Absolute Liability

by Jennifer Becton

  It was clear that she was trying to smile and look pleasant, but the effect was more of a snarl. She ended up giving the impression that she wanted to tear the judges’ heads off.

  I wrested my eyes from her face and looked over the rest of her as she moved into her first pose. I glanced at Vincent, who somehow remained expressionless. “I guess this isn’t one of those steroid-free competitions,” he said.

  I sure hoped not.

  I took out my phone and snapped a few stills as Leona stalked from pose to pose, but I knew this spectacle demanded something more. I took a few minutes of video footage.

  It looked like Leona would not be on worker’s comp much longer.

  “Let’s go visit her backstage,” Vincent said. “We need to let her see you. See if she has a reaction. She also needs to see Amber’s picture.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” It seemed unlikely that Leona would recognize me or Amber, but she would have known about the DOI’s investigation. I supposed she could have resorted to kidnapping to cover her worker’s comp fraud and protect her lawsuit, but it didn’t feel right to me. Plus, I wasn’t looking forward to chit-chatting with her.

  As we inched our way to the edge of the stage and behind the curtain, Vincent looked back at me. “What do you bring a bodybuilder backstage anyway? Flowers just seem wrong.”

  I blinked at him. “I wouldn’t know, but maybe some of these women would like it if you brought them flowers. Like her.” I gestured at one bikini-clad competitor who was eyeing Vincent hungrily.

  I remembered reading that bodybuilders fast before competition to help define their muscles, so maybe she actually was in the mood for a good meal.

  We dodged the hungry-looking woman and found Leona in the wings amid a small cluster of slicked-up contestants. She was even more like a bulldog up close, with stocky limbs and a lumbering walk. We caught up, but she barely glanced in my direction. No flicker of recognition.

  Vincent hung back a bit.

  “Hi,” I said to Leona.

  When she didn’t turn, I tried again. “You looked great out there.”

  “Thanks.” At this, she looked me over from top to bottom, but still there was no sign of recognition that I was an investigator with the DOI or that she realized she had abducted the wrong woman. She didn’t know me.

  “Julia Jackson,” I said.

  “I’m Leona.” She looked at my exposed arms as if they were dead fish. “You lift?”

  “A little.”

  “I could help you.” She leaned a little closer. “Or we could just skip that part and go straight to dinner.”

  I took two steps back and landed against Vincent. I was glad he was there. But I’d never admit that out loud. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I have what it takes.” Not only was I sure I’d never be able to grow muscles like hers, but I also knew I’d never share her sexual preferences.

  “We’re from the Georgia Department of Insurance,” I added.

  When I showed her my badge, her face transformed from disappointment to rage. Her skin reddened, her eyebrows pulled down, and her mouth opened. She looked at Vincent and seemed to think better of a violent reaction. She clamped her mouth shut, then opened it again and said, “Dammit. I’m busted.”

  “I’m afraid so,” I admitted, “but things will be easier if you can help us out. I can ask Southeastern not to prosecute for the worker’s comp fraud. But you’ll have to go back to work.” I said this even though I really had no control over the matter. The worker’s comp claim was technically not a DOI issue at this point. It would be handled by the insurance company, and she would pay the penalties they decided. They could choose to prosecute no matter what she did now. But she didn’t have to know that.

  As the next class of bodybuilders lined up to go on stage, Leona considered my offer. I wondered if she might rather pay a penalty than go back to the sewage treatment plant.

  “I’m still suing the water reclamation facility. I may not be hurt anymore, but that doesn’t mean the accident wasn’t their fault.”

  “That’s your choice.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Then what do you want?”

  We already knew she’d been at Shred the day before during the time of the abduction, but I took Amber’s picture from my bag and held it out to her. “Leona, do you know this woman?”

  The announcer began calling the next contestants, and I listened to their stats as Leona studied the picture. “I don’t know her. She on the circuit?”

  “No, she’s not a bodybuilder.”

  “Then like I said, I don’t know her.” Leona’s bulldog face was restored, but she looked like she’d had enough of us. We left her alone.

  As we slipped back into the audience, Vincent nudged me. “She definitely liked you.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Watch it, or else I’ll call Miz Mimsy and give her your home and cell numbers.”

  He held up a hand. “Okay, okay.”

  We left the noise of the hotel behind as we went into the parking lot. I said, “Leona didn’t seem to recognize me. Or Amber. And that’s what we needed to know.”

  “But poor Leona. Back to the wastewater treatment plant for her.”

  For some reason, I had a hard time feeling sorry for poor Leona.

  His partner might not know how to break into a house, but he’d figured it out pretty easily after his reconnaissance mission the other night.

  It was not terribly difficult, especially when people left their spare keys in the most obvious places. He’d only had to check a few rocks and flower pots before he found it under the last paving stone of the walkway. Now that he’d accessed the house, he was going to take full advantage of the situation.

  Of course, he’d read all about the owner from what they’d found in the investigator’s bag, and an internet search had revealed a few more details, but there was something to be said for actually entering someone’s personal space.

  Yes, he had learned so much more.

