Black Monday, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 7

  Chapter 15

  HEIRS

   

    When I got to the office on Monday morning there was a message from Detective Besch. Curious as to what he wanted I called him immediately. He said he had the name and address of the owner of the car that had followed me and was going out to question him. I asked if I could tag along. He agreed. Thirty minutes later he picked me up. We drove to a quiet, upper class neighborhood near the intersection of Hillcrest Boulevard and Walnut Hill Lane where we parked across the street from the home of Otto Barringer.

  "So, do you know anything about Mr. Barringer?" I asked.

  "Not much. He's married with a couple of teenagers. No record. Apparently he's self-employed."

  "I bet he'll be surprised to see us."

  Besch smiled. "That's a good bet."

  We walked up the door and Detective Besch rang the doorbell. A minute later a middle-aged woman answered the door. She introduced herself as Mrs. Barringer. Besch asked if Mr. Barringer was in and she indicated he was. She invited us inside and escorted us to the den. She said he was upstairs and she'd go get him. When she returned, she said he'd be right down and asked if we wanted some tea. We both declined.

   It was a long five minutes before Otto Barringer made his appearance. He was a slender, pale man of about 45 years of age. He did a double take when he saw me. Besch got right down to the nitty gritty.

  "Mr. Turner here tells me you've been following him."

  Otto turned a little red and replied, "No, he must be mistaken."

  "I don't think so. He got a good look at you and wrote down your license plate number. I brought him along so he could identify you." Besch turned to me and asked, "Is this the guy?"

  I nodded. "Yes, this is the man."

  Otto twisted in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. "Okay. Okay, I'll admit it. I was following you. I'm sorry. I meant you no harm."

  Besch frowned. "Why don't you enlighten us as to why you were following Mr. Turner?"

  Otto took a deep breath and looked over at his wife who also seemed anxious to hear what he had to say. He exhaled and said, "It's a long story."

  Besch replied, "Then get on with it."

  "Mr. Turner is the executor of my aunt's estate."

  "You're Lottie West's nephew?" I asked.

  He nodded. "I haven't spoken to her for many years. She and my parents were estranged. When I read her obituary I got to thinking about her and felt badly that I hadn't seen her for so long. When I was a child, I saw a lot of her and we did many things together. When she and my parents got at odds, she moved away and I lost track of her. "

  "So, why follow Stan?" Besch asked.

  "I was trying to get up the nerve to talk to him. I wanted to find out what Lottie had been doing for the last fifteen years. I thought maybe I could get a memento or something."

  "Or claim an inheritance?" Besch suggested.

  "Well. It did occur to me that I might be an heir. She always liked me."

  It all made sense now. Otto Barringer was embarrassed that he hadn't visited his dear aunt in fifteen years, but not too embarrassed to claim his inheritance. I shook my head in disgust. I told him to make an appointment and bring any records he had to prove his relationship to Lottie West. He assured me he would do so. Besch had a few more questions.

  "Did you know where your aunt was living?"

  "No, she disappeared years ago. I just happened to see her name in the obituaries."

  "Are your parents alive?"

  "Yes, they live in Dennison."

  "What are their names?"

  "Loretta and James Barringer."

  "Did you tell them Lottie had died?"

  "Yes."

  "Why didn't any of you go to the funeral?"

  "Well, actually I didn't see the obituary until after the funeral."

  "Why was that?"

  "I was in Atlanta the week she died but my wife was home. She saw the obituary and called me. Unfortunately, I couldn't get back in time for the funeral."

  "Why didn't your parents go?" Besch pressed.

  "We didn't tell them that she had died until after I got back home. I know that sounds strange, but you've got to understand there was a lot of bad blood between them. We almost didn't tell them at all."

  "Why was there bad blood?"

  "I'm not sure. I was young when it all happened. My father and my uncle didn't get along—you know—personality conflicts."

   "Did your grandmother stay in contact with anybody in the family?"

  "No. Other than my parents and me, there is just my sister Alice who lives in Philadelphia. I don't think she had any contact with Aunt Lottie either."

  Besch took a deep breath and looked over at me. "I think we're done here, Stan."

  I nodded and we all stood up. As we were leaving Besch stopped, turned and said, "Oh, I guess you heard Lottie's death wasn't an accident."

  Otto frowned, "It wasn't?"

  "No, the gas line was cut and fed into the air ducts. It was murder. You wouldn't know who might want Lottie dead, would you?"

  "God, no. Like I said, I hadn't seen her for a long time."

