Perfect Crime (7 page)

As she walked around the window, surveying it from all angles, Scott studied the gift shop display. “The shop clerk was right,” he called over his shoulder, before he turned to see what was holding Tessa’s attention. “Our mysterious postcard was probably bought here. Maybe sent by someone who works here,” he added, allowing his thoughts to emerge without any consideration or proof.

She looked down the hall in the direction the man in black pants had disappeared. An uneasy feeling swept through her. “We should leave,” Tessa whispered.

“No,” Scott countered, coming to stand next to her, “give it a minute. I want to see how far the case of mistaken identity takes us. If he had any idea we were a couple of nosy reporters, he wouldn’t have let us in. There’s something going on, and I’d like to see—” He paused, then pointed at the window she was studying, “I hope the exhibits get better further in, ‘cause this one is really ugly.”

At the base of the window were two biblical references, one in the left corner, and one in the right: Matthew 5:17 and Matthew 2:14. Removing her camera phone from her purse, she snapped a couple pictures of the window. “I need a Bible.”

“What?”

Nervous, she didn’t wait for Scott, but pushed open the door and returned to the Pier. Scott was left to follow. Tessa was walking fast, and this time it was his turn to jog to catch up.

“What’s the matter?” He didn’t know her well enough to react to the shift in mood. As they approached the car, he asked gently, “You having some sort of religious experience or something?”

“Or something.”

“So what’s with that window—why’d you take a picture of that one?” Scott pushed.

Tessa didn’t bother to hesitate with the information, it would be public record if he wanted to check, “Word has it, that window was bestowed onto St. Joseph’s after DeMarco’s death.”

“Well then, maybe I’m reading too much Da Vinci Code into this—but Darla’s body was found on Locust Street. Let’s see the picture.”

She flipped her phone around for him to view the picture she’d just taken, deliberately pointing out the related plague depicted on the stained glass window “Are you talking about his?” she gave a small snort “You watch too much tv,” and she quickly shut the phone.

Scott looked behind him. No one from the museum appeared to be missing them. Maybe she was right and they’d seen all there was to see. Nevertheless, he didn’t like being left in the dark. One hand rested on the Alpha Romeo before he made his decision. He’d roll with it. “Where to?”

“Let’s go to your place.”

“What?” he found himself saying for the second time in as many minutes.

Tessa got in the car, and fastened her seat belt. “I need a Bible. And I know I don’t have one at my place. Libraries are closed, we can’t talk in a bookstore, and going back to the office will only give Candice something to talk about. So…”

“Okay, you’ve totally lost me.” Scott said, looking a little bewildered.

“I don’t think Darla’s murder had anything to do with that window but I would like to see what those two Bible quotes are.”

Shaking his head, Scott started the car and backed out of the parking space. “If my mother ever heard that a woman wanted me for my Bible, I’d never hear the end of it.” He eased into traffic. “Start talking. What’s so exciting about that damn window?”

“Where’s the postcard?” she said, ignoring his question and asking her own.

“Someplace safe,” he answered, patting the pocket of his slacks.

“Can I have it?”

“Sure. After you explain what’s going on.”

The car responded to his touch and shifted smoothly, maneuvering through the traffic like a dark shadow. Occasionally Scott looked in the rearview mirror. No one seemed to be following them. So far, the events of today had hit fairly close to home for the woman beside him. That disturbed him. It could all be coincidence; merely a random string of events, or it could be something else.

Tessa didn’t respond but rather turned and stared out the passenger window.

Scott started in again. “Okay, here’s what I’ve got. It’s looking like all the missing women disappeared on the 19th of the month; Gail in February, Darla March and Kate in April.”

“Another thing they all have in common is their present occupation. Could be some sort of psycho having a problem with waitresses; but then why only once a month? I didn’t see the other connection at first but after I realized that Gail was going by an anglicized version of her surname, Lorence, I had to add nationality to the list. I have to wonder why someone would change their name.”

He paused and when she didn’t say anything he went on.

“And then…well…there is something else.”

The wind whipped through the open window, nearly carrying off her softly spoken question, “And that is?”

