Courting Death

by Carol Stephenson

  She scooted close to me and I put my arm around her too thin shoulders. “Smile, darling.”

  After the flash went off, I held out my hand. “I’d like to download these onto my computer before I leave. Something I want to check out.”

  Sam handed over the camera. “That’s the slickest way of getting out of clean-up detail I’ve seen.”

  Glancing at my watch, I grimaced. By the time the dishes were loaded in the washer…

  “Go.” He laughed. “I think I can handle these.”

  I hurried into the sunroom where I had left my laptop. After quickly booting up, I connected the camera and imported the photos. I switched to a slideshow view and watched the crowd shots slowly scroll by.

  There. I hit Pause and stared. His face was a bit blurred but…

  “Sam, come here.”

  A moment later, wiping his hands on a dish towel, Sam came in. “What is it?”

  I pointed a finger at the figure in the shot and noticed with dismay that it trembled. “I took photos of the onlookers last night.”

  He bent to study the screen. “Going on the theory that whoever did it might stick around to see your reaction? That’s my girl.”

  His mouth thinned and his brows snapped together. “That’s Joe Poellinger.”

  The ice cream trucker driver. I’d been right.

  “Can you print out a copy? I’m going to haul his ass in for questioning.” Sam straightened, all business now.

  “Yes, I can, but I have a better idea.”

  He groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to like it.”

  “Probably not.” The computer was already hooked up to a color printer, and I went to press Print but paused, spotting another face in the crowd. “Does he look familiar to you?”

  Sam squinted and then gave a low whistle. “Yeah, but I can’t place him…”

  I swallowed. “He was at the restaurant the other night, sitting behind me.”

  “I recognize him now. Razor cut, stocky build, mean-looking cuss.”

  I raised my head. “The kind who would try to hit us with a car, perhaps?”

  “I’ll need a digital copy as well so I can have it blown up. I’ll run this through identification so I can get a lead.”

  “Okay.” I undid the pause and another picture slid into view, the one Sam had taken in the kitchen.

  A lump lodged in my throat. He placed his hands on my shoulders. “I’d say that’s one to join the others on the mantel.”

  Unable to speak for the tears welling in my eyes, I nodded.

  For once Mom wasn’t looking at the camera. Instead, her face was turned toward me with an expression of exquisite tenderness. The way a mother loves her child, the way I had never known she’d felt.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Would you care for some coffee, Ms. Sterling?” Gillian Hassenfeld gestured toward a high-end stainless steel coffee machine on the other side of the enormous kitchen.

  “Thank you. Black, please.”

  She poured a cup and set it in front of me. The kitchen, done in Italianate style with stone, granite, mahogany and hammered copper, matched the rest of the Manalapan estate. In good taste but with a definite “look at me, I’m expensive” quality. Mrs. Hassenfeld had clearly received the better end of the deal in her divorces.

  When I arrived, the petite brunette had escorted me to the curving sweep of an island lined with bar stools and asked me to be seated. After putting an apron over her cream cashmere sweater and camel pants, she opened one side of the French door refrigerator and took out eggs, milk and butter. “I hope you don’t mind my cooking as we talk. The boys roped me into making cookies for a school bake sale.”

  “I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice, Mrs. Hassenfeld. First, let me say how sorry I am for you and your sons’ loss.”

  “Call me Gillian, and David wasn’t the boys’ father. They hated him from the start. I guess I should have paid better attention to their instincts. Thank God I never made the mistake of getting pregnant by that bastard.”

  I nearly choked on the sip of coffee I’d taken. I carefully set the cup down. “I take it there was no love lost between you.”

  She opened a cabinet and pulled out two glass bowls. “None whatsoever. In case you’re wondering if I ripped him off in the divorce, this place was mine before we married. Got it as part of my first divorce.”

  That confirmed what I’d read in the courthouse file.

  “You’d think a cardiologist would be swimming in money, but no.” She measured dry ingredients into one bowl. “I had to marry one with a gambling habit, looking for some woman to bleed dry. Good thing I insisted on a pre-nup.”

