Deadly Gamble: The First Charlie Parker Mystery

by Connie Shelton

  "I gathered you two got kind of friendly."

  "I'd had a few drinks, and I guess I figured what the hell. I laughed at his jokes, but I don't think he figured out I was really laughing at him. You know, the whole picture, the moves he made, the image he gave off. He was just so phony." She chuckled slightly as she remembered. "He was obviously there to hit on the rich women. I mean, it was so obvious it was comical."

  "Some of them fell for it, though, didn't they?"

  "I guess so. Like I said, I don't hang around the club much. It's an image place. Unless there's a business benefit in it for me, I'm really not into projecting an image. I put a lot of myself into my practice, and what little time is left I like to spend alone, recharging my batteries." She took a deep breath and watched the fire dance.

  "Anyway, about Gary," she finally said, bringing herself back to the question.

  "Who else did he hit on?" I prompted.

  "Brad North's wife, I think. She and Gary looked pretty cozy one night. You know him? North? He's a personal injury attorney. I know I shouldn't say this about a colleague . . ." Her mouth formed a little grimace. "But that man is just so obviously after a buck. Get him in a social situation and he's still selling. He'll practically ask you if you've been hurt somewhere, just so he can suggest suing someone. I've never really gotten to know her, but it wouldn't surprise me if she had to look elsewhere for a little attention."

  "I was engaged once to Brad North," I told her.

  "Oh, God, I'm sorry. I mean for what I said. That was really tactless."

  "No offense. I'm thankful it didn't work out. He and Stacy eloped right under my nose. I guess that should have told me what kind of person he is."

  "You're right. If you don't mind my saying so, you got the better end of the deal."

  "If you don't mind my saying so, I agree." We laughed, breaking the uneasy moment.

  "So, who might have killed Gary Detweiller?" I asked.

  She sipped more wine and stared into the fire, thinking. "You're investigating on behalf of Stacy North, aren't you?" she asked.

  I nodded.

  "Well, I don't think she would do it. I don't even know the lady, but it doesn't seem like it would be her style."

  "Can I tell you something in confidence?" I asked. "Detweiller stole a watch from Stacy. When she realized it, she was terrified. She had me recover the watch, and I thought that would be the end of it. When he turned up dead, she was even more terrified. I don't think she did it either. But she's scared to death of her husband."

  "And she might kill to keep him from finding out what was going on?"

  "No! I mean, I really don't think so."

  "You don't want to think so."

  "I want to find out what really happened, and I want to hope like hell that when I find out, the truth will clear Stacy."

  "Could Stacy use a friend in the legal profession?" Carla asked. "I know Brad North, for all his obnoxiousness, has a lot of friends in the business. If she needs a lawyer, she may have a hard time finding one that won't run straight to him."

  "She's worried about that," I admitted.

  Carla set her wine glass on a coaster and stood up. She stepped into the foyer where I found her reaching into a pocket of her briefcase.

  "Here," she said, handing me a card, "have her call me if she needs to."

  I took the card and thanked Carla for her time. She promised to call me if she remembered anything more about Detweiller that might point to the killer.

  Outside, the air had turned cold. My denim jacket was no match for it. I hurried to the car and turned the heat on. Cold air blasted me until I'd driven a couple of miles. Gradually I began to warm up. It had been a long day and home seemed like a good idea.

  Another suspect defused. Another acquaintance of Detweiller who'd claimed to see right through him, who hadn't been taken in or threatened by him. So far, I had to admit, it looked like Stacy was the only one with a strong motive for wanting him out of her life. Someone was lying to me. Who? And why?

  Chapter 11

  Who was lying, and why? Who and why? My sleep was filled with faces. Unfamiliar people who taunted me with untrue stories. Hatred and greed and threats and unfulfilled promises loomed as motives. I awoke at dawn, exhausted.

  Rusty raised his head as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I rubbed at my temples hoping to dispel the headache forming there. He relaxed again on his rug at the foot of my bed as I stumbled toward the bathroom. I turned on the hot water full blast and let it begin to steam as I stripped off my underwear. Adjusting the water temperature downward somewhat, I stepped in and let the stinging spray wake me up. I slicked shampoo over my hair, scrubbing my scalp until it was tender.

