For Sale in Palm Springs: The Henry Wright Mystery Series Read online

Chapter 2

  Monday, April 17

  Henry Wright’s wristwatch alarm started beeping. The sound signaled that it was forty-five minutes since he started swimming his daily laps in his backyard pool. He took a couple of cool down laps and then rolled over on his back to look up at the sky that was just turning pale blue. He floated in the middle of the pool, relaxing before climbing out. He liked swimming early in the morning, the air was still cool, and the water felt good on his bare skin and it was a great way to wake up.

  His lap swimming also resulted that he was in the best shape that he had ever been in his sixty-one years. He’d never had a problem with weight; he carried one hundred eighty pounds on his just over six foot frame as he had since college. But since he started swimming every day, it had redistributed. He was wearing a whole pants size smaller, but his shoulders and chest were larger and some of his old sport coats didn’t fit as well as they used to.

  Henry wrapped the big towel that he’d left on the chaise lounge around himself as he heard the phone ring. He looked at the open French doors to his bedroom and at the doors to the kitchen and decided to head for the kitchen and pick the phone up there. He looked at his watch as he hurried through the doors, who could be calling this early?

  “Hello” he said warily into the receiver.

  “Good morning Mr. Wright, I didn’t wake you did I?” The voice in the receiver said.

  “No, no, not at all”. Henry replied. “I was out in the pool.”

  “Can you meet me for breakfast, the usual place?”

  “This isn’t Thursday, and you called me Mr. Wright - you must need help.” Henry replied. “Sure, I can be there in an hour.”

  “Can you make it thirty minutes?”

  “You must really need my help.” Henry said.

  “Well yes, I do actually, but I was up early and haven’t had breakfast so I’m really hungry.”

  “Ok, I’ll be there as quick as I can.” Henry said hanging up the phone. He rubbed some of the wetness that was still on his ear off the phone, and headed for the bathroom.

  As he was standing in the shower, he thought about Wayne Johnson’s call. It did sound urgent; it wasn’t just the fact that Wayne was hungry. Wayne and Henry met every Thursday morning for breakfast, but today was Monday. The last time Wayne called and invited Henry out for a meal early in the morning outside of their weekly breakfasts, he needed help solving a particularly nasty death of a University of California Riverside geologist at Anza-Borrego Desert State Park. Henry was glad to help. He and Wayne made a good team, even though they never worked together officially, and it gave Henry something to do.

  Wayne Johnson was captain of detectives at the Palm Springs police department. Henry met Wayne in Washington more than twenty years ago when they were sent there by their respective organizations to take a fingerprint forensics class at the FBI headquarters in Virginia. They hit it off then, and were casual friends until Henry retired to Palm Springs three years ago. Then they started target shooting at the pistol range and having breakfast together on a regular basis and Henry had been over to the Johnson’s for dinner numerous times.

  Henry ran his hand over his hair, there was no need to comb it, and he kept it cut very close to his head. He knew that he had gone gray years ago, but at this length, it wasn’t noticeable. Even Mario the barber at the shop downtown called him “Mr. Number Two”, for the size of the clip on the electric clippers he used on him. He had an all over, all year tan, one of the benefits of living in the desert and having a house with a private pool. He picked up his razor and thought about Wayne’s request for his help, he didn’t remember reading in the newspaper about any particular case that Wayne was working on, but then he’d been busy the last couple of days.

  Henry got out the can of shaving cream, he didn’t use electric razors, and he preferred the modern three bladed manual razors. Henry enjoyed going over to the Johnson’s for dinner, even though the house was large it felt real homey. The Johnson’s children were grown and out of the house and now it was just Wayne and his wife, Elliot. The only thing he didn’t like was the drive home afterwards. After dinner at their house and seeing Wayne and Elliot interact, he always got melancholy and missed his wife Irma very much.

  Irma Wright passed away suddenly three years ago while she and Henry were visiting Las Vegas. At the time, Henry Wright was three months away from retirement from the Eagle River, Wisconsin, police force where he had been chief of police for many years. With Henry’s retirement approaching quickly, he and Irma had discussed moving away from the snow of Eagle River to spend their retirement in a more comfortable climate. They discussed both coasts of Florida, “too humid and sticky” said Irma. They had talked about Phoenix and the Valley of the Sun, Henry had met a few cops from Arizona and thought it was a possibility; his colleagues seemed to like it there. Finally, they narrowed it down to Las Vegas, Nevada or Palm Springs, California.

