“Let me see if I can help here,” Burton said. “You hired the investigator, and he located Lauber for you. You learned he was staying here at the Cartledge Inn, and you decided to come here, meet up with him, and kill him.”
“Exactly. And I must say you are excellent for putting it so concisely. Thank you so much.”
I glanced at my watch. Scott Bell-James had been in the room nearly twenty minutes and had given us perhaps three minutes of information. I stayed on my knees and said, “Scott, help us. How did you plan to kill him?”
“Oh, I was going to shoot him. You see, I went to a pawnshop in Avondale Estates. It’s at an intersection with a strange name—Sam’s Crossing. It intersects with College Street.”
“Yes, I know where that is,” I lied, but I wanted him to move on.
“You can surely understand that I did not want to go to a regular gun store because—”
“Yes, I understand,” I said. “What kind of gun did you buy?”
“The weapon I purchased was manufactured in Switzerland. It is called, I believe, a SIG-Sauer 9mm semiautomatic pistol. It is a compact, short-barreled handgun and holds an unusually large number of rounds in the magazine. Sixteen the man at the pawnshop told me. And unlike most other pistols, it has a double action, which means that it did not need to be cocked to be fired. All I needed to do was pull the trigger. That was why I purchased the SIG-Sauer. Oh, I do not mean because of the bullets, but because I didn’t have to do anything but fire.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Where is the pistol now?”
“Oh, I discarded it. I threw it as far into the lake as I could. I mean the lake here at the Cartledge Inn. I understand that it is more than twenty feet deep, but I assumed there was, is, virtually no likelihood of draining—”
“Okay, enough,” Ollie said softly as he paced the room. To his credit, he didn’t add anything more.
“Did you ever see Lauber?” Burton asked.
“Certainly. I went to his room Wednesday night—the night he was murdered. I had the gun concealed in my left pocket. I’m left-handed, you see, and I could still knock with my right hand. I thought that was a rather good ruse to—”
“So you knocked!” Ollie said.
“Well, yes, I did. I mean, I tapped on the door, but it wasn’t locked. So I pushed it open—”
“And?” I asked.
“Why, he was dead, of course. But you certainly know that, don’t you? For a few moments, I was quite upset. Actually, I was disappointed because someone else had brought justice in the world. I didn’t know whether to cry or to leap with joy.”
“Did you search the room?”
“You must be joking. The room was a complete mess—all torn up. On TV don’t they say the room was tossed? And why would I want to search the room? I went there to kill him, not to steal from him.”
“What about the diamonds? Didn’t you want them?”
“Diamonds? What are diamonds to me? Diamonds cannot purchase happiness or give peace of mind or provide solace in my grief. No, I wanted only revenge.” He stared at me, and his eyes pleaded for me to understand. “Oh yes, and you see, I did resolve the situation. I had decided to go to the police station—I even knew where it was located. Right off I-285 and Memorial Drive. I even made a practice run earlier during the day. I was afraid I’d be so unstrung that—”
“And give yourself up?”
“Not exactly. I planned to write a confession, hand it to the policeman at the desk—I did not go inside, but on TV they always have a desk. Then I planned to stand there and shoot myself in the head. I read that those who shoot themselves in the stomach or the heart do not always succeed, and that would be a great tragedy.”
Burton came over and knelt on the other side of Scott. “How do you feel now?”
“Now? I’m grateful I did not have to take his life or my own. But, yes, I would have done it. Yes, I certainly would have. So I believe justice has been served.”
“If he was involved in the murder of Jeremiah,” I said.
Scott stared at me. “Are you trying to say he was not?”
“No, because I don’t know,” I said, “but I have a feeling—call it only intuition or a gut feeling—but I don’t think he was connected with the murder.”
“How can you say that?” Scott asked.
“I was Stefan’s therapist.”
“And he told you he did not kill—”
“No, we did not go into that, but I don’t think he did. He did many wrong things, but I do not believe murder was anything he’d be involved in.”
“Yes, but if that—that horrible Willie Petersen did the killing—Lauber would not have literally pulled the trigger, but he would have been guilty.”
“I’m stepping out—way out,” I said, “but I don’t think the murder of the courier and the robbery were the same crime.”
“How can you say that?”
“Stefan once said that he had done many wrong things, but he’d never been involved in any form of violence, and he made a point to say that he would never have tolerated it.”
“Yeah, right,” Ollie said.
I ignored him. “Stefan also said that one time there was a crime of violence in which he was implicated, but he wasn’t connected with it.”
“And you believed that slime bag?” Ollie said.
“I believe my client,” I said.
“Oh dear, dear, if he was not in any way involved,” Scott Bell-James said, “I might have—I might have committed a crime instead of exacting revenge.”
“Yeah, well, I hope that was true—but you have only Lauber’s word, for whatever that’s worth,” Ollie said.
“It’s worth a great deal to me,” I said. “I believed him.”
“How sweet,” he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “However, as far as I’m concerned, he was a felon. Any man who would be involved in that kind of theft could just as easily be involved in murder. Right now I’m not sure anyone cares whether he was involved. Lauber is dead. The diamonds are still missing—at least we have not found them.”
