MURDER AT THE PIER (A Sister Sleuths Mystery Book 1) (5 page)

"I'll admit, it does seem like your having an
appointment tomorrow is fate providing an opportunity we would be lax to
ignore."

"My sentiments exactly." The sisters tapped their
wine glasses.

* * *

Tom flashed his badge as
he pulled up to the security gate at the condominium complex where Neal had
lived. "Any unusual activity?" he asked the guard.

"No, sir. It's been quiet ever since the police
finished with Mr. Henderson's unit. There have only been a couple of non-residents
to the complex the last two days. A Federal Express delivery and a guy
with a pest control company."

"Good luck if he's spraying
for ants in the common areas. No one can get rid of them this year because of
the drought."

"Told me he was responding
to a call from one of the residents complaining about bees."

Tom paused. "Which unit did he go to?"

"Let me check the log." Moments later, a
red-faced guard returned. "The guy signed in, but his handwriting is
illegible. I remember him though. He was wearing a uniform with an emblem of a
bug on the front, and he had a backpack sprayer. Looked like a pest company
alright."

Tom's eyes squinted and his jaw jutted out, the usual sign
of the Detective's displeasure. "I'm going to unit 302 if any officers
come looking for me."

Located adjacent to the boardwalk, the complex afforded
most of the units an ocean view. The building was Spanish Colonial architecture
complete with orange tile roofs and whitewashed walls. The grounds were well
maintained with plush green grass, palm trees, and colorful rose bushes on
either side of a stone walkway leading to the front entrance.

But Tom was in no mood to be impressed by the beauty of the
building. By the time he parked his car and rode the elevator to the third floor,
he was quite certain of what he would find.

It should have been easy to spot unit 302 with crime scene
tape crisscrossed across the door, except the crime scene tape had been torn
off and the lock had been jimmied. Walking through the rooms, it was obvious to
Tom someone had been desperately searching for something. Desk drawers in the
study were pulled out and turned upside down. Papers were strewn over the
floor. Books torn off the shelves. In the kitchen, cereal boxes, cans, and jars
had been pulled out of the cupboards. Clothes had been ripped out of drawers in
the bedroom and pulled off hangers in the closet.

Tom wasted no time calling his squad with news of his discovery.
He gave instructions for a technician to be sent to dust for fingerprints.

"It could be someone trying
to destroy evidence of a connection to the murder victim. Which means it could
be the burglars, or it could be the murderer, depending on whether the burglars
and the murderer are one and the same."

"Has the safe been broken into?" asked the
detective on the other end of the call.

Neal glanced at the intact floor safe. "From the
scratches around the latch, it looks like
someone
tried
. If it was the burglars, they could have been looking for
Henderson's take from the burglaries. They'll need plenty of money if they have
to stay on the run. We'll find out when the tech runs the prints if they match
those we got from the van."

"Or it could have been Neal Henderson's
murderer?"

"Exactly. That makes running prints even more
compelling."

Tom hung up and finished his inspection on the balcony.
Complete with hot tub.
Boy, this guy had it all.

He looked at the beach and listened to the pounding of the
breaking surf.
Must be nice to sit in your spa enjoying a beer and a view of
the ocean at the end of the day. It would almost be enough to wish you had a
job where you could come home at night.

Shaking his head, Tom took a last glance at the brilliant
orange and red of the setting sun reflected in the ocean.
And this jerk lost
everything, including his life, trying to get more.

Returning to the living room to wait for the fingerprint
tech, his eyes came to rest on a picture frame on the floor. The glass was
broken. Tom picked up a jaggedly torn picture lying next to it. What was left
of the picture showed the victim wearing a tuxedo standing in front of a red
Mercedes-Benz. He was attending some fancy bash from the look of the other
people in the picture, all dressed to the hilt including women laden with
expensive jewelry. Tom didn't recognize any of the people shown walking into a
building with their backs to the camera. The setting looked familiar but he couldn't
immediately place it.

