by Deanna King
“You see the bruises on the female’s upper arm—did she have one on the other arm when you moved the body?”
“Yes and yes. She had one to match on her left arm as if someone handled her roughly. I could tell it was old bruising by the discolorations. She had some bruising on the left side of her face, you couldn’t see in the position she was laying. Someone slapped her or backhanded her, her cheek was purple with a tinge of yellow. The bruising wasn’t more than a few days old, and it’s not due to lividity. What you thinking, her old man did it?” Bennie put the question to him.
“That’s quite possible since the neighbor and the housekeeper said the same thing in their statements.”
Bennie shook his head. Domestic violence was everywhere—rich, poor, it didn’t matter what your station in life was.
“I’ll know more when I’ve finished the autopsies. Tell you guys what, when I have something useful, how about I call you?”
“Yeah, call us when you’ve got any news.”
All of them had stuff to do, stuff that detectives and medical examiners did on a routine basis, just like breathing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I have the address for Crestview Gym, it not that far from here, I mapped it,” Lucky said.
“I guess we can get that out of the way.”
“Out of the way, why, you thinking he’s a dead end?”
He made a humming sound. “I think it is a red herring. He could be her man on the side, but my gut instinct says he’s not our man.”
If it was one thing Dawson Luck knew about his partner, his gut did some of his best police work.
Crestview Gym was an elite high-class gym, custom fit for the higher-dollar member. It featured all the regular equipment: treadmills, elliptical machines, weights, and every type of body-working machine known to humankind. The gym also had two regulation-sized tennis courts and a full-sized basketball court. The special features were a mineral pool, a Jacuzzi, aromatherapy steam room, a wellness studio that taught yoga and Pilates, with topnotch instructors. Personal trainers hired out at one-hundred-fifty an hour, and membership fees were an annual eight grand. That was a bargain since they had a private cocktail lounge with a five-star Sushi Room.
“Wow, Jack, the other half live pretty darn good, dontcha’ think?” Lucky gave a low whistle.
A buxomly blonde with a twenty-inch waist wearing gym shorts and T-shirt advertising Crestview Gym, sporting a name tag that read, Tillie, met them at the front desk.
“You gentlemen interested in a tour of the place or do you already know that you want to join?” She flashed a brilliant smile.
He flipped out his badge ID. “No, ma’am, I am Detective West, this is Detective Luck, we’re from the HPD, and I want to see if you have a trainer here that goes by the name Rob or Robbie.”
“Oh my, is he in trouble?”
Lucky stepped in using what he thinks he has—his game—and smiled.
“No, ma’am, we need to talk to him, can you tell us if he is here or not?” He smiled as he leaned over the counter, and that’s when Jack shot him a disapproving look.
She giggled nervously as she stepped back avoiding any more close contact with Detective Luck.
“Yes, he’s here. I’ll go find him.”
“She’s some kind of looker, ain’t she?”
“Better than your wife, you think?” Did he have to remind his partner how lucky he was, sans the name?
Lucky cleared his throat in an embarrassing way.
“Naw, Jack, no one is as beautiful as she is, but hey, I am human, aren’t you? Or are you the man of steel? Doesn’t a honey like that get your blood churning a smidge? Hell.”
“Not an inch, bro, not an inch. I like my women to know the capitol of Texas is Austin and not Houston. Or if I ask if they know who Monty Python is and the response is them asking me if that’s the name of my big snake, then nope, not interested at all.”
He wasn’t sure why, but he kept Gretchen a secret. He knew Lucky would be happy for him, but he kept this close to the vest, not wanting to share. He reveled in that knowledge alone. Besides, he hadn’t even held hands with her, let alone kissed her or taken her on a date. But, he decided that soon, very soon, he needed to remedy that. He heard voices coming up, and that got him out of his “Gretchen trance.”
“Officers, I’m Rob, Rob Mahares. What can I do for you?”
“Is there someplace we can talk?” Jack didn’t want this news to spill out for everyone to hear.
“Yes, in my office, I’ll come around there, give me a sec?”
In less than one second, the man had jumped up on the front counter, then jumped over and stood in front of them.
He was about five foot eleven with not an ounce of fat. A dark, thick head of hair and a tan Jack was sure he paid for. Gym shorts displayed bulging thigh muscles and calves that looked as if they were made of steel. His bodybuilder-type tank shirt revealed arms bulging with muscles, and as they say, he had fully loaded machine guns for biceps. The veins protruded as if they were going to burst under his skin, his muscles were that tight. Jack eyed him thinking he had to be on the juice. Some men had pumped up muscles, no liquid enhancement needed, they worked hard to look that way. Since he was a trainer, he opted for not on the juice.
Lucky stepped back and out of the man’s way as he led them to a side office. His eyes bugged out and his big fuzzy eyebrows rose up onto his forehead, making him look preposterous. Jack ignored him.
Rob Mahares took a seat behind his desk. “Now, how can I assist you?”
