Kendel Lynn - Elliott Lisbon 02 - Whack Job (11 page)

He went from nodding to shaking his head, then smacked his forehead with his palm. “Miranda Gaines. How could I forget? They were good friends, not like Alicia. Miranda never said a cross word. Crossword! I don’t know where my mind is. Jaime and Miranda played cards or ping pong or something. Maybe bridge? I don’t even know. No wonder Jaime hated me.”

“This must be very hard on you,” I said. “Let me talk to her sister and her friends, see what else I can find.”

He plucked his Smart Car keys out of his pocket and tossed them on the desk, then dug around for a pen. “Maybe I am being paranoid. This will work out, right?”

“I’m not giving up, but not everything can be done in a day. Be patient.”

“It’s really important, you know.” He rummaged through his desk, wrote on the back of a business card, and then handed it to me. “Their numbers. Judith, Miranda, Alicia. So you can call.”

He walked me through the offices to the front door. “Thanks for not asking if I killed Jaime.”

“No one thinks you killed her, Gilbert. It’s simple logic. Why kill her on your boat, leave her on the boat, then put it back in the slip?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“One last quick question,” I asked. “What were you and the doctor arguing about at the hospital earli—?”

A knock on the door interrupted me and Gilbert’s face lost all color. Either from the knock or my question.

I opened the door to Nick Ransom, Corporal Parker, and two uniforms standing on the sidewalk.

“Are you following me all over town?” I asked. “I told you we should team up. Maybe we could carpool.”

“Mr. Goodsen, I need you to come with me. I have some questions, down at the station.”

“You already questioned him at the mor—, hospital.”

Ransom leaned in and whispered in my ear. “By the way, Mimi might be able to help you.”

“Really!” I nearly squealed.

“What? What’s happening?” Gilbert asked. “Is that bad or good?”

“Sorry, Gilbert, different matter,” I said.

“Maybe. Call her, she wants to do lunch.”

“Lunch? With your mother?”

Ransom stepped away from the front door and Parker took his place near Gilbert.

“And Lisbon, don’t bother coming to the station. You won’t be able to talk to him until Tuesday.”

“I thought you said no one thinks I killed her,” Gilbert said as he locked the door behind him.

Corporal Parker took his arm and walked him to the back of a cruiser.

“Gilbert, call your attorney,” I hollered before the door shut.

Ransom turned to me. “So you think he’s guilty. Interesting.”

“He’s at the police station, he needs an attorney.”

“Stay out of this, Lisbon.”

Stepping closer, I whispered in his ear. “See you at the station.” Then I spun around and climbed into my Mini.

I hoped Gilbert heard me before the door slammed. And I hoped he took my advice. In his crazed state, who knew what he’d say to Ransom. I felt terribly guilty. This man’s life was literally falling apart and Mr. Ballantyne personally dispatched me to help him.

And I was going to. Ransom or no, I was going all in.

I studied forensics in college. I wanted to be an investigator (before I realized the extent one must encounter germy surfaces and gory situations, and apparently I faint at the latter and freak out at the former). I’m happy performing minor inquiries for Ballantyne supporters and leaving major investigations to the Sea Pine police. But my client, my one and only client, got shot and now arrested. Actually, got his egg stolen, then shot, his wife murdered, now arrested. How could I ignore everything? Certainly it wasn’t a stretch to expand the scope of my investigation. It was practically my duty.

FOURTEEN

(Day #3 & 4: Sunday Afternoon/Monday Morning)

I rushed down Cabana Boulevard, hoping if I stayed close to Ransom’s racer and the patrol car parade, then I wouldn’t get pulled over for speeding. The department only had about sixteen cars out on patrol at any given time, so odds were in my favor.

The City of Sea Pine gave the department a shiny new station about ten years back as part of the Island Civic Complex, on the north side of the island near Oyster Cove Plantation. The library took up the west end of the complex, while the police station occupied the east.

We all arrived at the station in less than fifteen minutes. They went in the back while I went in the front. I slid the lanyard with my temporary PI credentials over my neck and entered the small lobby. Even though all the volunteers in reception knew me, I thought it played better to look professional.

One of the senior volunteers greeted me, a man about ninety who once served his country in the Second World War.

“Hey there, Elliott Lisbon, what brings you ’round these parts?”

“Looking for Parker. I followed her into the station.”

He reached for the phone with a mildly shaky hand and punched in an extension. After a brief exchange, he turned back to me. “Go on back, then. I’ll buzz you in, you know where to find her.”

“Thank you,” I said and opened the door to the main station room. I walked down a narrow hallway, the walls lined with bulletin boards, most covered with flyers. Bikes for sale, both of the beach cruiser and motorized racer variety, random furnishings for sale, even a motor home.

Once past the enormous shredder and around the corner, it opened up into a large square room divided into ten cubicles. Parker’s was the largest cube, near the back, centered between the doors to the Lieutenant’s office and the Captain’s. Both their doors were open, but the offices were empty.

I plopped into the chair next to Parker’s desk and she looked up from her keyboard where her fingers had been rapidly typing.

