Murder Comes Innocently: Yes, #1

By Deborah Lee

      Michael Harris, standing at his loft window looking down on I35 in Dallas known to Dallasites as Stemmons, watching the red and white lights moving below him as he lifts his glass, taking a sip of his Tennessee blend savoring it's flavor and the cold ice against his lips.  Michael is plotting a takeover of Farmers Insurance Company, to rocket him to the financial level he belongs by using Surette, Jason's administrative executive, knowing she is in love with him, Michael decides to woo Surette to acquire information to take down Jason Lassard, the company's owner and CEO.

     It is these actions that start a chain of events which take on a life of their own. JJ, Jason's son who feels entitled, plants himself into the same pathway, and soon conditions spiral out of both's control, later opening the pathway for Michael's takeover. Computer hacking, courting Surette, blamed for Jason's murder, and of course a confession provides the under lying tension pulsating throughout the story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deborah Lee
• Release date: Mar 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386913740

Deborah Lee

Deborah Seitz lives with her husband and two cats in the Dallas area.  She enjoyed writing editorials.  Editor for the Tallahassee Dog Obedience Club Newsletter and later Editor for The Texas Emu Association Newsletter in 1997 – 1998.  Two poems, Dried Roses and The Couple in the Plaza were submitted for publication, Poet Society, 2004 and 2005 respectively.  Deborah is a member of AbsoluteWriters.com, a writer’s discussion board and Writer’s Digest. Deborah has written I Loved You, I Honestly Loved You, a journaled biography on surviving spouse suicide as an ebook on EbookMall.com, 2004.  I Knew Jacob was the One, a short story published in Grab That Tiger, a collection of short stories, published by Keen Publications, July 2007.  She also has two mystery novels, Murder Comes Innocently and Mea Culpa, yet to be published.

Book preview

~ Chapter 1 ~

Michael Harris lifted his glass of whiskey to take a sip.  The cold ice pressed against his lips as he savored the sharp Tennessee blend, his mind no longer in the present, was already working on a plot that would rocket him to the financial level he belonged. 

I know Surette (Su-ray) Annuette, holds the information crucial to my plans. As Jason’s executive assistant, she’s privy to such company secrets. I know she’s had a crush on me for years, which I’ve kept up until now, conversations with Surette light and professional to keep her at a distance. The now, is to being the two-step courtship to get what I want. The decision is final and it is afoot.  It was Tuesday night, April 9, 2002.

He stood at his loft window, looking down upon the highway lights, watching the comet-like white headlights and red taillights of traffic light up the night coming and going on Interstate 35E, otherwise known as Stemmons Freeway to Dallasites. 

Suddenly Michael began flashing back when he was an assistant to the previous CFO, Dwight Houser.  A shrewd man but not the least bit organized, and that was why I worked for him.  My efficient organizational skills impressed Dwight, who considered me a brilliant asset to the company.  However, I know my 6’2", it is my medium build, lightly graying hair, hazel eyes mixed with my flashy smile and savoir-faire at 57, that make women’s hearts beat faster when I look their way.  It’s all the above and my magnetic aloofness that draws them.

I remember the one morning Dwight called me into his office to tell me he had submitted his resignation and had recommended me for his position.  Three days later Jason Lassard, CEO and owner of Old Farmers Life Insurance Company, called asking me to come to his office.  I knew what his call was about but had not expected it this soon.  By the end of the meeting, I was to be the new CFO upon Dwight’s departure. 

That was 20 years ago, and I’m still in the same position.  It is a position of honor, and yes, I’ve done quite well for myself, but I’ve set my sights on a higher one, for too long a time, and now it’s time to procure my due.  To long on the sidelines, anticipating Jason’s needs as well as taking his orders; I’d make a better CEO while bringing life back into the company. Get your gump back and man up. You’ve been passive way too long, Michael thought, as he walked away from his window setting down his drink, he said, Soon.

~ Chapter 2 ~

Brad Evers started his day on the phone listening to a woman, who had answered the personal ad he had placed in The Dallas Morning News, and her story of how she had met a convict, who called himself Tony Weekly.  Brad believed this to be the man who matched the police BOLO.  He assured her, if she would tell him where the convict worked, they would pick him up there, and he would never know she had been the one to turn him in, nor would any harm come to her.  Skeptical, she finally relented and gave him the information. 

