Designed to Kill (31 page)

39

As Jill and I digested that blockbuster, Baucus looked around with a contrite smile. “Where’s our manners, Greta? See if Mr. and Mrs. McKenzie would like something to drink.”

“I can brew some decaf,” Greta said.

We politely declined, and she moved over to sit in a nearby chair.

I decided to take a different tack. “I understand Tim started the rescue efforts after the balcony collapsed.”

Baucus leaned back in his chair and built a teepee with his fingers. “Yes, he did. Actually, he was quite resourceful. I liked the young man quite a bit, you know. It’s a shame all of this had to happen. He was obviously very distressed by the casualties. I suppose that’s what pushed him over the edge.”

“Do you recall what time he left here that night?” I asked.

“It must have been around eleven, wasn’t it, Greta?” He glanced across at her. “Wasn’t too long before we went to bed. There was so much confusion after the accident. Trying to satisfy the sheriff and keep the media at bay. It seems almost like a dream now. A nightmare.”

“Your wife said you got a phone call about twelve-thirty that night and left again. What was that about?”

The fleeting glance he cast toward Greta was full of daggers. “The call had nothing to do with The Sand Castle. It was a personal matter. Greta answered the phone and gave it to me, or I might not have taken the call. After hearing some unpleasant news, I gave the phone back to her and left. I was gone about an hour.”

Plenty of time to get to the National Seashore and shoot Tim, I thought. He could easily have driven up the beach.

“Sergeant Payne told me he saw Tim talking with you and Claude Detrich before he left,” I said. “What did you discuss?”

He shrugged. “Tim was worried about the possibility of lawsuits. And we talked about the cause of the accident. We had all looked at where the break occurred. I’m no engineer, but it was obvious from the way the steel bars had bent that they were not large enough for the weight of the balcony. Tim simply made a mistake when specifying the rebars to use. It was a tragic mistake.”

“If the plans he furnished specified larger rebars and stronger concrete as Tim’s assistant, Walt Sturdivant, says, the copy Detrich has must have been tampered with.”

“I don’t see how,” Baucus said. “If that were the case, then Mr. Sturdivant should bring their original set down here to show some proof of it.”

“Their original was stolen, too,” I said. “We think it was taken by the same Oliver O’Keefe who was a draftsman there until he quit last week.”

If the shock on his face wasn’t genuine, he was a good actor. “Are you telling me that New Horizons has no set of
Sand
Castle
plans?”

“That’s right.”

He rubbed one hand down his cheek and across his chin, appearing completely absorbed in thought. And then a smile spread slowly across his face. “Now it makes sense. Don’t you see? O’Keefe worked for Tim, right? Tim must have called him Friday night after the accident, instructed him to take New Horizons’ plans and destroy them. Then O’Keefe came to
Biloxi
and stole mine. That would leave only the copies held by Detrich and Farnsworth. Then New Horizons could claim the plans here had been tampered with. It could relieve them of a big liability.”

I shook my head. “What good would it do without an original set of plans that showed the proper specifications? As you indicated, they’d have no proof.”

“Yes, that was the fallacy in the plot, wasn’t it? In his distraught state of mind, Tim was hardly thinking straight. But I’m sure he had put his family’s interest foremost, what it would mean for them. It’s all such a tragedy.”

———

“He has an answer for everything, doesn’t he?” Jill said as we made the short drive to Gulf Sands.

“Yeah,” I said. “And the problem is he made everything sound so plausible. Did that bit about Tim calling someone in
Nashville
Friday night strike a familiar chord? It was basically the same scheme Sergeant Payne came up with. And, remember, that was a possibility I had thought about when we first got here.”

“So where does this leave us?”

“Still grabbing at Claude Detrich’s coattails,” I said.

Back at our condo, I checked the videotape from my mini-camera and found no trace of the black Cadillac. I guess I should have considered it a good thing, but I was getting antsy—I wanted to know the identity of the guys who had worked me over. Before re-starting the videotape, I switched the camera input to the TV screen. What I saw moments later did not bring any cheers.

I called out to Jill. “Come take a look at this.”

She came in from the kitchen and stared at the TV. Two green-and-white cars from the Sheriff’s Office were pulling up to the front of the building. They were out of view when they parked, so I had no idea who got out. I reset the videotape and switched off the TV. About a minute later, I heard a loud knock at the door. There was a button to ring the doorbell, but whoever was knocking obviously wanted to emphasize their presence.

I opened the door to find Lieutenant Cassel standing there with Sergeant Payne behind him.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” I asked, smiling.

“We need to talk,” said
Cassel
. No smile there.

The look he gave me did not indicate he came bearing an olive branch.

