Absolute Liability

by Jennifer Becton

  Vincent and I arrived at Gerwalt Insurance Agency and again found the front desk was empty. I wondered if James was out getting lunch already. I got the feeling that he took long lunch breaks.

  I called out into the emptiness. “Gerry? It’s Special Agents Julia Jackson and Mark Vincent from the DOI.”

  Gerry called us back to her office.

  The place was a mess, and she looked like hell. Her gray hair was sticking up in all directions, as if she’d run her fingers through it repeatedly.

  She picked up a pile of papers and then dropped them back onto the desk. She shifted things around a bit and then put her hands in her lap. Her head was bowed over the desk, as if in prayer. “It was James,” she said. “I don’t know how he did it. Everything goes through me. Everything.”

  “You mean your son is complicit in writing the fraudulent policy for the water reclamation facility?”

  “Yes.” Gerry’s voice caught, and she took a long, shuddering breath. She looked like she was ready to pass out.

  So that’s when I did something I’d never done as a cop. I walked around the desk, knelt beside her, and placed my hand over hers.

  She turned her bloodless face toward me. Her eyes were wide open, and I could see white all the way around her irises. She was on the verge of a panic attack, and she was going to be no good to us if she continued in this emotional state.

  “It’s okay, Gerry. We’ll get this sorted out,” I said softly. “Just take some deep breaths and try to relax a bit. Maybe Vincent could bring you some water.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at him, and he disappeared into the back of the office to find Gerry a drink.

  We waited for him to return.

  It seemed to take forever.

  She continued to shake, and I kept trying to convey strength through something as simple and ineffectual as my hand holding hers.

  Finally, I heard Vincent’s returning footfalls, and he placed a bottle of water in front of Gerry. I released her hand, and she reached for the drink.

  We watched as she struggled with the cap and then took a tentative swallow.

  I don’t know if the action of drinking had somehow unlocked her mind or if she finally forced herself to pull it together, but she seemed to be shaking a little less.

  Gerry took a moment to compose herself, and when she spoke her voice was laced with anger and sorrow. “Oh yes, my foolish son is involved in the fraud. He told me he knew it wouldn’t pass inspection, but he pushed it along anyway.” Another pause. “But he’s involved in more than that.”

  A murder? I wondered, but I let her keep talking.

  “After you came around the other day, your investigation made me realize that we were missing some files. So I started looking into things. I found this.” She handed me a claim form from an insured named Lucas Stout, citing extensive property and home damage from a tornado. I surveyed it quickly. The claim appeared to be in order. I looked at her, waiting for further explanation.

  She didn’t speak right away, just continued looking pathetic, so I asked, “You suspect this is a fraudulent claim?”

  “No, no, that’s not it. We never wrote a policy for Mr. Stout. I’ve never even seen him or spoken to him. Hell, I didn’t even know he existed! But a couple days ago, he comes in here with a copy of his policy, a quote typed up on our stationery, and a $50,000 claim, but there’s no record of it here or in the system. I think James decided to self-insure him.”

  “You’re saying James wrote a policy, but then never actually activated it through Southeastern, and he pocketed the entire annual premium himself?”

  “That’s right. He probably thought it was a low-risk policy and there wouldn’t be a claim, at least this year, so he never submitted the paperwork to the company, but billed Mr. Stout himself. He’d likely write a real policy when it renewed next year. Seems he’s done this before.”

  So James had even more reason to fear being caught in the water reclamation scheme. All his lies would be exposed.

  “I just can’t believe he’d do this. I thought I raised him right!” Gerry rushed on. “I had nothing to do with it. You can hook me up to a lie detector right here.”

  She seemed serious. I believed her, but I wasn’t sure about Vincent. I cut my eyes to him. He was a blank.

