The Chief stood up and went to a file cabinet. Sifting through his bundle of keys, he fingered the right one. "I'm behind times in here. I don't have the patience to keep up with Excel or whatever Susan uses on her computer out there. I'm a believer that paper tracking can't be hacked as easily as a computer." He thumbed through several file folders and stopped at the one he wanted. I saw the tab which read ‘Duvall, Frank.' Under his name was the word ‘Victim.' Chief Hayes told me the date of the first deposit. The dates were close enough to when Frank told Cassie he didn't need her tips any more.
I explained to him about Frank's demand for Cassie's tips, and didn't leave out the reasons. I let him know how relieved Cassie was when Frank finally left her alone. I hoped by telling him all of the details, she would be cleared.
"Where did all that money come from?" I asked. "That's a lot for a dishwasher to deposit on a regular basis. Did you track it down?"
The humor appeared again. "Yes, we did our job in that regard. The problem is he deposited in cash only. There is no way to trace where it came from. At least, no way yet but we will get to the bottom of it all." My mind switched to Jared Freedman. The thoughts were interrupted when Chief Hayes remarked, "Maybe he was dealing in drugs or something else illegal that brought in a lot of cash. It's not like anyone in that profession deals with checks or credit cards."
"If that's the case, then a drug dealer could have killed Frank. He could have been dealing drugs out of the Steakhouse kitchen after everyone left. Steven said Frank often locked up when he finished work."
"I have thought about that. Have you considered Steven and the victim were into drug dealing together? There is no one to say the owner wasn't there with Frank that night. Maybe Frank was double-crossing Steven and they got into an argument. Things got out of hand."
I stared at him. The shortcomings noted in the owner of the Steakhouse didn't include doing drugs. I knew it didn't rule out dealing drugs.
"That hadn't crossed my mind. There is another matter," I said. "Frank Duvall had put his Santa suit back on at some point after washing the evening dishes. What is the explanation for that?"
Donald shrugged his shoulders. "That's another part of the mystery. Why was he in that Santa suit? We are inquiring as to whether he played Santa someplace else when he finished at Steven's Steakhouse. If so, what made him come back? We don't have those answers yet."
"I'm sure Steven had nothing to do with it," I said. "Daniel has known him since their college days. He would have seen an evil side to him before now."
"If you are right, time will tell whether he is innocent or not."
I decided not to mention Jason Miller or Jared Freedman at this point. I needed more time on my own to find out more about both of them. When I left the office, I saw the Chief reach for a decorated mitten and snap off the thumb. I glanced at my watch. There was still plenty enough time to get to the high school and meet Jason Miller.
Chapter Ten
I had printed an image of the teenager off his social media page. He was a skinny kid with coal black hair. One thick string of it hung over his right eye. His hands were on his hips and he tried to give the impression he was big man on campus. Apparently, females on the media site agreed, if I took into consideration their remarks.
The parking lot was filled with students' cars. Buses lined up on the opposite side for those who weren't lucky enough to have their own wheels, or not old enough to drive. I hurried inside and showed my identification to the person at the door. I told the guard I was here to see Jason Miller if he hadn't left for home yet. He told me to wait as he handed my drivers' license to a lady nearby. She went into the office to make a copy. After a few minutes, she returned and swept me through. I was shocked at first at the security measures and presumed I had been checked out electronically while I waited for clearance. The detector said I had no firearms on my person and the guard directed me to the senior locker hall.
Jason Miller stood out. He was a head taller than the students who clustered around him. I shivered when he glanced in my direction. His arrogant attitude was evident.
"Jason? Hi, I wanted to chat with you for a minute," I said.
I didn't appreciate the way he looked me up and down. He turned to his friends. "Look, everyone, a good-looking chick wants to talk to me." One boy slapped him on the back. He sauntered a few steps toward me. His egotistical confidence hit me the wrong way and I decided two could play his game.
"You may be interested to know Police Chief Hayes is a good friend of mine. I just left his office. It seems he knows you quite well," I said. "I understand you've been in trouble with the law before. In fact, you are on his list for investigating vandalism at a local coffee shop recently."
It wasn't beyond me to stretch things a little, if I could shake the narcissistic kid in front of me. It worked.
"I haven't been close to any coffee house." His voice rose. "They can't pin that on me, too."
"Oh, you mean like the murder of someone who used to play Santa to the kids. That is, before he was found dead in a freezer. Maybe you've been too busy at Steven's Steakhouse to vandalize the coffee house, too. Yeah, that must be it. It was someone else."
Jason's friends drew closer. They were very interested in hearing more of the conversation. Two of them turned and walked away as if happy to separate from their friend. Jason moved from the group. He gestured to his friends to stay back. Flashing dark eyes and a flushed face indicated that I succeeded in pushing the right buttons.
"I know about the fake Santa's murder. Word got around fast about that. I didn't have anything to do with it. There is a restraining order on me to stay away from the Steakhouse restaurant. I wasn't anywhere near any coffee shop, either. I have more important things to do."
"Do you mean like tormenting children who want to see Santa?"
He brushed back the drooping shaft of hair from his eye. His feet shifted from one to the other. I figured he needed something to calm him down but thought he surely wasn't stupid enough to have drugs on school property. It hit me that maybe he and Frank dealt drugs together.
That would have gotten Jason inside the Steakhouse kitchen.
"Where were you the night Frank Duvall was killed?" I asked.
I had to remind him of the exact date when he asked. He thought a few seconds and came up with his alibi. "I was at dance class that night," he replied.
I almost laughed out loud when he told me that he was at his dance class. I caught myself since I wanted to stay in the interrogator mode. "You were at dance class? What kind of dance?"