by Kieran York
He was dressed casually in a gray T-shirt and denims. I hoped he and his fashion stayed non-descript. He had to stay out of sight. He might be wanted by the killers, and by the police. “Beryl, I popped across the street and got us coffees.”
“Much appreciated,” I answered as I sat across the small table in his motel room. I could see that Boyd’s training was neatness. Mine hadn’t been learned or trained, but my nature had insisted upon some wild curing-the-mess syndrome. It perhaps solved or alleviated a bit of my childhood pain. I was able to control at least some of the disheveled poverty. But the uncontrollable alcoholism of my parents made homelife a lost cause.
“I checked out the sites of where Simon’s body was found, and the place where I believe you arrived on the beach. The speedboat could have floated, or it might have sunk anywhere out there. It could be in the gulf area, or halfway to Europe. The sea has been a little rough the past week.”
“I’m sad that Simon died, but I’m glad that at least his body wasn’t lost at sea.” Looking away, his glumness was showing. “I liked the guy.”
“Do you believe he stole some of the ship’s treasure?”
Boyd’s lips bobbled a moment. “He might have. I can’t judge the guy. He’s dead. He didn’t deserve to be murdered.”
For the next hour, I questioned Boyd on what he knew about the dead man. It was unfortunately very little. He knew Simon loved chocolate. He was told, buddy to buddy, that Simon loved red-headed women, and that he frequented strip-joints. Boyd was careful to make certain that I knew that he didn’t frequent sex establishments. But he did love women.
So did I, so I couldn’t fault him for that.
The conversation went fine until he asked if I thought he should scram out of Florida at the first chance possible.
“Boyd,” I cautioned him, “you’ve got some fortune seekers wanting to kill you. I’m pretty sure they’ve checked out any airline reservations made in your name. And in addition to that, Chief Tom Powers has requested your presence. No, I did not tell him about you. Skipper Jurg Laski made out a theft charge against both you, and the late Simon Wagoner. Laski claims that you and Simon stole his speedboat. And that you might have gotten away with a couple million in gold coins, antiquities, and bullion. He also believes there might, and he stressed might, be several pouches of recently retrieved bounty missing. They didn’t even have time to take and identify the treasure. Inventory the bounty. It has not been inventoried. They’re telling the law that the two of you stole the treasure, and the handgun they had in their vault. You jumped ship. Then once out on the sea, you shot Simon.”
“Lies. We had no gun, and to my knowledge, we had no treasure.” He paused, looking confused. “Beryl, I didn’t take any treasure, and I didn’t kill Simon. You told the cops that, didn’t you?”
“Of course. The ocean thugs are trying to locate you. They don’t have any intention of bringing charges. They just needed to use the charges to implicate you. Muddy the waters.”
“But the police suspect me?”
“Yes, Boyd, you are the prime suspect. And Tom Powers wants to chat with you. But before we go in, I’ve got questions for you.”
“Can you be my attorney if he tries to arrest me?”
“Yes. Absolutely. But he doesn’t have enough evidence to arrest you. So today, at least, he won’t be doing anything more than taking your statement. I want to go over that with you, and I’ll sit in on your interview. I’ve only been in the courtroom a couple times since I started the detective agency. But you can trust me to take care of you. I’ve got to be able to trust you.”
“Everything happened exactly as I told you.”
“Okay, now I want to take a peek into the bags that you hauled to shore. Your bag and Simon’s duffel bag.”
He led me to the closet. As he opened it, I saw the dozen spare hangers, and a couple of shirts. On the floor of the closet were two cases. I pulled one out to inspect it. It was heavy and difficult to manage. Even though I have an amazing exercise regiment, I don’t weigh much, so it felt heavy. However, opening it, I saw dumbbells, body weights, and a kettlebell. Probably totaling thirty plus pounds. I’d half expected to see a few pouches of gold. I recalled from the look of the impression in the dirt that I’d photographed, one case was weightier than the other. I’d check the photos to make certain only the weights caused the sand patterns at the site where Boyd caught his car ride.
Boyd explained, “I like keeping fit. I took my gym equipment aboard.”
