by Leslie Leigh
“I’m getting scared.”
Melissa waited a bit to see if the texter would say more, but there was nothing. Finally, Melissa texted, “Who was it?”
There was no response.
So, there was an eye witness. One who, if trustworthy, could definitely solve the case and help put the person behind bars. The person had a conscience, so that was a good sign, but because the person worked with the suspected killer, he or she was afraid if they found out the source of the information, something would happen. Understandable. What could she do to get the person’s confidence?
She started to call Detective Muller, but she decided to call Brian instead. She was more comfortable sorting through things with Brian; Detective Muller just seemed to want to be told what to do. Yet, Muller might better know if there was something with which to entice the person to tell.
She still wanted to call Brian first.
“Hi,” he said, answering the call.
“Hi, yourself,” she said. “How’s it going?”
“Ah, lots of paperwork, lots of red tape, but we are gathering some evidence and helping some people to feel like perhaps there is a little justice in the world.”
“That’s very good.”
“What’s up? It’s late for you to call.”
“That almost makes me feel guilty. I am calling to consult you on something about the case, but I just realized how much nicer it would be if I were just calling to say I love you.”
“Aww…don’t feel guilty. I know the case is uppermost in your mind right now, and I’m very glad that it crossed your mind to tell me that. I love you.”
There was a second of silence in which they shared their hearts across many miles. It was something Melissa had not experienced before.
“So what did you need to talk about?” he asked gently.
“I got an anonymous text tonight telling me they saw who put the cyanide bottle on the table.”
“Did they actually say cyanide bottle?”
“No. That’s a piece of info we haven’t released. But whoever it was apparently knew there was something strange about it.”
“So did they tell you?”
“No. We exchanged a few texts, and then they said they were afraid. That was the last thing they said. I texted them a couple more times, but they didn’t respond.”
“Was there a phone number?”
“Just one that comes from a texting site. So, if I have an eye witness who will tell me who to arrest—that might bring enough pressure to coerce a confession.”
“But it’s making them feel safe enough to tell you.”
“I guess so. It’s funny they would have the courage to contact me in the first place but not follow through with it.”
“Think about it. Is there anything either of you said that could give them cold feet?”
“The person said that they worked with the person who had the bottle, and also that there was someone else with them. Maybe when they realized that they could be identified fairly easily once I knew who the suspect was, they quailed.”
“Who does your gut tell you it is?”
“Who, the suspect or the eyewitness?”
“The eyewitness.”
Melissa was quiet for a few seconds. “The only person that has given me a piece of information I didn’t already have was that girl bartender I talked to that told me about the other bartender’s relationship with the deceased.”
“Do you think it could be her?”
“I don’t know. I keep circling around back to the few people I know who might possibly be involved or know something. Had I told you somebody destroyed the schedule so we couldn’t find out who was working that night?”
“Whoa? Really? Do you think there’s some collusion going on somewhere?”
“Definitely at some level. I think perhaps more than one person knows the truth, but nobody wants to come forward because they’re afraid of the perpetrator.”
“Who would they have reason to be afraid of?”
“Varner, I guess. He seems to be the boss—he’s part owner, manager, bartender, all-around guy.”
“Okay, then. Have you leaned on Varner?”
“There’s a problem with that—Flora’s nephew says he was with Jack until midnight, then we believe both Clay and Varner were in the bar. Time of death was between ten and two, according to the coroner, but more like sometime between midnight and two, if we believe Clay and believe that he’s innocent. But that would mean that Varner would be alibied out.”
“Then, maybe Varner didn’t do it; but, either he put someone up to it or knows who did it. That’s why the staff is so tight-lipped. Varner may not be the guy, but he’s the guy who holds the purse strings. Nobody wants to lose his or her job—unless he’s just that great a guy that everyone wants to protect him.”
“I didn’t get that impression.” When Melissa thought of Varner, she could only think of him showing up at the memorial service with George Walsh.
“Thanks,” she said. “I just had a brainstorm.”
“Glad to be of help,” he said, teasingly.
“You are always good help, whether with a case or in the kitchen. We make a pretty good pair.”
She could hear him smiling on the other end of the line.
# # #
Once she hung up from talking to Brian, Melissa texted the number again. “Who was on room service the night Jack died?”
There was no response for a while. She finally got a text back: There were two.
“Can you give me their names?”
“Tiffany Madsen and George Walsh.”
Bingo. She didn’t need to probe any further. These texts wouldn’t be admissible without a number anyway, but she finally had a good lead.
She called Muller. “I have info from an anonymous source,” she said. “George Walsh, and somebody named Tiffany Madsen were on room service that night. Let’s talk to Madsen first.”
“I’ll call and find out when she works first thing in the morning.”
# # #
The next morning, Muller called. “Guess what?” he asked. “Tiffany Madsen is no longer employed at the Grand Bismuth Hotel.”
“Likely meaning she either did it or knows who did.”
“Yep. Luckily, I was able to track her down. She was in our database.”
“What for?”
