Shades of Deception

by Charlie Hudson

  “General asshole or something particular?” Steve didn’t hesitate to give his opinion, but his attitude was generally live-and-let-live.

  “A guy is entitled to screw around all he wants to and can rack up as many women as are willing,” he said with a shrug. “And it’s not like he’s violent to women. Remember Abby — the one who didn’t like natural hair colors?”

  “The chartreuse was hard to forget,” Bev said, thinking the bright pink had been almost as strange. At least her hair had been closely cropped so there hadn’t been an abundance of outrageous color to stare at.

  “She was good though and I hated to lose her. Anyway, she had a thing for Raney and I guess she got the idea they were serious until she found out she was in a string of three. If her best friend hadn’t been in the mix it might have been easier. It made for some drama around here I really didn’t need. She got an offer deeper in the Keys and took off after what was a really messy scene from what I heard. At least it didn’t happen here.”

  Bev raised her eyebrows. “I can see how juggling three at once could be complicated.”

  “I was told on good authority he rarely has fewer than three going at any one time and maybe a couple of extra during peak tourist seasons. Vacation flings are as common as hangovers and two adults can do whatever they want. Stringing someone along though and dumping them without at least some kind of an excuse is a shitty way to behave. Like I said, not my business, but if one of my nieces comes around, I doubt I’d want her dating him.”

  “You’re not the only one who has the same opinion,” Bev said and lifted her mug to him. “So, no gossip about Belton’s death being anything other than an accident?”

  Steve was shaking his head before she finished the question. “A sad and common occurrence as far as I know. Roger and I started counting up our experiences with this kind of situation and nothing out of the ordinary came out.”

  Bev lifted her mug. “Great coffee by the way. You know about The Best Cup coming in to Pink Flamingo?”

  “Absolutely. The couple opening it spent some time with me last year when they were close to making the deal. He’s the coffee expert — has more than ten years in South and Central America and she’s a pastry chef. It will be a terrific match-up and they have a solid business plan. You’ll like them.”

  “I’ll probably be a regular customer,” she said, not quite ready to head to her appointment with Doctor Cooper, a man who was as thorough as she could ask for. Although his official report would carry the weight about any questionable aspects of Belton’s death, she enjoyed Steve’s company and she was caught up on paperwork. Having a conversation with him was a good way to use time. They talked for a bit longer and she left him to walk into Doc’s outer office precisely one minute prior to the scheduled time. His door was wide open, his assistant, Linda, apparently not in based on the fact there were no papers on her desk and the light of her lamp was switched off.

  “If that’s you, Bev, come on in,” Doc’s voice called.

  He was on the telephone, his face with the expression the caller probably wouldn’t have wanted to see. Bev took the chair in front of the desk as he said, “Yeah I got it. I’m planning to attend. Yes, Linda will make the arrangements.” His usual cheerful office demeanor, which Bev always found to be somewhat incongruous considering his profession, was not on display.

  He set the telephone in the base, took his round gold wire-rimmed glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bullshit conference I’ve been sliding out of for the past two years. Going up to Tallahassee is a royal pain in the ass and I can’t remember ever coming away from one of those knowing a damn bit more than I did before I got there.” He fitted his glasses again, tapped the top of the closed folder in the center of the desk and tilted his head toward the coffee mug to his left. It was the white one with a red skull and cross bones. “Join me for a cup?”

  “I’m good, thanks. What do you have for me?”

  “I could have saved you a trip, but I figured you’d just as soon get out of the office,” he said with a smile more like what she was accustomed to from him. “Mr. Belton did not live what one would call the healthiest of lifestyles, although I’ve seen much worse in men his age. You probably don’t realize how often people ignore signs of heart attack.”

  “Uh no, can’t say that I do. Is that what happened?”