I then opened Simon’s bag and dumped out a case full of rumpled clothing, a few ‘girlie’ magazines, a wallet, and some papers that hadn’t quite dried out. “No treasure here. I think you might want to take this bag in with us and turn it over to the police. An act of trust.”
I snooped my way through his dresser, noting how neat and orderly he was. The bathroom was the same, precise placement. Very similar to my mode of operation, I thought. On our way out to my vehicle, I examined Boyd’s auto. Although the interior was spotless, and hood and trunk were immaculate, there wasn’t any visible sign of treasure. I wasn’t going to pull the engine to check it out.
I drove Boyd to police headquarters. Although our wait was twenty minutes, Boyd didn’t seem nervous. He wasn’t the best at being interviewed. But he wasn’t the typically chatty defendant that talked his way into a prison cell. He answered the questions briefly and believably just as I’d told him.
Tom told him to stay around the area, he’d want to see him again. Guilt or innocence didn’t rely on the Chief’s deadpan expression. From there, I took Boyd back to his motel room. I told him to stay undercover because Laski, Coleman, and Zhenya would undoubtedly be looking for him. If treasure had been taken from them, as suggested, they would be very, very pissed off.
If Simon was dumped in the ocean, Laski, et al, had to assume, the treasure was not hidden on Simon’s limp, beaten corpse. They would obviously believe that Boyd was hiding it. Although I didn’t do a body search, I didn’t find it on Boyd, or in his motel room. It wasn’t in Boyd’s car interior, or his trunk. Had Boyd hidden it better than I had attempted to find it?
It would have been a tough swim from the broken down, shot to bits, power boat, to the shore. Swimming with exercise equipment, and the heaviness of gold treasure, then walking to where Boyd caught the ride would have been a herculean achievement. But my cousin was trained in water sports and weights. He knew how to let the waves pitch him high, taking him and his surfboard across the surface of the ocean.
Before leaving, I cautioned Boyd to take care.
With a wry grin, he’d answered that he knew he was suspect. The cops and the robbers both suspected him.
Maybe I was the only one not suspicious.
Chapter 3
The morning meeting was early, but Trevar’s Team was definitely making attempts to get after it. We had very little idea what we were attempting to get after. I warned everyone that they should take care, there might be three thugs looking for treasure. They might believe we knew its whereabouts.
Boyd and the Team were only going to have phone conversation. The gang might indeed be smart enough to figure out that Boyd and I might be related. On a couple cases, my photograph was plastered on the front pages. It wasn’t a leap to realize that with the same last name, and identical features – I might be in contact with Boyd. I’d convinced Boyd for his own good, and my good, we’d only correspond by email, text, and telephone. He’d put the four of us on speed dial – in case of an emergency. In-person connections would be risky, but we would be nearby. Familial similarities were now part of the case.
Rachel had pulled backgrounds on the three major players in the gold gone missing murder case. We’d heard the Mickey/Mitchell Coleman convictions. His brutality was legendary, with women especially. Dimitri Zhenya was winner of the most convictions on his rap sheet. Battery and assault were big with the former Russian. And as we’d suspected, Jurg Laski bought off enemies, frightened them off,
killed them, or they disappeared. His Russian citizenship often thwarted charges being brought against him. His cunning guile was legendary. We were not playing with lightweights. These were career criminals.
And the Team, along with Boyd, planned to take great care. Because our investigation was in its embryonic stage, while cautious, we weren’t as concerned as we needed to become after the case was in full swing.
The other case, that didn’t seem like it, but was in full swing was frustrating us all. Mona and Donald Ogden were squeaky clean. Mona had a couple driving infractions. Donald Ogden of central Nebraska hadn’t even done any cow-tipping. He’d had scholarships to an Ivy League university. Longing for sunshine and warmth, he ended up in Palm Beach working for one of the major architectural corporations in Florida. He married into the family. At twenty-five, Donald became a vice-president of Ross Architects.
