Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 06 - Extracurricular Murder (28 page)

Next morning, I opened the Austin Daily News and my eyes bulged out. On the front page was a shot of a frowning Nelson Vanderweg, and a headline story of a con man wanted throughout the country.

I shook my head as I read the story. The louse was worse than I thought, and I felt a sense of grim satisfaction that I had been responsible for the scuzzbag being nailed.

Using my fake identification, I stopped by the bank and withdrew the entire account, cut into four cashier’s checks. The first,
$15,000, was for Alice Baglino in Arizona; the next, $23,000, I
deposited in my own account to cover Eddie Dyson’s commission; the third, $85,000, I put in my wallet to deliver to Janice
Coffman-Morrison; the fourth and remaining $107,000, I mailed
to the Austin PD with a letter explaining the origin of the funds.
I also pointed out that I had placed a thirty-day advertisement in
the Austin Daily News for investors whom Vanderweg had
exploited to file claims for the return of their investments.

And then I promptly shredded Robert Rodison’s identification.

Janice called me at the office, boohooing over Vanderweg’s
arrest. “Do you think it’s really true, Tony?”

Her voice was so weak and pitiful, I did the gentlemanly
thing. I lied. “Who knows?” I hesitated, not wanting to hurt her
any more than she was hurting.

She persisted. “Do you … do you think you could find out
for me, Tony? I mean, is it the truth or just the media?”

“Yeah. If you want. I can probably find out.” I guess I should
have felt guilty for lying, but I didn’t.

“Would you, Tony. Would you, please?” She paused, then in
a timorous voice, said, “I know I treated you badly, Tony. But,
well, I…”

“Hey, forget it, Janice. I’m happy to help. Why don’t I come
over later, about one o’clock or so? I should know something
by then.”

The sheriff’s department verified the truth of the news story.
“Yeah,” growled one of the deputies. “That mug has probably
bilked lovelorn old spinsters out of millions. From what we
heard, half-a-dozen other states are contacting Arizona for the
guy.” He laughed. “I hope he put away some of that loot. He’s
going to need one good lawyer.”

I chuckled to myself. Eddie Dyson had left Vanderweg only
$1,000. That’s about all the lawyer he deserved.

Janice met me at the door, her eyes red from crying. To look
at her, you wouldn’t guess she was heir to a forty- or fifty million-dollar estate. She looked as rundown and ragged as the
harried mother of two-year-old triplets with the backdoor trots
and front door heaves.

An honest remark would have been, “Janice, you look like
death warmed over,” but only if I wanted her to start crying all
over again. Instead, I winked at her and lied. “You look great.”

She blushed and rushed into my arms. “You’re sweet, Tony,
even if you are lying.”

“I know.” I hugged her and laughed.

“Come on in,” she said, taking my hand and leading me into
the living room. “Want a drink?”

“Yeah. You think you remember it?” I teased her.

She blushed. “Of course. It isn’t hard. Straight bourbon,
right?”

“You remembered, but why don’t you just make it water.”

We made small talk for a few minutes, each painfully aware
we were tiptoeing around Nelson Vanderweg. Finally, she
broached the subject. “What did you find out?”

I learned the hard way if I had to eat crow, it was better
warm. Get it over with, straight, honest, blunt. I looked her
straight in the eyes. “It isn’t good. He was pulling a con. Halfa-dozen states have warrants out on him. Seems like he’s taken
over a million dollars from … from … “

Janice finished the sentence for me. “From stupid, foolish
women like me ” Tears welled in her eyes again. She dropped
her chin to her chest.

I laid my hand on her arm. “You’re not stupid or foolish. You
believed him. Guys like that can stare you in the eyes and tell
you anything. You’re a sweet, trusting woman, and Nelson
Vanderweg will never have any idea what he threw away in
you.”

She looked up at me, her eyes bright with gratitude. She
leaned forward and kissed me. “Thank you, Tony.”

