Life's a Beach Then You Die Read online

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Last night, I had no reason to set an alarm for this morning, so I got up when I felt like it. I found waking up when I wanted instead of when I had to much more agreeable. If not for two, possibly three murders if you counted Zorky, one attempt on Corky’s life, Torres’ accusations, the break-ins, thefts, Mariel’s departure, getting knocked to the ground and the proliferation of surveillance, I’d have been in a good mood. Unfortunately, due to these things, I was not. I wanted this thing put to rest.

  I sat up in bed and put on my glasses. The blank display on the cable TV box made me wonder if there had been a power outage. I looked at the clock radio in time to see 8:00 am change to 8:01 so there had to another reason the box wasn’t on. It took a moment before I remembered yesterday’s bug sweep. I had forgotten to plug the box back in. Then, I realized it had really been the day before yesterday that I found the camera and searched for bugs. I hadn’t even had time to watch the bedroom TV for two days. Mariel had been away even longer. This thing was taking too long. It had to end soon. I got out of bed with a renewed sense of purpose, plugged in the cable box and went into the shower.

  Clean and dry, I dressed and went to the kitchen for breakfast. I wasn’t feeling like cooking, so I poured some cereal and skim milk in a bowl, some orange juice in a glass and some coffee in a cup. Following up the cereal with a banana, I sat in the U shaped breakfast nook that lined the walls under the kitchen windows. Finishing my coffee, I looked around the nook. It provided seating for eight but I was sitting all alone. I looked out the window. Even the street was empty.

  Mariel had always wanted a restaurant style booth like this in her kitchen. When we were dating, my aunt had one. Whenever Mariel and I visited her and sat in it, Mariel loved everyone to “Squish in”. In each new home we had, we planned to get one but never did until we retired and moved here. Sitting here now, by myself, just made me miss her more.

  A ringing phone interrupted my thoughts. It was Ed. I recognized the incoming number as his cell phone. That was good as long as he wasn’t using it while in his office. We still hadn’t removed the bug.

  “Hi, Ed. Where are you?”

  “I’m sitting here enjoying a cup of coffee and watching the sailboats from the deck at our favorite bar.”

  “Sounds nice. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got the thing you wanted to see. I’ll bring it by when I come over to pick you up.”

  It took me a minute to realize he must have been talking about the bike mirror I asked for last night. “Pick me up?”

  “Yes, this morning, I got a call from an investigator at the Medical Examiner’s Office. She wanted Kathleen to come in and answer some questions about Ray. I told her she was unavailable grieving with family out of state. The investigator said she was sympathetic but she didn’t seem too happy, so I told her I’d be willing to come in and talk instead. She seemed even less pleased about that, but I guess there’s something that she needs to know because she agreed. I want you to come with me.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Just look and listen. If I learn something useful from talking to them, I don’t trust myself to be able to repeat it for you.”

  “Sure, when?”

  “Now. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

  I rushed to clean up from breakfast so I’d have enough time to brush my teeth before Ed arrived. I hated going through the day with coffee breath. I was almost done and I was wiping my hands and face when my doorbell rang. I had timed it just right.

  I opened the door and Ed stood there with his briefcase in one hand and a big, misshapen manila envelope in the other. We went inside to my office and Ed handed me the envelope. I cleared a spot on my desk and poured out the contents. The “bike mirror” tumbled out. We stared at it for a moment, and I realized for the first time how much misery it caused. I used a latex glove from my gear bag to pick it up.

  This device was not what it appeared to be. In the spot where the mirror would go, there wasn’t one. Instead, there was a shiny, glasslike surface. On the left side of the frame was a button. On the bottom was a small hole like the ones you see in laptop computers for built-in microphones. In addition, the back had a rectangle of grooves. They seemed to delineate a cover, like one that might hide a battery or other access compartment.