  Twenty minutes later I was pink and smarting but no closer to any answers. I slipped on a thick terry robe and padded to the kitchen to start some coffee. Rusty dashed out the back door, and I raised the window shades on the back door and above the sink. By the time I dried my thick hair and put on jeans and a sweater, the coffee and Rusty were both ready. He came in and munched down a bowl of nuggets while I stood at the refrigerator door trying to decide what I was in the mood for. I was in the mood to dump this case and take a vacation.

  The morning paper waited on the porch. I flipped through it page by page while I worked my way through two cups of coffee. Wistfully, I eyed the ads for spring break trips to Mexico or Hawaii. Once this case was over, I was going to think seriously about traveling. Ron had taken a ski vacation at Christmas and had only gotten out of his cast three weeks ago. His being out of the office had put an extra burden on me for two months. His business trip last week had landed me in the middle of Stacy's problems. I owed it to myself.

  That decided, I felt hungry enough to eat a piece of cinnamon toast. I flipped on the radio while the butter and sugar bubbled fragrantly under the red element in the toaster oven. I dumped the coffee grounds and rinsed the pot. Just as I turned off the water, I caught the announcer's words saying that a suspect had been picked up in the Detweiller murder. A prominent attorney's wife.

  The shit was about to hit the fan.

  I dialed Carla Delvecchio's office and got an answering machine. It was only seven o'clock. I decided to go to the office and try again later. I'd no sooner wrapped my toast in a napkin than my phone rang.

  "Charlie?" Stacy's voice was thin and frightened.

  "Stacy, where are you?"

  "In jail," she cried. "I'm so scared, Charlie. Please help me."

  "Does Brad know?"

  "Not yet. He had a breakfast meeting at six. The police showed up about five minutes after he left."

  "Shall I try to find him?"

  "No!" Her voice was terrified. "Can you just get me out of here?"

  "Stace, you need an attorney. Let me get you one, and we'll see what we can do."

  "Please don't tell Brad," she begged.

  "He's going to find out, Stace. There isn't any way to hide this now. But I'll get you another attorney and we'll see what happens next."

  She was crying openly when I hung up. I looked up Carla Delvecchio's home number. She sounded barely awake, but agreed to meet me at the police substation where Stacy told me she'd been taken. Rusty didn't look too happy when I told him he'd have to stay home, but I had no idea where this day would take me.

  I called our office and left a quick message on the answering machine for Sally and Ron.

  The Osuna substation of the Albuquerque Police Department is only a couple of miles from Stacy's house. For me, though, it was over forty-five minutes in morning rush hour traffic. I dashed through the door of the one-story brick building, frazzled and impatient.

  "Stacy North was brought in here this morning," I explained to the officer at the desk. "She called me for help."

  The officer was an Hispanic woman about my age, who looked like she'd just come on duty and hadn't had her first coffee yet. She pawed through some folders on the desk before thinking to check the computer.
/>   "Oh, yeah," she said, like the name had finally registered with her. "You must have just missed them."

  "What?"

  "Her attorney came, but they have to take her downtown first. She'll be held there until her bond hearing."

  Great. Well, Stacy was in Carla's hands now. I didn't see that there was much else I could do at this point. At a pay phone attached to the wall of the substation, I placed another call to Carla's office. I left a message on the machine to have her call me at my office when she was through downtown. It seemed there was nothing left for me to do but wait.

  I climbed in my Jeep and began the slow trek back across town. Today, the air held the promise of spring. Clear blue sky, uninterrupted by clouds, allowed the sun to warm the air. Tree branches were still bare, but thick buds had formed on them, a hint that flowers would soon burst forth. I traveled Osuna Road from the substation west. The golf course on my right showed a hint of green. In the planter areas of the median, the daffodil sprouts were already four inches tall. I wondered where Stacy was right now.

