Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery Page 12

  “I think we better find out,” Tip said.

  “Talk to her or Rusty?”

  “Both of them. Somebody has to know something.”

  I dumped my cup in the trash and headed for the door. “Let’s go.”

  “You care much about your badge? I mean whether you keep it or not?”

  “Nah. Not me.”

  “Good, because we might both lose it today.”

  CHAPTER 25

  AN INTERESTING INTERVIEW

  Houston, Texas

  Tip called Rusty’s admin and set up an appointment. At first there were no openings, but when he explained it had to do with Barbara Camwyck’s murder, Rusty’s calendar freed up, although his admin said Rusty would be at Eastex Enterprises for the rest of the day. On the way over to Eastex, Coop called us. It made me wonder if this was a response to us having called Rusty.

  “Denton, where are you?”

  Tip tapped my arm and put it on speakerphone. “Doing interviews on the case. What’s up?”

  “I just saw the search warrant. I knew her. I knew the woman who lived there—Barbara Camwyck.”

  There was a long silence, or at least what seemed like a long one, then Coop spoke again.

  “I can’t believe it’s her.”

  “Didn’t you recognize her picture from the paper?” Tip asked.

  “Good Lord, no. I could barely look at that picture. Perhaps if I had…Anyway, when you get back in, see me and I’ll tell you what little I can about Barbara.”

  “Okay, Captain, will do.”

  He hung up and looked at me. “What do you think?”

  “I think it was damn convenient that she called right after we called and made an appointment with Rusty.”

  “Must have been a coincidence,” Tip said. “If you believe in that.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see what information we get from good old Gladys.”

  “I’d bet my last dick that it matches what we get from Rusty and Cybil.”

  “Your last dick, huh? How many dicks do you have?”

  “That’s an old Texas expression.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I’m not rightly sure, but it sounds good.”

  “Never mind,” I said, and shook my head. There was no point in going down that road, but Tip wouldn’t let it rest.

  “When a man tells you he’s willing to bet his last dick on something, that’s strong,” Tip said. “That’s more than a hundred dollars I can tell you that much.”

  “I’m through with talking about your last dick.”

  “Well all right then. I’m through with it too.”

  Fifteen minutes later we pulled into the parking garage for Rusty’s building and made our way to the 20th floor. We stepped out of the elevator and went through a set of double doors featuring his company’s name. A receptionist sat at the front, painting her nails.

  “Tip Denton and Gino Cataldi here to see Rusty.”

  She gave Tip a sideways glance as if he’d committed a sin by leaving off the honorific—or by interrupting her nails—then she got on the phone, speaking through her headset.

  “Nancy, it’s Jeanine. I have a Mr. Denton and Mr. Cataldi here to see Mayor Johnson.”

  She smiled at Tip. “Have a seat, please. Someone will be out shortly.”

  She didn’t bother offering us coffee, and I wondered if that was the norm, or if we were personae non gratae due to Tip’s transgression.

  Twice in the next 20 minutes Tip reminded the receptionist we were still waiting. The second time he didn’t bother using his pleasant voice. The stern voice must have worked because a few minutes later they came for us. ‘They’ being a tall, slender brunette with a skirt so tight I’d have taken odds on it splitting before we got to Rusty’s office. The sight of her wiggling down the hall made the walk nice, though, so nice that I think an elephant could have passed us in the hall and I wouldn’t have noticed.

  The slender escort showed us into the office and disappeared, once again without so much as a “good day” or an offer for refreshments. Word must have spread of our status. As the door closed, Rusty got up from behind a desk too big for two people, and moved to greet us. He was a large man, tall and thick like an old tree, and his hands were big and meaty.

  I took the offered handshake and smiled at him. “Gino Cataldi,” I said. “Nice to meet you, Mayor Johnson.”

  “Call me Rusty, son. None of that mayor nonsense.”

  He then shifted to Tip. “I know you,” he said. “Tip Denton, the terror of the city’s criminals.”

  Tip shook his hand and looked him in the eye, but he didn’t smile. He had that mean look on his face, the kind I heard that he normally reserved for the criminals.

  “Rusty, I’m glad you made time to see us.”

  Rusty squinted his eyes, and I thought he shot Tip a glare, but I couldn’t be sure. Either way, I sensed tension between them.

  “We’re here to ask a few questions about a case we’re working, Mayor Johnson.”

  Tip leaned forward in his chair. “It’s Barbara Camwyck.”

  The mayor squinted, and I thought he shot Tip another look, but I wasn’t sure. Despite, that something was causing tension in the air. There must have been bad blood in the past.

  “What can I do to help?” the mayor asked.

  “Did you know her?”

  He sat back in his chair and folded his hands in front of him. “What was the name again?”

  Tip said her name loud, as if the mayor were hard of hearing. “Barbara Camwyck.”

  Rusty nodded. “Camwyck. Yes, I knew her. She did some work for my company.”

  I pulled out my notepad. “Sir, it looks as if she did a lot of work. Our records show that Eastex Enterprises paid her consulting company $145,000 last year.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “That much…I didn’t realize.”

