Murder After Hours

by Rayna Morgan

  Brody opened the limo bar.

  “May I offer you a drink? Perhaps a martini instead of a margarita.” His voice was smooth like fine brandy, with a hint of condescension.

  “I rarely mix drinks. It’s not a good idea. As bad as mixing business and pleasure.” She smiled with her eyes. “I suppose I can make an exception. It’s not every day I talk with a big league player like you.”

  He lifted a blond hair from her sweater, a gesture of familiarity she resented.

  “I hope the traffic to LAX isn’t bad,” she said, biting her tongue.

  “I don’t fly commercial airlines. We’re headed to a private airport where the company jet is fueling up now.”

  I have less time than I hoped. “Let’s get started.”

  After spending the next twenty minutes talking about his job and the company he worked for, she told him, “This is great material, Brody. My boss will be elated. Thanks again for giving me the opportunity.”

  “No problem. I know how it feels to kowtow to superiors. Thankfully, those days are behind me.”

  Brooke swallowed an impulse to gag, but forced herself to continue.

  “One last thing. A source gave me a tip of a possible heir to the Carlisle fortune. Can you confirm or deny?”

  His neck muscles tightened, stretching his face in an unattractive manner.

  “Absolute rubbish. I’m afraid someone is pulling your leg.”

  “Are you saying the information is untrue?”

  “I don’t waste time denying false rumors that crop up about Mr. Carlisle.”

  “If I understand you correctly, you're denying he has any living heirs.”

  “You are putting words in my mouth.”

  His smoldering eyes bore through her.

  “Let me give you a piece of advice, Ms. Fields. If I were you, I’d check my facts carefully before broadcasting any such story. Dissemination of false information could affect our shareholders in a negative manner.”

  “I’m only attempting—”

  “Any such action on your part would create grounds for a huge lawsuit. I can’t imagine that would advance your career, at least not in the direction you desire.”

  Brooke exploded. “Don’t you dare threaten me, you smug, self-satisfied—”

  “Excuse me!” He sat back, stunned. The air in the car filled with tension.

  “Sandra Dade was a friend of mine. I demand you tell me the reason for your visit to Buena Viaje.”

  Veins stuck out on Brody’s forehead. “You have no right to make demands of me.”

  They glared at each other, but neither spoke for a moment.

  When he resumed, his voice regained a silky smooth quality. “You seem to have preconceived notions about the purpose of my trip.”

  “From someone who suspects you might be the person who killed Sandra!”

  His face turned pale, but she couldn’t interpret the look in his eyes. “Are you referring to Detective Elliot?”

  “I never divulge my sources. I can only say you were seen in the vicinity of her office the night of her attack.”

  She felt a tingling sensation as moisture broke out above her lip.

  Please don’t call my bluff, she prayed.

  Her heart beat in her chest like a trapped sparrow.

  After what seemed an eternity, he calmly crossed one leg over the other and wrapped his hands around his knee.

  “I’ll tell you what happened that night.”

  His tone was condescending, the voice of a man in complete control.

  “Then I'll listen to your apology.”

  • • •

  Moments later, the driver tapped on the glass. Brody slid open the window between himself and the driver.

  “Five minutes to the airport, sir.”

  Brody turned to the reporter. “I’m afraid this is the end of our interview.”

  Brooke exhaled the breath she’d been holding since the conclusion of his explanation.

  “Thank you for your candor. I assure you any broadcast the station airs will present you in a positive light.”

  An easy promise to make. The station will never be privy to this recording.

  A smile oiled its way across his face. “That’s good to hear. The pleasure has been mine, Ms. Fields.”

  Brooke tapped her watch. “I better call a taxi. I have barely enough time to return to the station.”

  “That won't be necessary,” he said, restoring a congenial attitude. “I’ll instruct my driver to take you wherever you need to go.”

  She watched out the window as he climbed the stairs to a jet bearing the company name.

  On the ride to the studio, she forwarded the recording to Lea.

  After that, she poured herself another martini and dreamed of the day she’d have her own chauffeur and private plane.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  When Tom and Pat walked into Alexander Insurance, the secretary offered an eager smile. This time the detectives didn’t inquire about the availability of her boss.

  She called out for Ian and he emerged from the kitchen holding a steaming cup of coffee.

  “I've asked you not to holler and you've let us run out of creamer again,” he complained.

  When she pointed to the visitors, his expression changed from irritation to practiced charm.

  “You’re wearing your game face, Lieutenant. I assume you've come about more than insurance.”

  “We’re here on official business. Very official.”

  He held a piece of paper in front of the broker. “This is a warrant to search your office and all its contents in relation to recent art thefts in the city.”

  “My, my. You are serious today.” Beads of sweat on Ian’s forehead belied his flippant tone. “I’ll turn off my computer and get out of your way.”

  Pat stepped forward. “No need for that, sir. I’ll take care of your computer.”

  Ian grimaced. He turned to the receptionist. “Put the phones on answering service and take a break.”

  She moved toward the kitchen. He blocked the door.

  “Not here. At the coffee shop down the street. I’ll call to let you know if I need your services any more today.”

