Tip leaned toward the intercom and hollered, “I’ll have some tea, darlin’.”
“Nothing for me,” I said.
Coop talked to us after that. “I appreciate that offer to cover for me—which I should be pissed about…” She shot a threatening look, making her point. “But here’s the real scoop. Stop me if I go too fast.”
She filled us in on life in East Texas, mostly talking about little things—dating, dances, small-town gossip—but then she got to what we hadn’t expected to hear.
“At first there were the four of them that always hung out together—Tom Marsen, Bob Ingle, Cybil Ames, and Barbara Camwyck. Then I joined the group and Cybil decided we should give ourselves a name. We argued about it for weeks, until Bob came up with an idea to use our last names. So we took the first letter of our names and scrambled them up to get—MAGIC.”
“That doesn’t work,” I said, and tried to digest what she was admitting to.
She was already nodding. “I know, we used Gladys for me instead of Cooper because they already had Camwyck.”
“And what did this elite group of yours do?” Tip asked. He was calm, displaying no reactions.
“Normal kid things. And when we did something mischievous, we’d paint MAGIC on the wall or on a street corner or a lamp post.”
Tip sat up in his chair. I came close to falling out of mine.
“And you’re just telling us?” I asked.
“You only told me about it a few minutes ago.”
“I’m not talking about the MAGIC, I mean about the five of you being so tight. You didn’t think that had bearing on this case?”
“I know I didn’t do it,” Coop said, “and I can’t see Cybil, or Tom or Bob doing it.”
“Cybil had nothing to do with it?” Tip asked.
Coop shook her head. “I can’t see it.”
“Are you telling me our suspect list went from you and Cybil, to the president and RB Ingle?” Tip asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Who else knew about this?” I asked, following up on Tip’s question, and trying to build a more reasonable list of suspects.
“I don’t know. We were kids. Anybody could have known.” She seemed to think for a minute or so, then gave up. “It has to be somebody who knew one of us from back then, or who heard about it later. Somebody is trying to make it look like one of us did it.”
“Do you have any idea who that might be?” I asked.
Coop shook her head. “Not yet, but I’ll be thinking on it.”
I stood and stretched.
Tip got out of his chair, too, but he had to open his mouth. “We’re thinking Ingle had something to do with this.”
Coop looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Why would Bob have anything to do with it?”
“We haven’t figured that out yet,” Tip said.
“But you can bet we’re working on it.”
“Be careful where you step,” Coop said. “Bob Ingle might come across like a gentleman, but he’s not.”
Tip started for the door. “Thanks for the warning, Cap.”
“Keep me informed,” she said.
Tip pointed a finger at her. “You do the same.”
***
No sooner had the door closed than Coop was on the phone. Cybil answered quickly.
“We found Barbara’s purse,” Coop said.
“And?”
“And there was a note inside that said ‘Do you believe in MAGIC?’ and the MAGIC was in caps.”
“And now you think I had something to do with killing Barbara?” Cybil asked.
“Did you?”
“You know who did.”
“I hope you’re wrong, Cybil, because this is getting out of hand.” Coop squeezed her eyes closed tightly. “I’m going to have to tell Tip.”
“You don’t have to tell him anything.”
Coop got up and made sure the door was closed tight. “I know you and Rusty don’t like Tip, but he might be the best detective I have. The bottom line is that once that man gets a scent, he’s like one of your daddy’s old hounds; he won’t let go. If you’re telling me the truth and you had nothing to do with this, the sooner we tell him the better. What you did in the past is old news. Nobody will care about that.”
Silence, then Cybil said, “It might not all be in the past. I think Barbara was still blackmailing people. Maybe even Tom.”
“Good God! How could she be so stupid?” Coop said. “Didn’t you tell her?”
“She must have figured he owed her.”
“Tom wouldn’t take well to being blackmailed.” Coop said, and then she heard Cybil laugh.
“Gladys, old girl, you know that’s more than a mouthful. Now you have your motive. If you want to sic Tip Denton on somebody, you know where to point that dog.”
CHAPTER 39
BAD NEWS COMES IN THREES
We were almost to our desk when the phone guy called. Tip grabbed it and ducked into the coffee room, signaling me to follow. He turned the speaker on before he spoke.
“What’s up? I thought you said tonight.”
“I had a chance to check early, but I don’t have much for you. She called an untraceable number in the Washington DC area.”
“How long did the call last?”
“Less than two minutes. One minute thirty-two seconds to be precise.”
“Thanks,” Tip said. “I owe you.”
My mind raced. “Who did she call?” I asked, as soon as Tip hung up the line.
“The way I see it,” Tip said, “we have three possibilities—Tom Marsen, the First Lady, or a random number in the DC area.”
“I wish we had more suspects,” I said.
“Me too.”
“Maybe we ought to pick on Coop and nail her ass for this. She’s already broken about half the department regulations.”
“I think I’d rather tackle the president,” Tip said. “I arm-wrestled Coop one time.”
“Did you let her win?”
Tip looked at the wall and sat silent, as if thinking. “I’m not sure.”
