Farewell, My Deuce: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 4)

by Renee Pawlish

  “It’s not true,” Fitzhugh said.

  “I’ve witnessed it all,” I said. “And I also overheard Matt tell Shane that he could set aside some of what he’d stolen to sell on the side.”

  “No,” he said, with less conviction.

  “Is that what pushed you over the edge? You found out the guys were skimming off what you took? So you went to Gary’s and killed him?”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  “I’ve witnessed it,” I said forcefully. “And I’ll bet Matt and Shane will talk. Do you think they won’t sell you out to keep from getting in trouble?”

  “All right, stop.” Fitzhugh held up a hand, defeated. “You’re right.” He sank into his desk chair and stared at the floor, his elbows resting on his knees. “It’s been going on for a while. It didn’t start at as much, just a little bit here and there, easy stuff to sell elsewhere. And it was just between Matt and me. Then he got Gary and Shane involved, and we’ve been making a lot more, overbuying for multiple job sites, then taking the extra and selling it off to other small companies.”

  “How come you never got caught?”

  “We were careful. It’s never too much to be noticed, and I approve it all, so no one’s the wiser.”

  “What about the other guys skimming some off?”

  He glanced up, anger flashing across his face. “Yeah, that was stupid. It only complicates things. Too many people involved, and I can’t control it anymore. That sets us up to be noticed and caught.”

  “So on Sunday night you went over to Gary’s and you killed him.”

  “No.”

  “The next-door neighbor identified you,” I said.

  Fitzhugh opened his mouth but nothing came out. He hung his head. “I went over there to talk.”

  “With a gun?”

  “Just to talk,” he repeated emphatically. “I took the gun because Gary’s a hothead, and I wanted him to know I meant business, but that’s all. I told him that he was risking the whole operation, and if he didn’t stop he’d be out, and he got mad. I pulled the gun on him, just to keep him in check, but he rushed me. And the gun…just…went off. It was an accident.”

  “An accident?”

  His shoulders slumped and his head dipped lower. “I never meant for it to happen,” he murmured. “I’ve got a wife and kids.”

  I stared at him, vacillating between anger and disgust. The phone rang, loud in the stillness. Fitzhugh didn’t move.

  “Okay, so you killed him,” I finally said. “Then what?”

  Fitzhugh looked up at me, his face twisted in anguish. “I’ve never seen a dead body,” he said. I knew the feeling. “I thought about TV shows, and fingerprints, so I used my shirt on the front doorknob, let myself out, ran to my truck, and drove off. I didn’t think anyone saw me.”

  “The neighbor looked out. She described you and the Criss Cross Construction logo on your truck.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I figured it was just a matter of time before the police caught up to me.” He let out a mirthless laugh. “But I wasn’t counting on you.”

  “I’m underestimated a lot,” I said. “You were good, I’ll give you that. Acting so cool when I came and talked to you.”

  “I had to concentrate on the cement pouring so you wouldn’t see how nervous I was.”

  “So…what about Deuce? How does he figure in all this?” I desperately wanted to throttle him so he’d tell me where Deuce was, but I didn’t want him to scare him into silence.

  “Gary asked him to help out. I think he thought he could get Deuce to help, but pay him a lot less. And because Deuce is…” he shrugged.

  “A little slow and a lot naïve?” I said.

  He nodded. “Maybe Deuce wouldn’t figure it out, and Gary could make more money. I didn’t know anything about it until last Friday night. That’s when Gary told me that Deuce wanted out and was threatening to say something.”

  “Did you kill him?” I asked, a heavy, hard knot in the pit of my stomach.

  “No!” Fitzhugh shook his head. “Of course not! I think Deuce is a great guy and I was furious that Gary’d gotten him involved. All I did was talk to Deuce.”

  “Deuce received a call from Gary’s phone that night, asking him to go back to B 52’s.”

  “Yeah,” Fitzhugh said. “Gary went to the bathroom and I noticed his phone on the coffee table. I called Deuce and asked him to meet me.”

