Class Conspiracy: A Hank Lancaster Mystery

by Ace Beckett

“Does it have to be one of the graduates?”

  “Yes, has to be. Who else would connect Fletcher and the woman? I suppose it doesn’t matter but I am curious.” He shook his head. “Anyway, Lancaster didn’t know he was being followed, did he?”

  The driver shook his head. There was no reason to tell his employer of his small mistake at the red light.

  “No. I tailed him to a local health club. He went in an exercised and returned to his hotel room. He didn’t suspect anything. Want me to keep following him?”

  “I don’t think so. He has no proof. He might have suspicious but that doesn’t count. I don’t want his suspicions to be confirmed because if he realizes he’s being followed he’ll know the deaths were not accidental. That must be kept a secret until the proper time. Misdirection will be the key in this case. I have to be like a magician, getting the audience to focus on one thing while doing something else right under their noses.” The deskman paused a minute. “But I would like to be kept informed of what the detective is up too. Tell you what. Try to keep him under surveillance but don’t do anything to tip your hand and if you lose him during the day that’s fine. Don’t disrupt normal traffic patterns. I want everything to go very smoothly. We are not finished yet.”

  “We have two more victims?”

  “Yes. I’ve thought about this for more than ten years. First I cast the idea aside but it kept coming back to me. It wasn’t impossible but I have to be very, very careful in the planning and execution of these murders.”

  “Which is why you hired me.”

  “Yes, you were the last piece of the plan. I needed your expertise and you have proven you’re well worth the money. Have you decided the time and the place of the next murder?”

  “I’m narrowing it down. It’s easier when you don’t have to disguise the crime. I have to be careful to assure there are no witnesses.”

  “In this one incident I might be able to help.”

  The driver smiled. “I realize that and I may call on you. We need a secluded place to kill our target.”

  The deskman tapped his hand with the letter opener again. “The detective, if we have a worst case scenario and he figures everything out, can you take care of him?”

  The driver nodded. “Of course I can. If that happens there will be just one more dead body in the side of the road.”

  “Are you sure? There can’t be any slipups, people said he was good.”

  The driver smiled again. “Yea, that’s what they said but so am I. If push comes to shove I’m better than Lancaster so just relax.”

  He walked out of the office and back down the stairs, climbed into his car and drove off into the night.

  It was a Sunday afternoon and I was watching the Jacksonville Jags play the New York Jets. The Jags had had a few bad years but this year they had a chance to make the playoffs. Yes it was a slim chance, but a chance at least. To do so they would have to defeat the Jets and I’m sure the Jag quarterback knew that when he rolled out, dodged a green and white Jet tackler and sailed a forward pass fifteen yards to his tight end Hal Jeffers. Jeffers grabbed the ball, spun away from a tackler and sprinted seven yards before being brought down by a Jet defender. It was the middle of the third quarter and the Jets led 17-14. The Jets had experienced a few dismal seasons too. They were not going to make the playoffs but they had a chance to end the season above .500.

  With three NFL teams in Florida it’s difficult to choose a favorite. Since I’m closest to the Jags geographically I root for them. I’m also very pleased when the Miami Dolphins win but Astrid doesn’t like the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. “They have really ugly helmets, as well as uniforms,” she told me. More than once in fact. So until they get more picturesque helmets I’m not wearing any Tampa Bay Bucs sweaters.

  The Jags had completed three straight passes and the Jet defense appeared shaken. Jacksonville lined up again but instead of passing the Jag quarterback faked a rollout and handed off the ball to a running back who raced through a hole his offensive line had opened for him. Seventeen yards later the Jags were inside the Jets’ twenty-yard line. I could almost hear the cheer from the stadium in Jacksonville.

  As the Jags lined up again my smart phone buzzed. Actually if it was really a “smart” phone it would not interrupt a NFL game. I saw the number was Wyland’s so I picked up the phone.

  “Hello, Bill,” I said.

