Lies Still Told, page 22
“It could be. But I don’t think so. Colby and Platt are attached. Colby and Badger were in the same prison at the same time. Platt provided support for Badger Crawford’s daughter. It’s all part of one big puzzle.”
It was the perfect opportunity. It would be easy. Speaking of Tawny Lane… But Rena kept her mouth shut. Not yet. Had to give the rolling stone a chance. “You’ve got a good gut,” she said. “How was pizza with Traci?”
“My kid is pretty cool,” A.L. admitted. “Except that she has some crazy idea that it would be a good idea to delay college for a year.”
“Oh, a gap year.”
“Aka wasted year,” A.L. said quickly.
“Not necessarily. I’m sure she has her reasons.”
“That I’m pretty sure have something to do with the fact that boyfriend John is finishing college this year. I think she’s got some crazy idea that the two of them could backpack across Europe, or something equally idiotic.”
“Did she say that?”
“Oh, God, no. She said things like, ‘It would be great to save some more money.’ Things that aren’t easy for me to say ‘hell no’ to. But I know my kid. She’s got a plan, and she’s figuring out the best way to spring the news.”
“And when she does?” Rena asked.
“Then I say hell no. Easy.”
“She’ll be eighteen by next fall. Not so easy,” Rena said.
“You live to brighten my day,” he said.
“Yeah, maybe. Want me to do some undercover work for you? I could go for breakfast at Pancake Magic and ask to get seated in Traci’s section. I’ll pump her for information.”
“You’re good, but my kid won’t fall for that. She’s holding her cards close to the vest right now. I’ll let that go for a bit, but not for too long. College applications don’t do themselves.”
“Parenting is hard,” Rena said.
“Truer words were never spoken.”
“Have fun with Badger Crawford.”
“Fun and Badger Crawford. Nope. Not happening.”
“We’ll talk later. I’m going to start calling storage facilities.”
“At the risk of being presumptuous, are you taken with me, Detective?”
Those had been Badger Crawford’s first words as the guard shackled him to the table. “Indeed,” said A.L. “Besotted,” he added.
“Besotted,” Badger repeated. “My oh my.”
A.L. waited until the guard left the room. Then leaned forward. “I am interested in everything about you.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought that something changed in Crawford’s eyes.
“You’re going to be disappointed,” Crawford said. “My life is…” He looked around the room. “Let’s just say that my life is small.”
“But you do have contact with the outside world,” A.L. said.
Crawford did not respond.
“For instance, you’ve had visitors. Natalie Watkins and Justine Reynolds.” He stopped, letting the names linger in the air. “We know this to be true because they are on your approved-visitor list. They signed in each time they visited and were videotaped entering and leaving the prison. Oddly enough, upon further investigation and after discussions with the real Natalie Watkins and Justine Reynolds, we know that they have never actually visited you.”
Badger Crawford’s expression didn’t change, but he was pressing his index finger into the table so hard that it had turned white.
“What can you tell me about that, Badger?” A.L. asked.
“I can’t tell you anything,” he said. “And its certainly news to me that I’ve been deceived by these women. Hardly seems like a fair thing to do to someone who is already behind bars.”
He was lying. Not that he’d expected Badger to cough up the truth. Actually, A.L. thought it would be better if he pretended to buy the lie. “So you didn’t know?” he asked, his tone surprised.
Badger shook his head.
“You didn’t know these women very well before your prison term started?”
Again, a head shake.
“Where did you meet them?”
That seemed to puzzle Badger. Then he must have decided that if A.L. didn’t already know, it wouldn’t take him long to find out. “Through a place in Madison that works with people in the joint. They pray, they visit, they send letters. Things like that. You know, prison is a lonely place.”
“I imagine.” A.L. stood up. “You won’t be bothered by these two women again. I’ll make sure that the guards here know about their duplicity.” A.L. knocked on the door, and a guard opened it. A.L. left Badger sitting at the table.
He did not exit the prison, however. On his way there, he’d called ahead to set up a meeting with the warden. It was a risk but a calculated one. Yes, the stink could rise to that level. Even prison leaders could be bought for the right price. But Dean Smithson was thirty years into the job, and that wasn’t his reputation. A.L. needed help from the inside, and he was hoping the warden would provide it.
He made his way back to the main door and advised the person at the desk that he had an appointment. Five minutes later, he was sitting in front of Dean Smithson’s desk. The pleasantries had been exchanged. It was time to get down to business.
“We’re investigating a double murder. One of the victims had a known and, we believe, ongoing relationship with Badger Crawford. We suspect that a woman who has been visiting Crawford may be a conduit for communications between Crawford and our deceased.” He filled him in on the curious female visitor, finishing with, “I’m anticipating that these visits might have been facilitated by a guard, or by someone who isn’t overly careful in checking identification. Tonight, I put Badger Crawford on notice that we know what to look for now. He’s going to want to get word to this woman to be careful. That’s where the help of a friendly guard may come in handy.”
Dean Smithson was practical and did not bristle at the idea that one of his guards might be helpful to a prisoner. It happened. Guards had houses and cars to pay for, like everybody else, and quite frankly, sometimes the incentives offered were pretty significant. Passing along a little communication or allowing a visitor to slip through might be viewed by some as not that significant of a transgression in the scheme of things.
