Ca$h Call, page 18
"Not much, he was just mainly watching the girls. We didn't say much to each other, just small talk, you know."
"Did he talk to any of the other girls?"
"Sure, I think Julie, Julie Iverson. She spent some time with him. She's out with the flu today, or I'd go find her for you."
"Oh, she is?"
"Yeah. She said she'd be back in a few days. She didn't want to infect any of the rest of us."
"Oh . . . makes sense. I'll have to come back next week then, I guess."
"I guess so. Unless you want to stop by her apartment. It’s just down the street."
I thought about that for a moment but dismissed the idea as being imprudent. It would be better to meet her in a public place for obvious reasons. Besides, I didn’t want to get the flu. I could wait a few days.
"Well, that’s okay. I’ll wait. Thanks for your help."
"Our pleasure."
I turned and walked slowly toward the door savoring the last few seconds of my visit to the Sunset Strip dressing room. After leaving the club, I got into my car and, as I drove away, I was already looking forward to my return visit.
*****
When I got back to the office, a message from Rob was waiting for me. I dialed the number and he picked up immediately.
"Hi, Mr. Turner. I’m sorry to bother you, but you said to call if anything came up."
"Right. No problem. What’s up?"
"I just wanted to let you know the meeting with my parents didn’t go so well."
"Oh, no. What happened?"
"We went over there last night and told them that we had decided to get married and keep the baby. Well, they went ballistic. Dad said I was throwing my baseball career out the window and Mom was worried about college. I was hoping they'd be more understanding—like you were when I told you our plans?"
"They're under a tremendous amount of stress right now. Their lives are falling apart and they aren’t thinking straight. You just need to be patient with them."
"I know. But I’m worried. They both seem to be getting more and more depressed every day. Mom spends most of the time in her room and Dad stares at the TV but has no clue what’s on."
"Oh, God. We may need to get them some therapy. I would certainly need it if I were in their shoes."
"I’m worried about Donna too. Greg is old enough to handle it, but Donna doesn’t understand what’s happening. Mom is pretty much ignoring her and Dad yells at her all the time. I wish she could come live with Jennifer and me, so we could watch out for her. She’s the only one who is excited about the baby and having Jennifer as a sister."
"Well, you can’t take Donna away. Pam would definitely go crazy if you did that. . . . Do you go to church? Is there a minister you can call?"
"No, my parents aren’t very religious. They go to church occasionally, but I wouldn’t know who to call."
"Okay, I’ll talk to them and see if they will get some counseling. There’s a therapist who works in my building who is pretty good."
"Thank you, Stan. I know this isn’t a legal matter, but I didn’t know who else to talk to."
"No problem. Just keep your head up and let me know if I can help in any way."
Rob hung up and I called Don. I didn’t tell him that Rob had called. I asked him how he and Pam were holding up. He said they were okay. I told him about the therapist I knew. He said he would talk to Pam and maybe they would go see her. Somehow I knew that would never happen. Clients too often don’t seek help until it was too late.
As I was getting ready to leave I went through the mail. There was a letter from International Tracing Service.
Dear Mr. Turner,
We are pleased to advise you we have found Melvin Schwartz. In checking social security records we located his last employer, the First Baptist Church of McAllen, Texas. They advised us he no longer worked for them but were able to give us the address and telephone number of a next of kin, Bridget Schwartz-Christopher of Fort Worth, Texas. Upon contacting her we were able to locate the subject. He is now residing in the New Hope Cemetery in Boerne, Texas. We are enclosing a death certificate as proof that we have found the subject. An invoice for our services is enclosed for your convenience. It has been a pleasure doing business with you.
Sincerely,
Margaret Weller
Account Manager
The letter didn’t surprise me. But the death certificate did. The cause of death was a gunshot wound to the head. Melvin Schwartz had been murdered. I immediately called Melanie to tell her the news.
"Murdered?"
"Yes, that’s why he never came back for the diamonds."
"So, since he’s dead there’s no way anyone can trace the diamonds to you. We can sell them now and collect the cash, right?"
"I suppose so, but I’m still worried."
"Why?"
"I don’t know. It’s just a feeling that somebody is out there searching for those diamonds."
"That’s more reason to get rid of them."
"Maybe. But let’s hold off a little while. I don’t want to make a mistake and end up dead."
"Okay. You’re probably right. Let me know when you’re ready."
"I will. Thanks for your patience, Melanie."
"No problem."
