Trevar's Team 3 Page 9

  “Where to now?”

  “Jill, why don’t you hang out here. Interview any of the Ross employees about possible espionage by Donald. All that nice guy copy was fine when the guy was alive. Maybe now that he’s deceased, employee opinions have changed.”

  Jill’s eyebrows lifted. “Right. They probably wouldn’t badmouth him while he was able to fire them.”

  “I’ll pick you up in about an hour. Then I can take you back to the yacht.”

  “Rachel said she had information on Donald ’s old contacts from college, and since then. Maybe later I can try to run down a few of his pals,” Jill offered.

  “I’m going to stop by Sheeran’s Club. I have the feeling Ravyn wasn’t done telling me everything she knows.”

  Jill gave a slight whistle. “Good luck. Women in the sex trade always feel vulnerable. Comes with the territory. And naturally, she suspects anyone asking about a murder victim.”

  “Jill, I’m thinking that Simon Wagner was probably murdered by Mickey and his Russian partners. Mickey was into sex trafficking. Perhaps Mickey knew Simon and thought he could trust him because Simon was romantically involved with Ravyn. So, maybe there’s a strand of evidence somewhere.”

  Sputtering laughter, Jill said “Romantically involved? It could have been a business transaction. Beryl, I think you’re in a sweet frame of mind. The bookstore woman, maybe?”

  “I might give Clarissa a call.”

  Jill couldn’t wait for me to leave from Ross Architects. Her call to Rachel would certainly include my plans to stop contact Clarissa. However first, I was on my way to Sheeran’s Strip Club.

  After I pulled up into the parking lot of Sheeran’s, I checked my phone. Rachel had sent me information on Ravyn. Her name was Rhoda Reed. In her thirties, she’d had one drug charge early in her career. It had cost her six months in the slammer, and enough grief that she’d stayed clear of illegal substances. However, she’d been run in for prostitution, petty larceny, and a couple drunkenness charges. She had no outstanding warrants.

  She was there, and she was much less emotional than at our last get-together. “Ravyn,” I greeted her. “We didn’t get a chance to talk much about Simon Wagoner. I really want to find out who killed him. I know you would also like to know. Bring that person or persons to justice. There’s not much evidence for the investigators to work with. When you have a body in the sea, and then on the shore, the body is bloated. There’s not much DNA retrieval. Finding the killers isn’t going to be through forensics.”

  I gave her some space to consider the killers were going to get away with their crime. I wouldn’t go into the obvious. Examining the ocean’s script for DNA, the swirling globe leaves traces all the way from one end of the state to the other. The coastline.

  “I told you last time, Simon was killed by that new diver.” Her voice indicated her tepid mood.

  “I’m not so sure of that. I know the authorities believe he might have done it. But I’m thinking that Laski, Zhenya, and Coleman might have had something to do with it. Maybe you can fill in the blanks.”

  “Maybe you can fill in the blanks by talking with them.”

  “Come on, Ravyn, you’ve got to know that the three on the treasure craft might have had something to do with it. They blamed Simon for running off with the treasure, or some portion of the treasure. That means there was trouble in paradise. I want to know the dynamics. All I know now is that Mickey, slash, Mitchell, Coleman is bad news. He was in sex trafficking.” I noticed her head lift and her eyelids dip. “You probably know something about that. Mickey, you know him, right?”

  “Most people know him. And he’s bad news. You know all I know about him.”

  “Probably not anywhere close. Simon was in with the crew. Right.”

  Ravyn leaned closer to me to confide. “Simon and Mickey were pal. Simon knew the clubs, and the women with potential. Once in a while he sold information to Mickey. Mickey is lying low with the trade. So, he joined up with Laski and Zhenya in this stupid treasure ship shit. They’re all still in the sex business, but Mickey doesn’t go to the home base.”

  “Home base?”

  “Yeah, you know an apartment building, a place where they keep women. Zhenya is a flunky. But he watches over the trade. At least that’s what Simon said.”

  “Where is this place?”

  “I got no idea. Maybe Simon had no idea. Laski or Zhenya, one or the other, are usually hanging out there. Mickey was aboard the boat. He didn’t want to get picked up and have to do more time.”