“We have dates and times of the questionable visits. If you could match those up against staffing information to see if they have anything in common, that would be helpful. The women always visited on a Tuesday, so that might give you a place to start looking. Also, if we could have 24/7 surveillance on Badger Crawford to see which guard, or guards, he’s interacting with, that would also give us a place to start.”
He and Smithson spent the next fifteen minutes outlining a game plan. A.L. left the prison feeling good. He’d accomplished what he’d come for. He had no way of knowing when the woman’s next planned visit might be, but he was hopeful that Badger Crawford would make a move before long. If they found the woman, that could be a giant leap forward.
He drove to his apartment. Felix looked up when he entered, then looked past him. “She’s with her daughter still,” A.L. said. “It’s me or nobody.”
The cat looked over one shoulder as if to say that the choice would take some consideration. In the end, A.L.’s warm body won out. With Felix on his lap, he drank a beer, ate some leftover pizza and watched a college basketball game on television.
Tomorrow, he was going to visit Ted Fisker, attorney at law.
A receptionist showed him into the attorney’s office. It was a big dark room in a big, old house in one of Baywood’s more affluent areas. That the man had been able to get a permit to conduct business out of his house spoke to his general influence in the Baywood community. That A.L. had been able to get an appointment this morning when he’d called only yesterday, perhaps spoke to Mr. Fisker’s caseload or, more likely, to his long-standing relationship with Francis and Joe McKittridge. They were not just his clients. They were his friends. Had been since the three of them were boys. The fact that the McKittridge boys had gone to war and then come home to work in the factory, while Ted Fisker had gone to college and law school and made bank, had not changed that.
“How’s your dad?” Ted asked once A.L. was across the desk from him.
“Good. Still working. Uncle Joe, too.”
“We old guys aren’t quite ready to turn it over to the younger generation yet,” Ted said. “But I have cut back to part-time. My wife even got me to go on a three-week cruise last year.”
“I appreciate your time on short notice,” A.L. said. “I am investigating the murder of Platt Waymann. I understand that he was one of your clients.”
“Yes. Horrific news. Ruined my day.”
“When’s the last time you saw Platt?”
“I saw him at the club this summer. But that wasn’t business. I was playing eighteen with some friends. It was a lousy day for golf, too cold and spotty rain. There was hardly anybody on the course and even fewer people in the clubhouse. But Platt was there, having a drink.”
The club was the Baywood Country Club. Not as fancy as some country clubs, but still, the likes of Francis and Joe McKittridge and Platt Waymann didn’t have memberships there. At least, the Platt he’d known. “I didn’t realize Platt had a membership.”
“He didn’t. But they do allow some non-members to play on occasion.”
Because times were hard. Even for Country Clubs. “I didn’t realize he played golf.”
“Yeah. I don’t think he did. Like I said, lousy day to play golf. I’m pretty sure he was there to have a drink, which you can do as long as you’re with a member.”
“Who would that have been?”
“Melissa Stevens, the Realtor.”
Melissa Stevens had her photo everywhere. At the grocery store on the little shelf by the checkout belt used by Neanderthals who still wrote checks at the store. On bus-stop benches. Hell, on buses.
He always thought of Texas when he saw her photo. Big hair, big teeth, big gold jewelry. It probably wasn’t fair to Texas. “Was Platt in the market for real estate?” A.L. asked.
“Well, if he was, he never called me to handle the legal side of it. Melissa has her fingers in lots of pots, so it might easily have been something else.” He stopped. “It wasn’t that I wasn’t curious. It was always in the back of my mind to ask him. I guess that chance is gone now.” He picked up a pen and moved it from hand to hand. “Too many of my clients are dying. Not like Platt,” he added quickly. “But still, they’re gone. Nobody tells you in law school that that is the result of a long legal career.”
That made him think about his dad and Uncle Joe at Platt’s house on Christmas Eve, hanging out in the dining room. Maybe for a few minutes, they had simply felt closer to an old friend.
The whole idea of Platt having drinks with Melissa Stevens was unsettling. It didn’t make sense based on what he knew, or thought he knew, about Platt and what he’d heard about Melissa Stevens. Granted, it wasn’t a lot, but at one time, her daughter and Traci had been in the same school, and Melissa Stevens had been a presence at every parent event. Jacqui had been a bit preoccupied with her clothes and her jewelry. And then later, when Melissa had joined the book club that Jacqui had been going to for years, the two women hadn’t necessarily become friends, though they’d been friendly.
A.L. wondered if that friendliness remained. And if Jacqui could shed some light on why Platt might be having drinks with Melissa at the Baywood Country Club. It might be worth a call. It might also present an opportunity for them to talk about how best to double-team Traci into not taking a gap year before going to college. But this first.
“I understand that Hank Waymann is talking with you tomorrow,” A.L. said.
“Yes.”
“What can you tell me about Platt’s estate?”
Ted Fisker smiled. “What I can tell you without violating client-attorney privilege is that it’s not huge. But there will be some money at the end of the day. His house is paid for. He had some savings. There’s some life insurance.”
