Murder in the Arboretum (Cold Creek Book 2) Read online

  “Yes, that would be good.”

  I could hear his sharp exhalation and visualized his hand going through his curls. “Sher, Hirsch and I are about 10 minutes away. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  Garrett dragged Kim in my direction. I made a decision to quickly end the call. “Okay, talk to you later.”

  Garrett stopped and released Kim. He grabbed my phone and threw it against the wall. I heard it break but didn’t take my eyes off him. Kim moved a little away from him, but he spun around and glared at her. She stopped.

  “That your cop friend? Good thing you didn’t say anything or your friend’s face might look like yours.”

  He sighed, looked around, and then muttered, “Probably all dead anyway when they’re through.”

  Kim and I just stood there, both easing back away from him but in different directions. Garrett’s shoulders slumped. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Really. But the people behind this drug outfit, they aren’t nice people, if you get my drift. I’d bet the ones who tried to rearrange your face, Sheridan, work for them. These designer drugs and cocaine, they bring in a lot of money. And no one ever thinks Mr. Upstanding Citizen is a drug dealer.”

  “Garrett, you need to tell the police what you know so they can find out who killed Justin. The police will help you,” Kim pleaded.

  “You are so stupid, Kimmie!” His voice dripped with derision. He turned to look around and added, “So what now? You two are pretty useless in the scheme of things. The guys who did that to you? Stay out of the way or they’ll make sure you stay out permanently. Kimmie, put your phone down on the table.”

  Kim leaned forward and dropped her phone as directed. He grabbed it.

  “Just to be sure you can’t call anyone in a hurry. It’s been nice, but I think I need to be going now.” Garrett backed up to the door, unlocked it and was gone. Kim and I hugged and both started crying from relief.

  Then the door opened and we both jumped. In walked Brett and Hirsch with Garrett in tow. Garrett was screaming about police brutality as Brett pushed him down on the couch. Hirsch righted Garrett while Brett took me in his arms. He pulled in Kim and for a few minutes we just stood there in a group hug while Garrett complained.

  Hirsch cleared his throat and asked, “So Garrett, is that your real name? What can you tell us about why you were leaving in such a huff and why these ladies are all upset?”

  The three of us turned to watch him as he squirmed. He sputtered something about not doing anything wrong, just visiting, didn’t hurt anyone. Hirsch looked from Brett to Kim and me.

  “He said he got Justin a job with one of his clients as a runner of sorts. But Justin got suspicious about something, possibly designer drugs or cocaine. He seems to think that these clients have very deep pockets and bad friends. That the bad friends are who beat up Sher.” Kim sputtered this all out while glaring at Garrett.

  Brett looked at me and I confirmed. “That’s the gist of it. He didn’t tell us who or what his role in all this was other than getting Justin the job.”

  With that we all looked back at Garrett who looked pretty pathetic. He squirmed before finally stating, “What?”

  Hirsch volunteered to take him in and Brett agreed. They both took him out and then Brett came back in. He looked toward the kitchen and I realized that Charlie was whining and barking. All this time she had been outside. Once inside she had to let us all know how much she missed us.

  We sat down at the kitchen table. While Brett and Kim munched on some coffeecake, I had another smoothie and applied more ice to my cheek and eye. Brett brought us up to date on what he had found out.

  Hirsch had told Brett that the bullet was a possible match to at least three or four other shootings. It also was a possible match to a gun many cops or security guards might carry as an extra. It was a 45 caliber, possibly a Colt. The damage to the bullet would make a questionable identification no matter what. Nevertheless, they were putting together a list of all the suspects in each of those cases. The two names he had called in already were both back in jail, so they weren’t the ones I’d run into.

  Garrett and Jack had met before at family gatherings and that was the real reason he didn’t congratulate Jack. He’d been afraid Jack would recognize him. Jack had recognized him but hadn’t been able to place him immediately. When he realized why Garrett looked familiar, Jack went to check on Kim. He saw Garrett with Kim and was worried. He called the station and that was what triggered Brett’s call to the house.

