Absolute Liability

by Jennifer Becton

  He went to his computer to check the digital file. He’d sent that to the inspector too. Yes, it looked good. He zoomed in and used his mouse to move the file around so he could look at each piece up close.

  And that’s when his confidence evaporated. Something was wrong with the file.

  He stared at it for long moments as the implications of this discovery sank in. The DOI inspector had this file. It was only a matter of time before the truth of his involvement in the wastewater treatment plant scam would be uncovered.

  And after that the whole house of cards would start to collapse.

  They would find out that he had attempted to frame Roger McKade. They would discover his connection to his partner, and he’d probably be charged with the abduction and murder of Amber Willis too. Hell, they might even figure out that his partner’s death was not a suicide.

  And that was a risk he could not take.

  He was not going down for murder.

  “Listen,” I said to Vincent, “we need to take a look at all these Southeastern files again. The killer must have known that I was also investigating McKade and tried to frame him.”

  “Agreed. McKade isn’t involved.” He leaned back, considering. “That leaves Gerwalt and Leona, right?”

  We were back at Vincent’s lake place and knee-deep in the files. I’d arranged everything around me on the couch, and the loaner laptop sat waiting on the coffee table. As I began to compare information, Vincent joined me, and we started reading together. It wasn’t exciting, but I was so intent on discovering something new that I tuned everything else out.

  At some point Vincent disappeared, and later Justin pushed a plate past the papers in my hands. It held grilled steak and fries. I glanced up, surprised. When had they had time to grill? I checked my watch: 9 PM. It seemed a little late for steak and potatoes. Not that I wasn’t grateful for the thought. I took the plate and inhaled deeply; it smelled good.

  I looked up, and the house coalesced in my consciousness. The whole place smelled like the peanut oil that had been used to cook the fries, and the kitchen sink was filled with dishes. Vincent and Justin were at the table, looking at me.

  “Thanks for the food,” I said, despite the fact that I didn’t feel hungry at all. I set the plate aside, balancing it on a stack of papers and folders on the coffee table, and went straight to the laptop.

  After a moment, Vincent interrupted my train of thought again. “I realized we hadn’t gotten dinner. Thought you’d be hungry.”

  They were still watching me, so I forced myself to pop a fry in my mouth and realized that I was starved. I ate another, and all of a sudden I wanted to devour that steak with a passion I hadn’t thought possible just two seconds ago. No way could I cut this hunk of meat with the plate teetering on a stack of papers, so I got up from the couch and joined them at the table.

  “Might as well take a break and keep up my strength. Plus, these fries are heavenly,” I said.

  “They’re not as good as Lakeman Will’s, but they’ll do,” Justin said.

  “Our next-door neighbor,” Vincent explained.

  I made a mental note never to turn down food from Lakeman Will. If his fries were better than these, I was going to have to get myself invited over for a cookout.

  We all ate in silence for a while. I don’t think I looked up from my plate until the food was half gone. Then Justin spoke. “Find anything in those papers, Jessica Fletcher?”

  I paused with my fork in the air and laughed. “You’re too young to know anything about Murder She Wrote.”

  “Hey, reruns are beautiful things.” He popped a ketchup-covered fry into his mouth.

  “And you compare me to Angela Lansbury?” I pictured her matronly 1980s look and winced. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”

  “Well, I could have compared you to Cagney and Lacey, but I can never remember which one is the fat one, and I know women don’t like to be compared to fat chicks.”

  I laughed again. “Yeah? Your dad give you that deep insight into women?” I eyed Vincent across the table.

  “Nah. I learned that all on my own.” He leaned away from his steak. “In first grade, I told Madison Doyle she reminded me of Barney—the dinosaur, you know—and she slugged me. Since then, I’ve tried not to compare girls to fat purple dinosaurs or gravitationally gifted people altogether. But Pops did show me how to grill a mean steak.”

  “You made this?” I asked, spearing another piece of meat. I chewed slowly, savoring it. “It’s good.”

  “Sure, I made it.” He jerked his thumb at Vincent. “He made the fries. And all this while your head was in those files. A tornado could have blown down the whole house and you’d still be sitting there.”

  “Yeah, I was pretty zoned out.”

  Justin was about to say something else, when Vincent got a word in. “You find anything?”

  My mind flipped back to work. “Nothing definitive yet.”

  “Yeah, me neither, but I called Detective Carver. Looks like McKade’s alibi held. So I’m going to do some more digging on those associated with the wastewater plant. Pull tax and arrest records.”

  “Sounds scintillating,” Justin said.

  So after dinner, Vincent and I headed back to the couch for some scintillating reading.

  Once an hour had passed, I was too tired to continue.

  I pushed all my papers away. “So,” I said, “we’ve ruled out McKade.”

  “Agreed. He’s a moron, but not a murderer.”

  “That leaves the wastewater treatment case. So that’s Leona, the Gerwalts, Cat Smaha, and Sam Dwight as possibilities.”

  “Obviously Dwight is not the murderer. What with him being dead and all.”

