Murder by Design Trilogy

by Mary Jane Forbes

  THE SEA LION BAR was smoky, musty, dull gray. The AC barely stirred the rancid air. The old jukebox in the corner was fed a coin and Bing Crosby crooned, Brother Can You Spare a Dime. Crosby’s voice floated to the booth in the back corner where two men, one in a pinstripe suit, the other in jeans and a T-shirt, SF 49ers, 1988 Super Bowl Champs, sat nose to nose in a heated debate. Each man pressed his point in a barely audible hiss.

  “You dumb ass, Lester. Why in the hell did you hit him?”

  “I didn’t mean to.” Lester jabbed the stub of his cigarette into the dented tin ashtray, immediately lighting up another. “He started walking away. I wasn’t finished talking so I hit him. He fell over backwards down the bank. I ran down a path to the beach. He landed in the bushes at the bottom.”

  “Was he dead?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t tell. He was definitely out cold. I dragged him to the water like maybe he swam there. Naturally, I ran.”

  “Well, you didn’t run far enough. You should have kept going—Canada, Mexico, anywhere but here.”

  “He double-crossed us,” Lester snarled pulling a long draw on his smoke.

  “Ya. Well, thanks to you, we don’t know where he stashed the gold. When you two jumped into his van, the plan was to go to his condo, you pick up your car and go home, and I go to bed. Then we rendezvous in two days. Neither one of you bastards showed up. You’re both double crossers as I see it.” The suit reached across the narrow table and grabbed a fistful of T-shirt. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?”

  “You told me I was never to call,” Lester said jerking free. “Keep your hands off me.”

  “So I call you this morning and you tell me to look at the newspaper. You give me the page, column, the headline. Then, like it’s no big deal, you suggest we meet here. So, you high and mighty shit, here I am. Start talking by answering my questions, and you’d better be square with me. How did you find him in Hansville?”

  “Followed him. After I picked up my car at his condo I parked around the corner.”

  “Why in the hell did you do that?”

  “I don’t know to be honest. I don’t know why I followed him. My gut told me to.”

  “Oh, that’s rich, Lester. Your gut? Must have been loud coming from that beer belly you’re carting around.”

  Lester glowered taking a long swallow from the brown bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, took a look at a man sitting at the bar, and turned back.

  “So, talk, Lester.”

  “Fifteen minutes later he drove off. I lost him, so I circled back, parked again around the corner.”

  “Come on, Lester, what kind of a cock and bull story are you trying to feed me?”

  “It’s true. I swear on my dear mother’s grave?”

  “So help me, if you’re lying you won’t see your next birthday.”

  A waitress, her white blouse tucked into a short short black skirt, stood back from the table, hesitating, not sure if she wanted to interrupt. “Can I get you fellas another drink?”

  Startled, they looked up. Stared.

  “No. If we want anything, we’ll let you know. Leave us alone … miss whatever your name is,” the suit said between his teeth.

  “Well, excuse me for askin. The name is Ruby.” She turned on her stiletto heels, strutting back to the end of the bar.

  “Go on, Lester, and forget about your dear mother.”

  “So, about an hour later, he drives back—his garage door goes up, van goes in, garage door comes down. I figured that was that and was just about to leave when he comes out of his front door in some kind of jogging suit—the hood practically covering his whole head. Of course, it was beginning to rain.”

  “Wait a minute. I need another drink, something strong to swallow this hogwash you’re dishing. Miss, Miss … Ruby.” Ruby turned, her brows raised. “Another scotch,” suit said holding up his highball glass. Drumming his fingers on the table waiting for his drink, he stared at Lester. Lester averted his eyes, crossed and uncrossed his ankles.

  Ruby brought the scotch and set it down on the table.

  “Another beer.” Lester jiggled his empty bottle in front of her. Ruby let out a sigh and strutted off, returned with the beer and gently placed the bottle on the table in front of Lester faking a broad smile and left.

  “Hey, take this empty,” Lester said jamming his half-smoked cigarette into the bottle.

  Ruby kept walking.

  Lester shook out another smoke from the pack, struck a match, and lit up taking a long drag, the tip flaring red.

