Dead Men Don't Cry

By Emory Cosgrove

Phoenix private detective Derrek Packer is transfixed by a story in the morning newspaper about the death of an unidentified teenage girl who had been raped, tortured, and beaten; then discarded alongside a country road in a neighboring county. That same day, he’s employed by super-wealthy and super-beautiful Evelyn Noscutt, whose husband has run off with her classic sports car and one of the household maids.

Packer’s search for the husband leads him to the dead girl, a spider web of family secrets, and a dark world of murderers, sex traffickers, and self-serving politicians.

Sit back and enjoy the ride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emory Cosgrove
• Release date: Aug 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370399949

Book preview

Phoenix, Arizona

Monday, August 11, 2014

August 11th was another blistery-hot day in Phoenix—only a few minutes after 10:00 and already a hundred and five degrees in the shade. Derrek Packer was working from home this morning, drinking coffee and reading a story in the Valley section of today’s Arizona Republic. The story was about a young Hispanic female whose lifeless body had been found alongside a dirt road near the farming community of Eloy, in Pinal County. The victim was estimated to be in her late teens. She’d been sexually assaulted, severely beaten, and shot. Her identity was not known.

Stories about murdered women disturbed Packer. He paused to wonder what could motivate a person to do something like that to a teenage girl, and how terrified she must have been…. His thought-experiment was interrupted by an incoming phone call.

Packer Investigations. Derrek speaking.

Mister Packer, you might remember me. My name’s Harry Glassman. I’m the lawyer who represented Jordan Rathers in her negotiations with several county attorneys last November.

Sure, I remember you, Mister Glassman. What can I do for you?

Call me Harry. I have a client, a Missus Evelyn Noscutt. Her husband’s gone missing. Earlier this morning, I spoke with Manny Acosta about this, off the record. He referred me to you. I remembered you right away from the Jordan Rathers case. Lieutenant Acosta sends you his best, by the way. He hopes you’ll return to ‘real police work’ someday…. Does the name ‘Noscutt’ mean anything to you, Mister Packer?

You can drop the ‘Mister.’ You know my name.… Yeah, I’ve heard of Noscutt. He works for the governor, I think.

"That’s right. His name’s Trent Noscutt—the missing husband, I mean. He’s Governor Annette LeBousilleur’s chief of staff."

"Why doesn’t the wife file a missing-persons report with the police? For that matter, if the guy works for LeBousilleur, Missus Noscutt could ask the governor to put the State Police on the case. Why are you calling me?"

She doesn’t want the police involved—doesn’t want to risk negative publicity. I’m sure you understand.

That line of reasoning suggests that Mister Noscutt’s gone missing before.

I can’t confirm that for a fact, but I believe it’s reasonable to assume that he has.

Okay, so how long’s he been gone this time?

Three days, as of this morning.

What do you want me to do?

"Go see the woman… talk with her. Ask her what she wants you to do."

You mean, see if she wants to hire me to track him down?

Yeah, that’s the idea.

If she wants to hire me, would I be working for her or for you?

Interesting question, Derrek. You’ll be working on her behalf, and you’ll call your own shots. But I think your paycheck should come from me. That way, you can claim attorney-client privilege if you get sideways with law enforcement. And there might be other, unexpected advantages in representing yourself as my ‘associate.’

Okay, Harry. I’ll talk to the woman.

* * *

Derrek locked up his house, got in his Honda Pilot, and drove out to the Noscutt place. The lady’s neighborhood was about seven miles—and seven hundred million dollars—north of his. It was in Paradise Valley, just east of Tatum Boulevard on Sunset Trail. The home itself was separated from the street by an invasion-proof wrought iron fence, a security gate, and about eighty yards of hedge-lined driveway. He pulled up to the security gate and pressed the intercom button. A scratchy voice asked: Who is there? He told the speaker he was Derrek Packer and that he’d been referred to Missus Evelyn Noscutt by Harry Glassman. The security gate swung open, as if by magic.

The house was a modern, multi-level job that took up fifteen or twenty thousand square feet on a half-section of rolling land. As he pulled up in the shade of the porte-cochère, a pretty Hispanic maid opened the front door to greet him. She was in her early-twenties, dressed in a white cotton blouse, a simple gray skirt, and expensive-looking sneakers. As he approached the door, she smiled and spoke clearly in unaccented English: Mister Packer, Missus Noscutt is expecting you. My name is Maria. Please come inside and follow me. She led him through a large foyer, then a gymnasium-sized living room, tastefully appointed with leather-and-chromium furniture, contemporary art work, and a Steinway grand piano. Eventually, they exited the house onto a flagstone patio. The patio was kept cool by a large rectangular water feature that probably moved several thousand gallons of water per minute. Maria motioned for him to have a seat at a glass-top table. She told him that Missus Noscutt would join him shortly, then headed back into the house.

