Janine Marie - Rigging a Murder 01 - The Single Shoe Mystery (7 page)

Chapter Ten

Brunch at the Club

S
urprisingly, both Thomas and Greg were up in time for brunch. We had fun exchanging stories over eggs benny and lattes in the Yacht Club’s casual downstairs restaurant. I didn’t have much to relate as I had been trapped with Catherine for the night, but I was able to share her sad family history and we all expressed gratitude that John and Stella had chosen to stay with her; it must be very lonely to have no one.

“I do find it strange that Catherine doesn’t seem to have any friends of her own,” I expressed.

“I heard that Lorenzo was very domineering,” said Kevin. Kevin is a good friend and one of our group.

Kevin always reminded me of Fred Flintstone, not in his appearance, as he is of normal height and build with thick blond hair and grey cynical eyes, but in his personality, which is huge. You always know where Kevin is. He has a loud, carrying voice and booming laugh and he has no “inside voice” or filter. If he thinks it, he says it. As you can imagine, this has caused offense to many club members and staff, but if you take the time to get to know him he has a heart of gold and is extremely generous. He will drop everything to help a friend.

“Really; how do you know that?” I inquired, not really needing an answer because Kevin always seemed to be the first to know anything that was happening at the club. How he came by his information was a mystery to me, but his gossip is always good and fairly accurate, and I was interested to learn more about Lorenzo’s and Catherine’s relationship because we seemed to have been pulled into her life through Lorenzo’s murder.

“My sources are confidential,” he replied, with a big billowing laugh. “I know you, Janeva: you really want to know more but don’t want to ask me directly,” he smirked.

“Okay, okay; you’re right,” I admitted. “What else do you know?”

“Well,” he leaned across the table, “apparently Lorenzo didn’t like Catherine to have friends; he liked to have her at his beck and call.”

“What on earth did she do all day if she had no friends or family?” Steph asked, joining the conversation. Thomas and Greg, who claim to hate gossip, had moved over to the next table and were in a discussion of club politics with some other good friends. Personally, I don’t see how talking about what the commodore said to rear commodore, and then analyzing an argument between the staff captain and the fleet captain at the last executive meeting, is any different from what we were doing!

Kevin continued: “She spent a lot of time with her dad, who had been very ill over the last few years. Catherine was a only child and his main caregiver, I gather, as his health deteriorated. They even set up a hospital-style bed and room for him in the house with a night nurse coming to sit with him so Catherine could have evenings and nights off to be with Lorenzo and attend functions with him.”

“I admire her. It’s very sweet that she nursed her dad, but she must have had some friends?” I persisted.

“I’m not kidding, her dad was just like Lorenzo; that’s why he was the only one Catherine was allowed to spend time with,” Kevin answered.

“So she was essentially held hostage between her father and husband, to look after them and not otherwise to go out of the house?” I asked incredulously.

“Well, she had to look the part, so she spent lots of time and money at the spa, hair salon, and gym, and I think she made friends of a sort there, but I don’t know where those friends are now.”

“I can’t decide if she should be lonely and distraught or excited at the prospect of doing whatever she wants. This is probably the first time in her life she has ever been free,” Steph said, with a shake of her head and a sigh.

“I don’t know about that,” replied Kevin. “She seems to have replaced Lorenzo and her dad, who passed away last year, with John and Stella.”

With that we had to end this interesting chat as Thomas returned to the table, saying it was time to go and pick up Katie from her sleepover.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mom, you’ll never guess what Alix and I found on the Internet,” Katie announced excitedly as she jumped in the car, waving a piece of printed paper at me.

“I can’t drive and read it at the same time, I’ll look at it when we get home,” I said.

Back at the house, I picked up the single sheet of computer printed-paper to read, becoming increasingly alarmed as I did so.

Aug. 31, 2011 - ABC NEWS
Foot Washes Ashore in Canada, the 11th Since 2007
 

Another human foot has washed ashore in British Columbia, keeping investigators on their toes in the case of 11 mysterious feet in running shoes that have appeared on area beaches since 2007.

Eight feet have washed up around Vancouver, and three feet have come ashore in nearby Washington State since 2007, according to Stephen Fonseca of the British Columbia Coroner’s Service. None of the cases has been deemed suspicious.