  At San Mateo the traffic was thick. Drivers yawned behind the wheel as they inched their way forward. I waited my turn at the light, cutting across three lanes once I got a break so I'd be in the correct lane to turn left at the freeway entrance two blocks ahead. On I-25, things weren't moving much faster. It was impossible to tell whether construction work or an accident was the cause or if this was simply the norm on a workday morning. I stayed in the middle lane, hoping to be in the right place should there be a blockage ahead. Impatient drivers darted in and out, gaining the advantage of a car length or two, only to wait again as their chosen lane slowed to a stop. One blue import passed me three times this way, its driver looking like a prime ulcer candidate.

  Somewhere around the Candelaria exit, the flow picked up. The reason was unclear—we'd passed no accidents or other obstructions. I switched to the right lane, ready to join the mini-group that would head west on I-40. I took the 12th Street exit and arrived at the office about ten minutes later. It was still early. Ron's car was in its usual spot; Sally hadn't arrived yet. I caught up with Ron in the kitchen, where he was fumbling to extract a coffee filter from a tightly pressed white stack.

  "I hate these things," he grumbled. "Why don't they make them easy to get apart?"

  "Want some help?" I took the stack from him, licking my thumb and index finger. Even at that, it took a little coaxing to pry the top filter away.

  Ron filled the glass decanter with water from the sink while I measured out the ground coffee.

  "Stacy North was arrested this morning," I told him.

  "I wondered about that," he replied. "I heard something on the radio about 'a prominent attorney's wife'."

  "Well, that probably means Brad has the word by now," I said glumly. "Poor Stace. She sounded panicky when she called me this morning."

  Ron poured the water into the receptacle on top of the coffee maker and switched the machine on. We stood there without speaking until it began to gurgle somewhere deep inside.

  "What will happen to her now?" I asked.

  "She's probably being booked right now," he said. "Then there will be a preliminary hearing. She might get a judge to agree to bail, seeing that she's not exactly a threat to society. Does she have an attorney?"

  I told him about calling Carla Delvecchio.

  "She's supposed to be pretty good," he said. "Strong on women's causes."

  "I just wish I knew what was happening. I hope she'll call me later to fill me in."

  Ron slipped his arm around my shoulders. "You did what you could, Charlie." He saw I was in a slump. "Hey, while the coffee brews let me go get cinnamon rolls."

  I nodded but had a hard time getting enthusiastic. He was trying, though. I found two mugs in the cabinet while he went out the back door toward his car. Sally's car pulled in just as Ron was leaving so I reached for another mug.

  "Hey, how's it going?" Her cheery greeting fell into such a void that she purposely stepped around me to check my mood. "What's the matter?" she asked.

  I filled her in on the morning's developments. I'm not usually a moody person, and it worries those around me when I get into a funk like this. Sally was sympathetic, but optimistic. "Look at it this way," she said. "No one like Stacy North is going to spend any hard time in jail. And Delvecchio's good. She'll have your friend out in no time."

  I couldn't help but believe her. Looking into Sally's honest open face with the wide blue eyes, one couldn't do otherwise. We poured ourselves mugs of coffee and awaited the cinnamon rolls. Ron would probably go to his favorite bakery, which was just up Central Avenue in the University area. I told Sally about my idea of taking a vacation while we waited.

  "Charlie, that's a great idea!" she said. "Just get away from here, go find a beach somewhere, lie around, meet some handsome guy..."

  "Well, that's not exactly in the plan," I told her. "I just want some time out of town. I need to clear Stacy, Brad, the office, and the tax returns out of my head."

  "Do it. Call your travel agent this morning."

  I hesitated.

  "Don't worry. If a call comes in on the Stacy situation, I'll buzz you."

  Ron came back just then, and we each helped ourselves to a thick roll, coated with white frosting and sprinkled with finely chopped pecans. I took Sally's advice and settled in at my desk, travel agent's number in hand. Thirty minutes later I was booked for ten days on Kauai. I would leave May first, giving me plenty of time for tax season to be over and plenty of time, I hoped, to get Stacy's problems out of my hair.

