Such Wicked Friends

by Rod Hoisington

  “Every time.” He broke into a grin. “And with your driver’s license, I can scope out your name, then look at your photo and say, you’re much prettier in person.” He glanced around then back at her. “What’llya have?”

  “It’s one of those no sales. The name ‘Butch’ came up in a bad context. I thought you deserved a chance to explain before we went any further.”

  “Oh, I remember. You were in here a few days ago asking about that Knockers gal meeting some older guy. Yeah, the three of them were in here again.”

  “The three of them?”

  “Yeah, her boobs plus the one guy.” He drummed his hands on the bar for an accent. “Look, sweetheart, if he’s cheating on you then dump him and get some nice man closer to your age who fell madly in love with you when you walked in that door. I promise to keep you in bar nuts for the rest of your life.”

  The guy seemed too far out to be guilty of anything other than bad jokes, yet she’d come this far. “That man who comes in here told my cop friend you helped him get hold of a certain piece of dangerous equipment.”

  He stared at her for only a second before rolling his eyes. “Sweetheart, I hope you get your problem straightened out, but hey I’m a little busy right now.” He turned away.

  She left the place and waited in the car for Martin. He came out shaking his head. “No phone call. After you left, he did nothing special. Turned on the TV and started talking sports to some customer.”

  “Geez, so much for following the gun—it’s a dead end.”

  “I watched you in there. You’re not above turning on a little sparkle when you need it, are you?”

  “I take advantage of being a woman whenever I can. Is that what you mean?”

  “And what did we accomplish?”

  “We didn’t get shot.”

  “We’re not home yet either.” That was about all he said. They drove back to Park Beach mostly in silence. He just sat there driving with both hands gripping the steering wheel, She knew he wasn’t afraid of being shot at any moment. He was miffed at her for shutting him out of so much, especially since it involved his friends. He was still sulking about how she’d handled the suicide, kept secrets from him about Priscilla and not trusted him. She thought he was justified in some of it.

  “Maybe I’ll go back up to Palm Point and nose around. I did pretty well the first time when I talked to the wife of that Gary, and she told me she followed her cheating husband to Jolly Roger.”

  “You sure struck out this time with the gun.”

  “Yeah, I’m grasping at straws. I guess I’m stuck.”

  “Where would you....”

  She held up her hand to shush him.

  “What?”

  “I remember what Jerry Kagan told me, ‘If you get stuck—cherchez la femme’.”

  “Look for the woman,” he translated. “But you’ve already found the woman.”

  “That guy’s wife was eager to give me the dirt on him. Maybe there’s another disgruntled wife around somewhere.” She gave him a knowing smile.

  “Look for the woman,” he repeated. “Oh, are you thinking about Mrs. Bichadel?”

  “They told me at Knockers they were recently divorced. Ex-wives always know where their husbands buried a couple of bodies. When I get home, I’ll boot up Chip’s police computer. I need name, address and as much background as I can find on her.”

  “Let’s hope she hasn’t moved to California.”

  “Let’s hope it was a very nasty divorce and she’s mad as hell.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  By ten o’clock the next morning, Sandy had stopped her red MX-5 at the gatehouse of the ocean side private residence of Mia Bichadel near Palm Point, Florida. She identified herself to the middle-aged guard who checked his clipboard, her ID and then raised the barricade. She had phoned the night before and was expected. “Welcome to Orchid Point.” He waved her on. She didn’t move but looked up at him. “You took your retirement from the force early didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, Tallahassee Police. How did you know?”

  “That Glock in your holster. The way you hang it sort of back on your right leg. And the way you checked out the back seat of my car just now.”

  “I’ll be damned. You Federal?”

  She gave him a sly grin while shaking her head.

  “Yeah right. Let me know if there’s any way I can help you, Miss.” He touched the bill of his cap.

