Calypso (The Harry Starke Novels Book 8)

by Blair Howard

  “She was her own woman. Had been for a very long time. My feelings were irrelevant.”

  “So tell us about him,” I said.

  He nodded. “He owns a charter fishing boat. Stays busy, most of the time. He’s likable enough, but she could have done better—but all fathers think that of their daughters, don’t they?”

  “They get along okay?” she asked.

  “As far as I know, yes. He spent most of his days on the water. Came up here on Sundays for dinner. Other than that, he was rarely here.”

  “Was he here yesterday?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so. He could have been, but if he was, I didn’t see him. I know he was here on Friday evening, and that they’d also been arguing; about what, I don’t know.”

  I nodded. “Do you think she actually intended to marry him?”

  “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

  “A condom wrapper was found under her bed,” I said, watching him closely. “We know she was using a contraceptive device, so why the condom? Carriere would not have used one, so that means….”

  He looked shocked, or at least he tried to. His mouth opened and closed again and then, shaking his head, he said, “No, no, absolutely not. You’re saying she was… oh no. That was not happening.” And I almost believed that he believed it.

  “So,” I said thoughtfully, watching his eyes. “Hypothetically, let’s say she was having an affair. The question is with whom. It had to be someone in this house, family or staff. Who would be your best guess?”

  “No one…. Hell! No one. Family? That’s disgusting. I can’t think of anyone….” And there it was, just a slight twitch of his right eyelid as he glanced away. It was fleeting, and he came right back to hold my gaze, but it was enough. I looked at Kate. She was tapping away on her iPad, but she also had a half smile on her lips.

  Yeah, we know, don’t we?

  I decided to let it go for now. I looked at my watch. The thirty minutes were up, and I had a whole lot more I would have liked to have asked him, but it could wait. This was, after all, his party.

  “Okay, Mr. Martan,” I said, getting up from behind the desk. “That’s enough for now. If you wouldn’t mind sending Leo in next, please; we’ll talk to you again later today. This afternoon, perhaps.”

  “So,” I said to Kate as the door closed behind him. “What do you think?”

  “Same as you. She was screwing someone and he has a good idea who; we need to figure it out. Let’s face it; there aren’t many candidates. At the moment, I can think of only three… no, four.”

  I nodded. “Michael Collins, Jeffery Margolis, Moore, and Jackson, right?”

  “Yep. Them. We also need to talk to Sebastian, and soon. For now, though, I’m looking forward to our chat with Leo Jr.”

  So am I.

  Chapter 8

  Sunday November 13, 11am

  Leo Jr. had all the finesse of a Cat D6 bulldozer. He came into the office loaded for bear and ready for a fight.

  He was about the same height as his father, but there the resemblance ended. Where the elder man was trim and fit, Junior was overweight and in dire need of exercise. His face had the florid look of a drinker. At some point in his life he’d suffered a broken nose, and his neck was a field of old acne scars. His hair, already receding, was combed over in a vain attempt to cover the suntanned expanse of his forehead. His clothes were casual but expensive: the tan pants were perfectly pressed, though his paunch hung over his belt, and the sleeves of his blue sport shirt were rolled perfectly up to just above the elbow—more I think to show off the gold, diamond-encrusted Rolex than for comfort. He wore no socks with his Ferragamo boat loafers. He was, in fact, the epitome of the preppy young man about the yacht club, only at thirty-three he wasn’t so young.

  No, Leo was everything most people hate about the privileged class. He wore his money ostentatiously; his clothes were his badge of honor and position.

  And he’ll fill those damned expensive pants when he finds out what I know about him.

  “Sit down, Mr. Martan,” I said sarcastically as he slumped down into the chair in front of the desk, iPhone in hand. “You won’t need that. Please turn it off until we’re done.”

  “Uh… no!” He said it lightly and with a twisted smirk. “I’ll keep it on if you don’t mind. I may need something to occupy my mind while you drone on.”

  I nodded and smiled sweetly at him. “Make the most of it, sonny. They don’t allow them in prison.”

  That got his attention. “What?”

