Who Invited the Ghost to Dinner: A Ghost Writer Mystery (32 page)

Ch
apter 40

W
e moved the chicken from the oven into the fridge, and I grabbed my phone and keys. Mike had brought a patrol car to my house, and we drove back to the Dimwitty house, lights flashing and sirens blaring. I had to admit it was a bit thrilling and terrifying at the same time. After riding with him, Mike had no right to complain about my driving!

We arrived at the same time as Reynolds, the front ends of both cars facing each other. Reynolds grabbed his rifle out while Mike pulled out his Colt and flashlight. “Go around to the left side,” Mike told him, “and count to ten. I’ll do the same thing on the right. We’ll go into the backyard at the same time.”

“Got it, Chief.”

“Cam, lock yourself inside my patrol car. If you don’t see either one of us in ten minutes, call it in. I’ll come get you if it’s all clear.”

I nodded.

“All right, Reynolds, let’s go.”

Waiting in the car was extremely nerve wracking. It was the not knowing that got to me the most. No room to pace in the car, either. Thankfully, after about five minutes, I saw Mike come around the corner and wave at me.

I jumped out of the car and ran over to him. “Did you find anything?”

Mike chuckled. “Oh, we found something all right.”

I followed him into the backyard, where Reynolds was shining his flashlight on something by one of the trees. As we got closer, I saw that it was a man. He was sitting on the ground, a hood over his head, tied to the tree. “What in the world?” I said. “Is he dead?”

“No, ma’am,” Reynolds said. “He’s alive. He kicked out at me when I got close to him.”

“Are you planning on leaving him sitting there? That seems rather cruel.”

“We wanted an impartial witness, so he can’t accuse us of brutality or anything like that,” Mike said.

I reached over and yanked the hood off. A pair of green eyes glared at me. He was gagged, which explained why he wasn’t yelling at us yet. “I’m going to remove that gag,” I told him. “I would greatly appreciate it if you wouldn’t start yelling your head off until I step back. Do you think you can do that?”

The man continued to glare at me, but he nodded. I moved behind him, untied the handkerchief, and slowly removed it. He coughed and gagged a bit.

“Reynolds, there’s some bottled water in the trunk of my car. Why don’t you grab a couple of bottles for the gentleman?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come on, cop, untie me,” the man said. “My arms are killing me, and my butt is numb from sitting on the ground.”

“Not until I find out who you are, and what you’re doing here,” Mike told him.

“I’m Desmond Long Jr, but everyone calls me Junior.”

“Our missing president,” I said.

“President?” He shook his head and laughed. “Who the hell do you think I am, lady, President of the United States? You must be a blonde.”

I kicked his leg hard, and he yelled.

“We’ve been looking for you for four days,” Mike told him. “We have some questions for you.”

“I’m not answering any questions until you untie me.”

“Then you’re going to be sitting there a long time.”

Reynolds came back with two bottles of water. He handed them to Mike, who put one on the ground at Long’s feet and opened the other one. Kneeling next to Junior, he tilted the bottle so Junior could take a drink. Standing up, Mike put the lid back on the bottle and put it next to the other one. “If you want more water, then you’ll have to answer our questions.”

“That’s police brutality!” Junior said angrily. “I’ve hardly had anything to eat or drink for four days.”

“Well, your attitude is hardly making me want to jump through hoops to help you,” Mike told him. “You’re one of the prime suspects in a murder.”

“Whose murder?”

“Clinton Ingram.”

“You’re crazy. I would never kill him. That’s like killing the goose who laid the golden egg.”

“What do you mean by that?” Mike asked.

“I mean, he is…was…my employer. He paid me good money with benefits. In this economy, why would I do anything to risk losing that?”

“Where were you Friday afternoon?”

“At a job site.”

“Can anyone verify that?” Reynolds said.

“No,” Junior said, shaking his head. “We haven’t started construction yet. I went out to look the place over, and to pick a place for our office trailer.”

I picked up the open bottle of water and gave Long another drink.

“I understand that you were one of three candidates to take over as president of Ingram Construction,” Mike said.

“Along with Scott VanMeter and Pamela Dimwitty, although I don’t really understand why she was under consideration. Can you imagine a woman running a construction company?” Junior scoffed.

I poured the rest of the bottle on the crotch of his pants. I heard Mike and Reynolds chuckle.

“Are you going to let her do that to me?”

“Was Clinton having problems with any employees?” Mike asked him.

“Only with Joey.”

“What kind of problems were they having?”

“Joey didn’t know his head from his butt,” Junior said. “Clinton had been carrying him for years. There was no way that he was going to make Joey president.”

“I understand that Joey was involved in a hostile takeover of the company,” I said. “He felt that his father was running the company into the ground with all the low-income housing they were building.”

“That was about the only thing Joey and I agreed on. My old man vetoed the whole project when they first started it about twenty-five years ago.”

“Your father used to work for Clinton?”