  The Bichadel estate was a grand and sprawling affair on a huge point of land jutting out into the Atlantic. None of which could be seen until after negotiating five minutes of spotless winding road. Several tropical-style structures and garages sat back on beautifully manicured and landscaped lawns. She took a guess and pulled up before the columns in a large circular drive. A young man wearing Bermuda shorts trotted out of the portico, held her door and told her Mrs. Bichadel was in the garden—he would escort her. “Cute car,” he said. “I should have your keys in case I need to move it.”

  She made her hand into a finger pistol and pointed it at him. “You touch my car—you’re a dead man.” She started walking across the natural stone pavers.

  “No, No. Wait.” He disappeared behind a hedge for an instant and drove back up to her in a fancy golf cart that had fins like a Cadillac. As they maneuvered among the palms and ponds, it became obvious that the most expansive and attractive areas were at the rear of the estate hidden behind lush landscaping and best seen approaching from the water. A luxury cruising yacht, a mid-sized yawl and two small powerboats were secured at a gleaming white dock at the foot of the sloping lawn. The tropical estate was almost too much to comprehend.

  Mia Bichadel lounged in a cluster of white wrought iron tables, cushioned chairs and benches in a garden arrangement under a large square navy blue awning down on the far lawn. To her surprise, she found the woman to be about her own age. Mia didn’t rise for the greeting. She smiled invitingly and motioned for Sandy to sit.

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin commenting on your home. What a marvelous place to live.” Sandy looked up, around and out at the unblemished horizon. They shared the same blue sky overhead, but that horizon, seen from this extraordinary point of land and framed by palm trees, belonged only to this woman.

  “I don’t give tours, however you’re welcome to roam later.” Mia leaned forward in her chair. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Iced tea?”

  “Really? Could I talk you into joining me for a Bloody Mary?”

  “I’ve gone to heaven.” Sandy could detect no accent, but the woman had the classic facial features found on leading ladies in foreign films.

  Mia motioned to an elderly houseman who was sitting in the shade a few yards away. He put down the paperback he was reading and hurried over.

  “How’s the book, Michael?”

  He first looked over at Sandy and gave her a slight bow to acknowledge her presence. Then, “You absolutely should read this one, Ma’am. It’s a translation of a mystery novel by some Swedish author. He’s dead now. Other books are in the series.”

  “Great. Please leave it for me when you finish. Bloody Marys?” She held up two fingers. “Now Sandy, please call me Mia, I’m not going to ask how you found my confidential number, however I noticed your first comment to me on the phone questioned my current relationship with my ex. I thought it was impertinent and impolite.”

  “I know I’m too blunt sometimes. My inner child is a rude little bitch. Sorry, I don’t know how to work any other way. I had to know which side you were on.” She went on explaining her mission. How the fifty grand deposit from an offshore bank account might incriminate Bichadel and link him fatally to the murder, and open the door for possible money laundering and EPA violations. “One other major consideration, Mia, before we continue. It’s possible your ex-husband will be investigated as a result of what you tell me this morning.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  “Yes, but it could bring him do
wn hard. He could end up financially busted or jailed and unable to meet financial obligations. If you’re depending on him for any kind of commitment, payment for your support, intertwined finances or if you have stock in his corporation, stop right here. You might lose this place and everything you have. You may want to get some legal advice before giving me any more information.”

  “Thank you for looking out for me. To answer your concern, let me give you some background. Way back when, Jack didn’t have a dime, but he did own an old beat up Corvette that sat rusting beside his house because he didn’t have money to fix it. He took the Corvette title and somehow forged the year to make it seem brand new. After that, he took the dummied up title to a bank and borrowed ten thousand dollars to buy his first natural gas lease.” The Bloody Marys arrived, she paused and they clinked glasses.

  “Jack had a trusted attorney, Bill Glynn, who was by his side from the start cleaning up after him. This attorney struggled for years with little compensation living on the promise of ending up with a one-third interest in the corporation. Jack screwed him over and kept the almost one billion in stock for himself. Would you like something to eat?” She drained her glass and signaled for two more and a tray of munchies. Sandy asked for iced tea; she needed to drive back.

