Palm Beach Perfidious, page 4
“Well, because he used to own fifty percent of the business. But Antonia was only giving him ten per cent of the money she made.”
“Well, he wasn’t involved in the business anymore.”
“I know, but that wasn’t his choice, was it?”
Waverly nodded. “Well, that’s true.”
“Clearly, Antonia controlled the purse strings.”
“She absolutely did. There’s no doubt about that.”
“Okay, Jimmy Marston and this Brit. Do me a favor, when you remember his name, please get back to me.”
“I will, but what if I can’t remember it?”
“Who else might know his name?”
“I really don’t know. I just met him once.”
“Anybody else on your list?”
She gave him a faux-angry sigh. “Isn’t that enough? That’s two more suspects than you had when you got here.”
SIX
Royal Palm Way was on the way back to the station on South County Road so Crawford stopped in at Brown Brothers Harriman, hoping he’d catch Jimmy Marston there. He was in luck. He gave the receptionist the smile he used when he wanted something. She gave him back what appeared to be an accommodating smile and asked him his name and who he’d like to see.
“Charlie Crawford to see Mr. Marston, please,” he said, figuring he’d leave out “Detective” this time and hope Marston would be curious enough to want to know who Charlie Crawford was and exactly what he wanted. Maybe his next million-dollar client.
A man in a crisp grey pinstripe suit walked up to the receptionist desk. Crawford was surprised. He thought everyone dressed casually these days. Marston had a bulbous nose, greying hair, and about the straightest part Crawford had ever seen. Not one stray hair to the left or right of the dividing line.
“Charlie Crawford?”
“Yes, hello, Mr. Marston,” he said and lowered his voice. “I’m a detective with the Palm Beach Police Department investigating the murder of Antonia von Habsburg and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Marston’s face flushed a bright matador red. “Come on back to my office.”
He started fast-walking out of the reception area like he wanted to ditch Crawford. But Crawford kept up as Marston turned into an office at the end of a corridor that had tinted glass walls on either side of the door and a view of a stand of sabal palms through the back window. Marston, who looked to be fifty, had a large framed photo of a blond-bouffanted woman and two teenage boys decked out in blue blazers—nobody smiling—placed prominently on his desk.
Just for confirmation, Crawford glanced at Marston’s ring finger and saw a standard-size gold wedding band.
“Have a seat,” Marston said, as all-business as one could get, dropping into his chair and straightening the crease on his pant leg until it was back to being knife-like.
Crawford hesitated, then sat down opposite him.
Marston dived right in. “Detective, what happened to poor Antonia was the most detestable, villainous, act I’ve ever heard of. I mean, the savagery, the, the… brutality, the inhumanity, the—”
“I agree with you Mr. Marston, it was really bad.”
Marston was shaking his head now. “I mean, Jesus God, just horrible—” then he seemed to change the channel and turn down the volume. “I have a place of respect in this community, Detective, and need to know that what we’re going to discuss is between you and me. Otherwise, I’m going to have to bring a lawyer into the picture.”
Crawford held up his hands. “There’s no need for that, Mr. Marston. But, of course, that’s your prerogative to do at any time. Just so you know, detectives, or for that matter, anyone in law enforcement, don’t last long if they’ve got loose lips. And I’ve been doing this for quite a while now.”
Marston gave him a prim nod. “So what do you want to know?”
“Well, of course, what I really want to know is who killed Antonia von Habsburg, but for the moment I’ll settle for knowing about your relationship with her.”
Marston leaned back in his black leather chair and put his hands behind his head. “I had no relationship with Antonia, except as her investment advisor.”
Crawford nodded his head slowly. “O-kay,” he said. “I heard things a little differently.”
“You heard that I was having a torrid romance with her, is that it?”
“The word torrid didn’t come up, but yeah, that was the gist of it.”
“Well, you can tell Waverly that was not the case. That was never the case. We went out for dinner a couple times, had drinks, but I do that with lots of my clients.”
“I understand,” Crawford said. “I wonder why… the person I heard it from was pretty convinced you and Antonia… had a thing.”
“Don’t play games. I know that person was Waverly. She’s a known busybody who jumps to conclusions without having any grasp of the facts. How long have you been a detective here, Charlie?”
“A little less than five years.”
“And how long did it take you to realize gossip is more common here than a sunny day?”
Crawford nodded. “Not long. So there’s no truth to that?”
“Me and Antonia? That I was her boyfriend? I already told you. Absolutely no truth to it whatsoever.”
“How was she as a client?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, did she come in all the time, or, you know, call a lot, or was she more passive?”
“She was the ideal client. A conservative, prudent investor who let me do what I do.”
Crawford glanced out Marston’s window. “Well, I guess that’s good enough for me,”—standard question time—“but I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask you who you think might have killed her.”
Marston released his hands from his head and leaned forward. “Do you know the name Luther King?”
“No. Can’t say I do.”
“Well, Luther really was her boyfriend. I don’t know whether they were going out at the time Antonia was killed, but I believe they were.”
“So, tell me more about him.”