  Kim and I shared what Garrett had told us about his suspicions of an organized designer drug operation. Based on what Garrett had said, Justin wasn’t the drug dealer. He more likely was the one who was given the money for delivery, just like he had delivered the loan money to Garrett. How that got him killed was still the question. From what Garrett said, Justin might have gotten wind that the money was from drugs. How Brendon fit into the whole picture remained unanswered. And why was Justin in the Arboretum?

  For his part, Brett was deep in thought and we had more questions than answers. After a bit, Brett’s phone rang and when he hung up, he pointed out that Kim and I needed to go to the police station and file a formal report. Sighing, and putting down the ice pack, Brett and I headed out with Kim not far behind us.

  We wouldn’t have a lot of time to complete the report. When they tried to talk to Brendon, he insisted his father be present as his attorney. Obviously neither he nor his father understood that was not necessarily the best idea. Mr. Whitfield had requested a 3 o’clock meeting, after his golf game. Brett and Hirsch were meeting him at his law office.

  Chapter 22

  We took care of the statements at the police station pretty quickly. It was getting close to 3 o’clock and Brett’s appointment with Brendon Whitfield and his father. After some discussion, Brett and Hirsch decided to take me along. Brett didn’t want me alone and they both felt that perhaps seeing my injuries might have a sobering effect on one or both of the Whitfields.

  Mr. Whitfield’s office was in the one posh office building in the center of town, adjacent to the courthouse, town hall, and one major bank. Truth be told, most of the building was empty, but it looked impressive and was well decorated. The security guard in the lobby had us sign in. He mentioned that I wasn’t on the approved list and both men indicated their identification. The guard looked a bit hesitant until Brett took a step forward. The guard then directed us to the elevators and the 14th floor.

  Other than a comment on “nice place,” none of us said much as the elevator moved upwards. As the doors opened, we were in another lobby of sorts. It was just too big to call it a reception area. Looking to the left, Brett nodded his head in that general direction. The paintings and artwork in this open area were impressive and I imagined quite expensive. It was almost more of a museum than a law firm.

  We finally reached the reception area, adorned with leather couches and a single desk and etched glass sign that read Whitfield, Cramer, and Standish Associates. I hadn’t given much thought to what else Cramer or Standish did other than serve as College President and Mayor. An attractive blonde, college age, was seated at the reception desk in a very low cut top. Brett told her who we were and she advised us to have a seat. She didn’t call anyone or do anything to let Mr. Whitfield know we’d arrived. At least nothing obvious.

  We sat but I could tell Brett’s impatience was building. After about 10 minutes, he started to pace, and then approached the desk again.

  “Miss, can you advise us of when Mr. Whitfield will see us?”

  “He was notified that you were here.” That was all she said and then she averted her gaze.

  He sat back down. Hirsch leaned around so she couldn’t see him and reminded Brett that Whitfield was just pulling the same stuff on us that cops do all the time. He was trying to get Brett rattled so that Brett would lose his temper. As Hirsch quietly planned strategy with Brett, I noticed the young lady staring at me.

  Catching her e
ye, I offered, “Hurts as bad as it looks so be careful where your loyalties are.” I saw a fleeting glimpse of shock before her face went back to the previous neutral mask.

  Brett pulled out a notebook and he and Hirsch wrote down points and questions to bring up with Whitfield. They continued to write and the young lady was blatantly watching them. As they made a show of nodding, whispering, and whispering some more, they had her attention. Coincidence or some way she clued in Mr. Whitfield, the door opened and he came out to greet us. Actually, he greeted Hirsch and Brett. He outright ignored me, barely giving me a glance.

  We all followed him into the office. Brendon was already there, looking pretty cocky. Apparently nobody told him I was there. His cockiness slipped a bit when he saw me.

  “Detective McMann, Officer Hirsch, please have a seat.” Brendon looked from his father to me, but didn’t open his mouth. Brett indicated a chair and waited for me to sit before he took his seat. Then Hirsch sat down.

  “You gentlemen called this meeting. Shall we get on with it?”

