“Scarlett O’Hara!”
“Exactly. Good food is balm to a weary spirit.”
“Shakespeare again?”
Shelby swallowed the last flaky bite and grinned. “Nope. I made that bit up.”
<<>>
Rockford, Thornbush, & Associates was in a three-story brick building in downtown Houghton. Blake snagged a parking spot across the street and climbed out of the Bronco. He was still feeling the effects of his struggle the day before. He reached for his cane before he shut the door.
The town of roughly eight thousand residents was certainly busier than Port Scuttlebutt, but it had a similar vibe. He obviously stuck out clearly as a stranger. An older couple walking by stopped when they saw him hesitating outside the glass doors of the law offices.
“Do you need directions?”
“No, thank you. I’m right where I need to be,” he said, tugging on the handle of the door. It didn’t budge.
“Try the other one, young man,” the white-haired fellow offered, eyes twinkling with humor. He indicated a small sign taped in the middle of the plate glass. It read: Use Other Door. “Wind gusts are a problem along this side of the street, so they like to keep that one locked.”
“Thanks.”
The inside of the building was much more modern than the outside. Glass tables with nickel plated bases and chairs were in the waiting area as well as sleek, leather chairs and couches in a shade of blue-gray that reminded him of Superior after a winter snowstorm. None of the furniture looked comfortable. He hoped he didn’t have to wait long. He approached the receptionist, his limping gait echoing in the high-ceilinged area.
“Good afternoon. I’m Det-.” he caught himself and cleared his throat. Old habits were hard to break. He slid one of his new business cards across the desk. “Blake Gunner. Private investigator. We’re looking into the murder of one of your employees. Sadie Dugan. Is there a chance I could speak with anyone who worked closely with Sadie? A friend, colleague, anyone who might be able to share more of her personal life?”
The woman behind the desk was mid-thirties, with short-cropped Arthur hair and long dangling earrings shaped like miniature wind chimes. They tinkled together when she looked up and continued to softly chime as she stared wide-eyed, chin quivering.
“Are you alright?” he asked, not prepared for tears at this juncture.
“Sadie was such a sweet lady. She baked my wedding cake, you know,” she said, her voice breaking at the end. She snatched a tissue from a nearby box and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “When she didn’t show up for work the first day I thought she must be sick, but she didn’t call and she always calls.”
“Was she a close friend?”
“Not really. She worked upstairs in Mr. Rockford’s office. He kept her pretty busy, even over lunch most days. We talked now and then, coming and going. She was so nice. Always bringing in treats for everyone and leaving them in the break room. She said she loved to bake.”
Blake glanced toward the elevator as the doors opened and two men stepped off. They both wore double-breasted suits and shiny wingtips. The taller man approached the desk. “We’re finally heading to lunch but I’m expecting a client at two o’clock. Mr. Peterson. Could you make sure he’s taken care of if I’m late getting back??
“Of course, Mr. Rockford.” She slanted her eyes nervously toward Blake. “Mr. Rockford, this is Mr. Gunner with…” She looked down at the card. “Double Barrel Investigations. He’s here about Sadie Dugan.”
The man turned, a frown pulling his brows together. He checked the Rolex on his wrist. “Mr. Gunner, the police already came and went and I answered their questions about Ms. Dugan’s employment. My time is very valuable. Can you give me one good reason why I should waste any of it on you?”
“Because Sadie Dugan was murdered and buried in a shallow grave and no one from this office had sense enough to check on her or file a missing person’s report even after she failed to show up for work for an entire week.”
Mr. Rockford shot the receptionist a glare as though she’d divulged company secrets and then he waved his partner toward the door. “You want to head on over to Ernie’s Pub and snag a table? I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” He turned to Blake. “You’ve got five minutes. Follow me.”
Rockford led Blake to one of the little glass-topped tables, far enough from the receptionist’s desk not to be overheard, and perched on the edge of a stool. Blake sat gratefully across from him and released a sigh. “Thank you. I appreciate your time.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you that I didn’t already tell the police. Ms. Dugan was my personal legal assistant. She’d been with the firm for over ten years. She seemed happy with her job, rarely took a sick day, and I usually had to insist she take vacation.” He shrugged. “I actually thought maybe that’s what she’d done. Gone on a spur of the moment vacation and forgot to let us know. We’d talked about it a couple of weeks before she disappeared, so it seemed plausible.”
“Did Sadie really seem like the spontaneous type?”
He crossed his arms. “No, but people change. The last few months she seemed… different. I noticed she recently updated her hair and clothes. I was pleased. She appeared much more attractive and presentable to clients. Our people are the face of the firm, after all.”
Blake was glad Shelby was home resting. He could imagine a completely different conversation taking place right now if she was along. “Do you know if she was dating? Did you ever see her with a man?”
“No. I really don’t know anything about her personal life. I make a point of not knowing my employees lives outside of these offices. It makes for a more professional atmosphere and work gets done in an orderly and timely fashion. When the police came by I pulled her personnel file, but they didn’t find anything there to help.” He tapped a finger against his lip. “She did start taking lunch outside the office on occasion. I assumed she was meeting a friend. It could have been a man.”
