Palm Beach Perfidious, page 6
“Well, like Charades, for example. Where you have to take off something if they don’t get what you’re trying to act out. Or naked Twister.”
Ott couldn’t hold back. “We’re talking about grown men and women here?”
Jones nodded eagerly. “Yeah, from the highest level of society.”
“Wow? What else.”
“Well, let’s see, I heard about another one they made up called, ‘Find the Tattoo,’” Jones said. “I don’t quite know how it works, but supposedly two of these young women had little tattoos on their… well, private areas. And the idea was to, ah, try to find them.”
“Okay,” Ott said, fighting off a full-throated guffaw. He couldn’t wait to tell Crawford how the rich whiled away their late-night hours. “What else?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Is this pretty common? At clubs in general, I mean?”
“Well, definitely not down in Gulfstream. People are pretty straitlaced at my club. Just, you know, the usual.”
“No, what’s the usual?”
“Well, you know, some guys have a little side action. Some women, too. They have…boy toys.”
Ott put a hand to his chin, looking thoughtful. “I’ve heard that expression. How would you define a ‘boy toy’?”
Jones cupped his own chin, unconsciously mirroring Ott. “Well, I’d say a boy toy is like some good-looking kid who’s an assistant tennis pro at one of the clubs. Or an assistant golf pro.”
“They have to be assistants?”
“No, no… just young guys that rich women run across in the course of their typical day.”
“Gotcha, so not like a bagger at Publix, or a pool cleaner.”
Jones burst out laughing. “Oh God no, way too déclassé.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You know… lowly, humble.”
“Gotcha,” Ott said. He really had to get to Crawford fast. Tell him what really went on behind the twenty-foot hedges. “Okay, Mr. Jones. I thank you for all your time. It’s been a real education.”
“You’re welcome. I hope some of it was useful.”
Useful, Ott wasn’t so sure. But lurid and riveting? For damn sure.
TEN
It was eight the next morning, and Crawford was in his office with the usual Dunkin’ Donuts breakfast spread laid out in front of him. Chief Norm Rutledge had just called and told him that he and the mayor, Mal Chace, wanted to meet with him and Ott at nine that morning. Can’t make it, got a conflict wouldn’t cut it, so he said, “See you then.” Then he called LV Wurfel, pretty sure he woke him up, and rescheduled with him for later in the day.
A few minutes later, Ott walked in and recounted his Bob Jones interview from late yesterday in very specific detail.
“Jesus, Mort,” said Crawford after hearing it through to the end. “So that’s what the other half does for kicks on a Friday night?”
“Half?” said Ott. “Try upper one half of one percent.”
Crawford nodded. “So bottom-line it, will ya?”
“Okay, bottom line: Bob Jones is a hell of a chronicler of Poinciana escapades, but no way in hell is he our guy,” Ott said. “I mean, when you look at how brutally Antonia was murdered, you realize there’re probably very few people out there capable of something so vicious and sadistic. I mean really, think about it, this was no everyday murder. Whoever did it: a) had a strong stomach and zero conscience; and b) had a colossal grudge against von Habsburg. So, when you look at it like that, it kinda eliminates some suspects from serious consideration. Jones definitely for one.”
Crawford nodded, realizing that Ott had totally nailed it.
“You speak to Luther King?” Ott asked.
“Yeah, I went to his place on Middle Road. We had a nice chat.”
“Let’s hear about it.”
“Well, so I barely had a chance to sit down in his gaudy living room when he tells me about his neighbors named Morris Leitner and Jennie Tarbell on either side of him.”
Ott shrugged. “Can’t say I know either one of those names.”
“Yeah, neither did I, but he proceeds to say that they’re both billionaires. One’s a dot-com guy and the other one… invented some kind of special girdle or something.”
Ott snapped his fingers. “Oh, you mean, Spanx. I heard she had a place down here.”
