Get Busy Dying (Roy Ballard Mysteries) Page 15

  “None of your damn business,” Gillespie said.

  This conversation was not going the way I wanted it to. And by now, I had a sense that Gillespie was all bluster. He wasn’t a hard-ass, even if he wanted to come across like one.

  So I stood up. Slowly, but I stood.

  Gillespie pointed his gun again. “You sit back down until I decide if you’re tellin’ the truth.”

  “I prefer to stand.”

  “God dammit, I said—”

  “Jerry,” I said, raising my voice, “you are on the verge of obstructing a fraud investigation. That’s a class-A felony punishable by up to ten years in the penitentiary and a fifty thousand dollar fine. Did you know that?”

  “But you trespassed!” he said. He’d already lost some of his bravado.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said, lying. “You know how a game warden can come onto your place anytime he wants? Same thing applies here. I can go anywhere in pursuit of a suspected criminal. Same as a game warden. Same as a bounty hunter. That’s the law. So you’d best back the fuck off and answer my questions before I lose my patience. And you’d better put that Beretta away before you get into some serious trouble.”

  He stared at me petulantly for about five solid seconds. Then he lowered the gun and slipped it into a holster on his hip.

  I immediately said, “You live out here or not?”

  “I live in Blanco, but I been staying here at the house for about six weeks.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Wife kicked me out,” he said. “But she’s coming around.”

  “When was the last time you saw Boz?” I asked.

  Gillespie shrugged. “Maybe two months. Not like I keep track.”

  That would’ve been shortly before Gentry’s alleged accident.

  “Out here?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  Gillespie was going to answer my questions, all right—with as little information as possible. Probably didn’t matter, because I doubted he had anything of value to tell me.

  “Was he hunting?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then what was he doing?”

  “Mr. Albeck and his buddies just hang out here sometimes.”

  “And do what?”

  “Drink beer, shoot guns. Ride motorcycles.”

  “You hang out with them?” I asked.

  “Only when I’m helping ’em gut a deer or cleaning up after ’em.”

  There was some resentment in his voice.

  “They treat you like the help, huh?”

  “Boz does. That’s what I am. I just do my job. Mr. Albeck treats me okay. So do the rest of his friends.”

  It was plain that Gillespie wasn’t fond of Boz Gentry. I was hoping that would work to my advantage.

  “You ever hear any interesting conversations between Boz and Mr. Albeck?”

  “Like what?” Gillespie said.

  “Anything that might’ve had to do with insurance fraud. Something that might’ve sounded odd when you heard it might make sense now.”

  “Why the fuck should I tell you?”

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll tell the sheriff you might have information on this case. He’ll be up your ass like a first-year proctologist.”

  He was shaking his head, unhappy that some trespasser was bossing him around. “I don’t remember nothing. You saying Mr. Albeck was involved?”

  “Not necessarily. I don’t know who was involved, or what exactly they were involved in.”

  He smirked and tried to regain some of his self-respect. “You don’t know much, do you?”

  “Not as much as I’d like. And, unfortunately, it looks like this conversation is another waste of time. Boz was probably too smart to discuss anything important in front of you, since you’re just the manager.”

  It was a blatant attempt to push Gillespie’s buttons. Reverse psychology in its most obvious form. If Gillespie didn’t like Boz, this would be his chance to get back at him.

  “I do know something,” Gillespie said. “More than you know, that’s for sure.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “Don’t have nothing to do with fraud,” he said. “It’s good, though.”

  “Yeah?”

  I waited. He made a face, like he was weighing whether to spill the beans.

  Then he said, “One night during deer season, back in December or January, all of ’em got to drinking around the fire, and Boz said something snotty about Mr. Albeck’s girlfriend. The gal he was dating then was a Hooters waitress, and Boz said something about her screwing her customers for tips. You know how you say something like you’re just joking? That’s what Boz did, but Mr. Albeck fired right back, saying, well, it was better than having a wife who ran around on him—and everybody knew he was talking about Boz’s wife.”

