The officer quickly opened his car door and waved him away. “Go in your house, sir.”
“This isn’t my house, officer.”
“Then get back into your car and stay there.”
“I can explain—”
“Get in your car, now!”
Martin hurried back and immediately phoned Sandy, “This is the last surveillance I’m ever doing.”
“What’s happening?”
Before he could answer, two more police vehicles approached with lights flashing. He was relieved when they passed him, however they did pull to the curb in front of the Cramer house.
“Hold on, Sandy. The police know something about the Cramers that we don’t.”
She said, “Maybe they learned that Myra has our money.”
“Are you still at the hotel?”
“Just left, I’m on my way to Gail Cramer’s old address.”
He watched as the officer in front of him left his vehicle and trotted over to the arriving police. One officer walked around to the back of the house. The other two went to the front door and knocked. After a minute of knocking and shouting, one officer ran to the trunk of his patrol vehicle and carried a sledgehammer back to the front door.
“No answer at the door, Sandy. They’re going to smash it in.”
Within five seconds, the door was splintered and swinging open.
“They ran into the house. No! They’re rushing back out. They’re all excited about something.”
The officers started talking on their radios. The officer who had spoken to Martin earlier now looked over as if just remembering. He started running toward him.
“Oh, oh. Here he comes.”
The officer stopped at the side of Martin’s car just behind the driver side door and pulled his gun out.
“Big problem here, Sandy—”
“Out of the car, mister! Out of the car with your hands behind your head.”
“Perhaps, I’d better call you back.”
“I can hear the cop...which police, city or county?”
He looked back at the patrol vehicle. “West Palm Beach.”
“I’m coming over there,” she said.
He slipped the phone in his pocket and got out.
The next few moments were a fast blur for Martin. The officer had him lean against the car with his legs spread and padded him down. Then handcuffed him behind his back and helped him into the back of the patrol vehicle. All in spite of Martin’s continuing protests about being a lawyer from Park Beach, down there investigating an extortion case.
“Am I under arrest?” Martin sighed.
“Just sit there and be quiet.”
“What’s happening at that house over there?”
The officer didn’t answer just slammed the car door shut and hurried back to join the others at the Cramer house. More police vehicles were now arriving on the scene with sirens and lights, parking in the street at all angles. Clusters of homeowners were now forming in the street and front yards watching the police string yellow tape around the Cramer property. Some gaped in at the man in the business suit handcuffed in the rear seat of the patrol car.
Chapter Nineteen
Sandy fumbled through her notes and found the Cramer home address Jaworski had given her on the phone. Only a half-hour away but by the time she got there the streets were already blocked off. She couldn’t get close enough to even see the house. Something serious was in progress. She had no idea where Martin was and his last call being interrupted was a bad sign.
She parked and walked over to the young police officer at the barricade and asked what the excitement was all about.
“I couldn’t tell you even if I did know,” he said pleasantly. “Just little bits over the radio.”
“And what do those little bits tell you?”
“They tell me to keep my mouth shut. You live in the neighborhood? Show me some ID and you can pass through.”
“I’m a lawyer. I’m working an extortion case. I was told the police are at my subject’s house.”
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her for a moment. “Forget where you heard it, but the M.E. van went past here about ten minutes ago.”
“Geez Louise. Okay, thanks a lot. She slowly walked back to her car, wondering who was dead in the Cramer house. Myra, Ryan, or some visitor. Myra had suddenly left work yesterday around noon and wasn’t at work this morning according to Martin.
Sandy went back to her car and phoned Detective Jaworski, “Got a problem down here, Eddy. Something extra serious is going down at the Cramer house. The street is blocked off so I can’t get in, but the M.E. is on the scene.”
“Cramer, you say?”
“You gave me the address yesterday. Myra Cramer was uptight with our victim Boyd. So she might be Jane, I don’t know yet. I can’t reach Martin. The West Palm police questioned him. Might even be in custody, since he hasn’t called me back. He was surveilling the place.”
“He’s not good at that, is he?”
“All my fault. My classy little red convertible is the exact opposite of what is recommended for undercover work. So, I asked him to go.”
“Okay, give me the address again...no wait, I have it here. Ryan and Myra Cramer. West Palm police, you say. I’ll try to find out what’s going on down there.”
“I hope it’s not Myra.”
“You’re fond of her?”
“I want to save her for myself. I’m thinking she’s Jane. If she’s the one who held a gun to my head, then I want her alive and punished in a prison cell. And if she’s the one who shot Boyd, then I want her to rot there for life.”
“Then let’s hope it’s not her. We’ll soon know. I’ll call you back.”
She did a quick search for the West Palm Beach police department and entered the address in her GPS, just to be ready. She tried Martin again—no answer. She sat listening to more sirens in the distance.
Jaworski phoned back after ten minutes and gave her the news. The Cramer house had been ransacked and an unidentified female body found shot dead. Possible suicide but likely homicide. Sandy thanked him and immediately left for the West Palm police department.
Her head was pounding the entire way. Was it Myra? She hadn’t shown up at work that morning. What did it mean? Someone else shooting a gun—someone else murdered. Dick was dead. Could Jane now be dead? Nothing made sense. First thing—get Martin away from any police problem.
