Twice as Fatal: A Jarvis Mann Detective Novel

by R Weir

  “We’re home,” I said to her.

  She was half awake, her eyes now open fully.

  “God, what a weekend!” she stated. “I keep thinking the craziness will end, then something else happens.”

  “It will get better in time,” I said. “Have to get through these rough patches. Let me walk you inside.”

  We stepped in and her kids were there, hugging her, while she explained everything. She left out the part about the dead body and my theory so as not to worry them. They each had lots of questions, but I was too tired to listen to them.

  “Well, I should be going so you can get your rest,” I said, reaching for the door.

  “Where are you going to go?” asked Kate.

  “I’ll find a hotel and crash. Tomorrow we can assess the damages and make more permanent arrangements.”

  “He can sleep downstairs,” said Kate’s son.

  “Yes, the sheets are clean and there is a bathroom,” said her daughter.

  “Great idea,” said Kate. “You shouldn’t have to drive out after the day you’ve had and find a motel. We’ll be happy to have you, and I’d feel safer with you around.”

  “I don’t want to impose,” I said.

  “You won’t be and we insist,” replied Kate. “It’s clean and quiet.

  I was too tired to argue with them and agreed. Cody showed me downstairs, even though I’d been there once before. After using the bathroom I found a comfortable spot in the middle of the bed, on my good side away from my arm wound, and was asleep in a matter of minutes, hoping to flush the weekend’s events from my dreams. If it were only so easy…

  Chapter 28

  After a night of rest, and it was better than one would expect, we made our way over to the salon to assess the damages and get her car. Kate’s insurance man met us there and the news was bad. Most of the space would need to be gutted and rebuilt. Everything inside would need to be thrown out and replaced. The roof appeared to be undamaged, but the attic area would need all new insulation. My downstairs living and work quarters had bad smoke and some water damage, requiring repairs her insurance would fix. My insurance would have to cover my personal possessions. Much of my clothing, bedding and towels would require washing to remove the smoke smell and residue. Furniture would need cleaning; all electronics would be checked for damage. Likely, two weeks and I could move back in, although the salon probably was a month or more before it would be operational again. It wasn’t what Kate wanted to hear, but she dealt with it as best she could. The lost money and revenue would hit her and her co-workers hard, while my ongoing client bill with her wouldn’t be paid right away. For now, I had cash reserves to get by on.

  I was allowed to gather up some clothes that weren’t too smoky, along with my computer, which after powering on worked, and my Beretta, since the .38 had been taken by the police because of the shooting. I also grabbed any usable perishable food and any other staples I needed. Kate had insisted I continue to stay with them for now, and I accepted. She had even given me a key and the code to their alarm system. It was a relief to have a real home to live in for the next two weeks and not incur the hotel expense.

  In my Mustang, I ran over my things to Kate’s while she continued to work with her agent. After I dropped everything off, I headed down to the police station to learn the latest. I had put two bullets into the fleeing truck and wanted to know if they had found it. I’d gotten a couple of numbers off of the plate and the best description possible in the darkness. With what I had they should have something to go on, and I wanted in on it. Once inside, I tracked down Bill at his desk. I took a seat and got my usual cold greeting, which was warmer than most got from him.

  “How is Ray doing?” I asked.

  “Pretty good,” replied Bill, while shuffling some paperwork. “I believe we’ve turned a corner and got him on the right track, seeing the right people. The hope is in time, he should be good as new.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “I doubt you’re here for idle chit-chat,” he stated while signing off on a sheet and filing it away. “I understand you’ve gotten yourself into another mess. Is this why you’re here?”

  “Yes. Who was assigned the murder case? I left for the hospital before anyone arrived.”

  “Mallard has this one. He’ll be thrilled to see you again.”

  “Pals till the end. Is he in?”

  “Yes. You can go on back. I’ll stay here and miss the reunion.”

  I smiled and headed towards his office, the visitor badge allowing me to wander the halls. It had been ages since I’d been to Mallard’s office, but still managed to find his door. I knocked and he hollered for me to enter. He was sitting at an old wooden desk in a room the size of many walk-in closets, with one extra chair and the limited floor space, covered with tall file cabinets.

  “Good thing you aren’t claustrophobic,” I said.

  “Damn,” he stated, ignoring my wit. “Every time I see you it’s something bad.”

  “Good to see you too,” I answered. “We can plan dinner with the wife and kids to change things up, but I don’t see you as the evening out with friends type.”

  Mallard grunted. “I was this close to vacation time and you come along with a body I have to deal with. Do you purposely try to fuck up my life?”

  I threw up my hands and smiled.

  “So I suppose you are looking for info on the fire and the dead body.”

  “I’d like to help if I can. It happened in my client’s place of business and my home office. I have thoughts of what may have transpired. I’m not certain who else was there, but have a fair idea. Any ID on the body yet?”

