Whiplash
Page 96
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"I still can't accept that my own husband was a criminal. But one thing I do know for sure, he wasn't a murderer, he wasn't, Sherlock."
"Maybe not."
"All right. Let me think about this. As far as I know Caskie didn't have any personal enemies-wait, unless you count Carla Alvarez, maybe. She's very passionate, about causes, politics, business. Caskie would say she'd fly off the handle and people would scatter. Maybe she figured out he was going to dump her and she sent some men over to kill him."
"Did you speak to Caskie about her, after you spoke to me and Erin Pulaski? Did he tell you he was breaking it off with Carla?"
"No, no, it's just his pattern. Like I told you, Caskie was a cheat, but he was a very predictable cheat. He always followed the same pattern-intense flirtation, romantic little hideaway dinners, lots of sex-no one could outdo Caskie's sex talk-then no more mystery, and he was out the door. Oh, I don't know, Sherlock, I'm just talking, trying to figure this out. But Carla's tough, tougher than I am, that's for sure. Nobody gives her grief because of that hair-trigger temper of hers."
"If not Carla, then how about the manager of accounting, Turley Drexel, I think his name is?"
Jane Ann said, "I hadn't considered him. Yeah, they slept together. I remember the night it all started. It was a barbecue at one of the manager's homes in Stone Bridge. Turley was all over Carla that evening, wouldn't let her out of his sight. I thought he'd even follow her to the bathroom. I remember thinking he was probably a real loss in bed, he just gave off that vibe, you know? I couldn't imagine he'd be of any practical use to her. He didn't even look particularly nice on her arm. I decided maybe Carla was desperate.
"I think it was Caskie who took Carla away from Turley. Maybe that left him gnashing his teeth, swearing he'd make the alpha dog pay. Of course it would have been Turley who made Caskie perk up and notice Carla in the first place. And Caskie did, of course. He couldn't stand not having what another man had, particularly if the other man worked for him."
Sherlock remembered overhearing the argument between Carla Alvarez and Turley Drexel the first time she and Dillon had visited Schiffer Hartwin. Had that been about her affair with Caskie Royal?
Jane Ann suddenly whirled around and buried her face in her hands. "Forget everything I said. I'm a bitch, gold plated. I really don't know, I'm just blathering. Damn, this is so horrible, unbelievable really. Four hundred thousand dollars? I just can't believe it."
That Caskie had stolen the money, or that he wasn't going to share it? Sherlock said, "I know. It's a huge shock, the sudden violence and death, even the hidden funds. But you came through it. You'll deal with it, Jane Ann, you have to because of your sons. Your husband's body will be released for burial sometime in the next two days. I'll give you Dr. Ella Frank's phone number. You can call her."
Mick Haggarty said, "I remember now, I saw you a couple of days ago, Agent Sherlock, when I was giving Jane Ann a tennis lesson. You were with another woman."
Sherlock turned to face him. It seemed he hadn't moved since she walked in. "That's right. Is it all right if we all sit down, Mr. Haggarty?"
"Jane Ann didn't want to be alone," Mick said as he led them into the living room. He motioned Sherlock to a big easy chair, obviously his favorite place, with a fifty-inch TV six feet in front of it, the remote close by on the side table. On its very nicely polished surface, she saw the overlapping outlines of beer cans. He gave Sherlock a tentative smile as he sat down on the sofa beside Jane Ann, his feet planted apart as if he was holding his tennis racket between his legs.
"How long have you been a tennis pro, Mr. Haggarty?"
"Three years now. It's good money and I can pretty much pick my own hours. It helped pay my tuition at Belson."
"A local liberal arts college," Jane Ann said, not looking at him.
"What's your degree in?"
"I have my B.A. in film. I'm an actor, really. I did summer stock over at Belson-Shakespeare. I played Petruchio until two weeks ago. I sure hope acting in summer stock impresses everyone in Hollywood. It'd be better, of course, if I had an uncle or a parent who already knew people in Hollywood."
Jane Ann was sitting hunched over herself, her legs pressed tightly together, her hands clenched on her thighs. She shot Mick a look like, Who cares, you putz? She looked like a woman on the edge.
She asked Sherlock, "How did you find me?"
Sherlock was afraid she was going to have to push her over that edge. "Actually, I went by your house, but of course the crime scene people were still there. Then I realized you would need comfort after last night, and I thought of Mick."
