“Come on, officer. They got strippers everywhere. You know that, don’t ya? Man, I just can’t quit thinkin’ of you naked and all slicked up with baby oil. Whoa, momma.”
“You’re not very bright, are you?”
“Don’t need bright to get what I want.”
Claire only sighed. This boy was also headed for a jail cell. Probably one next door to Psycho Baby. Probably in the near future and for sexual assault. Time to nip his easily stimulated hormones in the bud. “These nasty sexual remarks make you look juvenile and foolish, childish even. You probably ought to edit what you say before it comes out of your mouth.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll remember that.”
“How well are you acquainted with Paulie Parker, Mr. Fitch?”
“He beat me up twice. I tried to avoid matches against him after that. I like to win. And all my girlfriends don’t like me to get my handsome face all bruised and cut up. They usually think black eyes are sexy, though. I got lots of girls, more’n you can shake a stick at. None a them complained about me sweet-talking them till you.”
“Ever thought about thinking with your head, instead?”
Laughing, he said, “You’re a firecracker, ain’t ya? I like that in a woman.”
“Sounds to me like you like anything in a woman.”
“Pretty much.”
“Where were you two nights ago?”
“Uh . . . oh, yeah, I was with a hooker down there in Lebanon, Missouri. I stopped at a big truck stop to gas up on the way over here. She was good, too. Well worth the money I had to spend.”
“Okay, Malachi, spare me the sex talk. It’s not working. Understand me? You’re not my type. In fact, you’re boring me.”
“Your loss.”
“Where are you from?”
“Up around Lake of the Ozarks.”
Great, she had a jail cell with his name already on it. “Where at the lake?”
“We got a farm out north of Camdenton. You wanna come see me sometime? I got some big brothers around your age. They’d like to show you the ropes.”
Okay, maybe this kid had been hit in the head too many times and couldn’t discuss but one subject. She would just have to keep him focused. “Paulie Parker’s from up around there, too. Did you know him before you started fighting?”
“Nah. Everybody up there stays to themselves. You know, sort of clannish.”
“So you don’t know the Parkers who live in that area?”
“Nope. We done here?”
First mention of the Parker family, and he was ready to forget coming on to her and fly the coop. Interesting. She had a feeling that the Parkers and the Fitches absolutely knew each other and not in a good way. “I’ll tell you when we’re done here, you got that, Mal?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He kept his eyes steadfastly on Claire’s mouth. What a creepy little boy. It appeared that Randazzo was rubbing off a little too much on his impressionable fighters.
She tried to discuss some of the other guys on the circuit. Malachi Fitch didn’t seem interested in them. It appeared his sole purpose in life was sleeping with women or tossing out sexual innuendoes. And, yes, it was extremely tiresome. She took down his address and itinerary and told him that she and her partner might pay him a call. He said to ditch the partner and he’d show her a good time. Jeez. She wanted to belt the kid. She might have, if he had been older, and she hadn’t been there on police business.
Number three’s name was Frankie Velez. He was the Hispanic fighter to whom Shaggy wanted her to deliver his message. He was also the opponent who lost the fight to Paulie at the Lake Inn. But apparently he was ready to rumble some more. Frankie’s bummed up face bore witness to his loss to Parker. He was big and muscular and pretty intimidating to look at until you saw his major tattoo. It said
I love my mama
. He appeared to be a lot more intelligent and articulate than Numbers One and Two, however.
“How old are you, Frankie?”
“Twenty.”
“Been fighting long?”
“Two years.”
“Like it?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I mean ma’am. I just love to fight. It’s just something inside me that I was born with. Love it. I guess I don’t have some kind of chemical inside me, or somethin’, you know, that makes me feel pain, or somethin’. I just don’t feel the blows rainin’ down on me like most guys do. I get the bruises, though, but when I’m fightin’ inside that ring, it’s just the coolest thing in the whole USA. My brothers beat me up every single day of my life, but I never felt it much. They stopped when I got big enough for payback. But we’re all still real close. The whole family is.”
