Reed Ferguson Mystery series Box Set 2

by Renee Pawlish

  “I’m putting you on speaker,” I said, setting down the phone.

  “Here’s what’s interesting,” he continued as I checked my email. “Do you have the list?”

  “Yes.” I found the email from him, clicked on an attachment with a list of names and corresponding phone numbers. I scanned down the list.

  “Nick received three calls that night,” he said.

  “Uh huh.” The first name listed was Jay Williams, the second was from K. Bayer, and the last was from….my jaw dropped. “I don’t believe it,” I said.

  “Yep. Stan Pommerville called Nick at 10:35 the night of the fire. The number has been registered to his home address for over thirty years, so I’m assuming that’s his home phone number. There’s a different number registered to his cell phone.”

  “Pommerville said he hadn’t talked to Nick in months.”

  “He was lying,” Cal stated the obvious.

  “I wonder why.”

  “You’re the detective.”

  “Have you been talking to Spillman?” I asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” I studied the list of phone numbers, thinking. “Pommerville hated Nick, was financially ruined by Nick, and he said he didn’t want anything to do with Nick. So why is he calling Nick the night of the fire? Did Nick come into some money and Pommerville knew about it, and he got the money and then killed Nick? And was he calling to make sure Nick was at home?”

  “That’s a long wait to get his revenge.”

  “It’s safe that way. Pommerville looks less obvious.”

  “Could be,” he said. “I’ll dig up Nick’s banking records. But if there isn’t a money trail there, I’m not sure how you’d know if he suddenly ended up with extra money.”

  I mulled that over. “Sounds like I need to pay Pommerville another visit.”

  “Have fun with that.”

  “Do you have any other information on Pommerville?”

  “No, but I should be able to get to it in a few hours,” he said. “I’ll call you later tonight.”

  “Thanks, this is great work.”

  “I know,” he laughed and hung up.

  I found the number for Pommerville Computer Systems and dialed it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Pommerville.”

  Good, he was there.

  “It seems you don’t like to play nice with others,” I said.

  “Who is this?”

  “Reed Ferguson.”

  “I asked you not to bother me again.”

  “And I wouldn’t have, except that you lied to me.”

  “What?” Indignation carried through the line like electricity. “I never lied to you.”

  “So I ask myself, why would Stan lie to me?”

  “I never lied to you!”

  Click.

  “Damn.” I stared at the phone. Was it my approach?

  For the second time in as many days, I found myself driving out to Golden. It was just before three when I parked in the lot at Pommerville’s Denver West office. Dark clouds loomed overhead and the temperatures were dropping as a spring storm threatened. As I got out of the still smelly 4-Runner and headed toward the building, Pommerville came out the glass doors, carrying a brief case. We made eye contact and he backpedaled into the building.

  “Hey!” I called and ran after him.

  I jerked the door open and saw him across the lobby, heading out the opposite doors. I sprinted past a bemused woman who was waiting at the bank of elevators. I reached the other side of the lobby, pushed open the doors and looked left, then right. Pommerville was at the end of the building, surprising me with his speed, his tie waving at me over his shoulder.

  I was pretty fast myself, and I caught up with him around the north side of the building.

  “Leave me alone,” he said. He dropped the briefcase and leaned against the wall. He was breathing hard and he put a hand over his heart. “I’m not used to running.”

  “Then why are you?” I snapped. “It just makes you look guilty.”

  “What do you want from me? I told you before, I haven’t talked to Nick in ages and I don’t know anything about his death.”

  “See, that’s the weird thing. I have Nick’s phone records from the night of the fire, and you called him.”

  His jaw dropped. “What? I didn’t call Nick that night or any other night.”

  “Then why the phone call?”

  “How the hell should I know? I was at home that night, with my wife. Oh!” He snapped his fingers. “Leena was there. She came over for dinner.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. “Yeah, she mentioned that when I talked to her. But why didn’t you say something when I was here? Maybe because you called her after I left and asked her to provide you an alibi?”

  “I forgot, that’s all.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “It’s true,” he said petulantly.

  Neither of us spoke for a moment, and neither of us moved.

  “I know it looks bad for me,” he said. “But I’ve made my peace with Nick. Once I lost the court case, I moved on. Now,” he straightened his tie, then reached down to pick up his brief case. “I’ve got to meet a client.” With that, he turned and walked away.

  I watched him disappear around the front of the building, and then I walked slowly back to the 4-Runner. His reaction was curious. His surprise about the phone call seemed genuine. But then how to explain his number showing up on Nick’s phone records? And why wait until now to tell me that Leena had come over that night?

  I could see two possible scenarios. Pommerville was lying, and he had Leena provide his alibi by saying she was at his house the night of the fire. But if he made the call to Nick, having Leena at his house for dinner didn’t explain that. Which left scenario number two: Leena called Nick from her father’s house. But why would she be calling him, and why from her father’s house? Unless she was trying to cover her own tracks.

  “Fine,” I said to no one. “If the father won’t talk, maybe the daughter will.”