  “Hank, how are you?”

  “I get better every day. How is everything up in North Carolina?”

  He sighed. “Nothing too dramatic to report.”

  “Shucks, I was hoping you were going to blow this case wide open.”

  “Another dream dies, but I do have some information that will clarify matters. Janice Coltran was a friend of Murray and Mary Laurie for more than fifteen years. Rather Janice and William Coltran were friends of Murray and Mary for that amount of time. However, the marriage between the Coltrans was known to be somewhat rocky. Well, the first decade of the marriage was fine but then William Coltran, who had always been a heavy drinker, started being an even heavier drinker. Then started his experimentation with illegal substances.”

  “Which is always a bad thing to do,” I added.

  “Yes, the next years were not as smooth as the first ten years of the marriage was; His drinking became so bad friends urged him to head for rehab which at first he refused to do. The marriage crumbled and went downhill finally collapsing when he came home drunk one night and started taking swings at Janice. Fortunately he was so drunk he was unsteady on his feet and missed in his punches. Janice ran from the house, raced to a friend’s home and called the police. Husband William also took a few punches at police officers when they showed up. Enough was enough for Janice and divorce papers were filed the next week. During this time she spent a good number of hours at the home of her friends Murray and Mary Laurie. The divorce came through a few months later. Before it was final police were called to a bar where William was having a fight. After that, William did go into rehab. I don’t know if he was successfully treated but, even if he was, the marriage was dead.

  “When Janice heard of Mary’s death she visited Murry to comfort him. She had gone through the loss of a spouse, albeit not by death and friends say the two simply fell in love. There was nothing sinister or suspicious about it, even a number of their acquaintances felt that they would and should marry each other after both experienced different types of tragedies in their life.”

  “As always you do good work, Bill,” I said.

  “Just to make sure I did check on any insurance policies on Mary’s life. There was one but it was for a low five-figure sum, a routine policy nothing more. Mary’s mother died of cancer a few years ago and the Murrays gave half the proceeds of the insurance policy to the American Cancer Society.”

  “You don’t just do good work, you do excellent work, Bill.”

  “And in conclusion, friends say the marriage was very happy, neither spouse cheated. There are not even whispers of anything like that, they were a happy couple who loved one another but the wife died. End of story.”

  “Glad to hear it, we had to check it out. Even if we thought it was a dead end.”

  “Yes. The hotel has an inside pool and it’s cold here in North Carolina so I’m swimming today and will head down to your part of the country tomorrow. Made any progress?”

  “Not much. May have picked up a tail but he disappeared. I’m hoping he will pop up again.”

  “Yes if you get a chance to talk to him it could be an…intriguing discussion.”

  “Yes, this case had been shadows and darkness. I would like a real, tangible clue. I actually remember what a clue is, hope I see one again in my career,” I said.

  Wyland laughed. “I’ll get there around mid-afternoon tomorrow. See you then.”

  “I’ll keep looking for a clue. Maybe I’ll have one by then.”

  “To dream the impossible dream,” Wyland said.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I
started Monday morning in an old-fashioned type of way. Piles of local newspapers were stacked on the hotel counter and I actually paid for a print newspaper instead of the digital version. I walked to a restaurant and ordered breakfast while reading it. The front page held a story noting there were several positive signs about the economy. A second story noted that projections for the Florida citrus crop were up 3 percent. I smiled. Florida has experienced massive population growth during the past four decades so more people, more highways, more condos, more concrete and steel. Of course with that comes the loss of greenery, ponds and animals’ natural habitat and the loss of citrus land. I thought it was incredible good news that, with all the growth, the citrus crops were projected to grow by 3 per cent. It’s a sign civilization might survive after all.

