Loose Screw, page 2
“Hi. Did we have an appointment this morning?”
“No. I took a chance you’d be free. Do you have time to talk?”
“Of course. I always have time for you. Have a seat. What’s up?”
He pulled out one of my visitor chairs and settled his lanky body into it. Before he began, he swiped away some of the red hair that had fallen forward across his forehead, as was his habit. “A while back I asked for your help finding my long-lost brother or sister that my father sired during an affair. The one my mother has brought up during a few of her lucid periods with her Alzheimer’s.”
“Right. I remember. I also recall you didn’t have much to go on, not even the gender of the child, although she’d managed to give you a time period when the baby supposedly was born. Have you learned anything more since we last talked?”
“Not much. Just that the baby’s mother lived near Atlanta. I’ve tried pushing for more, but every time I do, Mom gets very frustrated. Her doctor advised me not to press her, although he also told me the end is approaching.”
I reached across the desk and touched his hand. “Oh, Ryder, I’m so sorry.”
He lowered his head briefly. “Thanks. It’s just that, as much as I know where this is going, it’s hard to prepare for it. Until this illness invaded her brain, Sally Tompkins has always been a dynamo. Years ago, when my dad got ill, family responsibilities she’d never been exposed to were suddenly thrust upon her. Instead of complaining or caving to the expectations, she came alive and actually thrived running the household, taking care of Dad and, after his passing, finding a good-paying job she loved.”
“Did you get the name of the baby’s mother?” Probably not, since he hadn’t said so already.
“Mom has tried to tell me several times, but her brain won’t go there. She’s pretty sure the first name started with an N. She was sure it wasn’t Nancy. Nora sounded about right, but she wasn’t sure.”
“That’s something. Tell you what, let me do some research about locating people with only fragments of information to go on.”
He jumped up. “Thanks, Ro. I’ll keep you posted if I learn anything more.”
“And I’ll do the same for you. And Ryder? We’re all here for you. Let us know how else we can help you through this time.”
He simply nodded and quickly departed.
Poor guy. I remembered how lost I’d been when my own parents passed and totally torn up when my husband finally succumbed to the cancer. I wasn’t sure I could do much to find the sibling he’d only recently learned about, but if it helped him get through this difficult time at all, I would try. Just as long as I didn’t give him unreal expectations.
I’d welcomed the unplanned visit from Ryder because I truly wanted to be there for him but also because it was a distraction from our current holding pattern while we awaited approval of our building inspection application. We applied to the city building inspection office as soon as I finished the design plan, and we were awaiting a call from Murray Bendix, the inspector we’d worked with on prior projects. As a courtesy, he would do an unofficial review and go over any potential problems with us before the plan went through the official review process.
I was online researching other space-saving methods when Val showed up with a much-needed cup of coffee. “Have we heard from the city yet?” I asked after thanking her for the brew.
She blew out a breath. “No, and I don’t know why. Murray is always so on top of things. We’ve never had to wait this long before.”
“Have you called him?”
“Of course. But he wasn’t in. I had to leave a message. Normally when I do that, he gets back to me within a day.”
I groaned, a long woe-is-us groan. “This seemed like such a slam-dunk project when we first approached it. Until I came face-to-face with the space issues old houses present. Then I had to get creative, and it cost us valuable time.”
“Water under the bridge now, Mom. I’m more concerned about Murray. It isn’t like him to avoid my calls. If he has major problems with the design plan, he wouldn’t put off telling us.”
“Do you have time to drop by his office?” I asked.
“I’ll try calling once more before I resort to that,” she said as she pivoted to leave. Herc Morgan, my old partner from my days as a homicide detective with the Shasta Police Department, stood in the doorway. “Hi, Herc. Long time, no see.”
Herc attempted to smile at Val, who he’d treated like his own daughter ever since her own father’s death. But his smile fell short. His face was tight, his eyes narrowed.
Val read the scene and decided the best way she could help him was to clear out and let him talk to me.
“She’s right, you know,” I said. “It has been a while since we last saw you. Got a tough case?”
Before replying, he slumped his bulk into a guest chair. “Wouldn’t be so tough if my partner would admit we’ve got a murder on our hands and start treating it that way.”
“What happened? Was someone killed?” An obvious question, I suppose, but I needed more details before jumping to conclusions.
“First, let me ask you a question. Do you remember a case we had years ago where there was this elderly guy whose caregiver kept reducing his medications to the point where they weren’t there when needed for an emergency, which eventually happened? Given the man’s age and poor health, we initially dismissed the death as nature taking its course until you examined the pharmacist’s records and discovered more than enough pills had been issued to him.”
I took a moment to scan my memory bank. Although Shasta couldn’t exactly be considered a hotbed of crime, Herc and I had investigated a fair share of murders in our day. I couldn’t just plug into any one case at will. “I don’t recall the caregiver being our murderer,” I replied.
“He wasn’t, well, not exactly. He’d been fed a line by the old guy’s personal assistant, who stood to inherit most of the estate, and she’d promised the caregiver they’d be together afterwards if he helped her. Anyway, this current case seems similar.”
