Murder At Tiger Eye E-Book

Jim Riley

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Niki Dupre is overwhelmed with cases. And then, her fiancee asks her to take two more.

One is the murder of a friend, a partner at a stockbroker's office. The other, the sudden collapse of his nephew on the football field. Both cases seem clear at first glance, yet something more is hiding under the surface.

With each unexpected twist and turn, Niki discovers that neither of the cases is what she first expected. But can she find who is responsible and bring them to justice?

Leseprobe

MURDER AT TIGER EYE

NIKI DUPRE MYSTERIES BOOK 2

JIM RILEY

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Notes

Next in the Series

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2020 Jim Riley

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2020 by Next Chapter

Published 2020 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMind

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

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

CHAPTERONE

WEDNESDAY NIGHT

Tiger Eye Investors

Trevor Wilson turned off the lights and locked his office door, never dreaming what was about to happen. No one was left in the other offices or at the receptionist's desk. The other workers had left hours ago, and Trevor didn't blame them. Each was affected by the tumultuous crash of the stock market, and it was just as well. He didn't want to see them and exchange forced pleasantries. None realized the future of the investment firm was on shaky ground. The only one who had kept up her spirits was Donna, the hourglass receptionist. She also knew the least about the effects of the market decline on the brokerage business.

Trevor unlocked the door leading to the parking lot. His thoughts were already on another sleepless night, dreading answering the numerous phone calls he knew he would receive the coming day. He had already told them to be patient, that this was merely a correction in the bull market. But that line quickly lost its punch with each passing day of another down market.

Slipping the keys out of his pocket, he walked into the unlit lot. He pushed the unlock button and heard the familiar door locks clicking open. The broker heard another sound, and it wasn't coming from the vehicle but from directly behind him. He saw the reflection of a figure standing a couple of feet away. As he turned, it was too late. The letter opener thrust into his back with force. It glanced off one rib and penetrated the lower chambers of his heart. Trevor Wilson was dead before he fell to the dark pavement. The killer left the instrument of death protruding from his back.

CHAPTERTWO

THURSDAY MORNING

Central

Niki Dupre looked at the stacks of papers covering her desk and smiled. No longer did she look at piles of unpaid bills but the documentation of active cases in one group and prospective clients in the other. Since she had solved the murder on Spirit Island case, her phone hadn't quit ringing. The strawberry blonde had more opportunities than time allowed.

Niki already hired a part-time receptionist to fill the phone calls. Lauren Bell went to school at LSU on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and answered the phone and manned the front desk for Wildcat Investigations the other three days of the week. She became adept at screening the crackpot calls from the ones with promise. She also picked up the nickname Flash because she could get clients, potential clients, and the media off the phone in a hurry without hurting their feelings.

At ten-thirty, the phone rang, and Flash's voice was on the other end.

"Priority call. It's from your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," Niki protested but Flash had already hung up.

"I'm not what?" the masculine voice on the phone asked.

"Oh, nothing," Niki replied. "I'm flustered. I was trying to talk to Flash."

"Me, too," Dalton Bridgestone replied.

The youngest United States Senator ever to represent Louisiana chuckled.

"I love to talk to her, but I don't think she enjoys talking to me."

Niki smiled.

"The only reason you like talking to her is she's cute as a button and has a teenage body. In five years, after she has three kids and weighs two hundred pounds, you won't give her a second look."

Dalton laughed.

"You know that's not true. I admire all women for their logic and forethought. At least, that's what my campaign manager says."

"The only thoughts men have about women is how firm their chest and butts are. The only thing a man wants from a woman's mind is to agree with him no matter what," Niki responded.

"As your Senator, I must admonish your position on men but I didn't call you to talk about Flash's chest or butt. I need your help."

She hesitated.

"As long as it doesn't take too much time. I'm backed up as far as I can go."

Dalton got serious.

"Look, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. I need you."

"At least you're starting right. You haven't said you need me in a long time."

"Well, I'm saying it now,'' he replied. "I need you to drop everything you're doing and work for me."

Niki gasped.

"I can't drop everything. I have six active cases working and three more potential cases that could pay my bills for the rest of the year."

"C'mon,'' he said. "After you collected that million-dollar bonus for turning me in, you don't have to work."

He referred to the case that made her famous.

She laughed.