“What kind of law do you practice, Mr. Rockford?”
“Criminal Law. Now if you don’t mind…” He stood, straightening his suit coat. “Time is money and you’re wasting mine.”
<<>>
Blake slipped the photo he’d brought out of his pocket. Maybe the receptionist could help him by eliminating Pete as a suspect. He waited for her to finish her conversation on the phone before approaching the desk again. She flashed her greeter’s smile, but there was a nervousness that hadn’t been present before. He wondered if the call had been from her boss.
“Excuse me. Could you tell me if you’ve ever seen this man before?”
She barely glanced at the photo and quickly shook her head.
“Could you take a closer look?”
“Mr. Rockford doesn’t want you interrupting the work we do here. He asked me to get rid of you.” She pulled in her lips and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I need this job.”
“I understand. I don’t want to cause you any trouble. Just one more question and I’ll disappear. Okay?”
“Fine.” She glanced through the glass doors and back down at the photo. “I really haven’t seen this man before. But I did see Sadie talking with someone outside on the sidewalk once when she came back from lunch. I only saw his profile, but he had a crew cut like one of those military guys. He was big. A lot taller than Sadie. Probably well over six foot and broad through the chest like a body builder. It was before the weather got cold because I remember he was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans. I was surprised she was with a guy like that.”
“Why is that?”
“He didn’t seem like her type. He was rough around the edges. If you know what I mean. She looked like someone who would date a banker or accountant.”
Sadie Dugan was not what she portrayed. Her ex-husband was as blue-collar as they came and whoever this new man was he was definitely not a banker. “Can you remember anything else about him? A tattoo? Scar?”
“Actually,” her eyes narrowed,
“He had one of those rings around his bicep – you know – like barbed wire.”
“Did Sadie have a close friend here at the firm, someone her age perhaps who she may have confided in?”
“I thought you said just one question.”
“Sorry.” He slipped the photo back inside his jacket.
She wrote a number on a slip of paper and handed it to him. “Ashley Rockford. The ex-wife. Sadie did pro-bono work for her whenever she got the chance. She might be able to tell you something.”
The questions must have been obvious in his eyes, because she crossed her arms and indicated the door with a tip of her head. “Goodbye, Mr. Gunner.”
<<>>
He made the call as soon as he climbed back into the Bronco. It rang half a dozen times before going to voice mail. You’ve reached the law offices of Ashley Rockford. Please leave your name and number and I’ll try to get back to you sometime this millennium. Blake didn’t wait for the beep. He ended the call and did a quick Internet search, typed the address into his GPS and he was on his way.
Houghton was a town immersed in history. Named for Michigan’s first appointed geologist who discovered vast copper deposits in the Keweenaw Peninsula in 1840, many of the downtown buildings were still original turn-of-the-century Jacobsville sandstone.
He crossed the lift bridge and neared the campus of Michigan Technical University. Back in his high school senior year when he was still unsure what to do with his life he’d actually sent in an application for enrollment there. Not daunted by the fact that MTU was one of the top engineering schools in the world, he’d been somewhat disappointed when they rejected him. His disappointment had quickly dissipated when he found his true calling.
A truckload of snowmobiles passed him on their way to the park. The area was popular for winter sports; cross-country and downhill skiing drove tourism to Houghton. With the arrival of new snow there would be weekenders filling up the motels, restaurants and diners.
He was happy Port Scuttlebutt didn’t have nearly the pull of tourism that Houghton had. After Minneapolis, he didn’t know if he’d be able to acclimate to small town life, but it seemed to be acclimating to him. Ironically, murders were up and business was good. Besides, life was never boring with Shelby by his side.
He found himself driving down a side street with so many potholes it was an accomplishment to avoid half of them. His shocks were getting a major workout. To his surprise, the GPS voice on his phone told him he’d reached his destination. This was not what he’d imagined. Rockford’s ex-wife had obviously got the short end of the stick when it came to a settlement.
This part of town was beyond seedy. It had gone completely to pot. He climbed out of the Bronco and made sure to lock the door before crossing the crumbling street. A young boy rode past on his bicycle, backpack hanging from his handlebars. Blake waited for him to pass and stepped up on the sidewalk.
The two-story building looked like it had run out of time. Shelby might have said the peeling yellow shingles and the bullet hole through the front window gave it character, but he just saw a fire hazard. The door was locked but there was a buzzer to ring for service. He pushed it twice for good measure.
Moments later, a tall woman stared back at him through thick smoky glass. Reading glasses perched atop her head and a thick coil of auburn hair was twisted and held at the back of her neck with a giant clip. “Can I help you?”
Blake pulled out his business card and pressed it against the glass. “I’m looking into the death of Sadie Dugan. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Sadie?” She nodded and opened the door. “I’ve been waiting for the police to turn up, but they haven’t. I assume you’re working for her ex.”
“That’s right. Do you know Pete?”
She ignored his question and gestured for him to follow her up a flight of stairs. “I closed the office early today. I’ve been out of town for the past few days and I’m exhausted. Would you like some coffee? I made a fresh pot. This old building never seems to hold the heat. I’m freezing all the time.”
