The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) (32 page)

“Yes, sir,” the off-screen voice answered. “That camera, very good. You are a natural. Did your people mention that we must run a light check in each room? If you will just bear with us. Nice suit, by the way.”

The DVD went blank.

“What happened?” Teddy said.

“I don’t know.” Sky pushed the rewind button and they watched the same footage a second time. It went blank at the same spot. Sky let it run, maybe it was a temporary black out.

But the rest of the DVD proved empty.

“Riveting footage,” Teddy scoffed. “A real Bobby DeNiro.”

“Check out the website. Phoenix Documentary Films.” Sky ejected the disk and slipped it into the purple case. “Let’s look at his garbage.”

She untied the large black bag and poured the contents over the newspaper. The gamey smell of rotting organic matter was so powerful that Tiffany woke from her postprandial nap. The tiny Shih Tzu sat up and sniffed approvingly.

“Dude, that’s nasty.” Teddy put a hand over his nose.

Sky slipped on a pair of latex gloves and sifted through the miniature land fill. Coffee grounds, egg shells, banana peels, wet paper towels, a Blue Ribbon Barbecue menu, discarded finger carrots, three half-filled bottles of Perrier, an empty light bulb package, a discarded hair brush, half a yellow onion, take-out. Sky sniffed the box. Pad Thai.

She lifted a soggy stack of magazines smeared with bacon grease. “Let’s see what Mr. Manville reads in his spare time.” She carefully separated the publications and read each title. “Accounts of Chemical Research. Biochemical and Molecular Medicine. Vibrational Spectroscopy.”

Teddy yawned loudly and sat on the sofa’s heavily padded arm.

“Look.” Sky held up a sporting magazine. “World’s premier hunting publication.”

A spotted leopard graced the cover, crouched in tall grass. Dramatic feline eyes looked directly into the camera.

“That cat doesn’t look too worried,” Teddy observed.

Sky opened the magazine to a photograph of two men dressed in hunting garb, smiling over the body of a dead leopard. The spotted cat was posed, spread eagle, over a large mound of sand. Sky held the page up for Teddy’s inspection.

“It’s a sin to kill an animal that beautiful.” Teddy’s handsome features twisted with disgust.

Sky noticed something sticking from the bottom of the magazine. She carefully peeled an envelope from the wet page and blotted it with a Dunkin’ Donuts napkin.

“It’s a letter,” she said. “An unopened letter to Mr. Porter Manville.”

The envelope was pale ivory and carried an air of refinement despite being damp and stained with coffee grounds. Sky studied the crabbed script; the compressed letters suggested an older writer, maybe someone with arthritis.

“So?” Teddy said. “Who’s it from?”

“Olivia Porter. Peachtree Drive, Tempest, Texas.” Sky got up from the sofa and retrieved a silver letter opener from her desk. “Postmarked a week ago.” She drew the letter opener along the gummed flap and gently opened the swollen envelope. The liner carried a delicate pattern of Florentine lilies in scarlet and gold.

Sky read aloud to Teddy:

Dearest Bo,

The bluebonnets are in bloom, spring is full upon us. And you are certainly busy, the Boston Globe reports that you are working on yet another patent. I do wish you luck, and hope your deal with Genie holds. I keep up with your victories, you know. Did you enjoy the lug of ruby reds and the pecan pralines I sent at Christmas? You adored both as a child.

Dover has taken ill. We had to hire a new ranch hand just before calving season, which makes things especially difficult. Mother Nature cannot be manipulated and Dover knew those heifers like the back of his hand. I hope we don’t lose too many calves. I nearly had to dip into principal to pay off an equipment loan last year and you know what that does to my nerves.

I shook up a few board members at the hospital the other night, had to remind them who the majority stock holder is, ha ha. You should have seen the looks on their faces. Those good old boys do surely hate to see a woman on top.

It is lonely in this big house and I am haunted by the specter of death. I hope eternally that you might relent and visit. Dear boy, I have come to regret the things I said in anger so many years ago. My sister tried her best. But I spoiled you and I take full blame. You are all I have. We are two of a kind, Bo. Surely you feel the connection. There is something I must tell you before I die. Please come home. All is forgiven.

Love forever,

Aunt Olivia

“All is forgiven,” Teddy repeated. “Wonder what it means.” He flicked a crumb from his leg. “Manville must’ve tossed it away by mistake. The letter, I mean.”

“It was no mistake,” Sky said. She gave the letter a second read. “I don’t think Bo opens any of Aunt Olivia’s letters.”