"After my friendly government took out their share to pay your salary, I might have enough left to have fries with my burger. Your services are expensive."

''You only get the best if you're willing to pay for the best,'' he responded. "But seriously, I need you."

"What's up?" She asked, now curious.

"A good friend of mine, Trevor Wilson, was murdered outside his office last night."

"Isn't that a case for the police?" she asked.

"Yes, and they're looking into it. But with a murder a day happening in the city, they don't have the resources to thoroughly cover them all. I want to make sure this one is covered. That's why I need you. I know you'll get to the bottom of it."

"Thank you for the compliment, but I can't just drop my other six cases. That wouldn't be fair to my clients," she protested.

"Take this on as your seventh. Once you get into it, you'll find enough time to solve it. Besides, I've already taken steps that'll help you."

Niki ran her hand through her long strawberry-blonde hair.

"What steps?" she cautiously asked.

"You're now a special investigator for the finance committee of the United States Senate. That means you have the same authority to investigate investment crimes as the FBI, CIA, or any other three-letter agency."

"How do you know your friend's murder was an investment crime?" Niki asked.

"I don't," Dalton replied."But it was the only way I could get you enough stroke to cut through a lot of the BS you typically have to put up with. If someone lies to you now, it's a felony, and that should make them more forthcoming."

''Is that legal? I mean, that's a lot of oomph from the stroke of a pen.''

"That's your friendly federal government at work. When can you start?" he asked.

''Let's go for tomorrow morning. I can find a spot in the rest of my cases to push them back or at least figure out how to fill this end with them.''

''The same fee structure okay with you?''

''You don't have to pay me, Dalton.''

''I'm not,'' he laughed. ''Your friendly federal government is.''

CHAPTERTHREE

FRIDAY MORNING

Tiger Eye Investors

Niki walked into the professional office building at ten on Friday. A perky blonde greeted her with an infectious smile. The blonde looked up, her positive vibes flowing around the room.

''I'm sorry,'' she said, never losing her smile. ''We're closed today. May I make you an appointment for early next week?''

''I'm not here to invest. I'm here to investigate what happened Wednesday night,'' Niki replied.

Donna's countenance fell.

''We all loved Mr. Wilson. Who would do something like that to him?''

Niki gave her a comforting smile.

"That's what I'm here to find out. Do you have any ideas?"

"No, ma'am," she addressed Niki with a polite title though Niki was about the same age. "Can you believe they took the letter opener off my desk? I bet my fingerprints are all over it because I use it all the time."

''That's okay," Niki said. "Having your prints on the murder weapon doesn't mean you're guilty. Hopefully, I'll prove you didn't do it.''

''I didn't know it. I swear. I loved Mr. Wilson, and he was always doing favors for me."

''What favors?''

''When he stopped to pick up donuts for the office, he gave me this big ol' eclair full of chocolate. I love those things, and I don't have to worry about getting fat.''

Donna's figure was still trim and athletic. Niki wanted to get all the information she could from the energetic blonde.

''I know the firm provides investment opportunities. Can you give me any specifics?''

Donna grinned.

''Sure. Everybody here thinks I'm an airhead. You know all the jokes about us. Right?''

Niki, whose hair was more of a strawberry-blonde color than ash blonde, nodded.

''Yeah. Most guys don't think we can spell ‘cat' if they spot us the C and the T.''

Niki figured Donna thought the investigator was on her side in the battle for respect.

''I know," Donna said. "They talk around me like I'm not even there. Sometimes, I wonder if they think I even have an IQ. My name is Donna. Donna Cross.''

The perky blonde stuck her hand out to Niki, and the investigator quickly shook it while smiling.

"I'm Niki Dupre. The Senate Finance Committee has assigned me the case. They're concerned whenever something happens to an investment advisor. I know that was Mr. Wilson's title, but what did he really do?"

"He ran a hedge fund for Tiger investments trading derivatives."

"Derivatives?" Niki had a questioning look.

"Yeah. Calls and puts."

"Can you tell me what calls and puts are?" Niki asked.

''Sure.'' Donna beamed, eager to share her acquired knowledge. ''A call is a contract for one hundred shares of stock. Suppose you like a company and think it's going to do well in the market. Let's call it the XYZ company. If XYZ is trading at fifty dollars a share, and you think it'll jump to sixty, you can buy a hundred shares for five thousand dollars. With me?''