  “That’s what happens to people like you. Does your father know the mess you’re in?”

  “I… I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah you do. You’re broke, Leo. Not only that, you’re being investigated for investment fraud. What’s the name of the fund you’re operating…?” I spread my papers—the hard copies that Tim had supplied—out across the desk and looked at each one in turn. “Ah yes. Here it is. Brighton New Horizon. You truly did screw those old folks over, didn’t you? Twenty-one million dollars and change. And now the FBI’s coming for you.”

  The color drained from his face. His bottom lip trembled. He wrung the iPhone in his hands like a dish towel.

  “It’s not what you think. It was just some unfortunate investments.”

  “That’s not what it says here,” I said, picking up one of the sheets of paper and waving it at him. “You’re running a full-blown Ponzi scheme. You’re taking in cash from retirees, and you’re stealing it. The fund is in the hole for twenty-one million. The fourteen or fifteen million you hope to get from Gabrielle’s trust fund will plug the hole, at least for a little while, but you’re going down.”

  I looked him up and down, shook my head, and smiled. “And oh boy are you going down. Do you have any idea what happens to people like you when they go to prison? Of course you don’t. But I digress. That money represents motive. You killed your sister to get your hands on it, didn’t you?”

  The iPhone fell from his fingers as he jumped to his feet. “Screw you!” he yelled as he picked it up. “You’re out of your goddamn mind. I loved my sister!”

  “Sit down,” I said quietly. “If you don’t, I’ll have Tommy Quinn arrest you.” Where the hell is Quinn, I wonder? He should have been back with Carriere by now.

  Slowly, Leo Jr. lowered himself back into his chair.

  “Now, Lieutenant,” I said to Kate. “Why don’t you take this? I’m having trouble even looking at this piece of garbage.”

  “You were arguing with Gabrielle early yesterday morning, just before she was murdered,” Kate said. “What was that about?”

  “Money, of course, and I wasn’t the only one she argued with that morning. I heard her screaming across the balconies at someone in the Margolises’ suite too.”

  I made a note of that, and then asked him again what he was arguing with her about.

  “I asked her to lend me some money to pay into the fund, but not because I was stealing from it. I made some bad investments and—”

  “Yes, I see that you did,” Kate said. “A Lamborghini Aventador: four hundred thousand; a Maserati Convertible with all the trimmings: two hundred thousand; and then there’s the helicopter, a Bell 407—” she looked up at him “—over two and a half million, and there’s more. You’ve been living high off the hog, Mr. Martan, haven’t you?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  Kate raised her eyebrows. “Really? Do tell.”

  “The helicopter I got used for just under two mill, and I need it to get back and forth to the office in Miami. Living here is… well you… hell, it’s not easy to get in and out. I need it.”

  “And the cars?”

  “Image. It’s all about image, perception. Who the hell will invest with a guy driving a damned Volkswagen, for God’s sake?”

  Well, he does have a point, sort of. Good answer, Leo.

  “So you were arguing about money,” Kate continued. “T
ell us about that.”

  “There’s nothing to tell; I wanted to borrow ten million from her and she wouldn’t give it to me.”

  “How could she? She didn’t have it yet.”

  “She could have borrowed it against her inheritance. It would only have been for a few weeks. Look, I didn’t kill her. She was a pain in the ass sometimes, but she was my little sister. I loved her, and I want to see her killer caught, I really do, but it wasn’t me.” He looked as if he were about to cry.

  Damn it if I don’t halfway believe you, I thought.

  “Okay, Leo,” I said. One more thing and then you can go. Where were you between noon and two o’clock yesterday?”

  “That’s easy. I was out sailing. I have a small Sunfish. I was out most of the afternoon.”

  Just as his old man said.

  “Okay. You can go, but don’t leave the island. I know damned well we’re going to want to talk to you again.”

  He rose slowly to his feet, stuffing the phone into his pocket with one hand and wiping his eyes with the other. His shoulders were slumped, his head down. When he got to the door he turned and, shaking his head, said again, tearfully, “I didn’t do it.”

