Triangulation, page 22
part #2 of Borealis Investigations Series
“Well, I let Grace Augusta get away, so I guess we’re even.”
“We should probably call Taylor and Waggener, right? Let them know about all this.”
“We’re doing their fucking job,” North said. “We might as well keep them in the loop.”
Shaw scrolled through the phone while North called the detectives on the number they had given him. North sketched an initial report, but Detective Taylor cut him off with a forceful, “Don’t move. Don’t touch anything. Don’t so much as breathe until we get there.”
Then the call disconnected, and North rifled the fridge and came up with the eclair, which he slid across the island to Shaw. He grabbed the cobb salad from the counter.
“That looks good,” Shaw said, the words muffled as he bit into the eclair. More pastry cream squirted onto the side of his mouth, and North wanted to sigh. It was like the universe was trying to write both of them into a really bad porno.
“It is good,” North said, taking another bite of the salad. “But the eclair is better.”
Shaw chewed noisily, oblivious to North’s envious stare.
“I wish I had an eclair,” North said.
“We’ll pick you one up on the way home.”
North speared the next forkful of egg and bacon and lettuce forcefully. So forcefully, in fact, that the bowl skittered across the granite.
Shaw glanced up. Eyes wide. “Uh. Or we could. Um. Split this one.”
“That’s so fucking generous of you.”
“Thanks. And do you want to see what I found on Mike’s phone?” He slid it across the counter. “Keep tapping the screen so it doesn’t lock, ok? I don’t want to have to pass this off to Taylor and Waggener.”
“We should give it to them, Shaw.”
“Oh, I know.”
“We’d be interfering with an investigation if we didn’t.”
“Absolutely.”
“Which is why we’ll hand this over as soon as the battery dies.”
Shaw grinned. “That’s what I was thinking.”
When North turned his attention to the phone, his heartbeat accelerated. Shaw had opened the phone’s mail app, and now a series of emails between Mike and Shep showed on the screen. It was easy to see why the emails had caught Shaw’s eyes. The first one had come in at nine in the morning on Thursday, July 26th: the day after Chuck’s fight with Shep, the day Shep disappeared. The subject line was, You fucking thief.
And then there were pictures. Three of them, variations of the same image: a still from a security camera showing Mike Llagas pulling money from an ATM machine. Each picture was accompanied by the clipped image of an online bank statement, showing deductions that matched the time stamp on the security camera stills. That was all. Nothing else from Shep. No words. Just the pictures and the subject line.
“Well,” North said, sliding the phone back to Shaw. “That’s interesting. Look at those bank balances.”
“Over a hundred thousand dollars in Shep’s personal account,” Shaw said. “And six thousand in the Iris business account. So much for nothing to fight over in the will. So much for no money for a baby. So much for Shep working a job that didn’t pay very well.”
“Mike found out. Mike was pissed. Mike decided to help himself to some of that cash.”
“That’s the third version of the story. First, we hear that Shep and Chuck had a fight about missing money, and Chuck might have been stealing. Second, we hear that, no, Shep was stealing, and Chuck came to accuse him. Now, here are emails from Shep that make it look like Mike was the one embezzling from Iris and stealing from his husband’s account. His husband’s very large account.”
“So,” North said, “Mike gets the debit cards out of Shep’s wallet. He guesses the PIN; hell, maybe Shep just tells him one time because he needs Mike to run an errand. And after that, Mike can pull out a little cash any time he gets a chance. Maybe at first he’s just taking from the personal account. Or maybe he starts with Iris. Then he decides to expand his operation, he starts stealing from both. Nobody notices until Chuck. She sees withdrawals. She comes here and confronts him. She leaves, but now Shep suspects something. When Mike leaves for work or when he goes to bed, something like that, Shep starts checking bank records. He gets these stills from the bank in the morning. And then he knows.” North speared another hard-boiled egg. “And then he comes home, and Mike kills him and hides the body. He moves it to Chuck’s car when he has a chance.”
Shaw was frowning. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Well, the fibers they found on Shep—the ones that didn’t match Chuck’s trunk.”
“They don’t match anything here. I checked.”
Shaw nodded. “The police would have been sure to check too. I doubt Mike killed Shep here, if he killed him at all.”
“Fine. What do you think happened?”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“You’re so helpful sometimes.”
“I don’t know!”
“It’s like being friends with Sherlock.”
“Ok, ok.”
“Or Encyclopedia Brown.”
Shaw drew himself up with offended dignity. “That’s too far, North.”
Waving the fork in surrender, North nodded. “Retracted.”
For a moment, Shaw sat there. The sun painted him from behind; it drew flecks of fire from the ends of his chestnut hair. “Your theory is a good one, except for the location of the killing.”
“Thank you oh-so-fucking much.”
“But what about Grace Augusta and the insurance policy?”
North grunted. “Ok.”
“She might be desperate for money. No, scratch that. She is desperate for money. The evidence is right here: when Mike confronted her about the forged document, she beat the hell out of him and then came here to take the money he had stolen. She needs money. We don’t know why, but she needs it bad enough that I think she would have killed Shep if she thought she could get away with it.”
