Clay nodded. “I’ll take a cup.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“No, still take it black.”
Manatee pulled two Christmas mugs from a cabinet. The green and red mugs both proclaimed “Merry Christmas." The fire crackled as Clay drank some of the coffee.
“My friend, I’m glad you’re in a good mood and feel like giving to others,” Clay said.
Manatee laughed. “That might indicate this is not a purely social call. You didn’t come all the way out here simply to wish me a Merry Christmas?”
“Alas, no.”
“I’m crushed. I thought this was an expression of your deep friendship.”
“Well, the deep friendship is there, but so is my need. I thought I might ask for your help on a case. I’d like to get this one wrapped up as soon as possible.”
Manatee grabbed a bottle of whisky from the cabinet. He held it up. “Like to spice up your coffee?”
“Not this time.”
Manatee poured some liquor in his cup then sipped it. He nodded. “Got just the right amount. Tastes good. Whisky, it’s not just for breakfast anymore.”
The two sat down at the kitchen table.
“As it happens I have some time on my hands. I have no projects lined up. I just planned to relax and enjoy Christmas this year,” Manatee said.
“You can still enjoy Christmas and also do mankind a favor by helping me track down a murderer.”
“Track down a murderer? That means there must have been a murder. That was probably on the news but since I don’t like television, except for sports, and am not fond of newspapers either, tell me who was murdered.”
“Actually this hasn’t made the newspapers yet, at least the print version. Joe Dinera, the county’s assistant planning director, was killed earlier today. Someone had the proverbial blunt object and hit Dinera in the head with it.”
Manatee frowned. “Somebody went and tried to spoil Christmas like that. The guy should be slapped around and brought to justice. You should never spoil Christmas by killing someone. That’s not only morally wrong, it’s bad taste.”
“I totally agree,” Clay said. “I figure two of us can solve the crime sooner than one of us.”
Manatee sipped his coffee again and nodded. “True. But won’t there be three of us? Or, is your girlfriend taking time off?”
“No, but she’ll be involved. I need to romance her too.”
“Women like that. Most are romantic by nature. With all due respect, my friend, you may not be the most romantic guy on the planet.”
“Thanks for sharing. But I’m planning to get better. And I really don’t want to be distracted by a murder investigation while I do the romantic thing. So I need some help with this case.”
Manatee gulped more of his drink and laughed. “Well, I not only have a chance to catch a killer, I can aid the romance of my friend and his girlfriend. I can be a regular Christmas elf this year.”
“Yes, it’s a season of good cheer, and your very presence can spread cheer and goodness. Besides I’ll pay.”
“Nonsense. I hate to charge a friend. Drop the money into the Salvation Army kettles. They’re doing nice things for children. I’ll be glad to help. Life’s been getting a bit boring lately. This should spice things up.”
Clay smiled. Manatee never seemed to need money. It wasn’t the first time he had declined a payment. The man certainly had a pension from the army, and for a while had run a one-man business in the area. But he had been retired from the business for about a year. Earlier in his career he had been a private bodyguard. In that job his fees were quite hefty. Even so, his employers saved money by hiring Manatee. Without him, they would have had to hire the Eighty-second Airborne Division, which would have cost the national budget of several small nations.
“Know any details about the case?” Manatee said.
“Not too many. I can give you a quick summary.”
Manatee listened alertly as Clay noted the connection between Dinera and the Blue Sands Corporation. He was one of the declining numbers of smokers. He grabbed a pack of cigarettes, put one in his mouth and lit it. He took a long puff and blew out smoke.
“I agree with you. Blue Sands people may have had a motive, but the homicide doesn’t help their case before the county commission. Commissioners have to answer to their constituents. If a bad smell attaches itself to Blue Sands because of the murder, commissioners don’t want to be on the corporation’s side. It’s possible but . . . did the dead guy stiff a loan shark or something like that?”
“Not to my knowledge, but that will be part of our investigation. I can’t rule out Blue Sands, but neither do I think company men are prime suspects. I would like us to drop over and talk to them. Your presence has a certain tendency to bring out the truth in men.”
“That’s a nice way of saying I’m intimidating; and nervous, frightened people tend to spill the truth when an intimidating presence is near. Which is a nice way of saying I look like a thug.”
“Yes, but a very intelligent, gracious thug.”
“You’re just saying that to not hurt my feelings.”
“Yes. It’s my compassionate nature.”
“Thanks for sharing. Let’s go.”
5
Edward Rockingham looked like a man who sipped Maalox all day. He was just less than six feet, with silver hair, sad, blue eyes, and deep lines across his face. Behind his desk were colorful maps of the county with different sections of land in blues, reds, yellows, greens, and three minor spots of orange. On the beach section of the county, the land designated for the Blue Sands development was in purple.
Rockingham’s fingers held a cigarette. The county had a no-smoking policy but gave the planning director an exemption, which wasn’t going to help his ulcer. Clay and Manatee sat in the two chairs in Rockingham’s office. A stack of silver hair fell over his eyes, but the planning director pushed it back on his head. He tapped ashes into a huge, blue ashtray on this desk.
