by Mike Markel
He had every right to be furious with me, but the way he let out his anger, then listened to me—he seemed to really listen—was a wonderful surprise. If he had turned out to be the kind of hardass who ratted me out to the chief because I was super high maintenance and he didn’t have to put up with that, I’d be feeling like shit, plus unemployed. And unemployment, I assumed, probably wouldn’t make me feel less like shit. Now I just felt like shit, which wasn’t bad, considering how the day had begun.
Except for the Louis Prima, which was a sack full of nuts and bolts in my stomach, I concluded that I was feeling a lot better than I had any right to.
Ryan held the door for me as we entered headquarters. I didn’t like that—after all, opening doors was still something I could accomplish, most of the time—but I didn’t see any reason to bring it up. Maybe it was his way of showing me he was done being mad at me. Or that I was a woman, or a woman older than he was. Or maybe it was just the way he was raised. Or maybe I should stop thinking so much about myself and get back to work. Yes, I remembered that, for the moment, I still had a job. I was a detective. Someone had been killed a couple of nights ago. I was supposed to figure out who did it.
As Ryan and I walked past the front desk at headquarters, the receptionist, a mousy girl named Crystal, called out, “Detectives.” She motioned for us to come over to her. She spoke in a low voice. “You missed all the excitement. A couple of detectives were here—from Maui.”
“Maui?” I said.
“Maui,” she said, nodding her head to emphasize how unusual that was. I’d never seen her so excited.
“What for?”
“They arrested a guy who worked for Dolores Weston.”
“The state senator?”
“That’s the one,” she said, excited to have the opportunity to tell the story. “You know that parasailing accident, where her husband falls out of the sky?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Seems it wasn’t an accident.”
“Really?” I said.
She looked to her left, then to her right. “The guy just happened to travel from Rawlings to Maui and start working on Weston’s boat, even though the regular crew lives in Maui all the time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. That night, after the accident, the guy gets into a fight in a bar in Maui, after drinking and buying some coke. The cops pat him down, he’s got a thousand bucks and this folding knife on him. The knife’s got some fibers jammed into the handle. The fibers match the harness on the parasail. Couple hours later, he flips on Dolores Weston.”
“Wow,” I said. “He say why she hired him?”
“Said he didn’t know. She never told him. That’s all he’s saying. That plus he’s sorry he got mixed up with it.”
“Yeah, I bet he is,” I said. “Is this public?”
“News at 5:30,” she said, nodding her head.
“Thanks for the heads-up, Crys—”
“One more thing, Detective …”
“The other gunman, from the grassy knoll in Dallas? He stop by?”
She looked confused. “No, it’s about the Hagerty case …” She bent her index finger, gesturing for me to lean in. “There’s someone here to talk with you.” She looked down at a pad. “Says he’s Timothy Sanders.” With her eyes, she signaled that he was sitting on the couch twenty feet away. I nodded thanks. “Good luck,” Crystal said, giving me a Mona Lisa smile.
As Ryan and I approached the man, he seemed perfectly ordinary, except he was dressed better than just about anyone with a Montana license plate. He looked maybe fifty, with thinning blond hair, carefully trimmed and groomed, and a full beard. His blue eyes followed us as we approached him.
He was wearing a black turtleneck shirt I could have sworn was silk, or at least a silk blend. His black and white herringbone jacket was well tailored, with black leather buttons and soft shoulders. The slacks, black wool, set him back at least a hundred bucks. On his feet were oxblood tasseled loafers. He sat in an erect position, his hands folded in his lap, one leg crossed over the other.
I held my hand out. “Mr. Sanders, Detective Karen Seagate. My partner, Detective Ryan Miner.”
He rose to shake my hand, his face contorting into a grimace, his eyes closing, his jaw muscles flexing and unflexing spasmodically as if he were in terrible pain. I thought maybe he was stroking out. “P-P-P-P-leased to m-m-m-meet you, De-e-e-e-tec-t-t-tives.” He was breathing heavily, his neck getting all blotchy and pink from exertion or embarrassment, or both. Then I felt the blood rise to my own face, too. I’d never had to talk with someone with such a horrible stutter.
