by Nick Vellis
“I’d love to, but I’m working. I just came from seeing my client.” I replied.
“How did it go?”
“A mixed bag, Marco, he offered me a job.”
“Wow that’s great,” he responded.
“Not really, it feels like a payoff to drop the case.”
“You’re kidding. He’s involved?”
“Either him or his daughter. They’re both hiding something.”
“Your sixth sense again?”
“Yep.”
There was a long pause, and then he spoke again. “You’re not…”
“I’m not what?”
“You’re not getting involved with that Hunt babe are you? I hear she’s a knockout”
“She is and its past tense, buddy, I was getting involved.”
“You don’t need any advice about women from me, but it’s no good getting your honey where you make your money.”
I laughed and thanked him for the advice. “Where were you a week ago?” I asked. “Look can you check something for me?”
“Mac, not today!” he pleaded.
“I need you buddy. What do you know about a Luck Taylor?” I asked.
“I knew him. I was sorry to hear what happened. That’s a bad way to die,” he said. “Word is his bosses in New York caught him with his fingers in the till. I don’t believe that.”
“I think you’re right,” I said. “Do you have a pipeline to his people? Giving them some good information might get you in good with them.”
“Mac, you don’t want to kick that hornet’s nest,” he said. “Those are some bad people.”
“I don’t think his employers had him killed. It’s connected to this mess I’ve been working. Can you get a word to the right people? I think Mrs. Hunt was into them for a bundle. Can you find out how much, and if any of the other people we’ve been looking at owe them money?”
“All I can do is ask Mac,” he said. “Are you looking for anybody in particular?”
“You have that list of people I’m working on, don’t you?”
“I sure do,” he said.
“When you talk to them let them know that information is just for me, no cops. I need to know if anyone involved in this case owed them big.”
“I’ll do what I can. Where can I reach you?”
“Just call my cell phone. I’m heading out of town to do an interview.”
“I’ll call you when I learn something,” he said.
North Bradenton was a little over three hours from Orlando, but only fifty minutes away from the Hunt compound. The GPS took me down a series of wooded county roads through Haines City, Lake Alfred, Auburndale, and skirted Lakeland until I picked up I-4 West northeast of Tampa. I had plenty of time to think and plenty of suspects to consider. I didn’t like any of the possibilities. I had high hopes my interview with Dr. Nancy Cameron would provide the answers that seemed just beyond my reach.
From I-4 West I merged onto I-75 and headed south. Not long after I crossed the Manatee River I located the Cracker Barrel on State Road 64. I was two hours early so I decided to kill some time and the local library was just the place. An idea had come to me while I was on the road. The Tom Tom put me on a path to the Manatee County Library. The closest branch was on 53 Avenue East and a few minutes later I was sitting at a computer in a large reading room surrounded by homeless guys and senior citizens.
I wasn’t sure what I’d find, but I hoped it wouldn’t be what I feared. There was not much on the internet about crime during the Viet Nam war, but there were two references to the Nha Trang serial killer. Both mentioned the Eighteenth Military Police Brigade and then Major Martin Hunt, but only one included the detail I wanted. With a heavy sigh, I printed the wiki article. I paid my $2.00 for the printing and headed back to the parking lot feeling a bit lost.
The Cracker Barrel was tucked in between a boarded up auto parts store and a no tell motel. There was a Home Depot across the street surrounded by some small stores and a cluster of fast food joints, all of which were busy with early evening traffic. I was still early, so I had time for some coffee and a couple eggs.
At five forty-five on the dot, a tall slender Asian woman with long shiny black hair pulled back in a smooth ponytail appeared in the dining room entrance and looked around. Dressed in black yoga pants, a mint green short-sleeved top and matching running shoes she looked phenomenal. Even the elderly rednecks turned to watch her come through the door. She was the slimmest person in the place.
I stood, waved, and offered my hand as she approached the table, “Dr. Cameron?”
The woman nodded, but didn’t smile. Her handshake was tentative.
“I’m Mac Everett,” I said as I handed her a business card. “Won’t you have a seat?”
Before she could sit down my waitress, Verna, was hovering, “Coffee sweetie?” she said. “Do you need a menu?”
“Just coffee, please,” she said smiling at Verna. Turning back to me she said, “Apologies for the way I’m dressed. I’m going to the gym after this. I work out every day after work.”
This woman looked like she lived at the gym. She was a slim small breasted woman, as are many Asians, but her figure was killer. Her skin was light brown and smooth. Her dark expressive doe-like eyes were oval, like her face, and set wide apart while her nose was short and upturned. Her smile was serene, but tense.
“No problem. You told me that was your plan,” I said. “I appreciate you meeting me.”
When the waitress was out of earshot she leaned forward conspiratorially said, “Do you have some identification? I can’t be too careful.”
“Sure, no problem, here’s my PI ticket.” I pulled out a laminated wallet sized copy of my private investigator’s license and showed her my driver’s license too.
“Thanks. I’m a bit nervous about all this.”
“I understand Dr. Cameron, but there’s no need,” I said, trying to reassure her.
“I wondered if anyone would call me,” she said.