  “Leona didn’t have enough to lose. She would have wanted me to prove fraud on the part of Southeastern so her lawsuit would have been uncontested. Sure, she was bilking the worker’s comp system, but that doesn’t warrant abduction and murder.”

  “She really only stood to gain from your investigation. Her records are clean otherwise,” Vincent agreed.

  “That leaves Cat and the Gerwalts.”

  “Yeah, I’m not liking Cat for this. He didn’t seem to have enough of a personal stake in it. Sure, he would have done what he could to avoid having to make costly upgrades to the treatment facility, but it’s city owned. They would have hurt for a while, but eventually, more tax money would have been dumped into the place. He didn’t have anything to gain. His records don’t indicate a need for money, and he only had one arrest for public intoxication, and that was ten years ago.”

  “So the Gerwalts are your candidates?”

  “Yeah, their records are clean, but they are the only ones who stood to gain anything major. What do you think?” Vincent raised his eyebrows.

  “Agreed. Let’s say they knew about the code violations from the beginning. It’s a big policy. They would have stood to make a huge commission annually on it. Maybe they didn’t want to lose out to another insurer with looser standards.”

  “Yeah, they’d have to get the policy past the inspector too.”

  That’s where it got trickier. Insurance companies discourage inspectors from getting friendly with agents. They are extremely conscious of the temptation for agents and inspectors to work together for just this kind of purpose and then share the proceeds from the policies. “Could be he bribed Sam Dwight,” I offered. “Or they could have been working together.”

  “With Dwight dead, we obviously can’t question him, but maybe we can find a history of their working together on other policies.”

  “And we can look for personal connections that might have facilitated a fraud scheme like this.”

  Vincent nodded. “Tomorrow, we’ll swing by Southeastern to get some information on Dwight and his old case files, and then we’ll go have a chat with the Gerwalts.”

  I sighed, and we sat for a while, doing nothing in particular. Just decompressing. Then I stood up. “Well, I don’t know about y
ou, but I’m going to bed.”

  The atmosphere at Southeastern Insurance was decidedly tense.

  How could it be otherwise? One of the employees had been abducted and killed, and though the news had reported Roger McKade’s arrest, it was also made clear that he was charged on unrelated matters and being questioned in regard to Amber’s death.

  The public must suspect that the real killer was still free, and they were probably wondering who might be next.

  I felt dozens of overwrought pairs of eyes follow my movements as if I might suddenly clap irons on an employee and announce that he was Amber’s murderer.

  If only that were true. If only we knew who the murderer was.

  Vincent and I were there on a fact-finding mission, nothing more.

  “Ron’s office is on the fifth floor,” I said to Vincent as the elevator doors closed us away from the eager, fearful gazes of the workers.

  “Let’s hope we find some connection between Gerwalt and Dwight,” he said. “That would help this whole thing make a lot more sense.”

  I nodded in agreement. We were here to interview Ron Raleigh. He’d seen the abduction, but more important, he managed all the Southeastern inspectors. We were hoping he might be able to connect the dots between our suspects.

  I wasn’t optimistic. Gerwalt Insurance Agency was clean and shiny. All of the Gerwalts’ files were in order, and Southeastern’s records showed that they’d never been in any trouble. Vincent’s check of the pair’s police and tax records revealed more of the same. Gerry and James had no arrests, and credit reports indicated no debt issues or money problems. It was clear that the agency ran well. So either they were good at evading detection or they were businesspeople who’d made an honest mistake in writing the wastewater treatment facility policy.

  Either way, the truth would soon become evident.

  Something had to break.

  Though I wasn’t sure it was likely to happen in Ron Raleigh’s office.

  As we entered, Ron stood. His surprise at our abrupt arrival faded quickly, and he gestured at the two chairs in front of his desk. “Special Agent Jackson, I’m surprised to see you here. Have a seat.”

  I introduced Vincent, and they shook hands.

  “We’re very sorry for your loss, Mr. Raleigh,” Vincent said.

  “Things must be tough here right now,” I added. “We’re just here for a little information, that’s all.”

  “Sure. Anything I can do to help.” He looked momentarily confused. “But I heard about a suspect’s arrest on the news….”

  He let his voice trail off, as if one of us would give him the scoop on Roger McKade. Everyone was curious and frightened. They wanted to be assured. Unfortunately, I was unable to do that.

  “He was arrested on other charges. We are, however, questioning him.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, everyone here is so upset. I hope it turns out that you’ve got your man.”

  “We will get him. I assure you,” I said, and I meant it. “Today, we’re here about Sam Dwight.” I produced a copy of the original wastewater treatment plant policy and indicated Sam’s signature at the bottom of the document.

  Ron studied the paper. “You think this is all related to this policy?” He sounded skeptical.

  “We’re investigating all possibilities,” Vincent said. “Can you tell us about him?”

  “Sure. You know he’s dead, right? Died of cancer last year. Another sad loss for Southeastern.”

  “Yes, we were aware that he was deceased, but we were wondering if you might tell us a bit more about him personally and professionally.”

