Murder at Tiger Eye Read online

  Murder at Tiger Eye

  Niki Dupre Mysteries Book 2

  Jim Riley

  Contents

  Wednesday Night

  Thursday Morning

  Friday Morning

  Friday

  Friday night

  Friday Night

  Saturday Morning

  Saturday

  Friday Night

  Saturday Morning

  Saturday

  Saturday

  Sunday Morning

  Sunday Afternoon

  Baton Rouge

  Monday Afternoon

  Monday Afternoon

  Monday Afternoon

  Monday

  Monday Afternoon

  Monday Night

  Tuesday Morning

  Tuesday Morning

  Tuesday Morning

  Tuesday Morning

  Tuesday Morning

  Tuesday Morning

  Tuesday

  Tuesday

  Tuesday Night

  Wednesday Morning

  Wednesday

  Wednesday Afternoon

  Wednesday Afternoon

  Wednesday Night

  Thursday Morning

  Thursday Noon

  Thursday Afternoon

  Thursday Afternoon

  Thursday Night

  Friday Morning

  Friday Morning

  Friday Morning

  Friday Morning

  Friday Morning

  Friday Afternoon

  Friday Afternoon

  Friday Afternoon

  Friday Night

  Friday Night

  Saturday Morning

  Saturday Morning

  Saturday Morning

  Saturday Morning

  Saturday Morning

  Saturday Night

  Sunday Morning

  Saturday Afternoon

  Sunday Night

  Monday Morning

  Monday Morning

  Monday Afternoon

  Monday Night

  Monday Night

  Tuesday Morning

  Tuesday Morning

  Friday Afternoon

  Dear Reader

  Notes

  Copyright (C) 2020 Jim Riley

  Layout design and Copyright (C) 2020 by Next Chapter

  Published 2020 by Gumshoe – A Next Chapter Imprint

  Cover art by CoverMint

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

  Wednesday Night

  Tiger Eye Investors

  Scott Wilson turned off the lights and lock to his office door behind him. There was no one in the other offices or at the receptionist desk. All the other workers had left hours ago. Scott did not blame them. Each of them was affected by the tumultuous crash of the stock market. It was just as well. He did not want to see any of them and exchange forced pleasantries. None of them realized the future of the investment firm was on shaky ground. The only one that had kept up her spirits was Donna, the hourglass receptionist. She was also the one that knew the least about the effects of the market decline on the brokerage business.

  Scott unlocked the door leading to the parking lot. His thoughts were already on another sleepless night, dreading answering the numerous phone calls he knew he would receive the coming day. He had already told them to be patient, that this was merely a correction in the bull market. But that line was quickly losing its punch with each passing day of another down market.

  Slipping the keys out of his pocket, he walked into the unlit lot. He pushed the unlock button and heard the familiar sound of the door locks clicking open. Then he heard another sound. It was not coming from the vehicle, but from directly behind him. He saw the reflection of a figure standing on a couple of feet away. As he turned, it was too late. The letter opener thrust into his back with force. It glanced off one rib and penetrated the lower chambers of his heart. Scott Wilson was dead before you get the dark pavement. The killer left the instrument of death protruding from his back.

  Thursday Morning

  Central

  Niki Dupre looked at the stacks of papers covering her desk and smiled. No longer was she looking at piles of unpaid bills, but at documentation of active cases in one group and perspective clients in the other. Since she had solved the murder on mystery island case, as the media had dubbed it, her phone had not quit ringing. Now she had more opportunities than time allowed.

  Niki already hired a part-time receptionist to fill the phone calls. Lauren Bell went to school at LSU on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She answered the phone and manned the front desk for Wildcat Investigations the other three days of the week. She became adept at screening the crackpot calls from the ones with promise. She also picked up the nickname of ‘Flash’ because she could get clients, potential clients, and the media off the phone in a hurry without hurting their feelings.

  At ten thirty, the phone rang. Flash’s voice was on the other end.

  "Priority call. It's from your boyfriend."

  Niki protested. "He's not my boyfriend," but Flash had already hung up.

  The masculine voice on the phone asked, "I'm not what?"

  "Oh, nothing." Niki replied, I'm flustered. "I was trying to talk to Flash."

  "Me, too," Dalton Bridgestone replied. The youngest United States Senator ever to represent Louisiana chuckled.

  "I love to talk to her, but I don't think she enjoys talking to me."

  Niki smiled.

  "The only reason you like talking to her is that she is cute as a button and has a teenage body. In five years, after she has three kids and weighs 200 pounds, you won’t to give her a second look."

  Dalton laughed.

  "You know that's not true. I admire all women for their logic and forethought. At least that's what my campaign manager says."