  The lead story on the Second Front attracted my attention. A prominent local attorney had been assaulted and was in the hospital. J. Anthony VonRenn, 58, had been attacked as he left his downtown office yesterday afternoon to return home. He had been working late on a matter and didn’t leave his office until about six-thirty. His wallet was stolen but the assailant left a valuable gold watch still on the attorney’s wrist when the EMTs transported him to the local hospital. A hospital spokesman said the attorney suffered serious, if unspecified injuries and would remain in the hospital for at least a few days. VonRenn was one of the partners in the Rutger, Kromhoer and VonRenn legal firm. They were corporate lawyers and specialized in financial matters. As yet the police had no clue about the identity of the assailant and definately I sympathized with them.

  I skimmed down the story while drinking the very good coffee the restaurant served. The story told readers that VonRenn had been in the community for almost thirty-five years and had a number of prominent clients including local rancher and businessman Clyde Franklin who was in critical condition at the medical center and not expected to recover.

  As I cut into the pancakes the waitress put before me there was something about the story that troubled me. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I read the story over again and then for the third time. I hadn’t read too many stories on lawyers being assaulted at least not corporate attorneys, but it does happen. I looked again. The attorney’s briefcase, which he carried with him, was missing. The briefcase had no money in it but police theorized the assailant might have stolen it anyway.

  When I had finished my breakfast I was still bothered by the story and I still didn’t know why. I paid the tab and walked back toward the hotel. When I’m struggling with a case and need a revelation I generally do one of two things. I soak in a hot tub, ideas can come to you when you relax, or walk my dog. Which a dog walk is wonderful unless my Black Lab Captain sees a squirrel. He gets along fine with cats but he does like to chase squirrels.

  I didn’t have Captain with me and the tub in the hotel room was a bit too short for my height so I decided to swim instead and then relax by the pool. It might be cold in North Carolina but the temperature in Bay Tree County was in the high seventies and would be in the low eighties soon. I looked again at the story and almost bumped into the ashen-looking individual who was standing outside my motel room door. He had leaned against the wall; arms crossed, and had a frown of concern upon his face. He wore a blue coat with a matching tie. His fingers twitched slightly. He needed either a tranquiller or a drink. I didn’t have any valium to give him but I could provide an early morning drink. He glanced up as he heard me coming.

  “Mr. Lancaster?”

  “Yes, I’m Hank Lancaster.”

  “You’re the private detective?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is what I read in the bulletin ad true? You’re investigating the deaths, the possible murders of Mary Laurie and Harper Fletcher, as well as Dale Keegan?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  He swallowed and then spoke in a low tone. “I think I know the connection between them. My name is Dennis Wiley, I was a classmate of those three. May I talk to you?”

  I controlled myself so I didn’t leap up and down with joy but I was tempted.

  “You certainly may,” I said.

  Wiley took off his coat when he walked in the room and sat down in a chair. I sat the edge of the bed as he let out a long sigh.

  “Would you like a drink?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Maybe after I tell this tale. Did you know that Mary and Keegan were boyfriend and girlfriend for a while during their senior year in high school?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “They were. I think they went their separate ways after graduation. I know Mary had traveled to North Carolina with her family often and she liked the state. She applied to a number of colleges there and accepted an offer.”

  “I’m more interested in the senior year.”

  He nodded. “Of course. Mary and Keegan were going together. Keegan was a hunter and fisherman and at the time Mary also enjoyed hunting and hiking. She’d liked going out on an all-day hunting party but sometimes didn’t shoot anything just hiked alongside some guys. They were part of an unofficial hunting and fishing party at the school. Harper Fletcher was a part of it. He also enjoyed getting out in the wild. Harper could be a real jokester, so much he could be irritating. I wondered from time to time if he might overdo his bad jokes and come home with buckshot in his butt. But he never did. When people with guns around him he was a bit calmer and another member of the group was Chet Franklin, son of the millionaire Clyde Franklin.”

  “And someone who is still alive.”

