A Time For Us (Michael Kaplan Mysteries) Page 7

  Michael replied in his softest, most soothing voice. “I understand, Mr. Herbert. I’m not here to harass you, nor did the Times send me here as a reporter to interview you about your problems at Blue Hawaii. It’s very important I talk with you, however. It has to do with the murder of Cicily Purdue. May I come in for a few minutes? I promise I’ll leave immediately any time you want.”

  Herbert glanced at his watch. “Okay, come on in. But please be brief. My wife is due back soon and I don’t want her to know anything about the complaint. Promise you won’t say anything to her. She isn’t well and I don’t want her disturbed.”

  “I understand, and I promise.” Michael said sympathetically, stepping inside to the living room.

  “Go ahead. Sit down,” Herbert offered, pointing to a well-worn couch. He stood until Michael was seated, then occupied a straight-back chair next to the couch.

  “First, let me clear the air,” Michael said. “You know my wife. Myra Kaplan. She’s in charge of Public Relations for the Blue Hawaii.”

  Herbert’s face brightened. “Oh, now I know who you are. Myra talks about you all the time. She and I have become pretty good friends.”

  “Yes, that’s what Myra told me,” Michael confirmed. “She speaks quite highly of you, Mr. Herbert. She’s terribly disturbed by what happened.”

  “Bless her heart. It’s good to know I still have some friends at Blue Hawaii. How about a cup of coffee, Mr. Kaplan? I’ve just made a fresh pot.”

  Michael smiled. “Thanks. I’d like one. Two teaspoons of sugar and a dash of cream, if you have it.”

  Herbert went to the kitchen and returned shortly with two cups of coffee. Michael took a sip before asking his questions.

  “I’m assuming—correct me if I’m wrong—that the charges against you are false. What I don’t understand is why you quit your job instead of fighting the allegations.”

  Herbert sat up straight in his chair and looked Michael directly in the eyes. “You’re right. The charges against me are completely false. I’m quite confident I’ve never said or done anything that would warrant any accusations of sexual harassment. In fact, I don’t even know what the specific allegations are. Rick Lacey—he’s the company’s Chief of Security—refused to let me see the complaint or even tell me who filed it. For all I know, there may not even be a complaint, though Lacey did wave a handful of papers in front of me.

  “To answer your question—I quit for several reasons. First, as I told you, Sylvia—that’s my wife—has been quite ill. If she were to find out about this monstrous lie, the shock might kill her.”

  “Then you haven’t said anything at all to your wife?” Michael asked.

  “No, and I don’t intend to. I pray she never finds out. It’s humiliating enough for me, but it’s a cross I’ll have to bear by myself. Imagine how your wife Myra would react if she knew you were sleeping with another woman.”

  Michael swallowed hard. “Um, I see what you mean.”

  “Second, I know that once sexual harassment charges are made, it’s a no-win situation for the accused. Perhaps Myra told you that I’m—rather, I was—in charge of employee training at Blue Hawaii. I conducted the sensitivity training sessions, so I do know what constitutes sexual harassment. Virtually anything—even a facial expression or perceived tone of voice—can be twisted and used against a hapless victim of false accusations. I didn’t want to go through weeks or months of fighting a cause I couldn’t possibly win. By that I mean that when I was ultimately cleared of all allegations—as I know I would have been—the stigma would still remain.

  “Third, Sylvia and I are very active in our church and I teach a Sunday School class. If any of the parishioners found out I’d been accused of sexual harassment, I would become a pariah. There’s no way I would be able to face my fellow congregants.

  “Fourth, I have great admiration and respect for Marshall Brendan. I was with Crest Resorts for over eight years and transferred from Silver Crest to Blue Hawaii shortly before the new casino opened. Brendan has always been the best boss anyone could want. He’s been kind to me and to my family. When he found out Sylvia needed to have an operation that was only partially covered by the company’s medical insurance plan, he gave me a substantial bonus to make up the difference.

  “I knew if the harassment charge was pursued, it would cost the company a fortune for lawyers to defend it. I’ve always been a company man. I couldn’t allow that to happen. The easiest way out for me and for the company was for me to quit my job.”

