The Conspirator's Agenda Page 3
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The drive to the Gleason home was about two hours, and Nick walked down to the parking garage at the end of his block to get his car. He didn’t have to drive it often, but when he did he always had to make sure he treated her good so she’d start for him and cooperate for the duration of her use. Her name was Stella, and she was a beauty—to Nick anyways. Stella was a gold colored 1990 VW Jetta that was stripped down, an effort to avoid any temptation for anyone to steal her parts, which were apparently a hot commodity for certain individuals.
Two hours later Nick pulled up to the Gleason residence and looked it over with fascination. It was actually pretty cool, a Mediterranean themed home with a pristine blue lake behind it. It looked like something out of Architectural Digest. Big money…no doubt about it. And people who preferred living in isolation, away from prying eyes. He wondered if they owned that entire lake too…it didn’t look like any other houses were on it.
Stella looks good in this driveway, like the golden crown of the estate, Nick thought. He made his way up to the front door, and rang the bell. He couldn’t hear it on the outside, and hoped it was working. While he waited, he tried looking in the house through the sidelights to see if someone was coming. It probably took ten minutes to walk across the house from beginning to end. Just as Nick was ready to ring the bell again, a petite elderly woman came to the door.
Nick smiled, getting ready to show his charm, which was quite exceptional when he wished it to be. “Good morning, ma’am.”
The woman looked at him, half in shock and seemingly surprised that he had manners. “Yes, how may I help you?”
“I apologize for arriving unannounced but I would like to have a word with Mr. and Mrs. Gleason if it isn’t too much of an imposition?”
“May I tell them what it’s regarding?”
“It’s involving their daughter’s case. I may have a lead.”
The woman’s eyes grew wide, and if I wasn’t mistaken, I saw a glossing of tears develop. “Wait here please. I shall go check with Mr. Gleason.” I instantly knew who the boss of the household was from the woman’s response—Mr. Gleason. If he didn’t want to talk, Mrs. Gleason wouldn’t want to either…in front of him anyways.
Three minutes later a tall man, dressed in a three piece suit made his way to the front door. “Who are you, and what information do you have to share about our daughter?” he asked.
“My name is Nick Larkman. May I come in? I don’t care for discussing these matters on front steps, no matter how lovely those steps may be.”
“Aren’t you the detective who got fired for jeopardizing the case?”
“Is that what they told you? Interesting. Rest assured, the only thing I did to jeopardize Meghan’s case was to get clues toward solving it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can make a fairly accurate assumption that you’re a very smart man, Mr. Gleason. Don’t you find it…peculiar…that they would close a case down when it was only a few months old, chalk it up to a mugging, and then erase all evidence that it existed? Somehow you don’t appear to be the type of man who would accept that without question.”
The statement had gotten Mr. Gleason’s attention, and he coughed uncomfortably. His eyebrow twitched, and he said, “Please. This has been difficult enough on Mrs. Gleason. I don’t want her to hear you.” He shut the door and walked out onto the front steps by me. Obviously I wasn’t going to be invited into this home.
“What is this information you say you have?” Mr. Gleason asked.
“I just find it hard to believe that your daughter would be turning tricks, and would get mugged and murdered. It doesn’t add up. Any ideas why she’d do that? Any problems at home?”
“It sounds like you are interrogating me, not disclosing any leads. You don’t have any, do you?”
There wasn’t much to say because I didn’t. This visit was purely for the sake of assessing what the family’s mannerisms and state of mind was. I may not get the socially elite’s mentality all of the time, but I thought Mr. Gleason’s was a bit off, certainly not regular or comparable to how most people would respond.
“I don’t have any leads yet, sir, but I am getting close. Sometimes all it takes is one clue to turn things around, you know.” That line had been said to someone in every one of Nick’s investigations since he’d starting solving murders. It was kind of like his tag line, although he was the only one who knew he said it.
“I see. Now, if you’ll please leave, Mr. Larkman. I hardly think you have the capacity to solve this case if the most elite detectives couldn’t get a lead.”
“Perhaps you are right, but I want justice for Meghan, and I am assuming you do to.” Using her first name seemed to do the trick, and caught Mr. Gleason off guard. He definitely responded differently to the use of his daughter’s first name. Interesting.
A minute later, Mr. Gleason opened up my car door for me and closed it with his big hand. Stella started for me like a good girl, and I was on my way. As soon as I left the driveway I pulled over. Mr. Gleason had left me a treat—a nice clean handprint from his assistance. I opened up my glove box and pulled out my dusting kit to take a sample. Detective 101—always keep fingerprint kits with you. You just never know when you may get the good fortune of a print to use for solving a case, or ruling out a suspect.