Designed to Kill (30 page)
“My dad has some high-powered legal advisors. I think I’d better call in somebody before we talk any further.”
I shrugged. “If I were a law enforcement officer and you asked for an attorney, the questions would have to stop. I’m not, so it doesn’t matter. But let me give you a little advice. If you are merely being interviewed, like we’re doing now, when nobody has suggested you might be guilty of anything, and you start asking for lawyers, the cops are going to think
he’s got something to hide, he’s done something wrong
. Then they’re really going to bear down on you. Understand?”
His hands folded and unfolded nervously. I suspected he was beginning to sweat despite the air conditioner going full blast. Finally he nodded.
“Okay. Once more, it’s a real simple question. What time did you and Detrich leave the bar Friday night?”
“Around
or a little after. When he drinks a lot, he can get pretty rowdy. They asked him to leave and he started arguing. I didn’t want to get involved, so I left. I’m guessing they threw him out shortly afterward.”
“Sherry Hoffman came to the party with you,” I said, “but she left before you did. Do you know where she went?”
He looked more than a little annoyed. “You’re damned right I do. She went to Tim’s...uh, your condo. After I left the bar, I drove by there. She was parked beside his Blazer. I saw her come out in a big hurry. She got in the car and slammed the door like she was pissed. I tried to follow her, but, well, I guess I’d had a little too much to drink myself—I lost her.”
“What did you do then?”
“I was madder than hell. Tim was this Mr. Goody Two Shoes, a married guy with kids, and Sherry was my date. I sat in a parking lot on
Sorrento
for a bit, working up a good rage, then decided to have a showdown with him. I drove back over to Gulf Sands, but his Blazer was gone.”
“Do you remember what time that was?”
He thought about it for a long moment. Then his face brightened. “Yeah. I remember. I looked at my clock—stared at it, in fact. Said
. I thought: I’ll bet the bastard’s gone over to her house. So I drove over there. Her car was parked out front, but no sign of Tim’s. I decided to hell with it and went home.”
“Okay. This involves the hearing,” I said. “When Walt Sturdivant came by here to look at your plans the other day, did he tell you their original of the plans was missing?”
“Yeah. He said something about the computer file was gone, too.” Boz grinned. “Sounded like a convenient excuse.”
“Tim had a copy with him down here. It’s missing, too. He also had a laptop computer, which we found in our condo. The
Sand
Castle
file had been erased from it. But Walt took the laptop back to
Nashville
and had a software recovery firm work with the machine. They recovered the file, so there’s a copy of Tim’s original specs available now. They show the larger rebars and the higher p.s.i. concrete, like Walt remembered.”
“No shit?” He looked astonished.
Walt hadn’t seen the file in the laptop to confirm it, but I had no doubts after listening to Sherry tell how Tim had pointed to where his plans showed the correct specifications.
“Who could have tampered with the original and made bogus copies?” I asked.
“I have no idea. Baucus has an original, but he knows nothing about structural design.”
“Could it have been Detrich?” I asked.
His eyes betrayed a fleeting doubt. “I wouldn’t want to speculate on that.”
“Walt will have that computer file with him on Monday. Would you like to speculate on what they’ll be looking for at the hearing?”
Now he really looked uncomfortable, and I thought of Sherry’s hair-pulling comment.
“If they’re after a scapegoat, it better not be me.”
———
Jill was just coming out of the rehab center as I headed in. She looked about like I had felt this morning.
“Rough session?” I asked.
She sighed and let her left arm swing freely at her side. “Taking a week off probably wasn’t the smartest move I’ve made lately. I’m sure Vickie would say I told you so. I go back again Tuesday. How are you feeling?”
The aches and pains definitely had not gone away, but concentrating on the investigation had helped push them into the background. “I’m still motivating. As long as nobody punches me in the stomach or bangs my side, I’ll probably be okay.”
“How did Boz take your visit?”
As we drove back to Perdido Key, I gave her a play-by-play account of the hostile session in the office of BF Inspections. But I didn’t get so carried away that I neglected to watch out for the Cadillac assault team, or any suspicious vehicle for that matter. The trip was uneventful on that score.
“Looks like you’re steadily narrowing in on Mr. Detrich,” Jill said when I reached the end of Boz’s account.
“Yeah, it looks that way. The only thing that bothers me is we still haven’t had the opportunity to quiz the other major player, Evan Baucus.”
Having said that, it came as quite a shock when we arrived back at Gulf Sands and found this message on the answering machine:
“Mr. McKenzie, I think we need to talk. This is Evan Baucus. I would appreciate it if you would call me at The Sand Castle.” He left a phone number.
