Chasing Suspect Three

by Rod Hoisington

  “No kidding, the boyfriend? That surprises me. We have pretty much decided he’s a Miami bad guy and probably an illegal. Wow. Now you tell me it’s her boyfriend who is up here in Park Beach searching and shooting.”

  “I thought about keeping it from you.”

  “You wouldn’t do that. Well, Shapiro will love this development. Can I get a statement about the ID from you for the file?”

  “Sure, have someone in the state attorney’s office type up whatever you need, and I’ll sign it. Just on the ID thing, of course. Now I’ve a request, and it has to be done without delay.”

  “I owe you.”

  “Would you pick up Claudia Mertens immediately for a possible additional ID of the John Doe? She told me she knew Richie, at least had met him. Let’s see what she says. Don’t let on you think it’s him. Don’t give her any hints. Oh, hell, you know how to do it.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Later that afternoon, Sandy and Martin were talking in the office when Jaworski called back. “I picked up Claudia Mertens to see if she could ID the stiff, as you suggested. Don’t turn your back on her. She isn’t a member of the Sandy Reid fan club.”

  “It breaks my heart.”

  “We were talking on the way to the morgue. She found out she’s getting the condominium. Were you withholding that information from her?”

  “Does that sound like something I’d do?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “If you happen to think of any other way I can annoy her, let me know.”

  “She blames you for causing the condo to get wrecked and the place riddled with bullet holes. She’s going to sue you for damages.”

  “I’ll countersue. The sliding glass door to the balcony is a safety hazard because it’s difficult to open when a crazed gunman is chasing you. Did she ID Richie?”

  “She recognized him immediately. The morgue attendant over there almost blew it. After she says something like, my God, it’s Richie, the attendant pops up and says he guesses it must really be the Richie guy, because some other woman viewed him today. Margo something or other and she was crying. You know what Claudia said after hearing that? She said, ‘Sounds just like that loser crying over another loser.’ I’m really surprised the two women know a Miami hood.”

  She hung up and gave Martin a hopeless look. “In a couple of minutes, Jaworski will tell Shapiro the bad guy on the slab in the morgue is Richie Grant. It won’t take Shapiro more than two quick seconds to understand what it means.” Shapiro now had all he needs to set up the prosecution for a win.

  “I understand. Now it’s all changed,” Martin replied.

  “If Richie were just one of the Miami drug guys and had no connection with Margo, there would be all kinds of doubt about who shot John. Now Shapiro is going to continually remind the jury that Margo and Richie go together like bread and butter.”

  “More like pain and suffering. There’s nothing more you can do today,” he said. “You’re all wound up, and it’s wearing on you. Let’s close up early. Sounds like Martini time to me. You can get your Bloody Mary.”

  “Not a good time to have my mind clouded with drink, thanks anyway. I need a clear head.”

  Her phone rang. It didn’t take long for her to learn what Shapiro intended to do. He started right in, “You know what this is about. We now know your client’s boyfriend was the intruder searching the condo, shooting at you, and shooting at the deputy. Do you think that makes it better or worse for your client?”

  “I wouldn’t make too much of that, Mel. I think the Salvadoran drug gang is behind the murder, and Richie is working with them. I still have my reasonable doubt defense.”

  “I agree Richie is a Miami bad guy, but how do you know the drug gang is behind the murder?”

  “The victim stole the gang’s money. They have Richie up here looking for it.”

  “You don’t know if the gang is aware that John Larena stole their money. And you don’t know for certain that Richie is part of the gang.”

  “I don’t believe very much has changed.” He wasn’t going to buy her unsubstantiated theories, but it was all she had.

  “Everything has changed. I just got off the phone with Agent Heppard. The FBI is mounting a full-scale investigation of Richie Grant. DEA and immigration have been alerted. We also gave what we have to the sheriff’s department, and they are putting someone on it to see what they can come up with.”

  “I’m in favor of all of that. Let’s find out everything we can about him,” she said. “But what does a Miami hood searching the condo got to do with Margo shooting John?”

