The Dead List (24 page)

He kept shaking his head erratically back and forth, over and over. “No, no. I have a witness, an alibi. I was with the girl.”

Drake began to ask, “You were with the girl…”

Parker was a large, agile man. In his anxious state there was an underlying unpredictability. In the room next door, Wilson had bounced between nervousness and false bravado, but there had been no hint of danger. Parker was different. His eyes shot around the room, alternating between the camera, the microphone, and the police officers. The palms of his big hands moved over the surface of the table. He looked from Ryberg, then back to Drake. "You know what girl.”

Myron would be notifying an officer to visit the receptionist from the dealership and check on Parker’s alibi immediately.

With each question they asked him, Parker became more confident. Drake put his arms on the table, not infringing on the man’s space but showing him that he wasn’t intimidated. He smiled when he asked, “What were you guys up to? What was this insurance scheme?”

Nothing. No response. The first man who speaks loses. Drake knew the game well. Just like when he thought about lying to them during the first interview at his office, Parker was easy to read. He was thinking, wondering what to do next. His seat, with its uneven legs, shifted beneath him. He tensed his lower body, righting the chair, and mirrored Drake’s stare. Then his eyes flickered.

Drake said it again. “Tell us about the insurance scheme, Dave.”

That was the button. There was something there.

The sales manager spread his hands apart and held on to the edges of the table. He looked as though he was going to lift it up and throw it at them. “You don’t get it. You really don’t.”

“The list of names you gave us. You were all involved in an insurance scam, weren’t you – even Trevor Middleton?”

Parker stayed silent for several seconds, his mouth hanging slightly open. Then very slowly his lips joined together in a straight line. It could almost be described as a smile.

Ryberg leaned forward, taking over again. “You’re not doing well here, Mr. Parker. One of your cronies is going to spill, and he or she will face the path of least resistance.” He slapped his palm on the table. “That could be you. Answer the constable’s question – what were you men up to?”

It was a definite smile now. A switch had been flipped, and something inside him had given up – closed off. When he spoke there was no gibberish – no despair in his voice. He was quite calm as he told the officers, “I would like to speak to my lawyer. I have nothing else to say to you.”

Her face was soaking wet with tears. The lawyer was beside her, stroking her back, whispering to her. The waitress started speaking as soon as the men walked in the door.

“I’m going to tell you what happened…”

The lawyer held up her hand. “Wait, please. My client is going to tell you what she knows. This will most definitely shed light on your investigation, but I need to make sure she has immunity from any and all charges.”

Monica smiled and her eyes glazed over. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Drake pulled out the remaining chair and sat down beside Ryberg while Pringle remained at the door.

Ryberg looked at Monica and spoke softly. He was good at ignoring lawyers. Just like the others, he failed to give this woman his attention too. “Tell us what you know, and I’ll do what I can to help you. That’s all I can do.”

She crossed her arms and stared across the table at Drake.

The lawyer once again asked for a deal.

Monica’s eyes seemed to be melting, they were so full of sadness, but she held her face firm as though she did not want to cry in front of them. She was like a little girl. Ryberg spoke again, still softly. “It’s good that you want to tell us, Monica. We don’t want anybody else to die.”

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “My son is with Social Services. I want him picked up and released to my mother. You were so quick to throw me in a police car that I didn’t have time to make arrangements.”

A nod from Ryberg, and Pringle opened the door, calling for Myron. He made the arrangements while the door was ajar. “We’ll bring your child here. Your mother can pick him up from the police station. Is that okay?”

She would not look at Ryberg. She stared directly at Drake and said yes.

Ryberg leaned back, giving the signal to Drake. “Go ahead.”

Drake told her it was going to be okay, and she began to speak.

“Johnny Max died five years ago. That’s when it started.”

Drake pulled a notebook from his pocket and wrote down the name. “Who was Johnny Max?

She spoke slowly, only to Drake, trying to make him understand. “It doesn’t matter, he was just a guy – a regular at the bar, and one day he didn’t show up. We heard from somebody that he died – cancer had been eating away at him. It finally took him.”

