“Janice, Mr. Burton Pendlebury is here to see Mr. Turbot.” She listened for a moment, then asked me, “Did you have an appointment, sir?”
Mentally I crossed my fingers—it was show time for the bluff I had worked out with Bettina. “Please tell Mr. Turbot I’m a friend of Ike Simonetti and Lorraine Wallace.”
She repeated my instructions. Again she listened, this time a little longer. She smiled at me as she disconnected. “Mr. Turbot will be right with you.”
So far, so good. The bluff was working. I had gambled that either Simonetti or Wallace had been a client when they lived in Houston.
I strolled to the wall of windows overlooking the glass canyons of Houston that spread to the horizon. A flock of vultures wheeled in slow circles a hundred feet below me as they rode thermals and updrafts. Somehow it seemed appropriate to me that vultures circled near the offices of one of the largest law firms in Texas.
“Mr. Pendlebury?”
“At your service, ma’am.” I handed her my bogus business card.
“I’m Janice, Mr. Turbot’s assistant. Will you come with me, please?” She led me down the hall to an open door. Inside the office, an over-weight, middle-aged man walked around a walnut desk the size of New Hampshire to greet me.
Janice handed him my card. He glanced at it out of the corner of his eye as he reached out his hand to me. “Frank Turbot, Mr. Pendlebury.” His smile was well-practiced. “Any friend of Lorraine Wallace and Ike Simonetti is a friend of mine. Pleased to meet you.”
I shook his hand. “Thanks for seeing me without an appointment, Mr. Turbot.”
Turbot and I did the usual “call me by my first name,” “do you want coffee,” “how do you know Ike and Lorraine?” and “they send their best” bullshit and then we got down to business.
Turbot looked at me expectantly. “How can I help you, Burt?”
“Frank, a rather delicate family matter has come up.” Bettina and I had discovered the night before that family law was Turbot’s specialty.
“When I mentioned my situation to Ike and Lorraine, they both recommended you and suggested I give you a call.”
“Actually, Burt, I represented Lorraine. Ike was represented by another attorney whose name escapes me.” He shrugged. “It was years ago. But I came to know Ike during the course of the negotiations, and I am pleased he was happy with my representation of Lorraine. I try to be fair to both sides in prenuptial matters. In fact, they even invited me to their wedding.”
Bull’s-eye. The bluff had worked. Wallace is the client, not Simonetti.
My wheels were turning, and I missed Turbot’s next few words. I needed to think about what this meant without distraction. I had to find some peace and quiet. I must have responded with the right answer, because he said, “Good, good.”
Then he leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “So, Burt, have you proposed to the young lady yet?”
###
I turned in my rented minivan at the airport and headed for the airline’s first class lounge. I put my ear buds in, closed my eyes, and let my mind wander.
If Wallace was Turbot’s client, then Wallace was his contact. What was her motive? She was not Sam Simonetti’s heir; her husband was. Had she gone to see Turbot to arrange the Cleveland murders?
Turbot said he’d just seen her the previous Labor Day. Or did he? I played back the audio recording I’d made of our meeting. He hadn’t told me who he’d seen or if he’d seen them both. But he did say that Wallace was his client and not Simonetti.
Wallace was the one who hired the hitmen. And Labor Day was just a few weeks before the arson in Cleveland.
While I waited for the flight back to Port City, I sent Ted Saunders a long email covering everything I’d learned about the fire and Howard Hopper. I asked him to forward it to the Cleveland cops who were coming to shake the bushes in Houston.
Chapter 43
After the thugs from Houston ambushed me, I was as suspicious as a Puritan preacher at a nudist convention.
Sunday afternoon about two, I parked the minivan and walked across the parking area toward my front porch. I glanced at the garage door and stopped in my tracks. Something looked wrong. It took me just seconds to notice—the top panel of my garage door leaned slightly back from vertical. The bottom of the door lacked a half inch of reaching the pavement.
