The Burnt Remains

by Alex P. Berg

  “Ravishing?” I said. “Little?”

  “Yes, dear,” said Marion, reaching out and touching me lightly on the arm with delicate fingers. “You look fantastic. Strong. Powerful. The prototypical image of a modern woman in uniform. I love it.”

  “Uhh… thank you?”

  Justice’s jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared. “Marion, this is Officer Phair. She recently joined our team. Marion is an acquaintance of mine, Phair.”

  “Indeed. I’m an acquaintance.” Marion gave Justice a squinty eye, puckered lip sort of look while holding a hand against his chest. “We live in the same neighborhood. Have run into each other a few times, though not recently enough for my liking. Anywho, I can see I’m interrupting, so I’ll leave you to it. Keep the city safe and whatnot. Toodles!”

  Marion gave Justice a bit of a wave with his fingertips as he turned and headed toward one of the open tellers.

  It took me a moment to gather myself. “He seems… friendly.”

  Justice turned his back on the lobby, choosing to stare at the wall over White’s desk. “He’s a neighbor, as he said. He’s nice enough.”

  Justice’s ramrod straight posture, the tightness in his jaw, and eyes that were currently tunneling through the wall all suggested he had nothing more to say on the subject, and given my general instincts for self-preservation, I wasn’t about to push him. Then again, I wasn’t sure I needed to. Marion’s behavior had spoken for itself. Loudly.

  As I stood there contemplating the banter between Justice and Moss last night at the Jjade Palace, considering it in a whole new light, a balding man in a gray suit approached from the side of the room, a folder in hand.

  “I’m terribly sorry for the wait, Detective. Jeremiah White, at your service. Mr. and Mrs. Vernon have several accounts with us, and I wanted to make sure I pulled the statements from all of them.”

  Justice nodded, though his usually smooth, deep voice was strained. “I appreciate the thoroughness.” He held out a hand.

  The banker hesitated. “If I could see the warrant?”

  Ogden pulled it from his jacket. White gave it a once over before handing it and the folder over. “Thank you so much. Is that all I can do for you?”

  “For now. Phair?” Justice nodded to me and stormed toward the exit. He burst out the front doors, barreled down the street, and lurched into his Phantom, tossing the folder onto the dash as he got behind the wheel.

  I had to hustle to keep up. I’d barely closed the door when he turned the key in the ignition, gunned the engine, and pulled the car onto the main thoroughfare. His lead foot pushed me into my seat as I buckled in, and in a short few seconds we’d reached cruising speed.

  Justice’s eyes were riveted to the road. I got the impression that if I said the wrong thing—or rather, mentioned the wrong person—mine might be the next homicide the team wound up investigating.

  I couldn’t go without speaking to Justice for the rest of my career, but I’d need to tread carefully until he determined I wasn’t a threat. “Mind if I take a look at the statements?”

  His voice came out in a growl. “Knock yourself out.”

  I brought the folder into my lap and opened it. After getting over the initial shock of how much money Vernon had, I moved on to the deposits and withdrawals. Even though most of the transactions were abbreviated, I got the general gist of things. Vernon was making regular payments to cleaning staff, gardeners, Mossbottom, utilities, department stores, various organizations that seemed to be affiliated with his campaign, plus assorted other small transactions. Incoming money was mostly from the circus, although there seemed to be a handful of investment services that made regular deposits into his accounts.

  What struck me as odd, however, were the cash withdrawals.

  Justice hadn’t bitten my head off the first time I’d spoken, so I gave it another go. “Question. Does a fifty thousand crown withdrawal seem like a large sum to you?”

  Justice pulled his eyes off the road long enough to glance at me. “Vernon did that?”

  “He did it twice. Within the past month. Same amount each time.”

  Justice pursed his lips before picking up the two-way radio in the center console. “Dispatch, this is Detective Justice. I need to get ahold of Alton Dean.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “To be clear then, Mr. Vernon,” said Dean. “You’re claiming these withdrawals were to pay down debts on behalf of the circus?”

