The False-Hearted Teddy Read online

  “I was scared.”

  “Yet, you’re here instead of working in a prison chow-line. I’m dying to know why.”

  “There were two policemen and I told them the story of how Jen slipped on the oil…and they were standing there looking at me, just like you guys are looking at me…like you want to hit me.” Incredibly, there was a tiny bit of self-righteousness in Tony’s voice.

  “Sorry. Sometimes, Lieutenant Mulvaney and I have anger-control issues, too. Go on.”

  “Then one of the cops asked Jennifer what happened and she told them that she’d slipped.”

  I wasn’t surprised. Remember what I said a little earlier about how, in his own bizarre way, Tony genuinely loved Jennifer? Well, the same thing was likely true of Jennifer. Despite the violence, like so many other battered spouses, she loved Tony and was willing to lie to protect him. I’m not going to pretend to understand all the psychological dynamics, but I’ve talked to far more domestic violence victims than I’d care to remember and I’ve learned something: many won’t tell the truth to the police about how they were injured because they retain this pathetic hope that if they actively aid in the cover up of an assault, they’ll somehow prove to their attacker that they’re “good enough” and this will stop the violence. This vicious cycle can go on for decades until the victim finally wises up…or is injured so badly they’re in no position to tell any further lies to the police because they’re dead.

  Emerging from my brief reverie, I said, “I’ll bet the cops didn’t believe Jen either.”

  “No. I think they knew she was covering for me. Then one of them tells Todd that he’s not in the mood to listen to any more BS from me and wants to know how Jen really got hurt.”

  “Imagine a public servant saying that sort of thing about you. I hope you got his badge number and made a complaint.”

  Tony folded his arms across his chest. “Look, do you want to hear my story or make fun of me?”

  “Both, actually, but I’ll really try to keep my smart mouth shut.”

  Mulvaney shot me a look of sarcastic amazement that said: Yeah, as if that’s going to happen.

  There was a long pause, and I could see that Tony was weighing the pleasures of telling me where I could stick the interview against his need to clear his name in a capital murder case. Finally, he said, “So, the cop asks how she really got hurt. Todd looks at Jen and she’s looking at him, like silently begging him not to tell what really happened. Finally, Todd tells the cops that he really thinks Jen slipped on the oil and that her injuries aren’t suspicious.”

  “You think the cops believed him?”

  “They were surprised and kept asking him if he was sure, but he stuck with his story.”

  “I’ll bet you were shocked…and relieved.”

  “You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. At first, I thought I was wrong. Maybe he had bought the story.”

  “But?”

  “But, once the police left, Todd sent his partner out to the paramedic truck. Then he starts talking to Jennifer about her teddy bears and how he’s admired her since he saw the article about her in the newspaper. Then he asks to see the teddy bears.”

  “Did that annoy you?”

  “A little, but I figure I gotta be nice to the guy because he saved Jen’s life.”

  “Was it possible that you were also concerned that if you made him angry, he might change his mind about how she got hurt and tell the police what he thought really happened?”

  “That’s partway true. I mean, the guy didn’t say anything right away, but I got this vibe from him like he thought he was in control.” Tony’s gaze went upward as he recalled the event. “Anyway, Jen shows him the bears and he’s so interested that I begin to figure maybe he’s weird or something, because normal guys don’t get so loopy over teddy bears.”

  “Present company excepted,” I said dryly, while peering at the I WUV CHEERY CHERUB BEARS on his chest.

  Tony realized where I was looking. “Hey, all I do is sell bears. I’m not like those losers that collect them.”

  “Hmm. At last count, my wife and I own over five hundred teddy bears and we’ll probably go home with at least one more, because I’ve got my eye on one of Penny French’s bears.” I turned to Mulvaney. “Do I look like a loser to you? Be honest.”

  Mulvaney cleared her throat. “I think I’d rather be a loser than a procurer.”

