“We’re on our way,” I said.
CHAPTER 61
THINGS DON’T ADD UP
“Why didn’t you ask Julie what she found?” Tip said.
“We’re ten minutes away, for Christ’s sake. Have patience.”
Tip dialed the phone. “Patience, my ass.”
The phone rang a half a dozen times then went to voicemail. “This is Tip. Call me, damn it.”
I laughed. “You are an impatient son of a bitch.”
I parked the car a few minutes later, purposefully taking extra time to find a spot. After listening to Tip’s moaning, we went inside. We had barely started up the stairs when Tip started calling out Julie’s name. By the time we got to the top of the steps, she was waiting with a folder in her hand.
“What is it?” Tip asked.
Julie handed him the file. “It’s gonna take some explaining. Your desk or mine?”
“Mine,” Tip said.
Julie arranged some papers on the desk, most of them printouts of spreadsheets and a folder with receipts inside. “We started going through everything Camwyck had,” Julie said. “Nothing seemed out of place. In fact, her books were meticulous, almost like a CPA’s. At one point, Jeremy said, ‘What a deal this woman had—huge consulting contract and health insurance to boot.’”
I looked up at Julie, trying to grasp the significance.
“I didn’t catch it at first,” she said, “but a few minutes later, when I was going through the files for a second time, I ran across a reference to United Health. It was a $1,500 recurring payment from her bank account. I looked over to Jeremy and said, ‘Didn’t you say she had health insurance at work?’ Jeremy flipped through a file, and said, ‘Full coverage.’”
Julie stopped and looked at me and Tip. “You see what I’m getting at? She was covered at work but we have checks every month made out to United Health.”
“So who’s United Health?” Tip asked, “And try to keep the explanation to less than an hour.”
Julie frowned. “Cut it out, Tip. I don’t know who they are yet. There isn’t a policy number referenced, and I called United Healthcare, but they didn’t have a policy in Camwyck’s name.”
“What about the bank?” I asked.
“I caught them before they left for the day, and was able to talk them into helping us.” Julie turned to Tip and gave him a smirk. “They weren’t going to help initially, citing confidentiality, but when I explained the situation, and that Ms. Camwyck was the ‘dumpster lady’, they agreed to cooperate.” Julie smiled, obviously exuberant. “Are you ready for this?”
“Hurry up,” Tip said.
“These payments have been going on for 17 years! And for the same amount each month. Insurance policies woulnd’t stay the same for 17 years.”
A jolt of excitement ran through me. “Tell me you have an address.”
She handed me a piece of paper, with a name and address.
Joshua Camphurst
1723 North 10th Street
Orange, TX 77630
“Tip, looks like we’re heading to East Texas. Again.”
“It’s too late now,” Tip said. “Pick me up in the morning.”
I got to Tip’s house by 6:00, and by 8:15 we were turning onto North 10th Street in Orange. The house, an old green clapboard bungalow style, sat on the corner with a good-sized yard—maybe a quarter of an acre. A front porch spanned the width of the house, white pillars sitting atop brick supports. It looked like it might have been around a while, maybe 40 or 50 years, but it had been kept in good shape.
I parked on the street and Tip and I went up and knocked on the door. A man who appeared to be mid 40s answered, wearing blue coveralls and a white T-shirt. He stared out at us through a screen door that appeared to be wearing a coat of new paint.
Tip flashed his badge. “Detectives Denton and Cataldi,” he said. “Have you got a few minutes to talk?”
“About what?” Respect for the law wasn’t deep in those words.
“About Barbara Camwyck,” Tip said. “She’s dead.”
He might have tried denying everything—might have—but when Tip said ‘She’s dead’, the man’s expression told it all. He knew Camwyck, and he didn’t know she’d been killed.
He looked behind him, then stepped out onto the porch. “Let’s walk,” he said, and started strolling toward the street.
“You say she’s dead? How’d that happen?”
“Murdered,” I said. “Bad.”
