Such Wicked Friends

by Rod Hoisington

  “Unless the next time she claims she was searching the house for him, and that’s the reason she checked the garage. When you tell the truth your story stays the same.”

  “She also thought it was suspicious the crime scene guys put paper bags on his hands and feet before moving him. Just more routine, right? Why paper bags? I thought they used plastic.”

  “Depends on the type of evidence,” she said. “When you want moisture and vapors to escape, and not alter the evidence, you use paper because it’s porous.”

  “Jaworski at first thought I was her attorney. Why would he assume she needed legal assistance if it was a suicide?”

  “Well, you dropped in on her and you are an attorney.”

  He raised his voice, “It was a suicide, Sandy. Jenna didn’t do anything.”

  She nodded her head to signal agreement with him. “Were there any fights or arguments at the party that night?”

  “Of course, when Jenna and Brad are involved, the intensity increases. There are always shouts and arguments. You’re acting like a cop.”

  “Did Priscilla get along with everyone?”

  “No, everyone at the party was running around waving guns and knives.” He stood abruptly to leave her office.

  She took his arm to stop him. “I’m sorry, I’m upsetting you. I’ve never seen you edgy like this. You’ve lost a close friend. All this must be horrible for you.”

  He turned and faced her. “Why would he do something stupid like that? So young. The guy had everything going for him. You never met him. You don’t know. Growing up he was always the carefree one. His motto was ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ ‘Come on, Martin, I dare you. Let’s do it. What’s the worst that can happen?’ And to make it all worse now they’re talking about murder. I don’t want it to be murder. I don’t want it to be suicide. I don’t want it to be anything. I want it as it was.”

  Seeing that his eyes were teary, she hesitated then put her arms around him. After a moment, she moved away and waited before speaking, “Murder doesn’t make any sense either. That could mean the killer is a friend or at least someone you know. Jaworski will want to question you about the party. In his detective mind he’s thinking, two murders within one week and you’re connected to both.”

  The office front door opened and Martin looked down the hallway. “Oh, it’s Priscilla. I’m not in the mood for her. I don’t know if she’s still talking to me. We had words.” He left and went up to the front. Sandy knew he had taken her to the accursed Saturday night party. Did the party somehow give rise to the suicide or murder? What did Priscilla have to say about all this?

  A minute later, they both came into her office. He gave Sandy an everything-is-okay sort of look and said, “We’re having lunch. Why don’t you join us?”

  “Thanks but can’t. Still researching my own case.” She looked at Priscilla. This time her clothes appeared slightly more cheerful and her makeup seemed brighter. “What brings you downtown?”

  “I was over at the library. Saw Martin’s car here. Just thought I’d come in and say hello.” She leaned against the file cabinet. “Isn’t it horrible about Brad?”

  “Suicides are always so upsetting.” Sandy looked more closely at her. Could this be the former beauty contestant? Looking at her now with that in mind the answer was closer to yes than maybe. “You knew him, didn’t you, Priscilla?”

  “Sure, I’ve danced with him. I was the newcomer in our informal dance group out at Beachland. Martin showed up one night and Brad introduced me. And, of course, we were at his party.”

  She was tall enough, Sandy thought, however the rest of her figure seemed purposely deemphasized. No big deal if she had put on a lot of weight around her waist. Impossible for a woman to maintain a beauty contestant shape without spending her life in a gym. Her face wasn’t extraordinary, but the Miss USA contest goes for the great body; the Miss America contest wants the cute face. Sandy asked, “Did he seem okay to you at the party?”

  “Not exactly. I guess Martin told you all about the party. Did you meet him, Sandy?”

  “I’m not certain.” Sandy wondered if Martin could tell she was lying. She looked at him. “Will you be back this afternoon?”

  “No, father has some problem with scheduling the new caregiver. I’ll meet you here at seven.”

  “You two have a date?” Priscilla made a small smile.