“Have the police checked those fibers against the hotel linens and upholstery?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we should go through Grace Augusta’s room.”
“You’re fucking Jadon for information and you don’t know?”
Shaw froze. The embers glowing in his hair swirled as he turned slowly to face North directly.
“I’m sorry,” North mumbled. “That was really shitty.”
“Yeah. It was.”
“Do you want to talk about this?”
North tried for the casual, ironic distance that usually worked so well for him. “You know how I feel about talking.”
“I’m serious; this is important. I care about Jadon. I have feelings for him.”
A grunt escaped North before he could quash it.
“What does that mean?” Shaw said.
“Nothing. You have feelings for him.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Just that I’m a good listener. I heard you, Shaw. I know I messed up; I know you have feelings for Jadon.”
Shaw watched him a moment longer, obviously dissatisfied. He opened his mouth, clearly intent on pursuing the topic.
Before Shaw could speak, though, North said, “What if they were working together?”
Shaw closed his mouth slowly. Then, after a moment, he said, “Mike and Grace Augusta? Mike was furious about the insurance document.”
“He was furious about something. And we know Mike is a liar; he might be lying about anything.”
“I don’t think he was lying about how angry he was. I don’t think he’d let Grace Augusta get all that money.”
“That’s my point, though. Maybe he thought the insurance was meant to go to her and he was going to keep the cash he stole. They both win. It makes sense; easier to kill Shep and get away with it if you have some help.”
“Maybe,” Shaw said.
“What?”
“I don’t know. I keep thinking about Zoar. And Beau. I know, don’t make that face. Donny showing up, fighting with Shep, wanting to kill him. Whoever killed Shep wanted to do it. It wasn’t just greed. The knife, the stab wounds—the killer was angry or excited. This wasn’t a cold, calculated assassination. Grace Augusta might hate Shep and want his money. Mike might hate Shep and want his money. But I don’t get the feeling that either of them hated him enough to kill him like this.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Why is it bullshit?”
“Because they’re both jilted lovers. Shep left Grace Augusta, and he left her for a man. Then he left Mike for the boys he’d been messing around with. That’s a blow to the ego for both of them. It’s the kind of thing that makes people kill; the money would just be a bonus.”
“What about Beau?”
“What about him?”
“He was at Zoar. He has just as much reason to hate Shep as the others.”
“But he works with him.”
“He needed a job. That doesn’t mean he likes Shep.”
“He told us he likes Shep. And you’ve seen that Facebook page—a lot of those guys still like Shep. They’re not all carrying a grudge.”
“Just because Beau told us he forgave Shep doesn’t mean it’s the truth. Everybody lies, North.”
“Not you,” North said with a grin. “Not when it’s so easy for me to catch you.”
“Something’s off with Beau, North. You can make jokes if you want, but I don’t trust him.”
“I’m not saying we should exclude him, but I don’t get it. What’s got your back up about him?”
“Never mind.”
“No, I want to hear it.”
“I already told you: the stuff with Zoar. You don’t want to listen to me because he was practically falling out of his clothes when he met you.”
North stared at Shaw, his heart hammering in his throat, and then pushed away from the island. “I’m going to make some calls.”
“Fine,” Shaw said.
“I’ll see you when Taylor and Waggener get here.”
“Fine.”
Outside, the July sun ignited a headache at the back of North’s skull. The heat shimmered in the air like the whole world was boiling. North retrieved the pack of American Spirits from the glove compartment, and then he moved to the south side of the house and skulked in the tiny patch of shade. He lit up and took a long draw on the cigarette; he felt like he could breathe a cloud of fire. Then, after a few more drags, he stubbed out the cigarette and returned it to the pack. He breathed deep, trying to focus on the smell of grass clippings and gasoline and hot mulch.
So, he kept thinking. So. So. So. So Shaw wanted to be a jealous little bitch?
Fine.
He found the number in his phone and dialed. It went to voicemail, and he left a short message with his name. He waited two minutes; he called again.
This time, Jack picked up. “Oh my God. Is it really you?”
“For now. I’m still trying to hire a decent body double.”
Jack giggled. The boy was nervous, and somehow that made this whole thing worse than North had expected. “Seriously, um, how have you been? I saw the whole thing with that drag queen. In the news, I mean. And did you really—” He cut off, and from the other sound of the phone came soft, scuffling noises, and then Jack laughing and softly saying, “I’m not going to ask him. I’m not.” Then Jack’s voice came back stronger and he said, “So, you, um, called.”
Yeah, North thought. I, um, fucking called. That’s why we’re on the, um, fucking phone. But all he said was, “I didn’t think kids your age knew how to answer the phone.”
Another giggle. “My grandma likes to talk on the phone. Maybe you should call her.”
“Ouch. Now you’re going to throw shade?”
More of that damn giggling. “I’m not working at Allure anymore,” Jack said, his voice gaining strength and confidence. “I’ve got a great internship. I think they’re going to hire me on. I'm doing web design; it’s awesome.”
