“Why would they do that?”
“So Leah Swensen simply didn't disappear. They wanted me to see her so there was no doubt about her identity.”
“Why?”
“I'm not sure. It appears she wrote the note telling me to come to her place so she had no idea what was going to happen. If I hadn't been there she would have been buried as Linda Fendon. Of course now the insurance goes to Jack Swensen. I wonder if they thought of that?”
“Who's 'they'?” Lupe asked. She was shorter than Conchita and thicker in the hips but there was no doubt they were related.
“I don't know.”
“Maybe that Swensen person had her killed,” Conchita said.
“From prison?”
“It happens. You've heard of the Mexican Mafia?” Lupe nodded her head in agreement.
“You raise a good point. But right now I need sleep.”
“Aah!” Lupe said, “el bulto!”
“I forgot!” Conchita said. “A package came for you a few hours ago.” She asked Lupe to get it for them.
“How did you receive it?”
“A messenger. He had me sign for it. It was late, almost midnight when it came.”
“It” was a heavy manila envelope addressed to John Goodnight with no return address. Inside was a single cassette. “Let's play it on the stereo,” Conchita suggested. She and Lupe spoke in Spanish and agreed that Conchita's man had a very interesting job. It took some time to work out the knobs but soon there was a hiss then the voice.
This is Paula Dinelli. I guess you're surprised to be getting this. I've left it with a friend from church with instructions that if I am killed it is to be hand delivered to you at once. Since you are hearing this that means I'm dead. I think...
“Who is that?” Lupe asked in a stage whisper. “A lady who was killed late yesterday,” Goodnight answered. Lupe crossed herself and her eyes grew the size of half dollars. “We saw it on the news.”
... that this was how it would turn out. I was raised to believe that we pay for our sins. I hope my Lord God forgives me for mine. I'm tired, tired to my soul. It's late. It was on the news that you discovered Leah's body in Portugal so the game is up. I want you to understand that I've had no part in murder, none at all. But it's only a matter of time before the police start looking at me again, for insurance fraud if nothing else. I told Leah the insurance was too cute. I warned her but once she got that idea she wouldn't back off. I think she read too many of those books. But I don't think I'm going to be around long enough to worry about jail. Someone's going to kill me. I don't know who, I've got my ideas but no proof, but I think it's the same person who killed Leah and tried to kill you.
Let me start in the beginning so this will make better sense. I was once in love with Jack Swensen. How's that for stupid? I would lie awake at night getting worked up, sinning in my thoughts, dreaming about the two of us. But what would he want with a mousy woman like me? When I saw what was going on between him and Leah I hated her for it. I wanted to quit but I couldn't stand the thought of not being around Jack. But later when he was seeing other women it was as if Leah and I became sisters. When Jodi Iverson came to work and they started in together Leah asked me to lunch to confirm the affair for her. “I'm not going to stand for it,” she told me. “I'm going to make him pay.” We talked regularly after that. I was always surprised that she was never as upset with Miss Iverson as she was with Jack.
At first she was going to divorce him and take half the business but later she decided that wasn't enough, especially since she thought he would find a legal way to cheat her. Nearly two years ago she came up with the idea of faking her own death. She said that with DNA it would be easy to frame him. The way she had it worked out even if her husband was only investigated and indicted that would have been plenty. The last time we talked she was thrilled he had been convicted. I told her I didn't like the idea of him being executed and she became very angry with me. “He killed me, didn't he?” she said. “Every time he was with that woman. He's taken my life, hasn't he? He's paying now with his.”
Still I was uncomfortable with it. The original plan was for me to vote her proxy and take over the company. Then I was to kick Jack out and send Leah payments every month. But she came up with this insurance idea. At first it was just to make Jack look guilty. Then she thought she had come up with a way to actually collect the money. She said she had a friend who pulled off a big insurance scam and would help show her how to do the hard parts. I thought it was a foolish risk, but she insisted.
Let's see. She needed me for the insurance and to deprive Jack of his company. That was an important part of the revenge in case he wasn't convicted. She got out of the house that Monday disguised as a bag lady. I picked her up on the next street and drove her to the airport. I wasn't gone from the office an hour and have been amazed that no one ever asked me about it.
Something's gone very wrong. Leah has really been murdered, someone tried to kill you. I will be punished soon. You are a decent man and I am sorry I ever lied to you. It's not important that you learn who killed me or Leah. God will see to them. I just want you to know the truth. God forgive me.
“Play it again,” Goodnight asked and the three of them listened to the voice once again.
When it was finished Conchita asked, “What does it mean?”
“It answers some questions but not enough.” Goodnight glanced at his watch. It was almost four. “I'm going to catch some sleep then we'll get this over to the police.”
After airplanes and the hotel room in Lisbon the sheets of his own bed never felt so good. Conchita lay beside him and stroked his hair but he was asleep before she could do it more than once.
She awoke him it seemed an instant later. “The telephone, querido. He's says it is very important. I'm sorry.”
“How long did I sleep?”
“Maybe one hour. It is just after 5:00.”