“Details, please.”
“This time it’s an elderly woman, found around six this morning by her nurse, who’d had the night off. A rich one with one relative and several associates just waiting for the chance to get their hands on her money. She had heart problems, but they could be contained with various meds. The victim’s doctor examined her yesterday afternoon and found no unusual problems, yet late last night she appears to have had some sort of episode with her heart. In general terms, a heart attack, although the medical examiner will probably give it a more technical description. She had nitroglycerin capsules near at hand for just such emergencies, but they apparently didn’t work. The bottle was found on the floor next to her bed, cap off, several capsules strewn about.”
“That isn’t enough evidence to convince Al to look deeper?” I’d never been a fan of Aloysius Buford’s detective skills or the man himself, but this seemed too clear-cut for even old Al to miss.
“As he puts it, ‘old people die’ and ‘accidents happen.’ I left him finishing up the report long enough to see what you think.”
“I’m no longer a cop, Herc. Obviously, Al’s coming at this case from a different perspective. Could you get him to talk through his interpretation enough to get him questioning his take on the case?”
“Al?” Herc’s voice rose. “Once he makes up his mind about something, he’s glued to his conclusion.”
I shrugged. “That’s the best tactic I can come up with at the moment.”
“Yeah. Thanks for listening.”
“That’s what ex-partners are for.”
“You can’t be serious.” That was Val, screaming from her office.
Herc and I exchanged looks. Who was she talking to? Herc had been our only visitor so far this morning. And Val rarely raised her voice.
I sped to her office, Herc right behind me. “Val? Are you okay?” I called before getting there.
I found her facing off with a man I’d never seen before. He was medium height, balding, with tortoiseshell eyeglasses that only slightly covered his heavy, dark eyebrows.
“This is Mortimer Fonseddca,” she said to me and Herc.
“Fonseca,” the man said. I swear I saw him click his heels together as he corrected her.
“Mr. Fonseca?” I said by way of greeting and question about his purpose in being there.
“Mr. Fonseca is with the city building inspection office. Apparently Murray Bendix has accepted a job in Orlando and Mr. Fonseca has taken over his assignments.”
The repressed anger underlying her tone told me this wasn’t good news.
I turned to Fonseca. “Are you here to discuss our proposed design plan for the home we’re renovating?”
One of his brows rose, like a caterpillar crawling above the eyeglass frame. “Discuss? Whatever gave you that impression? No, I’m here to tell you in person that I’ve disapproved your plan.”
“Disapproved?” How could he make his decision before we had a chance to respond to his concerns? I turned to Val.
“Yes, Mom, it appears that Mr. Fonseca here approaches his assignments from a somewhat different angle than his predecessor.”
“Bendix spent too much time holding you flippers’ hands. Terribly inefficient. Waste of the taxpayers’ money.”
This did not bode well. “We prefer to call ourselves home renovators.” I don’t know why I felt it necessary to correct him. He seemed to have his mind made up about everything already. What I really should’ve been doing was figuring out how to change that mind about our design plan.
He sniffed. He actually sniffed. “Whatever. As far as I’m concerned, home renovator is just a fancier term for flipping so you can ask more money from the unwitting stiffs who buy your properties.”
“Getting back to our design plan,” Val said in a reasonable voice I didn’t recognize. “What can we do to reverse your decision?”
“Nothing. My decisions are irreversible. You’ll have to submit a new proposal.”
“A new—”
“Proposal?” Val finished for me. “You can’t be serious. Just tell us what was lacking or what we have to change, and we’ll make the appropriate revisions.”
He shook his head. “Like I told you, my decision is irreversible. Can’t be done.”
“But—”
My turn to finish for her. “Okay, let’s say we resubmit. What was it about the one you disapproved that we need to rectify?”
“My written rejection will cover the areas needing further attention or that have to be changed.” He acted like we were expecting him to part with a state secret.
“Can’t you tell us now?” Val’s voice rose again.
“I’ve already gone out of my way to accommodate you by telling you this much in person.”
I’d dealt with citizens and suspects like him in the past, people who needed to hide behind the rules and regulations of their job to make themselves feel important. It was possible Val had found herself in the same position as Fonseca when she was manager of the bank’s loan department, but I doubted she saw the similarity now that she was on the other side of the desk, so to speak.
I wasn’t typically the diplomatic type, but in this instance, with Val becoming increasingly more frustrated, I had to step up and resolve this issue as best I could. “We appreciate your coming here in person, Mr. Fonseca. And we respect your right to do your job as you see fit, but since you’re here, perhaps we could save each other some time and further effort if you could at least suggest where we need to improve our plan.”
He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it.
“There are new requirements for siding. I suggest you review the state’s recent changes in that area.”
“Actually, I did,” I replied. “And so did my architect and structural engineer. We all agreed those only applied to new construction.”
He pushed his eyeglasses higher on his nose. “That’s correct, but new construction can also be interpreted as any instance of external change.”