“What are ruby reds?”

“Grapefruit,” Sky said.

“Shit. And I thought chocolate mice were weird.”

The longing and sorrow in the letter made Sky think of her grandmother. “I wonder how long it’s been since Porter Manville’s been home,” she mused.

Tiffany sniffed the air and jumped awkwardly from the sofa into the middle of the garbage pile. Coffee grounds and egg shells scattered in all directions.

“I’m hungry, Teddy.” Sky felt a sudden burst of energy. “I’m hungry for real food.” She slipped Aunt Olivia’s letter into the ivory envelope and climbed on the library foot stool. “Call downstairs and see if Carmine has an open table. My treat.” She reached up and dropped the letter into the Wanli-period pot.

“Yes, boss.” Teddy pulled his cell out and punched a number. “Guess this means my girlfriend won’t be getting that vase, huh?”

“Sorry, I’m kind of attached.” Sky wrestled a rib bone from Tiffany’s mouth and finished sorting through what remained of the garbage. There was nothing more to be had, so she wrapped the newspapers up and threw everything back into the black bag.

“Carmine says come down, says he’s making his world-famous manicotti formaggio, just for you.” The PI tossed the end of an uneaten fritter in the trash. “You really should keep the curtains drawn, boss. You never know who’s looking.” Teddy walked to the window and lowered the blinds.

Sky rummaged through the yellow gym bag and handed Teddy the blue velvet drawstring pouch. “Here. For your girlfriend. Consider it partial payment for your services.”

Teddy pulled out an earring and frowned. “These are big. Are they zircs? My girl is very picky.”

Sky smiled. “They’re vintage. She’ll love them, I promise.”

It was a relief to be rid of Izzy’s heavy diamond drops. Sky emptied the ruby-colored Diamond Ball tote and lined it with her Obey sweatshirt.

“Grab those pictures from the bulletin board,” she instructed Teddy. “Get the graphs and scraps of paper, and the timeline, too. Put everything in that folder. I’ll fill you in on the case while we eat.”

She placed Tiffany carefully into the bottom of the tote. The dog scratched briefly at the sweatshirt and bedded down with a contented snort.

Angel Butera’s insinuation hovered in Sky’s thoughts as she slipped the tote over her left shoulder. News of the pregnancy was a sure sign that Jake was lost to her – and then Jake, pushing her off the case. Which meant he was free to pursue Ellery without resistance. Now Sky had to tolerate Butera’s snide comments?

Theresa Piranesi was right about one thing: Sky didn’t really belong in the Lake. She wasn’t one of them. She’d taken the office years ago because it was close to the police station, a five minute drive. But now …

Sky had second thoughts about going downstairs to eat. Who knows who she’d run into? Suddenly she felt like a trespasser in her own neighborhood.

“Maybe we should order in, Teddy.”

“And break Carmine’s heart?” He shook his head. “No way. I can’t be held responsible. Carmine has connections.”

Sky peeked into the tote. Tiffany vibrated with the rhythm of sleep, supremely unaware that the coordinates of Sky’s world were shifting by the hour. The sight of the tiny creature cheered Sky and she reconsidered. Why squander mental resources agonizing over Jake? Or Angel Butera?

“Porter Manville is priority number one,” she said, thinking out loud. “We need to find his link to Nicolette Mercer.”

“You’re the boss,” Teddy shrugged. “Just tell me what to do.”

Sky could’ve kissed him for this unquestioning vote of confidence, but she refrained and handed him the garbage bags instead.

“Throw these in the bin on the way downstairs,” she said. “It’s time for dinner.”

“Ricotta and parmesan.” Teddy gave an approving nod across the saffron-colored tablecloth of Carmine’s Restaurant. “Fresh mozzarella with basil and oregano. And, if I’m not mistaken, just a hint of nutmeg.” His handsome features softened with pleasure in the flickering candlelight.
“
Manicotti formaggio. Simple yet profound.”

“This is a side of you I’ve never seen, Teddy. I figured you for a Quizno’s Torpedo kind of guy.”

“Yeah, well,” the PI reddened. “My girl is a disaster in the kitchen. I had to learn how to cook out of self-preservation. I started with simple stuff, like I ate here in the Lake when I was a kid. Spaghetti with gravy, eggplant parmesan, baked ziti.” Teddy swirled a tulip-shaped goblet of Tuscan Chianti and took a noisy gulp. “I have my eye on a pasta machine, Imperia SP 150, best on the market. Chrome plated steel. Top of the line, Sky. This time next week I hope to be cranking out my own fettuccine.” He pulled a sheet of paper from the pocket of his denim shirt and pointed to a typewriter-shaped apparatus. “See? You roll the pasta into a thin sheet and feed it through this cutter.”

