My First Murder

by Susan P. Baker

  The ice maiden led me to his private office upstairs from the reception area. It was more of a suite than an office. I found him sitting in an all-leather armchair adjacent to a matching sofa. On the opposite side of the room was his hand-carved teak desk, adorned with fresh flowers in a Waterford crystal vase, and velvet-covered client chairs. The walls held original oil paintings, his license, and his law school diploma in $300 frames.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you subsidized the Reynolds’ family after Elizabeth’s disappearance?” I demanded rudely as soon as the door closed behind the clone.

  He was smooth, I’ll give him that. I was more suspicious of him than ever, and he must have known it, but he sat back calmly in his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his silk tie knotted loosely at his throat, a legal pad in his lap, a gold pen in hand, some law books on the end table beside his chair, and smiled at me. Well, little did he know that I wasn’t having any that day.

  “I didn’t see that it was of any importance, Miss Davis. Please, sit down. Get comfortable.”

  I remained standing. “Why did you do it? And where did you get the money to give to them and buy all this, too?”

  “You don’t understand, Miss Davis. I owed it to Robert. It was his fair share of Liz’s and my partnership. I knew he’d be having hard times with Liz gone. Shoot, she brought in at least twice as much money as he did. All I did was buy him out on the installment plan.”

  “Yeah, and quit paying when you found out that he had an investigator hunting for her.”

  He slouched back into his chair, foot up on the coffee table. “That’s ridiculous. I knew all along that he had a detective looking for her. Why would I cut him off after so many months?”

  “Maybe you thought he was getting close to finding her.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I simply calculated how much it would take to buy out her share of the library and the few pieces of furniture that I wanted to bring with me, and believe me, there was hardly a thing I wanted, and sent him a check each month. If there was an installment payment from one of her clients, I’d forward that, too. It wasn’t that much money, but Robert needed it.”

  “Sure fella.”

  “What am I, a suspect or something?” He chuckled, but his eyes flashed angrily.

  “I don’t know yet, Mr. Spencer.”

  “You think I killed her? Why would I do that? I loved her. She was like a sister, or even a mother, to me.”

  “Who do you think killed her?”

  “How would I know? Maybe it was a serial killer like the police in Houston think.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “You must have told me. I don’t know.”

  “I didn’t. Who’ve you been talking to?”

  “Robert. Is that a crime? We talk all the time. If you really want someone with a motive, why don’t you look at him? He had that large life-insurance policy on her and has a girlfriend that likes him a lot.” He grinned at me, his eyes lighting up. I didn’t trust him. He was probably trying to get the heat off himself.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Girl, don’t you know anything? Madge Hennesey.”

  “I thought she was Elizabeth’s best friend.”

  “Some best friend. She didn’t wait five minutes to move in on Liz’s territory. There probably hasn’t been a day go by that she hasn’t been over there giving comfort to Robert.”

  I thought about that. Was that what Catherine wanted to tell her mother? Robert had said there wasn’t anybody significant. Why would he lie about it? It would be perfectly normal for a man to want someone else after a long year of loneliness. Could he have found out where she was and killed her for the insurance money?

  “Were the premiums still being paid on the life insurance, Mr. Spencer?”

  “I wouldn’t know about that. They used to be drawn on the office account, but I put a stop to that after she left. You’d have to ask Robert, but I would think so.” He was still smiling, but it wasn’t a friendly sort of smile.

  “Who was the insurance carrier?”

  “National Life, Dallas. They’re in the book.”

  I flipped open my spiral and wrote that down. “I’ll call them.”

  “You do that, lady. Any more questions? I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. I was in trial, remember?”

  “Yeah. What kind of cases was Elizabeth handling when y’all were partners?”

  “Mostly family and criminal, a little personal injury.”

  “Did she ever talk to you about anyone who would be especially angry over the way she had handled a case?”

  “One or two, but that was a year ago. Those people wouldn’t have any more way of knowing where she was living than I would.”

  “Did she handle many drug cases?” I was watching him carefully now, trying to gauge his reaction. I got what I expected. His face turned a paler shade of brown, but he managed not to flinch.

  “Not many. Why do you ask?”

  “Do you?”

  I saw tiny beads of sweat begin to form on his upper lip. His eyes stared into mine, unwavering. “You know I do. You sat through my final argument on one yesterday.”

  “Oh, right.” My turn to grin. I turned and grabbed the doorknob. “Thanks a lot, Vern. Be talking to you.” And I got the heck out of there.

  * * *

  “Barney Cline Detective Agency,” a high-pitched voice said into the phone. I was calling from the ground floor of the criminal courts building where I had come to do some homework.

  “Is Mr. Cline there?”

