Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  Tip nodded. “Makes me wonder where the hell she fits in. I’ve been thinking that ever since she called. Why is the question. Why would she call us? Why does she want us to know?”

  I grabbed my notepad and phone. “I think we need to have a talk with RB Ingle.”

  “Remember how much fun we had chatting with Cybil?” Tip said.

  I laughed. “Yeah. If you want to call that fun.”

  “This is gonna be worse.”

  CHAPTER 33

  RB INGLE

  Ingle probably knew we were coming to talk to him before we’d made up our minds.

  A receptionist with cropped brown hair greeted us. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  Tip went into his charming and flirtatious act, leaning close toward her and smiling. “Morning, darlin’. I’m Detective Denton, and that’s Detective Cataldi. We’re here to see RB.”

  “I’ll see if Mr. Ingle is available,” she said, but there wasn’t a hint of a smile with her response.

  “Looks like you’re losing your charm,” I whispered to Tip.

  He didn’t smile either.

  After we waited for ten or fifteen minutes, a young man dressed in a gray suit and wearing a somber look, came out to greet us. It seemed as if no one was smiling today.

  “You’re here to see Mr. Ingle?” he said, without an offer to shake hands.

  “We have a few questions for him,” I said.

  “Follow me,” the young man said, and then he turned and started down a long hallway.

  A maze of corridors led us to a conference room. RB Ingle sat at the head of a table that must have seated about 25 people. Without asking, the young man opened a refrigerator and set two bottles of water in front of chairs three seats away from Ingle. Rather than accept his seating arrangement, Tip sat on one side of the table—across from Ingle—and I sat opposite them.

  For a moment I wondered if others were going to join us or if Ingle was afraid of catching germs from the common folk.

  Tip took his seat and started right in. “Why did you bail out Mano?”

  Ingle feigned confusion. “He’s an employee. A good one.”

  I looked through my notes. “It doesn’t look as if he’s been with you that long, Mr. Ingle? My records show only two and half months. Do you provide bail as part of an employee’s benefit package?”

  Ingle laughed. “Of course not, but Mano seemed shaken up when he called. And I felt sorry for him, especially with his young wife and kids at home.”

  I made note of what he said. Either he didn’t know she wasn’t Mano’s wife, or he knew and was lying.

  “That’s damn nice of you,” Tip said. “Remind me to look you up when I retire.”

  “You should do that, detective. I hire a lot of retired law enforcement personnel.”

  “So why did you provide bail?” I asked again. I also began to wonder about what he mentioned regarding ex-law enforcement personnel. It made me wonder things like who he had on his payroll and in what capacity.

  A cup of steaming hot coffee sat in front of Ingle. He lifted it and took a sip. “I asked around when I heard Mano was arrested. Everyone agreed that he couldn’t have done such a thing.” He focused his gaze on me. “I don’t like it when innocent people are persecuted, especially those who can’t defend themselves.”

  “How can you be so confident that he’s innocent?” Tip asked. “He hasn’t worked here that long.”

  “Everyone I spoke to seems to think so.”

  “Where were you the night of the murder?” I asked.

  “As I’m sure you know by now, I was at a party in for the mayor’s campaign.”

  I jotted down a few notes, and asked,

  “What time did the party end?”

  Ingle didn’t hesitate. “I don’t know what time the party ended, but I left shortly after midnight. I don’t remember what time I arrived, but I’m sure it was no later than seven.”

  “Mano said he left the party about 8:00 or 8:30 and drove other employees home. Why did he leave so early?” Tip asked.

  “You’ll have to ask Janice. She runs the kitchen staff, and she was in charge of all help that night.” He wrote her name and number on a piece of paper and handed it to Tip. “You’ll have to ask her the details.”

  “What about Mano’s truck? Tip asked, while stuffing the card in his pocket. He said he used a company van to drive the employees home.”

  “For that you’ll have to check with Reggie,” Ingle said, and then, “Reggie is my assistant, and my bodyguard.”