  “You have no class, Lester. Now finish. Jack left his condo and then what?”

  “I followed him—stayed way behind mind you so he didn’t make me. Wasn’t hard, with the rain, but he kept looking around.” Lester took a swig of beer again wiping his mouth. “He jogged to the ferry terminal—

  “That’s a mile from where he lives.”

  “So. He was moving fast. I parked out front. Watched. I’ll be darned if he—

  “Lester, what made you stake Jack out in the first place?”

  “As I said, my gut. Protecting our interest. I wanted to be sure I got my share of the score. Protecting your ass, I was.”

  “Ya, ya. Go on. And put out that cigarette. There’s enough smoke in here.”

  Lester ignored the order. Leaned in closer. “So, I see him buy a ticket for the ferry and he heads for the stairs to board. I pulled my car into line, bought a ticket, and drove on.

  “The Edmonds ferry goes to Kingston?”

  “That’s right. I stayed in the car figuring I’d spot him coming off as a foot passenger. It was nine-ish so the passenger load was light.”

  “Hey, Ruby, bring us another round.” The men remained silent waiting for Ruby. She’d had an attitude adjustment since the last round. Bending over her blouse gaping open, she set the drinks on the table, and smiled. “I thought maybe you fellas might like some peanuts. They’re on the house.” She smiled again, turned and sashayed back to the bar.

  Lester gazed after her.

  “Lester!” the suit hissed.

  “Right, well, anyway, the passengers, there were only a few, got off at Kingston and no Jack. But then a car whizzes by me and there he was riding in the car … sitting big as you please. I knew it was him cause that stupid hood was still up on his head. Now, I’m thinking this is really strange. And I’m thinking that the bastard is double-crossing us for sure, and he and that driver are taking off with our gold.”

  Lester’s companion leaned forward. He saw his partner was now hanging on his every word so he continued his story with renewed vigor.

  “Now, there aren’t many cars on the road, over on the other side of the sound this time of night, not with the rain and all. So I had a problem. The cars leaving the ferry kept peeling off until I was third behind Jack and his friend when they turned onto Hansville Road. I figured as long as there was a car between us they wouldn’t catch on I was following them, of course, I didn’t want Jack to recognize my car either. I tell you, it was tricky business.”

  Lester took a long swig from his bottle, wiped his mouth.

  “Go on. Shit, don’t take all night. Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? You obviously talked to him—you hit him, for God’s sake.”

  “Well, I lucked out. That car between us turned off and I had to hang way back. The car he was in turned around somewhere because all of a sudden it passed me going in the other direction and Jack wasn’t in it.”

  “What do you mean he wasn’t in the car? Where did he go? Maybe he saw you and was hiding—slouched down in the seat.”

  “Wait. Damn it. I’m telling you. I pulled into a gravel parking area—a little store. Next to a dilapidated marina. Abandoned. I just sat there, parked, in the dark wondering what to do. Thinking.”

  “Come on, Lester. Don’t push this too far. Thinking?”

  “Ya. Thinkin
g. I got out of the car and walked to this old dock, probably part of the marina at one time.”

  “Come on, Lester.”

  “I was about to leave. You know, head back to Edmonds. There was only one more ferry and if I didn’t catch it I’d be stuck until morning, unless I drove to Bainbridge for the Seattle ferry.

  “Shit, Lester.”

  “But, as I said, I lucked out. This hooded man, of course, I knew it was Jack, runs across the parking lot, darting into the bushes. I followed but he was moving fast. So, I yelled at him to stop. Boy, was he surprised to see me. Should have seen the look on his double-crossing face.” Lester chuckled as he took a long swallow from his beer bottle.

  “Go on. Go on.”

  “Well, he stopped in his tracks. I pulled my gun.”

  “You were packing?”

  “Of course. Were we, or were we not, on a job?” Lester waited for an answer. When it didn’t come, he took a drag on his cigarette.