  “That way nothing could be traced back to you.”

  “Yeah.” Fitzhugh grimaced. “I left Gary’s and met Deuce at the bar. We talked and I told him that we’d give everything back and that he didn’t need to report us.”

  “Did he believe you?”

  Fitzhugh forced a half-smile. “You know Deuce.”

  I sighed because I did. “He trusted you all, and you took advantage of him. What’d you do to him?”

  “Nothing! After we talked, I went back to my car and Deuce walked away. I assumed he was going home.”

  “What?” I crossed the room and stared down at him. “You don’t know where he is?”

  “No! I didn’t do anything to him, I swear! He was walking down the street as I drove off.” Fitzhugh gave me pleading eyes. “You gotta to believe me.”

  “No, I don’t ‘gotta believe you’. And unlike Deuce, I am going to report you. Maybe the police can get you to talk.”

  Fitzhugh nodded, all the fight gone. “I know. Go ahead. But I didn’t do anything to Deuce.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and called the police.

  CHAPTER TWENTYFIVE

  It didn’t take too long for Detective Sarah Spillman and her cohorts, Detectives Moore and Youngfield, to show up. When someone calls to say he has apprehended a murderer, the police tend to move quickly. But if I thought Spillman would greet me as a conquering hero, I was wrong.

  “You, wait for me outside,” she ordered as she stepped into the trailer. “Spats, get Reed’s statement.”

  Spats looked bored as he pulled out a pen and notepad. “Right this way, sir.”

  Did I detect sarcasm when he said sir? I followed him outside.

  “You know the drill,” he drawled.

  “Can’t I wait?” I said. “Spillman’s going to come out and I’m going to have to repeat everything.”

  “Wise guy,” he growled.

  “I try.”

  He frowned at me and I gave in, telling him what led me to Fitzhugh. I had to admit, I felt a swelling of pride at what I’d put together, but it died when I said I still didn’t know where Deuce was.

  “What’s going on?” Karen asked as she approached, carrying a Starbucks cup. She nodded at me. “I’ve been waiting for you to leave.”

  Spats jerked his head at her. “Who’s she?”

  “Office manager,” I murmured.

  Spats went over to her, talking as he guided her to a bench in front of the trailer. He sat her down and walked back to me. Karen stared into space, more puzzled than ever.

  As Spats returned, Spillman emerged from the trailer, followed by Moore, who led Fitzhugh in handcuffs to the sedan. By this time, a few construction workers had stopped what they were doing and approached the trailer. It wouldn’t take long for the buzz to switch from saws to conversation about the arrest.

  “I’ll take over,” Spillman said to Spats. “Go with Moore. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Spats handed his notepad to her and walked off.

  “So,” Spillman appraised me. “The great detective figures out the case.”

  “If you say so.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head at me, then read through Spats’ notes.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling us everything?” she said, looking up at me.

  Maybe because I left things out, I thought but wisely didn’t say. I shrugged.

  “What happened to your eye?”

  “Bar fight,” I said.

  She tipped her head up and down, just once, like I’d seen her do befo
re. It seemed to be her way of showing her skepticism. “You just happened to be around Gary’s house and you saw Shane, so you decided to follow him, and that led you to Matt,” she glanced at the notepad, “and you observed Shane selling materials to an electrical company, and that led you here.”

  “No, I thought Matt might’ve killed Gary, so I asked –”

  “Oh, right, the neighbor.” Another glance at the notepad. “Linda. And she identified Chuck Fitzhugh as the one who was at Gary’s on Sunday night.”

  “Right. And then I came here and Chuck confessed.”

  “Just like that,” she said.

  “Just like that.” I smiled at her.

  She gazed at me for a few beats. “Uh huh.”

  “I found Gary’s killer, shouldn’t that count for something?”

  “It does. But we were close. Just needed a little more time.”

  I shook my head. “Unfortunately I don’t have much time.”