“Do you know a Marta Stegwig?” Lucky took the lead. Jack was all right with this, he knew Lucky needed the practice.
“Yes, I do. I am her personal trainer, why?”
“Can you tell us when you last saw her?”
“That would have been last week, was a Tuesday, but I can check the electronic sign-in to confirm. Why, what’s going on, is she all right?” His voice had taken on a demeanor of actual concern.
“What was the nature of your acquaintance with her?”
“I have been her personal trainer for about five years now, nothing more, why?” His eyebrows came together. “Hey, do I need an attorney or what?”
“No, sir, you’re not under arrest, we’re following up on a witness’s statement that you were acquainted with Mrs. Stegwig. She and her husband were both found shot to death today and we…”
Rob interrupted him. “You’re kidding. Oh my God, oh my God,” he repeated.
“No, sir, we don’t kid about these things.” Lucky continued the questioning. “Mr. Mahares, can I call you Rob?”
“Uh-huh, sure, Rob is fine,” he replied absentmindedly.
“Now, Rob, being her trainer for five years, I image you got to know her well, is that correct?”
“We were friends.” He bowed his head, shaking it sadly. “Were, as in past tense, which has an awful ring, you know.”
“Yes, it does. Now can you tell me about your friendship?”
“She and I talked, you know, about our lives, and about our problems. I am…was…you know, like your therapist, or bartender would be. I keep your secrets. She was having some problems at home. She and her old man were fighting.”
“Did she say what they fought about?”
“She said Mark would get aggressive when he drank. She tried to stay out of his way. I’d seen some bruising on her over the past year at irregular intervals and she would just wave it off. I know she’d been unhappy the past year, and last month she told me she was going to see a lawyer.”
“Was she seeing someone on the side?
”
Rob wasn’t stupid; he knew where this was going.
“Listen, I want to get something straight here. First, I would never compromise my job here at Crestview, it’s the best job I’ve ever had. I’ve been here now almost nine years, and I have a cash investment in the place. I would never jeopardize that. Secondly, I am seeing someone. I never mix work and pleasure and you can call him to confirm.”
Dawson Luck tried to keep the surprise from his face but failed miserably. Jack, on the other hand, showed no signs of surprise by the admission that Rob Mahares was homosexual. He knew that you should never register anything on your face, always keep your facial canvass as blank as possible.
“That surprises you, Detective Luck? Why, because I work out and have a build like this, you know, buff, and I am a trainer and everything?” Rob looked at him with a tiny eyebrow raise and winked, trying not to laugh.
“I don’t know, I guess it does, that’s all,” Lucky answered the question much to Jack’s disappointment.
“To each his own, Rob, we don’t judge,” Jack jumped in. Crap, Lucky had been doing well with the interview, up until now.
“As can you see, she was comfortable talking to me. I was no threat to her, as far as relationships go.”
“Did she ever discuss other problems with you, like money or her kids?” Jack now took the lead edging his partner out.
“She didn’t get to see to her daughter as often as she liked. She lives in Dallas. Her son, he was a horse of a different color, and no, Detective Luck, he was straight.” He grinned at Dawson Luck.
“What makes you say this about her son, Rob?”
“He was his father’s son, had nothing to do with her. Evidently, he hung on every word his father said, more like he hung onto his wallet. I’ll tell you that the money was from Marta’s family, Marcus didn’t have any before he married her. She helped Marcus create the money he had, but she was the financial backbone. She told me her son was hateful to her, but then again I didn’t witness it. Is that what you guys call hearsay?”
“Yes, it is, and I’ll take all the information you have because you never know what other stories people may tell us that corroborate with your hearsay. Rob, I think that’s all for now. You have no plans to leave town, right?” He was sure this man was not his perp, but this was his standing spiel.
Rob Mahares let loose a genuine laugh. “Cop speak—don’t leave town anytime soon. Yes, I watch Law and Order and Criminal Minds, Detectives, and I’m not leaving town. I work here five days a week and my off days differ from week to week, but they have all my contact info.”
“Can we get that info from you now or should we ask the blonde up front?” Lucky piped up.
Jack closed his eyes and did a small, very small headshake. His partner was a maniac.
“Mr. Mahares, please give me your home address and your phone number so I can reach you, and here’s my card in case you remember something.”
Jack started the truck, a little aggravated at his partner.
“Lucky, you know better than to care one way or another about the sexuality of a person and to ever act surprised or shocked.”
“Shit, Jack, that took me by surprise, and, uh, I apologize about the comments about the blonde chick too, that was out of line. We’re working a case and I should be more professional, sorry.”
That would work for him, until it happened again, which he knew it would.
They left Crestview Gym, satisfied that for now, Rob Mahares was off the suspect list.
“Off to Red Hawk Tel Com now. The address is, uh, over on Bissonnet Street, I mapped it. The building is in a strip center near the corner of Bissonnet and Highway 6. You know the area, Jack?”