“Spanx? What the hell—”
“Oh, man, they’re the best. Make chubby babes thin. Course when they get naked—”
“Okay, okay, TMI. I don’t need any more specifics,” Crawford said. “So, bottom line on Luther King is… I don’t really have a bottom line. He’s not the most forthcoming guy I’ve ever met, that’s for damn sure. He told me at first how Antonia was the love of his life, then later how she was screwing every man on the island of Palm Beach and half of West Palm, too.”
“That’s a lot of screwing.”
“Yeah, no shit. So, it seems like his only motive would be jealousy.”
Ott slouched down and put his feet on the chair next to him. “Which we both know has gotten plenty of people killed over the years.”
“Yeah, true, but like you went into before, he didn’t strike me as the vicious, sadistic type, but I did get the sense he might be holding back something. I just don’t know what.”
“Were he and Antonia still going out at the time of her death?”
“Yeah, he said they were. He also said he was looking around for a woman to have a more stable relationship with. Guess Antonia was not that gal,” Crawford said. “He also asked me if it was really true how she died. The rat. By now, I figured, it’s out. Everyone knows, so I told him it was. He said something that made me think he just couldn’t possibly be our guy. Like, ‘How could anybody dream up something so horrible as that, let alone carry it out?’ He said it in such a way that I believed there was no way in hell he had anything to do with it.”
“And you’ve got one of the best bullshit detectors around.”
Crawford nodded. “It’s pretty reliable.”
“But as we both know, you can hire people to do just about anything for you,” Ott said. “All you have to do is pay ’em enough.”
*****
Five minutes later, Crawford heard the unmistakable, plodding footsteps of Chief Norm Rutledge, which somehow always reminded Crawford of the shambling Lurch character from the old TV show, The Addams Family.
But this time was different because Mal Chace plodded along behind him. It was a grim-looking two-fer: first Rutledge, then an even grimmer Mal Chace.
Rutledge eyed Ott, who had just taken his feet off of the second chair facing Crawford. “Can you get us another one, Ott?”
“Sure, Norm, anything for you,” Ott said. “Hello, Mr. Mayor.”
“Mort,” said Chace, then to Crawford, “Charlie.”
Crawford nodded. “Mr. Mayor.”
Mal Chace sat in the chair previously occupied by Ott’s feet as Rutledge sat in Ott’s chair and Ott disappeared to fetch another one.
“So, I’ll get right to it,” Chace said, as Ott carried in an extra chair and plopped down into it. “We’ve had conversations like this before, but we’ve never had a homicide like this before. Not even close.”
“Yeah, I know,” Crawford said.
“The press,” Chace went on, “from all over the world, it seems, have been having a field day with the damn thing.”
Crawford nodded. The media presence was unlike anything he had ever seen before in Palm Beach.
It was Rutledge’s turn. “You’ve seen all the news vans, the helicopters. I saw one yesterday that said BBC on it. I mean, it’s as bad as O.J. or the Manson murders.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Crawford said, “but I don’t need to tell you, we’re on it around the clock.”
Rutledge leaned in and put his hands on Crawford’s desk. “Which, I don’t need to tell you, does us absolutely no good until you got somebody.”
“I know, Norm. Trust me, we get it.”
“We’ve done a ton of interviews, but this woman had all kinds of relationships with a lot of different men,” Ott said, looking first at Rutledge, then Chace. “I know you fellas don’t want to hear this, but it takes time.”
Rutledge looked at Chace as if he were taking his temperature. “What else did you want to say, Mal?”
“Nothing that I haven’t said when we’ve been in this position before, except I don’t recall ever being in a situation as bad as this in all my tenure.” He turned to the detectives. “Look, I know I’ve got the best guys I possibly could have on this, but the case is—as I don’t need to say—harmful to the public perception that this is one of the safest places in America. It’s not like people are cancelling their reservations, or thinking it’s a place to stay away from, but the longer it lingers without getting solved, the worse it becomes. As I said, and I know you know this, just do everything you possibly can, huh?”
