After sniffing a line or two of the cocaine, Carlos and Woodman divided up the rest between themselves and set aside so much for sale and so much for their personal use. They met with the boys on the Anti-Drug Task Force in their private office.
The four players on the A-Team, as they liked to call themselves, sat down at the round table with Carlos and Woodman. They were glad to see their old buddy Carlos, who lined everyone up.
One of them was talking, but the Latino wasn’t paying much attention, using a razor to chop up the cocaine.
“Carlos, it’s been what, two years since you left the A-Team; is this the best gig you ever had in your life, or what?”
“Where’d you get this shit?” Another guy asked suspiciously, while snorting a line of it. “Oooeee! That’s good!”
To answer his question, Carlos mumbled something, no one heard and he didn’t try to clarify it. He simply said, he had an 8 ball for each of them for a mere hundred dollars each, “That’s one Benjamin Franklin, roll it up and snort the shit. He probably would.”
“Probably would,” an idiot echoed, “roll up one of his own bills, with his own picture on it and toot away.” He laughed.
Carlos split the take with Woodman on their way out the door. Once they were alone, the Mexican cop had a good laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Woodman asked.
“We just ripped off the A-team, and their top drug dealer, who pays them protection money. Since you weren’t on the A-team, you wouldn’t know this, but this dealer used to be my connection, till I left the A-team and they took my connection over, then they wouldn’t cut me in for a share the wealth, bunch of tight ass, skin flints.”
On Wednesday morning, three days after a dead body was discovered in Nigel Mann’s basement, Detective Stuart reported into work early, but not quite as early as her partner, Lan, who had some news for her.
“Phone records show: Nigel Mann received a call from Blair Thomas, on the night Mary Donovan died.”
Stuart raised her eyebrows. “He didn’t mention that, when we interviewed him the first time. What do you say we have another conversation with him?”
As they were driving to Blair’s residence, Cecil and Moore were checking on the Jack Sharpe alibi, knocking on his girlfriend’s door.
A good looking blond in a robe and silk pajamas answered it, looking put out and said, “Yes. Can I help you?” It was all she could do to be polite.
“Are you Gloria Parsons?” Cecil asked.
“Yes, what’s this about?”
They each showed their badge and Cecil asked if he could come in and she opened her door to them. They stood in the entrance way and Cecil asked. “Do you know a Jack Sharpe?”
“Yes,” she said tentatively.
“Were you with him last Friday night?”
It was like she was expecting the question and she had her answer prepared. “Yes, yes he was.”
“During what hours?”
“I don’t know. Um… six to midnight?”
“You ever seen this woman before?” Cecil showed her a picture of Mary Donovan before she was cut up and dumped in the basement, like a pile of chopped wood.
She didn’t recognize Mary.
“We found her carved up remains in the basement of this man’s house.” Cecil showed her a picture of Nigel Mann. “Do you recognize him?”
Gloria seemed distracted for a moment and had to ask, “Excuse me? ‘Carved up remains,’ is that what you said?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Her horrified facial expression continued unabated.
“Now could you identify this man for us?” Cecil showed her the picture of Nigel Mann.
She looked at the picture and remembered seeing him “Nigel Mann, he was on Jack’s water polo team, right? Yeah, I saw him at one of Jack’s parties.”
“Have you seen him since then?”
She nodded, no.
Moore had to know: did she want to change her story, now that she knew this was a murder investigation.
Gloria stammered, but stuck to her story, saying Jack was with her last Friday night.
“We need to find Mr. Mann right away.” Cecil said, “Anything you could do to help us would be appreciated.” He handed her his business card, “If you think of anything….”
Was Blair a cold blooded killer, or just another guy on the sidelines? The call he made to Nigel, on the night Mary Donovan died was suspicious and Lan planned to ask him about it.
In a condominium along a tree lined street near downtown Mt. View, Detective Lan and Stuart knocked and a woman answered the door, creating a small opening in which to peer outside.
Lan showed her his badge and asked her if they could come in.
Darting a glance back, she hesitated before letting them in. When they entered, they found Blair, standing at the dining room table. Apparently they were eating breakfast in the middle of the afternoon: halibut and eggs.
Detective Lan apologized for the interruption and smiled wanly.
Blair shook Lan’s hand, and said, “This is my fiancé, Janis,” indicating the pretty young woman who let them in.
“Can I get you anything? A cup of coffee?” She asked the police.
“No, thank you, we won’t be long.” Lan said.
Janis went into the kitchen, cleaning counters and dishes.
The cops turned to Blair, Janis being within hearing range. “If you like, we could conduct the interview somewhere… ?”
“I have no secrets from my wife to be.” Blair indicated two chairs across from him and said with an English accent, “Sit down. How may I help you?”
The smell of baked halibut in butter and garlic and mashed potatoes filled the room.
Lan sat down, while Stuart remained standing, looking serious.