  Tony flinched.

  Looking back at him, I said, “But we digress. Todd is in your house making a fool of himself over the teddy bears, and…?”

  Tony took a deep breath. “Then he starts talking about how he’s always dreamed of writing and illustrating kids’ books and that he’d come up with a perfect idea a few months ago for Cheery Cherub Bears books, but that he was too shy to come and talk to her. All the while, he’s looking at Jen like she’s a big bowl of ice cream. Hey, you don’t need to spell it out for me: I can tell he’s sniffing around my wife.”

  “What an interesting way of putting it,” I said. “How did Jennifer react to this attention?”

  “In the beginning, she was nice to him.”

  “Do you think she was nice to him because she thought he was attractive or because she had to be?” I resisted adding: Or because she knew the idea of her flirting with another man would drive you freaking nuts.

  “Because she had to,” Tony snapped.

  “Yeah, that’s what I think, too. So, what happened then?”

  “Todd keeps talking about the kids’ books and how great they’d be with the bears. I’m starting to lose my temper, so I ask if he doesn’t have someplace else to go. He turns to me and says that he’d really like to work with us on the bears, because it’ll be good for his mental health.” Tony’s voice was growing more and more acidic. “Then he gives me this crap-eating smile and says, it’ll help him to forget the bad things he sees as a paramedic.”

  “I guess that didn’t need to be spelled out for you either,” I said, noticing that Mulvaney’s eyes were closed and she was shaking her head in disbelief.

  “No. That was crystal clear. He was in…working with the bears and with my wife. Otherwise, he’d snitch on me and I’d go to prison.”

  “That was a pretty rotten thing for him to do.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “And he could blackmail you until your probation expires. When does that happen?”

  “I was released from it two months ago.”

  “So, Todd became part of the Cheery Cherub Bears team. What did Jennifer think of the situation?”

  “She didn’t like it.”

  “I assumed that, but did you tell her to be nice to Todd?”

  “What do you mean by ‘nice?’” Todd’s tone grew hostile.

  “You know, nice. Pleasant to be around.”

  “You’d better watch your mouth.”

  “Cool your jets, Tony. I’m not suggesting you pimped your wife to stay out of prison.”

  “You’d better not be.”

  “Count on it, because I know you’d have killed Jennifer before letting her sleep with another man.”

  “That’s right!” Tony’s mouth sagged open and his pupils were visibly constricting from fear. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Of course, you did. Jen knew it, too,” I said gently. “That’s why she’d never have had an affair with Todd. But you did ask her to be friendly with him, right? Just to keep things peaceful?”

  “Yeah, but that’s all it was. She thought the guy was a geek.”

  “So, if the motive wasn’t romance, how about money? Tell me what happened with Todd and his books.”

  “There’s nothing much to tell. Some people thought the books were cute, but we didn’t really sell that many more bears.” Tony put his hands behind his head, another telltale sign that he was lying to us. Think of what many animals do when they’re trying to bluff an opponent. Cats arch their back and dogs puff their chests out and their tails curl upward. In short, they ma
ke themselves appear bigger and more menacing, which was what Tony was doing at this very moment.

  “Okay, so they weren’t successful, but who holds the copyrights?”

  “Well…”

  “Oh, my.” Recalling the gathering of Wintle Toy execs at the cocktail reception and the sight of Todd receiving some very bad news, an ugly thought occurred to me. I continued, “Maybe I should have phrased that last question a little differently. Did Todd ever copyright his books?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “And are they about to be copyrighted by Wintle Toys…say first thing Monday morning?”

  “That’s possible.” Tony lowered his arms and began to fiddle with the balled-up candy wrapper.

  “Is it also possible that you and Jen screwed Todd and that he won’t get a penny out of this big merchandising contract you just signed with Wintle and that cartoon outfit?”

  “Everything was done legally. We broke no laws.”

  “You learned that line from their corporate lawyer, didn’t you? Please answer my question.”