Ollie turned to Bell-James. “Okay, Scott, you may go,” he said in a calm voice. “Did you throw away the gun?”
“I said—”
“I know what you said. Did you throw away the gun?”
“No.” He looked away. “I was afraid that it might—might implicate me in some way.”
“Of course,” Ollie said.
Scott picked up his blazer with one hand and his briefcase with the other. He opened the briefcase and held it out with his left hand. “Here it is. You will notice that it has never been fired. That is, I have never fired it, but the previous owner might have. As I explained, I bought it at a pawnshop and—”
“Yeah, whatever,” Ollie said and pulled out his handkerchief and took the gun. He laid it on the table.
I smiled as I watched Ollie wrap the gun and lay it aside. It was exactly how they do it on TV. Maybe those shows do have some reality to them. Or maybe Ollie watches them and imitates the detectives.
“Just one more thing,” Scott said. “How will I know—about whether Lauber had anything to do with—”
“It will be on the news,” I said. “You said you didn’t like to watch the Fox Channel, so you can see it on CBS.”
Scott started to give each of us a good-bye, but Ollie stopped him again. “We’re glad to have met you and appreciate your forthrightness. If there’s anything else, I’ll be in touch.”
“What about my gun? I certainly don’t plan to use it, but I surely would not wish it to fall into the wrong hands. I heard of one case where a policeman took an innocent man’s gun and—”
“You’ll get it back,” Ollie said sharply. “Just leave us alone now.” He spoke those last words through clenched teeth.
Scott stared at each of us for a few seconds and hurried from the room.
“Now what?” Burton asked. “So far everything comes up empty.”
“Not quite. We stil
l have a few things left to explore,” Ollie said.
“Such as?” I asked.
Just then someone knocked at the door.
Fourteen
“I’d like all of you to meet someone,” Ollie said and stood aside while a couple entered the room.
The woman came in first. She was small and thickset, and at first I thought she was elderly. As she stepped into the room, I figured she was probably not more than fifty, but with a face full of premature wrinkles and furrows—a face that had seen a hard life. Her long black hair, streaked with gray, was drawn back into a knot at the nape of her neck. Her lips and cheeks were colorless. A plain, no-nonsense woman, even to her ankle-length black skirt and long-sleeved, high-collared blouse.
The man wore a crumpled white suit. Thick glasses had the effect of magnifying his pale blue eyes into great round hypnotic orbs. He was tall, angular, and hard-faced.
“We are the Boltinghauses, Dennis and Fillis. We were told that we could speak to Mr. Stefan Lauber,” the man said. “The clerk at the desk sent us here.” He looked around at the two men.
“Oh, this is the man you want,” Ollie said. Before Burton could react, Ollie added, “They said they wouldn’t talk to anyone else.”
“Mr. Lauber? I hate to break in on a meeting, but this gentleman”—he nodded toward Ollie—“said it would be all right.”
“What brought you here?” Burton asked.
“Uh, well, we are not used to talking in, uh, well, a crowd—”
“These are my consultants,” Burton said smoothly. “I wouldn’t discuss any business without them or keep any secrets from them.”
“If you’re sure.” The man looked from Ollie to me and then to Burton.
“Positive.”
“Well, sir, this is an unexpected pleasure,” the woman said. “We have heard many excellent things about you—”
“Such as?” Burton tried to hide his confused expression, but I knew him well enough that I could see he hadn’t fully succeeded.
“Well, sir, you see,” the man said and peered through his thick lenses, “the word we have heard is that you have jewelry to sell. Uh, rather expensive, upscale jewelry. That’s all I’m prepared to say in the presence of these others.”
“We are totally discreet,” Ollie said. “You can say we’re in this business together.”
“Please continue,” Burton said.
“It is like this,” the woman said. “We hear you have diamonds for sale and you need someone to dispose of them for you.”
“Dispose?” Burton asked, and he was now in his role. “And by that you mean—what?”
“You know quite well what we mean,” the man said. “We’re prepared to, uh, take them off your hands and, uh, sell them—for a price, you understand—and you’ll get as good a deal from us as you will anyone else.”
“And what price do you have in mind?”
“We’re prepared to offer you thirty million dollars.”
“Do you have that much? In cash? In what form?”
“Bearer bonds,” the man said and smiled.
“Bearer bonds have been illegal in the United States since the early 1980s,” Ollie said quickly.
“But not in other parts of the world,” the woman said. “And they are like cash.”
“I don’t know,” Burton said, and it was obvious he wasn’t sure how to go with this.
“How did you learn about the availability of the diamonds?” I asked. “We haven’t sent a message through CNN.”
“I prefer not to say,” Boltinghaus said.
“I prefer to hear,” Burton said.
The couple stared at each other for a minute, and she nodded for him to speak. “Uh, well, you see, there was a certain woman who was supposed to, uh, entice you to sell or give them to her and to meet us by 2:00 today. She did not show up, and, uh, she said she had no other means of disposing of the diamonds—”
“So we decided to see you ourselves,” the woman said. “In fact, we can offer you a better price—”
“What is her name?” Burton said. “I’ve spoken to a number of people.”
