Malicious. Jacob Stone
think she’s legit. You don’t, huh?”
Howard took another sip before shaking his head. “Not necessarily. But it’s one of two things: someone killed Crawford and buried his body, or he took off to parts unknown. If it’s the first, she’s the only one I could find who would profit from his death, but that would only be if there was a death certificate issued so that she could collect on the life insurance.”
“You’re thinking she might not want to have to wait seven years to have him declared legally dead, and that we were hired to help speed things along?”
Howard shrugged. “I’m just saying it’s possible. Especially if she gave you any hints where you might find his body.”
“She didn’t give us anything. She seems in the dark about what happened. But if that changes and she calls us with some sort of epiphany, I’ll let you know.”
Howard appeared satisfied with Bogle’s remark. He took out a map of the greater Los Angeles area from the folder he had brought and spread it out on the table.
“Karl Crawford worked for Samson Oil & Gas maintaining the oil wells we’ve got dotting the Los Angeles landscape,” Howard said. “He’s been doing that for twenty-two years, and according to his company, he’s been a conscientious and reliable employee with a spotless record. On November fourth of last year, he serviced this well over here.” Howard pointed a thick index finger to a spot on the map near the outskirts of Long Beach that had been marked with a red x. “According to the maintenance log kept at the well, Crawford signed in at eight thirty-seven a.m. and signed out at ten forty-nine a.m. He was next scheduled to go to this well over here, but he never showed up. Or at least he didn’t sign in on the log, and according to Samson there was no sign that maintenance had been done that day.”
Howard pointed to another red x drawn on the map, this one north of the first, and near Lakewood.
“Hmm. It looks like the two wells are about seven miles apart,” Bogle commented.
“Yeah, that’s about right.”
“Did anyone see him leave the Long Beach well?”
“Not that I could find. The wells are unmanned, and in isolated locations. Nobody else from Samson was there.”
Bogle frowned at that. “So he just disappeared somewhere between the two wells?”
“Yeah, seemingly both him and his car.”
“What have you done to try to find him?”
“The usual. Checked hospitals, monitored his credit cards, activated his car theft retrieval system, did a spot check of the area around both wells, looked into his home life. I got nothing with any of that.”
“Why didn’t you bring in bloodhounds to search for him?”
Howard made a get real face at that question. “Are you serious, Charlie? I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere requesting that. Maybe if I’d found the car abandoned, or better yet, with his blood, it would’ve been different. But as it is, what it looks like is he got in his car and decided to drive to a new life somewhere else.”
“Why would he do that? Were there any signs he was planning to leave? Marital discord?”
Howard gave Bogle a look as if he couldn’t believe Bogle was asking him that.
“Come on, man, the guy’s forty-five and doing the same lonely, tedious job for twenty-two years. He was a perfect candidate for a midlife crisis. He could’ve been putting money aside for months planning for this. Are you seriously going to tell me you’ve never daydreamed about getting in your car and driving someplace far away and starting your life all over?”
Straight-faced, Bogle said, “Me? I’m living the dream. Why would I ever think of something like that?”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had those daydreams.” Howard seemed surprised that he had admitted that out loud. “Not that I ever thought about it seriously, mind you.”
“If that’s what happened, why’d he spend two hours working on that first well before taking off?”
“Maybe he finally reached his limit. Who knows?”
“You think that’s what happened?”
Howard drank more of his coffee, his eyes narrowing into slits. “For now,” he admitted. “But let’s see what you come up with.”
“Anything else you can think of that might help?”
“Not a thing.” Howard crumpled his cardboard coffee cup into a ball and tossed it into a trash can, banking it off the wall.
“Let me walk you out of here.”
The two men got up and left the interrogation room.
Chapter 5
They’d left Parker at home during the Hollywood premiere of The Carver, but at Philip Stonehedge’s insistence, Morris and Natalie swung by their West Hollywood home and picked up the bull terrier before driving to Stonehedge’s Malibu estate for his after-the-premiere dinner party.
Natalie hadn’t yet met Stonehedge (although she had caught a glimpse of the actor while they were waiting in line to get into the theater) and she raised an eyebrow as they drove through the security gate and continued along the private road that led to the sprawling contemporary-style home. Parker, who had accompanied Morris several times to the property and had learned to associate it with extraordinarily delicious bacon, began making pig-like grunts as he realized where he was.
“Why’s our little guy getting so excited?” Natalie asked.
“I’ll give you one guess what he was given the last two times I brought him here.”
“B-a-c-o-n,” she said.
“Correct.”
Morris parked behind a long line of other cars and made sure to keep a tight grip on Parker’s leash when he opened the door, otherwise the dog would’ve raced out of the car in pursuit of more of that sublime bacon. Parker was a loyal dog, but bacon was his one weakness. As they made their way to the front door, Parker strained against his leash as he tried to bull his way forward.
“Somebody’s overly excited,” Natalie observed.
Morris grunted back his acknowledgement.
A waiter in black tie met them at the door with a tray of blue-colored cocktails. Morris knew Stonehedge well enough to know that the drinks would be tasty, so he took one and suggested Natalie do the same. He was right. It was a concoction of blueberries, muddled mint, rum, lime juice, and honey. Natalie also took a sip and concurred that it was delicious.
The waiter informed them that the dinner was being held by Stonehedge’s pool in back. He glanced reproachfully at Parker, most likely wondering whether he should allow a dog into Stonehedge’s home, but held back any comment and instead proceeded to escort them through the house.
“Nice,” Natalie remarked as they went from room to room. “Interesting to see how Los Angeles’s royalty lives.” As they walked through Stonehedge’s designer kitchen, she looked around in awe and commented, “I feel like I’m in an episode of that old show Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.”
Morris was too busy keeping Parker in check to respond.
The dinner party out back wasn’t quite the small, intimate affair Stonehedge had hinted at. There were approximately eighty people milling about, and a half dozen or so waiters and waitresses walking through the crowd with trays of drinks and food. Morris spotted The Carver’s director and several of the actors from the film, and then heard his name. He looked over to see Stonehedge on the other side of the pool beaming at him, the actress Brie Evans by his side. Stonehedge signaled for Morris to join them.
“Our host,” Morris said, nodding toward Stonehedge.
“He certainly