  I had to wonder about Mia’s theory that Erin Gentry was having an affair with Alex Albeck, hence her late-night trip to his house the previous Thursday. Had Boz discovered that his wife and his best friend were sleeping together? Had the two lifelong friends managed to work past it? A long shot, but possible. If Albeck was anything like Boz, it wasn’t a stretch that the two buddies might’ve valued their friendship more than they valued the women in their lives.

  “Any idea who Mr. Albeck was referring to?” I asked.

  “Don’t know,” Gillespie said. “They both shut up after that, and nobody had the balls to ask any questions. Oh, wait. Mr. Albeck did say one other thing, and it made me think Boz’s wife was seeing some dude from East Texas.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  “Because Mr. Albeck said something like, ‘Don’t make me tell ’em about Tyler.’”

  28

  “What if he really was talking about Tyler, Texas?” Mia asked forty-five minutes later. “Wouldn’t that be a coincidence?”

  I was back in the van again. Gillespie hadn’t had anything else to offer beyond that one fantastic little tidbit. So—after I’d made him retrieve my gun from the creek—I’d hiked out to the road, calling Mia along the way. She had not seen any of my interaction with Gillespie. The Skype call had cut out before I’d gotten halfway down the draw.

  “Had to be Tyler Lutz,” I said. “Erin Gentry was having an affair with Tyler Lutz. The name ‘Tyler’ would’ve been obvious to everyone there except Jerry Gillespie, because he wasn’t from Dripping Springs like the rest of them. He obviously thought Albeck was talking about the city. Think of the possibilities—especially if Boz knew about the affair. Talk about a motive for murder.”

  “But why now?” Mia asked. “If Boz killed Lutz because of an affair, why now? Why not when he found out about it?”

  “Maybe he knew he’d be an obvious suspect if he killed Lutz immediately after learning about it. But if he waited a few months...”

  “Interesting,” Mia said, “but I’m not sure how any of this ties in to the fraud scheme.”

  We were almost to the little community of Henly.

  “Could’ve been a love triangle,” I said. “Boz finds out, decides to leave Erin, and figures, hey, why not screw Tyler out of three million, then kill him?”

  “Yeah, but the money would go to Erin. How would Boz get his hands on it when he’s supposed to be dead? I doubt Erin would just hand it over. Besides, it’s not Tyler’s money.”

  I thought about it, then said, “Would you stop that?”

  “Stop what?”

  “Discrediting my theories with reality.”

  “Get better theories.”

  She turned right on Highway 290.

  “You know, if there were any doubt as to whether the body in the vehicle might be Boz Gentry, this would be a lot easier,” she said.

  “Yep. Then we could figure Tyler and Erin killed him for the insurance,” I said. “Happens all the time.”

  “But if we’re assuming Boz is alive, what if all three of them were working together?”

  A Chevy truck zoomed past with a dog in the bed, on top of a mount
ed tool box. One small swerve and that dog would be on the highway. Made me want to pull the guy over and do cruel things to him with a pair of pliers.

  “Walk me through it,” I said.

  “Okay. We’re assuming Boz was angry about the affair, but what if he wasn’t? What if he and Erin had grown apart? So Erin starts sleeping with Tyler, and it’s obvious she and Boz are headed toward a divorce. Boz doesn’t really care, and maybe he thinks, ‘Hey, if we’re going to end this, why not get rich in the process?’ And since the guy Erin is cheating with is an insurance agent, who better to make sure they avoid the obvious pitfalls?”

  I pondered it. “Maybe Tyler fell in love with Erin and started to fantasize about killing Boz. Then Tyler could marry Erin, and the cherry on top is that she’d be rich. But Tyler doesn’t have the guts to go through with it, so he decides it would be easier and less risky to include Boz in the scheme.”

  “Could be,” Mia said. “Either way, they all three end up working together.”

