Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery Page 23

  “I have no idea, Gladys, and that’s the truth.”

  Coop leaned against the back of her chair.

  “It doesn’t look good for you. I’m sure your lawyer will tell you that. With the videos, and with you being in Dallas and Patti getting those calls from your office the day before she was killed…”

  “That’s all bullshit. I didn’t talk to Patti, and I didn’t see her in Dallas.”

  Coop stood. Frustration showed on her face in the form of a furrowed brow and a scowl. “Is that it? That’s all you have to tell me?”

  Bob looked at her. “That’s all there is to tell.”

  She walked toward the door and opened it, but turned back before leaving. “For old times I wish you luck. But don’t expect my detectives to cut you any breaks.”

  Ingle clenched his fists. “Don’t think you can do this to me. I’ll have you guarding malls on the night shift before this is through.”

  “Keep talking,” Coop said. “Maybe somebody will listen.” And then she closed the door.

  CHAPTER 44

  ALIBIS

  Ingle’s lawyer had him out in less than an hour, a testament to how money still greased the wheels in Houston politics—and law enforcement. Before Ingle left the building Tip reminded him that we’d be chatting again real soon.

  “This is only a temporary reprieve,” Tip said. “Just long enough to let you fake an alibi.”

  “Fortunately, you won’t have nearly so long,” Ingle said, just before his lawyer told him to shut up.

  “I believe he just threatened me,” Tip said.

  Coop came up to stand between Tip and me.

  “Don’t take it lightly. Bob Ingle has a lot of power in this city.”

  And it doesn’t hurt that he knows the president,” I said.

  Coop nodded. “We opened up a can of worms,” she said, and she was still nodding. “You better have your shit together, because Bob’s gonna come out swinging.”

  Tip looked over at Gladys and said, “Have you got any more clichés you’d like to toss in the ring?”

  “Screw you, Denton. You and Cataldi get your files and come to my office. We’ve got work to do.”

  Ten minutes later, Tip and I were going through the files, spread out on Coop’s desk.

  “I’d love to bust RB for this,” Tip said, “But I don’t think he did it.”

  “What have we got on him?” Coop asked.

  “We’ve got him and Camwyck in the video. He was in Dallas when Roberts was killed, and calls from his office to her phone were placed twice the day before she died, though we can’t connect him directly. We have the ransom note from Roberts to RB, along with that video. And we know that Camwyck and Ingle had a long history.”

  “Let’s not forget that Ingle provided bail for Mano,” Tip said.

  “Is he still missing?” Coop asked.

  “No sign of him yet,” I said.

  Coop adjusted her glasses and shuffled through some of our notes. “If Ingle didn’t do it, who did? And why?”

  I scooted my chair up closer. “Camwyck probably had dozens of people who would have liked her dead, based on the information we saw in her files. But when you add in the sex tapes it narrows the list down—Ingle, Cybil, the president…”

  Coop lowered her head and stared over the rims of her glasses. “And me.”

  “I didn’t want to point it out, but yeah. You’d be on the list, too. You knew the victim, knew the rest of the suspects, and you knew about MAGIC.”

  “That’s all good,” Coop said, “Except I didn’t do it. And I can’t see Cybil involved either physically or strategically. She’s as big a son of a bitch as RB, but she’s not a murderer either.”

  She looked over at Tip and then back to me. “I know you don’t like Cybil. Hell, at times, I don’t like her, but like I said, there’s no way she had anything to do with Barbara’s murder.”

  Tip stood and paced. “You realize where that puts us, don’t you?”

  Coop nodded. “Bob and Tom.”

  “Just to put this into perspective,” I said. “That would be RB Ingle, the richest businessman in Houston, and Tom Marsen, the president of the goddamn United States.”

  “I don’t like to think of it in that way, Gino, but it is what it is. We have two women dead and both of them were involved sexually with the president. At least one of them was involved sexually with RB Ingle. And we know there was blackmail.”

  “If we assume the sex tapes had something to do with them being killed,” Tip said.

