She stared at me. “Well, I guess. But I’m pretty sure it was Charlie.”
I thought about the small light fixture at the end of the hallway. “Is the hallway well-lit at night?”
“Um, it’s kind of dim, except at the end near the stairs. I saw him pass under that light.”
“But you only saw his back.”
She hesitated. “Yes.”
If she was wrong, and she hadn’t seen Charlie, then who was it? I thought, then asked, “And you never saw anyone else?”
“No.” She seemed disappointed. “Not until the police showed up. And they wanted to know what was going on, so I told them about the gunshot.”
“Have you talked to any other neighbors since then? Did they notice anything?”
“You’d have to ask them.”
“Do you have any names?”
“You have all that information,” she said, the impatience back. I waited. She sighed. “Mason, down at the end of the hall, on the right. And I told them the other night, I don’t know his last name.”
Mason, I thought. Charlie had said that Pete was friends with Mason.
“I ran into him yesterday,” Jane was saying, “and he said he heard the shot, and how scary it was to have something like this happen in our building. I don’t know why he didn’t come out when he heard the shot, but he did when the police arrived. I don’t know what he told them.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to him.” My mind raced through the information. “And once the police came, you talked to them.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Did you notice anything else unusual?”
“No.” She paused. “It’s just…”
I leaned forward. “What?”
“After I called 911, I went outside to wait for the police and I saw a woman across the street, watching the building. And she stayed for a long time.”
“So? Maybe she was waiting for a ride or something.”
“I think I saw her again yesterday, just hanging around, keeping an eye on the building.”
“Did you tell the police about her?”
She jabbed a finger at me. “I’m telling you now.”
“Right,” I said. “And you don’t know her?”
She shook her head. “Never saw her before.”
So it wasn’t someone from the neighborhood, drawn to the area because of the police, I thought, then curious once she found out that Charlie Preston was the alleged murderer.
“What’d she look like?”
Jane looked off into space again. “Average height, long hair. I couldn’t tell what color.”
Not a very helpful description.
Jane glanced at her watch, and I knew I was running out of time with her.
“Tell me about Pete.”
Sadness washed across her face. “He was a nice man, friendly, funny. Well…”
“What?”
“Up until a few months ago. Then he seemed to change.”
“How so?”
“He seemed stressed a lot, and when I talked to him, he’d snap at me, or ignore me completely. That wasn’t like him. And he had a couple of fights with his girlfriend.”
I jerked my head up. “Girlfriend?”
“Yes. She was cute. Except for when they fought. Then she could get mean.”
“What’d she look like?”
She thought for a moment. “Tall, with shoulder-length red hair. Her name was Maggie Hollenbaucher.”
Charlie had said that Pete had been dating a woman named Tara. Had he been wrong?
“That’s an unusual last name.”
“That’s why I remember it.”
“Do you know how it’s spelled?”
Her face scrunched up in disapproval, just like my mother’s. “I didn’t ask her to spell it.”
“Right,” I said. “Are you sure Maggie was his girlfriend?”
“They acted like it, holding hands, kissing.”
“But they fought.”
“Yes,” she said.
“When was this?”
“A few weeks ago. I remember one fight in particular.”
“What were they fighting about?” I asked.
“Money.” She held up a hand. “And before you ask how I can be so sure, I’ll tell you. I came home at the same time that Pete and Maggie were leaving. I heard them in the hallway. She said something about Pete needing to get her the stuff and he said he couldn’t, that he’d already moved forward with the other deal. And she cussed him out and said he was doing fine, that the money was coming in, so he didn’t need more from her. I could still hear her even though they were going down the stairs.”
“What stuff?”
She sighed. “Beats me.”
“Did Pete seem like he had more money lately?”
“Now that you mention it, yes. He’d bought a new car and some better clothes, so I suppose he got a raise or something.” Her lips formed into a thin line. “I think I’ve told you as much as I know.”
A not-so-subtle indication I’d worn out my welcome. I stood up. “Thanks for your time.”
“I’ll see you out.” She heaved herself out of her chair and walked me to the door.
I wanted to leave my card with her, in case she remembered anything more, but then she’d know that I was a private investigator rather than a cop. I thanked her again for her time and left.
CHAPTER SIX
I thought about my conversation with Jane as I slowly walked down the hall. It was entirely possible that she had not heard Charlie leave Pete’s apartment and that she’d seen someone else at the end of the hall. Just because the man was wearing a hat didn’t mean he had to be a ballplayer. It was also possible that she’d seen Charlie.
I stopped at the end of the hall at the apartment of Mason, the neighbor Jane had mentioned. I knocked on Mason’s door, but he didn’t answer, so I tramped down to the first floor, where there was a small foyer with mailboxes. I checked the labels on them, hoping to find a last name for Mason so I could call him. But the mailboxes had apartment numbers only, so I didn’t have a way to contact Mason, other than to return another time.
On that dead end, I left. I wasn’t due to meet Detective Spillman until four, so I ran a few errands, but my mind was on Pete Westhaven. It was looking like he might not have been quite the perfect guy that Charlie had portrayed him to be. And Pete had his secrets, like his girlfriend Maggie, unless Charlie knew about her and was lying to me.