  “The sneaky little bastard got exactly what he deserved. Whose fault is it if he didn’t copyright his stuff?”

  “Does Todd know yet?”

  “No, it’ll be a nice surprise…for us, I guess.” Tony chuckled.

  “And Jennifer went along with this?” Suddenly I understood what the couple had been arguing about on Friday morning.

  “She was concerned about Todd suing us.”

  “She should have been more concerned about Todd killing you. Are the Wintle people staying at the Maritime Inn?”

  “No, some other hotel. Why?”

  It was all beginning to make sense, but I was lacking one vital piece of information. “Who was there from Wintle? Was one of them a thin woman?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And was she at the cocktail reception, wearing black pants and a black duster?”

  “A what?”

  “A long black coat.”

  “Yeah, that’s Carolyn Fielding. She’s the executive VP of licensing.”

  “I saw her breaking some sort of bad news to Todd on Friday night at the cocktail reception and he disappeared shortly thereafter, so I have to find out what she told him. What hotel are they staying at?”

  “I don’t know and it doesn’t make any difference. They’re flying back to El Paso this afternoon.”

  Mulvaney was already pushing past me and heading for the door, saying, “I’ll call Baltimore-Washington International Airport. There can’t be that many flights to El Paso and maybe they’re delayed because of the rain.”

  “Leave me your notepad,” I said to Mulvaney and she tossed it to me as she went out the door. I pulled a ballpoint pen from my shirt pocket. “What are the names of the other people from Wintle?”

  “There was Mr. Wintle—his first name is Jeffrey—and Mr. Coburn, he’s the corporate attorney, but I don’t remember his first name. There was also one other guy that I think was the vice president of marketing, but I can’t remember his name either.”

  I jotted the names down on the pad. “Kind of a sloppy way to do business. Would your lawyer know all the names?”

  “What lawyer?”

  “You didn’t have a lawyer look over the contract before signing it?” I stared at Tony in naked disbelief.

  “Lawyers cost money. Besides, I can read a contract.”

  “You know there’s this old adage about doing things pro per.”

  “Pro per?”

  “It’s Latin for not getting a real attorney and acting as your own legal counsel. The saying goes something like this: The person that acts as his own lawyer has a fool for a client.”

  “You know, I’m really tired of you talking down to me. Are we done here?” Tony barked.

  “I just have one final question: What did Lucifer look like when you sold your soul to him?”

  Eighteen

  By the time I left the interview room, Mulvaney was on the phone at a nearby work cubicle, saying, “No, it isn’t all right if you put me on hold. This is…hello?”

  “And they put you on hold anyway, right?” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Here are a couple of the other names.” I slid the notepad in front of her. “And when you get them back on the line, don’t bother checking Southwest Airlines. They don’t have first-class seating and the Wintle group are definitely not the sort of folks to ride with the rabble in coach.”

  “I’m not calling airport operations. I’m calling the Maryland State Police. The airport is under their jurisdiction.”

  “And they can coordinate with TSA to run the names through the computer? Good idea.”

  Delcambre came out of the audio-visual control room looking irked. Handing me my cane, he nodded toward the interview room door. “I’ve been on the job for eighteen years and the one thing I’ve never gotten used to is the fact that nothing bad ever really happens to dung beetles like that.”

  “That’s true, but I’ve found it helps a little to try and remember that dung beetles live their entire lives in a universe of crap and they’re acutely aware of it. It never gets any better for them than that, which can’t be pleasant.”

  “I guess,” Delcambre said, not sounding convinced. He turned to Mulvaney. “I’m going to fill out the paperwork to release Swift. The faster we get him out of the station, the cleaner the air will be in here.”

