by Joel Travis
“He wanted me to invest in a fund he was managing,” Cesar said. “I remembered how he always had a lot of money to throw around on foolish bets. He sucked at picking winners, but everybody’s good at something. Maybe he was good at managing investments. He said he could double my money in six months, so I decided to let him try. I invested three thousand dollars. He doubled my money by the end of October and paid me in cash. I liked the way he did business, nothing on paper. I told him I might be willing to invest another ten grand if he would do me a small favor.”
“What was the favor?”
“It was all about you,” Cesar said. “You were doing pretty well for me, bringing in impressive profits every week from our little betting business.”
“I was good at my job.”
“Yeah, you were,” he said. “Maybe better than I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“How could I be sure you were playing straight with me? You might have been running your own business on the side, keeping the best bets for yourself. I didn’t think you were, but I needed to find out. That’s why I asked Hedgeway to do me a small favor.”
“Oh, God!”
Cesar shrugged. “I told you that you wouldn’t like it.”
I felt queasy, so I excused myself to visit the men’s room. The decor was in keeping with the rest of the bar—cracked walls, a grimy mirror above a small sink, two urinals and a stall, an empty paper towel dispenser, and a dusty machine from which you could purchase five-year-old condoms. I splashed some water on my face and looked into the mirror. Even through the grime I could recognize the face of a fool. How could I have been so stupid? Anyone with any sense would have known that something was amiss from the amount of the Codger’s crazy wager—one hundred thousand dollars! The whole time I thought I was playing the Codger for a fool, Cesar was playing me for a fool, and I fell right into his trap.
“You okay?” Cesar asked when I returned to the booth.
“Yeah,” I said. “There’s one thing I’m not clear about.”
“What’s that?”
“I tried to cheat you. Why am I still alive?”
“That’s a good question. I’ll tell you what happened, if you want to hear a funny story.”
I nodded, though I doubted I would get many laughs out of his story.
“Like I said, Hedgeway wanted me to invest ten grand in his fund. I told him I might be interested, if he would do me one small favor.”
“And the favor was for him to set me up by proposing an irresistible wager. He even gave away fifteen points, saying it was in exchange for letting him bet the full hundred thousand.”
“The hundred grand, that was his own stupid idea. After he met with you in the club, he called me. Said you were thinking it over, you’d call him later and give him your decision. When he told me the amount of the wager, I told him he’d ruined the test. He said he thought you might actually take the bet. I said you’d have to be crazy. When he called back and said you were in for the hundred grand, I couldn’t believe it. But, I have to admit, it showed me you had balls.”
“So how come I still have them?”
Cesar chuckled. “See, the funny thing is, you weren’t supposed to lose the bet. Hedgeway gave up the fifteen points to temp you into taking the bet, but also to make sure that you won. I had it all worked out. After you won, Hedgeway would call you up and tell you to come by his place to collect. I’d be there waiting for you.”
For the first time, I was glad I hadn’t won the bet. I would’ve had a heart attack when Cesar opened that door.
“When you lost the bet,” Cesar said, “I had to think about how to handle it. Hedgeway asked me what he should do. I told him to lie low, let you sweat it out thinking you owed him a debt you could never pay.”
“Why didn’t you kill me?”
He shrugged. “Would’ve been like killing the goose that lays the golden eggs.”
“You didn’t want to cut off your nose to spite your face, or be penny wise but pound foolish,” I said, tossing adages back at him.
“Right. You were bringing in huge profits every week. I thought it over, what to do. If I got rid of you, I’d have to replace you. I decided to let you be, hope you’d learned your lesson, check up on you from time to time, and let you do your stuff.”
“I was really good at my job, wasn’t I?”
Cesar sighed. “I said you were good.”
“Hell, I was better than good. I was the best. You were lucky to have me.”
“Don’t push it, Brit.”
“I can’t help it. I knew I was good, but until now I didn’t realize how incredibly good I was. So good that you didn’t dare bother me even after I tried to rip you off. So good that—”
Cesar slammed his fist down on the table again. I elected not to finish my statement. No need to belabor an obvious point.
“After I lost the bet, Hedgeway disappeared. What do you know about that?”
“Nothing,” Cesar said. “I was surprised he never called or came by my office anymore. After he’d done the favor for me, I expected him to pitch the investment again.”
“You never called him?”
“No.”
“Seems like you would have called him. If for no other reason, out of curiosity, to see if I had contacted him after I lost the bet. I find it hard to believe that you didn’t call him.”
He glared at me. “You think I give a shit what you believe?”
I didn’t think he did, so I moved on. “I have a question or two about your brother, Julio. Why was he in my hospital room when I made my deathbed confession and why did he track me down in Vegas?”
“You say you saw him in Vegas. Why didn’t you ask him?”
“I’m asking you.”
“I already told you I don’t know anything about it. Take it up with Julio.”
“When Julio called to inform you of my confession, he must have mentioned how he happened to be there to hear it.”
