Court Trouble Page 9

  He threw the magazine down and looked up at the abstract art blobs on the wall of the clinic, thinking of growing cancer cells, until a nurse led him into an examination room. Then he stared at a scalpel on the table until Dr. Gallagher finally arrived, dashing in with a manila folder in his hand. He sat down at a laptop computer and tapped away at the keyboard before looking up at Mark over the top of his reading glasses.

  “How have you been feeling?”

  “As well as can be expected. I hope you cut out all the cancer.”

  “The radical prostatectomy removed all the cancerous tissue.” Dr. Gallagher looked at the screen of the laptop. “I see you suffered no incontinence right after surgery. Has this still been the case?”

  “Yes, I’ve been able to hold my water.” Mark thought back to the weakness he had experienced during the three months of recuperation. “Doctor, do you think the cancer has been eliminated?”

  “To answer that I’m going to have you come back tomorrow morning for a blood test before you’ve eaten anything. Go right to the lab on the first floor. They open at seven o’clock.” He scribbled instructions on a pad, tore off the sheet and handed it to Mark. “I’ll have the results back within two weeks.”

  “What do you expect the tests to show?”

  “Any indications that the cancer has spread. It’s something we’ll have to check every six months. And you need to pay attention to your diet.”

  “I know. I used to eat too many cheeseburgers. Much like my dad and uncle who also suffered from prostate cancer.”

  “With your family history and previous diet, we’ll have to keep a close watch.”

  “What about my side effect,” Mark asked as his cheeks flushed.

  “As I told you before, it may take time. Nothing indicates a permanent loss of erectile function. Often trauma from the surgery takes months to heal. I’ve seen function return as long as two years after surgery. We’ll have to wait and see.”

  It had been four months since the surgery. Would he be able to have a normal sexual relationship with Sophie again? Their lovemaking remained in limbo, and he had seen no hopeful signs yet.

  Mark left the office with mixed feelings. He appreciated that everything looked good so far. Still, he had two weeks to wait for the results of a blood test that might show further signs of cancer. He needed to stay focused and keep a positive attitude.

  That afternoon Mark made plans to check out the final suspect, Howard Roscoe. He had no indirect links to try so he went for the direct approach by calling Roscoe.

  “I’d like to talk to you about handguns, and your Denver office gave me this number.”

  “Sure, why don’t we meet tomorrow morning? If you want to come to my place, I can show you the complete line. Also, if you’re interested, I own quite a collection of antique weapons.”

  Mark agreed to be at Roscoe’s house at nine the next morning.

  That evening Mark made the trek to the courts for the regular Thursday evening game, arriving at nearly the same time as Ben and Woody. The three of them had a good ten-minute warm-up of hitting ground strokes and volleys before Shelby sauntered up the path.

  “What kept you, professor?” Ben asked.

  “I’m still not used to being off daylight savings time,” Shelby answered, rubbing his beard.

  “If that’s the case then you should be an hour early, since we set the clocks back, not forward,” Woody said.

  Shelby looked blank.

  “Don’t confuse him with facts.” Ben stuck his paddle under his arm and rubbed his hands together. “Let’s start. I’m ready to whip some butt tonight.”

  Mark teamed up with Woody for the first set. While at net and receiving lobs, he practiced returning a soft, deep, arching shot. This worked until he hit one that was too much of a puff, and Shelby rushed in to hit it in the air, driving the ball between Mark and Woody.

  Mark pulled Woody aside after losing that point. “Let me know if he runs in like that again.”

  “I’ll shout ‘coming in,’ ” Woody replied.

  Two games later, Mark received a high lob and prepared to hit the arched shot.

  “Coming in,” Woody shouted.

  Mark adjusted his return and hit an angled shot into Shelby’s alley.

  With a thundering charge, Shelby continued toward the net as the ball whizzed by him for a winner.

  “That shows the old goat,” Woody said as he touched paddles with Mark.

