Chasing Suspect Three

by Rod Hoisington

  “And father needs Amelia, his full-time caregiver, she lives there. Thank heavens we’re fortunate enough to be able to afford her, I realize that. I don’t think of them as servants, like they’re standing waiting for us to ring a bell.”

  “I guess it doesn’t sound too extravagant. How is your father?”

  “He’s doing fine, considering he’s in an advanced stage of Alzheimer’s. He seems to remember you. Look, I’m grateful we have no money worries, and I’m not apologizing for it. Our family worked hard and was fortunate in business. Do you think such an unpretentious lifestyle intimidates Judy?”

  “I suspect that it might. She has to believe she’ll fit in. A woman picks up on things. She has a degree from Florida State and should make Detective some day. So, she has a lot going for her. Even so, she wasn’t brought up in private schools with studies abroad in Paris and debutante balls. And she doesn’t buy her clothes at Nordstrom’s.”

  “I’ll cover her with clothing beyond her dreams.”

  “Absolutely do not use that approach!” She wagged a finger at him. “She doesn’t want you to dress her up and have her meet the Queen of England.”

  “Come on now. We definitely are not society types, and we only occasionally did the country club bit. All that was previous generations.” Now Sandy had him worried. “I’m truly fond of her. I don’t want to screw up this one.”

  She took his remark personally and wondered if he meant he’d screwed up wooing and not winning her. “Judy’s already fond of you. My guess is she loves you. She needs to get comfortable with such a major change in lifestyle. And sure, you definitely could screw it up. She might take a chance for herself, but she’s not going to take a chance with her daughter.”

  “You think she actually cares for me? I’ll take what you said to heart. Thanks. I’ll watch it.”

  “Okay, now I’ll take you back out to the old hag’s apartment to pick up your car. It’s parked in the back, right? Where did you leave your coat and tie, up in her apartment?”

  “Of course not, they’re in the back seat.”

  She remembered the way to the apartment building from her unpleasant meeting there with Claudia. She turned into the alley that ran behind. Martin was pleased to see his car still sitting back there untouched where he had left it.

  She pulled up behind his car. “So, you were going to tail Claudia, that’s cute.”

  “That’s what I was going for, cuteness.” He smirked.

  “No, actually it wasn’t a bad idea. We could both spend some time surveilling Claudia. Do you want to help me?”

  “You are asking a man who just got badly burned doing just that.”

  “We’ll talk about it.” She patted him on the knee. “I did a lot of surveillance in my field investigator job in Philly. Once I spent an entire night in an alley behind a smelly dumpster staking out some bad guy. You found a good spot here near these bushes. Anyone coming from downtown would come in the opposite way and would never notice you here.”

  “Let’s get out of here. The old hag might show up, and Claudia could come home at any minute. See you tomorrow.” He got out of her car.

  “Just a minute, Martin. You got me thinking. If I wanted, would you dress me up and have me meet the Queen of England? You almost certainly could arrange it somehow, couldn’t you? I’ll just bet you could.”

  After smiling and waving goodbye, he unlocked his car, and sat thinking of the Queen. The thought took him back to a summer almost five years earlier on his last trip to London. He hadn’t met the Queen—although she had smiled at him. At least he thought she meant her smile for him.

  On that occasion, he had tagged along after his father who was among the barristers attending a seminar on European law under the auspices of King’s College in London. After a meeting one evening, they were having drinks in the Strand Palace Hotel lounge when unexpectedly joined by an old friend of his father’s who happened to be a former justice of the UK Supreme Court.

  Many who had attended that law conference noticed and spoke to the retired judge, slightly bowing, and addressing him as “Your Honor.” During that interesting evening, he expressed regrets that had he known father and son were coming to London, he’d have attempted to obtain invitations to the Queen’s Garden Party to be held the next day. As the former Supreme Court judge left, he again apologized for failing to get them admitted to the Queen’s affair.