  Dean, Justice, Moss and I were in JT Vernon’s office on the top floor of his mansion. The room was about three times the size of any study I’d been in, but it needed to be to accommodate Vernon’s bizarre curios and collectibles. There was a tribal headdress full of vibrant white feathers, opals, and bone fragments on display, supposedly from the Orwannee tribe of mountain elves in the far northern lands. A glass display case contained a size thirty-seven shoe that was roughly the size of my torso. The inscription engraved at the base claimed it belonged to Guzz Crumley, the largest giant who ever lived. Next to it stood another case, but rather than containing Crumley’s necktie or the shoe of the world’s tiniest pixie, it contained a taxidermied black rooster, albeit one of considerable size and with a plumage that glimmered green and gold in the right light.

  The study contained all the room’s traditional trappings as well, or at least those that fit the tastes of an eccentric circus owner: built-in shelves packed with books and adorned with the occasional shadow box, antique stained-glass lamps, sofa chairs upholstered in gold brocade, and at the far end, a rosewood desk whose size suggested it had been built on site. I didn’t see how anyone could’ve gotten it through the doors, otherwise.

  Vernon sat behind the desk, wearing a striped black vest over a puffy white shirt with ruffled cuffs that I suspected he’d bought off a pirate. “I know it may be hard to believe in this era of limited partnerships and charters and corporations, but my circus is structured as a proprietorship, Detective. Has been ever since I got full ownership of it from Daly. Is it risky? Certainly. But it gives me sole control. No investors. No stocks, no dividends. Just me and the company, and as I’m sure you know, it’s perfectly legal for me as the proprietor to pay business expenses from my personal accounts. These withdrawals you’re talking about were used to pay creditors.”

  Dean stood behind one of the golden chairs while Moss sat in the one to his right. Shortly after Justice called dispatch, we got word that Dean and Moss had left Vernon’s but were turning around to meet us there. We met the pair on the street corner outside his estate as we shared the information we’d found. Dean hadn’t been pleased to learn about the sums being withdrawn from Vernon’s account, but his displeasure was nothing compared to the look of disgust Mossbottom gave us when he opened the door to find the four of us waiting under the portico. The gnome currently stood by the door to the hall, outwardly patient but looking as if he’d eaten nothing but lemons all day.

  “You took out two identical fifty thousand crown lump sums three weeks apart to pay creditors?” said Dean. “In cash?”

  Vernon shrugged. “For as large as my business is, not all my suppliers and subcontractors can boast the same. Some people I do business with don’t even have bank accounts. Cash is king, as they say.”

  “What businesses did you pay using this cash?” asked Dean.

  “Well, there are a number of them,” said Vernon. “As I said, they’re smaller creditors. It’s hard to remember them all.”

  “Name one,” said Dean.

  Vernon hesitated, but only for a moment. “Ah… Northridge Printing. They produce some of the merchandise I sell at the circus.”

  Moss produced a notepad from her leather jacket. “Do you have an address or a phone number?”

  JT’s hesitation was more pronounced this time. “I’ll have to look it up. Or perhaps Mossbottom can. Mossbottom, could you get that information for the detectives while we wait?”

  Dean cast a withering glance at the butler. “And I don’t sup
pose while Mossbottom is off acquiring that address that he might pause to phone Northridge and remind them that you stopped by to pay them in cash, something they would surely remember on their own if they want to retain your patronage?”

  Mossbottom’s face turned even more prune-like, and Vernon scoffed. “Listen, Detective, if you’re insinuating I was—”

  “You listen, Mr. Vernon,” said Dean, his voice as sharp as a knife. “I understand you’ve had a difficult couple days, and I’m terribly sorry we had to deliver the news of your wife’s passing this morning. It’s a hard thing to accept under the best circumstances, but in case you hadn’t realized it, her death puts your actions under a microscope.” Dean reached into his jacket and produced the warrants Justice had given him. “While you’ve welcomed us into your home twice this morning, these documents make it so your consent isn’t required. We have a right to search your property for any clues that might provide insight into her death. We already know about her drug use, and all we’ve done is skim the surface. What else do you suppose we’ll find once we start digging? And keep in mind that if it turns out you’re misleading us about these payments, we can charge you with making false statements and obstruction, among other things. So I’ll ask again. What were the fifty thousand crowns for?”