  “So you both walked away with what you brought into the marriage?”

  A smug smile curved her mouth. “Wouldn’t say that. When I noticed signs that David might be having an affair—” she cracked an egg with a sharp snap of the wrist, “—I hired a shark of a divorce attorney.”

  “Did you ever find out who she was?” A man often said things to his mistress that he would never disclose to his wife.

  Gillian glanced up, her hazel eyes narrowed. “You know, that was the funny thing. My attorney never was able to locate her and David denied up until the decree was signed that he had been cheating on me. But then again, he never came clean about where he was.”

  “He disappeared at times?”

  She cracked another egg. “Sure did. Out late at night despite not being on call at the hospital. Poor excuses, couldn’t reach him on his cell.”

  The diamond drop earrings Gillian wore danced as she positioned the bowl under the mixer. Somehow I doubted Hassenfeld would have been able to confide to his wife that he’d been cutting up bodies for money during those unexplained absences.

  “On the phone you were curious about whether David was involved with OraGen.”

  “Yes, his first financial affidavit didn’t list it. Later on, there was an amended filing.”

  The sharp whine of the mixer cut off conversation. When Gillian turned it off, she grinned. “Damn straight David had to amend his financial information. My attorney uncovered he had under-the-table dealings with the company. The bastard was trying to shortchange me. I never knew why OraGen was paying him, although when I caught the news story about Oceanview, I figured the company was buying his vote on the board.” She poured batter into a baking dish.

  “No indication that David had ownership interest?”

  “No, at least none the attorney could find.” She set the bowl in the sink and cocked an eyebrow. “Would you like to see what information I do have on David’s dealing with OraGen? My attorney gave me a copy.”

  I grinned. “I would love to.”

  “Come this way.” Wiping her hands on a towel, she turned and headed toward a hallway.

  I had to give it to nasty divorces. They were a priceless mine of information.

  “I should have never let you talk me into this,” Sam groused for the umpteenth time as he sat slumped next to me in my rental car. Hopefully, next week my insurance company would make payment on the ruined BMW and I could get a new car. The rental was adequate, but it wasn’t a smooth, quiet ride. Fortunately, its white color was a prevalent choice in Florida so it didn’t stand out.

  After a quick drive-by survey, I had pulled into the parking lot next to Tropical Paradise Ice Cream. The dark, secluded spot I selected had an unobstructed view, but was not so close that we’d be readily observable.

  “Quiet, Detective. You’re only along for the ride.” I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. Sam and his partner had tailed Joe Poellinger from his apartment to here. Tony was maintaining a vigil in front of the business while Sam joined me in my car.

  “Not that I had a lot of choice in the matter short of handcuffing you to a bed.” He cast me a long, considering look. “Not that the idea doesn’t have merit.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I would have fol
lowed Poellinger with or without your help.” So much, though, for my theory Poellinger would go to the medical research building. Instead, he had made a beeline to Tropical Paradise.

  “I still prefer my idea of simply bringing him in for questioning.”

  “What good would that do? When Tony called Tropical, the owner said she had a truck working my neighborhood late yesterday. It’s not as if I have a restraining order against Poellinger.”

  Sam and I had argued about my getting one but we both knew restraints were no deterrent to someone bent on harming another. Graveyards were filled with people who had gotten such orders.

  I shrugged. “Poellinger would have a legitimate excuse and it’s no crime to be a bystander.”

  “It would have been fun to make him sweat.”

  “There, there, big guy.” I patted his arm. “You may still get your chance.”

  I returned my attention to the parking lot and frowned. When I’d arrived, a sole van had been in the lot. Then several brightly painted vehicles had returned from their rounds. After unloading their contents, the drivers had gotten into their own cars and left. My suspect had not been among them. In the sea of trucks, only a white SUV and Poellinger’s black Mustang remained in the dim glow of parking lot lights, barely holding the twilight at bay.