  I called Leena, but got her voice mail, so I hung up and sent her a text. “It’s Reed Ferguson. We need to talk – now.”

  I didn’t have long to wait.

  “Meet me outside the City and County Building in a half hour,” she texted back.

  I wondered if Pommerville had already been in touch with her. I headed for the highway, while Oingo Boingo sang about going to a dead man’s party. I could relate.

  I got to the City and County Building just before four o’clock. She was waiting outside, blond hair slightly disheveled, as if she’d been nervously running her hands through it. The look of anger she threw me as I approached could’ve burned a hole through my shirt.

  “I told you I didn’t want to see you again,” she growled. “And I certainly don’t want you pestering my father.”

  “I wouldn’t have to if you’d be straight with me.”

  “He called me, completely flustered, and said to watch out for you. And then I get a phone call from you.”

  “That you ignored.”

  “I’m at work!”

  She walked down the steps and over to a large concrete planter that would soon be filled with spring flowers. She took out a single cigarette and carefully lit it with her lighter.

  “I quit smoking a few years ago, but this whole thing with Nick has stressed me out.” She took a long drag and blew the smoke away from me. The look of satisfaction that crossed her face was akin to someone having sex. “I had to bum this off a co-worker.” She turned hard eyes on me. “Why won’t you leave my father alone? He didn’t have anything to do with Nick’s death.”

  “He lied to me,” I said.

  “About what?”

  “I have Nick’s phone records from the night of the fire. He received a call from your father’s home phone number.”

  “How did you get his records?”

  “That’s not important,” I said. “Your father said he hasn
’t talked to Nick in years. So either he’s lying, or,” I pointed at her, “you called Nick from your parents’ house.”

  She sucked long and hard on the cigarette. “You think you’re pretty clever.”

  “Clever enough. And your father also neglected to mention until today that you were at his house the night of the fire. Why was that?”

  “I told you before, he’s getting older and he’s more forgetful.”

  “Or you two worked up the story about dinner and a movie after I talked to him the first time.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She stared at the burning end of the cigarette. “Nick called me,” she finally said.

  “Why?”

  “Believe it or not, he wanted to talk, and maybe get back together.”

  “Not.”

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t believe you.” I crossed my arms. “Want to try again?”

  “I changed my mind. You’re not clever, you’re an ass.”

  “Not the first time someone’s said that about me.”

  A cold gust of wind whipped at us, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “If you have his phone records, shouldn’t you be able to see the calls he made?”

  “True,” I said, making a mental note to check. “So when did he call you? And why?”

  “It was a couple of weeks before he died. I almost threw up when I saw the number. I didn’t answer and he left a message. I didn’t even listen to it, but he called back, and then again. I finally answered and chewed him out.”

  “What day was that?”

  She named the date. “He couldn’t believe I was angry with him, and he poured on the charm. It made me sick, but I also realized that I really wanted to get back at him.” She stopped and looked out across the street. I waited her out. “I agreed to go out with him. It was weird because he was being so nice, and he had no clue that I was revolted by him. We went to dinner and the whole time we were there, I was trying to find something I could use against him, some way to destroy his life like he did mine.”

  She brushed a lock of hair from her face.

  “What did you find out?” I asked.

  “Not a thing, except some people are after him for gambling debts. Big surprise. So I put up with a couple more calls, but I came up with zip. I thought maybe I could tell his bookies where he lived, but then I found out he was dead.”

  “That’s it? You wanted revenge?”

  “Yeah. My therapist had a field day with that.”

  “When was the last time he called?”

  “Last Saturday.”

  “Why call Nick from your parents’ house instead of your cell phone?”

  She blew air out slowly. “I didn’t call from their house.”

  “Then your father’s lying.”

  “He is not,” she snapped. She studied me for a second and her brow furrowed. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  I shook my head. “The whole thing sounds like BS.”

  “Why would I tell you that I wanted to get back at Nick, then kill him, and then tell you? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Unless you’re trying to throw me off by putting the answer right in my face.”

  “Are you serious?” She threw up her hands. “I give up.”

  I pursed my lips, angry with the runaround. “Which one of you called Nick that night?”

  “You just keep at it, do you?” She looked away, then stared at the ground. “You know I finally told my mom what happened? I’ve been trying to put this all behind me, and my therapist said it might help me move on. And then you come along, stirring things up.”

  “Blame your stress on whoever killed Nick.”

  “Yeah, right.” She tamped out the cigarette in the dirt but held onto the butt. “I hate it when people throw the butts out on the sidewalk.” She turned to face me. “Please leave my father alone. He’s been through a lot and he’s working too hard. He doesn’t need this on top of everything else.”

  “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this,” I said. “If your father is really innocent, he has nothing to worry about.”

  “If it was that easy, you wouldn’t be here.” She sighed. “I’ve got to go back to work.”

  With that, she stormed off.

