The Coaster (27 page)

Chapter Thirty-two

The next morning, Sarah tapped me on the shoulder before the alarm went off. No, not that kind of tap, although after last night's backbreaking labor my ability to take the field would have been a game-time decision anyway. “Is everything taken care of?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“No one will find them?”

“No.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure.” Sarah put her arms around me and hugged me from behind in the rarely used woman-as-the back-spoon position, which is rarely used for a reason. She's just too small for it to work effectively. It's like she was riding a horse and refused to let go even when it decided to lie down on its side. I rolled over and faced her. I don't know what that's called, but it's better.

Sarah pulled my face close to hers. “I know what you're doing and I know you're not finished.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“Because I trust you. I always knew you'd rise to the occasion and do whatever had to be done to take care of your family. You've always had it in you. You couldn't see it, but I could. You think I'd marry some loser?”

“No, but everybody makes mistakes. I thought maybe you fucked up just this one time.”

Sarah smacked me lightly on the nose. “Stop.”

“I know you're right. I've been feeling sorry for myself because I haven't accomplished enough personally, instead of being grateful for all I have. That's going to change.”

“The kids and I love you just the way you are.”

“You're going to see a new man around here. Starting today.”

“I like the old man just fine,” Sarah said and reached for me. I was upgraded to probable and placed on the active roster.

***

I got the kids off to school, went to work, and tried to act normal again. As I faked my way through the day, my mind kept running through the recent string of unsettling events. Something wasn't adding up. Maybe it was because the first ending in these kinds of scenarios is never the real ending. Hell, sometimes the second ending isn't the real ending. The hero has to suddenly realize the whole scheme has been manipulated by the last person you would expect or the one whose betrayal would hurt the most. Ideally, both.

In this particular case, if you looked at who had means, motive, and opportunity, it really pointed to one obvious person. Who could have controlled the whole thing from behind the scenes? There was really only one answer.

I left the office, got in the car and drove with a specific destination in mind. After about ten minutes, I pulled into the driveway of…my own house.

***

I went into the pantry and opened a Tupperware container and there buried in the rice was Corny's cell phone. Next to it on the shelf was a bottle of Stallion Spray—the weapon I used to kill Corny.

I said up front that my entire life is a lie. Why wouldn't it be me?

In the end, who profited from all this? Whose accomplices, and the only other people in on the conspiracy, are both now conveniently dead? Who had access to my father-in-law? Who else really had any reason to want me in charge? Who has come out of this entire fiasco smelling like a hero, despite a long history of not coming through in the clutch?

As Hollywood has told us, the rich white guy is always the murderer. But don't get the wrong idea. While I did have access to my father-in-law, I didn't kill him.

I knew Corny would be visiting to check up on me, so when I went out to do the night check, I brought along the Stallion Spray, the same bottle Officer Tate later found in the back of our pickup. Stallion Spray is a solution made of urine from a mare in estrus, used to get a stallion worked up so you can get a “sample” without an actual mare around. I sprayed it all around Rex's stall. Rex is almost impossible to control under the best of circumstances and the smell of a mare in heat turns him into a bucking bronco. All I had to do was get Corny in the stall and he had no chance.

It was easy enough to lure Swanson to my property by pretending with Sarah to discuss disposing of Corny's body. I wouldn't say everything went according to plan, but we did get Swanson on tape incriminating himself and he did end up dead. By my hand.

***

Once I'd committed my crime, it was time to get my fortune. I took Corny's phone into my office. At first I just stared at it. Even though I hardly ever saw him when he was alive, I kind of missed Corny, or at least the memory of him. I couldn't think about the old college days the same way anymore.

I dialed his voicemail. The first few messages were from the girls after our night out together. I had no hard feelings toward them. They were just doing their jobs and we actually had a pretty good time together.

Natalie: Hey, Dave, I thought you were a cool guy. Why are your old college friends so lame? Call me when you—
Delete.

Lexi: Dave, next time can you get someone younger so we can at least have fun before the frame job? That Bob guy was a stiff. Remember when he tried to dance? I thought he was having a stroke. Ha ha h—
Delete.

There were a few messages from Lang.

Lang: Hey Corny, call me and let me know how everything went with Bob the other night.

Lang: Corny, where are you? What the hell happened when you were out with Bob?

The rest were from Swanson. Apparently this was Corny's work phone. No messages from concerned family or friends, if he had any of either.

Swanson: Dave, I get that being around Patterson makes you want to kill him, but don't. We need him.
Delete.

Swanson: Seriously, Dave, don't hurt Bob. You don't want all our hard work to go to waste, do you?
Delete.

I was beginning to miss Corny less. This trip down memory lane wasn't doing much for my ego either. Next were a bunch of “where the hell are you?” messages from Swanson, which I promptly deleted. Then it got interesting.

Swanson: Dave, I don't know what you're trying to pull, but running away won't save you. I know about the missing money and I will hunt you down and kill you wherever you go.

Swanson: Dave, you can't hide from me. Return the money and everything's square. Otherwise, you're a dead man.

I'd suspected that Corny was stealing from Swanson. Corny had dropped a few hints that this was his last gig and there had to be a reason Swanson was so adamant about seeing the body. But Corny's body wouldn't get him his money back. Or would it?

I tried to remember what happened to Corny's keys after I took his motorcycle to the airport. My usual go-to plan: find what I was wearing when I had them last. I went down to the hall closet and my leather jacket was hanging there, waiting patiently for the next time I wanted to embarrass my daughter. The keys were in the pocket, right where I left them to make it easy for the police if they ever searched the house.

