Serpent's Tooth (13 page)

“A terrible tragedy that took your parents’ lives,” Decker said. “Lots of victims including yourself. Maybe you could host a game for the victims of the shooting.”

Jeanine opened and closed her mouth. “I…I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.” Her sculptured face took on an animated glow. Again, she threw open her calendar. “That is a
marvelous
idea. I could arrange something magnificent, something that would rival the Open.”

Dream on
. He said, “Maybe you could hold the event at Greenvale.”

“Another good idea.” Jeanine’s body language was suddenly exuberant. “Listen, I’m so sorry I jumped down your throat. It’s just this thing with my parents…it’s thrown me for a loop.”

“Of course.”

“Did…did you have any other questions you needed to ask me?”

He had lots of questions to ask her. Originally, he had wanted to know if she or the family had known Harlan Manz, if she or the family had ever taken lessons from him, could have offended him in any way. But her odd behavior had sent his antennae quivering overtime.

Be honest, Deck. She quivered other things as well
.

Brushing that aside…which took some effort…he knew, as a professional, that she was acting strange. Her hostility, her flip attitude, her vamping, her summing up the Estelle’s tragedy by calling it a “
thing
with her parents,” her evasive answers when it came to her past teachers, her strong passion for tennis, her sudden enthusiasm at the thought of hosting a big event tied to the deaths of her
parents. Bizarre. Left Decker wondering if she had perhaps known Harlan in an intimate way.

Yet, he sensed he had gained some kind of rapport with her. He knew that implying any kind of relationship between this eerie but beautiful woman and a mass murderer would blow the trust to smithereens. He was reminded of what a psychologist friend had once told him about his field.

Good therapy is an art. Timing is everything
.

Decker kept his manner professional but warm. “I do have a few questions, but they can wait until later.”

Until he found out more about her
.

Until he could calm
himself
down
.

“Really, it’s all right.”

Decker stood. “Some other time. We’ll be in contact.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Jeanine’s smile was brilliant. “Nice to have met you.”

“Same.”

She offered him her hand. Gently, Decker shook it.

Some would call
him obsessive. Decker referred to himself as thorough.

More digging. Trying to find some
personal
information. After an hour he found it—columns in the locals entitled “Milestones.” A small sentence about a failed marriage two years ago. Brent Delaney. No picture. Decker backtracked, tried to find a wedding announcement. Indeed it existed, but not in the local throwaways, in the
L.A. Times
. Brent had dark hair, thick brows…handsome features. Slick. Striking resemblance to Harlan. Brent’s occupation was listed as actor. His hobbies were car racing and tennis. Their marriage had lasted a total of seven months.

Then nothing. Still, Decker continued to search and search. For any little telltale hook that could formally tie her to Harlan Manz. He never did find the mother lode. But his prospecting wasn’t a total bust.

Farrell Gaynor let go with a congested cough. The elder statesman of the five-person Homicide team had the floor and was making the most of it.

“The kids stand to inherit…” Another spasm. “Inherit a lot of money…”

He was now hacking dry. Decker pounded his back, said to Oliver, “Get the man a drink of water.”

Oliver made a face. “I’m his personal valet?”

“For godsakes, Scott!” Marge stomped out of the room.

Oliver said, “I was going to go…”

“You okay, Farrell?” Decker asked.

“It’s the season.” He brought up mucus, spit it into a handkerchief.

“Christ, Farrell!” Oliver said in disgust.

“Quiet, or next time I’ll aim it at you.”

Marge came back with the water. Gaynor drank it greedily. He was in good health other than his allergies. Overweight, yes. Old, yes. In need of a lube job in the morning, yes. But considering where some of his peers lay, he was in
very
good health. His wife had knitted him a new cardigan—the hunter-green one he had on today. He liked it. Went with his gray slacks. He thanked Marge for the water, cleared his throat.

“You were saying…” Martinez prompted.

“What was I saying?”

“Garrison kids are gonna inherit…”

“Money,” Gaynor said. “Now, they don’t get their inheritance all at once. David gets about a third of his share now and the rest at thirty. Jeanine also gets a third now and the rest at thirty-two.”

“About four years from now,” Oliver said.

Marge said, “Does Jeanine work?”

“Not according to her brother,” Webster stated.

“So as of right now, she has no income?”

“She arranges charity events,” Decker said. “Said her father’s foundation gave her a salary and expenses came out of profits.”

“What kind of expenses was she talking about?” Oliver asked.

“The catering, the hall, the setup—I don’t know the details.” Decker looked to Farrell. “Maybe you could help me out on that.”

“I could try.”

Marge said, “So what happens to her now that her father is gone?”

“Her inheritance should keep her well afloat,” Gaynor said. “Ray Garrison was worth ten to twelve million—”

Marge said, “How do people amass that much
money
?”

Oliver held out his hands. “Don’t look at me.”

Decker said, “The age for dispersal in the trust. Can that be changed? Or is the trust irrevocable?”

