Cactus Island, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 8

by William Manchee

CHAPTER 10

  MOUNTING EVIDENCE

  Although the excursion to Possum Kingdom Lake was quite interesting and even exciting at times, I hadn't seen anything yet that made me believe that aliens had actually visited Cactus Island. What was fascinating though were the throngs of people from all over the U.S. who obviously did believe and whose belief was so strong they'd dropped everything to come to Central Texas hoping to witness history in the making—a Texas jury actually considering the possibility that an alien spacecraft had caused a fatal automobile accident. As much as I wanted this whole nightmare to go away, I knew now it wasn't going to happen. So, I'd have to set aside my personal feelings and give Stan as much support as possible if we were to save Steven Caldwell and preserve the reputation of Turner and Waters.

  With that realization behind me, the next morning I put aside science fiction and dug back into my plain vanilla missing person case. Where was Martin Windsor? The next witness on my list to interview was Martin Windsor's administrative assistant, Barnard Lansdale. I'd called his office the previous week and been advised he was out of town. His secretary promised to have him call me when he returned. Earlier in the day he had finally called and we'd set an appointment for later that afternoon. He insisted the meeting take place at our offices. Before the appointed hour Jodie advised me that Cheryl was on the line.

  "The police are here searching my apartment," she moaned. "They're making a wreck of the place. What should I do?"

  "Just let them do their job and don't interfere. I'll be right over."

  It didn't surprise me that Detective Perkins was having Cheryl's house searched. I wondered what he'd find. I'd suggested to Cheryl several days before that she might want to ditch the stuff she bought at The Spy Shop, but I doubted she had got around to doing it. I wasn't prepared, however, for what Perkins shoved in my face when I walked in the door. He was holding a gun in a plastic bag.

  "Looks like me might have a murder weapon," Perkins gloated.

  "I'm sure she has a license for it," I said. "It's not a crime to own a gun. Even President Reagan has one."

  "Yeah, but this one's been fired recently. I wonder if your client wants to tell us about that?" Perkins retorted.

  I took a deep breath. Perkins threats were beginning to worry me. He still didn't have a body, but with Cheryl being the last person seen with Martin, a big insurance policy, and a potential murder weapon, he and Wilkerson were getting close to having a viable case. "I'm sure she has a good explanation for it. But I'll have to get back with you on the question of filling you in on the details. Since you seem to be obsessed with blaming Martin Windsor's disappearance on her, it doesn't make much sense, at this point, to be overly cooperative."

  "It's all right, Paula. We're going to nail her ass whether she cooperates or not. Trust me."

  "Who's we? Do you already have an assistant DA assigned to the case?"

  "Yes, your old friend Rob Wilkerson."

  My stomach churned. I felt sick. "Oh, wonderful." I couldn't believe out of all the assistant DAs in the Dallas County District Attorney's office, I'd managed to get stuck with Wilkerson again. Wilkerson hated female attorneys and didn't make any effort to conceal it. His cocky, arrogant personality was particularly annoying and he was pretty much an asshole to anyone who wasn't on his side. I'd drawn him in my last big murder case when I'd defended a man accused of killing savings and loan tycoon Donald T. Baker. The case was aborted in mid-trial when my client was murdered, so I guess you'd say that round was a draw. Now he was back for round two. I was sure there'd be a betting pool at the DA's office, and he, no doubt, would be the odds on favorite.

  To keep Cheryl out of jail and avoid another vicious battle with Rob Wilkerson, I needed to locate Martin Windsor, or at least prove he was still alive. I was hoping Barnard Lansdale would shed some light on his whereabouts. He finally showed up just before five.

  "Thank you for taking the time to talk to me," I said.

  "I want to find Martin as badly as you do. I'll help any way I can."

  "Good. How long have you been working for Mr. Windsor?"

  "About five years now. My father and he were friends. That's how I heard about the job."

  "What do you do for him, exactly?"

  "Whatever he needs me to do. I'm kind of a troubleshooter. If we have a problem with one of our investments, I'm the one who is sent to straighten things out. I do a lot of research and due diligence work, as well, to make sure our investments are sound."

