“So I take it you didn’t believe her.”
“It could have happened the way she said, but when I pressed her about why she would allow a stranger into her boss’s home, she turned on the tears and clammed up. She’s holding something back.”
“That’s what I thought, too.”
“And that description of the man. Older, medium height, gray hair. That narrows it down to just about every geriatric man in town.”
“So do you think the two situations are related? Do you think someone was in the house looking for the coins and then stole them from the auction?”
“Possibly, if it happened like she said it did. For all we know she rooted through that room herself or maybe let a sleazy boyfriend in.”
“Uh, does she even have a sleazy boyfriend?”
“Don’t all single women have them?”
“Oh my,” Deena said. “You really need to get out more.”
“Maybe if I could find the right—” He stopped, then added, “Never mind.”
Deena grinned. “Well, speaking of sleazebags, I have another suspect for us to interview.”
“Us? Since when did you get a job with the Maycroft Police Department?”
“Since I came up with another lead. C’mon, Linus. Throw me a bone. It’s been weeks since I’ve stretched my investigative wings.”
“If I say yes, will you promise to tell me who it is and let me do the talking?”
“Pinkie swear,” she said, holding up her hand next to the phone.
“Regular swearing will do just fine. I’ll swing by and pick you up in ten.”
Deena hung up, pleased with herself. Now she just needed to convince Estelle to cover for her and take care of Hurley while she went out.
It turned out to be easier than she imagined. Estelle was more than happy to play shopkeeper while she went off to do some sleuthing.
After double-checking the store, Deena went outside to watch for Guttman. As he pulled up, she glanced back at the shop. She knew good and well that the moment they pulled off, Estelle would be back in that little room looking for more signs from her dead mother.
Chapter 6
Unlike most small-town police detectives in the South, Guttman always wore a suit instead of the usual khakis and plaid shirt most Texans sported. It may have been a habit from when he worked in Philadelphia. As usual, it was a little wrinkled and about a half size too big. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“The south side of town on Fletcher. We’re looking for a Billy Ratliff.”
“Got an address?”
“No, but you’re a detective, I’m sure you can figure it out.”
He rolled his eyes and picked up the microphone for his radio. He called the station for the address. “So what’s the story with this Ratliff fellow?”
Deena filled him in on the disappearing act Billy had pulled during the auction. “Even if he didn’t do anything, he may have seen something.”
“I hope he did. So far, we don’t have much to go on. From what the coroner said, it looks like Dietz was hit with a blunt object in the head and fell forward onto the curb. Cracked his skull.”
“Could that object be the coin case?”
“Most likely.” He sounded his siren to get around a line of cars at the stoplight.
Deena gripped the armrest. She hated driving fast, especially when there was no real hurry. “Does that mean his death would be ruled an accident? Probably the thief didn’t intend to kill him.”
“That will be up to the district attorney. My guess is it will be manslaughter. It will depend on the evidence, of course.”
“What about Mayor Fisk? Did you talk to him?”
“Yep. He says he was inside the whole time. Why? Do you know something?”
“Just that he and a couple of other guys were arguing over by the coin collection earlier in the auction. I thought he may have a lead or hunch or something.”
“Huh. He didn’t say anything about that. How did you find this out?”
“I saw them when I went to the back of the hall to get a drink.” Deena slammed on her invisible brake. “Whoa! Slow down, detective. You don’t want to get us killed.”
“Sorry.” He tapped the brakes.
“I didn’t know the other two men.”
“What were they talking about? What happened?”
“I wasn’t close enough to hear, but I could tell by their faces it wasn’t a friendly conversation. A woman dragged off one of the men and they went back to their seats.”
“What did they look like?”
“Middle age, maybe older. None of them looked like thieves or killers, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Do you think you’d recognize them if you saw them again?”
“Maybe. One of them had his back to me, so I didn’t get much of a look at him. I think we should talk to Fisk again. I’m sure he would know who they were.”
“Definitely.” Guttman pulled up to a run-down house that looked like the walls might collapse any minute. “Let’s hope this guy’s home.”
Deena followed the detective to the door, noticing he put his hand on the gun under his suit coat.
This police stuff just got real.
The blaring of a television seeped through the door jamb.
Guttman knocked and waited. He knocked again. “Open up! This is the Maycroft Police Department.”
The chain on the other side of the door jangled, and the door creaked open. A guy who looked like he’d just rolled out of bed peeked through the opening.
“Are you Billy Ratliff?” Guttman used his guttural cop voice as he held up his badge.
“Yes sir.”
“I need to talk to you. Would you mind stepping outside?”
Why didn’t Guttman go inside? It didn’t take a bloodhound to recognize the stench of marijuana.
Billy stepped out on the porch, barefoot and shirtless. “What is it, officer?”
“I understand you were working at the auction on Saturday night. Is that right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And at one point you left the building to go to the parking lot. Is that correct?”