Who's in the part of the picture torn away? Did someone
worry
enough about being seen with Neal to go to this
much trouble?
Or was destroying the picture an act of angry jealousy?

As he started to replace the
frame on the table, he noticed the hinge on the back. His pulse skipped a beat
as he opened it. Behind the mat board was a scrap of paper with numbers written
on it and another picture.
Are these numbers the combination to a safe or a
locker?
He quickly tried the numbers on the floor safe with no luck.

The picture was of an attractive
woman smiling at the victim. Tom understood why Neal may have been reluctant to
display a picture of himself embracing this woman so soon after his broken
nuptials. The woman in the picture was decidedly not Beth Owens.

"First burglary,
then murder," Paul muttered, arriving for a meeting with the client whose
project had been the springboard to Lea's discovery of a dead body. Parking in
an unpaved lot, he opened the door of a mobile trailer that served as the
construction office.

One of two men bent over a drawing board looked up as Paul
entered. "Come in, Paul. Give me a moment."

Paul looked out the window at the flurry of activity on the
nearly completed project. It was one of the things he loved about the development
business. All the pieces coming together to turn an architect's renderings into
reality.

He watched as his client rolled up a set of plans and
dropped it into a storage tube, dismissing the man next to him with a slap on
the back: "Good work, Bill. On schedule and under budget. I can't ask for
more."

Paul’s client waved him through to one of the offices in
the trailer. "There’s table and chairs in here where we can talk."

Jim Mitchell was of the same
athletic build as Paul but the older man looked taller and leaner in the
confined space of the construction trailer. Paul usually saw his client at his
more lavish showroom offices downtown.

"Thanks for agreeing to meet
me here on the site."

"No problem, Jim. I know how
busy you are." Paul lowered his own six-foot frame into one of the metal
chairs. "How are you holding up? The burglary at Two Palms Sunday night
was bad enough. Have you been able to get back on track since the robbery at
the residential site yesterday?"

"Yeah, I've got a great foreman
and two good crews." Jim pushed his chair back from the table to give
himself more leg room. "They're used to working through unexpected on-site
problems. Biggest distraction at the residential project has been the news van
hovering most of the day."

"I'm afraid you have my wife
to thank for bringing so much attention since the news media linked the
burglary and the murder."

"I'm just sorry she went
through the experience of finding a dead body."

"It was none of your doing.
Full responsibility for her being in a position to find a dead body rests with our
overly zealous border collie."

Paul reached for the bottled
water Jim offered. "But why are the media people still pursuing the case?
I thought the police had pretty much determined the burglary on your site and
the body found at the Pier aren't linked."

"That's what Detective
Elliot told me during our interview about the burglary. But once the television
station reported the crimes as being linked, it was hard to get them to change
their angle," Jim complained. "I even had people asking me if the
body was found on our construction site. We sure don't need that kind of bad
publicity for future sales purposes."

"I hear you, Jim, but I'm
sure you didn't call me today about a public relations issue."

"No." He walked over to
close the office door.

"Part of your consulting
service for my real estate business has been to help me with personnel issues
like screening job candidates. In this case, I’m hoping you can provide a
needed third party perspective on another kind of personnel issue."

"Glad to help any way I
can."

"I have an employee I'd like
you to speak with. I don't think this young man will open up to me as his boss,
but I'm hoping he might be more forthcoming with a neutral third party."

"What's the problem?"

"One of our young
construction workers got in a bit of trouble last week. Right now, it sort of
boils down to helping me clear any doubts I, or anyone on the crew, has about
his character."

"Why is his character in
question?"

"I need to make sure he
didn't have anything to do with the burglaries which have been going on."

Paul's jaw dropped. "You better
give me all the details. What kind of trouble did this young man get
into?"

"Our site manager noticed
small tools disappearing from one of our projects. Gloves, hammers,
screwdrivers, safety glasses, basically, small stuff it's hard to keep track
of. He didn't bring it to my attention until a couple of power drills were
reported missing."

