Finders Keepers Losers Die (24 page)

"No! It's just that smoking seems to relax
you, like a release for all your troubles."

"Like I said, it's been a bad day." He
rested his forearms on the railing. The cigarette dangled from his
fingers into space. The sun had slipped behind the trees and the
air had cooled without the sunshine.

I leaned against the rail too, facing him,
my elbow on the metal bar. "Anything to do with Lou's murder?" I
sipped the martini. Surprisingly, I felt more sober than I had when
he'd arrived.

"Maybe."

"Want to talk about it? Since I'm involved,
you might as well. I won't tell a soul."

His sighed heavily. "You're going to badger
me until I do, aren't you?"

"Yep."

He took another drag and turned round,
resting his back against the rail. "I suppose it's okay to tell
you. Do you remember the laptop computer at Scarletti's?"

"The one in the closet?"

He nodded. "It's gone."

"From the closet?"

"From the evidence room."

Holy shit! "But, but, that's not possible.
Aren't those things under lock and key or something?"

"They are."

"Did you get a look at it first?"

"The computer guys made a copy of the hard
drive. None of the evidence is lost."

I breathed a sigh. "Lucky."

Scarface didn't seem to think so. He looked
pissed off. Big time.

And it just occurred to me why it was such a
huge deal. "Only a cop could steal it from the evidence room."

His nod was barely perceptible.

Which meant Lou's murderer was a cop. Or he
had an accomplice on the force. Christ.

"So what was on the computer?"

He shrugged. "Actually, nothing much. Or so
we thought. Now we have to check it out again. Or the copy.
Something must have been on it for the killer to go to such lengths
to steal it."

The code number perhaps? "So it was just day
to day stuff on there?" I tried to sound casual. "Like the Internet
and porn and bank details?"

"Yeah, I suppose. Why?"

"Just asking."

"Cat, you never just ask. Come on, spill.
What do you know?"

"First of all, you tell me what was on there
relating to banks."

He flicked his cigarette butt to the floor
and ground it under his heel. "He had three banking web sites
bookmarked. Bank West, City wide and Bank Swiss. He had statements
for Bank West in his apartment but nothing for the other two.
There's no reference to them anywhere else on the computer. So
what's your interest?"

Gut instinct told me it was time to come
clean. I couldn't kid myself anymore that Roberta and her missing
"jewelry" weren't connected to the murder. I went inside for paper
and a pencil and rejoined him on the balcony. I wrote down the code
number.

"I found this number and a key at Lou's
mother's place."

"His mother? She just gave them to you?"

"Don't ask. But I think the key unlocks a
safety deposit box and the number is half the box number."

"Possible. I can check the two American
banks but the Swiss aren't so forthcoming with account information.
Do you think that's where the jewels are?"

"I think that's where the money is. From the
bank heist twelve years ago."

He whistled. "Nice thinking." He looked
impressed. "So when did you get this?"

Uh-oh
. "Very recently."

He didn't look like he believed me but he
didn't push it. "Of course you'll be giving me the key." He held
out his palm.

"I don't have it here. As soon as I get it,
I'll drop it at the police station." After I made a copy. "So do
you have a suspect in mind for the computer theft?"

He shook his head. "Not a clue. He used a
fake ID and signature."

"He?"

"The ID was male."

"I've got a question," I said.

"Shoot."

"Do detectives ever visit suspects on their
own?"

One corner of his mouth curved in a smile.
"Worried about me are you?"

Oh, he thought I was talking about
him
. I held my finger and thumb a half inch apart. "A
little." He seemed to like the idea so I didn't enlighten him.
There was no point in voicing my suspicions about Stankovic. Not
yet anyway.

"Don't worry, Cat, we always go in pairs.
Safety in numbers. Except in undercover, but I've got good
backup."

The front door of the apartment opened and
Gina walked in. She threw her bag on the couch before she noticed
us outside. She joined us on the balcony and nodded at Scarface who
nodded back. "You going to bite my head off again?" she asked me
cautiously.

"Sorry."

"He was only worried about you, you
know."

