Enemies Closer (14 page)

“We went through the same thing, Fred,” said Kincaid, “but you can’t order dinner from the waitress you’re trying to interrogate.”

“Sucks,” replied the wiry Japanese man. Iverson came back with two Cokes and two paper cups of water and they started eating without ceremony. Between bites, Tanaka said, “So Jerry, did your partner ever tell you we went through the academy together?”

With an amused smile, Kincaid said, “No, she never mentioned it.”

“I had to kick Fred’s ass a few times during hand-to-hand training.”

Iverson gave Judy Carlisle’s lean five-foot-ten figure a clinical once-over. “I bet you did.”

“Hey, I busted out my inner samurai when I needed to. Anyway, Judy didn’t like me at first, but she grew to appreciate the man inside.”

“That’s absolutely true, Fred. You were an arrogant little shit.”

“And you were an arrogant big shit.” The two cops smiled at the memory.

“Okay,” said Iverson, crumpling the sandwich wrapper and cramming it back into its plastic bag, “how are we going to solve this case?”

“Did you get anything at Dovetail?” asked Carlisle.

“Just a bad feeling about Eddie Perkins. That guy has something brewing under the surface.” Carlisle repeated the violent story Clara had told them at the pub that night and went through Eddie’s police record in California. “Assault and fraud? Didn’t you say the missing woman was asking about the restaurant’s finances before she disappeared?” Carlisle nodded meaningfully. “So we should be looking very closely at him,” concluded Iverson.

“We certainly are,” replied Kincaid. “Did you get anything from Michelle?”

“She was already pissed when we walked in the door. Seems you two got her nose out of joint,” said Tanaka.

“That was all Judy,” Kincaid said with a proud smile at his partner.

“Well, it worked in our favor,” said Iverson. “She came on like an angry lion and when Tanaka hit her with Susan Burns’s murder it was like she’d run into a glass wall. Thump. Hard to fake that. But not impossible,” he added.

“How did Eddie react?” asked Kincaid.

Iverson shrugged. “He looked surprised to me, but not like his wife. We told them at the same time and he was quick to comfort her. The bartender, Joe, was the only one to make the connection that if Susan is dead, Madeline Gardner probably is too. He had to sit down. The rest of the waitstaff looked like they might not come back tomorrow, but by the time we left, Michelle was rallying them for a pep talk when the shift ended.”

“What exactly did the bartender say?” asked Carlisle.

Tanaka answered, “First he said he couldn’t believe it, that he thought it was weird Susan didn’t come in to work, but it had been so hectic that he didn’t have time to think much of it. He said he felt bad because he was irritated with her for bailing out on the staff with Maddy missing too. He thought she was being inconsiderate, irresponsible. Then it turns out she’s dead.” Tanaka paused to sip his soda. “You know how it goes.” They all did. Friends and family of victims of violent crime were frequently wracked with guilt. Last words, angry thoughts and survivors’ guilt all played a part. Joe’s reaction was not unusual. “He was scared and asked what was going on at Dovetail. I said I was hoping he could answer that question and after a lot of prodding, he said that once or twice he’d thought something was going on between Susan and Eddie.”

“Now we’re talkin’,” said Kincaid.

Tanaka went on, “I asked him what made him think they were involved and he said, and I quote, ‘The usual stuff.’ Standing too close together, meaningful glances. But the kid was getting squirrely talking in the restaurant, so I told him to call in tomorrow, we’d meet him somewhere with a little more privacy. Then the kid drops another bomb. ‘Eddie was hanging around the office a lot lately too.’ I said, why wouldn’t he, he owns the place? But the kid just shakes his head and says ‘He’s not that kind of owner’. I press, but he just says he’ll tell us tomorrow. I can’t really blame him for not wanting to talk when Eddie and Michelle were in the next room.”

Carlisle summed it up. “So Eddie is up to something with the books, drawing Maddy’s suspicion, and he’s sleeping with Susan, right under his wife’s nose. Susan might have threatened to tell Michelle and Eddie killed her. Michelle could have found out on her own that her husband was fucking the floor manager and killed Susan in a rage. Susan’s boyfriend could have found out and killed her. Eddie could have kidnapped Maddy to keep her quiet about Dovetail’s finances. How does it all fit together?”

