Perfect Crime (23 page)

“Her face…,” Tessa whispered.

“Yeah, not a pretty sight.”

Tessa looked up and remembered who she was speaking with. She barely stopped the admission that the woman was familiar. She let him believe she was simply horrified by the evidence of the woman’s brutal death, not that it was in fact Dante’s fiancée. She’d only met the woman a few times, and Dante had only whispered his intensions but out of respect, Tessa would remember Kate with the honorary title.

“Needle marks?”

“I believe there were two punctures on her left arm. Amobarbital was in her system; most know it as truth serum but some junkies will try anything. She also suffered a blow to her head with something blunt, but drowning was the cause of death.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Tessa wasn’t about to acknowledge his fishing. “Suspects?”

He stared at her. “Considering how interested you are, you tell me. It wouldn’t surprise me if you have a better idea that I.”

Tessa looked away, and spent a moment quietly contemplating the photographs on his desk. “Cute kids.”

Blaine’s eyes narrowed. “I got a call from Detective Marcy Finch last night; she said she ran into you and Crawford in New York—at a place where they found another dead body.”

“So I was.”

“Why did you go there?”

“We were just driving through, seeing the sites.”

“In Harlem?”

“Anything on the body yet?”

“Male. Shot once in the back of the head execution style. Burned, so no positive ID yet. Got any ideas for me?”

She bluffed, “If I did, wouldn’t I have to protect my source?”

“And you ask why I don’t like the press,” he hissed through thin lips.

Shutting the file on Kate, she handed it back to the detective. “I want to see G.J.”

“Nope; against protocol. You’ll have to wait until he posts bail, and like I said before, I wouldn’t advise it.”

“I like to live dangerously.”

“So I’ve heard.” He tossed the file on his desk where it joined others unopened.

“What if I refuse to press charges?”

“It’s not up to you.”

“Was he the only one you picked up?”

There was a minor hesitation—enough to be noticeable. The detective stood and walked to her side of the desk. She rose from her chair, understanding that she was about to be shown the door.

Walking together, he added, “Funny you should mention that, there was a man seen running from the scene.”

She recalled Ms. Wagner mentioning that she’d seen two men “huddled” near Tessa’s door before she’d left for New York, and Blaine seemed to figure there was more than one person involved last night. But who?

She chewed her lower lip.

“You’ve been shot at; someone firebombed a place you were visiting-something you’d like to tell me, Ms. Morgan?”

A shrug was her response to the question.

“Nice knowing you,” he finished sarcastically.

Rising, Tessa extended her hand to shake. “I’ll be fine, detective. I’m probably safer on the street than standing here talking to you.”

She moved away from the desk. With her back to him, she walked on toward the door, but she was sure she heard the officer mutter, “Don’t count on it.”

“Tessa?” Scott called down the hallway of the small house. Silence was the only reply. He’d looked everywhere, even the bathroom. It bothered him that she’d run off and not even left him a note. “So much for trust.”

Had she ignored her own advice and gone to St. Joseph’s? God, he hoped not.

Grumbling to himself, he picked up the items from Marlayna’s purse, shoving the contents back into the bag. It took only a minute to complete the task of tidying up the dining room and fluffing the pillows.

Tessa wasn’t back yet.

He could wait of course; delude himself that she went for cannoli. With a sigh, he went into the kitchen. The refrigerator was basically empty. He found a coffeemaker but no beans. Underneath the sink there were adequate cleaning supplies, but nothing else of interest.

Scott turned off the kitchen light and walked to the living room. With a hefty sigh, he sat down on the couch.

The phone rang. Not Dante’s, but the one that belonged to Marlayna. As though the person on the other line could see him, Scott avoided touching the phone, craning his neck until he could see the caller’s phone number. It was from the New York Post. He knew the number.

Two rings, three. Before it could go to voice mail, Scott picked up. “Hey , Babe. How are you doing?”

A woman’s voice didn’t immediately answer. He figured it’d take her a second to control her anger. “You stole my purse,” Marlayna hissed.

“Actually…,” he started to explain, and then changed his mind. “What’s it worth to you to get it back?”

“I’m in no mood for games, Scott. Where are you?”