“Very nice.” Sky gave an admiring nod.

Something about Teddy Felson reminded her of an overgrown puppy. Maybe it was his big brown eyes, or the hair that went every which way. Sky savored Carmine’s creamy comfort food and listened while Teddy spoke earnestly on the advantages of durum wheat. Dean Martin crooned
Volaré
in the background and Tiffany slept at her feet, inside the ruby tote.

Sky’s thoughts turned to Manville. She couldn’t seem to put him out of her mind. Suddenly, and with absolute certainty, she knew that Manville was thinking about her, too. She could sense him, hovering. The places where he’d touched her body tingled and Sky could almost feel his finger on her shoulder blade, tracing the fairy tattoo.

“What’s wrong?” Teddy frowned. “You look like someone just walked over your grave.”

“Manville won’t be easy to nail. He’s got wealth and political connections.” But it was more than that. Sky thought about Jake’s unreasoning jealousy in the ER. She shoved her dinner plate away. “Ellery Templeton will get indicted for murder if we don’t move fast.”

“Yeah. Heard about the cell phone in Templeton’s apartment.”

Sky was shocked. “Where do you get this stuff?”

“The new secretary in Evidence,” Teddy admitted. “Babs. She has a crush on me.”

“The one with the breast implants?”

“That’s right.” He shrugged. “I flirt a little and she keeps me current. Hey, I was a Newton cop once, remember?” Teddy stabbed the last remnant of manicotti with a fork and popped it in his mouth.

“This is what we have.” Sky flipped the manila folder open and extracted the Polaroid taken from the lab bulletin board.

“Nicolette Mercer, gorgeous redhead,” Teddy observed. “Murdered at Bullough’s Pond.”

Sky pulled out the timeline. “Nicolette broke up with Ellery Templeton at Genuine John’s in Allston around two a.m. Sunday morning. We haven’t talked to anybody who saw her after that.”

“Templeton was the last person to see her alive?”

Sky nodded. “Jenna Weems – that’s the roommate – says Nicolette instigated the breakup. I think Nicolette was having an affair.”

Teddy read the scrap of lined notebook paper out loud: “A) TELL MR. VIPER NO – ERECTILE NORM ETC”. He looked at Sky. “Mr. Viper?”

“That's Nicolette's writing. All caps. Nicolette had an appointment with Francois Duquette – her hairdresser – on Saturday. She told Francois that her life was going to change when she hooked up with Mr. Viper. Nicolette told Francois he was rich and powerful. So far, we haven’t located anybody with that name. Nothing.”

“Maybe Mr. Viper was a nickname for Manville,” Teddy suggested.

“That occurred to me, too. I asked Manville if he knew Mr. Viper, but there was no sign of recognition. I’m sure he didn’t know the name.”

“So Nicolette ended it with Templeton?” Teddy shook his head. “That gives Templeton motive.”

“Except for one thing,” Sky said. “Ellery wanted the breakup, too. He was seeing someone on the side, a fashion model from London named Fiona Thatcher.”

“Ellery?” Teddy’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re on a first-name basis with the prime suspect?”

“We dated. A long time ago.”

“I see.” Teddy’s face went blank.

Sky could sense a gathering air of doubt in the PI, but she decided to ignore it. “Nicolette knew her murderer, but that doesn’t mean it was Ellery Templeton. She knew Porter Manville, too.”

“You think Manville did it.”

Sky nodded. “Nicolette broke up with Ellery and hooked up with Manville. That’s my theory. Maybe they even spent Sunday together.” She pointed to the timeline. “I think they had sex Sunday night and went for a run on Commonwealth.”

“They had sex?”

“Vanessa Hatcher said vaginal penetration occurred a few hours before the body was found. The autopsy showed traces of semen.”

“What about rape?”

“No evidence of force. The sex seemed consensual.” Sky pushed the plates away. “Two kids were fishing at Bullough’s Pond when the murder took place. Noah and Molly Payne.” Sky set small glass salt and pepper shakers in the middle of the table to signify the children.

“They were fishing at night?”

Sky nodded. “Big brother took little sister so she could try out a new fishing pole. Molly was baiting a hook when she heard a woman laughing.” Sky ran two fingers along the middle of the table, past the salt shaker. “When she looked up she didn't see the woman. But she saw a man running north. It was dark. Thick fog.”