I set the phone down, rubbed my eyes, then leaned over and kissed Willie on the cheek. “I’ve got to go meet Charlie for breakfast. You sleep.”
“I’ll get up soon,” she said through a yawn. “I have to work this afternoon.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later tonight then.”
I squeezed her shoulder, got up, took a quick shower and dressed in shorts and an Izod shirt. I grabbed my keys and quietly left the house.
My car was parked on the street, and as I came around the front of my building, I ran into Ace and Deuce Smith, my neighbors and friends, whom I’d affectionately dubbed “The Goofball Brothers” because they weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. Anyone who hung around them for more than five minutes would understand the nickname. But they’d become loyal friends, and they adored Willie.
“Hi, Reed,” Ace said in his languid voice. “What’re you doing?”
“I’ve got to meet a client,” I said, “and I’m in a hurry so I can’t talk now.”
“No problem,” Deuce said. “We’re meeting Bob for golf.”
“Have fun, guys,” I said. “We’ll get together another time.”
“Maybe we can play some pool,” Ace said. The brothers loved to play pool at B 52s, a bar nearby, and they were really good.
“That’d be fun,” Deuce said.
“We can call Bob and –” Ace started to say.
They didn’t seem to grasp the concept that I didn’t have time to talk. “Yep, I’ll call you,” I interrupted as I headed down the sidewalk toward my car. “Tell Bob I said hello.” They also didn’t seem perturbed that I ran off.
I made it to Mattina 2240 Café a little past nine-thirty. It was a beautiful morning, pleasantly warm, with hardly a cloud in the sky. There were a number of tables outside the restaurant and all were taken, mostly by people wearing Rockies T-shirts and hats, dressed for the game, which would start in a couple of hours. I looked around but didn’t see Charlie, so I went inside. Cool air hit me and I had to let my eyes adjust to the dimness. It was crowded, but then I spotted Charlie sitting at a table in the back corner. He was casually dressed in white shorts and a black T-shirt. A man with short brown hair sat across from him. Charlie raised a hand as I strolled over.
Charlie half-stood up and pointed at the other man. “Hey, Reed, this is my agent, Gil Valducci.”
The man didn’t get up. “Thanks for coming,” he said. His voice was low and scratchy, his eyes cold brown. He was nicely dressed in khakis and a dress shirt, but his expression was sour. He was not happy to see me.
I sat down and glanced back and forth at the two of them.
“I hope you don’t mind sitting inside,” Charlie said. “It’s nice outside, but I didn’t want to attract too much attention. We could’ve met at my place, but I’m not much of a cook.”
“It’s fine,” I said.
Gil got right to business. “I understand you talked to Charlie about what happened the other night.”
“That’s right,” I said. “And I’d like to get your perspective on things.”
Gil glanced at Charlie, then at me. “I don’t think it’s wise that he talks to you right now.”
“Why?” I asked.
“The fewer people who know what’s going on, the better. Besides, we’ve hired a good attorney and he has a staff with investigators who are looking into the situation now,” Gil said. “It wouldn’t be good to have someone else complicating things.”
“He’s not going to complicate anything,” Charlie said, “and he comes recommended.”
“Friends of your parents, right?” Gil asked him.
Charlie nodded, then turned to me. “I told him you’re a good investigator, and you might find something the police won’t.”
I looked at Gil. “The police are focused on Charlie as the killer, so they may miss something. I don’t think it’ll hurt to see what I can find, and I can be discreet about it.”
Gil hesitated. “I don’t know.” He put hard eyes on me. “How long have you been a private investigator?”
“A few years,” I said.
“Any background in law enforcement?”
“No.”
“Any formal training as an investigator?”
I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t say something snide. I could handle the grilling, but I didn’t like the disdain in his tone.
“So what would convince me that you have the expertise to be of assistance?”
I threw back a hard look. “I didn’t know I had to convince you.”
“It’ll be fine,” Charlie interrupted. “Look, I just want to get back on the field as fast as I can. Who knows how long these lawyers and police will take. Maybe Reed can clear my name sooner. Gil, it’s worth a shot to me and I’m paying for it.”
Gil pondered him and then me. He finally raised his hands in acquiescence. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”
“It’s settled then,” Charlie said.
Our waiter, a young guy with shoulder-length hair, came over to our table. “Hi, I’m Dan. Sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” he said as he clunked glasses of water on the table. He paused when he recognized Charlie, but recovered quickly. “It’s been crazy. Are you ready to order?”
I quickly glanced at the menu while Charlie and Gil ordered. When they were finished, I asked for the breakfast burrito with green chili. I was impressed that Dan didn’t write anything down, and wondered if he’d remember everything correctly.
“How much do you know about the…ah…situation?” Gil asked after the waiter left. He was suddenly wary that others might hear our discussion.
“Just what was in the news and what Charlie told me.” I leaned in and rehashed everything I knew. It didn’t take long.
“Have you talked to the police?” I asked Gil.
“Yes. They’re being pretty tight-lipped.”
“What did they tell you?” I asked.
“What was on the news, that Pete was killed with Charlie’s gun and that they know about his argument with Charlie.”
