Smith Investigation Series Box Set 1 (4 page)

He nodded, his posture a picture of defeat.

Chapter 7

Smith called me just as we were leaving Whitaker’s house. He was on his way to meet Benton, and I was to drop Spike off at the office and join him.

I stopped to buy a week's worth of newspapers and walked into the cafe deliberately struggling to carry them.

The men were already talking when I dropped the stack of papers on the table and sat down with a heavy sigh.

“Catching up with the world?” Smith asked me with questioning eyes.

“Something like that. Reading up on the Coopers.”

Benton shifted in his seat.

“How have you been, Detective?” I began, and Smith understood to step back.

“Fine. I’m alright.”

“I assume Smith has already told you about our investigation?”

“Yeah. And I told
him
there’s not much I can do to help you, guys.”

I nodded, adopting a thoughtful expression. He looked at me, visibly uncomfortable with the silence.

“Like I said, the investigation was straight forward. Gold even had an argument with the family not long before the incident. It was a slam dunk.”

“Argument with the family?”

“Yes. Something about them wanting him to do more than they had agreed on.”

“And they didn’t want to pay more?”

“No, they did, but he got upset because he thought he didn't have enough time between his other jobs to do it.”

“I see. And what’s that got to do with him murdering the boy? He didn’t even know the guy.”

“So he says. I don't think that’s possible. The guy worked for the family!”

“Yeah, but not for that long.”

“Look, the victim had been home for three days prior to his murder. Long enough for the two to have met.”

“Just three days? It doesn't say that in the incident report,” I frowned.

“I… That’s because it’s irrelevant to the case. He had just gotten back from Belize that weekend,” Benton stuttered.

“I see.”

“Look, my break is over and I really need to go.”

He stood up and downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp. He was starting to look agitated, and I thought I caught a nervous shake of his hands.

“Sure, we understand, Detective. You have an important job to do,” I said. I had all I needed from him.

He looked surprised that I was letting him get off that easily. I rose and extended a hand.

“Just keep us in mind, Sir. Maybe we find some more information for the case.”

He nodded, weakly shaking my hand and hurried out. Behind him, I exchanged a glance with Smith.

“That was it? Your ‘one-on-one’ with the man?” Smith asked, leaning his elbow on the table.

“Yes,” I said cryptically.

“Alright. What do you think, then?”

“He’s nervous. High-profile families tend to make one uncomfortable.”

“I see. You think they pressured him into making an arrest?”

“Not outright, but yes, I do believe that.”

He nodded in agreement. “Shall we, then?”

“Back to the office?”

“Yep. DeMarco should be back by now.”

“Let’s go,” I said and started for the door.

“Aren’t you taking your papers?”

“No. I only needed them for Benton.”

“Uh huh,” he said, unsure of what I was talking about.

I held the door for him and explained: “It was suggestive. Subliminal, if you like. I said I was doing research on the Cooper family but, in reality, I never opened those papers.”

“Ah!” he finally understood. “But you needed Benton to believe you knew about the pressure.”

“There you go. If he thought I have read about them in the papers, he would automatically believe I knew how high-profile they are, hence, his nervousness.”

“I missed your mind, Rob!” he laughed, unlocking his car.

“See you at the office, Smith.”

He nodded and I walked away.

The weather was warm, perfect for a summer day, and I felt energized with the progress of the investigation. All the pieces were falling into place and the solution seemed to become clearer by the second.

I drove leisurely, grateful for the light traffic in Burlington, and an idea sprang to my mind. “What if…?” I dared to think. No, there was no way I could be a PI again. Was there?

By the time I arrived at the office, I could barely contain my smile. I felt so alive, like the moping and listless Rob never existed. It was like I had been sitting on a huge deposit of energy that had finally been set alight, giving me the wonderful fuel I needed to live; to be really alive.

I skipped two steps at a time, eager to get back to headquarters. The reception room was empty again, so I went straight to Operations.

“Oh, look who’s finally here,” Smith teased, and I made a face.

“Welcome back, Rob,” Dylan greeted me in his low, slightly raspy, voice.

“What kind of name is that? Rob…” I heard someone else comment.