Ryberg interrupted. “What was Johnny Max’s full name?”

She raised her voice – almost yelling, but still only looked at Drake. “I told you; it doesn’t matter. It’s not about Johnny.”

This was what they’d been waiting for – a reason why two men had been killed. The three officers in the room and Myron in the observation area knew it, and Monica realized it too. All through the investigation they’d been unable to determine a motive. Now, they had it in their sights.

“It was five years ago, maybe longer now. The five of them came in, just like always, and of course we’re all talking about Johnny Max. It was early, nobody there yet, just them and maybe somebody playing pull-tabs off in the corner, I can’t remember now. I’d been bartending all day and waitressing too because it was slow, so I was wandering back and forth to the bar bringing them their pints. I remember now.” Her face lit up. “Cheap Trick. There was a Cheap Trick song playing on the stereo and Trevor and Mikey were arguing over the title of the album. Trevor wouldn’t let it go. He kept saying he was right. I turned the music up so loud. The two of them loved it, but Parker said we should have some respect with Johnny Max still being warm in his grave.”

Nobody moved in the interview room. She was smiling, remembering the good part.

“That was before we did everything. It was before the deal.”

There had been a deal.

She stared at the door, not looking at any of them. Drake spoke softly. “Who initiated the deal, Monica? Who talked about the money first?”

The killer would be the one who floated the idea first. It had to be.

“Wilson, Frank Wilson. He knew a guy in the insurance business.”

“The Italian company that paid out his injury settlement from logging – he had a scam going with them?”

“It wasn’t a scam. It’s legal – all legal according to him.”

It began to make sense. Maybe a foreign insurance company might have agreed to it.

“How much was the payout?”

“Three hundred thousand. Every time one of us dies the others split three hundred k.”

Ryberg stiffened in his chair.

“They kept saying ‘Last man standing gets all the money.’ They kept saying it over and over. There was nobody else in the bar by that time. They said they didn’t want to be like Johnny Max – dying and leaving nothing behind. They clinked their beer glasses together and yelled it. But no, that wasn’t going to happen. I said I’d be the last woman standing. That shut them up real fast. They thought nobody else was paying attention, but I was. I heard every word.” She had a smug look on her face – confident, but not the face of a killer. Just the face of someone who got into something she shouldn’t have.

“So they let you in.”

“They had no choice. By that time the bar was empty, just me and the five of them. We made a deal. Nobody else was allowed to know. They couldn’t tell their wives, their mothers, nobody. We pay the premiums each month, and when one of us kicks, the money gets paid into a trust that we all have access to. Three hundred thousand divided by the number of people still alive.”

She let out a little gasp, as though she suddenly realized what they’d done.

Ryberg spoke up. “And Trevor got kicked out of the group when he came out of the closet?”

She shook her head as she answered. “No, Trevor wasn’t allowed in the bar, but he was still in the group. He was paying his share of the premiums every month. They couldn’t take that away from him.”

Her lawyer interrupted. “As you can see, Miss Brown is being extremely forthcoming about her role.”

Monica didn’t listen, talking over her. “I wanted the money for my son. That was all. I didn’t care about me.”

Ryberg kept pushing. “What about the others? What did they want the money for? I know Derek Rochfort’s business wasn’t doing well, but what about the other members of the group?”

She nodded. “You’re right. If Rochfort could start showing some money coming in then he could call himself a success. Wilson gambles on his computer – sitting for hours losing money to sixteen-year-old kids at online poker. Can you imagine?”

Ryberg kept prodding. “Mike Robinson was always broke and hadn’t been selling many cars?”

She put her head in her hands. “Oh, Mikey.” Suddenly she looked up. “He just wanted to flash some money in front of his mother, I think. And Trevor was going to build a house. He had this dream about building a cabin out in the woods.”

It began to make sense. “Mike Robinson was the go-between, wasn’t he? He kept in touch with Trevor Middleton, kept him aware of what was happening in the group.”