  Niki responded, "The only thought men have about women is how firm their chest and their butts are. The only thing a man wants from a woman's mind is to agree with him no matter what."

  "As your Senator, I must admonish your position on men. But I didn't call you talk about Flash’s chest or her butt. I need your help."

  She hesitated.

  "As long as it doesn't take too much time. I'm backed up as far as I can go."

  Dalton got serious.

  "Look, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. I need you."

  "At least you're starting out right. You haven't said you need me in a long time."

  "Well, I'm saying it now,” he replied. "I need you to drop everything you're doing and work for me."

  Niki gasped. "I can't drop everything. I have six active cases working, and three more potential cases that could pay my bills for the rest of the year."

  "C’mon,” he said. "After you collected that million dollar bonus for turning me in, you don't have to work."

  He was referring to the case that made her famous.

  She laughed. "After my friendly government took out their share to pay for your salary, I might have enough left to have fries with my burger. Your services are expensive."

  “You only get the best of your willing to pay for the best,” he responded. "But seriously, I need you."

  "What's up?" She asked, now curious.

  "A good friend of mine, Scott Wilson, was murdered outside his office last night."

  "Isn't that a case fo
r the police?" She asked.

  "Yes, and they are looking into it. But with a murder a day happening in the city, they don't have the resources to thoroughly cover them all. I want to make sure this one is covered. That's why I need you. I know you will get to the bottom of it."

  "Thank you for the complement, but I can't just drop my other six cases. That wouldn’t be fair to my clients." She protested.

  "Then take this on as your seventh. I think once you get into it, you'll find enough time to solve it. Besides, I've already taken some steps that will help you."

  Niki ran her hand through her long strawberry blonde hair.

  "What steps?" She asked cautiously.

  "You are now a special investigator for the finance committee of the United States Senate. That that means you have the same authority to invest to gate investment crimes as the FBI, the CIA, or any other three letter agency."

  "How do you know your friend’s murder was an investment crime?" Niki asked.

  "I don't," Dalton replied."But it was the only way I could get you enough stroke to cut through a lot of the BS you have to put up with normally. If someone lies to you now, it's a felony. That should make them more forthcoming."

  “Is that legal? I mean, that's a lot of oomph from the stroke of a pen.”

  "That's your friendly federal government at work. When can you start?" He asked.

  “Let's go for tomorrow morning. I can find a spot in the rest of my cases to push them back or at least figure out how to fill this end with them.”

  “The same fee structure okay with you?”

  “You don't have to pay me, Dalton.”

  “I'm not,” he laughed. “Your friendly federal government is.”

  Friday Morning

  Tiger Eye Investors

  Niki walked into the professional office building at 10 AM Friday morning. A perky little blonde greeted her with an infectious smile. The blonde looked up, her positive vibes flowing through the room.

  “I'm sorry,”she said, never losing her smile. “We're closed today. May I make you an appointment for early next week?”

  “No, I'm not here to invest. I'm here to investigate what happened Wednesday night,” Niki replied.

  Donna's countenance fell.

  “We all loved Mr. Wilson. Who would do something like that to him?”

  Niki gave her a comforting smile.

  "That's what I'm here to find out. Do you have any ideas?"

  "No, Ma'am," she addressed Niki with a polite title even though Niki was just about the same age. "Can you believe that took the letter opener off my desk? I bet my fingerprints are all over it. I use it all the time."

  “That's okay," Niki said. "Having your prints on the murder weapon doesn't mean you're guilty. Hopefully, I'll be able to prove you didn't do it.”

  “I didn’t it. I swear. I loved Mr. Wilson. He was always doing favors for me."

  “What favors?”

  “When he stopped to pick up donuts for the office, he gave me this big ol' eclair full of chocolate. I love those things. I don't have to worry about getting fat with him gone.” Donna’s figure was still trim and athletic.

  Niki wanted to get all the information she could from the energetic blonde.

  “I know the firm provides investment opportunities. Can you give me any specifics?”

  Donna grinned. “Sure. Everybody here thinks I'm an airhead. You know all the jokes about us. Right?”

  Niki, whose hair was more of a strawberry blonde color than ash blonde, nodded.

  “Yeah. Most guys don't think we can spell ‘cat’ if they spot us the ‘C' and the ‘T'.”

  Niki knew now the Donna thought the investigator was on her side in the battle for respect.

  “I know," Donna said. "They talk around me like I'm not even there. Sometimes, I wonder if they think I even have an IQ. My name is Donna. Donna Cross.”

  The perky blonde stuck her hand out to Niki. Niki quickly shook it while smiling.