Once at the West Palm police department, she walked across the large lobby and up to the officer on duty behind the glassed-in counter. “I’m the attorney for Martin Bronner. I’d like to speak with him as soon as possible.”
The officer ran her finger down the papers in front of her. “Spell the name, please.”
Sandy spelled it.
“Don’t see him. When was he arrested?”
“I’m not certain. Maybe two hours ago. Maybe he wasn’t arrested. Maybe you’re holding him for questioning.”
“Who’s the detective?”
“I don’t know.” Her head was still pounding. “You tell me. Who’s the detective on the Cramer murder?”
“You know the approximate date of that incident?”
“Your people are on the scene now.”
The woman stared at her for a minute and then smirked. “Why did you wait so long to come in? We don’t keep files around here forever.”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m rushing things. Martin Bronner is my law partner. Actually, he’s more than that. No, I don’t mean it that way...he’s my best friend. I’m concerned.”
“I can see that. I hope you don’t explode while I’m watching.” She sized up Sandy with a quick glance. “Lady, you know a lot of things I know nothing about. I’m going to buzz you in. Go through that door over there. Wait in the hall. I’ll try to find out what's going on. Okay?”
Sandy went through the doorway and was pacing around the hall, when it occurred to her to call Jaworski back. “I’m in the West Palm police station r
ight now. Who did you talk to down here, Eddy?”
“Some woman, a sergeant...Swanson. Was willing to speak with me but didn’t know very much. All just happening. A homicide at that address was about all she knew. A female victim—way too early for an ID.”
“Thank God I have you available. I’m worried about Martin. Will you call her back? Tell her the department is holding Martin Bronner somewhere, and I’m downstairs in the lobby. Tell her we are both good guys and have material information about the homicide.”
“Sandy, I’m not telling them anything of the sort. At this point, the West Palm police don’t know that I’ve any connection with you or Martin, and I’m keeping it that way. I was afraid this would happen. The West Palm police are now aware of you two. You aren’t down there investigating on behalf of the Park Beach police. And you must not even suggest that.”
She said, “You’re up there are trying to solve the murder of Boyd. A woman who was having an affair with him occupies that house. She is perhaps the victim. The only other female involved in this is her sister-in-law, Gail. I suppose she might be the dead one. We’ll soon know.”
“Sandy, stop and think. It’s way too early for all that. The body’s still warm. The West Palm police are running around trying to figure out what’s going on. Later, if it turns out that Myra Cramer is indeed the victim, then I’ll initiate the inter-agency protocol to start our cooperation with the West Palm police. But I’m not mentioning your name. We aren’t officially working this case together, got it?”
“Got it. Nevertheless, Martin and I are the principals in the extortion case. We’re both lawyers and have every right to be down here contacting the police on our own behalf.”
“Okay, keep investigating but keep me out of it. When I know something, I’ll phone. And one more thing, Sandy, remember someone unknown is out there with a gun.”
She hung up just as the policewoman opened the door and motioned her over. “Sorry, just too early. We’ve nothing official yet. I can tell you the homicide has been assigned to Detective Dominic. His aide is Sergeant Swanson. You’ll have to wait to see either of them and it could be hours.”
“Thanks, I’m better now. I’ll come back.”
As she turned and walked away, her phone buzzed. Too soon for Jaworski...maybe Martin? Neither. State Attorney Mel Shapiro said, “I didn’t know you and Martin were down there, until Jaworski just told me. Why are you even there? Please tell me you’re not investigating a new murder in Palm Beach County.”
She explained about Martin. She brushed away all of his concerns and said they’d get together at some point to cover everything. She was pleased to have Mel call and express his concern. She knew he didn’t phone for any official reason—he was interested in her personally. In any case, she wasn’t looking beyond her relationship with Chip, and Mel would never make a move until Chip was out of the picture. She’d never encouraged him, yet it was nice for her to imagine Mel waiting around. Was that bad?
He said, “Let me know if they hold Martin. Or if I can help either of you. Meanwhile, I’ll get all the latest from Jaworski.”
She realized it was too early to ask the West Palm police for any help or information. So far, it was just a mix of second-hand information and not all of it correct. It would take time for reports to be written, consolidated and reviewed—time for proper police procedure to be played out. Martin could no doubt talk himself out of custody. If not, it was still early, still time to avoid having him spend the night in jail. Jaworski would follow through and phone her.
She’d go nuts waiting around in the lobby worrying and hated the feeling of helplessness. Tough to consider a next move, when she didn’t know the identity of the female victim. Was Ryan angry enough to shoot his wife? Sandy hoped not. She rather liked him in a sympathetic way. According to Ryan, both he and Myra would confide in sister Gail who willingly soaked up all the stories. Sandy knew only a small part of Myra’s life; she wanted to know what Myra and Boyd were up to when they were not under the sheets. Whatever Gail had to say should be quite interesting. Especially now that someone had tossed a murder into this. She needed to chase down Gail.
