CHAPTER 31
WHEN ROSCO STEPPED into Al Lever’s office, the lieutenant was just finishing another of his minute-long cigarette smoker’s paroxysms. He looked up at Rosco and said, “Dang this cough. Have a seat, Poly—Crates. What have you got?”
“What have you got, Al?”
“Besides these darn allergies, everything I have points to a jealous husband … except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Housemann didn’t do it.”
“You sound pretty certain.”
Lever lit a cigarette and tossed the match into an ashtray already overflowing with fifteen crushed butts. “Carlyle places Briephs’ time of death at sometime Friday afternoon—not long after he left the Herald offices. He passed through the yacht club gate twenty minutes after he left downtown. Obviously he went straight home.”
“Not quite straight home. He made a detour to the bus station, where he pulled two hundred bucks out of a cash machine.” Rosco handed Lever the bank statement on Briephs’ account.
“Where did you get this?”
“A certain lady seems to have taken a shine to me.”
Lever studied the paper for a moment. “The two hundred wasn’t there when we found the body. There was only a twenty-dollar bill in the house. Sitting near the silver tray on the bureau. Right out in the open—along with his Rolex. That’s why we ruled out robbery so quick. The killer didn’t bother to look for the stuff.”
“Makes sense … Here, look at these.” Rosco handed Lever two more bank statements. “He’d been pulling a couple of hundred dollars out of that same machine on a regular basis. My guess is he was using the money on the spot. Either he was seeing a hooker, or we’re looking at some form of small-time blackmail. I go with blackmail.” He handed the lieutenant Briephs’ money market balance sheet and pointed to the places he’d marked with Belle’s red pen. “Look at these cash withdrawals. Eleven hundred three weeks ago, five hundred before that. Go back four months … There’s one for three grand. Erratic, to say the least.”
“Not to mention the bus station withdrawals. Why two bills? Why there?”
“Right. There aren’t any professionals working the bus station now. Besides, if Briephs made it to the yacht club in twenty minutes, he wouldn’t have had any time for hanky-panky elsewhere.”
Lever scratched the back of his head and tossed the bank statements onto his desk. “Thanks, Rosco, I appreciate your help … I think. Okay, here’s what I have: Pay attention, it gets seamy. Housemann couldn’t have killed Briephs, because he was off for a little love in the afternoon’ with Shannon McArthur. My sources are tight on that, so it clears them both.”
“Bartholomew Kerr?”
“He didn’t leave the Herald offices until seven-thirty Friday night, then went straight to the Ludlow Gallery for an ‘installation’-artist’s opening—some guy who ‘refocuses televisions while wearing only boxer shorts’—as an audience watches, natch. Don’t ask. Anyway, Kerr took Housemann’s secretary with him. They spent the night together. One big happy family over at the Herald.”
Rosco folded his arms over his chest, leaned back in the chair and placed his feet on the corner of Lever’s desk. The lieutenant put his feet on the opposite corner. They sat quietly for a minute. Then Lever said, “Your blackmail theory is nice, Rosco, but it’s only a sideshow. Briephs obviously made his two-bill drop and went home. If anything, it only clears the blackmailer of murder. Why kill the goose that lays the golden egg? No, I’m pointing the finger at Betsey Housemann. I think Briephs dumped her and she went to the island for revenge. It’s as simple as that.”
“You’ll never prove it, Al.” Rosco stood and collected Briephs’ bank records into a neat pile. “I told Mrs. Briephs I’d return these, but after giving them the once-over I think you should hang onto them. She’ll understand. She wants this solved as much as we do.” He crossed to Lever’s door. “Oh, one other thing, Al.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you know any feds over at customs?”
“A few. What’s up?”
“A guy by the name of Garet Kaine Burke. Could they check with the passport boys and see if he’s still in Egypt? Or if he’s reentered the States?”
Lever’s loud laugh quickly worked its way into another coughing fit. It ended with, “Rosco, you’re a dog, you know that?”
“Yeah, well, you can’t be too careful with these things.” As he spoke, Rosco found himself mentally counting the number of letters in Garet’s name. “I’ll keep you posted if I find anything else.”
About three minutes after Rosco left, a police sergeant entered the same door without knocking. “Oh, sorry, Lieutenant, I didn’t see you come back from the briefing room.” He handed Lever a pink message slip. “This came in fifteen minutes ago. JaneAlice Miller has regained consciousness.”