Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle (136 page)

She picked up her phone, all the while watching Dan’s face.

“Send him in please,” she said into the receiver.

The office door opened. For a second, Dan barely felt a jolt on finding himself face to face with the hirsute stalker he’d encountered in Quebec City. Then it hit him square in the stomach. He turned to Johnston. She’d set him up, after convincing him to believe her. He felt the betrayal. She was still talking, but the words scarcely registered. Something about “… one of ours … thought it was time you two met … best to clear this up before we go any further.”

A hand extended. Dan stood and blinked.

“You gave me a hell of a wallop,” the man said.

He was still trying to make sense of things, to glean some meaning in the confusion of words. Lydia was telling him that Sergeant Nick Trposki wasn’t really on the take, but only pretending to be in order to gain inside information, officer to officer.

Their hands met over the desk. Dan felt the prickle of sweat running between his pectorals.

“So, please,” Lydia was saying. “Don’t keep slugging our best officers and your security contingent.”

Dan shook his head. “This is why you couldn’t tell me.”

“That’s right. And of course it goes without saying that this is completely in confidence. You’ll probably be seeing Sergeant Trposki around from time to time. Try not to act surprised.” She turned to her colleague. “Thank you, Sergeant. That will be all.”

Dan watched as he went out the door.

Lydia turned to him. “The chief has asked me to fill you in on the case, if you’d like to hear it.”

Dan nodded and sat down again. “Please.”

“We’ve been going over Yuri Malevski’s phone records. We were able to determine that he made at least one call of twenty-three seconds duration in the days prior to his death. That call was relayed by satellite over the west coast of Mexico.”

Dan nodded. “Lionel — my ex-client — mentioned getting a call from his boss while he was in Puerto Vallarta.”

“Yes, it was to his number. Do you know what they talked about?”

“I don’t think they spoke. Yuri left a message to confirm their meeting on Lionel’s return. Yuri’s cell was full when Lionel called back, so he left a message on Yuri’s home phone saying he would be back in time for the meeting.”

Inspector Johnston nodded. “That jibes with what we know. We found his reply on an answering machine in the home. There were a few other messages with it. One was from a florist about a delivery. We wondered if that was code for drugs.”

Dan laughed. “Not very subtle if it was, but it was probably legit. He had a greenhouse.”

“The day after the call to Mexico, Malevski used his cell to text a number we still haven’t been able to trace. It was one of those disposable mobile phones, paid for by cash in Chinatown. Whoever had it seems to have tossed it since.”

“What was the text?”

“A series of four numbers. At first we thought it was an account reference number, but now we think it was his entry code. He changed it the week of his murder. We’re assuming it’s because he was worried about something. We don’t know exactly how many people had it, but presumably only a handful at best.”

“So if Yuri changed his entry code and sent the new numbers to someone not long before he was killed, he might inadvertently have set up his own murder.”

“At the moment, that’s our theory. It could have been the owner of that phone.” She caught his expression. “Do you know who it might have gone to?”

“In fact, I might. There’s a kid named Ziggy who’s staying in a cubbyhole on the third floor of the Malevski mansion —”

“We know about the kid. So far we’ve haven’t been able to talk to him. We thought he’d done a runner, but I don’t think anyone knew about the cubbyhole. Do you think he’s our killer?”

Dan scratched his head. “I’m not sure. For one thing, I don’t think he would have stuck around after the murder if he killed Yuri. For another, I went through his diary when he wasn’t there.”

He caught Lydia’s look.

“Oh! Didn’t I tell you I went to the house and looked around?”

“Not to my knowledge, no.”

“Okay, so I went to the house and looked around. Lionel gave me the code. From what I could tell, you guys were finished with the place.”

She tapped a pencil on her desk. “It’s still a crime scene, Dan.”

“I’ll remember that next time.” He grinned. “Don’t worry — I didn’t touch anything.”

“Except a diary we probably should be having a good look at.”

“Yeah — I wondered why you hadn’t. Anyway, according to the diary, Ziggy was locked out by Yuri for using hard drugs the week of the murder. I know the people Ziggy stayed with while he was away. That part checks out.”

“But it was Ziggy who Yuri texted the new code to?”

“No. He accidentally saw the code on Yuri’s cell.”

“Then he must have seen Yuri.”

