Death of a Six-Foot Teddy Bear

by Sharon Dunn

  Fred rested his elbows on the table and leaned closer to Jacobson. “I never been interviewed by two lady cops before.” Danske licked two fingers and smoothed the hair by his forehead.

  From where she stood, Mallory could see the back of Jacobson’s neck turn red, but her partner offered the suspect a neutral response, neither a smile nor a scowl, just a lifting of her head. The salaciousness of his remark irked Mallory. An armor of self-control kept Danske from seeing her anger. Rule number one of an interrogation was never let the suspect get the upper hand emotionally.

  Jacobson rested her hands flat on the table and gazed demurely at Danske. “There is a first time for everything.” Her voice was steady and firm. “Now why don’t you tell us who hired you and why?”

  For a Yale girl, Jacobson had developed some solid street smarts when it came to moving an interrogation forward.

  “Man came into the bar, wanted me to lean on this guy down in Calamity. Showed me the bill. He looked legit. I needed the cash. When Clydell”—he cleared his throat—“expired, the man said to lean on the kid.”

  “Did you have anything to do with Mr. Clydell’s … expiration?”

  “Why would I kill the guy who was gonna put money in my pocket? His death made things harder for me. I got paid one-third of the promised money up front. I got the other two-thirds if I delivered.”

  Assuming that Mr. Danske hadn’t simply lost his temper and killed Dustin Clydell, which she guessed he had the personality and physical strength to do, his explanation made sense. “What kind of business is Eternal Nirvana?”

  The suspect did a spastic half shake of his head, puckering his lips.

  “How do you know Milo Warren?”

  “Bought a car from him back in the day. He was in the bar that night. When the guy hired me, he said I might need some help. I knew Milo was looking for some quick cash … gambling debt, law breathing down his neck about child support.”

  Jacobson made doodle circles in her notebook. “I don’t suppose you know the name of the man who hired you.”

  “I got a contact phone number. I can give it to you, but I’ve only talked to a middle man. No skin off my teeth. Doesn’t really look like I’m going to get my money anyway.”

  Mallory stepped toward the table. “Is that why you decided to get the twenty thousand from Clydell’s son and put it in your own pocket?”

  Danske sat back in his chair. His fascination with the ceiling increased by the second. He didn’t need to say anything. That had to be what happened. No business would endorse kidnapping.

  “Thank you for being so forthright with us, Mr. Danske,” Jacobson said.

  “You’re welcome.” His voice smoldered, and he kept his gaze on Jacobson.

  “It would be hard to spend the money in jail anyway.” Mallory stepped toward the table. “At the very least you’ll be charged with abduction.”

  Ginger caught a glimpse of herself in the lobby mirror. She was no celebrity, but she looked quite fetching in her periwinkle workout suit. Light blue set off her eyes and hair color. Working out with Victoria Stone seemed a fitting way to finish up their trip to Calamity—ending on a good note, after all that had gone wrong, would give her something positive to share with friends when she got home.

  They’d spent half the night at the police station giving statements. When she woke up in the hotel room, Earl was gone. No matter, they had agreed to meet for lunch before they had to catch their late-afternoon flight. He had said something about tracking down Fiona Truman to apologize for being pushy.

  She patted a wayward curl back into place and smiled. Helping catch those two terrible men, who no doubt had killed Dustin Clydell, contributed to her high spirits. As she made her way across the lobby toward the spa, the sense of victory gave a rocket boost to her stride. Mallory didn’t think she and Earl were involved anymore. Things were working out.

  Ginger stopped short. Earl sauntered toward the restaurant without looking in her direction. He was supposed to be meeting Fiona in the basement coffee shop. What was he doing here?

  “Earl?” He didn’t turn around. The peacock feather in his straw cowboy hat bobbed slightly. She trotted toward him and grabbed his arm. “Hey, sweetheart.”

  Earl swung around, only it wasn’t Earl. Same hat, same build, even the same walk. But this man had a large nose and glasses and more wrinkles than a Shar-Pei puppy.

  The man studied her head to toe. “Well, hey, sweetheart, right back to you.” He tipped his hat to her. “May I help you?”