  Besch nodded, turned, and we left. On the way back to the office Besch said he didn't believe much of Mr. Berringer's story. I concurred. Why follow me? He could have just called me on the telephone. It was obvious that he hadn't told us the truth. Besch suggested I go talk to Loretta and James Barringer. He said he'd get someone to interview Otto's sister in Philadelphia. We agreed for the moment that Mr. Otto Barringer was now a suspect in Lottie West's murder despite his alibi. Besch said he'd check that out and also see if Otto's spending habits had changed recently.

  When I got back to the office there was a message from Arthur Lott. For a moment the name didn't ring a bell, then I remembered he was the attorney for Metroplex Savings and Loan. I dialed his number and his receptionist put me through.

  "Someone tried to do a wire transfer on the Continental Exporter's account today," Lott said.

  "It didn't go through did it?"

  "No, there's still a hold on the account, but they had all the right numbers and passwords."

  "What was the destination of the wire?"

  "The request stipulated the money was to be wired to a bank account in Panama City."

  "Panama City? What's in Panama City?"

  "I don't know. You asked me to call if there was any activity on the account. Have you had any luck finding Mr. Huntington?"

  "No. He's totally disappeared. How did you get the request for the wire transfer?"

  "By telephone."

  "Any idea where the call came from?"

  "No, sorry.

  "Well, I appreciate the information. Let me know if there is any additional activity."

  I was about to call Detective Besch to tell him about the attempted wire transfer on the Continental Exporter account when Paula walked in. She had a worried look on her fact.

  "Stan, did you know someone is watching us?"

  "No. Who?"

  "I don't know who they are—FBI, police, private detectives, maybe just a couple of thugs—but they're in the parking garage right now."

  "Did you get their license numbers?" I asked.

  "Yes."

  "I was about to call Detective Besch. I'll give him the numbers and maybe he can find out who it is. I can't imagine why the FBI would be watching us."

  "Me either. It's just unsettling to have someone following you and now watching every move."

  "I know. Don't worry. We'll get to the bottom of this."

  Paula left and I called Detective Besch. He was surprised to learn someone was watching us. He said he'd check with the FBI agents he was working with on the Huntington case and see if they knew anything about it. I told him about the activity in the Continental Exporters' bank account.

  "The kidnappers are behind it I'm sure," Besch said. "They want the money in the account. How secure is it?"

  "Well, like I said, the
re is an IRS garnishment on it now so until the bank gets a release in hand they won't let loose of the money."

  "And you've got the release?"

  "Yes."

  "Where is it?"

  "In the Continental Exporter's file right here in my office."

  "I'm not comfortable with that. Someone could break in and steal it. I think I'll see if I can get a judge to put a freeze on that account."

  "Good idea. Hanging onto the release was just a temporary fix at best. I was hoping you'd find Huntington quickly, but that doesn't seem likely now."

  "No, and if the kidnappers have the account number and passwords, they don't need Huntington anymore. They may have already killed him."

  "Who do you think is behind this?"

  "Probably someone close to Huntington—a partner or someone he does business with. This isn't a random kidnaping."

  After hanging up with Besch, I got the Continental Exporters' file and looked inside. Much to my relief the release was still there. I wondered where I could put it to be sure it was safe. I remembered several years ago losing a file. We searched the office high and low for it but couldn't find it. Somehow it has slid behind and underneath one of my desk drawers. Only by taking the drawer entirely out could you find the file. It was only by accident that I found it several years later. I put the release in an envelope and slipped it in my secret hiding place. Since I was the only one who knew it existed, I was confident it would never be found.

  A few hours later as I was straightening up to go home, the telephone rang. I picked it up and recognized Besch's voice.

  "The money's gone. We served the papers to freeze the account on an officer at Metroplex Savings and he advised us the money had already been wired to Panama."

  "What? That can't be. I just talked to Arthur Lott this morning. He said they wouldn't release it without the release and I've got the release right here with me."

   Besch sighed. "Well, call him and find out what happened, would you? There was 3.2 million dollars in that account."

  "Three point two million dollars? I didn't realize there was that much in there. Now that I think about it though, Huntington never said exactly how much was in the account. He said he needed $150,000 right away but he didn't say how much was in the account."

  "I don't know. The officer we talked to said $3.2 million was wired to Panama. Huntington probably didn't want you to know how much was in there."

  Still in shock from Besch's bombshell, I put a call into Arthur Lott, but he was gone for the day. I told his secretary that it was urgent and that I needed to talk to him immediately. She said she'd track him down and give him the message. I left her my home telephone number in case she was able to find him that evening. I couldn't believe the account had been drained. How could that have happened? Then I remembered the retainer check I hadn't been able to cash. Now it would be worthless. The bastards had stolen my retainer too!