When Clay spoke again, the pastor noticed the sadness in his voice. The deep baritone voice weakened and the syllables seemed to float uneasily in the air.
“No, it doesn’t.” Clay shook his head. “Reverend, when is his funeral?”
“Friday morning.”
The detective looked down at the floor. “I wish I had been a better friend to him. I was an acquaintance, but I never became a real friend.” He looked up and gave a hard stare at Harris. “Is there really a heaven, pastor? Asking for conscience sake.”
Pastor Harris showed a sunny, amiable smile. “Yes, there is. There is a God. There is a Savior, and there is a heaven. Jerry is there, and he’s doing fine.”
Clay heard the words, but for a moment his thoughts seemed to be in distant places. He spoke in a low, matter-of-fact tone.
“I read a lot, and I’ve read most of the New Testament. Impressed by much of it. I’ve also read the Existentialists. Like both Sartre and Camus. It’s been a while, but I believe Sartre noted that some people of his philosophic bent were very happy there was no God. He did not share that view. The theological question of ‘is there a God’ was something of a dispassionate one for him. He was fine one way or the other. I think that is how I felt for a long time. It’s an intriguing question but, emotionally, I wasn’t leaning either way. But now…now I sort of hope Jerry was right about his faith…I do remember the New Testament story of Lazarus who was in paradise after a horrible life and the rich man who was in hell.” Clay groaned as if he’d been punched in the gut. “Enough. I’ll think about that later. Now I have a case to solve. Thank you for your time, Pastor.”
“Drop by any time, Clay. The church is always open,” Harris said.
The Coltran-Nash building, Clay thought, as he walked between two black marble columns, was the epitome of quiet yet furious. The receptionist had a smiling yet stern manner that translated into, “I hope you have legitimate business here and did not just walk in to bother me.’ Thankfully, he had called ahead. Her smile widened a millimeter when he said that Chance Holden was expecting him. She pointed to the elevator, which was almost as dark as the black marble.
“Mr Holden’s office is on the second floor. When you get out of the elevator go right. It’s the first office,” she said.
As he strolled in, he noticed two blue-clad security guards on the floor. He was expecting older, out-of-shape men or perhaps men who had retired from a small police force.
But the two men looked like Marine recruits. Both stood stiff, and both were in grade-A physical shape. The blue uniforms were free of stains or wrinkles. Their shoes reflected the light of the overhead bulbs. They both looked at Clay with security skepticism. It’s the view of individuals such as Secret Service agents guarding the president to look at everyone with a degree of skepticism. It’s almost impossible to look friendly in such a job. But friendliness is not a qualification. Professionalism is.
As the elevator doors closed, he thought the two security officers looked more like law enforcement veterans than Jerry did. Did the company have two different security firms working? He thought back to the last time he saw Barton. He hadn’t realized it then because his eyes were on April, but the man had put on perhaps twenty pounds. It wasn’t twenty pounds of fat. The increased weight was evenly distributed. Barton’s shoulders and chest looked stronger. And he also knew Barton was a good shot. A lot of people in the South are, both men and women. The in-house security force, more likely, was a mixture of men, some with professional background and some with the private training the company provided. People can change over the years, some for the better and some for the worst. It was nice to know Jerry was among the former, not the latter.
When the doors opened, he stepped onto the plush beige carpet and turned right. Holden’s door was open. He looked up and smiled when Clay knocked. Holden stood up and walked over to greet him, hand out. Augustine appreciated that. At first glance, there was no pretense or pomposity in the man.
Holden reminded him of a second baseman on a major league baseball team. A large man who weighed perhaps two hundred and twenty pounds but with quickness and agility. There was nothing awkward in his movement. Instead, he moved with an athletic grace. He wore a huge grin which was almost goofy due to a one pointed incisor.
“Please sit down, Mr Augustine. I’ve been expecting you. I hope you find whoever it was that killed Jerry. I got to know him when he worked here, and we became friends,” he said.