  Mark was in a mood to try some new shots, so he placed more spin on some of his serves. Although he made a few more faults than usual, he succeeded in catching Ben unaware with a spin serve that caused Ben to miss-hit the return.

  Then, after a heated rally, one of Shelby’s shots clipped the net and dribbled over. Mark raced to the net and dove for the ball. His outstretched paddle couldn’t reach the ball before it bounced twice as his body skipped along the court. When he picked himself up he noticed a tear in his left glove and the right leg of his sweat suit.

  “A noble effort, but not good enough,” Ben said.

  Mark dusted himself off, checking to see if he’d lost any skin. The glove had taken the brunt of the rough court but he did find a strawberry on his right knee. The slight injury only steeled his resolve, and Mark drove winners on the next two shots.

  Not having heard from Sophie, Mark decided to call her that night when he returned from the game. To begin on a positive note, he said, “Isn’t that something? That daughter of ours getting engaged.”

  “Oh, Mark, I’m so excited for her.”

  “Did you two discuss a wedding date?”

  “She wants to hold the ceremony and reception in Boulder. We thought next June would be a good time.”

  “I’ll have the checkbook ready.” With the uncertainty of his medical situation still on his mind, Mark then changed the subject. “I saw Dr. Gallagher.”

  “What did he have to say?”

  “He thinks I’m recovering well. I have a blood test scheduled in the morning and will have the results back in two weeks.”

  Mark listened to momentary silence on the phone line before Sophie said, “I’ve been thinking of you a lot. I’m convinced that you no longer have any cancer.”

  Mark smiled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I wish I could share your optimism. I feel fine, but I’m still worried. I keep wondering if some of the nasty stuff is still there.”

  “Just stay away from the fatty cheeseburgers.”

  “I’ve been good. I’m living off the stack of Lean Cuisine in our freezer.”

  “Good. By the way, Dawn sends her love and Norm wants to talk to you. Here he is.”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Good to hear your voice, son. Any luck in tracking down more information on Idler Enterprises?”

  “Work continues to be crazy, but I hope to free up some time in the next few days. I haven’t forgotten.”

  “I’m still looking for any clues, so give me a call when you find something.”

  “You bet. Mom wants to talk to you again.”

  Mark heard muffled sounds. Then Sophie’s businesslike voice came on the line. “Mark, I’ve been enjoying my visit with Norm and Dawn, but I’m worried about you. When are you going to wrap up this diversion?”

  “I’m making slow progress. Shelby, Woody and Ben have dropped out.”

  “That shows good judgment on their part. Why don’t you follow their lead?”

  “I’ve considered it, but I still think I can help solve this case.”

  She sighed. “I know how stubborn you can be when you get your teeth into a project. That’s your best and worst trait.”

  “I’ll keep at it for the time being.” Mark paused, remembering the earlier conversation with Sophie. “I have learned that Manny wasn’t the blameless character I thought. Your intuition proved correct.”

  “I won’t say ‘I told you so.’ But I can’t continue to impose on Norm and Dawn forever.”

  “I think it’s
still safest for you to be there. I miss you, but I’d be worrying all the time if you came back here. I’m finding that these suspects are pretty unsavory characters.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel very comfortable regarding your safety.”

  “I’m being careful. I can keep my back covered, but I can’t do it while looking around to see if they might do something to you. Be patient.”

  He heard her sigh again. “I’m learning to be patient.”

  Mark realized how much Sophie had dealt with through his surgery and now this time of being apart. She could have made his life miserable, but she had chosen to give him some space in his tilting at windmills. Maybe he needed to give up this charade of investigation. How much had he really helped? Why not let Detective Peters carry on? No, he had uncovered the materials at Barbara Grimes’s house that the police had overlooked. He would see it out a little longer. Maybe he’d make a breakthrough with Howard Roscoe in the morning. But he had depleted his treasure chest of ideas to pursue. A few more days and he’d take a checkpoint.