He sat down and took in the scene: The water feature made a calm, restful sound and gave the air a sweet, humid scent. Out beyond the water feature was a carefully manicured grass lawn, a fifty-meter infinity-edge swimming pool, and a large contoured putting green. Beyond the swimming pool were two tennis courts and, farther in the distance, a large manmade lily pond with a white, tile-roofed gazebo next to it. It was your basic back yard—a lot like the 20'x45' gravel patch behind his two-bedroom house in the Arcadia district. A man could write Haiku poetry in a place like this, if he knew how.

The back yard is swell.

I sit here in peace and think.

It is a hot day.

Missus Noscutt appeared before he could break ground on his second poem. She extended her hand, and he stood up to shake it.

Missus Noscutt was in her mid-thirties. A stunning natural beauty with long, raven-black hair, mysterious doe eyes, and sculptured movie-star lips. She wore a simple skirt and a loose-fitting summer blouse—a modest ensemble, but it didn’t conceal the fact that Mother Nature had been more than generous to her. She couldn’t hide her beauty if she tried, he thought. And she showed no signs of caring about it, one way or the other.

She was very cordial, but with a formality that bordered on stiffness. As she shook his hand, she said: Mister Packer, I’m Evelyn. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you care for something cold to drink—iced tea, lemonade, a cocktail?

Iced tea would be fine, Missus Noscutt.

My name is Evelyn. Please call me that. She called to Maria: Té helado, Maria, por favor.

She turned her attention back to Derrek. Harry Glassman told me you were coming. He described you as ‘a very capable man,’ but he didn’t provide a lot of detail. Tell me about yourself, Mister Packer.

Okay, but there’s not a lot to tell. My name is Derrek, with two r’s surrounded by two e’s. My mother was a poor speller. I’m thirty-four years old. I graduated from college. I was with the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office for four years, then the Scottsdale Police Department for eight years. I was promoted to homicide detective in 2010.

Where was that?

Where was what?

Where did you go to college?

Oh, New Mexico State University. It used to be called New Mexico A&M. Some people still call it that, and the sports teams are still called ‘Aggies.’

Harry told me you were an athlete. Were you an ‘Aggie’?

You could say that—I attended the University on a football scholarship.

Was your football team very good?

We had some good days. We upset Stanford in a non-conference game in my junior year.

Did you intend to become a professional athlete?

No. I just wanted an education. No one in my family had ever gone to college. I don’t believe my parents even graduated from high school. I saw the football scholarship as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Evelyn tilted her head to the side and smiled affably. I went to Vassar, as my mother and her mother, and her mother’s mother had done…. It was expected of me. It cost a lot of money. My grandmother wrote the checks. She was very direct, but her warm smile—and the fact that she seemed to be poking fun at herself—made the initial impression of stiffness go away.

Harry also told me that you were a respected police detective, but you left the force because you were troubled over the death of a woman you were protecting. Would you mind telling me about that?

Derrek hesitated, then responded slowly. The woman was a material witness in a multiple-murder case. She knew our chief suspect, and she volunteered to gather evidence against him. He murdered her while she was trying to do that.

Sounds intriguing. Would you like to tell me more?

Not really.

So you don’t want to talk about it. I understand: This is a personal matter with you and you like to keep personal things to yourself. I respect that.

Maria came to the table with iced-tea service on a stainless-steel tray: a pitcher of tea, two ice-filled glasses, lemon wedges, and a small sugar bowl. She placed the tray on the table; Evelyn thanked her; and she returned to the house.

Do you mind if I call you ‘Packer’? Evelyn asked. I think that suits you better than ‘Derrek.’

That’s fine. A lot of people call me that.

She picked up the pitcher, filled both glasses, and asked: Lemon?

Yes, thanks.

She squeezed a lemon wedge into his glass, then asked: Sweetener?

A little sugar, if you have it.

She scooped a half-teaspoon of sugar into his glass, stirred, and handed the glass to him. Sugar isn’t good for you. You need to watch your intake of it.

Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. But I don’t think I was sent here to talk about me and my health. I believe I’m here to talk about you and your missing husband.

He’s been gone for three days. Do you want to help me find him?

Are you offering me the job?

What’s your fee?

Four hundred and fifty dollars a day, plus expenses. And you’d have my undivided attention. I work on only one case at a time.

Define ‘expenses.’

Mileage, long-distance travel and lodging, if required. And occasionally, I need to give people money, to encourage them to tell me things. I consider that a work-related expense.