  “But why does Erin necessarily have to be involved?” I said. “Boz and Tyler could have brewed this scheme up without her.”

  “That’s true. I could see that. How does Shelley fit in? And what about Candice? Why did she go out to Albeck’s ranch on Saturday afternoon?”

  “No idea,” I said. “But rather than simply wondering what the answers are, you know what we’re going to do?”

  “What?”

  “We’re going to go over to Erin’s house and ask her.”

  According to the GPS tracker on her car, Erin had not gone anywhere all day, so we took Bee Caves Road to Riverhills and turned left. As we got closer, I felt an undeniable sense of relief that we were about to confront this case head-on. Yes, I had questioned Erin Gentry four days earlier, but now we were going to interrogate her. Big difference. And we knew some things—or suspected some things—that might make her more willing to talk. If she knew anything. And if she cooperated. She didn’t have to answer our questions. She could tell us to go to hell, and she was spunky enough to do just that.

  Regardless, I had the feeling this case was either about to open wide, or we would reach a dead end that would force us to give up. That happened sometimes. Not every subject we were hired to watch was actually committing fraud. And, obviously, based purely on the odds, some committed fraud and we simply couldn’t catch them.

  Mia turned into the Gentrys’ driveway, parked behind Erin’s car, and we both climbed out of the van. I was wearing my ball cap with the covert video camera, just in case. Who knew what Erin might say, then later deny saying? For that matter, who knew who might answer the door? I could just imagine Boz Gentry opening the door, then slamming it shut again before we could even react.

  But, no, it was answered by Erin, who was wearing blue shorts and, just like last week, a bikini top, this one with a floral print. Still no shoes. Her hair was damp. The dog, Blackie, was already barking from the backyard.

  “You didn’t peek out the curtains this time and your deadbolt wasn’t locked,” I said before she spoke, trying to set her off balance from the start.

  “And didn’t you hear the sound of somebody else in the house last time?” Mia asked me.

  “Pretty sure I did. Erin, this is my partner Mia.”

  Mia said, “How you doing, Erin?”

  Erin eyeballed Mia without a lot of warmth, then looked at me again. She was still holding the edge of the door with one hand, as if she might close it at any second. “What do y’all want? I still haven’t got my money, and I guess you heard Tyler is dead. I figure that’ll gum up the works for awhile.”

  “Your empathy is heartwarming,” I said.

  “I don’t know about that,” she said, “but I’m tired of waiting.”

  I let out a long sigh, as if I’d been working hard and finally reached a point where I could take a much-needed rest. “This has been a tough case, Erin. No doubt about it. But we’ve just about got it licked. Only question at this point is how many people are gonna get in trouble—how many are gonna go to jail. We’ll do our best to help everyone involved, if they come clean. We’ll talk to our client and see if they’ll go easy—maybe not press charges if there are extenuating circumstances. They usually listen when we vouch for someone. That’s why we’re here—to see which way you want to go on this.”

  If she was even the slightest bit rattled, she didn’t show it. She flicked her chin toward Mia. “Can I assume she’s the brains of your outfit, ’cause you ain’t makin’ no sense at all. Maybe you drove to the wrong house?”

  “She’s the beauty and the brains,” I said.

  “I can see that,” she said, then shifted gears. “I thought you was trying to help me collect the money. That’s what you said last week—that the insurance company wanted you to look for Boz, and if you couldn’t find him, they might finally pay up. But now here you are inferring that I had something to do with it. Or am I nuts?”

  “Let’s just say we’ve assembled a collection of facts that lead us to that conclusion,” I said.

  “What facts?” Erin said. “Blackie! Hush!”

  The dog went silent.

  “Let’s start with an easy one,” Mia said. “Your aunt, Shelley Milligan, works at the dentist’s office where Boz’s records went missing.”

  “So what?”

  “I promised Shelley I’d keep this to myself,” I said, “but since you and her are kin, I’ll let you in on a secret. She admitted she stole those records. She said somebody threatened her and she had no choice. But come on. It’s pretty obvious what happened.”

