Hounded (12 page)

“Okay. Thanks, Richard.”

I update Laurie on the conversation with Richard, of course doing so out of earshot of Ricky. I have mixed emotions about the situation regarding Juanita. While I generally think it’s a good thing for mothers and sons to be together, even stepmothers, I’m not sure that’s true in this case. If Juanita does not want to be with Ricky, he just might be better off without her in the long run.

But it should come as no surprise that I have a more selfish interest in the matter. There is a decent chance that Juanita is somewhat involved in what happened to her husband, particularly since they seem to have been going to see her the night of the murder. At the very least, she might have some information, or an educated guess, about who might be his killer.

I head over to Pete’s and bring him up to date. As Laurie predicted, he is very pleased to get on the phone and trace down as many of these numbers as he can. He’s also worried that there might be a tap on his phone, but knows someone that can make sure that’s not the case, or disable it if the tap exists.

He doubts that Juanita holds much of a key to his own situation; in his eyes it was simply a case of a bad marriage gone worse. If she and her family were planning to reconcile around the time of the murder, then that is fine, but unlikely to have anything to do with her husband’s death.

I also tell Pete about my meeting with Robbie Hambler, and he asks what I think about it.

“Not a high priority,” I say. “But if you really have other deaths that you think tie in, then I want to pursue it. Hambler’s death involves big money, and it took big money to set you up, so that alone makes it worth following up on.”

“Okay. I’ll get the information out of my file and email it to you. There are a couple of deaths I was looking into that were similar, also of wealthy people. One in particular was very interesting to me. And there is a state police detective that I talked to about it.”

“Why?”

“He called me, because he had information that I was looking into one of the deaths.”

“The one you said was interesting?”

“Actually, yes. It was out of my jurisdiction, but he didn’t care about that. The deceased was a wealthy woman, and he was looking into it as well. He wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything that would compromise what he was doing. It’s common practice. I’ll send you his name and number as well, but I doubt it will come to anything.”

Pete is far more interested in Sam’s information, and he starts looking at it while we’re talking. After a couple of minutes, he looks up at me. “Have you gone through these?”

“No,” I say, “I just got them. We’ll need to split them up among you, Laurie, and me.”

“Well, we might want to start with these.” He points to some numbers on one of the back pages. “These were the calls on the day that Danny died.”

There are nine calls made either to or from three numbers on that day; all were made using Danny’s home landline. Two of the numbers are listed as being in Spring Valley, New York, one seems to be a hotel named the Oakmont Gardens, and the other is listed in the name of Carla Alvarez.

The name listed on two other calls, both received by Danny, is Juanita Diaz.

Daniel Mathis simply could not take it anymore.

Ever since the horrifying discovery that the euthanasia pills were missing, he had not experienced a peaceful night’s sleep. He had never bought into Blackman’s rationalizations that there might be a benign reason for their disappearance, or that perhaps they would not be as deadly to humans as to animals.

Mathis knew with certainty that the pills were stolen; the fact that the records of his work were also gone certainly proved that. And he was just as sure that they would kill anyone who ingested one.

For a long time he pored over newspapers, checking the obituaries to see if any deaths could be connected to his work. But it proved impossible; there was simply no way to know.

Heart attacks are the listed cause of death for more than a million Americans each year. Only seventeen pills were stolen, yet Mathis imagined that each and every death was the result of his work.

He finally came to the conclusion that he had to go to the authorities. It no longer mattered what the repercussions would be, business and personal, though he recognized that they could be severe.

The fact that he had delayed coming forward for months made matters far worse. How would he explain why he waited? Could he be culpable for any deaths that had happened in the interim? These were the kind of questions he had no good answer for, but they didn’t matter.

He could no longer sit back, which meant he had no alternative but to come forward.

But even with all that, he couldn’t make himself pull the trigger. His fear of going to jail as a result of his admission was intense. He was even afraid of going to a lawyer, since that would in his estimation start the ball rolling, and he would be unable to pull back.

Daniel had become friendly with a coworker, a young woman named Sharon Dalton. Their relationship grew to something more, and even though she left the company, they saw more and more of each other.

Finally, he confided the situation to her, and her view was a clear one. He needed to come forward; there was too much at stake not to, and the longer he waited the worse it would become, both for him and for the people that might be victimized by the missing pills.

Her conviction gave Daniel the courage and resolve that he needed. He informed his CEO, Mitchell Blackman, of his decision, and was surprised when he didn’t get any pushback. Blackman expressed similar feelings to Daniel’s; his conscience was tormenting him as well. They would come forward together, individually as well as representing the company, and let the chips fall where they may.

The relief that Daniel felt was palpable. Blackman had surprised him, but it was a very pleasant surprise. He knew that Blackman had far more to lose, and not just his preeminent position within the company. Daniel was single without any close family; Blackman had a wife and two teenage children.

But while misery loves company, so does anxiety, and just having someone alongside him felt very supportive and comforting. They would go to the FBI the next morning, and unburden themselves.

Daniel left the office that evening, heading home and not knowing if he’d ever be back, or what might lie in front of him.

He was never seen or heard from again.

Carla Alvarez said she has been friends with Juanita Diaz since grammar school.

They both grew up on Jerome Avenue, in the Bronx, and they have remained friends ever since. They refer to each other as “my sister from another mother.”

Once we saw Carla’s name on the call list, Laurie called her and asked if she’d been in touch with Juanita, and Carla’s response was that she is very worried about her friend.

That response alone was enough to get Laurie and me up here to a diner on Route 45 in Spring Valley. Carla works as a cashier at a department store nearby, and she said that she could talk to us during her lunch hour.

We drive up the Palisades Interstate Parkway, the road that parallels the Hudson River on the New Jersey side. Of course, it gets a little complicated, since halfway up you enter New York State, even though you’re still on the Jersey side.

