Class Conspiracy: A Hank Lancaster Mystery Read online

  CLASS CONSPIRACY

  Copyright © 2017 by Ace Beckett

  All right reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  As I relaxed in the Courthouse witness room of Blue Gulf County, I smiled with amusement after the defendant shot a Dracula sneer my way as he passed me in the corridor. He didn’t have the long fangs of the dark Count but the sneer showed two sharp incisors. We both had to attend the trial but I had better seating arrangements – a gray Corliving Seattle Lounge Chair – than he did. The hard wooden chairs in the courtroom didn’t have near the padding the Seattle Lounge did. Besides, it was much better to be a witness instead of the defendant in an attempted murder trial. Which is one reason why Dr. Edward Markham was in such a sour mood. I had been told that he was a good dentist but thankfully for his former wife, he was not a skilled murderer.

  The door opened and the impressive, six-foot-six African-American bailiff walked in. Drummond Whitaker helps the wheels of justice grind smoothly. More than one feisty defendant has calmed down when they saw him.

  “Mr. Lancaster. They are ready for you now.”

  “Thank you,” I said, getting up.

  Whitaker not only is physically intimidating, he is a deacon at the Mount Oak Baptist Church and carried what can only be described as the aura of an Old Testament prophet. Witnesses, defendants and even defense lawyers lived in slight trepidation that he might raise his long index finger, point it at them and pronounce judgement. If that happened, I had no doubt a few hearts would give out and recipients of judgement would drop dead on the courthouse floor.

  I’m one of the few people who are so tall that they don’t look like a dwarf walking beside him. I’m six-three and a centimeter. While Whitaker has forty well-muscled pounds on me my weight of two hundred and thirty-five pounds are perfect for my height and frame. Some of those pounds also match the muscles on the bailiff’s arms and chest.

  About a dozen people were in the audience as I was sworn in and took my seat in the witness chair. The jury box was at a right angle to the witness stand, full of five men and seven women. They looked like regular folk from Blue Gulf County. Two of the men and two of the women were old enough to be retired. There was only one young person, a blond-haired man who could have been a college student and with the exception of an African-American man in a gray suit, the jurors dressed casually.

  The tall, lanky state attorney stood up and walked to the end of the jury box. A wise move. If he could hear a witness while standing there, it meant all the jurors could also easily hear the witness. Apparently either the defendant, or his wife or other witnesses had social or business connections to the two state attorneys in the district so a special prosecutor was brought in. Defense Attorney Zach Winters had noticed that and, so I was told, referred to the prosecutor as a “hired tongue” during his opening statement. He had something of a mixed reputation. I didn’t know State Attorney John Barlow but was impressed with him when he first interviewed me.

  “Mr. Lancaster, you are a private detective, correct?”

  “I am.”

  “Did you have a chance to become acquainted with Angelique Markham, the ex-wife of the defendant?”

  “Yes, I did,” I replied.

  “Please tell the court how that came about.”

  “Around two months ago Mrs. Markham came to my office and wanted to employ me.”

  “What did she want you to do, Mr. Lancaster?”

  “She asked me to follow her husband because she believed he was cheating on her. She also expressed some concern for her safety, fearing he might turn violent.”

  “Did you take the job?”

  “I did.”

  “What did your investigation reveal?”

  “That her husband Dr. Markham was indeed having an affair. He met a woman named Sheila Turnbridge at an apartment on the beach side of the city. I followed him on three different occasions when he visited the woman in the late afternoon or evening. On another occasion he had dinner with Ms. Turnbridge at the Coastal Reef Restaurant on the beach.”

  “Did you relay this information to your client?”

  “I did. Mrs. Markham told me she had been thinking of divorcing her husband for some time and she said the information confirmed that was the right move.”

  Winters wanted to object on the grounds of hearsay but the now divorced Mrs. Markham had already testified so he had no legal peg to hang an objection on.

  “Did she tell you that her husband objected to a divorce?”

  “Yes, he was afraid a divorce would destroy him financially. She said he promised a long and bitter fight unless he could leave with 90 percent of their finances. She said she would never agree to that."

  “During one of the times when you followed Dr. Markham, did two other men confront you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please tell the jurors what happened.”

  “The last time I tailed Dr. Markham he visited Ms. Turnbridge again at her apartment. My car was in the apartment complex’s parking lot. I was out of the car and taking a few notes when two men angrily approached me and demanded the notebook. They also said to keep any information about Dr. Markham to myself or I would….experience certain physical difficulties.”

  “At that time did they try to take your notebook?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “There was a minor disagreement,” I said, smiling.

  “Did you keep your notebook?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the two men?”

  “They spent some time in the local hospital’s emergency room. But we have good doctors in Blue Gulf County and the last I heard they had fully recovered.”