Goodnight asked for coffee then took the call in his office. “Mr. Goodnight? This is Gerald Westby in Austin,” the familiar deep voice said with that easy Texas drawl. “I forgot about the time difference. I'm sorry. It's early here but I think I've awakened you.”
“That's fine. What can I do for you?”
“I've got a bit of a situation and it seems like you are the man to call. I understand you discovered Leah Swensen's body in Portugal three days ago? There was an article in yesterday's paper here about it.”
“That's correct.”
“Do they have any suspects? Any leads?”
“If they do they didn't share them with me. The police there think her death is connected to events here.”
Westby grunted. “I've got me a problem then and I'm hoping you and I can work something out. Obviously since Leah Swensen was just murdered in Europe she wasn't murdered by Jack Swensen in Phoenix last spring. That means he is the beneficiary of four million, six hundred thousand dollars. Not my client.”
“You're client's dead, Mr. Westby. I saw her body in Portugal.”
“Not at all. You are quite mistaken in that. I just spoke with her yesterday. The woman I know as Lana Dahl is alive and well.”
If Westby spoke after that Goodnight didn't hear it.
“Mr. Goodnight? Mr. Goodnight? Can you hear me?”
“Yes. You say Lana Dahl, or whoever she really is, is alive?”
“I spoke with her, yes. I'm a pretty good lawyer Mr. Goodnight. I squeezed payment from all three companies, despite your objections. My instructions were to wire the money to a bank in Florida. Well, I checked late yesterday, I'm sure someone broke a rule in helping me out here, but that money was wired again to an off shore account before it had time to collect interest. You can see my problem, can't you? My client, who I have always believed to be Leah Swensen's sister, is, regardless, not the lawful beneficiary, but she's got the money. Now I know I haven't done anything wrong in this, but I'm afraid I may have been victimized in some kind of insurance scam. I don't know how the bar is g
oing to look at it but I'm not about to lose my ticket over something like this. So I've got a proposition for you that I think you'll agree is in both our interests.”
Conchita handed Goodnight a steaming cup of black coffee. “Go ahead.”
“I take it from news accounts that you hold the position Lana Dahl does not exist? If that's true than I am the victim of a fraud and have no attorney/client privilege problem. But I take it you have no proof as yet?”
“That's correct. I've been acting on the assumption that Leah Swensen was pretending to be her sister and hired you in that role. Instead of proving there was no sister I decided to locate Leah Swensen.”
“If the body you found in Portugal really is Leah Swensen then as I told you she could not possibly be my client. I've made arrangements for her to come to my ranch tomorrow to discuss something that's come up. By that I mean the return of the money since she is not entitled to it.”
“She agreed?”
Westby sounded concerned. “We've had a very amiable relationship until now. I didn't tell her that was why we were going to talk but she has no reason to suspect a meeting with me. The deal I want to work out with you is this: If Lana Dahl really is a sister, or some close relative, then she is an innocent party here and I'm sure she would be willing to refund the money. If that is the case would the companies consider paying her some kind of recovery fee, say ten percent?”
“I'd have to check. I doubt they'd go that much, but then I don't think your client is an innocent party in this.”
“That's the other alternative, isn't it? If there is no Lana Dahl and I've been victimized, then my client is not going to want to return this money. It strikes me that having you here in that case would be a wise move on both our parts. Once you have her you ought to be able to get the money back. If my client is on the up and up, I can't imagine any problem if you were to simply arrive at my ranch tomorrow unexpected. It might help get the money back all the quicker, but if she is part of this, even a killer, then I'm going to want you here I can assure you.”
“Perhaps you should just call the police.”
“Now why would I want to do a stupid thing like that? What if there is a real Lana Dahl? Have you any idea the kind of malpractice suit I'd face if I brought the police in? But either way it's proper for you to be here since this is an insurance matter and you represent the companies. I can't do anything wrong with you involved.”
“What time are you expecting her?”
“Around noon. She'll be here all afternoon. Can you arrange to arrive during that time?”
“I'll have to check the schedule but there should be a daily business flight to Austin from Phoenix that will get me there about noon myself. How do I find this ranch of yours?”
Westby gave detailed instructions.
“There's something else, Mr. Westby. You know your client as Lana Dahl, but I doubt very seriously such a person exits. What is her address and telephone number?”
“You understand I'd be going out on a limb if I gave you that, don't you? If my client is an honest person that is privileged information. But I don't think it's going to help you much. All I ever had was a post office box in Ft. Worth and a telephone number that as of yesterday was disconnected.”
“In that case describe your client. Surely that's not a problem?”
“I guess not, not after the help you're giving me. How can I put this? She's hot stuff, Mr. Goodnight. She's very good looking, blond, great figure and acts as if she wants to crawl into the pants of any man with money.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
The flight from Sky Harbor airport to Austin, Texas, left at 8:15 that same morning. It was half filled with business types in suits with laptops. Goodnight was too keyed up to sleep so he settled on more coffee which left him wide awake but still tired. There had been no time for calls prior to leaving Phoenix so he used the telephone on the back of the seat in front of him to confirm that Consolidated American had issued its check for two million dollars. Robert Platt wasn't especially apologetic. “I see you found the insured's body, so we are out the money regardless, right?”
