Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery
Page 27
“No,” he said, and then he opened the front door.
As I walked to my car, a lot of thoughts popped into my mind. The first was wondering if Reggie really was a robot, but more importantly, I had to figure out what was going on with Mrs. Anne Ingle. If she was telling the truth, I felt sorry for her.
If she’s lying…we still have a lot to figure out.
I got into the car and started it, then drove off. A few blocks away, I pulled to the side of the road. Something had been bugging me and I wanted to check it out. I opened the notebook to the page where Tip and I had questioned Reggie. He said Ingle got there at 7:32 and left at 12:24. A rush of adrenaline raced through me.
I knew it!
The times Reggie gave us were identical to the answers Anne gave—down to the minute. Nobody is that good on memory, not without a reason.
CHAPTER 50
CATCHING UP
As I drove home, I thought a lot about the Camwyck investigation, and my visit with Anne Ingle, which put a new twist to a strange case. I dialed Tip’s number.
“Hey, partner. Where are you?”
“Just left Ingle’s house.”
“Did you remember to take off the rubber band?”
Tip could always make me laugh. “I didn’t need to use it, asshole. But there is a hell of a lot to talk about.”
“I got a big list myself,” Tip said. “Come up to my house and we’ll mull things over.”
“I’ll need directions.”
“Directions? You were just here last night.”
“I know, but my mind was elsewhere.”
Tip texted the address, which I plugged into the phone’s GPS. “I’ll be there in half an hour,” I said.
“Bring beer,” Tip said and hung up.
I parked in the driveway and walked up to Tip’s back door without a single bark or growl to alert him I was there. Before I could knock, Tip opened the door and grabbed one of the six packs from my hand. Come on in, partner.”
I looked over to see his Australian Shepherd sitting on the sofa. She fixed me with a hard glare and a growl, but didn’t bother moving.
“That’s Flash, in case you don’t remember. Pay her no mind.”
“Where’s Sacco?” I asked.
“He’s in the kitchen, under the table.”
When I walked in, Sacco looked up and wagged his tail. “I hope you’re not counting on these dogs for protection,” I said. “Flash growled, but Sacco hasn’t moved.”
Tip laughed. “Flash wasn’t growling; that was a smile.”
I put the beer in the fridge and took a seat at the table. “Who’s going first?” I said.
“Might as well be you,” Tip said, and popped the top on his beer.
I gave him a sideways look. “That beer is still hot. I just put them in.”
Tip shrugged. “I don’t mind if the beer doesn’t.”
“Whatever suits you,” I said. “By the way, I found out who the mystery caller is.”
“What?”
“Anne Ingle,” I said.
“Bullshit.”
I shook my head. “I’m serious. We were talking and she said something that made me suspicious. I asked her, and she admitted it.”
“Son of a bitch!” Tip said. “What the hell?”
“That’s not all. She gave us a whole new list of suspects.” I opened my notepad and flipped to the page. “Ralph Duerr, Billy Watkins, Emerson Dodds, Randy Beaucamp. Those names mean anything to you?”
Tip took a quick sip of his beer. “Some of the biggest names in Houston politics, or should I say political fundraising.”
“Hold on to your ass because the rest of the list gets better. Rusty and Cybil Johnson, Bob Ingle, and Tom Marsen.”
“That is interesting. I know we were already looking at them as potential suspects, but when someone else—especially someone close to the case—gives you the same information, it carries more weight. My big question is still the same though—why.”
“Hold onto your ass. I’m getting to that.” I opened the fridge and grabbed one of those disgustingly hot beers. “I was as confused as you, but Anne said Camwyck and all the rest of them were involved with blackmail for political favors. I know that blackmail isn’t a definitive reason for murdering someone, but it’s a lot closer than sex.”
I looked over at Tip. He was nodding his head.
“I’m convinced this isn’t about sex,” I said. “This is about criminal operations and blackmail.”
