Redemption (A Joe Burgess Mystery, Book 3) (29 page)

"Detective," Burgess said. "Or Sergeant. Either one's fine. You said you spoke with Reggie. When was that, Mr. Hazen? And where did the conversation take place?"

"How the hell should—" The hands tapped as Hazen slammed on his verbal brakes. "Pretty soon after that first conversation with Joey. I'd guess maybe seven or eight weeks ago."

So once Claire had mentioned the land, Hazen had moved fast. He'd have to confirm it, but Burgess didn't think Reggie was even back in Portland then. "And where?"

"Right here in my office," Hazen said. "Joey picked him up at that rooming house and brought him out here."

"Morning? Afternoon? When did you meet?"

"I don't remember."

Burgess flipped to a clean page. "Describe the conversation."

"I don't remember. He was an old guy. Kind of out of it. I don't remember that he said much. I told him that Joey had mentioned to me how he wanted to turn the land into cash and I asked Reggie if that was okay with him. He said the land was in trust and it wasn't up to—" Hazen tapped his knee and checked himself. "He said his brother was the trustee."

"And?"

"And nothing."

"You said Reggie seemed kind of out of it. Was he sober? Do you think he understood what you and Joey were talking about?" Hazen didn't answer. "Did he tell you that any decisions regarding the property had to be made by his brother?"

"Didn't I already say that? Look I asked and you didn't answer me. What is this about?"

"Did he appear to understand what you and Joey were talking about?"

The right answer, if he wanted to appear responsible, was a simple yes. But Hazen was annoyed. Like many wheeler-dealers, he wasn't used to being on the answering side. Words were
his
manipulating tool. "He didn't seem to understand a goddamned word I said. He just stared at the kid with these sad spaniel eyes and shook his head. Said I'd have to talk to his brother. And that went real fuckin' well. All I got from that SOB was that I was wasting my time. He said the land was under a long-term lease for farming. Like we need fuckin' organic vegetables more than people need places to live. Not that any of that matters any more. Now that the father's gone, it's Joey's land and he can make the calls."

"You're a realtor," Burgess said. "Does death of the grantor invalidate a lease made by the trustee?"

This time, he couldn't draw Hazen in. "You said you arranged for the surveyor. Did you pay the surveyor?"

Hazen's look said, "Do I look like a fool to you?" He said, "Joey said Claire would take care of it."

"Do you have a copy of the survey?"

"Goddamned slow-as-molasses country surveyor hasn't sent me one yet. What I get for trying to go local. He sent one to fuckin' Joey, who says he lost it somewhere on that goddamned boat, but not to me or to Claire, even though it was Claire's goddamned money that paid for it."

"Star Goodall didn't pay the surveyor?"

"With Claire's money. Miss Star Look-at Me-I'm-a-Witch Goodall hardly has a pot to piss in. Just what Nick gives her."

This guy knew an awful lot about Joey and his family. "Did he send a plan to Star?"

"I don't know. Getting a straight answer from her is like trying to get one out of you."

"Just trying to understand the situation in the weeks leading up to Reggie's death."

"What does that have to do with real estate?"

"You all seem to be in a pretty big hurry, given that the property doesn't go to Joey until he's thirty-five."

Hazen's cheeks flamed. "Oh, fuck you, Chief. I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I've got work to do." He did the knee tap for self-control again. When it didn't work, he grabbed the handle and opened the door. "Go ask fuckin' Joey what the trust says. He said on paper it was up to his uncle, but he knew how to work with his uncle, and lease or no lease, his uncle was going to give him the property real soon."

Hazen got out of the truck and slammed the door.

Burgess watched him stomp across the lot, then put the truck in gear and rolled away.

Chapter 22

As he headed back into town, his phone rang. Kyle again. "Goodall says Joey's not his tenant anymore, and gave us permission to search the boat. You wanna join me?"

"There's nothing I'd like better. You at the marina?"

"I am."

"Be there in ten."

Ten was optimistic but with impatience driving his foot, he wasn't feeling too picky about speed limits. As long as he didn't run over a pedestrian, who was going to complain about a cop driving fast? The public wanted a quick response.

As he parked and followed Kyle's directions to Nick Goodall's slip, a man came out of a building. Burgess stopped and went to meet him. "Detective Burgess," he said, "here to take a look at Goodall's boat. You the guy who saw Joey Libby leave last night?"

The man's features were nearly hidden by a curly, sand-colored beard. He had the reddened cheeks and lined eyes of a man who's spent his time outside, and had a limp, apparently from some leg injury. "That's me. Bill Tolliver," he said, holding out a hand. "Let me know if there's any way I can help."

"I expect you can, Mr. Tolliver," Burgess said. "You going to be around for a while?"

Tolliver waved a scarred hand toward the building. "My office. My home. I'm pretty much always around, Detective. If I'm not out and around the boats, just knock on the door when you're ready." He shook his head. "That's a sorry kid. All kinds of people trying to help him and he just pisses all over 'em. I dunno what makes a kid turn out like that. Big, smart, good-looking guy, got everything going for him, and he's just as mean as a snake. 'Specially to girls. Women."

He shook his head again. "Even his own mother. Woman may not be very friendly, but she sure loves that kid. She comes down here to bring his goddamned laundry and the little bastard can't even be bothered to say thanks. But it's the cute little girl that bothered me."