  “Do you think Simon was stealing treasure?”

  “No.” She looked around, making certain no one was lurking behind the curtains. “Simon didn’t take the gold, but they thought he did.”

  “What are Laski and Zhenya like?”

  “A couple of dangerous Russians. They’d sell any woman, anytime.” She shrugged. “And if they thought I was blabbing to you, they’d kill me.”

  I paused, leaving space in the conversation. Ravyn had just lost a man she loved. Nothing silences the soul like being left behind. Interrogating hostile witnesses required looking at the layers. Every detective, or lawyer, loves loquacious interviews. Turn the right key and up pops the conversation. Words tumble out.

  “I know you just lost Simon. And you’ve got to be worried about your safety. I’m worried about your safety, too. Simon sounds like he wasn’t a bad guy.”

  “No. He wanted to get away from the criminal elements. Get some money so he could buy a ranch in Montana.” She looked away. “I asked him if he knew Montana, and he says no. But he wanted to go where he’s never been.” Her jaw clamped, then she added, “He’s never been to the cemetery.”

  Hesitating to give her reflective time, also allow my thoughts. This Montana dream of Simons was also his reason for stealing the gold. Motive revealed. He needed startup cash, and could easily convert the treasure.

  I asked, “Why was Simon hanging around with them if you both knew they were miserable and dangerous?”

  Ravyn shrugged. It was a shrug of devious withdrawal. She wasn’t going to tell me more. She wasn’t going to explain why her lips were shutting down. Maybe she figured I’d guess she was frightened of being murdered. That portion of her conversation was well-stressed.

  What it told me was that Simon needed a bankroll. He wanted to go where he’d never been. He could do that if he confiscated a bundle of gold coins.

  I’d planned on driving to the Blue Sea Bar to do a redirect on Ax Raul Mendoza. After a call from Rachel, the only redirect I was performing would be the U-turn to go back across West Palm. Summer had reported that one of the Ross employees had mentioned the name of one of Donald Ogden’s college buddies. They’d had a shouting match a month ago. Nobody mentioned it because the pal wasn’t in the vicinity. He’d left the state, and hadn’t returned, so he couldn’t have hacked Donald to death. It wasn’t his style, anyway. Or so said the office snoop at Ross Architects.

  However, Johnny Groversen had returned for his college pal’s funeral that was being held tomorrow. Groversen’s alibi was indeed ironclad. He was in Washington. Could he have flown back to kill his former college roommate? Not probable. Johnny was an assistant – a staffer - to one of the most important senators in Washington. And he was the son of another one of the most powerful senators. Johnny was noticed to be in Washington by fellow workers. If Congress staff saw Johnny roaming the hallowed Senate building, chances were pretty good he was indeed away from Palm Beach. Solid alibis are indisputable when Washingtonians verified them.

  The Groversen vacation home took up a block of pricy West Palm property. When I inquired with the gatekeeper about Johnny, a staunch expression on the guard’s face emerged. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I’m here to talk with him about his friend’s death. Donald Ogden. If you’ll just let him know I’m here,” I smiled. “I’m Beryl Trevar.”

  “He isn’t here.”

  “Do you know his whereabouts?�
� I flashed another smile. “It’s important that I visit with him.”

  The guard, I’d estimate to be in his mid-fifties, glared at me. “I got an egg-salad sandwich that could go off, if I don’t get back to it. That’s what is important to me.”

  “Come on, you’ve got information. Valuable information.” I began pulling my wallet from my pocket.

  “A C-note could get you to his whereabouts. And answer any innocuous questions you might have.”

  Acting as if I were writing my information down for him to deliver to Johnny, I slid a hundred-dollar bill into the note. After he opened it, and jammed it into his pocket, he said, “He’s at the Palm’s Oyster Bistro. Drinking with his pals.” A flash of distain was visible in his eyes. Then he said, “He’ll probably cooperate with you. He likes great looking older women.”

  Smirking, I jumped sides. “Thanks for the warning. I really don’t want a relationship with a politician’s punk son.”