  In the time it took the receptionist to gather her things and leave, Ian’s pomposity disappeared. His shoulders slumped as he led the officers into his officeand sagged in the chair behind his desk.

  He waited while they took a seat before asking, “What's on your mind, Lieutenant?”

  “The confession we received from Alvin Duncan.”

  “Alvin Duncan?”

  “You probably know him as Shorty, Henry Dade’s accomplice.”

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t know him at all.” He weaved his fingers together and smiled slightly. “Perhaps, that was my mistake. I would have controlled him better than Henry did.”

  “Don’t push it off on Henry.” Tom’s tone was biting. “You were going down eventually. Lea tracking Shorty made it sooner, that’s all.”

  “Lea! What does Lea have to do with this?”

  “She set the trap to undermine your little scheme. She and her sister.”

  Ian slapped his forehead. “The impressionist painting. I told the appraiser he shouldn't take that job. It's obvious he didn't listen to me.”

  “I’m listening to you now,” Tom said. “In fact, you have my full attention.”

  Pat placed a recording device on the desk and read a statement aloud concerning their use of the device.

  Ian waved a hand to indicate consent and rested his head on the back of his chair. He closed his eyes and massaged his neck. After a moment, he started.

  “I have a friend…”

  He sat straighter and gazed out the window.

  “After all that’s happened, the term friend may be a misnomer. Let's call him a business partner.”

  He turned back to the detectives. “He ran into financial trouble some months ago. He was buried in debt. He couldn’t go to the banks. The
y'd called in his loans. He came to me with a crazy idea about stealing one of his paintings so he could cash in on the insurance.”

  Pat leaned forward. “Your partner wanted to use the insurer as a lender for a loan in the form of paying a claim for stolen artwork.”

  Ian nodded. “I told him the idea was crazy and he should sell the painting. He refused because he didn’t want his wife to find out about his financial problems.”

  “Tell us about the burglary,” Tom urged.

  “He arranged a dinner engagement. When he and his wife left their house that evening, he didn’t set the alarm and left the door unlocked. I instructed Henry to damage the door to make it look like an actual break-in.” He winced. “I was a fool to get involved.”

  “But once your friend got the money he needed, why continue?” Pat asked.

  “It became a way for him to wield influence in his circle of wealthy friends. When his buddies heard how easy it was, they insisted he make the same arrangements for them. I had their art collections appraised at higher than market values and wrote policies accordingly. After the burglaries were carried out, I filed claims and they cashed in.”

  “Weren’t they worried about repercussions?” Tom asked.

  “People in their tax bracket don’t worry about following the rules mere mortals are expected to obey. They consider themselves above the law.”

  “And they can afford the Johnnie Cochrans of the world to protect them,” Pat muttered.

  “What happened to the paintings?” Tom asked. “They were too easily traced to sell.”

  “We intended to recover the stolen art at a later date. George and his friends would regain ownership of their priceless assets and enjoy the benefit of increased values since the thefts.”

  “How could you accomplish that?”

  “I wrote the policies with a buy-back provision.”

  “What’s a buy-back provision?” Pat asked.

  “If stolen art is later recovered, a buy-back gives the original owner the opportunity to regain title. Say a painting worth fifty thousand dollars is taken. At the time of recovery, it’s valued at one hundred thousand dollars. That provision allows the owner to repay the fifty thousand dollar claim payment and retrieve the property at the doubled value.”

  “You had no assurance the value of the paintings would increase by the time they were recovered.”

  “That’s not true. My partner’s a smart guy. He did the homework and researched a lesser-known artist on his way to becoming a major star in the art world. His buddies bought all the artist’s paintings certain their value would increase.”

  “It would still take time.”

  “Not much, according to what he discovered about this particular artist. It was all the incentive he needed to go ahead with the scheme.”

  “What was the golden nugget your partner discovered?” Pat asked.

  “The painter is suffering from a terminal illness. It will be a loss to the art world, but a huge gain for anyone who owns his works.”

  Pat made no attempt to hide her disgust. “That’s cold, profiting from someone’s death.”

  “I won’t argue, but you don’t accumulate his wealth without taking advantage of circumstances.”

  “Without your help, he would have lost his wealth,” Tom reminded him. “Instead, he pulled you into his world.”

  Ian expelled a breath. “I can’t argue with that either.”

  “What about the insurers you represent? Have you no sense of responsibility to them?”

  “I was trying to help a friend.”

  “You would have been a better friend by making him take responsibility for the financial mess he created,” Tom suggested.

  Ian lowered his head. “Unfortunately, I didn't. I’ll pay for that mistake a long time.”

  The lieutenant wasn’t buying Ian’s version of the facts.

  “What kind of hold does he have on you?” Tom asked. “Other than your so-called friendship.”

  Ian’s mouth twisted in an ugly sneer. “Does it matter? He replaced his first threat with revealing my complicity in insurance fraud and burglary.”

  “Sounds like you went from bad to worse.” Tom looked at his junior officer and smiled. “Have you noticed how often that happens to people with their backs to the wall or consumed by greed?”