17
Mid-America Life
It was a cold rainy Saturday. I hadn’t slept well because I couldn’t keep my mind off of Don and Pam. I was racking my brain for solutions to their growing array of problems. I had finally made contact with Margie’s friend, Lucy Patterson, and arranged to meet her for a cup of coffee at Denny's. Lucy was a short blond with pretty blue eyes and a cute smile.
"So, Ms. Mason tells me she was with you Wednesday night, is that right?"
"Uh huh."
"Where did you go?"
"We went to dinner and a movie."
"Oh. Where did you go for dinner?"
"Chili's."
"What time did you get there?"
"About 6:15, I think."
"When did you leave?"
"About an hour later. We went to a movie."
"Where?"
"AMC Park Central."
"Why would you go to movie on a Wednesday night? Isn't that a little odd?"
"No, we go out when we get in the mood. Margie was bored. Luther wasn't going to be home so she called and said let's go to dinner and a movie. Brad, my husband, was away at a sales meeting, so I was glad when Margie called."
"Did you go home right after the movie?"
Lucy hesitated. "No, we went to a club. The Rendezvous Club."
"What time did you get there?"
"About 9:15, I think."
"Did you see anybody there that you knew?"
Lucy smiled and replied, "No, but we had a drink with a couple of guys."
"Do you know their names?"
"No, never saw them before and probably will never see them again."
"Was Ms. Mason with you the entire evening?"
"Uh huh."
"When did you leave?"
"About 10:00 or 10:15, I don't remember exactly, too many margaritas, I guess."
"Did you actually see Margie get into her car?"
"No, we parked on opposite sides of the restaurant. We said our goodbyes at the front door and went our separate ways"
"I see. Well, okay. I guess that's all," I said and grabbed the bill. After putting a ten dollar bill on the table, I stood up. Lucy nodded, grabbed her purse and got up too. "I appreciate your cooperation," I said.
"No problem. I hope you find Luther's killer. I kind of liked him myself."
I smiled, raised my eyebrows and said, "Well, you're the first person I've talked to who didn't hate him—except for Margie, of course. I guess I can take you off the suspect list."
"Most definitely, I promise you I didn’t do it," she said with a smile.
After listening to Lucy Patterson verify Margie Mason's alibi, I went to see Clifford Walsh again. I had neglected to ask him a few questions that now seemed pretty important. Since Margie had an alibi, that only left Laura Bell on my list of favorite suspects. Walsh would have the information on her most obvious motive. Walsh's secretary escorted me into his office where I was invited to sit down.
"Sorry to bother you again, but I forgot to ask you about Luther’s insurance."
"Oh, right."
"I know most agents carry a good amount of insurance."
"Yes, to be a good salesman you have to believe in your product. How can you ask someone to buy life insurance if you think so little of it that you don't have any yourself?"
"Good point. So, how much insurance did Luther have on his life?"
"Well, I'll have to pull his personnel file." Walsh picked up the telephone and got his secretary on the intercom. "Get me Luther Bell's personnel file."
After a minute Walsh's secretary came in and handed a file to him. He searched through it and said, "Okay, he had $50,000 group term, $300,000 supplemental term and $400,000 variable life."
"So if he died how much would his beneficiary receive?"
"Seven hundred fifty thousand unless he died accidentally, then it would be $1.5 million."
"And who is the beneficiary?"
Walsh flipped through the file when suddenly his eyes widened and he said, "Well I'll be damned. Luther forgot to remove Laura as beneficiary. She gets everything since the divorce wasn’t final. That was one of Luther's problems—details— you've got pay attention to details."
"Does Laura Bell know she's still the beneficiary?"
"I wouldn't know. Claims are handled out of New York."
"Would you check and see if she has filed a death claim yet?"
"Sure. Give me a minute. I’ll call the claims department."
Walsh asked his secretary to get the claims department on the line. After talking to them for several minutes he hung up the phone.
"No, there hasn’t been a claim filed yet."
"Well, thank you for your help, Mr. Walsh."
"No problem, if I can be of any further assistance, just let me know."
I knew better than to jump to conclusions too early in a case. Sure, three quarters of a million dollars was plenty motive for murder, but not everyone was greedy enough to beat someone to death with a tire iron, even for that kind of money. This new revelation, however, had to kick Laura Bell to the front of the long line of suspects. It was obviously time to pay her a visit.
The following morning, Rob and I met Assistant DA Paula Waters at the criminal courts building to prove-up our plea agreement. Rob waited in the courtroom while Paula and I went over the wording of the plea. I set my briefcase down on the table and rummaged through it to find the paperwork I had prepared.
