The place was listed at four hundred grand, but I wouldn’t buy if it was just a hundred. As I told Mr. Comb-over, I’d get back if I had any interest. My mind switched back to the Boggs case.
Chapter 23
I’d kept John Barnet waiting for a good twenty minutes and was surprised he hadn’t taken a seat. He was tall, a good six feet three, and deeply tanned. He had a Van Dyke, was fit, and around fifty. Barnet was dressed in tan slacks and a jacket, with a light blue shirt. I wondered if he had put on a sport jacket for the interview and whether he was a lefty.
“Mr. Barnet, Detective Luca. Sorry to keep you waiting, but things are a bit busy given the investigation.”
“I understand. If you need more time I’d be happy to come back.”
I’m sure you would. “It’s okay, let’s get this over with. My office is just around the corner.”
Barnet brushed the chair’s seat and back with his left hand before sitting. A silver pin on his lapel reflected the light and I asked, “Not being nosy, Mr. Barnet, but the pin, what does it signify?”
He glanced at his lapel. “It’s a sommelier pin. In my business, there’s a ton of wannabes who just regurgitate the wine scores of critics. I differentiate myself, personalize the experience for our clients and make it more intimate with my opinions.”
I guess telling him I chose a bottle based on its label and the price would blow a hole in his approach. “Sounds like a good strategy.”
“I think so.”
“It must be working if you can afford the Waterside rents.”
He crossed his leg onto his knee and a red sock peeked out. “They don’t make it easy.”
“I bet. Look, I’d like to record this interview, if you don’t object. Frankly, it makes it easier for me since my memory isn’t what it used to be.”
Barnet’s eyes narrowed. “Record it?”
“If you’re not comfortable, I won’t then.”
“It’s okay, go ahead if you want.”
Interviews and interrogations are chess games. You make a move to make your opponent respond in a way he otherwise wouldn’t. Barnet agreed because he thought saying no would make him look bad. It works about seventy percent of the time. With the mic live, I covered the formalities and launched into the questioning before he had a chance to reconsider.
“You visited Mrs. Boggs on Keewaydin Island the day she was murdered.”
Barnet shook his head. “Yeah, it’s hard to believe what happened.”
“I understand you provided Mrs. Boggs with wines and spirits for charitable events. Was that the reason you were there?”
“That’s right. Marilyn was chairing the Catholic Charities event, and we went over a couple of items for it.”
“How did you meet Mrs. Boggs?”
“My firm handles a fair number of events in the area, not just charitable ones, and if I recall correctly, we ran into each other at a United Way function.”
“And the two of you just hit it off?”
Barnet stroked his Van Dyke and smirked. “We did, and as I’m sure you’ve heard, we were having an affair.”
He thought he was building trust by admitting it, but he had to know that even in Naples there weren’t enough charitable events to justify seeing Marilyn every Wednesday.
“And how long had this affair been going on?”
“A little over a year.”
“How would you describe the, uh, temperature of the relationship?”
Barnet looked like he had bit into a lemon. “Temperature? You mean sex?”
“Did you encourage her to leave her husband?”
“No, I’d never do that. I don’t want to have a broken marriage hanging over my head.”
I smiled. “You’re quite the nobleman.”
“Very funny, but it’s not like that. I come from a broken home, and it’s no picnic.”
“You were fine with just having an affair?”
“Look, we come from two very different worlds. I─I mean, we, we were just having a good time together. That’s all it was.”
“Just two consenting adults enjoying each other’s company and nothing more.”
“You could say that.”
“The Boggs family is incredibly wealthy. It’d be some stroke of luck to marry into such a pile of cash, huh?”
“Money had nothing to do with it.”
“You weren’t upset that Mrs. Boggs wouldn’t dump her husband and marry you?”
Barnet wagged his head. “Money aside, the last thing I need would be her as a wife. I’ve been married twice already and couldn’t imagine doing it again.”
“Not even into the Boggs family?”
“Nope.”
“All right. Now, since you knew the deceased intimately,” I couldn’t stop a smile from breaking out, “do you know anyone who would want to harm her?”
Barnet grimaced. “Look, as I’m sure you’ll find out if you don’t already know, Marilyn was pretty insecure, despite all the money she had. And she could be arrogant and bossy, but she did nothing that would make anyone do something like this. She was a good woman. Geez, she really worked her tail off and helped so many people, it’s hard to keep count.”
“Marilyn Boggs had a high profile, possibly making her a target. Isn’t there anyone that comes to mind?”
“Her husband, Gideon.”
“Care to expound?”
“For starters, that day, the day she was . . . killed. Gideon came into the house while Marilyn and I were having a drink.”
“Did he usually come when you were, er, visiting?”
“Never. But that day he did, and he seemed upset.”
“Isn’t that a natural reaction to seeing your wife with her lover?”
Barnet shrugged. “Something was different. I know him a little from when he worked for Senator White. We did a couple of functions for them. He was always, I don’t know the right word, but scholarly is the closest I can think of. Gideon never got angry, was always levelheaded. I guess that’s why the politicians liked him.”