I got to the Starbucks early, so I ordered a caramel macchiato, took it outside to a table in the shade, and called Cal. I hoped he might have completed the background check on Pete and Charlie. But the call went straight to voicemail, which likely meant Cal had turned off his phone. He was known to work crazy hours, so it could be he was busy and didn’t want to be interrupted, or it could be that he was sleeping. I didn’t bother leaving a message.
I needed to know more about Pete and about Maggie, the girlfriend. The best people to talk to about her, and any other friends or acquaintances of Pete’s, would be his family. But it would be insensitive for me to call them out of the blue, so I decided I would talk to Charlie after my meeting with Spillman. Maybe he could let them know about me and arrange a meeting, where I could ask about Maggie and Pete’s other friends. I called Charlie, but he didn’t answer. I didn’t leave a message, but sipped my macchiato and waited.
At precisely four o’clock, Detective Sarah Spillman walked down the sidewalk toward the Starbucks. She was easy to spot because she was dressed in blue dress slacks and a cream-colored blouse, whereas the other people milling about or at the Starbucks were casually dressed in shorts, T-shirts and other summer garb, myself included. She walked purposefully up to my little table and looked down on me. Although I couldn’t see her eyes behind her dark shades, I’m sure she was glaring.
“Can I buy you coffee?” I offered.
She shook her head. “I’m in a hurry.” She pulled out a chair, sat down, took off her sunglasses and
set them on the table. “Why is it you seem to show up around my cases?”
I grinned. “Just lucky.”
“Listen, Ferguson.” She tapped the sunglasses on the table. “This is a high-profile case and I have to be very careful, so don’t look to me for any more help after today.”
“Got it,” I said. “What can you tell me?”
“What do you already know?”
Spillman and I typically did a chaste version of “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine”, where I tried to get as much information out of her as I could, and she tried to glean from me what I’d found out on my own.
“Charlie Preston hired me to prove his innocence,” I said.
“And you believe him?”
I shrugged. “Too early to tell. I know you found his gun, with his prints on it, at the crime scene. And a neighbor reported seeing Charlie leave Pete’s apartment a while after they had argued.”
“It paints a pretty incriminating picture for Charlie,” she said.
“Yes, it does. He says someone stole his gun.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I know from firsthand experience that what seems is not always what is,” I said, referring to my last case.
She stared at me. “Just be careful that what happened to you doesn’t cloud your judgment.”
“I’m going about this carefully.” I scooted my chair back and crossed my legs. “What can you tell me about the crime scene?”
“There’s not much to tell. He was shot in the back with a Smith & Wesson Shield 9mm. He fell facedown to the floor in the kitchen and bled out quickly. The apartment didn’t look disturbed. Nothing missing that we could tell, so we don’t think robbery was a motive.” She threw me a hard look. “You keep that information to yourself.”
I nodded. Based on what I saw in the apartment, I would concur…but I couldn’t tell her that. “Any fingerprints around, other than Pete’s and Charlie’s?”
“Of course,” she said. “But I can’t discuss that any further.”
Interesting, I thought. Did the killer try to wipe away prints and the crime scene investigators noticed this?
“So you think the motive is what?” I asked. “Pete and Charlie argued and then Charlie shot Pete in anger?”
“I’ll let the D.A worry about motive, but that’s my assumption.”
“Charlie admits he argued with Pete and then left.”
She let out a short laugh. “Yeah, and everyone accused of a crime always tells the truth. We have a witness who saw him leave right after she heard the gunshot.”
“The older woman next door, right? She might be wrong.”
“You’ve already talked to others in the building,” she said. “You haven’t wasted any time.”
“My client is accused of murder, and until his name is cleared, he can’t play baseball, which is the most important thing to him.”
“Other than not going to jail,” she said wryly.
I didn’t say anything to that.
She ran a hand through her blond hair. “That’s all you’re getting out of me.” Then she fixed a hard gaze on me. “Your turn. What did you find out?”
I was conflicted. I didn’t have a problem sharing what Jane had said, but then Spillman would immediately go talk to Jane again, and Jane might say she saw me coming out of Pete’s apartment. Plus, she’d tell Spillman she thought I was another police detective. That wouldn’t be good. So I played dumb.
“I don’t have anything,” I said. “Except a man who says he’s innocent.”
She frowned. “Not very helpful.”
“Sorry. If I learn anything more, I’ll let you know.”
“I’m sure you will.” Disbelief was heavy in her tone. “You don’t have much to go on.”
“I’ve been in worse places.”
“And you found your way,” she said. She put on her sunglasses and stood up. “I’ll see you around.” She turned and strode back down the street.
“Not if I see you first,” I said to her retreating back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I stayed and sipped my macchiato, but I didn’t really taste it. My mind was a vortex of disconnected information. It didn’t sound like Spillman had established much of a motive for Pete’s murder, at least none that she was sharing. But she did have Charlie’s smoking gun – literally – at the crime scene, and that could well be enough.