  Tom stood up and planted his fists on Ian's desk.

  “Your office manager got wind of your scheme and threatened to expose you, didn’t she? You couldn’t let that happen, fearing repercussions from your partner.” His loud voice sliced the air. “So you got rid of her.”

  Ian jumped to his feet. “Wait a minute! I’m admitting to insurance fraud. Who said anything about Sandra’s murder?”

  “I am. I think Sandra confronted you the night of her murder. Maybe she wanted you to stop using Henry. Or maybe she wanted a cut of the take. In either case, you panicked at the prospect of exposure.”

  He leaned further, narrowing the space between himself and Ian.

  “Planned or not, you hit Sandra on the back of the head hard enough to eliminate the threat forever.”

  Ian’s face colored to a purple shade of rage. His eyes bulged. “You have no proof, Lieutenant. You’re grasping at straws with your ugly accusation.”

  Tom stepped back, assuming a relaxed stance. “It may not matter. You’ve become your own worst enemy by destroying your credibility.”

  “What do you mean?” Ian asked.

  “Your attorney has his work cut out. A conviction for fraud won’t create a favorable impression on any jury.”

  Tom waited for his words to sink in.

  “You can avoid taking chances with a jury by helping us. We’ll deal with the district attorney for a lighter sentence. In a few years, this whole sorry mess can be behind you.”

  Ian resumed his seat and stared at a picture of his family.

  Moments passed in silence.

  When he finally spoke, he sounded tired beyond his years.

  “I suppose you’re right. I'm willing to face the consequences of my ill-advised actions.” His voice gained strength. “But I won't accept blame for masterminding this foolish endeavor or murdering my office manager.”

  Tom glanced at Pat with a slight nod.

  “Answer the million dollar question, Ian. Who is the friend you helped, your partner in crime? Give me the name of the man behind the insurance and burglary scheme.”

  Ian opened his mouth.

  Before words came out, he faltered and sealed his lips.

  His next statement was not what the detectives wanted to hear.

  “I can’t. He has resources. Ways of threatening me and my family.”

  The lieutenant’s voice grew menacing. “It's your choice. You’ll be facing him, with or without our protection.”

  Tom waited a moment.

  His chair scraped the floor as he stood.

  “Let’s go, Detective,” he ordered. “Send in the team. Tell them to turn this office upside down.”

  Pat jerked her head in Ian’s direction.

  “Aren’t we going to arrest him, sir? We have Shorty’s confession.”

  Tom smiled smugly. “We’ll leave Mr. Alexander to face his friend. If I’m correct, his partner had something to do with Sandra’s death. He’ll be anxious to find out what Ian has revealed to the police. I’d hate to be in Ian’s shoes.”

  Before they reached the door, a mere echo of the once arrogant voice called out.

  “Wait.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Lea called her sister. “Can you come over? I got Brooke’s interview of Brody. I’m anxious to listen.”

  “I’ll stop by later,” Maddy said. “I have an appointment with Alberta Johnson.”

  “I can’t wait. Join me as soon as you can.”

  Lea smiled during the first part of the interview noticing Brody’s tendency to refer to himself as the person in charge of operations for Carlisle’s company. Her research showed the op
posite. Andrew Carlisle was hands on when it came to running his business.

  She could imagine how anxious Brody was to gain control and do things his way. It was obvious the man would be unwilling to share the reins, especially with an unknown heir who hadn’t worked her way up through the ranks as he had.

  She was near the end of the recording when she heard Brooke ask the question which could prove his guilt or innocence. She breathed deeply, listening carefully to every word.

  Brody: I’ll tell you what happened that night. Then I’ll listen to your apology.

  A brief pause and the interview continued.

  Brody: You're right about speculation about a possible heir. Mr. Carlisle sent me to follow a lead. Someone here in Buena Viaje purported to be the child he'd never seen. A private investigator supplied home and business addresses for the person.

  Brooke, interrupting: The person in question being Sandra Dade?

  Brody, curtly: Yes, Ms. Fields, I was sent to locate Sandra Dade. I went to her house first. When no one answered, I drove to her office. A car described as hers was in front. I expected to find her there.

  Brooke, excited: You saw Sandra?

  Brody: A man came to the door before I entered. He told me Mrs. Dade was not in the office.

  Brooke: Did you ask about her car being there?

  Brody: He said she had several drinks and chose not to drink and drive. She called a taxi.

  Brooke: What did you do?

  Brody, impatient: What do you think I did? I’d received no response at her home. I gave up and returned to my hotel.

  Lea paused to consider Brody’s answer. She had to admit, his explanation sounded logical.

  She resumed the recording.

  Brooke: The man at Sandra’s office. Did he identify himself?

  Brody, clearly irritated: Who else would it be that time of night but Sandra’s boss?

  Lea crossed her fingers praying Brooke had posed the vital question.

  Brooke: Humor me. Describe the person you saw.

  • • •

  Lea’s fingers trembled as she dialed the number.

  “Thank heavens I reached you, Maddy. Did you tell Alberta the truth about what happened to their painting?”