  “That would be my guess. Another person who couldn’t imagine it was anything out of the ordinary,” he said. “It’s easy to blame indigestion or something like that and, since despite weighing thirty or so pounds more than he should have and having a cholesterol count his primary physician wouldn’t have been happy about, Mr. Belton did not show signs of previous heart issues. If you want statistics, Sudden Cardiac Death — SCD — occurs annually in 1 out of 1,000 adults in the U.S., accounting for more than 300,000 deaths each year. Risk is greater in people with structural heart diseases, but half the time individuals had no idea of heart disease and around twenty percent of those deaths, no structural cardiovascular changes are found during autopsy. I expect to get to the official report by tomorrow afternoon. By the rules, it will count as a scuba death, but quite frankly this was likely to occur had he been raking leaves, shoveling snow, or engaging in a number of other activities.”

  Bev had her notebook out. “Natural causes, straight up?”

  “Plain and simple,” Doc said with a definitive nod. “If you want another statistic, he had less than a ten percent chance of surviving being outside of immediate medical care. The measures taken were appropriate, but unless he happened to be walking into the hospital when it happened, he wasn’t going to make it and quite frankly, I doubt that would have made a difference. I’ll send you the report day after tomorrow at the latest.”

  Bev snapped her notebook shut, stood, and shook hands. “Okay then, thanks. That’s what I needed.” Raney would be relieved, except she had a feeling based on what she’d been told about him and what she’d observed that he hadn’t given the situation much thought within minutes after Belton was taken from the boat. At least Roger Lariby wouldn’t have to worry about fault on their end. No fault found didn’t mean one of Belton’s relatives might not try to sue anyway. From what Bev understood from her dive shop owner friends, there were plenty of lawyers ready to pounce no matter what the true circumstances were. Just one other reason she was glad Kyle wasn’t involved in personal litigation. He was acquainted with a lawyer who specialized in defending dive professionals against suits and once said he had a reputation for intense grilling of clients to ensure they hadn’t been liable before he would accept the case. Bev idly wondered if Kyle would ever consider swapping specialties. Then she remembered the same guy apparently spent a hell of a lot of time traveling to remote places for weeks on end and decided she wouldn’t bring the subject up. Her musings came to an abrupt halt as she slammed on her brakes to avoid rear-ending a car that actually slowed for a caution light instead of accelerating through.

  She arrived at the station, responding to Taliah Fanning beckoning her. Taliah, the third administrative assistant since Bev joined the force, was as close to irreplaceable as a person could be. She probably wasn’t actually listed as an example of “sass” in the dictionary, and the polite term would be “highly self-confident.” Aside from the fact she took exactly no shit from anyone, she had the remarkable ability to know when and how to listen to people. If Taliah didn’t have a piece of information about everyone in the department, it was close hold indeed. Her style of dress was no less colorful than her personality. Today was a surprisingly muted yellow for the matching slacks and print blouses she favored, although the same couldn’t be said about the orange for her nails and large hoop earrings. She wore little make-up, however, her smooth dark skin made it difficult to determine her age. Her brown eyes were broadcasting humor as she dropped her voice. “The Chief left a few minutes ago about fit to be tied after a call
from the mayor. Seems as if the run-in Beau had yesterday with the guy he ticketed has political implications — I mean the kind that goes all the way to the state senate. Not direct, mind you, but enough to make the mayor squirm. You would think after all these years, the mayor would know to be asking for a favor instead of trying to pull rank if he wants something like that handled.”

  Bev couldn’t stop the grin as the occasional eruptions between the two men were common knowledge. “You would think,” she agreed. “Doc Cooper is sending his report soon, but the case is basically ready to wrap. I’ll fill in the last details once I get it.”

  Taliah snapped her fingers. “And just like that, you continue to be the fastest closer around.”

  “Contrary to what the Chief thinks, I’m perfectly happy with easy cases. I don’t have to complicate every one of them.”

  “Uh, huh. Well, unless I miss my guess, Les is on the phone with one that might be a little trickier,” she said, pointing to their office. “I caught a piece of the discussion and the name Herb was used. Don’t know that many Herbs and my guess is it’s the Mecklenbergs.”