  I jotted Reggie’s name down next to Janice’s. From the corner of my eye, I saw Tip get up and pace.

  “How well did you know Ms. Camwyck?” he asked.

  Ingle cocked his head to the side and looked out the window. “I knew her. Not well, but I knew her.”

  “Didn’t you know her from East Texas? Before you came to Houston?”

  “She was younger than I was, but yes, I knew her. She was friends with Cybil.”

  I let Tip continue while I scribbled notes.

  “I’ll ask you again,” Tip said. “How well did you know Barbara Camwyck?”

  Ingle placed both hands on the edge of the table and pushed his chair back. “Why don’t you get to the point, Detective? If you want to know if I was screwing her, the answer is no.”

  Tip’s face twisted into one of his threatening smiles. “We have semen. If you were, we’ll find out.”

  Ingle stood. “I have a meeting to attend. You can ask Reggie or Jonathan for anything else you need.”

  “Where can we find Reggie?” I asked.

  Ingle leaned forward and pressed a button on the intercom. “Jonathan, have Reggie meet the detectives when they leave. They have questions for him.” He looked at his watch and said, “They will be leaving in five minutes.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “We had a few more questions.”

  “I’m sure you do, detectives, but I have a meeting that I can’t be late for. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Just then the door opened and the young man who had escorted us in said, “Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me, I’ll introduce you to Reggie.”

  Jonathan led us to a small office close to the main lobby. He knocked once on the door, then opened it. A tall, muscular man stepped out from behind his desk. He had a charismatic smile, not unlike Denzel Washington, and a firm grip, similar to what I imagined Sylvester Stallone’s might be.

  “Reggie Grage,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  After we shook hands, Reggie stepped back into a rigid stance, as if he were at attention. I made a mental note to check and see if he served in the military.

  “Relax,” Tip said. “We just have a few questions.”

  Reggie smiled but he didn’t relax; he stood with his arms in front of him and his hands clasped. He appeared to be a paragon of vigilance and observation wrapped in a six-foot frame, complete with steely gaze.

  Reggie had a swimmer’s build, lean and wiry, and his skin was as dark as chocolate. He kept his hair cropped close and he owned a voice that couldn’t be bought. A deep baritone voice that made his articulate speech sound commanding, especially with the slight hint of what I figured was a Virginia drawl.

  Tip leaned forward, close to Reggie. “Why don’t you tell us about the night of the mayor’s party?”

  “Tell you what?” Reggie asked.

  “Tell us the sequence of events. Everything from when you arrived until you left.”

  “I drove Mr. Ingle home after work and waited for him to change clothes. That was approximately 17 hundred…approximately 5:00 PM.”

  I made a note: military time.

  “And after that?” Tip asked.

  “I drove Mr. Ingle to the club. We arrived before 7:32. We left at 12:24.”

  “You’re sure about that? About the 12:24 part?”

  “Positive, Detective. Mr. Ingle notified me at 12:15 and we left at 12:24. Mrs. Ingle accompanied him.”

  “What abou
t Mano Perez?” I asked.

  Reggie turned mechanically to face me, almost like a robot moving. “What about Mr. Perez?”

  “Did you see him that night. And what time did he leave?”

  “Mr. Perez left at approximately 8:30 PM. He was asked to drive several employees home.”

  “What was he driving?” Tip asked.

  “He drove one of Mr. Ingle’s vans. Mr. Perez’s truck was at the office.”

  “What about afterward? Did Mano return?”

  Reggie shook his head. “He didn’t come back, or at least, I didn’t notice him return. We didn’t expect him, though.”

  “Did Mr. Ingle leave at any time during the night?” Tip asked.

  “As I said, he and Mrs. Ingle left at 12:24. I drove them home, and then went home myself.”

  I handed Reggie my card, but before I could say anything, he did. “I know the drill, Detective. Call if I think of anything.”

  We left the building with nothing more than we had before. “Ingle wasn’t as bad as you said,” I told him.