I eyed Charlie.
“He knows about the,” Charlie lowered his voice, “steroids.”
“I was disappointed to hear that,” Gil said, “but that’s the least of his problems now.”
“Regardless, the argument itself is not much of a motive,” I said. “But having the gun could go a long way toward convicting him.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t look good,” Charlie murmured.
I glanced at Gil. “Who’s the detective on the case?”
“Some lady who was really well-dressed,” Gil said. “A looker, but she was no nonsense. Name of Sellman…no, Spellman…”
“Spillman?” I said.
“Yes, that’s the one,” Gil said.
He’d described Detective Sarah Spillman exactly as I would have. I’d first met her when Deuce had been kidnapped, and I’d encountered her on numerous occasions since then. She was definitely an attractive woman, and smart. Nothing slipped by her. She could be friendly, but most of the time, she was focused and intense. No nonsense, as Gil said.
“She had a couple of other detectives with her,” Gil said. “They didn’t look particularly bright. You know her?”
I nodded. “She’s good. And the two detectives with her are ‘Spats’ Youngfield and Ernie Moore. Don’t underestimate any of them, because they’re all sharp.”
“Maybe you can get some information from her,” Charlie suggested.
“I might,” I said.
Most of the time, I think I infuriated Spillman. I could operate outside of the law, and sometimes did, and that meant I solved my cases before she could. But I think my charisma was wearing her down. Or so I chose to believe. I made a mental note to call her.
Dan returned with our meals, and he hadn’t made a mistake. Better than I could do, I thought as I dug into my burrito. As Charlie ate his bacon and egg sandwich, he kept glancing around at the fans in their Rockies attire.
“Man, this sucks,” he muttere
d.
“What?” I asked.
“I want to be playing so bad.” Pain laced his voice.
“Don’t worry,” Gil said, sounding a bit trite.
I turned to Gil. “Did you know Pete?”
He shook his head. “Not really. I’ve seen him around the clubhouse and chatted with him here and there, that’s about it. I live in L.A., so I’m only here now and again. I’m building my clientele and I’m representing some other ballplayers, so I travel a lot.”
“You don’t have any idea why Charlie’s gun was found at the crime scene?” I asked, knowing what he was going to say.
“None,” Gil said. “This whole thing is crazy. A guy’s in the prime of his life, then he’s gunned down in cold blood.”
As I finished my burrito, I again found myself frustrated at the apparent lack of clues.
“I hope you can help,” Charlie said.
I didn’t say anything. They had finished eating as well, and Gil signaled for the check. I started to pull out my wallet, but Gil waved me off.
“I got it,” he said.
I thanked him, and after he paid, we went outside.
“Who’s your attorney?” I said, realizing I hadn’t asked before.
“Dick Janson,” Charlie said as we walked partway down the block.
I paused. “Never heard of him.”
“I recommended him,” Gil said. “He’s worked a number of big cases in L.A. He’s very good.”
“And expensive,” Charlie said. “This whole thing could break me.”
Gil stared at him. “Yeah, but if you need him, it’ll be worth it.”
Charlie shrugged. We stood in silence.
“What are you going to do next?” Charlie finally asked.
“I guess I’ll start with Pete,” I said. “Talk to people who knew him. Someone wanted him dead, and someone knows why.”
Gil eyed me. “You guess?”
I shrugged. “I don’t have much to go on.”
“Hey,” Charlie hissed. “Look over there.” He jerked his head toward the other side of the street.
I looked where he indicated, trying to be surreptitious. “What?”
“See those three girls on the corner?” he said.
I squinted, then noticed three young women, probably college-aged, standing on the corner of 22nd and Blake. All three wore Rockies T-shirts. One was African-American, one was plump with short dark hair, and one had on a Rockies hat with a camouflage pattern, her hair in a ponytail. They acted as if they were just hanging around, but they kept glancing at us. I’d like to think it was because they noticed my dashing good looks, but I’m sure it was because they’d noticed Charlie.
“I’ve seen them around,” Charlie said. “They’ve followed me.”
“Oh yeah?” Gil stared across the street and the girls turned away.
“How often?” I asked.
“Often enough that I recognize them,” Charlie said with a snort. “I gave them autographs and we took pictures.”
“You do that with a lot of people,” Gil observed dryly.
Charlie glared at him. “The one that has her hair in a ponytail: if it’s the same woman, she’s got the tattoo on her neck.”
I kept watching them. “Let’s walk back to your condo and see what they do.”
“Okay,” Charlie said.
We slowly strolled back down Blake Street, crossed Park Avenue West, and soon arrived at his building. We went inside and stepped away from the glass doors. Then I turned around and peered back out the doors. A moment later, the three women appeared across the street.
“There they are,” Charlie murmured.
We stood in the lobby and watched them watch the building.
Charlie studied them and shuddered. “I think one of them might be the woman who was in Pete’s apartment complex the other night.”
“What woman?” Gil asked.
“The woman that was in the stairway,” Charlie said. “She might’ve seen me there. It gives me the creeps.”
Gil squinted at the women across the street. “Get used to it. If your season continues, you’ll only get more attention.”