  “What are you going to do now?” Michael asked sympathetically. He took a generous swig of coffee.

  Herbert shrugged. “I have a little money saved up. I’m going to sell our home and move my family back to Oregon. My brother lives in Medford. I just hope I can do so before Sylvia or my daughters get wind of this gross outrage.”

  “Do you have any idea who filed the complaint, or why? Did you have any enemies at work?”

  Herbert shook his head. “The answer to your first question is no. It makes absolutely no sense to me why someone would want to be so hateful. I’m devastated, Mr. Kaplan, simply devastated.

  “As far as your second question is concerned, I didn’t think I had any enemies. I tried to be courteous and get along with everyone, from the top executives down to the maids who clean the hotel rooms. But apparently, somewhere along the way, someone took an immense disliking to me.”

  Michael finished his coffee and placed his cup and saucer on the coffee table. “One thing I need to clear up, Mr. Herbert, and I’ll leave. Myra spoke with you yesterday afternoon and you told her Cicily Purdue had met behind closed doors with Lois Lewis for about an hour last Friday afternoon.”

  Herbert nodded. “That’s right. There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind the meeting took place. Why Lois would dispute that she talked privately with Cicily for an hour or so is beyond me. Lois has closed-door meetings with employees every day, sometimes one right after another.

  “One more thing—I don’t understand why Lois was angry at me for mentioning the meeting to Myra. I’ve never seen her so angry, Mr. Kaplan. Livid is probably a better word. Her eyes were bulging and a vein on her neck was throbbing.

  “Maybe it’s the pregnancy. Lois is about five months along. She hasn’t really been herself since she became in a family way. Perhaps she’s worried because she doesn’t have a husband and doesn’t know how she’s going to support herself if she has to stay home to take care of her baby when it arrives. That’s only speculation, of course.”

  Michael stood up. “Thanks so much for taking the time to talk with me, Mr. Herbert. I sympathize with you entirely, and wish you the best of luck in the future.”

  Herbert gave Michael a crooked smile. “Thank you, Mr. Kaplan. Please thank Myra, too. I appreciate your moral support. Don’t worry about me. I’ll survive this. I’ve withstood greater challenges.”

  Ten

  MICHAEL AND KIMBERLY rode in Kimberly’s Porsche. As Michael had to write a minimum of five restaurant reviews each week, it was necessary for him to dine out most every night. They arranged to meet Myra at Hattie’s Soul Food Kitchen, a new restaurant in Green Valley.

  Michael was anxious to try Hattie’s barbecued ribs, the house specialty, but even the sight of pork on the table nauseated Myra. Some other time, one of the nights when Myra had to work late, he would return to the restaurant with Kimberly and order the ribs. Instead, he selected the fried Louisiana catfish. The catfish wasn’t kosher, either, but Myra’s only concession to kashrut—the dietary requirements of Judaism—was her refusal to eat pork.

  Myra ordered the smothered chicken, a full half of a fried bird covered with thick brown gravy. Kimberly chose crawfish pies. They looked like plump fried raviolis. They were spicy with cayenne, but filled with succulent crawfish and diced vegetables and absolutely delicious, according to Kimberly. Crawfish were no more kosher than the ribs or catfish.

  The entrées came with coleslaw, collard greens, dir
ty rice, corn-on-the-cob, black-eyed peas, and cornbread. For dessert, Kimberly had banana pudding topped with meringue; Myra, bread pudding with bourbon sauce; and Michael had sweet potato pie served with a large dollop of freshly-whipped cream. Coffee was New Orleans style, heavily laced with chicory.

  All three were on their refills of coffee. Michael handed the waiter a credit card and they were readying to leave when Michael’s cell phone rang. Nearly a dozen other diners checked their instruments. Michael remembered he could set his new digital cellphone to a ring that would distinguish it from the others and avoid some of the confusion, but he had not yet done so.

  “This is Michael Kaplan.”

  “Michael, this is Mark Caruso. Are you busy?”

  “No. I just finished dinner. What’s up, Mark?”

  “Can you come down to Metro right away? I need to talk with you.”

  Michael glanced at his watch. It was still early, only seven-thirty. “Is it about Cicily Purdue?”