“Where are you from, Frankie?”
“Omaha, Nebraska, originally.”
“Where do you live now?”
“In Lebanon.”
“Lots of action over there?”
“Fightin’, you mean? Oh, yeah. I pretty much dominate, though. I’m big. Tough, too.” He proved it by flexing some serious biceps, which were indeed rather impressive for his age.
“Do you know Paulie Parker?”
“Yeah, I liked Paulie just fine. Too bad about him. You know who got him yet?”
“We’re working on it. Do you know anybody that didn’t get along with him?”
“Yeah, pretty much everybody, ’cause he always beat them. He got the best of me just the other night. But he did it fair and square. And you know what? He hung around that night after the fight to make sure I was all right before he headed home. Not many of the guys’d do that.”
“Sounds like a pretty nice kid.”
“Yeah, he was. He was just a lot better than the rest of us. More finesse. Just really tough and had a lot of heart. Know what I mean? Didn’t ever say much, in or out of the ring, but he just took care of business, quick and efficientlike. He kinda exploded out at you all of a sudden before you could get your fists up. He’ll be missed. He was my major competition. Poor guy.”
“Know anything about the fighters operated by the Petrov family?”
Frankie became very wary, very quickly. He looked down at his hands. Then he looked up at her. “I’m afraid I don’t know them at all, ma’am. I’m sure they had nothing to do with it, though.”
“Do you know their names?”
“Yeah, sure do. Ike and Mike Sharpe. They’re twins. Look just alike, well, almost. They’re good with their fists. Not very bright, though.”
“Do they win a lot?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
Frankie hesitated. “More than they should. Some guys are afraid to beat them.”
“And why is that?”
They stared at each other for a moment, which said a lot to her in a tacit kind of way. Then Frankie shrugged. “Can’t really say.”
And he didn’t have to. Claire could read between the lines with the best of them. Who would want to beat a guy backed by a murderous, throat-slitting crime family, one known for putting out hits on people who annoyed them? Apparently, not too many fighters were that stupid. What Claire needed to do was talk to Petrov’s fighters. Alone and somewhere outside of Ivan the Terrible’s earshot. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Frankie was going to tell her one single thing about them. He was a smart guy, smarter than the other two yokels she had just interviewed. Black would not like the idea of her interviewing the Sharpe brothers, not even a little bit, but she and Bud just might have to do it. Not that the Sharpes would ever tell them a single thing about the Petrov operation. They weren’t that dumb, or they’d already be six feet under. Talking to them would be a dead end, no doubt about it. Then again, miracles happened.
“I’ve got a friend who watched you fight Parker the other night. Said you’re really good, that you gave it your all. He’s a fan.”
“Well, ma’am, I really appreciate your telling me that. Tell him I said thanks for comin’ over and watchin’ me.”
“I’ll do that. Good luck, Mr. Velez.”
After she terminated the conversation with Frankie, she called in Number Four, one Josiah Durning. It didn’t take Claire long to realize that Durning was dumb, dumber, and even more than dumbest, all rolled up together in one big DUH. He was big, too, and redheaded and sturdy, probably two hundred forty or fifty pounds. He made the other three look like kindergarteners and also had a tendency to look highly confused after every question. But it looked like he had a couple of jailhouse tats on the backs of his hands. A swastika and a setting sun with red rays. Sort of Japanese flagish.
“Have you been incarcerated, Mr. Durning?”
“Yes, sir. Right here in St. Louis.”
Sir?
Everybody seemed to think she was a man, except for Mal Fitch, of course. He didn’t understand the male concept. “Here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m a woman, Mr. Durning.”
“Yes, sir.”
Oookay. Maybe he couldn’t see her all that well under the faulty fluorescent flickering light fixture. At least he wasn’t coming on to her. That was a step in the right direction. But she might ought to check her appearance in the next handy mirror or try to soften her facial expression. She had on a baggy sweatshirt to hide her guns and no makeup, but come on. Black could tell that she was a woman.