Mona had been Donald’s socialite boss when her father died shortly after the wedding. By the time the Team’s morning conference had ended, I was intrigued to visit with her and see what was with her in her desire to end her recent marriage. As Summer had said, one year of marriage is barely enough to perfect all the sensual positions.
Driving through the parking lot, I noticed that Mona’s parking spot was the prime choice of all prestige spaces. It very nearly was inside, stationed in the lobby of the swank huge, modernistic building. Donald Ogden knew exactly which of them wore the pantsuit.
When I was led into the enormous suite of rooms that was Mona’s office, I examined the signage. Ross Architects was beneath the name Mona Ross Ogden. Vaulted ceilings, spacious, and avant-garde, the design was breathtaking.
As soon as we were seated across from one another at a lush Cherrywood desk, she smiled briefly. “Your women are delightful,” she rushed the compliment.
“We actually are all four partners. I’m partial to them, but I do think they are the best detectives in Florida. Summer and Jill tell me that they don’t feel as though they’ve been very productive in their search to find any negative information about Donald.”
“He’s clever.” Her sigh was one of comradery. “He knows I’m a bright woman with complete cred in the field of architecture. He also knows I plow profits back into the company.”
“He hasn’t shown any tendencies to be unfaithful? Usually there are signs.” I studied Mona’s affectations. While thinking how to answer, she tipped her head to indicate that she was seriously considering my stupid question. She had a world-wide known firm. She could entice men, and she didn’t need to be questioned by a simpleton detective.
Seeing society photos of her in the papers, I’d figured she was a woman without a bad day. Trim, about 5’5” and at thirty-nine years of age, she’d been through charm school, and mastered in elegant clothing, as well as elocution, and how each motion projected her title. Her hand glided through her neck-length clipped streaked brunette hair. Gently, and somewhat seductively, she blinked her bronze eyes. The smile was an afterthought, because she knew of my Sapphic leanings.
After lingering another moment, she finally answered, “There are more ways to be unfaithful that sexual infidelity. I think he may very well be feeding company secrets to a competitor. That’s why it’s important for your agency to find all his contacts. He may be compromising our bids. Also, I worry that our artistic integrity of the structures might be shared.”
“I’m not certain the Team understood this was their mission. You hadn’t mentioned business espionage.”
“I rather hoped they’d stumble onto it. I’m concerned that they just aren’t searching under the right rocks.”
“They’ve been chasing down his extracurricular social events. You were concerned about his dalliances. Look, Ms. Ogden…”
“Call me Mona. I’ll soon be going back to my maiden name, Ross. If Donald ever hoped this company would be changing from Ross Architects to Ogden Architects, he’d better think again.” Her face became fierce. “Day before yesterday, I caught him trying to override a blueprint.”
“Mona, we need to do some cyber espionage if we’re going to capture him stealing various protected intellectual properties. The fact is, he already has access into relevant parts of the company. We’ll need to prevent him for continuing on by reworking your computers. If he is doing something counterproductive to Ross Architects, we should change passwords, etcetera. We do have a Team member with expert training in computer protection.”
“But I still want Donald followed.”
“We can do that. Listen, Mona, I’ll have Rachel Rosen contact you this afternoon, and perhaps the two of you can get a trap set to at least find out where information might have been leaked. Codes that need changing if they’ve been compromised. It will need to be explored.”
“I’ll look forward to talking with Ms. Rosen.” She stood. Her hand lifted as she pointed toward the door. “And thank you for contacting me.”
“We want for you to be pleased with our service. Donald was cagey enough to become your husband, so we still have a great deal to learn about him.”
She walked me to the elevator. “Ms. Trevar, Beryl, I thought I was careful in having Don checked out. Background check. I recognized that I was half a generation older, but I knew that an age span had worked with my parents. My father was the powerful, smart one, and twenty years older. I’m the powerful, smart one with Donald. Or at least I thought I was.”
“And you want out of the marriage. No reconciliation.”