  “Is such ruthlessness necessary?” Sandy was also dying to know how Jack Bichadel had captured this European beauty.

  “Sandy, you came to me because you correctly assumed that I would be prone to vengeance and retaliation. Two years ago when I decided to divorce him, guess who I sought out to be my attorney? The person most angry with him. Between us, we took Jack for this estate plus millions. I have other residences—I won’t bore you with the locations. I’ve disconnected all of my assets from his financial affairs. My assets are untouchable. Now, what is it you’d like to know?”

  Sandy leaned back on the cushions and gazed out at a distant boat under sail running north with the following Gulf Stream. The cooperation of this woman was more than she could have hoped for. The question remained does she have any useful information. The houseman served the fresh drinks. Sandy took a sip of iced tea and tried to ignore the tray of mini-Danish. She started explaining.

  After five minutes, Mia stopped her. “Excuse me. I want Bill Glynn to hear all this. You can relax. You spoke of an offshore account. I’m certain Bill knows where that account is. It’s my nuclear option. Yet it’s useless for blackmail purposes. If I threatened to expose it to the authorities, he’d simply close the account. It means I have a one-shot pistol. I can use it only one time and that must be to destroy him. We never needed to bring it up in the divorce proceedings. Jack doesn’t know we are aware of the existence of the offshore account.” She motioned the houseman over and asked him, “Is Mr. Glynn in the house?”

  “No Ma’am. He’s over on the putting green.”

  She picked up her smartphone, “Bill, how would you like Jack’s head on a platter? We need the offshore account information...no, this seems to be the ideal time to use it...how does slapping the bastard with first-degree murder sound? Can you come on over?” She looked at Sandy and smiled. “A clever young woman you’d love to meet is here.”

  While they waited, Mia explained, “Bill’s fee from my divorce settlement, which Jack had to pay, was all he needed to retire early. Now we’re here living in sin—at least as much sin as I can handle.”

  Bill Glynn was dressed for the golf course and strode with confidence across the lawn as though walking to the cup after sinking a hole-in-one. When Sandy got past his movie star tan and sparkling teeth, she could see he was older than Mia. But then, she looked like a twenty-year-old. In a charming way, he was a virile choice for her. After the introductions, he sat opposite.

  Mia said, “Could I bother you to start over.” She turned to him. “Sandy is a budding criminal lawyer. This will be her first big case. Do I have that correct?”

  “No, not my case at all.” Sandy said taking a long sip from her glass. “I’m involved because a young woman was murdered, and her innocent husband was unjustly accused. It drove him to suicide. I intend to avenge their deaths—among other things. I know the identity of the actual killer who conspired with Jack Bichadel.”

  “In your opinion,” Bill said.

  “In my opinion,” she repeated, the iced tea halfway to her lips.

  “Are you in actual fact a licensed lawyer?” he asked.

  She nodded, “Just got my Florida license. However, I have a background in field investigation for a major criminal defense law firm in Philadelphia.” She handed over her professional card.

  “Yes, this card says you’re a lawyer. This address...I’m familiar with it. Near the courthouse, isn’t it? That’s a high-rent office in a very nice building. And that is your office?”

  “I rent desk space there.”

  “Desk space?” He raised an eyebrow. “Well, isn’t that just marvelous.”

  “Yes, it is.” She continued with the explanation for needing the offshore account number. She didn’t mention she was responsible for a person sitting in jail for a murder they didn’t commit.

  “I can’t believe you’re not making any money off this? Do you have a conflict of interest in this matter?”

  She hesitated before answering. “At the present time, I’m under arrest for obstructing justice and out on bail. A disbarment proceeding is in progress against me. My interest in this is to bring the conspirators to justice which will clear my name.”