  “Then either the president or Ingle had something to do with them being murdered.”

  Gladys nodded. “If one of them did, both of them did.”

  “The key is going to be Ingle,” I said. “We’ve got to put pressure on him. Nail down the timelines. Break his alibis. Maybe then we can figure out who did the dirty work.”

  “I agree, Gino. I don’t see Bob Ingle chopping up Barbara’s body. He might have ordered it, but there’s no way in hell he did it himself.”

  “How do we put pressure on him?” I asked.

  “Embarrass him,” Coop said. “As tough as that man is, he hates to be embarrassed. He’s still got a fragile ego.”

  “That sounds like a job for Tip,” I said. “He can piss people off without trying.”

  Some people were already leaving for the day by the time we arrived at Ingle’s building; in fact, we ran into Tip’s newfound admirer, Laurie, as she was heading home.

  “Is Mr. Ingle still here?” Tip asked.

  “He’s here, but I don’t think he’ll want to see you. He came back pretty upset.”

  Tip smiled and then winked at Laurie. “Thanks, darlin’. And since Mr. Ingle is a possible murder suspect, I guess we’ll have to upset him some more.”

  She tapped him on the arm and laughed. “You’re a hoot, Detective.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” Tip said, “but I wasn’t lying about Ingle being a suspect.”

  Laurie narrowed her eyes and her brow wrinkled. “Are you serious?”

  Tip nodded, then he leaned close and whispered, “That’s not public knowledge, by the way.”

  “I won’t say a word,” Laurie whispered back, and then she walked toward the parking lot, stopping to talk to someone not twenty feet away.

  I grabbed Tip’s arm and dragged him inside. “You’re more than a hoot,” I said.

  “Look over there,” Tip said. “Let the rumors begin. I’m guessing half the building will know about Ingle by morning.”

  “I doubt it will take that long,” I said.

  Tip pulled his same routine with the receptionist on duty, but she wasn’t quite as smitten with Tip as Laurie had been; in fact, she was downright rude. But Tip had more than one trick in his bag. He lost his smile, straightened up so he towered over her. He pulled out his badge and flashed a nasty look at her. “We’re not here to hand out parking tickets. This is a murder investigation. Now get Jonathan down here, and tell him I want him here now.”

  That shook her up, and whatever she said to Jonathan must have lit a fire under his ass, because he showed up in about two minutes.

  He exited the elevator and walked at a fast clip to greet us. “Detectives, it’s good to see you again.”

  “We need to talk,” Tip said.

  “I’m afraid that is not going to happen,” Jonathan said. “My lawyer has instructed me not to discuss this case with you, or anyone else.”

  “Your lawyer?” I said. “Would that be Mr. Rengster?”

  “Yes, it is Mr. Rengster,” he said. “Do you know him?” And then he smiled at us.

  It wasn’t really a smile; it was closer to a smirk. I hated smirks.

  I moved in real close, got within inches of his face, and spoke softly. “You can hide behind Rengster for now, but once we’re done with Ingle, we’ll be coming for you.”

  Jonathan tried to maintain a calm demeanor, but his jaw and fists were clenched. He was shaken.

 
“See you soon,” Tip said.

  We couldn’t go upstairs without a security card, but before leaving the building we stopped half a dozen people, asking questions that were sure to stir gossip. Even so, it didn’t get interesting until we talked to Reggie.

  Tip and I were exiting the Ingle building when Reggie was coming in. “Mr. Grage, we need a few minutes,” I said.

  Reggie stopped. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

  “Said who?” Tip asked.

  “Instructions from Mr. Ingle’s lawyer.”

  “I understand why he wouldn’t want you talking to us, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to. You are a potential witness or accessory to a crime—a murder. You will be talking to us.”

  He glanced at the building, toward RB’s office, then focused on me. “Not here. And not anywhere I’ll be recognized.” He shot another look toward the building. “How about after work? There’s a club called Banjo’s down—”

  “I know where it is,” Tip said. “What time?”