  “I accused him of double-crossing us. He laughed at me. Said I was too chicken to use the gun. He turned away and started walking. I swung the gun as hard as I could to stop him, hitting him on the head. He crumpled falling over backwards down the cliff, bumping along like a rag doll. Honest to God, you should have seen him. I looked around. Wondering if anybody saw me. As I said before, I cut through the bushes and ran down this path to the beach. He was unconscious. Maybe dead, I don’t know. I checked his pockets—all he had was his wallet. I heard the waves so I rolled him to the edge … I ran.” Lester stopped talking, sat staring at his empty bottle.

  “You killed him. Killed him,” the man whispered, his face contorted. “And that’s all you can say … you ran? The article in the paper said the dead man had a gash on his head.”

  “Ya, but the article sounded as if the cops think he drowned. Fell and drowned.”

  “So you killed him. Jack had the gold and now we don’t know where it is because you killed the only person who had the stuff last. And you say he drowned. You are so stupid.”

  “Not so stupid. The newspaper article is asking for someone to identify John Doe. Maybe that guy on the ferry was just giving him a ride, just dropped him off or maybe they planned to double-cross us all along. No way the cops can tie him to us.”

  “Oh no, Lester. There’s no us. There’s you. All alone. No us.”

  “Really, you say? Well, I guess you don’t want Jack’s wallet then?” Lester laid the wallet on the table. Keeping a sober face, he trapped a giggle in his throat. When he took Jack’s wallet he found two-thousand dollars and pocketed it. He felt he’d earned it. After all the guys hadn’t been very nice, not appreciating all the work he did. His so-called partner on the other side of the table might just keep the 2-Gs. No, it was his little secret. After all, he had helped move the crates to the getaway car, and as things stood, he’d probably never see any of the gold for his key part in the heist. So, why should he say anything?

  “Or, maybe this.” Lester leaned back reaching into his pocket.

  “What’s that?”

  “The key to Jack’s condo where we stashed the gold. Our gold.”

  Sacco looked at Lester, then down at the key.

  Lester closed his hand around the key, grinning. “What, you don’t want to get your hands dirty? Well, I’ll just go take a look see.”

  Chapter 11

  ───

  FOG ROLLED OVER KITSAP County wrapping the forest and its residents in a cool mist. It was the kind of early morning Hawk enjoyed the warmth of his bed covers—another half hour of sleep before the dash to the ferry. His mind drifted to Gilly, her fiery hair, green eyes, and pouty lips.

  He understood his father’s warning, but the harsh words meant only that he had to be discreet. Meeting her in Seattle, bumping into her on the ferry—making sure the accidental meetings happened worked well. At least it did on Monday until she cancelled his plans for an intimate dinner.

  He had not seen her the rest of the week. Tonight he’d rectify that. She was scheduled to start her shift around five o’clock and he was determined to find out her class schedule in hopes of rendezvousing in Seattle. However, her classes didn’t start for another two weeks so he might not get the chance to spend time with her until then.

  But, right now he had to get a move on or he’d miss his first class—something he would never do. Showering, grabbing the muffin his mother had warmed to a crispy brown in butter, he strolled out to his car. Pushing the button on his keychain, the locks … no sound. The locks were already up. Hawk yanked open the driver’s side door.

  “What the bloody hell?”

  Sticking his head inside the car his eyes darted from the shredded front seat to the back. All the leather—slashed. Side panels—slashed. Floor carpeting—slashed. Fishing his cell out of his pants pocket he tapped 9-1-1. He reported the vandalism and was told a deputy would be out within the hour. The police offices for Kitsap County were located in Bremerton—because of the waterways, there was no easy way to get to Bainbridge. Hawk was told not to touch anything. He might destroy prints. Closing his cell, he knew he was going to miss his first class—probably more than one.

  Just as his father emerged from the house an officer pulled around to the back of the casino and up the drive to where Hawk was standing. His father poked his head in the front seat to see the damage, then backed out shaking his head in disbelief.

  Officer Claire Troxell strode up to Hawk and the questioning began.

  ───

  SKIP HUNTER STARTED HIS end-of-week routine—scanning police reports in Seattle for potential stories. In the last few days, he had added another task to the end of his routine—checking a page on the Kitsap County Police website: Code 911: Police and Fire. He didn’t want to pester Deputy Kracker every day for news on John Doe, so he relied on the police reports posted on their website.