  I pressed the button on the side of the frame and nothing happened. I pressed it again but this time, I held it in for a few moments. The glasslike surface flashed and I realized I was watching was some kind of miniature video display screen. I had never seen one so small. After a few letters and numbers flashed on and off the screen, so did the A.V. Design logo. Then I saw something familiar. It was a Bluetooth set up menu. I had one just like it on my cell phone. The display listed voice activated options for pairing with other Bluetooth equipment. A computerized voice said, “Ready to pair devices. Please select from the menu by saying the item number.”

  People could clip this thing to their eyeglasses, control their computers by speaking to them and they could see the computer display on the miniature screen. Wireless computers could be shrunk to wallet size and left in a users coat pocket or briefcase. I think we found what Ray was dropping off. I think we found what he had stolen.

  It looked like the only thing I could accomplish so far was to get Ray deeper into trouble. I looked at Ed looking at the device.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It looks like a bike mirror, but it’s not. It’s a miniaturized replacement for a computer screen and keyboard. Beyond state of the art, nothing like this on the market. I’m guessing this is a prototype, Ray stole it and died delivering it to PC Gadgets. I’m sorry, Ed, everything I find makes your client look worse.”

  Ed didn’t seem as upset as I thought he would be. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.” He looked at his watch. “We’ve got to leave now for the M. E.’s office, but I’m going to talk to the D. A. again. He backed off Ray when we gave him Horton. I couldn’t see him trying to convict a corpse then and I can’t see him trying it now. As long as he has Horton, we should be ok. This mirror thing is just another part of that case.”

  “Oh, Ed?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Horton’s dead.”

  “What? When? What happened?”

  “Someone tied him up and force fed him peanuts. Then they sat and waited for him to die. Torres picked me up last night to talk about it.”

  “Torres picked you up? Is he going to charge you?”

  “No, I don’t think so, or I wouldn’t be here now.”

  “If he wants to question you, call me. I’ve done many criminal cases in my time. You shouldn’t answer any questions without an attorney.”

  “OK, thanks.”

  “Besides, maybe I can earn some of my money back.” Ed was quiet for a moment and then, “I don’t know how Horton’s death’s going to affect our deal. It might not. On the other hand, if the D. A.’s having second thoughts, maybe I can strengthen the deal if we’ve got something new to offer him. This mirror should do that. We’d better go now.”

  I handed him back the envelope minus the bike mirror and he put it in his briefcase. I got out my own briefcase and placed the bike mirror inside. “OK. I’m ready.”

  Ed turned to leave. I locked the house and followed him outside.

  When we got to the driveway, Ed opened the door to his Mercedes and said. “Get in. I’ll drive.”

  I got into the car and asked. “Where’re we going?”

  “The M.E.s office. I thought you knew that.”

  “No, I know that. I mean where is it?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s in Daytona Beach. You know the boulevard on which the International Speedway is located?”

  “You mean International Speedway Boulevard?”

  “Yes. That’s it. Well after we get off I95, instead of driving east towards the Speedway and the beach, we drive west to the Medical Examiners’ Office. It should be about a
35 minute drive.”

  We drove mostly in silence. I don’t know what was on Ed’s mind but he seemed content to stare out the window and drive. Me, I was thinking of how tired I was getting of this nonsense. I took a simple job and now my wife can’t even come home. Thirty-five minutes later, Ed and I were standing at a grey metal reception desk in the building lobby. Ed looked down at the young woman sitting behind the desk. “Hi, I’m Ed McCarthy. I have an appointment with Linda Davis.”

  She looked at him for a moment or two as if she were trying to decide if she should believe him. Then she looked down at some papers on her desk in front of her. “You’re meeting who?”

  “Linda Davis. She’s a Forensic Investigator with the M.E.’s office.”

  She quickly looked back up him. “I know who she is, sir. Please have a seat.” She glared at us and then at a single row of uncomfortable looking chairs lined up along the wall facing her. Ed and I quietly accepted our exile to the island of chairs. I felt like I was in school or more accurately, as if I were waiting in the Principal’s office. While I was wondering if the receptionist’s apparent displeasure with Ed was going to prolong our wait, a woman appeared.