He turned to me. “Not that one in Houston? The one in the dumpster?”
I nodded. Didn’t need to say anything else.
“Damn shame is what that is. She was a good woman.”
I shot Tip a glance then focused on the man. This was the first person we’d met who had a decent thought about her. Whatever else Camwyck had been, she was obviously a complicated woman. “We know she was sending you money each month. For a long time.”
“You showed your badge but I wasn’t payin’ much attention. Badges are pretty much alike. What department you from?”
“Not the IRS, if that’s what concerns you,” Tip said.
He shrugged. “It crossed my mind. By the way,” he said. “I’m Joshua Camphurst.”
“Tell us about the money Ms. Camwyck has been sending you,” I said.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, and his gait slowed. His drawl seemed to come out more, too. “There’s a girl back there in the house who doesn’t know anything. I’d like to keep it that way if I could.”
I looked at Tip. He shrugged. “We’ll see what we can do,” I said.
Joshua’s next words carried a little pain.
“Barbara’s her mother—I guess was her mother. But the girl doesn’t know. She thinks her mother died—which is true enough now—but I been tellin’ her that lie all her life. She thought my wife was her mother, and she died ten years ago.” He bent and grabbed a pebble from the sidewalk. “I’m not a church-goin’ man, but I don’t take much to lying to little girls. Still, it had to be done. It was best for the girl, and Barbara wanted it that way.”
He walked a short way without saying anything. Then Tip said, “What happened with Camwyck?”
“My wife worked as a nurse for a doctor. Barbara came in one day lookin’ for an abortion. She was either too young or too stupid to know you don’t find butcher docs in a place like Orange. Betty—that was my wife—talked her into comin’ home for supper.”
Joshua sighed. “I still remember that night. We had a brisket with mashed potatoes and asparagus.” He picked up another pebble and tossed it into the street. “Anyway, before two days passed my wife convinced Barbara to deliver that baby and let us raise it. We didn’t have no kids at the time, and Betty had failed with two pregnancies.”
The sounds of laughter, and giggling, came from behind us. I saw three teenage girls running out of the house, chasing after one another. The man smiled. “The tall gangly one is Barbara.”
“I thought your wife—”
“We tried for years with no luck. After we got Barbara, my wife’s troubles disappeared. Had two more one after the other. Would’ve had another if not for some damn drunk who plowed into her.”
“You been raising them yourself?” I asked.
“Had help from my mother until she passed about three years ago. And my sister used to lend a hand, but she moved to Oklahoma two years ago. Been just me for the past couple of years.” He looked at me for a long time. I swear his eyes spoke to me. “They think they’re sisters,” he said.
“They won’t find out from us,” I said. “I can’t imagine how much work three girls are.”
“They’re worth it.” He looked at Tip and then me. “Tell me why you’re here and what’s gonna happen.”
“Do you know who her biological father is?” I asked.
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Never asked.”
Tip sighed. “We’re gonna wrap this up and see about keeping it quiet. If we have
to do anything, we’ll call you first.” He handed the guy two cards. “Keep one and write your number on the other so I’ll have it.”
We walked back to the car, and the man started toward the house. “I need a picture.” I said. “Stand by the girls and I’ll make it a family thing.”
“Hey, girls. Friends of mine want a family picture. Get on over here.”
The girls lined up next to him, laughing and chattering, and I took a few close-ups with my phone. Barbara was far taller than the other two, almost six inches taller. “All right. See you later.”
We got in the car and headed back to Houston.
I called Julie first thing. “Julie, I need you to patch me through to Coop, but before you do, know that you’re a genius.”
“It helped?” she asked.
“We found Camwyck’s daughter.”
“That’s fantastic, Gino. Thanks so much for letting me know.”
“Now put me through to Coop.”
Coop answered quickly. “Give me the good news first, Cataldi.”
“Today all we have is good news. We found Camwyck’s daughter.”