“I can’t tell you anything,” she said. “And you know the Lieutenant won’t let you see him.”

“What kinds of questions is he asking? You don’t have to tell me specifics, just the topic. The shooting? Jaime’s death? The egg?”

Parker sat straight as a pin with her hair pulled into a long blonde pony. She turned back to her typing. “Can’t tell you, Elli. You might as well go home. We’ll be here a while.”

I leaned forward. “Tell me this, did Gilbert at least ask for an attorney?”

She glanced at me and shook her head once.

I sighed and thanked her. I pointed to an empty conference room up the hall. “I’m going to make a quick call, be right back.”

Gilbert needed an attorney. Not because he was guilty of anything. At least I hoped not. But because he needed guidance. And someone to keep him from blurting out all his crazy.

Believe it or not, the police didn’t actually throw tantrums about people asking for attorneys, at least not like on tv and not on Sea Pine Island. They didn’t necessarily talk suspects into calling one, but they also understood the benefit of having an attorney present. Especially when things advanced to a trial and the jury saw the client wasn’t coerced or threatened or abused or whatever. Win, win.

I sat in the metal chair and debated who to call. Gregory Meade was a big shot criminal attorney out of Savannah who helped me out on my last big Ballantyne murder investigation, but I knew he was wrapped up in a major murder trial involving grave robbing, voodoo, and a ring of senior citizen museum volunteers. Probably wouldn’t be able to spare time on a holiday weekend to help me out. The only other criminal attorney I knew, and was comfortable calling in a favor from, was Busy Hinds. She of the swirly cape and mistaken table confirmations. I hoped she’d answer.

“Hello, hello, Elliott. I was just talking about you,” she said, with a trio of high-pitched dog yips in the background. “Now, Sugar Pie, you’ll get yours in a minute.”

“Oh? Good things, I hope,” I said. “But listen—”

“I know I goofed up those darn chairs, but I don’t want you to worry one bit. I’ve got a surprise!”

“Tables! You found tables! How, when, where? Wait, I don’t care, thank you, thank you,” I said, Gilbert completely forgotten.

“Even better, come by the kitchen first thing and you’ll see what we’re doing for the tea. It’s berserk, and gorgeous. No one will even notice the missing chairs when they see what Carla and I came up with. I told her straight out, you’ll love it. And so will Janie.”

I sighed even deeper than before. No chairs or tables. But Mimi Ransom might come through. Ransom! Get in the game, woman. One crisis at a time.

“Sounds fantastic, Busy. But that’s not why I’m calling. Are you free this evening?”

“Sure, sure. You want to meet for drinks, talk Wonderland? I know a darling new spot in South Pebble Beach, makes a killer pomerita.”

“I need an attorney, criminal case, and I need you tonight. Right now, actually.”

“Good Lord, Elli, don’t bury the lead. Is this your one call? Which station you at?”

“Not for me, for Gilbert Goodsen. He’s in for questioning right now on the island and I need—”

“I’m on my way. You tell whoever is handling that I’ll be there in two shakes and to stop the questioning. They’ll wait until I get there. Now hurry, hurry…you, too, Sugar Pie. Mommy has to go to work,” she said and hung up.

Parker wasn’t at her desk, but I found her in front of the main interview room talking to Officer Prickle. They stopped as soon as I approached.

“Busy Hinds, Gilbert’s attorney, is on her way,” I said. “Can you let the Lieutenant know?”

Parker nodded and slipped into the interview room.

Prickle put his hands on his utility belt. “Who are you to call his attorney? Seems like you should be arrested for interfering in a police investigation. Or pulled into your own interview room.” He moved one of his hands very close to the handcuffs.

“You know, I’ve been around this police station for more than a decade, and I’ve never seen you before the other day. Are you fresh out of the academy?”

He raised his finger about an inch and a half from my face. “I’m none of your business, but I’ll make it my business,” he said. He spun a full one-eighty and marched into the main station room.

I decided I’d better wait in the lobby for Busy. I had no idea what this cracker was talking about, and I didn’t want to find out.

Busy arrived in less than twenty minutes, flying past me in a whirl of carry-alls: handbag, briefcase, laptop satchel, and some sort of box case that looked as if it might hold a projector. She tossed me an air kiss and went straight to the interrogation room.

After hanging around the station another thirty minutes, but getting no more information, I drove home. And then, after still no word after another six hours, I finally went to bed.

I woke to a text sent at 7:27 a.m.:
He’ll be out on Tuesday, let’s talk later this morn. Tate Keating says hello
.

A. I did not want to be up at 7:27 a.m.

B. Especially if Tate Keating’s name was invoked.

C. Tuesday!

I quickly texted back. And by quickly, I mean it took me four minutes to get my message typed out. Auto-correct kept fixing things incorrectly, and I hated abbreviations. I hit send, then called her.

“Good morning, Elli, was just texting you back,” she said, all chipper and cheery. “Want to meet for breakfast? I can be at Sunny Side Up in ten minutes.”

