by Blair Howard
I nodded. “When she left you. Where was she going, did she say?”
“She said she was going home. That’s it. Look, I’m sorry, I really do have to go. If you need to talk to me again, I’ll be at the club tomorrow evening, after six, and on Saturday morning for my usual foursome. We have an early tee time and are usually off the course by eleven thirty.”
”Thank you, Doctor. I do have one last question, if you don’t mind. Did you see anyone talking to Angela?”
He thought for a moment, and then said, “She had a drink at the bar with Ralph and Mary Hartwell, just a quick one, and Ruth Archer stopped her in the foyer just as she was leaving. They spoke for a moment or two, but that was it.”
All three of us rose to our feet. Kate and I gave him our thanks and said our goodbyes. He was already hurrying away down the corridor when we left.
“So,” I said, when we were back in the Maxima. “What do you think?”
Kate shook her head, sighed, and said, “I think the plot’s thickening, Harry. I’m wondering if the chief will go for an exhumation of Regis’s body.”
“Why? He said that only GHB would show in the hair, and I would have thought that even that would be unlikely after all this time.”
“True…. But I wonder.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you later. We’re going to see Ralph now, right?”
I nodded.
“Good. You do the interview. I’ll chime in when I think I need to, and I will need to. When I do, just play along with me, okay?”
You’ve got a plan. A sneaky plan, I shouldn’t wonder.
I put the Maxima in gear and we headed out.
Chapter 12
Ralph Hartwell lived on Timberlinks Drive on Signal Mountain, about a thirty-minute drive from the hospital. We were cutting it close. In fact, we arrived five minutes late.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hartwell. I’m Harry Starke. I called yesterday and we set up an appointment….”
“That you did,” he said, obviously in a foul mood. “And I’ve been doing a little digging. You’re quite well known in these parts, but you’re not with the police. Why are you here, Mr. Starke? I almost called and canceled the appointment. I don’t have to talk to you. I only agreed to do so because I owe it to my brother to help in any way I can with Angela’s death. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Now that’s a strange question to ask. Why else would I be here? Methinks maybe you have something else to worry about.
Kate stepped forward, badge in hand. “I’m Lieutenant Catherine Gazzara, Chattanooga PD. Mr. Starke is my associate, a licensed private investigator, and he’s consulting with me on the investigation into Angela Hartwell’s murder. Thank you for agreeing to talk to us.”
Hartwell was taken aback. He waited for her to continue. She didn’t. Instead, she took a deep breath and stepped passed him into the foyer.
“We won’t take up much of your time, sir. Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?”
At first, he didn’t move, and I thought he was going to ask us to leave, but then he seemed to get a grip on himself.
“Yes, of course,” he said. “Please follow me.”
He led us through the kitchen into his office. It was a big, plush room, lined with bookshelves. A large walnut desk, two Chesterfield easy chairs, and couple more high back guest chairs stood against the far wall
“Please, sit down,” he said. “Can I get you a beverage? Coffee, perhaps?”
We declined, and sat on the two guest chairs; he sat behind his desk and leaned back, his elbows resting on the chair’s arms, his hands clasped together in front of him, and he was projecting an attitude. I’d known him less than two minutes and already I knew I didn’t like him. I also had a feeling it was a mutual dislike.
He wasn’t a big man, but it was easy to tell that he was used to having things his way. Even though he was at home, he was wearing a suit—by the cut, a very expensive suit. His fair hair was perfectly coifed, receding at the temples, parted on the right. He was clean-shaven, but the sideburns were just a little too long. His nose was a little too small, his eyes blue and close-set. They stared at me from behind small, gold-rimmed glasses. It was a mean face.
“Mr. Starke would like to ask you some questions, if that’s all right,” Kate said.
Again, I thought he was going to refuse, but he didn’t; he nodded, dropped his chin a little, and stared at me over his hands. I took out my digital recorder, turned it on, and set it on the desk in front of him. I could see he didn’t like it, but he didn’t object.
“How close were you to Angela Hartwell, sir?” I asked.
“Not close at all, really. She was my brother’s wife. I saw her once in a while, to say hello. Usually at the club. Other than that, nothing. That evening was one of those times.”
“The company had nothing to do with her. As for the family… no.”
“You didn’t like her, did you?”
“If you must know, no I didn’t. She was… how shall I put it? A snooty bitch. Even when Regis was alive, she had little to do with my family.”
“She was a total bitch,” a voice said.
I looked around. The woman I assumed to be Mary Hartwell walked past my chair and sat down in one of the Chesterfields.
She wasn’t at all what I’d expected. She had a light build, and blond hair that was obviously an expensive salon job, hanging dead straight about six inches past her shoulders. Her bangs drew a sharp line just above her eyebrows. Her face was pale and she was scowling. She wore a form-fitting, sleeveless black dress cut a couple of inches above the knee.
Ralph smiled at her, exposing a perfect set of brilliant white teeth.
I waited a moment and then, when neither of them spoke, I continued.
“You called her a bitch. From my conversations with her friends, I didn’t get that impression. Why do you say that?”
Ralph opened his mouth to speak, but it was his wife who answered.