Fonseca said that human remains can come apart naturally in a water environment, and with the high amount of marine activity, and many people involved in accidents in the water, it’s likely that these are all unrelated cases. He also noted that there are many bridges over waterways in the area, and distraught people who may have jumped could also be a source of the body parts washing up on shore.

“Running shoes of today are more buoyant,” he said, “and it’s a very rational explanation that when the feet do disarticulate, through marine scavenging and decomposition, the shoe will bring the foot back up to the surface and it will float there until it reaches shoreline.”

The Coroner’s Service will try to build a profile of the person to whom the foot belonged through DNA testing, as well as spatial and temporal profiles based on where and when the shoe arrived, how old the foot is, and when the running shoe was made, he said.

“When dealing with feet, we don’t have the luxury of building up a very comprehensive profile, with blue eyes and blond hair. A 16-year-old could have the same size shoe as a 65-year-old,” he said.

Fonseca and other coroners will be going over the foot today to ensure that it is human remains, and will then begin compiling information on what they called its “donor.” The process could take weeks or months, at which time the data will be compared to missing persons lists, he said.

This foot was found in an inlet near False Creek, a protected body of water, he said, while other feet were found on beaches and nearby islands. He hopes the location of this foot will be helpful to determining its origin.

The investigators are still working to identify the donors of other feet, including a female who had two feet wash up on shore, and a male who had one foot wash up on shore.

“What, why? Um you spent your time at the sleepover searching for gruesome stories on the Internet? I’m going to have to talk to Alix’s mother.” I stammered

“No. MOM, don’t do that! Remember the shoe that I found when we were at Princess Louisa and that man was murdered?”

“Of course I do. But that shoe didn’t have a foot in it, did it?”

“No.”

“Then this grisly story has nothing to do with your shoe, and I don’t want you to dwell on it. You have homework to do now, and you look tired from your sleepover.”

Chapter Eleven

Back to Reality

M
onday brought with it the usual routine: work, food shopping, meal preparation, school, homework and after-school activities for Katie to be coordinated and organized, workouts for me to fit in, a book-club meeting for the book that I didn’t finish because our club chooses books that are either disturbing or challenging—books I would never pick up on my own but am always pleased to read because they are thought-provoking and inspire interesting discussions. Unfortunately, they are hard to read and so occasionally I don’t get them finished, or even started, for that matter. This time, having returned only a few weeks before from vacation, you would think I’d have finished the book, but conversation with the many friends and club members we encountered at various anchorages and club outstations had superseded the desire to read. Regardless, it was a good book-club meeting, and even though I couldn’t contribute much to the book discussion, I enjoyed hearing about everyone’s summer holidays and fall plans.

Friday morning finally arrived; I had to go into the office early as we have a potential new client in Spain who is interested in purchasing our JAG TAGS for their resort. JAG TAGS is my company; it’s small, with only five employees including myself, and we design and manufacture designer luggage tags. I know right now you are wondering “Really: is there a market for that?” The answer is “Yes, a small one,” and since we are a small company, all is good. High-end resorts, weddings, and corporate functions are our main market. We specialize in the 1950 vintage look: remember those travel stickers people used to plaster all over their luggage and cars? Well, we have an amazing graphic designer who can create any look desired. We’ll even do small runs for traveling families or groups who have a logo or crest. It’s great for identifying your luggage.

Parking my car in a spot three blocks from my office, I started walking my normal route and was thinking how different everything looks at 6 am. I usually arrived at the office shortly after 8 am, after dropping Katie off at school. This morning, I enjoyed hearing the morning birds that you never hear because the traffic and the general buzz of conversation drown them out, and admiring how the morning light made things I see every day look different—colors crisper, cleaner, with that light dusting of dew, the sky transitioning from the sunrise oranges and pinks to blue. It’s hard to define. Still wondering why the time of day should make things look so different, I turned the corner and was crossing the empty street when I saw movement to my left about three quarters of a block down. Surprised and a bit disappointed, since I had been enjoying having the streets to myself, I turned and looked. Police cars blocked the road and yellow tape zigzagged everywhere. Normally I wouldn’t have given this a second look or thought, but as it was the building in front of my office, I detoured and went to see what was going on.