  “I thought you looked way too smart to be interested in Johnny. The kid’s not too bright to begin with, then you add booze and drugs, and he’s only an insufferable drunk loudmouth.”

  I chuckled politely. “He was a school buddy of Donald’s, so I figured he’d be all hoity-toity.”

  “Yeah, when he’s sober he’s an insufferable snob. Sorry to hear about Donald. He hung out here a few times. Not a smug SOB like the rest. At least not around me. Not around the important politicians. He liked hanging out with them. Be in their company. He’d puff up all impressive like.”

  “Who are some of Johnny’s other pals?”

  The guard grimaced. “That went from normal-ish guys like Donald, to some big names. You know famous athletes, performers, and billionaires. And there were the few lowlifes like Gary Dodge. Now, Gary was a good pal of Donald’s.”

  “What was the dynamics of the friendship trio? Donald, Johnny, and Gary.”

  “To me it looked like Donald was impressed by Johnny’s family. He liked the entryway to meeting famous people. And Donald and Johnny tolerated Gary. Gary had been a soldier, so they had that warrior worship.”

  “Did either Johnny or Gary have a vendetta, or a reason why they might have wanted Donald Ogden dead?”

  “Not that I know about.”

  “About a month ago, did Johnny and Donald have a falling out?”

  “Guys in their mid-twenties always have falling outs. Testosterone is a huge competitor.”

  Nodding, I followed up asking if my new confidential informant would let me know if he found anything relevant out about the trio. “And your name?” I inquired.

  “Pete. Just Pete.”

  As I drove way, I noticed he’d taken the C-note out to hold it up to the light.

  I laughed, wondering if I really look like the kind of woman who would be interested in Johnny Groversen, or pass a fake hundred. Pete clearly lacked sophistication.

  Off to visit Johnny Groversen at Palm’s Oyster Bistro. When I parked, I answered Rachel’s call. She told me that the number on the burner phone was a Gary Dodge’s cell phone.

  “Gary Dodge. According to the guard named Pete, he was one of Donald Ogden’s best buddies.” My voice was more confused than disbelieving. “What secret could Donald Ogden have with Dodge? Dodge was touted as being this hero type ex-military.”

  Rachel’s laugh was stunted. “I’ve just been checking Dodge out. He was booted out of the Marines for unbecoming behavior.”

  “To be discharged for a onetime infraction means the infraction was very unbecoming.” I took a deep breath. “Any clues?”

  “As you know, it takes an Act of Congress to find anything out. But it certainly wouldn’t seem to be minor or one-time crime. And I’m thinking Donald didn’t know anything about Gary’s infraction. Donald seemed to be careful of his reputation.”

  “Look, I just arrived at the Palm’s so I’ll try to find out if Johnny Groversen knows about Gary’s getting kicked out of the service.”

  Rachel scoffed, “It’s always about who knows what and who doesn’t know what or anything else.”

  A quick giggle and goodbye, then moments later and I was entering the Palm’s. I’d immediately identified Johnny. A background check showed a fairly good-looking man of twenty-seven. Style exuded from his broad shoulders and their lift, down to his polo shirt, designer slacks, and his several hundred-dollar sports shoes. Six-two, his body was well-formed, seriously cut, and muscled to perfection. His personal trainer, slash, bodyguard was at his side. I could tell the shadow was on duty because he stepped in between Johnny and me as approached. He was definitely on the clock because he left his smile behind.

  “I’d like to talk with Johnny.” I’d brought my smile.

  “Mr. Groversen is busy.”

  “I assure you,” I said scoffing as I leaned toward Mister Bodyguard, “I’m far busier.”

  When Johnny turned my way, I extended my hand. Johnny Groversen was in a somewhat drunken state, but his lady radar was blinking. “You want to talk with me?” he asked. Stale charm oozed. “I always have time for a great looking girl.”

  “I’m what you might call a woman.” I responded with a flirty grin. “I’m Beryl Trevar, and I have some questions to ask you about Donald Ogden.”

  His eyes opened widely. “Detective. You’re a P.I. I’ve seen your photo.”

  “I enjoy rounding up criminals,” I announced with a chuckle. “And I’d hoped for your assistance in finding the killer of your friend, Don.”