I turned and laid my eyes on the last member of Team Smith. He was an African-American man that looked to be around thirty years of age. He looked at me with a smirk.

“It comes from Robin. Walsh, nice to meet you,” I said, smiling.

“
You’re
Robin Walsh? Whoah, man. Spike, you’re done, girl!”

“What?” I asked, frowning. What was wrong with these people?

“Spike. Have you met her?”

I nodded.

“Man, she was so afraid of you! Ever since she answered that call.”

“I was not,” Spike protested, with her characteristic pout.

“Yes, you were! Girl, she was terrified, I’m telling you.”

I laughed. “Well, we’ve been doing just fine today.”

Why couldn’t I pick that up about her today?

“Anyway, welcome to the team, Rob. Let’s hope we’ll get on well together.”

“Let’s,” I said, still puzzled by my inability to read Spike correctly. She was, after all, very expressive. Too expressive for my comfort. It didn’t even look like she was making an effort to fool people with her many faces and pouts. I was beginning to think it wasn’t that I had lost my touch, but that she was a tough, strange nut to crack. I needed to study her more, but Smith interrupted my line of thought when he announced the current meeting officially open.

“So, what do we have up to now, guys? DeMarco?”

“Yeah, so I spoke to Gold. He didn’t have anything else to add, as was expected, but he did say he wants out as soon as possible.” DeMarco shrugged.

“Hmm. And here I was thinking the man liked being in prison,” Smith commented.

I chuckled. “What did his wife say about the gang?”

“That would be me,” Dylan said, and proceeded to look through his phone. “Oh, yeah! She told me they didn’t kill people. Not back then, at least. They were one of the first gangs to appear in Burlington, and they established themselves easily. No need for too much violence, except the occasional beatings and other small matters like that.”

“I see,” I remarked and leaned against the wall.

“Why did you tell me to ask Mrs. Gold that?”

“What?” I was growing deep in thought, trying to process all of the information, so I wasn’t really listening to any of them anymore.

“Rob’s in her state,” Smith explained. “She’s only selectively listening to us, so keep going. She’ll come back.”

They shifted in their seats and Spiked cleared her voice, taking it upon herself to relate what the two of us had learned today.

“The employees haven’t told us much except for the fact that Gold wasn’t really there when the body was discovered. He arrived like an hour later and was immediately arrested. Whitaker, one of the employees, said that it was weird how the cops had changed perspective. Like someone told them who to arrest or something.”

“Of course someone told them who to arrest,” I interjected.

“What do you mean?” Smith asked.

“We know now that Gold is supposed to have had a misunderstanding with the Coopers,” I said. “But it’s hard to believe he took it out on the son.”

“It’s not that hard,” DeMarco said. “The son was a bastard.”

“What did you say?”

“Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt your ’thinking state’, Ma’am.”

“No, say that again. What was it about the son being a bastard?”

“Gold told me he was a spoiled brat. He pissed lots of people off. He told me he saw his best friend, another rich kid, leave so angry one time, he slammed the door to Miles’ guest house like he wanted to break it.”

“Mitchell what’s-his-name?”

“Larsen, yeah.”

I started pacing the room, trying to figure out what had been bugging me this whole time.

“What is it?” Smith asked.

“Larsen,” I said. “There’s something here. Hear me out. The crime, by all means, looks like overkill, a crime of passion. And the missing locket was ripped from the victim, not taken, which is inconsistent with the state of mind the killer had to be in to stash the body. He needed time to find the shed, to carry the victim
and
cover it up with garbage bags.”

“Yeah, but Gold knew where the shed was. He worked on the estate,” DeMarco argued.

“Exactly! He worked on the damn estate! He knew his team would go into the shed the very next morning. And what does he do? Arrives late? No, that doesn’t make sense.”

You could almost hear everyone thinking in the silence that settled over the room. I had a clear idea of who might’ve killed Miles Cooper, but I needed a stronger motive.

“I think the locket is the key,” I murmured.

“Why?” someone asked.

“I know Mitchell is the killer, but I cannot figure out why. It has to be something about the locket. It’s not the type of jewelry a man usually wears, so it must be that it had something in it. Something that Mitchell wanted,” I said, thinking aloud.

