A Sea Oak Mystery Boxed Set

by Adele M Cooper

  “Now drizzle with olive oil, plus salt and pepper it,” April said.

  Drizzle, Clay discovered, was not a scientific term. You have a little flexibility with drizzling. Just don’t do too much of it. He drizzled drops of olive oil on the potato bits. Then sprinkled them with salt and pepper. April opened the oven, and he deposited the pan inside.

  She poured two glasses of wine and smiled. “I really enjoy this. I hope you do, too, or at least I hope you say you do.”

  “I do. I like it. The first time we did this together I was a little iffy, but I like it now. Plus, we’re getting really good meals.”

  “And nutritious meals,” April said.

  She dumped the kale into a medium saucepan and stirred it. Very carefully she added two teaspoons of olive oil. Being a guy and a non-chef, Clay couldn’t see why the olive oil had to be measured so carefully. But he reasoned that questions like that were probably why nothing he ever cooked had tasted good.

  After a minute or so April, added a quarter cup of water.

  “So how do you think the case is going?” she asked as she stirred the kale.

  “Well, it helps to have clues, so I hope we find one soon.”

  “But we have a good theory.”

  “Yes, but eventually we’ll need clues too.”

  The water had cooked off. April transferred the kale to a bowl. She put down her wine glass and grabbed the salt and pepper shakers and shook them over the green stuff. She gave a satisfied sigh, then picked up the wine glass again and sipped.

  As she directed and watched, Clay patted the steaks dry with paper towels and salted and peppered them. April had turned a burner on and had warmed up the obligatory olive oil, which, Clay assumed, was added to everything. He dropped the steaks into the pan. Then, satisfied with his culinary effort, sipped some of his wine.

  “That should take about three to four minutes on each side,” April said.

  She slid the peppercorns into another pan, added mustard and a quarter cup of water, and began stirring.

  “You still believe that Mallory’s jury was bribed?” she said.

  “Yes. That’s my theory. At least two members.”

  She sipped her wine. “But you have covered trials before and so have I. It’s always risky predicting what juries will do. So how can you be sure they were bribed?”

  “I’m not sure. That’s my working hypothesis. I’m open to changes if evidence proves me wrong, or if I ever get a clue, whichever comes first.” Clay raised his finger. “But…but here’s my theory. Tell me if this is logical. When her sister’s killer neared his release date from prison, Lynn Shelby began talking with Judge Trulock. Maybe something she said got the judge thinking. Maybe he thought of something he had missed in the trial, maybe something to do with the jurors. He knew almost everybody in law enforcement and in the judiciary in three counties, so perhaps he asked a few questions. This gets back to Mallory’s friends and they panic. Or Mallory panics. He’s just about to breathe the air of freedom, but then questions are raised about the trial. He gets scared. They know Trulock’s reputation, which means they know the only way to stop him is to kill him. Perhaps they panic.”

  April showed a smile that was incredibly sweet but also a tiny bit condescending. “That may be logical, honey, but it doesn’t mean it’s true. It would explain the motive for killing Judge Trulock, but I imagine the judge had many enemies after a lifetime on the bench.”

  Clay nodded.

  “We still have no physical evidence.”

  “True. The police know the caliber and make of the gun used to kill the judge but little more. The killer was able to walk in and exit out again without being seen. When the murder occurred, nobody was at the house besides Judge Trulock.”

  She moved over to the stove and added butter to the peppercorns. “So what’s our next move?”

  “I’ve called Slippery Jim, and when he gets back to me, I’ll see if he can do some hacking for me. Financial hacking.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Technically, yes.”

  “Which means it is illegal.”

  “Technically, yes. Morally is another matter.”

  “What do you want him to do?”

  “I’m not an expert in hacking. As a private detective in the 21st century, I should be, but I’m not. But Slippery is. He can search for unexpected large deposits in a couple of bank accounts.”

  April lifted the steaks from the pan and put them on plates. She scattered the cut potato bits on the two plates and then poured on the peppercorn sauce. Clay could have done without the kale, but she added the green stuff on the plates, too.

  “However, and go with me on this, honey, even if your Slippery Jim could do that and discovered a large deposit of say…”

  “A hundred thousand dollars? With his life on the line I figured Mallory would be generous,” Clay said.

  “OK. But logically that still does not tie any of the jurors to the defendant. You would have to determine where the deposit came from. I’m guessing it would be almost impossible to connect it to Mallory.”

  “Possibly. But it’s something I’d like to know. Plus, if there is a smaller deposit in Lee Brittle’s account around the same time, it looks a bit suspicious.”

  “Suspicion isn’t proof,” April said.

  “You had to go with the logic and consistency thing again?”

  “A court will.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s the problem.”

  They had decided to eat on the outside porch. They carried the plates to the second-floor balcony. Two dogs ran in the large fenced-in backyard. The front yard was fenced in, too. The dogs had an opening from the back to the front to allow them to exercise.

  April forked a slice of steak and a potato. “Excellent. Really yummy,” she said.

  When Clay tasted the dinner, he agreed.