  “No. Another employee of the Blue Hawaii. Jeff Herbert. I went out to his house to talk with him this afternoon, as I told you I would. Herbert’s front door was open and I could see inside. He was lying on the floor in his living room. Half his face was blown away. A suicide.”

  “Ohmygod, Mark. I was with Jeff for about half an hour this afternoon. I left his house around three-thirty. What time were you there?”

  “Ten after four. Thanks to you, I now have a pretty good idea of the time Herbert died. Please come on down to headquarters. We have to talk.”

  Michael’s face was ashen. “Okay. I’ll be at your office in forty-five minutes. Maybe sooner.”

  “What is it, Michael?” Myra asked. “Did something happen to Jeff Herbert?”

  “Yes,” Michael replied. “Herbert killed himself, right after I left his house.”

  Myra gasped. “I don’t believe it. Jeff would not have committed suicide.”

  Michael looked from Myra to Kimberly and back again. “I have to go downtown to see Mark for a while. That’ll give you two ladies an opportunity to spend some time together privately.” From the inflection in Michael’s voice, both women instantly interpreted the word privately to mean making love.

  “Kim, if you don’t mind, I’ll drive your Porsche. You can ride with Myra to our condo. I’ll be home as early as I can.”

  Kimberly rested a hand on Michael’s arm. “Baby, that’s so sweet of you to make the suggestion. But the fact is, Myra and I neither need nor want to have sex without you. When we do make love, we want you to be lying in bed next to us. It turns you on to watch us, and, in turn, that turns us on.”

  Michael gave a silly lopsided grin. The ménage a trois was becoming more fulfilling every day. He wished Myra and Kim had come up with the idea months earlier. It would have put an end to a lot of frustration for each of them.

  “I want to find out about Jeff,” Myra added. “Let’s leave Kim’s car here in the parking lot. We can all go downtown in mine.”

  MICHAEL, MARK, MYRA, and KIMBERLY sat around a metal table in a small conference room at Metro headquarters. Mark had his ubiquitous yellow legal pad in front of him and a ballpoint pen poised in his hand.

  “Let me give you all the gory details,” Mark started. “I went to the Blue Hawaii this afternoon and spoke with Lois Lewis. As you told me she would, she denied meeting with Cicily Purdue—though from the way Lewis’s eyes zigged and zagged nervously all the time we were talking, I suspected she wasn’t being truthful.

  “I next asked to talk with Jeff Herbert, and Lewis told me he’d quit. She didn’t want to give me his home address—said it was a matter of privacy—but after I told her I would get a subpoena if necessary, she finally relented. But she wasn’t one bit happy about it.

  “I had a late lunch at the casino and then went to see Herbert. As I told you on the phone, Michael, when I arrived at his house about ten past four his front door was wide open. I could see Herbert’s body lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Most of his face was blown off. A nine millimeter semiautomatic was lying nearby. Herbert’s prints were on the gun. It’s a clear case of suicide.

  “You may have been the last person to talk with the man. Did he give you any indication he might have been thinking about killing himself?”

  Michael looked down at the table and shook his head. “No. Jeff appeared to be in good spirits when I left him. He said he was going to sell his house and move his family to Oregon.

  “But—he did have reasons to be despondent. His wife has been ill for some time. Then there was the matter of what happened at work that caused him to quit his job—”

  One of Caruso’s eyebrows arched. “Oh? What happened at work?”

  “Didn’t Lewis tell you? Herbert quit because he’d been accused of sexual harassment.”

  Mark shook his head. “No, Lewis didn’t say a word about that. That’s news to me.”

  “I’m sure the accusations were false,” Myra interjected. “I knew Jeff pretty well. He was never disrespectful in any way. He was a very religious man. I never so much as heard him swear or tell an off-color joke.”

  Michael spoke up again. “When I talked with Herbert this afternoon, he assured me he had never said or done anything to prompt a sexual harassment complaint. He was certain he’d been framed by someone.”

  Mark’s eyebrow raised quizzically. “Oh? Did he say who might have set him up?” he asked. “Or, why he was being framed?”

  Michael shook his head. “He had no idea. The whole thing was obviously weighing heavily on his mind. Herbert didn’t want his wife to know about the complaint. He said it might kill her.