  "When did you last see Martin?"

  "Monday morning. He came in about eight o'clock and left for lunch about one. He usually takes about an hour and a half, so we were expecting him by two-thirty. When he hadn't shown up by five, we started looking for him."

  "Where did he go for lunch?"

  "He said he was meeting his divorce attorney. There were some papers he needed to sign so they were going to get a bite to eat and then go over them."

  "Do you know where they were going to meet?"

  "At the Prestonwood Country Club, I believe."

  "So, no one has heard from Martin since he went to lunch on Monday?"

  "Right. I called his attorney to ask if he knew where Martin was going after their meeting. He said that during the meeting Martin got a telephone call that upset him. He cut the meeting short and left without any explanation. He said he'd call back and reschedule the appointment, but he never did."

  After talking with Lansdale, I went back to Cheryl's apartment to see if she'd remembered anything. Unfortunately, she hadn't. I desperately needed an explanation as to why her gun had been recently fired, but she had no recollection of firing it at all. If she was lying to me, I had to get her to come clean. I told her about the mounting evidence against her.

  "Perkins has a witness that saw you at his house Monday afternoon and we know you must have been there because of the surveillance equipment in the trunk of your car."

  Cheryl shrugged. "I don't remember going to the house or seeing Martin, and I can't imagine why I'd be carrying a gun."

  "Did it ever cross your mind that you'd be better off if Martin were dead?"

  "No! Absolutely not!" Cheryl said, but her tone was not convincing. She sighed. "Okay, sure, the thought crossed my mind, but I'm not a murderer and I didn't kill Martin. I'm sure he's still alive. I can feel him out there watching me."

  "Feel him?"

  "Yeah, somehow Martin always knew what I was doing. I don't know if he had someone following me or we had developed some kind of psychic connection that allowed him to keep tabs on me. Whatever it was, I always felt that he was watching me." Cheryl looked around suspiciously. "I still feel that way, right now."

  "Well, if you see him, or anyone suspicious, call me right away. In the meantime we've got to try to find you an alibi. What do you usually do on Mondays after you get your hair done?"

  Cheryl thought for a moment and shrugged. "I usually run errands or go to the mall. It varies from week to week."

  "You've got to try to figure out what you did Monday afternoon. Perhaps there are people who saw you and could provide an alibi."

  "I wish I could remember, but my mind is a complete blank."

  "Do you have your checkbook?"

  "Why? Do I owe you some money?"

  "No, look through the register and see if you wrote any checks on Monday."

  Cheryl left to find her checkbook. As much as I hated to question a client's integrity, I was beginning to wonder if Cheryl didn't have something to hide. She came back with her checkbook and started flipping through the pages.

  "Monday was September 10. Let me see. I wrote a check to Southwestern Bell, TXU Gas, and apparently cashed one at Kroger for fifty dollars."

  "Good. Maybe someone at Kroger will remember you coming in. Which Kroger?"

  Cheryl suddenly became pale and her mouth fell open. "Two blocks from Martin's house."

  "So you were within two blocks of the house on Monday. Did you remember having the gun wit
h you in the car?"

  "No. I don't remember the gun, cashing the check, or anything. Monday afternoon is a complete blank."

  "Well, you're definitely not talking any more to Perkins and you won't be testifying if you end up going on trial for this."

  "Trial? Do you think they'll arrest me?"

  "To be honest with you, it's only a matter of time. If there was a body, you'd already be in custody. Perkins just wants to be sure Martin is dead. He'd be humiliated if he got you indicted and then Martin suddenly surfaced."

  "I can't go to jail, Paula," Cheryl sobbed. "I've got children to take care of. You've got to do something. Find Martin. He can't be dead. I didn't kill him! I know I didn't kill him! I 'm not that kind of a person. . . . You've got to help me."

  "Okay, relax. If you did kill him, it might have been self defense. You may be suffering from traumatic amnesia. It's very common."

  "What happens if it turns out I did kill Martin?"

  "Then we'll just have to hope there was a good reason for it."