''Yeah. I want to make ten dollars a share or a thousand dollars. Where does the call or the put come into play?''

''You can buy a call for the right to buy that same hundred shares at one dollar each. You could buy a contract for XYZ with a fifty-dollar strike price for a dollar a share but it's only good for thirty days. Still with me?''

''Yes.''

Donna grinned, proud of her knowledge.

''For that same hundred shares, you would only spend a hundred dollars, or you can spend the five thousand dollars you would have spent on the shares and by fifty calls of XYZ. That means you have the right to buy five thousand shares of XYZ at fifty dollars a share for the next thirty days. Got it?''

Niki wasn't sure but nodded anyway.

''That means, if XYZ goes to sixty dollars, you get to buy five thousand shares for fifty dollars each, and you can sell them for sixty. That means you make ten dollars per share or fifty thousand dollars. You paid five thousand, but you still make forty-five thousand dollars net for the same five thousand dollars investment.''

Niki whistled.

"That's impressive. But how often does it really happen?"

Donna smiled.

"Not very. In fact, from what Mr. Wilson tells his clients, it's a scam, almost like going to the gambling boats on the river. The odds are on the other side. He says ninety-nine percent of all call options expire worthless after the thirty days. The XYZ stock doesn't go up. It either stays the same or goes down."

Niki looked at her notes.

"Why would Mr. Wilson invest in calls if he expected almost all to expire worthless?"

"Because he didn't buy them. He sold them. In our lingo, he wrote them. Mr. Wilson sold them through electronic exchanges. In the example we talked about, he would sell fifty contracts for XYZ at a fifty dollars strike."

"Where did he get them to sell?"

"Nowhere. He originated the option contracts. That means he made them up out of thin air."

Niki frowned.

"Is that legal? Can someone make up any call option contract and sell it to the market?"

"Sure can, as long as there's a willing buyer for the price he sets. The markets love it, and say it provides liquidity. I'm not sure exactly what that means."

"Wow," Niki exclaimed. "You picked up a lot of knowledge. Are you thinking of going into investments or brokering?"

"Not really. I'm still figuring out I want to do. My boyfriend, Blake, is a football player at LSU. He may skip his last two years and go pro. If he does, I won't have to work, and I can do whatever I want. Something I enjoy."

"You don't enjoy it here?" Niki asked.

"Yes, ma'am. I do. But the only reason Mr. Wilson ever talked to me about investing was when I wore a short dress."

"A short dress? I'm not making the connection."

"Whenever I wore a dress, he would invite me to his office. We'd talk about calls and puts or whatever he thought was interesting. All the time, he was trying to look up my dress."

"Did it bother you?" Niki asked.

"A little at first, when I realized what he was doing. Afterward, I began having fun with it. I teased the heck out of him. But he wasn't the worst by far."

"Who would that be?"

Donna sighed.

"Take your pick. Some guys tell me lewd jokes as if that's supposed to put me in the mood to sleep with them. Others make nasty suggestions. Mr. Ashton always has to touch me, and sometimes grabs my butt."

"Why not file a complaint?"

"I need a job. Until Blake turns pro, he's a struggling college student. He's got less money than me, and that isn't much."

In his mid-forties, a well-groomed man appeared at the door between the reception area and the rest of the offices.

"Donna, I need you to get a letter out to our clients," he said.

She glanced at Niki, then replied.

"Mr. Jareaux, this is Niki Dupre. She's a special investigator, and needs to talk to you."

Jareaux inspected Niki from head to toe.

"I would love to talk to you, Miss Dupre. But I've already given a statement to you guys. We need to spend our time assuring our clients Trevor's death won't endanger their investments."

"I'm not with the police, Mr. Jareaux. I'm here on behalf of the finance committee of the United States Senate," Niki replied.

She flashed the ID card had Dalton furnished.

"I'm afraid I must insist that you talk with me."

Jareaux hesitated.

"Okay. Give me a few minutes. Donna, please come to my office. Miss Dupre, Donna will let you know when I'm available."

He abruptly turned and left the receptionist area. Donna gave Niki a thumbs-up sign and grinned. She picked up a pad and followed Jareaux into the back offices.

