Ghost on the Case (Bailey Ruth #8)(53)

He was abruptly thoughtful. “I guess I’ll find out soon. There was a business deal—”

I knew he referred to SIMPLE Cars.

“—I hoped Wilbur might finance, but he decided against it. He told me I was free to take my idea and build my own company. I may just try it unless Ben is interested.”

“Did Wilbur sign a waiver that the company agreed to forego its proprietary interest in your plan since you developed it as a Fitch Enterprises employee?”

For an instant his sensitive face was utterly blank. He stared at me. “Wilbur told me it was all right. Ben will honor his father’s promise.”

But there was nothing in writing.

He gave a negligent wave with one hand. “But that’s not why you came to see me. You said two employees are under suspicion because of a confidential informant.”

“Yes.”

“I understood Susan Gilbert was, how do you put it, a ‘person of interest.’”

“Investigations often take a different turn.”

“That’s good news for Susan and I think very sensible. She’s not that kind of person. I don’t know who’s feeding you information, but I don’t think much of the claims. Todd and Wilbur yelled at each other a lot. It didn’t mean a thing. Todd thought Wilbur was a great man.”

“Does Todd know how to shoot a gun?”

Alan laughed out loud. “Proves you’ve never met Todd. He’s a good old boy. By definition in Adelaide, a good old boy played football, drinks Bud, wears boots, goes hunting. But”—he leaned forward—“a good old boy will give you the shirt off his back and carry a woman across a puddle and eat ribs with his fingers and not worry about the sauce. Todd never hurt Wilbur.” Alan’s blue eyes were cold and intent. “If you people are looking for somebody who had it in for Wilbur, check out his lawyer. I was in Wilbur’s office last week and I heard him tell George Kelly he was out the door.”

? ? ?

Todd Garrett’s office in the brick one-story building was similar to Harry’s though larger, the same cream walls and parquet flooring, but there was a Persian throw rug in front of a more imposing desk. Folders were stacked on the desk, on the floor next to the desk, and tucked in a bookcase. A leather sofa faced the desk. Two easy chairs sat opposite each other on either side of the sofa.

Todd stood at a window with the venetian blinds raised. He looked out at a field with dun-colored grass cut short. A massive bull appeared to be the only occupant of the pasture. The bull had his back to the building. His tail twitched, but otherwise he stood motionless.

Todd’s posture was forlorn, slumped shoulders, hands jammed in his trouser pockets. Scraggly brown hair curled a bit on the back of his neck. He would have benefitted from a trim.

I left the office, ready to appear as Detective Sergeant Latham. In the hallway, a coffee cart was stopped two doors up. The attendant, curly dark hair, a cheerful round face, knocked, called out, “Coffee. Tea. Donuts. Pastries.” As she poked her head inside the office, I appeared, twisted the knob of Todd’s door, and stepped inside.

He turned as I walked toward him, hand outstretched with my leather ID folder. “Detective Sergeant G. Latham.”

Todd was somber, his stare morose. “Hell of a deal. Wilbur. Now Carl.” He waved toward one of the easy chairs.

I found the chair very comfortable but noted a worn spot on one arm.

He sat down on the leather sofa. He looked older than forty-eight, as if he carried each year on his back. His voice was dull, weary. “I go back a long way with Wilbur. When I came in this morning, the whole place felt like it was empty. He filled everything up. But I think you people have it wrong.” He leaned forward. “The story in the Gazette made it sound like Susan Gilbert’s under suspicion. I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“Ms. Gilbert is being very helpful to the authorities.” I was glad the Gazette was an afternoon newspaper. Wait until he saw Joan Crandall’s lead story today when Susan was reported to be in custody as a material witness. “I will definitely notify my superiors of your support of her. You have a unique perspective as COO of the company. In fact, I am here because we received confidential information about two Fitch employees that requires investigation. We understand Mr. Fitch recently had harsh words with”—I drew a small notebook from my purse and turned a page as if checking my information—“a Mr. Harry Hubbard and a Mr. Alan Douglas.”

Todd’s somber look was replaced with a flash of genuine amusement. “Somebody told you Wilbur yelled at them, right?”

“That’s right.”

His pudgy face re-formed in a smile that held a trace of sadness and nostalgia. “You got to understand”—he was earnest—“Wilbur yelled at everybody. Wilbur could hardly talk without yelling. He reamed out Harry about a bill he ran up at a ritzy hotel in Dallas, told him he was like a leech and if somebody stepped on a leech it squished blood but Harry would squish money, Wilbur’s money. Wilbur liked to hassle Harry. Harry always gave him a day or two to cool off then he’d call and say, Pops, how about I eat at your place tonight. I’m hungry for sautéed leeches, and Wilbur would boom out a laugh and everything would be okay.”

I studied the man sitting on the sofa. His blue eyes didn’t look very intelligent, but they looked open and honest. Those guileless eyes were suddenly narrowed and spiteful. “I didn’t hear Wilbur yell at Alan Douglas. Maybe if he’d yelled, Alan wouldn’t have looked like a whipped dog on Tuesday. See”—he hunched forward—“Alan had this stupid idea about making a car that nobody but a geezer would buy. Tuesday I was in the hall at the house and I started to open the door to the study—”