  “I’ll try to wrap this up quickly,” he said.

  “You better. With Audrey and Adam coming to visit, I need to return home.”

  “I’ll get cranking.”

  Roscoe lived in the Wonderland Lake residential area. The hillside above his large, ranch-style home still bore black scars from a fire—a number of summers before—that had sent flames shooting into the night sky.

  Mark felt dizzy as he pulled up in front of the house with its well-maintained rock garden. He should have had something to eat after his blood test.

  At the door, Roscoe’s hand shot out like a cobra to grasp Mark’s hand with a firm grip. He ushered Mark into his den, where the wall displayed a variety of firearms. His crisp, dark-blue sports shirt, open at the collar, guarded a late-fifties square jaw beneath a balding head.

  “I’m glad we could meet today,” Roscoe said. “I have to go out of town tomorrow. Here, take a look at some of my weapons.”

  “Quite a collection,” Mark noted, trying to fake enthusiasm since he couldn’t tell a Luger from a Glock.

  “Yup. I’ve collected these since my tour in the Gulf War. Can I offer you coffee, tea or a beer?” Roscoe grinned.

  “No, thanks. How long have you been with Westerfield Weapons?”

  “Three years in February. Great company and excellent products, as you can see.” Howard waved his hand toward the gun collection. “I know my weapons, and Westerfield makes the best.”

  Not wanting to be sucked into a detailed discussion on guns, Mark decided to change the subject. “Where did you work before Westerfield?”

  “Spent five years at Marston Electronics. Another good company. Westerfield recruited me away.”

  Mark smiled. “I met Norborne Marston, the CEO, a few years ago. Good man. Took a struggling family-owned business and grew it into an industry leader.”

  Roscoe’s upper lip twitched.

  Mark detected a bead of sweat on Roscoe’s forehead.

  “Yeah. I sold for Marston. Made good money, but Westerfield made it more lucrative.”

  “Seems like it would be quite a change from electronic surveillance equipment to selling weapons,” Mark said.

  “Not really. Similar types of customers. Local government agencies like sheriffs’ departments and police and then security firms. So tell me what kind of weapons you’re looking for.”

  “I’m starting to familiarize myself with the leading manufacturers and their products. Westerfield’s one of the companies I want to explore further.”

  “So who directed you to me?”

  Mark hesitated a moment. “I understand you did business with a mutual acquaintance, Manny Grimes.”

  Roscoe froze and gave Mark a withering stare.

  “We worked a deal or two. How did you know Manny?”

  Mark took a deep breath. “I’ve played platform tennis with him.”

  Roscoe’s eyes flared. “That’s what it is. I thought you looked familiar. You’re one of the snooping assholes that Ken Idler mentioned. Meeting over. Get the hell out of my house.”

  With that Roscoe grabbed Mark by the shoulder and shoved him toward the front door.

  “Hold it.” Mark brushed Roscoe’s arm away. “I’ll leave on my own. But answer one question: Who do you think killed Manny Grimes?”

  “I think a meteorite hit him on the head. Now move your ass out of here.”

  CHAPTER 16

  As Mark drove away, he slammed his palm against the dashboard. He’d sure blown that one. He had only confirmed that the suspects all exhibited violent behavior and that each of them had a motive. As he came to a stop sign, his scowl turned to a smile. He had uncovered one new piece of information.

  Ken Idler, having learned of the amateur investigation when interviewed by Shelby, had appeared previously as public enemy number one on the list of most likely candidates to have thrown the rock through his living-room window and broken his car window. But since Howard indicated that Ken had talked to the other suspects about Shelby, any of those creeps could have been the source of the intimidation.

  When Mark reached home, he called Marston Electronics in Denver and reached Norborne Marston’s administrative assistant.

  “Just a minute, Mr. Yeager.”

