Black Monday, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 7

  Chapter 30

  POOL MAN

   

  It was hard to get back on the investigation of Baker's murder after Stan had narrowly escaped death. I was scared. True they'd caught the assassin but whoever had hired him could hire someone else. Was it Congressman Manning? Would a U.S. Congressman hire a hit man? I cursed the day Huntington had stepped into his office. While I was worrying, the telephone rang. It was Jimmy Bennett.

  "Jimmy. How are you feeling?"

  "Better. Betty told me you rescued me from breaking my bail. I don't remember any of it."

  "You don't remember heading off to Oklahoma?"

  "No. I remember getting depressed and smoking a joint. Betty was out with the kids at some kind of school event, so I went to a bar just to have a drink. I met someone there, I think. I don't remember who it was but they must have had some dope."

  "Well, you've got to stay off that stuff while this trial is going on. If the cops catch you snortin' coke, they'll arrest you and you may never get out of jail."

  "God. You can't let that happen."

  "Hey. It's not up to me. You're the one that's got to keep clear of trouble."

  "Okay. So, how is my defense coming?" Jimmy asked.

  "Well, it's starting to take shape, which is good since your trial is less than ninety days away."

  "Yeah, I know. That's why I asked."

  "I've found several other people with motive and opportunity to kill your father-in-law."

  "Good. God knows he had lots of enemies."

  I filled Jimmy in on where I was on the investigation. He seemed relieved that things were starting to turn a little brighter. He had obviously been depressed and I assumed that was why he had turned to cocaine. I prayed he could resist that temptation in the future or we were in for some serious trouble.

  "If I can help you in any way, let me know," Jimmy said.

  "I will. Just promise me you'll stay clean and won't do any traveling."

  "I promise. . . . And thanks, Paula, for all you're doing."

  Hearing from Jimmy got me pumped up again so I started flipping through my notes. Who was the dark-skinned man that Amanda's friend saw walk by her window the night Don and Amanda were murdered? What did she mean by dark skinned—Hispanic, Black? The manager had mentioned that there was a pool maintenance man working on the deck the day of the murder. It occurred to me that I should track him down. He might be the dark stranger. If someone did want to kill Don and Amanda, using the cover of a workman would be quite easy and very effective.

  I called the manager and she gave me the name of the pool maintenance company and the contact person's name and telephone number. The contact person was the office manager, Ruth Wixon. I dialed the number and got her on the line. After introducing myself, I asked her who was out at the pool that day.

  "I don't show any record of us doing work out there on that day," she said.

  "Really?" I replied. "The manager said there was someone there all day working on the deck."

  "We have no record of it."

  "A handsome, muscular—perhaps Italian, Greek, or Spanish."

  "Doesn't ring a bell," she said. "Most of our workers are white or Mexican."

  "He could have been Hispanic," I said.

  "Like I said, none of our guys were out there that day."

  After thanking her I decided to go out to the Baker condo and talk to the manager again. I had to find out more about this unauthorized pool man. Maybe there would be other owners who saw him and could help me identify him. If this were the man who Sylvia Stock saw walk by her window, it could well be the real killer. About an hour later I was at the pool talking to a group of girls sunbathing. I identified myself and told them I was investigating the Don Baker and Amanda Black murders.

  "Were any of you here the day of the murder?" I asked.

  "Yes, we all were," the short brunette said.

  "The manager tells me there was a maintenance man working here that day. Do any of you remember him?"

  Their eyes lit up and the short brunette said, "How could you forget someone like that. He was a hunk—tall, nice tan, big muscles—must have worked out a lot."

  "Have you seen him around here before?"

  "No. That was the first time. He's been back, though."

  "Really? When?"

  "I saw him the day before yesterday in the parking lot."

  "What was he doing?"

  "Just sitting in his car. It looked like he was waiting for somebody."

  "What kind of car?"

  "A nice car—a red Mazda RX7 convertible."

  "Did you talk to him?"

  "No. I was going to but when he saw me looking at him he got out and walked in the opposite direction."

  "How was he dressed?"

  "The first time he wore work clothes but the last time he was dressed like a cowboy. He had on suede cowboy boots, blue jeans, a leather belt with a silver belt buckle, and a big straw cowboy hat."

  "Did you see the person he was meeting?"

  "Later on I saw him with an older woman. I figured it must be his mother. Maybe she lives here."

    "But he was working on the deck the first time you saw him?"

  "Yeah, he had a bunch of tools and was mixing cement in a wheelbarrow."

  "Did this man have a dark complexion?"

  "Yeah, he looked like he was part Mexican or Indian."

  One of the other girls who was blonde and a bit taller said, "No, he was Spanish."

  The short blonde shrugged. "Hell, who knows where he came from. All I know is I'd like to wake up next to him some morning."

  The girls giggled. There was no doubt in my mind that the pool man was, at least, involved in Don and Amanda's death somehow. He was on the premises under false pretenses. He met the description of the man seen walking up to Don and Amanda's door just before the murder. Somehow I had to figure out his identity for only then could I determine if he had motive and opportunity. I racked my brain trying to figure out a way to find him, but nothing jumped out at me. I'd just have to be patient and wait for him to show his face.