  “It will have to be after 8:00. Mr. Ingle works late.”

  “Let’s plan on 8:30,” Tip said.

  Reggie nodded, then walked inside, leaving us to gloat alone.

  “You think the ice is breaking?” I asked.

  “It just might be,” Tip said, and we headed toward the car.

  We were about twenty feet from the car, when something made me look back. RB Ingle was staring out the window of his office, and it was in our direction.

  “Looks like RB’s at a loss for words,” I said.

  Tip turned. “That’s not good,” he said. “If he’d have come down screaming at us and threatening us, I’d have felt a lot better.” Tip shook his head. “Just staring…I don’t like it.”

  CHAPTER 45

  A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

  We went back to the station and caught up on a few items before heading out to meet Reggie. Coop caught us first.

  “What happened at Ingle’s?” she asked.

  “We just got back a little while ago,” I said. “Nothing much happened.”

  “Whatever you did pissed him off. I’ve already had calls from the mayor and Renkin.”

  “You haven’t heard from the president?” Tip asked. “I’ll see if I can stir up a call from him.”

  “Get rest,” Coop said. “I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be bad.”

  “How bad can it be?” I said.

  “You haven’t had many run-ins with RB Ingle, have you?”

  Just then Fat Charlie scooted across the hall. “Charlie, did you get us anything on those lyrics yet?”

  He stopped and looked our way. “Nothing yet, Gino. But I’m working on it.”

  “God help us,” Tip said, and then, “Coop, we’ve got to go. We’re meeting Ingle’s driver. Maybe even get some evidence. If we’re lucky.”

  “Press him,” she said. “Press him hard.”

  We got to Banjo’s a few minutes early. Reggie was already seated at a table off to the side. Tip sat to his left. I sat facing Reggie.

  A waitress came by almost immediately. She was a tall Texas gal with a bounce in her step that comes with an early shift.

  “What can I get ya’ll?”

  Tip and I ordered beer. Reggie asked for sweet tea.

  “Tea? Not a drinking man?” Tip said.

  “My grandmother got me started on sweet tea when I was five years old,” Reggie said. “I’ve been drinking it ever since.”

  I waited for the waitress to get out of earshot, and said, “Tell me what an ex-Ranger is doing working as a bodyguard for Ingle.”

  “I see someone’s done their homework,” Reggie said.

  “Enough to know you were also in the Secret Service,” Tip said. “For a short time.”

  Reggie didn’t flinch. “A very short time.”

  The perky waitress brought our orders, placed them on the table, collected our money, then quickly left. I took a sip of my beer and leaned forward.

  “What happened? I know it’s not easy to get in, but what did you do to get tossed out.”

  The muscles in Reggie’s left arm tightened, but he picked up his glass and took a long swig of tea. “Personal choice,” he said. “The service is not for everyone.”

  “How did you get hooked up with Ingle?”

  “President Marsen recommended me.”

  I made a mental note to discuss that with Tip.

  “How’s the pay?” Tip asked.

  Reggie pushed his tea to the side, and he folded his hands on the table in front of him. “You didn’t come here to ask about my salary, or my previous jobs, so how about we cut right to it.”

  I finished my beer and said, “That’s the way I prefer it, too. We’re trying to establish where Mr. Ingle was on two separate occasions, and we hoped you could help with that.”

  Reggie let a few seconds pass before speaking. “I assume you’re talking about the murder in Houston and the one in Dallas?”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “Mr. Ingle was at the party for the mayor the night the woman in Houston was killed. I think I’ve given you details already. We arrived early and left at 12.24.”

  I checked my notes, from the first time we talked with Reggie. “That’s exactly the time you told us when we spoke before.”

  “I have a good memory for numbers,” Reggie said.

  “And you’re sure of the time?” Tip asked.

  “Positive.”

  “Could Ingle have gone out before then? Without you knowing?”

  Reggie gave the question thought. He seemed about to shake his head, but stopped. “Maybe… but I think people would have noticed him missing.”

