“I know it’s difficult, but try to be aware of who’s near you.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “What about hair dye?”
Kim picked up a box that had “Dark Blonde” printed on it. Her voice was deliberately quiet. “If you didn’t notice, I’m never going to be a white blond girl, but I think this is the one. If it is too bright, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”
“I trust you. I’m going to buy some phones. Then we have to start thinking about stocking up on food other than noodles.”
It was almost five when they got back to Calverton. The shopping spree half-filled the trunk of the cab. Casper insisted that Kimberly go in and relax while he started moving her bags and all the food. When Mike was nearly finished, he addressed the driver, “Do you work mostly in this area?”
The driver nodded. He looked to be in his seventies with a salt n’ pepper mustache and thick, black-framed glasses.
“Nice hat.”
“Yeah. Brooklyn Dodgers. You’re too young to know about such things. But I wear this hat because the good ‘ole days shouldn’t be forgotten. You need a tour guide?”
“No, but I’d like to use the same driver when I’m here on business.”
The man nodded. “I live down the road in Smithtown, but I work here a lot.”
“Do you have a card?”
The man laughed. “I’m a working stiff my whole life. No cards. My name is Smith, and I live in Smithtown. How do you like that? Here’s my number. Call me when you need me.” The driver handed him a scrap of paper.
“Thanks.”
Mike picked up the last load of bags and headed up the walkway. So far, neither of them had been shot or stabbed. They were doing well. He used his foot to shut the door behind him and then slid the bolt.
Chapter 25
“Am I interviewing Barnett?” Harley asked his chronically terse lieutenant, hoping that the answer would be no.
“No. The newbie.”
“So, I’m out of here?”
“No.”
“Observe from the window?”
“Yup.”
“When is Barnett coming?”
His boss pointed. Harley turned to see the C.T.O. of Rangolenk Industries walking up the hallway with his lawyer, an exceedingly gaunt, bald, and sad-looking attorney in an oversized gray suit. The lieutenant grunted and headed towards his office, leaving Harley alone.
“Mr. Barnett. Thank you for coming in. You really don’t need your attorney for this cursory interview.”
“Yes. He does,” said the lawyer.
“Okay, sure. Please just step inside the office here, and Detective Pampu will ask you some questions to finish up our review.”
The rookie investigator was already in the interrogation room. He stood up and welcomed Barnett and his counsel.
“Thank you for coming in today,” said Pampu, a tall, stockily-built man with a coarse mat of red hair on a head that appeared too small for his body.
Harley watched through the two-way mirror while listening to the audio feed.
“We’re trying to follow up on a few leads and tie up loose ends on the Charles Clemp disappearance. First, how well do you know Claire German Clemp?”
Harly was astonished. Nothing like going right for the jugular.
“Mrs. Clemp and I went to school together.”
“High school? College?”
“Both. Although in college, we ran in different circles mostly.”
Pampu jotted down some notes. “What was Mrs. Clemp’s circle?”
“She played field hockey. I guess she had friends on her team.”
“You’re not sure?”
“As I said, I was hanging out with my frat buddies.”
“Did she have a boyfriend?”
“Why are you asking about Claire?”
“Did she have a boyfriend?”
“I only know of one, a guy from my frat.” More notes jotted.
“What kind of relationship did she have with him?”
Barnett looked at his attorney but got no reaction.
“Detective, I know it was hot and heavy, but then it was over, and my frat brother refused to talk about it.”
“Why do you think he didn’t want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know. There was a rumor that he was spending a lot of money on her, and when his parents saw the credit card statement, they went ballistic. A lot of girls got their boyfriends to buy them stuff. It was a long time ago.”
Pampu shifted gears. “Did you gain anything by Clemp’s disappearance?”
The lawyer leaned over and whispered in Barnett’s ear and then responded to the cop. “What do you mean by that?”
“Financial? Job security? A promotion?”
“I got nothing out of Chuck being gone,” answered Barnett. “In fact, I’m worried about the future of the company. We have to find a new boss, and in the meantime, everyone is panicking. I’m a C.T.O., not a C.E.O. I can’t fill Chuck’s shoes, and it would be stupid to even try.”
The questioning moved back to Claire. “How did Clemp meet Claire German?”
“I set them up.”
Again, the rookie detective began writing little notes. He looked up at Barnett. “What was your interest in doing that?”
“My client had no interest in being a matchmaker other than trying to help out.”
“Mr. Barnett?” Pampu persisted.
“I just wanted Chuck to settle down and get married. I knew that Claire was single and that she wanted to settle down and have children.”
“Interesting. You’ve been in touch with her all these years?”
“No, she contacted me specifically to ask about Chuck. I think she may have seen him at a party or something. That’s just a guess.”
“Mr. Barnett. Do you think it is odd that they met and got married so quickly?”
“A little, but Chuck and Claire were both eager to start a family. It doesn’t hurt that he was madly in love with her.”
“Who’s idea was the sailing vacation?”
“Clemp had his boat tied up in Sicily. He’d been desperate to go sailing for a while. I told him to take Claire so they could have a great honeymoon.” Pampu scribbled rapidly.