“All these good Catholic families attending the same church.”

She turned her head sharply to look at Scott; something flickered in her eyes. “Been doing your homework, I see. So? A lot of people go to that church, including Candice from work, even my friend Marcus. I’m not saying they make the trek every Sunday, but their families all share the parish.”

She might have been focused on Darla and the others, but Scott saw another coincidence. “And you know this because…. it’s your parish,” he ventured.

Tessa raised an eyebrow at his fishing. “Once upon a time, yeah. And I’m sure if I still went to church, St. Joseph’s would be my choice.”

“And did you know DeMarco?”

A smirk formed across her full lips. “You can’t step over a dead body in Chicago, and not look for DeMarco’s prints.”

“I’m new,” Scott quipped, “haven’t experienced everything this town has to offer.”

Traffic fell off to a trickle as they entered the quiet suburban area where Scott lived. The townhouse was one of many identical models, relatively nondescript. He still counted the row houses sometimes, to confirm that he was putting his key in the right lock.

He parked and got out of the car. “Come on,” Scott directed casually, standing on the pavement, anticipating that she would follow. He could hear crickets as he walked up the driveway. The sound was pleasant and homey, and a quiet contrast to the high-rise, downtown living he was used to. If he looked to his left he could see the etching of the Chicago skyline. They weren’t as far outside the main part of town as the chirping would make one think, but, for some reason though, he was thankful for the sense of isolation.

He opened the front door and glanced around the interior, making sure nothing was unexpectedly waiting for them and then waved Tessa inside. “Make yourself at home,” he said, waving a hand towards the living room.

“I take it you haven’t had time to unpack,” Tessa said, as she hovered on the threshold.

“Five weeks, yeah.” Looking at the room through her eyes, he had to laugh. A couch and a couple boxes cluttered the small space. He was using them like coffee tables. “It’s not like I have much. I’m just lazy.”

She blinked. “It’s weird—almost like you don’t intend to stay.”

Maybe she’d just said the first thing that came to mind, but Scott once again admired her perception. “I consider myself a minimalist. Now as for the fridge, I keep it stocked—juice, soda, iced tea?”

“Sure, anything is fine.”

He pointed to one box as he turned towards the kitchen. “Books,” he said, thinking she’d look for that Bible she desired above all else, “If you don’t find one in there, we could look it up on the net.”

Popping open the refrigerator, he grabbed a bottle of soda and poured a glass. Considering the hour, and lack of dinner, he grabbed a bag of potato chips and a second glass before returning to the living room.

He didn’t think he’d been gone long but when he returned, Tessa was seated on the sofa with the Holy book open, and a notepad on her lap. The papers she handed to him held the raw Bible verse. “What do you think?” she asked.

*

Matthew 5:17—Do not think that I came to destroy the Law or the Prophets. I did not come to destroy but to fulfill.

Matthew 2:14—“When [Joseph] arose, he took the young Child and His mother by night and departed for Egypt, and was there until the death of Herod, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the Lord through the prophet, saying, ‘Out of Egypt I called My Son.’

*

Scott passed the pages back. He wasn’t going to try to get into some dead guy’s head. “More importantly, what do you think?”

Tessa looked down at her writing. “St. Joe’s received a donation of that window we saw at the museum, after DeMarco’s death. Warning or prophecy?”

“So, you’re looking for a motive for murder in stained glass and scripture?”

“Something like that,” After a moment of consideration she added, “Okay, look,” she said with a sharp sigh, “You ever hear of Anthony Aiello? In November of last year, he made a push in New York, capo di tutto capi”, Italian slipping easily from her tongue. A small flush filled her cheeks, “to be boss of bosses,” she quickly translated.

“Keeping up on Mob business?” Scott asked.

“I hear things. Aiello hated DeMarco but I couldn’t tell you exactly why. Rumor had it that he thought the older man was getting soft.” Tessa kept the conversation to the point, but looked a bit uncomfortable when speaking about the crime families. “You clip the Councilor and the Underboss, and the Boss is left quite vulnerable.”

