Case of the Passion Fruit Poisoning Page 10

  “Than what are you on about?” He pleaded, taking another step back. Now he was really sweating. It poured down the front of his face like a waterfall. Beatrice would have to grab a wet floor sign soon.

  “The red headed waitress. She’s the one who poisoned the pie. And I know for a fact that you let her do it.” Beatrice didn’t know for a fact at all, but he didn’t know that. She was sure that her hunch was correct, at least correct enough to buff her way to a confession anyway.

  “I… I...” The chef looked from Beatrice to the door, his mind at work. She knew that he was considering making a run for it, it was obvious, but then, without warning, he fell to his knees and began sobbing uncontrollably. “I didn’t know I promise! She told me she just wanted to play a prank on a friend. That was all! I let her into the kitchen and she did the rest. I never… I never...” But he never got the last word out as he began to sob ever harder.

  It was quite the sad sight actually, and if it wasn’t for the surrounding circumstances, Beatrice just may have felt sorry for him. Instead, she looked down at the chef with contempt, towering over him now. “Why? Why did you do it?”

  “Because I love her! That’s why! I thought if I helped her she’d love me too. Sad I know, but that’s love for you.”

  “Where is she now?” Beatrice pressed. She was so close she could feel it.

  “I have no idea. She’s disappeared. And believe me I’ve looked. I just want to talk to her one more time. I just want to see her and say... and say..” But he never got the last word out, as again, his weeping got the better of him.

  Beatrice cursed under her breath. The last part she actually believed and it was what she was afraid of. With no indication as to who this waitress was or where she may have gone, she was all but lost.

  “Don’t leave town,” Beatrice said. “I may have some more questions for you.” She pulled a small recording device from her pocket, clicking it off. “If you do try and run, I’ll make sure you go away for the murder. Understand?”

  Robert nodded, his face now red and puffy. It really was a sad sight, but Beatrice had no time to feel sorry for the blubbering chef. The case had again taken a turn for the worst and again, Beatrice had no idea what she was going to do about it.

  19

  The waitress’ name was Jen Evans and she had disappeared off the face of the earth. Not literally of course, but for all intents and purposes she may as well have.

  With the waitress’ name in hand and the chef’s confession on tape, the first thing that Beatrice did, uncharacteristically of her too, was call Detective Rogers. Usually Beatrice liked to see an investigation out to the end, she was just built that way, but as the personal nature of this case had now dissipated, she saw no reason to not let the detective in on what she knew. That wasn’t to mention that she also needed his connections to track down the location of Jen, but even with the entire force of the police department behind them, they were still unable to locate her. In fact, it became clear quickly that Jen Evans was an alias she used when she seduced the chef. The case became more difficult to crack by the second, and as much as she hated to admit it, this might be one that even Beatrice couldn’t solve.

  “And you contacted all the daughters?” Beatrice asked Detective Rogers as she sipped on a cup of coffee.

  “You mean all twenty-three of them? I tried, but it’s not easy getting all their names and address. They all have different last names and most don’t even know who their father is,” Detective Rogers sighed, picking lazily at his piece of sponge cake.

  He had come over to Beatrice’s house to give her the bad news, that they couldn’t find Jen Evans. It was a blow that Beatrice didn’t want to have to deal with, but as she watched Rogers, playing with his food, she wondered who was taking this harder, he or her?

  “And there’s no way to trace the alias?” She asked, trying to stay focused. Beatrice wasn’t about to give up. Yes, this was a little harder than she was used to, but that was the point. This woman had murdered someone right in front of her eyes. She was going to catch her, even if it killed her.

  “No, it’s not that simple. These aliases are usually illegal. And if she’s off killing people while under it you can bet she got the name on the black market. Some sort of dealer. There’s a whole underground syndicate for that kind of thing… why are you smiling?”

  As Detective Rogers spoke, Beatrice could feel a big, juicy smile spread across her face. Something he had said had given her an excellent idea, and even better than that, she was pretty sure that it was going to lead of catching Jen Evans.

  –

  “Bea! I was wondering when you were going to call? I had all but lost hope!”

  “Sorry about the delay, Fred. I’ve been a little preoccupied the last few days. What with the murder and everything,” she apologized, trying to sound as sincere as possible. Although she was sure that convincing Fred to help her wasn’t going to be a problem, she didn’t want to take any chances.

  It was all rather genius really. When Detective Rogers mentioned the idea of an underground black market where people bought and created new identities, her mind couldn’t help but wander to Fred. It sounded like the exact thing that he had gotten himself involved in. And chances were that he might know someone who could help.

  Of course, Detective Rogers was against the whole idea. He hadn’t been very happy about the Fred situation from the start. When Beatrice told him why Fred had changed his name and what he was really doing here, she could have almost heard his heart drop to the floor. In short, he was jealous. So now, the idea that she was going to call him for a personal favor… well Beatrice may as well have torn his heart out then and there. He wouldn’t be needing it anymore.