“Yes, there’s a Starbucks and a Panda Express and across the street is a pharmacy, not sure which one though.”
“What do you say when we’re done, we grab a bite before we get back to the station, to write up our kajillion reports?”
“Sounds like a plan, after we do a death notification and question this kid.”
He headed to do a deed he didn’t like doing and to get some answers to questions he hated to ask at a time like this.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The building was small. Jack looked up at the sign. It was a picture of a Red Hawk with the words, “Red Hawk Tel Com” underneath the tail feathers.
The place was drab, devoid of decorations, and smelled musty. Inside a small front office sat an old metal desk and behind that sat a young girl somewhere in her mid-twenties.
“May I help you?” Zero enthusiasm; she was apparently bored beyond bored.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m Detective West, this is Detective Luck. We’re from the Houston Police Department. Is Sean Stegwig here?” He badged her.
Police detectives were here and in front of her; that snapped her out of her stupor.
“Uh, he’s in the back. I’ll go get him.” She jumped out of the dilapidated office chair and darted through the door behind her.
“We should inform the city health inspector. Tell ‘em ta conduct a thorough inspection. The place smells like something died in the walls or like raw sewage, you smell that? How can she stand working with that odor?”
“You can report it if you want, Lucky, right now that’s not my biggest worry.”
Sean Stegwig came through the door, followed by the young girl. Sean was about five foot eight, one hundred thirty pounds, a peach-fuzz goatee, and he needed to use Clearasil. Dressed in baggy jeans and a T-shirt that had the name of some local metal band, he was stylishly unkempt, or a downright slob. His shirt had, Battle of the Unsigned Bands Contest 2011 – Black Shadow Rises. Support your local Houston Boys, written in orange, yellow, black, and red across the top and the bottom, touting this band contest.
He didn’t portray an up-and-coming entrepreneur or the son of a wealthy couple. He reminded him of the nerds in school, those who had deep dark secrets. Dahmer came to mind, that was a scary thought. Those nerds and outcasts back in his day had been unassuming and invisible when he was a kid, and this is how he saw Sean Stegwig, one of those types.
“Sean Stegwig?”
“Yeah, Darla said you want to speak with me. What about?”
“Is there a private office we can talk?” He glanced over at the young girl, who was latching onto every word.
“My office is back this way.”
His office was stale-smelling and in a dirty mess. Papers askew, empty Diet Sprite cans, and disposable coffee cups littered his desk. Work files and papers were scattered on his desk and on the floor. Jack noted the trash cans were full and tamped down. He scanned the area and saw a pile of clothes in one corner. He noted a pair of tennis shoes, ragged jeans, and T-shirts. Next to that were a blanket and a pillow.
Sean pointed to a chair across from his old metal desk. “Give me a second, and I’ll go get another chair.”
“No, Mr. Stegwig,” Dawson Luck said, “I’ll stand.”
“Mr. Stegwig, my name is Jack West, and this is my partner Dawson Luck. We’re homicide detectives from the HPD.” Jack unclipped his badge and showed it to him.
“What’s this about?”
He studied his face. If a homicide detective came calling, most people would act upset, this boy was calm.
“It is about your parents, Mr. Stegwig. I am sorry to inform you they were both found dead, and we are very sorry for your loss.”
He watched him. He wanted to get a real handle on this boy’s reaction to such horrible news.
“My mother and father are d-d-dead?” He slouched in his chair not acting hysterical like most kids would’ve reac
ted to such horrific news. He lowered his eyes as if he was giving respect to the dead—that act would not win him any Oscars.
Neither Jack nor Lucky spoke. Uncomfortable silence most often triggered someone to speak. Sean Stegwig broke the awkward silence.
“I-I-I can’t believe this, my parents, d-d-dead, d-d-dead,” he stuttered but not convincingly. Again, no Oscar-rated performance.
“I know this is a bad time for you, but we have a few questions, then I am sure you’ll want to call your sister in Dallas, she needs to be informed. Best coming from you, don’t you think?” He kept a close eye on his reactions.
“Uh, yeah, I hafta to call Shayla and arrange their funerals. Cremation was what they both wanted, I think. I’ll ask her about that. Should I call my attorney about the will and any insurance benefits?”
“That I wouldn’t know, Mr. Stegwig, there’s a bunch of red tape before we can give you the go-ahead to have their bodies released to a funeral home. We have some questions first.”
His inquiry about calling the attorney and already talking about insurance benefits put Jack on high alert. Secondly, Sean had not asked how his parents’ demise had come about. Had they been in a car accident, were they murdered, did they get it from a drive by…no damn questions at all. That wasn’t a good sign.
Sean Stegwig nodded still unemotional. “Fine, then, what can I answer for you?”
“Detective Luck, will you please take notes?”
Dawson Luck’s flabbergasted expression was comical, but he nodded and pulled out his notebook and pen.
“I’m ready whenever you are, Detective West.” His voice was tight.