  Gerry continued, “A part of me doesn’t believe he could possibly be bold enough to do something like this behind my back, but I checked the numbers and searched it a dozen different ways. Mr. Stout’s policy doesn’t exist in our records or Southeastern’s. Someone is on the hook for $50,000 in damage claims. And that’s not even counting our liability in the wastewater treatment facility policy.” Like loose stones on a precipice, her face fell bit by bit. “And apparently, that someone is our agency. We can’t cover this. We’re going to lose everything. All thanks to my son.”

  “Where is James?” I asked.

  “I haven’t seen him since I confronted him about all this yesterday after the police were here.”

  I looked toward Vincent again. He appeared concerned. And that concerned me. A lot. “Do you and your son know Roger McKade?”

  Gerry considered. “No, maybe, I don’t think so. Why?”

  “What about Sam Dwight?” I asked. It seemed likely that Sam and James had been in cahoots.

  “Those names sound familiar, but I’m not sure.”

  “He was an inspector at Southeastern.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe we met him somewhere. I don’t know.”

  “What about other inspectors?”

  “No, no. I don’t know any. The company looks down on that sort of thing. Before today, I would have said James didn’t know any inspectors either. But now I’m not so sure. He could have met up with someone, maybe at the club.”

  I nodded. It seemed likely that James had known Sam Dwight, but we had to prove it.

  Vincent grunted. “Does your son own a gun?”

  “What? A gun?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Gerry shifted around, growing more uncomfortable. “I, I…think his father left him one.”

  “Do you know what kind?” I asked.

  Her eyes grew wide. “No. I don’t know anything about guns.”

  “Did you ever see it? Hear him talk about it?”

  Her eyes shifted to the right as she remembered. “I guess it looks like one a cowboy would carry.”

  I glanced at Vincent out of the corner of my eye. Probably a revolver. It could be the gun that was used in Amber’s murder.

  “Do you know what caliber?”

  Gerry looked overwhelmed. Her hands were clenched in her lap now. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s okay, Gerry,” I said.

  “You have no idea where he might be?” Vincent asked, less sympathetic.

  “Usually he’s on the golf course in the afternoons, but when I called earlier, no one at the club had seen him. Or at least they didn’t want to admit that they’d seen him.”

  Crap, I thought.

  “Shit,” Vincent said under his breath.

  I looked at Vincent. He pulled his cell from his pocket and dialed. “Yeah, Carver, I need a BOLO for James Gerwalt.” A pause for Tripp to speak. “Yes, we believe he’s involved.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece and said to Gerry and me, “I’ll finish this outside.”

  He left, and I heard the door shut behind him.

  Gerry looked like she’d been run over by a team of mules, but she probably didn’t realize half the trouble she could be in. Now that she knew of her son’s actions, was she in danger too? Would her own son attempt to kill her? It was an awful prospect.

  “This is worse than I realized, isn’t it?” She studied me. “I mean, James is in trouble for more than just this policy. You think guns are involved.”

  “I’m afraid so. The DOI and the MPD will want to talk to him about the kidnapping and murder of one of Southeastern’s employees.”

  Gerry’s eyes closed and she repeated the word “murder
” as if she were testing it on her tongue. I knew how bad that word tasted. “You think James may have…murdered that girl on the news?”

  “I don’t know, Gerry, but we believe it might be tied in with the policy your agency wrote for the water reclamation facility. And his other fraudulent policies certainly give him reason to become desperate enough to do something stupid.”

  The door to Gerry’s office opened, and Vincent returned with all the charm of the stomach flu. “Mrs. Gerwalt, we need to know where your son is.”

  We both faced him. Did he think he could browbeat the info out of her?

  “Well, I don’t know,” Gerry said.

  Vincent took a breath, and when he spoke again, he sounded calmer. But I could tell his intensity had not abated. “Does he have a cell phone?”

  “Yeah, but he’s not picking up. I’ve left him a hundred messages already.”

  “How old is the phone?”

  “Practically brand new. He wanted to have the best of everything.”

  “It’s got GPS then. We can track it.”

  Vincent didn’t bother leaving the office when he pulled out his phone again.