  “Exactly what did she do for you?” Tip asked.

  “Consulting.”

  “Exactly what type of consulting?”

  Rusty smiled and leaned forward. “I don’t really see where that’s any of your business, Detective.”

  “Considering this is a murder investigation, Mayor, it is our business.”

  “Investigation? Surely you don’t suspect—”

  “Right now, we suspect everyone.”

  Rusty snorted, and tilted his head back. “Ms. Camwyck did business development for us. She researched markets and suggested tactics for our sales force.”

  Tip leaned forward and locked his gaze on the mayor. “Ms. Camwyck? Did you call her that when she worked at Baby Dolls?”

  The tension ratcheted up a few notches with that question—Rusty leaned forward, expressing everything but a growl, and I noticed Tip had balled his fists. I tried to intervene. “What time did you get home the night of the murder, Mayor Johnson?”

  Rusty stood and walked to the door, opening it. “I think we’re done here, Detectives. If you have other questions, call my attorney.”

  “You can bet I have more questions,” Tip said. “You better get your attorney prepared.”

  As we waited for the elevator, I heard Rusty’s door slam, then I patted Tip on the back. “What do you think—was it the Baby Dolls’ comment or the alibi question that ended that interview?”

  “I think it was Baby Dolls.”

  “Yeah, me too. By the way, good diplomacy.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered much what I said. It’s well known that Rusty hates me. I didn’t see any reason to fake it.”

  “Him hating you might make it difficult when we talk to Cybil.”

  “You need to brush up on your political gossip, Gino. As much as Rusty hates me, Cybil hates him more. I can’t wait to talk with her.”

  Cybil greeted us with a smile and a swagger to her walk that hinted at a “nothing to hide” attitude. We entered her private office and took a seat in plush chairs with a view of the entire north end of the city.

  “Would
either of you detectives care for a drink?”

  “No thanks,” I said. “And we won’t take up much of your time. We only have a few questions.”

  She mixed herself a drink, then leaned against the bar in a sexy pose. Blonde hair was cropped short, and radiant blue eyes drew attention to the sharp features on her face—thin nose, high cheekbones. She was in damn good shape, and she sported a skirt with a generous slit up the side. I found it difficult not to stare.

  “What kind of questions?” she asked.

  Tip stared straight at her as if she were no better than a street junkie. “Did you know the victim—her name was Barbara Camwyck. I mentioned that in case you were going to try and deny it like your husband.?”

  Cybil took a sip of her drink and smiled. She didn’t seem fazed in the least by Tip’s comment. “As you probably already know, I grew up in the same town in East Texas. It was the kind of town where everyone knew each other.”

  “And how about after that, here in Houston? Did you keep up with her?”

  She hesitated, swirling the ice in her glass.

  “I saw Barbara about once a month.”

  “Under what circumstances?” Tip asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Why did you see her once a month?”

  “Business reasons,” Cybil said, and gave Tip a pointed look over the rim of her glass. “She worked for one of my husband’s companies.”

  “What did she do for him?”

  “I believe she was in business development, something like that.” Cybil brushed her hand in the air, as if to say, ‘I don’t know much about business,’ but I could tell that was a crock of shit.

  Tip said, “Did your husband know her beforehand—like maybe from a strip club?”

  “I don’t quite know what you are implying, Detective.”

  I sat up straight, and thought for a moment that something sounded…familiar. When she said detective, her accent came out strong.

  Tip didn’t let his eyes off her. “I mean that Barbara used to work at Baby Dolls, a strip club frequented by your husband. Did you know that, Mrs. Johnson?”

  Once again she brushed her hand in the air. The diamonds on her bracelet could have probably paid off my mortgage. “Is that all? Of course I knew that. Rusty has known a lot of women in his day. But he knows who to come home to at night.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you that he has “known” all of these women?”

  She poured herself another drink and straightened up. When she did she seemed six feet tall, though I doubted she was any more than five and a half. I imagined a scenario where Cybil was thrown in a tank with a shark. I wondered which one would survive.

  “Detective Denton, it makes no difference to me what my husband does with his spare time. Or where he puts his dick. I have my own…hobbies and he doesn’t interfere.”

  “When was the last time you saw Ms. Camwyck?”

  “About three weeks ago. And, no, I haven’t spoken to her since.”

  “Do you know anyone who might want to harm her, or have reason to kill her?”

  “You already know that she worked at Baby Dolls. That tells you what kind of woman she was. I have no delusions that what she described as business development was little more than lying on her back or other compromising positions, and I’m certain she did it with more than one man.” She swished the drink in her glass and fixed on Tip, then me. “You’re the detectives. Figure it out.”

  I thought of that scenario again, the one with Cybil and the shark—she would definitely be the one coming out of the tank.

  Tip met her look, but said nothing.

  I stood. “I guess that’s all we have for now, Mrs. Johnson. If we think of anything else we’ll call.”

  “I’m sure you will.” She smiled and walked to the door. “It was so nice to meet you. Please call me anytime.”

  We walked out in silence but when we got in the car Tip said, “Poor Rusty.”