  Her cheeks warmed. “I’m sorry. I thought you were somebody else.”

  “No problem, ma’am.”

  “Were you … did you have anything to do with the Invention Expo that just got shut down here?”

  “Why, yes I did. Angus Melbourne is my name.” He pulled a business card out of his wallet. “I’m with Wesson Electronics out of Dallas. We’re always looking for innovative ideas to support.”

  Ginger stared down at the business card. From a distance, Angus could have been Earl’s twin. Sometimes what you saw wasn’t really what you saw. It took faith.

  “Did you have any inventions you wanted to pitch to me?”

  Ginger shook her head.

  “You thought I was some fellow named Earl.”

  “He’s my husband.” Ginger shook her head. She was reeling. “You just look so much like him.”

  “They say everybody has their twin, don’t they?”

  “Yeah, that’s what they say.” She couldn’t stop shaking her head. This was amazing.

  Angus nodded for a moment while Ginger stared at him. “Sorry I couldn’t be Earl.”

  “That’s all right. I like the one I have … a lot. It was nice meeting you, Angus Melbourne.”

  Angus pushed through the restaurant doors.

  Ginger made her way back toward the spa. The sign that advertised Binky the water-skiing squirrel was still posted. The new Binky had one final appearance this afternoon. Binky had a twin. Earl had a twin. Everybody had a twin.

  When Ginger entered the spa, Victoria was waiting for her by the treadmill. She’d chosen a workout suit in shades of purple.

  The former child star raised her muscular arms. “Are you ready for the workout to end all workouts?”

  Mallory caught Jacobson at her carrel where she was typing up the summary of the interview with Danske. “Did we bet on the Walt Disney thing?”

  Jacobson looked up from her computer. “No, why?”

  Mallory sat on the corner of Jacobson’s tidy desk. She had a hard time containing her excitement. “Do you want to bet now?”

  “Steak dinner with ham for dessert.”

  “Box of doughnuts and a trip to the fast food place of my choice.” Mallory took a sip of her coffee, enjoying the slightly bitter taste that suggested an extra zing of energy for the Simpson interview.

  Jacobson stretched and twisted in her office chair. “Are you giving up on the diet?”

  “Just taking a break. I keep cheating anyway. Why not just do it officially and for a good reason?”

  “Deal. What did you find out?”

  “Took some doing, but I just got off the phone with the receptionist at Eternal Nirvana. Told her I was interested in signing up.”

  “Signing up for what?”

  “Immortality. It’s for sale.” Mallory stood up and rested her hand on top of the carrel. She liked days when things worked out right. “Eternal Nirvana freezes people for future thawing. Dustin Clydell had invested a million dollars in cryonics—as a business partner and future recipient. Clydell must have figured if Walt did it, he could do it too. He really believed his money could give him life everlasting, and he bet the hotel on it.”

  “You can’t buy eternal life. Only God gives it freely.” Jacobson flipped through her notebook.

  The remark took Mallory by surprise. Jacobson hadn’t ever said anything about her religious beliefs. “A million bucks seems like a lot of money for something that may or
may not work. That might be why they hired the amateur thugs instead of using legal means to get the money. Eternal Nirvana didn’t want the bad publicity.”

  “It’s an urban legend that Walt Disney did that. But you called it right. The note did matter. I wanted to toss it.” Jacobson clicked some keys on her computer. Without looking away from the screen she said, “You’re good.”

  “No, I’m old. Gut instinct is something you learn over time.”

  Jacobson rose to her feet. “That’s why I hang out with you. Detective Mallory, I think that your investigative techniques are second to none.” Her gaze was unwavering.

  Mallory was unaccustomed to compliments … from anyone. “You know, maybe I should listen to you more than I listen to the voice in my head. ’Cause you’re a lot nicer.” She’d probably eat less if she quit listening to that voice too. “Let’s not get mushy here. Alex Simpson is next on our dance card.”

  A ghost of a smile crossed Jacobson’s lips. “You have to quit thinking I’m perfect. Why don’t you come over to my house some Saturday afternoon? I’ll clear a path through the toys and dust bunnies, and we’ll do coffee.”