Ryan stepped in, thankfully. “Mr. Sanders, why don’t we go inside and talk?” Sanders gestured for us to lead the way.
I wondered how we were going to talk with this guy. When we got to our desks in the detectives’ bullpen, Ryan pulled up a chair next to our two desks and gestured for him to sit. He did, crossing one leg over the other, straightening the crease on his slacks.
“I tried to reach you this morning,” Ryan said, “but didn’t have any luck.”
I dreaded what would happen next. Sanders opened his mouth, the spasmodic jaw clenching, the grimace on his face again. “You’ll ha-ha-have to excu-cu-cuse me.” He paused to catch his breath. “I-I-I-I th-th-th-think I no-no-no-notice one of-of-of-of us ha-ha-ha-has a s-s-s-slight stu-u-u-utter.”
I looked at Sanders, unsure what to do. Suddenly, he smiled a forlorn little smile, and I realized this was his way of breaking the ice. I said, “I hadn’t no-no-no-noticed.” Immediately, I realized what I’d done, and I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. “Oh, my God,” I said, my hand coming up to my mouth.
“Th-th-thank goodness,” Sanders said, “it’s n-n-not me, it’s y-y-y-you.”
“I am so sorry, Mr. Sanders,” I said. “I’m just nervous. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you or anything. Please believe me.”
“That’s qu-qu-quite all r-r-r-right, Detect-t-tive. That someti-ti-times happens.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sanders, for being so understanding. I’m very sorry.”
“You will n-notice that I b-b-beat my fi-fingers wh-when I-I talk.” I looked down at the desk. He was tapping along to the rhythm of his speech. “It h-h-helps me.”
Ryan said, “Yeah, I’ve read about that. If you can kind of sing it rather than say it, you can prevent the stuttering, or at least reduce it.”
“Ex-Exactly,” Sanders said, his four fingers tapping out the first syllable, his thumb the double beat at the end of the word.
Thank goodness for Ryan, I thought. I decided it was time to get into the interview before I did anything else embarrassing. “Well, Mr. Sanders, we want to offer our condolences on the passing of Mr. Hagerty.” I wanted to see how Sanders would spin the fight over Soul Savers, or whether he would mention it at all.
“Th-Thank you, Detec-tective. Ar-Ar-Arlen is in a b-b-better place, now.”
“Yes,” I said, “yes, of course.” I never knew how to respond when someone played a religious card so brazenly. I didn’t like it. If Sanders thought everyone shared his religious beliefs, he was dumb, which he obviously wasn’t. If he was merely making a tactical move, he was being patronizing, daring me to counter it gracefully. In fact, I was so tired and fed up with myself from all the crap that had gone on this morning I decided to just file the information and let him think whatever he wanted.
“I ca-ca-came as s-s-soon as I h-heard about the tra-tra-tragedy,” he said, tapping on the desk.
Ryan said, “How well did you know Mr. Hagerty, Mr. Sanders?”
Sanders said, “Q-Q-Quite well, Detect-t-tive. When I stepped down as p-p-president of Soul Savers, he succeeded m-m-me. Therefore, we ne-ne-necessarily c-c-communicated extensively, especially during that p-p-period a number of years ago.” His fingers were working out some polyrhythm only he understood.
I said, “Did you get to know him personally?”
“N-N-No, I c-c-cannot say I kne
w him on a p-p-p-personal level. He had already m-m-m-met and m-m-married Margaret. They were in-in-inseparable.”
“I see. Did you know the Hagertys had each been married before?”
“I b-b-believe I had h-h-h-heard that, though I am not aw-w-ware of the particulars. It is indeed a b-b-blessing when two people can f-f-f-find love later in life.”
“Yes, it certainly is.” How about that? Margaret Hagerty believes young love is beautiful; this guy believes old love is beautiful. For your consideration now, ladies and gentlemen, a lovely set of bookends, each made of primo horseshit. “What did you think about the debates that Mr. Hagerty and Mr. Ahern did?”
“W-W-Well, debating has never been my f-f-favorite means of c-c-c-communication,” he said with his understated smile. I admired some of his rehearsed lines. No getting around it: he was pretty suave dealing with the stutter. “But I th-th-think the debates were an ef-f-fective way to publicize the organiz-z-z-zation and get our m-m-message out.”