It almost didn’t require a response, but Crawford gave one anyway. A firm one. “We’re on it, Mal. Believe me, we can’t possibly be more on it.”
ELEVEN
After Chace and Rutledge walked out of his office, Crawford glanced up at Ott, who was on his feet now. “I’m thinking it’s time for you to call your friend DeeDee and ask her out.”
Ott laughed. “You mean, it makes a lot of sense for our case—not for ol’ Mort’s love life.”
“Yeah, well, look at it this way: we solve it, then you’ve got all the time in the world for your love life.”
Ott laughed. “Question is, is it going to look obvious?”
“You mean, that you’re trying to pump her for info?”
He nodded. “Yeah. You’re a pro at it. You got the ‘Charlie smooth’ act down. I’m nowhere near as slick.”
“Hey, nothin’ to it. You just gotta ease into it. Ask her a bunch of questions about her life, then wait for your opening and slip in a question or two about Antonia. Oh, and bring her flowers.”
“Good point. I noticed they got really good ones at Publix.”
“They sell flowers at Publix?”
“Hell yeah, man, really nice bouquets for like ten bucks a pop.”
Crawford shook his head. “Come on, Mort, go to a florist shop. Hell, the department’ll pay. You can’t cheap out on this.”
Ott shrugged. “Okay, I’ll do it. Know any good florist shops?”
“Yeah, there’s one on South County, just north of the bookstore there.”
“I’m guessing you got flowers for either Dominica or Rose there?”
“Both, actually.”
“At the same time?”
“Come on, Mort, despite what you may think, the last thing I am is a two-timer,” Crawford said, tapping his desk a few times. “Speaking of Rose, you know what else I was thinking?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s time to pick her brain. I don’t know why we didn’t think of her sooner. That whole thing about the Poinciana Club and Antonia being a member got me thinking. Rose belongs and I’m sure she either knew our vic or knew of her.”
“Good idea. She’s been pretty helpful in the past.”
“Are you kidding? She’s like having a third partner sometimes.”
*****
Ott had tried to reach Courtie Hiller several times but encountered the usual: no call-back. So, with Mal Chace’s beseeching words echoing in his ears, he found out where Hiller lived and drove there. Soon he had parked in the Chattahoochee stone driveway, walked up to the porch and pressed the doorbell.
A minute later, the door opened and a tall man with slicked-back dark hair frowned out at him. “Yes?”
“Mr. Hiller?”
“Yes?”
“My name’s Detective Ott, Palm Beach Police. I’ve left you several messages.”
A look of panic spread over Hiller’s face. “We can’t talk here.”
“All right. How ’bout we go to my station?”
“No, no, let’s go to, ah, Starbucks… on Worth.”
Ott nodded and returned to his car. Something told him that Hiller’s wife was in the house, and Hiller didn’t want her to get suspicious about what her husband was doing chatting up a cop.
Hiller arrived fifteen minutes later and was trembling with what looked like jumpy nerves. “What’s this all about?” he asked, as he sat down, Frappuccino in hand.
“The death of Antonia von Habsburg,” said Ott, taking a sip of his venti latte, which had set him back close to five bucks.
“And why would I know anything about that?”
“Maybe because you knew her. Had drinks at her house, in fact.”
“One time. That’s all. I would hardly say I knew her,” Hiller said, taking a sip of his flavored drink, hand still shaking a little.
“But, you subsequently had dinner with a friend of hers by the name of DeeDee Dunwoody. At a place up in Jupiter, I believe it was.”
Hiller’s eyes flickered, and Ott knew he had caught him off guard.
“The woman mentioned she needed financial advice,” Hiller said.
“So why couldn’t you just meet her in your office?”
“Well, for one thing I don’t have an office. I’m retired. I was just giving her some off-the-cuff guidance. She complained about having a stockbroker who churned her.”
Ott cocked his head. “She tell you this at Antonia von Habsburg’s?”
A few drops of sweat appeared on Hiller’s upper lip. “No. When we were having dinner.”
