Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

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Authors: Ellen Elizabeth Hunter
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fine as David pulled out a chair for her.
    Over the years, Melanie had told me the sordid details of Crystal's unsuccessful marriages -- the infidelities, the legal battles. "This time she landed a big fish," Melanie had said.
    David took the chair that Clay Bitterman had vacated and settled into it.
    Jon shook hands and said something like "nice to see you again" to our client and his wife.
    Cam stretched a hand across the table and introduced himself. "It's a pleasure to meet you, David. I've heard a lot about you."
    Prior to David's recent retirement he had been a consultant to and a representative of the tobacco industry. In other words, a lobbyist. He directed huge contributions to favorite politicians. He dined with senators and cabinet members. He was a Washington insider, a mover and a shaker. He still dabbled in his chosen field, he had told us, maintained close ties with the rulers of the world -- his words.
    David and Crystal lived aboard a yacht while we worked to restore his grandfather's hunting lodge that David had recently taken an interest in. They sailed from Miami to Boston and back again, with frequent layovers at the Wrightsville Marina while David checked our progress on the lodge.
    "So what is this nonsense about finding some old bones under a pile of rubbish?" David asked brusquely. David could turn on the charm when he chose. He did not choose now, did not seem to think any of us at the table merited the effort.
    Jon and I explained how we'd found a skeleton in a shed.
    "The body has been buried there for about eighty years," Jon said.
    "Probably an animal," David said.
    "Oh, it's a human," I said. "A forensic anthropologist from the university exhumed the bones and says they are human."
    David stared me down. "I know all about the forensic anthropologist. And when that little girl gets her act together, she'll see it was just some large animal."
    There was no arguing with David. And he'd never admit he was wrong. The truth was my client intimidated me.
    Melanie was watching him over the rim of her iced tea glass with one of her narrow eyed, I've got you in the crosshairs expressions. She had never met him before. What must she think of him?
    David turned to her. "And I saw you on the TV news too, little lady. They keep rerunning that shot of you in handcuffs. You gals sure have a way of turning up the volume. Can't you fellows keep these girls in line?" he asked Cam and Jon.
    Jon choked on his gin and tonic. I knew what he was thinking. Keep Ashley in line? Are you crazy? And Melanie's even worse.
    Cam interjected, "It's all a big misunderstanding, David, and the police will soon see that it is."
    "David, honey, I'm hungry," Crystal whined. "And thirsty. Get the waiter over here and order me a drink."
    David gave her a look but said nothing. He snapped his fingers in the air and darn if a waiter didn't come trotting up to the table.
    Crystal ordered chardonnay and the seafood sampler.
    "Would you like that fried or broiled?" the waiter asked.
    "Broiled," she replied. "I've got to watch my figure."
    David grinned. "Don't you worry none , honey, there's plenty of us doing that for you."
    "Mr. Boleyn, the . . . ," I said.
    "Now Ashley, how many times do I have to tell you? Mr. Boleyn was my daddy. I'm David," he said.
    "David," I repeated. "David, we're hoping to get back to work on Monday. The police have sealed the property while they do their investigating about the remains we found."
    "Bring me a Jack Daniels straight up," David told the waiter. "And a steak, New York strip. Rare."
    Dismissing the waiter and turning to me, he said, "You can get back to work first thing tomorrow. The North Carolina Attorney General is a close personal friend of mine. He put in a call to that viper-tongued detective and set her straight. No excuse not to work. No one will stop you and your workers from returning to my property."
    Absently David patted his shirt pocket, withdrawing a pack of Camels and a gold cigarette

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