His voice was cooler. “Know that from the movies, do you?”

Her face was expressionless.

“Okay then, why does this guy…”

“Cy,” she corrected.

“Cy,” He repeated, slightly annoyed, “Why’d he take a shot at us?”

“Can’t answer that. Why does Cy do a lot of things?” she muttered rhetorically.

She chewed on her bottom lip; her cell phone was open on the table in front of her, the picture of the window visible. One of her petit fingers reached out and pointed at the LCD screen “Logic dictates that this should be DeMarco,” she said, referring to the prone figure in the center of the picture. “But this appears to be a much younger man.”

“Well, why not immortalize yourself, if it’s your legacy?” Scott picked up the phone and looked at the images more closely. “It does almost look like a family ‘portrait’ if you can ignore the macabre setting. Mother with wings, Father standing somber, the younger faces of grown children…” He squinted, longing for his glasses. The figures in the glass window captured his interest, particularly their detailed facial features, “We have a saint and a sinner,” he said pointing to the counterpoint between a halo of light and another in shadow. “Too bad the other woman has her back to us. Do any of them look familiar to you?”

She shook her head.

Scott took the Bible from her without a word. He flipped through it, searching for something. Finally, he filled the silence. “I haven’t been to church in a long while. But I seem to remember that Matthew, the man himself, was a tax collector.” He paused, a curious thought clouding the facts. “Taxes could mean money. Most killings are about money, not divine redemption.”

He looked back down and ran a finger down the page. Scott started scribbling on the paper. “The postcards came with Bible verses, too.”

“Right,” she said curtly. She looked over his shoulder at the one he’d added to the Matthew quotes, it was from the second postcard:

*

2 Chronicles 7 13-14: If I shut up heaven that there be no rain, or if I command the locusts to devour the land, or if I send pestilence among my people; If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.

*

“Look at that—forgiveness. Doesn’t sound too threatening,” he said, opening the potato chip bag and helping himself.

She shrugged. “You could be right,” she offered, with no strong conviction.

“Okay then but it does mention locusts, which is in direct reference to Darla,” Scott theorized.

Still holding the pencil, Scott started to play with it. There was more to Tessa than met the eye. He hadn’t taken her to be personally involved but he was reassessing everything. Still, he wasn’t uncomfortable, more intrigued than disconcerted. She didn’t appear to be hiding anything in the current circumstances but he still sensed that she was holding some of herself back. Perhaps that was justified. He wondered how long it would take her to see the coincidence with New York, Chicago and himself.

Her phone rang. With the picture taking up the screen, there was no way to see the caller ID. She hesitated.

Scott offered direction. “If it’s your friend Marcus again, get us an address from the car registration. I’ll need that for my insurance claim.”

Chuckling, Tessa picked up the phone. “Hello.”

Her eyes narrowed as G.J’s voice poured through the line. “Guess who’s back in town? Cy is with me. You remember Cy, don’t you, Tess?”

She tried to bank the fear. The man in question was indeed Christopher Perelli; his moniker ‘Cy’ came from his enjoyment, as a younger man, in using a scythe as a weapon. The history that went with his self-given nickname only added to his reputation. The guy wasn’t scared of anything and cared about nothing—a dangerous combination.

Tessa swallowed, but managed to speak with a lack of emotion. “I remember. Do you?”

“He told me I need to get the postcard back.” G.J’s words were slightly garbled, causing a shiver to run the length of her spine; Cy could get really nasty at times.

“By trying to kill me?” she responded, her voice unusually high and squeaky.

“He didn’t miss. If Cy wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Now, I need the card back, Tess,” G.J. was cold and to the point with his old friend; this change in him frightened her.

“I told you, I don’t have it.” As before, she spoke the truth; Scott had it.

“Get it,” G.J. seethed. “Don’t play me on this. Get me the card by tonight and we’re all done, understand? You’re really not so hard to find, you know.”

Blue eyes shifted towards Scott. As before she found a bit of strength. “It’s yours, man, it means nothing to me,” she promised into the cell. “It will be at your restaurant by 11 tonight.”