“Dear Angela had no time for us. She didn’t think we were good enough for her or for her friends, or even the club, and she made it quite plain to one and all whenever she could. She deliberately excluded us from her social gatherings and, when she could get away with it, even from bank functions.”
“Why was that, do you think?” I asked.
“She was close to Jennifer, Ralph’s first wife. She thought I broke up that marriage. I didn’t. It was her that was playing around, not Ralph. Their marriage was over when Ralph and I began seeing each other.”
I made a note on my iPad to check that out, but I didn’t pursue it.
“I have to ask you this; it’s routine,” Kate said. Where were you Wednesday evening, the twenty-fifth, between nine thirty and midnight?”
Ralph’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t look the least bit uncomfortable.
“Hmmm, the twenty-fifth….” He flipped through a few pages of his desk calendar. “Last Wednesday. Mary and I were here all evening. I caught up with some work I’d brought home. Then we had a couple drinks and went to bed, around ten thirty, I think. Mary can tell you. She remembers those things better than I do.”
We both looked at Mary.
“Yes, ten thirty,” she said distantly, looking at her fingernails.
“So when did you last see her?”
“Oh I don’t know,” Ralph replied, impatiently, “a week, maybe ten days ago, at the club. I didn’t note the date and time.”
“What if I told you that you were seen with her at the club on the night she died?”
Ralph looked at his wife questioningly.
“That’s not possible….” He flipped through the desk calendar again. “Oh, wait. Yes. You’re right. I was looking at the wrong week. We were at the club that evening. She was just about to leave. I bought her a drink. We had a few words, and she left; maybe twenty minutes in all.”
“What time would that have been?”
“Late… ish, for us that is. Nine o’
clock or so. We’re normally out of there by nine.”
“And what did you talk about?”
“The usual. Her obsession with Regis’s death. We tried to make nice, but she wouldn’t have it. Anyway, she left, and so did we a few minutes later. We went home.”
“You don’t seem too upset that she’s dead.”
Neither one of them answered. It was time to step on some toes.
“You inherit everything, don’t you? Money, property, investments, the lot.” I asked, keeping a close watch on his eyes.
He smiled at me. “A bit like winning the lottery, you might say.”
Damn. That’s some kind of attitude.
Okay, that wasn’t quite what I was expecting. I looked sideways at Kate. The look on her face was a picture. I decided to dive right in.
“Mr. Hartwell. There’s a rumor that Angela thought that you were responsible for your brother’s death.”
Again, he didn’t seem bothered by the question.
“Angela was very disturbed—”
“She was a goddamn nut case is what she was,” Mary interrupted angrily. “She spread that vicious lie all over town. If I’d had my way, we’d have sued her for defamation.”
“As I said,” Ralph continued, unfazed by his wife’s outburst. “Angela was very disturbed. I suggested to her that she might need help. I even suggested a good psychiatrist, but she insisted on continuing with her inflammatory accusations. He was my brother. I loved him. Why would I want to kill him?”
“I can think of several reasons,” Kate said, “including the fact that he was going to sell the company to one of the big banks. If he did, you would be out in the cold: no job, no credit, and no prospects.”
“Rumors,” he said. “Just rumors. It would never have happened.” He sounded unconcerned, but he was no longer smiling.
“It’s also been said,” Kate said, “that you killed Angela. Did you?”
“Oh… my… God.” Mary looked stunned. “Why would my husband want to kill her?”
“Well she was looking into her husband’s death. There’s that, and I can think of fifty-seven million more reasons,” Kate said, staring her in the eye.
“You mean Angela’s money?” Ralph said, still smiling. “That’s the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard. Why would I need her money? I already owned the company. It’s worth close to a billion. Hah, you’re out of your minds. I think it’s time you left.”
“It’s also been said,” Kate said, “that before Regis Hartwell suffered his heart attack, you were stealing from the company.”
Now that did get a reaction. They both sat up straight in their chairs. She was livid with anger, but Ralph had gone white.
“How dare you?” he asked. His voice, now low, had an edge to it. “How dare you come into my house and make such accusations. Get out. Get out now.”
Neither of us moved.
“She told a friend that she had proof you were stealing from the banks,” I said. “She also said that Regis had had proof, and that she’d found it, and that he’d confronted you with it. She was convinced you murdered Regis. If it’s true there was proof you were stealing from the bank, it’s only a matter of time before we find it. I think you might want to consider the consequences of that.” Whew. Did I really say that? We had nothing other than gossip.
“Get… out!” He stood, his face white, his hands shaking, though from fear or from anger I didn’t know. “You, lieutenant. I’m going to file a complaint with your superiors. You… you—you….” He was spluttering. He couldn’t finish whatever it was he wanted to say. Finally he collapsed back down into his chair. I head a beeping sound. I looked around. Mary was punching a number into her cell phone.
“Daniel,” she said. “I have a police officer and a private detective here in my home making all sorts of wild accusations…. Yes, about Regis…. Yes, Angela too. Can you come. Thank you, Daniel. Yes, I’ll make it clear.” She disconnected. “That was our lawyer, Daniel Drake,” she told me. “He’s on his way, Ralph.” She stood, walked behind the desk, put her hand on his shoulder, and said. “Daniel says we are not to answer any more questions until he gets here.”