“Please come in,” I said. I led them into the living room, where Jill stood beside the balcony doors. I introduced her to the lieutenant. Payne nodded his recognition.

“Have a seat,” I said, motioning toward the sofa.

I sat beside Jill on the love seat.

“The sheriff called me a while ago,”
Cassel
said, eyes fixed on mine. “A good friend of his, a prominent citizen of
Pensacola
, contacted him with a complaint. He said his son was being badgered by you and he wanted it stopped.”

I played dumb. “Who have I been badgering?” I asked, looking perplexed.

“Bosley Farnsworth, the Threshold Inspector for The Sand Castle project. I warned you, McKenzie.”

“I presume the complainant was Denton Farnsworth,” I said. “Did he specify how I had badgered his son?”

“The sheriff said you had been asking a lot of questions.”

“Which he voluntarily answered.”

“What about this claim you had evidence to turn over to us that would warrant bringing Farnsworth in for questioning? Where’s the evidence?”

I shook my head slowly. “I told Boz I’d have to turn over the results of my investigation soon. I did not say I had any evidence now.”

“So you’re just bluffing. You don’t have sh—” His eyes flashed toward Jill, then back. “You don’t have proof of anybody doing anything. You don’t know if any crime’s been committed.”

“I know another set of The Sand Castle plans has been stolen,” I said. I told him what Baucus had said about the theft in
Biloxi
. Then I added, “I know somebody is seriously concerned that I’m getting close.”

When I related the story about the two heavies who had cornered Jill and me last night, he gave me a skeptical look. “That what happened to your face?”

“Right.”

He glared. “Did you report it?”

“No. We were in
Orange
Beach
. I had made turns into some side streets in an attempt to elude them, so I didn’t have a clue as to where we were. I also didn’t see the tag number. I only knew they were a couple of hoods from
Louisiana
, probably
New Orleans
.”

“I suppose you’re gonna tell me next they were Mafia wiseguys.”

“I don’t know who they were,” I said, getting fed up with his attitude. My voice turned as testy as his. “But now that you mention it, they
were
rather swarthy looking.”

“Well, McKenzie, if there were any such guys, I’d say they hit the nail right on the head. You’ve had your nose into too many people’s business. And you’d better pull it back before it gets chopped off. If you’re retired, you’d be wise to start acting like it. I talked to a friend in
Nashville
who told me you don’t like cops. Well, I guaran-damn-tee you’re gonna like ’em even less if I have to come out here again.”

With that, he stood up and snapped at the sergeant. “Let’s get out of here, Payne, before I get mad.”

When I came back from closing the front door, Jill looked up. “If that wasn’t the real thing, I’d sure hate to see him when he gets mad.”

40

“Since you haven’t seen any further evidence of those two horrible men around here,” Jill said, “would we be safe in making another try at Doc’s tonight?”

I nodded. “You bet we would.” But I made a mental note to be ready with the Beretta. There are legal restraints to an armed response, but I would be well within them.

Fifteen minutes later, we turned west again. The air was cool, the temperature dropping as dusk approached. The morning’s overcast had broken up, leaving the sky a playground for a dazzling spectacle, a swarm of clouds tinted by a multi-hued sunset that shifted with the grace of a Tai Chi exercise group. I had difficulty keeping my attention focused on the business at hand, but we reached the restaurant with no suspicious sightings.

Doc’s was always busy on Friday nights, even as early as we had arrived. After standing in line for twenty minutes, we were ushered to a table. We settled on shrimp salad and chatted about trivial things during the meal. I knew it was time to set Tim’s murder aside and let the air clear a bit. As we talked, Jill wondered what was going on back in Hermitage, whether the grass would need cutting again (I certainly hoped not), how the Titans would make out in Sunday’s game and what new painful exercises Vickie would have dreamed up for her at the Rehab Clinic.

When we got back to Gulf Sands around
7:30
, we found a few more cars in the parking lot than before we left. Weekends usually brought an influx of guests. We saw lights on in two other units near ours. As soon as I opened the door, I heard the answering machine beeping. There was a message to call the Rev. Charlie Brown.

“Good evening, Charlie,” I said when he answered. “Did you get a look at that sunset this evening?”

“Wasn’t it gorgeous? Makes you want to believe in God, doesn’t it?”

“You’ve got a point there. What’s up, my friend?”

His voice turned serious. “I had a disturbing call this evening. J.W. Payne wanted to know if you had questioned me about Bosley Farnsworth. He said the boy’s father had complained that you were harassing him.”

“I know. Sergeant Payne and his boss, Lieutenant Cassel, were over here late this afternoon.
Cassel
used badgering rather than harassing. Same difference, I guess.”