“It all fits, Gino. Old George told me the same kind of tales, but even worse.”
“What could be worse?”
“You haven’t been around long enough to remember this, but back in the day, Clyde Bannick was a big name in town. He was a US Senator and he ran Houston’s politics with an iron grip. Then one day he up and killed his wife and daughter, and then killed himself. No one knew why.”
“Hold on,” I said, and downed the rest of my beer, then got refills for both of us.
“I’m guessing George filled in details on the ‘why’ part.”
“Blackmail,” Tip said. “Camwyck had him dead to rights on molesting little boys. They threatened to go public with it.”
“Goddamn!”
“According to George, that’s what pushed Rusty and Tom Marsen to the top in this city.”
I let the information run through my mind for a minute, and then said, “We’ve got a 1,000-piece puzzle and we still have a lot to put together.”
“I’m not even half done,” Tip said, and then he told me about Captain Grayson and the “Magic Act” and about Grayson’s daughter—now known as Anne Ingle.
I tried digesting all of this information, but it was a lot to take in. “Do you think Anne has anything to do with the murder?”
Tip downed the beer and crushed the empty can in his hand. “We’ve got a lot to figure out tonight. And we need to do it fast because RB is putting the heat on everyone.”
CHAPTER 51
THE CLUES ADD UP
Tip brought out his charts and made a few notes—quite a few notes—then he stepped back and stared at the chart.
“Looks different now,” I said. “As far as suspects go, we have RB Ingle, Tom Marsen, and a file cabinet full of Camwyck’s former clients who had a reason to want her out of the picture.”
Tip grabbed another beer. “And let’s not forget Mano—who disappeared somewhere near the Mexican border.”
Tip put an asterisk next to Ingle’s name as suspect number one. “We know Ingle was being blackmailed by Camwyck and, after she died, by Richards. The question is why were they blackmailing him. And why now?”
“Exactly. If she’d been having sex with Ingle for all this time, what changed?”
“Which leads me back to our theory that these killings aren’t about sex,” Tip said.
I got up and looked over the files on the table, but nothing new jumped out at me. “It has to be the blackmail operation Camwyck had going on. But that still makes me wonder why she waited until now to do something about it?”
I thought about it for a minute and then grabbed the marker and drew a line connecting Ingle and Marsen. “Here’s why,” I said. “Because Tom Marsen just got elected, and a blackmail operation would be more than embarrassing to our new president.”
“Goddamn,” Tip said, “I believe you stepped in some sweet-smelling shit. Ingle and Marsen have been friends forever. I’m guessing that if the president asked Ingle to do something—or have it done—Ingle would do it.”
“And if we move into the have-it-done territory, I would put Reggie the Robot right at the top of the list.”
“What do we know about Reggie?” Tip asked, leaning against the table.
“We know he’s an ex-Ranger and he worked for the Secret Service for a short while. And we also know that Marsen recommended Reggie for the job with Ingle.”
Tip flipped through his notes. “Do we have alibis for Reggie on the murders?”
“He
was at the event for Rusty the night of Camwyck’s murder, and he was in Dallas when Richards bought it.” I looked through my own notes. “As far as I can tell, we don’t have an alibi for Reggie when he was in Dallas. We only asked about Ingle. But Reggie could have done Richards.”
“That leaves the night of Camwyck’s murder,” Tip said. “We questioned a lot of people about where Mano was that night, and we asked about Ingle. But we never established an alibi for Reggie.”
I flipped through my notes to find the page when we questioned Reggie about Mano.
“Okay, check this out. These are Reggie’s answers about Mano.
“I asked him about Mano and said, ‘Did you see him leave?’ Reggie responded with, ‘Mr. Perez left at approximately 8:30 PM. He was asked to drive several employees home.’
“Then you asked, ‘What was he driving?’”
“And Reggie said, ‘He drove one of Mr. Ingle’s vans. Mr. Perez’s truck was at the office.’”
