Promissory Payback (2 page)

After a quick introduction, Jane pulled up a chair so she could be on the same level as Laura Abernathy. She saved her domineering, lording-over stance for criminals. “I'm sorry for your loss,” Jane started the conversation. It had become a robotic line all cops used before questioning family or friends of murder victims. There usually was no genuine “sorrow,” but it sounded good and usually made the family feel more comfortable when talking to a cop. But Laura's response to her automatic statement was odd to Jane.

“Did you
know
Carolyn?” Laura asked, with a quizzical look.

“No, ma'am.”

“Oh. I see. I wondered.”

Jane studied Laura. “So, you're saying that you're not so choked up over this?”

“No, that's not what I meant, dear,” she said quietly. “I'm just saying that I don't think there's going to many people mourning her loss ... except those who she owed money to . . . They'll never see a dime from their investments.”

Okay. We have a possible motive
, Jane figured. And it certainly was in keeping with the shredded promissory note found in Carolyn's duct-taped mouth. “Do you happen to know the names of those investors?”

Laura looked momentarily lost. “Oh, well, no. I stayed out of that. I just know that there were some very angry people who lost a great deal of money because of Carolyn's behavior.”

“What kind of money?”

Again, she appeared stumped. “I believe it was about fifty-thousand dollars each.” She rolled her eyes. “Carolyn promised them that if they invested their money with her, she'd guarantee them a one hundred percent return within sixty days.”

Jane furrowed her brow. “And that quick payout didn't seem a little
odd
to these investors?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I can't answer that.”
Sweetheart
, Jane thought. Here was a woman who probably used that term of endearment for everyone she encountered who showed the least amount of interest in her. “I just know that the people involved were all
quite
desperate and the terms probably seemed very attractive to them.”

Jane observed Laura. She looked like the archetypal grandmother. The cloying scent of Lily of the Valley and fresh baked cookies was all that was missing. “Did she tell them where she was investing their money?”

Laura cleared her throat. The line of questioning was obviously not something she was prepared for. “Land to build a condo complex near Playa Del Carmen in Mexico. She said she was the middleman for a deal down there and that the return was so high because the developer already had offers of well over two hundred thousand dollars on each condo.”

“Did she ever show you photos or blueprints of these condos?”

“Me?” Laura said incredulously. “Why would she show them to me?”

“Well, you're her oldest friend. I just thought that in the course of conversation she might—”

“There'd be no reason for Carolyn to show me that kind of thing.
I
didn't have the money to invest, so why bother?”

Okay, Jane deduced. This was one of those odd friendships—the kind that goes
way
back and continues not necessarily because of kinship but more due to a toxic, familial alliance. Jane considered the state of Carolyn's dead body behind her. If anything screams, “I'm making a statement,” it's hog-tying a nude woman and scrawling “Karma is a bitch!” on her back in red lipstick, while stuffing her cheeks with shredded promissory notes. Somebody didn't get their money back, and somebody was mad enough to kill Carolyn Handel because of it. The idea of a ponzi scheme came to Jane's mind. The illegal high-risk investment con was still operating with abandon by numerous get-rich, fraud financiers, even after the Bernie Madoff scandal should have dissuaded these crooks from continuing their disreputable tactics.

“Do you think this condo building in Playa Del Carmen really existed?” Laura looked at the carpet sheepishly. “Do you?” Jane said, as if she were talking to a child.

“I
hate
to say this ...” her voice was barely audible, “but, no. I don't think it ever existed.”

“Then how was she expecting to pay those investors back?”

“I'm not sure. She didn't worry about it. She didn't seem worried about anything, actually.
Her
life was going well.” Laura's eyes canvassed the elegant furniture in the room.

So, either Carolyn was a sociopath or just a rotten crook. “Nobody threatened to sue her or call the authorities ?” Jane asked, beginning to dislike the hog-tied body getting stiffer by the moment behind her.

Laura let out a sigh. “No. Carolyn had a way of talking to you that made you feel as though you could trust her completely. She carried herself with such confidence. She owned every room she ever walked into.”

Sure she did
, Jane deduced. Owned it on the backs of other people's money. Jane snuck a look behind her. The crime scene techs struggled briefly to remove the oddly tied rope around Carolyn's ankles and wrists. Rigor was setting in and when the rope was removed, Carolyn's arms and legs were frozen in such a way that she looked like she was about to take flight. Jane turned back to Laura who was staring emotionless at Carolyn's body. She moved her chair to obstruct Laura's view.

“Do you know if she paid any portion of the money back?” Jane asked, in an attempt to regain Laura's attention.

“No,” Laura declared.

“You say that with authority. How do you know for certain?”

“Because when I was here, the investors would call and ask her when they were going to get their money back. Some of them were quite agitated. I can't blame them. From what I could hear, time was of the essence for all of them. It's been more than a year since they loaned her the money.” Laura's eyes drifted again to the action going on behind Jane. She was seemingly repulsed and drawn to the scene simultaneously.

Jane shifted again in her chair. “What do you mean, ‘time was of the essence?'”

Laura froze, biting her lower lip. It was an unconscious reaction that often meant one wished they could take back what they just said. “Oh, well, you know ...” Laura replied, somewhat struggling to find the right words. “How
many people are struggling right now with this darned economy? Time is of the essence for
everyone
, dear!”

Everyone except Carolyn Handel, it seemed. Laura's verbal recovery was somewhat believable to Jane, but there was still something off. “What did she tell these investors when they'd call asking for their money back?”