  “You’re doing your best to look shocked,” Mia said.

  “I am shocked, goddammit,” Erin said. “You’re saying she had something to do with this scheme Boz supposedly came up with?”

  “We are,” I said.

  “She took Boz’s dental records? She told you that?”

  “She did.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Erin said.

  “Call her.”

  “I will,” she said. “Soon as you go away.”

  “When you do, ask her why she was over at Alex Albeck’s house this morning.”

  Her face was blank for a second. Then she smirked.

  “You people are ridiculous. You’re as bad as the cops. You think you’re really smart, but all you’ve got is a bunch of bullshit.”

  She knew something we didn’t. Something that would make us look incompetent. I hate when that happens.

  “What are we missing?” I said.

  “My aunt is off on Mondays. She cleans Alex’s house for him. She’s been doing that for several years.”

  Oops.

  She laughed at my expression. It was starting to remind me of my encounter with Jerry Gillespie. That was the drawback to asking questions and not knowing the answers beforehand.

  “She wasn’t cleaning,” Mia said. “She was lounging around the pool.”

  “So what?” Erin said. “Alex don’t care what she does as long as she gets the place clean. Sometimes she spends the whole day over there. Wouldn’t you if you lived in a double-wide?”

  Once again, it appeared we were chasing dead ends. I doubted Erin would talk much longer, and she definitely wouldn’t answer the door if we ever showed up again, so it was time to place everything on the table.

  “Speaking of Alex,” I said, “there was a point when we thought the two of you were sleeping together.”

  “God, you’re an idiot,” Erin said, appearing genuinely amused. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because you went over to his house late on Thursday night,” I said.

  Her laughter evaporated. “Have you been following me, asshole?”

  “I have, yes,” I said.

  “So you said you were gonna help me, but really you’re a liar and a scumbag.”

  “And some people say those are my finer points.”

  “Including me,” Mia said.

  “I am done with you people,” Erin said, pointing
a finger. “You stop following me. And get off my place right now. You’re trespassing.”

  She began to swing the door closed.

  “The affair was between you and Tyler Lutz,” I said.

  The door stopped moving.

  29

  The fact that she didn’t close the door told me what I needed to know. We had already implied heavy-handedly that she was involved in Boz’s scheme, and she’d denied it. So why now would she be hesitant to end the conversation? If she hadn’t been sleeping with Tyler, wouldn’t she have viewed my last remark as just another outrageous and unfounded accusation? But instead of following through and closing the door, she opened it up again.

  Because she wanted to see what we knew.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” she said. “I was banging Tyler.”

  That was easy.

  Then she said, “I was also banging Alex. Hey, and don’t forget my Aunt Shelley. We had this crazy lesbian incest thing going on. Oh, and Dr. Wilkins, too. That man is hung like a mule.”

  “You’re cute when you’re being sarcastic,” I said.

  “Well, shit, what would you do in my position? Everybody seems to think I was involved with this stupid con game, so what’s one more dirty little deed? I wasn’t cheating on Boz, but if you want to think I was, go right ahead. Don’t make no difference to me.”

  I wasn’t swayed. We had no hard evidence that Erin and Lutz had been sleeping together—but her sarcasm, followed by the old “You can believe whatever you want” attitude—were classic signs that we were hitting close to home. But could I get her to admit it?

  I said, “Erin, seriously, I want you to think about something. It’s all but a given that Boz faked his death. And now he’s a suspect in Tyler’s death. Did you know that?”

  “I seen that on the news.”

  “He can’t stay hidden forever, and that means there is eventually going to be a trial. Maybe two trials. So don’t fool yourself into thinking this will all just go away. If you were involved, I guarantee that when Boz is caught, he’ll flip on you in a heartbeat.”

  “Happens all the time,” Mia said. “Hell, even if you weren’t involved, he might try to say that you were. And not just in the fraud, but in Tyler’s murder, too.”