“Why were you in jail?”
“They say I got anger issues.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Well, good, her mealymouthed, soft new expression must have finally gotten through to the kid.
“And how does it manifest? How do you show it, I mean?”
“I break windows and punch walls and hurt people. Break bones, sometimes.”
“Do you still have that problem?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is that why you fight in the cage?”
“Yes, ma’am. Folks say it keeps me outta trouble and lets me break the right bones.”
“As opposed to the wrong bones?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Does it?”
“Yes, ma’am. Unless somebody makes me crazy mad.”
Well, that made sense in a crazy mad sort of way. “What’s your ring name?”
“Cupcake.”
“Why do they call you that? Because you’re so sweet?” She smiled, lightened up on him a bit, tried to act like a girl some. Crazy mad was not a good thing, and she didn’t particularly want to see it.
“No, it’s ’cause I like cupcakes. The ones with red icing. I like sprinkles on top, too. Chocolate ones.”
Okay, now she knew what to bake him for his birthday. She asked him some more questions, but didn’t get any overly intelligent answers. Or even sort of intelligent answers. She took down his name, address, and schedule of bouts. She didn’t think he had the intellect or attention span to kill somebody the way Paulie Parker had met his demise. But stranger things had happened. He could’ve been crazy mad at the time, for instance.
She and Bud would visit these guys in their own homes someday soon and see if something more enlightening revealed itself with the home fires burning in the background. She’d really like to meet Carmichael’s roses-loving mom. But right now, Claire just needed to get out of that stifling little bare room and breathe some testosterone-free fresh air. She took the four DVDs and told Randazzo that she was good for the money and they’d settle up later, and then she escaped out into the noisy arena where the crowd was going ape over the bloodletting.
Right outside the black steel door, Claire searched around the arena for Black and found him sitting again in their rather expensive ringside seats. She headed that way, but stopped when her phone vibrated inside her pocket. Caller ID said Bud, so she punched on quickly.
“Hey, find out anything?”
Bud said, “Oh, yeah, and you’re not gonna believe it, either. Know that guy I came to see, Shorty Dunlop? He wasn’t here.”
“Where is he?”
“Don’t know yet. He up and took off without checking out. Nurse came in late one night on rounds, and he was gone.”
“I take it they have surveillance tapes?”
“Yeah, and I checked them out first thing. And guess what? They showed a guy pushing Dunlop down the corridor in a wheelchair. Around one o’clock in the morning. I caught a glimpse of his face but it was fuzzy. Never seen him before.”
“So nobody knows where Shorty is?”
“Nope.”
“I think we better find out where all these guys live and pay them some official visits. Talk to their parents and/or wives. I’ll try to get Dunlop’s address from his manager. Where are you now?”
“Still at the motel. Incoming weather looks iffy for us to start back now.”
“Black and I should be back home sometime tomorrow afternoon, if the weather holds out.”
“Okay.”
Claire paused. “Is Brianna still with you?”
“Yeah.”
“You two good?”
“Yeah, real good. It’s nice. See you tomorrow.”
Claire smiled as they hung up. Well, at least one thing was going well. That was something to be happy about. She headed over to Black, but her mind was on tomorrow and what they’d find when they drove out beyond the lake to the boonies. Right now, however, she just wanted to grab Black and get the hell out of the fight zone, away from the sound of doubled fists pummeling bare flesh and grunts of pain and Roman-Coliseum-style-out-for-blood crowd noises.
Chapter Twelve
Around ten o’clock the next morning, Claire and Black were taking the Kings Highway down ramp off Highway 40 on their way to Barnes Jewish Hospital. They negotiated their car through the heavy traffic around the huge hospital complex, left the rental in a big parking garage at the Center for Advanced Medicine building, which everybody called CAM. Then, after a long stroll across a glassed skywalk over Euclid Street, they ended up inside a richly appointed office that Black used whenever he treated his head cases at the giant teaching hospital. There was a one-way observation window that looked into the next room, through which Claire could see several comfortable couches and chairs and tables with puzzles and Barbie dolls and blocks and Hot Wheels’ cars on top of them.