  A hint of softness crossed her face. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

  “Chuck didn’t say anything else to you about Deuce?”

  “No. He said he left Deuce at B 52’s and doesn’t know what happened to him.”

  “I guess I’m back to square one,” I said. A long silence ensued. She reread her notes; I stared at the trailer. “What’s going to happen to Chuck?”

  “If he can prove it happened like he says, he’ll probably get charged with involuntary manslaughter. And he’ll face felony charges for the little scheme he had going.” Spillman started to walk away, but turned back to me. “Not a bad bit of detective work,” she said.

  “I didn’t find my friend.”

  “We’ll keep looking, too.” She paused, then exhaled. “I’m not making any promises, but if you need something, let me know.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ve got to go arrest Matt and Shane. How about you stay away?” The gruff demeanor returned.

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” I said. “I’ve had more than enough of them.”

  ***

  It was after noon when I finally left the Vanguard site. To cap off my discouragement at not finding Deuce, I also had a parking ticket. I threw it on the passenger seat, making a mental note to talk to Spillman about it. Maybe she could get it dismissed…after all, I did find Gary’s killer.

  On the way home, I called Bob and filled him in. He was disappointed and completely distraught about Deuce. I felt like I’d let him and Ace down, but he assured me I’d done all I could. Once home, I fixed a sandwich and ate at the kitchen table, which was unusual for me. I tended to eat in front of the TV, and if nothing good was on, I’d pop in one of my favorite film noir. But I wasn’t in the mood for that. I took a few bites of the sandwich, then left it on the plate as I stared out the window. I kept going over everything that happened, trying to find something I might’ve missed. I finally went downstairs and knocked on the Goofball Brothers’ door.

  “Reed, hey,” Ace said, letting me inside. “What’s going on? Bob told me what happened. I was hoping you’d found Deuce. I…” His lower lip quivered.

  “I’m trying, buddy,” I said. “But I’m coming up empty. I thought I’d go through his stuff again, see if there’s something I overlooked.”

  “Okay, no problem.”

  He let me in, then followed me into Deuce’s room, where I gave it the once-over. As before, I came up with nothing, and stared up at the ceiling in frustration. “What am I missing?”

  “I dunno.” Ace looked as perplexed as ever.

  “How about we look in his truck again?”

  “Okay.” Ace got the keys and we went outside.

  I unlocked the truck and scoured the cab and the truck bed again. Just the same stuff as before. I leaned against the seat and grabbed the papers that had been lying on the floor. “And none of this means anything to you?”

  Ace shrugged. “Not really.”

  I thumbed through them again, noting the list of companies Deuce had scrawled on one of the pieces. I thought about it for a moment, reading the list again and again.

  “I wonder…”

  “What?” Ace asked.

  “I need a computer.” I hurried around the side of the building and took the steps two at a time to my condo with Ace at my heels, chattering in confusion.

  “Reed, what’s going on?”

  “This list of companies,” I said as I logged onto my computer and connected to the Internet. “T. F. Byers Construction. That’s a big company. I’ve seen their name on some of the major road construction projects around the city. Look at the types of projects they’ve done: a performing arts center, a high school, office buildings, and a hospital, all over the country. And these other companies, like Pearson,” I typed the name into the search engine. “Ah ha! Look, it’s a big company as well, building similar projects to Byers.” I searched on each company name and they were all large companies who specialized in massive construction projects.

  Ace looked at me blankly. “So?”

  “Why would Deuce have a list of these kinds of companies in his truck?”

  The blank looked remained. “Reed, how would I know?”

  “It’s a rhetorical question,” I said.

  “Re-what?”

  “Never mind.” I stood up and went to my bedroom. I found the list from Gary’s house, still in another pair of jeans. I hurried back to the office and sat down, comparing Gary’s list to the one Deuce created.

  “Look, the list Gary made is of smaller companies where he could sell electrical supplies or rebar – smaller stuff. It’s completely different from Deuce’s.”