  Both had warm, arid climates, both had affordable homes, both had cop friends that Henry could look up. They decide to check out Las Vegas first. Henry was somewhat familiar with the city and made their plane reservations with Joanne, the only travel agent in Eagle River and they planned to spend a week in Las Vegas. Henry was excited about the trip, after more than thirty years in Wisconsin he was tired of the snow and wouldn’t mind if he never saw another snowmobile in his life. Las Vegas seemed like the perfect place to retire.

  When the day finally came, they got up very early in the morning, loaded their suitcases in the car and drove the 150 plus miles to the Green Bay airport. They parked the car in the long term lot and caught a 6 am Continental Airlines flight to Las Vegas with a change in planes at Detroit. With the stopover, it took them more than five hours to get to Las Vegas. Once they landed at McCarran, they picked up the rental car and drove out to the Strip. There, they checked into the Flamingo Hotel, unpacked their bags, and decided to have some lunch before seeing the sights at the new mega hotels along the Strip. Henry had refused the food the airline served; Irma had tried it, but quickly shared Henry’s opinion that it wasn’t fit for consumption.

  Henry was in Vegas two decades ago for a law enforcement equipment convention and stayed at the Flamingo Hotel on the Strip. The Eagle River city council sent him to the gathering to look for winter equipment for the police department. Henry recalled that at the time it seemed a little odd that he headed for the Nevada desert in order to look for snow suits with weapon access amidst the palm trees of the country’s largest warm weather destination. During that visit, he didn’t have much time to see any of the sights within the city, but he and a colleague did drive out to Hoover Dam for a look at one of the greatest man made wonders of the modern world.

  When they made their travel arrangements, Joanne, the lone travel agent in Eagle River, asked him if they had ever been to Las Vegas. Henry mentioned the business trip twenty years before, and Joanne said he would be surprised at the changes the desert city had undergone. Joanne told them to make sure and go out and see some of the big new hotels and not spend all their time inside the casino gambling. Henry and Irma agreed to do as she suggested, they didn’t want to let the folks in Eagle River know their retiring police chief was there looking for a new home, not a quick buck at the slot machines.

  Henry was looking out their hotel room window waiting for Irma to put the last of her necessities away in the bathroom, he was hungry and wanted to get to the restaurant and then on to the Strip. On the drive to the hotel he saw that Las Vegas had indeed changed in the twenty years since he was here and he was looking forward to exploring it with Irma. Even though they had been married for thirty-six years, they held hands like a newly married couple, as they waited for the elevator from their room to the casino. They walked quickly through the noisy slot machine area and ordered their lunch at the hotel restaurant, and intended to go right out.

  Having filled their stomachs on the tasty food, Henry had an Oriental chicken salad, and Irma had a tri-tip sandwi
ch. They were ready to explore the Strip and walked towards the exit through the noisy casino with its clanging machines and flashing lights. When they were almost at the door, Irma stopped, said the lunch didn’t agree with her and she said she wanted to go back to the room to lie down. Henry offered to go upstairs with her, but Irma insisted that he enjoy himself looking around the Casino, maybe he could drop a few quarters into one of those poker machines.

  When he returned to the room after an hour to check to see how she was feeling, Irma was dead on the floor of their bathroom. The coroner told Henry later that Irma had suffered a massive heart attack and that she had been dead before she hit the floor.

  The six months after Irma’s death were a blur. Henry could barely remember them, as he dug for socks that matched in his dresser drawer. First, there was Irma’s funeral; the suddenness of her death was a shock to everyone, not just Henry, but especially to their daughter Claire. Within three months of the funeral was his retirement from the Eagle River police department and what should have been a happy occasion was very depressing for Henry. He woke up in their house in Eagle River alone every morning and had no place to go.

  He decided to continue with the long planned sale of his and Irma’s house. Henry couldn’t stand to be in that house since everything in it reminded him of Irma. Henry also realized that he could never live in Las Vegas without thinking of poor Irma in that hotel bathroom. He would probably never visit Las Vegas again; he hadn’t even been able to go into the Indian casinos since moving to Palm Springs.

  At the invitation of his friend Wayne Johnson, Henry had moved here, over his daughter Claire’s objections. Claire preferred that he stay in Wisconsin now that he was alone, she and her husband lived in Chicago, and she thought it would be better if he remained closer by.

  Yes, those six months were a blur all right; he remembered how they went by in the blink of an eye. Irma’s death and funeral, his retirement, the sale of their house and his move west happened one on top of the other. At this point, he was very happy to be here in Palm Springs with its desert climate. There was no snow here, no snowmobile riders getting lost in the woods, no police department to manage, and no bad guys to lock up. He glanced at the wedding ring he still wore, even though there was no Irma in Palm Springs, it was a lot better to be retired here than shoveling snow at their old house in Eagle River, Wisconsin.

