Couples
Chapter 93
Ryan points at the large screen in Tech. "See that, Beckett, that truck? The sign on the door says Sunglow Landscaping Services, and the zip code is in Queens. It wouldn't have much reason to be anywhere near that dumpster. There's barely any grass in that neighborhood."
"You're right," Kate agrees. "We can't tell from this if the driver actually approached the dumpster or even stopped. But it's worth checking out. Want to take a ride out to Queens, or are you and Espo into something?"
"I promised that I'd help him recanvass the area where the body was dumped, now that we're asking about strangers. But as the senior detective, you could overrule that," Kevin suggests hopefully.
"No, you go ahead with the canvass," Kate instructs. "And find out if anyone knows anything about Sunglow. We'll go at it from two different directions. But stay in touch. If you hear anything, especially about Sunglow, I want to know about it."
"Will do," Ryan agrees. "And Esposito said the Macho Taco truck is in the neighborhood we're canvassing today. I love their bean burritos."
Kate inwardly groans at her remembrance of the odorous aftermath of Ryan's favored lunch. "Enjoy them."
The drive out to Sunglow Landscaping along Interstates 278 and 678 takes Kate through some of the lovelier and more exclusive parts of Queens. A landscaper could make a nice living contracting for the maintenance of estates in Forrest Hills and surrounding areas. The actual Sunglow facility, however, even though well kept up, is relatively Spartan. The building is constructed of cinder block with separate cement outbuildings. Kate notes that one of them displays a color-coded hazardous chemicals placard.
The main building's entrance is locked. Kate takes a quick look around her for cameras, but the only ones she sees are focused on the cement structures. She presses the intercom button. "Detective Kate Beckett, N.Y.P.D.," she responds to an inquiry from a female voice. A short buzz releases the latch.
Kate estimates the age of the woman sitting in the reception area as 18. She wears a polo shirt with a stylized sun that Kate assumes is the company's logo, and momentarily nibbles on two of her fingernails. "Is this about Denny's accident?"
"What accident?" Kate questions.
"A car jumped the curb and hit the tractor he was riding," the receptionist explains. "The police already took a report. It was the driver's fault. He admitted it."
"I'm very sorry that happened to Denny, but I'm here on another matter, Ms…."
"Buck, Annie Buck."
"Ms. Buck, do you know a Calista Ford?"
"That bi…!" Annie covers her mouth. "I'm sorry, Detective. She drove everyone around here crazy. We built one of the outbuildings just to make her happy about fireproof storage, and she still practically gave my uncle – he owns this place – a heart attack. I wish she'd find another company to pick on."
"She's not going to be picking on anyone," Kate responds. "I'm investigating her death."
Annie reddens. "Oh, I'm sorry. I know you're not supposed to talk about dead people that way. But honestly, she made my uncle, really everyone who works here, so miserable, I can't pretend I'm sorry."
"Is your uncle here?" Kate asks.
"No, he's out on the job. Our crew is doing the McClellan Estate today. Everything has to be perfect, so he supervises."
"Do you have an address?" Kate asks.
"Sure, but my uncle is the sweetest man in the world.," Annie insists. "He might have been mad at Calista Ford. We all were. But he would never hurt anyone. Neither would anyone on our crew."
"I'm sure you're right," Kate responds. "But I need to talk to him anyway. It's procedure. Oh, and by the way, does Sunglow take any contracts in Soho? I have friends who live there. They might need some landscaping done."
Annie shakes her head. "My uncle sticks to Queens and a little bit of Long Island. Sunglow never takes jobs in Manhattan."
Kate shrugs. "Too bad. Well, if you give me the address where your uncle is working today, I'll be on my way."
Annie writes a few words on the back of a Sunglow business card. "OK. Here it is."
Kate pulls into the drive of a large home on carefully manicured grounds. From what she can see, an electric gate normally blocks vehicle entrance, but it's open to permit the passage of the trucks that haul riding mowers and other equipment. Spotting a crew working ahead and to her left, Kate approaches. Parking her unit on the drive, she calls out to the sturdy squat man supervising the workers. "Mr. Buck!"
He turns, his eyes sweeping appraisingly over Kate. "You must be the police detective. My niece called to tell me you were coming."
Kate wishes Annie hadn't warned her uncle. She would have preferred him unprepared for her questions. Still, he doesn't seem hostile. Kate nods. "I'm Detective Kate Beckett. I'm here to ask you some questions about Calista Ford."
"Annie said she's dead," Walker Buck replies matter-of-factually.
"That's true. And it's my job to figure out how she got that way. Your niece gave me the impression that you weren't on the friendliest of terms."
"That's an understatement if ever there was one," Walker acknowledges. "The woman wanted to squeeze me dry. I'm surprised you people didn't arrest her. I filed a complaint against her for attempted extortion. Maybe if you'd put her in jail, she wouldn't be dead. Not that it's any great loss to the world."
"When did you file the complaint, Mr. Buck?" Kate presses.
"About a month ago. I went to my local precinct and filled out a form. The cop there said he'd take care of it. Nothing happened. I guess someone really handled the problem, huh, Detective? If you find out who did it, I want to shake their hand."
Gazing around, Kate catches sight of a pickup truck identical to the one she and Ryan spotted on the traffic video taken near the dumpster. "Is that your vehicle, Mr. Buck?"
"It belongs to my business," Buck claims. "What about it?"
"It was photographed near where Calista Ford's body was found in SoHo. According to your niece, you don't do business in SoHo. What was it doing there, Mr. Buck?"
Walker's eyes flash. "That is absolutely none of your affair, Detective. But I assure you it had nothing to do with Calista Ford. I have work to do. If you have any further questions, you can address them to my lawyer, Kurt Migler. And you should move your car. Our vehicles are authorized to be on this property. I doubt that yours is. You have a good day, now."
"You have a good day too, Mr. Buck," Kate returns, ignoring Buck's sarcasm. "But I suspect we'll be crossing paths again."
After moving her unit outside the gate, Kate gets the desk Sergeant at the 112th on her phone. "Hey Cal, it's Kate Beckett."
"Kate, I haven't seen you since the fundraiser for Officer Burkett's family. I didn't know then how generous you and your husband were. It made a huge difference to Glenda and the girls."
"I'm glad we could help, Cal. Listen, I have a possible suspect who claims that he filed a complaint accusing a murder victim, Calista Ford, of trying to extort him. Do you remember accepting his report?"
"Guy built like a tree stump?" Cal inquires.
"That sounds like him."
"I remember that he filled out the paperwork. I passed it on to Detective Wellsey, but I don't know where it went from there. We have a backlog of complaints like that. Someone in this neck of the woods is always claiming a contractor's trying to squeeze them for money. As often as not, they just don't want to pay their bills. The rich can be pretty tight with a penny – your husband excluded, of course."
"Rick has his moments," Kate confides. "But I don't think what happened was anything like that. Can you put me through to Wellsey?"
"He's on vacation, but I can get you his looie." Cal offers.
"All right," Kate agrees. "This case just keeps getting weirder."