“You two are investigating the death of Joe?”
“Yes, we are.”
Rockingham took another long puff on the cigarette. “Mr. Augustine, I seem to recall your name connected to another murder case some months ago. Or am I mistaken?”
“No, that was me. I was helped by my fiancée, April Longmont, who is a reporter with the local paper.”
“Yes, I know her. She covered the county for a while. But who is your other friend here.”
“Name is Manatee. I do favors for friends, and Clay is a friend.”
Rockingham narrowed his eyes. He had served two years in the army before he decided that planning for a county was better than planning for battles. Manatee reminded him of his old army sergeant who, after basic training, wasn’t all that bad of a guy.
“You ex-army?”
Manatee nodded. “Have the scars to prove it.”
Rockingham mashed the cigarette in the ashtray. “I can’t tell you anything about Joe’s death. I wasn’t out on the street when he was murdered. I was in this office, which is where I’ve been almost every weekday for the past six weeks. I will be very glad when the county commission holds its meeting on the Blue Sands project in January, and we’ll be done with it.”
“I’m sure you and Joe talked extensively about the development,” Clay said.
“We did.”
“Did he tell you he opposed the development?”
“Not openly, but I guessed he didn’t like it. As planners we are supposed to be neutral. We lay out the plans for a possible development, and give the commissioners all the pros and cons, all the details of how the project will aid or diminish the quality of life in the county. And if asked, give our opinion. When we do, we antagonize people, but that goes with the job.”
“When the commissioners asked you about the Blue Sands project, what were you going to recommend?”
“To be honest, I hadn’t decided. There are both pros and cons about the project. Traffic, congestion, taxe
s, and more people in the county, roads . . . a planner has to consider everything. I’ve been weaving back and forth for weeks. Today I would go with a tentative yes. There is going to be development on the beach. I know that will not make county residents happy, but it is going to happen. So if we must have development, the Blue Sands proposal is a good one. There are rumors flying in the county that the corporation will build everything up to and including a casino and dog track on the beach. That’s obviously not true. The proposal is for one very fine five-star hotel and a condominium. Over in the Research Triangle in the Raleigh-Durham area, a great many people are making a great deal of money. There are numerous—and I mean numerous—high-tech companies over there. Blue Sands is betting many of those high-tech millennials would like to have a weekend getaway. They can buy a condo and run over here every weekend—or every other weekend. Spend two weeks of their summer vacation in a condo on the beach. The techies have the money to have a second home. The company will build a first-class facility. Blue Sands says this will pull rich people into the county, which will help the tax base without them needing many government services since they will only be in the county a few days every month.” He waved his hand as if dismissing the arguments. “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard the back and forth. Right now I’m leaning toward their proposal.”
“Did your assistant tell you that if you endorse the Blue Sands project he would request to speak to the commission and oppose it?”
Rockingham raised his eyebrows. “No, he didn’t. In our conversations I sensed Joe was opposed to the project, but he never let on he would speak to the commission.”
Manatee’s smile unnerved the planning director, and he didn’t know why. Clay did the talking. Manatee just sat alertly in his chair and smiled. Like a cat ready to leap on a canary. Or a panther ready to leap on smaller prey. The smile made him choose his words carefully. A thousand pins seemed to be prickling his skin. Rockingham shrugged and tried to shake the feeling off.
“Would that have bothered you?” Clay said.
“Not a bit. Joe was entitled to his opinion. As a citizen of this county he had a right to state his views on the project. It would not have been the first time we disagreed but we always disagreed amicably. He was fine worker, very good in his job. I plan to retire soon, and he would have been the perfect man to step into this position.”
“Do you know if anyone argued with your assistant in the past week or two weeks? Did anyone from Blue Sands confront him?”
Rockingham shook his head. “Not from Blue Sands. Their reps are forceful at times but I don’t think they have ever raised their voice in this office, although we have had one or two, let’s say, vigorous discussions with them. Joe did have a shouting match and a very angry one with a man but he turned out to be Joe’s brother.”
“When did this happen?”
“About a week ago. The two were in Joe’s office but the yells were heard throughout the department. I was about to go in and tell them to quiet down when Joe’s brother angrily walked out, slamming the door behind him.”
“Did Joe say what the argument was about?”
“No. His brother was just yelling some bad names at him. After his brother left, Joe came out and apologized, and said nothing else.”
Manatee spoke up. When he did Rockingham almost jumped.
“Does his brother live in the county?”
“Yes, I believe so but I don’t know where. The two definitely didn’t get along. Joe’s brother was red-faced when he stomped out. The odd thing is the brother didn’t have the same last name as Joe. Brother’s name is Nate Widmon.”
“Just as a matter of curiosity, do you think the commission will approve the project?” Manatee asked.
Rockingham shook his head. “I can’t say for sure. I haven’t spoken to them about it outside of the commission chambers. I’ve heard rumors that it could go either way with Commissioner Sherwood perhaps having the decisive vote. But that could change.”