Now I’m sitting here waiting across the street from an old two-stall car repair shop that had seen better days as a full service station many years before.  He should be coming back from lunch soon, Brad thought checking his watch. 

As predicted, the convict swung his faded red 1968 Mustang convertible into the lot, shut off the engine, and leapt out of the car, looked around, checking to see if anyone had been watching him, as he sauntered towards the shop.  Yes, that’s him, Brad said, looking at his mug shot, of the escaped convict. 

He picked up his cell phone and called the Dallas Police, then sat back and waited for their arrival.  I remember the thrill of a clean capture, he thought watching the police cars silently surround the building, while staying out of the line of sight.  He spotted the undercover detectives as they drove into the garage’s driveway.  Probably on the pretense of needing to air up a tire, he thought. 

The convict slowly lumbered out of the shop, wiping his grease-covered hands on a rag to see what the men wanted as the detectives got out of their old beat up brown Dodge Charger.  The passenger purported indifference by stretching and yawning. The driver looked like he was stuffing his shirttail back into his pants, a ploy waiting for the convict to come within their reach. 

The convict drew closer.  The passenger suddenly held out his badge and pointed his gun at the convict announcing,

David Weeks, you’re under arrest. 

The convict looked bewildered at the driver, finding he had pulled his .38 from behind his back and was pointing it at him, too.  Instinctively David started to turn.  He stopped in his tracks when he saw uniformed policemen running from behind the shop with their guns drawn and pointed at him. 

Hands behind your head, fingers interlocked! one yelled. 

He dropped his rag, held his hands out, then slowly, and deliberately moving them behind and intertwining his fingers as his hands rested on his head.  He was no stranger to the routine. 

Right hand behind your back, yelled the driver while his partner, began reading David his Miranda rights.  When he finished reciting the rights, the detective let the uniform policemen take over the arrest.  They had finally captured him.  Brad smiled then cranked the engine of his white ’98 Bronco.  Don’t ya just love it, he said, heading back to his office.

~ Chapter 3 ~

C.J., Brad’s secretary yelled, Pick up line two! 

This is Brad Evers, he said in his husky smokers’ voice. 

Good afternoon, Mr. Evers.  My name is Cheryl Lassard.  I would like to speak with you about my husband’s death, if you could spare some time for me. 

Mrs. Lassard, my condolences. When did your husband die? 

Six months ago, on March 17th,, 2003, she told him. 

As I remember, the police department came up with a suspect in his murder, Brad said remembering the news coverage.

Yes, they did.  However, there is a problem they cannot seem to overcome. 

And, what would that be? 

His fingerprints don’t match those at the scene as well as a rock solid alibi. 

Well...  Brad started to say when Cheryl interrupted.

Please, Mr. Evers, I need your help.  The police department wants to put this case aside, because they aren’t getting anywhere. 

All right, how about... he said, waiting for C.J. to yell back a time. 

Two o’clock, she yelled on cue. 

Two o’clock okay with you? 

Thank you, Mr. Evers.  Two o’clock will be fine. 

Great, you know where my office is located? 

Yes, Cheryl acknowledged. 

Okay, then, Brad said hanging up the phone.

C.J.! 

Yeah? 

Find me the file on the Jason Lassard murder, would you? 

Okay, boss! 

C.J. walked over to the filing cabinet and opened the drawer for L murder files.  When there was a death of a well-known name in the area paper, Brad had instructed C.J. to tear out the pages that had to do with anything on the death and make a file on the premise they would need it.  She brought in the Lassard file and handed it to Brad. 

Thanks, he said as he opened the file, put on his glasses, and started reading the first article.  When he finished reading everything printed on Lassard’s death, he closed the file and picked up the phone. 

Captain Randall, please, speaking to Randall’s secretary. 

Okay Brad 

Brad!  How’s the private life?  Captain Danny Randall asked.

It’s getting deeper every day, just like your job. 