I said, “You’ve met Mr. Ahern, I take it?”
“Oh, yes, s-s-several times. I never so-socialized with him, as Arlen di-did, you underst-st-stand. But he seems like a perfectly, a per-r-fectly fine man.”
“Do you know someone named Connie de Marco?”
“C-C-Connie de M-M-M-Marco,” he said, his brow furrowed, his eyes drifting up toward the ceiling for divine inspiration. “No, I’m not familiar with that n-name. Who is s-s-s-she?”
Ryan said, “She was Mr. Hagerty’s assistant, when they traveled.”
“Oh, yes,” Mr. Sanders said. “Yes, I ha-ha-had heard he had an assis-s-stant. I did not re-re-recognize the n-n-name.”
I said, “I take it you came to town to console Mrs. Hagerty.”
“Yes, indeed. That was the m-m-main purpose. In ad-d-dition, I wi-wished to meet with D-D-D-D-Dolores Weston on behalf of the B-B-B-Board.”
This time it was me who looked confused. “Dolores Weston?”
“The s-s-state representative from R-R-Rawlings,” Sanders said. “Arlen was g-g-going to meet with Representative Wes-s-ston to discuss the m-m-m-matter of the pharmace-ce-ceutical company. Unfortunately, that m-m-m-meeting never took p-p-place.”
“Yes, of course,” I said. I had no idea what he was talking about. Five minutes ago I learn her husband’s swan dive was no accident, and now I hear something about her, a pharmaceutical company, and a relationship to Soul Savers. I made a quick decision not to telegraph my ignorance to Sanders. There were enough discrepancies between Sanders’ story and the Archbishop’s that I didn’t want to reveal any more than necessary. I knew Ryan and I had more investigating to do. “One more thing we’d like to ask you, Mr. Sanders.”
“Of c-c-course.”
“Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Mr. Hagerty?”
“That is ab-b-bout all I have been thinking about s-s-since I heard the n-n-news early this m-m-morning. I can-n-n-not imagine Margaret or Mr. Ahern was involved in any way. My g-g-guess is it w-w-was s-s-someone who op-posed the philosophy of S-S-S-Soul Savers. I a-a-assume you are pur-pursuing that angle?”
“Yes, we are, Mr. Sanders. We’re trying to pursue all angles we can think of. Well, sir, thank you very much for stopping by. Can I ask you how long you plan to stay here in Rawlings?”
“I’m n-n-not really s-s-sure, Detective. I purchased an o-o-o-open-ended return ticket this m-m-morning in W-W-Waco.”
“I only mentioned it to invite you to get in touch with me here if you think of anything else that might help us with this investigation.” I handed him a card from a holder on my desk. “Are you staying at the Courtyard with the others from Soul Savers?”
“Actually, n-n-no. I just b-b-booked a room at the R-R-Red Lion this morning on Or-Or-Orbitz. Th-Th-Thank you for making the t-t-time to speak with me.” He turned to Ryan. “Very n-n-nice meeting you, Detective M-M-Miner.”
“Ryan, would you mind showing Mr. Sanders out?”
“Of course,” Ryan said, escorting Timothy Sanders out of the detectives’ bullpen.
* * *
I started making notes on a yellow pad about all the things Sanders had said that I wanted to go over with Ryan. I was still writing when Ryan came back.
“Pretty cool, huh?” he said, with a big smile.
“What’s that?”
“I try to contact Sanders for the better part of an hour this morning, and he’s nowhere to be found. So I send out my magic brain waves to make him appear, and he shows up downstairs in Reception.”
“Oh, that’s how that happened. Magic brain waves. Give me a second,” I said, looking down at my pad. “I need to cross off one of my questions.”
“By the way,” he said, wearing a sincere expression, “I want to compliment you on the way you handled his stutter. What did you say? ‘I hadn’t no-no-no-noticed’?”
“Shut the fu-fu-fu—”
“Hey, come on. Two F-bombs in one day?” he said, laughing. “I still get to tease you a little, don’t I?
“I didn’t realize I used up my quota. I gotta put in for a bigger allotment.” I was shaking my head, looking down at the pad. “All right, let’s try to untangle the web Mr. Sanders is trying to weave. What’s the biggest thing he said sounds like bullshit to you?”