  Vernon’s eyes met Dean’s. There was a dullness to them that hadn’t been there a moment before. The man sighed a heavy sigh and waved at his butler. “Mossbottom? If you could leave us, please?”

  The butler stuck his lip out in displeasure, but he nonetheless nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

  Vernon reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out a glass and a bottle of Montvue special reserve whiskey. He popped the stopper and paused with the bottle’s mouth above his glass. “Can I offer any of you a drink?”

  “Answer the question, Mr. Vernon,” said Dean.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” Vernon poured himself a couple fingers of the amber liquid, put the stopper back, and set it down. He took a draught from his glass and let out another sigh. “I didn’t use those withdrawals to pay creditors.”

  Justice, who stood by the larger than life chicken with his arms crossed, snorted. “You don’t say.”

  Dean gave the man a moment, but not more than that. “What was the money for?”

  Vernon took another sip from his glass before setting it down with a clatter. “This isn’t easy for me to discuss, Detective, and even more difficult now knowing…” He paused to take a slow breath, and a glimmer shone in his eyes. “Knowing what happened to Stella. But know that my instinct to hide this information wasn’t to deceive you but to protect myself. I’m being blackmailed.”

  “Over what?” asked Moss.

  Vernon drew his finger along the rim of his glass. “This can’t leave the room. My political career could be over before it starts.”

  “Mr. Vernon, all of us here are professionals,” said Dean. “If we leak anything, not only does that put our investigation at risk, but we put our careers on the line. We may have to share knowledge with other officers and detectives in the course of our investigation, but I assure you, none of us will treat your confidential information as anything but.”

  Vernon eyed the glass, licking his lips with the tip of his tongue. Without saying a word, he stood and crossed to a portrait of himself behind his desk. He pulled on the edge, and it swing out on hinges. Behind it, a black safe with a steel combination dial glimmered in the light streaming through the windows. Vernon gave the dial a few quick turns, cranked on the handle, and opened it. From it, he pulled a crinkled manilla envelope, which he tossed on the desk. He nodded to it, but he didn’t say anything more.

  Dean motioned for me and Justice to come as he sat in the golden chair next to Moss. He unfolded the brads keeping the envelope shut and tipped it up. Several eight by ten glossy photographs slid onto the desk. I leaned over Dean’s shoulder to get a better look, but I didn’t have to look too hard to figure out what they were. In the top photograph, a woman with shoulder length blonde hair lay on a bed. She wore stockings, suspenders, a garter belt, and not a scrap else. She thrust her chest out, displaying her small, pert breasts to the best of her ability while chewing her lip seductively as she stared at the camera.

  I stated the obvious. “These are pictures of your wife, Stella.”

  Vernon stood against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He nodded.

  Dean spread the images across the desk. There were five in total, but they only became more pornographic after the first. Stella Vernon was the only one in them, but the remainder showed her with her legs spread or playing with her privates in sexually suggestive ways.

  Dean picked up the envelope and flipped it over. “Were these mailed to you?”

  “Yes,” said Vernon. “Not in that envelope. It was inside another.”

  “Do you still have that one?” asked Dean.

  Vernon shook his head. “I threw it away without thinking. Is it important?”

  “Probably not, but it would’ve given us one more piece of evidence to consider.” Dean collected the photos and slid them back into the envelope. “Walk us through the events. When you got the parcel, what instructions it came with, how you followed them.”

  Vernon turned back to the safe. This time he emerged with a folded piece of paper, which he handed over. “The package came about a month ago. It included that note, which demanded fifty thousand crowns in payment otherwise the photos would be leaked to the press. As you can see, a drop location was given. I followed the instructions, but clearly it wasn’t enough. A little over a week ago, another letter arrived asking for another fifty thousand crowns. I had no choice. I paid that, too.”