“When I asked if Mano returned, Reggie said, ‘He didn’t come back. We didn’t expect him.’”
Tip thought for a moment then said, “Reggie never said he saw Mano leave. But if Reggie was there at 8:30, it would still be possible for him to kill Camwyck and finish the night by taking Ingle home.”
I shook my head. “I can’t see how. Not and dump the bodies, too.”
“You want some pretzels?” Tip asked, and then he grabbed a bag from the pantry and brought it to the table. “As far as dumping the bodies, that could fit into the timeline.
Let’s assume Reggie left right after Mano did, around 8:30. He goes to…wherever, and kills Camwyck, dismembers her, and then he cleans up.”
I could see where Tip was going. “So Reggie picks up Ingle at 12:24—according to him—drives him home and then goes back to get the body and dump it.”
Tip looked my way and smiled. “Reggie could have done it, but if he did, it had to be on orders from RB Ingle or Tom Marsen.”
“Or both,” I said, and then took a swig of beer and munched on a pretzel while I gave this consideration. “You got any plans on how to deal with this? We’ve already brought the wrath of God down on us for messing with Ingle. What the hell would happen if we involved Marsen?”
Tip downed his beer and crushed the can. “We let somebody they can’t control do it—the press.” Tip laughed and picked up his phone.
“You calling Roberts?” I said.
“Let’s see if she’s got enough balls,” Tip said.
CHAPTER 52
THE PRESSURE IS ON
My phone rang while I was in my kitchen making coffee. It was Coop. “Captain, what’s up?”
“Did you and Denton have anything to do with the morning headlines?”
I hadn’t seen the paper yet, but I knew what she was referring to. “And if we did?”
Coop laughed. “Then for once I wouldn’t be pissed off.”
“In that case, blame us. But we all might be in trouble if this backfires.”
“I’ll worry about that,” Coop said. “You and Denton see me when you get in.”
I hung up the phone and checked the Chronicle. Roberts had done her job.
RB Ingle questioned about murder of prostitute.
I called Tip. “You see the paper?”
“Not yet.”
“Roberts has balls. I’ll give her that.”
“Did she do us good?” Tip asked.
“Front page headlines. RB Ingle questioned about murder of prostitute. She didn’t hold back.”
Laughter came through the phone. “I guess we better get to the station. Shit is going to hit the fan now.”
I put the phone on speaker and poured another cup of coffee. “I need to stop by Ingle’s house first.”
“What for?”
“I was looking through my notes last night and I realized she never answered me about why she called the murder in.” When Tip didn’t respond, I went on. “Think about it, Tip. She could have shut her mouth and we might never have had anything. So why the hell did she call in the clues about the dress and shoes?”
“It’s something to think about,” Tip said. “You want me to come to Ingle’s house with you?”
“I can handle it. I made a connection last time.”
Tip laughed. “Connection my ass. I think your rubber band slipped. You better take two this time.”
“You better watch out or I’ll tell Elena about your perverted ways.”
“She’s the one who taught me,” Tip said.
“Okay, asshole. I’ll see you at the station later.”
***
I pulled up to Ingle’s house and went through the ritual with the maid. She showed me to the study and offered coffee, but I passed. Anne showed up a few minutes later.
“Good morning, Detective. What brings you back?”
I stood and shook her hand. “As I was reviewing my notes, one thing popped up. I don’t know why you called me.”
“I think you asked that last time,” she said.
I shook my head. “I asked why you called me last time. In other words, why me and not Detective Denton or someone else. What I want to know is why you called anyone.”
She folded her hands in her lap and lowered her head. “I see.”
She sat there for a moment, then slowly lifted her head. “I told you I felt sorry for Ms. Camwyck, and I did. What I didn’t tell you is why.”
The maid brought coffee for Anne, and asked me again if I wanted some. “Thanks, I think I will.”