“I’m not sure. He said he went back to apologize, but never got the chance.”

She looked annoyed. “Well, where’s the phone? We don’t have it. It wasn’t in the house. All we have are the phone records.”

“Maybe Yuri left it at the bar.”

“We checked. It’s not there. So if your boy didn’t see Yuri, how did he get back in the house?

“He said he sneaked in when the cleaning lady arrived.”

“Cleaning lady! What cleaning lady?” Lydia made a show of mock-pulling her hair. “Let’s go over this again.”

Dan told her what he knew.

“So you’re saying Yuri was killed by a cleaning lady? Wouldn’t Ziggy have seen or heard something, if he was there? Or were they in on it together?”

“That I can’t say. You’ll have to ask him.”

Lydia sat back. “You’ve certainly been busy. The chief’s away today, but I’ll pass this along when he returns.”

Dan considered what she’d told him. “How much time elapsed between Yuri sending the text and being killed?”

“I’m sure you know forensics is a bit iffy when it comes to pinpointing time of death. It’s an imperfect science, impossible to narrow anything down to minutes. Hours maybe, but even that’s dicey. Sometimes when the body is so decomposed you can’t even narrow it down to specific days or weeks. Malevski’s body was discovered Saturday. The coroner placed his death within days, but whether that means two, three, or, at a long shot, stretching it to four days is anybody’s guess.”

“So he makes a phone call on Tuesday, sends a text on Wednesday, and then fails to show up for a meeting on Saturday, by which time he’s dead.”

She nodded. “That’s what we know.”

“We also know that between sending the text and finding his body, the house was visited by Ziggy and a cleaning lady. What about the code? Can you tell when it was used?”

She checked the papers in front of her. “The log shows it was used once on Tuesday, once on Wednesday, and then again on Thursday. It wasn’t used again until we entered the house on Saturday and discovered the body.”

“Tuesday and Wednesday might simply have been Yuri coming and going. Thursday could have been the cleaning lady and the boy sneaking back in. Ziggy told me he came to apologize, but never saw Yuri again. If he’s telling the truth, it sounds to me like Wednesday or Thursday are your best bets for the murder.”

“That jibes with what the coroner said. After the body was discovered, we disabled the alarm for convenience. Once we were finished our investigation we told your accountant he could reset it.”

Dan smiled. “Yes, he reset it to the old code. He told me he has a habit of dotting
i
’s and crossing
t
’s. He also said Yuri changed the code from time to time to discourage entry by people he’d given the code to and then wished he hadn’t.”

“We’re still hoping to find his phone. It might be interesting to see what messages are on it. Sometimes these things only make sense after everything is put together.”

“When I see Ziggy again, I’ll ask him about it. I’ll also tell him to call you and answer whatever questions you might have.” He paused. “No guarantees, but I’ll try. He seems to trust me.”

“Great. Thanks for doing our job for us.”

Dan hadn’t seen Domingo since leaving for Quebec. He called her cell several times, but there was no answer and he hadn’t left a message to tell her about Lonnie. News like that needed to be delivered in person. He made his way to the hospital now, feeling the weight of doom he carried and wondering whether she’d be strong enough today to bear it.

In the corridor, two spectral-looking men sat at opposites ends of a bench, both dressed in blue hospital gowns. They looked like bookends, oblivious to one another as much as to the rest of the ward bustling around them. For some, the world went by far too fast; for others it barely moved.

Domingo wasn’t in her room. Dan thought she might be out wandering the halls or perhaps was being taken around in her wheelchair by Adele.

He went to the front desk to ask.

“Are you family, love?” the clerk asked in a soft Irish brogue.

Dan hesitated a fraction of a second then said, “Yes, I’m her brother.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Is that a fact now?”

“Half-brother,” he amended.

“And you weren’t informed that her condition had changed?”

He felt his heartbeat skip. “I just got back to town,” he said, truthfully. “I was in Quebec.”

“Well, your half-sister had a fall. She was operated on for an embolism two days ago. She’s in the ICU.” She nodded to a corridor. “You’ll find gowns and masks outside the door. Make sure you’re wearing them and drop them in the bin outside her door when you leave. No exceptions: no mask and gown, no entry.”