  “That’s because we didn’t have anything to press him with,” Tip said. “If he’s pressed, he pushes back hard.”

  “So what did you think?”

  Tip clicked the key to unlock the car doors. When we got inside, he said, “I think something’s fishy. I just don’t know what.”

  “Fishy with Ingle or with Reggie the robot?”

  “The robot? Why call him a robot?”

  I chuckled. “As if you didn’t notice. He reminded me of those characters on the Terminator movies, the ones from the future that were robots.”

  Tip laughed. “Okay. I’ll go along with that. But no, I’m talking about Ingle. I still can’t figure out why he posted bail for a low-level employee. If you knew Ingle, you’d understand. He’s not the generous type.”

  “How about we go talk to Mano and find out?”

  “Let him sit for a few days,” Tip said.

  “Then we’ll pay him a visit.”

  As we drove back to the station, my mind raced. “You know what I don’t like—all of our suspects have alibis.”

  “What I don’t like is the anonymous tips about Mano’s truck,” Tip said. “I hate anonymous tips.”

  “It does make you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  “Makes me wonder who called,” Tip said.

  “I don’t buy the cheating husband explanation offered by the caller either.”

  “Me neither,” I said. “I hate coincidences. And the explanation that caller offered reeks of coincidences.”

  CHAPTER 34

  WHERE IS MANO?

  We decided to put a tail on Mano to keep an eye on him until we paid him a visit. By late afternoon, we realized how fucked we were. Mano wasn’t at his house, and, when we checked, we discovered he never showed up at work. We put out an APB on his truck and alerted units on all the major freeways. If he was heading out of Texas, he could be anywhere, but if he was heading for the Mexican border, the routes were easier to monitor.

  Still, we held little hope of finding him, and it brought up more questions about Ingle—like why he didn’t call when Mano didn’t show for work. If I had a hundred thousand dollars at risk, you can bet I’d know where the guy was at all times.

  Tip and I spent the rest of the day following up on leads that went nowhere. By 7:00, I was beat and called it quits.

  During the drive home, I realized I didn’t want to be alone, so I went to the mall and wandered around until it closed, then I caught a late movie followed by breakfast at Denny’s.

  I pushed through the back door shortly after 1:00, quickly found the sofa, and flipped through channels on TV. There wasn’t a damn thing on, not even with cable and two hundred channels. After searching for another minute or so, I turned the set off. As I walked into the bathroom I hit the knob on the stereo and tuned in an 80s station, medium volume, then went back and plopped on the bed. The only way I could sleep now was focusing on music.

  Ever since the incident with Rico, I’d been haunted by what I’d done. Whenever I closed my eyes I saw his face, and—even worse—the look in his eyes just as I pulled the trigger. Who the hell was I to play God? As I tried not to think about it, I wondered for the millionth time about Rico’s kids.

  Somewhere between Bon Jovi’s Livin’ On A Prayer and Stuck With You by Huey Lewis, the phone rang. At first I incorporated it into a dream. Then I realized there were no phones ringing in my dream or in the songs on the radio. I bolted up, scared to death. Whoever was calling had let it ring a long time. I snatched the phone from the hook, heart racing, knowing it had to be about drugs. It seemed as if my life revolved around drugs. First the job, and now Ron. The thing I hated most now controlled my life. How ironic was that?

  “Hello?”

  “Cataldi, get dressed and get in here.”

  “Captain?”

  “I’ll fill you in when you get to the station. I’m calling Tip now.”

  I walked into the station wondering what Coop was so worked up about. When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw Tip was at his desk. “What’s up?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t know. I’ve been waiting on you.”

  “You think it has something to do with Mano?”

  “I doubt it. If it was as simple as that, she’d have told us. This is something big.”

  It took a few minutes to get to Coop’s office, and when we entered we found Chief Renkin sitting in a chair across from her. Tip nodded to him. “John, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing good,” he said.

  I nodded to Coop. “What’s up, Cap?”

  Her gaze shifted to the chief. He stood to shake hands. “Cataldi, good to see you again.”