Setting my water on the coffee table, I pulled out my wallet
and unfolded the cashier’s check. “This is for you.”

“What is it?” She frowned and read the check. With a gasp,
she looked up in disbelief. “But, this is the money I gave …
how did you … I mean, where did this-”

“Don’t ask. You didn’t get it from me. No one knows you
ever gave him anything. Just deposit it, and start putting all this
behind you. In fact, maybe we can go out tomorrow night. That
would be the first step.”

Janice brushed her hair back from her eyes. “We could start
tonight ””

Talk about poor timing. “Sounds great, but I’ve got business
to take care of tonight.” I paused and grinned crookedly. “You
want to give me a hand?”

She shook her head. “I told you before. I quit the PI business.
You can have it.”

I drained my water and rose to my feet. “I’ll call you in the
morning.”

The Crystal Creek Complex sprawled over and around the
rugged hills near Lake Travis. Live oaks dotted the two-acre
plots, each separated from adjoining plots by stone fences covered with lush vegetation. The swimming pools had been blasted
out of the limestone bluffs and ledges, giving the impression of
water standing in natural fissures along the hillsides. The overall
image projected by the complex was of sylvan charm and elegant
grace and obscene wealth. It was the kind of community that if
you had to ask the price, it was too expensive for you.

I arrived early, anxious to set the stage.

The foyer of the mansion was the size of my entire apartment. To the left was the dining room; to the right, the living
room where the service was to be held. You could fit three of
my apartments in the living room.

Pictures of Harp and his brother filled the walls in chronological order, beginning from their infancy. At one end of the
room was a small table, holding a cross with burning candles
on either side. In front of the cross was a photo with Harp surrounded by several students.

Before everyone arrived at eight o’clock, Chief Pachuca took
me aside. “What if the your killer doesn’t show up?”

I arched an eyebrow and glanced at Billy Vanbiber. I looked
back at Chief Pachuca and blew silently though my lips. “My
killer is too smart not to show up.”

He eyed me shrewdly. “Yeah. You’re probably right this
time, Boudreaux. One of the few times in your Cajun life, but
you’re probably right.”

I grinned at his gentle sarcasm. “Thanks, Chief. Coming
from you, I take it as a compliment.”

He grunted and took his place in the kitchen. Vanbiber waited in the dining room.

For the first fifteen minutes, we all mixed and mingled, sipping
punch and nibbling on catered bite-sized sandwiches. I made it a
point to speak to everyone I had interviewed. Without exception,
each was curious about my presence. I passed it off with the
explanation that “I taught English once. Harp and I hit it off. I just
wanted to pay my respects.” The first and last lines were true.

Kim Nally and Frances Holderman chatted like long-lost sisters, a curious commentary on modern values. Perry Jacobs,
Jim Hawkins, Henry Bishop, and Lionel Portis sat in a cluster
in the middle of the room, probably discussing those brilliant
concepts teachers debate such as lengthening or shortening the
passing period between classes, or the importance of using
pink hall passes instead of yellow hall passes.

Dorothy Saussy, Linda May, and Iona Flores formed another small group. Fred Seebell, the born-again Christian, and his
wife stood apart from the others. A handful of students including Tim Briggs and Marvin Handwell stood around the table on
which Harp’s picture sat.

The stage was set.

Arthur Weems took his place beside the cross and tapped his
ring against his glass. He ran his fingers through his inch-long
hair. “Thank you all for coming.” He gestured to the picture of
Harper Weems on the table, his blond hair hanging down to his
shoulders.

Clearing his throat, he continued. “Harp would be very
proud of this display of friendship. Now, if everyone will find
a seat, we’ll get down to business.”

He paused. Once everyone had found a seat, he cleared his
throat. “Before we begin the service, Mr. Boudreaux has a few
words to say.”

I took a deep breath. Showtime.

He added, “While he has the floor, I need to check some
items in the kitchen. Bring out a few more snacks.” He hurried
though the door as I stepped up beside the table.