Ott held up a hand. “Okay, look Mr. Hiller, I’m going to cut to the chase. I suspect you didn’t take DeeDee Dunwoody out to dinner to help her with her financial problems, which, according to you, you didn’t even know about until she told you at dinner. My guess is you had an entirely different reason, and I have a pretty good idea what it was, but it’s not in the least bit important to me. What is important to me is your relationship with Antonia von Habsburg. What that was all about. And unless you come clean with me, I’m going to have to drag your wife into this.”
“My wife? What are you talking about? What the hell’s she got to do with it?”
Ott shrugged. “I don’t know the answer to that. That’s why I’d have to question her.”
Hiller’s eyes seemed to darken, as if he’d like to take a swing at Ott. “This is dirty pool. You know damn well there’s no reason at all to bring her into it.”
“I need you to come clean with me. So, I’ll ask one more time: what was the relationship between you and Antonia von Habsburg? You gotta level with me or I’m going to need to take that other course.”
Hiller took another sip of his Frappuccino, then glanced away. “You’re a real ballbuster, aren’t you?”
“A ballbuster? Mr. Hiller, all I am is a man looking to solve a murder, and I need answers from you to see that happens.”
Hiller sighed again and took another sip from his almost-empty cup. Like he was postponing the inevitable. “Okay,” he said, hanging his head, “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Antonia von Habsburg was fixing me up.”
“And DeeDee Dunwoody was one of the women she was fixing you up with?”
“No, I thought she was. But… she turned me down.”
“Was that after you offered her money?”
Hiller cast his eyes even lower and nodded.
“How much?”
Another sigh.
“Mr. Hiller, please don’t make me drag your wife into this.”
“Three thousand dollars.”
Ott put up his hands. “All right,” he said, “I don’t get it. The way I understood it, you pay Antonia’s company fifty grand to get a bunch of women’s telephone numbers. But you’re telling me in your case, it was just the good old-fashioned cash for sex thing?”
Hiller leaned closer to Ott. “I’m not telling you anything more until I have your assurance that you won’t charge me with anything.”
“Look, I have no big interest in a guy paying a woman for sex, or else I’d be up on Broadway in West Palm arresting hookers. All I care about is finding Antonia’s killer. Got it?”
Hiller nodded.
“So what it’s beginning to sound like to me is that maybe Antonia had two ‘business models,’ let’s call ’em. One was the high road: fifty grand for a selected assortment of names and phone numbers, and two was just some guy calling up Antonia and saying, ‘I want you to send a good-looking brunette to room 401 at the no-tell motel.’ Or wherever. Is that about the size of it?”
“What do you think I am, her accountant? All I know is she introduced me to this woman, DeeDee, who I then asked out to dinner, and she wasn’t interested in anything more than that. Period, end of story.”
“But clearly Antonia would expect a cut or a commission if DeeDee said yes to the three grand?”
“I have absolutely no clue. The business between Antonia and DeeDee was of no interest to me.”
Ott played a little drum solo on the tabletop with his fingers. “Okay, Mr. Hiller, that’s all I need to know,” he said. “Thanks very much, I appreciate your time.”
“What about my wife? Are you going to leave her out of this?”
“Yeah, at this point I will,” said Ott, “’cause the last thing I’d ever dream of doing is breaking up your happy marriage.”
TWELVE
Ott felt as nervous as a teenager about calling DeeDee Dunwoody. He dialed her number twice and both times hung up before he put the call through. Finally, the shame of acting like a bashful high school kid became too much. He screwed up his courage and let it ring.
“Hello?”
Damn. He would have preferred leaving a message. “Hi, DeeDee, it’s Mort Ott. You know, the, ah, detective?”
“You didn’t need to add that, Mort, I remember.”
“Oh good.” Full speed ahead. “So I just wanted to see if I could take you out for, um, dinner?”
No hesitation. “Sure, when?”
He remembered Crawford’s mantra: no time like the present.
“How about tonight?”