“He was involved from the very beginning. They built the company together. Clinton relied on my father quite a bit. Without him, there wouldn’t be an Ingram Construction.”

Something about that sounded odd to me, but I wasn’t sure why. “Untie him, Mike,” I said. “He’s answered our questions. As far as his kidnapping goes, I’m sure Junior will cooperate.” I looked down at him. “Won’t you, Junior?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded eagerly.

“Go ahead, Reynolds,” Mike said.

Reynolds handed Mike his shotgun, and then pulled out a knife as he walked behind the tree. A couple of minutes later, the ropes dropped to the ground, and Mike held out his hand to help Junior to his feet. I bent over, picked up the second bottle of water, and handed it to him. He opened it and drank half of it. “Thank you,” he said to me.

“You’re welcome.”

“Now, Junior, could you tell us what happened to you?” Mike said.

“Don’t you know?” he said. “Surely my family reported me missing.”

Mike shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Why, those ungrateful…”

“Junior, if you please,” Mike said.

“It was Saturday morning,” he said. “I went by the office to get some surveying equipment. As I was putting it in the bed of my truck, someone hit me from behind and knocked me out. I’ve spent the last four days tied up and blindfolded in some smelly cabin.”

“So you never saw the person who was holding you hostage?” I said.

“Never saw them, never heard them say a word. Only thing I heard was some damn yipping.”

“Yipping?” Reynolds said.

“A dog,” Junior said. “Little buggar peed on my leg a couple of times.”

I looked at Mike, and then over my shoulder at the house. He dug the key out of his pocket. “Go look,” he said, handing it to me. “Reynolds, go with her.”

“What are we looking for, Chief?”

“Cam knows.”

We let ourselves into the house. “Let’s check the garage first,” I said, turning to my left.

“What are you looking for, Cam?”

“Dog food.”

“Excuse me?”

“When I was here the day Pamela went missing,” I said, opening the garage door, “I noticed two small bowls sitting outside by the back door. When I was looking at the crime scene pictures a little while ago, I didn’t see the bowls. Why would a thief steal surveillance equipment, kill an officer, and take two dog bowls?”

Reynolds shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Nothing out here,” I said, going back into the house. When I walked in from the garage, I noticed the washer and dryer to my right. Over in the corner was an empty space. I went over to take a closer look, and spotted something on the floor. Bending over, I picked up a few pieces. “Well, will you look at that?”

“What is it?”

I stood up and held out my hand so he could see. “Dry dog food. Obviously, this is where Pamela stored it.”

Going back outside, we rejoined Mike and Junior. “Any luck?” Mike asked me.

I showed him what I was holding.

Junior leaned over and looked, too. “Dog food. So what? What does that have to do with my kidnapping?”

“Everything,” I told him.

Chapter 41

T
he four of us drove back to the station; Junior rode with Reynolds. “So, what do you think?” Mike asked me.

“I think it was Pamela Dimwitty.”

“Not by herself.”

“Probably not, although I’m not sure who would have helped her. Certainly not VanMeter; he had nothing to gain.”

“Joey?” Mike said.

“I don’t think so. Remember what Prufrock told us. Clinton named Pamela as president of the company.”

“That’s right,” Mike said. “If something happens to her, then Joey would take over. So he would benefit more from her disappearing than from Junior.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, we know that it was Pamela that was keeping Junior in that cabin. And she faked her own kidnapping, too.”

“But did she kill Reagan?”

“That I don’t know,” Mike said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “There are still too many unanswered questions, and I’m running out of people to ask.”

We pulled into the station and parked. When the four of us went inside, there was an older gentleman standing at the counter, yelling at Goodwin. “Where is my son? I demand you bring him out here right now! You have no right to hold him.”

“Calm down, old man, I’m right here,” Junior said.

The man at the counter turned around. “Son! Oh, thank God you’re all right,” he said, coming over and giving his son a hug. “We’ve been so worried about you.”

“So worried that you couldn’t bother to file a police report?”

“We were told not to.”

“By who?” Mike asked.

“Chief Penhall, this is my father, Desmond Long Sr.”

“Thank you for bringing my son home safely, Chief Penhall,” Long Sr. said, shaking Mike’s hand.

“You’re welcome, sir. But how did you know we had found him?”

“A woman called, said she was calling on your behalf. She wanted to inform me that my son had been found, and was being detained at the police station.”

Mike walked over to the front desk. “Goodwin, did anyone make a call to this gentleman this evening? One of our female officers?”

“None of them are on duty tonight, sir.”

I noticed Mac walk through the front door (literally). He stopped in his tracks when he saw the Longs, and his mouth fell open. No pun intended, but he looked like he had just seen a ghost. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in any position to ask him about it.

Mike came back over. “Why don’t you gentlemen go home for the night?” he suggested.

“Don’t you want my son to give you a description of his kidnapper?” Long Sr. said.

