Perfect Crime (13 page)

A handful of additional words were exchanged before Scott brought the conversation to a close. “We should let you get back to work. We’ll see you tonight then. Six o’clock, Amici’s. Don’t be late,” he said, lowering his voice as he said the time and place.

Scott put a protective arm around Tessa and started walking with her towards the car. “I say we get out of here.”

Tessa almost sputtered in disbelief, but held her tongue long enough to be out of earshot of the friendly cop. “Amici’s? Are you nuts?” she snapped, shaking her head, “Or do you just have some death wish?”

Opening the door to the dark sedan, Scott restrained himself from shoving the woman inside, but followed so close behind that she was forced to scramble over the seats to keep ahead of him. Thankfully, the driver was already in position and ready to go.

“There’s a chance someone knows we’re here,” Scott said, as Philip turned the car back towards downtown. “If I’m being watched, I want to stay out in the open, someplace busy.”

Perhaps she needed sleep or maybe the stress of the situation finally got to her, but Tessa started to giggle. “Okay, I’m not going to fight you on this one, Scottie.”

Normally he liked the sound of humor, and Tessa had a pleasing laugh, but he stiffened slightly, realizing that he was the butt of her joke. “I’ve never appreciated being likened to a terrier.”

Something tickled at the back of Tessa’s mind, but as quickly as the thought entered, it was gone.

He was still talking. “Hmm?” she asked. The sound indicated he needed to repeat the question.

“The Bible quote.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why spray one on the wall? Who would see it?”

“Us,” she said, stating the obvious, then snapped her fingers as if that simple word gave her an idea. “Maybe that was the reason for the fire, we weren’t suppose to see it.”

“Seems a bit of a stretch – who knew we were coming?” Scott ran a hand through his hair as though that would stimulate his thought process. “And, why send a Bible quote to Darla’s family? It doesn’t feel like business. It feels personal.”

Tessa didn’t say anything, just chewed at her bottom lip and stared straight ahead, seemingly deep in thought.

But her silence didn’t deter Scott’s rant, “Any idea how the latest quote reads?”

Turning to look at him, she forced a small smile to the corners of her mouth, “In Latin or English?” she teased. “Vengeance is mine,” she finally recited.

“Then that proves my point—revenge usually refers to something personal.” Glancing outside, he watched the passing landscape. Without being directed, Phillip was taking them back towards Midtown. “Hate to speculate.”

“Ok, so while we wait for the police to come up with the name of our latest victim, and our exciting dinner plans to materialize, what should we do? So far you’ve taken me to a burning building.” Tessa looked around. “Any other highlights of the big city you want to show me?”

If he were a smart investigative reporter, and Scott considered himself to be one, they would make a turn and head towards the New York Post offices, use the computers and make some phone calls. Restless, he didn’t feel like pursuing the story at the moment. With an odd jolt of rebellion, he simply wanted to get out and walk. He wanted to go home.

Without consulting his companion, Scott directed their driver, “Times Square. Pull over where you can.”

The car cruised to a stop next to a loading-zone designated yellow curb. Scott leaned forward so that he could speak directly to Philip. “If you could run Ms. Morgan’s luggage to the Westin, and leave it at the front desk, that would be a great help. We’ll call you later if we need a lift back.”

Nodding his head for Tessa to open her door, Scott followed her, sliding out of the car until they both stood on the sidewalk. She appeared puzzled. Sure, it was a notable landmark, but did he really think she wanted to go sightseeing?

A whiff of her perfume reminded Scott that a pretty woman stood next to him. He inhaled, reminding himself that he was alive. With a lopsided grin, he grabbed one of Tessa’s hands, using the excuse that she might get separated in the crowd if she didn’t stay close.

His long fingers laced through her smaller ones, his grip firm. “I do know what I’m doing.”

The statement could have meant anything: a final comment on his choice of dinner venue, an assurance of his good judgment or the protest of a man who never asked for directions. Right now, Scott wanted to enjoy the day regardless of the consequences. “My place is this way.”

Chapter 11

Ethics

“Welcome back, Mr. Crawford.”