It wasn't quite noon when Goodnight rented a car and had the pretty Avis girl with a thick Texas accent draw lines on the map pointing him northwest bound on state 71 just south of the winding Texas Colorado River. It was hilly cattle country, dry this time of year. In about 20 minutes he slowed and eyed the highway markers with care. At 262 he watched to the right and soon came to the elaborate entrance to the Lazy W Ranch. He climbed out of the car, opened the wooden gate, drove through then closed the gate behind him. He checked the odometer and knew he had driven another three miles on the gravel road before approaching a low lying ranch house surrounded by large trees, with a water tower and corral off to the left and behind the structure.
There was an open red Jeep Wrangler with roll cage, over-head night lights and large knobby tires parked by the front door. Goodnight could make out an air conditioner for use when the top was up and, of all things, a CD player. It wasn't much like the drab olive World War II surplus Jeep his father had kept on their ranch after the war.
The doorbell rang a distant chime and Goodnight stood a good minute waiting for an answer. The man who greeted him was as tall as Goodnight but with perhaps 50 more pounds of muscle. He was Mexican with a lot of Indio and gestured silently with his hand towards the living room down a short hallway.
It was the kind of Western room Roy Rogers and other Hollywood cowboys had made famous. Larger than any room had the right to be, it was paneled in knotty pine and along the wall was hung various Western paraphernalia: branding irons, old lanterns, lassos, halters, two saddles, a wagon wheel. The kind of stuff that littered the barn of any real western ranch, not the walls of the living room. Against one wall was an impressive display of guns, hunting rifles, shotguns, antique black powder weapons in mint condition, locked.
The servant was gone without offering any refreshment, very unfriendly for this part of the country. Through French doors Goodnight could see a swimming pool some distance away. It was grass from here to there about the length of a football field but after the pool was creosote. It would take a lot of work to keep clean. There were footsteps down a hallway, light and measured, then in walked Jodi Iverson, chewing on her lower lip, a cigarette held in her right hand at her side. She was so startled Goodnight thought she was going to have to sit down.
“What are you doing here?” she wanted to know once she could speak. She was wearing white tennis shoes, beige colored shorts from the 1940's, and a loose fitting aquamarine polo shirt.
“Sorry to surprise you,” Goodnight said, “but I think perhaps we should have a talk.”
“What's going on? Where's Gerry?”
“I haven't seen Mr. Westby yet. Why don't we have a seat over here?”
“This is weird, you know? All the servants are gone except for that creepy Indian, Juan. Why are you here? What do you want to talk about?”
He waited as she took a place on the small couch opposite him. “I went to Portugal looking for Leah Swensen a few days ago. Perhaps you heard about it?”
She punched her cigarette out and lit another before answering. “No. I still don't understand why you are here. Staying at this place is like being in Siberia. There's no radio, can you believe that? And the television is wired funny into a video player so all you can use it for is to watch movies. I'm sick of prowling around here.”
“I found Leah. But I was too late. She had been killed about two hours before I arrived. She and her maid.”
“Really? How?”
“Someone crushed their skulls with a fire poker.”
“Oh God! That's awful. I didn't like Leah very much, I'll admit, but she sure didn't deserve to die like that. So she really was alive after all. That's what Jack said the last time I saw him.”
“Earlier today I returned to Phoenix and was informed that last night Paula Dinelli was gunned down outside of the offices of what was Swensen
Steel.”
Iverson looked stunned. “Paula? What's going on? This is all too weird. Who's killing these people? Didn't somebody take a shot at you too? And I still don't know what you are doing here.”
“I think, ma'am, it's time you came clean here, before this gets even messier.”
“What's to come clean with? I already told you just about everything that day when I saw you at Jack's house.”
“I'll admit this doesn't make too much sense, but I think you've got some answers I need to hear.”
“What are you talking about? Where's Gerry? You know that son-of-a-bitch invites me here, and I figure, why not? There's nothing going on for me in Phoenix. He seemed nice enough except for thinking all women are really stupid. I figured that was a cowboy thing. But no sooner do I arrive at this godforsaken place then he takes off. The only day he's here he spends half the time working out in this gym room here. Then he's got me out back showing me his gun toys. He's got a thing about guns. He was shooting those deer rifles and stupid pistols, or whatever they are. He'd load these things up, those really old guns, pouring powder down the barrel, blasting away like a kid. He rides his horses out there and plays cowboy. I never should have left Long Island. He just got back last night and now he's gone again. I've been like a prisoner here. Did you know the telephones in the house don't work? I checked out the barn and found one there I used to call a taxi. And that goddamn Juan acts like he doesn't talk any English, none of the servants do. Now the cook and maid are both gone, then 'wham' you show up. Why don't you tell me what's going on?”
“Have you ever heard of Lana Dahl?”
“Who? No. Should I?”
“How well did you know Leah Swensen?”
“Just to see around the office. What is this?”
“Tell me how you got here. The whole truth. You could be in a great deal of trouble. Now is the time to start helping.”
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