Clay eased down into a chair.
“What can I do for you?” Holden said as he returned to his desk.
“Jerry kept a diary, and I wanted to ask you about one item in it. He didn’t always write in complete sentences, but he did jot down that one day you seemed upset because your boss Ms Stephenson was not following up aggressively on some, I think Jerry put it as, discrepancies at the company?”
“Yes, we played chess one day, and I did say that to him. I’m a rather aggressive and assertive guy. If I see a problem, I run toward it like a bull charging at a rival. That’s my nature. Some people want to solve a problem today, I wanted it solved yesterday. Lois, the boss, is a bit more…let’s say relaxed. I suppose that’s a good trait. She doesn’t get upset. She approaches problems calmly without letting anything get under her skin. She addressed the problem in her own way. But if you have a personality like mine then sometimes her way can try your patience, and I don’t have much patience to begin with.”
“Do you know what the discrepancy was? Is there some money missing?”
He shook his head. “Lois has told us to stay silent on this matter. She has talked to the state attorney about it. That’s proper. We are not saying anything until the company can make an official statement about it. The only thing I can say is there were significant amounts of money not where they should have been. From what Lois has told me, major mistakes and plenty of confusion are to blame. The state attorney has given her assurance that no charges will be filed. The company has corrected the problem. I did want her to proceed at a faster pace but, Lois takes life and the job at her own speed which is slower than mine, but she gets the job done.” He leaned back in his chair.
“Could you tell me exactly what the ‘discrepancies’ in the company were?”
Holden stayed silent for almost a minute then slowly shook his head. There was a note of regret in his voice. “Mr Augustine, I’m sorry I can’t. Lois has reported this to higher officials, and obviously, the company is very embarrassed about this situation. At their request…well, it wasn’t a request it was an order. I am sworn to secrecy except with talking to the police or company investigators. They don’t want anything said about it until the company makes an official statement. I understand their concern. But I don’t see the specific details would help you in your investigation. And I don’t see how this financial problem at Coltran-Nash could be associated with Jerry’s death.”
Clay scratched his jaw. “To be honest, neither do I. Every lead in the case is leading to a dead end. There doesn’t seem to be a motive for killing Jerry.”
“Think it could be a random crime?”
“I guess that’s always a possibility, and it’s looking more and more like that’s the answer. I admit I’m getting frustrated. Is there anything else unusual that has occurred in the company lately?”
“No, not a thing. We come in every day wanting to make money, and most every day we do. It’s a good job, and the bonuses are almost unbelievable.”
Clay nodded and stood up. “Then I’ll let you get back to making money.”
“It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it. Might as well be a nice guy like me.”
Clay chuckled as he walked back onto the plush carpet. He planned to go home and pour a double bourbon into a whisky glass. The case was getting more and more frustrating. He wanted to find the killer and nail him. He’d drag him to the police but only after beating the stuffing out of him. It would give the murderer something to remember as he rotted in pr
ison for the rest of his life. That was the first thing he wanted to do. The second thing was streaking out into a lake with April for the midnight swim. He wondered if the lovely, little tan girl was tan all over or was she pale on her bottom and on top. He always found pale spots on tanned ladies to be amusing and enticing. Unless April sunbathed in the nude, she would be a beauty running au naturel into the waves.
He tapped himself on the forehead. Think about April and midnight swims later. He wanted to solve the case first. He gritted his teeth. There were times when thinking of a lovely woman who seemed to be interested in him too was exciting. It made life worthwhile. Yet there were other times when it was an annoyance. When you needed a tough, analytical mind, it was difficult doing the thinking needed when April kept dancing in the tough, analytical mind and prancing around the clues, doing cheerleading kicks and showing that incredible smile.
That was another reason to drink a double whisky. Two double whiskies. It might dim the emotions for April without clouding the analytical portions of the brain.