“We’ve already talked to your son, but he is unable to provide much information. He was blindfolded the entire time,” Mike told him. “Do you still have the note that was sent to you, Mr. Long?”

“I’m not sure,” Long Sr. said. “It might be on my desk. I’ll have to check when I go home.”

“If you do find it, would you mind putting it in a Ziploc bag? Pick it up from the corners only.”

“My prints are all over it already, Chief.”

“We might still be able to find other prints, sir. We’ll take your fingerprints for elimination purposes, of course. I would appreciate it if you would both come back in the morning, and file statements about what happened.”

“We’ll be happy to cooperate, won’t we, Pops?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, not a problem. Come on, son. Let’s go home.”

I watched them leave. “I’d say Pamela is definitely involved,” I said.

“But she definitely had help,” Mike said.

Mac was waving at me, motioning for me to go outside.

I leaned closer to Mike. “Mac wants me to go outside. He took one look at the Longs, and became very upset. I better see what’s wrong.”

“I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

I walked outside, down the steps and turned to the right. Mac was leaning against the driver’s side of Mike’s patrol car. “What’s wrong, Mac?”

“Who were those men in the lobby with you?” he asked me.

“Desmond Long Sr. and his son, Desmond Jr. Junior is the one we’ve been looking for the last few days. Mike wanted to question him about Clinton’s death.”

Mac shook his head. “That older man’s name is not Long.”

“What? Who is he?”

“Do you remember I told you about a man the mob sent out here to keep a close eye on Clinton? And I told you that I was hanging around to keep an eye on that guy?”

“Yes.”

“That’s him, Cam. His name isn’t Long. It’s Brennan. And did you notice something else?”

******

Mac vanished after his pronouncement, which was very frustrating. Mike came out a few minutes later. “Ready to go home?” he asked me.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Everything all right?”

“I’m not sure,” I said as we got in the car.

“What did Mac have to say?” he asked me as he started the car.

I put my arm on his hand. “I think we better go back inside.”

“Why?”

I took my seatbelt off. “I’ll explain inside.”

We grabbed a couple of drinks before we went into his office. “What’s going on?” Mike said as he closed his office door.

“Is there any way you can call Vegas and ask them to check someone out?”

“Well, yeah, I can. But why would I want to?”

“When Clinton first borrowed the money for the company, the mob sent someone to keep an eye on him. At first, he just came out here once in awhile. But eventually, they decided the best way to keep an eye on their investment was to put someone on the inside of the company.”

“That sounds like good business sense,” Mike said.

“Do you remember what Mac told us about them making him vice-president of the company?”

“Yeah.”

“It was in name only. I don’t think he had enough power in the organization to force Clinton to do anything, which is why they put someone else in the company.”

“But we don’t know who that someone is, or was, Cam.”

“Did you get a good look at Long Sr.’s shoes?”

“His shoes?” Mike said. “Why in the world would I be looking at his shoes?”

“They were black and white wingtips.”

“So the guy likes to wear old fashioned shoes.”

I just looked at him.

“What? I’m sorry, what’s so important about black and white shoes?”

“Whoever hit me the other day behind the theatre, and whoever killed Clinton was wearing black and white shoes.”

Mike almost choked on his water. “Oh, come on, Cam! You don’t really think Desmond Long Sr., one of the most respected men in the community, killed Clinton Ingram?”

“His name isn’t Long.”

“Oh, this ought to be good. If his name isn’t Long, then what is it?”

“Brennan.”

“And how do you know this?”

“Mac told me.”

“You want me to take the word of a ghost about this man’s identity?”

“Did you ever hear back from your friend in Vegas?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Mike said. “He sent me a whole bunch of information in an overnight package. I haven’t had a chance to go through it yet, though.”

“Would you mind if I took it home and looked at it?”

“Sure, knock yourself out. I really don’t need it anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s pretty obvious that Pamela Dimwitty is behind everything,” Mike said. “She’s got an accomplice, though. I’m just not sure who yet. It’s a big coincidence that VanMeter is also out of town.”

“But you confirmed he’s at a conference.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t help her snatch Long Jr. before he left.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, Mike.”

“I do,” he replied. “Everything is pointing at Pamela. I’ve put out an APB on her. We’ll find her. She’s going to be charged with capital murder for Reagan’s death. She’ll get the needle for that.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.”

“I think you are.”

“Look, I appreciate all the help you and Mac have given to me during this case. But I’ve got it from here.”

I stood up. “We need to go to the Ingram house.”

“Why?”

“When we found Stanley Ashton’s murderer, you were able to see Stanley, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, so?”

“If you are so sure that Pamela Dimwitty is your killer, then let’s find out. If you tell me that you can see Clinton, I’ll back off.”

“And if I can’t?” Mike said, standing up and grabbing his car keys.

“Then we find Brennan.”

“Fair enough,” Mike said, with the confidence of a man who knew he was right.

I hoped he was wrong.