Murder in Buckhead, page 11
As we Ubered our way to the new hotel, I kept glancing over at Rudy. His head was back against the headrest, his eyes closed, his breathing still shallow.
“You doin’ okay there, Rudy?”
“Ready to crash, Boss.”
“Just hang in there. Not much longer and you’ll be in your new bedroom.”
I kept thinking what a dilemma I was in. Not the case so much, although it was by far the most complicated one I’d ever taken on. But it was abundantly clear Rudy Orkut had, in his mind, adopted me as his father figure. He trusted me to take care of him. Not that I minded so much, but it was a responsibility. A responsibility to guide him. I’d never anticipated myself in that role. He was a good kid and very good at what he did. I needed him to help me solve this case. So, for that, I could not refuse to take on the new role of ‘father.’
Today certainly turned out to be one for the record books.
CHAPTER 17
Friday, April 5
In the morning after Rudy woke up, we went downstairs for breakfast. When Rudy helped himself to seconds, I shook my head in amazement, wondering where he put all that food. Relieved that he seemed to be over last night’s ordeal, I still needed to clear the air.
“Alright then. Rudy, what was that all about last night? You never told me you were afraid of heights. You’ve flown with me, and you’ve flown by yourself without any problems.”
“Boss, I’m sorry for my behavior. I just got scared in that tall building; especially riding in the outside elevator. I’m okay flying now because you were with me that first time and yesterday there were a lot of people on the plane talking and laughing, so I didn’t even think about your not being with me. And I’ll understand if you want to send me back to L.A.; it’s just that I’m excited to be working on this new case with you.”
“Listen, Rudy. You need to get over your fears; you’re a grown-up man.”
He just stared at me with that pathetic look of his.
“I’m not going to send you back until we finish this investigation. Okay?”
He nodded.
“Right. We’re going to have good time. So, we’re a team, you hear?”
“Yes, Boss.”
Next, I needed to get Blaire Olmsted’s email. I knew full well that Rudy could find it on his own, but I had another reason to inquire myself. I sent her a text: Blaire I’m sending you my email address. Can you please reply with your email? I need to forward my standard contract for you to sign. Thanks, Jack.
Within ten minutes I received her email address in my inbox. She wrote: Hi Jack, Contract? Great! By the way, I did take your advice and I’ve just moved into another apartment. Thankfully, I was able to hire the same professional movers from a few weeks ago. This one is double-gated and has 24/7 security. I’m hoping you can come over tonight? I can fix you a lovely dinner. That and I’m scared. I saw those men, Dirty Bob and Smokey Jim. They followed me into the grocery store and now I’m terrified that they know where I live. Please, please say yes that you’ll come?
I wrote back: Blaire, I can’t make it tonight. But maybe I can manage tomorrow night? If your apartment complex is double gated, you shouldn’t have any problems.
With that out of the way, I looked up at Rudy who was still eating. Letting my mind wander, I realized how tired I was of using Uber to get around. Not that it wasn’t convenient, but I wanted my own wheels again.
“Hey, Rudy? I’m thinking of renting a pickup truck. Been thinking of buying one so if I rent one while we’re here in Atlanta, I can see how I like it. That way we’ll have our own transportation. What do you think?”
“Yeah! Boss. That would be nice. What kind of pickup are you thinking of?”
“Maybe a Dodge or Ford? Not sure about the foreign models, though.”
“Boss, I like Dodges; they have really cool trucks. Can I come with you to look for one?”
“Sure you can. Right after you finish eating.”
I Googled rental companies near the hotel. Enterprise was within walking distance, so I gave them a call.
“Good morning, Enterprise Rentals. How may I help you?”
“I’d like to rent a pickup truck. Do you happen to have any Dodge trucks?”
“Yes, Sir. We have Dodge, Fords, and Toyotas.”
“Great. We’re staying at the Residence Inn just down the street. I should be there within the next half-hour.”
“No problem, Sir. We’ll be expecting you.”
We picked up our backpacks and headed out the door. We walked the several blocks to Enterprise acting like typical tourists. At the counter, I gave my name as well as Rudy’s and what we wanted. The clerk advised us the trucks were all parked in the back of the lot and to go out and take a look. When we’d decided which one we wanted, we were to come back in and complete the paperwork.
Rudy headed straight for a blue Dodge Ram, got in, and started playing around with all the gadgets. This one came fully equipped, including GPS and a cell phone attachment. Once our phone numbers were entered, if we needed to make a call, there was no need to hold the phone. Just drive and talk. I left Rudy drooling and dreaming and checked out several other trucks. Checked out a Toyota that was quite impressive. The Fords all seemed to be copies of other vehicles. Back at the Dodge Ram, I sat with Rudy for a few minutes just watching the happiness on his face. I certainly wasn’t about to disappoint him.
Back inside, we signed the contract, adding Rudy as the second driver. It would cost me more since he was not yet 25 and I had to purchase extra insurance, but it really didn’t matter.
Before heading out of the Enterprise parking lot, I entered Peachtree DeKalb Airport into the GPS and pressed the Begin button. While we were getting used to the truck, we might as well have a destination that needed checking out.