Walking up, I saw a group standing around two police cars parked to block the entrance to the building’s visitors parking lot. As I approached a very handsome young police officer turned to me and asked If I worked in the building.

“No, the one over there,” I replied gesturing in that direction. “What’s going on?” I inquired.

He looked in the direction of the other officers who were busy putting up yellow caution tape and interviewing a muscular, grey-haired man, who looked like a security man. The security man was clearly shaken and kept pointing to a blanket on the ground. Something about his expression made me look more closely. I followed his gaze, and as I did so, the coroner lifted a corner and I saw a bloody, gory body lying in a pool of blood, with the distorted face of someone who had died in great pain. The young officer looked at me questioningly and asked if I was okay.

“I’m not squeamish, though I doubt I’ll ever forget that…,” I replied, trailing off.

“You probably won’t,” he agreed, then answered my original question: “That unfortunate security guard interrupted a break-in, then pursued the perpetrators out here, where it appears there was a confrontation and he was stabbed multiple times…. We are searching for the murder weapon now.” After a hesitation and a shake of his head, he added, “Puzzling; for an office break-in, this is particularly violent.” I agreed and was walking away when I heard my named being called. Surprised, because I was sure I hadn’t given it out to the officer or anyone, I turned around, and to my astonishment it was Catherine calling me.

“Catherine,” I stammered, “what are you doing here?”

“Janeva, thank God you are here!” she replied and ran over to hug me. Astounded, I did the only thing I could and hugged her back. “Thank you for being here,” Catherine was sobbing, “you’re always here when I need you, thank you.” She took my arm and started to lead me back toward the building and past the young police officer, who was now looking at me intently. I can only wonder what he must have been thinking. “Catherine, what’s happened?” I demanded.

“I don’t know, they called to say that someone had broken into the office… Lorenzo’s company,… I mean my company now, apparently. And, and—” she caught her breath and stumbled as we passed the covered body on the ground, “and the guard is dead, stabbed like Lorenzo. I don’t know what to do,” she said, pointing and started to collapse.

“Let me help you inside,” said the same young officer, taking Catherine’s other arm.

Once inside, we all sat down on the comfortable sofa in the reception area. “I’m detective Luke Smythe. Why don’t you two tell me how you know each other?” the young officer said. Catherine and I looked at each other in alarm. Where to start? Did he know about her husband’s murder on their yacht in a remote cove on the West Coast of Canada? At dinner the night Lorenzo was murdered was the first time we had met, and now I was here at another murder with Catherine! I’m not sure what Catherine was thinking, but that’s what went through my head. As the seconds ticked, by I realized one of us had to say something.

“We are both members of the same yacht club,” I finally said.

“Okay, that’s a start,” he said, looking at me with an intensity that made me wonder if he could read minds. At that moment a tall, thin man with thinning salt-and-pepper hair burst into the reception area.

“Catherine, I got your message! What’s going on?” he inquired breathlessly. Introductions were made all around; it turned out the man was Frank Duffy, the company COO, and acting CEO since Lorenzo’s murder.

“What were they after?” Catherine inquired, much to my amazement, as it was the first logical thing I had ever heard her say.

Frank, dressed in his work outfit of dark dress pants and a white shirt, rubbed his hand over his balding head.

“I have no idea. We don’t keep any money in the office,” he murmured, shaking his head in bewilderment. He gently put his hand on Catherine’s back and said, “Well, we had better go and find out what this is all about.” Together they left to assess the damage.

“What is your full name, and can I see some ID?” Detective Smythe demanded of me after they had left. I handed over my driver’s license.

“Well, Janeva, I saw that look between you and Catherine. What’s this all about?”

I realized that if he didn’t know about Lorenzo’s murder, a quick Internet search and he soon would, so I told him the whole story. I had just finished when Catherine and Frank returned.

“What did they take?” I inquired.

“Nothing that we could see… they were looking for something in the files and trying to log on to our computer server,” Frank said, puzzled. “They all but destroyed our locked filing cabinets, broke into Lorenzo’s office, and were going through his computer when the security guard came upon them.”