  His father wanted to retire early and left for the Savoy Hotel across the street. Martin stayed on and moved from the table to sit at the bar for a Martini nightcap. The bar was beginning to empty. The two barmaids, both in formal black and white, were talking together. The bartender who served him was an attractive young woman with a pleasant manner.

  He thanked her for the drink and just to be cordial observed, “Americans all over the place.”

  “You are not in short supply.” She tossed him a polite smile as she left to attend to a signaling customer. She returned after a few minutes. “Where in the states?”

  “Florida. Have you been there?”

  “Disney World, of course. I’ve been to the Caymans and Bermuda too.” She looked at him steadily. “Are you in a hurry? Why don’t you move down to the very end of the bar there near the wall. That’s the best spot for chatting.”

  “I didn’t mean to be flirting with you. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “It gets boring and I’ve got two hours to go. Dad’s the Director of Food Services, and I’m the night manager of the bar. You won’t get me in trouble.” She moved his drink to the end of the bar. “We’re good.”

  “Did you enjoy the Caymans?”

  “I liked Bermuda better.”

  “Bermuda is friendlier, I agree.”

  “Are you here on holiday with your family?”

  “On business with my father, I’m not married.”

  “I noticed you talking over there. I’ve seen that distinguished-looking chap you were with before. He’s a celebrity of some sort, maybe on the telly.”

  “He’s a retired UK Supreme Court Justice.”

  “You see, I knew he was in show biz. He was one of the Supremes.” They both laughed.

  When she returned, he said, “We just missed being invited to the Queen’s Garden Party. At least “His Honor” intimated he would have like to get us in.”

  “I doubt it. Having friends in high places doesn’t usually work with the Queen’s garden parties. They’ll be eight thousand guests, all of them individually invited and from all walks of life, as they say. You need to be a wee bit special in some way to get invited. Merely being rich and famous isn’t enough.” She excused herself to set up drinks for a couple just arriving.

  “You have a girlfriend?” she asked when she came back.

  “I’m not certain what that means.” He thought he knew where this was leading; one can be solicited in even the best hotels.”

  “I have a boyfriend,” she continued, ignoring his response. “In fact, he’ll be dropping in here any minute. He’s been a boyfriend for much too long. It’s time he became a husband. He talks about marriage, but do you see any ring on my finger?”

  Martin had misjudged the situation. She was just being talkative. “Tell me about him.”

  “He's thoroughly infuriating like most men. He's attractive and he doesn't know it. So it makes him more attractive. I'm attractive and he doesn't know it. So it makes me furious.”

  “I agree you’re attractive. Is he pursuing a career? Is there another woman on the scene?”

  “Yes and no. He’s ambitious and getting ahead nicely in business, so he’s preoccupied with business instead of occupied with me. When he comes in, he’ll sit in that booth over there fingering his mobile instead of me...I mean instead of attending to me. I understand, and I want him to have a good start in business, but good grief it’s been three years. A girl has to look out for herself, you know.”

  “You want his attention? Just mention another man, and you
’ll have it.”

  She motioned toward the entrance. “That’s Bruce now. You can meet him.”

  He quickly read her name from the nameplate pinned to her black vest. “How do you do, Bruce? Maddie told me your name. I’m Martin.”

  They shook hands. Bruce took the adjoining bar stool. “So, Martin, you’re a guest here in the hotel?”

  “Across the street.”

  “Oh, the Savoy.”

  “I’d rather be over here. Maddie certainly makes a lonely fellow seem welcome.” He smiled at Maddie who started frowning.

  “Martin’s from Florida. He’s traveling with his father.”

  “Yes, father is here attending a law seminar. I was in Paris and thought I’d pop over and join him.”

  “You’re here on holiday.” Bruce now appeared unsettled. “What do you do normally?”

  “Well, not a whole lot at present. I’m sort of looking around to see what sort of trouble I can get into.” He gave Maddie a slight wink making sure that Bruce noticed. “Do you have any suggestions for me?”

  She was puzzled.

