Bob Moats - Jim Richards 01-03- 3 for Murder Box Set

by Bob Moats

  We watched a little more TV, I got on the computer and checked my emails, remembering the ones from the classmate murders, or I should call it, the cheerleader murders. I had nothing important, so I got off and grabbed my girl’s hand and pulled her to the bedroom, saying that I saw a couple of things on her show we might try. She asked if I had my handcuffs. I pulled them out of my back pocket and she laughed.

  The next morning the phone rang. I answered.

  “Still in bed? It’s time to get to work,” came a voice.

  I asked, “Who the hell is this?”

  “It’s Trapper. I got some hot info for you, if you’re working today.” He sounded excited.

  “I’ll be in around 9, my usual time to start,” I moaned.

  He said he’d be there and hung up.

  I looked at Penny and asked if she knew where the damn keys for the handcuffs were. I held up my hands, still cuffed together. She just laughed.

  *

  Chapter Three

  We found the keys, but Penny insisted on teasing me a bit longer before I was extricated from the cuffs. I got ready and was on my way out after seeing Penny off to her show. It was taped around 9 a.m. for broadcast at 11 a.m. on the east coast and rebroadcast same time on the west coast, three hours later from here. I got to my office and found Trapper sitting on a chair in the lobby waiting for me.

  “About time you got to work.” He smiled.

  I looked at my watch. It was just 8:40. I said, “Trapper, do you have any concept of time?”

  He grinned. “You’ll need my info for your investigation into your little pervert and possible murderer.” He was glowing. “I want in on this bust if you get him.”

  I was puzzled. I opened up my office and we went in. Trapper planted himself in the client chair at my desk. I sat in my creaky desk chair and looked at him. “OK, what’s so exciting?”

  “I ran the background check on Mr. Wonderful and came up with some interesting facts. First, he’s been married two times prior to Elma, both rich women. They both died mysterious deaths. Wife number one died in a car crash, no links to hubby, he was out of the country. Wife number two commits suicide by hanging. Hubby is out with drinking buddies the night in question. I ran a check on his driver’s violations. He had three tickets for illegal parking in Pontiac in the last two months, all on the same street. I called a friend of mine on Pontiac PD and asked about the street in question. It has a party store, gas station, three ordinary houses and one huge mansion that houses a legal and above board bondage club. Coincidence? I think not.” He took a breath.

  “I think I should be watching Elma, not Ralph. Did he inherit the money from his first two wives?”

  “Well, he lived high on the hog as they say, and most the money was gone by the time of the wives’ deaths. Sounds like a quickie divorce to me, once the money dried up.” He grinned.

  I looked at Trapper and said, “If Elma dies mysteriously; I’m going to feel really bad that we didn’t do something. But what can we do?”

  “Well, he’s been cleared of both his late wives’ deaths, so we can’t bring him in on that. I guess you’ll have to tail him and see what he is up to. It might make him nervous if you were a little obvious about it,” Trapper said.

  “Yea, but he might take it out on Elma. She’s not exactly Cindy Crawford, but she is a human being. I don’t want to see her hurt,” I said.

  “Well, then you may just have to confide in her and ask her to hide out from him till you get something on him. Think she’d go for that?”

  “I don’t know. She enjoyed the sex he provided her. She may not give him up fast. You know the ‘bad boy’ syndrome,” I said.

  “Jimmy, being a detective creates many problems that you have to work out, which one is the most appealing and the one that gets nobody killed. Now you have to do the leg work to find out more about your bad boy.” Trapper smiled. “Please keep me informed, not in an official capacity, but just curiosity on my part.”

  Trapper took a folded sheet of paper out of his inner coat pocket and dropped it in front of me. “This is the rest of his background check. Military, he was a combat medic. Financial, of course, he’s got money, or Elma does. Criminal record, none. He’s been a good boy,” Trapper finished.

  “Yea, the perfectly nice man next door who happens to be a wife killer,” I said.

  Trapper got up. “I heard from my friend Mark that you’re taking his case.”

  “I’m going to see what he’s got today, and I’ll decide then,” I said.

  Trapper headed to the door, “Well, keep me in the loop, I’ll see what I can stir up on the perfect husband.” He smiled and went out the door.

  I looked at the report Trapper gave me and thought about how I was going to attack this. I could bring in Elma and tell her my suspicions, but I really didn’t have much to go on. So I would have to follow him for a couple days to see what he was up to. Elma still had money so he probably wouldn’t harm her yet.

  My door opened, and I looked up, finally into the bluest eyes on any gorgeous blonde I have ever seen. She smiled and asked where the Davis Travel Agency was. I was crushed, but told her upstairs. She went out. OK, I came so close. Not that I would cheat on Penny, not in a million years. She was all I could ever want or handle, but just having a sexy femme fatale as a client would have made me feel like I arrived in the world of P.I., kind of a Sam Spade thing.