  Finally at a little past five, the back door opened and a middle-aged woman stepped out. She turned and locked the door before walking to the SUV.

  “That’s the owner according to Tony’s description.” Sam sat up.

  The woman paused, studying the Mustang. As she stood in the glare from one of the overhead lights, I could see her frown. The woman shook her head, turned sharply and hurried back to the building.

  “Uh-oh. I don’t like the feel of this.” Sam was on his two-way. “Tony, I’ve got a situation back here. I’m leaving the car to check it out.”

  “10-4.”

  He opened the passenger door and pointed a finger at me. “You. Stay.”

  I unlocked the driver door and scrambled out. “I’m coming with you.”

  “God you’re stubborn—”

  “No time to argue. I’m safer with you, and you know it.”

  He muttered an oath, took out his gun and then grabbed my hand. I had changed into black jeans, sweater and running shoes. Even my heavy jacket and knit cap were black. Sam had cracked about my looking like a cat burglar, but with my hair covered, I didn’t feel so exposed as we dashed across the pavement.

  Sam released his grip and gestured me to the side as we reached the partially opened door. With his back to the door, he glided around the edge, gun raised. Then he motioned me to follow. I’d barely crossed the threshold when he pulled me down behind a stack of boxes. Despite the layers I wore, I shivered.

  Living in an igloo had to be warmer than working inside this place. I peeked around the corner of the boxes and saw the warehouse was compact. What looked to be walk-in freezers lined each wall. In the center were more stacks of tubs and coolers and several tables where the drivers put together the stock for their trucks. Only the hum of machinery filled the space.

  At the far end the owner stood in front of a solid steel door. She glanced around and I shrunk behind the box. When I next leaned sideways, the woman was wresting the door open. Light flashed on and she stepped inside.

  A terrified scream split the air.

  Even as he was calling for Tony into his radio, Sam leaped out and raced down the corridor formed by the tables. I kept close on his heels. When we reached the room, he halted so abruptly on the threshold that I bumped into him. He held out a steadying arm. The owner stood swaying in the refrigeration unit. The overhead light reflected off the metal siding like dazzling diamonds and rubies. Not rubies, I realized. Blood.

  Joe Poellinger lay crumpled on the floor, the better part of his head splattered across the unit. Gross as the scene was, it was the contents on the shelves that grabbed my attention. “Sam, look.” Ice cream containers lined the wall. “It’s not cold enough in here to keep ice cream frozen.”

  Sam nodded and with care stepped across to the shelves. The owner suddenly snapped to attention. “Hey, what are you doing? You have no right—”

  Sam flashed his badge. “Police, ma’am.”

  A different kind of fear pinched the woman’s face. She threw up her hands. “No!” She turned, too quickly, and skidded on one of the congealing streams of blood. She righted herself and lurched toward the door. I stuck out my foot, catching her leg, and she fell forward, crying out when her knees struck the door sill. She sprawled like a rag doll on the floor. Whimpering, she curled up but made no more attempts to escape.

  Breathing heavily, Tony appeared by the door. “Cuff her,” Sam said. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a pair of latex gloves and snapped them on. He opened one of the tubs. His expression hardened as he looked inside. “Then call the medical examiner and roust everyone available in the crime lab.”

  He looked at me. “What we have here is an ice cream shop of horrors.”

  Gladys Black, the owner of Tropical Paradise Ice Cream, didn’t look like a trafficker in body parts. Except for the bloodstains on her slacks, she could have been anyone’s mother or the good neighbor who handed out treats every Halloween.

  She wore her graying dark brown hair in a simple bob. Her diamond stud earrings and ring weren’t extravagant but good quality. Smeared mascara lined her eyes.

  After reading her rights in front of witnesses, Sam had escorted the woman out to the car. Gladys sat quietly handcuffed in the back seat. Beyond the parking lot I could hear voices as the investigators worked the crime scene.

  Sam knelt by the car. “Do you have any family, Gladys?”