  I guessed she was about thirty-five and five feet seven. She was slim, had light brown shoulder length hair, and wore a light grey, two-piece suit. The skirt was just at knee level and fit so she would have no difficulty bending in it. The jacket was unbuttoned, revealing a white blouse. The blouse fit her loosely and covered her up to her throat. She carried a briefcase and asked the chairs, “Mr. McCarthy?”

  Ed and I stood. The woman approached and reached out her hand. “Hi, I’m Linda Davis, an investigator with the M.E.’s office. Thank you for coming.”

  Ed shook her hand, nodded in my direction and said, “This is Max Fried. He’s an investigator with me.”

  She raised an eyebrow, shook my hand too and said, “Oh, really. What type of investigator?”

  “Private. I’m consulting with Mr. McCarthy regarding the estate.” I thought about showing her my ID but I figured she probably wouldn’t be impressed either.

  “Do you have some type of ID?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I pulled out my state issued private investigator’s license and handed it to her.

  “Very interesting, I think if I ever got tired of working here, I might go private. How do you like it?”

  “I’d rather be on the beach.”

  “Yes, me too” she smiled, “This way please.”

  We followed her past the reception desk down one short hall and then left to a longer one. We passed a different office door about every ten feet. When we got to the last door on the left, Investigator Davis held it open for Ed and me to enter. The room was windowless, small and had a capacity of no more than five or six people.

  A heavy grey metal desk dominated the center of the room. Ed and I sat on one side, facing the door. Investigator Davis sat opposite us. Her back to the door and the desk between us, she put her briefcase on the floor beside her.

  I admired the layout. If an interview became contentious, the interviewer had a fast and easy escape route. The desktop was clear of any staplers, telephones or other heavy objects. This positioning told me they were more concerned about threats from inside the room than from outside.

  She bent down and pulled a voice recorder from her briefcase. “Our procedure requires recording interviews for the official record. Just give me a minute to verify this thing is working.”

  I saw Ed frown as she pressed a button and said “Testing, testing.” She pressed another button and then another and then we heard “Testing, testing.”

  “OK, let’s begin,” she said pressing a button on the recorder and placing it on the table in front of Ed.

  “This is Investigator Linda Davis from the Volusia County Medical Examiner’s office. Today is Thursday, December 18, 2008 and it’s 9:15 am. With me is Mr. Edward McCarthy, attorney for the deceased Ray Kenwood and Mr. Breed, a private investigator working for Mr. McCarthy. Mr. McCarthy. Please state your name for the record.”

  “I’m Edward McCarthy, attorney for the deceased, Ray Kenwood.”

  “Mr. McCarthy,” she began, “the M. E.’s office has some questions about Mr. Kenwood’s habits. We were hoping to speak with Mrs. Kenwood about them, but you tell us she’s unavailable. Is that correct?”

  Ed put his right hand on the table in front of him, leaned back, tilted his head, looked Linda Davis in the eye and asked, “Correct that you have some questions? Correct that you were hoping to speak with Mrs. Kenwood? Correct that she’s unavailable or correct that I told you she was unavailable?”

  Apparently flustered, she held up her hands, “I’m sorry. I’ve only had one cup of coffee today. Let’s try again. Where is Mrs. Kenwood today?”

  Ed relaxed his posture and leaned forward towards the recorder. “She is out of state with relatives grieving her husband’s death.”

  “Did you personally know Ray Kenwood?”

  “Yes.”

  While Ed was speaking, Davis was making notes on a yellow pad on the desk in front of her. “Please describe your relationship.” She looked up from her pad.

  “I am, I mean I was his attorney.”

  “Did you two have a relationship outside of the attorney client relationship?” She went back to writing on her pad.

  “We were also friends. We used to get together on one of our boats and fish.”

  When Ed mentioned boating, Davis stopped writing and looked up. I thought I saw a glimmer of a reaction in her face.

  She leaned forward on her forearms, clasping both hands and placing them on the desk in front of her. “Did you know of any medications the deceased may have used on a regular basis?”

  “Rolaids. That’s about it.”