  "I'm Niki Dupre. I've been assigned the case by the Senate Finance Committee. They are concerned whenever something happens to an investment advisor. I know that was Mr. Wilson's title, but what did he really do?"

  "He ran a hedge fund for Tiger investments. He traded in derivatives."

  "Derivatives?" Niki had a questioning look.

  "Yeah. Calls and puts."

  "Can you tell me what calls and puts are?" Niki asked.

  “Sure,” Donna beamed, eager to share her acquired knowledge. “A call is a contract for one hundred shares of stock. Suppose you like a company think it's going to do well in the market. Let’s call it 'XYZ' company. If ‘XYZ' is trading at fifty dollars a share, and you think it will jump to sixty, you can buy a hundred shares for five thousand dollars. With me?”

  “Yeah. I'd hope to make ten dollars a share or thousand dollars. Where does the call or the put come into play?”

  “A call can buy the right to buy that same hundred shares at one dollar each. You could probably buy a contract for ‘XYZ' with a fifty dollars strike price for one dollar a share. It's only good for thirty days. Still with me?”

  “Yes.”

  Donna grinned, proud of her knowledge.

  “For that same hundred shares, you would only spend the hundred dollars or you can spend the five thousand dollars that you would have spent on the shares and by fifty calls of ‘XYZ'. That means you have the right to buy five thousand shares of ‘XYZ' at fifty dollars a share for the next thirty days. Got it?”

  Niki was not sure, but nodded anyway.

  “That means," Donna continued. "If ‘XYZ' goes to sixty dollars, you get to buy five thousand shares for fifty dollars each and you can sell them for sixty. That means you make ten dollars share or fifty thousand dollars. You paid five thousand, but you still make forty-five thousand dollars net for the same five thousand dollars investment.”

  Niki whistled.

  "That's impressive. But how often does it really happen?"

  Donna smiled.

  "Not very. In fact, from what Mr. Wilson tells his clients, it's a scam, almost like going to the gambling boats on the river. The odds are on the other side. He says ninety nine-percent of all call options expire after the thirty days worthless. The ‘XYZ' stock doesn't go up. It either stays the same or goes down."

  Niki looked at her notes.

  "Then why would Mr. Wilson do that if he knew almost all of them expire worthless?"

  "Because he didn’t buy them. He sold them. In our lingo, he wrote them. He sold them through the electronic exchanges. In the example we talked about, he was sell fifty contracts for 'XYZ' at a fifty dollars strike."

  "Where did he get them to sell?"

  "Nowhere. He originated the option contracts. That means he made them up out of thin air."

  Niki frowned.

  "Is that legal? Can someone make up any call option contract and sell it the market?"

  "Sure can. As long as there is a willing buyer for the price he sets. The markets love it. They say he is providing liquidity. I'm not sure exactly what that means."

  "Wow," Niki exclaimed. "You picked up a lot of knowledge. Are you thinking of going into investments or brokering?"

  "Not really. I don't know what I want to do yet. My boyfriend, Blake, is a football player at LSU. He thinks he may skip his last two years and go pro. If he does, I won't have to work. Then I can do whatever I want. Something I enjoy."

  "You don't enjoy it here?" Niki asked.

  "Yes, Ma'am. I do. But the only reason Mr. Wilson ever talked to me about investing was when I wore a short crest."

  "A short dress? I'm not making the connection."

  "Whenever I wore a dress, he would invite me to his office. We’d talk about calls and puts or whatever he thought was interesting. All the time, he was trying to look up my dress."

  "Did it bother you?" Niki asked.

  "A little at first when I realized what he was doing. Then I began having fun with it. I teased the hec
k out of him. But he wasn't the worst by far."

  "Who would that be?"

  Donna sighed.

  "Take your pick. Some guys tell us lewd jokes, as if that's supposed to put me in the mood to sleep with them. Others make nasty suggestions. Mr. Ashton always has to touch me. Sometimes he grabs my butt."

  "Why not file a complaint?"

  "I need the job. Until Blake turns pro, he's a struggling college student. He's got less money than me. And that isn't much."

  A well-groomed man in his mid-forties appeared in the door between the reception area and the rest of the offices.

  "Donna, I need you to get a letter out to our clients," he said.

  She glanced at Niki, then replied. "Mr. Johnson, this is Niki Dupre. She's a special investigator. She needs to talk to you."

  Johnson inspected Niki from head to toe.

  "I would love to talk to you, Ms. Dupre. But I've already given a statement to you guys. We need to spend our time assuring our clients the Scott's death will not endanger their investments."

  Niki replied, "I'm not with the police, Mr. Johnson. I'm here on behalf of the finance committee of the United States Senate."