“Maybe it doesn’t,” said Iverson, “maybe it’s just a coincidence. Maybe whoever killed Susan Burns took advantage of Madeline’s disappearance to keep us off his scent. Make us think the cases are related when they’re not. Lotta fuckin’ maybes.”

“Any alibis?” asked Kincaid.

“Not for our most likely players,” said Iverson. “Michelle made a trip home in the afternoon; Eddie hadn’t been called in yet to replace Susan. By the looks of him, I’m betting he was home drinking. Harry was out running errands in between the lunch and dinner rush at Gigi’s. Once we get a more precise time of death we might be able to rule someone out, but right now, any of them could have done it.”

Tanaka groaned. “We need to find out who had a motive to kill both of them.”

“Maddy ain’t dead until we find her body,” said Kincaid.

“Right,” said Tanaka, “missing persons division is eternally optimistic.”

Carlisle ignored his sarcasm and said, “What’s next?”

“We ambush Eddie Perkins at his home sweet home and leave these two idiots to chase their tails,” Kincaid replied.

“Fuck you, Kincaid,” said Tanaka as the detectives walked out the door.

Chapter Twelve

I
llegally parked in a loading zone on Olive Street, Kincaid and Carlisle watched the entrance to Eddie and Michelle Perkins’s high rise condominium. “What if he doesn’t use the valet?” asked Carlisle.

“He’ll use the valet,” said Kincaid with absolute certainty. “He’s a high-maintenance guy.” Ten minutes later, Eddie Perkins proved him right.

The detectives gave Eddie three minutes from the time he drove up and handed his car keys to the valet attendant before setting the police permit on the dashboard, climbing out of Carlisle’s unmarked and crossing the street to the modern high rise. Inside, they went to the concierge desk, showed the liveried man their badges and asked for Eddie Perkins. The man said he would have to call up to the apartment and a moment later, directed the detectives to the bank of elevators and the thirty-third floor.

“Nice digs,” said Kincaid.

Carlisle shrugged. “If you go for luxurious downtown condominium living with full hotel services.”

They knocked on the door and Eddie opened it, standing stiffly on the threshold. He simply glared at the detectives.

In an uninflected tone, Carlisle said, “Sorry to disturb you so late, Mr. Perkins. We’d like to ask you a few more questions, sir.”

Her polite words did not mollify Eddie and he barked, “I’ve had enough of the police for one day, detective. You can set up an appointment tomorrow if you have more questions. Contact my secretary.”

He took a step back and slammed the door in their faces. Kincaid didn’t even flinch. This wasn’t the first time a door had been slammed in his face. He began knocking continually until Eddie opened the door again.

“This is harassment.”

Kincaid replied, “We could call your secretary tomorrow, Eddie, or we could just start buzzing all of your neighbors, explaining that we’re looking for Mr. Eddie Perkins in connection with a murder investigation.” Strictly speaking, they would take a lot of shit from their lieutenant if they did, maybe even get slapped with a harassment suit.

“We just want to ask you a few questions, Mr. Perkins,” added Carlisle. Eddie sighed heavily, turned and stomped back into his condo, leaving them to follow.

“Nice bluff,” said Carlisle under her breath.

“I would’ve done it,” said Kincaid with a smile.

“I know, but a bluff is what I’m going to call it if Eddie sees fit to mention it to our boss.”

They rounded a corner and found Eddie in a spacious living area with windows overlooking the cityscape and in the distance, Puget Sound. He was standing at a lacquered midcentury credenza pouring scotch into a crystal lowball. “I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t want you to stay.” He took a long pull from the glass, poured two more fingers of booze and turned to face them.

“You have a record, Mr. Perkins,” said Kincaid.

“For Christ’s sake, I was never convicted of anything!”

“Not then. But now your arrest record looks pretty bad, Eddie,” replied Kincaid calmly.

“When does it ever look good, Kincaid? I knew you would come after me for this, but I didn’t do anything.”

“Not even skim a little off the top of your restaurant’s profits? It is your restaurant. Your hard work, your money. Why not take a little?”

Carlisle added, in a conciliatory tone, “No harm done. You were probably going to return the money before anyone noticed. We’re not even interested in that, Eddie. We just want to know what happened to Madeline Gardner and who killed Susan Burns. If you can tell us something about that, we’ll forget the rest.”