Niki examined the modestly designed office. Portraits of wildlife adorned the walls. One was of an alligator, its mouth wide open, on the bank of Lake Maurepas. Another depicted a brown pelican, the Louisiana state bird, in flight. Others displayed various ducks, from the mallards to the green-winged teal, floating down the natural waterways in the southern part of the state's marshes.

After ten minutes, Donna reappeared.

"He can see you now," the young lady said. "I love how you handled him. He's not accustomed to being challenged, especially by a woman. Be careful, though. He has more tentacles than an octopus."

Niki laughed.

''I've had a few dates like that. I can handle him.''

She entered the hallway leading to the back. The investigator correctly assumed Jareaux's office would be at the rear of the hallway. Entering his office, she noted the stark contrast in the furnishings and artwork in his office compared to the reception area. The art on Jareaux's wall consisted of original paintings by Louisiana's most talented artists. The intricate details and unique Cajun ambiance captured by the local painters amazed Niki. His desk and matching credenza were made with the finest bald cypress available, not a typical use of natural timber.

"What can I do for you, Miss Dupre? I must warn you my time is limited, even for special investigators."

Niki took a seat in an adorned leather chair.

"I'll get down to business, Mr. Jareaux. You're a partner in this business. Correct?"

Jareaux nodded while ogling Niki.

"Mr. Wilson was also a partner. Correct?"

Again the broker said nothing, only nodding.

"There is a third partner, a man named Hugh Carter. Is that correct?"

"Yes, but Hugh is a silent partner. He's not involved in the day-to-day business affairs. He made a significant investment to help Trevor and me get started."

"According to the records, all three were equal partners. Has that changed?"

"No, that's still correct," Jareaux replied.

"What happens to Mr. Wilson's share of the business now?"

"We have a succession plan filed with the SEC. I'm sure you've seen it." Jareaux challenged Niki.

She smiled and pulled papers from her briefcase.

"I have a copy. The problem with it is it isn't specific. It says in the event of one partner's death, the other partners have the right to buy the deceased's shares from his estate. Can you clarify that provision for me?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Which of you will buy Mr. Wilson's share of the business, and who sets the price?"

Jareaux chuckled.

"You get down to business, don't you? I'll procure Trevor's interest in the company. His wife has no interest in it other than as a source of revenue."

"And the price?" Niki asked.

"We haven't gotten that far yet."

Jareaux looked away.

"Sheila, Trevor's wife, and I are good friends, and won't have problems working something out."

"How would you describe your relationship with Sheila Wilson?"

"What are you implying?" Jareaux's voice rose.

"I'm trying to get the facts. Did you and Mrs. Wilson have a relationship beyond friendship?"

"No way. Trevor was my friend and my partner. I couldn't do that to him, and I'm happily married. How do you get off asking that kind of question?"

The unmistakable anger was written all over Jareaux's face.

Niki pulled out another package from her briefcase.

"According to the phone records, numerous calls were made to the Wilson residence from this office."

"Trevor called Sheila all the time. He enjoyed talking to his wife."

Niki looked down at the records.

"There are so several phone calls from your extension, Mr. Jareaux. How do you explain that?"

Jareaux coughed nervously.

"Sometimes Trevor and I worked in my office, and I guess he called her from my phone while he was in here."

Niki smiled.

"Did he also borrowed your cell phone?"

"Huh?"

"There are numerous calls to the Wilson home from your cell."

Sweat poured down Jareaux's face despite the cold air in the office.

"I must have called Trevor. Sometimes he worked from home."

"That's odd. The records show Mr. Wilson's extension was in use several times while you placed phone calls on your cell phone to the Wilson home. Would you like to take another stab at that one, Mr. Jareaux?"

The broker wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his expensive shirt.

"I guess one of the other guys was always using his office while he was home."

Niki pulled out another sheet of paper.

''According to the ticket log, Trevor Wilson filled stock purchase and sale orders while on his phone with his customers. Want to take another shot at it?''

"Where did you get all the information so quickly?" the bewildered man asked.

"Your firm is registered with the SEC. They watched their members closely since the Bernie Madoff fiasco. The Senate's finance committee has access to all financial records, which means we have access to your records."

"But I have constitutional rights to privacy."

Niki smiled.

"That's correct. You sure do as a private citizen but you don't as a registered representative. Your firm has no expectation of privacy when doing business with the public."