As we headed north on I-85, Rudy cleared his throat.
“Boss?”
“Yeah?”
“What exactly am I going to be working on? Who are we investigating?”
The questions took me aback for a moment. He’d never asked before, just followed my instructions. I thought of the last case and how I’d put both of us in danger. This case could certainly do the same. I owed him some sort of idea of what he was getting into.
“Rudy, I’ll give you the gist of what this is all about. But it’s imperative that you not discuss this with anyone, not even your closest friends.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Boss. Besides, like you said, we’re a team.”
“Okay. Actually, there are two cases which both revolve around the mysterious suicide of Senator Bartholomew Olmsted’s son, Casey Ray.”
“Senator Olmsted? But, Boss! Government people are dangerous. They could find us and send us to jail very easily. I don’t want anything to do with hacking into government computers.”
“We’re not going to hack into his government files. We’re going to hack into his personal files.”
“I don’t know…it’s the same thing.”
“If we hacked into government files that would be treason. I would never ask you to do that. But we’ve hacked into other people’s computers and you didn’t have a problem. I need to know this man personally; far more than the fact that he’s a criminal.”
“Boss, I understand, but I’m scared of going to jail again. What if, uhmm, what if I have my friend in London hack in for me? Besides, he’s the expert in government files.”
“You mean Buzzard?”
“Yes.”
“Rudy, I said no government files, just the senator’s personal emails. But if you feel more comfortable using Buzzard and as long as you don’t divulge why, and you find what I need, you can work with your London friend.”
“And you’ll pay him?”
“You can pay him.”
“No, it would look much better if you paid him. Besides, remember what happened with the Bank of Bermuda?”
“How could I forget? Yes, I’ll pay him when the time comes.”
“You said there are two cases?”
“Two cases, yes. I’ve been hired by the senator’s wife to investigate what happened to her son. She doesn’t believe he would commit suicide.”
“So, who’s the other person who hired you? Who’s the other person I’m going to be hacking?”
“The senator’s daughter-in-law, Blaire Olmsted, who was married to the senator’s son.”
“Whoa! This is complicated.”
“It is. Basically, she hired me to investigate the senator and find a way to put him away. Evidently, he believes she had something to do with the suicide/death of his son and she believes he is trying to have her killed.”
“But, Boss. If she hired you to get the goods on the senator, why do you want to hack into her emails?”
“Because I’m not sure what I might find that’s connected to the suicide. Although, right now, my gut instinct says she’s the victim.”
“Wish I hadn’t asked.”
“It’s complicated, like I said. But as we go further into the case, I’m hoping to come to a conclusion as to what happened to the senator’s son.”
Exiting I-85 at Chamblee Road, we soon came to Peachtree DeKalb Airport. It was much busier than I would have expected. There were a number of large hangers and several executive jets waiting in queue to take off.
Just past the airport, Rudy yelled out. “Boss! Stop! Look!”
Pulling the truck over to the side of the road, I tried to keep my cool.
“Shit, Rudy! What’s going on? You scared the hell out of me!”
“But, Boss! Look at that restaurant! How cool is that?”
“Huh?” I read the sign, The 57th Fighter Group Restaurant. “You want to check it out?”
“Sure!” His voice was full of excitement.
Checking my rear-view mirror, I pulled back onto Chamblee Road, then turned right into the driveway which wound around WWII trucks and other paraphernalia. It was as if we’d been transported back to another time. Music of that era blasted from speaker phones as we parked.
Inside was just as amazing. It was like walking into a real bunker. A bank of windows on the farther side gave an unobstructed view of PDK’s runway.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Table for two?”
“Ah, sure. As long as you have hamburgers on the menu.”
“We certainly do. Inside or outside table?”
“Inside by the window.”
“Please, follow me.”
We were comfortably seated and checking out the menus when our waiter arrived.
“Something to drink before lunch?”
“A large Coke, and a Sam Adams if you have it.”
“We do, Sir. I’ll be right back with your drinks and take your lunch orders.”
Choosing what to order was a cinch; the All-American Bacon Cheeseburger and fries for Rudy and, oh be still my aching heart, the Cajun Shrimp Boil complete with andouille sausage, red potatoes, and corn tossed in their in-house creole seasoning for me. My mouth was already watering in anticipation.
What a gem of a place and the food was top notch. The kicker was watching the private jets land and take off. What a thrill for Rudy. After finishing our meal, I did a Google search for thrift stores nearby. No better time than now to get Rudy some much-needed clothes.
At Goodwill, Rudy started picking out items. He brought each one to me, wanting my approval. He ended up with several pairs of jeans, shirts, a brand-new pack of underwear, sneakers, and a carry-on suitcase. Mission successfully accomplished.
As we headed back to the hotel, I started to enjoy driving the large truck. Even for its size, it handled well and accelerated easily in Atlanta traffic. I’d definitely consider buying one when I returned to Santa Rosaria. But at the moment, I was trying to maneuver my way through Atlanta Friday afternoon traffic which seemed just as bad as Los Angeles.
