“So you found Gavin Droba, did you?” asked Chase tersely.
“Well, not me personally, no,” said Mr. Devine, who was a slovenly dressed individual in his early fifties with a distinct stubble on his chin and haphazardly arranged strands of gray hair covering a wide dome that was fast going bald. “But yeah, we found Droba, who had adopted the name Sebastian Dixon for his purposes. We found him living in Corozal, a small town eighty-four miles north of Belize City. Took us a long time to find him, too. He hadn’t made things easy.”
“He was operating a bar?”
“A chain of restaurants, actually. The man had done well for himself. Also owned several pieces of real estate property. So he must have had some capital when he arrived, so he could set himself up in business over there. Which suggests he didn’t leave the country empty-handed but with a cache of capital so he could start over. As the son of Bill Droba, tire king, he was of course the heir to a considerable fortune, so he must have squirreled away a nest egg he could use for a rainy day. Only that rainy day came a lot sooner than he thought when he accidentally killed his brother and had to flee the country.”
“He died?”
“Yeah, he did,” said the detective, patting his wavy strands of hair. “Three years ago. Car mounted the sidewalk and scooped him up. He died on impact.”
“Was it an accident, you think?”
The detective shrugged.“According to the police report it was. Driver was drunk. Witnesses said he was slaloming across the road. After he ran down Droba he rammed a convenience store and injured several customers. So yeah, looks like it was an accident—nothing to suggest it wasn’t.”
“Sad ending for Mr. Droba,” said Odelia.
“Yeah, you can say that again,” the PI confirmed. “Oh, there’s one other thing I wanted to tell you. When Dean Droba was killed, there was a persistent rumor going around that the Droba Group was in some kind of financial trouble. Financial malfeasance, actually.”
“Which would have been Gavin’s domain,” said Chase. “Since he was CFO.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Bill Droba had handed control of the group to his sons, but apparently the brothers weren’t handling things as well as could be expected, and at the time of Dean’s death, the vultures were circling, and there were rumors of a hostile takeover being in the works by one of their Italian competitors.”
“So what happened?”
“Well, Dean died, and as luck would have it, a sizable sum had been settled on him by way of life insurance. We’re talking millions here. The insurance eventually paid out and the company was saved by the skin of their teeth. The money tied them over a rough patch, and once Bill took over it was smooth sailing again.” He grimaced. “You could say that Dean dying was a blessing in disguise. A couple of months longer and the Droba Group would have been no more.”
“Is Bill still running the group?” asked Chase, jotting down a few notes.
“Yeah, but not for much longer. Bill is pushing seventy, and he’s been grooming his grandson Michael to take over.”
“So they’re skipping a generation.”
“Yeah, out of necessity. With Dean dead and Gavin gone, Bill had no choice but to step in. And Michele and Isobel, the widows, had no interest in the business.”
“But Michael has?”
“Oh, yeah. By all accounts he’s some kind of business wunderkind.”
“Michael is Michele’s son?” asked Odelia.
“Yeah, he is. He has a sister, Drew, but she’s not involved in the business. She’s an anthropologist. She’s in Mexico right now, actually, on some dig down there.” He rubbed his face. “I still haven’t told Bill about what happened to his son.”
“Isn’t that Alison’s job?” asked Chase.
“Yeah, I know, but the least I can do is tell him personally. But I couldn’t get him on the phone. As you know I told Alison, who took the news pretty bad. I’m assuming Bill will want the body brought back here, to have him buried in the family plot.” He glanced over to Chase. “So have you caught Isobel’s killer yet?”
“Not yet,” said Chase. “But we’re close.” He tapped his notebook. “We might make an arrest today.”
“Alison told me you arrested her boyfriend?”
“We released him,” said Chase somberly.
“Poor kid,” said the detective. “First her mom died, and now she finds out her dad died, too. She’s got no one left to walk her down that aisle when she ties the knot.” He held up his hand and shook Chase’s, then reached back and shook Odelia’s. He came close to shaking my paw, but drew the line there. “Well, if there’s anything else you need to know, you’ve got my number.”
“Yeah, I’ve got your number, all right,” said Chase, and we got out. As the detective drove off in a cloud of petrol fumes, he added, “He’s still a suspect.”
Stubborn to the last.
CHAPTER 35
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