The Sam Prichard Series - Books 9-12 (Sam Prichard Boxed Set 3)

by David Archer

  Rogers got on the interstate, and Sam followed as he went out toward where his mother lived. It looked like he was finally going to visit her, but Sam stayed with him to be sure, and was glad he did.

  Daniel didn't go to Momma's house; he turned in at the old family estate, instead.

  Sam sat out of sight and watched through bushes as Daniel showed the gate guard his ID and was waved on through.

  That was interesting, Sam thought. I wonder what’s going on in there, and what it’s got to do with Daniel Rogers.

  Sam called Indie. “Guess what?” Sam said, and she bit.

  “What?”

  “Rogers just went into that fancy place that used to be the house he grew up in. I'm sitting outside now, watching, and the place has more security than Fort Knox.”

  “Really? That’s intriguing.”

  “Yeah. See what you can find out about who owns or runs the place. The address is….”

  “I've got it. I'll check county property records now and get back to you.”

  “Good girl,” Sam said.

  “Of course I am,” she said with a giggle, and hung up.

  6

  Sam was parked on a high spot near some trees and bushes about a quarter mile from the place, and was watching through the zoom on the camera. One of the things he noticed was that there were a lot of expensive cars in the parking area, cars like Daniel's Mercedes, but also more expensive ones like Bentleys, Jaguars and even a Maybach or two. Sam knew enough about luxury cars to make him drool a bit, but he just jotted down a few of the license numbers and emailed them to Indie with a request to run them and see who owned those vehicles.

  A delivery truck from some flower company pulled up to the gate, and the guard came out. Sam had a fleeting thought of renting a truck and trying to sneak in as a delivery guy, find out what was going on in there and what it had to do with Rogers, but that fantasy crashed when the guard made the truck wait outside the gate. A golf cart came up, and three big guys transferred a whole load of tall roses onto it, and then it took them up to the house. Sam snapped pics of the roses and sent them to Indie, as well.

  Daniel came out after about two hours and Sam carefully tailed him back to his office. The guy didn't act like he was worried about getting caught at anything, because he never even checked his rearview mirrors. He just cruised along like he owned the road.

  They got back to his office and Sam parked in the lot where he usually did. Daniel got out and went inside, just like always.

  Sam sat there for about an hour, and suddenly Indie showed up. She climbed into the car, and Sam kissed her, partly because she brought him a couple of burgers and a big cup of coffee.

  She smiled as Sam chowed into the burgers, and said, “I got you some info. That place was bought by a company called Roseblood, and no, I didn’t stutter there. It's owned by a trust from the UK, which makes it extremely difficult for me to find any kind of corporate records, not for the company or the trust. I did a quick Google search and found out that Roseblood refers to an extremely high-risk investment strategy, one that doesn't quite break any laws, but certainly bends a lot of them.”

  Sam looked at Indie and shook his head. “So the old Rogers place might be some kind of investment club?”

  Indie smiled. “Well, Daniel is supposed to be an investment consultant, right?”

  “Maybe our guy is just overstressed over this high-risk investment thing. Maybe he's not really doing anything wrong, and this is just some sort of business deal that's got him stressed out. I mean, stranger things have happened.”

  Sam sighed. “Maybe I should just tell the wife there's no evidence of any cheating, and drop this whole case.”

  Indie looked at him. “But something is telling you there's more to this than meets the eye, and you're not ready to give it up yet, right?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “So where do we go now?”

  Sam nodded toward the fancy cars sitting in Rogers's parking lot, and asked if she’d had any luck with tracing any of the license numbers he'd sent to her from out at the estate.

  “Not yet, but I'll get on that as soon as I get back to the office. I thought you'd want this info—oh, and some lunch—right away. Right?”

  “Of course you're right, and what would I do without you?”

  Indie kissed him and got out of the Corvette. Sam saw the Ridgeline drive past the parking lot a moment later as she headed for home.