Isn’t that the truth?  So, how may I help you? 

I had a call from Cheryl Lassard to investigate her husband’s death.  Can you fill me in on what’s happening on your end? 

Unofficially, we have come to an impasse on the case. 

Why is that? 

Well, we have an eyewitness who put Michael Harris at the scene and identified him in lineup.  Harris’s DNA matches that at the scene.  However, the prints we have, which are actually no prints, don’t belong to him.  We haven’t found a match through AFIS as of yet, and I don’t think we will.  Another thing is, he has a credited alibi.  There is another twist in this case.  The DNA lab found something curious and has requested more time for further testing. 

That does make it tough.  Okay, that helps, Brad, said. 

When’s your meeting? 

This afternoon. 

Well, good luck with it.  Maybe you will end up solving this one for us, too, Captain Randall said wishing it were true. 

We’ll see what I can come up with, Danny.  Thanks for the info. 

Sure, anytime I can, Brad.  Keep me posted. 

I will.

Brad Evers found himself a successful private investigator after thirty years of working as a policeman for the Dallas Police Department, then police chief of the small growing town of Flower Mound.  The last big case that had come in was actually in the jurisdiction of the Denton County Sheriff’s Department.  Politics from the sheriff’s department and the city manager had kept him from the investigation professionally.  However, since he knew the family, he decided to investigate it from a non-departmental level.  He had unofficially solved the case to his satisfaction but could do nothing about it, because the sheriff closed the case as an accidental death.  Eventually, the politics had taken its toll on his job, and his job had taken its toll on his marriage.  His kids were now in college, and his ex-wife still lived in their ranch style home he had paid off. 

So, at 59, he chose the option to open his own private investigating business.  His big build at six foot two and 255 pounds was menacing to his suspects.  He had sandy blonde hair, but it was his pale blue eyes, which showed he was serious when he looked at you. 

Brad hired C.J., Claudia Jean Peoples, who, to him, was a perfect 112 pounds with a slim athletic build.  She is a young 24 years old with ash blonde hair styled in a short pageboy and deep blue eyes.  What I liked about her was her abrasive attitude.  It wasn’t rude, but more to the point, which an old policeman like myself appreciates. 

I hired her immediately not wanting to interview anymore of the groupie types, who were more impressed with the glamour of the job than the actual job.  So now, when C.J. yelled for me to pick up a line instead using the intercom, I smile to myself and pick up the phone.

~ Chapter 4 ~

Cheryl entered Brad’s agency and was amazed at how much it really looked like a private investigator’s office, straight from a movie, which made her silently laugh, a modernized Humphrey Bogart’s office where he played Sam Spade.  The office was in a state of disarray with stacks of papers and files on top of anything level, which needed dusting—badly.  She detected the use of a spring floral scented air freshener to mask a previously smoke staled air room.  Probably for my sake, she thought. 

Brad’s secretary is a pretty ash blonde who looks her part, young and a little on the abrasive side and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if this was real or not, she thought. 

Mrs. Lassard?  C.J. asked.

Pulled from her thoughts, Cheryl replied smiling, Yes, yes, I am. 

Just a minute, C.J. said, as she stood up, walked into Brad’s private office, closing the door behind her.  Less than a minute later, Brad opened the door and walked towards her with his hand extended to welcome her. 

Hello, he said.  C.J. followed him out of the office, and went over to their makeshift kitchen and asked, Would you care for something to drink? 

Cheryl asked, Do you have some cold bottled water? 

Yes, of course.  C.J. reached in their small refrigerator pulling out two bottles, handing them to Brad before he waved Cheryl into his private office. Brad behind his desk and Cheryl in an old but clean and somewhat comfortable chair, Brad began,

Mrs. Lassard... 

Please, call me Cheryl. 

All right.  I’m Brad, and my secretary’s name is C.J., he said.  Now, how may I help you? 

As I told you earlier, the police department seems to have come to an impasse and have stopped actively working the case.  I know they think Michael Harris had something to do with it, but it is my understanding that he had a rock solid alibi, and his fingerprints did not even match those in my husband’s car.  However, his DNA does match the blood at the scene.  What I need from you is confirmation that it was or it wasn’t Michael, so the both of us can get back to our own lives and try to find some solace in this travesty. 