Chapter Twenty
The last published address for Gail Cramer Holman was a few miles north of West Palm in Palm Beach Gardens. According to her brother, she was the one who best knew what was happening in the Myra-Boyd saga. Sandy grabbed a quick sandwich at the Dunkin’ Donuts strategically located across the street from the West Palm police station, and then followed her GPS back up I-95 looking for Gail’s old address.
The night before, she’d followed Ryan from his office to Gail’s new address in a fancy high-rise condominium near the ocean. Since the records hadn’t been updated, a search of all available databases for the sister listed the old Palm Beach Gardens address.
The old address was fine with Sandy. It’s difficult to get information on someone living in a large condominium because of the security. Even if she succeeded in getting inside, she couldn’t roam around doing a “knock ‘n talk” as cops would say. The neighbors at the old address would be much more likely to dish up some dirt on Gail especially since she had moved on and they likely would never see her again.
The sister had positioned herself between wimpy Ryan and his cheating wife. Apparently, Myra just had to tell someone and would favor Gail with the hot details of her energized sex life. Sandy hoped that somewhere among all the accounts of heavy breathing, Gail had picked up some useful information about Boyd and money.
The old address was far from the ocean and west of I-95. It turned out to be an older ten-unit apartment strip arranged in a semi-circle. The front entrances of all the one-story apartments faced a large grassy area, minimally landscaped with two lonely sabal palms enclosed by a curving sidewalk. The hot noon air was moist with not enough breeze to even ruffle the palms.
Obviously, Gail had made a dramatic change in lifestyle by stepping up to a near-the-ocean condo. What did the woman do for a living? Where did the sudden money come from?
Sandy’s phone rang just as she knocked on the first door. Detective Jaworski began talking in her ear at the same time the door opened. A barefooted, clean-shaven, older man, wearing walking shorts and an open short-sleeved shirt waved at her as though he’d known her all his life and was welcoming her back home. He held the door open. “Glad you made it. Come on in.”
She took a step back. “I’m investigating a murder.” She held up a halting forefinger, “Can you wait...go ahead Eddy.
Jaworski relayed the news: the victim was Myra Cramer, shot to death in her home last night. Someone turned her house inside out and there appeared to be a struggle. The police surmised the victim had interrupted someone searching her house.
“Geez, it was Myra huh? Damn, damn. Any word on Martin...ok, I’ll have to call you back.” The man in the doorway had put on sandals and buttoned up his shirt while she was speaking.
When she hung up the man said, “Well, aren’t you pretty? I’ll give you some candy if you’ll come inside.” His expression became stern and he wagged his finger at her. “Remember, young lady, never enter a strange man’s house unless he offers you candy.”
That earned him a smile. Either he was daffy or clever. She’d go with clever. At least he appeared normal enough to hear the truth. “I’m investigating the murder of a woman...the sister-in-law of Gail Holman.”
“Her dog made a lot of noise, so what was I to do?” He sighed. “I’m sorry, but they both had to go. You can come in and beat a confession out of me, if you want. I have a real cool leather whip. Almost new. I use it only on weekends. How do feel about eight-inch heels?”
“I’ll hold off on the flogging, if you’ll come clean.”
“Seriously, why don’t you come in? It’ll drive my neighbors bonkers.”
“Thanks, but it might affect your reputation.”
“Hey, at my age, I can use all the reputation I can get. Now tell me about the murder and why such a nice girl
is saying, damn, damn on the phone.” He looked at his watch. “I can spare five minutes before my next nap.”
“Did you know Gail Holman, lived two doors down?”
He knew the name. Saw her around. Got some of her mail one time by mistake. Didn’t know anything about her. He told Sandy who would know, the designated busybody two doors on the other side of Gail’s old apartment. “She runs a gossip blog in her head. If you find out anything juicy, hurry back here. And be careful you wouldn’t believe some of the weird people around here.”
The woman he directed her to was elderly, reasonably normal and happy to have a visitor. Yes, Gail Holman was in her late thirties, unmarried with one marriage behind her. Didn’t take a stick of her furniture with her, just left it behind. Said her uncle died and left her some money. Yes, there had been several men in Gail’s life over the previous three years. A couple of them would stay half the night. The younger one was the only one that seemed right for her, other than being married.
“The younger one?” Sandy quickly showed her the license picture of Cal Boyd.
The woman shook her head. No, much better looking. He’d pick her up in a different flashy car each time, the woman continued. Brought her home late, romp around a bit, but never stayed over. No, never heard his name. But he was definitely married, that much was certain.”
One hour, two slammed doors and a delightful iced tea with carrot cake later, she gained a head full of mostly useless information, except that Gail Holman worked at the Concierge desk at the Gardens Mall in Palm Beach Gardens. No one knew the name of her married boyfriend.
Sandy went back and sat in her car thinking. So, it was Myra, the cheating wife, who had been murdered. What did that mean? Was she in fact Jane and now dead? She wondered about the time of the murder. She’d followed Ryan to Gail’s new condo last night and sat there in her car working with her tablet until eight. They were still there, as far as she knew, when she left and went over to the Marriott. Did the murder occur before that? Maybe Sandy would turn out to be someone’s alibi.
Alive After Friday (Sandy Reid Mystery Series) Page 11