I rose to my feet, smiling. “That’s fine. I think we have all we need, for now.” That last bit I said with a predatory grin. There was no doubt the pair of them were thoroughly unnerved. “Oh, and please give Donald my best.”
“Donald?” Mary asked. “Who the hell is Donald?”
“Oh,” I said, still smiling, “didn’t you know? That’s what his friends call him. DD. You know, Daniel Drake… Donald Duck.” They don’t call him that, at least not to his face, but what the hell.
I knew Drake well. He was a sleazy, sharp, and very expensive lawyer with offices near mine. I’d run up against him quite a few times over the past fifteen years. Our relationship, if you could call it that, went back to the days when I was a cop. We were always adversaries. If we were keeping score—I wasn’t, but he might have been—I would be up about five to two. He didn’t like me, and the feeling was mutual.
“Lieutenant,” I said. “We’ll leave. DD won’t allow these good folks to talk even when it’s in their best interests to do so.”
She was already on her feet. I grabbed the recorder from his desk, thanked them both, and then turned toward the door. Time for a little Colombo.
“Oh by the way.” I almost laughed when I said it, it was so cliché. “It seems that Regis may have died from an injection of potassium chloride. We’ve already applied for an exhumation order. We’ll be in touch to let you know what we find.” A lie, but I so enjoyed telling it.
His face was as white as his shirt. Mary looked like she’d been hit by a truck.
Back in the car, I started laughing.
“What” Kate asked. “What’s so damned funny?”
“Did you see the looks on their faces when I told them we were going to exhume Regis?
“Yes, damn it. You stole my thunder. I told you when we left Dr. Gray that I’d tell you what I had on my mind later. That was it, you ass. I was about to tell him the same damn thing when you beat me to it.”
“Well, Katie,” I said affably, “you know what they say: ‘Great minds think alike.’”
“Hah! Okay. So what do you think?”
“Well, for a start, I don’t think they like each other; not at all. They have no alibi, and they do have the best motive in the world; several of them, in fact: money, power, hate, greed, you name it. And they lawyered up. By the way, DD Drake and I don’t get along.
“Yes, I’d say they killed him,” I said, “or hired it out. My God, I thought he was going to have a heart attack himself—and her, I think she might have wet herself. If they did kill him, they probably had something to do with Angela’s death too, though proving either one is going to be a nightmare. We have nothing.”
She nodded. “That’s one nasty pair, too. They’re made for each other, that’s for sure.”
I nodded, “They are indeed. How about you, Kate? What’s your take on it?”
She sat quietly for a moment, thinking, then said, “I think you’re probably right. I think he’s good for his brother’s death. Exactly how he pulled it off… well, your guess is as good as mine. And if he is, it makes sense that he’s responsible for Angela’s death too. It’s how they died that bothers me most—bizarre, both those deaths. So, where do we go from here?”
“We need more, much more,” I said. More footwork. Good old fashioned police work. You up for it?”
She sighed, then said, “I’m slammed, Harry. I’ll do what I can….”
“Yeah, I know. Me too. Look, if Angela did have proof that Ralph was stealing from the banks, it has to be somewhere. We have to find it. What about CSI? You were going to see if they found anything at her apartment.”
“Yes, I did. Let’s go talk to them.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” I said. “I’m starving. Let’s go get something to eat and then go talk to them.”
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“That sounds good,” she said. “I’m thinking maybe we should also talk to Regis’s lawyers. They would have been handling any potential sale, and his will, Angela’s too, probably. If he talked to anyone, it would be them, right?’
“Good thought. We need to find out who they are. I’ll get Tim on it.” I hit the Bluetooth, made the call and gave the instructions. He said he’d call me back as soon as he had something. So, where do you want to eat?”
Chapter 13
We stopped of at Zaxby’s on Signal Mountain Road for lunch; I love their chicken tenders. We’d barely gotten seated when my cell phone buzzed. I looked at the screen. It was Tim with the lawyer’s name and contact information.
“Creswell and Hughes,” I said to Kate when I got off the phone. “I know them. I’ve done a few jobs for them over the past several years. Gene Creswell handled the Hartwells, and I know him quite well. I’ll see if I can get us in to see him.”
I made the call, and an appointment for three thirty that afternoon. In the meantime, we’d have just enough time to drop by the PD and check in with CSI.
We could see through the plate glass window of the lab at the Police Services Center on Amnicola that it was a hive of activity. Half a dozen techs in white lab coats worked at different stations.
“Hey Lieutenant, Harry,” Michael Willis said. “I don’t have much for you, I’m afraid.”
Willis had been handling most of the CSI operations at the department even before I joined the force back in 1997. He was a strange little wizard then, and he’s grown even more eccentric over the years. He’s short, overweight, a little on the scruffy side—clean, but untidy—head shaved and shiny, eyebrows thick and bushy. His hands are… huge. He was one of those people that always seemed to be in a hurry. Even so, he was patient, and always took the time to make sure we understood exactly what he was telling us. He would go through a report word by word until he was sure we had it. And he was a talker.