  He called Atlanta, bypassing Ted completely in the interest of speed, to get started on the trace. Ted wouldn’t like being out of the loop, of course, but I couldn’t care less about office politics right now. My mind was far too preoccupied with the idea that James Gerwalt—that nervous, twitchy young fellow I’d met only a few days ago—had likely kidnapped and murdered Amber in my stead and was now probably hoping to finish the job by killing me. And perhaps his own mother, now that his secret was out.

  All for a little extra cash. Okay, a lot of extra cash.

  Gerry listened as Vincent spoke into the phone. Her hands were clutched together, one methodically rubbing the other in a subconscious, self-soothing gesture.

  I looked down at my own hands. They appeared relaxed in my lap, but they were only in that position out of sheer force of will. I had to restrain myself from gripping the arms of the chair, and occasionally I would catch myself jigging my leg up and down.

  I don’t know why I was trying to hide my nervousness. If there was any situation that warranted anxiety, this was certainly it. We may have discovered the identity of the man who wanted to kill me. I should be hiding in a closet somewhere. But I was trying to put out the aura of calm. Maybe I was trying to impress Gerry. Or Vincent. The reality was that I felt like I was about to explode, so I gave up, leapt out of the chair, and began pacing the office.

  Vincent ended his call and faced Gerry. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

  Gerry’s hands stopped abruptly. “What? Why would I need a place to stay?”

  Vincent cleared his throat. “Just until we find James. Get things sorted out.”

  “Well, I guess I could stay with a friend for a few days.”

  “Good. Do that. But leave us a number.”

  I continued pacing as Vincent took her information and assured her that we’d find James. Judging by the determined—almost punishing—look on Vincent’s face as I passed by on one of my circuits around the office, James wouldn’t much like being found. Nope. Not at all.

  For a brief moment, I felt pity for what Vincent might do in the course of arresting the high-strung James, but I banished that thought immediately. In all likelihood, James Gerwalt had tried to kill me. And he was still out there somewhere. Pity was the last thing I should feel.

  Vincent and I left the agency and grabbed lunch while we waited for the tracking information.

  I had gotten only a few bites into my ham and cheese on wheat when Vincent’s phone chimed. He checked the screen. The tracking information had arrived.

  “Gerwalt’s phone is on, and he isn’t moving.”

  “Where?”

  “At Mercer City Park.”

  That was only a few blocks away.

  I put my sandwich back in the wrapper, suddenly unable to eat. “Let’s go,” I said. “I’ll call Tripp on the way.”

  The park was bustling at this time on a weekday, and I could see the figures of children playing on the swing sets and running toward the softball diamond. I could smell the hot dogs and bad nachos. This was a place of family and safety and wholesomeness. It was certainly not a venue where I’d expect to arrest a man for murder.

  But I’d learned early on that safety was often an illusion, and that belief had only been confirmed over the years.

  And it was going to be confirmed again.

  We paused to pinpoint the exact location of the GPS signal on the map displayed on Vincent’s phone.

  “Looks like he’s near the special events building,” I said, pointing. “Over there.”

  I called Tripp to relay the exact location, and when I was done, Vincent asked, “You ready for this?” His eyes were steady, serious.

  I was ready, and I told him so.

  From our vantage point on the road, I could tell the front parking lot was empty, but I knew there were more spaces around back.

  What he was doing hiding out back there I couldn’t fathom.

  “I don’t like this,” Vincent said. “We could spook him if we pull into the back lot. He’ll bolt around the other side of the building.”

  I was so hungry to arrest this guy that I almost suggested going in on foot, but that was an unnecessary risk when I knew the MPD would arrive shortly.

  “We’ll wait,” I said. “Then corner him.”

  Tripp and Starnes arrived in their unmarked car followed by two black and whites. They’d come in silent, under the radar. Tripp pulled beside Vincent’s truck, and I rolled down my window.

  “He’s in the back,” I said. “We’ll come around this side with one of your patrol cars. You take the other. Block him in.”