She poured me a cup and then left, closing the double doors behind her. I looked to Anne and she continued.
“Not many people know this, but my mother was a prostitute.”
I tried to hide my emotions, but I didn’t do it well. I felt my eyebrows raise, and I leaned forward—like an old hen waiting for gossip. Anne must have noticed.
“My father kept it a secret. He told everyone my mother ran off, but the truth remained—she was a whore. He was so embarrassed that he put me in an orphanage. My mother tried getting me out but he wouldn’t approve of it. Shortly afterward, she died a junkie’s death. Years later, after the orphanage couldn’t place me anywhere, my father took me in.”
She stood, walking slowly across the Oriental rug, onto the hardwood floor, and back. All the while she sipped her coffee.
“It was then that I met Bob Ingle and the rest of my father’s friends. Bob wasn’t a nice man either. Not him, or the president, or Rusty, or any of them. But I had a home, and I was being taken care of. I felt safe, not wondering every day if someone might come adopt me or if I’d be stuck in the orphanage forever, destined to become a nun.
“When I was barely old enough, I became pregnant. The father was a young boy from school, and we were convinced we had fallen deeply in love. We wanted to marry, but my father wouldn’t hear of it. It would shame his reputation, he said. So my father married me off to Bob Ingle to cover up the pregnancy.” She paused to sip her coffee, and stared right through me. “I still remember what he said, Detective—the exact words. He said, ‘I’ll be damned if I’ll have another whore in this family.’ What he said broke my heart. He attacked my mother and me both.” Anne used a tissue to swipe a tear. “After my wedding, I never saw him again, not until his funeral.”
Anne shook her head, then she shook it again. “I’m sure the wedding was some sort of deal between my father and Bob, but if it was they were good enough not to tell me. Bob pretended as if he loved me—for a while. I quickly learned why. Bob Ingle was thrilled to have a young girl to screw anytime he wanted, and it made it better that I was pretty enough and trained enough, for him to be able to take me out in public. It was the perfect arrangement for Bob. As for me…I was young and stupid. I thought that Bob might actually love me.”
My heart bled for this woman. I wanted to say something because I know this had to be painful to tell. “Despite what problems there might have been, it sounds like he did a lot of good for you.”
My head was spinning. Tip had told me about her being the former captain’s daughter, but I didn’t know anything about the rest of the story, and I’m guessing Tip didn’t either. I finished taking notes then turned to Anne. “So you called because you felt sorry for Barbara Camwyck?”
“Because I felt sorry for her. Because, being Catholic, I despised the thought of her not being buried properly. But most of all because I had to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Bob had nothing to do with it. I couldn’t live the rest of my life with a man who could do…what was done to her.”
I waited a moment, then asked the question I’d been wanting to since she started telling me her story. “Are you convinced he had nothing to do with it?”
She gave a thin smile. “Yes, Detective. I am. My husband is a lot of things, but I’m convinced he’s not a murderer.”
I stood, thanked her, and then she walked me to the door. “Have a good day, Mrs. Ingle.”
“You too,” she said.
I got in the car and headed for the station. It was time to get Tip and raise some hell with somebody, and I suspected Ingle was on the list since we couldn’t go after the president. I called Tip but it went to voicemail. “On my way in, partner. Got a few juicy details to share.”
As I turned the corner, I saw Ingle’s limo heading in my direction. I turned my head slightly and put the phone to my left ear as if I was talking. It wouldn’t be good if Ingle knew I’d been to his house.
CHAPTER 53
9-1-1
I met Tip at the station, and we headed to Coop’s office. On the way, I filled him in on my talk with Anne.
“It sounds like the Ingles have a happy home,” he said.
“I feel sorry for her,” I said.
Coop was standing at Cindy’s desk when we turned the corner. Tip raised his voice, and said, “Gino, forget about being such a nice guy. You need to practice being a son of a bitch like Gladys.”