The couple looked at each other before he said, “We are, uh, prepared to match or better any other offer—”
“Tell me her name,” Burton said more firmly.
“Knight. Deedra Knight. She assured us—”
“Deedra Knight is dead,” Ollie said.
“A likely story,” the woman said. “You only want to hold us up for more money.” As she spoke, her words faltered as if she wasn’t sure whether to believe Knight was dead.
Ollie held out his badge and identified himself. “What else do you have to tell us?”
“I don’t know anything more,” the woman said. “That’s the truth.”
“I can tell you only that Ms. Knight approached us and said there was a profitable deal for us. I have been in the diamond business for more than thirty years, sir, and I assure you that—”
“These are stolen diamonds,” Ollie said.
“Oh, well, in that case,” the man said, “I’m not interested.”
Ollie laughed. “Actually, I know who you are. You own that shabby little jewelry store one block off Main Street in Tucker—”
“Shabby?” the woman said. “I would certainly not call it shabby.”
“And you’ve been implicated in several jewelry-fencing operations,” Ollie said. “Go on, get out of here.”
They rushed from the room.
As soon as the door slammed behind them, Ollie said, “We’ve learned one thing from that episode—”
“Yes, the diamonds are still missing,” I said.
Ollie smiled—a genuine, honest smile—before he said, “Exactly right. Either the person who killed Deedra has them, or no one has located them.”
Maybe he wasn’t as much of a jerk as I had thought.
Ollie’s cell rang, and he turned his back on us and listened for several minutes. “Hmm. Yes, interesting. Thank you so much!”
After he hung up, he smiled again. With practice, that smile could be as enchanting as Burton’s—well, almost. I might even learn to like the man.
“We may have had a very, very interesting break.” Ollie picked up the phone on the table and called the desk. “Craig, would you come down to the room? If you could get someone to cover for you for the next ten minutes, I’d appreciate it very much.”
Although I wanted to know what he had learned from the cell call, I knew it would do no good to ask. Ollie liked to be in control—and I understood that. If I asked questions, that would make him enjoy his power role even more. If the circumstances had been reversed, I probably would have acted the same way.
While we waited, I decided to open a bottle of water. I took a few sips I didn’t actually want. It was really a nervous gesture to do something while we waited.
A knock was followed immediately by Craig opening the door and coming inside. “Here I am.”
“Please come in and sit down,” Ollie said. He indicated the wingback chair.
“Did I do something wrong?” Craig asked. He was small and almost elfish. When he sat in the large chair, he seemed even smaller and thinner.
“Did you do something wrong?” Ollie asked.
Craig’s gaze went from face to face, and none of us said anything.
“Okay, I took that—that woman’s money so she could get into 623. Honest, that’s all.”
“Really? Is that all?” Ollie asked.
I didn’t understand the role he was playing, but he had shifted into a soft, quiet voice.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Your name is Craig Bubeck, age fifty-four. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” he said. The wariness in his eyes said he sensed what was coming next.
“And how long have you been employed at the Cartledge Inn, Craig Bubeck?”
“Uh,” he said and cleared his throat. “Almost a year.”
“And, Mr. Craig Bubeck, what did you do before you wer
e employed by the Cartledge Inn?”
He dropped his head and said nothing.
“Tell us, please,” Ollie said. “We’re all extremely eager and anxious to know.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with—with the murders and that stuff.” His voice sounded as if it might have come from a child. “Honest.”
“Suppose you answer my question,” Ollie said, and his voice had become even softer.
He cleared his throat again and picked invisible lint from his uniform blazer. “You know, don’t you?” It was a voice about ready to break.
“Yes, Craig Bubeck, I do know. Indeed, I know,” Ollie said. He turned from Craig and faced us. “He was in prison for six years.”
“Uh, no, only four. The sentence was six, but I was paroled early.”
“Oh, forgive me for making such a serious mistake,” Ollie said. “I would certainly not want to hold a convicted felon’s past before everyone, but suppose you tell my two friends here why you were in prison.”
“Armed robbery.”
I almost laughed. I couldn’t believe that short, thin, frightened little man would have the courage to rob anyone.
“I was only the driver,” he said. “I didn’t do anything—but, yet, because I was involved, I was equally guilty.” He looked up at Ollie and said softly, “I paid for my crime.”
“Oh, of course you did, Craig Bubeck, and I won’t dispute that,” he said. “But tell my nice friends what kind of robbery you and your three misguided friends were involved in.”
“Jewelry mostly. It was a jewelry store they held up.”
“And there’s more, isn’t there?”
“I was supposed to—to fence the merchandise.” He took a deep breath and said, “Okay, here’s the whole story. It started with my brother-in-law. He—he owned a jewelry store near Lenox Mall. He has sometimes done things that—okay, he was a fence. He had connections with an organization in Atlantic City.”
“And where is your brother-in-law now, Craig?” Ollie stayed in that sticky-sweet tone.
“Back in the jewelry business. He copped a plea and—”
“Yes, I know that,” Ollie said. “When I heard that from my department only minutes ago, can you possibly guess what I thought? Surely you must have known we would learn about your past.”
Everybody Wanted Room 623 Page 12