  Around noon, I went to get a bite to eat at my favorite place, Subway. I was watching the people around me wondering how many of them could be killers or closet perverts. I was cynical about people. I believe that 80 percent of people are basically stupid, 18 percent are trying to get what they can from the first 80, and the last 2 percent just didn’t give a damn about the other 98. I was in the 2 percent. Not that I don’t totally care about people. I do care about things. I just don’t want to have to put up with stupid and conniving people. As a detective, I would try to cut through the bull and get some justice for those in need.

  I was at Mark Benson’s office building in Roseville at 1 p.m. and entered the very expensive looking layout that screamed big lawyer fees. I was asked by the receptionist who I wanted to see. I told her. She got on her phone and made a short call, smiled and sent me through a door to his private office.

  “Mr. Richards, thank you for coming in. Have a seat.” The shark smiled. “Will has told me good things about you.”

  “Well, he has a tendency to gloss over things,” I said. “What kind of law are you into?” Jumping right in.

  “This office handles both divorce and criminal,” he said.

  “Aren’t they both the same?” I joked.

  He laughed and said he’d have to remember that.

  “What do you have for me? Will said you needed some evidence gathered?” I asked.

  “Yes, I have a case of murder. My client, David Weston, says he was with a woman on the night his wife was murdered at their home here in Roseville, but we can’t seem to find the woman to establish his alibi.”

  I had read about the murders in the papers. I was a bit familiar with the facts but wanted to hear this lawyer’s slant on it.

  He pulled a file folder from his cabinet and handed it to me. “This is all the info on the case that I could get from him. I don’t disbelieve him, but the circumstances are a little shaky.”

  “Was she a hooker or a happy home wrecker?” I inquired.

  “My client says he met her in a bar in Mt. Clemens, they hit it off and ended up in a motel down off Groesbeck Highway in Fraser. The motel has a record of his renting the room, but the desk clerk doesn’t remember any woman with him. Roseville police figured he rented the room to try to set up an alibi, and then knocked off his wife.”

  “Did the police sweep the room?” I asked.

  “The room was cleaned by the maid by the time forensics got there. Bed sheets were changed and washed so any evidence was destroyed.”

  “Is your client out on bail or still in jail?
”

  “The judge denied him bail for the gruesomeness of the killing. His wife was hacked and decapitated. The judge wasn’t sympathetic.”

  “I’ll need to talk to Weston. Can you arrange it?” I asked.

  “Sure, I’ll call the county jail and get it set up. So, I presume you are taking the case?” He smiled.

  I pulled out my rate card and handed it to him, “Only if you can afford me. This case would take the number 10 special, my most expensive rate.”

  He laughed and said, “I think I can afford it. You want a retainer advance?” I said I did, he got on his phone and told someone to cut a check and have it to the receptionist ASAP.

  “Can I call you if I have further questions?” I asked.

  He handed me his card after writing his cell phone number on it. “Call anytime, this case goes to trial in a week, and I have very little to go on. I’m counting on you.”

  I said, “I’ll give you my first rate investigation.” I smiled and got up. He rose, and we shook hands. I went out the door, picked up my check from the girl at the front desk and left the building.

  I finally looked at the check once I was sitting in my car and just grinned.

  *

  Chapter Four

  I drove back to my office to organize my attacks on the Weston case and Elma’s. I was going to give priority to the lawyer because the case was coming up next week and I had little to go on. I didn’t think Ralph would do any harm to Elma yet, and I could follow him in between checking on my murder case.

  There was no blonde sitting in my lobby waiting for me. Instead Buck was sprawled out on a chair with his eyes closed. I flicked his nose, and he came alive, ready to fight. I stepped back and yelled that it was me.

  He calmed and said, “Hey, Jimmy, what’s happening?”

  “How long have you been camped out here?” I asked.

  “Only about a half hour. I just came by to see if you were still alive.”

  I opened the door, and he went for the client chair. I told him about my meetings with Elma and Trapper, then about the lawyer.

  “Yah, I read about that Weston murder. Husband claims he was screwing some woman while his wife was being hacked up,” he said.

  “Yes, Buck, that about sums it up. I’ve been hired to find the mystery woman.”

  “While you find her, I can follow the kinky husband around,” he said.

  “I’m sure he’d notice someone as big as you tailing him. I’ll find something better for you to do. Like intimidate witnesses who may have seen my supposed murderer and his pick-up on the night in question.”

  “Ya, I can rough them up.” He smiled.

  “No, just look scary.” I laughed.

  “I can’t have any fun?” he lamented.

  “Scary is fun.” I smiled. He agreed.

