred grand for an hour or so of work?”

  She shook her head. “They only paid a third. The rest came from the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s Office in London and the European Central Bank in Frankfurt. Actually, they were thrilled when I agreed to handle a problem that’s been confounding electronic banking experts in Asia.”

  “What problem? I haven’t heard about anything.”

  She shook her head. “Hank, the only news you pay attention to are the baseball scores and the weather. Over the weekend, a group of hackers from Bangalore stole sixteen million dollars from the national treasuries of Pakistan and Abu Dhabi. Those two countries were forced to shut down their banking systems. Thanks to some earlier work I’d performed for the Feds and Europeans, they survived the initial attack.”

  “Good, so why are they paying your ridiculous rates?”

  Her grin got bigger. “Fear, my love, pure, simple, terror. I realized that a variation on the Indians’ malware attack would cause much more trouble. The Feds agreed with my assessment of the risk and asked me to put together a patch to eliminate the threat. After dropping you off at the cement plant, I gave them my solution. All’s right with the world again…for today.”

  “Good for you, but I still can’t believe it, a hundred thousand dollars for a few hours of work?”

  “They came to me and would’ve paid more if I’d insisted. And remember, they could lose billions in the blink of an eye.”

  Suddenly, I felt a lot less guilty about her picking up another expensive lunch.

  A text buzzed on my phone, but I didn’t recognize the number, so I ignored it until Willow headed to the restroom. I checked the message, and my whole body flashed hot with anger. It read, You need to find some graceful way to exit the campaign, or those you love the most will pay the price.

  Willow returned, and I tried to look normal while I plotted revenge.

  She saw through that within a minute. “What happened?”

  The woman would soon smoke out the truth anyway, so I told her.

  “Give me the number,” she said. “I have direct access to the telephone company databases.”

  Willow took a laptop virtually everywhere she went, and she connected to a virtual private network. It allowed her to work securely from anywhere.

  After punching keys for a few minutes, she said, “Another no-contract phone. This one was bought in a Denver suburb four months ago, but it wasn’t activated until today, in Aspen. And it sent only the one text before being turned off.”

  “We have no chance of tracking the owner,” I said.

  She huffed. “I agree, this time.”

  -o-o-o-

  While Willow was paying the bill, Randy called. We updated each other. Unfortunately, the folks in Aspen hadn’t made much progress.

  Then, he said, “By the way, the sheriff is getting blowback because you kept that Rodriguez guy from talking to Kaine. His dad is some rich hombre from south of the border.”

  “Hey,” I fired back, “you were there. She was hammered on bourbon. In no shape to fight off some horny guy. If she wants to call him, she’s got his number.”

  “I hear ya,” Randy said, “and I explained why I thought you were right. Long story short—John disagreed. I promised to pass on his message, and here it is. Stay out of Kaine’s love life.”

  I couldn’t disobey a direct order. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Good, and let me know what you hear from Otter. Sounds like she’d fit right in here real good.”

  I couldn’t disagree. We had too many trust fund hippies to count. “Listen, one more thing. Are you getting threats related to the campaign?”

  “No, of course not. The sheriff’s job isn’t that important, and this isn’t Chicago. Are you sure you’re not reading too much into grousing?”

  I repeated the latest message.

  “Holy shit! I can’t believe it. I mean, I believe you, but that’s nuts. Maybe we should call the FBI? They might be able to track the phone down.”

  “Willow and I both tried. Burn phones.”

  “Listen, the folks supporting me do like to complain about you, but it’s all normal political stuff. No one is even remotely threatening violence.”

  I didn’t doubt him. “Let’s see if it continues. Nobody knows Willow and I are here, except our office staff. I’ll keep my eyes peeled and warn my girlfriend.”

  “Up to you,” he said. “Stay safe.”

  After hanging up with him, I asked Willow, “You still have the Sig?”

  She patted her purse. “Always. Big punch in a small package.”

  A wave of relief flowed through me. “Keep it close, and keep your eyes open.”

  -o-o-o-

  Willow and I walked the Sixteenth Street Mall to kill some time before my meeting at two at the nearby Denver DA’s office. While we strolled, Linda called. “Randy told me about the threats.”

  We commiserated about how ridiculously polarized our lives had become. Then, I asked,
“Who has Candy been communicating with today?”

  “A bunch of guys called, and she talked to most of them, including Rodriguez. The only person she reached out to was Rick Rivers, from LA.”

  “The only Rick Rivers I know is a catcher for the Pirates,” I said.

  “Come on!” she said with surprising annoyance. “You must’ve seen his picture. The actor’s all over the grocery tabloids. Hot young stud, totally ripped. He was in that last superhero movie a couple months ago. When one of those demons ripped his shirt off, there was an audible gasp from the women in the theater. Things began happening down below, and it wasn’t just me.”

  “I really don’t want to know about your perverted fantasies. What I do want to know is what Candy said to Rivers.”

  “The usual damsel-in-distress routine,” she said. “After practicing her spiel on the other guys, she was pretty damned convincing. Could Rick possibly come save her? She was so lonely.”

  “Guys are so gullible. Did he fall for it?”

  Linda snickered. “Like a redwood crashing to the ground. He’s supposed to be here in a couple of hours. In the meantime, she’s stalling everybody else.”

  Another theory floated out of my twisted subconscious. “Maybe this Rivers guy took care of Shermie? Can you find out what he was doing on Saturday afternoon?”

  She sighed. “Already know. I’m one of his ten million Twitter followers. Saturday morning, he slept late with Tiffany Burke, recovering from a party the night before. ‘We’re just good friends,’ he said in a tweet. The happy couple ate breakfast at eleven at the Four Seasons.”

  Linda was obviously as happy as the others to hear Rivers was still eligible, and I kept my mouth shut.

  “Then,” she continued, “he headed to a surfing contest in Santa Monica. Watched the action and handed out trophies. His next movie just happens to be a beach flick. Finally, rush, rush, rush down to Malibu for dinner with Quentin Tarantino. He wants Rivers for a slasher film set in twenty-second century San Francisco.”

  In short, I could forget about the actor squeezing a murder in Colorado into his incredibly busy Southern California day. “Is there any chance he faked those events?”