“Luther sold his auto parts company, up in Michigan I think it was, about five years ago for $800 million and moved down here. Ditched his wife and started skirt-chasing like it was his new business. He’s notorious for going out every single night of the week. I mean, literally, every single one.”
“You mean, out for dinner or what?”
“Yeah dinner, then he makes the rounds of other restaurants and gin mills. Lola, HMF, Buccan, La Goulue, Cucina, Meat Market, Henry’s… you name it.”
“So clearly the man gets around.”
“I’ll say. Climbs into his limo and hops from place to place is what I hear. Checks out the bars for hot prospects. Sometimes has a drink, sometimes not. Sometimes hauls a woman out of one or the other, sometimes not. When he gets a woman in the car, I hear, he shakes out a couple lines of cocaine, if they’re so inclined. Never touches the stuff himself.”
“How do you know all this, Mr. Marston?”
“Because Antonia told me. We didn’t just talk stocks and bonds all the time. She told me that was how she first met King. At the bar at Buccan. Picked her up and started launching into how he was really pissed that he hadn’t made the billionaires list in the Glossy. You know what I’m talking about?”
“Sure, I’ve seen it.”
“Forty-three at last count,” Marston said, shaking his head. “So, Antonia told me Luther actually went to the Glossy publisher and demanded to know why he wasn’t on the list. And the publisher told him, ‘Because you’re only worth $950 million, Mr. King. We do extensive research on this.’ And Luther pitches a fit and says, ‘For Chrissake, can’t you just round it up a little?’”
Crawford laughed, but this detour wasn’t getting him any closer to how Luther King might be his killer—what the man’s motive might have been.
“Okay, so why would King want to kill Antonia?”
Marston put up his hands. “That’s your job to find out, Detective. But I think because she hurt his reputation as Palm Beach’s leading ladies’ man… maybe. Because she was kind of a serial cheater… maybe.”
“So, you mean, people would think he wasn’t much of a ladies’ man if his leading lady was… well, stepping out on him?”
Marston nodded. “Very well put, Detective.”
“Seems a little thin to me, Mr. Marston,” Crawford said, though Luther King certainly sounded like an interesting enough character to put on top of his interview list.
SEVEN
Meanwhile, Ott had just about run out of patience with the “disgruntled woman,” aka DeeDee. He had now called her four times and had gotten no call back, nor had she stopped by the station as he had first requested, then demanded, she do.
So Ott dialed again intending to ratchet up even more of the Ott-ese bluster and hyperbole. “DeeDee, this is Detective Ott calling you for about the fourteenth time. I just want you to know that a warrant for your arrest will be issued unless you either return this call or come into police headquarters at 345 South County Road in Palm Beach”—he glanced at his watch—“in the next three hours. It is now one thirty, you have until four thirty.”
He clicked off. There would, of course, be no warrant for her arrest because there was no conceivable charge. You couldn’t throw someone in the can for not calling you back. But he had used the threat in the past and it never failed. At this point, he only wished he had issued it sooner.
And, sure enough, within fifteen minutes, his cell phone rang. The caller read: DeeDee Dunwoody.
“Where you been hidin’, DeeDee?”
“Oh, Detective Ott, I am so, so sorry. I misplaced my cell phone and just found it a few minutes ago. But anyway, here I am, how can I be of help?”
The old misplaced phone story, thought Ott. Heard it a few hundred times before. “How far are you from my station, Ms. Dunwoody?”
“Not far. Maybe fifteen minutes away.”
“Okay, great, see you in fifteen minutes,” he said, wanting to add, that is, if you don’t lose your car.
*****
She was there in less than fifteen minutes.
He met her out in the reception area. She was a drop-dead knock-out. Tall, generously endowed, and not shy about displaying her attributes in a cleavage-enhancing yellow sundress. With her skin tanned to a deep mahogany brown, DeeDee Dunwoody was a stunner.
Ott forgave her for not returning his calls before she finished making the apology again. “That’s all right, Ms. Dunwoody. As I’m sure you can appreciate, my partner and I are eager to solve Ms. von Habsburg’s murder as soon as possible and, thus far, have limited information. I’m hoping you can change that.”
“Maybe I can. I hope so anyway,” DeeDee said. “Jeez, I went by Antonia’s house and couldn’t believe all those reporters and news people there. Trucks and vans up and down the street. Plus, some outside of here.”
“I know,” Ott said, “and sometimes they can get in the way.”
“I bet.”
Ott put out his hand. “Okay, let’s have a seat over there,” he said, pointing to two chairs near the west window of the reception area.
She sat down, and Ott did too. He tried not to stare at how her sundress rode up over her knees to her lower thighs, but it was difficult not to.
“So, Ms. Dunwoody—”
“Please, DeeDee,” she said. “Dunwoody’s such a dumb name.”
He had run across a lot of people with dumb names over the years, but no one yet who actually said their name was a dumb name. Come to think of it, Ott was kind of a dumb name, too. Short and dumb.
“So, I’m just going to take some notes on my phone, if that’s all right with you.”
“Sure that’s fine,” she said with a shrug. “Whatever you like.”
“I don’t quite understand something,” Ott said.
“What’s that?”