I walked around my townhouse to the boardwalk and docks in the back along the shore of Seeti Bay. I greeted a couple of neighbors walking and two teenage boys fishing. My back glass slider still had the pine needle I’d stuck with tree sap across the bottom before I left for Houston. The hair I’d fastened across the front door with a drop of spit was also undisturbed. No one had entered the front. All was normal.
It had to be the garage.
I returned to the van and punched the remote. I drew my Glock 17 as the door slid up. Then I opened both of the van’s sliding doors and sat in the second row behind the driver’s seat.
The early afternoon sun left the garage interior in shadows despite the door opener’s built-in light. The forty-watt light was no match for the sunlight reflecting off the pavement. I couldn’t see into the garage, but anyone inside would feel exposed.
I tore off a few sheets from the yellow pad I keep in the van and rolled them into a tube like a kid’s telescope. The shaded interior of the van blocked the sunlight. The tube blocked the remaining glare and I stared into the garage, watching for motion.
A neighbor pulled into the parking area. “Hey, Chuck, how’s it going?”
I concealed the Glock. “Fine, Sandra. How are you?”
“What’re you doing in the back seat?”
“Cleaning out some candy bar wrappers, empty cups, and so forth. I need to rake it out once in a while. Have a nice day.”
She drove into her garage and her door came down.
My garage door opener light had gone out after four minutes.
I retrieved the Maglite from the minivan and shined it with my left hand as I crossed the parking area, the Glock concealed against my right thigh. I dropped to one knee in front of the Avanti and shined the Maglite beam under the car. Nothing.
The motion sensor on the garage door light turned on as I entered and walked around the Avanti. Other than the Avanti and me, the garage was empty.
I searched under the Avanti with a mirror on a stick from my minivan. The bomb was stuck under the engine compartment. I called the PCPD bomb squad.
Until I got these bombers sorted out, I’d need to look under my van and Avanti every time I started either.
Mrs. Parker, the landlady, was going to love this.
Chapter 44
Sharon Farragut’s industrial metal desk at her lab was almost clear; her credenza and shelves neat and tidy. She perused the file. “DNA from the toothbrush, two hats, the house shoes, the boots, and one pair of gloves were all from the same person. We presume that proves the DNA is from Sam Simonetti.”
“That’s good news,” I offered.
She flipped several pages in the file, then gave me a puzzled look. “Didn’t you want to prove Sam Simonetti was not Gloria Simonetti’s father?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I have more good news. Sam Simonetti is not Gloria’s father.”
“Great. Did Gloria’s DNA match Reynaldo Mateo’s?
Sharon referred to the file again. “No, it’s not his, either.”
I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Then who is the father?”
“Beats the hell out of me. It’s no one in our data base.”
Chapter 45
I telephoned Vicky on the way to our conference and left a detailed voice mail. Then I told her my plan.
Traffic was light and I arrived early. She came to reception to fetch me. “We can make out in my office until Ike gets here.”
“I think Lorraine’s coming too.”
“They’ll have to find their own place to make out. My office is reserved for me.”
<
br /> “Lady, you have me at a loss for words.”
“That must be a first. Follow me.” She sashayed down the hall like she was on a fashion show runway. She looked over her shoulder and smiled seductively as she made sure I got a good view of her backside.
She stopped at Carmen’s desk. “I expect Ike Simonetti and maybe Lorraine Wallace in a few minutes. When they arrive, call me, and then take them to the small conference room. Chuck and I’ll meet them there.”
“Right, boss.”
Vicky led me through the door and closed it behind us. She put her arms around my neck, pressed me with a full-body hug, and kissed me. She gave it her thorough attention for a few seconds, then backed off. “That’s all we have time for.”
“Your loss.”
“I got your voice mail. I listened to it three times. It’s hard to believe.”
“Believe it. Both Lorraine and Ike went to Houston over Labor Day last year and stayed until the following Thursday. I hacked Lorraine’s bank account. She wrote a large check to Franklin Turbot. The following week, Turbot hired Lenny Lucas to kill the sisters. The stepmother was just collateral damage. We need to talk to Ike alone about this Franklin Turbot thing. Lorraine can’t learn that I know about Turbot or the fire. Not until we talk to Ike alone. Agreed?”
