Designed to Kill (38 page)
“Mr. Farnsworth,” said
Redding
in his slow, deliberate voice, “why did you not feel it incumbent upon yourself to raise some question when you saw that pour? Surely you must have wondered about the use of those rebars and the particular mix of concrete.”
Boz was sweating, as if he’d just come off the tennis court. “In retrospect, I’m sure I should have, Mr. Redding.” He paused to clear his throat. “But at the time, I was concentrating more on just what the specs said, rather than what they might have or should have said. You know, trying to make sure they were being followed by the contractor. I knew Tim Gannon had the credentials of a competent structural engineer. He had access to all the tables showing stresses to be expected and materials strengths that would be necessary. I just couldn’t imagine something like this happening.”
Redding
shuffled some papers. Then he said, “The balcony was poured the afternoon of July fifteenth. Why did you not submit photographs of this pour? We received pictures for all the others.”
Boz stammered a bit. “I’m sorry, the photo lab lost the roll of film they were on.”
“Film? All of your other photos are digital.”
“I know, sir. But my digital camera was acting up, so I used my
Boz was asked a few other questions, one of which brought an objection from his lawyer and was dropped. Then Walt was called to testify.
“I understand you have some exculpatory evidence to introduce, Mr. Sturdivant,”
Redding
said after Walt was seated.
“Yes, sir. It’s in this envelope.”
Walt handed over the envelope, then explained how I had found the laptop and the circumstances under which we discovered the file had been deleted. He told about the software recovery people restoring the file and turned over their affidavit regarding the operation.
“There is a CD-ROM disk with the file on it in the envelope,” Walt said. “We printed out the specification sheet from it, showing the balcony details. That is also in the envelope. You will find the specs call for number eleven rebars and 4,000 p.s.i. concrete.”
“I understand, however,”
Redding
said, “that you have no original set of sealed plans.”
“That is correct.” Walt proceeded to explain about the theft and our suspicions regarding the recently resigned draftsman.
When they finally finished with Walt, it was about
and
Redding
called a brief recess. As soon as we got outside, I told Jill about the call Baucus had made to Tim.
“It must have been to set up the meeting at the Seashore,” she said.
“That’s my guess. And he made the call right after he left The Sand Castle. I’ll bet he stopped in the parking lot at the bar on the corner of
Johnson Beach Road
, where our Mafia escort waited for us Saturday.”
While she made an obligatory trip to the rest room, I got out my phone and called Sherry Hoffman. I told her briefly about Boz’s testimony regarding the photos of the balcony pour.
“Do you know where Boz plays tennis?” I asked.
“It’s a tennis center across town. I think he practically lives there.”
“As I suspected. I presume they keep records of who plays when?”
“That’s right. I’ve been over there with him a few times. He always calls and reserves a court.”
“Could you check with them and see if he played there on the afternoon of July fifteenth?”
She hesitated a moment. “That’s over three months ago. I’m not sure if they keep the records that long.”
“Would you mind giving it a try?”
“Be happy to, if it’ll help clear Tim’s name.”
I gave her my cell phone number and asked her to call when she had something.
When we met back in the corridor, I told Jill about my conversation with Sherry. If what I suspected were true, we would know what Boz meant by saying he had played tennis when he should have been elsewhere. But I told Jill I still believed the guy who held the key to everything was Evan Baucus.
“Do you have enough to pin the murder on him?” she asked.
I frowned. “Not yet. Everything is circumstantial. We need to place him inside the National Seashore, on that road to the boat ramp.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I don’t know yet. There must be a way.”
“I have a suggestion,” she said, with
that
look in her eye.
I grinned. “Okay. Let’s have it.”
“Greta Baucus isn’t here.”
“I know.”
“Why don’t I see if she’s at The Sand Castle? Go have a little chat with her, if she’s willing. Who knows, she might slip up again like she did with that comment about the phone call.”
After what Jill had gotten out of Sherry Hoffman, I wasn’t about to discourage her. I handed over the cell phone and the number Baucus had given me. There was only one problem.
“Don’t you imagine he has the phone with him here?” I asked.
She smiled. “From what I’ve seen of Miss Greta, I don’t think she would agree to stay at home all day without a means of communication.”
I nodded. “He could carry a pager. And Detrich likely has a phone with him. But what if Greta has her own cell phone?”
“Let’s see,” Jill said.
She punched in the number and smiled. Greta had answered. After a chummy few minutes of chatter, Jill handed the phone back.