  “Yes. Another student who joined them from time to time was John Kuster. Unlike the others I don’t know where John is now. The last I heard he had moved west to Colorado, maybe Wyoming. He doesn’t have a Facebook page or anything like that. I knew John pretty well in high school, we were not best friends forever but we socialized occasionally. He was one guy who complained Florida was getting too crowded and he liked open spaces so I wouldn’t find it surprising if he relocated to a state like Wyoming. There is a lot of open land out there and not many people. He would like Idaho and Montana too. There were other students who joined in the hunting and fishing parties but I don’t think those others students count in this matter. There was something else, an incident that involved just those students.”

  Wiley breathed erratically. He panted as if he had just finished a hundred yard dash. I walked over to the ice bucket and filled a plastic cup with ice. I had a water bottle in the small fridge. I uncapped it and poured it into the glass then took it over to him. He took a long swallow.

  “Just relax and tell me the rest of it,” I said.

  “What I’m going to say to you came from John Kuster. One night when we were drinking he revealed this to me then swore me to secrecy. One day not too long after graduation those five went on a hunting trip about fifty miles from here. The destination was close to the Georgia line, it was a full day trip. John, Harper, Dale, Chet and Mary. Chet’s family either had a hunting cabin or know a friend who loaned them a cabin, one filled with modern conveniences. It wasn’t primitive. They got up there, had some drinks, went hiking and hunting, came back to the cabin, had a few more drinks. There was a lake nearby so they went swimming after even more drinks. They had a great time and it was close to ten at night when they started back. John was driving. Keegan, Mary and Harper were in the back the van sleeping. Chet sat in the passenger seat.”

  He paused and drank more of the water.

  “Like something stronger,” I said.

  “No. I’m OK. About twenty milrd south of the cabin the ground inclines. You have to drive along a good sized stream for about ten miles. The stream is about a twenty-yard drop from the road and that year we had had a lot of rain. John said the stream was about ten to fifteen feet wide and about ten feet deep with waters flowing rapidly due to all the rain….John admitted to me he shouldn’t have been driving but the others also had too much to drink. He may not have been legally drunk but after a long day – they got up about 5 a.m. that morning – and wi
th the strenuous activities and the drinks he wasn’t an alert driver. As he rounded a curve a pedestrian came into his lights, a black man who looked homeless, ragged clothes but had a bottle, possibly a whisky bottle in his hand. He looked stunned as the headlights glared at him head on. When he swirled around the curve John missed some of the turn and ran onto the ground, heading directly at the man. John swung the wheels back onto the road but the man stood frozen. The car came within inches of him. He bolted but instead of stepping back away from the car, he fell, John said he fell toward the stream below. A second later he thought he heard a splash. Chet woke up just before the van turned around the curve but the others were still asleep. When John talked to me he said the next lines with deep regret. He almost cried. He told himself he didn’t hit the man but he knew that alcohol affected his judgement. He kept driving but just stared straight ahead and pushed the gas pedal. Both he and Chet were shaken. Ten miles later they knew they panicked but both said going ten miles back and trying to find the man was a waste of time. Three days later they saw a notice in the local paper. A man had been found drowned in Waterson Creek, an older African-American. Authorities had not identified the man at that time and believed he was homeless. Neither John nor Chet ever found out the man’s name and to this day they don’t know who he was.”

  He sighed, took another sip of water then set the glass on the desk.

  “Mind if I have something a little stronger now?”

  I grabbed my bottle of Ancient Age and poured some liquor into the water.

  “Did the other three ever know what happened on the road?”

  “I don’t know for sure but I don’t think so. Chet and John swore not to tell anyone. I think John told me that night because he wanted to get it off his chest. I think that’s another reason he might have left for Wyoming or Colorado. It got him far, far away from Bay Tree County. In court I think the only official charge that could be brought would be negligence and even that might not stick. It was a horrible accident, simply one van and one man at the wrong place at the same time. But John still felt guilty.” He sipped his bourbon and water. “That’s the story, Mr. Lancaster. I don’t know what else to say.”