  “But you didn’t contact the police?” asked Moss.

  Vernon sighed again. He’d yet to make eye contact since handing over the photos. “As I said, I couldn’t risk them getting out. Not with the election coming up.”

  “Are the photos recent?” I asked.

  That finally brought Vernon’s head up. “I assume so, but I don’t know for sure. Why do you ask?”

  Moss and Justice looked at me inquisitively, causing me to second guess whether I should’ve opened my mouth, but Dean had told me to trust my instincts. “If they were old photos, something Stella had taken part in before you married, for example, that might explain why she participated in the shoot, even if it might not free you from scrutiny in the public eye.” Although I’d argue that anything Stella did shouldn’t reflect negatively upon Vernon, or vice versa. “But if the photos are recent, she would’ve had to have been complicit in the blackmail against you, wouldn’t she? Why take the photos otherwise?”

  Vernon stretched his eyebrows. “Ah. Well, as to that… she claimed that she didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?” asked Dean.

  “Take the photos,” said Vernon. “When I confronted her about it, she was adamant she’d never do such a thing. That she’d never taken her clothes off and allowed herself to be photographed in such a manner. At first I assumed she was lying, and I won’t mince words. I got angry, and I nearly struck her. But after demanding that she leave my presence, I thought things over. I realized she probably didn’t remember. It’s the drugs she took, which you already seem to know about.”

  Dean stiffened at the mention of the narcotics, but he didn’t lose it like he had the day before. “Benzedrine doesn’t cause walking blackouts, Mr. Vernon.”

  The showman shrugged. “Perhaps not, but I don’t know what other recreational drugs Stella might’ve been taking. In retrospect, perhaps there’s a lot I didn’t know about her…” His eyes got misty, and they drifted toward the window.

  Moss cleared her throat. “Do you think one of your wife’s dealers might’ve been behind this?”

  Vernon turned his attention toward us again. Gone was the wistful longing, and in its place was an ill-contained rage. “No. As far as I’m concerned, there’s only one man who could be behind these, though I d
oubt you’ll ever prove it.”

  “Who might that be?” asked Dean.

  The midmorning sun glinted off Vernon’s eyes. “My political rival, of course. The man who’s held New Welwic’s congressional seat for two decades. The man I’m beating in the polls. Maximillian Bumblefoot.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Dean pulled his Viper into a free street spot on the corner of Grandview and 1st, one that was listed as fifteen minute parking, but I suppose the designation didn’t apply to police officers. The building in front of which he’d parked was four stories tall, made of heavy gray stone blocks on the first floor and a tan-colored stone on the floors above. There were thick columns at the front holding up a triangular pediment at the top, one with gods and goddesses carved into the stone. The building was designed to look as if it were thousands of years old, but despite New Welwic’s pedigree, it couldn’t have been more than a tenth of that. The architects of yore didn’t know how to make any building that tall with windows.

  A sign over the front doors listed the building as the City of New Welwic Executive Offices. I got out of the car and closed the door behind me, staring at the building from the sidewalk. “For what it’s worth, I’m not buying that this Bumblefoot guy is the blackmailer.”

  Dean crossed from the driver’s side and joined me on the sidewalk. Moss and Justice had stayed at Vernon’s to help with the CSU sweep of Stella’s room, as well as to make sure they’d gathered all the evidence they could on the blackmail. I’d figured Moss would stick by Dean’s side after the morning, but he’d insisted I come instead.

  Dean stuck his hands in his pockets. “And what leads you to that conclusion?”

  “Bumblefoot is one of New Welwic’s representatives, right?” I said. “Let’s take Vernon’s accusation at face value and assume Bumblefoot somehow coerced his wife into taking pornographic photos while she was high out of her mind. Wouldn’t it be in his best interests to release the photos to the press rather than blackmail Vernon with them? I mean, for one thing, there’s the legal ramifications of getting busted for blackmail, but more importantly, releasing the photos would probably do precisely what Vernon suggests they would: hurt him with voters, or at least with those who think a woman doesn’t have a right to do whatever she wants with her body.”