“Did you know that Claire Clemp was a suspect in a couple of crimes in Belize?”
Harley almost pissed himself. The youngster just opened up a whole can of worms.
“No.”
“Did you know that a detective from Belize was murdered about ten days ago here in New York? He was following up on Claire’s connection to a couple of crimes on an island called San Pedro.”
“It was in the paper, but I didn’t know the part about San Pedro.” Barnett looked pale.
“The detective’s sister came up to I.D. the body. It’s interesting that she stayed in New York. The woman hasn’t gone back to Belize yet. Do you know anything about that?”
“Hell no.”
From behind the window, Harley mumbled to himself, “Geesh, Pampu. Talk about grasping at straws.”
“One of my colleagues questioned the sister, but I think we’ll need to follow up on that a little more deeply.” Harley squirmed at Pampu’s innuendo.
“Have you spoken to Mrs. Clemp since she came back from Sicily?”
“Yes. I expressed my condolences in a few phone calls that I’ve had with Claire.”
“How much money does she get from the company? Like stock? Other assets?”
“According to what I’ve heard, she gets zero stock. Maybe she gets Chuck’s house and his Manhattan apartment.”
“Insurance?”
“The only time Chuck and I talked about insurance—he mentioned a $3 million policy.”
Pampu looked intently at Scott Barnett. “Did you know that he recently took out a $30 million dollar policy with Claire as the sole beneficiary?”
“He didn’t know that,” interjected the lawyer.
“Right,” said Barnett. “This is the first time I’ve heard.�
��
“That policy went into force two weeks before they went to Sicily. What do you think about that timing?”
The lawyer spoke up. “My client didn’t know, and he has no opinion.”
The detective closed his little notepad. “Thanks for coming in. We’ve got another person to interview, and then we’ll call you back in if we need to.”
They all stood and headed for the door. Harley was waiting outside. “You really like living on the edge and shaking the trees, don’t you?” he whispered in the young detective's ear.
At that point, Scott and his lawyer were several steps down the hallway. Barnett turned back. “Uh. Detective. What were the alleged crimes that happened down in Belize?”
Pampu, much to Harley’s chagrin, answered without hesitation. “Murder. Two murders.”
“Murder, Claire.”
“What does that have to do with me, Scott?” Claire spoke confidently into the phone.
“I just thought that you would want to know how bizarre the interview with the police was.”
“I already spoke with them.”
“I’m sorry, Claire, that they are bothering you in the middle of dealing with Chuck’s disappearance. I just thought you should know that they didn’t seem to be focused on Chuck. It was more like they were trying to connect you to the two murders in Belize. And they said that the detective who was killed on the east side was investigating you. They also said that there is another person from Belize that they are questioning.”
“Who?”
“The sister of the murdered cop.”
“Thanks, Scott. I think the N.Y.P.D. is just doing their job.”
The line was silent for a few seconds. “Claire. Do you even know anyone in Central America?”
“I think they are just trying to find anything to solve a case. Maybe because my dad’s bank account was in San Pedro—they are questioning Americans. But, there must be plenty of U.S. citizens that have accounts down there. That’s a lot of people to call up and question.”
“I guess it is. Anyway, I thought you should know. Hopefully, they will move along and leave you in peace.”
“Thanks, Scott. This whole ordeal has been painful. Goodbye.”
Claire immediately dialed her accomplice. It rang four times. She hung up and dialed again.
“Yes?”
“The guy killed on York Avenue has a sister. They will pull her in for an interview. You know what to do. I want someone there every day, all day. Contact me when you get a bite.”
“Surveillance?” he asked.
“Like glue. I want to know which hotel or whatever. Clear?”
“Got it.”
Claire took the battery and the sim out of the burner phone. With any luck, her man would have a lead and pics within a day. She went to her computer and searched through a secure server. There was the sister smiling in a business photo: Kimberly Manshu, an executive at Jefferson Town Bank. Things were starting to fit together. The brother of this bitch must have looked into Martin German’s account and found a way to connect the deposits to the time frame of the murders.
Claire was furious with herself for making the idiotic deposits. That also meant that Kenneth Manshu probably told pretty Kimberly about his case. It was unfortunate that Ms. Manshu did not go back to San Pedro with her brother’s body.
She went back to her computer and stared at the picture of the black banker from Central America. The Widow Clemp pondered the thought of killing Kim. She’d never terminated a brother and sister before. The thought of describing the brother’s death while perhaps strangling his sister was curiously stimulating. Claire decided to take some time and fantasize all about it.
*
Breakfast at the rental house was different every day. Kim wasn’t sure whether it was all that time spent in Italy, but Mike was mixing up the menu. Waffles on Tuesday, Eggs on Wednesday, Pancakes on Thursday, lox and bagels on Friday—that must have been the Brooklyn in him.
“You’re going to make me gain weight.”
“The machine needs to be fed. Don’t fight it.”