  “So, I think we should start at the bar where they met. You OK going into a bar?” I said. Knowing Buck was a reformed alcoholic, I had to ask.

  “No, problem. They serve diet Sprite, don’t they?” he said.

  I took David Weston’s picture out of the file Benson gave me, and we headed out. Buck wanted to drive so I let him. We headed up to Mt. Clemens, driving up the same roads we traveled during the Classmate Murders. It was déjà vu.

  In Mt. Clemens, we drove down Walnut Street and parked on a side street. We walked around till we found the Midnight Bar and went in. It was dark, smelled of beer and urine, not a high class place. Buck and I sauntered over to the bar, and I signaled to the semi-attractive barmaid. She slowly walked over and leaned on the counter, flashing a pair of breasts in a tank top that barely held them back. Her tank top said “Available for Nursing.” I resisted.

  “And what will you two cuties have?” she asked in a cigarette abused voice.

  “I’m Jim, this is Buck, and you are?”

  “Call me Dolly, but I answer to just about anything.” She smiled.

  I ordered a Pepsi, and Buck grunted out diet Sprite. She stared at us, and asked if we were cops.

  “No, I’m private, my friend here is my enforcer,” I said, smiling.

  She looked at Buck. He was standing tall, all six foot three of him, and he grinned at her. She went to get our drinks. I watched her to be sure she opened the cans in front of me. She did. She brought them back, and I said I didn’t want a glass.

  “I clean my glasses regular,” she said defensively.

  “I’ve never liked messing up a glass when I can drink from the can, no offense.”

  “So, you two aren’t here for the ambiance of this joint, and the cops have already asked every question I could answer. So what do you want?”

  “Did they show you a picture of David Weston?” I said as I flipped it to her.

  “Yep, they did, although this one is different.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t look like the other pictures I was shown. Where’d you get this one?” she asked.

  “From his lawyer. Is this very different from the ones the cops showed you?”

  “Yeah, it’s a different face, close, but I’m good at faces, and this one is different.”

  “So have you seen the face in this picture?”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen him in here a number of times. He’s a stalker. Watches for lonely women, then hits on them and they all follow him out of the bar.

  I looked at Buck. “Why would the cops show a different photo of this guy? They covering up something, or got the wrong guy?”

  I would have to call the lawyer about this. “The picture the cops showed you, you couldn’t identify the man?”

  “I told them I hadn’t seen the face they showed me,” she said. “I don’t follow the news so I didn’t see the guy, other than what they asked me.”

  I was confused. “The night of the murders, do you remember this guy in here?” Pointing to my picture.

  “I worked that night. Yeah, he was in here.”

  “Did he leave with anyone?” I asked.

  “I remember a quiet brunette that he talked up. I didn’t see them leave together though. After a while, he and she were gone, but I didn’t see them leave together.”

  “Could you identify her or do you know her?”

  “She comes in maybe once a week. She says she’s trying to get away from her family so she comes here to have a few bracers then goes back home.”

  “When was the last time she was here?”

  “When I saw her with the guy in that photo, last week. Hasn’t been back since.”

  I took out my business card and said, “If she comes in, please call me right away.” I handed her the card and a twenty dollar bill. She smiled at both.

  “You got it, P.I., I’ll call right away.” She went off to take care of some guy yelling for a beer.

  I looked at Buck, “Something’s wrong with this picture, the big picture, not the little pictures. You know what I mean.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I do. The cops either got the wrong picture or someone is trying to frame Weston,” he said.

  “Yep, my thoughts exactly.” I pulled out my cell phone and called Benson, I got his voice mail, and I hated that. I left a message for him to call me, that it was important.

  “Buck, are you interested in a swimming pool for your backyard?” I asked.

  He looked at me with a puzzled expression, “Why, do I need one?”

  “No, but that’s what Ralph Flagg sells, pools and spas. May as well go fit him in while we wait on the mystery woman.”

  We downed our drinks, I waved at the barmaid and we left. It was good to be back out in fresh air. The bar had that smell like Mt. Clemens used to have all over, a stink from the mineral baths that were a rage back in the ’20s to the ’50s. The whole town had a sulfur, rotten egg smell to it. The years had taken away the baths and the smell. Now the air was fresh again.

  We drove down Groesbeck Highway to the Lazy Daze Pools and Spas, parked and went in.

  From his picture, I recognized the man who se
t his sights on us and strode over quickly was Ralph. “Afternoon, gentlemen. Interested in a pool or maybe a spa to rest your weary bones?” He rattled on about this pool or that spa and herded us around the store before we could even say anything.

  I hated hard sell salespeople, and I didn’t like Ralph from minute one. I really couldn’t see what Elma saw in him, other than a glib tongue.

  “Excuse me, take a breath. I am looking for a spa that can handle about 15 to 20 people,” I said.