Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [57]
Gillian glanced up, her hazel eyes narrowed. “You know, that was the funny thing. My attorney never was able to locate her and David denied up until the decree was signed that he had been cheating on me. But then again, he never came clean about where he was.”
“He disappeared at times?”
She cracked another egg. “Sure did. Out late at night despite not being on call at the hospital. Poor excuses, couldn’t reach him on his cell.”
The diamond drop earrings Gillian wore danced as she positioned the bowl under the mixer. Somehow I doubted Hassenfeld would have been able to confide to his wife that he’d been cutting up bodies for money during those unexplained absences.
“On the phone you were curious about whether David was involved with OraGen.”
“Yes, his first financial affidavit didn’t list it. Later on, there was an amended filing.”
The sharp whine of the mixer cut off conversation. When Gillian turned it off, she grinned. “Damn straight David had to amend his financial information. My attorney uncovered he had under-the-table dealings with the company. The bastard was trying to shortchange me. I never knew why OraGen was paying him, although when I caught the news story about Oceanview, I figured the company was buying his vote on the board.” She poured batter into a baking dish.
“No indication that David had ownership interest?”
“No, at least none the attorney could find.” She set the bowl in the sink and cocked an eyebrow. “Would you like to see what information I do have on David’s dealing with OraGen? My attorney gave me a copy.”
I grinned. “I would love to.”
“Come this way.” Wiping her hands on a towel, she turned and headed toward a hallway.
I had to give it to nasty divorces. They were a priceless mine of information.
“I should have never let you talk me into this,” Sam groused for the umpteenth time as he sat slumped next to me in my rental car. Hopefully, next week my insurance company would make payment on the ruined BMW and I could get a new car. The rental was adequate, but it wasn’t a smooth, quiet ride. Fortunately, its white color was a prevalent choice in Florida so it didn’t stand out.
After a quick drive-by survey, I had pulled into the parking lot next to Tropical Paradise Ice Cream. The dark, secluded spot I selected had an unobstructed view, but was not so close that we’d be readily observable.
“Quiet, Detective. You’re only along for the ride.” I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. Sam and his partner had tailed Joe Poellinger from his apartment to here. Tony was maintaining a vigil in front of the business while Sam joined me in my car.
“Not that I had a lot of choice in the matter short of handcuffing you to a bed.” He cast me a long, considering look. “Not that the idea doesn’t have merit.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I would have followed Poellinger with or without your help.” So much, though, for my theory Poellinger would go to the medical research building. Instead, he had made a beeline to Tropical Paradise.
“I still prefer my idea of simply bringing him in for questioning.”
“What good would that do? When Tony called Tropical, the owner said she had a truck working my neighborhood late yesterday. It’s not as if I have a restraining order against Poellinger.”
Sam and I had argued about my getting one but we both knew restraints were no deterrent to someone bent on harming another. Graveyards were filled with people who had gotten such orders.
I shrugged. “Poellinger would have a legitimate excuse and it’s no crime to be a bystander.”
“It would have been fun to make him sweat.”
“There, there, big guy.” I patted his arm. “You may still get your chance.”
I returned my attention to the parking lot and frowned. When I’d arrived, a sole van had been in the lot. Then several brightly painted vehicles had returned from their rounds. After unloading their contents, the drivers had gotten into their own cars and left. My suspect had not been among them. In the sea of trucks, only a white SUV and Poellinger’s black Mustang remained