It is a sign of New York’s regional, obnoxious dominance that it refuses to stay on its own damn side of the river.

When we get to the diner, there is a Hispanic woman who seems to be around Juanita Diaz’s age sitting alone in a booth. We take a shot and go over to her, and sure enough, it is Carla Alvarez.

“Thanks for seeing us,” Laurie says. “We won’t take a lot of your time.”

“No, it’s okay. I was going to call the police.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I am worried about Juanita. She is my best friend.”

“Why are you worried?”

“I don’t know where she is. I cannot reach her for weeks. And her poor husband…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but if she did it would have reflected on Danny’s murder.

Laurie’s turn. “Where did you see her last?”

“She was at my house; she came to stay with me when she left home.”

“Why did she leave home?” I ask.

“She and Danny, they were having trouble in their marriage. She needed time to think, and to be with someone who understood her. So she came to me. If I were in that position, I would go to her.”

“How long did she stay with you?”

Carla thinks for a moment. “A week, maybe more. She talked to Danny a couple of times, and she seemed to feel better. So she was going to go back home.”

“But she didn’t?”

“I don’t know; I don’t think so. I got home from work, and there was a note from Juanita. She said that something had happened to Danny, and that she was going home. But I called Danny, and he told me that he had not heard from her, and that nothing was wrong with him.”

“What happened next?” Laurie asks.

“I didn’t hear from anyone for two days. I called Juanita on her cell phone a few times, but it was turned off. So I called Danny again, but this time he was different.”

“What do you mean?”

“He told me that Juanita didn’t want to speak to me, and that I should stop bothering them. That was crazy, you know? I did nothing wrong, and Juanita would never say anything like that.”

Carla is obviously upset, and there is no doubt in my mind that she is telling the truth as she knows it. “Do you have any idea why Danny would say that to you?”

She shakes her head. “No. Danny and I, we were always friendly. We both had Juanita, you know? I kept calling Juanita, but no answer. I didn’t call Danny anymore, and then I saw on the TV what happened to him. So terrible.…”

Laurie asks if Juanita seemed to be worried about anything other than her marriage, or if she indicated anything at all about she or Danny being in any other kind of trouble.

“No,” Carla says. “And if there was anything, she would have told me. Me and Juanita, we tell each other everything.” She continues, with more than a trace of sadness, “And now she tells me nothing. That is why I’m so worried. That is not Juanita.”

We ask Carla to please call us if she hears from Juanita, and she agrees. “Should I call the police and tell them what I’ve told you?”

I think about this for a moment. It’s unlikely her story will motivate anyone to do anything. The fact that Juanita Diaz hasn’t called her friend is not by itself ominous news. But it certainly can’t hurt to do so, and it has no potential to damage Pete’s case. “If you feel comfortable with that, then of course,” I say.

Laurie and I head over to the Oakmont Gardens, which is now no longer a hotel, but rather has been converted to mini-apartments. They are rented long term, and based on the look of them, must be rather inexpensive. The grounds are poorly kept, with litter strewn fairly liberally on the grass.

The manager of the place is Edward Rozelle, and when we tell him we are there to ask questions rather than rent an apartment, he adopts an attitude that is simultaneously wary and obnoxious. My first reaction is to dislike him, and I suspect that over time he wouldn’t grow on me. “Our customers expect total privacy,” he says.

I nod. “I’m sure they do. Is this one of your residents?” I show him a picture of Juanita. There is a slight reaction, but I can’t tell what it means.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“It must be comforting for your residents to have you protect them so diligently. But moving right along, have you seen her? She was staying in room 221; she made a phone call from that room.”

“I really can’t comment on that.”

“Makes sense,” I say. “So let’s try a different subject. What are you doing on Thursday and Friday?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you don’t answer these very reasonable questions, I’ll present you with a subpoena, and a federal marshal will escort you to a two-day deposition, which will feel like root canal without novocaine. Sound good?”

I am, as per usual, lying through my teeth. I don’t have the power to subpoena him, and I have as much chance of getting a federal marshal to help as I have of bringing in Marshal Dillon, or declaring martial law, or being named grand marshal of the Rose Bowl Parade.

Fortunately, Rozelle is not aware that I am full of shit, and he folds like an accordion. Laurie, who is totally aware that I am in fact full of shit, manages a slight eye roll with a smile, a maneuver she’s perfected over the years.

“You guys always have to get your way, huh?” Rozelle asks. “Don’t you ever talk to the cops?”

I have no idea what he’s babbling about, so I say, “We’re talking to you now.”

He nods. “Yeah, she was here. With a guy.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“Nah, she was in the car, and he brought her into the room. I didn’t see her again.”

“How long were they here?” Laurie asks.

“Almost two weeks. I saw him coming and going a couple of times, but not her. What’s the story with her?”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Did I give you the impression that we were going to share information? Forgive me if I did. Do you have housekeepers that clean those rooms?”

“What do you think this is, the Hilton?”

“Is that a no?” I ask.

“Yeah. That’s a no. People clean their own rooms, until they leave.”

We question Rozelle a while longer, and actually manage to get a little information, which may or may not prove helpful. The guy with Juanita paid in cash, twenties, which Rozelle no longer has. He signed his name Wally Reese on the check-in sheet, but did not have to provide identification to prove that was his real name.

Rozelle says the car he was driving was silver colored, and he thinks it was a Toyota Corolla, but he isn’t sure. He did not get the license plate number.

“Has anyone else stayed in that apartment since they left?” Laurie asks.

“No, we got a bunch of vacancies.”

“Go figure,” I say. “Make sure no one goes in there before tomorrow. We need to get forensics people in here.” I know Pete has people he can call on to retrieve fingerprints, and I want them in there as soon as possible.