  Sandy gave a slight chuckle. “Just a late meeting in the office. Lawyers have long hours, you know.”

  “With Ted,” he added, thinking it needed more explanation.

  “Who’s Ted?” Priscilla asked.

  He answered, “Just an old friend who works up in Palm Point. Sandy, did I tell you his father was an inventor? You know those little magnets at the bottom of shower curtains—he invented that. Isn’t it amazing how an inventor’s mind works?”

  “No kidding, what’s his name?” Priscilla asked.

  “Cobalt I suppose. I don’t know his first name.”

  “Let’s talk about it later,” Sandy said. “Enjoy your lunch.”

  Sandy watched her walk away down the hall. Was it the walk of a Miss Florida finalist? She had the necessary flare at the hips, and Sandy detected a swing to her step. Her walk was definitely upbeat and certainly didn’t go with her plain clothing. Unless she’d joined a strict religious sect, which was ridiculous, Sandy could think of no reason to hide the attributes that once placed her high in a beauty competition.

  They waved goodbye. She sat at her desk and shook out her egg salad sandwich from the paper bag. Her budget couldn’t stand eating out, and for a person who didn’t do much cooking the situation was more than an annoyance. She searched at the back of the lower file cabinet drawer and found the small package of reference notes and study guides she’d used to prepare for the bar exam. She hadn’t needed them since. She found the Bar Association handbook on ethics.

  She recalled Moran had said he was requesting an emergency suspension as a first step for her disbarment, to prevent her from accepting any new clients. She found the applicable section in the handbook: if the bar association granted the suspension, she’d have thirty days to notify all clients and cease from representing them; after an additional thirty days, the association would present the case before the Florida Supreme Court.

  Geez, that sounded serious. Surely, it wouldn’t go that far, she hoped. She turned to her computer and started researching the results of other disbarment proceedings. By late afternoon, she’d written a full page of case references. She crossed her arms on the desk and put her head down.

  She must have slept almost an hour; the sound of Martin coming in startled her. “How was lunch?” She blinked her eyes to get awake. “Should I be excited for you? Sounds like the two of you have something close going. Good for you.” Should she warn him now?

  “Nothing serious, but yes it’s good for me. Did you eat? Almost six.”

  “Guess I slept through. I’ll grab something later. Now tell me about Ted Cobalt.”

  He eagerly told her about his meeting in the bar and Ted’s suspicion about Margaret Frome being a whistleblower. If she was indeed about to turn in the Bichadel Corporation for EPA violations, that might be a good motive to silence her. In which case, the police were dealing with more than just an uncomplicated husband-shoots-wife scenario. Sandy listened intently as he explained.

  “Everything Ted told you about her is consistent with the police investigation so far. She worked at Bichadel Corporation, and now you tell me she was highly placed. Ted’s whistleblower suspicion suggests she was killed to shut her up.”

  “We have to keep Ted out of this. He told me as a personal favor. He seemed nervous talking about it. I don’t want to cause him any trouble.”

  “When did you last hear from him?”

  “This afternoon when I was at my house. He sounded upset on the phone, but said he’d be here tonight at seven.”

  “Give him another call, okay?”

 
He tried with no success.

  “I understand he doesn’t want to get involved,” she said. The police have never heard of him, and we need to keep it that way, if he’s on our side.” Something else was stirring in her mind.

  “What do you mean, if?”

  “What do you know about this guy anyway? You say you ran into him in a bar?”

  “Yes, the Touchdown Sports Bar. Late after the party Saturday night.”

  “Are you certain he was already in the bar when you came in?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Could Ted have followed you to that bar that night? Maybe it wasn’t a chance meeting. You walk into a bar and whataya know—you run into a guy who just happens to work at the same place as the murder victim. Maybe he’s feeding us false information.”

  “For chrissake. How do you sleep at night with all your paranoia?”

