Death in Her Eyes (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 1) (12 page)

Stan and I thanked Doc Wilson and headed to the parking lot. We leaned on our cars and tried to come up with a plan.

“You know you’ve destroyed my case in less than 24 hours,” Stan said. The lieutenant is going to string me up by my thumbs. This is high profile and…”

“It was shaky to begin with. You had your doubts, remember,” I replied.

“Don’t remind me. What do you propose we do?” Stan asked.

“We?” I raised and eye brow. “So now it’s ‘we’?”

Stan looked sheepish.

“We do what we always do, go back to the beginning,” I said.

I told him about Cary suspecting his wife was sleeping around, but left out the bombshell about his own main squeeze being a cop. There would be time for that later, besides I wanted to talk to Kristin Wagner before Internal Affairs got to her.

“Are you going to tell his lawyer his client is in the clear?” Stan asked.

I liked Cary Hunt, but his mouthpiece was a shyster and that personal assistant, Alan, well they could both go to hell.

“No, not yet, I still need his cooperation. I’ll try to fill in the missing pieces while Doc Wilson gets his evidence straight.”

Stan pulled a notebook from his shirt pocket and flipped through it until he found what he wanted. “There was a call to the 911 center asking for a wellness check on Mrs. Hunt. There were two other requests from people we’ve identified as her friends too. Hunt’s call came from his cell phone on the day he says he left town, August 5th. The call came from Salt Lake City. He made half a dozen calls to people around town apparently looking for his wife. He kept it up until he returned to town.”

“He was telling the truth about that,” I said. “Have you questioned the deputies who went out to the Hunt home? How thoroughly did they check?”

“You know how that goes Mac,” he grumbled. The deputies go to a location, look around, and maybe look in the windows. They went out there and didn’t see anything. There wasn’t any more they could do.”

“I get it. Hindsight is twenty/twenty, isn’t it? Can we go over the victim’s address book and transcripts of her emails, texts?” 

“Yeah, I should have those later today. Let’s meet at your place this evening,” he said.

“Sure, come on by when you get off,” I said. “Can you check on his hotel records in Salt Lake as well as the OIA airport garage records and surveillance video?” I asked.

“That should have already been done, but I’ll check on it. I’ll be there by seven,” he replied.

I called the Orange County Sheriff’s Office switchboard, asked for Detective Kristin Wagner. They transferred me to the Property Crimes Division. I asked for Detective Wagner and got her voice mail. I left a message.

My next call was to the Steeple Chase Country club tennis pro. The country club receptionist answered on the first ring and connected me to the tennis shop. I got a voice mail there too and left a message. I had some time to kill so I headed over to the Hunt condo. Cary had said he’d seen a dark car with no plate parked near his condo. It was a long shot, but maybe I could catch a break.

All the townhouses on the north side of the alley had garages and patios concealed by privacy fences. The ones on the south side were a mix of garages and concrete pads, but none had the view-blocking fence. I parked in front of the Hunt garage then took off on foot. Sure enough, just as Cary had said there was a condo on the south side a few doors down with a for sale sign in the window. I checked the parking area and was about to leave when I noticed a handful of cigarette butts at the edge of the concrete, like they’d been washed into a neat little pile by the rain. I stooped to look them over. I counted ten soggy butts. They were all the same, narrow, shiny black paper with a white ring and the words Djarum Black. There was a solid red triangle in place of the letter ‘a’ in the word black. I’d never heard of the brand but it was certainly distinctive. I pulled out my phone and snapped a couple of pictures, first establishing the location with a shot that included the for sale sign in the window and the house numbers, then a long shot of the driveway. I finished with some close-ups showing the brand name on the butts.

I looked up the company on my phone’s browser. Djarum Black was a European brand. The butts I was looking at were the company’s ‘slims’. They had sixty percent tobacco and forty percent cloves. I got an empty Wendy’s bag from my car, returned to the driveway, and picked up the butts.