“Misdemeanor marijuana possession,” he said.
“Oh, female and marijuana. Not exactly your dangerous criminal type. She wasn’t exactly Jack’s type, either, so, unless she did it for someone else—”
“I do have an address for her.” He gave Melissa the address, and they agreed to meet there in two hours.
When Melissa got off the phone she wondered if Tiffany had been the one to text her, but she didn’t know how Tiffany would know her or where she would get her phone number. That led her to wonder who would have the easiest access to finding her phone number. The only one to whom she had given her number was Varner. She was quite sure, unless it was some kind of ruse, it wasn’t Varner who had texted her. Who else might have come across her card?
# # #
The search for Tiffany Madsen proved to be fruitless, so Melissa decided to drive on to Bismuth.
She entered the dark hotel bar and slid onto a stool. The young female bartender had her back to her, but gave a start when she turned around and saw Melissa. Melissa ordered a Cosmo, then watched as the girl prepared it.
“Where did you find my card…uh…Brenda?” Melissa asked, looking at the girl’s name tag. She kept her voice low so that only the girl could hear her. The girl glanced at either entrance to the bar before she looked back at Melissa. Even in the very low light, Melissa could tell the girl’s cheeks were burning red.
“I—I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
“Sure you do,” Melissa said, as reassuringly as she could.
“You need to talk to Tiffany Madsen.”
“I’d love to, only nobody s
eems to know where she is.”
The girl got a very frightened look on her face and backed up two steps. “I knew it,” she said.
“Knew what?”
“That they’d do something to her.”
“Well, they fired her. Wasn’t that something enough? And who is they?”
“Varner had to be the one to let her go, right?”
She looked down, cleaning the shelf below the bar, her hair falling in her face. She nodded. Melissa could only see the top of her head. “So Varner’s involved?”
The girl stood up, glanced at the entrances again, then glanced into the shadows around the room. She nodded again and said, “I’m not sure how directly.”
“Who else?”
The girl said nothing.
“Okay, then, I’ll say it, and you just nod your head if I’m right. Tiffany Madsen.”
The girl didn’t respond. Good that had been a test.
“You?” Melissa asked. The girl looked at her, terrified. “George Walsh,” Melissa said before the girl could freak out.
The girl visibly relaxed and nodded her head, just once.
“Thank you, Brenda.”
“Thanks for what?” a voice came from beside them.
Melissa turned to see Eli Varner standing in the doorway. The girl immediately busied herself with cleaning the bar and shelves.
“For mixing me such a great drink,” Melissa said, as she picked up the Cosmo and held the glass up as if to toast Varner. “Mr. Varner, could I have a word with you?”
“Sure,” he said, standing still.
“In your office?”
“No. Right here. Anything you have to say can’t be that big a deal.”
All right, then. Even better, Melissa thought. That way the girl will know what’s going on instead of wondering if she’s going to disappear like Tiffany Madsen.
“I just wanted to make sure I got the story straight. You told me that Clay Barnett came in around midnight the night Jack was killed, but I thought you said he only stayed twenty minutes.”
“Just enough time to have one drink.”
“And then where did he go?”
“How should I know? Out the front entrance.”
“I’m going to let you think about that for a moment because Clay Barnett says he was in here with you until almost three that morning.”
“Why would I lie?” Varner asked.
“Well, the only reason I can imagine you might lie is to try to cast suspicion on Clay Barnett.”
“And?”
“You’re kind of dense for such a smart guy, Eli.”
Anger flashed across his face.
“Let’s see,” Melissa interrupted. “Who else was in here between midnight and three that morning?”
“Nobody.”
“So, then, no one could actually verify your whereabouts on the night in question, right? By casting suspicion on Clay Barnett, you’re also making it tougher for yourself.”
“Why? Am I under suspicion?”
“You have been from day one.”
“Are you trying to put words in my mouth, Ms…Ms…?”
“Michaelson. Not at all. If it’s exactly the way you say, then I guess we’ll have to arrest both you and Clay Barnett.”
“Arrest me? Why?”
“You have no alibi for the time in question.”
“Okay, okay, I lied. He was in here at least until three, maybe longer.”
“And who had access to the wine cellar that night besides you?”
“I already told you I don’t remember.”
“Just like you were unclear about how long Clay was in here that night?”
“I remember, Eli.”
Melissa was surprised to hear the girl speak up.
“How could you remember, Brenda? You weren’t here that night.”
“Well, I know that Tiffany and George were on room service that night. They came on right before I left.”
Melissa could tell that Varner was fuming, but he couldn’t show it without looking even more suspicious.
“Well, now that you mention it—”
“So, Tiffany and George both had access to the wine cellar that night?”
“I guess. If they were the ones on,” he gave Brenda a deadly look.
“Still unsure, Mr. Varner?” Melissa asked.
“No, no. That’s who it was.”
“I understand that Tiffany, Miss Madsen, is no longer in your employ.”
He looked at Brenda again, but she shook her head.
“That’s right.”