“Fat chance,” he said aloud.
He stepped out of the building and headed to the parking lot. A windless day in the city, stillness all around except for the few cars driving down the highway. At times, stillness can be peaceful. He had traveled over the Great Divide in the Rocky Mountains. The state of Colorado had built a rest stop so tourists could stop and walk toward the barrier in the highway and glance awhile at the magnificence of the mountains. The sight took your breath away, the huge mountains jutting toward the sky. It made a human feel incredibly small, yet not weak.
But stillness can be creepy too. It can bring a sense of uneasiness that prickles the skin, like a hundred insects are crawling on you and biting you. That was his feeling. Itchy. He would feel that way until he found Barton’s killer. He smacked a right fist into his left hand. Every clue had turned out to be nothing. Every lead led to a dead end. He had no suspects, no motives, no lead, and no evidence. He stared at the sky, a sour taste in his mouth and a bitter look on his face.
“If there’s a God, He owes you one, Jerry.” His next statement was almost a shout. “I need a clue!”
As she strolled down the sidewalk, April reflected if there was one thing she was good at, it was legwork. As a reporter, she had done a lot of it. The one good thing is she was out walking, exercising, keeping the fantastic legs in shape instead of sitting at a desk for hours behind a computer, thus widening her bottom which she thought was already getting a bit too ample. She would have to ask Clay for his opinion. Try to sneak that into a conversation. “By the way, Clay, what do you think of my butt?”
She planned to knock on the door of fourteen houses. Six on this road and eight on the road that intersected it. A long shot. But in this case, there were no short shots so…
The first house had Spanish architecture, yellow walls, and red trimming, but it faced the highway. She doubted anyone would be looking toward the park and the owner said he didn’t. He usually slept until eight. April wore a plain brown dress and carried her notebook in her hand to show people she was a real reporter and not some quack bothering them for no reason.
The second occupant she talked to lived in a small one-story house that faced the park. The gentleman and his wife who owned the house were retired, and they were not early risers, particularly when the weather was cold and there was snow on the ground. They hadn’t seen anything.
As she walked back to the sidewalk, she thought she should not have worn heels. Tennis shoes. She needed tennis shoes. They might have looked odd with the brown business dress, but they would have alleviated a few aches.
There was no answer after she knocked on the third house. An elderly woman came to the door at the fourth house and gave her a sweet smile but no information. She had cataracts and surgery was planned later in the month. Even if she had been looking toward the park the morning of the murder, she could only see fuzzy shapes at that distance.
“Hope the surgery goes well,” April said, returning the smile. “My grandfather had a cataract operation, and now he sees as well as he ever did.”
A man with a beer belly and a beer in his hand opened the next door. He had a round face, and his jowls were so big April wondered if he had jammed baseballs in his mouth. He had deep-set black eyes which had seen nothing on the day of the murder.
“I don’t get up early. Usually don’t get out of bed until about nine,” he said. “Would you like to come in for a beer?”
He widened his lips and, April could tell, would have been delighted if she agreed to his suggestion.
“For your sake, I can’t. If my boyfriend knew I entered a house alone with a guy, he’d kill the man. Clay is very jealous.”
The man gulped and hastily shut the door.
The next house was the one Barton had rented, so she didn’t stop there.
Legwork, she told herself. Legwork. Sometimes it pays off. Don’t quit. You still have a few houses to go.
She crossed onto the next street and, fortunately, a lady was watering her lawn flowers. She had a small but colorful garden inside a small enclosure. She told April she had not been awake early the morning of the murder and hadn’t looked toward the park. April thanked her and walked on. It was beginning to look like the long shot was not going to pay off.
The white house with green trim and large picture window was almost directly across from the park. The window was also directly across from the parking lot. It had two lanes and ended at a sidewalk that stretched to the first picnic table. A sweat drop rolled down her cheeks as she walked up to it and rang the doorbell.