  Sam waited 'til quitting time, and sure enough, Daniel went home like he had each night, so Sam checked that the spy cam was still where he'd left it and did likewise. Getting home early was a treat; it meant he could have dinner with his family. Indie treated them to her famous Italian chicken, and then they went to the living room to relax and watch a movie. Sam let Kenzie choose, and they ended up watching Minions for the fifth time.

  Occasionally, Indie would allow Sam to sleep late in the morning, and his phone said it was almost nine by the time he got up. Sam was pretty sure he knew where Daniel would be, though, so he didn't panic. He showered and got dressed, then snagged a cup of coffee on his way out to the office.

  Indie was on her computer and turned to smile at him. “Morning, Sunshine! I'm in the DMV database, and guess what?”

  Sam took a big swig of coffee and said, “You found my long-lost rich uncle?”

  She shook her head. “Nope, but I did find out that almost all of the cars whose tags you got belong to various corporations, and some are rentals, but one of them is privately owned. That one belongs to a man named Nicholas Gaines, and he's about seventy-five years old. Got his address right here.” She passed Sam a sticky note with an address.

  “Hmm. So whatever it is, it's not just for young guys like Rogers. Something about this is just eating at me, you know that? I think I'm going to go see Mr. Gaines and try to get myself invited to the club.”

  Sam punched the address into his phone and let it guide him to one of the ritziest apartment buildings in the city. The place had security and required a key card to get in, and with the video cameras all over the place, there was no way Sam was going to be able to slip in behind another tenant. He was sitting there wondering what to do when he spotted Gaines's car. It was one of the Maybachs, and it was coming out of the parking garage, so Sam fired up the Corvette and followed.

  7

  Gaines drove to a medical office building, the kind where a dozen different doctors shared a front office. When he parked and went inside, Sam was quick enough to hold the door open for him.

  This man may have been seventy-five, but he looked about ninety. Sam wasn't a bit surprised to find him going to a doctor; considering how he looked, a visit to an undertaker wouldn't have been any more surprising. He signed in and sat down to wait.

  A few minutes later, a nurse came out and called his name. Sam waited a few seconds before following, and watched her lead him into a urologist's office, a fancy place. A receptionist looked up as Sam entered, but Sam just smiled and pointed at Gaines, and she grinned and went back to what she was doing. Sam walked over and took the seat next to the old man.

  Sam glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and then leaned in close to him. He turned toward Sam, looking a bit startled, and Sam whispered, “Hello, Nicholas. We need to have a little chat about Roseblood.”

  The old man's eyes shot wide open and his face went beet red in a split second, and Sam thought, Oh, Geez, I've given the old buzzard a heart attack! Sam leaned in again and said, “Calm down, you're not in any danger. I just need your help and I'll explain later. For now, just get this straight—I'm your old buddy, Stan Phillips, and you like having me around to help you handle things. As soon as we get a minute, we'll talk, but don't mess this up!”

  The old man nodded, and forced himself to get his face and breathing back under control. Good Lord, this old guy looks like he thinks he’s in some kind of trouble or something, Sam thought. What the heck have I stumbled into?

  A diff
erent nurse came out and called Gaines in, and Sam got up to follow. The nurse held up a hand to block him, but he caught Gaines's eye.

  “He's with me,” he wheezed out. “An old friend.” The nurse shrugged and led the way into the examination room, took all his vitals and then left them alone.

  He looked at Sam and it was obvious he was scared. “What do you want? How much? I'll pay, I swear, just don't tell anyone, please! I'm begging you!”

  Sam didn't have a clue what Gaines was talking about, but he didn't want the old guy to know that, not just yet. Something about his panic told Sam that his gut had led him on the right trail.

  “Calm down, Nicholas, your secret is safe with me, and so is your money. All I need is to get inside Roseblood, and I want you to arrange it.”

  The old man stared at him. “Honestly?” he asked. “That's all, and then you'll leave me alone?”

  “That's all. I just need to get a look at it from the inside, and no one will ever know that you helped me do that. You'll never hear from me again.”