  “Yes, Mr. Whitfield, we have a few questions for your son, Brendon. He requested your presence as his attorney or at least that is our understanding. Is that correct?” Hirsch was very careful to take the lead and wanted to make sure of Mr. Whitfield’s role.

  “Yes, that is correct, though I am sure my son doesn’t need legal counsel,” he responded.

  Hirsch then explained that, for the record, he wanted to be sure that Brendon knew his rights. When Mr. Whitfield leaned forward to speak, Brett put up his hand and said it was necessary.

  Once the Miranda was read to him and Brendon acknowledged it, Hirsch pulled out the form for him to sign. Brendon looked to his father who immediately argued, “Is this really necessary? You aren’t going to arrest him.”

  “Yes, sir, it is necessary for his protection and for ours. We have several questions for Brendon and depending on the answers, yes, sir, I am prepared to arrest him.”

  Mr. Whitfield looked about to explode, but nodded to his son. He then looked at Brett and asked, “Is it agreeable for me to record this meeting?”

  Hirsch answered, “By all means, sir. And with your permission, I will record it as well.” Hirsch pulled a small recorder from his pocket.

  Mr. Whitfield stomped over to his desk and returned with his recorder. In an attempt to regain control, he hit his ‘on’ button and said, “For the record, this is Thornton Whitfield, Esquire. This meeting is being held in my office. I will ask the participants to identify themselves for the recording, beginning with my son.”

  As Whitfield was providing the date and time of his recording, Hirsch immediately turned his recorder on. We each introduced ourselves, including me despite Mr. Whitfield’s sour expression.

  “Now that we have the introductions taken care of, for the record Brendon Whitfield has been advised of his legal rights and signed off to that effect. The purpose of this meeting is to determine his involvement, if any, in the murder of Justin Blake, threats and the assault of Sheridan Hendley, and a possible designer drug enterprise in Cold Creek.”

  As Hirsch had stated all of these looking straight at Brendon, I watched Mr. Whitfield blanch with each item to be discussed. When Hirsch mentioned the designer drugs, Mr. Whitfield shifted his gaze from Hirsch to his son, shock obvious. Brendon looked scared and didn’t say a word. Both father and son were silent.

  “So Brendon, I have some questions for you.” Hirsch made a process of turning the pages in the notebook, words obviously written on the pages. After a pause, he asked, “Let’s start with Justin Blake. We have information, a witness, who saw you interact with him on several occasions, including at least once at the Country Club. What was your relationship with Justin?”

  Mr. Whitfield apparently had drilled Brendon in advance. Brendon looked to his father, and only with his nod did he answer the question. “He was a friend.”

  “How did you meet Justin?”

  After a glance at his father, Brendon answered, “At the country club. His family belongs to the country club.”

  “He’s answered your questions. There’s no law against knowing someone at the country club. Obviously no one else from the Country Club came forward to say they knew Justin either. Maybe you need to interview all the members of the country club.” With that, Mr. Whitfield made a motion that he believed Hirsch was finished.

  Hirsch corrected that impression and the questioning went on like this for a bit. I sensed Brett’s frustration and rubbed his leg under the table. This was grueling, but sooner or later there’d be that unanticipated question neither Brendon nor his father had a rehearsed answer for. With direct questions, Hirsch covered the obvious. No, Brendon did not buy drugs from Justin. No, Justin did not buy drugs from him.

  The first unanticipated question came when Hirsch asked, “So Brendon what did you know about Justin’s job?”

  Brendon looked to his father, who turned to Hirsch and demanded, “What does that have to do with my son?”

  “We have information that Justin was concerned about possible shady dealings with the company he worked for, possibly drugs. He may have mentioned this to a friend, for example, your son.” Hirsch’s explanation made it sound innocent enough. Mr. Whitfield nodded to his son. Brendon just shook his head and looked at his father.

  “Brendon, will you please answer the question?”

  He hedged and finally stated, “He told me he was concerned, yes.” He looked to his father again, who nodded. Except Brendon didn’t offer any more.