  He walked out of the kitchen door into the garage, got into his Mercury Grand Marquis, backed out, and headed towards Sherman’s Deli on Tahquitz Canyon Drive. He liked the big car; it was similar to the Crown Victoria police cruisers he spent many years driving. This car was a little more upscale, with nice leather upholstery and a stereo system with a CD player and who knows how many speakers. What he really liked was that the controls were very the same as the police specials and Henry hated looking for the light switch or the cruise control in an unfamiliar car.

  He pulled into the parking lot at Sherman’s Deli and Bakery and headed inside. Wayne was already at their usual table near the back as Henry walked into the restaurant, his coffee half gone, and what used to be a donut was now just crumbs and frosting that Wayne was carefully licking off his fingers.

  “G’morning Duke doesn’t look real proper for the Chief to be licking his fingers like that.” Henry said using Wayne’s nickname. It seemed like cops always gave each other nicknames, what better moniker for a cop named Wayne Johnson than Duke?

  “Captain, not Chief.” Wayne said licking the last of the frosting off his thumb as he motioned for his friend to sit down. “I couldn’t wait for you so I had a donut while I was sitting here and I put in our regular order.” Wayne said as Henry slid into the booth. “Your usual, if you don’t mind.”

  “No, I don’t mind at all.” Henry said. “Though one day I may surprise you and have something else, what will you do with all that smoked salmon once I order the chicken fried steak?”

  Henry always ordered the bagel with cream cheese and lox with extra capers. He had thought of getting something else, but Sherman’s had great lox and he enjoyed eating something that he would never have thought of ordering in Eagle River.

  “Good morning, I’m happy to see the two of you; do you guys know it isn’t Thursday?” Millie said carrying their breakfast orders to the table.

  “Hello, Millie, how’s George?” Henry answered after Millie put his bagel in front of him.

  “Ornery as ever, I sent him down to the senior center early this morning, couldn’t deal with him.”

  Millie and George had been married for over fifty years; Millie worked at Sherman’s to get away from George while George played pool at the senior center to get away from Millie. They were very happily married and Henry was envious.

  “Ever hear of Rex Thornbird?” Wayne asked after Millie left them alone.

  Henry put down his coffee cup, “The name sounds familiar, but I don’t think I know who that is.”

  “Oh, you know of him all right, the top real estate agent in Coachella Valley, the mid-century specialist, the guy who sells all the old Alexander homes in your neighborhood.” Wayne continued while cutting his short stack into small pieces with his fork.

  “Oh, yeah, I know who you mean.” Henry said, “I see his name and picture on For Sale signs around my neighborhood, it seems like he likes our area.”

  “Liked, -past tense - not likes.” Wayne said. “That is one guy who is not going to like anything anymore.”

  “What happened?” Henry asked, carefully spearing a caper with his fork.

  “Not sure, he’s dead as dead can get; I wanted to bounce some ideas off you so that’s why I’m buying breakfast.” Wayne replied, reaching for more syrup. “He was found very dead in an empty house yesterday afternoon after his car was tagged for being parked on the street too long.”

  “What do you mean by parked on the street too long?” That had certainly not been a crime in his old jurisdiction in Eagle River.

  “Apparently, one of the parking enforcement guys tagged it after a neighbor complained that it was parked on the street for three days.” Wayne continued. “The dispatcher ran a trace, found out it was registered to Thornbird, called his office and the receptionist told them that he had not been in for several days.”

  Wayne took another sip of coffee and continued. “The officer checked the front door of the house which was locked, but when he went around the back, he found the patio door open. At that point, he smelled that there was something wrong, went in and found Thornbird on the kitchen floor in a large pool of dried blood. From the smell and the way the body looked it seemed as though he had been there for almost a week.”

  Wayne put the last of the pancake in his mouth. “No sign of a struggle, the front door was locked, the key was in a lockbox that the real estate agents use, but the patio door was open and all the lights in the house were on.” He wiped a bit of syrup from his moustache and pushed the now empty plate away from him.

  “How did he die?” Henry asked.

  “It looks like a crime of opportunity,” Wayne answered, “He was hit once on the back of the head with one of those old fashioned dial telephones. The murderer pulled it off the wall and beaned him with it; must have hit an artery or something, he went down on the spot. The coroner is doing the autopsy now, he may have hit his head on the kitchen counter on the way down, but it looks to me like he went down from the phone, then he bled to death as he laid unconscious on the kitchen floor.” Wayne finished.