“Do you use that room for therapy, Black?”
“Sometimes. Especially with the little guys. I usually let the parents observe from in here, unless the patient is over twelve. Teenage issues deal mainly with the parents, so the older kids want complete confidentiality about what they do and say.”
“Do you treat a lot of little kids?”
“More than you would think.”
“Well, that’s sad.”
“Yes, it is.” Black hesitated, and then said, “I usually allow Joe McKay to watch from an observation room back home when I’m seeing Lizzie.” He leaned back in the chair behind the desk and rocked a couple of times. Then he said, “Have you talked to McKay since he moved back to the lake?”
Surprised, Claire darted a quick look at him. “Joe’s back at the lake? I haven’t seen him or talked to him since we got back from New Orleans.”
“Apparently, Lizzie is terrified of that old Victorian house he was restoring over in Springfield. He said she gets hysterical whenever she sees it and refuses to go inside. So he just closed it up and brought her back to the lake. They’re living out on his farm again.”
“Well, it’s no wonder, poor baby. A real-life bogeyman kidnapped her out of that house. But it’s a shame, really. Joe loves that place on Walnut Street. He had some big plans in the works for his bed-and-breakfast inn.”
Black nodded and contemplated her for a moment. “Isn’t Joe from out around where you said some of your fighters live?”
“Yes, he is. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Maybe he knows some of them. Or their families. He might be able to fill you in on them before you and Bud go out there and look around.”
“Yeah, I bet he can. I’ll call him when we get back.” She smiled, encouraged by the new lead. “So you don’t mind me spending time alone with Joe, anymore? That’s a first.”
“Just so you wear that engagement ring on your finger and make sure he sees it. Then it won’t bother me at all.”
“That just sounds so unnecessarily possessive, Black. In your face, even.” She held up her left hand. “This ring doesn’t go in my nose, you know.”
“But it’s good enough right where it is to fend off interested men. Which means Joe McKay.”
“I think you overrate my appeal. None of my suspects seem to find me as desirable as you do, unless it’s that Fitch kid from last night. He thinks he’s God’s gift. One of those boys even thought I was a man. Kept calling me
sir
.”
Black scoffed at that. “I find that hard to believe. And who the hell exactly is this Fitch kid?”
“One of the fighters I interviewed last night. His come-ons were so clumsy that I was more amused than insulted. You need to remember his name. He’s probably one of your future patients.”
“Maybe I should have a talk with him now.”
Claire shook her head and then she laughed. “Or maybe you could challenge him to a duel. Come on, Black, give me a break here. You have nothing to worry about, and you know it. I’m a one-man woman.”
Then Claire waited for him to bring up the wedding but he said nary a word. Well, goody. Maybe he had meant what he said about letting her plan the thing. But hey, she’d believe that when she saw it. Maybe she ought to just be flattered. She changed the subject. “So when is Anna Kafelnikov supposed to come in?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“You think she’s skipping out on you?”
“No. Anna never misses a chance to get out of that compound.”
So they waited some more, and then a little bit more, and then a whole lot more. “Well, looks like she fooled you this time, Black.”
“She’ll be here. Just be patient. She’s usually late.”
Fine, except that Claire wasn’t patient and never had been. Bored to distraction while watching him scribble notes on some patient’s file, she finally said, “So, what did you think of the fighters you watched last night?”
Black glanced up. “Not very much. You could take down most of them with one hand tied behind your back. Hell, you can almost take me down when we go at it.”
Inordinately pleased, Claire tried not to show it. “Well, that is my ultimate goal, you know, to take you down. Hard, and make you beg for mercy.”
“Hard is right. But hey, anytime, anyplace, baby. But if I win, I get the reward I want. And you know what that is.”
Yeah, Claire knew exactly what that was, all right, and that certainly wouldn’t be any hardship on her, either. In fact, she would look forward to it.