Brad sat back, opened his bottle of water, took a swig, giving himself a few moments to think this through, and then said, Tell me what you know.

Wow!  Where do I start? 

Anywhere you want.  If I get confused, I’ll interrupt, Brad said which made Cheryl smile. 

"Well, Jason, my husband, founded Old Farmers Life Insurance Company.  For the first two years after he opened the business, he struggled to keep it going, then it suddenly seemed to explode beyond his expectations, and he had to hire more people to keep it running.  He was so proud of it and his management team.  His first CFO had to leave for health reasons, and Michael Harris moved up the latter from within for that position. 

According to Jason, Michael was doing a better job than the previous man was.  Michael kept a tight rein on his department.  Jason said it seemed Michael sensed when Jason needed projections or wanted numbers and always made a good impression on the board of directors with the profit line."

~ Chapter 5 ~

It was Tuesday, April 16, seven days after Michael’s decision, he made his move. 

Surette Annuette’s intercom buzzed, This is Surette. 

Surette, Michael.  Would you come to my office, please, he asked. 

Yes, she replied, as she placed the phone back in its cradle she could feel her heart begin to beat faster, raising her body heat, and she could smell her perfume as her body began to glow.  I can’t imagine what he wants from me, for he had his own assistant, she thought as she walked to his doorway and smiled. 

May I see you for a moment?  He asked, standing upon her entrance.  She walked to the front of his desk trying to act calm, even though she could feel her body quivering and her stomach sucked into her throat. 

Yes, Michael, what is it you wish? 

Sit down, if you would please, he said, also sitting. 

Surette sat not knowing what to expect. 

I know we are professionals working together, Surette, and seeing a colleague one works so closely with can cause problems.  Surette, I would very much like to ask you out for dinner. 

Surette just looked at Michael.  My dreams were about to come true.  My stomach is flipping, and I can’t stop it.  I’m going to faint right here in front of him, she thought. 

Surette, are you alright?  Michael asked. 

Yes.  Yes, I am.  It’s just that I’m surprised, Michael. 

I had hoped you would be.  I thought dinner tomorrow night at a quiet restaurant would be nice. 

Yes, that would be nice, Michael.  I would like that. 

Great!  I’ll pick you up at eight, he said excited. 

That’ll be wonderful.  Thank you for asking, Michael, she said excusing herself.

She floated back to her desk and tried to look focused for the rest of the afternoon.  My head is swimming. I finally get to wear that one special dress I have in her closet at home, just waiting for the night I have always dreamed of with Michael.  Now, I just had to make it through the rest of the day and remain calm and focused tomorrow.

Surette, 54, a slender build of 5’7", vibrant kaki green eyes, and her long neck accented her shoulder length straight brunette hair.  When she wore her hair up and people looked at her, their first impression was Audrey Hepburn.  Surette had never married, for she was in love with Michael for the twenty years she had worked with him.

To her, Michael was the epitome of what a man should be.  He was always the gentleman, suave, a good dresser, with a quietness about him that projected: alone.  She wasn’t sure if it was his happy being alone or his having to be alone, which made him all the more desirable to her.  Whatever it was, she knew she would be good for him and would make him happier.  Then, she could love him fully instead of harboring her love for him quietly inside. 

Surette went home alone every night, yearning for Michael, yet knowing he didn’t have the same feelings for her, and she would never love another.  Sometimes she wondered if her peers at work called her Miss Lonely Heart, behind her back.  She knew she needed to be out meeting other men.  However, she didn’t really care for the type of men who felt drawn to her.  But then, we’re all prisoners of our own devices, aren’t we? She asked herself.

The next day Michael was friendlier to everyone’s surprise.  He was more outgoing and smiling more than normal.  Everyone was enjoying this change, hoping something or someone had come along and this would be his permanent state of affairs.  He had even winked at her a couple of times, which had ruined her focus.  Today life was exceptional and the night was looking promising, Surette thought while Michael surveyed his cause and effect thinking, If they only knew the havoc that is about to descend upon our little happy group.