  He looked at Sam, afraid to believe me but not daring to doubt. “Are you a policeman? I swear, if there's anything illegal going on, I know nothing. I only go for the services, nothing else, I swear. I'm a member, not one of the partners.”

  Sam smiled at him. “Okay, relax. All I need is for you to get me on the list as an invited guest.”

  He stared at Sam. “What is it you're hoping to find there? If this is about blackmail…”

  Sam shook his head. “I just have my own reasons for wanting to know what that place is all about. For that, all I need is a chance to get inside and see with my own eyes, and that's all I need from you. The name is Stan Phillips, remember?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Stan Phillips, yes. For when?”

  Sam thought about it; both Gaines and Rogers had gone in the daytime, so odds on that would be the best time to find out what was going on in there. Sam smiled and said, “How about tomorrow afternoon? That gives you enough time to set it up, doesn't it?”

  He nodded. “Tomorrow afternoon, then. Let me make the arrangements.” The old guy took out a smartphone that made Sam's look like a stone tablet, and whispered, “Roseblood,” to it. A moment later, he said, “Mr. Renquist, this is Mr. Gaines. I have a friend coming by tomorrow afternoon who would like to sample your wares.” He listened for a second, and then looked Sam pointedly in the eye. “Oh, of course I'll vouch for him, I've known him for years. His name is Stan Phillips.” He listened again and then smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Renquist. I'm sure he'll find it to be everything he's looking for!”

  He ended the call and looked at Sam, his smile gone completely. “You're in, Mr. Phillips. If you do anything there that reflects badly on me, I'll be ruined. I'm praying you're being honest with me, and that I won't be seeing you again.”

  Sam patted his shoulder again. “Mr. Gaines, your secret is safe with me; I have no reason to cause you any problems, and I promise you that I won't, unless something there goes terribly wrong. Since this is just a sight-seeing tour, I don't really think there's anything to worry about, though, so after we leave here, you'll be done with me.”

  Gaines nodded. A moment later the doctor came in, and Sam stood by and acted like the concerned old friend as they discussed prostate problems and FlowMax dosages. When the appointment was over, Gaines kept up the act, thanking Sam for coming and asking him to walk him out to his car.

  “Mr. Phillips,” he said once they were outside and alone, “there is something about you that makes me trust you on this. I have no idea what it is you're looking for, but somehow, I hope you find it.” They got to his car and he turned to look at Sam. “Should it happen that you need more from me, and on the condition that your motives are not criminal, I would not object to speaking with you again.”

  He handed over a business card that said, “Nicholas Gaines, Private Investments.” Sam tucked it into a pocket and shook his hand.

  “There's nothing criminal in my intent, sir,” Sam said. “Thank you.” Sam opened the old man’s door for him and helped him in, then shut it and watched him back out of his space before he went to get the Corvette.

  Indie was delighted when Sam called to tell her he had gotten a way into Roseblood, and they started brainstorming on how to make the most of it. By the time Sam got back to the office, he had decided to rent a flashier car and wear his one genuinely expensive suit so he could give off the image he wanted, and Indie even found a place to rent a chauffeur's uniform, so she could pose as his driver. Since he didn't anticipate any danger, Sam went along with the plan.

  He had just gotten back home when his phone rang, and he saw that it was Jack, calling from the hospital. He answered immediately.

  “Sam,” Jack said, “I hate to bother you, but my lawyer thought it would be a good idea if you came down while I'm being questioned. She already told that dumbass detective, and he just threw his hands in the air and said it was okay with him. Can you come down right away?”

  “Sure, Jack, I'll be right there,” Sam said. He hung up the phone and turned to Indie. “Jack got himself a lawyer, and she wants me to come and sit in while the detective questions him about Max's murder. I've got to head down there right away.”

  Indie kissed him and smiled. “Go on, then,” she said. “Don't worry, I'll be here waiting for you when you get home.”

  Sam limped out the door to the Corvette and headed for the VA hospital. The lawyer met him in the hallway and he saw that it was Carol Spencer, an attorney he knew well.

