A Discount for Death

Chapter Twenty-three

Frank Dayan met Estelle at the counter before either of the two girls who worked the front office could stir in their seats. She could see Pam Gardiner, the newspaper’s editor, in one of the back cubicles, deep in a telephone conversation.

“Well, good morning,” Dayan said heartily. He wore his habitual white shirt and narrow tie, looking like someone fresh from the ’60s. He smiled as if Estelle had come to purchase a full-page ad. “We’ve got a whole slew of questions to ask you,” he said.

“Frank, thanks for giving me a few minutes,” Estelle replied. Dayan frowned at the massive book that she rested on the counter.

“Let’s go back to the office,” he said, and led her through the welter of activity.

“This is a bad day for you, I know,” she said.

“Every day is a bad day for us,” he laughed. “Come on in.” His office was nothing more than another cubicle, the half-wall partitions providing the appearance of privacy. He gestured at a small chair that looked like a reject from the middle school and sat down in his own swivel chair, one elbow on the desk beside the computer keyboard. “First of all,” he said, and then dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “what’s up with the Kenderman thing? Pam said that when she stopped by the S.O. this morning, she couldn’t find out a thing, other than that he’d been arrested in connection with the girl’s death. Nobody’s talking.”

“We haven’t had time to talk,” Estelle said. “What you heard is correct,” she added. “He was arraigned late last night. Judge Hobart set bond at fifty thousand dollars.”

“Holy smokes.” Dayan jotted a quick note as Estelle watched silently. “So what’s the deal?”

“Officer Kenderman was on duty when he apparently was involved in an incident Monday night. Colette Parker was killed after her motorcycle crashed into a utility pole.”

“We have that part,” Dayan said quickly. “But high-speed chases don’t end in bond and jail.”

“The chase apparently occurred following a domestic dispute.”

“You mean between the Parker girl and Officer Kenderman?”

“That’s correct.”

“How bizarre.” Dayan raised his voice a notch. “Pam,” he called over the partition, “did you hear that?”

The heavy-set young woman appeared as a wavy figure through the Plexiglass. She looked over the top at Estelle. “What prompted all this, anyway?” she asked.

“It’s a domestic dispute,” Estelle replied. “That’s all I can tell you at the moment.”

Pam’s eyes narrowed. “So if bond was set, what were the charges?

“Vehicular homicide, at the moment.”

“You mean there may be others?”

“That’s a possibility.” Estelle patted the cover of the heavy book on her lap. “I have an ink question that I need to ask you,” she said. Pam disappeared, and in a moment Estelle could hear the keys of the editor’s word processor.

“An ink question.” Dayan watched her open the book.

“This is really trivia,” she said, eager to think about something other than Perry Kenderman. “But I need to know.”

“It’s hard to imagine you spending your days with trivia,” Dayan said easily, and when Estelle glanced up at him, he smiled broadly.

She spread the book open. “Why is it that when I mark this page with one of these Hi-Liters, the ink sticks to the image, but not the rest of the page?” She slipped the marker out of her pocket and uncapped it, then dashed a line of ink across the page, hitting a row of white pills as she did so. She immediately wiped off the excess ink with her thumb. The pills turned a perfect, even yellow.

Dayan’s smile lingered. “Is this the way your day usually works?” He tapped his skull at the temple. “You must have some interesting tidbits filed away up there. It would make an interesting story.”

“But why this?” Estelle asked doggedly, pointing at the page.

“You know what four-color process is, right? When we run a color picture, it’s actually layered up out of four different plates-four different inks layered on top of the other?” She nodded. “Well, the slick, gray paper here in this book is actually five color. The gray tone of the paper is actually an ink wash, a fifth color. It isn’t just gray paper.”

“The white pill has no ink on it?”

“Absolutely correct,” Dayan said, impressed. “The white pills are actually the color of the original paper stock. They didn’t use white ink. Hardly anyone does.”

“The ink from the markers beads up on the gray ink, then,” Estelle said.

“Again, correct. The gray ink-any of the inks-is oil based. So it’s like asking the Hi-Liter’s ink to mark on oil. Doesn’t mix. It beads up. Leave it there long enough, and it would dry. But you wiped it off before it had a chance to dry.”