She crossed her legs and immediately began taping her foot on the floor.
“I’m here now. I want to hear what you have to say,” I said. “May I call you Nancy?”
“Sure, and your first name is…”
“Mac, please call me Mac,” I said.
I felt I was on track. You always want to empathize with the subject to open an interview. I sensed Dr. Cameron relaxing a little, but her body language was sending mixed signals. She was playing a role. I focused on the triangle formed by her eyes and forehead where I’d see the facial cues. I didn’t have long to wait. As she began to talk, her eyes looked to the right time and time again. She was formulating a story and the lie was going to be a whopper.
“When I won that judgment the press said it was about the money. I felt bad because several people lost their jobs,” she said. “I’d lost my job too, along with my reputation, it was just terrible.”
Her words sounded true, but they didn’t feel right.
“You filed in Federal court, doctor, ah Nancy, so I don’t have access to the particulars. Can you fill me in?” I said. “What’s it all about?”
Gentle coaxing, I was right in a rhythm.
“You want to know about my lawsuit? I thought you were here about the embezzlement.”
I could have done a better job of hiding my surprise, but I covered it by intentionally bumping my water glass and catching it before it spilled. Verna appeared with the doctor’s cup of coffee and a pot to heat up mine. It was enough time for me to recover.
“That and other things,” I said confidently. “Remind me how much was involved,” I interjected.
“I’ve no idea how much it was in total. I had $9 million in grants and there were probably a dozen other researchers in the place. When it came out there was mismanagement, the funding sources started to dry up.”
Her eyes flicked repeatedly to the right. She was fabricating this story.
“Do you have an idea what may have happ
ened?” I asked.
“I believe the director cooked the books,” she replied. “We had sailed through audits in the past. There was no problem before she took over. We had patents and research grants coming in all the time. Her dark eyes flashed with indignation. “Mine was one of the biggest grant accounts. When it came up short, she blamed it on me.”
“Did you ask for an independent audit?”
“I was going to, but… well Dr. Greer ordered me not to. She said there were irregularities in some of the other labs and she was trying to clear them up. There wasn’t anything wrong in any of the other labs. She used me, set me up, then…”
She hesitated and it gave me a chance to clarify my thoughts and evaluate the cues she was giving. Her pupils were dilating as I watched, her upper body was tense, and her eye contact exaggerated. This woman was lying.
“Then what, Dr. Cameron, the complaint was for sexual harassment?” I asked. “Who approached you?” I asked. “I’m not the sex police,” I said, “but I have to know the whole thing, warts, and all.”
“Well it’s sort of embarrassing,” she began.
I wasn’t sure how much she’d tell me in a busy restaurant, but it was worth a try even if it was all malarkey.
“Go on, “” I said.
“When I first went to work there, Sharon Greer was really nice to me. We had briefly worked together in a lab when I was in grad school. Not long after I started at Perimeter, I caught her eye and we began flirting, but she was cautious. It went on for a while until one day she told me she liked me, but we should cool it because she was in a relationship.”
She gave a sad nervous laugh and looked left, an indication she was retrieving facts. At least that part was true, I thought.
“We remained friendly, though. We’d go out for drinks occasionally and she invited me to a couple parties at her house. That’s where I met my lawyer. I met her friends and went to some of their parties too. She’d show me some attention when we were alone. Once, Sharon made a big show of introducing me around at a party. I’d met all those women before. I think she was trying to tweak her partner.”
“Do you know whose house that was?” I asked.
“Ah, no, it was one of Dr. Greer’s friends. Maybe her name was Tammy.”
“Could it have been Tawni?” I asked.
“It could have been. She was a skinny woman, in advertising I think. Sharon took me out on the patio and asked how I was and how I liked the party. I said it was fine, and while we were talking, she grabbed me. She kissed and groped me for show in front of the window. I told her to stop, but she laughed at me. She said she was trying to make her partner jealous.”
“Did it work?”
“I guess. They got in a fight later,” she replied. “Apparently her partner ended up in the ER.”
I’d have to ask Stan to check records at the areas hospitals.
“Did you meet Dr. Greer’s partner?” I asked.
“Not that night, I got out of there. I met her at another party a few weeks later though,” she replied.
“Do you recall her name?” I asked.
“I don’t,” she replied.
She answered too quickly. The lie was so huge I thought she’d choke on it.
“Recall what she looked like?” I asked. I had to nail down an ID of Stephanie Hunt.
“She was pretty and had nice figure. Tall, dark hair, athletic, she sort of looked like me, now that I think of it,” she chuckled, “except she wasn’t Filipino.”
“Sharon introduced you. You would have heard the woman’s name then. You said you met these women before,” I said trying to help her remember.
“Yeah, let’s see, I met Tammy, no it was Tawni, she’s the one that had the first party I went to. Another one was Libby something. I don’t think I ever heard her last name. She was nice.”
“Anyone else?”
There were a lot of people there. I hung out with Sharon’s friends,” she said.
“How about her partner’s name,” I asked.
She shrugged and made a face.
“That’s OK. It may come to you,” I said.