  “How often did you go boating together?” I got the impression her questions were laying a foundation and building towards something.

  Ed frowned for a second and opened his fingers. I took this as an indication he was approximating his answer. “During the warmer months, every few weeks. When it was cooler, maybe once a month if the weather was good.”

  “When do you last go?”

  “About a month and a half. We had a good day in late October.”

  “Did you ever know him to take sea sickness medication?” Something, maybe it was her tone of voice, told me she had finished building.

  “No, why?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. McCarthy. The purpose of this interview is for the M. E. to obtain information that may help to make a finding. I can’t answer questions.”

  “Then this interview is over.” He started to get up.

  “No, wait, please. I’m pausing the record now to discuss procedural matters with Mr. McCarthy.” She pressed a button on the recorder. Ed sat back down.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked, “What’s with the question about sea sickness medicine?”

  “Well, Mr. McCarthy. Please understand all we want to do here is to be accurate in determining the cause of death. That means if something stands out as odd, we need to be able to explain it.”

  “So, what’s that got to do with sea sickness?”

  “After additional test results came back this morning, we found evidence of elevated scopolamine levels in the deceased’s system. One explanation could be he used a seasickness medication. Scopolamine is a common ingredient.”

  With his hands gripping the arms of his chair and his elbows raised in the air, Ed sat there looking as if he were deciding between standing up again and remaining seated. He sat there silently for a moment looking down at the floor. Then he released his grip on the chair arms, put his elbows down, and nodded. “OK, you can start the tape again.”

  She pressed a button. “Back on the record. During the break, I provided a procedural explanation to Mr. McCarthy. Mr. McCarthy, is that accurate?

  “Yes”

  “Did you ever know him to take sea sickness medication?”

  “No.”
r />   Davis sat there for a moment, put down her pen and reached for the recorder. “OK Mr. McCarthy. Thank you for your time. The record is closed.” She turned off the recorder and placed it in her briefcase. “OK, that’s it.” She rose from her chair, opened the door and stepped into the hall. “This way, please.”

  Ed remained seated. “Just a minute. I answered your question. Now, I want you to answer mine. I represent the estate of the deceased and you can tell me now what’s going on or you can wait until I get a subpoena.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “You said Ray had high levels of scopasomething. How high?”

  “Scopolamine. High enough to kill him.”

  “My God.”

  “We needed to know if he was self-medicating. If so, there was a chance he took too much by accident… or on purpose.”

  Ed sat there quietly as if hearing this was more than he could bear. After a while, I touched his shoulder and said, “C’mon, Ed. Let’s go.”

  As Ms. Davis escorted us down the hall to the door, Ed asked, “Any idea when the final report will be issued?”

  “As soon as we have enough information. Do we have your address in the file?”

  “I believe so, but just in case…” Ed handed her one of his business cards. She gave him one of hers.

  “We’ll be in touch when we have something to say.” She shook our hands, “Thank you for coming in.”

  Ed and I walked silently to his car. Once we got inside, he turned to me and asked, “Scopawhat?”

  “Scopolamine. Looks like they found a lot more of it than they should have. I don’t know what it is either, but I’m going to find out. Drop me at my place and how about we meet later for lunch at Bobbi and Jack’s.”

  “OK.”

  “You know, Ed. I didn’t realize you and Ray were that close.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Ray was apparently into some shady dealings. He had unknown sources of income, a criminal record and he was stealing from his employer. I mean, you went boating together on a regular basis. You knew what kind of medications he did and didn’t take. Do you mean to tell me you didn’t know what was really going on with him?”

  “I don’t like the sound of that. I thought Ray and his wife had family money. I didn’t handle his taxes or his finances. I met him when he wanted a will. We both boat and fish and what ever else he was, he could tell a good joke and he knew how to sail. Look, if I knew something was wrong here, I certainly wouldn’t have brought in a private investigator. Especially one as nosy and suspicious as you.”

  What Ed said made sense to me. “Then I’ll take that comment about being nosy as a compliment.”

  “You do that.” He stared straight ahead and drove on in silence.