The building that Scott lived in was a far cry from the Spanish Harlem apartments. The 5th Avenue address with a stucco exterior in a pleasing shade of peach, and a uniformed doorman who recognized and called the reporter by name.

“What did you do,” Tessa asked as they went through the front door, “rob a bank?”

Scott led Tessa through the marble-floored lobby. “Maybe I’m more like you than you think. I like nice things. I’m willing to pay for security.” Of course, the sublet cost him more than the $50 a month she shelled out for an alarm system; things came at a bigger price in New York.

A man sat at the front entry desk. “Mr. Crawford,” he said, before the pair could reach the elevators, “you received a package this morning.”

“Hope it’s not a postcard,” Tessa mumbled as Scott moved away to collect a manila envelope.

“It’s from Marlayna,” Scott explained, as he returned to her side and held it out for her to take, “Maybe you can look at the file. See if there is anything new in the background information that doesn’t match your history.”

Tessa could smell perfume on the front face of the document. “She always do this?”

Scott chuckled and pushed the elevator button for the seventh floor. “Marlayna is very…territorial.”

“Mark you with her scent, does she?”

He nearly laughed. “Only a handful of people know I actually live here. Think of it as a calling card. A bad habit we got into last year.” The elevator doors opened, and Scott took a quick glance down the hall before walking on. “Marlayna isn’t my type.”

“You’re buying her dinner.”

“I buy lots of women dinner.”

“That’s probably true,” Tessa guessed, leaving the envelope unopened, preferring to chat rather than view what was inside.

Something in the way she said it made him ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you liked her, you wouldn’t flirt.”

Shaking his head, Scott used three keys to unlock the door to Apartment 7B. “Really?”

“You’d want to be taken seriously if you cared.”

He didn’t look at her as he twisted the door knob. “Know me already, do you?”

“Observing people is what I do,” Tessa said, following him inside.

The apartment had a modest-sized living room linked to a small kitchen. The view was hidden behind heavy drapes that were closed and blocked the sunlight. Scott turned on a table lamp; the small click a lonesome sound.

There was more furniture here than in Chicago. No evidence of moving boxes. The breakfast-nook table held a stack of mail, which he ignored. “I don’t flirt with you,” he said.

Tessa smiled. “Thank you for that.”

“It doesn’t mean that I like you.”

“If you say so.”

“I fight with you most of the time,” Scott said, as though she needed the clarification. He tossed his keys on the counter. “Wouldn’t you prefer that I was a bit nicer?”

“No.”

The answer surprised him. He changed the subject. “Make yourself at home. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

He left her in the living room, moving off to the door that led to his bedroom. Tessa set the perfumed envelope on the counter beside the keys, the smell making her queasy.

Tessa shifted her weight from one foot to the other, spending time inventorying her surroundings. One final door in the apartment remained closed. Figuring it was the bathroom, she went over and opened it, but instead found an office. A mahogany desk was the centerpiece of the room. Two computers and a large bulletin board filled with articles, pictures and photographs made the area feel cluttered and small. It was obvious Scott had been researching something.

It was there that he found her. “Maybe I should have been more specific,” Scott said, “I was thinking you’d scrounge for coffee, not treat yourself to a tour.” While nervously glancing around the room, he hitched a freshly packed duffel bag over his shoulder, “We should go.”

Tessa stood rooted to the spot. “You know, I specifically remember asking if you ever heard of Anthony Aiello.”

“Yes,” Scott said. He came and stood beside her, looking at the same newspaper clippings. “We were sitting in my living room discussing the Bible, among other things.”

“You told me no.”

Lifting a finger, Scott corrected her, “Actually, I didn’t answer your question.”

“Oh, so this is the way we’re going to do things?” She waved at the wall and the time line from Aiello’s suspicious dealings in connection with the Mafia, to events in November that indicated he might have been involved in a major hit. “You should have said something, you obviously know him.”

“I interviewed him. That’s different,” Scott said. “Look, up until yesterday you and I were more like rivals. The last time I worked with a partner, I got my nose broken. It took less than $10,000 for someone to share my home address—it doesn’t exactly build a history of trust.”