  “Sorry, can’t help you there,” Bruce said politely. “How soon will you be leaving?”

  “Funny you should say that. I recently decided to stay on for a while. I wonder if the hotel here can arrange something long-term. My room would be right upstairs. Maddie was telling me there are exciting things to do in London.”

  “Oh, was she?”

  Maddie caught on and chimed in. “Yes, I could help you with some suggestions. We wouldn’t want our friend from the states to be bored, now would we, Bruce?”

  “Maddie might possibly find a little time to tell you about a couple of tourist attractions. However, she is actually quite busy.”

  “No problem, it would be fine. I wouldn’t mind helping,” she said.

  Bruce took a quick look at her and then back at Martin. “I don’t want to seem impolite, but are you aware that Maddie and I have a...relationship.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see any ring on Maddie’s finger. In the states, any girl without a ring is fair game, and a fellow is free to hit on her. Not that I intend to hit on Maddie.”

  “I’m familiar with the term, but what exactly is your definition of hitting on her?” Bruce slipped off the bar stool and stood. He crossed his arms across his chest.

  “That’s up to the girl. I’d never force myself on a woman. It’s much easier to charm them. You’d be surprised who, in the end, turns her head.”

  “Well, Maddie is spoken for, you can count on that. So you can save your charm for someone else.” He smiled but didn’t mean it. An edge had crept into Bruce’s voice.

  “I do apologize to you both. I definitely was out of line. I wasn’t aware of the cultural difference. I was under the impression that, if she were spoken for, you would have given her an engagement ring.”

  She spoke up pretending to take Bruce’s side. “We’ve talked about getting married haven’t we? Bruce didn’t want to embarrass me with an engagement ring until we could give people the date. Isn’t that right, Bruce?”

  Bruce was trying to think. It was all moving rather fast.

  “I’m very pleased to hear that, Bruce. Married men do much better in business. They appear more decisive. I’m sure you knew that.”

  “Of course I knew that.”

  “Well, this certainly is wonderful,” Martin said. “How romantic. Bravo Bruce. This calls for a celebration. Maddie, why don’t we all have a champagne cocktail right now. Put it on my check. Is your father working here tonight? Perhaps he can join us.”

  “Champagne is fine,” Bruce said, making a tight smile. “Will you please excuse me for just a minute?” He took out his mobile and started walking away.

  “Hurry back for the champagne, sweetheart.” And then to Martin, “Well done. Lean across the bar, and let me give you a sweet one on the cheek.”

  “Is he going to take the next step?”

  Her face was aglow. “He’ll take it. Just needed a bit of a push, and you gave him a shove. He’s calling his mum right now to tip her off before she hears it elsewhere.” She was rubbing her palms together. “I’ve a surprise for you, Martin, to show my gratitude. My father, as head of the local council, was given four nominations for invitations to the Queen’s Garden Party tomorrow. Since I’m quite active in the Homeless Emergency Project, dad gave me two admission cards. I’ve been buying clothes to get ready for a month. Would you like to escort me?”

  He was nearly speechless. “It would be an honor to attend and an honor to escort you, Maddie. Nevertheless, shouldn’t you take Bruce?”

  “No, I believe the two of us together tomorrow will get a final point across to him.”

  “I can’t thank you enough. If you don’t mind, I’ll make it just a quick glass of champagne now and leave you two lovebirds. I’ll be flying home day after tomorrow, as planned.”

  “Martin, will you promise me one thing?”

  “Anything for my lovely British cousin.”

  “If he doesn’t come across with that ring...will you come back and hit on me?”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Sandy woke up feeling sorry for herself, which she recognized as not a particularly helpful emotion. After so much success in her defense, Margo Larena had skipped out. Sandy felt like the child who travels forward and backward along the numbered squares of a board game, and just before winning lands on the most dreaded square. After so much effort, wasn’t it unfair to be jerked back to the starting point?