  Bev flipped her hand and pivoted to see Les run his palm across his chin, the phone call apparently over. He greeted her with the mild look that only meant nothing gruesome was involved. It hadn’t taken her long to realize his habitual lack of expression had nothing to do with how quickly he was mentally processing a situation. She sure as hell didn’t want to sit down to a game of poker with him for more than penny ante stakes.

  She set her black leather purse on the desk. “Should I put this away?”

  He shook his head and pushed his chair back, but didn’t stand. “You know the Mecklenbergs, I suppose?”

  Taliah had heard correctly. “Oh yeah, it’s the oldest, and until a few years ago was the only, electronics store around. They opened back when console TVs, reel-to-reel tapes, and transistor radios were big stuff. Had the first video rental section, too.”

  “I thought she sounded a little older,” he said. “They’re semi-retired though?”

  “Yeah. The two sons, Dov and Marlon, pretty much took over maybe eight years ago to do a major overhaul to keep them competitive. Smart guys, both of them — a few years older than my brother, so it’s not like they were in the bunch that hung around the house. Burglary? I didn’t look at the log this morning.”

  Les flicked his blue eyes at the wall clock. “That’s how it started and based on what she said, there may be more to it. Mrs. Mecklenberg wants us to come to their house and asked that we give them about forty-five minutes. I’m starving. If we swing into Waldo’s, I can call ahead if you know what you want.”

  “Sure, spinach salad with grilled chicken, mango vinaigrette on the side,” she said without hesitation.

  Les’s sense of timing was accurate since both of them had plenty of experience in rushed meals. Her salad and his predictable club sandwich were delivered to the table almost as soon as they sat and ate with little conversation. Bev was scanning the short report of the burglary. No forced entry and the fact the alarm hadn’t been set caught her attention. Dov, who had opened, was the one who reported the theft. Marlon, three and a half years junior, had closed and said they’d been having issues with the alarm pad buttons not engaging as easily as they should. He claimed he’d followed daily procedure, but Bev noted the back door had an older lock that required turning of a key rather than automatically locking upon closure. If Marlon had been in a hurry, he might have hit the buttons, not waited for the signal the alarm was armed, shut the door firmly and not turned the key all the way into the locked position. That was the kind of thing people did, but were so accustomed to their routine, they couldn’t imagine carelessly deviating from it. Bev had also read the surveillance cameras were dummies — a cost-saving measure small companies often used thinking the presence of cameras and signs stating, “Caution, Premises Are Under Surveillance,” were an adequate deterrence. Experienced thieves could spot the difference as easily as a qualified jeweler could identify an imitation diamond.

  Les dropped a crumpled napkin onto his empty plate. “You notice only selected items were stolen?”

  Bev nodded, without looking up and swallowed the last sip of her iced tea. “And everything was on the storage shelves, not scheduled to go on sale for a few days.”

  They left money on the table and Bev waited until they were in the car. “This doesn’t break any records for theft — but it doesn’t look like amateur hour either.”

  “I checked and we don’t have any other recent reports from neighboring Keys so we probably don’t have a ring operating, plus Mrs. Mecklenberg stressed they wanted to speak with us privately rather than being seen at the station.”

  Bev snapped her seatbelt into place. “Shall we go ahead and bet this is an inside job?”

  Les shrugged and cranked the car. “Maybe a disgruntled former employee — that’s always a good place to start.”

  “Well, it’s only about a five-minute drive. Let’s go see what they have to say.”

  Herb and Rachel Mecklenberg’s house was tucked behind a seven-foot high barrier of meticulously trimmed bougainvillea in alternating sections of purple, white, and red. Like many of the older homes in this neighborhood, the wide canopies of the pair of mature gumbo limbo trees shaded most of the small yard. Rather than grass and a sidewalk, the entire front was done in pavers for parking with two empty spaces on the right since a black Cadillac and a blue Malibu were pulled underneath the single-story sand-colored stucco elevated house. The common building practice not only provided parking or storage, more importantly, the feature reduced flood insurance rates. The canal behind led to the ocean, a full view not likely except for the three or four houses closest to the end of the canal.