  After a momentary pause, a booming voice came on the line. “Mark Yeager. How the hell are you? You still taking over the networking market?”

  “Actually, I’m semi-retired. Since we last spoke a year ago, I sold my company to Cisco and plan to do some consulting soon.”

  “You’re too young to retire. Can’t see you sitting around on your butt as a consultant.”

  “I had a little bout with cancer that slowed me down for a while.”

  “Sorry to hear that. How’re you doing now?”

  “I’m bouncing back.” Mark took a deep breath. “I’m calling because I ran into someone who used to work for you. A man named Howard Roscoe.”

  “Roscoe, huh?” Norborne’s tone sounded cold. “We let him go. Aggressive salesman, but trouble.”

  “Can you share any particulars?”

  Norborne gave a deep sigh. “Best hear it from my VP of sales, Chip Deever. Why are you asking?”

  Mark braced himself and then decided to be direct since Norborne didn’t like beating around the bush. “Howard Roscoe is a suspect in a murder. I’m checking out his background.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. The guy had a violent temper. I’ll tell Chip to speak openly with you. Give him a call tomorrow.”

  That afternoon Mark pulled into the parking structure on Walnut and walked the block to Reagan Caldwell’s second-floor office.

  A tanned arm poking out of a polo shirt shot out to welcome Mark. “Haven’t seen you at any of the Chamber of Commerce luncheons in the last year.”

  “No. With selling my company and then dealing with prostate cancer, I’ve been inactive.”

  Reagan furled his brow. “Sorry to hear you had cancer.”

  “I’ve recovered,” Mark said, hoping he spoke the truth. “So, let’s discuss Manny.”

  “Since we last talked, there has been one further development. Barbara Grimes called again, said she found his will. I’m executor.”

  “That will simplify things since Barbara doesn’t have a clue on how to proceed.”

  “How much do you know about Manny’s business?” Reagan asked.

  “Not very much. I knew him through platform tennis. When I visited Barbara this last weekend, she let me go through some of the files in his home office.”

  “Manny could be rated as one of my more unusual clients. You couldn’t classify him as a traditional investor. He ran his own business, didn’t have any associates but participated in a diverse range of financial activities.”

  “I understand he had some sort of business relationship with Ken Idler of Idler Enterprises.”

  Reagan frowned. “One of those undocumented transactions I mentioned to you. Manny n
ever showed me any contract that defined the terms and conditions of their agreement.”

  “What I saw hinted at some sort of a consulting relationship.”

  “I never learned a great deal, but it involved significant payments on an irregular basis.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars at a time.”

  Mark whistled. “What could he have done for Idler worth that kind of money?”

  “That’s what I can’t figure out.”

  “And Manny never mentioned any details to you?”

  Reagan shook his head. “I asked him, but he didn’t want to discuss it.”

  If he were a betting man, Mark thought, he’d place his money on blackmail. He’d have to find some specific evidence.

  “I understand Manny also invested in Jacob Fish’s company, Creo Tech,” Mark said.

  “Yes. Manny kept good records on that deal. He received a profit distribution at the end of last year from Creo Tech.”

  “Did you have any indication that Jacob Fish put pressure on Manny to pull out of Creo?”

  Reagan pursed his lips. “No. Why would he?”

  “There seemed to be a growing conflict between Manny and Fish. Regarding another project, I also found evidence that Manny bought and sold rifles, his source of supply being a company called Westerfield Weapons.”

  Reagan looked surprised. “That’s a new one to me. It must be an additional sideline. I’m not aware of any business expenses associated with a Westerfield Weapons from last fiscal year.”

  “Another file I found indicated financial transactions between Manny and Lee Daggett.”

  “I’m aware of that. Interest payments on a loan that Manny made to Daggett.”

  “How long had that been going on?”

  “Manny made the loan over a year ago.”

  “It must have been sizeable.”

  “Yes,” Reagan replied. “One point two million dollars.”