We finished out the day documenting everything we learned and figuring out where to start in the morning. We had good reason to go back to Cybil, and if she were anybody else we’d have arrested her, but people like Cybil don’t scare easily; they just call their lawyers and laugh at us. Besides, we don’t have anywhere near enough evidence to go after Cybil, not even if she wasn’t married to Rusty.”
“I say we put pressure on Ingle.”
Tip looked at me. “Maybe you don’t remember what I told you before, but if we start pressuring Ingle, he’s gonna push back.”
“He didn’t seem so tough,” I said.
“He’s more than tough. Don’t be fooled by those stories you’re hearing of him in his younger days. That boy has grown a thick skin since then, and he’s a whole lot richer.”
Tip grabbed a few files and stuffed them into his briefcase. “I’m taking this home to work on. You want to come over and plan this?”
“I might go see Ron.”
“Tell him to hang tough,” Tip said. “Tell him it can get better.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll figure out the Ingle situation then.”
I picked up a few burgers and fries, then stopped at the halfway house. Ron looked good; in fact, it was the first time we laughed together for a long time. He seemed to be diligent about working the program and helping others. Nothing could have made me happier. When it got to be about 9:00, I told him I had to get going.
“I still have work to do before tomorrow. We’re trying to crack this case and I think we’re closing in on it.”
“Is that the one where the woman was cut up?”
“That’s the one. Pretty brutal.”
He gave me a big hug to go along with his smile. “Go get ’em, Dad. I love you.”
He caught me off guard with the “I love you” but I recovered and somehow managed to come up with a res
ponse without sounding too artificial. “I love you, too, Ron. Thanks for saying that.”
By nine-thirty I was home and deep into case files, trying to figure out what was going on. We had too many suspects with motive. We hadn’t heard from Santos, so I thought I’d call him and see what he had.
“Did you get anything new?” I asked when he answered.
“Cataldi?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“It has been a busy day, my man. I planned on calling you in the morning, but I see you’re keeping my hours. I should have known.”
“What have you got?”
“We found a second cell phone and one of the numbers in her preferred list was a Houston one, registered to a…hang on a minute.”
I heard what sounded like papers turning then he came back on.
“Eastex Enterprises. That mean anything to you?”
I thought I’d swallow my tongue. “It means a lot, but keep going. I’ll tell you about Eastex in a minute.”
“A couple of recent calls came in from none other than RB Ingle’s office, which makes me wonder why one of the richest men in Texas is calling a prostitute?”
“Holy shit,” I said. “When were the calls?”
“Two different calls, and both of them came in the day before she was killed.”
“Holy shit,” I said again.
“Yeah, and that’s not all,” Santos said.
“We found almost $400k in stocks and bonds in an account Patti had at another bank, plus a safe deposit box with $86,000 in cash.”
“Shit! Richards and Camwyck knew what they were doing. Most of the women in that profession are junkies or at least dead broke and living in a rundown apartment in the wrong part of the city.”
“You got that right,” Santos said.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Nothing else yet, but we still haven’t finished going through her computer. She has a few encrypted files and our tech guy hasn’t been able to crack them. I think he’s bringing in an expert tomorrow.”
“Encrypted files sound interesting,” I said.
“Let me know if anything comes of it.”
“I will. Now what about Eastex Enterprises? You said it meant something.”
I thought about how much to tell him, and opted for the minimum at this point.
“Eastex Enterprises was the primary employer of our victim.”
“Dios mio,” Santos said.
“Don’t get excited, Santos, because there’s more. One of our original suspects worked for RB Ingle, and Ingle bailed him out. Now the guy is missing.”
“Son of a bitch!” Santos said. “This is getting to be a mess.”
“One hell of a mess,” I said. “Keep me informed.”
I hung up from Santos and dialed Tip’s number. “Are you ready to tackle Ingle?” I asked.
“That’s what we planned on. Why?”
“Santos just called. They received the report on his victim’s phone. She had two calls from RB Ingle’s office the day before she died. And she had Eastex Enterprises in her address list.”
“Pack extra ammunition,” Tip said. “We’re gonna need it.”
“See you in the morning,” I said.
CHAPTER 40
A FEW MORE QUESTIONS
We pulled up to Ingle’s building about 8:00 the next morning. I grabbed my notebook, and we went inside. The same receptionist was on duty, the one who didn’t smile. A plaque on the desk identified her as Laurie Zisk. Tip winked at her and said, “Laurie darlin’, you’re as pretty as the morning.”
She shook her head. “Detective, I’ve seen Lonesome Dove, and you’re not the first man who’s tried that line on me.”
Tip scrunched up his brow and looked at her. “You mean they stole my line?”
I think she tried not to, but that last comment made her smile. “I’m guessing you’re here to see Mr. Ingle.”
“We had a few questions for him if he’s got a minute,” Tip said.
She wrote something on a card and handed it to Tip. “If you ever think up a new line, call me.”
He looked at the card then winked at her again. “I just might do that,” he said.
Ingle’s assistant came to get us and led us to a conference room. Ingle was already there.
“What can I do for you, detectives? I don’t have much time.”