  “A teenage boy and girl.” She sniffed.

  “Is there someone you can call to stay with them? Your husband?”

  “I’m divorced.” She lifted her hands and swiped at her eyes. “You could say that’s how I got in this mess.”

  “How’s that?”

  “The bastard ran up the credit cards to the hilt while driving this business to the ground before he took off.”

  She pressed her lips together. “I want an attorney. The state has to give me a public defender if I can’t afford one, don’t they?”

  I shot Sam a warning look. “Yes, they do.”

  “Then I can use my call to contact my sister to stay with my kids, can’t I?”

  “You can do it now, if you give me her number.” I pulled out my phone. “I’ll call her for you.”

  After she gave me the number, I reached the sister and placed the phone over Gladys’s ear. She hunched her shoulder to secure it. I motioned for Sam to move and give her privacy. When he scowled, I jerked my thumb.

  He rose and followed me for only several steps. “That’s far enough, Red. Privacy is one thing. Giving her an opportunity to pull something stupid is another.”

  I glanced at the burly patrol officer leaning against the driver’s side. “Somehow I doubt she’d get very far.”

  “You’d be surprised what a desperate person is capable of.”

  “True. Sam, I doubt if she’s the ringleader. I suspect her role is even smaller than Depp’s was. A collection point rather than a processing center.”

  “You may be right.” Someone called out his name, and he touched my elbow. “Stay here and see if you can keep out of trouble.”

  I folded my arms across my chest and raised an eyebrow. He grinned and moved away.

  “Miss,” Gladys called out. I walked over to her. “I’ve made my call.”

  I grabbed the end of the phone as she lifted her head. “Thanks for letting me use it.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Say, I recognize you. You’re the attorney that Joe so stupidly tried to run down.”

  “Yes.”

  “I fired his ass for that. Lost me a truck. It’s still impounded as evidence. I may even lose my insurance. But when Danny failed to show for work after that day, I had to let Joe back on the property
…”

  Suddenly it clicked. “Because on the day he chased me, he left those containers in the cooler to be delivered.”

  Gladys’s mouth thinned.

  “Gotcha.” I looked at the gaily painted trucks. “I imagine the gas bill on these trucks can be high.”

  “You bet. I used to let the drivers have a gas credit card until I caught several using the cards for personal use. After that I switched to expense reports.”

  “So the drivers would have to track their mileage.”

  “Yes, they keep clipboards in the trucks to log their routes along with beginning and ending mileage except for…” Once more Gladys fell silent.

  “Got it.”

  “Ms. Sterling.” The patrol officer stood by the driver’s door. “I need to take the suspect in.”

  “All right. Gladys, the public defender’s office has a number of good attorneys.” She was going to need one. I moved so he could shut the door.

  With a resigned expression, she stared out at me as the officer drove her away. I turned and studied the trucks again. I looked around but at this point the investigation was in full tilt, and no one was paying me any attention.

  I crossed the lot to the first truck we’d seen and opened the driver’s door. With all the spotlights that had been set up, it was light enough for me to see the interior. Whoever drove this one was a pig. Garbage littered the floor and cigarette stubs filled the open trash drawer. I clambered in so I could shift through the debris.

  Beneath one crushed paper bag, I found the clipboard. Handwritten at the top of the sheet of paper was the name Danny Lopez. I flipped through the pages and whistled softly. Every Thursday Danny was logging over one hundred miles where for all the other days he put down ten to twenty.

  It wasn’t that far of a trek to OraGen so where was he going? Printing on the paper bag caught my eye, and I smoothed out the paper. St. John’s Health Clinic. I lay both the clipboard and bag on the floor.

  “Nicole. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I gave Sam a sheepish smile. “I think Joe Poellinger recruited one of the other drivers to transport the containers. Gladys let slip that a ‘Danny’ skipped after Joe was arrested.” I gestured. “One Danny Lopez drives this truck and it was the one still in the lot when we arrived.”