  “No. Coroner says later this morning or this afternoon. It’s a male, probably in his late forties or early fifties. From the report you say you have a hunch it might be your client’s ex.”

  “Yes, I’ll be surprised if it isn’t him.”

  “Because of the incident at the salon?”

  “Correct. He was in debt with Roland, possibly skimming from the collections. He had gone there to get money from Kate and failed. After he was bailed out, I’m guessing he returned to try and break into her safe. When this didn’t work, they killed him or something along those lines.”

  “Did he have the combination?”

  “No. She had it changed.”

  “If he didn’t have it, what good would it do?”

  “He was desperate. Maybe he thought he could figure it out. Talk or slug his way out of it. No one claimed he was bright. Might be what did him in.”

  “Can’t collect from a dead man.”

  “No, but it sends a message to others what will happen when you steal from him. Could have been an accident—fought his way out and got shot. Maybe he pulled his gun and they killed him in self-defense. Lot a ways it may have gone. Again it’s only a theory, but I think it’s a solid one. What about the truck?”

  “We located it a couple miles away, abandoned,” Mallard answered while pulling out some photos. “You can see the rear window was shot out and we found lots of blood on the seat, dash and floor. So much so we figured we’d have a body, too. But haven’t run across one yet and no hospital has reported anyone coming in for a gunshot wound.”

  “Head injury?”

  “Probably. Must have hit a passenger, since they didn’t stop. We figure a corpse will show up eventually.”

  “Who is the truck registered to?”

  “A woman who lives in Highlands Ranch. She called it in as being stolen the night of the fire.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Sure, it’s here somewhere. Yeah, it was Dona Wiggins.”

  I recognized the name.

  “Holy shit!” I said.

  “You know her?”

  “Hell, yes. She was Jack’s girlfriend, or at least so it appeared. I’d say this is a bona fide clue there, Detective Mallard.”

  He might have cracked a smile, though he hid it well.

  “I do believ
e you are right. How do you know this?”

  I went about letting him know about following Jack and the evidence I had gathered for the divorce case, right down to the little love nest where he and Dona would go after dropping off his daily collections.

  “Doing collections for Roland Langer?” stated Mallard. “Damn, he is one mean SOB. He certainly could have been the one who pulled the trigger, if it is Jack who bought the farm. Proving it will be difficult.”

  “What is the address?” I asked.

  Mallard rattled off the number and street, it matching the address I’d gotten earlier.

  “We can get him if you let me work on it.”

  He contemplated for a minute, rocking back in his chair, rubbing his temples and loosening his tie.

  “I can certainly use the help. I’m up to my neck in cases right now. Where would you start?”

  Mallard’s phone rang and he answered it. After a couple of minutes he hung up.

  “They identified the body and it’s Jack Tanner. They’ll be letting the family know here shortly.”

  Mallard put everything back in the file and tossed it my way.

  “Where are you going to start?” he asked again.

  “When there is a woman involved, you follow her,” I said, while grabbing the folder. “Dona will be a grieving girlfriend and grieving girlfriends can be extra chatty.”

  “She’s all yours,” said Mallard. “Be sure to report back what you find.”

  I think I’d been unofficially deputized, but I don’t think he’d be real happy if I asked to be sworn in and given a badge like in the old westerns, so I kept it to myself. Yippee ki-yay!

  Chapter 29

  The information on Dona wasn’t much more than what Officer Rainn had supplied me a few weeks back. The address given was in Highlands Ranch, but I saw her going into a condominium north of there with Jack, acting like a couple. People often move and don’t update their listing, so this might be the case here. Still I would start with the address given, in the burgeoning suburb south of County Line Road and see what I found.

  This whole area had a wide range of homes: expensive sprawling mansions behind secured covenants to smaller, cheaper pre-fab structures built on small lots, crammed together where reaching out a side window and touching the outside wall on your neighbor’s home was a possibility. The address I had was the former and I couldn’t get in without the owner’s permission. I flashed my ID at security, telling him I was conducting police business and to call Denver detective Mallard if he had any questions. Since this was a minimum wage rent-a-cop barely out of his twenties who was easily intimidated, he let me in. He didn’t write down my name or take note of my license plate while driving through the open gate. Apparently name-dropping worked, and I’d need to remember to use this in the future.

  Each of the homes sat on huge lots, with manicured green grass, fancy landscapes of rocks, bushes, perennials flowers and a small tree here and there. The whole area had once been farm and prairie land, so large trees were nowhere to be found. I drove the winding road, finding my way to the address I had on hand. The home was a red and brown multi-story, wider than a city block, with a three-car garage larger than some of the cheaper homes a mile away. A long curvy driveway twisted up the hill, with a circular parking area for guests in front. Outside sat what appeared to be a white Mercedes, looking a lot like the car I’d seen Dona driving. The notes in the file had stated she was not employed, and no marital status was listed, so if she lived here in this close to a million-dollar home she was either married, seeing someone with money or a rich heiress. The question was why she had been meeting Jack in a lower-class condo several miles north.