  “Not paranoia, it’s suspicions. There’s a difference. Coming up with suspicions is what makes me effective—plus it’s a hellava lot more fun than paranoia. Seriously, I think there’s something major behind the courtyard murder. Something large and important enough to have people running around covering up true evidence or creating false evidence.”

  “I’ll grant you it’s a coincidence, although nothing mind-blowing. I’d be surprised if Ted Cobalt is anything other than what he seems.”

  They waited and talked for another hour before giving up on Ted showing up that night.

  As they were leaving, she wondered whether to tell him about his beauty contestant girlfriend. It might have been a minor thing in Priscilla’s past, and she didn’t feel it worth bragging about. Nevertheless, Sandy viewed it as a deception. And definitely inconsistent with the personality Priscilla put on public view. She decided to keep quiet for now. He didn’t need any new worries; he already looked as if the world was beating up on him. Also, it was possible that whatever Priscilla had hidden under those grim clothes, Martin had already uncovered on his own.

  They were outside in the parking area when another thought came to her. “Goodnight, Martin. See you tomorrow. I forgot something.” She unlocked the office door and walked to the large rear office. On the credenza behind the desk was a photo of Martin standing arm in arm with his father. She put the photo in her handbag and went back out to her car.

  A few minutes later, she parked and walked into the Touchdown Sports Bar with the photo in her hand. “Were you on duty Saturday night?” she asked the bartender.

  “No, that was Ernie.”

  “When’s he come on again?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “What’s his phone number?”

  “Why don’t I give you mine?”

  “Maybe next time. His number please. It’s important.”

  “Well, I don’t know if he’d want his number given out even to someone who looks like you. Wait a minute and I’ll ask him.” He looked across the room and shouted, “Hey, Ernie, okay to give this gal your phone number?”

  She considered flipping one at this jerk but decided she’d wait and do it when she left. She walked over to Ernie who was sitting alone reading a newspaper. She put the photo down in front of him and pointed. “Ernie, will you help me? I need to find this guy. He’s not my husband or anything like that. There’s been an accident. Do you remember seeing him in here with a friend Saturday night?”

  “You a lawyer?”

  “God no, insurance. I’ve got a check for him.”

  Ernie stared at her a moment and then down at the photo. “Yeah, he was here. They came in together. They sat over there. I remember them because I had to kick them out at closing.”

  “They came in together? What do you mean?”

  “This guy here came in first. The other guy ten seconds later ordered a beer and carried it over to where this guy here was sitting.”

  “You’re certain.”

  Ernie nodded.

  She was pleased. She thanked Ernie and politely waved to the bartender on her way out.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Two days later, the elderly parents of Bradford Ebert arrived in Park Beach believing they were going to help with the planning of their son’s funeral. Also, his older brother flew in from Illinois. The family suffered a major disappointment when they learned Jenna had decided against a formal funeral. She preferred to receive friends and family at her home. In any case, the medical examiner had yet to release the body pending an autopsy.

  When Martin arrived at Jenna’s home for what she was calling a wake, he was pleased to note the bereaved widow was dressed quietly in black. She was entirely appropriate in manner and conducted the informal affair with grace.

  Martin met and chatted extensively with Brad’s family who now seemed satisfied with forgoing a funeral after meeting so many of Brad’s friends here at his home.

  Later in the afternoon, Jenna temporarily escaped the babble in the front rooms of the house and joined Martin for coffee in the kitchen. Jenna poured the coffee and they leaned against the counter. “Where’s Priscilla these days?”

  “Unable to make it. She sends her regrets and deepest sympathy.” Priscilla had flatly refused to come. “She’s upset just like everyone.”

  “I doubt that. She’s probably celebrating. Now she doesn’t need to pay Brad back.”

  “For what?”

  “I checked his retirement account online. Just as I suspected, he withdrew three hundred thousand last week. I suspected he was pulling something, however I never expected it to be that much.”

  “Three hundred thousand—good grief. Are you certain? Perhaps he merely moved it to another account.”