  “Sam,” she said, “I really appreciate you coming down. When he told me you were on the case, I figured it couldn't hurt to have you involved in this as well. I've told him that he should look at me before answering any question. If I don't shake my head, he can answer; if I do, he's to refuse under the fifth amendment.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Sam said. “Just curious, but how did you end up with this case? I didn't think Jack and his wife had any money for a lawyer. Are you taking public defender cases now?”

  “Me? Not hardly. One of the people on the Animal Partners funding committee called me,” she said. “He said he knew Jack, and couldn't believe that he killed Max. Offered me a healthy retainer to take the case, and I wasn't about to turn it down.”

  Hobson showed up just then, so they followed him into Jack's hospital room. Sam was irritated when he saw that Jack was handcuffed to the bed, but as a former cop himself, he understood.

  Hobson walked over and stood right over Jack.

  “Mr. Wilson,” he said, but Carol stopped him.

  “Move back, Detective. You're here to ask questions, not badger him. You can do that sitting in a chair, I don't want you pressuring him to answer the way you think he should.”

  Hobson glared at her, but took a chair and sat down. Two other cops, in uniform, stood at his sides. They weren't paying any particular attention to Jack, so Carol ignored them.

  Hobson tried again. “Mr. Wilson, can you tell us why you went to see Max Hernandez night before last?”

  Jack glanced at Carol, but she didn't move. He looked at Hobson and said, “Because he's—he was my best friend.”

  Hobson snorted. “Remind me not to count you as a friend. Do you kill all your buddies?”

  “Inappropriate question, Hobson,” Carol said, and he turned to glare at her again.

  “That's 'Detective Hobson' to you.”

  “When I see you acting like a detective,” Carol said, “I'll treat you like one.”

  Hobson sneered, but turned back to Jack. “Witnesses say you were arguing with him. What were you angry about?”

  Jack didn't even look at his lawyer. His eyebrows went up and he said, “I wasn't angry about anything. I stopped in to ask if I could get a few more hours a week to work with the dogs. Keep me busy, keep my mind off things”

  “But by the time you left, he was dead. Can you explain that in any way that won't lead me to believe you killed him?”

  “He w
as fine when I left. Hell, I wasn't even there ten minutes—he said, sure, he could get me more hours, and he had three new dogs coming in the next day so he was glad I was volunteering. I said thanks, and left, and he was talking on the phone to someone else when I walked out.”

  Hobson made a note. “Mr. Wilson, do you own a handgun? A forty-caliber?”

  Jack glanced at Carol, but didn't wait for her to give him a cue. He turned back to Hobson.

  “No, I don't,” he said.

  Hobson snorted again. “Oh, come on,” he said. “What military man doesn't have at least one gun around?”

  “One with PTSD, you dumbass. Just looking at a gun messes me up, and the sound of a gun can send me right into shock.”

  “Well, if you didn't kill him, who did?”

  “How the hell should I know? Max was always the last one to leave, and the doors were always open if he was there. Anybody coulda walked in after I left.”

  Sam interrupted. “Hobson, what about the gun? Any leads on it?”

  He shook his head without facing Sam. “Not yet. All we got is it's a forty-caliber, and probably a Glock.” He looked up at Jack. “Let me tell you what I think. You got this letter”—he produced the one Jack had received—“so you were pretty pissed that he'd been boinkin' your old lady. You got out your non-existent gun and went down there to tell him to leave her alone. He said you were nuts, which you are, and then you shot him, and split. You went home to the missus, made a big thing about making up with her, and figured you were home free. You just didn't know that the secretary saw you go in and heard you yelling at him. Way I see it, we got you dead to rights.”

  Jack sat up and Sam thought for a moment he was going to lunge at Hobson, but he didn't. Carol Spencer must have thought the same thing, because she put herself between the two men.

  “You jackass,” Jack said loudly. “I knew damn well he didn't do no such thing, and neither did my wife! I never once believed that crap, I just wanted to know who was doing it! That's why I hired an investigator!” He pointed at Sam.