“You’re not in St. Louis anymore?”
“No, no. I’m here.” Then a pause. “Why?”
“I need a date.”
“Wow.”
North kicked at the grass, aiming at a sweetgum ball that lay just beyond the tip of his boot. “So, uh, is that a yes?”
“Was it a question?”
North kicked again, ripping out a few strands of grass. He wiped his face, surprised at how much a guy could sweat without dying of dehydration. “I mean, do you want to go on a date?”
“With you and your husband?”
“No, we’re—that’s over.”
“And I’m the first guy you called.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Oh Jesus. And you probably haven’t been on a first date in twenty years or something.”
“No, it’s only been—oh. You’re joking.”
Jack’s laugh was a lot more confident now, and that made North’s face feel like fire. “Do you remember how it goes? Are you going to show up on my porch in a suit with flowers and a heart-shaped box of chocolates? Are we going to a sock hop? Did you ask my pa if you could keep me out past ten?”
“I’m starting to remember your big selling point last time. You kept telling me how mature you are.”
“Ok, ok, I’m just yanking your chain. Yeah, I’d love to go out. There’s this—”
“Actually, I’ve got this brunch I have to go to. Tomorrow morning. But you’ve got your internship; I thought you were still bartending.”
“For the record, I am still bartending. But, yeah, I can go.”
“Don’t you need to work?”
“It’s an internship in web design; everybody just shows up whenever they want.”
“I’ll pick you up if you tell me where.”
Jack rattled off an address in the Central West End.
“10:30?” North asked.
“Yeah. Is this like, formal or something?”
“No.”
A silence dragged out on the line.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow—” North began.
But Jack was speaking over him: “Is that other guy going to be there? The one you tried to set me up with?”
“Why?”
“It’d be awkward, for one. I haven’t forgiven you, by the way, for sending me over there to get humiliated.”
“He might be there.”
“He didn’t like me.”
“He liked you fine. He just liked that other guy more.”
“No, he didn’t like me trying to pick you up. He’s not going to like seeing me with you.”
“Maybe I want him to see you with me,” North said. He wasn’t sure why he said it; he didn’t like that he said it. But he liked how it felt afterward, a satisfying ache in the center of his chest. The way his fist ached sometimes after a good punch.
An unmarked police car whipped up the road, braked hard, and swerved up against the curb in front of the house.
“I’ve got to go,” North said, disconnecting the call, and then he trotted down the drive.
Taylor was first out of the car, even though he was driving and even though he was bigger and older than Waggener. He still had those linebacker shoulders, and he came up the driveway with deliberate steps—fast, but planted in a way that made North doubt anything short of a high-speed train could knock him down.
“Inside,” Taylor growled as he brushed past North, catching him hard with his shoulder. “Now.”
Waggener came behind. She glanced up and down the street, and her hand kept drifting to her side where her service weapon bulged under her jacket. A frisson ran dawn North’s spine, and he hurried after Taylor.
“There,” Taylor said, stabbing a finger at the couch. “And don’t move.”
North moved toward the couch, but he didn’t sit. He took up a spot near the window, close to a shelf with a few carved wooden figurines. His mind ran the scene over again: Waggener pausing, glancing up and down the street, her hand on a puppet’s string moving toward the holstered pistol. Glancing at the figurines, North decided he’d take a page out of Grace Augusta’s book. He just needed to distract her long enough to escape out the window, and then he could run around back and—
Waggener stepped into the house, but she stopped just inside the door, still glancing out at the street. Her hand had stopped drifting. North took her in again with a long look: the mousy blond hair, the petite frame. In the ugly pantsuit, she looked like she ought to be filing HR reports or showing home listings out in Ellisville, not like this. Not like she was planning something. Weighing it. Figuring out if she could get away with it.
North forced himself to think. Why? North and Shaw had called in the confrontations with Mike and Grace Augusta. They had reported information that should have made Mike and Grace Augusta persons of interest in the investigation, if not outright suspects. But now Waggener was here, studying the empty street, the houses, the darkened windows. Waggener’s hand was floating on that string, inches from her service weapon.
What were the possible reasons? Taylor and Waggener had a vested interest in keeping something quiet. That was the only possible reason. Either they wanted to pin Shep’s death on Chuck for some reason, or they wanted to keep something else quiet—something about Mike, Grace Augusta, or both. Something important enough that it was worth wiping out two private detectives to keep secret.
In the kitchen, Taylor’s rumble mixed with Shaw’s voice, but North couldn’t make out their conversation. He focused on Waggener, who was still studying the street with enough watchful glances at North to make it clear that she hadn’t forgotten him.
“Did Jadon tell you what they’re doing for their three-month anniversary?”
Waggener scrubbed her palm on her leg.
“I bet it’s something fancy but meant to look not fancy. You know. Like a bed and breakfast at an organic farm, but a night costs as much as the Four Seasons.”
“You need to be quiet.”
“Are you gay too?”
This earned North a scornful glance. He had guessed she was straight; the way she looked at him, especially, made her bi at least.