  “Yes ma’am, hang on,” the voice said. I could picture some skinny blond chick with a teased-up hairdo and a fingernail file in her hand.

  “Cline,” came a second voice, a tenor.

  “Mr. Cline, my name is Mavis Davis. I’m looking into Elizabeth Reynolds’ disappearance, and I understand that you did a search for Mr. Reynolds.”

  “That’s true. What’s your angle?”

  “She’s dead, and I’m trying to find out who killed her.”

  “Yeah? Well, I can’t help you there, Miss.” There wasn’t even a sharp intake of breath from his end. He was a cold so-and-so.

  “Well, I figured that, but you must have found out a lot about her when you were working for Mr. Reynolds, and I wondered if you discovered whether she had any known enemies.”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you know exactly what kind of cases she was working on when she disappeared?”

  “Little of everything, I guess. Most of these small law offices, that’s what they handle, nothing real big. I can’t remember anything specific.”

  “Criminal?”

  “Yeah, some of that, drugs, burglary, juvenile stuff. I checked with the courthouse, and they had some of those sheets with her name listed on it. I also talked to her secretary. Say, you might talk to her. She could be right helpful.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know her name, would you? She’s not with Mr. Spencer anymore.”

  “Sorry. Ask Spencer.”

  “I don’t want to do that.”

  “He a suspect? Never did trust that nig—black son-of-a-bitch.”

  I grimaced. “I wouldn’t say he’s a suspect, and I wouldn’t say he isn’t either, but there’s just something about him, you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, there’s something funny about him. Sure came up in the world after she left. Not that they were doin’ so bad before, but you couldn’t tell it from the trappings. You go by the old office?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know what I mean. Some rich fella is buying up a bunch of property now and is gonna revamp it and get richer I hear.”

  “So you don’t have any notes on the name of the old secretary?”

  “Never take many notes and never save ’em after I get through with a case. Call Mr. Reynolds; he’ll know.”

  “Well, thanks a lot. You’ve been a great help.”

  I went upstairs to the district clerk’s office and req
uested Willard Thompson’s file. I wanted to verify his statements.

  Boy, was it a surprise. The docket sheet had listed Elizabeth Reynolds as the attorney of record, but then her name had been crossed out and replaced with Vernon Spencer’s.

  I poured over the file. He had originally been charged with possession of a Controlled Substance, two counts. One was for phenmetrazine and the other for cocaine. There was an enhancement for a prior conviction, so he could have gone up for a long time, but the phenmetrazine charge and the enhancement were dropped. He had pleaded guilty to a third-degree felony and been sentenced to ten years in the Texas Department of Corrections with credit for time served in the county jail.

  And he had told me that he’d just gotten out. I checked the date of the plea, and, with his jail-time credit, he’d done a total of a tad over a year. Our great legal system.

  I scanned the plea papers for the name of the prosecutor. I wondered if the man that signed the papers had been the one Thompson had thought would prosecute the case. I wondered if there was any truth to the rumor that Elizabeth set up her clients for a fall. The name at the bottom of the page, the prosecutor, was Doyle Proctor, the same one that had been in trial the last few weeks on the drug case opposite Vernon Spencer.

  I closed the file and went next door looking for Doyle Proctor. He wasn’t in, so I left a card with my motel number on it. I was anxious to pass the time of day with him. Maybe he could shed some light on the case. Also, to be on the safe side, I was just thinking that it wouldn’t hurt to let law enforcement know what I was doing in Fort Worth.

  Down on the ground floor, again, I called Mr. Reynolds at his office and procured the name of the old secretary. While I was on the phone, he told me that Madge wanted to meet me for lunch if I would call her and set it up. I did. Then I set about calling law firms, beginning with the first office listed in the yellow pages. Boy were my fingers tired when I found her.

  “Tammy Bradley?” I asked when the receptionist connected me with her.

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “You don’t know me, Miss Bradley, but my name is Mavis Davis. I’m looking into the death of Elizabeth Reynolds.”

  Gasp. Sputter. Sniffle.

  “Miss Bradley? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have broken it to you that way. Are you okay?”

  No response.

  “Miss Bradley? Are you there? I’d like to meet with you, if you don’t mind. I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”

  “I guess they found her after all,” she said in a breathy whisper.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Tammy Bradley was crying and so incoherent that I couldn’t make much sense out of what she was saying. Before hanging up, I managed to get her to agree to meet me for lunch the following day. She definitely knew something, and I wanted to find out what that something was.

  I went to my lunch date with Madge Hennesey. We met down in the Tandy Center, at the Spud ’N Salad. The tunnel seemed to be the most popular eatery around.