  A murmur of laughter came from the spectators.

  “Did you recognize the two men?”

  “No, I had never seen them before or since for that matter.”

  “Did they tell you why they were so interested in you following Dr. Markam?”

  “No, we didn’t have a long conversation. I just assumed---”

  “Objection!”

  Winters shot out of his chair.

  “Your honor, what Mr. Lancaster assumed is not evidence.”

  “Sustained,” the judge said. “Move to your next question, Mr. Barlow.”

  “Was there a time when you had com
munication with the defendant himself?”

  “Yes, about two days after that I received a call on my cell phone from a man who said he was Dr. Markham. He told me to stop following him and to stay away from his wife.”

  “Did Mr. Markham say what would occur if you didn’t?”

  “He said he would hire better people in the future and they would kill me.”

  An ominous sound spread through small crowd as heads turned and the spectators looked at one another.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lancaster. No more questions.”

  The judge looked toward the defense table. “Would you like to cross-examine, Mr. Winters?”

  “Yes, your honor,” he said. “But first could we have a brief conference at the bench.”

  The judge extended his hand and wriggled his long fingers toward the attorneys.

  “Come up. As long as it’s brief.”

  As the attorneys approached the bench I focused on the solitary man sitting almost in the back row. He wasn’t with the friends or the opponents of the defendant. He was an average looking man in a brown suit. I had a hunch that he was not connected to the case, making me wonder why he was in the courthouse. There are a few people who just like to attend trials. Or maybe he was a reporter but, after a few seconds, I cast that idea aside. He just didn’t look like a reporter and he wasn’t scribbling into a notebook.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” the judge said.

  Winters didn’t walk to the end of the jury booth, rather he simply returned to the defense table and stood by it. His voice was belligerent as if he were an Army Sergeant yelling at a slacker.

  “Before that call had you ever talked to Dr. Markham?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Have you ever talked to him since that call?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “So you don’t really know if the man who called you was Dr. Markham.”

  “No. I can only positively state what the man told me and he told me he was Dr. Markham.”

  “But you have no independent verification that it was the doctor on the other end of that call?”

  “No,” I said.

  Winters sneered. If malice had been bourbon he would have ordered a double I thought.

  “Isn’t it true, Mr. Lancaster, that you are nothing but a hired thug? Isn’t that what some people call you?

  “No doubt but I’m sure some people call you nasty names too. That doesn’t mean they’re correct.” I smiled and looked at the jurors. “On my license, the great state of Florida has ruled I’m a private detective. I think the license for hired thug is in a different category and costs an extra $200 more a year.”

  Several jurors laughed out loud. Their laugher was joined by several spectators. Even the state attorney covered his mouth in a pretend cough to stop the chuckles. Winters face scrunched up like he had just sucked a dozen sour lemons.

  “Your Honor, may I request you admonish the witness to answer the question and nothing more,” Winters said.

  “I will but you asked for it, Mr. Winters, and the witness mailed it to you special delivery.” The judge turned to me. “Mr. Lancaster, you are requested to answer all questions without flowery additions, although the court does appreciate your witty humour.”

  I nodded. “Yes, your honor.”

  Winters fumbled with his notes a moment and then looked up.

  “No more questions.”

  “Any re-direct, Mr. Barlow?”

  “No, your honor.”

  “The witness is excused.”

  When I walked out of the courtroom I noticed the solitary man near the back row watched me as I left.

  Astrid Longren sipped a tall glass of smooth white wine and giggled when I shared the “costs $200 more a year” line to her later that day. Wine dripped from her lips onto her blouse and she grabbed a napkin to wipe away the dark spot.

  “What did the judge say after that?” she said, with a huge cheshire smile on her face.

  “Well, the defense attorney complained. The judge was amused but said that was enough humor for the day.”

  She laughed and took another sip of wine. “So do you think the doctor will be convicted?”

  “I think so. Lawyers say you never can tell with juries but the state has a good case and plenty of evidence to convict him. Frank Barlow, the prosecutor trying the case, impressed me as skilled attorney. The defense attorney, Zach Winters, is also a good attorney but like some hitters in baseball, he’s streaky. He can be exceptional in one trial and in the next be mediocre, usually he’s good but there are times when he’d get ‘C’ rating at best. But even if he’s at his best, I think Barlow is better. If you’re a defendant and facing an excellent prosecutor with strong evidence, you better pack your bags. You’re going to be sent up state.”

  “Which he deserves,” Astrid said.

  “True.”

  “Is that the first time you’ve testified in court?”

  “Second time. But the first was about five years ago. It wasn’t dramatic, just a divorce case. But enough business talk. Would you like to finish the wine and go to dinner? We could try the Black Steer. It’s one of the best restaurants in the city.”

  She shook her head.