They had Platt’s banking records already and were on their way to getting the life insurance information. He had a pretty good idea what the house would go for. “How will the proceeds be divided?”
“That crosses the line, A.L. If you had a subpoena…”
“If I get one, you’ll turn the information over quickly?”
“Of course. I want Platt’s murderer to be apprehended.”
A.L. stood up. “Thank you for your time.”
“You’re welcome. My best to your dad and your uncle Joe.”
A.L. walked back to his car, thinking that it would be nice if he felt comfortable picking up the phone and calling his uncle to pass along those greetings. Now, he might get hung up on.
And he wasn’t quite ready to talk to his dad again. Rena’s comment that his dad had been defending him had stirred up some feelings that he preferred to keep unstirred. Approval. Most who knew A.L. would likely say that he didn’t lose sleep hoping for anybody’s approval.
They were right, generally.
But his dad, well, that was different.
When he got to his vehicle, he checked his watch. It was close to lunchtime. Maybe he could snag a few minutes of Jacqui’s time. He dialed.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hi. I was wondering if you had a few minutes that I could talk to you about something,” A.L. said.
There was no response. Finally, a sigh. “I think we should do this in person.”
That was a little out of left field. And very interesting. “Have you had lunch?”
“No. I was just on my way out to grab a sandwich.”
“Want to meet at Pancake Magic?” he asked.
“No, Traci is working today. Let’s do Smith’s.”
The bar and grill was on the outskirts of Baywood. They had the best burgers in town. “I can be there in fifteen minutes,” A.L. said.
“See you then.”
He got there five minutes before she did. He’d gotten waters and menus and a diet soda for himself. She sat down in the booth and shrugged out of her heavy coat. “I hate winter,” she said.
He smiled. “Not for the faint of heart.”
“Indeed.” She sat back in the booth. “Okay, let’s have it.”
He’d have been happy to oblige if he had any idea what she was talking about. “Have what?”
She frowned. “Why did you call me?”
“I’m investigating Platt Waymann’s murder. I learned that he was seen having drinks with Melissa Stevens. I wanted to know if you knew anything about that or anything in particular about Melissa that might be interesting to me.”
“Oh.”
One little word. Lots of emotion. “Why did you think I called?”
She hesitated, and he wondered if she was going to try to back away from whatever it was. But then she lifted her chin. “I thought you called because you were pissed about the concert tickets.”
The server came to take their order. She got a BLT and fries. He got a burger and fries. “What concert tickets?” he asked as the young woman walked away.
“The ones I bought Traci for Christmas. The concert’s in Green Bay.”
That was hours away. “When?”
“April. She’ll be on spring break. For her and John.”
He didn’t ask who was performing. He didn’t care. “Long way to drive home after a concert,” A.L. said.
“I got her a two-hundred-dollar gift card to a Marriott as well,” Jacqui said. “I think you would agree that it’s safer for them to drive home during the day than late at night.”
Now he was starting to get a clear picture. “Two hundred is generous but won’t cover two rooms.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know as well as I do that they aren’t going to get two rooms. She’s on the pill, A.L. She’s having sex.”
He knew this. Accepted it because it was the way things worked. She was seventeen and dating a twenty-three-year-old guy. And it was a serious relationship. So, yeah. Sex was going to happen. But he also didn’t see any need to make it easy for them. To give it an official blessing. “You didn’t think that maybe we should have discussed a gift like this before you gave it?”
“No. I didn’t know what you were getting her. By the way, very cute jewelry, and she’s a lucky girl to get a cashmere sweater.”
If he made a big deal out of this, he could probably prevent the overnight stay in the hotel. But that would mean young people driving a long way home when they were tired and had likely had some drinks. “Can we move on?” he asked.
Jacqui let out a breath. “Gladly,” she said. She stopped, seeing their server approaching with plates. Once everything was set down, and she was gone, Jacqui picked up the ketchup and gave her fries a liberal squirt. “I can’t picture Melissa Stevens having drinks with Platt. But there’s been a few rumors about Melissa—and they’re from what I would say is a reliable source—that she’s overextended. To the point where she’s missing mortgage payments, and her leased car was almost repossessed.”
“What’s the problem? No houses to sell?”
Jacqui chewed. “I really don’t know. The economy seems okay to me. Houses in my neighborhood are still selling.” She paused. “Okay, I’ll tell you one more thing. But this didn’t come from the same person. And maybe this person isn’t such a reliable source. But she said that she heard that Melissa has a drug problem. She was in a car accident a couple years ago. This person said that she got addicted to painkillers, but she can’t get any more prescriptions from the doctor. So she’s seeking them elsewhere.”
Unfortunately, it was easier to believe this than to think that the bottom had dropped out of the Baywood real estate market. “Anything else?” he asked.
She pulled back. “Isn’t that enough?”
“It’s not great for her,” A.L. said. And if it was true, it meant that Melissa Stevens was likely interacting with an unsavory element of Baywood. Where did Platt fall into that? Or did he? It was possible that he’d simply been talking to her about selling his house or buying one.