“When you find Maddy, why don’t you ask her about missing money? Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that she took off for a reason?”

Both detectives just looked at him. Then Kincaid said, “Tell us more about the missing money, Eddie.”

“I didn’t say there was missing money. I said, why don’t you look at the chick who fled the scene when you’re looking for a bad guy?”

Kincaid wasn’t ready to let this go. “Do you have reason to believe Madeline is involved in the troubles at Dovetail?”

“I don’t know anything. I didn’t do anything. And if I learned one thing from my arrests, detectives, it’s never to let you people con me into talking to you without a lawyer. It’s time for you to leave and if you bother any of my neighbors, I’ll sue you for defamation.” Whether it was the booze or just sudden resolve, Eddie was now calm and defiant. Carlisle knew they would have to leave soon or risk a legitimate complaint to the police department.

“One more thing before we go,” she said. “Were you sleeping with Susan Burns? Is that why she’s dead?”

Eddie Perkins’s face turned a deep shade of purple, his eyes went wide with unreadable emotion and he barked, “Who told you that?”

“A little birdie,” said Kincaid, goading him.

But Eddie didn’t take the bait. “You just want to find a reason to blame me for all of this.”

“All of what, Mr. Perkins?” asked Carlisle.

“Maddy, Susan. You just need someone to blame, no matter what the truth is.”

Now Carlisle sensed weakness. “If you help us, maybe we can get to the truth.”

It was too late; Eddie had come to his senses and his senses told him not to talk to cops. “Arrest me or get out, detectives.”

Back in the elevator, Kincaid mused, “You struck a nerve when you asked him if he was having an affair with Susan, but I couldn’t tell what made him so mad. He could’ve been pissed because it was true, pissed because it wasn’t true, or pissed because he knew who told us he was.”

“I couldn’t tell either, but when you strike a nerve in this game, you have to keep poking at it. I say we ask around about that relationship until we find out who’s lying. What about when he accused Maddy of embezzling or killing Susan or whatever he was insinuating?”

“He’s just pointing fingers,” said Kincaid, running a hand aggressively through his dense red hair.

“Nothing to it?”

“No. Eddie Perkins is a weasel. Blame the lady who’s either dead or in a cage somewhere. What a shithead.”

“We still have to check it out.” Carlisle sighed. “We need a look at Maddy’s bank accounts. Either through Clara, or we’ll have to try and get a subpoena.”

“Harder to get a subpoena when there’s no evidence of an abduction. The wrong judge might say she’s a grown-up and if she left of her own accord we have no business looking at her bank accounts.” He sighed wearily. “Tomorrow.”

“Nothing more we can do tonight.”

But when Carlisle brought her partner back to the station to pick up his car he said, “I’m going in for a minute. I want to get to know Eddie Perkins a little better before we get going in the morning.”

“Need help?”

“Nah. Go home to your family, Judy. I’ll see you in the AM”

She did. Jerry Kincaid was like a dog with a bone and research was his forte. Carlisle was happy to leave him to it.

In her sister’s apartment, Clara and Ben had just opened Maddy’s online bank account. A careful search of her social media pages, her personal iCloud account and her Dovetail.com account had proved fruitless. Clara noted the name of an angry vendor and the user name of a ranting reviewer on Yelp, but neither had written more than once. She was grasping at straws to find someone on the periphery of Maddy’s life who would want to hurt her, but it seemed more and more likely that someone close to her sister, for reasons unknown, had wanted to do her harm. Still, the person and the motive were still proving elusive.

At least until Ben’s index finger suddenly landed on a line in the transaction statement of Maddy’s personal checking account. Clara looked closer at the deposit he indicated. Blinked. Looked again.

“What’s that?”

Ben leaned back in his chair. They had cleared the dishes and to-go containers from dinner and switched from beer to hot tea. The old wooden chairs at the table were becoming uncomfortable and Clara’s butt was beginning to hurt. “I’m not sure,” he replied, rubbing his knuckles against the stubble on his chin in a gesture Clara had begun to recognize as thoughtful. He scrolled down another page, furrowing his brows and fidgeting in his seat.

Clara wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was puzzling him. “Do you mind if we move to the sofa? My bum is getting sore.”

Ben turned his clear brown eyes to Clara and smiled suggestively. “I wouldn’t object to that.”

She smiled back. “And continue sifting through my sister’s computer?”