  “I’d like to but I have an evening class tonight and I need to leave in about ten minutes to get to it.”

  Astrid is a professor at Gulf Coastal College, a small institution but one that has a solid reputation for academic excellence. It’s a reputation well deserved.

  “Get a lot of adults for the night class?”

  A trace of jubilation came into her voice.

  “I sure did. Have eighteen students and thirteen are adults who still appreciate good literature.”

  I raised my glass of bourbon and coke. “Good, then there is hope for civilization yet.”

  She clicked her glass on mine.

  The next day my blue turtleneck and matching jacket felt extra cozy, as it was one of the coldest days of the year in Florida, the perpetual warm Sunshine State. However this was early October and the Sunshine State had been hit with a cold wave. A wintry freeze blew down from Georgia and shifted the temperatures to the low-thirties, which for most Floridians, is similar to the North Pole. Fortunately, there were no stains on the turtleneck. Astrid forbids me to wear any shirt, turtleneck or jacket that has a spot on it and her telescopic vision can detect spots invisible to most human eyes.

  No one was waiting outside the office so I unlocked the door and walked in. The Lamont Commercial Building has six business renters on its first floor and five on the second floor where my office is located. They also employ janitorial crews who do remarkable good work. Every day I open the door the office has been immaculately cleaned. Not a speck of dust remains. Which is definitely not the way I left it the previous evening.

  I was about to flick on the computer and television when a gentle rap came on the door. I looked up and a man gave a diffident smile as he stepped uneasily toward the chair in front of my desk.

  He looked familiar and then I realized he was the man near the back row in the Markland trial.

  “Hello, come in,” I said.

  I stood up and offered my tan hand. He shook it and smiled.

  “You’re Hank Lancaster?” he asked.

  “I am. The one and only, accept no substitutes.”

  The humor fell flat. He didn’t smile, leaving him even more uneasy looking. Astrid likes my humor. So much so that I am sometimes shocked when other people don’t.

  “My name is Stephen Bates. I have what might be called a strange request, Mr. Lancaster, but I will pay for your time.”

  He quickly opened his wallet and pulled out two fifty-dollar bills. The response was so fast it seemed like he was uncertain whether I would let him stay or kick him out of the office. I lifted the bills from his hands and nodded.

  “For a hundred dollars I will gladly listen to any strange or non-strange request,” I said. “Please sit down.”

  As h
e eased into the chair, I returned around the desk and sat behind it.

  “Mr. Lancaster, the money is for thirty or so minutes of your time. I don’t want to seem like a conspiracy theorist but there are number of events that have troubled me recently. Everything I relate to you may be coincidental and isolated but I’m worried…and I wanted a professional to listen to me and tell me if my concerns are valid or frivolous.”

  “I will be glad to listen.”

  “If you think my concerns are valid then I would like to hire you.”

  I nodded. “I won’t let that influence my opinion.”

  “I thought as much. A number of people in law enforcement community spoke well of you but I wanted to see you before I came in, that is why I was at the trial yesterday. If I had not been impressed I wouldn’t be here today. You seemed solid to me.”

  “My girlfriend thinks so too and I appreciate it when she adds the word ‘handsome’ to her sentence.”

  My humor was getting better. Bates gave a half-smile.

  “What are you specifically concerned about Mr. Bates?”

  “The deaths, possibly murders, of three of my high school classmates.”

  I’m not a morning person. I stay drowsy typically until mid-day but if there was any remaining mental fog this morning Bates’ statement wiped it away.

  “I am definitely listening. Please continue.”

  I grabbed a yellow legal pad from my desk and a black pen.

  “Eighteen years ago I graduated from the Winter Springs High School in Bay Tree County in north Florida. At that time there were about two hundred and twenty graduates in my senior class. Three of those students have died mysterious deaths in the past three to four months. Believe it or not I do have an outgoing personality and in high school I talked a lot. Which is why I knew and befriended so many classmates. My worry over this current situation has dampened my personality and I’m not nearly as gregarious as I used to be.”

  “Worry can do that to you so let me help you take care of that worry. Please continue,” I said.

  “Even when some classmates moved out of county and out of state I kept in contact with them. My wife jokingly said I know more people than anyone else in the state. There’s an element of truth in that. One of the people I kept in contact with was Harper Fletcher. He wasn’t a close friend but Harper and I played on the Winter Springs baseball team during our junior and senior years. I will freely admit I am not an outstanding athlete. We two just made the cut. We both enjoyed playing, loved being on the squad and wore our team lettermen jackets to impress girls. Harper moved to a small town in Georgia named Green Groves, where he was a policeman for several years but then, with a friend, opened an appliance business selling televisions, washing machines, dryers, refrigerators, things like that. The business prospered and he eventually bought his partner out leaving him the sole owner of the business.”