Lan said, “On the night Mary Donovan died, you made a phone call to Nigel Mann, at his residence. Would you mind telling me what that call was about?” He waited for Blair to answer, watched him lick his greasy lips. In the poor light, he noticed a lock of hair on his forehead that seemed out of place, the same lock of hair he noticed the last time he interviewed Blair.
“A call?” Blair asked, then seemed to remember. “Oh yes, the call was work related. Mary had left for the day. I was working late. Nigel pulled some files I needed and I called to find out where they were located. I believe that was around 8 o’clock? Shortly before I left…”
Distracted, Lan found the aroma of the fish enticing, dismissing that lock of hair that seemed out of place. “Where’d you go after you left work last Friday night?”
Blair pretended to be mortally wounded, gripping his chest, “Am I considered a suspect now?”
“Everyone is a suspect until we can rule them out.” Stuart said.
“But of course,” Blair conceded, still offended, “I went home, prepared dinner and ate it, then took Highway 92 over the hill to Half Moon Bay, to visit this bar I know, where I met the future Mrs. Thomas, the woman I hate least in this world.” He smiled, but no one was laughing. Suddenly he turned toward the fish on a serving dish in the center of the table. “Really detective, you have to try the halibut, it’s simply divine!”
The next thing Lan knew, he was eating a plate of halibut and marveling over the taste, while Stuart tried to get the name of the bar, where he met Janis. Eventually she got the information from the Englishman and they left.
Cecil and Moore found Gloria Parsons at work that afternoon, giving her plenty of time to think about her story. She was bothered they interrupted her at her place of employment and when her boss discovered the police were there to see her, he didn’t look happy. She faced the cops in the conference room.
“Listen,” she wanted to cut this short, “I have nothing to add and I don’t like you bothering me at work.”
Cecil started leaning on her hard, “You don’t like meeting us here, we could bring you in if you prefer, but one thing we aren’t going to do is back off, not until we get the truth out of you.”
Moore added, “Just to remind you, this is a murder investigation and your boyfriend, Jack is our number one suspect right now. You sure you want to protect him?”
“He assured me, he had nothing to do with any murder.”
“So you talked with him,” Cecil said. “Did he tell you he held Nigel underwater for over two minutes?”
She hadn’t heard that and now she was scared. She said, “Jack told me he was with his buddies, vandalizing some school swimming pool and that’s what he swears he was doing, but…”
“But what?”
“I don’t know, if what you say is true… He lied to me before and now I catch him in another lie?”
“You think he’s capable of murder?” Moore asked.
“I don’t know anymore. I really don’t know.” And she didn’t want to know.
In addition to obtaining Nigel’s phone records on the night of the murder, they also checked Mary’s and found something interesting: she made a call to a Donny Donovan. Carlos wondered if they were related.
“Let’s go and find out,” Woodman said and he was out the door.
In the car, Carlos told Woodman, “Mary called Donny three times. I bet he was her connection for the drugs.”
Donny lived in the detached garage behind his mother’s house. It was converted into a comfortable drug hang out/sleeping quarters. He was a cross between a wanna be rock star and a comedian, a big Frank Zappa fan, with his long black hair and dark eyes, wearing black clothes and checkerboard tennis shoes, in his early twenties, a care less attitude, as he answered the door.
After identifying himself, Carlos asked Donny if Mary was his sister.
“Yes,” he was despondent.
“I’m sorry for your loss, I truly am, but I’m going to ask you some tough questions and you’re going to answer them, right? Why was your sister calling you on the night she was murdered?”
“Just wanted to talk, I guess.” Donny smiled politely.
Carlos turned on the charm, “Mind if we come in and have a look around?”
Before Donny could say anything, Carlos and Woodman were pushing their way into the converted garage.
“I bet if we search this place, we’re going to find about a pound or two of drugs. Am I right?”
“No,” now Donny was scared. “Okay.” He tried to calm them down, “I’ll tell you what you want to know… just leave my place alone.” He had their attention. “My sister called… she wanted… cocaine. I told her I didn’t have any-”
“Woodman!” Carlos shouted and his partner ransacked the place.
“No, no, I’ll tell you, just-”
His words were useless. Woodman was on a rampage, then he found it. “Here we go!” The stash box was inside his secret drawer, under the coffee table. In it, he found a large baggie of cocaine.
“Yeah, that’s the stuff, that’s what I’m talking about,” Carlos sounded cheerful. “You sold your sister some of this, didn’t you? Of course you did. Just tell me one thing, before I confiscate the drugs and throw your ass in jail. Was your sister a regular user, or was this the first time?”
“My sister never used drugs. I’m not a drug dealer.”
“Sure, you’re not. Unfortunately, we’re going to have to arrest your ass?”
“Why?”
“Why?” Carlos laughed and Woodman joined in. “Because you secretly want to go to jail, Donny. All your friends are there, remember?”
“You can’t do this. This is illegal search and seizure!” Donny protested.
“Don’t you remember, Donny,” Carlos said, “you invited us in. Your stash was in plain sight.”
Copyright 2016 William Leslie
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