  “Hmmm, so we’re looking for someone strong – able to rip a phone out of the wall – and you said there was no indication of a struggle?”

  “Nope, none whatsoever,” Wayne replied, “Although it would have been hard to tell, the house was one of Thornbird’s listings for sale, there was no furniture in the place, nothing at all – it would have been hard to see signs of struggle since there was nothing to upset and no lamps to knock over.”

  “Jealous wife, jilted girlfriend, upset lover?” Henry asked as he pushe
d his plate off to the side, and motioned Millie over for more coffee.

  “Not sure,” Wayne said, “He was divorced two years ago, according to his office manager, it wasn’t very amicable, and the ex-took him to the cleaners, to the point of asking for and getting half of his American Express card points.”

  “Hmmm, so was he broke as a result, did he have money troubles? Credit cards maxed out?”

  “Everything ok fellas?” Millie refilled Henry’s cup.

  “Everything is just as good as on Thursdays.” Henry answered.

  Wayne held his coffee cup up for a refill as well and said, “No, in fact, after the divorce, he put in a lot more hours sold even more houses and earned even more money than before, and paid for most of his toys and things in cash.”

  Henry carefully sipped the now hot coffee and said pensively, “Hmmm, so did the ex want even more than she already got, have you talked to her yet?”

  Wayne put his cup down and said, “No, I don’t think it was her, she is dating a chiropractor who was in Las Vegas for a convention at the time, she says she was with him – we haven’t yet had the time to verify her alibi.”

  “But you will, right?” asked Henry.

  “Yeah, of course, we’ll check it out – but I doubt that she’s lying – she took Thornbird for everything she could, besides, her new guy seems to have a lot more money than Thornbird ever did – he’s working with the Nabisco Golf Championship here in town – seems all those golfers pay top dollar for their back adjustments.” Wayne finished as he wiped his mouth on his paper napkin.

  “Hank, I’m afraid that we’re at a dead end.” Wayne said disgustedly as he put his cup down and leaned back in the booth. “No prints, no one with an apparent motive, no DNA evidence, nothing suspicious on his cell phone calls, if you could look into this in your spare time – it would certainly help me out. I eh… I need your profiling skills, if I call in the FBI right now; they’re just as likely to contact you. I figure I’m saving myself a lot of time and trouble by buying you breakfast instead.”

  Henry smiled; it was true that he’d been doing a bit of freelance profiling for the Feds. He didn’t set out to do that after he retired, but years earlier he’d scored a perfect score in the FBI profiling class he took at the Quantico Academy. About a year after his retirement, one of the instructors at the academy emailed him and asked for his assistance in a difficult case in Florida. Henry had done all the work from his home on his computer, and since then he had helped the Feds on several more cases.

  Henry approached the problem differently than the other profilers that the FBI had on staff, he put himself into the victim’s shoes to try to figure who would want to kill him. That didn’t always work, so he would revert to profiling the killer, just like the others, which wasn’t as interesting as far as he was concerned. This case sounded interesting, he wasn’t working on anything else at the moment, besides it was Wayne that was asking.

  “The FBI doesn’t call me in on every case you know, I think they throw the easy ones my way. The ones that can be solved from behind a computer terminal anyway, I’ve told them I don’t want to travel all over the country. Sure, I’ll help you out, I like these kinds of challenges, besides you’re a local, I won’t have to go anywhere.” Henry grinned as he settled back in his seat. “Since I’ll be out in the field, I suppose we’ll operate under the same rules as last year with the body of the biologist they found at Anza-Borrego that turned out to be a murder?”

  “Of course,” Wayne replied, “You’re a fully deputized member of my team, if anyone calls to verify that you are a cop, I’ll vouch for you – I know your shooting is up to par – we are still going out to the range this week, right - and I take it your weapons permit is still good?”

  “Yeah, I’m ok there,” Henry replied, “though I doubt that I’m going to need it this time.”

  “Ok, let me know if you are going to need anything else,” Wayne said as he waved Millie over for the check.

  “Ok, I may need access to some records, like maybe the phone company, but I doubt that I’ll run into any roadblocks.” Henry said as Millie laid the check on the table in front of Wayne and refilled their coffee cups to their objections. “Hmmm, isn’t it kind of funny that they keep raising the price of coffee, but once you pay for it, they continue to give it to you until your bladder is ready to burst?” Henry said as they got up to go to the cash register.

  Wayne looked at his friend Henry and shook his head wondering if observations like that were what made him such a good detective.