  “He wire-transferred it to God knows where. The trustee wouldn’t tell me where because my name’s not on the account. I’ll have to intercept his statement at the end of the month. That might tell me more. I’m certain part of it went to Priscilla for the loaded Prius she’s driving. He even delivered the car to her personally.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He was on his way to her place and stopped here at home to pick up an address book. I saw it in the driveway. Metallic red isn’t it?”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “How much more she got, who knows. He gave me some lousy flowers for Valentine’s Day. He’s messed around before. He doesn’t have a lot of money of his own and three hundred thousand is...damn it, three hundred thousand. Can you image how much it hurts to think he gave money like that to some whore? Nobody knows about it, and he won’t be asking for it back now will he? When I was a teenager, I thought it was incredibly cool that a any girl could enrich herself if she knew how to use her head. I’m certain that Priscilla knows how.”

  He squirmed slightly but resisted offering any reply that might cause a scene. Suddenly, she jerked her half-full coffee cup up and slammed it down into the sink, shattering the cup and splashing coffee on the counter. He was startled and almost dropped his own cup. Her maid ran into the kitchen. He waved her away and put his arms around Jenna.

  “I hate him so much I can taste it,” she said into his chest.

  “Jenna, these are natural emotions at a time like this. He may have thought he was punishing himself, but as usual the suicide punishes you as well.” He wanted to defend Priscilla also, however it definitely wasn’t the proper time. “Maybe there’s a logical explanation. At any rate, this isn’t the time to consider such things. Do you know if any of this money stuff is actually true?”

  “I know the money is actually gone, that’s what I know. Three hundred thousand is real money. May I hire you to get it back from her?”

  “Let’s worry about it later.”

  “You mean after she’s spent it all. I do believe you’re standing up for her. Here I thought you’d be harder to manipulate than Brad. You like her don’t you?”

  “To be honest, yes.”

  “She has no style, no panache, no flair. To be sure, she doesn’t dress like other whores with fishnet stockings and miniskirts�
��I’ll give her that. Can you stand there and tell me you don’t think she’s been screwing Brad?”

  He looked at her thinking of a proper response. He waited too long. She put both hands to her head. “For chrissake, I know the type. She was born with her legs spread.”

  “Jenna, you’re my friend, and you’re attacking one of my other friends. It’s very difficult for me to listen to you. She has her faults, but I don’t think she was attracted to Brad.”

  “Martin, I’m telling you this because you are my friend. I don’t want you hurt. Remember, whores expect to be paid. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

  “I presume you mean I shouldn’t fall in love.”

  “More serious than that. I’m talking about your money. I’m not certain, but I suspect Brad told her about your money.”

  He had a confused look on his face. “What money? Sure, my father and I live well in a nice house. I wear expensive clothes and drive a nice car. I don’t hide any of that.”

  “Drop the bullshit. I’m talking about what you do hide. I know everything.”

  ” Neither spoke for a full minute. He sat looking at her trying to read her face.

  “Don’t worry,” she finally said. “Your secret is safe with me. Brad got drunk one night and told me.”

  “I should never have confided in him. You can’t let this get out, Jenna.” He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t know myself until I finished college. Father wanted me to accompany him to business meetings in New York. I was finally free of college and had already made plans to leave immediately for Europe. He wanted me to start handling things. I knew our family had money, and I understood why he wanted me to take business and accounting courses along with the law. Nevertheless, I didn’t understand the magnitude. He didn’t want me to leave the country until I had a grasp on our financial situation. We spent four days in Manhattan meeting trust companies and lawyers. In our hotel room each night, he’d grill me to be certain I understood the details. He lectured me on how securities firms and stockbrokers were actually sales organizations with commission salespeople touting securities like a sideshow barker. How bank personnel continue to receive promotions until they reach a level beyond their competence. Being a lawyer himself might have colored his opinion that most lawyers are honest. Regardless, he would say, if you play cards with lawyers always cut the deck.”