"How do you keep track of
your equipment?"

"I'll admit, we're a little
outdated in that department. Our equipment is always moving from our main
warehouse to multiple job sites as needed. Quite frankly, it gets lost or
stolen all too often.

Basically, we use sign out sheets
at the main warehouse to keep track of which construction worker has what piece
of equipment, at which location, and for how long. A paper trail isn't
available in the field until the clerical staff has the time to transfer the
information into a spreadsheet the site managers can then access on their
computer."

"If your site manager didn't
have access to the inventory list at the job site, how did he find out about
the power drills?"

"From crew members
complaining about equipment not being available. When he went to the warehouse
and cross checked inventory checked out against inventory checked in, he
discovered the smaller items, plus the drills, missing."

"Does your site manager have
any ideas about who might have taken the missing items?"

"He does, in fact. He
suspects the young man in question, Juan Martinez."

"Can't you confront Juan
with your suspicions?"

"Typically, I would, but
that's why I've asked for your intercession. John, my site manager, is good at
what he does but he sometimes demonstrates a bit of a bias against young
Hispanics."

"Awkward, considering the
large proportion of Hispanics working on your projects."

"Yes, it can be. From what I
know of Juan's background, he never finished high school, another strike in
John's estimation. I want to make sure there's adequate reason to suspect Juan
before I cause him undue embarrassment by accusing him."

"I understand your position
and I think you're right. It could be unfair to the young man. It could also
expose you to a claim of wrongful termination if the situation gets out of
hand. Hopefully, it won't come to that if I can get Juan to be open enough to decide
if there's any merit in John's suspicion."

"I appreciate it, Paul. Take
whatever time you need with Juan and bill me." Jim lowered his voice as he
opened the door. "I sincerely hope you'll find no reason to pursue this
further. I've seen Juan on the job and know him to be a hard-working,
personable young man."

"I hope the results of my
interview are favorable to Juan as well, but I’ll be giving you an honest
evaluation."

"I'd expect no less."
Jim put on his sunglasses. "Juan's working on this site today. I'll have his
supervisor radio him to come to the trailer. Want to grab lunch when you
’re finished?”

“Thanks, but Lea has reservations
at The Apex. I’m going to meet her at twelve.”

“Can’t imagine you turning me
down for that beautiful wife of yours. Send me your report.”

* * *

To prevent undue
suspicion being cast on Juan, Jim and Paul had agreed the interview would be
camouflaged as screening to select a construction crew for an upcoming new
project. The foreman hadn't been informed of the real purpose of the interview
and expressed skepticism about Juan being considered for the new crew. Jim had
dismissed John's concerns.

The worker who entered the construction trailer was tall
and lanky. He was a handsome young man with black hair, a high forehead, and
bushy eyebrows framing dark luminous eyes. He walked toward Paul with his hand
outstretched, flashing a broad smile exposing teeth that could have been in a
toothpaste commercial.

"Juan Martinez, sir. I'm glad to meet you."

"Likewise, Juan." Paul gestured to the other
chair. "Please, call me Paul. Would you like something cold to
drink?"

"Thank you. It's heating up pretty good out
there." He held the soda can against his forehead for a moment.

"Construction work can be grueling," Paul
suggested, hoping to get a read on whether Juan liked his job.

"Yeah, but it pays well. And it's outdoors. I could
never work in an office all day." Juan took a long gulp of the frosty
beverage, flashing another broad smile.

"What did you study in school?"

"I didn't make it to college. I had to drop out of
high school before I got my diploma." Juan stared at the floor.

"Trouble at school?" Paul asked casually. He
watched the young man's face and hands closely.

Juan fidgeted slightly in his chair, taking a moment before
responding as if making up his mind about how to answer. He lifted his head to
make eye contact with Paul. His response was blunt; his countenance determined
and confident. "I had plans to go to junior college here in town. I was
saving money to go to State University and get a degree in business."