He opened a drawer in the desk but looked for nothing, and then effectively slammed it shut “They torched that place too.” Scott adjusted his grip on the duffel, “I lost my favorite teddy bear and I want revenge.” He turned, cocky grin in place. “Vengeance is mine. It’s the kind of thing I do alone.”

Tessa didn’t laugh.

Her brother Rhen’s obituary was tacked up with a white push pin. One of her hands rose to touch it. “How long have you been working on this?”

“Almost a year.” Scott couldn’t see her face. She kept her back to him. “I was mostly looking at corporate connections. The Xenex Corporation has their hand in the Chicago Pier and Exhibition Authority. There were hints and whispers in Chicago—corruption on the City Council, and plans for a new event center that the city doesn’t need.”

Walking over to his desk, he set the duffel bag down. Taking a thumb drive from his pocket, he opened the same drawer and tossed it in. It clinked against two like companions. “The Xenex Corporation has similar holdings in New York—same start-up pattern, and it’s almost to the point where they control the tourist trade.

“You showed up at the Tribune five weeks ago. Why?” Her tone was abrupt and suspicious.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. I feel set up. The whole Darla thing was a ploy. You were already working a story.”

“From a different angle,” he defended. “I didn’t know about the women and kidnappings until recently.”

She wasn’t looking at him, so he wouldn’t look at her. Instead he focused on why he’d come into the office in the first place. Opening another drawer of the desk, he pulled out a handgun, checked to see that the clip was loaded, and then slid it into the waistband in the back of his pants.

“Darla didn’t have anything to do with any of this,” Tessa said, staring at the newspaper clippings, “she was a good friend.” Her face was blank but her eyes betrayed an emotion she was battling to keep in check.

He fought the urge to reach out and touch her arm, to somehow bring comfort to her. Scott was surprised at how much it hurt him to see her wrestle with grief. He let out a sigh. “Come, I’ll walk you over to the Westin.”

“Why?”

“It’s a nice hotel, and…”

“No,” she said taking a step towards him, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” he said, his head dipping forward so their difference in height was minimized, “like it or not, you are Contessa Gianni Haven Morgano, daughter of the second most influential Mob boss’ in New York City.”

“And for that, you don’t trust me? That’s my name, not who I am.”

He stood straighter, unsure of his answer.

Her jaw clenched and then she said, “You going to take me to the Westin and disappear?”

This he did know. “No, I’m going to get the room next door.”

“Why?”

“What is that—your favorite word today?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she challenged, “You don’t trust me. Logic says we should be as far apart as possible.”

“Logic has very little to do with this. If things were plain and simple, I would have this story in the bag and be out of your hair.” He blinked and offered a random compliment, “But it’s nice hair. So, for the moment, you’re stuck with me.”

“What if I don’t want you next door?”

“Too bad. Let’s go.”

“Not yet.” Tessa turned and looked at the articles again. “I want to catch up. I want to know what you know.” She started to pull the pushpins from the wall, stacking the rectangular strips of paper as though planning to take them with her.

Scott moved forward and took her arm. “We can’t always have what we want.”

She dug in her heels and resisted. “We’re partners….isn’t that what you keep saying? Don’t forget, they shot at me, too. Or do you think this is all about Cy figuring out your connection to New York?”

Scott hesitated. “I doubt Cy was shooting at me. He did say he wanted that postcard and you do have it.”

“And I’m keeping it.” She kept scanning the papers.

“Seriously, we can’t stay here.” He sounded exasperated.

Tessa refused to move, and Scott wasn’t going to pick her up and carry her out of his apartment. She went back to taking down the display of information.

“Fine,” he said, dropping the duffel bag to the floor with a thump. “Interview me.” He glanced at his watch. “You have five minutes. After that, I have to take a nap and then get beautiful for my dinner date.”

There was humor here, but Tessa refused to relax her guard. “Who broke your nose?”

“My nose, and four fingers of my right hand.” He walked over to his desk and used that same hand to open a drawer, then two, apparently looking for something. “It was about a year ago. I’d published an article about a series of real-estate purchases and some questionable loan documents. It felt like money laundering.”