  The area was so open it was hard to appear inconspicuous, but there didn’t appear to be any mobile security driving around, so I waited. I sat outside watching for any sign of her. She had normally picked Jack up at the bar on Broadway around 1 p.m. or so, and it was nearly time. She likely had not heard the news of Jack, since I had only learned it myself, so if the routine held, she would be leaving soon for her afternoon tryst. If not today, then I’d try again tomorrow. My hope was if I could get her alone, she might talk.

  I saw her step out, dressed in a short blue skirt, a revealing sheer white blouse under a tan leather jacket and high heels. She got into her car and flashed a lot of sexy leg, which I admired. I pulled ahead of her and took the road to Eddie’s Bar, hoping the pattern was followed and I’d beat her there. Traffic was bad, but I stayed in front, which was difficult, since she was an aggressive driver. I saw her back a ways but we were on the same path. I matched her insane driving, pulling away, and a couple of red lights slowing her down helped. Finding a spot nearby, I got out of my car and moved to the other side, waiting for her. She pulled up, double parking as she had done the other times, holding up traffic, and I stepped over and hopped into the passenger seat, smiling at her.

  “What the fuck!” she yelled.

  “Jack sent me to meet with you,” I said firmly. “He is tied up but I’ll take you to him.”

  “I don’t know you. How can I trust what you’re saying is true.”

  I opened my jacket so she saw my Beretta.

  “You see I’m armed to do my job. There is a problem and Jack didn’t want to be seen with you here. He asked for me to help so he could meet with you elsewhere. It’s why you haven’t heard from him today.”

  I was making this up as I went along. It sounded convincing enough and she seemed to believe it. Used car sales could have been a career choice!

  “I was wondering why he didn’t text me I thought he was busy or something was wrong. We always have a standing appointment on Monday, so I drove down to see if he was here. Where are we off to?”

  “Head south on Broadway. I want to make sure we aren’t being tailed.”

  She pulled out per her normal, squealing tires and horns a-blaring. It was amazing she didn’t get in more accidents. Either she was extremely ballsy or dumb.

  “You should dial it back some,” I said. “No reason to call attention to ourselves.”

  I was fearing for my safety as much as anything.

  “Okay,” she replied, slowing down to the speed limit. “So, it’s a bad situation?”

  I kept looking back keeping up impressions someone might be following. Acting might have been a second career if selling used cars had not worked out.

  “Yes. He wants to make sure you’re safe.”

  “So, I’m in danger?”

  I didn’t answer but gave her a yes glare. I continued to stare out the back and check the mirrors. We drove several miles and I had her turn onto Belleview, taking us west. I was looking around for a restaurant to go into. We came to Santa Fe so I had her go right, knowing there were lots of retail businesses in that direction. I saw a Chili’s on the left hand side and had her get off at Hampden and we back-tracked. Once there, I counted my blessings we had survived the trip, as even at the speed limit she was reckless when changing lanes and taking exits. It appeared she never used a mirror to check for traffic all around her. It was as if she was driving down the streets all alone. I’d left an obvious handprint on the door handle from squeezing it.

  Once inside I asked for a booth near the back so I faced towards the entrance to see anyone coming in. She appeared nervous and a bit scared. Her mood wouldn’t get any better once I gave her the news of who I was and what had happened to Jack.

  “So where is he?” Dona asked. “Is he meeting us?”

  A young lady came and took our drink orders, Dona ordered a beer and I did the same. I waited to speak until the drinks arrived and I asked for more time before ordering.

  “Dona, I have some news you won’t like,” I stated. “Please listen to all I have to say before deciding anything. Believe it or not, I’m here to help you, though you may not accept it when you first hear it.”

  Her face turned red. “You lied to me. Who are you?”

  “My name is Jarvis Mann and I’m a privat
e detective.”

  She started to get up but I put my hand out to stop her, so she sat back down.

  “What do you want?” She took a sip of beer. I was happy I wasn’t wearing it.

  “I’m investigating a murder. You may have some information which can help me.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you know the person who was murdered.”

  Her eyes lit up, her face now with a scared shine.

  “Who?”

  “Jack. He was shot and killed last night.”

  Cold and hard, as if ripping off a Band-Aid, I blurted out the news. She glanced out the window, her lip quivering now. Tears started streaming down her face.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, waiting for her to get it back together.

  She turned back to me a few minutes later. “Do you know who?”

  “It was someone driving a truck with your name on the registration—the one you reported stolen.”

  “Oh God, no.”

  “It wasn’t stolen, was it?”

  She shook her head no.

  “Why did you say it was?”

  “He told me to.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Oh God, he knows! He’ll kill me!”

  “Tell me and I can help you.”

  She thought about it for a moment, uncertain what to do. Sadness had been replaced with genuine fear. You sensed it; felt it. It was real and shook her whole person.

  “Oh my God, Roland knows and he is going to skin me alive!”