  For example, he already knew the owner was the perfect choice for a frame-up, but now he had all the details he needed to make it airtight.

  Finding the unsecured gun had been an added bonus.

  When he saw the weapon upstairs under some papers by the bed, carelessly left out, he leaned down to pick it up. But then he thought better of it.

  This was a new part of the plan, and he had to be just as careful about thinking it through.

  He needed the gun; that was certain.

  But he had to make sure not to tie himself to it in any way. He wore gloves, so there was no need to worry about fingerprints, but what about fibers or skin cells or hair? He did not want anyone to be able to connect him with the girl’s murder.

  He went to the kitchen and pulled open every drawer and cabinet until he found an oversized plastic freezer bag. He held it up to study its dimensions. The gun was big, but he decided the bag would do the job.

  Once back upstairs, he picked up the revolver carefully, slid it into the bag, adjusted the angle so it fit, and sealed it. He figured that should keep it from accumulating any DNA evidence or fingerprints that might link him to the crime later.

  He looked at the weapon again and felt a strange surge of power. In his hands, he held life and death. He could spare those he wanted to live and end the lives of those who needed to die.

  Those thoughts surprised him. He had never contemplated murder or even abduction. Sure, he’d committed fraud, but that was different. It was nonviolent, and it paid well. There was no money in murder.

  He was no murderer. He was just an innocent bystander in all this; it was too bad the girl had to die so he could stay that way.

  On Friday morning, I settled into my office on the second floor of the DOI and uploaded the video and pictures from Leona’s bodybuilding competition. While the files transferred, I called the Mercer Water Reclamation Facility to let them know that she was no longer in need of worker’s comp and was fully capable of returning to work. Th
en, because I knew he’d be asking for it, I wrote up a progress report of my investigations for Ted.

  My last chore was to set up an afternoon appointment with James and Gerry Gerwalt, the owners of Gerwalt Insurance Agency. As the final fraud complaint I’d been working, they were also the final two suspects in Amber’s abduction. This mother-and-son team ran the independent agency that sold Southeastern insurance policies, among others, and they had written the policy for the wastewater treatment plant.

  I had managed to accumulate less information and paperwork on the Gerwalts than any other suspects, and I needed their files pertaining to the water treatment plant’s policy. There was no way I could get them from the Southeastern corporate office.

  Independent agents are like little islands unto themselves. They own all their files and accounts, and unless there is legal cause, not even Southeastern could requisition their information.

  I represented that legal cause.

  The paperwork had been filed with the state, and I had my warrant to take all files regarding the Mercer Water Reclamation Facility and any financial documentation pertaining to Southeastern Insurance.

  Having the reports could go a long way in helping us figure out who dropped the ball on the railing height, but as things stood right now, the Gerwalts seemed complicit in writing the fraudulent policy for the plant. I suspected they had worked something out with inspector Sam Dwight in order to gloss over the railing height regulations and write the huge policy anyway.

  Of course, the Gerwalts’ level of involvement in Amber’s kidnapping was another matter. On that score, I still favored Roger McKade, but it would be interesting to see their reactions to my presence and Amber’s picture.

  I took out the picture and looked into her smiling brown eyes. For the thousandth time, I wondered what was happening to her. When the ordeal was over, would those eyes still be capable of such a carefree expression?

  I put the picture away, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. It appeared her kidnapping was related to one of my cases, so it was up to me to do everything I could to help find her and bring her home safe.

  Starting with the Gerwalts.

  I dialed their office, but the phone rang and rang and eventually went to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. The call had been a courtesy. Vincent and I would just drop by with the warrant after lunch.

  Gerwalt Insurance Agency was located in an old strip mall in what used to be a high-class section of Mercer. That was thirty years ago when Gerry had founded the agency. Today, the building was on the way downhill. In fact, the entire edifice looked like it was ready for the wrecking ball.

  The office was at the end of a long section of storefronts. After waiting a few moments in the empty reception area, I raised my eyebrows at Vincent and peeked down the short hallway that led into the bowels of the office.

  “Hello?” I called.

  I heard a woman’s voice. “Come on back. You just caught me before I closed for a late lunch.”

  Gerry Gerwalt was actually Geraldine Gerwalt, a stately woman with short, iron-gray hair. She’d started selling policies for Southeastern fifteen years ago, and records showed that she’d always been a competent agent. She’d sold half her agency to her son James upon his college graduation thirteen years ago, and he stood to take over completely when she retired.

  Vincent and I walked into Gerry’s small office, where she sat behind her desk, working furiously at her keyboard. After a short pause, she stood up and shook our hands. “I’m Gerry Gerwalt. You two need a policy?”

  I glanced at Vincent. Did we look like a couple? I hardly thought so, not with him standing clear on the other side of the office with his hands clasped behind his back like he was the king of England. “No,” I said. “I’m Special Agent Julia Jackson, and this is Special Agent Mark Vincent. We’re from the Georgia Department of Insurance.”

  Gerry sank back into her rolling chair and gestured at the two seats across from the desk. “What is this about?”

  “We’re here today to try to clear things up regarding the policy Mr. Gerwalt wrote for the Mercer Water Reclamation Facility,” I explained.