The man who opened it was slender with black and white shades in his hair, like two armies in conflict. The white was winning, slowly taking over the darker sections of hair. It had already won the battle for the neatly-trimmed mustache the man had. He looked excited to see her.
“Hello. I’m April Longmont with the Sea Oak Daily News and—”
“So, come in,” he said, enthusiasm in his voice. “It’s hot out there. Last week we had snow, this week it’s hot again.”
April decided to accept this invitation due to friendliness in the owner’s voice.
“Thank you,” she said.
She stepped inside and eased down on a yellow sofa.
“My name is Jim Hickok. Just like the legendary “Wild Bill.” Retired, and I do nothing but play golf. That’s going to be difficult when winter comes. That’s one reason to move to Florida. They can play golf all year long down there.” He sat down in the orange lounge chair and fiddled with the controls.
“Anyway, what are you asking questions about? I figure that’s why you knocked on the door.”
“Yes, it is. Last Monday, a man was murdered just down the street. Jerry Barton was his name.”
“I remember reading about that. Horrible. I didn’t realize until the news gave the man’s address that I had seen him walking in the park. He had two dogs, one big one and one small one. It’s such a tragedy.”
No, it wasn’t a tragedy, it was cold blooded murder, but right now I’m not going to quibble, she thought.
“Yes, that’s why I’m asking anyone with a house near the park if they recall seeing anything unusual that day. Anything at all?”
“Well, I’m an early riser. I tend to get up between five-thirty and six in the morning, but I can’t say I saw anything usual. Last Monday is when it happened?”
“Yes, that was the day we had the snowfall, only about three inches but it was the first snow of winter.”
He nodded. “Yes, of course. The day it snowed. I remember looking through the window and thinking snow can make things beautiful if you’re not driving in it.”
April felt a surge of hope. “Were you up early that day?”
“Yes. I got up at the usual time, for me that is.” He thought for a minute. “I did see Mr Barton briefly. He was walking his dog back to his house. About midway there when I saw him. But that was not unusual.”
&nbs
p; “Tell me what else you saw, Mr Hickok, whether usual or unusual.”
He pushed a button on the control and the chair moved forward depositing Hickok’s feet on the rug.
“That was about it. Mr Barton was walking his dogs early that morning. Snow was still falling when I saw him. There was nothing else to see. The park was empty. Snow already covered the grounds and the tennis courts. No one else…wait, there were two cars, rather, a car and an odd-looking van in the parking lot. The van backed up and drove off just a few seconds after I spied Mr Barton. Then the other car drove off too.”
“You say it was an odd-looking van?”
“Yes. I’m always a bit drowsy in the morning until I get my first cup of coffee and it was brewing that Monday. The van looked longer than most and a bit flatter as if someone had lowered the roof an inch or two but puffed out the body.”
That rang a bell in her mind.
“What color was it?” she asked.
“White or off-white.”
“What did the other car look like?”
“I didn’t get the make, but it was a new car, shiny burgundy. I can’t be sure, but I think there was a woman driving it.”
“Was there a man or woman driving the van?”
“I believe a man. I was drowsy, and it was only in sight for maybe thirty seconds so I can’t be sure.”
April twirled the pen around in her fingers.
“Thank you, Mr Hickok. Thanks for answering my questions and thanks for being an early riser.”
As she left the house, she recognized the bell that was clanging louder now. In the county courthouse parking lot, she had seen a van that matched the description given by Mr Hickok.
An odd-looking van.
An odd-looking van that belonged to District Attorney Perry Hocken.
“So, I drove by the courthouse and drove up and down the parking lot. I didn’t see the van again, but a policeman told me Hocken doesn’t usually drive it to the office. Maybe his car is back from the shop. I was going to snap a picture and take it to Hickok to see if it was really the van he saw the day of Jerry’s murder,” April said.
A Sea Oak Mystery Boxed Set Page 17