“Chicago. Your boyfriend put me on a plane—remember? Would have been nice if you’d mentioned him before—save me some time with obscure sources.”

“I won’t discuss my personal life over a public line.”

Interesting choice of words. Made him wonder if the phone was bugged. “What should we discuss, then?”

He blinked at the sound of the dial tone in his ear. Apparently ‘nothing’ was her answer. With a frown, Scott looked at the phone, confirming that indeed she’d hung up on him.

The silence was a bit daunting. Tessa had not turned up the heat, so the air was cool, adding to his sense of loneliness. He rubbed his arms and stood, suddenly nervous about the short phone call and the fact that he’d turned on the lights in the abandoned house. Scott reached and turned off the lamp next to him. The drapes were still drawn, but he wondered who might be watching.

Moving away from the front room, Scott walked down the hall to Dante’s bedroom. The quilt was rumpled, but the bed was still made. He opened a closet, flipped through the clothing and shoes. Tessa’s overnight bag was stored neatly. Without even hesitating, he pulled it forward, unzipped the black leather case and looked at the ravaged contents. Not only were the clothes haphazardly stored, but the lining was ripped.

He sat down on the bed frustrated; Marlayna’s phone was still in hand and something urged him to take another look at the personal agenda entries again; the last one in particular. “ECC 343” he mumbled to himself.

He stood. Hands on hips, he gave the room another glance, anxious he’d missed something. On the nightstand, the Bible remained open, the reference from Mathew on display. A look of suspicion crossed Scott’s face. Could ECC possibly stand for Ecclesiasticus?

Scott flipped through to the Old Testament, almost hoping he hadn’t found another clue. If any part of his suspicions were true, then Marlayna could be a murderer and essentially that meant his gut feelings meant nothing.

His finger slid down the page until he came to Chapter 34, third verse. The vision of dreams is the resemblance of one thing to another, even as the likeness of a face to a face.

The reference seemed too obvious. Scott read the Bible quote again; ‘resemblance of one thing to another…likeness of a face to a face’, could it be meaning something to do with the twins, Dante and Tessa?

Green eyes drifted back to the disheveled suitcase in the closet. Scott thought about his own bag showing far fewer signs of a thorough search. And, mistake or not, it was Tessa’s hotel room that had been given the once-over in New York, not to mention her apartment here in the city.

A sudden thought occurred to him and he ran down the hall. Scott dumped the contents of Marlayna’s purse on the couch, vigorously shaking it until all the items fell out. Two keys. Car keys. Mustang keys. Snatching them up, he went over to the group photo sitting on the piano in the living room. But something other than Tessa’s smiling face as she stood between her oldest brother and her twin caught his eye.

Scott reached forward with one finger and tapped the picture of the shiny collectible sports car. ‘ECC 343’, the vanity license plate was clearly visible in the family shot.

The tiny fact that a woman had been murdered and shoved in the trunk of a black Mustang now made twisted sense. Slapping his forehead, he swore, “It’s not Tessa they want. It’s the keys, and Dante’s car.”

Chapter 19

Auto Shop

Whiiiit

Scott whistled through pursed lips. After walking over a mile to the main thoroughfare, he wasn’t about to let the taxi pass him by. The sigh of relief was genuine as he grabbed the door and crawled inside.

“I need to get to the airport,” he said.

“Luggage?” the driver asked. Together, the men looked towards the sidewalk, as though Scott might have left a bag on the curb.

The suitcase from yesterday was still stowed at Dante’s house. “Nope. I’m going to pick up a car in the garage.”

“Uh - huh. Never good to leave a car there for long.”

“Yup, just what I was thinking,” Scott said, patting the Mustang keys he had stowed in the pocket of his jeans.

“Which terminal?”

“United, domestic.”

“Should take us about 10 minutes.”

Scott tried to get comfortable as the driver radioed in his fare and destination. The cab smelled of stale cigarette smoke and spoiled milk. He was fairly immune to the stench after years of practice in New York, but still relieved that the ride wouldn’t be a long one.

He jerked to the side as the driver switched lanes on the highway. A well-honed instinct caused the reporter to look through the rear window in time to see the black sedan that followed suit. “Do that again,” Scott said.