  “All right.” He nodded and seemed to wrestle with something. I had an idea that he wanted me to stay put, but there was no way I was hanging back. “Jules, you be careful,” he finally said.

  “Don’t worry about me. Let’s get Gerwalt.”

  The cars were soon arranged on their respective sides of the building—Vincent and I and one patrol car on the right, and Tripp and another patrol car on the left.

  The black and whites tripped their sirens and we all came screaming into the parking lot.

  Gerwalt’s vehicle was parked alone near a stand of trees.

  Vincent angled his truck directly behind it as the black and whites flanked it on both sides.

  We all leapt out of our vehicles, guns drawn. I stationed myself behind the engine compartment of the truck, and I could see the suspect through the car’s rear window. I took aim at the back of his head.

  Tripp got to the door of the vehicle first.

  His gun was pointed at the driver’s side, and he was shouting.

  Then he was silent. Still.

  The gun lowered.

  We all stared at him, waiting.

  “He’s dead,” Tripp said.

  “Dead?” I repeated. That made no sense.

  “Turn those damn sirens off!” Starnes shouted.

  Silence hung heavy in the air as we all approached the car.

  I saw that the driver’s side window was obscured by blood, and as I came to stand beside Tripp, what had once been James Gerwalt’s face came into view. He leaned against the window.

  “Owens!” Starnes shouted to one of the patrolmen. “Call for the crime scene techs and bring me a slim-jim to get this door open.”

  Starnes worked the slim-jim between the window and the rubber seal and unlocked the passenger door. When he opened it, the smell assaulted us all.

  I stepped back involuntarily.

  We knew he’d only been there since yesterday at the earliest, but locked inside that hot car, Gerwalt’s body had begun to decompose more rapidly than usual, and the interior was a mess.

  Vincent was the first to go near the body, and he looked for some time.

  Tripp joined him and said, “Could be suicide. The gun’s still
in his hand.” He turned to me. “What do you think, Jules? Does suicide track?”

  I forced myself to think. I had expected a big scene when we found Gerwalt, but not a suicide scene. I was having trouble processing everything.

  At length, I said, “Yeah, I suppose it makes sense. He must have known he was about to get caught. He’d confessed to his mother about the fraud, but not the murder. He would have known we’d be coming to question and arrest him soon.” I turned to Vincent. “Do you agree?”

  “It makes sense. He was a man with no way out.”

  “Looks to me like he found a way out,” Starnes said. “A messy one.”

  We all ignored his attempt at humor, but his words were rather ironic. A suicide was an awfully tidy way to wrap up such an odd case.

  I was left with a vague feeling of discontent. James Gerwalt had taken the easy way, and he left his mother to cope both with his sudden death and with the chaos he had caused while living.

  An innocent would suffer.

  And that always bothered me.

  But I was mightily relieved to know that the man who had originally sought to kill me was gone. My family was safe. His mother was safe. I was safe. He could not harm me or anyone else ever again.

  The eight of us stood there quietly for a moment, and then everyone went about their respective jobs.

  This was in the hands of the local PD now, so I went to sit on the tailgate of the truck, and Vincent joined me. It was going to be another long day at a crime scene.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure,” I said, even though I wasn’t certain exactly how I felt at the moment. “At least you’ll be rid of me tonight, and you can get back to your old life in Atlanta.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not like that,” he said. “It never even crossed my mind to want to get rid of you. I didn’t look at you as a burden or a job. I see you as a partner. I’d work with you again any time.”

  When I smiled, I found that it came from a genuine feeling of happiness. “I’d work with you again too, Vincent.”

  Vincent dropped me off at my house on his way back to the MPD several hours later. Ted had insisted that I head home for some R&R while Vincent saw the investigation to the end. That was fine with me. I’d left my overnight bag at the lake, but Vincent promised to drop it at the office the next day. I didn’t mind. I just wanted to get home. I was more than ready to enjoy the quiet of my own house and the peace that comes with knowing that the man I’d worried so much about was no longer a threat.