“Right.”
As I finished outlining my plan, Vicky’s intercom dinged. She pressed the button. “Yes?”
“Mr. Simonetti and Dr. Wallace are both here. I’m going to fetch them now.”
“Thanks.” Vicky turned to me. “Is that everything?”
“Yes. You ready?”
“Luckily, I’m a good liar,” she said.
“Well, you are an attorney.”
Vicky smiled and shot me the finger.
We got to the conference room just as Carmen arrived with Simonetti and Wallace. We gave Carmen our coffee orders, and sat down at the walnut table.
Vicky opened. “Okay, Chuck. What’s this about?”
“There’s been a development that Ike suggested we get your take on. And there’s new information I learned this morning. I just came from the DNA lab. They extracted Sam’s DNA from the items of clothing I collected. They compared that DNA to a sample of Gloria’s that I obtained. Sam was not Gloria’s father.”
Simonetti sighed. “I shouldn’t be surprised. But it’s a disappointment to confirm that Gloria is not related. Lorraine and I have gotten real close to her.”
Wallace slapped the table with both hands. “Then that’s it. Case closed. Gloria gets excluded from Pop’s estate, and Ike gets it all.”
Simonetti raised a hand in a stop gesture. “Chuck, tell Vicky about Ramona’s history in Mexico.”
I told Vicky about Ramona’s first three husbands. Vicky acted like she was hearing it for the first time. Then I summarized my interview with Reynaldo Mateo where he admitted his affair with Ramona.
Simonetti said, “She risked millions of dollars if she’d been caught with Reynaldo.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “but think what she had to gain if she produced an heir for Sam. Of course, she had to get pregnant. She counted on Reynaldo to do the job. That’s why she had the affair.”
“So Reynaldo is the father?” Wallace asked.
“No.”
“Then who?”
“I don’t know yet, but I intend to find out.”
“We don’t need to know who the father is if we can prove it wasn’t Dad, right? And you proved that.”
“I proved it circumstantially but not legally. Vicky, why don’t you explain?”
“Ike, the DNA samples Chuck obtained from Sam’s personal effects may not be legally sufficient to prove Sam isn’t the father.”
“Why not?”
“Because DNA from hat bands and house shoes is circumstantial. They don’t prove to a legal certainty that the DNA Chuck collected was your father’s. Ramona could claim that the DNA was someone else’s who tried on that hat or those shoes.”
Simonetti said, “If I were on a jury, I would say that your evidence was sufficient.”
Vicky nodded. “Taking this to court could take years. And, while I was going mano a mano with Ramona’s lawyers, she would control Gloria’s half of the estate. The surest way to prove that Sam isn’t the father would be to exhume his body and get a DNA sample.”
Simonetti’s mouth compressed into a thin line.
I explained. “I believe Ramona had set up her most ambitious black widow murder yet. First, she gets pregnant with an heir. We did find a prescription for an erectile dysfunction drug in Sam’s personal effects. I’m sure that Ramona had sex with Sam as often as she could, hoping to get pregnant. There were five pills missing from the ED drug bottle.”
Simonetti scowled.
“Doctor Norris told me Sam was almost impotent toward the end. As a backup plan, Ramona selected Mateo to impregnate her in case she didn’t succeed with Sam. The first part of her plan worked—she got pregnant.”
Wallace spoke up. “But you told us Reynaldo is not Gloria’s father.”
“That’s right. She wanted to get pregnant, but it didn’t matter who the father was. She must have slept with someone else.”
“But who?” Wallace asked.
“I intend to find out.”
Simonetti frowned. “You said getting pregnant was the first part of her plan. Then what?”
“When Ramona confirmed the pregnancy—which could have been in August—phase two was to increase the share of the estate for her baby by murdering your step-sisters. Her father Ramon set the fire in Cleveland. Phase two worked.”
Simonetti said, “So Ramon did set the fire in Cleveland?”