  Clay was sitting in his office watching baseball when Detective Travers opened the door. He had spent about three boring hours deciding what his and April’s next move should be. After three hours he had come to no decision. Currently, every possible clue was running like a scared rabbit out of his path.

  On the plus side, the Tampa Bay Rays held a 6-4 lead on the Boston Red Sox. The cable Extra Innings Channel added about forty dollars a month to the cable bill, but it was worth every cent of it. Clay didn’t want to mute the tv because the Red Sox were threatening to score. The team had men on first and second base with only one out.

  But Travers had a stern look on his face and frowned. So Clay figured the visit must be important. He hit the mute button

  “Having a good day, Clay?” Travers said.

  “Not particularly. Need a clue. Need a couple of clues. Wouldn’t happen to have one, would you?”

  Travers reached his hand into his pocket, brought out his silver badge, and presented it.

  “Need to polish it, Jack. It looks a little dusty. Besides, I know you’re a detective.”

  “This is to establish that I’m here on official business.”

  That surprised Clay. “OK. What’s official?”

  “I understand you talked to a Lee Brittle two days ago. You impressed the bartender with your tip. Apparently, most of his customers are cheapskates. It’s been a while since he got one hundred dollars. He remembered you.”

  “I’m not easy to forget. Yes, I talked to Brittle but didn’t get much information out of him. He’s a bit laconic and wasn’t susceptible to persuasion.”

  “Was that the last time you saw him?”

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “Friends say Mr Brittle has disappeared. He’s not at his apartment, and he’s not on the job. He left the bar after you talked to him and he hasn’t been seen since.”

  The words jolted Clay’s muscles and nerves to high alert. “That’s interesting. No one has seen him?”

  Travers shook his head. “He’s gone, but all his clothes and other stuff are there. He has two suitcases that are still
there and two days of mail. You didn’t happen to tell him to get out of the county, did you?”

  “On the contrary. I wanted the pleasure of his company and more conversations. In our talk, he wasn’t as…forthcoming as I would have liked.”

  “What did you talk to him about?”

  “About my theory – one albeit without much evidence to back it up – that there was jury tampering in the Alden Mallory murder trial. Told him a defendant does a lot of time for jury tampering and he should fess up before Ms Harris opens her mouth first.” Clay shrugged. “He wasn’t biting. Told me to leave.”

  “You didn’t threaten him, did you?”

  “Only with justice. The kind handed out via the court system, not personal.”

  “You were the last person to see him alive,” Travers said.

  “Well, not really. When I walked out of the bar, other people were drinking. They saw him last.”

  Travers frowned again. “OK, if you want to be pedantic, you were the last person to talk to him before he went missing.”

  “Jack, I didn’t tell him to run or threaten him,” Clay said. “I wanted him working on the ranch so I could maybe try a second shakedown. I think he and Charlotte Harris were bribed. That’s why they wanted a not guilty verdict. They couldn’t get it due to outstanding citizens George Jones and Astrid Fleming, who wanted a second-degree murder verdict. If he talked, it would move me one step closer to the killer of Judge Trulock.”

  “You think. No proof of that.”

  “OK. I think.” Clay rapped the table. “Mallory didn’t get bond, not on a murder charge. Someone else had to do the dirty work for him. I’m betting whoever it was might have also killed Trulock. Mallory has one or two more months to serve before he gets freedom. He didn’t want anything screwing that up. He had killed once before, possibly twice before. So he didn’t mind killing again. Why don’t you check the visitors he had up at Raiford?”

  “I might do that. But I also had to question you, since you were the last man to talk to Brittle. Think you said anything to make him run?”

  “No, don’t think so. Unless he had an epiphany after I left. If he’s missing, is Charlotte Harris still around?”

  “Yes, last I heard she was.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to shake any leaves from that iron tree unless you have evidence of a crime. Then she might crack. She is a tough, determined little woman.”

  “You’re assuming. There is no evidence the jury was tampered with.”

  Clay frowned. “I’m about to get some.”

  “By watching baseball?”

  “Ideas can come to you at the strangest times. Walking the dog, relaxing in a hot tub, watching baseball.”

  Travers chuckled. “Really. So do you include watching baseball in your hourly rates?”

  “Getting a flat fee on this case. Jack, I ran a bluff on Brittle. I implied I had evidence that the jury was tampered with. He didn’t break, shatter, hiccup, or anything else. I think he was listening closely, but he didn’t give any indication he was upset, much less that he would leave town. You think maybe he was encouraged to leave?”

  “That has crossed my mind. I’m holding it as an option. The fact that he has disappeared is…suspicious.”

  “Sure is.” Clay leaned back in his chair. “Maybe someone is panicking. As I noted, Mallory has just a month or so to serve of his six-year sentence. One more month before freedom. Maybe he’s getting edgy that something is threatening to mess up his release.”

  “Conjecture. Again, we need proof.”

  “People keep telling me that. It’s really getting annoying.”

  Travers stood up and gave a wan smile. “You’re not leaving town anytime soon, are you?”

  “Not during baseball season. And certainly not without April, and she’s not going anywhere.”

  “Is she out pursuing clues, too?”