"I should call my attorney."

"No problem. Have him talk to Senator Dalton Bridgestone. He's on the committee, and will be interested in finding out why you're lying to me."

Jareaux sighed.

"Okay. What do you want?"

"It would be nice to start with the truth. I always find that's as good a place to begin as any."

Suddenly, the broker's collar was too tight, and he kept pulling on it with his finger. His confident demeanor in the receptionist area was replaced with nervous tics.

"Sheila and I are seeing each other. She's twenty years younger than Trevor, and with all the turmoil in the market lately, he hasn't been able to meet her needs."

"So, what you're telling me is that you were screwing her as a favor to Trevor because you're such a fine gentleman?"

The frankness of the investigator with all-American features surprised him.

''I…''

"That's okay, Mr. Jareaux. Now, if you can cut out all the superfluous self grandidization and stick with the facts, we'll get through this a lot quicker."

Jareaux gave her a defeated shrug.

"Sheila and I are having an affair. If my wife finds out about it, I'll be ruined."

Niki smiled.

"I'm not interested in ruining your life. I'm interested in finding out what happened to Mr. Wilson. Nothing more."

"Then why are you asking me about my personal life?"

"Because I need to know who would benefit from Mr. Wilson's demise. I know of at least two people who fit that category. You and Sheila."

"Wait. You're wrong. This thing between Sheila and me isn't that serious. We're only fooling around."

Niki closed her eyes, rubbing them before looking at the stockbroker again.

"I thought we were past that. Would your wife say your thing wasn't that serious?"

''Well, no… I mean, yes. But that's different. She's not exactly an unbiased observer.''

"Neither are you, Mr. Jareaux. You're married, aren't you? You're partners with your lover's husband, aren't you?"

"Can we just get on with the pertinent questions? I told you I'm busy."

Niki looked at her notes.

"These questions are pertinent. And relative." She paused. "Who else besides you and Mrs. Wilson would benefit from Mr. Wilson's death?"

"You won't quit, will you?" he asked. "For your information, Trevor wasn't the most beloved person in our office. He didn't get along with anyone, except Donna."

"What were his problems?"

"Trevor didn't think the youngest members of our staff were technically proficient."

"Meaning?"

''Trevor believed in technical analysis. That meant he interpreted charts of the stock prices. He believed history would repeat itself, and its past could determine the price of a stock.''

"How? I don't understand."

The broker regained his composure, knowing he had the upper hand in this field.

''It's called technical analysis for a reason. Plotting the prices of stocks over time, usually the closing prices, will reveal certain patterns. Stocks trade in channels, and technicians call the bottom of the channel support and the top of the channels resistance. They believe it's likely a stock's price will trade between support and resistance.''

"What happens if it doesn't?"

"Then, depending on which way it breaks out, the old support becomes the new resistance, or the old resistance becomes the new support."

"That seems simple enough."

"There's more to it. The charts reveal certain patterns like a head and shoulders, a flag, a pennant, and a bunch of others. Trevor didn't think most of us, including me, correctly interpreted the patterns."

"Who was right?"

"That's the rub," Jareaux replied. "As ornery as Trevor was, he was right almost all the time. Enough to piss off every other broker in the office."

"Was there open animosity?"

"Hell, yes. I thought I might need a referee for some of our staff meetings, especially lately."

"Why, lately?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but the market has tanked. Analysts point to different things. Devaluation of the Chinese currency, the sluggish economy in Europe, our domestic employment structure, or a combination of all these. Trevor tried to convince us to get out of stocks and go to cash in all accounts. Unfortunately, he was overruled. Because of this, our clients are taking it on the chin in their investment accounts."

Niki jotted down more notes.

"So, the other staff members aren't unhappy about what happened to him, and from what you're telling me, there may be a lot of clients who blamed Trevor for their losses."

Jareaux nodded.

''He was the face of the franchise. He talked to the clients who lost money.''

Jareaux shook his head.

"I'd like to talk to those clients."

"I'm not sure I can let you do that. We have sensitive information about our clients and their holdings. Don't you need a subpoena?"

"I can get one, or you can permit me. One way, you'll appear to be cooperating, and the other…" Niki let her voice trail off.

Jareaux mulled this over, disliking either option.

"You can go in there, but just to be on the safe side of protecting our clients, I'd like someone to be in there with you."