I looked over the pictures I had taken and noticed a dark stain on the concrete. I looked around and found the spot. A car parked here recently had been leaking oil. I took a couple pictures of the oil stain and decided it was time to move on.

I continued through the alley, came out on the street, and walked a couple blocks. I’d just about decided I was wasting my time when I spotted an elderly lady walking a little ankle biter. She was four foot nothing with a dubious hair color and was dressed in a housecoat and tattered cloth slippers.

“Hi,” I said. “Do you live around here?”

“Who wants to know,” she answered turning away from me.

“I’m Mac Everett, a private investigator working for Mr. Hunt. Would you mind answering a few questions?”

The little dog, a poodle or some other curly haired mongrel, began sniffing me. I thought it would piss on my foot, but I choked down the urge to kick it.

“I’ve already spoken to the police,” she responded not warming to me at all.

I reached down so the little dog could sniff the back of my hand and looked up at her and said, “Nice dog … yes I know you did but your statement isn’t in the copy of the report I have.”

I didn’t tell her I didn’t have the report.

“What? I talked to two different Sheriff’s deputies one in a uniform and one in some sort of wind breaker.”

“Could you tell me what you told them, please? What’s your name ma'am?”

“I’m Mildred Tess young man. I told those policemen I saw Mr. Hunt leave in a big hurry. He nearly ran Lulu and me over.”

“How is it you were out so early?”

“I’m up early every day,” she proclaimed. She stretched out the word every. “It was the second time we’d been out that morning, Lulu, and me. I was walking Lulu the day it happened, when Mrs. Hunt was killed. I saw Mr. Hunt fly out of here like the devil himself was chasing him. It was eight thirty on the dot.”

“You assume that was the day it happened, right? You didn’t see anyone kill Mrs. Hunt, did you?”

“Well no, but the sheriff’s deputy …”

“You saw Mr. Hunt or the car?”

“Well the car actually. And he didn’t have his license plate. I told the police that too.”

“Can you describe the car for me?

“It was a dark blue four door Lexus ES350 with spoke wheels and very dark window tint. I saw it clear as day. It was light you know.”

“Yes ma’am. You know a lot about cars,” I said jotting down the description she’d just given.

“I do. My son has a Lexus just like it. His is Onyx Pearl. It’s a more elegant color.”

“What time was this Mrs. Tess?”

“It told you that all ready young man. Pay attention,” she scolded, shaking a crooked boney finger at me.

“Yes ma’am.”

“It was about half past eight. The local news comes on at eight twenty-five. Lulu and I went out right after that.”

“So it was fully light, then.”

“Are you hard of hearing, young man? I just said it was eight-thirty in the morning. Of course, it was day light.”

“One more point Mrs. Tess. Had you seen Mr. Hunt in the Lexus before? He drives …”

“He drives a metallic black sapphire BMW 500i. No, I’d never seen him driving it before, but it came out of the alley behind Mr. Hunt’s unit. Well, I’ve seen it parked in the alley by that empty apartment. I assumed he got a new car. Is he going to be all right? I can’t say I blame him for killing that girl. She was a ...” Mrs. Tess leaned close to me and whispered, “a B-I-T-C-H and you can quote me. Now that Mr. Hunt, he’s a nice young man, and so handsome.”

I snorted a little laugh and said, “I think he’ll be OK. I appreciate your help. Is there anything else you can think of that will help.”

“No. As I said I already told this to the police,” she said.

I thanked her, patted the little flea motel on the head and started back toward to the car. I was about to get in, when something else occurred to me. I called after Mrs. Tess and jogged over to her while Lulu peed once again.

“Mrs. Tess, you wouldn’t know anything about Mr. and Mrs. Hunt’s personal life would you?” I asked.

“My dear boy, what do you think I am some kind of a busy body? Why I have a mind to…”

“I mean no offense. It’s just that you are out here often and being so observant I thought…”

“Well since you put it that way. I have seen some pretty strange goings on over at their place.” She emphasized the word pretty by saying it slower than her other words. “Not that it’s any of my business, you see,” she responded tentatively.