38
At
, I parked the Jeep in a VISITOR slot and Jill and I walked toward The Sand Castle’s ornate entrance. The iron grillwork had arabesque elements, with flowers and unusual shapes, and the stonework helped give the feeling of entering a real castle on the Mediterranean coast. Inside, the contrast of medieval and modern was striking. The small lobby was bright and airy, its walls covered with swords and shields and other armament associated with the Middle Ages.
Following Baucus’ instructions, we looked to the right of the elevator and saw an entrance numbered 101. I knocked and the door was opened by a man with a full, round face, brown hair and mustache. He had a stocky figure and was several inches shorter than me. I guessed him to be around sixty, as Walt had said. His stylish attire—blue suit, white shirt, quiet silk tie—marked him as a man with expensive tastes. I always look to the eyes for a clue and found his the color of ice on pavement, his expression patronizing.
“Mr. and Mrs. McKenzie?” he said, his features relaxing into a soft smile. “Please come in.”
We followed him into a spacious parlor with large windows flanked by flowing beige drapes, offering a magnificent view of the white sand beach. The room was furnished with earth-toned sofas and chairs. A stylized wet bar that no doubt closed to make a fancy piece of furniture stood open at one side. I took everything in with a slow gaze and more than a touch of envy as I compared it to our modest layout at Gulf Sands.
“Please have a seat,” Baucus said, just as his wife walked in from what I guessed was one of three bedrooms. “I believe you met my wife in
Biloxi
.”
She smiled and waved. “Hi. Nice to see you again.”
Instead of the unsophisticated small-town girl in a green tank top, Greta Baucus had been transformed into a graceful figure dressed in a long azure gown that looked simple but elegant. What had not changed was the full bust that struggled for space, and the wrist burdened with baubles and bangles of gold.
Jill and I sat on a large, overstuffed sofa. I squirmed a bit, attempting to find a comfortable position that wouldn’t put pressure on my battered left side. I also felt a bit uncomfortable because of my casual attire. I wondered if the Baucuses’ fancy duds were meant to impress us or if they were really dressed for a night out.
Evan Baucus sat in a large chair, Greta standing behind him like a portrait of the dutiful spouse. “I understand you’re interested in making a substantial investment in Perseid Partners,” he said.
I was wary. He obviously did not get our
Pensacola
phone number from his wife. “Yes, we have discussed it,” I said. “Jill is a pretty sharp investor. We own shares in several limited partnerships. But I’ll have to confess, it was not just our interest in making an investment that brought us to your door in
Biloxi
. I had hoped you would be at home. But since you weren’t, we took the opportunity to have a nice visit with your wife.”
“I see.” Baucus had a neutral expression. “And what was your actual mission?”
“As I suspect you know, we are friends of Sam and Wilma Gannon, Tim Gannon’s parents. Tim was staying in our condo here at Gulf Sands. Sam asked me to come down and look into the facts surrounding his son’s death. He finds it quite hard to believe his son committed suicide.”
Baucus nodded. “As I’m sure any parent would be. However, I trust your findings are the same as those of the sheriff and the Medical Examiner?”
“Actually, I haven’t completed my investigation yet. I still have several loose ends to tie down.”
“Are you aware of the hearing scheduled for Monday in
Pensacola
?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m looking forward to the testimony.”
Baucus frowned. “I envy your enthusiasm. I’m afraid I don’t share it. The bad publicity has already caused this project a great deal of harm.”
“I understand your concern, but don’t you think determining where the blame belongs is important?”
“Unfortunately for your friends, the blame clearly rests with Tim Gannon’s design.”
I leaned forward against the ache in my ribs to emphasize my point. “Are you sure it isn’t the fault of the contractor? Tim’s assistant says the plans called for heavier rebars and stronger concrete than Claude Detrich used.”
I had called Walt before leaving Gulf Sands. He confirmed the laptop file called for the stronger materials.
“That’s not true,” Baucus said bluntly. “Tidewater used the plans supplied to us by Tim Gannon’s firm.”
“Detrich only has a copy,” I said. “Do you have the original plans that Tim gave you?”
“No,” he said with a troubled look. “Oddly, my set of plans is missing. We had a break-in at the office over the weekend. Somebody took the plans.”
I looked around at Jill and frowned. “That’s weird.”
“Quite,” he said. “Fortunately, the police found some fingerprints. They were able to identify a man named Oliver O’Keefe. They said he was originally from
New Orleans
, but he had been working in
Nashville
. I didn’t have time to check on it before we left
Biloxi
, but at last report, O’Keefe had not been located.”
I knew where he was probably located—on a morgue slab in
Mobile
.
