Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  Tip’s face tightened and his scar twitched. “Sweetheart, you give yourself too much credit. I wouldn’t screw you with my worst enemy’s dick.”

  “What a fortunate coincidence,” Anne said. “I wouldn’t let you.”

  I couldn’t believe this was the same woman. She had me fooled when we first met, I’ll say that, of course I was a little distracted. Maybe Tip was right. Maybe she used her body purposefully to throw me off guard. “I see the grieving’s over now. And the abused victim act, too.”

  Anne looked at her watch then at me. “How much longer will you be here?”

  “As long as it takes,” Tip said.

  Anne put her phone to her ear when she walked away. We watched her go, but this time it was with contempt. I wasn’t ogling over her ass. A few minutes later Coop called.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  “Nothing new,” I said.

  “Wrap it up and get back here.”

  “Wrap it up? We’re not done.”

  “Gino, I said wrap it up. Renkin just had a call from the White House. The goddamn White House.”

  “Son of a bitch,” I said, then hung up the phone and said it again. “Son of a goddamn bitch.”

  “I presume that’s our cue to leave,” Tip said.

  “Direct from DC.”

  We rounded up the rest of the team, and took everything that might still bear fruit with us. Everything included laptops, tablets, iPhones, and files from the desk in his home office.

  Once we got it all loaded into a couple of police vans, Tip and I got in the car. I glanced back to the house before leaving. Anne Ingle was in her car, staring out the window, and I swear she had a smirk on her face.

  Damn, I hate that woman.

  CHAPTER 63

  WRAPPING IT UP

  Coop wasn’t in a good mood, and I can’t say I blamed her. She was catching shit from all angles: the papers, the chief, the mayor, and Cybil. If forced to choose, I’d have to put Cybil near the top of the worst-offenders list. Of course that might have been my bias. I wasn’t that fond of Cybil.

  “I was hoping you’d come back with something solid,” Coop said, from behind her big oaken desk.

  “I was hoping so too,” Tip said, “But we struck out all around. I hate to say it but Mrs. Ingle kicked our asses.”

  “What kind of circumstantial do we have?” Coop asked.

  “Not enough to make a charge, unless Ben turns something up.” I said. “The only thing is the inconsistency between Ingle’s report of the gunshots and her maid’s version. And now the maid has changed her story.”

  “Bullshit on changing stories,” Coop said. “Break it. Get that maid by herself and break that damn story. Tell her to give us the truth or we’ll ship her ass back to wherever she’s from.”

  “It’s still not enough,” Tip said. “It would be a grieving widow/battered wife’s word against her maid’s word.”

  Coop tilted her head to the side. “I’m just thinking. If the maid is in the country illegally, as we suspect, that could play in our favor.”

  “Maybe in New Jersey it would,” I said, “But in Texas?”

  “You’re probably right,” Coop said. “Got anything else?”

  I considered what had happened recently, then said, “She knew about the crime scene—if we take her anonymous calls as insider knowledge.”

  Coop chewed on her finger nail. “We might need to play that up. I don’t know if it will get us anywhere, but it could be worth a shot.” Just then, her phone rang on the desk. She pressed the intercom. “Who is it?”

  “It’s the chief,” Cindy said.

  “Tell him I’ll call back,” Coop said, and then she turned back to us. “That was the chief, in case you’re deaf and didn’t hear. Within minutes the mayor, or God forbid, Cybil will be calling. If I don’t do something quickly, President Marsen’s office will call.” She glared from one of us to the other. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tip said. “We’re leaving to break the maid’s story now.”

  “Is she staying at the Ingle’s house?”

  “Not now,” I said. “She’s with her daughter until this is all finished.”

  “Good. That’s a start,” Coop said. “Hurry up.”

  It didn’t take much to break the maid’s story—not after Tip threatened her with deportation. We had her repeat what she really heard and it aligned nicely with what she told us the day of the shooting.