  “Come on, Sandy, he’s her boyfriend. There are only two facts we actually know here. Richie Grant is a Miami bad guy, and he is connected to your client through a romantic relationship, if nothing else.”

  “So he’s not a nice boy. If making bad choices in men is a crime, then half of the women and many of the men in the world are guilty. It doesn’t make her a murderer. Maybe she knew he was running around with a gun, maybe not.”

  After a brief silence, he said, “If you truly don’t understand, then we’d better talk in my office.”

  That might be good. At least he’d have to look at her while he said the fatal words. Even so, a meeting wouldn’t change the situation. It would be a waste of time. She was certain he had enough to go before the judge to revoke the bail. He wanted Margo back in jail. The state attorney usually got what he wanted from the judge at this stage; they had to work with each other every day.

  “Go ahead and surprise me on the phone,” she said

  “You had a good argument of reasonable doubt at one time. Now we’re back to a wife shooting a husband, or having her boyfriend shoot him. She shouldn’t be running around loose.”

  “If you try to go back to first degree. I’m going to fight it. No way can you prove premeditation.”

  “I’m starting by going back to court and revoking bail. I’ll see you in court tomorrow.”

  “Mel, can you put off doing this? Give me a week to follow up on something I must investigate.”

  “I know you, Sandy. If you had something to investigate, you wouldn’t be sitting there in your office. If I postpone, your client is free to run around covering her boyfriend’s tracks and destroying evidence. No thanks. She’s dangerous, she committed murder, or conspired to commit murder, and she belongs behind bars. I’m requesting a special bail hearing for nine tomorrow morning and I’ll get it. You and your client are required to be there standing tall in front of the judge. And I promise Margo Larena will be wearing cuffs again when she leaves.”

  There it was. Her reasonable doubt defense gone up in smoke. Margo would be back in jail. And Sandy back to square one.

  Martin wondered, “You asked him for a week to do what, reach down into your bag of tricks?”

  “He just told me the FBI and others have been alerted to finding out something about Richie. Maybe, with time, they’d come up with something.”

  She reached Margo on the phone and forced a smile into her voice, “Oh great, I caught you...I thought I’d come over just to see if you needed anything...well, are you going to be home tonight? ...No? Look, we have to be at the courthouse at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. It’s very important ...You want to have your bail continued, don’t you? Well, we both have to be there at eight-thirty to do that. Now don’t screw up. You definitely must be there. If you don’t show up, you could go back to jail.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  At ten minutes to nine the next morning, Sandy and Martin were standing facing each other in the lobby of the county courthouse with expressions of disbelief on their faces. ASA Shapiro came rushing across the lobby nearly yelling, “You’re due in front of the judge upstairs in five minutes. Where’s your client?”

  She shrugged helplessly. “I spoke with her yesterday. I definitely explained that she must be here at eight thirty this morning. I didn’t tell her it was a rehearing on her bail. But I did say it was a condit
ion of her release, and if she didn’t show, she could go back to jail. I phoned her first thing this morning to be certain she was up and getting ready. No answer. I’ve phoned almost continually ever since.”

  “Well, that sounds clear enough. This better not be one of those Sandy Reid tricks. The judge isn’t happy, and he’s waiting up there. I’m going back up now. You should expect your client to be re-arrested and returned to jail, and there she’ll sit for the rest of her life, if I can manage it.”

  “Wait, I’ll go up there with you. I’ll explain to the judge that—.”

  “Explain what? As of this minute, your client’s bond is revoked, an arrest warrant is being prepared, and your client is a fugitive.”

  Sandy and Martin looked at each other and then slowly walked out of the courthouse. They stopped on the front steps. She had been walking with her head hanging low. He was worried about her. “This doesn’t necessarily mean Margo is guilty. Perhaps jumping bail is the desperate act of an unbalanced woman who is unjustly accused.”