  Rachel Mecklenberg opened the front door when they were two steps from the landing, and her smile couldn’t be considered cheerful. Although Bev hadn’t seen either of them for quite a while, the slump to her shoulders was uncharacteristic and her brown eyes couldn’t hide whatever worry was troubling her.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said and extended her hand to Les. “You would be Detective Martin.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Oh please, it’s Rachel, and Herb is at the dining table.” Her eyes widened. “Oh dear, I asked you to come at lunch time. I have coffee and ice tea made, but let me get some cookies, too.”

  “That’s okay, Rachel,” Bev said quickly. “We’ve already eaten.”

  Frosted glass panels and a transom around the front door allowed natural light into the short foyer, polished hardwood beneath them instead of tile. She led them through an arch to the right, the left side of the foyer having white folding wooden doors of probably a closet in the shallow space. A corresponding arch on the back wall showed a section of the kitchen that was no doubt part of an open floor plan as was the customary style. Herb Mecklenberg rose from the head of the rectangular wooden table as Rachel introduced Les. At maybe five foot-six, his slender build would likely diminish into frailty as he aged and at the moment, the grip of his handshake was lacking. His thinning hair was completely white and pouches under his brown eyes were more pronounced than Bev remembered. She took in the writing tablet, pens, a stack of papers, and an over-size calculator.

  “Thank you for coming to the house,” Herb reiterated after they were seated and declined coffee again. “We won’t waste your time.” Whatever the problem was, his voice was resolute. “This theft is not what we are concerned with. It would be only a nuisance except for what else we found.”

  They didn’t try to mask their distress in laying out the pattern of inventory discrepancies they discovered. They were small, but persistent. Not the type of mistake you should find more than once. The first instance was within four months after Herb and Rachel took a long-awaited cruise, a series of trips planned with the business entrusted to their sons, the boys who would ca
rry on the family name and reputation.

  “We have not spoken to Dov or Marlon,” Herb said, his tone dipping to forlorn. “We want to be wrong. And last year Tommy, who had been with us for more than five years, left with no explanation. We were in New York to celebrate a niece’s wedding and when we asked the boys what happened, they claimed not to know — that Tommy said he had a new opportunity and had to leave right away or miss the chance. He is only in Key West though and not so far away that he can’t stop by and explain?”

  “To us, he was like family,” Rachel added.

  And he would know the store as well as anyone and possibly kept a key was what she didn’t say.

  Herb’s brow furrowed deeply. “We don’t want to believe this, but the numbers don’t lie. Our hope is perhaps there has been some other foolishness, an individual we don’t know brought in for some reason and wrongly trusted. We have always admired your parents, Bev, and they are right to be proud of you. We have no doubt you will find the thief. If and why the theft is related, we don’t know. It might be no more than a coincidence that opened our eyes to the rest.”

  Bev had worked with Les long enough to feel comfortable he wasn’t feeling slighted because most of the conversation was addressed to her. She took her notebook from her purse. “We appreciate you calling and you could be correct. There might be more than one unknown individual involved. We’ll be interviewing Dov and Marlon and we’ll get Tommy’s contact information from them as well as ask the kind of questions that should dig a little deeper.”

  Rachel gave a small sigh. “Will you be able to keep us informed?” She shifted her eyes to Les. “We don’t mean to interfere, but….

  He smiled gently. “We understand this is difficult for you. We’ll take care of everything as quickly as possible.”

  They spent another twenty minutes gathering facts and details, the inventory shortages coming to a little under ten thousand dollars wholesale. Bev was certain the financial impact was not the real issue for them. She was equally certain finding someone other than the three logical suspects responsible wasn’t going to happen. The real question was if the robbery was truly a separate incident. It could be a coincidence and, as Les had pointed out earlier, there was always the chance a sophisticated crew was being run by someone and this was one of their first targets in the Keys. The items stolen were highly marketable and checking with other police departments wouldn’t take long.