There were no denials now. She spoke as though it was obvious. “Yes, yes, I couldn’t tell you. I had to lie about that. Mike was the go-between. Nobody else wanted to see Trevor. I volunteered, but Wilson rejected that idea. It had to be Mikey.”

Drake tried putting the pieces together. “And Dave Parker – he wasn’t selling enough cars?”

She shook her head. “No, he complained about his business like the rest of them, but that wasn’t his motivation.”

Ryberg interrupted. “He was going to leave his wife for the receptionist?”

She laughed out loud and then covered her mouth with the palm of her hand as though she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t be doing. “That’s what he should have done years ago. But no, Jennifer would have ruined him if he did that. He has to keep Jennifer in the style to which she feels she is accustomed. That woman almost breaks him – month after month. There’s never enough money.”

Drake spoke up. “Has any money surfaced?”

“It’s in the bank – the payout from Mike’s death is there already. That was part of the incentive. You supply a death certificate, suicide doesn’t pay out, but a death by any other means and the payout is made within forty-eight hours.”

There was an empty feeling in the room as though the air was being sucked out of it. It was a theory the six of them had floated around, talked about over a few beers. Maybe they weren’t the first group of friends to consider the possibility, but they’d acted on it.

Drake turned his notebook toward her. “Monica, I need the name of the bank.”

She took the pen from his hand.

The lawyer spoke again. “I recommend not providing that information just yet, Monica.”

She kept writing the name and account number.

“How does the money appear? Is there paperwork that has to be filed?”

“It was done. We just had to keep checking online to see when the money would arrive. The money is here, it’s sitting in trust.”

Ryberg began to ask, but Drake knew the question. He cut him off. “Who initiated the paperwork for the payout?”

She looked down at her hands and gently shook her head. “Wilson did it. He emailed all of us and told us he’d get the ball rolling. He got a copy of the death certificate from Mrs. Robinson…”

Ryberg spoke up. “Mike’s mother?”

“Yes. One day later the money was in the bank. All you need is a legitimate death certificate and they deposit the money. It’s held up for sixty days and then it’s ours.”

Drake thought of the off-road vehicles that had been delivered to the logger’s cabin. “Was some of the money released early? Are you sure none of them has their money yet? Could someone have started spending the money?”

She looked around the room and shook her head. “They spent thirty seconds wondering who offed Mike and then began figuring out what they were going to do with their cash. No, the funds are still in the account, but they knew the dollars were coming, so they probably started charging up their credit cards. Only fifty-six days to go.” There was no stopping her now. It was like once she started she had to tell the story of what happened. “We emailed each other, even after Mikey was killed. I have all the emails. I even know what they’re going to do with their shares.”

It was all about the money.

Ryberg prodded Drake. He knew what to ask. “Who was getting impatient, Monica? Who killed your friends?”

No tears came. She straightened herself up, and didn’t seem to hear the question. She was more interested in justifying what she’d done – defining her role. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering how we could have done it.” She stared at Ryberg for a moment and then back at Drake. “Think about it, you’re going to die anyway – we all are. Why not take a chance that you’re going to outlive the people around you. That’s how we thought it out. It was easy.”

She was right. It’s a conversation anyone could have had. Not everyone would have done what they did though.

Ryberg leaned forward, taking over. “Nobody else has to die, Monica. Who do you think killed the two men?”

This time she answered. “I’ve wondered that ever since Mikey was killed. I wanted it to be random – just an accident – a mugging, but part of me knew it was murder. I just knew.” She let out a little laugh. “At first, I thought it was Buttons. I figured Derek Rochfort was the most desperate.” She let it hang for a moment. “I guess I was wrong.”

Ryberg was on his feet.

For the first time she concentrated on the sergeant – staring at him. “They talked about the list that Parker gave you at the car lot. They call it ‘the dead list.’ It’s like it means nothing to them. None of them seemed worried about it – that you had it.”