I glanced down at my jammies. “I’m in another meeting right now, but can you give me the quick scoop on Gilbert and Tate Keating?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. It’s nothing terrible, but the holiday is working against us. Court’s closed until tomorrow morning. Gilbert’s resting in holding, but the Lieutenant got a call about another suspect, he’s checking it out now. So there’s a wee chance they’ll release Gil early, without an official arrest and arraignment. I have to run take care of Sugar Pie, but I’ll be back in a flash. And Tate Keating arrived about a half hour ago, talking about deadlines. I gave him nothing, but you know Tate. Nothing means something.”

“I’ll head to the station,” I said and hopped out of bed. I balanced the phone against my shoulder and grabbed a clean tee and shorty pants from the closet. “They tell you anything on this other suspect?”

“Not much, but I’m sure they’ll dish by the time you get here.”

I thanked her and jumped into an ice cold shower. No time to let the water warm, not with Tate Keating chatting up the volunteers at the front desk.

And no time for Cheerios, either, I thought as I drove to the station. This early on a Monday, the break room should be stocked with plenty of pastries. The frosted kind with a hole in the middle and sprinkles on top.

Tate’s yellow MG roadster sat right up front near the station door. Must be something tantalizing to get him here this early on a holiday.

He nearly knocked me flat on his way out the door while I went in. “‘Killer Board Strikes Again.’ Sounds like a grabber, right?”

“Jaime Goodsen wasn’t on the board,” I said to his fleeting back. “And we’ve never had a killer at the Ballantyne!”

He either didn’t hear me or he ignored me, but without a wave, he zipped out of the lot and down the road.

I considered chasing him down, but just then Parker came into the lobby from behind the station door.

“I can give you five minutes with Gilbert if you want.”

“I want,” I said and followed her through the lobby, the main station, to the very back where they kept a small cluster of cells.

“
Elliott!
You’re here,” Gilbert said. Both sleeves on his bowling shirt were ripped and his orange swim trunks were on backward. And he wore no shoes.

He hugged me tight through the bars, and it took every ounce of humanity to hug him back. He smelled like urine, mildew, and day-old barf.

I looked at Parker over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow in question. “What the?” I mouthed.

“Quiet night, except for crazy pants, here. We had old man Kipper sleeping off a bender,” she said. “He hadn’t been home in a week. But seems Gilbert needed someone to talk to, so they huddled together most of the night.”

“Gil, it’ll be okay,” I said. “Busy’s on the case, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out.” And I would, too. Gilbert got shot, his wife murdered, and landed in the pokey in a span of three days, and I couldn’t even pick up a clue on my egg hunt. I definitely needed to get it together, because arraignment and prison loomed in this man’s future.

“It’s not too bad in here, Elli,” Gilbert said. He gripped the bars and squeezed his face through the gap. The thought of the germy metal pressed into skin made my palms twitch.

“You go rest, okay? I’m going to talk to Corporal Parker, amp up my investigation.”

He nodded, squishing his cheeks with each movement, then crept over to a cot bolted to the wall.

Parker led me out to the lobby and handed me off to Ransom.

He stood at the desk, tapping his hands on the countertop, talking with the day’s senior volunteer. “Well, Elliott Lisbon, you’re up awfully early.”

“It’s like eight thirty. I’ve been up for hours. Maybe three at least.” I discreetly glanced down at my shoes, made sure they matched.

His smile lifted in a half-smirk as if he knew I was full of shit, then gestured to a waiting area in the corner of the lobby.

He rested on the arm of a sofa, casually crossing one ankle over the other. He smelled like morning: a zesty fresh shower, a Downy-crisp shirt, and a hint of dark roasted coffee.

I smelled like someone who just hugged Gilbert the jailbird.

“So what’s going on?” I asked. “Busy said you had a suspect. Other than Gilbert Goodsen, who we both know did not do this. He’s not capable.”

“Good morning to you, too. I do not know that Gilbert didn’t do this. He’s the beneficiary on a million-dollar life insurance policy for his wife.”

“He’s an insurance salesman. For an insurance guy, a million bucks is practically chintzy. And he probably has policies on every item he owns.” Except the extremely valuable Fabergé egg, I thought. I kept that morsel to myself.

“Uh-huh,” Ransom said. “He doesn’t exactly present a picture of innocence.”

“His picture isn’t one of guilt. He’s stressed. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“I’m aware. A robbery, a shooting, and a murder. With one Gilbert Goodsen dead center.”

“A robbery?”

“The egg hunt. Any luck on that front?”

“I’m actually making quite a bit of progress. But I’d really like to know about this other suspect Busy Hinds mentioned. It must be good or she wouldn’t know about it.”

He stayed silent, watching me, and I resisted the urge to shift from foot to foot. “Come on, Ransom. I’m asking nicely. Give me
something
.”

The look in his eyes shifted slightly and I felt a flush rush up my neck. Before he left for the state training facility three months ago, he would’ve offered up a snappy suggestion on what he’d like to give me, but he just nodded slightly instead. “I suppose I could share some things, as a courtesy.”