The question seemed to revive the young man whose bloodshot eyes grew wider. “Uh, yes sir. I went out to my car. Um, I had to—to get my phone. I left it in my car.”
“Your phone.” Guttman paused and stared bullets into Billy’s brain. After what seemed forever, he asked, “Did you see anything unusual while you were outside ‘getting your phone’?”
He didn’t actually make air quotes with his hands, but Deena could tell by his voice that he wasn’t buying Billy’s explanation.
Billy looked at Deena as though she were the good cop.
She puffed out her chest in a show of solidarity but then realized it might just have looked like a flirtatious gesture. She stepped back, hoping to avoid a contact high from the fumes coming off the young man.
“No, I don’t think so.” Billy crossed his arms and began to shiver as though he just realized summer had turned to fall.
“Are you sure you didn’t see anything or anyone?”
He looked down at his arms and put his hands behind him. He may have thought he was about to get cuffed.
“I swear, officer—”
“Detective,” Deena said.
“I swear the only person I saw out there was Corey, the security guy.”
Guttman pulled about a pad of paper and flipped through the pages. “Corey Rhodes?”
“Yeah, that’s the guy. He works security for Mr. Johnson at the auctions.”
“I see.” Guttman put away the pad. “What happened to your arm?”
Billy looked down as he brought his right arm to the front. It had a large bruise and several scratches. “Oh that. I fell off my motorcycle.”
“Fell off your motorcycle,” Guttman repeated.
Apparently, the police academy taught its officers to repeat everything like a parrot.
The detective r
eached in his coat pocket and pulled out his card. Handing it to Billy, he said, “If you happen to think of anything else, give me a call.”
Billy let out a sigh of relief—a little too obviously.
But just as he opened the door to go inside, Guttman said, “And Billy, watch out for motorcycles. They can be dangerous.”
Deena wanted to give Guttman a standing ovation for the snappy police work. It made for great theater. As they drove off, she asked, “You didn’t believe him, did you?”
“Not for a minute.”
“And what about his arm? Looks like he might have been in a tussle or a fight.”
“That’s what I thought. You say he is a friend of the auctioneer?”
“No, a friend of the son’s. Leroy Johnson.”
“I may have to talk to him. See if he corroborates the story.”
Deena nodded, wondering if the Johnsons were right to want to keep their son away from Billy. “Why didn’t you bust him for possession? The place smelled like an outdoor concert in the seventies.”
“We don’t need him for that. We need him for the manslaughter case. I can always threaten him with that later if I find out he’s lying.”
“Who are we going to interrogate next?” She wiggled in the seat like a child going to Disneyland.
“Unless you have more leads, we aren’t going anywhere. I’m taking you back to the thrift store.”
“No way! What about Marty Fisk? I know him. I could help you when you talk to him. After all, I’m the one who saw the argument.”
Guttman frowned. “Okay, then. Same as before. Let me do the talking unless he says something shady. Just because he’s the mayor doesn’t mean he doesn’t have secrets.”
“Like you have to tell me. Everybody has secrets, especially politicians.”
They drove into town to the Lucky Strike Pawn Shop owned by Mayor Marty Fisk.
She debated telling Guttman about the situation at Estelle’s house. It seemed possible that whoever rummaged around in that spare room may have been looking for the coins. Deena glanced at Guttman who seemed deep in his own thoughts and followed his lead.
She didn’t have to play all her cards right away. If she held out a bit of info, she could possibly use it to get more details from Guttman later. It’s not that she didn’t trust him to do a good job investigating on his own, but when it came to figuring out a whodunit, she was better.
At least this time, no one else was in danger of getting hurt.
* * *
THIS WAS THE FIRST time Deena had been back to the pawn shop since she was caught up in a different murder case. Nothing had changed. The gun case, the shelves filled with small appliances, the musical instruments hanging on the back wall, and the jewelry. She was tempted to look in the glass case but thought better of it. After all, she wanted to instill confidence in Detective Guttman that she could be a valuable asset when it came to solving crimes.
Marty Fisk had the reputation of being a shrewd businessman. That’s another way of saying he was one step above a conman. Thus, he had a tendency to get what he wanted.
When he saw Guttman come in, he came straight over to shake his hand like they were good friends. “How can I help you, Detective? Got any leads on those coins?”
As mayor of Maycroft, Fisk was technically Guttman’s boss since the mayor reigned over the city council, which hired and fired the police chief. Guttman had probably never seen it that way.
“We were hoping to ask you a few questions about the auction,” he said in his usual flat voice.
Deena grinned. Guttman had included her in his “we” statement.
“Sure thing. Come into my office where we can talk in private.”
They followed him in and took their seats across from his cluttered desk. Deena noticed several diamond watches and an open box of loose coins. Her eyes stayed on the coins.
“These coins,” Fisk said, “they’re not the ones from the auction, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Guttman nodded. “I see. Do a lot of coins come through here?”
“Some. Occasionally.”
“I see. I guess that you are somewhat of an expert in rare coins. Is that right?”