“Did you fire her?”
“I don’t have to tell you that.”
“Fine, Varner, we’ll find out sooner or later. We’ll find out everything sooner or later. And leave Brenda alone. We have several detectives working this case, and you wouldn’t recognize them. We have lots of information.”
“But you obviously have no evidence, if a missing alibi would have arrested me.”
“Oh, we have plenty of evidence—hard, physical evidence, Mr. Varner. We’re just waiting for you to show your hand.”
“What does that mean?” Varner asked.
“You figure it out.”
“It means, Eli, she doesn’t think you’re guilty, but that you’re involved somehow.”
“How do you know that’s what she thinks?” Varner sneered.
“Because that’s what I think, too!” Brenda said.
Melissa’s heart began to thump. Apparently, her presence had emboldened Brenda. She had no idea what would come next; she reached slowly into her pocket and pressed the speed dial number she had for Muller. She thought maybe she should just dial 911, but that would be panicking, and she didn’t have any reason to think that Varner might be violent, except that he probably felt trapped.
Anger flashed across Varner’s face again, but this time, he stowed it quickly, replacing it with a solicitous look. Melissa didn’t know which was worse. He walked into the bar and up to Brenda, putting his hand on her shoulder. Melissa held her breath.
“Brenda, little Brenda, honey,” he said. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you,” he said. “You’re jealous or something. Haven’t I shown you enough attention lately?”
She stepped back out of his grasp.
“Don’t give me that B.S.,” she said. “You try to make everyone think you’re straight with a little bit of bi, but nobody’s buying it.”
“You’re crazy, girlfriend,” he said.
“I’m not your girlfriend.”
Oops. The factor that Melissa had not counted on, that Brenda was doing this out of jealousy as much as, or maybe more than, conscience. But whatever the reason, she hoped Muller or somebody would arrive soon. She was pretty sure she could count on everything that Brenda had told her.
A cruiser pulled up out front, and Varner turned and ran through the kitchen. Luckily, someone had anticipated that move and caught him outside the kitchen door and cuffed him.
“Eli Varner,” she heard the officer say, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Jack Burroughs.”
Brenda let out a long breath. “But,” she said, turning to Melissa.
“I know,” Melissa said. “I just want you to know that Varner could be out tonight or tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“I’ll deal with it.”
“Do you want me to arrange protection?”
“I have my own. I didn’t know if I was going to call on it before, but with his actions just now, I think it’s time.”
“Okay, then. Is Walsh on the schedule for tonight?”
“It doesn’t matter. He lives right here in the hotel, room 4-A. In fact, I’m surprised he’s not down here to see what all the fuss is about.”
“Do you really think they would do something to Tiffany?”
“I don’t know. I think they gave her a big bundle of cash to leave town.”
Melissa nodded. Just as she stepped out into the lobby, Detective Muller came through
the front door.
“They’ve got Varner,” he said.
“Did you know that Walsh lives here in the hotel? He’s in room 4-A.”
“Let’s go, then,” Muller said.
Muller took the elevator, and Melissa took the stairs in case he someone tipped him off. They encountered no one, but there was also no answer at his door.
They heard someone scream at a distance and Melissa realized it must be Brenda in the bar. Melissa ran down the four flights of stairs, simply because it was quicker than the old hotel’s elevator.
She ran into the bar, and Brenda stood there, pointing. Melissa looked in the direction she pointed and there was an arched door open, which Melissa realized must go to the wine cellar. Muller came up behind her, and they both ran to the cellar door and down the stairs. At some point, Melissa let Muller get ahead of her. She may want to be in control, but he had a weapon, and she didn’t.
When they got to the bottom of the stairs, there was an eerie silence of anticipation, knowing someone was down there but hearing nothing. Then, they heard wine bottles rattling against each other. Muller headed in that direction, and Melissa stayed close behind him.
She scanned the cellar and stopped Muller.
“There’s no exit, except back up those same stairs,” she said. “Let’s back up and wait so he doesn’t get around us.”
“Good idea,” he whispered.
When they got back to the steps, Muller said, “Come on out, Walsh. We know the deal, and we both know there’s no way out of here except these stairs.” There was no response, and Muller took a step out into the room again.
The second he did, a shelf full of wine bottles came flying down on him, and Walsh was running full bore for Melissa. Luckily, the wine bottles on the shelf were empty, so Muller didn’t go down. He spun, leveling his gun. “Walsh!” he yelled. “Stop! Stop, or I’ll shoot.”
Melissa had grabbed the railings, both to steady herself and to try to block Walsh’s progress. His forward momentum was too much, and he crashed into her, knocking her back on the steps.
Muller stepped forward and pulled him off, handcuffing him deftly. “George Walsh, you are under arrest for the murder of Jack Burroughs.”
Chapter 13
At the sheriff’s department, they had Varner and Walsh in separate holding facilities when Melissa got there. In the light of day, she saw that Muller had little cuts on his face and neck from the shattered wine bottles. Melissa offered her sympathies.