I sighed. "I know. But I wish everyone would
stop worrying." I glared first at her, then at Scarface. "I can
take care of myself. And I'll be on high alert from now on."

"You better be."

"He could have killed you if he'd wanted
to," Scarface said.

We both looked at him. "Do you think so?" I
asked.

He nodded. "If he was driving right at you,
full speed, one fat guy wasn't going to save you if the intent was
to kill."

"But why?"

"First the fire, then the car, and both
times you weren't harmed. You said it yourself after the fire.
Someone wants to scare you not kill you. For what, I don't know."
He brushed past us and went inside. Gina and I followed. "I've got
to go." He looked at Gina and raised one brow.

"I'll, um, just be…somewhere else," she
said, heading to her bedroom.

Scarface drew me into a hug when her door
closed. "You be careful. Just because he only wants to scare you
now doesn't mean he won't change his mind."

Comforting.

He tipped my chin up with his fingertip.
Even with the sensuality I saw in his moss green eye, I wasn't
expecting the kiss. It blew me away. Scarface was a mighty good
kisser. Soft, sure and heart-stoppingly sweet. Totally at odds with
his gruff exterior.

It was over too soon. He withdrew, leaving
me with my eyes closed and my lips puckered. I heard the front door
shut before I opened them.

"Can I come out now?" Gina called from her
bedroom. "Or are you two getting down and dirty on my floor?"

"He's gone."

She emerged dressed in jeans and a white
shirt. "That man's mysterious, the way he comes and goes like
smoke. I can see why you like him."

"He's okay. Will's better looking and more
dependable." For some reason, I felt I needed to defend him. I
don't know why. He definitely had his faults—like his
over-protectiveness, the lecturing, the attitude and, oh yeah, his
age. Then again, Scarface was just as old.

"But he's got that certain something." She
headed into the kitchen and poured herself a vodka and lime. "Did
you sleep with him yet?"

"No!" Thinking about it didn't count.

She looked at me like she didn't believe me.
Hardly fair but at least she didn't try to make me feel guilty. "So
you still want to go out tonight?" she asked. "I could do with some
fun after this day."

Poor Gina. I'd forgotten about her breakup.
She needed some TLC of the liquid variety. We both did.

"It's okay if you want to stay in," she
continued. "I understand."

"No, let's go out. You need to forget about
the computer programmer and I need to stop hiding. If the aim is
just to scare me, like Scarface said, then I refuse to co-operate.
I don't have a stubborn streak for nothing."

***

"
You're twenty-eight
.
Time to stop
getting drunk every night and grow up.
"

"Dad?"

"It's me," said Gina. "And if you want to be
at work on time, you'd better get up now." I forced my stinging
eyes to open. As always, Gina looked perfect. Flawless skin, pink
cheeks, bright eyes. Or maybe she was still drunk. We hadn't
returned home until four so it was possible.

"Gina," I said, my voice as gravelly as
Scarface's. "My nightmares are telling me to give up drinking for a
while."

She sat on the edge of the couch and sighed
heavily. "Thank God. Trying to keep up with you is turning me into
an alcoholic."

I sat up and stretched. "I thought you
wanted to go out all the time?"

"Last night, yes, I needed to. We both did.
The other times…" She shrugged. "I did it because it's what we used
to do whenever you came back to Renford."

"But I only did it because I thought you
wanted to. You were always the party animal."

"But you were this L.A. girl with a fabulous
L.A. wardrobe and lifestyle," she said wistfully. "I didn't want
you to think of Renford as a backwater after the sophistication and
fun of Hollywood."

"Sophistication? Fun? Girl, you've got to
stop watching
Entertainment Tonight
. Hollywood is only a
party town for the stars, not the extras. For us, it's about
kissing the right butt and pretending to enjoy yourself when the
butts belonged to arrogant jerks who didn't live in the real world
or dumb asses with inflated egos and body parts."

She screwed up her nose. "Sounds horrible
when you put it like that. But it can't have been all that bad or
you wouldn't have stayed as long as you did. Nine years? Ten?"