“You live here too?”
“My college professors said I needed to live, sleep, and breathe law.” She shot him a thin-lipped smile. “I may have taken it a little too far.”
The small sitting room was furnished with an upholstered black and white striped loveseat, a marble-topped coffee table, and a small black leather recliner. Colorful abstract paintings of different sizes hung on the open wall space like a child’s crayon drawings covering the door of a refrigerator. A bookcase held a wealth of law books, old encyclopedias, and dozens of paperback mysteries by familiar authors. He picked up a Mary Higgins Clark novel and flipped through the pages while waiting.
She returned from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee and handed him one. “Are you a mystery lover?” she asked, taking the recliner and waving him toward the loveseat.
“I love mysteries but I’m not much of a novel reader. I prefer to read people.”
“You sound like a cop.” She sipped her coffee and watched him over the rim. Her brown eyes were bright and observant and he imagined she didn’t miss much.
“I was for eight years. Now I’m a private investigator.”
“Did your leg injury have anything to do with your job change? Because if you were shot in the line of duty and they let you go, you have a terrific case…”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I’m good. Thanks.”
She quirked a brow. “Just throwing it out there.”
“I appreciate it, but do you mind if we talk about Sadie?”
“What would you like to know? Sadie did pro-bono work for me sometimes on the weekends and evenings. I met her ten years ago when she first started working for Quentin.”
“Your ex-husband?”
“Yes. Quentin Rockford. The pretentious bas-.” She bit off her words and released an angry breath. “Sorry. Our spoiled offspring were in high school back then and I was quite honestly bored. I’d quit law to stay home and have a family. Quentin didn’t feel inclined to share that responsibility. He was too busy building the firm. He worked all the time. I tried to connect with him by stopping by for lunch now and again, but he was inevitably too busy. Sometimes I stayed and chatted with Sadie for a bit. We became friends of a sort. She was smart and a very meticulous researcher. When my marriage fell completely apart and I decided to hang out my shingle again, I called and asked if she’d like to help. She had to get my husband’s okay first. But Quentin thought it would be a good distraction for me and keep me out of his business so he told her to go ahead.”
Blake set his mug on the table. “Help out how? What exactly do you do here?”
“I handle appeals for people who have been incarcerated for crimes they didn’t commit, or for those who receive an unusually harsh sentence that doesn’t fit the crime.”
“I see. You’re one of those bleeding heart attorneys who think prisons are full of innocent victims who were set up by bad cops.”
She set her cup on the table and clasped her hands in her lap. “That sounded very self-righteous. Do you think because someone is convicted of a crime that they are necessarily guilty? Believe me, I have a lot of respect for most cops and judges but even the best criminal justice system in the world makes mistakes.”
“That may be true but from my experience the majority of convicted felons deserve to be exactly where they end up. Of course that doesn’t stop them from blaming everyone from the cop who arrested them, to the mother who spanked them, and the grandmother they stole money from to buy their drugs.”
“In other words, criminals lie, right? I think I’ve heard that somewhere.”
He shifted in his seat, knowing he deserved the sarcasm, but couldn’t help pushing it. “Out of curiosity, how do you determine which ones are truly innocent and deserving of your time and energy and the 99.9 percent who don’t?”
“Other than pray for wisdom, you mean?” She reached up, released the clip holding
back her hair, and shook it out around her shoulders, then leaned into the recliner bringing the footrest up. “It’s actually a very long process. First, I’m contacted by the incarcerated individual or a friend or relative of that person, and they explain their predicament. We research each case as carefully as possible to see if the law took any shortcuts, or…”
“You mean planted evidence.”
“It’s seldom that simple.” Her steady gaze seemed to burn a hole through him.
He actually blinked first. “I’m sorry. Go on.”
“I’m not in this to condemn law enforcement, Mr. Gunner. I respect the men and women who put their lives on the line day after day. What I cannot live with is the thought that I let an innocent person languish in prison when I could do something about it. Sadie felt the same way. She said it gave her life purpose. Truthfully, she over romanticized the process. You need to be pragmatic in this business. Like you said, 99.9 percent are liars.”
Blake decided he liked this woman. She was straightforward and to the point. He knew there was always a chance that innocent people fell through the cracks and got lost in the system on occasion. He hoped and prayed he wasn’t directly responsible for any of them, but being a member of the brotherhood of blue, it was hard to admit mistakes were ever made. He was glad these people had an advocate like Ashley Rockford. “You don’t seem to be bothered that Pete Dugan hired me to clear his name.”
“Why would I? I’m glad he has someone looking out for him. It sounds like he’s the only suspect at this time. He needs all the help he can get.”
“After a conversation yesterday with the lead detective on the case, I’d say you’re probably right.”
“Then I’m glad you took his case. I’ve never met Pete in person but Sadie told me he was a good man. They’d been divorced for years and he still took the time to help her out anytime she called. I actually thought she took advantage of his good nature. Expecting him to jump every time she had an issue with her car or house, as though they were still married. But he did.”
Much Ado About Murder (Double Barrel Mysteries) Page 7