“I’ll be damned.” Coop said. “She never told anybody.”
“That’s a tough woman to go 17 years and not tell anybody,” I said.
“I’m gonna shove this information up the mayor’s ass,” Coop said. “Now what?”
“We’re still a long way from closing this case,” Tip shouted from the passenger seat. “We can put the pieces together about what might have happened, and now we have motivation, but it’s a far cry from proving anything.”
“I hear you,” Coop said. “But there has to be evidence somewhere. Camwyck was a meticulous person. For the biggest score of her career she wouldn’t suddenly slack off.”
I had to agree with Coop’s idea. “You’re saying she had a backup plan?”
“Damn straight. We’re going to tear up her life, her files, her condo…” she stopped for a moment. “We’re going to tear up Ingle’s also. Somewhere there is a piece of evidence that ties all this together.”
“We’ll find it,” I said.
“Hurry up, because the chief is going to be all over my ass.”
“Damn, but I’d like to see that,” Tip said.
I thought I heard Coop laugh, but then she said, “Denton, it’s a damn good thing you’re not here or I’d be all over yours.”
“I’m gonna tell Elena what you said, Cap. But in the meantime, get a team to Camwyck’s condo, and one to Ingle’s office, and another one to his house. We’ll join the one at the house.”
I hung up and looked at Tip. “You think we’ll find anything?”
“If not, we’ll have to bluff,” he said.
CHAPTER 62
WHERE’S THE EVIDENCE?
Four hours of searching turned up nothing at Camwyck’s condo, and so far we hadn’t fared any better at Ingle’s office or his house. A representative from the legal department dogged the crime scene unit’s every move at the office; meanwhile, Mrs. Ingle paid a visit to the house and did her best to interfere with our search. One of her lawyers—Paul Jackson—stayed by her side.
“Make sure everything goes back in place, Detectives. I wouldn’t want Mr. Jackson to have to file a suit against the department.”
“Keep her out of the way,” Tip said to Jackson, and gave him a slight shove. “And make sure she doesn’t touch anything.”
I followed Tip into Ingle’s bedroom. “I just got off the phone with Santos. They’ve been going through everything at Richards’ place, but no luck.”
Tip punched the wall. “Where the hell did she put it?”
“Put what?” I said. “We don’t know what we’re looking for, or if there even is anything.”
“You know what pisses me off?” Tip said. “Camwyck and Roberts were brutally murdered, Mano is missing, Ingle and Reggie are dead—and we can’t prove a goddamn thing.”
“I’m not ready to admit that she’s smarter than us,” I said. “Not yet.”
“It doesn’t much matter if you’re ready to admit it,” Tip said. “So far she’s beaten us at every turn.”
I heard Coop’s voice coming from the hallway. She walked in a moment later.
“Anything?” she asked.
“He was just talking about how Mrs. Ingle outsmarted us,” Tip said, pointing at me.
“So we’ve got nothing?” Coop said.
“I don’t want to say it, Coop, but you’re right. We’ve got nothing. On the contrary, we found more evidence that backs up her claims, but I don’t believe a word of it.”
“What kind of evidence?” Coop asked.
“Doctor visits,” Tip said. “The kind that show bruising on her legs and back consistent with domestic abuse. Her lawyer eagerly provided them, of course. They would make her sympathetic as hell to a jury.”
Coop signaled for the tech taking pictures to leave, then she closed the door. “Are we damn sure she’s guilty? I sure as hell can’t afford the negative press this is going to bring if we’re wrong about her.”
“Knowing who we’re dealing with,” Tip said, “it’s the only thing that makes sense as far as motive goes. And we’ve still got conflicting reports on the gunshots the day her husband and Reggie Grage were killed.”
“What about that?” Coop asked. “Could it have been confused reporting on Ingle’s or the maid’s part?”
“It could have been,” I said. “Except that now the maid’s story is exactly like Mrs. Ingle’s.”