She knew exactly who the woman was, and so did I. I read it on her lips.
“Go on with your story,” I encouraged.
“Sharon and her partner got in an argument by the end of that evening too. They were screaming at each other. It was a bad scene. I left early again.”
“Do you know what it was about?”
“I thought it was about me again, but then I heard them talking about a lot of money and something about the woman’s husband. They were both two chardonnays past their limit.”
“Did Sharon say anything to you after the party?”
“A few days later I noticed she was down so I asked her what was wrong. She said she and her partner were cooling it.”
“Do you know why they broke up?” I asked.
“They’d been together for years, since college, maybe before. Her friend got married, but they promised each other they’d stay together.”
“Why did…”
“Why did a lesbian get married to a guy? Apparently, her husband’s super rich at least that’s what Sharon told me. Sharon wanted to mess with her partner and had pictures taken of the woman’s husband with his girlfriend. Well, when Sharon’s partner found out her husband was having an affair she wanted him back. She was all sorts of possessive. The woman vowed to get her husband back, no matter what and dumped Sharon. That’s why they were fighting. The funny part is Sharon started it by showing her friend the pictures.”
“Do you remember her partner’s name?” I cajoled.
“She lived near downtown. Oh, wait…her name was Stephanie!”
“You’re sure?” I asked. I tried to sound calm, but my excitement was palpable. I’d uncovered Stephanie Hunt’s lover, a suspect, and a motive.
“Yeah, her name was Stephanie,” she said with assurance.
This seemed to be true. I was getting such a strange vibe though. This woman only had a passing acquaintance with the truth.
“What happened next?”
“Sharon and I went out for drinks a few a more times. She started coming by my lab practically every day and we started seeing each other,” Nancy said. “I enjoyed being with her. She was so assertive.”
I’d experienced a little of that assertiveness. Sharon Greer had quite a temper too.
“Go on,” I coaxed. “How did the harassment complaint come about?”
“It was exciting to have her attention. She was sweet, but very masterful and, well… I fell for her. We’d been seeing each other about six weeks when one Saturday night we drank a bit too much. I went home with her. It wasn’t the first time.” She paused, gathering her courage, and then continued, “I’m not inexperienced, but it was terrifying.”
“Can you explain? If you can’t…”
“It’s OK. Remember, I said how commanding and masterful she was?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Well, there’s an ugly side too. She pushed me through the door then made a show of locking it. She kissed me hard then laughed at me. She stepped back and told me to strip while she watched. It was hot, but then it got vicious. She kicked my legs out from under me knocking me off my feet. Then she grabbed me by the hair, and dragged me to her bedroom. She pushed me down on the bed, ordered me to do things, and then…”
I could see the fear of the experience returning. She shook ever so slightly. She was twisting the cloth napkin in her hand. “It was very rough, angry sex. She was seriously drunk and I was terrified. She held me down for a while, and then she got this huge curved knife out of the nightstand and waved it around while she screamed at me. She was yelling she’d cut that bitch up into little pieces.” Her voice cracked as the fear flooded back.
Her fear was genuine, but there wasn’t a word of the truth in what she said. She was looking to her right the whole time, telling a fake story. It was as if she was retelling a dream. Maybe sh
e’d practiced the story enough times that it seemed real.
“You alright?” I said.
She took a sip of water and nodded.
“She screamed at me and called me vile names when she finished with me,” she continued. “As soon as I could, I ran out of there with my clothes in my arms. I was so ashamed.”
“You have to remember what happened to you wasn’t your fault.” I tried to sound consoling, but what I wanted was to her to keep talking. Every word she’d told me about the rape was a lie. Now I just had to prove it. With some more rope, maybe I could hang her.
“I have a Ph.D. I know it’s not my fault here,” she said pointing to her head, “but I can’t seem to get it here,” she pointed to her heart. “I’ve had a few lovers in the past, but no one ever brutalized me like that. It’s always been so loving before.”
Oh, she was good. She was misty eyed, her voice cracked in just the right places. I was supposed to feel sorry for her, but it wasn’t working. I was putting on an act too. This one was a pro grade liar. If I’d run up on her in Iraq we’d still be at war.
“You seeing anybody, professionally?” I was amazed I’d suggested it, but I had to keep her talking. “It helps to talk to someone you know will listen and won’t judge you. You’ve not told anybody about this, have you?”
She slowly shook her head. Tears trickled down her face. She squared her shoulders and said, “I’ve wanted to but…”
“It can be healing to voice your worries and feelings,” I said. I was only repeating what the VA shrink had told me. I didn’t believe it either. “You’ve told me and the world didn’t come to an end.”
“No it didn’t. Thanks, I do know that but…”
She smiled a little and took another sip of coffee to steady herself. “I guess once I’ve told one person there’s no reason to avoid counseling, is there? Then she frowned and said, “Is it me or does this coffee suck?”
She put her cup down.
“It’s not you,” I chuckled. “It’s pretty bad. Go see someone soon. Are you up to talking a little more?” I asked.
She nodded, head held high. “Thank you for listening to me… and not judging me. I decided I wasn’t going to report what happened for my own reasons.”