  I waited for her to calm down some, then asked, “We know Mrs. Ingle had you lie, but tell us why. Why did Mrs. Ingle ask you to lie? ¿Por que?”

  “She wants to be done,” Manuela said. She fidgeted with her hands, as if searching for the right words. “You know, enterrarla.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Enterrarla. Funeral.”

  “You’re going to have to testify in court,” Tip said. “And you have to tell the truth.”

  She smiled. “Si, señor. I understand. I watch TV.”

  We left feeling as if we had accomplished something, but both of us knew Manuela’s testimony wouldn’t amount to much.

  Without evidence to support her, we’d still have nothing. About a mile before getting to the station, Ben called.

  Tip picked up and said, “I’m putting you on speaker so Gino can hear. And please tell me it’s good news.”

  “That all depends on whether you’re an optimist or not.”

  “I don’t like the sounds of it, but tell me anyway.”

  “Most everything checks out the way Mrs. Ingle explained it,” Ben said.

  “Shit!”

  “Hold on, Tip. I said most of it. There are a few inconsistencies with blood splatter, and maybe a question about gunshot residue, although it could just as easily be explained away as occurring during a struggle.”

  “Tell me what’s wrong with the scene,” Tip said.

  “Mrs. Ingle had blood on her face that belonged to Reggie Grage. Of course that could be explained by her stooping down to examine him, which she said she did.”

  “What else?”

  “Reggie Grage had blood on him from Mr. Ingle. I see it as the likely result of blood splatter from him being nearby when Ingle was shot, but in a court of law the defense could easily find an expert who would swear it was blood splattered from when Grage and Ingle fought.”

  “We only have her version of them fighting,” Tip said.

  “Not quite. Ingle’s face has bruises consistent with a fist fight.” Ben said.

  “Remember, these are inconsistencies, but nothing to build a case on.”

  “Do we have enough to prove anything?” Tip asked.

  “Right now you don’t even have enough to bluff anything. Not with the kind of lawyers she’ll hire.”

  “All right,” Tip said. “I appreciate the call. Keep us up to date.”

  He hung up and looked over. “We’re fucked.”

  “Sounds like it,” I said. “Inconsistencies and maybes aren’t winning a case like this.”

  I took my time driving back to the station, not in the mood to hear Coop after we told her the news. Before we went inside, I turned to Tip and said, “You have any ideas?”

  “Not yet,” he said.

  Charlie met us at the top of the stairs. “Captain Cooper wants to see you.”

  “Of course she does,” Tip said, and damn near growled at him. “Did you figure out those song lyrics yet? You better get your ass to work.”

  “You know I didn’t, Tip. And I don’t think there’s anything to figure out either.”

  Charlie went back to his office while we slowly walked to Coop’s office and discussed how to delay her from shutting the case down, but we hadn’t found a solution, and now we were standing in front of her door.

  “Go on in,” Cindy said.

  We walked into Coop’s office. A guy in a suit was sitting in a chair pulled up from the wall, and across from her was the man from Orange and Camwyck’s daughter.


  “I believe you know Joshua Camphurst” Coop said.

  He stood and extended his hand to shake. “In case you don’t recall, I’m Joshua Camphurst and this beautiful young girl is my daughter, Barbara.”

  As I reached to shake, Barbara cleared her throat.

  Joshua laughed and gestured toward Barbara. “That noise coming out of her ain’t some wild animal caught in her throat, it’s her signal that I called her young girl again instead of young woman. I guess by all rights she is a young woman, but I don’t want her to grow up.”

  Barbara stood, glared at her father, then flashed us a smile and shook hands. “Dad told me everything,” she said.

  The other man didn’t bother standing. “Jonathan Karber,” he said. “I’m Mr. Wiggins’ legal counsel.”

  As I was wondering what Wiggins needed a lawyer for, Coop said, “Find a seat. This is interesting.”

  A monitor sat on Coop’s desk. The lawyer reached over and inserted a USB drive. “This was sent to Mr. Wiggins. We don’t know who sent it.”