"Here it is," I said.
"Good. Let me look it over. The judge will be on the bench in a couple minutes."
She took the papers and began to read them. Then she looked up and smiled.
"You remember the first week of contracts?"
She was talking about the first week of law school. It wasn’t one of my favorite topics. Law school was very hard for Rebekah and I with four kids and both of us having to work full time. I thought a moment.
"Yeah, vaguely."
"Remember the big pillars in the back of the room. It was so funny. You always sat behind them so Professor Mobley wouldn’t call on you."
I blushed and said, "You noticed that?"
She laughed. "Yes, I thought it was so clever."
I smiled. "I had to get to class early. Those seats were prime real estate." I gave Paula a good look. "Yeah, I remember now. You were always raising your hand. You always had the answer."
"It was just a ploy. You see I had a strategy too. The first few days I studied really hard and volunteered a lot in class. Pretty soon Professor Mobley wouldn’t call on me anymore, so I didn’t have to worry about being prepared for class after that. Every once in a while I’d stick up my hand but he’d never call on me."
"We were pretty resourceful, weren’t we?"
She nodded. "I just wish we could have spent more time together."
I sighed. "I’m sorry I wasn’t more sociable but, you know, working full time and trying to spend a little time with the family didn’t leave me much spare time."
"I bet. I don’t know how you did it."
"I don’t either."
"Don’t forget you owe me dinner."
I looked at Paula. I felt guilty—selfish. She knew all about me, what I had been doing—she obviously cared about me but I knew nothing about her. I barely knew she existed. There just wasn’t enough time to get to know people. I often regretted not making more friends in law school. It would have been nice to know a few attorneys on a social basis.
"I’m looking forward to it. You can fill me in on what you’ve been doing these last few years."
Her eyes lit up. "Yes, I’d like that."
Our eyes locked for a minute. Finally she looked down at the paperwork and said, "This looks fine."
"Okay, I’ll get Rob and we’ll wait around for the judge."
The prove-up went well, and Rob was very much relieved to have it behind him. I went back to the office to prepare for Detective Besch’s interrogation of Jim Cochran, which was set for 10:00 a.m.
Jim and I had talked a few minutes before the detective arrived and were ready. I cautioned Jim not to volunteer information and to just answer the questions asked. Jodie served coffee and after a little chit-chat, Detective Besch began the interrogation.
"I guess you heard about Luther Bell?" Detective Besch said.
"Yes, it was terrible."
"I understand you and he were partners?"
"Yes, along with some other folks. It was a restaurant, a Chinese restaurant—the Golden Dragon."
"Margie Mason says you came by her house the other night and threatened Luther, is that right?"
"Well, I was pissed off. You know what that S.O.B. did?"
"No, why don't you tell me."
"We fired him as our manager for gross mismanagement of the partnership business . . . but that's another long story. Anyway, after he had been fired, he changed the partnership address and diverted all of our mail to himself! Can you believe that? Sure, I was pissed. I went over to give him a piece of my mind, but I don't kill people. I'm not a murderer. I'm a businessman. I get mad—sure—but I know how to control my temper."
"Where were you on Wednesday night?"
"At home talking with Don and some of the other partners about how to deal with our deteriorating financial situation."
"When was that?"
"Ah . . . well, let's see. It started about 6:15 or 6:30 and ended maybe an hour later."
"Where did you go when it was over?"
"I was pretty upset, so I drove around awhile."
"So how long is awhile?"
"Probably about forty-five minutes. Then I stopped at a club called the Sunset Strip. It wasn't very crowded on Wednesday night, so I got lots of attention from the staff, if you know what I mean."
"How long were you there?"
"I don't know. I kind of lost track of time, you know, after a few beers and all those beautiful women."
"Can you give me any names?"
"Sure. Julie. I spent most of the time with a girl named Julie. She’ll remember me."
"Do you go to the Sunset Strip often?"
"On occasion."
"Was your wife up when you got home?"
"No, she was in bed. She’s a volunteer at the hospital and has to get to work early."
"Your wife doesn’t mind you being out late during the week?"
"I'm a workaholic. She doesn't look for me much before nine or ten. She gave up worrying about me years ago."
"So, did you go anywhere after the Sunset Strip?"
"Nope, straight home."
"What time did you get home?"
"I don't know, 10:00 or 10:30. I’m not really sure."