  “She’d be unbalanced whether guilty or innocent, I understand that, and I’ve been helping her along like a twelve-year-old child with every step. With no apparent gratitude, I might add. I had her free on bond for chrissake. So, Shapiro has the upper hand temporarily, and she goes back to jail while I decide on my next action.”

  “You’re taking it personally. Cheer up, things could get worse.”

  “I tried that this morning. I cheered up and sure enough, things got worse.”

  Once back in the office, she sat at her desk and stared at the wall. “Where would Margo hide?” she said eventually.

  “John’s condo? Claudia’s place perhaps, they are sisters-in-law.”

  “No and no. Everyone knows her at the condo, and Claudia hates her.”

  “Do you want me to go to her apartment and look for her?”

  “Thanks, Martin, but she wouldn’t come back with you, regardless of what you said.”

  “Well, what are you going to do? I can’t picture Sandra Reid just sitting around feeling sorry for herself.”

  “I can’t sit around. I’m still excited about everything that’s going on. Who killed John Larena? What’s the story on Richie Grant? What is Claudia’s involvement in all this?”

  “Ah, my lawyer friend just morphed back into the field investigator before my very eyes.”

  They shared a chuckle, and then she said, “All right, let’s get started. What do we know?”

  Martin answered, “Richie is dead. Margo has skipped. You want to know Claudia’s involvement? Don’t forget she met with Chip the night of the murder. Isn’t that involvement?”

  “Yes, but they met for coffee hours before the murder. So it wasn’t to set up an alibi, unless she intended for them to be together all night while the murder was taking place.”

  “For God’s sake, Sandy. Don’t get started on that one.” He moved his chair closer to her desk. “What do we truly know about her? What does she look like?”

  “Beautifully streaked blonde hair piled on her shoulders, five-foot eight and most of that is legs. Absolutely irritating. If I wanted to disappear at a party, I’d stand next to her.”

  “Married?”

  “No, I tried to picture her in love with someone, it didn’t work. Every man is just a means to an end for her. She has enticed her landlord, Billy, into giving her free rent in return for mere fantasy. She’s a take-charge type. If she were a hooker, she’d have the pimps working for her.”

  “You’re still upset with her. Chip discarded her, isn’t that enough for you?” He would always take her side, however she needed to step back and take another look at what was upsetting her. “Are you and Chip back to normal now?”

  “He’s fine with everything. I guess I’m not sure.” Her mind went back to Claudia bragging she could grab him if she wanted. “If she had just been an old girlfriend who popped up with no connection to this case, she’d never have gotten to me as she did. Now she’s like a pesky song that gets stuck in your head, and you can’t get rid of it.”

  “Look, it could be innocent. He simply agreed to meet her to be polite, because he’s that kind of guy.”

  “And I don’t like it, because I’m that kind of girl. So shoot me.” She gave him one of her tougher looks so he’d drop it.

  He adjusted his tie, which had never been out of place in twenty years. “Very well, what else?”

  She opened her briefcase, took out a file folder, and placed it on her desk. “I downloaded a copy of Claudia’s Florida driver’s license, but the photo doesn’t look much like her. She owns a fancy beauty spa, therefore she could change her appearance every hour.” She tapped the folder. “This file has everything we have on her so far.”

  She answered her phone and finished with, “Yes, sir.” She frowned. “Sorry, Martin. I must go back over to the courthouse and sign something. I think I’ll take the rest of the day off, go to my cozy apartment, and hide under the covers. I’ll start banging on doors tomorrow.”

  After she left, he moved over and sat at her desk. “All right now, what do we know about Claudia Mertens?” He opened her file and started making notes. Think outside the box, Sandy always said. He wasn’t certain if he was doing that. Yet, anything to help her would be worthwhile. In any case, he had the time to start snooping around on his own. What possible downside could there be?

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Martin Bronner felt ridiculously conspicuous as he sat behind the wheel of his shiny black Lexus parked across the street from The Broadmoor Spa on Fifteenth Avenue watching for Claudia Mertens, a woman he’d never seen in person. Now, after observing an array of women enter and leave the spa, he realized the driver’s license printout stating she was five foot eight with blonde hair wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t know her if she ran out of that shop, charged across the street, and pounded on his window.

