Lucky Thirteen

by Melanie Jackson

  I heard someone clear their throat behind me and turned to face Detective Phillips over the top of the stall wall.

  “Ms. Boston, I thought that I’d made myself clear the last time we spoke.…”

  He suddenly stopped speaking and looked as if he too had sensed there was something wrong. It was possibly the familiar scent of blood that had also drawn his attention. His eyes grew wide when he spotted the body on the floor of the stall. I almost laughed, this being the first facial expression other than boredom that I’d seen cross his careworn features.

  “Is that a dead body I see on the floor of the stall?” he asked calmly.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “And who might the dead person be?”

  “Jerry Dietz, the head trainer,” I explained.

  “Ms. Boston, perhaps you’d be willing to answer one or two questions before I arrest you. Better yet, maybe you should call your lawyer first.”

  “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary,” I replied.

  I exhaled a long sigh of frustration in anticipation of an even longer afternoon while Phillips pulled his cell phone from his pocket to call for the crime scene investigators.

  Chapter 6

  I sat at the dining room table in the Hightower mansion answering the same questions for the third or fourth time. I’d already explained to Phillips about how I’d obtained Jerry Dietz’s fingerprints and faxed them to Hope Falls for identification. I’d explained what the fingerprint search turned up. I’d also explained that I’d arrived soon before the detective did to find the body of Dietz in the stall.

  Phillips was still considering arresting me for withholding evidence, interfering with a criminal investigation, and tampering with a crime scene. He explained that he saw me drive up and was therefore fairly certain that I hadn’t had enough time to kill Dietz. That and the fact that there were no fingerprints found on the handle of the pitchfork, and a quick pat down proving that I possessed no gloves, had cleared me of a murder rap.

  After calling for backup, Phillips had applied latex gloves before opening the stall door. He then guided me back out of the stall the best he could to prevent further contamination of the crime scene. He made me sit in my car outside, after taking my keys, while a swarm of support vehicles descended upon the property and began cordoning off the stable. Soon after they arrived, he drove me to the Hightower mansion for questioning. During his very thorough interrogation, people stepped into the room to have private meetings with him and provide status updates. I tried to listen in on these conversations but Phillips took steps, sometimes even leaving the room, to keep them private.

  “I suppose that I have everything I need from you,” Phillips stated. “Besides, I need to get back to the scene of the murder. I suggest you don’t leave the state until you receive clearance from me.”

  “You mean you’re letting me go.”

  “Yes, I am. And I’m ordering you to immediately leave this property.”

  “Before I go, I wonder if I might have a word with Sissy Hightower.”

  Phillips eyed me suspiciously as he considered my request.

  “Is there something more that you haven’t told me?”

  “Possibly. Allow me to speak with Miss Hightower and you’ll find out.”

  Phillips called for Charles, who opened the door in response. He ordered him to bring Sissy Hightower into the dining room for a word. We waited in silence for Sissy to arrive. When she did, she walked round the table with her head down and kept her face averted as she took her seat.

  “What is it you wanted to say to Miss Hightower,” the detective asked.

  “This,” I replied, sliding the earring I’d found earlier in the stable across the table.

  Sissy looked up to see what was on the table. When she spotted her missing earring, she made a grab for it. But Detective Phillips was too fast for her, snagging the earring from the table before she did. He held the beautiful piece of jewelry up before his eyes.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “It’s an earring that I found wedged between the boards in Soft Spoken Hal’s stall this morning, the very stall in which Jerry Dietz, or more accurately, Herman Lutz, was found. And if I’m not mistaken, it is one of a pair of earrings I saw Miss Sissy Hightower wearing at dinner the night before Miss Hightower’s disappearance.”

  Detective Phillips considered my words, but not for long.

  “Do you have something to tell me, Miss Hightower?”

  Sissy lowered her head and began to cry.

  “I met Wayne that night in the stable, that’s all,” she said between gasping sobs.

  “You’re dismissed, Ms. Boston,” Phillips told me, suddenly having lost all interest in me. It always saddens me when people live down to my expectations. Saddens me and also pisses me off.

  I left Phillips and Sissy behind to have a nice long talk. Charles was waiting for me as I stepped from the dining room. He led me to the front door of the mansion.

  “Any word from Miss Hightower?” I asked as we walked side by side.

  “None,” he replied with a frown.

  “Have you by any chance seen Jose recently?”

  “I haven’t seen him since that horrible day at the racetrack.”

  “Uh-oh, that can’t be a good sign,” I said. “Can you tell me where Jose lives?”

  “He lives in a small apartment in town. I’ll write the address down for you before you leave.”

  “Thanks.”

  By the time I drove back out the gates of the Hightower estate I’d been given Jose’s address in town and even received help from Charles in locating the place on my map. I was growing more fearful for Miss Hightower now that murder had been added to the equation. My only hope seemed to be in finding Jose alive and well so that he could spill the beans on who was behind all the recent crimes—because I was sure they were related.