That seems reasonable enough. You come highly recommended—both by Harry and by a detective-lieutenant named Acosta in the Scottsdale Police Department. And you seem like the kind of person I could get along with. If you want the job, it’s yours.

I’ll need a list of people your husband interacts with. And I’ll need your permission to tell people I’m working for you. I’ll also need an entrée. I understand your husband works for Governor LeBousilleur. I can’t just walk into the Governor’s office and start firing questions at people.

I’ll see to it that you get all those things.

Do you have children, Evelyn?

I have a daughter. Her name is Madelyn. She’s ten years old—and the center of my universe. My husband barely knows she exists. I think he wishes she didn’t. She and he have no relationship whatsoever.

I noticed the piano the in the living room. Does your daughter play?

She practices her lessons. I think she has talent and energy. But she doesn’t focus either of those things on her piano playing. I hope she will someday, when she gets older.

May I speak with her?

When she gets home. She’s on a summer field trip with her school now. They left last Monday morning—a week ago—for Monument Valley. She won’t be back ’til tomorrow afternoon. Her fall term begins next week.

Nice field trip. Where does she attend school?

Paradise Valley Preparatory Academy. She’ll be in the fifth grade.

Packer nodded. Do you have a photograph of your husband?

She got up from the table and went into the house. She returned in a few minutes and handed Packer a photograph. You can keep this, she said crisply.

He made a quick study of the photo. Mister Noscutt was slender and handsome with wavy dark-blond hair and delicate features. He looked like a model on the cover of a men’s fashion magazine. A pretty boy. Tell me about your husband, Evelyn. How did you meet? What’s he like? What’s your relationship like?

"How did we meet? We met when I was in college. As I mentioned earlier, I attended Vassar. Trent—my husband—had received his bachelor’s from Columbia; and he was studying law at Yale. His father was a successful attorney in West Hartford. But Trent decided he could have his way with people without going to the trouble of studying the law. We were married the day after I graduated, and he dropped out of law school the day after that. He married me for my money and family connections—the same reason my father married my mother.

"What’s he like? I just mentioned that he married me for my money and family connections. That should tell you something. He’s a manipulator, a user, and a taker. He loves my money because it gives him what he calls ‘leverage.’ It gives him power over other people. He’ll use anyone who can help him get what he wants. He’s the perfect right-hand-man for Annette LeBousilleur. Selfish, dishonest, and unscrupulous. He’s also an incurable woman-chaser. He might even be sleeping with Annette. A revolting thought, but I wouldn’t put it past him. He’ll stop at nothing to get his way. If there’s anything else you’d like to know, just ask."

You said he married you for your money and family connections—‘the same reason your father married your mother.’ Would you mind explaining that?

"Not at all. It might prove useful for you to understand the similarities between Trent and my father. My mother was Candice Hallewell. Her father was Horace Hallewell, founding Partner of the Wall Street firm Hallewell & Kurz. My father saw my mother as a means, and nothing else. After he married her, he pleaded with her to persuade her father to offer him a position at H&K. She did as he asked, and more. She persuaded old Horace to hire my father as a partner in the firm, then to make him CEO when he was just thirty years old.

My unmarried name was Birbeck. My father is Morris Birbeck, the Wall Street legend, ‘the youngest CEO in Wall Street history.’ He milked that title for fifteen years and then went into politics. In case you don’t follow politics, my father’s currently a U.S. Senator from New York. He likes Trent, and Trent likes him. Why not? They’re birds of a feather. Trent sees himself as Birbeck’s protégé, and Birbeck sees Trent the same way. They call each other ‘Son’ and ‘Dad.’ ‘Dad’ pulled strings here in Arizona to get Trent the job of chief of staff for Annette LeBousilleur, our beloved governor.

It took Packer several seconds to distill this into a Cliff’s Notes version. Birbeck marries a rich man’s daughter and uses her to advance his career. Noscutt does the same thing by marrying Birbeck’s daughter. But Birbeck isn’t bothered by the fact that Noscutt’s a schemer and a gold-digger. Instead, he sees him as a kindred spirit and bonds with the guy—takes him on as the son he never had. You can’t make this kind of stuff up.

Has your husband ever gone missing before, Evelyn?

It depends on how you define ‘gone missing.’ He’s often gone for several weeks at a time. When he’s here, it’s usually not for long.

Do you mean he travels a lot on official government business?

No. He just doesn’t spend much time at home.

Physical abuse?

What do you mean?

You know what I mean: Does he beat you up, slap you around—anything like that?

She stalled, stammered, and said: I don’t see how that’s rele—

It’s relevant all right. If you don’t care to talk about it right now, it can wait. But if I’m going to help you, I’ll need to know sooner or later. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.