“Oh, right.” He winked at her. “For a second I thought you meant you wanted to hang out on the sofa and snuggle.”

“Oh, right, ‘cause for a second I
thought
you
were trying to distract
me
from that big number you were pointing to on Maddy’s bank statement.”

“All right, all right, let’s get comfortable and keep going.” He was still smiling, but a flicker of concern passed across his warm gaze.

Clara was worried too. And she didn’t like the concern in Ben’s eyes. Glancing at the clock on the stove, she said, “It’s awfully late, Ben. I should let you go home and get some rest. You’ve been absolutely wonderful today. Above and beyond the call of duty.” She said it like she meant it, but Clara desperately wanted Ben to say that it wasn’t too late, that he was going to stay a little longer.

He looked at her, brushing his fingers across her cheekbone. “It’s only midnight. And it’s not a school night. I think we should keep looking for clues.”

The smile that broke across Clara’s face was unabashedly happy. “Okay.”

She was about to pour more tea but Ben put a hand over his cup. “I’m going to switch back to beer, though.”

She laughed. “Demonstrating your masculinity?”

“Herbal tea is a little girly.” He poked her gently just above the waistband of her jeans and Clara felt a tingle run from her tummy to her toes and back again.

“Get your beer, Mr. Radcliffe.”

On Maddy’s sofa, Clara tucked up her feet and pulled a blanket across her lap. Bea didn’t miss a beat, jumping up and kneading the blanket before curling up in a ball and slowly letting her eyes drop shut. Ben sat next to her and opened the computer on his lap, touching the track pad so that the screen lit back up.

“Okay.” He pointed periodically to the screen as he scrolled though the most recent statement. “These are big deposits. Twelve thousand, seventeen thousand, eight thousand. Do you know why Maddy would have deposits this large?”

Clara was confused by the amounts, but she said, “Could they be salary payments from the restaurant?”

“Nope. Her salary payments always come on the first of the month.” He scrolled back, indicating a regular deposit at the beginning of each statement. “There’s only one each month and they’re always the same amount.”

“But don’t the owners get money from the profits too? Outside of their salaries? That wouldn’t always be the same amount.”

“Not likely at this point. In a business this young, especially in the restaurant business, you never hand out profits as they come in. Any extra money in the black needs to be reinvested, put aside for future expenses, to cover slow times, bumps in the economy, broken kitchen equipment, evaluated for taxes – whatever comes up they need to be able to stay in business. Bonus payments would most likely be made at the end of the year and in one chunk. But frankly, I don’t see how a young restaurant, a relatively small restaurant, could cover these deposits. That’s thirty-seven thousand dollars in three weeks. If it’s legitimate, then presumably Eddie and Michelle would have received similar amounts and unless they’re dealing drugs out the back door, there’s no way Dovetail could afford to distribute over a hundred thousand dollars in profit in their second year open. Absolutely no way. It would be totally irresponsible.”

“Maybe…” But her voice trailed off. Clara couldn’t think of any reason Maddy would have that much cash in her account.

“We could check with Michelle. She might know where it came from; she would certainly know if it came from the restaurant.”

“I don’t think I want to do that just yet. Besides, it sounds unlikely that it came from Dovetail, and I don’t want to tell Michelle about it if it didn’t. Maybe it’s personal.”

“Could your parents have given it to her?”

Clara was shaking her head. “I don’t think so. That’s a lot of money and I think my dad would have mentioned it when he sent me out here.”

Ben was studying the statements more closely. “The deposits were all made in less than three weeks. The weeks immediately preceding Maddy’s disappearance.” He moved the cursor and clicked on a credit card statement. “She hasn’t used this card since Sunday. She may have other cards that don’t go through her bank, though.”

“Now that it’s been forty-eight hours since Michelle reported her missing, maybe the police can get access to Dovetail’s finances. See if anything’s missing.” She scratched absently behind Bea’s ears, unleashing a storm of purrs and stretching limbs.

Regretting the disappointment he was about to cause, he said, “I doubt it, Clara. They may not even be able to access her personal accounts since there’s no clear sign of foul play. Corporate accounts are sacred under the law. Trust me, I’m one of the people who advocate for that sort of privacy.” She didn’t reply. “I think you should hand over the laptop tomorrow, along with Maddy’s account information.”