“Give me the car keys and I’ll head on over there,” she said.
“How’s the arm? Think you can make it okay?”
“I’ll be all right. Us Private Eyes have to be tough.”
Laughing, I gave her the keys. She was hardly out the door when my phone rang. I saw Ted Kennerly’s number on the ID screen.
“My man on the coast came through,” Ted said when I answered.
“What do you have?”
“Well, Boss, it’s rather interesting. He found all the basics you’d expect—former local address, driver’s license, voter registration, employment record.”
“Who was the employer?”
“Outfit called Pacific Assets, a venture capital firm in LA. That’s what made my man a little suspicious. He remembered the name from somewhere. When he checked out Pacific Assets with an FBI friend, he was told a lot of its ventures were allied with the mob. Just on a hunch, he decided to dig a little deeper. He got the names of a few higher ups in the company, called and asked for the secretary of one of them. My guy is a real bullshitter. He gave her this story that he was writing some personality pieces for a small local newspaper. He asked how long she had worked there and was told ten years. He said oh, then you were there when Evan Baucus was. She’d never heard of him.”
“That is interesting,” I said. “I’ll have to say your contact really went all out on this.”
“He wasn’t finished. Still not satisfied, he checked out the supposed home address. Nobody around there had heard of Baucus, either. So it looks like your man definitely has an assumed identity.”
“With a possible mob connection. That fits with what your buddy in
New York
told us about Perseid. Now the question becomes, who is he really?”
“I hope you have some ideas,” Ted said.
Right after we had started talking, Baucus, Detrich and their friend passed me heading back into the hearing room, carrying soft drinks.
“Just might have the answer,” I said. “I’d better get onto it. Thanks a million, Ted.”
49
I hurried back into the room. Before returning to my seat, I stood behind the chairs and took a careful look around. Boz and his lawyer sat on the right side, just in front of Walt. The
Sand
Castle
principals and their companion were seated at the left end of a row. They had switched places, with Baucus now on the outside, the slick-looking lawyer type in the middle and Detrich on the right. I noticed Detrich with a Coke can. The man in the center was drinking something orange, and Baucus was swigging a bottle of water.
Detrich was called to testify next. As he moved to center stage, I sat beside Walt and whispered in his ear.
“I’ll be moving about shortly, and I don’t want anybody to notice me. So when I get up, don’t look around.”
As the panel at the table began to grill the contractor, he gave them a truly gargantuan look of innocence and told the same lies he had used on me. He just followed the plans he had been given by Baucus. He assumed they were correct. He had no idea why the specifications would be different from those Tim Gannon had in his files. I could see Walt getting agitated, and I decided to get away from him before he let go with an outburst that would attract attention to me.
I moved around the chairs, careful to avoid the TV cameras, circled to the left and took an empty seat two rows back of Baucus. The bottle sat on the floor beside his chair. It still held water. I kept my eye on the spot and saw him lift the bottle now and then to take a drink. When he appeared to push the container back a little farther than before, I presumed he was finished.
After he had ignored the water for several minutes, I made my move. The young man sitting directly behind Baucus appeared to be a reporter. He occasionally jotted notes on his pad and seemed to be concentrating his attention on the questions and answers.
Quietly, I moved beside the reporter. I reached down casually, grasped the water bottle by the cap and pulled it back, staying well behind Baucus. Then I headed for the door.
Out in the corridor, I looked around. I needed a paper bag. Of course, there was nothing like that in sight. I saw a trash can near the outside door, however. Carefully placing the bottle on the floor, I fished around in the garbage and found a slightly used McDonald’s bag. Fortunately, whoever discarded it had finished their burger and fries. I shook out a napkin and a foam container, then dropped the water bottle inside. I took out my cell phone, dialed Red Tarkington’s pager and left my number.
After I had loitered about the corridor for ten minutes, Red called.
“What’s up, Greg?”
“Could you lift some fingerprints off a water bottle for me?” I asked.
“No problem. Who you got?”
“The developer. I sneaked the bottle out of the hearing room when he set it down. One of Ted’s contacts found out his name isn’t really Evan Baucus. I hope we can find out who he is.”
“You want me to run a check on the prints?”
“It would sure help. I wish there was some way we could get a quick match.” My experience had been it could take up to two weeks to get a routine report back from the FBI.
“Looks like this is your lucky day,” Red said. “Remember my tale yesterday about the young lieutenant whose ass I saved on Perdido Key?”