“External? The only thing I can think of in our plan that might come close would be the changes to the front porch pillars. Surely those aren’t major enough to be considered external?”
He stared at me like he couldn’t believe I could be so obtuse.
I’d have to push to get a response. “Were the new pillars the reason?”
He still didn’t reply.
“Please, Mr. Fonseca. You can save us as well as yourself time if that’s the reason. And if not, give us a hint what else we’re missing.” I was almost begging. I didn’t like to beg. No one did. But I wanted to move this project along, even if it meant changes to the siding and thus extra expense.
He continued to stand there, saying nothing. The man was pomposity personified. He appeared to be enjoying the seeming power he held over us. He pursed his lips, not quite ready to give up center stage. “Write this down, because I’ll only give it to you once. Review Chapter 128F, Section 6c of the city building code. If you can’t understand it, I’m sure your structural engineer can.”
He pivoted and strutted out of the room.
Herc spoke first as soon as our visitor was gone. Val and I were still in shock. “Was he for real? What a little martinet. Makes me wonder if we’re working for the same city.”
I recovered my voice before Val. “I can’t speak for him, but the disapproval of our design plan is certainly real. Sounds like it’s back to the drawing board time.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do to counteract his decision?” Val asked, her voice strained.
“You could go over him to his supervisor,” Herc said. He’d been unusually quiet for him throughout the encounter with Fonseca.
“I suppose,” I replied. “But that could backfire on us, if his supervisor sides with him, which would make further dealings with Fonseca all the more difficult.”
Herc nodded at my comment. “Let me talk to some folks back at the department. Someone might know the supervisor and be willing to go to bat for us,” he said.
“Okay with me,” Val said. “That guy needs to be put in his place.”
“Then give it a try, Herc.” I refocused on Val. “In the meantime, we’ll check out that building code cite and start replanning.”
Herc was about to leave when his phone rang. “Morgan,” he replied. He listened for about a minute, his expression revealing nothing, but that changed the minute he hung up. “Whether he likes it or not, my partner now has to treat the death as suspicious, since analysis of one of the victim’s meds shows they’d been replaced with a strong antifungal medicine and the supposed nitroglycerin capsules were replaced with placebos.”
“An antifungal medication can bring on a heart attack?” I asked. “What about the person who takes it for a fungal infection? Wouldn’t they have a heart attack also?”
“I don’t have enough info. I don’t even know what drug we’re talking about yet. But I assume there are precautions those who have to take it must follow. Our forensic folks will need to fill me in. Meanwhile, I need to meet up with Al and start a murder investigation.”
“At least you’re both now on the same page. Or close. You’d better get going,” I said.
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Uh, yeah, Herc. Hold up just a bit. You’ll get on much better with Al if you’ve gotten rid of your told-you-so attitude before you meet up with him. Want some coffee?”
“Nah, thanks. I’d better get going. Duty calls.” He didn’t give us a chance to convince him otherwise.
“Think he’ll remember to ask folks about Fonseca?” Val asked.
“Maybe. Two or three days from now, once he’s into this new case. But we can’t depend on Herc to make things right for us. Let’s get to rereading the building inspection code.”
CHAPTER 3
The next day, Herc was back. It was eight thirty in the morning, and I’d just gotten into a rhythm for the day.
“Wrapped up your latest case already?” I asked, only half interested.
Herc settled a hip on my desk. “Actually, the woman who died of a heart attack because her meds had been doctored is no longer our latest case. That’s what I dropped by to tell you. We have a new victim. Found him in the parking lot of the building where he worked.”
“Oh?” I returned. He obviously wanted me to question him about it.
“It was that building inspector that was in your office a few days back. Fonseca? Mortimer Fonseca.”
CHAPTER 4
It took a moment to process his words. Fonseca? He wasn’t the most understanding person in the world, but dead? “What happened?”
“Run over. An IT employee who’d stayed late into the night to finish a report found his body early this morning. Good thing neither you nor Val has been anywhere near that parking area. You haven’t, have you? God, no, of course you haven’t. I was just joking.”
Surely he didn’t think either Val or I would ever consider killing the man, as frustrated as he’d made us. “I hope you aren’t serious. It was bad enough we came close to being suspects in that case where the madam was killed.” I held up the revised plan we finished late the day before. “See this? We went ahead and changed the section he had problems with, the one concerning the siding. We were all set to send it today, having decided the best way to deal with the man was to comply, not kill him.”
“Anyway,” Herc continued, “the boss decided Al should continue working on the previous case—punishment, I’m guessing, for insisting so long it was death from natural causes and wasting precious investigation time—and I’ve been assigned the Fonseca murder. One of the rookies will work with Al, poor kid, and, uh, given the successful conclusion of our recent reunion, the boss, uh, Captain Watkins wants you to join me again as my partner.”
I didn’t respond immediately. I couldn’t. For one thing, I couldn’t believe I’d heard him correctly, and for another, hadn’t we decided that other case was a one-time thing? Both Herc and I had nearly gotten ourselves killed solving that case. “Are you kidding? Is he?”