I heard everyone gasp.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re right! It makes sense to have been Mitchell!” Spike exclaimed, jumping up.

“Who knows what Miles had on him? Rich people have all sorts of secrets,” DeMarco concurred.

“We need to find out about that. How else are we going to solve this case?” Smith argued.

“I think Benton knows more about that than he lets on,” I said, and they all looked back at me. “If someone was to bring all this information to him, I have a suspicion he’ll crack. He’s not the type to close an investigation like that and be done with it. Wouldn't you agree, Smith?”

He nodded, thoughtfully. “I don’t think he’s been sleeping too well lately.”

I agreed, filled with the usual elation I enjoyed every time a case was being solved in front of my eyes. I suspected my wide grin was infectious because everybody seemed to smile or chuckle, proudly.

Chapter 8

It was Friday night, and Spike had chosen to pay for drinks. I had tried to wiggle my way out of going out with the team, but everyone insisted I come or eternal unforgiveness would be my fate if I refused. I had no choice but to accept.

In the afternoon I felt like I needed a change, so I went to the hairdresser and got a haircut. The woman recommended I choose a style called a bob. Who was I to argue with a professional? In the end, I did like how it made me look. ‘Strong’ was the word I used to describe the woman I saw in the mirror. I knew the old Rob Walsh was back.

I drove off as the light turned green wondering if I had chosen the right attire for the occasion. I had been told we were meeting at an Irish pub because Spike had some Irish ancestry in her blood, which amused me. She didn’t look like the type to drink European beer, but I wasn’t sure how well I was reading this particular girl. She was a riddle wrapped in an enigma for me and the prospect of studying her gave me a rush of excitement.

I pulled up to the curb and made my way to the pub. Inside, it didn’t look too Irish. It was what could be called a lounge, more than a pub, with cream leather couches instead of chairs at the few plexiglass tables sprinkled around the large room. I noticed the light discreetly changing color, from the violet that welcomed me, to red, and then to orange.

Thoroughly impressed, I searched for my party and found them all gathered around one of the larger tables at the back.

“Oh, you came!” Spike exclaimed and rose to hug me.

“Yes, I did agree to this,” I replied, not wanting to seem too eager to finally have an evening out.

“Well, take a seat,” DeMarco invited me, pointing to a spot on the couch next to him.

I sat, still somewhat unsure if I had made the right decision to come. After all, they were a group of strangers, and we had finished our investigation so there was nothing holding us together anymore.

“How did Benton take the news?” I asked, the only subject I had in common with them being the case we had just solved.

My question prompted a general moan of protest from them.

“Please, we don’t like to talk shop when we're out,” DeMarco scolded me.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, we can tell her,” said Smith.

“OK, you have twenty seconds. Boss.”

“You don't seem to mean that, son,” Smith joked and everyone laughed.

“Well?” I urged him.

“Benton took it well. Better than we expected, in fact. He even thanked me for digging things up. He told me that he and his guys had been under too much pressure to make an arrest and couldn't do anything about it.”

“We knew that much,” I remarked.

“Yeah. We didn’t know he never closed the case, though.”

“What?”

“Yeah. He knew someday, someone would come and make things right. He told me he was the one to suggest the PI route to Gold.”

“What are you talking about? Gold got the idea from another inmate,” I said, frowning.

“Yeah. One that Benton arrested. When our dear Detective learned that the guy would be in the same prison as Gold, he asked the man for a favor. So he dropped the word and Gold contacted me.”

“Impressive,” I admitted.

“Alright, that’s enough, kids,” Spike interrupted. “Rob, you haven’t even gotten a drink. What are you having?”

“I’ll go and order,” Smith offered, and stood up.

“I’ll go with you,” I said, and waited until we were far enough away from the table to tell him: “You know I need to sign that contract, right?”

“What contract?”

“You’re saying that your employees are all working illegally?”

“What?”

He looked puzzled for a moment, and then I saw his face light up. “Rob, are you serious? You really want to work for me?”

“I’m thinking you need someone to do the heavy lifting around here. Wouldn’t want Smith Investigations to go belly up, would you?”

He laughed and pulled me into a hug I didn’t expect. I chuckled.

“You’ve always been the emotional one, Smith.”