  “But it’s possible,” Tip said.

  Reggie nodded. “Yes, possible, but not likely.”

  “How about Dallas?” I asked.

  “As I was about to tell you the last time, I dropped him off at a club—Jaguar’s. He arranged for his own ride back to the hotel.”

  “Does Ingle frequent clubs like that?” Tip asked.

  “I can’t say.”

  “Can’t say because you don’t know, or can’t say because you can’t say?”

  “I can’t say.”

  Reggie wasn’t giving us much. I had to try something else. “What is the relationship like between Mr. Ingle and his wife?”

  “You’ll have to ask them about that.”

  “You must know something. You drive them don’t you?”

  Reggie signaled the waitress for a refill on his tea, and Tip ordered us another round of beers. “From what I’ve seen when they are together, there is no friction. She doesn’t challenge him.”

  I thought it odd how he phrased that.

  “Doesn’t challenge him? Do you mean she is obedient?”

  He smiled, but it was a quick smile, the kind that pops on and off a face in an instant. “I wouldn’t use that word, but yes, that describes it well.”

  “Does he hit her?” Tip asked.

  Reggie shook his head. “Not that I’ve ever seen.”

  I lowered my voice and leaned in close. “You’ve been around, Mr. Grage. In the jobs you’ve held, you saw a lot. What do you think? Is Ingle the kind of guy who could do this—commit murder?”

  “If you mean could Mr. Ingle kill those women the way they were butchered?” Reggie looked at me, then Tip, and then he shook his head. “No. Mr. Ingle can be a son of a bitch, but in my opinion, there is no way he did this.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “He doesn’t have the guts,” Reggie said, and he didn’t hesitate.

  “What about Tom Marsen?” Tip said.

  “No comment.”

  “If you had to pick—Marsen or Ingle?” Tip said.

  “No comment,” Reggie said, then he stood. He pulled out a $20 bill and tossed it on the table. “It’s time for me to go, Detectives. If you have more questions, please contact Mr. Rengster.”

  Reggie left the bar, and never bothered to look b
ack. I had a feeling we had gotten all we would out of him. I looked at Tip and then said, “You hit a nerve with the Marsen comment.”

  “A big nerve. Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong.”

  “I hate to think that, but I’m afraid you might be right.”

  “It all starts back in East Texas,” Tip said. “I think we need to dig a little deeper, see what we come up with.”

  “You know who to call?” I asked.

  Tip tossed $20 on the table and then, almost as an afterthought, another $10. “I know who to call,” he said. “I sure do.” And then we headed for the door.

  “You have beer at your place?” Tip asked.

  “Plenty. Maybe even enough to help us figure this case out.”

  “Then that’s where we’re going,” Tip said. “We need all the help we can get.”

  We got to my house in about half an hour, but after three beers each and another hour of dissecting the case we hadn’t made any headway. We knew Camwyck was blackmailing either Ingle or the president, or both, but we weren’t certain of what the blackmail was about, and both of us were convinced it was about a lot more than sex.

  I gathered up our empties, dumped them in the trash bag, and went to the fridge for refills. “There’s no way anybody’s killing someone—let alone two someones—about a little sex. Not these days.”

  “We’ve already been through this, but if it’s not sex, what is it about? What’s on that video that made it worth millions of dollars?” Tip asked.

  “And this whole magic thing,” I said.

  “When we add that into the picture, it has to be somebody who knew them from East Texas.”

  “Which brings us back to what we talked about before. I’ve got to get hold of Buddy and one other guy.”

  “Buddy? He’s the one who can get you the information?”

  “We can count on Buddy to dig up some gossip, but to get the real dirt I’m gonna need to pay a visit to someone else. Someone I’d rather not see.”

  “Who?”

  “Guy’s retired now. Should be in jail but he worked for all the right people, so he got a pension instead.”

  “Sounds like a nasty sort,” I said. “And what about our mystery caller? What the hell is that about? And who is she? She’s got to fit in somewhere.”