“We still have to prove it. After the sisters were dead, she could execute part three—kill your father. We don’t know if that part worked or not.”
Vicky raised a hand to stop me. “Why didn’t Ramona try to kill Ike too? Then she would control the entire estate.”
“That puzzles me. If Ramona killed Ike before Sam died, Gloria would get the entire estate because Lorraine could not inherit from Sam under his will. As it is, Gloria inherits just half.”
Wallace said, “Two hundred million dollars should satisfy anyone. Maybe Ramona didn’t want to raise suspicions by killing Ike.”
Vicky shrugged. “This new information about the fire means Ramona may have murdered Sam.”
“Should we go to the police?” Simonetti asked.
“Yes,” Vicky answered. “We now have enough suspicion to ask the police to open a homicide investigation.”
Wallace turned to Simonetti. “To open a homicide investigation requires an autopsy, honey. And an autopsy means they have to exhume Pop’s body.”
“If the medical examiner exhumes the body, we get Dad’s DNA sample at the same time. Right?”
Vicky nodded. “Yes.”
“I guess we don’t have a choice. How do we do this, Chuck? Do I call the cops or do you?”
“I’ll call my old boss, Lieutenant Weiner. I’ll put the wheels in motion.”
Chapter 46
Snoop had the same table at the Fat Tummy. “So you’ve got two bad guys: Ramona Simonetti and Lorraine Wallace?”
“Yeah. Wallace hired Turbot to arrange the murders of Ike’s half-sisters. She may plan to whack Ike later and become a wealthy widow. Ramona murdered her first three husbands. She may have intended to kill Sam too, but nature took its course first.”
“So what’s Lorraine’s motive?” Snoop sipped his beer.
The server showed up and I ordered. “Ike Simonetti is rich, but he’s not super-rich. Maybe Wallace wants her husband to be super-rich.”
Snoop put down his beer. “Wallace didn’t know Ramona was pregnant until Thanksgiving. So in September, when she arranged the murders, Wallace thought she was increasing Ike’s share of the estate from one-third to the whole shebang. How much is the estate worth?”
“Over four hundred million after taxes.”
“Dollar
s?”
I nodded.
“That’s a lot of motive, Chuck, even if it’s only second-hand money.”
“Yeah, but when Gloria was born, Ike was cut back to two hundred million. And Wallace must have felt that she indirectly lost out on the other two hundred million.”
Snoop frowned. “Now Wallace could kill Ramona and Gloria so Ike gets it all. Then she waits a couple of years and Ike has a convenient heart attack.”
“You think Lorraine plans to eventually kill Ike, Snoop? That doesn’t make sense. She still needs somebody to enjoy the money with.”
“Yeah, Chuck, but it doesn’t have to be her husband.”
“You’re right. But Ike is as good as anybody…unless she has something going on the side. You’d better check that out. I want you to tail Lorraine. I’ll have Flamer put on a full court press on her bank and financial records. One other thing—Ike is hinky, ethics wise. He faced several business fraud charges and environmental skirmishes in Houston. He pretends to play the business game, but he cheats.”
Chapter 47
Simonetti and Don Ramirez stood looking over the city and the bay when Vicky and I walked into Don’s corner office. Simonetti shook hands, but he acted a little miffed. “Don says you and Vicky want to see me, but he won’t tell me why.”
Don put a hand on Simonetti’s shoulder. “We’ve known each other for a long time. I handled your father’s affairs for twenty years, and Vicky and I have been privileged to handle your legal affairs too. You’re more than a client. This meeting is because we’re friends.”
“So why am I here?”
Don squeezed Simonetti’s shoulder. “We have things to tell you that we don’t want Lorraine to know. Believe me, it pains me to ask a husband to keep secrets from his wife. Let’s sit down.”
Don turned to me. “Chuck, why don’t you tell Ike what you learned?”
“Ike, during my investigation, I uncovered evidence of another, more serious crime. I found evidence of a murder—or murders.”
Simonetti nodded. “Yeah, you told me Ramona’s father burned down my half-sisters’ house.”
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