"What stopped you from getting your diploma?"

"My Mom has bad back problems. She used to work in a
laundry, standing all day. After that, she had a job working for a house cleaning
service in town. She started taking pills for the pain and to help her sleep.
The last couple months of my senior year, the drugs she was taking got out of
hand. A dealer was supplying her with narcotics and she got addicted. She ended
up at the hospital on an overdose. I had to drop out of school to take care of
my little brothers and sisters. When she came home from the hospital, she was
sick from the withdrawal for weeks and couldn't start working again. I was the
only one old enough to earn money."

"That’s tough. Where was your father while all this
was going on?"

Juan snickered, shifting his long legs under the table.
"Haven't seen the dude since I was four years old. He took off after my
younger brother was born. My other brother and two sisters have different
fathers. Not one stuck around. My Mom's done it all on her own," he said, adding
softly, "with the help of welfare, and me."

"Quite a load for a young man to carry, helping your
mom with the finances." Paul needed to figure out if the need to support
his mother and provide for his siblings was pushing him to steal materials he
could resell.

"It's taught me one thing for sure,” he said angrily.
"When I have a family someday, I'll never desert them. It's a coward's way
of living. I'll teach my kids to accept the responsibility that comes with
having children. I see too many of my friends having babies way too early
before they have a way to support them."

"It sounds like you used everything you learned from a
difficult situation to turn yourself into an outstanding young man."

"I hope so. It's why I need to keep working
construction right now. It pays me enough so I can help my mom and still save
money to get my high school diploma and enroll at the junior college. I'm
planning to take night classes and still work during the day."

"Ambitious program, young man. One I believe you're
capable of accomplishing."

Paul stood to bring the conversation to a close. Putting
his arm over Juan's shoulder as they walked to the door, he asked casually:
"By the way, do you have any ideas on who has been pulling off the
burglaries in the last couple of weeks?"

Juan turned to face Paul. Paul's heart was in his throat,
afraid he might hear a response from Juan that could implicate him.

"Hey, man, those burglaries are bad business.
Personally, I think it has to be an inside job." He pinched his lower lip between
his thumb and forefinger, deep in thought. "I mean, it seems like these
guys know which sites are the easiest to hit. They hit at exactly the right
time when the security guard is away from the front gate doing his rounds. It's
like they know the schedule."

"Do guards follow a definite routine?"

"Oh, yeah. In fact, there's a machine on the site
where the guards log their inspections. It's the boss' way to make sure the
guard makes his rounds when he's supposed to and covers the whole
property." Juan grinned. "Without the logging machine, the guy could
just stand out in back somewhere having a smoke."

An alarm sounded in the back of Paul's mind. "You seem
to know quite a bit about the routine."

"I've worked as a security guard. I know exactly how
it works. I've also worked at a car wash, flipping burgers at a drive-through,
and parking cars at the country club." Juan patted his chest. "I'm a
man of all trades, you might say."

"How do you like working for Jim Mitchell's
company?"

"I respect Mr. Mitchell a lot. His foreman is strict
but fair; he knows how to treat us guys in the field right so we want to do a
good job for him."

Paul sensed Juan's sincerity and liked the young man more
and more as the conversation progressed. But his next statement made Paul catch
his breath. "Believe me, it's a lot better than working for Neal
Henderson."

"When did you work for Neal, Juan?"

"Right before I came over here. I was only on Mr. Henderson's
job for a month or so when he suddenly let me go for no reason. Man, I was
upset. I needed the money, and I was doing a good job."

"What reason did he give for terminating you?"

"He talked about tools gone missing on the site. He
never accused me of stealing, but he said stuff started being reported right after
I was hired and it was making me look bad." His eyebrows squeezed together
and his jaw jutted out. "It was all a big misunderstanding. I swear I'd
never do anything like that no matter how bad I needed money. I'm not dumb
enough to do something stupid so I end up in jail when I've got my family to
take care of. It was all unfair."