  Coffee for social reasons. She’d never done that with a partner. “You’re not doing this because I’m so pathetic and alone?”

  “You’re not alone. You have a cat.”

  “Okay, once this is all wrapped up, well do coffee and not talk shop.”

  Jacobson slammed her notebook shut. “Lets go get this Simpson interview done.”

  Ginger’s leg muscles ached as she pounded the treadmill. She thought she was in good shape. But Victoria had the stamina of a twenty-year-old and the strength of an Olympic weightlifter.

  Still trotting, Victoria leaned to check the monitor on Ginger’s treadmill.

  “Why don’t you try to rev it up a notch?”

  Ginger spoke between wheezing breaths. “I think … I think … I am going … fast … enough.” She touched her neck. Her pulse pounded against her fingers at a scary pace. Don’t give into peer pressure. Keep it up, and they’ll be carrying you out on a stretcher. She clicked the treadmill down to a slow walk.

  Victoria ran, chin held high. “Ahh, come on, you aren’t slowing down on me, are you?”

  This wasn’t fun. They were supposed to be having a girlfriend bonding time. “I just … need to catch my breath.” How could you get close to someone who turned everything into a competition?

  Victoria shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She pressed a button on her control panel and broke into an all-out stationary sprint. “Shall we do weights next?” she shouted over the pounding of her feet and the mechanical grind of the treadmill.

  “Weights?” Ginger slowed to a stop. “How about a cool down?” She stepped off the treadmill. “And didn’t you say something about a massage and spa?”

  Victoria threw back her head and laughed. “I like to go an hour to an hour and a half before I reward myself. The thought of the massage motivates me.”

  “Don’t your muscles get sore?”

  Victoria ran with large, even strides, arms pumping. “I do get some back stiffness. The doctor gave me a muscle relaxant that takes care of it.” Victoria clapped her hands together. “Come on, Ginger, push yourself.”

  Ginger stepped back on the treadmill and increased to a comfortable walking speed. She was not about to give into this kind of intimidation. Victoria didn’t want to be her friend; she wanted to torment her.

  “Mr. Simpson, can you tell me what you know about the murder of Dustin Clydell?” Jacobson sat in a chair opposite Alex Simpson.

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  Mallory paced behind Jacobson, hands shoved in her pockets. She stopped suddenly and looked right at Simpson. “You were stealing jewelry from the guests in the hotel, and Dustin found out … or did you have some kind of business arrangement?”

  He turned sideways, posture stiff, lips pressed together.

  “Mr. Simpson, we are willing to believe you didn’t kill him, but you have to help us here.” Jacobson tempered her voice so there was just the right amount of gentleness.

  Simpson turned to face Jacobson. “I don’t know what Martha told you, but I loved Binky. Do you think I would stuff him down anyone’s throat?”

  Mallory moved in, placing her palms on the table and leaning toward Simpson. “Did you hit Ginger Salinski and put her in a gondola boat?”

  Simpson rubbed his nose and stared at the ceiling. He sniffled. His pulse visibly pounded on the side of his neck. Gotcha.

  Mallory slammed a palm on the table. “You told us you took the jewelry, Mr. Simpson, and we know you’ve been stealing from other hotels where Binky made his appearances.” They hadn’t verified that yet, but sometimes in an interrogation you had to push things. “Did you kill Dustin because he was on to you, or were you partners with him? Did he want a bigger cut?” They still didn’t know where the windfall Dustin had bragged about to Tiffany was coming from.

  He made eye contact with Mallory and spoke very slowly. “I … didn’t … kill … him.”

  Mallory stood up straight and backed away. “This is your chance to save yourself from a murder trial.” Some of the wind had been knocked out of her sail. It was almost impossible to tell a lie and hold eye contact like Simpson had done. He hadn’t even blinked.

  “Dustin figured out I was the one doing the thefts. He caught Binky stealing a key; he took some of jewels off me.”

  “So you killed him?” Even Jacobson didn’t sound convinced.