“I know a little. Yeah, you could say that.” He opened the top drawer and swept the coins in, shutting it with a bang.
“Were you planning to bid on the coin collection at the auction?”
Fisk hesitated as though he might be stepping into a trap. “Uh, yeah, sure. Why?”
“So you must have gotten a good look at them before the auction started. Or, during the auction, perhaps.”
Why was Guttman beating around the bush? Why didn’t he just ask the names of the three other men involved in the argument? Deena had always interviewed suspects the way she had learned in her journalism training. You get to the point and ask open-ended questions, not these one-word kind. But she kept her mouth clamped. Maybe she could learn a thing or two.
“I got a chance to study them pretty good, but so did everyone else.” He studied their faces. “Detective, are you accusing me of stealing those coins?”
“No. Are you confessing?”
“No, of course not.” Fisk stiffened. Mr. Congenial had turned into Mr. Defensive.
Guttman grinned. “I didn’t think so.” He leaned back in the chair.
“The truth is,” Fisk said, “that us coin guys were already familiar with this particular collection. A few years before Fitzhugh died, we had started a little club, so to speak. We’d get together and talk about coins and show off our latest finds. After he passed, we stopped getting together. Wasn’t much point. As far as I know, there’s just three of us coin guys in town now.”
“I see. Actually, I have a witness who saw you and a few others having a rather heated discussion at the auction. It appeared to be about the coins. Can you tell me about it?”
Fisk seemed to let down his guard, but only a little. “That’s right. The three of us locals were talking about the value of some of the coins when this big shot out-of-towner in a suit comes up and tells us to sit down. We ask him why, and he says it’s because we don’t stand a chance getting the coin collection. We ask why, and he just stands there with a stupid grin on his face.”
“Do you think he was planning on stealing them?” Deena asked, no longer able to bite her tongue. This could be the break they needed.
Fisk cut his eyes at her. “If you were planning to steal something, would you walk up to a group of strangers and announce it?”
“No, I guess not.” She slumped down in her chair.
“So what happened next?” Guttman asked, as though Deena were invisible.
At that point, she wished she were.
“You know how it is. We started jawing about how no city slicker was going to come in and take a legacy that belonged in our town and that just because we lived in Maycroft didn’t mean we didn’t know our way around an auction.”
“What did he say?” Guttman took out his pad again. “Did you get his name?”
“Nah, he laughed at us and said he owned three businesses in Detroit and said we were out of our league.” Fisk’s face reddened. “That’s when I told him we needed to talk outside.”
“Outside? Did he take the bait?”
“Nah, lucky for him, Clark’s wife, Wanda, pulled him away and told us to stop acting like fools and go sit down.” Fisk knocked his fist on the desk a few times. “I’d have taken him. You can bet on that.”
“I’m sure you would have,” Guttman said. “Now who is this Clark?”
“Ronnie Clark. Lives over on Pine. Owns a body shop and the laundry mat.”
Guttman made a note. “And who were the other two men?”
“Wyatt Garrison. Retired guy. Used to be a banker.” He tightened his fist again. “I don’t know the name of that jerk from out of town.”
Guttman tapped the pad with his pen. “I know this is tough, but do you think either of the two local collectors might have s
tolen the coins?”
Fisk swiveled in his chair. “I can’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind. They’re both pretty good guys. Still, you never really know what people will do if a situation presents itself.”
“That’s for sure,” Deena said, hoping to get back in Fisk’s good graces. After all, he was the mayor.
Guttman stood up to leave. “I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Fisk. One last question. How much do you think that collection of coins would have sold for? How much is it really worth?”
Deena stood up next to the detective, noting that he said “I” instead of “we” this time.
“Well, that’s hard to say.” Fisk scratched his chin. “If you’ve ever been to an auction before, you know that people can get into a bidding war, especially if you want to keep the other fella from winning. But the value of the collection? I’d say close to two hundred thousand.”
“That’s quite a sum.”
“Yeah, but that’s not nearly as much as Fitzhugh’s other collection. Now, that one might be worth killing for.” He winked at Deena. “Just kidding, of course.”
* * *
GUTTMAN SAID LITTLE on the way back to the thrift store other than to suggest that Estelle should move the second coin collection out of her home and put it in a safe deposit box at the bank.
Deena had gotten used to his silent jags where he seemed to be processing new information. At least he didn’t tease her about the dumb question she had asked Fisk.
Could Marty Fisk be right? Hard to believe the second coin collection Estelle had in her safe was even more valuable. If so, who knew about it, and what might they do to get their hands on it?
Hurley wagged his tale and sneezed on Deena’s shoes when she came back into the thrift shop. His nose must have been filled with that weird pine odor.
Estelle and Russell were huddled together looking at an old book about the history of Perry County.
“Sorry I took so long,” Deena said. “Did everything go okay?”
“Everything was great. I sold that oak table and chairs to a young couple who just moved to town. Luckily, Russell was here to help me load it in their truck.”
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