“In theory, it is irrevocable,” Gaynor said. “But that doesn’t mean much if one chooses to contest it.”

“Is anyone contesting it?”

“Not so far.”

“Who’s the executor?” Oliver asked.

“Executor of the will?”

“No, of the trust.”

Gaynor said, “There’s no executor for the trust, only a trustee.”

Oliver held his temper. “So who is the trustee, Farrell?”

“Jeanine Garrison on behalf of herself and her brother, David. I don’t know how the money is divided. I don’t even know if they inherit the entire estate. I couldn’t push my mole that far without skirting the bounds of legality.”

Webster said, “David seems to think his inheritance is something in the lower seven-figure range.”

Oliver said, “Which means Jeanine gets something in the higher seven-figure range?”

Gaynor said, “If the estate was divided…let’s say…sixty/forty. That means Jeanine would get around two million now, David would get a cool mil.”

Marge said, “I call that rich.”

Decker said, “Millionaires, to be sure. All the same, there are estate taxes, lots of hidden costs. Did Ray and Linda Garrison have any insurance?”

“Like a
second to die
policy?”

“Exactly.”

“Nothing I could find.”

“So she’s going to have to fork out some cash to the IRS for death taxes. What is it now? Around sixty percent?”

“Something like that.”

“She’ll live well,” Decker said. “But she isn’t going to live like a princess.”

“I ain’t crying for her,” Oliver said.

Martinez said, “What’d this guy do to earn all that money?”

“He was a corporate lawyer—his own firm. Seven partners. Seems to have invested wisely—real estate, stocks, bonds. Some risky stuff—futures, derivatives, commodities. Obviously, he came out on top.”

“And son David was a druggie.” Oliver smiled. “Another American tragedy, yawn yawn.”

“Stop being so smug,” Marge said.

“And why not?” Oliver grinned. “I may not have millions but my kids are earning their own keep.” His grin turned malicious. “Hey, how’s Cindy doing, Loo? Still forking out those tuition bills for her schooling?”

Decker’s face went dark.

Instantly, Oliver knew he had hit a nerve. Maybe the guy was broke. Decker
seemed
well heeled, but tuition could stretch any wallet. “Hey, I’m just kidding. You’ve got a terrific kid. Smart, too. I’m threatened by her…by your whole family…especially by—”

“Oliver, shut up,” Marge said.

The room went quiet. Webster broke it. “David Garrison is troubled. But he’s nobody’s fool. He’s talented and bright.”

Oliver said, “Then why did he do eighteen months in County?”

“’Cause people screw up,” Decker said.

Webster said, “From David’s perspective, he got the short end of the deal. Because Jeanine was beautiful but
ordinary
in the brain department, nobody ever made demands on her. David, on the other hand, had lots of demands made on him. Mostly from his father. Probably wasn’t strong enough to stand up to Papa directly so he did it in other ways.”

He turned to Decker.

“You ask Jeanine if she knew Harlan Manz, Loo?”

Decker said, “I kept trying but she kept changing the subject. Clearly didn’t want to talk about her tennis instructors at Greenvale.”

Webster said, “David was sure that Jeanine not only
knew Harlan Manz, but had probably slept with him.” He related everything David had told him.

“But he has no proof that Jeanine and Harlan knew each other,” Oliver said.

“Jeanine knew him.” Decker pulled out a newspaper photograph, gave it to Oliver. A snapshot of a charity tennis match with the proceeds going to New Christian Hospital. For the infirmary’s diagnostic radiation division. It was a couples game—Jeanine Garrison and Harlan Manz alias Hart Mansfield against Sonia Eaton and Terrance Howell. The four of them, smiling in a frozen capsule of time.

Oliver passed the picture around, each one taking their turn, studying the photo in silence.

Finally, Decker said, “Now we know that Jeanine knew Harlan. How well?” He shrugged.

Again, the room was quiet.

Decker said, “We’ve got a mass murder that produced excessive bullets for the number of empty magazines found. We’ve got a man who committed suicide by shooting at his head, but the gun was held at least two feet away from his temple. We’ve got Ray and Linda Garrison, probably among the first victims to be gunned down, riddled with entrance and exit wounds that defy logic. We know that Garrison’s son has or had a drug problem, and daughter Jeanine has an office and secretaries and no visible means of support other than Dad. Now Gaynor tells us that they stand to inherit around twelve million bucks. You want to tell me what this smells like?”

Oliver said, “A perfume called Menendez.”

Webster said, “Except brother don’t like sister.”

Marge said, “That’s what David told you. Maybe that’s what he
wants
you to think.”

Martinez asked Decker, “Does sister like brother?”

“Never got that far. I told you, Jeanine’s sly. Didn’t talk about her instructors at the club, never mentioned Harlan Manz by name. The woman is also a roller coaster of emotions. First time I met her, she was all sweetness and light—overly touchy-feely. You know…holding my hand, looking me straight in the eye. Like some inspirational
guru. She asked me if I’d return later in the day because something had come up. I said sure. I came back and suddenly she was cautious…wary. Gave me the feeling that she’d consulted an attorney in my absence. Asked what to say to a police lieutenant.”