  “I don’t get it,” Ace said, scratching his head. “Why would Deuce have a list like this? He could care less about that.”

  “Does he know people from these other companies?”

  “I doubt it.” The vacant look on Ace’s face remained. “Maybe he was job-hunting.”

  “You’d know better than anyone if that were true.”

  Ace shook his head. “No, Deuce loves his job, and he would’ve told me if he was looking for a new job. I don’t why he made that list.”

  “I don’t either,” I said. “But it’s weird.” I turned off the computer and stood up. My mind was racing. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”

  Ace stared at me as I rushed out of the office, pulling out my cell phone.

  “What’s up, Oh Great Detective?” Cal answered. “Did you find Deuce?”

  “No, but I need your help with some research.”

  “Absolutely. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I need to clear my head. How about I drive up there and I’ll fill you in?”

  “Sure,” he said. “See you when you get here.”

  “I’m on my way.” I hung up and grabbed my keys. “Shut the door behind you,” I called over my shoulder to Ace. I bolted down the stairs, leaving him standing in the living room, speechless.

  CHAPTER TWENTYSIX

  When I got to Cal’s house, and he was just finishing lunch. “You going to tell your mother about the run-in with the dog?” he asked, watching me limp into his kitchen.

  I let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, right.”

  “So, you’ve got a list of companies you want me to research,” Cal said as he took a gallon container of orange juice from his refrigerator and threw it onto a full trash can in the corner. He set the glass he had on the counter.

  “Right,” I said. “I found the list in Deuce’s truck, and they’re all big companies, ones that build huge projects.”

  He gazed at the empty glass, then put it back in the cupboard. “Here, have a soda.” He handed me a Coke and took one for himself.

  I looked at the orange juice container. At least a glass or two was left in the bottom. I picked it up and shook it. “Do you always throw out good juice?” I said with a smile.

  Cal stared at the container. “Oh, it felt empty.”

  I shook my head. Harvard-smart, but no common sense.
“You shouldn’t waste it.”

  “You sound like your mother,” he scowled.

  “Oh, that’s hitting below the belt.”

  “Come on,” Cal said, leaving the kitchen.

  I put the orange juice back in the refrigerator and followed Cal back to his office. There weren’t any dirty dishes around or a sign of dust. A clean, aerosol smell clung to the air, so he must’ve just cleaned.

  “Let’s see what we can find,” Cal said as he got comfortable in his chair. “Where’s the list?”

  I handed it to him as I removed some books from another chair, pulled it over to the desk and sat down. Cal set the list next to his keyboard and started to work, his hands flying across the keyboard.

  “Want to do another film noir crossword?” he asked after a moment of me sitting close and watching him.

  “No, I’m too tense,” I said. “I know I’m onto something.”

  “Yeah, I can tell.” He turned to look at me. “Why don’t you move back just a bit and calm down. We’ll get this figured out.”

  I glared at him but moved my chair back. I opened the Coke and took a sip.

  “Thank you,” Cal said petulantly. He started typing again and I chewed my lower lip nervously.

  After what seemed an eternity, he said, “All right. Each company bids on multi-million-dollar projects. Let me look at the executive staff of each.”

  Again, an eternity went by and I finally decided to lie on the couch. I stretched out, arms behind my head, my right foot twitching nervously.

  “Nothing particularly out of order with any of the company presidents, but it’ll take more digging to get into their personal finances and backgrounds to know for sure.”

  Type, type, type. The soft clicking sound of the keys filled the room. I stared at the ceiling and then my eyes closed. I relaxed and was soon asleep.

  “Hey, I’ve got something,” Cal said a while later.

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “I dozed off.”

  “And snored.” Cal grinned. “Forget it. You needed a break.”

  “What’d you find?”

  “It looks like maybe these companies are manipulating the bids.”

  I got up, sat back in the chair, and stared at the screen. Cal had a number of windows up, each minimized so we could look at all of them at once.