“What?”

“Change lanes.”

The taxi merged into the fast lane. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror and asked, “Someone following you?”

“It would appear so.”

“Want me to lose ‘em?”

“There’s an extra twenty in it for…” Scott didn’t get to finish the line. Slammed back into the seat, he took the sharp acceleration of the cab as a yes.

As the taxi weaved through the traffic, Scott made a point of finding the seatbelt and strapped himself in. They neared the exit to the airport and the cab flashed from the far left, across six lanes of traffic, to catch the ramp at the final second. Scott was surprised they didn’t sideswipe the cement pylons.

The sedan wasn’t quite as lucky. One lane short and a block by a donut truck forced them to remain on the interstate. Whoever it was would have to enter O’Hare by another route.

“Nicely done,” Scott said.

“Just like in the movies.”

Frighteningly so, was the only thought that came to Scott. They merged with other taxis cued for the parking garage. “Level three,” Scott gave the direction as he glanced over his shoulder. They’d slipped the obvious tail, but was there a second?

Scott had not been driving the Mustang when they went to the airport, but he remembered where Tessa had parked. The sleek classic car seemed to be undisturbed as the taxi pulled alongside. He took a fifty from his wallet and paid the driver. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, man.”

The garage was noisy as Scott stood next to Dante’s black Mustang. He watched as the cab pulled away, its brake lights flashing only briefly at the head of the aisle before it turned. Only then did Scott walk around the parked car. It felt a bit strange to be there alone. He half hoped Tessa would be there—or at the very least left some evidence that she’d beaten him to it.

Glancing around the garage, Scott looked for anything sinister. As it turned out, he didn’t have long to wait. A car rolled towards him; Ric Morgano had one hand on the wheel, and with the window down, had the other elbow perched casually half outside the opening, a slip of paper in his hand. He glanced at the paper and then to the Mustang’s license plate. The smile on the man’s face seemed to indicate he’d found what he was looking for.

It took him only a moment to park. “Hey there, Scottie; fancy meeting you here.”

“Don’t tell me. Marlayna has a GPS locator in her phone.”

“What can I say?” He pointed to the Mustang. “Nice ride.”

“Tessa and I seem to share a love of classic cars.”

“Too bad it’s not your car.”

Scott waved the keys. “You sure?”

“Look, this ain’t one of your stories that you write.” Ric slammed his car door and came forward. He knelt and looked underneath the Mustang chassis. “Anything you had set up, ended the day you left New York. You’re a bit of a liability now. So I’m here to keep an eye on you. Make sure you show up at all the right places.”

“I take it, this is one?”

Ric shrugged. “You did make it easier to find it.”

“Marlayna give you the plate number?”

The bruiser glared at him. It didn’t matter, Scott already knew the answer.

“So why’d you come? And where’s Tess?” Ric asked.

Scott put a key in the trunk. “I don’t know.” The phrase seemed to answer both questions. “Here goes nothing,” he said.

The trunk popped open. Scott took a step back before he tentatively lifted the lid a bit higher to see what was stored inside. Ric leaned forward but didn’t touch anything. At a glance, the contents appeared fairly ordinary: a roadside safety kit, spare tire, a couple of empty pop cans. Scott reached in and lifted an old newspaper, the headline dated March. The only item out of place was a Bible. It had the same brown leather cover as the one at Dante’s house, but it looked less used.

Scott picked up the book. A couple of pages were dog-eared; Mathew and Ecclesiasticus were not among them—but Leviticus was. On the flyleaf was written, To Contessa, With Love, Father Luke.

“Tessa’s Bible.” Scott mumbled. He tossed the book back into the trunk. He started to wonder how they’d have a matched set. “Was Dante a religious man?”

“I didn’t think of him as the type to carry it around looking for a private corner to pray. That was Luke’s job.”

“Luke?”

“Ya know, resident pastor at St. Joseph’s.” Ric leaned against the hood. “I remember when we were kids. Dante, Luke and Tess would pass notes sometimes. Spy - type stuff. Codes. They’d talk about places they were gonna meet, things they would do.”

“As a game?”

“Grow up with a family like ours and you have to find some way to keep secrets.”