Bob Moats - Jim Richards 01-03- 3 for Murder Box Set (46 page)

Chapter Five

My thoughts were on Ralph and what a sleaze ball he was. I wondered why he was working at the pool place if he was living off Elma. I’d have to ask her about it. My other mystery was why did the police show a different photo of Weston? Did someone screw up, or was there a cover up for some reason? Did they not want the barmaid to ID him so they could say he lied about being with the woman? I was hoping for the photo screw up, and not some conspiracy to cover the murder of his wife. Why would they want to cover it up? Did they have an idea who actually committed the murder and were protecting someone? I was hoping Benson could sort the mess out. 

We were heading back to my office when my cell phone rang. It was Benson. “Hello,” I said.

“Jim, got your message. I was in court. What’s up?”

“I have a mystery. That picture of Weston that you gave me, I showed it to the barmaid at the bar where he supposedly picked up the mystery woman, and she said that was not the same picture the police showed her, not the same guy.”

He was silent for a minute. “You’re saying the police showed her a photo of someone who was not Weston?”

“I think that’s what I said, yes. She said they had a picture of someone else, and she said the guy in their photo wasn’t in the bar that night. The picture you gave me, she said he was there, and with a woman. What’s going on?” I asked.

“Good question. I’ll have to call the DA and find out where they got their picture. You really sure about the barmaid?”

“She didn’t seem like she was trying to screw the pooch. I took her at her word.”

“OK, I’ll do some checking here and get back to you. Are you going to follow up on your findings?”

“Yeah, I’m going to try and track down the woman who was seen with Weston that night at the bar. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Thanks for the heads up. I’ll check on it.” he said good bye and hung up.

We were just pulling back into my parking lot. I looked at Buck and said, “The plot thickens.”

We went in, and I saw Elma Flagg sitting in the lobby. “Elma, is there anything wrong?”

“I’m sorry, I was just hoping you had something for me,” she said quietly.

“Well, you were just here yesterday. I have done some investigating, and I could fill you in, but I really think I need to gather a bit more info before I give you my findings. Just to be accurate. Can you wait a day or two more?”

She looked sad and said she would. I introduced Buck as my assistant, and Buck did his charming way of greeting her. She smiled wide at Buck, giggled, and said she’d let us go to do our thing. I said I did have some info, but I’d let her know at least by the day after tomorrow. She thanked me and left. I felt bad for her, considering the rat she was married to. I entered my office followed by Buck and checked my answering machine. No messages.

“That skunk Ralph should be hung out to dry for hurting that sweet woman,” Buck growled.

I guess Buck saw more to Elma than I did. That made me feel a bit bad that I might have misjudged her. She was not the most beautiful woman, but that sad creature I saw in the hall just melted my heart.

“I’m going to see to it that Ralphy boy goes down hard,” I swore. “Son of a bitch.”

It was now about 3 p.m., and we had accomplished a little bit of good. I was happy to know Ralph was a creep, and tomorrow I would bring his world to a speedy halt. I had recorded our conversation at the pool place with my new Palm Treo cell phone, for proof to play for Elma.

I looked up to the wall and admired my last Palm Treo that saved my life from a bullet in the desert of Vegas. I attached it and the bullet that nearly took my life inside a nice small display case I bought at a craft store and got a little engraved plate to say why it was on the wall. As soon as I got back to Michigan, I bought another Treo, and hoped it would protect me like its predecessor. 

I told Buck to go home and we could start early in the morning, but not before 9 a.m.  I closed up shop after he exited and got to my car just as my cell phone rang. The caller ID said it was Benson. I answered.

“That was quick. Find out anything on the photo?” I asked.

“Not yet, but I got you the interview with Weston at the Macomb County jail. Just go in and mention my name to whoever is at the sign in booth. They’ll take it from there.”

“Thanks, I’ll head up there now. If you could find out about the photos, I don’t want to be caught uninformed when I snoop.”

“I’m making it a priority. I called the DA’s office and I got someone inside checking on it. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.”

I said thanks and hung up. I drove up Groesbeck Highway to Elizabeth Road where the county jail, courthouse and Sheriff’s offices were. I parked and went into the jail waiting room. There were a good number of people sitting around waiting for incarcerated loved ones to get out or to post bail. They all had that same tired, miserable look on their faces, like they had it with junior’s little crime sprees and were wondering why they should put their houses up in lieu of bail.

I went to the two inch Plexiglas protected booth. Talking into the round metal plate that housed the microphone, I told the woman deputy my name and my purpose. She looked at a clipboard of paper and pointed to a door on my left. I went in, got to another Plexiglas booth, and explained again my purpose. A big deputy came out and had me place all my personal property, including my gun, on a tray. He placed the tray in a wire cage and gave me a ticket to retrieve my stuff. They let me keep the file folder I carried after looking through it for, I presumed, weapons or explosives.