“My brother and I don’t talk. I was surprised he called me that night. First words out his mouth, ‘Brit Moran just stabbed you in the back.’ After he told me what you’d said in front of a vice detective, I had more important things on my mind than why he was in your hospital room.”
Cesar asked if I wanted Carl to give me a lift home. I told him I didn’t want to put Carl out—the bus depot was right across the street and I’d already paid for a DayPass. He reminded me that he didn’t want Detective Gardner coming around his office anymore. I said I didn’t blame him and promised to do what I could.
While I was waiting to cross the street, I noticed Carl and the redneck standing in front of the bar smoking. I waved to them. I guess they didn’t see me, because neither one waved back.
#
The confrontation began the moment I entered my brother’s house. Sheila got things started by saying that I was a poor excuse for a leader, sneaking off at the crack of dawn without so much as a word to the team as to where I was going. The Stork stood behind her, nodding her beak in agreement.
“Well, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t expect to be gone so long, but I have a good excuse. I was abducted!”
My blockbuster news elicited nothing but blank stares.
“Just recently released,” I added weakly.
I suggested a team meeting to discuss the case.
“Ace went back home,” Sheila said. “I think you hurt his feelings.”
“How could I hurt his feelings? I wasn’t even here.”
“You went to Cynthia Moreno’s house alone, like you didn’t want him to be there.”
“I wanted to speak to Cynthia in private.”
“And I know why. Ace says you have a crush on her. She’s a suspect, Brit!”
“For your information, Cynthia has been very helpful to me in this investigation. She offered to set up an interview for me with her husband, Sergio. She graciously invited me to dine with her tonight and—”
“Oh, good grief
!” Sheila said. “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger. Can’t you see—”
“Save it for the meeting,” I said. “I’ll call Ace while you throw together some lunch.”
“We’ve already eaten.”
“Well, I haven’t. And Ace could use some meat on his bones.”
“You can make your own sandwich,” Sheila said.
Fine, be like that. I make a better sandwich than you do anyway.
An hour later the team gathered around the kitchen table. Ace said his sandwich was good. I merely nodded. Making a sensational sandwich is no big deal for me. I rose from my seat, holding the impressive visual aid I had introduced during our first meeting, the one with the two big circles labeled “Cesar” and “Codger and Company.”
“I’m sure everyone will remember this chart,” I said.
I heard some snickering around the table. Sheila raised her hand.
“Yes, Sheila?”
“Do we have to keep using the chart?”
“Why wouldn’t we use it? It was a lot of trouble to make.”
“We think it’s stupid.”
“Maybe you’re just too stupid to understand it.”
Barbara laughed. “Please, children, let’s all try to get along.”
“Shut up, Crenshaw,” I said. “I’m sick and tired of your interference.”
A rancorous argument erupted. Certain members of my team threatened to quit the case. In the end, with Ace playing the role of peacemaker, we agreed to a compromise. The compromise called for me to apologize to the women, and in exchange for that I could use my stupid chart for five more minutes, after which it was to be destroyed and never mentioned again.
I began my presentation by reporting everything Cynthia Moreno and John Enright had told me about the Codger’s secret investment business and the circumstances surrounding his disappearance. Then I told them how I was abducted by a man named Carl, who took me downtown to meet with Cesar in a crappy bar, and how Cesar had used the Codger to sucker me into taking the one hundred thousand dollar bet. My presentation was approaching the five minute mark when I noticed the Stork was checking her watch. I cut my report short in order to bring the chart into play before its expiration date.
“As you can see on this chart, there are two focal points in our investigation. One is Cesar, the other is the Codger’s relatives, friends, and associates.”
“We already know that,” Sheila said. “You told us during our first meeting.”
“First of all, you know damn well that you’re supposed to raise your hand and let me call on you before you blurt out your unnecessary comments. Secondly, things have changed since our first meeting.”
Sheila raised her hand, waving it wildly, making a mockery of the rules of procedure.
“Yes, Sheila?”
“What’s changed?”
“I’m starting to think that I’ve been suspecting the wrong suspects. I think the killer may be circulating somewhere within the ‘Codger and Company’ circle.”
Sheila popped out of her chair. “I just thought of something. During your report, didn’t you say something about Cynthia Moreno working late in a real estate office the night her uncle disappeared?”
“Yeah.”
“Hold on,” she said, “I need to make a phone call.”
She darted out of the room, a baffling development. We anxiously awaited an explanation of the strange woman’s strange behavior. She reappeared five minutes later, a triumphant look on her face.
“I was right!” she said.
“Right about what?”
“About Cynthia Moreno. Move her name to the top of your list of suspects!”
Chapter 17
Before I could ask Sheila what she was talking about, my cell phone rang. Odd timing, because it was Cynthia calling. Her ears must have been on fire.
“Are we still on for dinner?” I asked.
“Of course! Andrea’s helping me in the kitchen.”
“Nine o’clock still work?”
“Absolutely. We’re right on schedule. I’m calling for two reasons. I wanted to make sure you were still coming, and I wanted to let you know that I called my husband on your behalf. He wasn’t crazy about the idea, but he’s agreed to let you talk to him.”
