Worthey updates Detective Bryson
Bryson was glad to get out of the apartment building where he felt the air was so rarefied that it was beginning to strangle him.
The fact he let her snootiness get to him was almost unforgivable especially if she chose to make a complaint because everyone like her had a “friend” in the city administration, he would get into trouble. Again.
He dialled Worthey’s cell number.
Six rings before he answered, dropping the file in his hands and reaching for the phone, papers spread over the floor. “Yes,” he growled, angry at the interruption.
Bryson ignored it. “Write this down.” He gave Worthey the cell number and the business name. “Get a request in for the cell records and track down where that business is. I want to get there before they find out the boss is dead. Text me the address the moment you get it. Have you found any further evidence at the scene?”
“Not yet, but there’s an interesting wrinkle, the car was not his, it was a rental in the name of Phillip Magarry.”
“Who the hell is he?”
“As far as I can make out, Bergman. I tracked the car to a rental outlet in Manhattan, took a photo of Bergman there, and the desk clerk said it was him, although he tried to hide his identity. He didn’t try very hard, because I doubt, he expected anything would happen. Always expect the unexpected I say.”
Anyone could be wise after the fact, so Bryson simply ignored that remark. The real question was why Bergman needed to have an alternative identity. Did his estranged wife know about it? A note to ask her next time.
“Anything else on this Megarry?”
“There was a copy of his Megarry’s driver’s license hidden in Bergman’s wallet, and it shows Megarry’s from Nevada, and when I checked the address, it was for a vacant lot in Las Vegas. Then I had the lab guys take a look at it, and it’s fake, but it’s a very good fake.”
Two possibilities Bryson considered that Bergman was trying to cover his movements for some reason, driving around in a car that could not, without some investigation, be associated with him, if at all. The other, Bergman had more than one identity, possibly living more than one life. Why couldn’t he just get a simple case for once?
“I take there was no sign of a phone at the scene, or in the car?”
“Preliminary cause of death?”
“Like we thought, single gunshot at close range to the head. Death was instantaneous, we’ll get the time of death when the medical examiner had done his preliminary report, but from early indications, sometime between ten last night and two this morning. Also, it seems likely that the killer was known to the victim to get that close. We’ll find out what type of weapon was used before the afternoon is out. I put a rush on it.”
It would be closer to 2 am, Bryson thought, having seen similar conditions before. Being in a car and given the sub-zero temperature during the night would mess with the time of death, so they were going to have to wait until a proper examination of the body was completed.
“Something else the wife told me. Bergman had a mistress or another woman. She didn’t know her name but said she remembered him lining up a date at a hotel, one of the Hiltons in the city. Get a man to take a photo of him and check the front desk, and the restaurant staff for identification, and a description or the name of this woman.”
He could hear Worthey scribbling notes, cursing once when the pen he had picked up ran out of ink.
“I’m going to get coffee. Hopefully, by the time I’ve drunk it, you will have sent me the workplace address for our victim.”
© Charles Heath 2019-2023