  She nodded and held up her hand for silence. Speaking into the receiver, she said, “Yes, thanks for getting back to me today. I’m Lieutenant Sarah Mulvaney from the Baltimore City Police and I’m making an official request for information about passengers that are scheduled to fly to El Paso today. We’re working a homicide here and this is an emergency. Yes, I know you have to confirm my identity. I’m going to give you the number for police dispatch, so you can call and ask them to transfer you to my extension. It’s…”

  Realizing that it was going to be at least a minute or two until Mulvaney could even request that the names be checked in the Transportation Security Administration database, I followed Delcambre over to his desk. He sat down, pushed the computer mouse back and forth until the machine emerged from “sleep” mode, and clicked on the word processing icon. A moment later, he was typing Tony’s name and other personal information onto a form on the screen labeled, “Release of Prisoner Without Criminal Charges.”

  From the other side of the office partition, we heard the phone trill. Mulvaney answered it before the first ring was completed. “Southeastern District Robbery-Homicide, this is Lieutenant Mulvaney…. Okay, so now you know who I am. I need you to check your outbound passenger list. Last name is Fielding—common spelling—and first name is Carolyn, and I don’t know the spelling, so it could be ‘i-n-e’ or with a ‘y’. She’s supposed to be flying to El Paso this afternoon. The next name is Wintle…”

  Delcambre looked up from the computer. “I was thinking about that. A major toy company headquartered in El Paso? Isn’t that kind of strange?”

  “Not really,” I replied. “The corporate offices are in El Paso, but I’ll wager the factories are just across the border in Ciudad Juarez, where they don’t have to pay that annoying American minimum wage or provide any benefits.”

  “Dung beetles.”

  “Yep. I’m going to go back and see what the lieutenant’s learned.”

  Delcambre clicked on the “print” icon and his laser printer began to whine. “Yeah, I’ll be with you in a second.”

  By the time I returned to the other cubicle, Mulvaney was bent over and writing on a note pad. “They’re on what airline? Has the flight left yet? No? When? Okay, we’re en route now, ETA driving time from downtown. Please listen carefully: I want you guys to contact all four people in that travel group. They are material witnesses in a homicide that occurred earlier this morning and I need to talk to them.”

  Delcambre walked past, headed toward the interview room. He asked me, “Success?”

  “It
seems they’re still on the ground.”

  “Thank God for bad weather. I’ll get Swift to sign this thing and get him out of here.” Delcambre went into the interview room.

  There were a few seconds of silence as Mulvaney listened and rolled her eyes. Clearly losing her patience, she said, “Yes, I realize that they’re just witnesses and you have no legal right to detain them. All I’m asking for is a little cooperation…”

  “May I?” I held out my hand for the phone and Mulvaney slapped it into my palm. I said, “Hi, this is Inspector Callahan. This is what we want your officers to tell the Wintle travel group: we’re coming out to ask them some potentially embarrassing questions about a murder and we can either do that in the first-class lounge in front of all the other Martini-sipping social elite or more privately in the State Police offices. We’re easy. Got that?”

  The woman on the other end of the line said, “Yes, sir.”

  “Muy excellente. When you hear back from your officers as to what the Wintle group has decided, call Baltimore City Police dispatch and have them relay us the information over the radio because we’re about to make a code-three run to your location,” I said, using the California police expression for driving with emergency lights and siren on.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I was hanging up the phone as Delcambre opened the interview room door and motioned with his hand for Tony to come out. The detective said, “Let’s go. As much as it disgusts me to say it, you’re a free man. Follow me to the lobby.”

  “How do I get back to the hotel?”

  “Walk. Call a cab. Swim through the sewers, for all I care,” said Delcambre.

  “Don’t go back to the hotel,” I cut in.

  “Why not?” Tony demanded.

  “Because, whatever your faults, I know you really did love your wife and you’ll go back there to kill Todd.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do or where I can or can’t go! That little bastard killed my wife and I’m going to tear his head off and—”

  I glanced at Mulvaney. “I’m not telling you what to do, but I’d lock him back up until we’re done.”