She explained that Sergio was a very busy man. I’d have to meet him at his office and I should call ahead. She gave me the address and phone number. I thanked her, said I was looking forward to the food, and signed off.
Sheila was staring at me. “That was her, wasn’t it?”
“She set up an interview for me with her husband.”
“You’re really going to have dinner with her? If she’s the killer, she could poison you.”
“Well, I have to eat somewhere. This house is loaded with suspects who could poison me just as easily. If it’s a matter of picking my poison, I’ll take mine in a gourmet meal.”
“You won’t be so cavalier about putting your life in danger when I tell you what I found out about your new girlfriend. Guess where she was working the night her uncle disappeared.”
“I told you, a real estate company.”
“Did she say which one?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Since she didn’t tell you, I will. She was working at Crump and Company.”
“Crump and Company,” I said. “The name sounds familiar.”
“It should. Mrs. Crump was the real estate broker who sold our house. Remember?”
“Obese woman? Walked with a limp?”
“Yes. Ruth Crump. I just got off the phone with her. Cynthia Moreno was working for Crump!”
“That’s your big news?”
“Yes, that’s my big news.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Ruth Crump had a key to our house.”
“Of course she had a key. How else could she get in to show the place to prospects? You couldn’t very well expect Crump to jump the fence and squeeze in through a window at her size. She’s one of the biggest brokers in the business.”
“Don’t you see what I’m saying?”
I took a stab at it. “Ruth Crump is the killer?”
Sheila sighed. “Anyone working in that office would have had access to our key. Once they had the key, it would be easy to get into our backyard and bury evidence in the garden. Cynthia Moreno was working in the office, Brit.”
“Now I see what you’re saying. Cynthia might have seen something suspicious while she was working there. I’ll ask her about it tonight.”
“Brit! Listen to me. I’m saying that Cynthia is the killer.”
There was a moment of silence, everyone deep in thought.
“You got any more of those sandwiches?” Ace asked.
#
Cynthia wasn’t expecting me until nine, so I had time to interview Sergio before I enjoyed a romantic gourmet dinner with his wife. I didn’t call ahead as Cynthia recommended. I don’t recall that Sherlock Holmes ever called ahead.
I borrowed Susan’s Honda. Sergio’s office was not far away, just off the tollway. When I entered Suite 1310, an effeminate young man with an earring and ponytail looked up from his desk and asked how he could help me. I wasted five minutes of my life trying to persuade him that even though I didn’t have an appointment, Mr. Moreno was expecting me.
“Are you his secretary?” I asked.
“Mr. Moreno doesn’t have a secretary. I’m his Executive Assistant.”
“Who opens his mail, types his letters, and makes his coffee?”
“I do.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He turned up his nose. “Would you like to make an appointment for next week?”
“No thanks,” I said, “I won’t need to see him again next week.”
I rushed to the door behind him. “You can’t go in there!” he said in a shrill voice.
I opened the door. A tan man with silver hair, a starched white shirt and a floral tie rose from behind
his desk. Sergio Moreno was approaching sixty, but he certainly didn’t look it.
“Who are you?” he said. “And how did you get past my secretary?”
I introduced myself as Brit Moran of Moran, Moran, Monroe & Associate.
Sergio gestured for me to take a seat and sat down again at the desk. “I understand you have some questions for me. I have no idea why Cynthia is cooperating with you, but I promised her I’d give you a few minutes. I wouldn’t want you to think I have something to hide.”
“Do you have something to hide?”
“No.”
He was a shrewd devil with all the right answers. I had hoped he was the Latin lover type who got by strictly on good looks, an accent, and fabulous dancing. No such luck.
I asked him what kind of business he was in.
“Investments.”
Cynthia hadn’t bothered to tell me that her husband made investments for a living.
“What kind of investments?” I asked.
“I specialize in rapid-growth, high-risk investment funds. Not the variety found in your average 401K, and not for the faint of heart.”
“Well, let’s say that I was interested in investing in one of your funds. What kind of return could I expect, if everything went well?”
“If everything went well, as you put it, I could double your money in six months.”
The same pitch Hegdeway had made to Cesar. No doubt about it, Melvin Hedgeway had been working for Sergio Moreno. Furthermore, I was convinced that there was something shady about their business. That would explain why Melvin kept his business a secret.
“I want to ask you about the night Melvin Hedgeway disappeared,” I said. “John Enright told me that Melvin had a business appointment at eight o’clock. Your daughter told the police that she saw him walk past her on the front lawn between seven-thirty and eight.”
“Yes, I know.”
“The fact that he was walking to the meeting means that his destination was within walking distance.”
“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock,” he said. “I think I know where you’re heading with this. You’re thinking that his meeting was with me because my condo is in the neighborhood. Let me assure you that I had no meeting scheduled with Melvin. In fact—and the police can corroborate this—I was attending a Maverick game that night. I was in my seat for the seven o’clock tip-off. The game ended around nine-thirty and I didn’t get home until well after ten.”