  And I said, “Yeah.”

  CHAPTER 26

  RECAP

  Houston, Texas

  Tip drove back to the station. We reviewed what we knew on the way.

  “We need to think about what we learned from the victim’s apartment.”

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s start with how she afforded it. And then her age. She’s too old to be a working girl.”

  “I think we know how she afforded it. What we need to do is go through the clients in her files and see who had alibis. If we talk to enough of them, we’ll figure out what role Camwyck had in all this.”

  “My guess is whoever took her computer and address book was smart enough to take incriminating names out of the files.”

  Tip turned onto the freeway and punched it. “You know, Gino, that’s good. We need to focus on what we didn’t find. That might tell us something about what was left.”

  I took out my notebook and looked at what I’d written. “No computer. No address book. No calendar or date book—”

  “Which she would absolutely have to have in her profession. She could have it on her phone, but my experience is women like her always have a back-up and it’s usually old-fashioned paper.”

  “No question,” I said. “And there was no cell phone, which is another necessity.”

  Tip slowed down and fell in line with traffic. “Okay so if we look at all of that together—missing phone, computer, and tablet (if she had one). When you add it up, it points to someone hiding her identity, or, the identity of a client.”

  “Or both,” I said.

  He nodded. “Yeah, or both. We need to talk to more clients and we need to find her friends.”

  Tip’s phone rang and he answered. “Tip Denton, best damn detective in Texas.”

  I could hear Julie’s sigh through the speaker. She must have heard that line a thousand times. “I’ve got some information on Eastex Enterprises for you.” She said it loud enough that I could hear.

  “I’m giving the phone to Gino, tell him.”

  I grabbed his cell. “What have you got?”

  “The biggest news is that Eastex Enterprises might technically be Rusty’s company, but it’s run by his wife. She’s the indisputable king, or should I say queen, of that little kingdom.”

  “Explain.”

  “The people I spoke to, on condition of anonymity of course, said Rusty is the chairman but no decisions are made without her blessing.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “It was confirmed by two sources. Unrelated sources.”

  “Okay good. How about the phone? Did you get a record of Camwyck’s calls yet? I mean land line calls. And what about her cell phone?”

  “I’ll have the list of calls from her home phone tomorrow, but no record of a cell.”

  “She had to have one.”

  “If she did it was in another name.”

  “All right, thanks, Julie.”

  I turned to Tip. “No cell phone. You buy that?”

  He looked at me sideways. “No way.”

  “You think she used burners?”

  “Maybe. I hope not, but maybe.”

  “It would be the smart thing to do, and a woman living in a million-dollar condo has something on the ball.”

  “Maybe Camwyck remembered what it was like to be at the bottom,” Tip said, then, “That reminds me. I need to listen to the tape of your caller.”

  “Come by tonight. I’ll cook something and we can have a few beers.”

  “Is this a date?”

  “Fuck you, Denton.”

  “Not on the first date.”

  Tip’s phone rang again and saved his ass. I answered since I still held it in my hand.

  “Tip Denton.”

  “This sure as hell isn’t Tip,” a sexy voice said.

  I presumed this was Elena. “He never sounded this good did he?”

  “Not one day in his life,” she said.

  “Hang on a minute.” I handed him the phone
. “It must be Elena.”

  “Hello, beautiful. What’s up? Couldn’t wait for me to get home?”

  “I wanted to see if that lead on the shoes panned out.”

  “It did. Thanks. We have an ID on the woman based on what you gave us.”

  “You did? Great.”

  “Don’t go thinking you’re a detective now, or I won’t be able to impress you.”

  “Go to hell. I was calling to tell you I’ll be out of town for a few days.”

  “That’s all right. I’m going to be pulling some late-nighters trying to close this case.

  In fact, I’m going over to Gino’s tonight to listen to a tape we have.”

  “I’ll call when I get back.”

  Tip pressed the button to hang up, then turned to me. “Elena said—”

  “I heard. She’s not as loud as you, but I heard.”

  Tip pulled into the garage and parked. We walked into the station ready to hit the files again. Today’s work had provided a lot more information, but we had to figure out what it meant.

  Julie came by with a million-dollar grin on her face. “Are ya’ll ready for this?”

  “Shoot,” Tip said.

  “Rusty Johnson co-signed for Camwyck’s condo. All $1.65 million of it.”

  Tip whistled. “That could be motive for Cybil.”

  “Would she care?” I said.

  “She wouldn’t give a fiddler’s dick about him screwing around, but paying for the condo…that’s a different story. I suspect there’s nothing Cybil likes more than money, unless it’s power.”

  I digested what Tip said and, as I thought it over, I had to agree. She would probably be more than a little pissed about Rusty spending the money on Camwyck. “And the way the victim was cut up makes it look like someone hated her.”

  “About $1.65 million worth?”

  “Maybe.”

  Tip was writing on a notepad. “So we’ve got Rusty running around on Cybil, which we don’t put much weight on, but…it’s something. Then we have Rusty co-signing the condo—”

  “And remember, the market is horrible now, so the condo is likely underwater,” I said.