  “Did he tell you his concerns? Ask you about your involvement?”

  “Yes, he asked …”

  Brendon didn’t get any further before his father shot out of his chair. He asked for a minute with his son, and immediately corrected it to “client.” He stopped his recording and Hirsch did likewise. They moved away a bit, and after a few minutes, they came back to the table. Whitfield and Hirsch both turned the recorders back on. Brendon then explained that he was involved in some money making enterprises and bringing others into it. He was entrepreneurial and worked with Investment Surge. He acknowledged that it might be part of a pyramid scheme, but he wasn’t sure. He glared at his father as he complained of a limited allowance from his parents. I wondered just how “limited” the rest of us would think his allowance.

  “Let’s shift gears for a minute here, Brendon. Did you send a threatening email to Dr. Hendley? Did you trash her office? Did you on two other occasions leave warning notes for her?”

  Brendon looked to his father who intervened with, “You have no proof he had anything to do with that.”

  Hirsch explained that the email was traced back to Brendon’s College account and server. When Mr. Whitfield tried to laugh that off as anyone could hack into his account, Hirsch read another email from the same computer and account one minute before to Brendon’s girlfriend. Brendon and his father both had the decency to look embarrassed. Then Hirsch read another email one minute after the threat that talked about a delivery.

  “So, did you happen to get up for one minute between these two messages? Is that what you are telling me? And just what is the delivery, Brendon?” As Hirsch finished, he handed the search warrant for Brendon’s College email account to Mr. Whitfield. Surprise!

  The silence was deafening for a few minutes. Not even Mr. Whitfield uttered a sound as he read the warrant and then gazed to his son. “What have you done?”

  Hirsch interceded before Brett had a chance and reminded Mr. Whitfield that his presence needed to be as an attorney and not a father. For most of the other questions Hirsch asked, Mr. Whitfield advised Brendon to not answer if by answering Brendon would incriminate himself. That left most questions unanswered.

  After over an hour, Hirsch resigned himself to the roadblocks being set. He formally arrested Brendon on the threats to me, and indicated that Brendon needed to come down to the station for additional questioning. Brendon was aghast at this turn of affairs. The possibility that he
would be arrested obviously had not occurred to him. Mr. Whitfield, however, was resigned to the inevitable. He turned off his recorder and told Brendon he would meet him at the station.

  Brendon was still wide-eyed as Hirsch took his arm. He tried to pull away, but when Hirsch pulled out the cuffs and looked at him, he relaxed. Brett and I walked behind them and then followed them to the station.

  At the police station, Brendon was processed much to the Chief’s dismay. In much the expected fashion, Brendon was released on Mr. Whitfield’s word. No one really wanted to keep him in jail over the weekend. He was told not to leave town and Mr. Whitfield agreed to that stipulation. Chief Pfeiffe tried to appease Mr. Whitfield, assuring him that with the trial now set for Clive Johnson, the whole sordid business would be over soon. As the Chief walked back to his office, Hirsch made an appointment with both Whitfields to interview Brendon at the station again on Monday.

  Chapter 23

  Hirsch walked outside with us, clearly frustrated with his boss and the situation. The major problem of why Justin Blake was in the Arboretum remained. The three of us chatted for a bit. The stress and physical fatigue took their toll and Brett and I went home. It was still early, but felt like the middle of the night.

  While Brett took Charlie for a walk, I checked on Kim using Brett’s personal cell. She immediately swore off any kind of match or dating system even if it meant never having a date again. She’d heard about the trial date already. Marty had left a message for her.

  I opted to take a nap with Charlie, and Brett collected what was left of my cell phone to get a replacement. He left his personal cell with me so I wouldn’t be without a phone. I’d just nodded off when the phone rang. On autopilot, I answered before looking at the callerID. The female voice saying “Dad?” and Madison’s name registered at the same time.

  “Hi Madison, this is Sheridan. Your dad lent me his phone.” I realized how lame that sounded and winced, not that she could see my face. All things considered, it was good she hadn’t tried to use FaceTime.