Surette was already dressed in her short black double spaghetti strap dress, and her matching wrap was by the door.  In less than two long minutes, it will be eight o’clock.  I wonder if he will be on time, and I pray he’ll not stand me up, dashing my dreams, and sending me into the abyss of depression, she thought.  She heard a car door shut outside.  She held her breath, feeling her heart stop for a second, while she stood frozen listening for footsteps leading up her walkway and the doorbell ring.  Its lyrical tune rang loud making her jump. 

It’s Michael! she said as Rachmaninoff repeated it back to her. 

Shh! Surette said to Rachmaninoff whose only response was to flap his wings at her as he stood on his perch.  Show off! she countered.

She opened her door and Michael let out a low wolf whistle when he saw her. 

Wow, you look wonderful! he told her. 

And, so do you, sir, she said teasing. 

Michael walked in and surveyed her townhouse. 

Nice place you have, he said, while thinking, it’s interesting to see another’s place, to get an idea of the part of their life that is normally unobserved by those they work with. 

Rachmaninoff screeched, It’s Michael! as Surette blushed and closed her eyes in embarrassment because this made Michel jump.  Michael turned to find the bird by the sliding glass door in her open kitchen. 

Is he a Maui Macaw? 

Rachmaninoff is a Calico Macaw, Surette offered, I’ve had him for thirty years now. 

His colors are magnificent, not a brilliant, but muted, and I see you’ve taught him to talk, Michael said teasing her. 

Yes, and that may very well be the last thing he ever says!  Laughing nervously as she walked over to the door to pick up her wrap from the entry table. 

Here, let me help you, Michael said as he gently took her shawl from her, opened it up, and placed it around her shoulders letting his hands rest there for a moment, then bent forward  reaching just enough past her to make it feel intimate, and opened the door. Michael knowingly smiled as Surette gathered her composure and returned a smile.

As they walked to his silver corvette, Michael inquired, How long have you lived in your townhouse? 

I bought it fifteen years ago. 

It’s nice and the neighborhood is excellent, he told her. 

Yes, I’m pleased it has stayed this nice throughout the years, she replied and asked, Do you have a house? 

No, I have a loft condo, he explained. 

I’ve always thought living in a loft would be exciting.  Are you enjoying yours? 

Yes, I am.  I love the openness it allows, and the windows provide a magnificent view, especially the night lights on Stemmons.

~ Chapter 6 ~

Michael drove them to an elegant French bistro, Chez Gerard on McKinney Avenue.  When Surette walked in, she immediately felt transported back to old Paris.  She could see the tattered red carpet, and the high back booths, which separated each table on which was a lit candle giving the only light in the dining area.  There was an overhead wooden lattice canopy, from which hung silk grape branches with clumps of plastic grapes, nevertheless looking real in the dim candlelight.  Surette could smell the familiar savory fragrances of the elegant dishes they offered.

She deliberately remained silent, watching, as Michael struggled ordering their meal in French as their frustrated waiter showed respect by not strangling him for murdering their homeland language.

While they waited for dinner, Michael had ordered a bottle of Chardonnay. 

Surette, I am so glad you consented to have dinner with me.  I am enjoying this. 

Michael, I was truly surprised when you asked me to dinner.  I never dreamed we would be dining together without it being a business function.  This is wonderful, she professed. 

Michael knowing that statement was far from the truth said, I know.  I’ve wanted to ask you out for some time now, but I was afraid of office speculation and talk, therefore never pursuing it. 

What changed your mind? 

Pardon the cliché, but I finally got up the nerve after realizing it didn’t matter what other people thought, an excuse he had just thought up. 

Well, I’m glad you changed your mind, Surette replied.  This place is wonderful!

Yes, I heard about it through some friends and thought it would be perfect. 

Good choice.  So, tell me about the Michael who is not at work.  What are his interests? 

Would you guess that I like opera? 

No, I would have never thought that of you. 

I do.  I also have season tickets to the Myerson Symphony Center and all the gaieties involved.  As a matter of fact, I’m interested in and have been asked to be on their board, to which I am honored.