“Maybe she did call up counsel,” Marge said.

Oliver raised his brow. “You call your lawyer when you’ve got something to hide?”

“I’m not saying she did,” Decker clarified. “Just that the shift in attitude was strange.
She’s
strange. Referred to the murder as ‘this thing with my parents.’”

“Can’t arrest someone for filial indifference, Pete,” Marge said.

Webster said, “Didn’t one of the French existentialists write a book along those lines? The one where they had him arrested and tried for murder because he didn’t cry at his mother’s funeral?”

The group stared at him.

Gaynor said, “Maybe the character was in shock. You know people have different reactions to grief.”

“That wasn’t the point of the book, Farrell—”

“Can we get back to the case?” Oliver interrupted.

Martinez said, “Does this woman look as good in life as she does in the picture?”

Marge said, “You know we’ve completely ignored Wendy Culligan. Harlen actually went
out
with her.”

“Who’s Wendy Culligan?” Farrell asked.

“Real estate agent.” Oliver went through his and Marge’s interview with Brenda Miller, leaving out the dinner date he made with the veep. Marge had left it out as well.

“But Culligan isn’t dead,” Webster said.

“No,” Marge said. “But maybe Harlan was trying to prove a point with her. ‘This is what you drove me to!’ That kind of thing.”

“Was she seated near the Garrisons?” Decker asked.

“Other side of the room.”

“The businessmen with her…were they shot in their seats?”

“Under the table.”

“Garrisons were murdered in their seats. I’m assuming they didn’t have time to duck.”

“You’re still leaning toward Jeanine and David?” Marge asked Decker.

“I’m not leaning toward anyone or anything because we still may have a random murder here. A simple case of a disgruntled employee looking for revenge.”

Oliver said, “Don’t know about you, but twelve million bucks makes me skeptical of the lone killer theory.”

“Okay. Try out this hypothesis. Assume Estelle’s was a hit gone bad. If we see Jeanine and David Garrison as setting up Estelle’s as a murder for hire, then it would be nice to establish a
close
relationship between Jeanine Garrison and/or David Garrison and Harlan Manz.”

Decker held up the newspaper photo.

“We need
concrete
evidence first. Something that ties Jeanine to Harlan in a personal way. I’ll have a little talk with Sonia Eaton and Terrance Howell. See if they can tell me something.”

“Say you establish a close relationship between Jeanine and Harlan,” Marge said. “Then what?”

Decker smiled. “One step at a time.”

Oliver waited until he was the only one left in Decker’s office. Then he closed the door and sat down.

“I was out of line with the remark about college tuition. Cindy’s a bright kid and I know you’re proud of her. It’s good that you’re keeping her in school. More education, the better. My ex would have done anything to keep our boys in college. It just wasn’t their thing.”

“You’ve got good sons, Scott.”

“Thanks.” Oliver turned grave. “I did something dumb, Deck. I asked a woman out, someone I questioned in the case. Brenda Miller, the veep at Ashman/Reynard. Actually, she asked
me
out for dinner. Took me by surprise. But I did accept.”

Decker looked at Oliver. “How’d you fall into that?”

Oliver sighed. “She was holding back information. She used dinner with me as an excuse to spill about Wendy Culligan dating Harlan. Once Brenda did talk, I guess I felt
obligated to go through with my end of the bargain. Stupid. Anyway, you know how some women are. They don’t get what they want, they can make trouble. I could cancel it.”

He paused.

“Or now that I told you, I could go ahead with it and pretend that I’m doing it for work. Maybe I’m better off just…going out—”

“Cancel it.”

Oliver was quiet. “All right. Can I tell her I’ll call her after the case is resolved?”

Decker exhaled. “She seem like the vindictive type?”

“Who can predict?”

Decker exhaled again. “Yeah, go ahead. Tell her you’ll call her after…do you even want to call her up after everything’s resolved?”

Oliver turned rosy. “Yeah, I’d like to see her. She’s not beautiful like Jeanine Garrison. But she’s lively. Probably be an animal in bed.”

Decker said, “Watch yourself, Scotty.”

“I’ll be more careful.”

“Marge know what you did?”

“Yeah, she was right there when it happened.”

No one spoke.

Decker chuckled. “She didn’t say a word to me. She’s a good partner.”

“Yes, she is.”

Decker stood and so did Oliver. He placed his hand on Scott’s shoulder, then slapped his cheek. “Keep it in your pants, guy.”

“Such simple advice. So hard to follow.” Oliver smiled. “Thanks.”

“Your shoe’s untied,” Decker said. “Don’t trip.”

As Oliver bent down to reknot the laces, pocket change tumbled from his pants pockets.

Decker retrieved the silver, handed the metal to Oliver. “Your meter money, Scotty.”