  "Line two, Charlie," Sally's voice came through the intercom.

  "Charlie, what is with this Brad North?" Carla didn't bother with an introduction, but I guessed who it was immediately.

  "In what context, Carla?"

  "Wow, I just got my butt chewed royally."

  "He what?"

  "Yeah. He tracked me down by phone at police headquarters. While I was filling out the paperwork to get Stacy released, he proceeded to inform me that he would represent his wife and that I could just take my little ass home."

  "What did you say?"

  "I told him the choice of representation would be up to my client. That she had already retained me."

  "And?"

  "Well, he just about blew a gasket over that. We'll see. You gonna be at your office awhile?"

  I glanced at my watch. It was close to eleven. "I don't have any other plans," I told her.

  "I should have Stacy out of here soon," she said. "I managed a quick hearing and the judge agreed she's not a threat. Let her out on her own recognizance." Papers shuffled in the background. "Anyway, I thought we might stop by your office when we leave here."

  We hung up a minute later.

  Ron had left on some mission and I checked with Sally to see whether he'd be back soon. I would have liked to have him there when Carla and Stacy came by.

  "Don't think so," Sally said. "He said he had a lunch date."

  I wondered if that was date, as in female. It had been a long time for Ron.

  Stacy was a wreck when they arrived a little before twelve. Her jogging suit was rumpled, with a dirty smudge across one hip. Her blond hair hung limp and stringy, looking like she hadn't even brushed it this morning. When she saw me a red rim appeared around her mouth and her eyes became watery. Despite everything, we reached instinctively for each other. The embrace only brought out the tears in both of us.

  "I must look horrible," she sobbed, wiping at the tears with a dirty hand. A black smudge made a path across her cheek.

  "Yeah, you do." I smiled through a wet haze. "Want to wash up a little?" I pointed her toward the bathroom.

  "Will she be all right if she goes home?" I asked Carla, once the bathroom door was tightly closed.

  We were in my office now, Carla taking the sofa, I behind my desk. Carla shook her dark head, indicating she didn't know. She wore a pin-striped suit, cream colored silk blouse and dark pumps. Her ch
in-length hair was breezy yet businesslike, a confident and professional lady. If I ever needed an attorney, I'd want her in my corner.

  "I really don't know, Charlie. I was completely taken aback by Brad North's behavior on the phone earlier. Even now, I'm not sure whether he meant to convey concern or anger."

  I pondered that. It had been so many years since I'd spent any time around Brad, I just didn't know how to read him.

  "What do you think about Stacy's case at this point?" I asked.

  "At this point," she responded, "I can't say. I haven't seen any of the evidence yet. I need to talk to her some more. See if she'll open up to me."

  "I hope so. The impression I get of Stacy these days is that she's built big thick walls around herself. She's not the same girl I used to know."

  "One of the associates in our office has a degree in psychology. She's pretty good at getting people to open up to her. Maybe I can find out more than we see on the surface here."

  "If Stacy doesn't dump you and take on her husband as counsel."

  Carla nodded knowingly. "That's a big if."

  Stacy emerged from the bathroom looking a million percent better. She must carry a full toolkit in her purse. She had washed her face and hands, applied full makeup, brushed her hair, and had somehow even diminished the dirty smudge on her pants. She even smelled of freshly applied Giorgio.

  "Wow, I'm impressed," I told her. I can't seem to make that much difference in myself when I'm dressing up for a date.

  Carla patted the sofa next to her, indicating that she'd like Stacy to sit. The two clasped hands for a second. I was glad to see they'd hit it off.

  "I'd like to review the case with Charlie present, if you don't mind," Carla told Stacy. "Since she's been investigating, I think she might have some valuable input for us."

  Stacy nodded.

  I spent a few minutes filling them in on what I knew. I pointed out that the police could probably easily provide motive, via the pawn ticket on the Rolex, and opportunity because of the time gap between the time of death and Stacy's established time at the airport that night. Means was the missing link. As far as I knew, they had not located the murder weapon. I asked whether either of them knew about this.