  Detective Rogers was a police officer first and a forlorn lover second. He couldn’t argue with the logic of calling Fred and within minutes of Beatrice explaining the plan to him, he was relenting; handing her the phone and everything.

  “So, have you called about the chance of another date? I was thinking that for our next one… how do you like hot air balloons?” His voice was filled with excitement. He was clearly very happy that Beatrice had called him.

  “Hate them actually. Can’t deal with heights, but Fred, listen...” she turned her back on Detective Rogers as she spoke into the phone. He was giving her very odd looks and she was finding it distracting. “I would of course be thrilled to go on another date with you, but first I was hoping that you could do me a little favor?”

  It was almost too easy really and for that, Beatrice couldn’t help but feel slightly bad, but only slightly. All she wanted was a name and number, the contact that Fred had used to forge his fake identity. The best part about the plan was that Jen was also Canadian, so the chances were that she had used the same guy, or at least someone he knew.

  Fred was only too willing to give her the details.

  Now there was only one thing left to do.

  20

  I still don't understand why we had to meet on the yacht," Detective Rogers complained, arms crossed as he pouted for all to see.

  "I explained that already," Beatrice countered, only half paying attention.

  "I know that, but it still feels a little unnecessary."

  He had been acting this way all day and Beatrice was starting to get a little sick of it. Right now, they had bigger things to worry about than where the meeting was being held, they had to concern themselves with the sole task of catching Jen.

  Her real name was Missy. Following Beatrice's conversation with Fred, she immediately called up his black-market dealer. The dealer was a little hesitant to help at first, for obvious reasons, but when he discovered that the alias had been used to instigate a murder, he quickly changed his tune. It seemed that the dealer had a pretty strict code when it came to the use of the new identities he created. This was so much the case that he emphasized, several times, that the new identities were a way of escaping past wrongs, not creating new ones.

 
; With him on board, they quickly learned that the real name of Jen Evans was Missy Trudeau, a Canadian national, who had bought the new identity less than a month ago. From here both Beatrice and Detective Rogers did a little digging.

  First, they interviewed the chef, again. He claimed that Jen, formally Missy, started flirting with him roughly three weeks ago in the parking lot of the Mon Chere Café. It wasn't until the day before the murder that she asked if she would be able to 'pose' as a wait staff for a prank. The chef, being lust-struck, was only too happy to oblige.

  Detective Rogers then used his contacts at the precinct to track down one Missy Trudeau. She too had, by no coincidence, arrived in town three weeks ago. Beatrice took the guess that she had spent the three weeks surveying her long-lost father, tracking his movements to find the perfect time to strike. She wouldn't mind betting that Missy was even in the park that day when the date was organized.

  As luck would have it, the young murderer was still in town, for one more day. They had called the hotel where she was staying, confirming her check-out date. Her reason for hanging around so long after the murder was unclear, but Beatrice was sure it had something to do with the meeting she had organized with Matthew Anderson's lawyer of all people; although the reason for the meeting was confidential.

  The meeting was to take place at exactly midday on the same day that she was checking out. She was going to conclude the meeting, return to her hotel, grab her belongings and flee, never to be seen again. Beatrice saw this as their last chance to bring Missy to justice.

  She also knew that they couldn't do it alone.

  "You have something against yachts?" Fred asked the still pouting Detective Rogers. He was wearing his captain's uniform as he sipped on a glass of champagne.

  "I just think that no self-respecting person buys a yacht. Let alone a captain’s hat to go with it," Rogers shot back, fixing Fred with a glare.

  "It just so happens that this hat came with the --"

  "Hey!" Beatrice interrupted. "I think we have more important things to worry about right now than the origins of Fred's ridiculous hat."

  The three of them were sitting in the main room of the yacht, the same one where Beatrice's date had been just a few nights earlier. The room's decor hadn't changed one bit, leading her to wonder if it was always decorated that way.

  And it wasn't just Beatrice, Rogers and Fred on the yacht, either. Beatrice decided they would need all the backup that they could get. Sophie and Stella were an obvious must; there was no way that Beatrice was charging into battle without them. They both stood by the single table; Stella having herself a glass of champagne while Sophie picked idly at the tablecloth.

  In a move of pure genius, Beatrice had also managed to get a hold of fifteen of Matthew Anderson’s daughters. She called them all, telling them of the circumstances and pleading for their help. They were of course willing to lend a hand. The woman had killed their father after all.

  With the fifteen of them, the three ladies, Fred and Detective Rogers, the ballroom of the yacht was getting a little crowded. Rogers was right, it was no place for a meeting. Since the docks were located directly across the road from the hotel that Missy was staying at, Beatrice didn't see where else they could meet. And to be honest, she secretly enjoyed the way that Rogers pouted and groaned as he observed the decadence on display by Fred.

