Sinnerman (11 page)

“I hope you don’t mind me coming back here,” I said.

He swished the air in a downward motion with his hand.

“Naw,” he said. “You’re my best customer.”

“Who’s the new kid?” I said.

He rolled his eyes.

“My nephew. I promised my sister I’d give him a job for the summer. He’s only here for another five days or so.”

“Sounds like you’re counting them down,” I said.

“You have no idea. I’d pay him not to come in at this point.”

“Wow, that bad, huh?”

“I got what you asked for.”

“Really?” I said. “You found it?”

“It wasn’t easy, but I sure did. Come over here and take a look.”

I followed him over to his desk. He opened the drawer and pulled out a big piece of cloth and set it in my hands. I unfolded it and stared in wonderment at the book before me.

“Well,” he said. “What do you think?”

“I can’t believe you were able to find one in such good condition,” I said. “I’ve dreamed about owning this for years.”

“Sorry it took so long to procure it for you,” he said.

“Don’t be. It was worth the wait.”

In my hand I held a UK first edition copy of Agatha Christie’s first novel The Mysterious Affair at Styles. I’d collected her works for years and always hoped one day I would be able to afford the first book she ever wrote.

“It’s too bad I wasn’t around when it first came out,” I said. “I would only owe you seven shillings and sixpence.”

He laughed.

“You missed that by a good ninety-some years, I’d say.”

I wrapped the cloth back around the book and placed it in the protective case it came in.

“I need to ask a favor,” I said.

“Another book?”

I shook my head.

“This is far more important,” I said.

I reached in my bag and lowered my volume to a whisper.

“I need you to take a look at this,” I said.

Robert withdrew the pink paper from my hands and held it flat on his palm while he walked over to his desk and put his glasses on. He held it a few inches from his face and scrutinized every part of it without uttering a word. After some time, he glanced up at me.

“May I ask you something?” he said.

“Anything.”

“Is this for a case you’re working on?”

“It is. Can I count on you to be discreet?” I said.

“You don’t even need to ask.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” I said.

“What is it you would like me to do?”

“Is there anything you can tell me about it?” I said.

“Well, it appears to be made of parchment of some kind.”

He took his fingers and grazed them across the top.

“And this ripped part at the top here,” he said, “it’s called a deckle edge.”

“Do you have any idea who makes it or where it came from?” I said.

“I don’t carry this in the store, but I may be able to find it. Leave me a piece of it and I’ll see what I can find out for you.”

I stood in front of the wall at my office and pinned up 3/4 of the last note Sinnerman left for me to his profile board. I stared at it and tried to focus on what my next move would be, but all I could think about was Giovanni. Every time he was around it clouded my judgment, and now, with him nowhere in sight, it was even worse. My concentration was off.

The night before I’d spent a lot of time wrapped up in my thoughts about Giovanni’s request to work together. Under most circumstances, I didn’t want help, and I never asked for it. It was odd to me that I considered allowing someone in my world when I knew so little of his.

When my grandfather was alive he taught me the importance of what he liked to call “the power of observation.” He said most people reveal themselves when they don’t think anyone else is watching, and in those moments you can truly unravel their essence and learn what they’re made of and why they do the things they do. I’d taken his advice to heart.

In my life I’d formed my own circle of trust, and the circle was small. To let someone in required time and plenty of observation on my part. I’d made it a point never to show my cards until they showed theirs. I watched and I waited until they exposed themselves to me. This method was flawless until the day Giovanni Luciana stepped into my life, and I found I wanted to show my hand before he even decided to call or wager.

Sam Reids stood behind a paisley curtain in a window of an office that was desolate except for a chair he’d brought in to sit on when he didn’t want to stand. Sloane had a puzzled look on her face, and he wondered why and what her thoughts were in that moment. Is she thinking of me… he thought to himself. A warm sensation flushed up and down his arms at the very thought of it.

Sam adjusted his binoculars and directed his attention to the most recent addition to the board, the pink slip of paper. Clever girl, he thought, keeping that one all to herself. He knew it wouldn’t lead her any closer to him. Still, he enjoyed looking at the visual remnants of his crimes attached to the cork board on her wall. It gave him a sense of pride, a sense that he belonged in some odd way. Like he mattered, even if her motive was to ultimately end his life. He was sure in time she’d come to see things in a different way.

Sloane wasn’t like most women; she was fearless, like he was. Maybe that was the reason he’d grown so fond of her. Of all his adversaries, she proved the most worthy. It was fun to leave her little crumbs and tidbits here and there and then to sit back and watch her find them. He wanted to test her, to see if they rattled her, and he was surprised when they didn’t. She reminded him of a curious puppy after a certain scent. The question was, would she get a good whiff of it? He didn’t think so, although to underestimate her wouldn’t be wise, so he kept tabs on her just like he was doing now from an office across the street from her own.

The game he played with Sloane had been fun, but now Sam wanted to go in a different direction. His patience waned, and he was ready to reward himself for his efforts. He felt he deserved it, and he knew what he needed to do. The time had come to see what Sloane Monroe was made of and to let the fireworks begin. His most recent two had gone off, and he was ready for the grand finale. The moment where he would secure the best, the one he saved for last.

My cell phone rang. It was Giovanni.

“My brother would like you to come down to the station,” he said.

“Did he say why?”

“Are you sitting down?” he said.

“Should I be?”

“You should,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

I paused about five seconds for good measure and continued to apply my makeup. He wasn’t there and would never know the difference.

“Ready,” I said.

“They have someone in custody.”

My mascara wand plummeted from my hand and streaked the left side of my cheek before it settled in the center of the sink.

“Dammit,” I said.

“You weren’t sitting, were you?”

“When you said they had someone in custody, you didn’t mean they think this guy is Sinnerman, right?”