  In truth, it wasn’t quite that bad, not starting over bad, but she knew her attitude clearly needed a major adjustment. Chip was good at such things, when they were communicating. Martin was good. Jerry Kagan was even better. She hoped his intellect would never leave his ageing body.

  She phoned him and at noon was at the Windward Bar and Grill waiting for her old friend. She sat in a booth toward the rear watching as someone held the door for him coming in. She stood as he approached maneuvering his cane and slowly walking between the long bar and the tables with the measured pace of the elderly. When she asked the retired lawyer to lunch, she had forgotten that springtime had long ago left his step.

  He held out his hand. “What’s going down, Miss Reid.” He smiled at his attempt to sound somewhat with it.

  “Everything is going down and complications are sending them lower. It’s so great to have a fresh set of eyes take a look at my situation. How are you, Jerry?”

  “My spirit is fine but my bones are tired. It’s delightful to be having lunch here once again. And doubly so with my favorite young woman, in spite of her having a frown on her lovely face. Before we start chatting, would you mind if we sat at a table instead of this booth? It’s easier for me to negotiate.”

  He didn’t seem to need much help, but she held the chair for him anyway. She said, “Have I made a mistake asking you here? We talk on the phone with such ease, and I keep saying we’ll do lunch someday, but I’ve put you through some bother coming here today haven’t I?”

  He waved away all such thoughts. “Did I ever tell you I used to work in the backroom here wrestling kegs of beer in the summer between semesters? Do you have any idea how heavy a keg is? This place has changed completely. There used to be large double-doors right behind where you’re sitting. The name and ownership has changed several times also. They used to call it The Gold Chest. You know, from Florida’s east coast along here being called the Treasure Coast.”

  “I get it. A chest full of gold from one of those old ships coming too close to shore and wrecking, leaving treasure spattered along the reefs?”

  “Exactly. I’m not quite that old, but that’s where the name came from. Legend has it the settlers here would set up false fires and beacons to purposely misguide the ships onto the dangerous reefs, so they could salvage the supplies and goodies. The town could live a year or two from the supplies and provisions from just one wreck. Not to mention the valuables. That was just the start,
we’ve been living off the tourists ever since.”

  So great to see him cheerful and talking. “What do you want? I’m having a Bloody Mary. It might be the first of many today.”

  “The Sandy Reid I know would never succumb to such a weak-willed temptation as drowning her sorrows. Have as many as you wish, just not for the wrong reason.” He noted the distress written on her face. “I’ll have an iced tea. Do they still have that legendary soup and sandwich special here?”

  They both ordered. She started explaining how she had been trying to put together a successful defense in spite of having the client from hell. “I started out struggling with what the police were calling a simple domestic dispute. John shoots at Margo—for a reason that isn’t at all clear—and misses. She becomes angry, and follows him home. She goes in packing a .45 automatic she got from Dirty Harry or God knows where.

  “Are you familiar with the size and weight of a .45 pistol? Don’t try to hide it under your clothing.”

  “There’s plenty of room in my bra.” She looked around wondering where her drink was. “I’m sure Shapiro wishes the murder weapon were a skimpy little Smithy .25 caliber you can hide up your sleeve. They haven’t found the gun. Just my luck, when the bozo fired at the deputy and me, he didn’t use a .45 automatic. Anyway, she shoots him in the shower, then shuts the shower door, because she used to live there and has wiped up that damn floor too many times in the past. Her car is seen driving away just before the police arrive.”

  She paused and looked at him. “Might not be what happened, but that’s more or less the police scenario I thought I’d have to face, when the case went to trial.”

  “And you are struggling trying to get to the truth in spite of your client.”

  “She keeps talking about her boyfriend, setting him up as her alibi. Except, I could never find him to talk. Supposedly because he was an illegal. Just as I’m beating my head against the wall chasing him, the FBI waltzes in and says the victim was one of the couriers involved in smuggling drugs between Miami and El Salvador and might have taken off with three hundred grand of drug money. Suddenly, I’m golden. Now there are several thousand suspects who possibly want John dead to get the money back.”