“And he wasn’t on Wednesday?”
“No. He was crass. He referred to us having, I think it was, a screw fest. It was out of character for him, and then he made some snide references about whether I was a sommelier. It was uncomfortable.”
“I’ll bet it was. How did the encounter break up?”
“I wanted to leave, but Marilyn was adamant that I stay, and she yelled at Gideon and he left.”
“When she yelled, what did she say?”
“Nothing crazy, just telling him to calm down and that he was making a fool of himself.”
“Nothing more? Anything that would set him off on a revenge rampage?”
“I don’t think it was anything she said, but, like I said, he wasn’t himself that afternoon.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“Marilyn wanted to divorce him, but she didn’t want to take the financial hit.”
“They didn’t have a prenuptial agreement?”
“Yeah, they did, but the trust had some clause that called for a penalty if you got divorced.”
The word puritanical popped into my head. It sounded insane. Her father must have been some control freak, and he was still managing from the grave. It was an interesting twist.
Chapter 24
Luca
I hated valet parking, but the Ritz Carlton was not the place to park it yourself. The hotel’s porte cochere was filled with so many Bentleys it looked like a dealer’s lot. I’d heard the rental cars you got from the hotel’s Hertz counter were nicer than at any other location, just another example of the coddling the Ritz did to makes its customers feel special.
A valet ran up and pulled my door open. I never tipped on the way in; this guy better not be looking for something.
“Hello, sir. Welcome to the Ritz Carlton. Are you checking in?”
“No, just meeti
ng a friend for lunch.”
“And your name?”
“Frank Luca.”
He scribbled onto a ticket, tore it in half, and handed it to me.
“Enjoy your lunch, Mr. Luca.”
A guy I thought I recognized from The Wine Loft was playing “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” on the lobby’s grand piano. He was cooking. I checked the time, but I needed to get to the spa’s lunch place. God forbid I kept Wesley Boggs waiting.
H2O was an informal, cafe-like restaurant on the second floor, right off of the Ritz’s world-class spa. Maybe it was in my mind, or it might have been all the people traipsing around in robes, but the entire second floor had a feel that made me uncomfortable. How long had it been? The last massage I remembered was at a weekend bachelor party for my old partner JJ Cremora. It had to be at least fifteen years ago that we went to Atlantic City. Man, I still missed him like crazy, and the poor guy’s been dead three years already.
I made a beeline for the door leading to a deck that had a covered dining area and a couple of soaking pools with chaise lounges. A pair of couples were seated at two of the tables. While I debated which table to take, a waitress approached.
“Welcome to H2O. May I seat you?”
“I’m meeting someone for lunch.”
“Oh, perhaps they’re here. What’s the name?”
“Wesley Boggs.”
Did this kid just straighten up a bit?
“Mr. Wesley is seated just over here.”
I followed the kid around a wall of potted shrubbery that separated the cafe from the pool area. Seated at the head of a large table was Wesley Boggs. He was on the phone. He threw up a hand, flashing a paper-thin smile. Carrying fifteen to twenty pounds too much, his face was slightly puffy. Wesley didn’t share his sister’s frame or zest for exercise. His wet hair was graying and slicked back. I studied him as he finished his call; if I hadn’t known he was loaded, I’d have never guessed it.
He got up and stuck his hand out. “Sorry. With what happened to Marilyn, there is just so much to deal with.”
“I understand completely, Mr. Boggs. Please accept my condolences.”
“Thank you, Mr. Luca.”
Background information was what I was seeking, and I’d agreed with Gerey, who I’d half expected to be here, to keep it informal.
My tail had just hit the seat when the waitress appeared.
“Would you like something to drink?”
As I picked up the narrow menu, she said, “We’re known for our juice drinks. They’re healthy and nutritious.”
“Sounds good, but I’ll have an ice tea. Unsweetened.”
Wesley said, “I’ve never understood why there isn’t a view of the gulf up here. It’s a shame.”
The view of the pool areas looked pretty good to me. “That’d be a nice bonus.”
Wesley surveyed the area and lowered his voice. “I understand you have some questions for me.”
“Just a few, but let me start with the obvious one: Do you know of any reason someone would have done this?”
He wagged his head. “Not at all. Frankly, it seems surreal. Fortunately, though, Dad is not alive to suffer through this. It would have killed him. Marilyn was his favorite.”
“I’m sorry your family has to go through all this.”
“Thank you.”
My ice tea was delivered and I said, “Your family is well known and thus could have been targeted. It’s possible it had nothing to do with your sister. They could have been after the family in some way.”
Wesley pulled his chin in. “We’re really not a high-profile family, Mr. Luca. We lead quiet, private lives. Marilyn championed many charitable causes, taking active roles in many of them as well. However, that’s not the family style. We do our philanthropic activities quietly. You know, Daddy always taught us to fly under the radar and to live beneath our means.”
Really? Living on a private island while owning other homes ten minutes from each other and flying private jets qualifies as under the radar?