  I looked at Wiggins. “Did you have this when we were there? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  He shrugged and looked at the lawyer. “I’ve had it for a long time, but before you came, I didn’t know she had passed. When I heard, I remembered her instructions.”

  The lawyer spoke up. “The instructions were clear, Detective. In the event of Mrs. Camwyck’s death he was to contact a lawyer. The letter listed three choices. I was one of them.”

  Tip gestured to the monitor. “What’s on the drive?”

  Karber leaned over and hit ‘enter’ on the keyboard, kicking off a video. A woman’s face appeared on the screen.

  “My name is Barbara Camwyck. If you’re watching this, I’m dead. But this video will help you catch the ones who did this to me. Make sure they don’t get away.”

  The video showed Camwyck adjusting her hair in what looked to be the rearview mirror of a car. Afterward, she applied lipstick, then said, “You are about to watch a video of my meeting with Mrs. Anne Ingle, wife of Bob Ingle. Make no mistake about the nature of this—I am blackmailing her for $7 million. I could have asked for more, but $7 million was enough for me, and the Ingles will barely miss it. If I’m not successful in this venture, they will kill me. Either Mrs. Ingle or Bob, or both of them. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  She smiled, adjusted her blouse, then said, “Okay, I’m going in now.”

  The rest of the video showed a meeting between Camwyck and Anne Ingle, the obviously hidden camera focused on Anne but with audio from both of them. It was pretty damn incriminating—it showed Camwyck demanding $7 million for her silence, and Ingle agreeing to the terms.

  When the meeting was over, Camwyck returned to her car. She had one last statement.

  “If you’re wondering why I did it this way…why I didn’t just let my daughter take her inheritance…it was because I didn’t want her growing up in that sick world with Bob Ingle and his friends. But I wanted her to have enough money to help her through life.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I owed her that much.”

  The lawyer removed the USB. “I hope that’s enough for you to charge her,” he said.

  “Combined with what else we have, it might do it,” Tip said. “It’s sure as hell enough to arrest her.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Coop said. “Go put cuffs on that peacock.”

  Tip shot off a salute. “Yes, ma’am. But first I need a copy of that video.”

  I turned young Barbara. “I’m sorry about your mother,” I said, “But I’m happy it will work out for you DNA will prove you’re Ingle’s daughter and that should release big money to you.”

  After we got the copy of the video, we left the office, and had to restrain ourselves to keep from racing down the hall. I couldn’t wait to nail that son of a bitch.

  CHAPTER 64

  CLOSING THE CASE

  I didn’t drive Tip Denton speed to Ingle’s house, but I pushed harder on the pedal than I normally do. We got to Ingle’s hotel room in less than 20 minutes.

  She seemed surprised to see us.

  “More questions?”

  “Just a few,” Tip said.

  “You’re not getting away with this,” I said. “We’ve got enough to convict you now.”

  She laughed. “You have nothing.”

  “And you want to know the best part?” I said. “You won’t get to keep any of the money. When you’re convicted all of the money goes to his daughter.”

  She scrunched her eyebrows. “Bob doesn’t have a daughter.”

  “We know he does,” I said.

  “What do you detectives think you have?”

  “You knew about the blackmail that Camwyck had going on. We’ve got inconsistencies with the blood splatter—and trust me, the medical examiner will work that out. We have an inconsistency with the sequence of the gunshots as reported by you and your maid.” I waited for her smile, then I said. “And by the way, your maid—ex-maid—is going to testify that you coerced her into changing her story.”

  “And don’t forget we have you as the anonymous caller who knew too much about the crime scene,” Tip said.

  She smirked. “I’ll say it again. What you have is nothing, detectives. Absolutely nothing.”

  Tip smiled. He’d been waiting for this. “Do you have a computer here, Mrs. Ingle?”

  She wrinkled her brow and looked at him as if he had asked if she had water. “Of course I do. Why?”

  “I’d like to show you something,” Tip said.