If
he won. On the other hand, he could be talking about freedom to discuss wedding plans all night long and all the next day, too. “You’re on, buddy. Right here, right now. I dare you. Just come over here and see what you can do.”
“Bring it. Give it your best.” Black motioned her toward him using both hands.
Claire laughed at that, but their challenging words were cut short when Black’s mysterious patient finally showed up. The woman walked right into the office from a back hallway that the doctors probably used so that their patients out in the waiting room didn’t know they were goofing off or flirting with their nurses and/or dragging in to the office late with a hangover headache. Black stood up and gave the woman a quick hug. Then the Moscow crime boss’s elusive daughter turned and looked directly at Claire.
“So you are Claire Morgan. Well, I can certainly see that you are every bit as lovely as Nicky described you.”
Lovely
? No way was she
lovely,
of all things, and Claire bet Black didn’t use that word to describe her, either. If there was anything she wasn’t, it was lovely. She glanced at him, and he was nodding and smiling, apparently as pleased as could be that Anna thought Claire looked lovely. Now that was truly annoying. Like she was one of his five-star hotels that someone was admiring and booking into. Truth, though? Anna was spot-on beautiful. Dark-lashed blue eyes, long and silky black hair, delicate and patrician features, very tall with that willowy thing going on. Yep, she’d do in a pinch to any man with eyes in his head. But alas, there was sadness about her face, too, and she wasn’t trying to hide it. Not sure why, but Claire instantly felt sorry for her. She just looked so damn forlorn. Somehow she knew that the woman had suffered mightily, no question about it. She had given up her only child to Booker and Kate, and for the child’s own good. Claire understood the terrible grief of losing a child. She related to Anna Kafelnikov on a very deep and personal level.
“Thank you, Ms. Kafelnikov. I really appreciate your coming.”
“I’m Anna, Claire. And I’m always happy to see Nicky so I can escape that dismal armed camp I’m forced to live inside. This is just about the only privacy I ever have outside in the real world. Even now, there are two armed guards dogging my footsteps and watching my every move.”
“I don’t see how you can stand that.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Please, Anna, sit down. Let me take your coat.” That was Black, as polite as ever. The guy was just irresistible when he resorted to his Mr. Darcy-Jane Austin fancy good manners.
Anna slipped out of her long camel wool coat and matching leather gloves, and then she sat down in the armchair beside Claire’s and crossed her long legs. She wore a black flannel maxi skirt with tall black leather boots and a belted pink sweater set that looked like the cashmere ones that Black kept buying for Claire in the hopes she’d ix-nay some of her favorite but ratty black T-shirts. Anna’s hair was pulled back in a chic French twist without a strand out of place. She looked elegant and composed and yes,
lovely
, and she quickly settled into the same sad expression that Blythe Parker had worn. It looked like Missouri Mafia Molls were not exactly deliriously happy with their lot in life.
Black took his seat behind the desk again. “Claire is here on official business, Anna. She would like to ask you a few questions about Ivan. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes, I am. Of course.” She placed her attention back on Claire. “Has he killed someone again?”
Well, that was unexpected and uttered as nonchalantly as hell. Jeez Louise. “I’m not sure. That’s why you’re here. You are acquainted with a woman named Blythe Parker, are you not?”
“Yes, I know her extremely well.”
“When we interviewed her, she told us that Ivan Petrov was her ex-husband and that he had reason to commit the murder we are investigating. She had no proof to give us, but she seemed very sure that if he hadn’t done it himself, then he had ordered it done.”
“How is Blythe?”
“She looked fine when we saw her. Very pale and fragile and unhappy, but I think she is healthy, if that’s what you’re asking. She seemed devastated by her husband’s death.”
Anna sat straighter. “Paulie? They got Paulie?”
Oh, crap, Anna didn’t know. “I’m sorry, Ms. Kafelnikov, I assumed you knew.”
“No, I hadn’t heard.” She sighed, very heavily, very resignedly. “But I guess I’m not surprised. I knew Ivan was only waiting for the right opportunity.” She stopped, and sighed again. “And please call me Anna. I am not particularly proud of my last name.”