  “Hey, don’t call him Don. Donald. He wanted to be called Donald.”

  “He thinks his full name makes him more professional?” My question challenged.

  Scoffing, Johnny remarked, “Actually, he believes it would be a better name for his political ambitions. He believes he’ll be in the White House.”

  “Do you think he’d have a chance?”

  “Not if this country is watching for phony connivers. Look, we were friends. But maybe even that was an act.” Still skeptical, but feigning his helpfulness, he asked, “I’ve already talked with the police. But I’ll be glad to answer any questions.”

  I pointed to an empty booth, and he followed me. I grinned before I questioned, “Johnny, I have one question that I really need answered. Did you kill Donald?”

  “He was my pal. For years. College…”

  “What about a fight you had a while back? What was that about?”

  “I don’t have any idea. We fought about sporting events. Trivia. Hell, it could have been anything.”

  “I thought maybe it concerns Gary Dodge’s war record.”

  Surprise resonated. His deep masculine voice cracked, “What about Dodge’s war record?”

  “Were you aware that Gary was dishonorably discharged for an infraction?”

  “An infraction?” His skin blanched. No tan can hide that moment when blood drains from the face.

  “One of my partners is checking it out now. I strongly suspect it was more of a felony than an infraction. Like raping a fellow female soldier.” I bluffed, but I did give myself elbow room.

  Johnny’s eyes were firing missiles. “If I knew that, I would never have had him around. I’m a senator’s son, I work in the Senate, for God sakes. You know how that would look. And if Donald knew and didn’t tell me, I would have beaten the crap out of him.”

  “And would you have murdered Donald if he knew about Gary, and didn’t tell you?”

  His mouth bobbled for a moment. “No. I’d probably have murdered Gary. I bragged about the guy being a hero.”

  “And that would have made you look like fool.”

  He gazed away. Then he slammed his fist on the table. “I’m so tired of sifting the riffraff and the hangers on.” After a sigh, he added, “But I don’t think Donald knew. If he would have known, he would have told me.”

  Before I got to my vehicle, I took an incoming call from Rachel. The ‘infraction’ was for sexual misconduct. In other words, rape. Violating a soldier.

  It turned
my stomach. Gary Dodge was relieved of duty. Not tossed in the slammer. Just set outside the military. Unleashed onto the citizenry. Why, I wondered, were women, and some men, left on their own when it came to sexual assault?

  I knew why women were intimidated. I’d done pro bono work for rape victims. There were alternatives, but just as with battery against women, the victim was often vilified.

  Alis volat propriis. She flies on her own wings. An independent spirit, she, who chooses her own destiny, pays her own way, and rejoices or suffers in her singularity. That was listed as one of the Palm Beach Philosophies.

  Chapter 8

  The morning Team’s gathering was dotted with as much humor as is available in a couple murder cases. Pluma got the conference started with her chattering caw imitating street talk. “Mierida,” she gave her plaintive call of shit. That was followed by a couple bawdy, los cojones and a puta. All the while Pluma swung on her swing bar stretching her neck and head. Always the innocent – Pluma.

  The four of us then began the topic of murder. The two cases we were working on - I felt as though each clue was merely a loose end hanging from a million-string ball of yarn.

  Summer shrugged and rolled her eyes. Jill added humor with telling us that at least one of the Ross architectural firm’s employees referred to Mona Ross as Moan-a-lot. Summer put her head down on the conference table in an attempt not to giggle. Jill made a silly face as she cleared her throat. Clearly the two opposing members of the Team were still not enjoying their time spent together. That included morning meetings.

  The burner phone found in murder victim Donald Ogden’s desk, had been used to call his buddy, Gary Dodge. Many times, within a two-week time span. Rachel’s research showed that Dodge was not actually a hero from the military. But rather a serial date rapist who had been dishonorably discharged. That fact had possibly not been known by Donald ’s pal, Johnny Groversen. But perhaps was known, and kept quiet, by Donald. Rachel had also pulled up a possible last address for Dodge. I’d decided to give him a call. He did take my call, and we were going to meet for lunch.