"I lost count after five." I sighed. "And I
don't know why I stayed that long." It certainly wasn't for the
lifestyle—I burn easy so the beach was out and party drugs weren't
my thing. I guess I was always going to be an outsider in the city
where being 'In' was everything. "I suppose I just didn't want to
be here in Renford, so being there was as good a place as any."

She pushed a strand of hair away from my
eyes. "Sure it had nothing to do with your father? From what I
remember of him, he would have hated you living in L.A., hated you
being an actress."

"Yeah, he did. But that's not why I
stayed."

"No? Then why did you return home only when
he died?"

I hugged my knees. "Because Mom needed
me."

"Your mother is the most self-sufficient
woman I know."

"If she was that self-sufficient, she'd have
left my father years ago. He stifled her creativity, her free
spirit." I heard the bitter edge in my voice and wondered where the
hell it had come from.

"Did he?" She shrugged. "I don't know. I
just can't imagine her…being stifled."

"What else explains why she stuck with a
hardass like him? He had some sort of hold on her."

"Maybe she loved him."

I scoffed and got up. "Gina, you've met my
Mom and Dad. How could two such opposites possibly love each other?
They were together so long partly out of habit and partly because
of the financially dependent position he'd forced her into. She
didn't work, you know."

"If you say so." She stood too and picked up
her bag. "I'm glad we don't have to get sloshed every night
anymore. I'm too old."

"Twenty-eight's not that old, Gina."

"Today it feels like eighty-eight."

We laughed and she left. I showered and
dressed in three-quarter length denim pants and a pale pink shirt
with pink shoes. I wasn't planning on going into the office until
later. After Scarface's assurance that someone just wanted to scare
me and not kill me, I wanted to get on with the investigation.

Avoiding Will was a bonus. I didn't want
another confrontation over me giving up the case.

While I ate breakfast, I got out the phone
book and found the name I wanted. After downing a strong coffee in
one gulp I headed out, handbag slung over my shoulder, ready to
tackle anything, or anyone. Fortunately I didn't have to prove my
newfound confidence because I wasn't sure how it would hold up if
confronted by a murderer. The street was quiet, but even so, I
glanced over my shoulder several times just to make sure before I
got in the car. And after. And on my way across town.

My next target lived not far from The Grotto
so I drove along the now familiar route past the club and into a
part of Renford that looked like it hadn't seen a blade of grass or
a leaf since the city was settled. Max Warshenski lived in the
middle of the concrete jungle in a high rise apartment building
filled mostly with government housing tenants. The poorest of the
poor. Immigrant refugees, the chronically unemployed, the elderly,
disabled, and ex-cons. An eclectic mix in an area with an out of
control crime rate.

Ever since Scarface mentioned the stolen
laptop, I hadn't been able to get one fact out of my head.
Stankovic had visited Grimes at night, on his own. Why?

I probably should have mentioned it to
Scarface, but the implication—that Stankovic and Grimes were in it
together—sounded so outrageous that I wasn't even sure of it
myself.

Since speaking to Grimes turned me cold, I
thought I'd try another angle. Even if Mad Max couldn't shed some
light on that matter, I still wanted to talk to him. All I had to
do was pluck up enough courage to go up to his apartment.

Ten minutes later, I bit the bullet and made
myself get out of the car. I walked up eight flights of stairs,
dragging myself the last few steps by holding onto the rail. At the
top, I slumped against the wall and sucked air into my burning
lungs. Thank God no one saw me in that embarrassing state. No
wonder Mad Max was so skinny. I'd be a rake too if I had to lug
shopping up eight flights.

I found his apartment and knocked on the
door. No answer. I banged again but still no answer. I looked at
the evil stairs. No way was I climbing all that way for nothing.
I'd wait until he returned.

Five minutes later I'd had enough of
waiting. I studied the door then looked down at my pretty, pointy
toed shoes. Definitely not the kind that could break down doors.
Then I remembered the lock pick tool I'd borrowed from work when I
cleaned out the storeroom. I fished it out of my handbag and after
a few attempts, the door clicked open.