She swallowed a bite of home fries. It was maybe ten days since they arrived in Long Island; she’d lost exact track of time. But one thing was for sure, with no phones ringing and no cellphone—her life was amazingly sedate. Kim had profound moments of mourning, but when her strength returned, she appreciated the Calverton lifestyle.
The only connection with the outside world was the old computer in their rental. Every day, she checked her email through a VPN to improve security.
When she was full of fries, she told Mike it was his turn to do the dishes and hustled over to the waiting keyboard.
There were two messages. The first was from her uncle. He told her that they needed her back at the bank, but if the N.Y.P.D. required her in Manhattan, they would make do. The second was more immediate. It was an email from a detective named Pampu. Funny name, she thought. It read:
Dear Ms. Manshu:
Being that we have no phone number for you, I am contacting you by email. In following up on your brother’s case, we would like to have you come in and review some of the things Ken told you. I am referring to the conversations you had in San Pedro.
I am tentatively scheduling a meeting on Monday (tomorrow) at 11 a.m. I understand that you may wish to return home soon, so I hope that we can work quickly.
Please contact me to confirm.
Detective Parley Pampu
“You’re breathing down my neck.”
“Sorry. I wanted to get a close look.” He inched left.
Kim began to reach for a burner phone. Mike intervened. “Save the phones. Send Detective P.P. an email saying that you will be there, but ask him to confirm it—no sense in paying for a cab if the cop won’t be there.”
“I’ve noticed that whenever you say the word ‘cop,’ it comes with a little sting in your tone.”
“Is that what you call it in Belize?” he deflected.
“No. Not really. Maybe it’s your private neurosis.”
“Yeah, well. Cops have made my life unpleasant except for my dad. He was an honest cop, and he paid for it. So I’m kind of bitter. The corruption goes all the up to the top, but they’re not all bad.”
“Do I have to worry about Pampu or the other guy, Harley?”
“Nope. You are not a suspect. They just want to know what Ken said to you so they can close the Clemp file.”
“Will they?”
Casper was a picture of resignation. He sighed. “Yes. They will watch Claire rake in whatever money she’s got coming from her dead husband. That’s it.”
“I’m glad about that.” Kim had a mildly sinister grin framing her perfect teeth.
“You’re starting to sound like me.”
“We have Cassie and Ken to avenge. And, I don’t care if you want to call it justice; to me, it’s revenge. Someday I might consider it simply a matter of righting a wrong, but not now. The way it is for me? Let’s just say I want to hurt her.”
Mike feigned like he was stepping back as if she’d intimidated him. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”
Her grin turned into a smile—the first one he’d seen in three days. “You will. Don’t worry about that.”
*
The next day, Kim was unaware of being watched as she left Pampu’s uninspiring interview.
Claire’s secret phone rang. “And?”
“I’ve got her. The picture doesn’t do justice.”
“Keep that bullshit to yourself. What is she doing?”
“Just came out. She’s walking down the street.”
“Don’t lose her. Do you have a car?”
“Yes. First, I hop a cab, and then the car follows me.”
Her patience was wearing thin. “Don’t give me details; just stick to her like glue. Got it?”
“She’s getting into a taxi. I’ll contact you later.”
The former mercenary flagged down a trailing cab. He was pleas
ed to hear that the driver spoke English. “My cousin is in that cab up there. Just follow it because they have the address to a meeting we’re going to.”
Chapter 26
Glenda Jones, an extraordinarily sticktoitive and furtive investigative journalist, considered her predicament while standing in Dr. Altman’s spare bedroom. Jones turned to gaze at her reflection in a tall mirror. “Damn, girl. You have stayed beautiful—even after getting grazed by a bullet and falling backward into a dump truck.”
Josh tapped on the six-panel open door. “I guess your near-death experience didn’t tone down your ego much.”
“I think my ego matches my near perfection.”
“Glenda. I don’t want to argue with that one. But, more importantly, I can’t help but notice the little suitcase there with your clothes stuffed in it.”
She stood up to her full height, her wavy, jet-black locks framing her face. “I’m going back to New York.”
Josh spontaneously threw his hands in the air. “And if they catch you and come down here to snuff out loose ends?”
Glenda put her hand on Altman’s arm. “They won’t be coming. If I’m dead, the hunt is over—at least 95% chance. Even if you claimed to know who the drug queen is, and if you also profess that Bruner is on the take—they won’t believe you, and your testimony will be worthless hearsay.”
“And if they don’t kill you and continue their search? What then, when some thugs come walking into the clinic?”
“Didn’t you say that Becky keeps a .45 in her desk?”
“And if she isn’t here?”
Jones sighed loudly. “It’s unlikely, and the only way to stop the people who are hunting me is to present enough evidence to the Feds so that the scumbags all go to prison. I have to go back to New York to get it done.”
“And if they kill you?” Josh looked distressed.
She smiled at him a softly as possible. “I’m thinking that you are going to miss me.”
The doc thought about that. “Yes. I will. Don’t be insulted, but the whole trans thing is hard for me to wrap my head around. However, as far as two people getting along—I would like to think of you as a good friend. Maybe you feel the same way?”
Cold Dead Hands (A Mike Casper Thriller Book 1) Page 21