Death on the Diagonal - By Nero Blanc Page 0,81
was pure business.
“Sorry to bust in,” he said, “but I’ve picked up a few items of interest that I think you folks should be aware of.” He then coughed and added, “How can you people stand all this damn cigarette smoke?”
Lever grumbled and smashed his Camel into the ashtray. “Just out with it, okay, Nick? We don’t need any lectures on clean living.”
“Maybe the rest of them don’t, but I’m not sure you fall into that category.” Simpson walked over and stood beside a bookcase in the corner of the office so that he could face everyone. “Okay, I just finished up a lengthy conference call with the Louisville Police Department. It seems—”
“Hold it right there, Nick,” Lever said holding up his hand, “we’ve been through this. You’ve got a case of fraud on your hands, fine, but I’ve got to concentrate on these homicides.”
“Hear me out, Al, we’ve got a connection. I’m not sure what to make of it, but it’s there.”
Again Lever groaned, but acquiesced. “All right, shoot.”
“We know Kelly Polk decamped to Louisville, so I figured why not have the folks down there pick her up, just in case she’s feeling the heat and opts not to return to Newcastle. Louisville offered to put an APB out on her and send a team to the airport. I passed along a description of both her real appearance, and what she might look like in a red wig that falls halfway down her back. And that’s when they took some serious notice.”
“What do you mean?” Belle asked.
“Suddenly, they were genuinely interested in the details of our case. After I broke it down for them, they said they had a duplicate situation brewing out there. An old guy, a horse breeder, hooked up with a young woman needing a kidney transplant. Same dollar figure—$250,000—the works. The description matches Kelly Polk—this time with a short brunette wig. Only the name in Kentucky is Sue Reynolds, which happens to be the same name as a local woman who recently had minor surgery. I’ll add that this Sue Reynolds is also a brunette—as if anyone couldn’t have surmised as much.”
“So, were still talking con job,” Al tossed in. “Where’s the connection?”
“You’ll never guess who this guy’s barn manager was a while back.”
“Orlando Polk?” Lever said, making no attempt to hide the fact that he considered this entire line a complete waste of time.
Simpson shook his head and smiled. “Guess again. It was Jack Curry . . . your dead man.”
“I wonder . . .” Belle mused.
“What?” Rosco and Abe said together.
“Bartholomew Kerr told me about a similar case in Florida several years ago. I wonder if it’s related? That man was also part of the horse-show world.”
“This is Bartholomew Kerr over at the Crier?” Simpson asked. “I’ll give him a call. I’d like to follow up on that.”
“It was three years ago in Palm Beach, and the mark was Stuart Stewart. The police in Florida believed it might have been of gang of con artists—one that possibly moved around the country.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” Simpson said before leaving.
Al watched the door close. “I’m guessing, and let me know how this sounds . . . because I’d still like to find my murderer . . . Okay, here goes: Curry worked at the farm in Kentucky. Quite possibly he remained in touch with the owner . . . who, maybe, told him about this pretty little gal and her medical woes. Jack then began to suspect that Kelly’s trips out there weren’t to visit an ailing father . . . About the same time, he noticed the same situation developing with Gudgeon, which led him to create the incriminating puzzles, and Kelly stabbed him when she found out.”
Rosco chuckled. “Who wants to be the first to shoot Al’s theory full of holes?” He then counted off his objections on his fingers. “One: Why wouldn’t Curry have simply confronted Kelly with his suspicions? That would have been more his style. Two: There’s no indication he knew Gudgeon. They weren’t part of the same circle. And three: Who made the first two puzzles?”
Lever threw up his hands. “Well, would someone please give me a solid motive that Heather might have for killing Jack? Because I don’t have one.”
“Let’s go back to something Belle said,” Abe tossed in. “Bartholomew mentioned a movable gang in Florida. What if it’s the same people? Florida, Kentucky, and now Massachusetts? And if that’s the case, who are they?