  Chapter 9

  Sunday November 13, 11:30am

  Leo Jr.’s wife was something of an anomaly. We’d decided to see her next in light of our interview with her husband.

  Leo was thirty-six; Lucy was twenty-six, and she was his second wife. She’d once had money. Not a lot compared to the Martans, but significant. A trophy wife? She was indeed a beautiful woman, and intelligent, which made me wonder what the hell she saw in Leo. Position and status, perhaps? I thought so. I was eminently familiar with people like her, living on Lookout Mountain as I did. Maybe he saw her as an investment, a source of new funding. We were about to find out.

  I say she was beautiful, and she was, but not like some of the blonde Barbies we see on television these days. No, this one was a classic, dark-haired, dark-skinned beauty; tall, slender, with sharp features and full lips. Aristocratic. Hispanic? Maybe. She was dressed in workout gear: sports bra, spandex pants, and Nike running shoes. And she obviously spent a lot of time in the gym because she was also in great shape. That six-pack would be the envy of many a pro wrestler.

  “You look as if you’ve just come from the gym,” I said as she walked in and took her seat.

  “I’ve just come back from a run around the golf course. I need a shower in the worst way.”

  Now that did set me back a little. First, she didn’t look to me as if she needed a shower at all, and second, I run myself, two, three miles most mornings—but over the golf course, and in this heat?

  “Impressive,” I said. “That has to be… what, four miles?”

  “It’s more like five, actually.” She had a slight smile on her lips, but there was no humor in it. Like everyone else, she’d rather be anywhere but seated in front of me.

  I looked sideways at Kate. Obviously not as impressed as me, she had her head tilted down slightly and was staring at Lucy with a half smile on her lips. Then she looked up, reached across the desk, picked up a piece of paper and a pen, wrote something on the paper, and slid it over to me.

  I smiled when I read it.

  Stop it! You’re a married man now.

  I looked at her and winked; she didn’t find it funny. She leaned back in her chair and said, “So, Mrs. Martan. If you didn’t kill Gabrielle, who did?”

  Okay. I see what you’re doing, I thought. Shock and awe. Nice one, Kate.

  Unfortunately, if it had any effect on Lucy, she didn’t show it. She simply leaned back in her chair, folded her arms, exposed her amazing six pack, and smiled—first at Kate, then at me.

  “Is that what you think? That I killed Gabby? Leo, my husband, said you were a couple of rubes from the hills of Tennessee. I’m beginning to think he might be right.”

  I gave her a big, toothy grin, my best impression of a redneck, and replied, “As ever was, missy. As ever was.”

  Kate, however, didn’t find it so funny, “Yeah that husband of yours is a real pistol. He’ll make someone a fine wife when he goes down on a federal rap for fraud.”

  Lucy glared at Kate, and started to rise to her feet to leave.

  “Sit down, Mrs. Martan,” I said. “You only got as good as you gave. So let’s get started, shall we? I’d like you to account for your whereabouts between noon and two o’clock yesterday.”

  “I was at the stables with my horses from… oh, I don’t know; around ten until just after one, and then I came up here for a late lunch. Then I went to the pool. I was there until I heard the noise.”

  Stables? They have stables too?

  “What noise was that?”

  “Oh, there was a whole lot of yelling and screaming, most it from Vivien, when they found Gabrielle.”

  “Did anyone see you?” Kate asked.

  She shrugged. “Can anyone confirm my alibi, you mean? I’m sure someone did see me, but I didn’t take notes. The servants are not… well, they’re servants, and I have as little to do with them as possible.”

  Wow. What a bitch.

  Kate stared at her. She didn’t like Lucy one bit, and didn’t bother to hide it.

  “I need names, Mrs. Martan,” she said. The hostile undertone in her voice might have chilled even me. “We need to confirm your alibi. Without it, you’ll be in for a tough time until we can figure out who did this thing, and right now, you’re a prime suspect.”

  “Oh don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “Why on earth would I want to kill my husband’s sister?”