“So, no one comes to mind then?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’d like to talk about the trust that benefited your sister.”
“The trust benefits all Boggs descendants.”
“I understand that there are some unusual clauses in it that, for example, penalize someone if they get divorced.”
“We don’t consider them unusual. Daddy was vociferous in protecting the family. He didn’t want marriage to be a casual endeavor, which I agree with. He wanted to be sure full consideration was given, and if you found out you made a mistake there would be consequences.”
These people were different, no doubt. “Prohibiting divorce could lock people like Marilyn in a marriage she’d rather not be in.”
Wesley blinked twice. “It’s not prohibited. You can get divorced if you wish. You’ll just have a reduction in benefits.”
“May I ask how much?”
“The trust is a private document. I don’t believe I should be disclosing that information.”
“Fair enough. Did you know that your sister was having an affair?”
He nodded. “We warned her on several occasions to be discreet.”
“In a situation like this, with Marilyn deceased, what happens to Gideon?”
He tilted his head.
“Does he still, as you say, benefit from the trust?”
“There are clauses that provide for almost every situation, but, yes, he still benefits, albeit at a reduced amount.”
“Do you believe that your brother-in-law was involved?”
“I’ve thought about the possibility, but Gideon isn’t ambitious, at least not since he had heart troubles. I couldn’t envision it, certainly not him personally doing it.”
I took a sip of my iced tea, thanked him for his time, and left.
Disappointed Wesley didn’t point the finger at Gideon, I walked to the valet station. I was digging in my pocket for the ticket when the kid behind the podium said, “Mr. Luca, how was your lunch?”
How the heck do these guys remember?
Chapter 25
Luca
I buttoned up my suit jacket as I walked the corridor to the autopsy suite. What a terrible qualifier for a room where they cut bodies up. Why not something simple, like autopsy room? I jammed my hands into my pants pockets. It’s easy to understand why the autopsy room has to be cold, but how anyone works anywhere in the building without a parka on is a mystery to me.
The light over the door was off and a peer in the door’s window confirmed the room was empty. Was it the fact I wouldn’t have to see another body dissection, or that I wouldn’t have to stand in a room that was twenty degrees colder than the hallway that made me smile?
Wearing a gray cardigan and headphones, the medical examiner was behind his desk, tapping on a keyboard.
“Hey, Doc!”
He looked up at me and paused his player.
“Got a few minutes to fill me in on the Marilyn Boggs autopsy?”
Setting down the headphones, he said, “Come on in, Frank. I’m just finishing the report now.”
“I wanted to make it but got hung up. How’d it go?”
“No surprises. A deep stab wound to the thorax, clipping the aorta, which led to a bleed out. The wound was inflicted by a knife matching the one found on the scene. Trace elements of the victim’s blood were found on the knife.”
“It was wiped clean of prints, though?”
“As far as I understand, but you’d have to check with forensics.”
“Could you speculate on the physical size of the killer?”
“The angle of the entry wound supports an attacker, left handed I believe, in the six feet to six feet six range. However, it’s really dependent on the arm’s length and whether the victim was leaning away from her attacker.”
“Um, anything under the fingernails?”
�
��Nothing. She had a head bruise, just under the dome, from striking her head on the edge of the counter as she lost consciousness. The victim’s right wrist is bruised, but that likely occurred trying to break her fall.”
I nodded as he continued.
“Stomach contents didn’t reveal anything other than some wine and a cracker or bread-like food. Alcohol blood level a tad under .09. With her weight, the victim probably had two glasses of wine.”
“How impaired would she have been?”
“Depends on her tolerance, but probably overly relaxed, depth and peripheral vision impacted slightly.”
“Could’ve contributed to an inability to detect an attack?”
“Difficult to say for sure, but a lag in reaction time is likely.”
“Anything else you can tell me?”
“The victim had a hysterectomy about five to seven years ago.”
That didn’t seem to mean anything but prompted me to ask, “Any signs of sexual activity?”
“None. I’d estimate about five days since the last intercourse.”
***
Heading north as I defrosted, I was pleased Goodlette Frank Road was empty. Crossing Golden Gate, Vargas returned my call.
“Hi Frank. Anything from the autopsy?”
“Nah, didn’t learn anything. She died from the knife wound, and it matches the one at the scene. Forensics said the knife was definitely wiped clean of prints.”
“Really?”
“You had to expect it. No killer would leave it behind unless they did.”
“But leaving it behind to begin with is a risk.”
“No doubt.”
“Any clues to how it went down?”
“No signs of a real struggle. She seems to have been quickly overpowered. Stab wound indicates a lefty, a tall one, at least six feet. The knife wound severed her aorta. She bled out quickly, a minute or two.”
“Any toxicology reports yet?”
“Not a full panel, but blood tests indicate a low level of alcohol that raises a question.”
“How so?”
“Doc said her alcohol levels were the equivalent of two glasses of wine or so.”
The Serenity Murder (A Luca Mystery Book 3) Page 9