Pernicious (5 page)

         
Yes, Neal, I do appreciate you watching Derrick while I work. I don’t appreciate you using that as an excuse for not getting your stuff together. For Pete’s sake, buck up or grow up!

         
Nothing’s changed. It’s the same old crap. Derrick
 
looking at me like I’m some ogress or something. Say something about his no-account daddy and he hits you with his evil eye.

         
If Neal and I were dangling from a cliff and Derrick could save only one of us, I bet he’d pick Neal. ‘Sorry, Ma, Dad’s more fun. He lets me watch television all day.’ Where’s dear old Dad when your stomach is growling? Where was dear old Dad when you wanted an Ipod?

         
Derrick entered the room carrying a book. “Momma, tell me what this word means?”

         
“Bring it here.”

         
Amazing how much he looks like Neal. Brown puppy-dog eyes, just like Neal’s…Funny-shaped head that, like Neal’s, can’t quite fit into a baseball cap…Slightly chubby frame, just like Neal’s. Derrick’s a little darker, though, more to my complexion.

         
“What word you’re talking about, sugar?” He pointed to a word in the book. “Mendacity?” Tasha asked.

         
“Yeah,” Derrick said. “What does that mean?”

         
“It means--wait a minute, what in the world are you reading?” She took the book and closed it. The title:
The Divorced Child.
“Who gave you this?”

         
“Daddy.”

         
“Why?”

         
“I asked him for it.”

         
This revelation stunned her.

         
She had not fully considered the negative ramifications of divorce, though warned repeatedly by her mother that the dissolution of her marriage would undoubtedly cause Derrick unnecessary mental anxiety.

         
“Tell you what, sugar,” Tasha said, tucking the book under her armpit, “let Momma read it first. I’ll pick out all the hard words for you.”

         
“Okay, Momma. You gotta give it back. Daddy borrowed it from the library. He might want it back soon.”

         
“Don’t worry. Your daddy will definitely get it back.”

                                     
* * * * *

         
The phone rang just as Tasha entered her cubicle. “Homicide. Detective--”

         
“Detective Montgomery!” the caller said, “I’m so glad I got you on the phone.”

         
“Hello, Mrs. Davis,” recognizing the voice. “How you doing?”

         
“I’m doing fine if you can call having your son’s murderer go scot free as doing fine. Detective Montgomery, would you please look into my son’s death? Please! I’m begging you. Please! Just look into it, please!”

         
Tasha sighed. “Mrs. Davis, your son’s death was ruled accidental. I’m sorry, that’s all there is to it. There’s really nothing more that I or anyone else can do. I’m sorry.”

         
“Detective Montgomery, if what you say is true, what strain on your eyes if you look into it? You think I’m a silly old woman who can’t let go after her son’s death. Trust me, when I say my son was murdered, he was murdered.”

         
“Tell you what, if I take a look into it, will you accept my decision?”

         
“Thank you, Jesus! I had a special feeling about you the moment I talked to you.”

         
“Mrs. Davis, don’t set your hopes too high, okay? And like I said, once I check into it--”

         
“I’ll be praying for you. You pray, too, ’cause you’re ’bout to come in contact with pure evil. The woman is evil, Detective. You be careful.”

         
“You’re talking about your son’s wife, right?”

         
“Right. I hate to say her name without a Bible handy.”

         
Tasha grabbed a pencil. “Okay, what’s her full name?”

         
“Perry Davis. She’s evil, Detective.”

         
“You told me. Do you know Perry’s social security number?”

         
“Yes, let me go get it. Hold on, okay?” Moments later: “You ready?”

         
Tasha wrote the number down. “Give me a few days, Mrs. Davis, and I’ll be in touch.”

         
Tasha hung up the phone before the woman could rant further. She typed the name and the social into the National Crime Information Computer Bank and, as she’d expected, nothing.

         
She called her friend, Dale Porter, a FBI agent at the FBI’s Little Rock field office. He ran the info through the FBI’s database and came up with the same results.

         
Tasha then called the Medical Examiner’s office and spoke to Gary Fagin, the chief examiner, who reported that there was nothing unusual about Willie Davis’ death. “A run-of-the-mill drowning,” he said.

         
During lunch she told Bob about her dead-end search.