Coop narrowed her eyes and nodded, too. “Interesting,” she said. “But we’re going to need a lot more than theory. It’ll take old fashioned evidence to put this case to rest.”
“Captain—”
Coop pointed a finger at me. “Before you start talking, Gino, let me remind you how many lawyers her money can buy.”
“We’re open to ideas on where to go with this,” I said. “As Tip would say, ‘we’re plumb out.’”
Coop looked around the bedroom. “Hell of a place she’s got. I’d hate to see her keep it.”
“Which is what’s going to happen if we don’t come up with something,” Tip said.
Coop pulled out her phone and dialed a number from her favorites’ list. She pointed a finger at Tip and me. “Not a word.”
I recognized the person’s voice as soon as I heard her answer.
“What the hell do you want, Gladys?”
“I don’t have time for any nonsense,” Coop said. “If you want to keep Rusty out of the news, you better help me figure out what was going on with Barbara.”
“I have no idea what—”
“Bullshit!” Coop said. “You know as well as I do that Barbara would have had a backup plan. Which reminds me—did you know she had a daughter?”
“What?”
“Seventeen years ago, or thereabouts.”
Silence, then, “That girl sure was tight lipped.”
Coop cracked her knuckles. “We’re running out of time, Cybil.”
“What’s going on? I thought you had Bob or Tom pegged for these killings?”
“We’re coming at it from a different angle now.” Coop lowered her voice and said,
“We think Barbara was blackmailing Anne.”
“The daughter is Bob’s?” Cybil asked.
“We’re guessing it is. His fortune would be one hell of a motive. Even part of it.”
Another pause followed. I could almost see Cybil pacing her office, drink in hand, although I couldn’t hear the ice cubes swirling in the glass.
“Let’s be clear on this, Gladys. If I help you, Rusty and I stay out of the news.”
“I can’t promise that,” Coop said.
“Good luck on your case.”
Coop looked up at Tip, then over to me. She raised her brow in a question.
I mouthed, “Okay by me.”
Tip seemed to be fighting internal demons, biting his lip and twisting his head, but after a moment, he nodded.
/> “All right,” Coop said. “You’ve got a deal.”
“As you said, Barbara always had a backup plan.” Her voice got softer. “What most people didn’t know is that she liked to keep things hidden where no one would expect it.”
“Don’t play games with me.”
“Pay attention,” Cybil said, enunciating each syllable. “Barbara used to be involved with one of the owners of a small hotel chain. She hid the blackmail material in a safe at the hotel. No one questioned her keeping the safe because she made regular use of their suites. She did the same with the CEO of a local bank, keeping a safe deposit box with videos of them together.”
“I don’t see how that helps us,” Coop said.
“Look in his office, his house, his car dealerships, everything he owns,” Cybil said. “Barbara hid it somewhere. I guarantee you.”
Coop stood. “We’ll let you know if we find anything.”
“Remember what you promised, Gladys.”
Coop hung up and we walked her to the front door.
“Think hard, gentlemen. Where haven’t we looked?”
“We’ll stay on it,” Tip said. “Something’s bound to turn up. By the way, what kind of deal did you make with the devil?”
“Nothing more than we would have done anyway. I told her we’d keep her involvement and Rusty’s name out of the paper. Or at least that’s what I implied.”
Tip nodded. “All right. I can live with that.”
Near the end of the day, we ran into Mrs. Ingle again near the foyer. Her lawyer whispered something to her and then he left. “Call if you need me.”
“I’d have thought you’d be afraid to be left without counsel,” Tip said.
The smile that popped on her face deserved to be smacked off. “Not when dealing with the likes of you.” She turned and started to leave.
“One thing I’m curious about,” I said. “How did you get Reggie to go along with you?”
Anne stopped, looked at me and smiled again. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but if I had to guess I’d say it was as simple as anything dealing with a man. Assuming you had a suspect who looked as good as I do…let’s just say she could get a man to do anything she wanted. Anything.”
Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery Page 32