  I walked back to my car, my mind racing. Who called from Pommerville’s house, Leena or her father? And who was covering for the other? One thing I couldn’t get around. Leena had motive, and she was angry enough to plot some kind of revenge against Nick. My gut told me her story was fishy. And my gut was usually right.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Instead of going straight home, I stopped at B 52’s. Once a warehouse, B 52’s had been converted to a pool hall decorated with old plane propellers and advertisements from a long-gone era. It was my thinking place, where I could let my mind ruminate. When I got there, Ace and Deuce were at a pool table in the back.

  “Hey, Reed,” Ace said. “Want to play the winner?”

  “Sure.” I flagged down a waitress and ordered a Fat Tire, then sat at a bar stool and watched the game.

  “Where’s Willie?” Deuce asked.

  “Working,” I said.

  Ace pointed with his pool cue. “How’d you get that cut on your face?”

  “Hey, be careful.” I pretended to duck. “I got in a fight with a Dumpster.”

  They both stared at me with vacant expressions.

  “Never mind.” The waitress returned with my beer and I took a long drink.

  Deuce hit a difficult shot that won the game.

  “Your turn,” he said to me. I watched as Deuce racked the balls for a new game

  Ace sat down next to me. “You need any more help?”

  “I’m good, but thanks for the offer,” I said.

  “Bob is coming as soon as he’s off work,” Deuce said.

  “Cool.” I hadn’t seen Bob in a while.

  Bob Smith was the Goofballs’ older brother, the one who’d gotten all the brains. I’d only recently known he even existed. Bob was an EMT and he’d moved back to Denver from the East Coast so he could keep an eye on his dimwitted younger brothers.

  Deuce and I played a game and I lost, so I was watching them play when Bob came in.

  “Hey there,” he nodded at me. “How’ve you been?”

  Bob was a carbon copy of his brothers, with the same slim build and light hair, and the same stark gray eyes, only he had wisdom lines on his face.

  He smiled briefly, but then grew serious. “You drive a gray 4-Runner, right?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “I thought I saw someone checking it out,” he said.

  I stood up. “Were they trying to break in?”

  Ace and Deuce overheard us and they came over.

  “I don’t know,” Bob said. “I started to walk over and he ran away.”

  “What’d he look like?” I asked.

  Bob frowned. “I’m not really sure. I think he had brown hair, but I was paying more attention to whether he’d broken into your car.”

  “Did he?” Ace asked.

  “What?” This from Deuce.

  “Huh?” Now Ace was perplexed.

  Bob smiled. This was old hat for him. “No one broke into the car.”

  “Oh,” they said in unison.

  “Good.” I set my beer down. “I think I’ll go take a look anyway.”

  They went back to their game and I went outside and across the street to the parking lot. The 4-Runner was fine. I looked around, wondering if I were being watched. People walked up and down the street, and I finally shrugged and went back into the bar, but I didn’t stay long.

  “I’m going to head home,” I announced after a bit.

  “Ah, you can’t stay longer?” Deuce asked.

  “I’m tired,” I said.

  “We’ll catch up another time,” Bob said.

  I left them to their game and drove home. It was dark and a few wet snowflakes fell as I walked from the garage around the
side of my building, then strolled down the front sidewalk, looking at Willie’s house. It was black and silent, not giving any answers.

  A sudden chill ran through me, and it wasn’t from the night air. I had an eerie feeling I was being watched. I turned around and scanned the darkness on either side of my building, but saw no one. I let my eyes rove around the nearby houses, searching for anyone looking out their windows, but saw nothing.

  I faced the street again and checked the houses and yards on the other side. Was I imagining it?

  I stood still and listened. The hum of traffic. Voices, maybe a television, in the distance. The chill remained. I waited a minute longer and then walked slowly back up the sidewalk, my senses keen to my surroundings. I rounded the corner of my building, halted and pressed myself against the wall. Then I poked my head around the corner. Nothing.

  I shook off the feeling and headed upstairs. After wolfing down a sandwich, I went into my office and sank into my chair. I stared at the poster of The Maltese Falcon as I tried to focus. Then I got onto the computer and checked the phone records that Cal had sent. Sure enough, Nick had called Leena last Saturday night, just like she said. But my list didn’t go back far enough.

  My cell phone rang.

  “How’s the investigation, Oh Great Detective?” Cal asked when I picked up.

  “Let’s see. I’ve got an ex-partner, an ex-wife and an ex-girlfriend who all have reasons to kill Nick. And a bookie who Nick owed money to.”

  “But why would a bookie kill Nick? Then he can’t get his money.”

  “I know,” I said. Why did everyone seem to think I hadn’t made that very same observation? “None of this makes sense.”

  “No disagreement from me.”

  “I’ve looked through the phone records you sent,” I said, explaining what Leena had said. “But I can’t verify her whole story because I only had you get a week’s worth of numbers.”

  “Hold on.” I could hear keys clicking, then he said, “She’s not lying, at least about Nick calling her. It was two weeks ago, and the call lasted for four minutes. He called two more times in the next couple of days. I went back a month this time, and I’ll email you the list of numbers.”