“She'd always say, ‘
Oh, darling . . .
' She
loves
to call people ‘darling.'” Even though Laura appeared well mannered and sweet, Jane heard that familiar cattiness that creeps out when women of all ages speak badly about other women. But it always sounded somewhat immature for a woman of Laura's age. The cattiness resurrected as Laura adopted her version of what Carolyn sounded like. “
'Oh, darling
, don't you worry one wit! I'll have your money back to you as promised
very soon
. And we'll all be celebrating and be
so
rich!' She was just stringing them along. She was disingenuous to a fault.” Laura bowed her head sadly.

“Are you positive that's what she said?”

Laura looked a little irritated at Jane for the first time. “
Yes
. That was her standard response to them all the time!
So
rehearsed, it seemed.”

“That must have made you feel uncomfortable?”

“Very much so, Detective,” Laura said with emphasis. “I
tried
to . . . gently . . . get through to her that she needed to pay these people back.”

“Gently?”

“You couldn't be
presumptuous
with Carolyn. I've known her long enough to understand how she operates.”

“And her response to you was—?”

“'It'll be taken care of, Laura!' End of story after that.”

“So, what do you think? What did she do with these people's money?”

“Look around this house, sweetheart.
Do you see suffering
? Do you see poverty?”

Jane considered how much Carolyn probably suffered last night as she gasped for air and possibly stared into the eyes of her assailant seated in that single chair as she died.
Suffering.
Yes, that was part and parcel of the vibe behind this one, Jane mused. Look at what
you
have and what I don't have, she figured the perp might have thought.

“How many people invested with her?”

Laura looked at Jane, seemingly frozen once again.

“Are you all right?” Jane asked her.

“Yes. Just tired.”

“Do you know how many people may have invested with her and gotten involved in her scam?”

“Oh, golly. I don't know, dear.” Laura fidgeted with the sleeve of her pink dress.

“You said they called when you were visiting.”

“Yes. Right. I think it was about three.”

“Three?”

Laura appeared agitated as if she'd said too much. She let out a sigh. “I think so. Those are lovely cowboy boots you're wearing. Where'd you get them?”

Jane's boots were old, scruffy and far from “lovely.” This was the worst attempt at changing the subject she'd seen in years. It was time to vary the line of questioning. Jane glanced over to a framed photo on a nearby table. It was a picture of Carolyn standing in front of an enormous floral display of Oriental “Stargazer” lilies, like the ones Jane saw downstairs. In the photo, Carolyn looked vibrant and quite attractive for a woman in her early sixties. The decomposing body behind Jane belied the beautiful woman in that snapshot. “She liked Stargazers, eh?” Jane asked, motioning toward the picture.

“Yes. They were her favorite flower. No matter the cost, she liked to have them in her home year ‘round.” The cattiness reignited.

“It looks like she took care of herself.”

“Oh, Carolyn
always
made sure to take care of herself.”

“She believed in ‘me first,' huh?”

“Oh,
yes
.” Laura's eyes rolled. “Always has, ever since we were kids. I've known Carolyn since we were six years old.”

Laura almost
sounded
six years old when she said that. Jane had to take a moment to figure out how she was going to tactfully express the next sentence. “You're the same age?”

“Yes. Well, I'm actually three months
younger
,” Laura said with a proud twinkle in her eyes.

Good God Almighty
, Jane thought. She'd pegged Laura at around early seventies when she walked in the room. What kind of hard living had Laura endured to make her look that haggard?

“I saved her life once,” Laura offered with a kind of giddiness to her voice, tapping Jane's knee lightly with her hand. “We were on the playground and she had her book bag strapped to her back and secured in front of her with another strap. We were playing on the slide. Carolyn always wanted to show off to the boys, even at a young age. Such a flirt! She was fooling around on the slide at the top and slipped. Her strap got caught around her neck and she hung over the slide, choking. None of the boys she was showing off to moved an inch.”

Jane pictured the freakish visual. “What'd you do?”

“I ran up the slide from the bottom and released the hook on the strap which freed her.” Laura appeared to be
back in time. “She fell to the ground and hurt her knee but she was alive, thanks to me!” She looked at Jane. “Carolyn got
lots
of attention from the boys with that scuffed knee.”

Again, with the catty commentary.
This
is why Jane didn't like women in general. Even though she was a card-carrying member of the female persuasion, she hated the bitchy banter and backstabbing that women did to each other. It was even worse when it was shrouded in a sweet sandwich of “friendship,” since the claws seemed to scratch with more impunity.

“If you don't mind me asking, Mrs. Abernathy—”

“Oh, sweetie, call me Laura,” she said softly touching Jane's hand, “All my friends do.”

Right
.
And I'm your new best friend
, Jane mused. Jane deduced that this was how the trap was set between all women—cradle you in the disingenuous arms of familiarity and then hover until you become vulnerable. That is followed by the inevitable pounce and scratching of eyes. Jane tapped Laura's hand. “Okay,
Laura.
Why were you and Carolyn friends?”

Laura gave Jane's question adequate reflection. “She
needed
me,” Laura declared. “I was there in her life all these years so she could see manifested before her humility and grace ... and
gratitude
. You
have
to have an attitude of gratitude, don't you know?”

Oh, shit
, Jane thought as she forced a weary smile. She despised trite treacle like that. If this conversation continued in this vein, Jane would need an attitude of fortitude to get through it. “So, Carolyn called you last night and asked you to come over here, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“What time did she call you?”

Laura sighed. The questions were starting to get to her. “Seven-ish. Right before my program was to start.”

“Well, you're lucky you had that show. It appears that Carolyn died around 8:30. You could have been here when this went down.”

Her eyes fixated on Jane. “Dear God ...”

“That's ironic, isn't it?”