“None. I want the marriage ended.” She held out her hand to shake mine. “I no longer trust him. I’ll do anything to get him out of my company and out of my life.” Her handshake was cool, and it wasn’t just the air conditioning. She had the qualities of a mermaid. Mermaids are beguiling in theory. Yet, we all know they aren’t legitimate. Less kindly – they aren’t real. And downright name-calling – they’re phony. The final category was a terrific fit for Mona. I hadn’t tricked Mona into believing that I liked her. She hadn’t fooled me into believing she was a genuine mermaid.
By the time I reached my convertible, I wondered why Mona hated her husband as she did. She’d bought off three hubbies before. This was different. She despised spouse number four. Why? She wasn’t going to tell me. I knew that Mona Ross Ogden was a darling of the social set. And I knew who probably would have attended her wedding, as well as all other major events of her life. Including the first three weddings.
Swiftly I drove to Mandy Jewel’s apartment.
“This is a treat,” Mandy greeted me as I entered.
“Yes. We’re working on a case with Mona Ross Ogden. She’s society. I thought of you.”
“I don’t know her as well as I knew her father. Her mother was a snooty younger woman. I’m sure Mona got her suspicious, superior attitudes from her maternal side. An only child. She’s worked alongside of her father since she got through college. All these years. After three lousy, or spent, marriages, she stays single for a few years. Then hitches up with this kid in his mid-twenties. Her father dies, and she is left with the company. I honestly don’t know Donald Ogden at all. I’m pretty sure he’s a gold-digger. The term ‘tiger by the tail’ comes to mind. Mona looks younger, but not that much younger. She’ll probably get taken to the cleaners. And her defense will be that he’s so handsome, she needed to give him more revenue. She might have buyer’s remorse now.”
“A sort of Adonis defense. Maybe it made her feel young to be on his arm.”
“Also, no one loves being photographed for the society pages more than Mona. Posing is her hobby. She loves modeling in the Palm Beach Post, and Palm Beach Daily News. They were like her hobbies. The Shiny Sheet has a lot of her images.”
When my phone rang, I motioned that I’d need to take the call. Mandy continued mixing a midday drink.
“Rach, listen” I requested. I then explained what Mona Ross Ogden wanted done as far as the espionage charge. “There could be cyber fraud. Hacking wouldn’t surprise me.”
Rache
l promised, “I’ll call her immediately. I’m really calling to inform you that Boyd is getting antsy and hates being confined. He went out for a while and on his way back, he noticed a car driving slowly through the motel parking lot. He couldn’t tell who was driving, but certainly was worried that it might be one of the three from Sea Fortune.”
“Tell Boyd to meet me at that diner down the block from his motel. Meanwhile, tell him he should shelter in place,” I suggested.
When I hung up, I explained it all to Mandy.
She commented, “If Jurg and Mickey are after your cousin, he’s in big trouble. They are nasty men.”
“Mandy, Boyd is terrified of them, and now he’s worried about getting charged in the murder of Simon. He seems to be Tom’s prime suspect.”
“The poor guy,” Mandy commiserated. “Crazy Dimitri Lasky, Mickey Coleman, and Jurg Zhenya don’t take prisoners.”
“It’s too dangerous to take Boyd back to the yacht. If they find out we’re cousins, they might sink The Radclyffe. No questions needed.”
“So, the police won’t let Boyd leave the area. And three men want him to leave permanently. Quietly. And dead.” Mandy poured us a drink. Martini, with coconut flavor. “We need to loosen up and think.” As she sat, she asked, “Okay, the solution is simple. Boyd comes to Palm. He can stay here with me. They won’t be looking for him to be in Palm. He can hide his car in my adjoining parking space. He can use my auto if he needs to get out.”
With amazement, my mouth had bobbled several moments. “I don’t want you endangered.”
“I won’t be. The doormen here are mean wrestlers, and ex-Marines. And to be honest, Beryl, I can do with some company. And if he is anything like you, he’ll be good company.”
Swallowing, I acquiesced, “He seems nice, but I don’t know him all that well. He is a neat freak.”
“That’s a start. Look, if he’s trouble. Like most men inherently are, I’ll suggest he find a new address. Which he needs to do now anyway. But if it works out, I’ll be thrilled to have a new friend. After all, you’re like a daughter to me. And he could be like a son. Are his parents living?”