  “Okay, sure. He had worked here since the late eighties. Had a good record as far back as I’ve worked with him, and I’ve been here since the late nineties. He inspected most of the large commercial facilities.”

  “Was he ever questioned in regard to fraud?” I pressed. “Ever ‘overlook’ anything for his friends?”

  Ron’s eyebrows drew together as he thought. “Not that I’m aware of. This is the first time anything hinky ever showed up on one of his policies.” He shrugged.

  “Do you know if he had any personal relationships with independent agents?”

  He shook his head quickly. “We discourage that practice.”

  “Most companies do,” Vincent said, “but sometimes people meet socially without knowing their connections until later. Could that have happened with Mr. Dwight?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose it could have, although he was kind of a quiet fellow. He spent time with his family or on the golf course.”

  I perked up at the mention of golf. A golf course was an ideal place for such a fraud to be instigated. Businessmen meeting over sports and finding a mutually beneficial arrangement: it happened all the time. “Did he belong to a country club or have a favorite course?”

  “Well, now, I suppose everyone’s got a favorite course, but I think he was a member of Mercer Country Club. It’s the best-kept club in the county.”

  I tried to think of other places where such a transaction might take place. “What about church affiliation? Did he attend anywhere regularly?”

  He held up his hands. “I’m not legally allowed to ask about religion, you know. So I couldn’t say anything about that.”

  “Well, did you know of any other clubs or organizations he was involved with where he might encounter an independent agent?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”

  “Was he married?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was his wife socially active? Was she friends with agents or their wives?”

  “I couldn’t say.” Ron was sounding a bit irritated now, and I couldn’t blame him. How often do people tell their managers what their wives do for fun?

  Vincent asked directly, “Do you know if he was associated with James or Gerry Gerwalt?”

  Ron sighed. “A personal association? I honestly don’t know. I was only his manager. But I can check to see if their names appear on any of the same policies. Hang on.” Ron spent a few minutes typing information into his computer. “Yup. They were on several other accounts over the years. Nothing so big. Would you like a list?”

  “That would be great,” I said. The accounts might not prove a personal association, but at least they would indicate a business connection beyond the wastewater facility. It was circumstantial, but if any of those policies had been fraudulent, it could show a pattern that would prove the Gerwalts and Dwight had been in cahoots.

  I took the printout from Ron, and Vincent said, “If you think of anything else that might be helpful about Mr. Dwight’s personal life or about his older policies, please give us a call.” He dropped his card next to the Rubik’s Cube on Ron’s desk.

  The tension in the outer offices was no less palpable as we exited the building, and I was glad to leave.

  “Why don’t we swing by the office and check in with Ted? Let him know what we’ve found out,” Vincent said as he turned the truck toward the DOI office.

  “Might as well. We’re so close by.”

  It was approaching noon when we arrived, and we caught Ted on his way to lunch. We all leaned against the building, trying to stay in its shade as we talked.

  “Tell me what progress you’ve made,” Ted said.

  “We haven’t got much solid yet,” I replied. “But we have managed to rule out some possibilities and narrow our investigation accordingly.”

  “Roger McKade has been arrested?” Ted asked.

  “Yes, but we don’t believe he had anything to do with the murder.”

  “He was in South Georgia all weekend,” Vincent said. “He couldn’t have killed Amber.”

  “Ah, so that leaves the water treatment plant, right?”

  I nodded. “We’re trying to prove a connection between Gerwalt Insurance Agency and the inspector Sam Dwight. It seems farfetched because both Gerwalt and Dwight have excellent records. They’re on good terms with Southeastern, no prior arrests, no flashing lights on the
ir credit reports. But they’re our strongest possibility so far.”

  “We do have some new cases on which both the Gerwalts and Dwight are involved,” Vincent said. “We’re going to research those further, but we’ll also be talking to the Gerwalts again this afternoon.”

  “Well, good.” Ted glanced at his watch. The silver face reflected the sunlight and practically blinded me. “I have to meet a buddy for lunch downtown. Keep me updated, okay?”

  We watched as Ted jogged to his car.

  “Lunch first or Gerwalt?” Vincent asked.

  I pondered. I was hungry, but I was more interested in getting to the bottom of Amber’s death.

  “Gerwalt.”

  The investigator bitch wasn’t giving up. That much was clear now.

  If only his partner hadn’t screwed up and taken the wrong girl, this wouldn’t be happening. She would already be dead.

  He took a deep breath when he realized the natural progression—and destination—of his own thoughts.

  He did not plan to kill her or anyone else.

  He hadn’t planned to kill his partner either. That had been an accident.

  He had been forced into taking action against his will.

  And now he was being forced to take another tack.

  At least he had a bit more information. The investigator had not noticed his error yet, so there was still time to undo any potential damage to himself and his career.

  He could still fix everything. All he had to do was switch out the digital files, and he would do it tonight.

  He had already proven that he could break into a house. He would simply do that again. He would slip inside while the woman was asleep, find whatever computer she was using, and transfer the new file. He’d make a clean escape and the blame would once again be pinned securely on his dead partner.

  And if that didn’t work, well, he might just become desperate enough to use that gun again.