  “No. No. No. I didn’t kill him.” Simpson threw his hands up. “Okay, so I hit the Salinski woman because she was about to find my jewels.”

  “Why didn’t you take the jewels when you stole the bear suit from the evidence pile?”

  Simpson scooted back his chair. “I never stole the bear suit.”

  Mallory leaned against the back wall. “Did you ransack Dustin’s apartment looking for the jewels?” They were losing ground here.

  “No, I never went to his apartment. I was pretty sure he put the necklaces in the bear suit because he had it on when he waved the jewelry at me and said he was going to turn me in. The first time I laid eyes on that suit without Dustin in it was when I saw the Salinski woman lift it out of that Dumpster.”

  Nothing in Simpson’s body language or demeanor suggested he was lying. They were back at square zero. Unless they could press a confession out of Milo Warren, they were down to no suspects.

  A gentle rapping on the door caused Mallory to jump. They wouldn’t be interrupted unless it was important. “Yes?”

  A female officer poked her head inside the interrogation room. “Sorry, detectives, but we located Edward Mastive, the guy Dustin Clydell had an appointment with the night he died. He’s here in the station. He can answer your questions, but he’s got to catch a flight in twenty minutes.”

  Mallory approached the man with the shoulder-length hair and beaklike nose. Edward Mastive leaned against the police check-in counter and fluffed his mustache, which resembled a caterpillar on steroids. This was probably going to be another rabbit trail.

  “I’m Detective Mallory.” She held out a hand. “Thank you for taking time out of your schedule.”

  “This is a murder investigation. I just wanted to do my citizens duty.”

  Mastive sounded so sincere that he had to be insincere. Besides, they had hunted him down. “How did you know Dustin?”

  “I stayed at his hotel a couple times when I was working on a story.”

  So Mastive was some kind of writer. “Dustin Clydell contacted you before he died?”

  “He didn’t contact me after.” Mastive tossed his hair. “Now that would be a story.”

  “According to what we just found out, he may have tried. He was working on freezing himself for later thawing. Was that what your meeting was about?”

  “I canceled the meeting at the last minute, had another story I had to run down. He had only gotten hold of me a couple of hours earlier.” Edw
ard massaged his pockmarked chin. “He didn’t say anything about being freeze-dried. This story gets juicier all the time. A guy who wants to be a human Popsicle gets bumped off … interesting.”

  “So why did he call you?”

  “In addition to the tabloid I work for, I’m an acquisitions editor for a publishing company. We do memoirs of the famous and the infamous. He said he had some dirt on Victoria Stone, and he thought it would be worth quite a bit of money. I think he was fishing for a book deal.”

  “What kind of dirt?”

  Edward tugged on his mustache. “That Victoria Stone wasn’t who she said she was.”

  “Hey, Belgian chocolate is still on sale.” Kindra pulled Suzanne and Arleta toward the candy shop. “We can’t leave Calamity without some discounted European chocolate.”

  Arleta slapped her thigh. “That sounds like a good way to celebrate the new me.”

  Inside the shop, Kindra absorbed the sweet smell. Her mouth watered. Chocolate and coffee with friends would be a good way to end a trip that had been full of surprises. Maybe once they got into celebration mode, she wouldn’t think about Xabier so much.

  “What do you say, ladies? Should we treat ourselves? The truffles look pretty good.” Suzanne wrapped her hands through the other two women’s elbows.

  The clerk was a middle-aged woman with a round face, round body, and circular glasses. She pulled her straight, brown hair into a ponytail. Her white apron was stained with brush strokes of chocolate and red frosting.

  “Is the Belgian chocolate still on sale?”

  “I don’t have any left except—” She turned slightly and tapped her lips with her fingers. “The night Dustin Clydell died he put in a huge order for Belgian chocolate in a specially wrapped box. Never got picked up.”

  Kindra bounced three times and tilted her head. “It’ll still taste fresh, right?”

  The woman nodded. “I’ll even give it to you at a greater discount since it’s in Dustin’s customized box.” She raised a hand and then turned and disappeared through a door, returning a moment later with a huge, foil-wrapped box.