From the kitchen came the muffled rattling of pots, a refrigerator door being opened and closed, cabinet drawers being
opened, the general hubbub of food preparation.

I took a deep breath, trying to still the flutter in my stomach.
I hoped my voice didn’t start quivering. “As you all know, I
investigated the murder of George Holderman.” I paused, running my gaze around the room.

Perry Jacobs leaned forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing.
Frances Holderman arched an eyebrow. Kim Nally looked
bored. The students looked at each other and shrugged.

The rattling of pots and pans echoed from the kitchen.

“For several days, I was looking in the wrong place. I was
puzzled because no one here fit the profile of the killer. Those
with the motive did not have the opportunity. I was at a dead
end until I saw Harper Weems’ collection of photographs on
the walls of the chapel. And even then, I didn’t connect with the
idea. That came later. Then I realized there was only one person who not only fit the profile, but also had the opportunity
and motive. It just took me awhile to figure out the motive.”

Several heads turned to look around the room.

Jacobs spoke up. “Who are you accusing, Boudreaux? If it’s
me, I’ll sue your tail off.”

I shook my head. “Relax, Jacobs. All of you can relax. In
fact, everyone can relax.” I deliberately focused on each individual, then added, “Everyone except two.”

“Now what are you talking about?” Jacobs glared at me.

“There are two here who know what I mean.” I turned to the
cluster of students. “Isn’t that right, Marvin, Tim?”

Marvin lurched forward on the couch. Tim remained motionless, but his eyes narrowed. He hissed between clenched teeth,
“You’re crazy. We were nowhere around Mr. Holderman. We
were at the other end of the wing at the sign-in desk.”

I grinned. “That was a slick trick, Tim. No wonder you’re in
the National Honor Society. I got to admit it. You’re bright. Real
bright. But you made a mistake.” I nodded to Jim Hawkins.
“When Hawkins signed in, there was only one of you at the desk.
I didn’t catch it at first, but I remembered he told me that he
signed in with the boy in the hall.” I turned to Hawkins. “Isn’t that
right?”

Hawkins nodded, his eyes blazing at the two boys. “Marvin
was the only one there. Tim wasn’t around.”

“Hey, that’s right,” exclaimed Jacobs. “When Holderman
and me signed it, Marvin was the only one there.”

I continued. “The reason Tim wasn’t around was because he
was waiting in Jacobs’ room for Holderman. In the closet.” I
fixed my eyes on Briggs. “I don’t know exactly what the problem was, but I’m guessing Holderman had threatened to stop
bankrolling you and Marvin in your drug business.”

The muscular young man jumped to his feet, his fists
clutched at his sides. “You’re wiped out, dude. No way.” He
glanced around the room nervously.

“No. You’re tall enough. You have the strength, and you’re
left-handed. Weems’ photo of you throwing the football and
holding your right arm out for balance is what made me realize
you were the one.” I shook my head. “I should have guessed
when I saw the watch on your right wrist. Most of us wear our
watches on our least dominant limb. I do. And you also do,
Tim.”

With fear in his eyes, Handwell looked up at Briggs anxiously.

Briggs rolled his massive shoulders. “I had no reason.”

“Oh? Drugs isn’t reason enough? I think it is. Remember the
picture I took of you and Weems out at Lupe’s? Where I made
my mistake was in thinking he was offering you the bindle.
That wasn’t it at all, was it? He was trying to take the drugs
from you, not sell them. Holderman bankrolled you. I don’t
know what happened between you and Holderman, but it had
been going on a long time, all the way back to February 2001.
You met Holderman monthly at Lupes’. And I’m sure it wasn’t
for tacos. Maybe you held out on him. Maybe he decided to
dump you. I don’t know, but you were the only one who could
have killed him.”

Handwell jumped to his feet. “No. We told you. Tim told
you. Weems was dealing when we got to Safford.”

No one spoke for a moment, and then, without warning, a
shrill squeaking sliced through the silence. Everyone jerked
around to stare toward the foyer.