  By the same reasoning, she had never seen him, so that part was good; it was unlikely she’d be suspicious of him sitting there, even if she did notice him staring at the shop’s front door.

  He thought again about why he was watching for her. He had to admit all the reasons were weak. Isn’t this what you do when you’ve collected all the public information available; yet you need to know more about a subject and what the subject is up to? Isn’t this what jealous spouses do to catch a cheater? He didn’t expect to follow her and catch her burying a body, but she might reveal some suspicious activity or tip him off to some unscrupulous person or place. He had no idea what he’d do if she did lead him off somewhere suspicious; he’d worry about that when it happened.

  The street was one block over from the main downtown street, wasn’t busy, and had a few residential apartments mixed in with small businesses. That meant there were residents who were familiar with cars that belonged in the neighborhood. He didn’t blend well into the background sitting there behind sunglasses in his long black car wearing a dark suit and tie. Residents would surely wonder what he was doing there so long. He began to feel conspicuous. He wondered how professional stalkers handled the situation. After awhile, he took a map from the glove compartment and pretended to study it. Rather clever, no? Still, one didn’t occupy oneself for three hours enjoying a map. Eventually, he had the idea to move over and sit in the passenger seat as though he was merely waiting for someone. It seemed much better. If anyone should question him, he was waiting for his wife to come out of the spa across the street. How clever.

  He was getting better at this surveillance stuff. He removed his suit coat, took off his tie, and rolled up his sleeves slightly, so he didn’t look on-the-job. He’d bet within a week he’d have this tailing, shadowing, and staking-out routine down pat. Move over Sherlock.

  It occurred to him that tomorrow he should leave his big car at home and borrow the gardener’s pickup. He could wear old clothes to look inconspicuous. He could skip shaving. Then, in the midst of all the plotting, he realized he was getting ridiculous; doing all that j
ust wasn’t him; he could never go that far. Also, none of this thinking answered his immediate problem of how to recognize Claudia Mertens.

  Two other pieces of information were in his notes: her home address where Sandy had met her, and a description of her car obtained from the Florida DMV. Drat, why wasn’t he watching her car? No one walks anymore, especially not evildoers. Eventually, she had to return to her car. He found his notes. She had a dark green BMW. He stepped out of his car and looked up and down the block. She must have parked nearby. Even in back. Of course, in back.

  He drove around the corner and up the narrow alley trying to identify the rear of the Broadmoor Spa. He spotted the green BMW with her tag number immediately, parked in one of only three cramped spaces in the alley. He should have been watching her car all along, not the front door. Where could he park? A delivery truck was already honking behind him. He had to move on. He’d be too noticeable parking in the alley anyway, even if there was room. Since it was a one-way alley, what he needed was a place to park without attracting attention, yet where he could spot the BMW when it left the alley.

  Still early afternoon. The BMW might sit there for hours, and when Claudia left, chances were she’d drive home. That would be a bore. He was becoming familiar with the streets around this neighborhood, perhaps he should check out her home neighborhood, so when the BMW does come out of the alley, he’d know if she were heading home.

  He punched her home address into his GPS, and in less than fifteen minutes, he was driving down Holly Avenue. He found the address and pulled to the curb in front. It appeared to be a large older house converted into apartments. Then remembering his newly acquired surveillance techniques he moved his car down the block and walked back to the front entrance.

  There were four nameplates near the front door. C. Mertens was 1B. He went back to his car and sat in the front seat. Where he was parked wouldn’t do at all. Neighbors would certainly wonder what the black car out there was all about. He drove away wondering if there was a better place to park and stake out the apartment. He was pleased to discover an alleyway running between the rear of the apartments and the buildings behind. Neighbors had already parked a few cars at random back there under the heavy overgrowth of oak trees. His gardener’s pickup could park back there for years with no questions asked; even his black Lexus might go unnoticed. He surmised that Claudia also parked her BMW there and used the rear entrance.