“It’s not anything he said. It’s something he did: showing up here.”
“Yeah, what’s with that? Any way he knew you called him this morning?”
“Well,” Ryan said, “if he was at home and he had Caller ID, he would know I called him. And maybe he found out from Soul Savers in Colorado Springs, but I don’t think so. The way the woman there responded when I asked her, sounds like she didn’t know or care where the Board members were. Like that was the Archbishop’s problem. Besides, I doubt if he could’ve made it here by now if he just found out this morning.”
“If he wanted us to know he came in because he knew we were looking for him,” I said, “he’d have told us, right, to show he’s being real cooperative? What would you have done if you were him, assuming you didn’t kill Hagerty?”
“As soon as I found out, I’d go wherever Margaret is to console her.”
“So you wouldn’t stop by police headquarters?” I said.
“No, I wouldn’t be thinking of that. Maybe I’d notify the police where I am in case they want to talk to me. But I wouldn’t just present myself like he did. If I wasn’t in town when the murder occurred, and I didn’t do it, I’d assume I wasn’t a suspect.”
“Exactly,” I said. “He stopped by to send us a message. We just gotta figure out what it is.”
“Okay,” Ryan said. “There could be several messages. One could be that he’s a religious man. You know: all that stuff about how Arlen’s in a better place. Personally, I’m not sure Arlen’s in a better place or a worse place.”
I laughed. “Well, I think most of him’s in the big fridge downstairs—but let’s not get into that. One thing we can probably agree on: Hagerty didn’t like the way he got from the late-night monologue to wherever he is now.”
“Sanders did lay it on pretty thick,” Ryan said, “like that line about how Arlen and Margaret were inseparable, and the wonder of finding love later in life.”
“Yeah,” I said, “like Margaret is Yoko breaking up John and Paul.”
“Not following you there,” Ryan said.
“Never mind, kid,” I said. “Okay, so the religious stuff is a signal.”
“A signal that he’s such a pious guy he couldn’t possibly be a suspect.”
“Or he’s saying we’re such hicks,” I said, “all he has to do is pretend to be religious and we’ll cross him off our list.”
“Or he’s taunting us. We’re smart enough to read it as a bluff, but he’s so much smarter than we are, even if we like him for the murder, there’s no way we can prove it.”
“I like that one, Ryan.”
“That’s the way I read it. He has to figure we’ll be in touch with Soul Savers. Someone—”
<
br /> “Like an Archbishop, for instance?”
“Right,” Ryan said. “The Archbishop will fill us in about the two guys fighting it out for the future of Soul Savers. We’ll find out Hagerty won, then he started doing the debates and turning it into a political organization.”
“Yeah, and then there’s the main message he wanted to send: we should be looking at Dolores Weston. Do you know what he was talking about, that pharmaceutical company he mentioned?”
“No idea.”
“Okay, I know a political science teacher who knows all about that kind of stuff: Carol Freeman.”
“She’s the one on the political show on PBS?”
“Yeah, and she’s on CBS on election nights. She’ll be able to point us in the right direction.”
“You know,” Ryan said, “there’s one other thing Sanders said that I think we should follow up on.”
“What’s that?”
“You notice the two or three times he mentioned coming in this morning from Waco. And that he booked his room on Orbitz this morning?”
“What are you saying?”
“Well, it seems to me a little odd he didn’t start traveling until this morning. The murder was on the national news yesterday morning by ten o’clock. Where was he all yesterday that he didn’t see a TV or go on the web? I don’t see this guy out hunting and fishing.”
“You seeing that as him taunting us?”
“I’m getting more that he’s covering something up, that he rehearsed it and wants to be sure we hear he’s so concerned about the tragedy that he jumped right on a plane.”
“Well, there’s a couple ways we can try to track that down.”
“We could try Orbitz.”
“Yeah, but they would only know about what reservations he’s made, not about his actual travel. The place that would know is TSA.”
Ryan said, “They’d have the passenger manifests, right?”
“I don’t know if they’d have them in real time, but eventually they’d know who flew from where to where in which seat.”
“Do you know how to tap into TSA?”