  “James just went out to grab some lunch, but he’ll be back soon.” Gerry eyed me. “I know about the lawsuit, but I can assure you that our agency is not culpable. James said he checked everything on the list.”

  “Including the railings?”

  “Are they on the list?” Gerry’s face radiated a mixture of skepticism and indignation. It was frightening. I could tell she didn’t take any crap.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answered with as much Southern politeness as I could muster. She glared harder.

  “Then he checked it.”

  “When the Southeastern inspector came to the accident site,” I pressed, “they reported the railings as thirty-three inches, not thirty-nine.”

  “Well, if that is true, then James made an honest mistake. My son and I take care of our clients, but not at the expense of our own agency.”

  I believed her, and I hoped that was the case. “Then it should be easy to get this matter cleared up quickly. We’ve come with a warrant.”

  I handed it to her, and her face hardened. “Fine,” she said, “but I don’t see the point. You won’t find anything.”

  “That warrant also includes your financial records for all Southeastern policies,” Vincent added. He’d been across the room literally watching my back.

  This was where I expected to be given a one-way ticket across the River Styx, and based on the tightness of Gerry’s lips and jaw, we were going to get it. Instead, she said, “What choice do I have?”

  Vincent went back to the truck for a file box while Gerry pulled up the information. She handed me a list and showed me where the files were stored. “You might as well make yourself useful.” She gestured to the corner of her desk. “Stack them there, and I’ll print out the financial documents.”

  Gerry went back to the computer, and I started looking through the filing cabinet in the corner. Periodically, she picked up what I’d found and gave it a close look. I supposed she wanted to make sure I was only taking what the warrant described.

  As I searched for the last few files that were eluding me, I heard the door open and shut, and then I smelled fried chicken.

  “I’m back with lunch, Mom.” It was a man’s voice. He sounded tense.

  “My son,” Gerry said as she reappeared with photocopies in hand. “He gets jittery when his blood sugar gets low. He has to eat every four hours or he’s useless.” Then louder, she called, “Back here.”

  Gerry’s son entered the room, and I leaned back from the filing cabinet to get a look at him. He wore khaki pants, a yellow and white striped golf shirt, and a tattered University of Georgia hat with an oversized fishhook on the bill. I guessed he was hiding male pattern baldness. Why else would a man in his mid-thirties wear a cap to work? I also guessed he was wearing loafers with no socks. Ick. His whole look said casual as only a true Southern boy can do it. And he was chewing on a piece of fried chicken to boot.

  Gerry’s son didn’t notice me at first, so I stepped out and said, “Hi.”

  Obviously not expecting anyone to be hiding in the corner, he jumped back. “Holy shit.” He stumbled a few steps and landed on his rump in one of the chairs in front of Gerry’s desk. He held the piece of chicken above his head as if he were keeping a priceless crystal vase from shattering on the ground. The bag of chicken ended up in his lap.

  Gerry stood up, and her son followed suit. “James, this is Special Agent Julia Jackson from the DOI.”

  “Oh, hi. You scared me. Lucky I didn’t drop my chicken.” He laughed and put the bag on Gerry’s desk. “Man, my blood sugar must be really low if you scared me. You’re just a little thing. You hungry?” He waggled the chicken leg at me. “We’ve got plenty.”

  I smiled at James. He was kind of cute in a leftover frat boy way. A little shaky for me maybe. Probably he was not a fan of suspense flicks. “No, t
hanks. We’re just here for some files.”

  “She’s got a warrant for all our files on the water facility,” Gerry explained to him.

  I resumed leafing through the filing cabinet and comparing my list to the files I found. I pulled out another folder and laid it on the growing pile on the corner of Gerry’s desk, right next to the bucket of chicken.

  Soon Vincent reappeared with an empty box. He handed it to me while eyeing the new man in the room.

  I introduced Vincent to James. They shook and then James repeated his offer of chicken, which I was surprised to hear Vincent accept. He stood there gnawing on a leg and talking about University of Georgia football.

  “While I’m sharing your lunch, I might as well ask you a few questions.”

  “Shoot,” James said.

  “Were you aware of the accident involving Leona Winchell?”

  “Yes, I was notified of the claim the day the accident occurred. I don’t have the date, but it’s in the file there.”

  “You know, then, that her accident revealed some noncompliance with both OSHA regs and the codes established by Southeastern.”

  James looked abashed. “Yes, and I feel awful about it. I thought I had done a good job of inspecting the place, and I must have if the Southeastern inspector and the guys from OSHA missed the same stuff.”

  Vincent laughed politely. “I suppose that’s a good point. Those regs are extremely detailed. It would be easy to miss something.”

  “You should see them. They deal with everything from railings to toilet height.”

  More laughter.

  “Also, I was wondering if you’ve seen this woman.” Vincent’s voice was affable as he took the picture out of his pocket and handed it to James.

  James held it in his greasy fingers for a moment before he said, “No, nope. I’ve never seen her.” He slid the picture across the desk to his mother and came back up with a Styrofoam container of mashed potatoes and gravy.