He said it like Burgess should know what he meant. Burgess shook his head, so the man went on, "Plenty of girls on and off that boat. Joey's a real ass hound. But this girl, I saw only the once. Pretty young thing, fresh as a daisy and stars in her eyes."

He paused to make sure Burgess was paying attention. "You know. A nice girl. A real nice girl. Someone's daughter. I guess they're all that, but you know what I mean. Sweet and clean and innocent. Dressed decent and polite as you please. She comes tripping down here in her pretty yellow dress and those little white shoes, looking for Joey. I tell her where to find him, so she goes down to the boat, and a couple hours later, she's all bruised and her dress is torn and she's crying like her little heart is broke forever. I drove her home. She wouldn't let me take her to the ER, poor little darling. I spoke to him about that when I got back and he couldn't of cared less. 'Go fuck yourself' is his answer to everything."

Kyle was going to have to wait a few minutes. "When was this, Mr. Tolliver?"

"Week ago, maybe. Not long."

"You didn't call us."

"I offered. Tried to convince her that she needed to so's he wouldn't do it to some other girl, but she just kept shaking her head no, said it was all her fault anyways, and she was so upset and hurt already, and she'd begged me not to, so I let it go. Except for speaking to Joey."

"And he just blew you off?"

"Little prick said she was just a cock tease and had it coming. Like any girl ever deserves to get beat and have her clothes torn off. I told him anything like that happened again and never mind what the girl wanted, I was calling you guys. And I told him I was calling Nick Goodall. I didn't want him here in the marina anymore, doing like he was doing. He's got all the girls he wants with no hassle, so why's he gotta go and do something like that?"

He answered his own question. "Because he's gotta ruin something. Gotta spoil something good."

That sure sounded like Joey. "You know her name?"

"She didn't want me to know." Tolliver shook his head. "I can tell you where she lives, though." He gave very exact directions, no number but enough information to find it.

Burgess wrote it down. When he and Kyle were done here, he'd swing by there. For two reasons—first, because he was sickened that Joey was abusing women again, and he needed to know how far this had gone. Second, because it might have been this, not a desire to escape police questions about his father's death, that triggered Claire's stonewalling and Joey's flight.

"I'd like to get a written statement from you, if you're willing," he said.

"More than willing," Tolliver said. "I should of done it right then, only I was trying to protect her. I wasn't thinking about how he'd see it, thinking he'd got away with something. Not 'til after, when I talked to him."

"Did you call Goodall?"

"You bet I did. He's been pretty easy to deal with. Doesn't really want the boat anyway. He never uses it, but he knows he's got to keep it up if he's ever going to sell it. I keep an eye on it, tell him if things need doing. Only this time... I called him the next day, told him what had happened. He said he was too busy to talk, he'd get back to me. Which he never did. Then I got busy—fall's a busy time with the boats—so Joey was still here, until last night."

Tolliver shifted his eyes toward the boat. "Now what's he done?"

"Hit a cop."

"Guess I'm not surprised."

"We'll take care of Joey," Burgess said.

It was, as Mary Libby had said, a good-sized boat, the kind that sucks fuel like a thirsty elephant. It had a large cabin with a galley and spacious mid-cabin, and a big, comfortable berth. Plenty of room for a guy to crash. Although trash was really the operative word. Squalor. The fug of sweat, sex, and alcohol mixed with the sour stench of garbage. It looked like Joey'd only done dishes when he'd run out—the sink was filled with dirty cups and plates—and had never taken out his trash. Too freakin' lazy to carry it the thirty feet or so out to the Dumpster. There might be nothing here, but Joey sure hadn't stopped to clean up before doing his run.

Burgess was a little surprised Claire hadn't taken out the trash and cleaned up when she delivered Joey's laundry. Or sent her maid down to clean. Maybe Joey wouldn't let her.

"Welcome to Pigstye Acres," Kyle said. "Where the recently departed denizen seems to have lived entirely on pizza, canned pasta, and fast food takeout. It was a lot worse before I opened the door and the windows. Portholes. Whatever the hell they are. There sure isn't anything about this guy to like."

"You're gonna like him even less when you hear what Tolliver just told me."

"That's the security guy?"

Burgess told Kyle about the girl.

"You'd think he'd want to keep his nose clean, at least for a little while. How long has he been out?" Kyle said. His voice was level but there was an angry vibration in his thin frame.

"Six, eight months. I wonder what his PO has to say?

"His PO," Kyle pointed out, "didn't even know where he was living. If you call this living. And couldn't tell me where he was working. Just that he had a job."

"Nick Goodall was cooperative?"

"Very. Anything we want. Happy to talk with us when it's convenient. I made an appointment for later," Kyle said. "Figured you'd want to be there, after what Benjy said."

"You got that right. Later, as in?"

"As in when we get done here." Kyle checked his notes. "Always available to help the police, he said. Sounded like a guilty conscience to me."

Burgess hoped that while they were here pawing through the garbage, Nick Goodall wasn't packing his things and heading out of town. But he was an adult. Established. Not the type who usually runs. "When we're done here," he agreed. He studied the messy room. "How you wanna do this?"

Kyle pointed at the banquette that made a "C" around the table. "I've pretty much done that side. Got some papers there on the table that might be of interest. Some roaches and a couple small green pills in an ashtray. I can finish in here while you do the sleeping area." Kyle's gray eyes flashed amusement. "Then we take the trash up on deck and go Dumpster diving."