  I engaged the door locks on my car as I drove into a rundown part of town. I found the address I was after. It was a two-story apartment complex that looked like it was built during the cold war, by the losing side. It badly needed a paint job and probably a new roof as well. I had a hard time finding parking amongst all the cars, both in working order and disabled, cluttering the street. I had to park two blocks away and walk back to the apartment. I locked the rental car doors but had this sneaking suspicion that the hubcaps would be missing by the time I returned. Thank heavens I had taken out extra insurance.

  I passed several disheveled individuals roaming the street on my way to the apartment. I kept my head down and made sure not to make eye contact. I wasn’t paying much attention, but I thought I heard one of the people I passed ask me for spare change. I ignored him and continued walking. Eventually I entered the courtyard of the apartment complex where several children were playing with trucks in the dirt where plants should have been growing. I made my way to the second floor since the apartment number was in the two hundreds.

  I found Jose’s apartment and knocked on the door.

  “Hello, who is it?” a voice called in reply.

  “Jose, is that you?”

  “Who wants to know? You aren’t the cops, are you?”

  “No.” That was only a half lie.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Jose, are you going to let me in or not?”

  “No, I’m not here.”

  “How can you not be there? I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

  “Oh yeah, you’re right. If you’re not the cops then who are you?”

  “Chloe Boston.”

  “Chloe!” Jose exclaimed before he threw the door open.

  With little warning I was engulfed in Jose’s arms and kisses were bestowed upon both my cheeks.

  “Chloe, I’m so glad to see you. But you shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

  Jose took a furtive look around the apartment complex, pulled me inside, and slammed the door shut. I was standing in the living room of his apartment. Several suitcases and plastic
garbage bags lay on the floor stuffed with personal items. Jose was obviously on the move.

  “Planning on going someplace?” I asked.

  “Just packing some stuff for Goodwill.”

  “Jose, I know that you and Jerry Dietz, formerly Herman Lutz, were the ones who doped Soft Spoken Hal.”

  “Herman told you?”

  “No, Herman is dead.”

  Jose dropped down heavily on his threadbare sofa, stunned at the news of his friend’s recent demise.

  “I’m a dead man,” he declared.

  “Not yet,” I countered, “not if you come with me to the police and tell them everything you know.”

  “You don’t know the people I’m dealing with. They have power and influence. Trust me, I’d never live to testify against them.”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  “I’ve got to run,” he replied, bouncing up off the sofa.

  Jose stormed past me into a back room. When he returned, he was slipping an ugly-looking black handgun into his belt.

  “Jose, you’re making a big mistake.”

  “No, I’ve already made a big mistake. Now I’m doing the only thing left to do.”

  Jose looked around the room and ultimately grabbed only a single suitcase. He walked to the front door of the apartment and opened it. There he turned to address me.

  “Chloe, I like you. You’re a nice lady. You don’t deserve to be caught up in this mess. Go home, now.”

  And with that he was out the door and gone. He didn’t even bother to close the door behind him. He left that for me to do as I left his apartment. I saw no sign of Jose on the street. Back at my car I was both surprised and pleased to see that the hubcaps were still on the wheels. I climbed in and sat wondering what to do next. I decided to call Bryce for more information.

  “Bryce, what do you need, Chloe?”

  “What more can you tell me about the leader of Herman Lutz’s gang?”

  “The one that’s never been nabbed?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “His name is Gordon Simms. Though he’s never been convicted of a crime, he’s said to have his hands in everything from simple fraud to computer piracy.”

  “You got anything else on him that might help?”

  “Not much, but I do have a picture.”

  “Can you fax it to my hotel?”

  “Sure, what’s the number?”

  I explained that I didn’t know the number but gave him the name of the hotel. He said he’d look it up and send a fax of the picture right away. We said our goodbyes and I signed off. I turned over the ignition and pulled away from the curb. The street was empty of traffic with the exception of one car that pulled away from the curb behind me and started to follow. It was a nondescript black BMW made descript by the fact that this wasn’t a neighborhood in which you’d expect to find any BMWs, black or otherwise.

  It was getting late and I could think of nothing else to do other than get in trouble out here in the country. Dark clouds had moved in quickly, indicating that I was in for a drenching. I drove back toward the Century Ambassador Hotel on the coast, and as I drove I analyzed the information I’d gathered so far in trying to find an answer to the doping and the whereabouts of Miss Hightower. I felt as if I was at a dead end. It was now obvious that Herman Lutz and Jose had performed the doping, but I didn’t yet know who was pulling their strings. I suspected several individuals could have hired them, but that got me no closer to the ultimate culprit. And as far as finding Miss Hightower, I had made no progress at all.

  I was musing over my lack of progress on the cases when I noticed the BMW that had pulled away from the curb behind me was still following. I pulled off the freeway and the BMW followed. Coming to a stop by the side of the road, I stepped out of my car and began to walk back to the BMW, which was stopped several yards behind me. Dark clouds hovered overhead adding to the ominous mood of the encounter. Just before I made it to the BMW, it screeched away from the curb, barely missing me, and rapidly disappeared into the distance. As it passed, I was able to make out the fact that a man in a black leather jacket and sunglasses was driving. I walked back to my car and drove back onto the freeway.