“Got it,” Dan said. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He found Domingo alone in the room. Her face was outlined in the light coming from the window. There was a big teddy bear beside a heart-shaped card from Adele on the table. Dan sat and took her hand in his. Her breathing was relaxed, but she didn’t wake. No one else came in while he waited. After an hour, he got up and left.

Twenty-Four

Clean

Dan made his way back to the Lockie House, glancing around the yard as he entered. The spring rains had caused the gardens nearly to double in size since his first visit. There were no creepy neighbours watching his every move today, but no doubt the P-Man was not far off. He made a mental note to ask Lydia if he’d been on the list of people questioned in the aftermath of the killing.

Inside, the late-morning light lent the interior an air of repose, despite the fact that Yuri Malevski had been murdered there and now his former lover, Santiago Suárez, was dead as well. Malevski may have died at his lover’s hands, making Santiago’s death a belated murder-suicide, if it was in fact suicide. As well, one of Dan’s oldest friends lay in a hospital with her life running out, dreaming of trains. For the present, at least, Dan Sharp felt himself very much in the land of the living — last he’d checked.

In the sitting room, the silver candelabra had been removed from the piano top, leaving a faint ring in the dust. The portrait of the endlessly suffering Christ now lay on its back, staring vacantly at the ceiling. It seemed someone was pilfering from Yuri Malevski’s estate. Dan thought he knew who.

Upstairs, he peered into the master bedroom. It looked the same as the last time he’d been there. He glanced at Santiago’s amateurish portrait of his lover. Yuri’s eyes seemed to glare in the dim light. Maybe he was angry about the intrusion.

“Tell me your secrets,” Dan demanded. “And I’m not talking about the drugs and the orgies. That’s tame. I want to know about the guns and especially the money. Where were you sending it and why?”

The portrait failed to respond.

“In time, I’ll find out. I guarantee it.”

Look closer to home
, Jan had said, sounding like a modern-day harpy playing Cassandra.
Well, here I am
, Dan thought.
What exactly is there to find?
A movie with a bridge and a bell tower. More melodrama or obvious truth? There’d been a death — either suicide or murder — from a bridge, but so far there was no bell tower in sight. Then again, who was to say the house didn’t once have one?

Down the hall, he knocked on the hollow panel. No response. It opened at his touch. At first he thought the diary was missing, then he saw a corner peeking out from under the futon. He flipped it open. Ziggy had written in it the day of their encounter:
Met a nice guy today. He’s older, sexy as hell, but he already told me he isn’t into relationships. Or at least not with me. Typical. The younger guys think I’m a jerk and the older guys think I’m too much work. (Hey, that rhymes!) Too complicated, I guess. Still, he offered to help me sort out my shit. Thinks he can help me with my problems. Ha! I doubt it. I’m too fucked up, but I like him so it won’t hurt to talk. Maybe I’ll try to seduce him again.

Hardly a ringing endorsement, Dan thought, but it was something.

A day later, Ziggy’s spirits plummeted:
Don’t know why I bother. I have no idea what I’ll do when I have to leave here. Yuri was the last good thing that happened to me. Why even keep trying when every day feels like lead skies? I’d rather be dead.

Though he was inclined to dismiss it as teenage angst, Dan was concerned all the same. This time Ziggy didn’t surprise him by showing up out of nowhere, but sooner or later their paths would cross again. When that happened, he’d be prepared.

He turned to a later entry, made while he was away in Quebec:
Guess who called? He wants to meet at the Beaver!

Not me,
Dan thought.
Who else would he be so excited about meeting?

He flipped back to the February entries. According to the dates, Ziggy followed the cleaning lady back into the house on a Thursday, as Dan had guessed. By Saturday, Yuri was dead. Did that mean one of them was the killer or had someone else been there?

Dan went downstairs. He needed to find the cleaner. Where better to look than the kitchen? The outside of the fridge yielded a few sticky notes and a handful of photos evoking enough madness and mayhem to populate an entire Pride float. They included a garish assortment of hustlers, drag queens, musclemen on steroids, several shots of Yuri, and a face Dan recognized as the P-Man’s, looking very jolly indeed. Obviously, the picture had been taken in the days before his encounter with a gaggle of randy DQs. But then again, according to Donny, the world of late had become a morass of fluid sexuality. Still, there was nothing that looked like a phone number.