  “Money,” Kate snapped back. “Your husband’s broke and under federal investigation. With Gabrielle dead, her inheritance goes to her brothers. That would be about fifteen million each for him and Evander. That’s motive enough for you and for him. So, tell me. Account for your time between noon and two. Give me some names.”

  “I can’t. I told you. I didn’t see anyone. Well I did, but I can’t remember who. You’ll have to ask around… oh, wait. I saw Caspian. He came to the pool just as I was leaving.”

  “That’s not an alibi.” Kate shook her head, exasperated. “That only proves you were there at two o’clock. You could have arrived there at 1:55, for Christ’s sake. You’ll have to do a whole lot better than that.”

  “Well I can’t. As I said, you’ll just have to ask around….” She paused, looked first at Kate, then at me, and then said, quietly, “You do know she was screwing Jeff Margolis, don’t you?

  The silence was deafening. The shock of what she said was complete.

  “Is that a fact,” I said quietly. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  “What’s to tell? They’d been at it for months. Everyone knew—except Leo’s father, that is. To the rest of us it was a huge joke. There was talk that she was screwing the butler too, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d been doing Mike Collins as well. She loved her nookie, that’s for sure. You didn’t know any of that, did you.”

  I should have been surprised, but I wasn’t. Gabrielle had obviously been doing someone, of that I was certain and, upon thinking about it, it kinda made sense. She was right next door to Jeff’s suite, but Collins? Moore? And Sebastian?

  Hell, if it’s true, she had herself quite a little poodle parlor going. I wonder if she was doing anyone else… Jackson, perhaps? Nah…. Hell, maybe she was.

  “I thought not,” she said. “Now you have something better to think about, don’t you?” She sighed, softened a little, looked first at Kate and then at me.

  “Look,” she continued. “Gabrielle was an expensive little piece of trash, a slut that would screw anything with a…. So she pissed off everyone in the house? So just about everyone hated her? So she was screwing Jeff for sure, and maybe the butler, and probably Jackson and Michael too? So someone lost their temper and hit her over the head with a bottle? Does that surprise you, for God’s sake? Family, staff, our friends; she wasn’t in the least particular
. And she was an arrogant little bitch. I’m only surprised that someone didn’t do it years ago. I didn’t do it, but there were times I wanted to.” She paused for breath, then continued, “I was there one time when Leo, my husband, begged her to help him out. She could have gotten him the money he needed, but instead she taunted him. Look, I didn’t like her. I don’t think anyone did, not even that exotic fiancé of hers. If I had to guess who did it…. I couldn’t. It could have been any one of them, really.”

  She was right. We did now have plenty to think about. In fact, she’d just thrown half a dozen wrenches into the gears. If what she said was true….

  “So,” she said. “If you’re done, I need to leave. As I said, I need a shower, and I have the horses to see to.” She rose to her feet. This time I didn’t stop her. She closed the door behind her and I turned to Kate.

  “Well,” I said, switching off the recorder. “What do you think about that?”

  “I think if even a tiny piece of what she said is true, our little Gabby was quite the piece of work.”

  “And?” I prompted.

  “What do I think about Lucy Martan? You already know what I think. She’s a first-class rich bitch, but did she do it? Maybe, maybe not. I’d say she has it in her all right, maybe in the heat of the moment she lost her temper, but I don’t think so. I mean, she’s so self-centered, wrapped up in her own little world. It’s all about her. Everything is about her.”

  “And that in itself is motive,” I said. “She needs to protect and maintain her status. If her husband goes to jail she’ll become an outcast. The money would stave that off for a while maybe, but unless they can come up with another ten million, and quickly, he’s going to jail. Now he has her inheritance they can borrow against. They, both of them, are desperate. She might not show it, but I guarantee that she is. And desperate people do desperate things, including murder….”

  “Nope. Sorry. I still think the butler did it, and now that we know he was screwing the victim….”

  “Yeah, right… the butler. If I didn’t know you were joking…. Kate, we don’t know that she was screwing him. We only have Lucy’s word for that. In fact, we only have her word that Gabby was screwing anyone other than her fiancé. Everything she said might be nothing more than a smokescreen.”