He buzzed the front desk. Donna appeared in less than a minute.

"Will you please escort Miss Dupre to Trevor's office and stay with her until she leaves?"

Niki smiled.

"I also need lists of the employees and clients."

Jareaux started to object, rising half out of his chair. He nodded before sitting back.

''Give Miss Dupre whatever she needs.''

Niki followed Donna down the hallway. The sharp difference between Jareaux's office and Mr. Wilson's surprised her. Wilson's decor appeared as if it had been designed in the dark of night. There was nothing to catch one's eye on the wall. The metal file cabinets would have fetched little at a rummage sale. Several drawers were ajar, one about half-open. Papers were strewn across the top of the desk, their random distribution giving no hint of priority. An old desktop computer set by the inbox and a single monitor on the top flashed a bouncing ball.

"Where do you want to start?" Donna asked.

"Let's see." Niki looked around the room. "It appears Mr. Wilson wasn't on the leading edge of technology."

Donna laughed out loud.

"To him, twist-off caps on bottles of Dr. Pepper were leading technology. He wasn't a big believer in computers and thought the Internet was the beginning of a one-world government."

Niki walked behind his desk. She sifted through the scattered documents on top. One listed several companies and the dates each would report their quarterly earnings. Another had one-sentence news summaries on various companies with an analyst's opinion on the latest economic indicators attached to the summaries.

A couple of manila folders had the recent numbers and names of clients prominently displayed on the tab. Niki opened the first of the two. The client's name was Dennis Hand. Inside the folder, Niki found a listing of the shares of stocks and mutual funds comprising his portfolio. The file contained copies of trade tickets, each listing the date, the number of shares, the symbol identifying the company, and the transaction price. Niki saw nothing unusual until the last section of the folder. It was titled Communications.

Donna looked over her shoulder. When she saw Niki studying this section, she explained the paperwork.

"Every time one of the staff spoke to a client, they had to make a note in the file. Most of the time, they recapped the conversation in the briefest of terms. Mr. Wilson thought it was one of those pain-in-the-butt rules. He liked trading, and wasn't much on documentation."

Niki looked up at her.

"A lot of these are in different handwriting."

Donna peeked at them.

"Yeah. Whoever talked to the client wrote the notes unless it was Mr. Wilson. He usually got me to write them up."

''Did you do this for all his clients or only this one?''

"All of them," Donna answered. "Mr. Wilson's penmanship looks like a dyslexic third-grader. He wrote really tiny and switched between block and script. Whenever you see it once, it's easy to recognize. It's difficult to read, but at least you know who wrote it."

Niki read the last entry.

"Looks like Mr. Hand was very agitated about his losses. May move the account. Two old to take risks."

The writing in the file was clear and legible.

"Did you write this?" Niki asked.

"Yes, ma'am. That's the clean version of a thirty-minute phone call. I was in here talking with Mr. Wilson when he called. I'm telling you, that man knows a few cuss words that would make a whore blush."

Niki's mouth gaped, surprised by the crude analogy.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Blake says stuff like that all the time, and sometimes it just comes out."

"It's okay. Don't worry about it. Did Mr. Hand threaten Wilson?"

Donna laughed.

"Only if you call promising to burn down his house, cut off his private parts, and sue him in federal court a threat. Other than that, he was cordial except when he told Mr. Wilson something about his ancestry. I don't think Mr. Wilson liked that."

Niki reread the brief note.

"I don't think his comments about your mama need to be documented. Could Dennis Hand have killed Mr. Wilson?"

Donna shook her head.

"I don't think so but I only met him once. He's a cranky old fart who looks like he's got one foot in the grave and the other on an oil slick. Plus, he smelled like sh… like he didn't make it to the bathroom on time. Mr. Wilson would have smelled him even if he didn't see him. There's no way he killed Mr. Wilson, just no way."

Niki agreed.

"It took someone with great strength to shove the letter opener in that far. If Dennis Hand is as feeble as you're saying, we can eliminate him as a suspect unless he paid someone to do it for him."

Niki picked up the other folder. It belonged to Francis Humphrey. She flipped through the first two pages, then turned to the section for communications.

"What can you tell me about Francis Humphrey?" She asked Donna.