I shook his hand and took a seat in the chair next to his. “We have a few questions.”
“About what?”
“The first one is about your employee—Mano Perez. Remember him? The one you bailed out?”
Ingle nodded. “What about him?”
“I’m sure you know by now that he’s missing. Aren’t you worried about your money?”
He looked at us, no emotion, and said, “I had no idea, but I’ll have my people look into it. We’ll find him. I guarantee that.”
“Did you know Patti Richards?” Tip asked.
“Who?” Ingle asked, but he didn’t seem surprised.
“Patti Richards. She was a prostitute up in Dallas.”
A scowl popped on Ingle’s face. “A prostitute? What would I be doing with a prostitute?”
“That’s what we’d like to know,” Tip said.
“You called her twice the day before she died.”
“I didn’t call anyone named Richards. And I sure as hell didn’t call a prostitute, Detective.” He stood. “Is that all? I’m a busy man.”
“Where were you last Wednesday?” I asked.
“I have no idea. Why? Where were you? Do you recall?”
“We’re going to need to know,” I said. “You better check your calendar because it’s important.”
Tip jumped in. “That was the day of the First Lady’s speech in Dallas.”
“Oh yes. I remember now. I was in Dallas for a couple of days on business.”
“Did you kill Ms. Richards?” I asked.
“What? Are you people crazy?”
“How well did you know Ms. Camwyck?” Tip asked. “Were you still sleeping with her?”
Ingle reached for the phone on the table. He pressed the intercom. “Jonathan, the detectives are ready to leave.”
“We aren’t done asking questions,” Tip said.
“Yes, you are,” Ingle said, and he stood, hands at his sides.
“What do you know about Magic?” Tip asked. “And what can you tell us about a motel room over in East Texas? The one where you and Tom Marsen spent the night with—”
Ingle kicked his chair to the side. “Get the hell out of my building. Get out and don’t come back. I’ll have your goddamn badges for this. I know the chief. I know the mayor.” He shoved the phone off the table. “I know the fucking president.”
“But do you know who the president was fucking?” Tip asked.
Jonathan entered and said, “Detectives…” while holding the door open.
As we exited, Tip said, “We’re not done with questions.”
“You’re more than done, Detective. Your career is over.”
Jonathan deposited us in the lobby. Tip waved to Laurie, and she smiled.
“I can’t believe she gave you her phone number,” I said.
“It’s the wink,” Tip said. “They can’t resist it.”
I was still laughing when we left the building. Twenty feet ahead we ran into Reggie Grage, Ingle’s driver and bodyguard.
I held up my badge. “Mr. Grage, we’ve got a few questions for you.”
He stopped, nodded his head, but didn’t say a word.
“Where were you last Wednesday?” Tip asked.
Reggie’s response was immediate. “I drove Mr. Ingle to Dallas.”
I opened my notepad and jotted down his answer. “You didn’t fly?”
“Mr. Ingle likes to drive so he can get work done. He hates to waste time.”
“Where did you go in Dallas?”
“He attended several business meetings.
He went to the First Lady
’s speech.”
We waited, but he wasn’t filling in the gaps. “And?” I said.
“And what?”
“What else did you do?”
“Nothing,” Reggie said.
“What about Wednesday night between 9:00 and midnight?”
“I’m not certain.”
I put my notepad away in my shirt pocket and said, “Reggie, you look like a man who knows the drill. We can do this here or pick it up at the station.”
He waited a moment, then he said, “Mr. Ingle would have me out in ten minutes.”
“He might,” I said, “but would he be happy about it?”
“I don’t know.”
Tip reached for his handcuffs. When he did, Reggie said, “It’s true. I don’t know what Mr. Ingle did on Wednesday night. I dropped him off at a club around 8:30. He said he would catch a ride back to the hotel.”
I smiled. Now we were getting somewhere. “Which club?”
“A gentleman’s club. I don’t remember the name.”
Tip laughed. “You mean a strip club?”
Reggie nodded.
I took out my notepad and handed it to Reggie with a pen. “Write down the address where it was. If you don’t remember the exact address, give us the general area.”
Reggie’s phone rang. He looked at the screen and tensed up. “Yes, sir?”
I heard a voice coming through, a male voice. It sounded like Ingle. I turned and looked at the building. Ingle was staring out the window of an office on the third floor.
“I understand, sir.” Reggie hung up and ripped the page from the notepad, and then handed it to me. “If you need anything else, I will need to consult my lawyer.”
“That’s all for now,” Tip said.
As Reggie walked into the building, I turned to face Tip. “So much for that.”
“I saw what he wrote—Jaguars.”
“Do you know the place?”
“I’ve never been there. I don’t fancy those kind of clubs, but I’ve heard of it. High class. Expensive. Just the kind of place Ingle would choose.”
“Speaking of Ingle,” I said, “You sure pissed him off.”
“I try,” Tip said, and then, “Now we need to call Santos and see what he can find out.”
I dialed Santos’ number, but it went straight to voicemail. “Santos, it’s Cataldi. Call me.”
Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery Page 20