  Chief Renkin looked at Coop. “Show them.”

  She flipped her computer screen around to face us, and popped a USB drive into one of the slots. “We received this in the mail. I didn’t look at it until this morning.” She pressed play and sat back in the chair.

  Within seconds the images began, starting with the door to a hotel suite opening and a woman being ushered in by what looked to be some kind of body guards.

  As she entered I could see it was Camwyck.

  “That’s the dress,” I said. “And those are the shoes we found.”

  Then the president came out of another room and embraced her. He nodded, and what we previously thought were simply body guards—but who were obviously secret service agents—left, closing the door behind them.

  “Do we know the date when this took place?” Tip asked.

  Coop shook her head. “We have an expert examining it now, but so far nothing. There were no dates embedded in the video.”

  I looked at her. “Are we thinking that the president had something to do with Camwyck’s death?”

  For a minute I thought she was going to laugh. “For goodness’ sakes, no.”

  “Why?”

  She breathed deeply and straightened herself. “I was hoping this might provide evidence that we could use to solve the crime quickly. Maybe by asking the president what he knows? You’re probably not going to get to him, but you could ask his aide, or better yet, Cybil, and Bob Ingle. And if we can help it, we don’t want the president exposed, so this has to stay quiet, and I mean quiet.”

  “You’re saying you want to bury this?” Tip’s tone had hardened.

  It took her a while to answer, but when she did I had no doubts that she had taken that time to rein in her anger. “Denton, if anyone else had said that to me…” She took a moment to gather control and then said, “I still might take off this badge and kick your ass.”

  “Gladys!” Renkin said.

  She held up her hand. “I’ve got it under control, Chief. I just want him to know where I stand.”

  We needed to break the tension, so I moved between her and Tip. “Why don’t you explain the video to us, Coop. It’s tough to see from our end.”

  She nodded. “I want to keep the video quiet, but wantin
g to keep it quiet has nothing to do with protecting Tom Marsen.” She shot a glare that could kill at Tip.

  “If it was just him, I’d send this to the press right now.” Venom had crept into her words. “But we can’t risk looking like fools by releasing something that hasn’t been checked for authenticity. And we have no idea if it has anything to do with Camwyck’s murder. It could be nothing more than a guy cheating on his wife.”

  “Except the guy is the president,” I said.

  Coop gave me a one-eyed stare. “As if that’s something new. Presidents have been cheating on their wives as long as there have been presidents, or close to it.”

  “How do you want us to handle it?” Tip asked.

  “First we need to find out who sent this,” Coop said. “The package came with a note apparently from one of Camwyck’s acquaintances, but we haven’t verified that either.”

  Tip held out his hand. “Let’s see the note.”

  Coop opened a folder on her desk and handed Tip a piece of paper. “This is a copy. The original is with the lab.”

  I was supposed to send this to Captain Gladys Cooper in the event something happened to Barbara. If she’s dead, as I suspect, you now know who did it.

  A friend of Barbara’s.

  “Sounds pretty clear to me,” Tip said.

  “That’s part of what I don’t like,” Renkin said. “It’s too clear.” He looked at Tip and then me. “Take the video and go through it. See if you can find anything to follow up on. We’ve got the lab going through it also.”

  Coop removed the drive from the computer and handed it to Tip. “Nobody can see this.”

  He nodded. “Understood.”

  “You know where this came from,” I said.

  “I’m assuming it to be Richards, the woman who was killed in Dallas.”

  Renkin nodded and looked at me. “I’m thinking the same thing, but I’d like to know for certain. See if you can verify that.”

  Tip snapped a salute. “We’ll get right on it, John.”

  Renkin shook his head, but Coop looked as if she might explode at any minute. I grabbed hold of Tip and dragged him out of Coop’s office before he pissed someone off. We stopped at the coffee room on the way to our desks. “This is shaping up good,” I said. “Our number one framed suspect is missing, the guy who bailed him out doesn’t seem to care, and now we have the president as our new prime suspect.”