Steven Havill - A Discount for Death

Owen Frieberg stared at her incredulously, his eyes still watering from the bout of coughing. He cleared his throat. “You’re kidding.”

Estelle’s left eyebrow drifted upward a fraction. “No, sir, I’m not. We know about Acambaro. We know about the Christmas and Cinco de Mayo trips. Mr. Frieberg,” Estelle said gently, “you can either cooperate with us as well and maybe save yourself some grief, or we’ll plow through this thing one step at a time. It’s your choice.”

The silence hung heavily, and after a moment Tony Abeyta shifted his weight. The leather of his Sam Brown belt creaked, and that small sound was loud in the foyer. “My God,” Frieberg whispered. “You think that I killed George Enriquez, don’t you?” Estelle didn’t respond. “That’s what this is all about. You think that I went to see George on Monday, and killed him.”

“You didn’t go to talk about boats,” Bill Gastner said dryly.

Estelle watched as the mortician tried to clear his throat. He blinked rapidly but ignored the tears on his cheeks.

“Mr. Frieberg, what makes you think that George Enriquez was killed on Monday?”

What little color had been able to show through the makeup drained from Owen Frieberg’s face.

Estelle watched as a practiced expression of glacial calm settled over Owen Frieberg’s face. His elegant posture-squared shoulders, chin up-showed nothing. One hand strayed outward to rest on the ornately carved back of one of the straight chairs that lined the foyer.

“What did you and Enriquez talk about on Monday morning?” she asked.

“I think that I need to call my attorney,” Frieberg said.

“Suit yourself,” Estelle said. She nodded at the old-fashioned black telephone on the ebony foyer table.

“Am I under arrest?” he whispered.

“You will be.”

He straightened a fraction more, glaring at Estelle. “You’re very sure of yourself, young lady.” When Estelle didn’t respond, he added, “I did not kill George Enriquez. You couldn’t be more wrong if you think that.”

“Someone did, Mr. Frieberg.”

He smiled with a touch of condescension. “Well, when you find out who, I’ll be interested to read all about it in the local newspaper.” The smile faded when Estelle brought the handcuffs out from under her jacket. “You’re actually…”

“Mr. Frieberg, you don’t leave us much choice. I’m in no mood to play games tonight. You’re right…you aren’t required to talk to us.” She stepped close and glared into his face. “You used a busload of kids as cover to run drugs. And when things started to come apart, you killed George Enriquez to shut him up. I don’t think I need to stand here and negotiate with you.”

“Wait.” He held up both hands again and glanced nervously toward Abeyta. “Wait a minute. All right. Earlier this evening, I was over at Herrera’s pharmacy. And what he probably told you is true. We found a source of inexpensive drugs in Mexico, and he was more than willing to carry some of them in his pharmacy.”

“The we is…”

Frieberg closed his eyes and hesitated just a second too long. “George and me. Other than ducking some customs duty at the border, we didn’t see it as any great crime. In fact, those drugs are a godsend for folks who can’t pay the exorbitant prices nowadays. You of all people should know all about that.”

“Where’s the source?”

“It’s a small lab. Maybe an hour south of Acambaro. I don’t know how well you know the area…San Luca? I think it’s north of Chihuahua a little bit. And George said that the lab is connected somehow with a parent company in the United States.”

“All right,” Estelle said. “And tonight? What was the purpose of the visit to the clinic?”

“I thought it best to remove the pharmaceuticals from Herrera’s.”

“Why was that?”

“Well,” and Frieberg hesitated. “We knew that you were investigating that avenue…that you’d discovered some connection between the drugs and George Enriquez.”

“And the we is?”

Frieberg bit his lip. “I meant…Listen, I did go see George on Monday morning. He called me the night before and said that he had talked to the district attorney and was going to cut some kind of deal to save his skin. He was almost incoherent. Maybe he’d been drinking, I don’t know. But the gist of it was that he thought he could manipulate things so that Herrera would be left holding the bag about the whole drug thing. George seemed to think that he could manipulate things so that it looked that way. He was willing to trade that information in exchange for lifting some of the pressure from him…all that grand jury mess. He figured he could make you think that he was just the poor, duped bag boy. They’d find some of the drugs at Herrera’s, and that’s where the blame would focus. Especially with your husband’s connections.”

The torrent subsided, and Frieberg looked expectant, even hopeful. “If that’s the case,” Estelle said, “why would Enriquez bother to call you?”

Frieberg shook his head. His eyes drifted closed. “I suppose so that I’d have a chance to take whatever precautions I could. To warn me about what was coming. I couldn’t talk him out of it, so that’s when I decided to take the drugs. If they…if you…searched and didn’t find anything, you’d just think George was conjuring up tall tales to save himself.”

“And what precautions did you take, Mr. Frieberg?”

“I didn’t do anything that night…what, was it Sunday, I think? When George first called me. I went to his office the next morning to try and talk some sense into him. He told me that he was meeting the D.A. sometime that Monday afternoon, so I felt I had time. What he wanted to do was so absurd. I mean, his insurance dealings were petty. He didn’t defraud anyone. He paid any claims he had out of his own pocket. At the most, it was a case of misrepresentation. There was no loss that anyone suffered. That’s what I tried to tell him.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He said that if his whole life was dragged through the grand jury, that it was over for him…that they’d make him out to be some kind of monster. He said that he couldn’t take the chance. He was ready to cut a deal. The grand jury business had spooked him. He just sat there the whole time, as dejected as I’ve ever seen him.”

“So he wanted to buy his way out of it.”

“That’s the gist of it. He’d look like a hero, blowing the whistle on the clinic. I told him it wouldn’t work, but he wouldn’t listen. In the course of our argument, he wrote me the check, reimbursing my premiums that I’d paid on the boat…just like I’ve already said.”

“What was the point of his doing that?”

Frieberg shook his head. “George wasn’t one for confrontations, Mrs. Guzman. I suppose maybe he thought that I’d go to the police, too. Just another count in the indictment, so to speak. But I really don’t know why he did it. I didn’t demand the refund.”

“What time was it when you left his office on Monday morning?”

Frieberg closed his eyes and puffed out his cheeks. “I would say that it was shortly before nine o’clock. In the morning.”

“During the time you were in his office, did anyone else arrive?”

“No.” His gaze shifted back to the handcuffs in Estelle’s hand, trying to judge if they’d made progress toward his wrists.

“And so, when you knew what George was planning to do, you tried to cover yourself by removing the drugs from Herrera’s pharmacy.”

“Well, no…I mean…I had…” He stopped and Estelle saw the muscles of his jaw set.