  He glanced at Mia shaking his head slowly. “So you’re under arrest for God knows what. You not only do not have a legal standing in this matter, you are in an illegal circumstance. You aren’t working with the local, state or federal authorities and your theories differ from theirs. Does that about cover it?” He was flipping her card between his fingers. “So bottom line, you’re just sort of messing around.”

  “Bottom line, I’m just sort of seeing that justice is done.”

  “My instincts tell me you are in fact working for a third party. I insist that you reveal just who it is you’re actually working for.”

  “Her name is Margaret Frome.”

  “Ah, just as I suspected. And would you please tell us just who is this Margaret Frome, and what exactly is her interest in this?”

  “She’s the young woman Jack Bichadel decided should have a bullet slammed through her head.”

  His face blanched with inner pain. It was a long moment before he lowered his voice and said, “I’m sorry, Mia. In any case, this still doesn’t smell right. Let me make a few phone calls before we go any further with Miss Reid.” He turned to Sandy, “Nothing personal you understand. We want to thank you for taking the trouble of driving up here.”

  “Bill, where is the offshore account located?” Mia asked gently.

  “Mia, my darling, that secret account is an important asset for us like an ace up our sleeve.”

  Not looking at him she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. Where did you say it was located?” Her voice remained soft and even.

  He hesitated. “Antigua.” He folded his arms and sat back stiffly in his chair.

  “Thank you, Bill. Is there anything else you need, Sandy?”

  “Yes there is. Thank you for Antigua but I need more. I need the exact account ID and access code. Those banks respond only upon receipt of the confidential ID.”

  Bill looked defiant. “I don’t know if I have the actual ID. I just know it’s a bank in Antigua.”

  “Well, now that would be unfortunate for you, Bill. All this time you’ve been telling me we have an ace up our sleeve. When in fact all you have is the name of a country, not whatever it takes to actually get into the account.” Mia looked out at the horizon and then back at him.

  He met her gaze for only a second before jumping up. “Yes, of course, I’ll go check. I’m sure I can find the complete account information.”

  Sandy marveled at the inner strength of this woman. It was too simple to say, she has the money
therefore she makes the rules. She had some inner source of fortitude beyond the power of money. Whatever it was, Sandy wished she had it.

  She turned to Sandy. “Jack has been exploiting the world and its people all his life with invincibility. In his world, you are nothing but an insignificant gnat not worth the energy to brush away. How dare you try to bring him down? Who do you think you are anyway?”

  Her tone took Sandy aback for a moment before she realized Mia was challenging her to stop and think. Forget all your dreamy thoughts of righting the wrongs in the world. This isn’t some march on Washington. This is real time. Jack is a real and powerful person. And he’ll be coming after you personally. What if the payoff to Priscilla didn’t come out of the Antigua account, or Bichadel closed the offshore account long ago? What if she was left standing naked in the middle of the burning bridge she was trying to run across?

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Mia said.

  Sandy thought for a few moments then raised her eyes from looking at her hand and slowly shook her head. “This all began when I saw a young woman with a bullet hole between her eyes and thought it was horrible, but I wasn’t connected I just happened to be the one who found her. As I stood beside her there in the dark, a feeling of empathy flowed over me. I felt attached to her as though she was my lifelong friend. And then she touched me. She certainly touched me emotionally, and perhaps even physically with a drop her blood. Looking back on it, I don’t know for certain what was emotion and what was real. The blood spot might not actually have been there, but I know I saw a spot of blood. Does that make sense?”

  Mia was slowly nodding her head.

  “In any case, I could feel her crying out for help. Crying out for me to seek vengeance. I started investigating the situation. I found the woman had put her life on the line, taking a risk to stand up for what she believed was right. The police unjustly accused her husband, and that poured fuel on my flame. I knew I was on the right track when people started shooting at me. That’s always a sure sign. I figured who might have shot her. That led me to your doorstep, and...I don’t know, Mia. Just one damn thing because of another. A mysterious drop of blood on the back of your hand can change everything.”