“Yes, I understand, but you did see something strange?”

“Well I don’t know…”

“Come on Mrs. Tess, spill it,” I said with my brightest smile.

“Well, Mr. Hunt travels a lot you know, business I guess. When he’s out of town, she would throw these wild parties. I even called the police about the noise once. I think there was a fight too.”

I could have kissed her on her little wrinkled forehead.

“Thank you Mrs. Tess. Can you think of anything else?” I asked.

“Nothing I can think of now. May I have your card, just in case?”

I peeled a business card off the stack in my pocket and gave her a card in lieu of that kiss then left her with my thanks.

“Have a nice day,” she said over her shoulder as her mongrel pulled her away.

I silently prayed I’d be as sharp as Mrs. Tess when I was her age. She had not only put Cary Hunt completely in the clear, but had given me the first real lead on the killer. I wondered why the homicide detectives hadn’t questioned her any more closely, nailed down the time, or asked about the make of the car. Cary Hunt was in the clear all right. About a hundred witnesses could place him on an airplane at eight thirty the morning it’s assumed his wife was killed. His black BMW was parked in the OIA garage too. Another car, driven by someone else had peeled out of the Hunt’s neighborhood at eight-thirty.

I decided to head out to the country club a little early and check out the parking lot. Maybe I’d get lucky and find a dark color Lexus four door with spoke wheels, an oil leak and Djarum Black slims in the ashtray.

I wheeled past the fountains and the sign that marked the entrance to Steeple Chase Country Club. The drive wound through massive live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. The clubhouse was a three-story reproduction of an antebellum plantation house, much like General Hunt’s place. Balconies, shutters, and verandas- this place had it all. A valet sprinted toward me as I entered the circular drive.

“Who are you visiting today, sir? The eager young preppy said all too cheerfully.

“What?” I stuttered in response. I hadn’t run across the valet in my previous visit. Lucky, I guess.

“Whose guest are you, sir. I need it for the registration book.” He made as if he was writing.

“Oh, I’m looking for the pro shop.”

“Thank you, sir. If you would care to drive around to the right, you can park …”

I hit the gas before he finished. There’s a deep-seated rude streak in me. I pulled into a parking space next to a yellow Range Rover and headed towards a cluster of low buildings to the right of the main clubhouse. I came to the golf shop as a beefy guy in his fifties came through the front.

He wore a powder blue Arnold Palmer golf shirt buttoned to the neck, tan chinos and a Callaway visor. Bald temple to temple, he would have benefited from an actual hat. His exposed head was as red as a blood grapefruit. His wind-burned face wore a tense smile.

“Can I help you?” the man asked as he scrubbed his golf shoes on the cleaner by the door.

“I’m looking for the tennis pro,” I replied.

“Rad’s giving a lesson,” he said reaching into a cooler. “Want a water? It’s a hot one, but it’s a workin’ day.”

“Never touch the stuff, unless it involves ice,” I replied. “Can you point me in the right direction?”

“Sure, down the path to the right. It’s on the other side of the main building, but you won’t find Rad there. He’s giving a lesson like I said,” he replied.

“Well, maybe you can help me while I wait,” I said hopefully. “I’m Mac Everett. I’m a private investigator working on the Stephanie Hunt case,” I said as I offered my hand.

“Canning, I’m the golf pro,” the guy said shaking my hand. “Not sure what I can tell you, but I’ve got some time before Mrs. Levin’s lesson. A real hacker, that one, but she’s here going on three years.”

“She that bad or is it the teacher? I asked.

“There ain’t no one in the world gunna help that broad. That’s one mean bitch too. She just takes the lessons so she can mess with her husband, forces him to play with her. I don’t get it, but she pays a buck and a quarter twice a week.” He wiped his face with a terry cloth towel.