  During my drive to the coast I saw neither hide nor hair of the black BMW. The sky had become decidedly cloudy and it looked as if the weather was about to get ugly. After parking the rental car, I looked around the lot before entering the hotel. It had begun raining, hard, and the wind was beginning to blow. Once inside the hotel, I headed directly for my room in the hope that I would find Alex waiting for me. At that moment, I didn’t want to be alone.

  The moment I opened the door I heard Alex having a one-sided argument with someone. I stepped further into the room to find him having a heated conversation on his cell phone. I began to say something and he raised a cautionary finger to stop me.

  “I don’t know where he is, I haven’t seen him all day. All I know is that you’d better find him and find him fast!”

  Alex slapped his clamshell cell phone closed to end the call. I walked over to him and he opened his arms to give me a hug.

  “Alex, what’s the matter?” I asked, laying my cheek against his warm chest.

  “We’ve had a break-in to the computer records database. My security program indicates that someone posing as the system administrator downloaded all the credit card records for the hotel, this after we’d only been operational for four hours. The hotel administrators are furious and I can’t find Mark.”

  “You don’t suspect that he had anything to do with the theft, do you?”

  “It was either him or me. We hadn’t handed the passwords to the computer system over to the hotel computer room staff yet.”

  “They don’t suspect you, do they?”

  “They suspect everyone,” Alex said, releasing me and grabbing his coat off the back of a chair. “Right now, I need to go smooth some ruffled feathers, then I need to find Mark Halifax as soon as possible.”

  Alex turned back to give me a kiss on the cheek. He flashed me a sorry excuse for a smile before racing from the room. I was about to run after him and offer to help when the telephone rang. I decided that I’d better answer it in case it was Mark.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Chloe Boston speaking?” a woman asked.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “We have a fax waiting for you downstairs at the reception desk.”

  Oh yeah, the fax from Bryce. I’d nearly forgotten.

  “I’ll be right down to pick it up,” I assured the receptionist.

  I took the elevator to the lobby and made my way to the receptionist’s desk. I waited impatiently for someone to serve me and then spoke much too harshly.

  “I’m Chloe Boston. I understand that you have a fax waiting for me,” I said.

  “Hold on, let me check,” said the woman behind the counter.

  Let me check? I thought. What gives? You just called me, I wanted to say. The woman was gone only a moment before she returned to the counter carrying two sheets of paper.

  “May I see some form of ID, please,” she said.

  I showed her my driver’s license and she handed me the papers and walked away. The top page was a standard fax cover sheet addressing the fax to yours truly. The second page showed a clear black and white picture of Mark Halifax.

  “Hello, Chloe,” I heard a familiar face say from behind.

  I turned to face Mark Halifax in person. I dropped the hand which was holding the fax of his picture to my side. Mark was smiling at me and wearing a black leather jacket with a pair of sunglasses pushed up onto the top of his head. I wanted to strike him. Instead, I turned back to the counter in desperation.

  “Excuse me, miss!” I called to the receptionist who had just walked away.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned. “Things could end up very messy for the both of us.”

  I turned back to see that he had his hand in the pocket of his jacket. I had no dou
bt that his hand was wrapped around the handle of some form of firearm. I looked him in the eyes, noted he was still smiling, and almost spit into his face.

  “Gordon Simms,” I said in an attempt to wipe the smile off his face.

  And it worked.

  “How unfortunate that you know that name,” he hissed. “Now, I suggest you come with me.”

  I took a step toward the elevators and Simms grabbed hold of my arm, none too gently, and guided me instead toward the front door of the hotel. The wind had kicked up a great deal since I’d been outside. It was raining hard in a diagonal fashion.

  “Sir, I wouldn’t go out there right now if I were you,” a bellhop warned.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Simms assured the man, continuing to walk me toward the door. “I’ve driven in far worse weather than this.”

  We stepped outside and were nearly knocked off our feet by a violent gust of wind. Simms guided me across the parking lot to a black BMW which he beeped from a distance before opening the passenger door and shoving me in. I was already sopping wet and cold. I looked around the interior of the vehicle in the hope of finding something to strike Simms with the moment he slid into the driver’s seat. I found no suitable bludgeon other than a portable computer sitting on the backseat. I realized that this computer probably held the data that had been stolen from the hotel computer, but before I could reach back to grab it, Simms was in his seat with a black automatic pistol fully exposed.

  “Suppose we take a little drive,” Simms suggested, starting the car with his free hand and backing out of the parking space.

  With the wind and rain buffeting the car, Simms drove from the parking lot and pulled onto the freeway headed out of town. He drove slowly, as did the few other vehicles on the freeway, since visibility was almost nonexistent. As he drove, he kept the gun and a wary eye on me the whole time. I gazed out hopelessly into the oncoming storm realizing that I had to act soon if I was going to stay alive to see nightfall.