“Oh, NO! I’ve got to go, my meeting is in 5 min,” I suddenly blurted out, interrupting Frank interesting narrative. Grabbing my bag off the ground I jumped up, glanced at Detective Smythe, who nodded okay. After all, he had my business card, home address, and cell number if he needed to get hold of me. Why he would I didn’t know; really I had nothing to do with all this. As these thoughts were going through my mind, I heard my name called again and turned to see Catherine running down the street behind me.

Stopping, I called to her, “Catherine, what are you doing?”

“Oh Janeva, can I come with you? I really don’t want to stay at Lorenzo’s office, and that nice detective said it was okay.”

“Fine, but hurry up, I am already late.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later. after my conference call was finished, I walked out of my office and was surprised to find Catherine and Frank happily drinking coffee with Tiffany, my account manager. Tiffany is highly efficient and very intelligent. This comes a shock to many people because with her big blue eyes, flowing mane of blond hair, and petit figure and she looks like the classic blond bimbo movie star. It doesn’t help that she is from a very wealthy family and is always dressed in designer clothes, has weekly manicures and pedicures, not to mention personal trainers—apparently that’s how she bonds with her mother. After college she was having trouble getting a job even though she graduated near the top of her class. Her parents, fellow Yacht Club members and friends, approached me and asked if I would be willing to give her a try. She loves to travel and speaks several languages. So I did. That was two years ago and I’ve never regretted it. Actually I’m amazed that she’s still with me: with her ability and potential she should be working for a multinational. But I do have a trump card: her fiancé, Cory, is my graphic designer/ computer expert. I know most companies don’t approve of internal relationships but I see JAG TAGS as a family business, and both Cory and Tiffany as family. So far it has all worked out well, and if things change at some future date, well, we’ll deal with it then.

“Welcome back, Tiffany, how was Provence?”

“Really good; I think I have some solid leads. How did the Spain call go?” Tiffany asked me in her singsong voice.

“Great! Good job finding them, Tiff, we’re moving forward with art proofs. It sounds like there’s lots of future potential for us because they have sister properties throughout Europe and in the Caribbean. I told them you would be following up.”

Standing up, Tiffany said, “I’ll just go over to Cory’s office, to go over the artwork with him,” giving me a coy smile.

Turning to Catherine and Frank, I said, “Let me get a coffee, then you can give me an update.” What I really wanted to say was “Why are you two still here?!”

Returning from our small coffee room (well, it’s more of a closet but it does the job), I said “Come into the meeting room” and gestured in that direction, closing the door behind us I sat across from them at the small table we use for meetings.

Sipping my coffee I looked from one to the other. Silence. Catherine looked at me in a pleading sort of way, and Frank was busy examining his pen.

Groaning inwardly, as I hate it when I have to take charge, I asked, “Catherine, have you been here the whole time?” She nodded in the affirmative. “Frank, what happened after we left?”

Heaving a sigh, Frank started reluctantly to speak.

“Janeva, I’m sorry to drag you into this,” he began, then added more cheerfully, “but it seems that you are already somewhat involved as a good friend of Catherine’s.” This was news to me. “And you were there when Lorenzo was murdered,” he continued.

“Okay…and what is it you don’t want to tell Catherine?” I asked as it hit me: Frank needed me to buffer the bad news and support Catherine.

“We are broke!” he exclaimed, with a thud like a heavy rock falling to the ground.

“Awk!” was all that Catherine managed to say, and then, after a long silence, “But we have money—Lorenzo had family money!”

“I’m sorry, Catherine, but Lorenzo committed all his liquid assets to Dexia; we have this exciting new product and were so close to releasing it.”

“Oh my God,… what am I going to do?” cried Catherine.

“I’m sorry, Catherine,” Frank repeated sadly.

“What about the yacht?”

“I’m afraid you will have to sell that too, whenever it’s released from Canada. Unfortunately we need the money now.  We are in dire straits…I’ve been stalling paying bills, waiting, but now…” Frank trailed off.

“I sold the boat: it’s coming down from Canada on Sunday, and the new owner is going to take possession on Monday, after the cleaning and mechanical crew go all through it,” Catherine added hopefully. “The money will be in our account by end of day Monday…will that help??”