There was the usual assortment of keys on the ring. Vehicles, apartment/house, possibly office. One in particular caught my attention. It said 2896. But what did it open? PO Box? Bus locker? Safe deposit box? There was no way to know. This was going to take all my deductive powers. I turned the key over and on the back it said “If found, return to U-Store-it” with an address where Corny grew up, a small town in Iowa. How does someone like Corny come from a place like that? Nature versus nurture, I guess.

I eventually made it to U-Store-it. Fortunately, all I needed was the key. No one tried to stop me. Quite a secure operation they're running there. Some serial killer is going to be pissed if he misplaces the key to his “storage shed.” Inside the storage unit were five large duffle bags full of cold hard American cash, which at least for the moment, is still worth something in the current world economy. Corny had apparently been planning for his retirement, but unfortunately for him, that day was never going to come.

***

I still had one more loose end to tie up. I drove to the law offices of Daniel J. Langham, Esq. His secretary showed me in right away. Almost as if he had been expecting my visit.

“So what can I do for you, Bob?” Lang asked. “What's so important I had to cancel paying clients to see you in the middle of the day?”

“You'll find somebody to invoice. The first lawyer I worked for told me not to worry about overbilling because you never bill the client for all the times you're thinking about their case when you're on the toilet or in the shower.”

Lang smiled at that. “I always forget you used to be a lawyer so you know all our tricks. Have a seat.”

I slid into one of the chairs in front of his desk. We both sat there wordlessly, each waiting for the other to start. I read somewhere that the best interviewing technique is to remain silent until the other person gets nervous and tries to fill the emptiness by talking. It wasn't working so far, but Lang was an experienced lawyer who wouldn't fall for th—

“So what's this about?” Or maybe he would. From what I've seen, he's not an especially
good
lawyer.

“If you're waiting to hear from Swanson, you can forget it.”

Lang's expression didn't change. Years of handing outrageous legal bills to clients has at least taught him how to keep a straight face. “Swanson? The guy who wants you to invest in his company? What does that have to do with me?”

I ignored the questions. “I know you changed the will. On some level, I always knew, but I didn't want to believe it because you were my friend. Now I know you were involved from the beginning.”

“I honestly have no idea what you're talking ab—”

I cut him off. “I kept trying to think of ways that didn't involve you. But Swanson needed me as trustee. Even if Sam had truly wanted me, how would Swanson have known?”

“Maybe he assumed you would be named because you're the only son-in-law.”

“That might be true in other families where the son-in-law is a high-powered executive and the daughter is a housewife. But it's the opposite here. Sarah's the high-powered executive, not to mention his own flesh and blood. No sane person would assume I would be named trustee.”

Lang looked uncomfortable. “So?”

“So the only people who knew Sam's intentions were Sam himself and his estate lawyer. Who also happened to be friends with the son-in-law and the crazy fraternity buddy who showed up out of nowhere. Remember, you were the one who spotted Corny and got us all together.”

“I mean, I guess I saw him first.…”

“And you were with us the other night at the bar.”

“Nellie and I were both there….”

“And, if I remember correctly, you made Nellie go home early.”

“We left at a reasonable hour because we have wives and families. I don't know what you remember, but I certainly didn't ‘make' Nellie go home.”

“No, you pretty much did. It was almost as if you wanted Corny and me to be alone.”

“Why would I want that?”

“So he could arrange a meeting with his pretty friends. And then afterward you kept trying to call Corny on his burner phone. Nellie also tried to call him, but on his regular phone. How would you know to call that number? The only messages were from people involved in this scheme. Swanson, the girls, and you.”

“Corny must have given me that number when he came into town.”

“Save it. I've known all this for a long time. What I didn't know was who actually killed Sam. But when Swanson told me how they did it, everything clicked into place.”

Lang looked defeated. “How'd they do it?” he asked quietly.

“Swanson said they switched Sam's heart medicine for a higher dose. At first I thought Swanson was the mastermind behind some huge, secret organization that could get to anybody, but when I realized that wasn't true, I thought about who would have access to Sam's medicine cabinet. I didn't think Swanson or his two goons could pull it off.”

Lang stood up. “Surely you're not suggesting that I—”

“You mentioned at the will reading that Sam's trust paid for his prescriptions, so I knew you were aware of what he was taking. And then you slipped up that night at the bar when you said you liked Sam's sauna. You've been to Sam's house quite a few times, but there's no reason you'd be up in the master bathroom.”

Lang slumped back down in his chair. “I was hoping the alcohol would make that one slip out of your brain.”

“Another half hour and it would have. Here's what I don't understand. Changing the will is one thing. But murder is another.”

Lang sighed and shook his head. “By then I was in too deep. I made the mistake of telling Swanson about the estate tax loophole. He said we had to get it done by the end of the year and I was the only one who could do it.”

“But how could you kill him? He was your friend.”

“Swanson threatened me and my family. I was scared of him. Sam was old, and we have our entire lives ahead of us.”

“When did you do it?”

“It was actually over a month ago. That Patrons Party the Bennetts gave before the benefit. You and Sarah were there.”

Somehow this shocked me. “You murdered Sarah's father right in front of our faces?”

“It didn't seem like it at the time. I didn't even know if it would work.”

I shook my head in disgust. “Keep telling yourself that. What exactly did you do?”

“I went to use the bathroom when I knew it was occupied so I had to go upstairs to find another one. I bypassed the hall bathroom and went back to use the master bath. If anyone noticed, I'd just say I got confused. I opened the medicine cabinet. I knew the prescription from the trust and the bottle was right there. I switched the pills with some Swanson had given me and headed back downstairs. It was a big party. No one noticed me at all.”

“Maybe you could convince me at some point it was too late to extricate yourself, but how do you explain pointing them to me in the first place? Apparently they thought I was some kind of easy mark. I wonder where they got that idea?”