I mulled over what I’d learned. Someone had shot Pete in the back and left him to die. He had a girlfriend, or so his neighbor Jane had assumed, and he’d been arguing about money and stuff with said girlfriend. And I had Charlie, who said he didn’t know about a girlfriend, or that Pete might be in any kind of trouble. Still not much to go on.
As I finished my drink, I thought about Charlie. I didn’t know much about him, other than what I’d read in articles and what he’d told me. Was he telling the truth or did he just hire a detective to make himself appear innocent? I tapped the table with impatience and wished Cal would get back to me with a more thorough background check on Charlie. Then a thought occurred to me. There was one other person who might be able to shed some light on Charlie. But this person was my kryptonite, the one who could drain me of my superhuman detective prowess with one conversation. Did I want that? I sighed heavily, pulled out my phone and dialed.
“Reed, dear, how are you?” my mother said in her high-pitched voice.
“Hi, Mother, I’m doing fine,” I said.
I loved my mother dearly, but dreaded the thought of calling her because I knew her inevitable three worries would arise: Would my job get me hurt; would I get married and provide her with grandchildren; and was I doing drugs. And even though I’d managed to put Concern Number Two partially to rest, in the form of my steady girlfriend Willie, my mother still wondered if I was doing drugs, and she expressed a lot of reservations about my profession. Although she did recommend me to Charlie, so maybe Concern Number One was about to topple.
“Did you get in touch with Charlie Preston?” she asked. “It’s such a shame, what’s happened to him. His parents are so nice, but this really has them on edge.”
I could picture her, sitting on the veranda of her south Florida condo that overlooked the ocean. It was six-thirty there and she’d probably be sipping her after-dinner drink, an Alexander, the one she allowed herself on weekends.
“Yes, I talked to Charlie,” I said, “and that’s why I’m calling.”
“Oh?” A tone of unease. “What’s wrong? He didn’t do it, did he?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I said, then plowed on quickly before she could say more. “How well do you know Charlie?”
“I told you the other day when I called, he’s a nice young man.” She sniffed at my apparent lack of memory. My mother was a good sniffer, her way of letting people know she was miffed.
“Yes, I remember you saying that, but how well do you know him?”
“The Prestons talk about him a lot,” she said. “They’re so proud of him and how he’s achieving his dream of being a baseball player. You know, Reed, I am proud of you, too, but is this detective thing really your dream? It’s so dangerous. Look at how you got beat up on your last case.”
“Yes, Mother, it’s what I want to do,” I said. I took my finger and made a mark in the air: Concern Number One mentioned, two to go. “Have you actually met Charlie?”
“Of course.” Miffed. “A time or two when he was visiting his parents. He was very nice, and polite.”
“What do you know about him?”
“The Prestons speak very highly of him. He never had them worried when he was growing up, he just focused on baseball.”
“So no indication that Charlie was in any kind of trouble, or that he has a temper?”
“No, dear. And why would you think Charlie has a temper?”
“He’s accused of shooting someone. If it’s true, he could have an anger issue,” I said dryly.
“Oh…well, I guess that makes sense,” she said. “B
ut no, the Prestons have never said that Charlie was anything but nice. They have mentioned that they worry that all the money he’s making might go to his head, and they wonder if he may be partying too much, but that’s it.”
I sighed. Looked like this conversation was a dead end. My mother didn’t know any more about Charlie than I did. But I’d gotten away without a mention of the other Concerns.
“So when are you going to make an honest woman of Willie?” she asked.
Damn, I spoke too soon. Concern Number Two reared its ugly head.
“Don’t worry, Mother, I’ve got it handled.”
“Don’t wait too long or you might lose her. You don’t want to lose Willie. She’s a gem.”
As much as I hated to admit it, my mother had a point. In recent months, Willie and I had been discussing our relationship. I knew she wanted to be married, and so did I. I just didn’t know exactly how to pop the question. Like any guy, I wanted the timing and the scene to be perfect. Talk about pressure.
We chatted for a few minutes longer, and for once, Concern Number Three – about me doing drugs – did not come up. I was shocked. While I was ahead, I asked to speak to my father. He and I talked about golf, and he asked about my work, careful not to ask anything about its dangers, and then we hung up. I left Starbucks and on the way to my car, I called Charlie to see if I could stop by and chat with him. He answered this time and said he was on his way home, and he agreed to meet me at his place in half an hour.
***
“Come on in,” Charlie said when he opened the door. He was still in the white shorts and black T-shirt, but now he was barefoot.
As I stepped past him, I thought I smelled booze.
He waved a hand at the couch as he strolled barefoot and a little crookedly into the kitchen. “You want a beer?” he called out.
“No, thanks,” I said and stared after him. He’d been drinking, probably since I left him at breakfast. Were his parents’ fears founded?
Charlie returned a moment later with a Sunshine Wheat, made by one of the microbreweries in Fort Collins, a town about 65 miles north of Denver. He took a long drink and then contemplated the bottle.
The Third Fan: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 9) Page 4