The affable smile returned. She nodded slowly, but said nothing.

He gave her a studied look. You don’t like your husband very much—do you, Evelyn?

No. I don’t like him at all.

Then why do you want me to find him?

He ran off with my car. A red 1960 Mercedes 300SL. I don’t usually get attached to material things, but I really like that car. I want it back.

"A red Mercedes 300SL is a nice car all right. But a conspicuous one, too. The police could locate it and recover it in a matter of hours, without my help, and without incident. I believe you want your car back, Evelyn. But I don’t believe that’s why you want me to find your husband. You’re being evasive again. I just told you: I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. Either level with me, or find yourself another investigator."

She stalled again, but not as long as previous time. Okay… okay…. I suspect he might’ve committed a crime. He might’ve run off with Maria’s younger sister, Carmen. He might’ve taken her against her will.

Chapter 2

Packer stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger for several seconds, then said: I’ll need to talk with Maria—alone. Then I’d like to have some more time with you.

Certainly. As she headed inside to fetch Maria, she gave him a gentle pat on the arm and said: Thank you.

Maria confirmed Evelyn’s suspicion concerning Trent and Carmen. "He’s lascivo, a lecher, she said. Whenever the Missus isn’t looking, he puts his arm around Carmen and tries to kiss her. He does the same with me, but much more with Carmen."

Missus Noscutt believes Carmen is with him now. What do you think?

Maybe she’s right. Carmen wouldn’t run off by herself, without telling me.

She might’ve run off with Mister Noscutt willingly. Is that possible?

No. Not a bit.

How old is Carmen?

Nineteen.

And you?

Twenty-two. We both came to work here at the same time—about three years ago.

Why have you stayed so long, if you don’t like Mister Noscutt?

The pay is good, and we like the Missus. She’s very kind. And Mister Noscutt isn’t at home very much.

Tell me about Carmen. What should I know about her?

She’s prettier than me. Smarter, too. She saves her money. She’s taking classes at the community college. She wants to go to Copper State University someday and become a nurse. Missus Noscutt is helping her with her community college expenses. Missus Noscutt says she’ll help pay for the university, too.

How much is she helping? May I ask?

She’s paying for everything.

You mean, in addition to what she pays Carmen for her job?

Yes. I told you: She’s very kind.

Do you and Carmen get along with your parents?

Oh yes.

Have you told them she’s missing?

No. I hope I won’t need to.

Where do they live?

Red Rock. Our father works at the Saguaro Power Station.

Do you have a photo of Carmen—one I can keep?

Of course. Maria went into the house and returned in about five minutes with a 4x6 high-school graduation portrait. She handed it to Packer. She’s very pretty, no?

He took a long look at the picture. Yes, Maria, she’s very pretty. She looks like you. He handed her one of his business cards. Please call me if you think of anything else I should know. And please tell Missus Noscutt I’d like to talk with her again before I leave.

* * *

Evelyn came to the patio door and motioned Packer inside: Let’s talk in my study. It’s getting too warm out here.

He followed her through the living room and down a long hallway into a large room that seemed to be imbedded in the side of a hill. From the doorway, a person had to descend four steps to enter it, but the opposite end of the room seemed to be well above ground. The interior was elegantly furnished in a Danish-modern style and had a sleek walk-behind bar at the far end. To the right of the bar was a set of French doors that opened onto a teakwood deck. The deck overlooked a desert wash that formed a shallow vale and meandered eastward to the Camelback Golf Club, a mile or so away. The remaining walls were lined with bookcases, about four feet high, crammed with books. Above the bookcases were several pieces of art.

This is my sanctuary, she said as she motioned for him to sit in an armchair. She fetched an envelope from the top of a large glass-top desk and handed it to him. She sat in an armchair near his and crossed her beautiful legs.

Packer forced himself to study the envelope. On the outside, she’d written her cellphone number. He opened the envelope and removed two sheets of paper. The first contained a list of people’s names—Trent’s friends and associates at work and at his club. The second was a letter addressed To Whom it May Concern. It introduced him as Derrek Packer, stated that Mister Packer was a friend and associate of hers, and that the reader should cooperate with him and extend every courtesy.

I phoned the Governor’s office while you were interviewing Maria, she said. I spoke with Annette directly. She said she’ll talk with you and get the word out for her staff to cooperate.

How did you manage that? I got the impression that you and she weren’t on the best of terms.

"Annette and I despise one another. But my father’s name carries a lot of weight in Annette’s political party. She wants to run for the U.S. Senate someday, maybe the Presidency—who knows? You’d be amazed how deferential and solicitous people