He told me to follow him through three sliding doors, each having to be buzzed open. We got to a row of small rooms, one of which he told me to wait inside. After about fifteen minutes of waiting, the door opened again, and another deputy brought in Weston. At least this guy looked like the picture I had.

He sat across from me, still handcuffed, and the deputy shackled him to his chair. The deputy said he’d be right outside if I needed help. I looked at Weston and introduced myself.

“May I call you Dave?” I asked.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said quietly.

“I’ve been hired by Mark Benson to find the woman you were with the night your wife was murdered. Are you going to help me?”

“I didn’t kill my wife. I told them that, and they say I lied about that night. Yeah, I’m going to help you.”

“OK, starting from the beginning, you were in the Midnight Bar in Mt. Clemens and met with the woman in question. What was her name?”

“She said her name was Cindy. She didn’t want to talk about herself too much since she was married and wasn’t in the bar to be picked up. I chatted her up a while, and she started getting looser. The drinks helped. She said her husband was always out of town, and she was tired of sitting around waiting for him.”

“She didn’t tell you where she lived, city or anything that might help?”

“Nope, she was very secretive about it.”

“OK, Dave, now give me your take on why your wife was murdered.”

He sat quietly for a while. I was getting impatient. “Help me out here, Dave. You could be put away for a very long time.”

He leaned forward, said quietly, “You’re here to help me, right? Everything I tell you is privileged, right?”

“Just like your lawyer,” I said.

He paused again, and then said, “My wife had a little business on the side, something our family never knew, or our children. Noreen, that’s her name, had a little office where she would do therapy for people. People who had issues with authority.”

“What kind of authority issues, Dave?”

“Do you know anything about dominance?” he asked even quieter. I had to lean in more to hear him. He continued, “Noreen would help people who wanted to be submissive to another person, usually because they were in a position of authority over other people, and it ate at them. So Noreen would be their dominant figure, making them feel less than what they were.”

I was stunned, three times in a week this subject came up. “Noreen was a Dominatrix?” I asked.

“Yeah, they call it that, but she didn’t like the name. She referred to herself as an ‘attitude adjuster.’ She wasn’t in it for the bondage stuff or sex. There was absolutely no sex with her clients. But the stuff she did was still bondage no matter what you call it. They came, took it in, and left happy. And she was paid well for it.”

“Did you tell the police about this?”

“Hell, no. They would have spread it to the media and it would have destroyed our families.”

“Well, all destruction aside, this might have given the police something more to go on for her murder. It might have cleared you.”

“I don’t think so. Noreen never really talked much about her business, but she did say she had some very powerful people as clients. They could be behind it, and I’m the scapegoat. I don’t think I’m going to beat this.”

“You will if I can do anything about it. Where was Noreen’s office, and can I get in?”

“It’s in a little strip mall, on Gratiot Avenue by Utica Road. At the end of the building. There’s a small sign on the door saying ‘Noreen Black, Attitude Therapist.’ Black is a name she made up. You can talk to Willy in the novelty shop. He’s the building manager, he’ll get you in. Just say I sent you. He knows me.”

I told him I would be back and I would do everything I could to clear him, hopefully without damaging Noreen’s reputation. I signaled to the guard, he came in, and unshackled Weston, then they went out. Another guard took me out to the room where I got my property back. The deputy asked if I was trying to clear Weston, I said that’s what I was hired for. He just stared at me as if I was a bug and said nothing. I thanked him and went out.

Why did I feel like things were going to get complicated?     

*

Chapter Six

It was just after 5 p.m., and I was getting run down. I headed to the house and Penny. I got there, and her car was in the drive. She must have been out after her show since she usually put it in the garage. She opened the door as I came up and latched on to me giving me a good tonsil search.

“What did I do to deserve that, and why aren’t you in sexy lingerie for a greeting like that?” I kidded.

“I just missed you, and glad you didn’t get shot today,” she said with a smile.

“You had some kind of sex talk on your show today, and now you’re horny?” I hoped.

“No, we discussed family trees, and how to trace your ancestors. It was a good show.”

We both went to the couch and sat. I laid my head back and related my day to her. She sat nodding her head as I talked. She started looking like a bobble head. I said I wanted to watch her show, so she went to turn on the TiVo and we watched. I made my usual comments about the show that I made every day, she listened and we discussed ways to keep her show interesting.

She bounced up and said she had lasagna in the oven and it was about ready. We ate on the couch and watched TV for a while. Around 6:30 p.m., my cell rang and the caller ID said ‘private.’ I didn’t like those calls. They were usually some sales persons, but I answered, ready to yell at someone. It was Benson.

“What’s up? Any good news?” I asked.

“The Roseville cops say there was a mix up with the pictures. The primary detective on the case got the file from another cop who started the case but was pulled off at the last minute. He hadn’t met with Weston, just had the picture, so he used that. That’s what they’re saying, but I’m doubtful. They did a lot of tap dancing around the thing. Something’s up. The primary detective’s name is Ben Lincoln,” he said, all in one breath. I could see why he was a lawyer.