''Miss Humphrey had a ton of money she inherited from her father. He had owned two of the biggest car dealerships in South Louisiana. He got killed when he walked under a hydraulic car rack in the shop. A Ford Expedition crushed him flatter than a six-year-old's breasts. She was only twenty-four.''

Niki scanned the last couple of recaps.

"Looks like she wasn't happy with the direction her investments were going."

Donna laughed.

''You could say that. She went from tens of millions to where you can leave off the tens and the S in millions. She isn't a happy camper.''

"I thought Mr. Wilson was good at trading. What happened?"

"The same as Mr. Hand. Mr. Wilson didn't handle those accounts personally. He took them from Howard before they went to zero."

"Howard?"

"Howard Jenkins," Donna replied. "He's one of the younger guys, only twenty-six years old. He thought Mr. Wilson was living in the past. Howard has a computer software that models what a portfolio should look like. Only it hasn't worked well lately."

"Tell me about Howard."

"He is one of the guys who likes telling dirty jokes. He's also suggested lots of things to me. I don't like him much."

Niki nodded.

"I can understand why. How was the relationship between Howard and Mr. Wilson?"

Donna giggled.

''Mr. Wilson thought Howard was a young, egotistical brat. He called him an arrogant whippersnapper. I have no idea what a whippersnapper is, but I'm sure he didn't mean it as a compliment.''

Niki continued to read the reports in the file.

"From what I'm reading, Mr. Wilson wasn't impressed with Howard. These notations say account mishandled, no correlation between portfolio and objectives, and could place firm in jeopardy. Mr. Wilson wasn't thrilled with Howard."

"Uh…" Donna hesitated. "There's one more thing you need to know about Howard. He's Mr. Jareaux's nephew. That's the only reason he's still here. Mr. Wilson wanted to fire him a long time ago, but Mr. Jareaux wouldn't let him."

Niki gave her a quizzical glance.

Donna giggled again.

"Remember, nobody pays any attention to me. They act like I'm too young or too blonde to comprehend anything. I don't mind. I play along with them, and they keep talking in front of me like I'm not there."

"Play along?"

''Like Tuesday,'' the young lady responded. ''Mr. Jareaux told me some files needed tidying up. He meant the guys shoved papers in them out of order, and he wanted me to make sure they would pass an audit. I knew what he meant, but I asked him, Do you want me to use Windex or regular soap? He just rolled his eyes and walked off. I haven't touched those files yet.''

Niki laid the file down and closed it.

"I know how you feel. When Jareaux was talking with me, he did more than talk, and I felt like a prime steak in the butcher shop window. I could tell there was no respect there. That's why I gave him a rough time."

Donna's eyes brightened.

"What did you do? Did you tell him you knew about him and Mrs. Wilson?"

Niki's mouth dropped.

"How in the world do you know about that? Didn't they keep it a secret?"

Donna laughed.

"Everybody who calls in here has to call the main number. That's me, and I put the calls through to the right extension. Sometimes, when I think it might get interesting, I forget to hang up, and hear the whole conversation. I've heard some mighty interesting things in my short time here."

Niki remembered something she had found in her crash course on investment advisory firms.

"Aren't all phone calls recorded? Don't they do that in case there's a dispute about a stock order?"

"Yes, ma'am but nobody here knows how to access the system. They forget it exists, or they wouldn't say some things."

"How can I get access?"

Donna looked around to ensure nobody else could hear them in Wilson's office.

"Just ask me."

"You know how?"

Niki quit reading the file.

"It's not that hard. I only gave the IT guy the impression I was halfway interested in his knowledge of systems. He told me more than I ever he wanted to know." She rolled her eyes. "He's such a geek, but he's a sweet geek. I hope he finds a girl one day."

"Gee, you're a wealth of information. Why did you want access to the recording system?"

"Just in case," the receptionist replied.

"In case of what?" Niki pressed.

"In case I needed it. You can never tell when you may need something."

Niki knew this was as close as she would get to an answer from the bright young lady. She refocused the questions.

"You were telling me the only reason Howard wasn't fired is that he's Mr. Jareaux's nephew. Was Howard aware Mr. Wilson wanted to fire him?"

Donna giggled again.

"I forgot. You didn't get to meet Mr. Wilson, did you?"

Niki shook her head.