         
“Didn’t I tell you?” Bob said.

         
“Yeah, yeah, you told me. I promised the mother I’d look into it, didn’t say I would make it a national case. I’ll call her. She’ll probably complain that I gave it a peek instead of a good look.”

         
“Did you check with NICB?”

         
“No. You think I should?”

         
“A thorough investigation of a baseless claim wouldn’t be complete without it.”

         
After lunch, Tasha called the National Insurance Crime Bureau and listened to three voice recordings before finally speaking to a Tim Boxer, who wrote the info down and said he would be in touch.

         
Later that evening, Mrs. Davis called again. “What you come up with?”

         
“Mrs. Davis, unlike
CSI
, real-life investigations take longer, much longer.”

         
“Is it an official investigation now?”

         
“No, I didn’t say that. To be honest, Mrs. Davis, I haven’t discovered anything convincing me to keep looking. I’m sorry.”

         
“Did you talk to Perry?”

         
Tasha lighted a cigarette, inhaled deeply and blew smoke into the receiver. Amazingly, Mrs. Davis started coughing.

         
“Mrs. Davis, you do remember our agreement?”

         
“Yeah,” she said glumly and hung up the phone.

         
A few minutes later the phone rang again.

         
“Bob, cover for me. If it’s Mrs. Davis, I’m gone home.”

         
Bob picked up the phone, said hello and immediately handed it to Tasha. “Your friend.”

         
“What did I just tell you! Craps!” Politely: “Hello, Detective Montgomery, how may I help you?”

         
“Yes, I’m Richard Hollis. NICB. You called earlier inquiring of a Mrs. Perry Davis.”

         
“Yes, I did.”

         
“Detective Montgomery, the social security number you gave us is listed to a Perry Perkins. You said Perry Davis. Is that the same person?”

         
“If the social matches, I would think so.”

         
“May I inquire to the nature of your interest in Mrs. Perkins?”

         
“Routine check.”

         
“Routine check? Could you be a little more specific?”

         
“A lady called and expressed concerns regarding Perry Davis. I ran her name through a few databases to see if anything would pop up.”

         
“I see, so this is not an official investigation?”

         
“Mr. Hollis, I would love to sit here and talk shop with you, but I get off in a few minutes. We can continue this conversation some other time.”

         
“No, wait. I apologize. I like to know whom I’m dealing with. If you would wait a few minutes I’ll be right over. You may be interested in what I have to say.”

         
Tasha glanced at her watch. “I thought you guys were in Illinois.”

         
“Our headquarters is there. I’m located right here in Little Rock.”

         
“Something interesting, huh? Okay, I’ll wait.”

         
Twenty minutes later, agent Richard Hollis, a rail-thin, freckled-face man, appeared in front of her desk.

         
“Richard Hollis,” he greeted, extending a hand.

         
Tasha shook it, and to her chagrin discovered it wet.

         
“I’m sorry,” he said. “No paper towels in the bathroom.”

         
Great, Tasha thought. “No problem,” bathing her hands with Germ-X and rubbing it off with a Kleenex. “What’s all the excitement concerning Perry Davis?”

         
Richard Hollis frowned. “You keep referring to her as Perry Davis. Is that her current name?”

         
“According to our records it is. Are you actively investigating Mrs. Davis?”

         
“Yes and no. We have a file on her, but I’m sad to say, a closed file. I headed the investigation.”

         
“Insurance fraud?”

         
“Correct.”

         
“To what extent?”

         
“Good question,” Richard Hollis said. “According to my records, Perry Perkins has collected almost a million dollars in insurance claims.”

         
Tasha whistled.

         
“Yes indeed. Mrs. Perkins’ criminal acumen is the best I’ve ever seen. In my opinion she’s a criminal genius. No doubt you’ve checked her criminal history and came up blank.”

         
“Yes, I did.”

         
“She doesn’t even have a juvy record. No speeding tickets, no hot checks, nothing. Combine her criminal expertise with a small police department unwillingness to investigate unless there’s three or more eyewitnesses and a video tape, you have someone like Mrs. Perkins getting away with murder.”

         
“Mr. Hollis, if you have credible evidence supporting a homicide, we will do everything possible to bring forth an indictment.”