  “Today she had to put in some time on her regular job. We’ll both be pursuing clues later today.”

  “If you find one, let me know.”

  10

  When Slippery Jim finally called, Clay arranged a meeting at the newspaper office. April had access to a conference room, and the three walked in thirty minutes after the call. April and Clay sat on one side of the table. Slippery Jim sat facing them. He twisted in the chair as they told him what they needed. April wondered if the man had some type of muscular problem. But occasionally, with some mental toughness, he could bring the jerky body under control. April wondered how he managed to work at a computer. But he did and achieved incredibly good results

  “Mind if I smoke,” he asked?

  “Actually, this is a no-smoking building, but you can be the exemption,” April said.

  With one of the few smooth motions he made, Slippery Jim pulled the cigarette out and stuck it between his lips. As Jim smoked, Clay explained the case and told him what they needed.

  “I don’t think what you’re asking for is all that difficult. Well, for most people maybe, but not for me,” Jim said.

  “That’s what I like about you, Jim. That overwhelming sense of modesty.”

  “I just know my abilities. I need to find out if records of six years ago are still on file. I imagine they would be, but you never can tell. The job may take a little while, takes a bit of time to go back six years. You just want to do the two folks?”

  “If I think of someone else, I’ll send you the name.”

  He nodded. “A six-year-old financial transaction. How is this going to help your case?”

  “It may give me some leverage. I think those records will be very incriminating, if you can find the information.”

  He smiled. “Always happy to be on the side of truth, justice, and the American way.”

  April smiled. “This time you are definitely on the side of righteousness.”

  “That’s always a good place to be,” he said.

  “If you start now, how long would it take to get the information?” she asked.

  “Give me a day, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Thank you, Jim. What will be the charge?” Clay asked.

  “Free this time, Clay.” Slippery Jim smiled. “I waive fees when I’m on the side of truth and justice.”

  Eric McLarty, one of the witnesses whose testimony supported Alden Mallory at his trial, worked in construction. For years the region had been going through a building boom, and there were generally any number of building projects hiring at any one time. After a morning of background work, April was told by a number of construction supervisors that at one time McLarty had been an exceptional worker, but he tangled with alcohol, and the bottle had won the last few rounds. McLarty had missed work due to “sickness,” but bosses suspected he was battling a severe hangover.

  As described, McLarty wasn’t a big man, only five-foot two, but strong. He lived in a small subdivision named Forest Hills. As April turned her car into his driveway, she saw no bikes or toys in the unkempt yard. One car was in the garage, so she assumed he was home. The house was white with blue trim and lighter blue steps leading to the front door. She walked up them and rang the doorbell. She heard movement, but no one came to the door. She rang again.

  McLarty opened the door after a minute. The descriptions of him were correct. Only five-two, but with a stocky chest. But the once-firm muscles looked a bit slack. He had day-old black beard stubble on his tanned face and wore a black T-shirt. Crewcut. Eyes were glazed.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” he said.

  The tone wasn’t friendly, but it wasn’t menacing either. The voice sounded listless.

  “My name is April Longmont, and I would like to talk to you, Mr McLarty.”

  “About what?”

  “About the murder trial of Alden Mallory. I believe you testified in it.”

  He shook as if April had slapped him. “Long ago,” he murmured. He spoke so softly April could hardly make out the words.

  “Not too long ago. About six y
ears ago.” April lowered her voice. “I will pay you for your time, Mr McLarty.”

  The listless eyes showed a spark of interest. “How much? Been sick lately, lost some work. I can use extra funds.

  April reached into her purse and pulled out two fifties. “A hundred dollars. The interview shouldn’t take long. Maybe about fifteen minutes.”

  April thought the man would be slow and sluggish, but his hands whisked the money away from her. He stuffed the bills into the pocket of his jeans.

  “Sit down,” he said.

  She sat down on a sofa stained with brown spots. He had a blue lounge chair that he relaxed in.

  “Ask your questions.”

  “First, I wondered how you came to know Mr Mallory.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t really know him. Not well. We weren’t friends or anything. He had a house in the county and wanted some home improvement. I worked on it for him. After the improvement, he wanted to build a small shed in back of the house. He liked my work and hired me for that too. I spent about six weeks all together working at various jobs at his place.”

  “And you saw some altercations between Mallory and his wife?”

  He nodded.

  “There were other witnesses who said his wife didn’t hit him and was not in any way violent toward him.”

  “I can’t speak for them. Maybe they didn’t see it. I know what happened when I was there. Excuse me.”

  He got up and walked into the kitchen. When he returned, he had a coffee cup in one hand and whisky bottle in the other. He poured some whisky into the cup, then sipped it. He sat the bottle on the coffee table between him and April.

  “You’re one of those people who drink before five, I see.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “What was Mrs Mallory like?”

  “I didn’t speak to her that much. Seemed nice. Pretty woman.”

  “It’s a shame he beat her to death.”

  The coffee cup shook as he raised it to his mouth. Shook so violently some of the coffee spilled over the side. Drops splattered on his pants. He winced. April reached over and picked up the whisky bottle. She held it up.