"If you had, you wouldn't have bothered to ask that question. Mr. Wilson didn't hide his feelings about anybody. Howard knew exactly what Mr. Wilson thought of him because Mr. Wilson told him so to his face."

"How did Howard react?"

"He cussed and ranted about Mr. Wilson having Alzheimer's. Howard balled up his fist like he was about to hit Mr. Wilson."

"What happened?"

''Mr. Wilson just laughed," Donna paused, then continued. "Mr. Wilson got right in Howard's face. He told Howard, You ain't got the balls, boy. Then he walked back to his office, leaving Howard really embarrassed in front of everybody.''

"When did this happen?" Niki asked.

"Let's see. Oh yeah, it was Wednesday afternoon. Wait…" Realization hit the young lady. "That was the day before yesterday. Mr. Wilson was killed Wednesday night. I hadn't even thought of that."

"Well, I'm glad you have now. It could be important to this case."

"I never pictured Howard as a killer. I agree with Mr. Wilson, and don't think he has the guts to take someone's life."

Niki scanned through the other papers on Wilson's desk.

"How much guts does it take to sneak up on someone in the dark and stab them in the back? Sounds more like a coward to me."

"Oh, well." Donna shrugged. "If it's not him, there are plenty of other suspects."

Niki stopped.

"We have Jareaux and the two clients, Mr. Hand and Mrs. Wilson. Do you know of anyone else?"

Donna laughed and looked at Niki to make sure she was serious. She pointed at a drawer in the credenza behind the desk.

"Those two files on his desk were the last two Wednesday afternoon. I've already filed the others in that drawer."

Niki pulled open the drawer, and to her amazement, there were over forty files crammed in it. She whistled.

"These are dissatisfied clients?"

"Yes, ma'am. And we get more every day. That was one thing I admired about Mr. Wilson. No matter which guy managed the account, he always took care of the complaints. I would have made those young guys do it."

Niki's cell phone vibrated. When she glanced at it, she knew she had to respond.

"Donna, what are you doing tomorrow?"

"Not much. Blake and I are going to the ballgame tonight. I'll probably sleep in tomorrow morning and go to the mall tomorrow afternoon."

"Would you like to help me and make a little spending money?"

''I'd love to help you for free. This is interesting. I've never been part of a murder investigation before.''

"I can't do that. I need your help to sort out these files. You can save me a ton of time because you know the clients, and I don't. But if I take advantage of what you know, I'll have to pay you. It'll make that trip to the mall a lot more interesting."

"Okay. but I would do it for free. You pay me whatever you think I'm worth it. What time tomorrow?"

"Is eight too early?"

Donna beamed.

"I'll be here."

Niki crossed the hall and told Ashton Jareaux of her plans to come in over the weekend. He didn't object after determining his presence wouldn't be required.

Niki returned to her Ford Explorer. She hit the call-back button on the cell. The message had come from Drexel Robinson, the independent investigator she hired to help her with the other cases. He answered on the second ring.

"Niki, thanks for getting back so soon. I've got some good news on the Brenda Thompson case."

Brenda Thompson was a sixteen-year-old going through a difficult stage in her life. Her father died of a heart attack when she was fourteen, and her mother remarried only six months later. Brenda and her stepfather didn't get along. Police were summoned to their house on four different occasions. Accusations of abuse by the stepfather were still being investigated.

Brenda disappeared last Sunday while her mother and stepfather were in church. Her belongings and the blue Toyota Corolla she drove vanished with her. Her mother wanted Niki to find Brenda and convince her to come home. Niki had no idea if she could get Brenda to go home but agreed to take the case.

"Whatcha got?" Niki asked.

"Your little girl used her credit card at a gas station in Natchitoches. She filled up about two hours ago at a place right off campus."

Niki assumed Drexel referred to Northwestern State University, home of the Blue Demons.

"Hold on."

Niki pulled out her laptop and went to the Brenda Thompson file, and found what she was looking for under the Known Acquaintances tab.

"She has an old boyfriend who is a freshman up there. From what I see here, he lives in an apartment off-campus."

Drexel laughed.

"Sounds like the old boyfriend has become the new boyfriend. Does it say how old this yahoo is?"

"Old enough to know better. How are you doing on the other cases?"

"Not a lot of progress, but I'll get there."

"Okay, keep after those. I'm heading north to try the city's famous meat pies."