  She led us to a laptop sitting on the desk.

  Tip inserted the USB drive in the side, and when it came up, he pressed the play button.

  “My name is Barbara Camwyck. If you’re watching this, I’m dead. But this video will help you catch the ones who did this to me. Make sure they don’t get away.

  “You are about to watch a video of my meeting with Mrs. Anne Ingle, wife of Bob Ingle. Make no mistake about the nature of this—I am blackmailing her for $7 million. I could have asked for more, but $7 million was enough for me, and the Ingles will barely miss it. If I’m not successful in this venture, they will kill me. Either Mrs. Ingle or Bob, or both of them. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  By the time the video finished playing, Anne’s face had turned ash gray.

  “You can’t use that.”

  I took hold of her arm and then put the cuffs on her, being careful not to be too rough. I didn’t want accusations about mistreatment to surface.

  “What are you doing? You can’t arrest me.”

  “I believe we can,” I said.

  “I want to call my lawyer,” she said.

  “You can do that from the station,” Tip said. “In the meantime, enjoy our company. I’m sure you’ll find us preferable to your cellmates in prison.”

  “I’ll say it again, you can’t arrest me.”

  Tip tightened the cuffs. “Say it all you want, but you’re under arrest for the murder of Robert Ingle, Reginald Chase, Barbara Camwyck, and Patti Richards.”

  “You’re insane!”

  “That could be. In fact, some people swear to it, but you’re still under arrest. Let’s go.”

  Tip read Ingle her Miranda rights, then put her in a patrol car he had waiting outside and sent her to the station.

  “You think it will stick?” I asked.

  “By the time Ben gets done with his evidence, and when the jurors see the video, they’ll convict her. Any video that starts out with ‘If you’re watching this, I’m dead.’, is going to have impact.”

  “I guess we closed up another one,” I said.

  “Like hell!”, said Tip. “Julie broke this case. Without her finding the daughter, we’d still be playing with our dicks.”

  Either way, we better hurry and enjoy the respite. I’m sure we’ll have another killer to catch before long.”

  “Probably,” Tip said. “But for now, let’s just put another marble in the slot, and count it
as a win.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said, and got in the car.

  CHAPTER 65

  CONFESSIONS AND RESIGNATIONS

  I helped Tip finish the paperwork, then left the station with mixed emotions. The Ingle case had been the one of the toughest cases of my life, a roller coaster of emotions that tore me up and still hadn’t stopped. Add Ron’s drug problems to the mix, and it was a wonder I wasn’t in rehab with him. Which reminded me I had to call. I dialed and got an answer right away.

  “Hey, Dad. Are you back?”

  Relief settled in when I heard his enthusiastic voice. Despite my optimism, there was an ever-present fear that he might slip up and fall back into drugs. “I’m back. I got in a couple of hours ago, but had to go to the station. We were closing that case.”

  “The gruesome one, with the chopped up body?”

  “Yeah, that one. It’s over.”

  “I’ve got good news, too.”

  I brightened up. “Tell me.”

  “They talked to me today about staying here at the center, but training to be a house manager, like before.”

  I felt the weight leave my body. “That’s great. I couldn’t be happier. This is a new start for you, son.”

  “That’s what I like most about it. I can help other people and get a chance to make a real difference in someone’s life.”

  “Seems like we both have something to celebrate. Why don’t we go to dinner?”

  “I can’t tonight, but tomorrow would be great.”

  “It’s a deal. I’ll take off early and pick you up after lunch. We’ll make a day of it.”

  “Perfect. And Dad, I know you don’t like it, but maybe we can go to church together and say a prayer for Mom.”

  I teared up. “I’d like that. I really would.”

  “Okay, see you tomorrow.”

  I felt so good after talking with him that I took back roads home, taking time to enjoy the change of pace. I kept going over our conversation. As I contemplated what he said about me not liking church I realized I might have been depriving him of more than my love since his mother died. She had always taken him to church on Sundays. That stopped when she died.