"Maybe not."
"All right. Let me think about this. As far as I know Caskie didn't have any personal enemies-wait, unless you count Carla Alvarez, maybe. She's very passionate, about causes, politics, business. Caskie would say she'd fly off the handle and people would scatter. Maybe she figured out he was going to dump her and she sent some men over to kill him."
"Did you speak to Caskie about her, after you spoke to me and Erin Pulaski? Did he tell you he was breaking it off with Carla?"
"No, no, it's just his pattern. Like I told you, Caskie was a cheat, but he was a very predictable cheat. He always followed the same pattern-intense flirtation, romantic little hideaway dinners, lots of sex-no one could outdo Caskie's sex talk-then no more mystery, and he was out the door. Oh, I don't know, Sherlock, I'm just talking, trying to figure this out. But Carla's tough, tougher than I am, that's for sure. Nobody gives her grief because of that hair-trigger temper of hers."
"If not Carla, then how about the manager of accounting, Turley Drexel, I think his name is?"
Jane Ann said, "I hadn't considered him. Yeah, they slept together. I remember the night it all started. It was a barbecue at one of the manager's homes in Stone Bridge. Turley was all over Carla that evening, wouldn't let her out of his sight. I thought he'd even follow her to the bathroom. I remember thinking he was probably a real loss in bed, he just gave off that vibe, you know? I couldn't imagine he'd be of any practical use to her. He didn't even look particularly nice on her arm. I decided maybe Carla was desperate.
"I think it was Caskie who took Carla away from Turley. Maybe that left him gnashing his teeth, swearing he'd make the alpha dog pay. Of course it would have been Turley who made Caskie perk up and notice Carla in the first place. And Caskie did, of course. He couldn't stand not having what another man had, particularly if the other man worked for him."
Sherlock remembered overhearing the argument between Carla Alvarez and Turley Drexel the first time she and Dillon had visited Schiffer Hartwin. Had that been about her affair with Caskie Royal?
Jane Ann suddenly whirled around and buried her face in her hands. "Forget everything I said. I'm a bitch, gold plated. I really don't know, I'm just blathering. Damn, this is so horrible, unbelievable really. Four hundred thousand dollars? I just can't believe it."
That Caskie had stolen the money, or that he wasn't going to share it? Sherlock said, "I know. It's a huge shock, the sudden violence and death, even the hidden funds. But you came through it. You'll deal with it, Jane Ann, you have to because of your sons. Your husband's body will be released for burial sometime in the next two days. I'll give you Dr. Ella Frank's phone number. You can call her."
Mick Haggarty said, "I remember now, I saw you a couple of days ago, Agent Sherlock, when I was giving Jane Ann a tennis lesson. You were with another woman."
Sherlock turned to face him. It seemed he hadn't moved since she walked in. "That's right. Is it all right if we all sit down, Mr. Haggarty?"
"Jane Ann didn't want to be alone," Mick said as he led them into the living room. He motioned Sherlock to a big easy chair, obviously his favorite place, with a fifty-inch TV six feet in front of it, the remote close by on the side table. On its very nicely polished surface, she saw the overlapping outlines of beer cans. He gave Sherlock a tentative smile as he sat down on the sofa beside Jane Ann, his feet planted apart as if he was holding his tennis racket between his legs.
"How long have you been a tennis pro, Mr. Haggarty?"
"Three years now. It's good money and I can pretty much pick my own hours. It helped pay my tuition at Belson."
"A local liberal arts college," Jane Ann said, not looking at him.
"What's your degree in?"
"I have my B.A. in film. I'm an actor, really. I did summer stock over at Belson-Shakespeare. I played Petruchio until two weeks ago. I sure hope acting in summer stock impresses everyone in Hollywood. It'd be better, of course, if I had an uncle or a parent who already knew people in Hollywood."
Jane Ann was sitting hunched over herself, her legs pressed tightly together, her hands clenched on her thighs. She shot Mick a look like, Who cares, you putz? She looked like a woman on the edge.
She asked Sherlock, "How did you find me?"
Sherlock was afraid she was going to have to push her over that edge. "Actually, I went by your house, but of course the crime scene people were still there. Then I realized you would need comfort after last night, and I thought of Mick."