“All right.”
Anna gave another morose little smile. “It’s not easy being a member of a crime family. You are trapped inside a vicious cycle with people you love dearly but can’t condone what they do. It’s very hard to get out. It’s like being trapped in a bad dream with no way to escape.”
Claire dared a sidelong peek at Black, who sat stone-faced and said nothing. It suddenly occurred to her that Anna and Black had a lot in common. Maybe that’s why he offered to treat Anna’s depression and considered her such a good friend. Both were innocent people who’d done nothing wrong but had been caught up in the lawless acts of close family members. Except that Black had gotten out early and completely and had never really been involved. Anna had not been that lucky.
“Poor Paulie never had a chance after Blythe ran off with him. He was a marked man from that moment on. I tried to persuade my father to forbid Ivan to take revenge. I even traveled to Moscow to plead Blythe’s case. But it didn’t do much good. He wouldn’t order Ivan to leave them be, and Ivan felt personally insulted by her rejection.” She stopped, and shook her head. “Father did give Blythe permission to divorce Ivan, though, after I told him that I’d seen him slap her when he was drunk. My father cannot condone that kind of thing. He believes that a woman should be placed on a pedestal, especially one’s wife. Despite all of that, Ivan still loves Blythe dearly. Still resents her divorcing him. Blythe was always his prize possession, as if she were some rare piece of art that he coveted and cherished and could finally own.”
“So you think Ivan Petrov did kill Paulie Parker?”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised. How did he die?”
Claire hesitated and then said, “He was beaten to death.”
Anna heaved in another deep inhalation and placed her gaze down on her lap. She didn’t shed tears, but she looked very lonely sitting there, her hands clasped tightly together. Claire glanced back at Black, who still said nothing. This was her show, and Black was only there for moral support, as he liked to say when he was helping her on her cases. Which wasn’t true at all, of course. Black just loved to jump right in the middle of her homicide investigations whenever she would let him, and with both feet, too. Hell, he ought to give up making money hand over fist and become a cop.
“Was Ivan gone for any length of time during the last three days?”
“No. In fact, he has been at home most of the time for the last two weeks. One of his little sons has been sick with the flu. But he has loyal lieutenants to do his killing for him. He doesn’t dirty his own hands anymore. He had his apprenticeship down at that level in Russia, but he runs the show here. If he sanctioned the hit, he assigned it to his favorite hit men. If Paulie was beaten, it might have been Ivan’s fighters who did it. Ike or Mike, either one, or both together. They’re brutal, evil, disgusting excuses for human beings. I can’t abide being in their presence, not even for one minute. I get up and leave the room if they walk in. But he loves them, almost as much as he loves his own sons. You do know, don’t you, that Ivan got full custody of his and Blythe’s two children. He did it mainly to punish Blythe for walking out on him, which you already know, I suspect. I help him take care of them, and he does adore them, but those two boys have a terrible future in store for them. At present, however, he’s really into this cage fighting thing. He built a boxing ring in the compound. Since Blythe divorced him, that’s all he thinks about anymore. He’s obsessed with it.”
“As I understand it, both Sharpe twins fought in Kansas City and then at Lake of the Ozarks. Did they return home after that?”
“No, they didn’t. And they didn’t send word back, either. Ivan was furious about it and sent some guys out to find them.”
That info perked up Claire considerably. “Does that happen often? The two of them going out on their own like that without Ivan knowing where they are?”
Anna smiled. “No one dares to cross Ivan. He rules with an ironclad fist. He gets off on it. Power. He’s all about power. If he had specifically ordered them to be back at the compound at a certain time, they would have been there or suffered dire consequences. Apparently, he didn’t expressly command them to get back quickly and was only annoyed they showed up later than he would have preferred. They said that they were out looking for Shorty Dunlop to dish out some payback. Apparently, Dunlop embarrassed one of them in the ring and they couldn’t stand the humiliation.”