“Or if I go to trial for murder,” Charlie said sardonically.
I studied the three women. “Which one do you think was the one at Pete’s?” I asked.
“The one with the ponytail and the hat,” he said.
The women across the street appeared to be talking, but they kept eyeing the building. Then one checked her phone and they started slowly back down Blake Street.
“Why don’t you follow them?” Charlie suggested to me.
“Why bother?” Gil said. “They’re just enamored with a pro ballplayer.”
“If that’s the girl I saw at Pete’s, she may know something,” Charlie said.
Gil glared at Charlie. “And if you’re wrong, he’ll embarrass himself when he confronts them.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll see if I can talk to them. And if you see them again, try to get their picture, or find out what car they drive. And call me right away.”
“That’s it?” Charlie asked incredulously.
I held up my hands. “In case you haven’t realized this yet, we don’t have diddly here. So I’m grasping at straws.”
“Okay,” Charlie agreed. “If I see them again, I’ll get what information I can.”
“I’ll call you later,” I said and headed toward the door.
“Hang on, Charlie,” Gil said. “I’ve got to get some paperwork out of the car.” He followed me out the door.
“Do you think Charlie’s crazy?” Gil asked as he stopped at a flashy white Mustang convertible.
I paused. “About what?”
He pointed down the street. “Those women.”
“I don’t know.”
He scratched his chin. “Don’t let him lead you on a wild goose chase. He needs help, but he’s…confused. And I’m not sure you can help.”
“I see,” I said.
He unlocked the Mustang, grabbed some paperwork off the passenger seat, then locked the car again. He walked back into Charlie’s building without saying another word to me.
I had not impressed him…and the feeling was mutual.
Chapter Four
As I walked back up Blake Street, I spotted the three women ahead. I followed them until they reached the stadium. I hurried my pace to catch up, but they disappeared into the crowd. I looked around, then cursed under my breath. Was it a wild goose chase to follow them? I shook my head. At the present moment, with what little I had, looking for Pete’s murderer would be like trying to find those women in the crowd. Nearly impossible.
But I wasn’t one to give up easily, so I pulled out my cell phone. On one of my prior investigations, I’d managed to acquire Detective Spillman’s cell phone number, and I’d taken great care to store it. As I walked back to my car, I called her.
“Please tell me you’re not working on a case of mine,” she said by way of greeting.
“Okay, I won’t,” I said. “I want to talk to you about Pete Westhaven.”
She groaned. “This can’t be happening to me.”
“Aw, shucks,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your way.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
See, my charm was wearing her down.
She let out a breath and it hissed through the phone. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Come on, we both know that’s not true.”
She sighed again. “You’ll keep bugging me…”
“Yep.” I hoped she heard my smile.
“Fine. Meet me at four at the Starbucks on Broadway. The one near the cash register building.” The Wells Fargo Center is downtown Denver’s most recognizable building, dubbed the “Cash Register” soon after it was built because its unique curved roof resembles an old-fashioned cash register.
“I’ll be there,” I said. I ended the call and then dialed Cal.
“O Great Detectiv
e,” he said in his usual greeting.
“How’s it going?”
“Not bad.” His voice sounded cheery. “I’m working on a real challenging job right now. The security this site has is out of this world. But I’ll figure it out.”
Cal is a computer hacker, or as he preferred to be called, a “Clandestine Information Specialist”. I don’t understand most of what he does, other than that he has his own consulting firm that specializes in computer viruses and virus protection. I also don’t know why he isn’t in prison for some of the online things he does. He’s that good; he never gets caught. I usually use his computer know-how for background checks and for acquiring information in minutes or hours that, on my own, would take me days to locate.
“Do you have time to help?” I asked.
“New case?”
“Yep.” I told him about Charlie and asked him to keep it confidential…not that he would tell anyone. Cal is a loner. He lives like a recluse outside the mountain community of Pine Junction in the foothills southwest of Denver, and he doesn’t have many friends, other than me. But he likes it that way.
“So you want the usual background check on Charlie Preston and Pete Westhaven,” he said when I finished.
“Yes. According to Charlie, neither one got into any kind of trouble.”
“But since Pete was killed, and Charlie’s the suspect, that’s not likely.”
“I wouldn’t think so,” I said, “unless Charlie’s lying about their backgrounds.”
“Or about killing Pete.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ll see what I can find and call you later,” Cal said.
“Thanks, buddy.”
By now I’d reached my 4-Runner, so I ended the call, slid into the driver’s seat and then accessed the Internet. Charlie had said that Pete lived in an apartment at 9th and Washington. I knew there were a number of apartment buildings in the area, so I found a White Pages site, typed in “Pete Westhaven”, and found the exact address. Perfect. I put the phone away and pulled into traffic.
The streets right around Coors Field were packed with people and cars in anticipation of the ball game, but once I drove away from that area, it was smooth sailing to Broadway. A few minutes later, I parked on Washington Street across from a 50-unit apartment building. It was an older, red-brick building, with alternating black and white paneling on the upper floors. A couple of tall maple trees shaded a tiny front porch.
The Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 3 Page 36