“Another question, just out of curiosity. Have the Blue Sands people tried to lean on you in any way.”
For the first time, Rockingham smiled, almost laughed. “If they had, I might have accepted their offer. I could use a month’s vacation in the Bahamas or someplace similar. The Blue Sands people are pros. This is not the first condo or hotel they’ve wanted to build. When I say pros I mean they know what financial strings to pull. They come backed up with facts and figures on how beneficial this project will be to the county. The development will provide the county this much money in taxes and provide another local beach, and increase the lifespan of county residents, things like that. The Blue Sand reps are very good in their jobs. Did they try anything illegal? No. Did they make a very persuasive argument before the Sheffield County Planning Commission? Yes. Have I heard of any questionable tactics? No.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Rockingham. I know that these days you are a very busy man.”
“Yes, much too busy. But if I can help find Joe’s killer I’ll certainly help. He was a fine man. I was shocked and saddened by his death. Mr. Augustine, I hope you are as successful in this case as you were in your last one.”
“He will be because I’m helping him,” Manatee said.
The man had a deep voice but the words were spoken gently. Manatee’s tone was even friendly, Rockingham thought. Even so, the gentle words from the deep voice sent a chill down his spine. When the two men exited, he reached for the Maalox bottle.
The planning office was on the second floor. As Manatee pushed the elevator button, a staffer rushed from the planning office.
“Excuse me, but may I talk to you? There’s something you should know if you’re investigating Joe’s death.”
The elevator doors slid open. But Manatee and Clay stepped away and let them close again.
“I’m Ron Islip. I‘m a staffer here and I worked closely with Joe. I shared his views of the Blue Sands project. I want his murderer arrested.”
“So do we,” Clay said. “So what should we know about his death?”
“Joe did have some verbal fights with a Blue Sands rep, but three other people who verbally fought with him and put pressure on Mr. Rockingham, were the three Rivenbark brothers.”
“Who are they?”
“They are the sons of the late businessman Claude Rivenbark. He had a number of interests and also owned several good-sized parcels of land near the proposed Blue Sands development. Derek, Jeff and Claude Jr. now own the property.”
“Perhaps this shows my lack of understanding of real estate, but why should they care about the Blue Sands project,” Clay said.
“A hotel and a condo would be the first step toward opening that section of the county to development. If the county approved the project I’m guessing the price of their land would, at least, triple in value. That’s a conservative estimate. It could well be more. If one of their parcels is worth, say, twenty thousand dollars, it could conceivably be worth two hundred thousand dollars, when the ground is broken for the hotel and condo.”
“That would be a merry Christmas for the brothers,” Manatee said.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Clay said.
“When development booms, real estate prices go through the roof. The three wanted the department to recommend approval to the county commission. They were in constant contact with Blue Sands people too. And Joe and the three brothers did not get along, and that’s being diplomatic.”
Manatee smiled. “We’re in a murder investigation so we’re not into being diplomatic. If you are not being diplomatic how would you put that?
A bead of sweat formed on Islip’s brow. He swallowed, but it looked like a pebble was rolling down his throat.
“They hated one another’s guts. Joe thought the brothers were spoiled, rich kids, with no morals. They were furious he was going to tell commissioners to reject the development.”
“They knew about that?” Clay said.
“Yes, they made Joe angry one day with their v
erbal-hardball tactics. He told them—or rather—he yelled at them. His words could have been cannonballs shot their way. He said he would tell the commissioner to vote no on the project. One was about to attack Joe, but the other two grabbed him and held him back. I . . . I just thought you should know.”
“We should. Thank you for telling us. We will have a discussion with the three brothers.”
“Be careful when you go. One brother has been arrested for assault. Maybe two of them.”
Manatee chuckled. “Thank you for the information but I think we’ll be safe. There are only three of them but two of us. We have them vastly outnumbered.”
April stood in the alley next to Emlet’s, and behind where Joe’s Salvation Army Kettle had stood. A replacement for Joe had not been found so the kettle had been removed. She frowned. Snow flurries swirled in the air around her. She wondered if the killer had walked up to Joe when he was ringing his Christmas bell and asked to talk to him. The two could have disappeared quickly into the alley. They would have walked back and perhaps stopped next to the exit door. Then the killer would have swung the blunt object. She looked down at the snow as if it might provide a clue. But someone might have seen the two go into the alley. If a witness walked by and saw the two men walking, he or she wouldn’t have been suspicious until after hearing of the murder. But the day had been windy and snowy. If an acquaintance walked up to Joe, he could easily have been wearing a hood. Which meant his face had been at least partially hidden. Difficult timing, but not impossible. Assume the killer knows Joe—he waits until there are only one or two people walking down the street. Rushes over, asks for a brief private talk with Joe. Says it’s important. Joe and the murderer walk back into the alley. Open the exit door to get out of the cold. One swing with a blunt object. The killer could walk out through the store. During a busy Christmas season, who would notice him?
A Sea Oak Mystery Boxed Set Page 31