  Madge was of medium height. Her backside, which I noticed while we were standing in line for our food, looked as if she d been run over by a steamroller. She had just about the widest hips and smallest behind of anyone I’d ever known. She wasn’t fat. To the contrary, she was skinny, and she was the first woman I’d seen in a long time that had a chest flatter than mine. I liked her immediately. Her blue eyes were so large that they seemed about the size of silver dollars. Her turned up, almost bulbless, little nose was peeling from a recent sunburn. She had skinny lips and movie-star cheekbones. She wore her straight brown hair with bangs, and it was cropped off at chin length. Looking at her made me think of Prince Valiant in the comic strips, minus a sheath of arrows.

  She was wearing a white short-sleeved blouse, a man’s necktie, and a navy skirt that fell below her knees. Her clothes resembled a parochial-school uniform. She found me waiting at a table and called to me as if we were long-lost friends. She bubbled over with friendliness and shook my hand so tightly that I thought she was going to fracture my metacarpals.

  “Mavis Davis. What a name!” She said and laughed as she released my hand. Her laugh came from deep down inside her, and I couldn’t help but laugh with her.

  “Our mothers didn’t know the bounds of cruelty, did they?”

  “What? Oh, you mean my name.” She laughed again. It was contagious. “I’m constantly getting kidded about that lady on the TV commercials.”

  “I sympathize with you.”

  “And you’ve got double trouble, with that red hair. Anybody ever call you Red?”

  “Not lately. I’d probably shoot them if they did. If I owned a gun.”

  Laughter again. “You’re funny, Mavis. Guess that’s a defensive measure, huh?”

  “Yeah. That’s me. A laugh a minute. I hate to get down to serious business, Madge, but why don’t we get our lunch and then we can talk about Elizabeth Reynolds.”

  She sobered up then, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Okay.”

  I followed her into a food line, chatting about one thing and another. I found out that she was an officer at a downtown bank.

  She had been there for almost sixteen years, starting as a line teller, and, with banking courses at Tarrant County Junior College, had worked her way up. She was now an assistant vice-president in installment loans.

  “How long did you know Elizabeth?” I asked when we were situated back at the table. She had an enormous baked potato with the works, and a salad almost as tall as Mount Everest, and looked from it to me, as if she was more interested in eating than talking.

  “Since she was pregnant with Anne.” Then she quickly broke up her potato and stuffed about a fifth of it into her mouth, sour cream oozing from her lips.

  “How did you meet her?” I could see there would be a handsome interval while she chewed and swallowed. I took a bite of mine while I waited.

  Finally, she answered. “She was taking one or two courses at night while Robert was going to school full-time. We had a class together, and we’d stand out in the hall during the break and smoke. That was before I really got on my health kick, but I remember that I told her she shouldn’t smoke when she was pregnant.” She jammed a mound of salad in as soon as the words came out.

  “What health kick?” I asked as I watched her eat.

  She grinned. “I work out. I lift weights and run. It doesn’t seem to matter what I eat. I never put on an ounce. I’m not into health foods, but I quit smoking a long time ago, and I’m as healthy as a horse.”

  I was jealous. If I ate all the time the way I had been eating the last few days, and the way she was eating today, I’d look like the Goodyear blimp.

  “So you and Elizabeth got to be friends at college?”

  She nodded. “I was going through my first divorce and because of Roger I didn’t have many friends. He drove them all away. I started hanging around Elizabeth. I liked her. She seemed to be so sophisticated, sort of, and I was the awkward, clumsy type. She was happy all the time, even though she and Robert were having tough times while they were in school.”

  “Did you stay friends when they moved down to Austin?”

  “Oh, you know about that? Yeah. I would drive down there for weekends every once in a while. We drifted apart after a while, and I remarried while she was gone, but by the time they moved back, I was on the brink of divorce again. After a while, we were as close as ever.” She smiled.

  “How often did you two see each other?”

  “All the time. I was over at their house practically daily. We’d eat dinner together, and I’d help her with the kids. Those kids are great. Or I’d help Robert if Elizabeth was at work. She worked a lot of long hours after she and Vern set up their practice. Sometimes she wouldn’t come home until way after I’d put the kids to bed.”

  “You weren’t married; you were divorced by then?”

  “Yeah. Joel and I split about five years or so ago, I think. He was a real prick.”

&n
bsp; “Do you have kids, Madge?”

  “Nah. I never wanted any with either of my husbands. Well, Roger and I were only married for about eighteen months. I knew right away that I’d made a mistake with him; it just took me that long to get out of it. And Joel, well, he was a drinker. I knew that when I married him, but I didn’t know how bad it was. He’d get real mean.” She laughed again. “He was one mean son-of-a-bitch, that boy was.”

  “That’s tough.”

  “Yeah. What about you? You got any kids? You married?”