Michael, what an honor it is for you!  That is wonderful!  Tell me more.  Let’s say...if I were to envision you at home, what I would see? She asked. 

A real estate/management company had bought an old clothing manufacture’s building in the West End area and restored it, turning it into loft condominiums.  The loft I bought takes up half of the third floor.  There are six inner walls, three for the bedroom and three for my bathroom, that backs up to the kitchen in the center, which are three quarter walls allowing for a more open look, yet giving me privacy.  At night, there would only be one light on by my black leather and chrome recliner, giving a soft look throughout the loft, where I would be reading a book by Tom Clancy or looking at a book of paintings.  In the background, you would hear the surround sound system softly playing some obscure opera or movement.  By the way, did you know that there are nine high C’s in the Daughter of the Regiment?  Surette shook her head, not knowing this.  Art is one of my favorite subjects, whether it is paintings, music, or art deco glass. 

You were married at one time, weren’t you?

Ah, the marked question.  Yes, but it didn’t last very long.  In my youth, I was very controlling.  I managed her career, what she wore, and always tried to improve our status, which eventually took its toll on our marriage, and she left me.

I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have asked.

That’s okay, he said while thinking, I took it hard and proceeded to close off that side of my life except for an occasional date to the opera or symphony.  Now, I have everything in place exactly as I want it to improve my status.  Marrying again would only cause a demand on my time, which I am not willing to give up, not to mention the intrusion into my home... 

What a nice picture.  Who are your favorite painters? 

Kandinsky is my preference. 

Kandinsky is quite contemporary.  I have seen a few pieces of his, Surette said knowing the work. 

I only have a couple in my collection.  Did you know he was German from a Russian extraction? 

No, I didn’t know that.  But, he was a great painter. 

I’ve been lucky to have found his work.  I’ve told you about me.  Now, it’s your turn.  Michael said as he poured more wine into her glass. 

Well, her heart pounding that he was interested enough to ask, I am first generation American to my French born parents.  Growing up, we would fly back to Paris every summer, where I would continue my education in French as well as the country’s history and traditions.  My parents sent me to Bryn Mawr and after I graduated, Jason hired me.  You’ve seen my home and Rach. 

He’s a big bird.  I bet his beak can leave a nasty mark if he gets mad. 

Yes, he occasionally gets mad, but he’s pretty gentle with me, fortunately. I’ve tried to let him open up and be comfortable to show his personality 

So, what is it like for you working for Jason?  Michael asked. 

Sometimes it is intense.  It depends on the time of the month or at year end like it is for you with getting the annual figures for the board of directors’ meeting and the stockholders meeting. 

Yes, I understand the end of the year, but it’s not so bad for me working the end of the month figures. 

Well, Jason is... how can I put this?  Jason is tyrannical with the end of the month numbers.  When a region’s numbers are not where he thinks they should be, he becomes putout.  Then, the littlest imperfection irritates him.  You know how he gets. 

Yes, he becomes irritated with us but not at us.  It’s just we happen to be the ones around him. 

Yes, that person.

~ Chapter 7 ~

Their dinner of roasted chicken, a cheese and spinach crepe, and almond green beans arrived.  They continued, But, you like working for him.  What would you say was the main reason after all of these years?  Michael asked.

Because of the type of man he is.  When I met him, I knew he would create his empire, and I wanted to work for that type of man.  Is your career where you want?  You’ve been the CFO for the company for, what, twenty years now.  Do you feel you have reached your potential? 

Funny you should ask.  I enjoy where I am.  However, I feel I could do better. 

Really?  What position do you have in mind? 

No position.  I just feel sometimes I could do better...in my job. 

I thought you meant... 

No, I mean where I am now.  I may be wrong, but I sometimes question.

From where I sit, you don’t have any problems there.

After dinner, Michael drove along Turtle Creek and parked the car.  He helped Surette out after opening the door for her and they walked in the grass along the creek, using the streetlights to see where they were walking.  They were enjoying the warm summer breeze bringing a sweet fragrance of magnolia with it, making the tree limbs move, rustling its leaves and the crickets or their cousin the katydid sounding their