“And the rest soaks into the white paper.”

“Just so.” He folded his hands in his lap and grinned at the concentration on her face. “It looks like you had this pretty much figured out before you came here.”

“I don’t know,” Estelle said, and snapped the book shut. “But thanks, Frank.” She started to rise, and he held up a hand.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said. “You can’t do this to me.” He affected a wounded expression, and Estelle smiled. “What’s going on?” he asked. “And don’t say, ‘investigation is continuing.’ Is this something with the Kenderman thing, or with Enriquez, or what? What’s going on?”

“Investigation continuing would be the truth, Frank,” she said. She relaxed in the chair and rested both hands on top of the closed book. “When’s your deadline?”

Dayan glanced at his watch. “If we had something within the hour, Pam wouldn’t scream too much. We go to press at one-thirty. Even at this point, we’d have to pull something.”

“Okay.” She looked down at the book for a moment, then said, “The Posadas County Sheriff’s Department is investigating the apparent homicide of George Enriquez, Frank.”

“So it is homicide, then.”

“Apparent.” She watched him quickly jot notes. When he looked up, she said, “Enriquez died from a single gunshot wound, apparently from a magnum handgun. The revolver believed to be used in the shooting was recovered at the scene.”

“You know, you should work for us.”

“That’s okay,” she said.

“Motives?”

“Enriquez was currently facing a grand jury investigation, as you know.”

“Stemming from the insurance fraud thing.”

“Alleged improper practices,” she said quietly.

“And can I attribute all this to you, by the way?”

“If you wish.”

“I’d say ‘according to Sheriff Bob Torrez,’ but readers would never believe that.” He chuckled. “The grand jury proceedings were cancelled?”

“Yes.”

“You think somebody shot Enriquez because of some hanky-panky going on in his office, then?”

“I won’t speculate, Frank.”

“Suspects yet?”

“No.”

“Witnesses?”

“No.”

“Who found the body?”

“As I’m sure you’ve already heard,” she said with gentle reproof, “one of his office staff discovered the body yesterday morning.”

“Right there in the insurance office?”

“Yes.”

“How long had he been dead?”

“We believe that Mr. Enriquez was killed sometime between Monday morning and Tuesday morning, when his body was discovered.”

“Was it originally thought to be suicide?”

“There was always that possibility,” Estelle said, and turned when she saw Pam Gardiner’s shadow appear at the partition again. The girl apparently preferred peering over the translucent barrier like some large gargoyle rather than simply taking a step to her left and using the doorway.

“But that possibility was quickly dismissed?” Dayan pressed.

“I’m not sure how quickly, but yes, that’s fair to say.”

He looked down at his notepad, pursing his lips. “Where was he shot?”

“In his office.”

“No, I mean where in the body?”

“A single gunshot wound through the head.”

“While he was sitting at his desk?”

“It appears so.”

“Who does the revolver belong to? Was it his?”

“It appears so.”

Dayan regarded her in silence for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Wow. You’re heading up the investigation?”

“Sheriff Robert Torrez is in charge,” Estelle replied.

“And what’s he think about all this?” and Dayan immediately held up a hand to ward off the expected response. “I know, I know. I need to ask him. I’d get more out of this desk,” he said, rapping the edge of the desk with his knuckle. “Well,” and he took a deep breath, “this is going to help, don’t you think, Pam? We had a little bit that we put together but no details.” He nodded at Estelle. “We’ll plug this in. Many thanks.”

“You’re welcome. As I know more, I’ll let you know.”

Dayan leaned forward conspiratorially. “So I’ll ask again…what’s with the ink thing?” He watched her get up, hefting the book. “How’s that related to Enriquez-or is it?”

She nodded. “It’s just one of those investigation continuing things, Frank.”

“Oh, sure.” He leaned back in his chair, face a study in skeptical resignation. “If anything crops up in the next hour and a half, you’ll let us know?”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded her thanks at both Dayan and Pam Gardiner. As she was making her way back toward the front of the office, she heard the publisher in hushed conversation with his editor. Estelle knew that District Attorney Daniel Schroeder’s phone would be ringing in the next few minutes, and she knew exactly what Schroeder would tell the Posadas Register without the least bit of concern about when their deadlines might be.