  "OK everyone. Do you all know the plan or do I need to go over it one more time?" There was a general murmur of acknowledgement from the crowd as Beatrice clapped her hands together. "Right! Well it's twelve-thirty, Missy should be back any time now. Let's do this."

  The posse of vigilantes made their way off the yacht, preparing to confront Missy once and for all.

  --

  Ten minutes after leaving the yacht, Beatrice was knocking on the hotel room door to Missy's room.

  "One sec!" The voice of Missy called out. She sounded frustrated and rushed; or at least Beatrice thought so. This was confirmed as she leaned into the doorway, hearing the noticeable sounds of hurried footsteps and things being thrown around the room.

  A moment later and the door flew open, revealing Missy. She couldn't have looked more shocked to see Beatrice standing there.

  "Hello," Beatrice said, all smiles.

  "You?" Missy responded. She obviously recognized Beatrice, but was unable to put together why she may have been there. It was a small advantage, but one that Beatrice was going to take.

  "Me. Going somewhere?" She asked, leaning into the room and looking around. There was a single suitcase, zipped up and ready to go.

  "Not that it's any of your business, but yeah," Missy said. The look on her face told Beatrice that she wasn't worried, or panicked. She clearly didn't suspect anything. She was just confused.

  "Do you mind if I come in?" Beatrice asked, not waiting for a response as she walked into the room.

  "Knock yourself out," Missy responded, following her in. Only once she was in she picked the bag up and made for the door. "I still have another thirty minutes on the room. Take a nap for all I care." The bag was heavy, so with some effort Missy managed to pick it up, carrying it from the room.

  Beatrice, rolling her eyes, hurried after her. Although she didn't have to hurry too much, the bag was slowing Missy down significantly "I was wondering what you were going to do with it?" Beatrice asked as she followed her.

  "I was going to take it with me. That's what you usually do with a suitcase," Missy responded as she made her way through the hallway of the hotel. They passed one of the red headed daughters of Matthew. This daughter was twelve, standing in the hallway watching Missy walk past. Missy barely paid her a glance.

  "No, not that. The money. It was quite a payout I assume. What are you going to do with all that money?" Beatrice was right behind her now, making sure to keep pace.

  "Money? I have no idea what you are talking about," Missy replied, an edge to her voice.

  As they turned a corner, another of Matthew's daughters was waiting. She was in her early twenties, leaning up against the wall with her arms crossed. This time Missy noted her, their eyes locking as she passed.

  "Sure, you do. Why else would you have done it?" Beatrice said pleasantly.

  "Done what?" Missy asked. They had reached the elevator and Missy all but punched the button on the wall. She sounded frustrated, which was exactly how Beatrice wanted her.

  "I was thinking for such a long time, why would you do it? What could you possibly gain? Then it hit me. Life insurance. A healthy, well off man like Matthew would have been heavily insured I'm sure."

  The door to the elevator opened and standing there, as if waiting for them, was another red headed daughter. This one was in her late teens. She glared at Missy as her and Beatrice stepped into the elevator. Missy did all she could to ignore the redhead, but Beatrice noted her eyes darting across to her every few moments.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Missy insisted, nervous now. There was a light glistening on her brow as her hand squeezed down on the handle of the suitcase; her knuckles turning white.

  "Plus, with you being the oldest daughter, would mean that you would get all of it. And you are the oldest too. Believe me, I've met enough of you."

  The elevator door opened and Missy all but ran from the confinement of the small space. Of course, she couldn't run though, the suitcase was far too heavy. Instead she walked as fast as her legs would allow; followed by both Beatrice and the redhead. They were in the underground parking lot. It was near empty, except for one very noticeable car at the end.

  The car was so noticeable because of the twelve female bodies that surrounded it. Some leaned up against the car, one actually laid on the hood. They all had flaming red hair and they were all watching and waiting for Missy.

  When Missy finally saw them she pulled up short, dropping the case. "What is this?!" She yelled at no one in particular.

  "What? Don't you recognize your own sisters?" Beatrice smirked. "I told them all abo
ut you and what you had done. They couldn't wait to meet you."

  The army of redheads began to advance toward Missy, who took a step back. And then another. She was a nervous wreck, spinning around, then back to them, then around again as she tried to work out a plan.

  There was only one thing she could do. And, she did just that. Without another word, she turned and ran for the parking lot exit, leaving the suitcase and car behind. Beatrice smirked to herself as she watched her go. She had been counting on her trying to run away.

  A second later and the army of daughters were after her. They streamed from the parking lot like a wave, chasing their sister down with vengeance.

  A car pulled up beside Beatrice, driven by Detective Rogers, with Sophie and Stella in the backseat. Beatrice hopped in the front, slamming the side door. "Gun it," she said.