  The reports were generally, short—a few misdemeanors, domestic disturbances, an abandoned barn destroyed by fire. Today, however, a report caught his eye.

  “Officer Claire Troxell was called to the home of Hawk Jackson. He reported that his car was ransacked this morning. Looked like someone was upset over losing money at the casino. Troxell said there were no leads. The interior of the car was slashed beyond repair but nothing was missing.”

  Skip stared at the screen. Something was wrong. Hawk Jackson gave a ride to John Doe. John Doe was found dead the following morning. “My article included Hawk’s name,” he mumbled running his hand over his bald head. “Easy for someone to locate him. A few hours’ surveillance to determine which car was Hawk’s … not hard.”

  “Talking to yourself again, Hunter?” Sylvester Cromwell, smiling, hung his arms over the cubicle’s four-foot divider. “That’s a bad sign. Means your reporter’s juices are flowing, and that, my friend, will drive you crazy.”

  “Sy, come here. Look at this. The Kitsap County Police report.”

  Cromwell stepped behind Skip and read the website report over Skip’s shoulder. “So? What’s so interesting—some poor guy had his car gutted.”

  “Right. Except the poor guy is a player in my murder story.”

  “Skip, I told you that accident is a long way from being classified as a murder. Now, get out of here. Take advantage of a slow crime day and go home. Enjoy your weekend.”

  “Sure. Okay.” Skip shut off his computer and ambled out of the newsroom to the parking garage. “I’m calling Troxell in the morning,” he muttered. His pace quickened. He was anxious to pick up Agatha and take her for a walk, maybe even a romp in the nearby doggie park.

  Chapter 12

  ───

  TOURISTS AND RESIDENTS ALIKE were treated to a beautiful summer afternoon with a balmy breeze off Puget Sound. For once rain was not in the forecast. Gilly didn’t notice the lovely sunshiny day. Her mind was fixed on landing an additional job at the Kingston casino. In the bathroom she applied the finishing touches to her makeup, pressing her lips together to spread the fresh colo
r evenly. Taking one last look in the mirror, she felt confident in her outfit. The casinos operated by the Indian tribes had strict dress codes for their employees and even stricter for the waitresses. She felt her go-to outfit, gray and white blazer with gray Capri’s, was about right for the interview.

  “Not too shabby, huh, O’Malley?” Her friend sat on the edge of the sink, elbows on knees, chin in hands.

  “You look very pretty, Lassie. Me thinks you’re not goin straight to the casino.”

  “Right and wrong. I am going straight to another casino—in Kingston. I have to fatten the bank account. The loss of the bridal money was devastating. I get sick to my stomach every time I think about how stupid I was especially with the family situation.”

  “But you’re already workin two jobs,” O’Malley said, brushing a strand of red hair off his green jacket.

  “Well, I’m going to apply at the casino in Kingston to see if I can tuck in a few more hours. One thing is for sure, my class schedule during the day leaves my evenings open on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. I need tips tips tips.”

  Gilly plopped her lipstick, brush, and hairspray into her tote, zipped it shut and left the bathroom to find her grandfather.

  “Gramps, I’m leaving,” she called out picking up her car keys.

  “Alright, drive careful,” he called from the kitchen.

  Gilly came up beside him, planted a peck on his cheek, and headed out the door. “I will and I’ll be going home after work. Mom said she’d call you in the morning. Bye.”

  Pulling out of the driveway, Gilly checked the rearview mirror to see if she had tamed her hair enough for her appointment. Keeping to the speed limit, she navigated the curves along Hansville Road to Kingston. While smaller than the Suquamish casino, it was still located near a ferry landing and that meant tourists, and tourists meant tips. She kept telling herself to think positive about landing some hours. She mailed the registration payment for the three classes yesterday to Mrs. Ross. Gilly included a note thanking the counselor for her understanding and that she was very excited about joining the student body at the Design Academy. She omitted the part that the payment almost wiped out her savings, or that she might have to drop out due to family obligations.