“The relationship between you and Antonia von Habsburg. Can you explain it?”
No hesitation. “Not much to explain: Antonia and I were friends, that’s all.”
“But you said on her message machine, words to the effect that, a man named Warren was a ‘real pig’ and that, after your date with him, ‘that was the last time you were going to see…’ I believe your exact words were ‘that sick son of a bitch.’”
DeeDee frowned. “I said that? That doesn’t sound like me.”
“It’s pretty much verbatim.”
She laughed. “Well, I guess I better mind my tongue in the future.”
“Was this date you had… with Warren, was this something that Antonia set up, I mean, through her company, Distinguished Consorts?”
“Yes, it sure was. Why? What did you think?”
“So you paid her fifty thousand dollars for introducing you to that… to Warren. Plus, nine other men?”
“No, I got what I guess you’d call the ‘friends and family discount.’”
“How much did it cost you?”
“Just five thousand dollars.”
Ott’s brow furrowed. It was his skeptical default expression. “I want to be careful how I say this, but you don’t strike me as the type of woman who needs a dating service.”
“Well, Distinguished Consorts is not just a dating service. It provides only the best… companions.”
“Except for Warren, of course.”
DeeDee shot him a nervous smile and sighed. “Well, I guess every once in a while one slips through the cracks.”
“I guess so. You also said on the phone message, ‘You couldn’t pay me another twenty to get within a mile of him.’ What was that a reference to?”
For the first time, she averted her eyes. “Oh, you know, that was just kind of a figure of, ah, speech.”
Uh-huh, Ott thought. “I’m not sure I understand. So when you said ‘twenty,’ what was that specifically referring to?”
“Oh God, I don’t know, twenty million, twenty billion, twenty cents. Just sort of a throwaway line. Meaning I wouldn’t touch the guy with a ten-foot pole.”
There was more to this, but Ott thought it best to circle back to it.
He smiled. “I’m still stuck on thinking you’re about the last woman in the world—let alone Palm Beach—who’d ever need to get, ah, fixed up.”
“That’s very nice of you to say, Detective, but it gets very old going to bars and dealing with men and their, um, pathetic lines, not to mention, actions.”
“I’m sure, but a woman like you—” He was starting to get somewhat smitten now. “I’m sure you meet people at work or… What do you do, by the way?”
“For work, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s just say I’m in between opportunities at the moment.”
“What did you used to do?”
“Well, depends how far back you go. Once upon a time I was a model in New York. After that I was a stylist on commercial shoots. You know, the hair and make-up girl. Then I did some waitressing up there,”—Ott could see this wasn’t going in the right direction—“then I decided to move down here and got a real estate license. Problem is that if you don’t know a lot of people, it’s tough to get listings or find people looking to buy. Know what I mean?”
Ott nodded.
“So that kind of petered out,” DeeDee said with a shrug. “I still have my license at Corcoran but no listings or anything.”
So, the obvious question was: but you had five thousand dollars to give Antonia von Habsburg to find you a man. Which, for the moment, he refrained from asking.
Instead, he asked. “So how did you meet Antonia?”
DeeDee didn’t hesitate. “Same hairdresser. We got talking when we were waiting. She was so nice. She asked me over to her house for a glass of wine.”
“Her house on Dunbar?”
“Uh-huh. I’d never been to a place like that before.”
“I know what you mean. It’s a pretty incredible house,” Ott said. “Was anybody else there?”
“Ah, let’s see… two men and Antonia.”
“Do you remember the men’s names?”
“One’s name was Bob Jones. I remember that because there was a Bob Jones in my high school class. The other one… was named Courtie.”
“And they were friends of Antonia’s.”
“Well sure, I guess. I mean, why would they be there if they weren’t her friends?”
“Tell me about the one, Bob Jones?”
“Okay. He was quite a bit older, but a very handsome man.”
“How old?”
“Um. I’d say around sixty-five. Full head of white hair, good tan, looked like he was in really good shape. I remembered he said he lived down in Gulfstream. Not that it was any of my business, but I think he was married.”
Ott typed that into his phone and looked up. “You saw a ring or what?”
“Just the opposite: I saw very white skin where a ring would normally be.”
“The old hide-the-ring trick, huh?” Ott said. “And the other man, Courtie?”
“Tall. Handsome, too. Pretty sure he was married. Had a funny laugh. One of those rat-a-tat-tat laughs. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. I thought at the time that he and Antonia might have had something going. Except she told me later she was going out with someone else.”
“Jimmy Marston?”
“Um, maybe that was it.”
“So what you’re saying, seems to me, is that Antonia would sometimes go out with married men?”
DeeDee looked offended. “I never said that.”
“Well yeah, you said Antonia ‘might have had something going with,’ ah, Courtie, who you speculate was married.”
“What I meant was… just kind of flirting.”
“I see,” Ott said. “So, Courtie… did he live in Palm Beach?”
“Yes, he said something about the ‘estate section.’ He mentioned he was thinking about selling his house there and moving into a smaller place. Matter of fact, he said, ‘We’re thinking of selling it’, I remember. Downsizing is what he called it.”