By the time we neared the hotel, Rudy was hungry again and we stopped at McDonald’s for dinner. After several hamburgers and mounds of French fries, Rudy sat back satisfied.
“Okay, Boss. I’m ready to get started.”
CHAPTER 18
Saturday, April 6
Saturday morning, I gave myself the luxury of sleeping in. The incessant pinging of my phone finally woke me up. Otherwise, the hotel suite was completely silent. I assumed Rudy was still sleeping.
Checking my phone, the display read 10:35 am and indicated I had one unread text message from Turner. Hey, Ludefance. Just checking to see if we can get together later today.
My return text to him was short: I’m busy this evening, but I’m free till then.
His return text was even shorter: Meet me at the Atlanta Breakfast Club at around 2 pm.
I thought this was rather unusual for Turner to request a meeting with me. It must be important. Did he have some info for me? I texted back: Sure thing. See you this afternoon.
A Google search gave me the info and directions to the Atlanta Breakfast Club. From the description, ‘Upscale dining service in a casual environment,’ it sounded as though a shower and shave were in order. After checking a few other things, I headed for the bathroom. No rush this morning as I didn’t plan on going downstairs for breakfast. I wanted the experience of the ‘Club.’
Still no sign or sound from Rudy. I didn’t have the heart to wake him and thought it best he wake up at his own pace. Figured he needed the sleep after the last few days.
It was nearly 1 pm when Rudy opened the bedroom door yawning and rubbing his eyes.
“Mornin,’ Boss.”
“Afternoon, Rudy.”
“Afternoon? Did I sleep that long? Wow. So, what do you want me to work on first?”
“As I said yesterday, I want you to work on Senator Olmsted’s personal emails. If you need your Buzzard friend to help you, that’s fine with me. Remember, just the personal emails.”
“Okay, Boss. But can I make a suggestion?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“Since this Casey person is at the center of everything, shouldn’t I start with his emails?”
“Excellent point. You can check if there was anything out of the ordinary. He worked for ExxonMobil, so it shouldn’t be hard to get his business email.”
“Sure. And from that I can get his personal email.”
“Sounds good. But first you need to get something to eat. There’s a full restaurant downstairs and just charge whatever you get to the room.”
“No thanks, Boss. I’d like to try out the Burger King down the street.”
“Suit yourself. You have a room key. I’m going out and I may be late. If you need anything, call me.”
“Sure, Boss. See you when you get back.”
Punching the address for the ‘Club’ into the Ram’s GPS, I followed the directions. Arriving, I was surprised to see very limited parking; a very small lot with maybe ten spots. Luckily, since it was nearly 2 pm, I snagged a corner space. Inside, I gave the hostess my name and told her I was meeting a party by the last name of Turner.
“Yes, Mr. Ludefance. Detective Turner is already here. If you’ll follow me?”
Turner was working on a beer and I settled in opposite him. No sooner was I seated when a waitress approached.
“Something to drink, Sir?”
“Samuel Adams and give me couple of minutes to check the menu. Better yet if you have hamburgers and fries that’ll do.”
“Yes, Sir! We have our ABC burger which comes with Applewood smoked bacon, tomatoes, onions, and field greens. Our fries are cut and cooked fresh every morning.”
“Do you have some blue cheese and mushrooms to put on that?”
“I’m sure we can accommodate that, Sir.”
“That’s perfect.”
“Detective Turner? What can I get for you?”
“I’ll have the same and another beer.”
“Yours was Miller Light, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
As she walked away, I asked Turner, “So what’s the news, Detective?”
“The news is I’m no longer a detective. I got fired.”
I stared at him, stunned.
“What the hell happened?”
“Chief Dorcell fired me and I had to turn in my badge and firearm.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope! As of today, I’m officially unemployed.”
“Look, Turner. Sometimes this is done for a purpose. You’re now free so you can dig into the matter and prove that it was foul play, not suicide.”
He paused and finished the last of his beer.
“It could be. That’s certainly what I’m hoping. I can honestly say I have no animosity toward the Chief. He’s the one who hired me.”
“Like I said, sometimes it has to be done this way.”
“Yeah, well it was difficult. I put my gun and my badge on his desk and said, ‘Fuck you.’ And he said, ‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear those last two words, Turner.’ I left without shutting the door behind me.”
“Turner? You told him, ‘Fuck you,’ but you have no animosity toward him? Seriously? Did he say why he fired you?”
“Yeah! Obviously, he found out that I’d gone into the evidence room and removed both the Starbucks cup and the beer can that we’d retrieved from the condo. I had the fingerprints checked through the national database system. Casey’s were a match for the beer can. Liam Shanchezg’s fingerprints were a match on the Starbucks cup.”
“When you told that bit of info to Liam, I wondered how that had come about. But Turner, aren’t there security cameras in the evidence room? Didn’t you consider that when you took the items?”
“Of course I considered it, but I took the chance anyway. And because of that, I’m now sure that Casey Ray Olmsted didn’t jump. There was no suicide. I also checked his psychological profile with his psychiatrist. According to his shrink, Casey was not suicidal, but was working on a resolution to his very deep hatred toward his father.”