“That’s precisely what I meant.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

***

Twenty-nine minutes later I made my entrance.

“How are you doing today?” Rose said when I approached the front desk.

“Ask me again in a few minutes,” I said.

“That Agent Luciana guy told me to have you wait out here for a few minutes and then they will call you back.”

“Did you get a look at him?” I said. “The guy they brought in?”

“He had his face covered when he got here so I didn’t see much.”

“And has anyone said anything about him since he’s been here?”

“Not a word.”

“Who brought him in?” I said.

“Coop and a few of those fed’s.”

I nodded and took a seat in a section of chairs that rested along the wall opposite the reception desk. Three chairs over from me sat a female who hadn’t looked up since I walked in. Her long hair was the color of the inside of a banana and was loosely tied with a rubber band, the kind you get from a newspaper. One of the strands of hair had fallen in her face and she fiddled with it—putting it in her mouth and taking it back out again. Her clothes were dirty, and her jeans which were a few sizes too big, looked like they’d just slid into home plate.

After we sat for a few minutes in silence, she lifted her head just enough that I caught a partial glimpse of her face. There was some puffiness around her left eye, and she had a diagonal cut that ran a couple of inches across her cheekbone.

“Are you okay?” I said.

“You the person I’m supposed to talk to?”

“Did your boyfriend do that to you?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Some idiot did this to me, and when I find out who he is I’m going to—”

“What happened?” I said.

“If I tell you, you’ll help me right? You’ll catch the guy?”

“I’m not a cop,” I said.

“Who are you then?”

“I’m a private investigator.”

“I need a cop.”

I shrugged.

“Fine by me. I bet I can catch him in half the time, but do what you think is best.”

We sat in silence for a couple more minutes and then she said, “Could you really? I mean, are you that good?”

“I am,” I said.

For whatever reason, I had an extra boost of confidence today.

The girl stood up from her chair and looked over at Rose who appeared to be minding her own business, but we both knew she wasn’t, and then she sat down in the chair next to me.

“My name’s Trisha,” she said.

“Sloane.”

“You been a PI for long?”

“I have.”

“And do you always catch the bad guy?” she said.

“About 99% of the time.”

“And the other 1%?” she said.

“I’m working on that one right now.”

She gave me a look to indicate her confusion but didn’t say anything.

“So what happened to you?” I said.

“I took my beagle out for a walk this morning, and this guy comes out of nowhere and just starts up a conversation with me. So we’re going back and forth about where we live and how long we’d lived there, and I look down at my dog, and the next thing I know the guy grabs me and he’s got a rock and he’s about to smash the side of my head with it. I let go of the leash and he wrestled me to the ground and when he raised his hand to strike, I clocked him. Right in the eye. Then I grabbed my dog and ran like hell.”

I found it interesting that she claimed she attacked him since she was the one with the shiner.

“Where were you assaulted?”

“Right in my own neighborhood, if you can believe that. The nerve of the guy—it was like eight o’clock in the morning.”

“Today?”

She nodded.

“Did you get a good look at him?” I said.

“He had his face shielded with a—”

“Lemme guess,” I said. “Hoodie.”

“How’d you know?”

“Let’s just say I’ve heard that word a lot this week,” I said.

“I’d recognize him if I saw him again though. He was about my height and had a certain way that the walked, like one of his legs was longer than the other or something. It was weird.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out a tissue and handed it to her.

“What’s this for?”

“Your nose,” I said. “It’s bleeding.”

She glanced down and a drop of blood dripped from her nose and splotched on the white flecked vinyl tiles on the floor. She snatched the tissue from my hand and turned away.

“There’s a bathroom through those doors to your right,” I said.

The woman nodded and stood up and made a beeline for the ladies’ room. When she returned, I advised her to talk to the cops and then gave her my card and asked her to come by my office the following day.

The conference room door opened and Coop walked out with various other men who I suspected were part of Agent Luciana’s minions. There was no sign of Giovanni or his brother and no sign of Nick either. Coop looked my way for a brief moment and then spun around like he hadn’t seen me, even though it was obvious he did.

Another minute went by and the chief walked out of the room followed by a man in handcuffs and Agent Luciana, who rounded out the back.

Trisha bolted out the bathroom door and seized my arm with her hand.

“That’s him!” she said.

“Him who?” I said.

She pointed in the direction of the man in cuffs.

“That’s the guy who attacked me!”

Before I could form any words she was halfway across the room and on a mission. Coop spotted her and made a move to tackle her like he was going for a 1st and 10, but he was about two seconds too late. She slipped past him and raised her hand into the air and slapped the cuffed guy across the face. And for the first time since exiting the room, he raised his head but his eyes didn’t meet hers, they met mine. For a few moments it was like time stood still and that the only two people in the room were him and me. Trisha spewed all sorts of expletives while Coop and the chief tried to keep her at bay, but I couldn’t hear any of it. It was like someone hit the mute button in the room and our eyes remained locked in some sort of a trance, and I had only one thing on my mind: Was I looking into the face of my sister’s killer?

Someone touched my shoulder, and I jerked back.

“It’s just me,” the voice said.

Sound returned to the room and my eyes settled on Giovanni who stood next to me with a look of genuine concern on his face. I flipped back around, but Agent Luciana had ushered the guy almost all the way out of the room. Before they traveled through the doorway into the hall, the man turned and glanced at me once more. He had the strangest expression on his face and it threw me off.

I turned to Trisha who was still clutched tight within Coop and the chief’s firm grip.

“That is the guy from this morning?” I said.

She nodded.

“What is she talking about?” the chief said.

With Trisha shaken up over being presented with a visual of her aggressor, I gave him a brief summary of what she’d just told me.