  “By the way, how is Herbert’s wife handling his death? And his daughters? They weren’t home when I was there.”

  “Fortunately, one of my officers spotted Mrs. Herbert and the daughters when they pulled into the driveway. He was able to intercept them and prevent them from entering the house. Mrs. Herbert had been shopping, then picked up the girls after school and drove them home.

  “When we told her her husband was dead, she had an attack of some kind. We had to call for the paramedics. They took Mrs. Herbert away in an ambulance. She’s now at University Medical Center under heavy sedation. The girls are staying at a neighbor’s house.

  “Michael, I don’t want to put you on a guilt trip, so I hate to have to ask you the next question, but I must. Is there anything you said—anything at all—that could have provoked Herbert to take his life? He must have killed himself just minutes after you left.”

  The color drained from Michael’s face. “No. I’m certain of it. Herbert was devastated by the sexual harassment charge, as he had every right to be, but he seemed to have reconciled himself to the situation and had his future planned. His major concern was his family and the people in his church. He didn’t want them to find out.” Michael shook his head in a show of skepticism. “I agree with Myra. I can’t believe Herbert killed himself. Are you absolutely certain he took his own life?”

  “Listen carefully to the evidence,” Mark instructed. “Then tell me what you think. There was no sign of a break-in or robbery. Herbert’s prints were on the gun found lying next to his corpse. There were powder burns on what was the left side of his face. And he had reason to be in a state of depression.

  “If Herbert didn’t do himself in, his death had to be murder made to look like suicide. Let’s examine some more facts. There were two empty coffee cups on the table in front of the sofa. One was covered with Herbert’s prints. The other had your fingerprints on it. The coroner has tentatively placed the time of death between three-fifteen and three-forty-five. You told me you left Herbert’s house at three-thirty. You said you and Herbert were alone in the house. Did you see anyone lurking around outside when you left?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Michael replied.

  “Then, if Herbert didn’t kill himself, who do you think is going to be the most likely suspect?” As he spoke, Caruso pointed an index finger at Michael’s chest.
“Bingo!”

  Michael’s face turned a bright red. “Surely, you don’t think I had anything to do with—”

  Mark shook his head from side to side. “No, of course not, Michael. Herbert’s death was a suicide. Plain and simple. That’s what I’m going to write in my report.”

  Caruso contemplated for a moment. “There is one piece of evidence that doesn’t fit the puzzle,” he mused. “All three of his teen-age daughters said he was afraid to keep a gun in the house. The weapon that killed him wasn’t registered. In fact, the gun’s serial numbers were filed off, so it can’t be traced.”

  Eleven

  MARK CARUSO REACHED for his phone and dialed the main number for the Las Vegas Times. Somewhere in the immense piles of paper lying on his desk and stuffed into his desk drawers he had a note on which was scribbled the number of the line that went directly to Michael’s office, but Mark didn’t want to take the time to search for it. It took the Times’ operator only a moment to ring through to Michael. He picked up the phone on the first ring.

  “This is Michael Kaplan.”

  “Hi, buddy, this is Mark.” Michael thought Caruso’s voice sounded especially cheerful.

  “Hello, Mark. What’s up?”

  Mark scratched behind his ear. “Just a quick question for you, Michael. Why is it I often find your fingerprints at homicide scenes?”

  Michael felt the hackle rise on the back of his neck. “What do you mean by that, Mark?”

  Mark chuckled. “I gotta admit it—you and Myra were right. Jeff Herbert didn’t commit suicide. Since both of you were so certain Herbert wouldn’t do himself in, I thought I’d better check out one more thing. I did, and proved Herbert died at the hands of someone else. In other words, his death was a homicide.”

  Michael didn’t like guessing games. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Mark. What convinced you Herbert didn’t kill himself?”

  “I had forensics run a paraffin test. There was no gunpowder residue on Herbert’s hands. He couldn’t have fired the gun. Ergo, someone else shot him—at close range, to make his death look like a suicide. The problem now is we don’t have any suspects. Except for you, of course. You were at the crime scene around the time Herbert was killed. Ha, ha.”