Ransom Beach (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 2) (3 page)

A construction crew was setting up for work just in front of Roth's building. I stood on the boundary of the area they had taped off. I was eye level with Gil Diaz' window on the side of the building and had a few minutes to kill while Lido wrapped up with Tully inside. I figured I'd make a little small talk with the Con Ed guys—see if they'd noticed anything suspicious.

The street had been opened up. It didn't take long before one of the guys climbed out of the hole.

"Hey there, got a minute?"

The construction guy was wearing a knit hat under his hardhat and a quilted jacket. He turned his head at the sound of my voice.

"What can I do you for?" he asked. Cute, he was one of the cute ones, a guy with moxie.

I flashed the gold and blue shield. "Detective Chalice, can I ask you a question?"

"Oh," he said, sounding clearly disappointed. "I thought you were one of those construction site groupies. You know, the kind that follow hardhats from one manhole to another."

A construction groupie? Please, climb back into your hole, would ya? "Sorry, no backstage pass. How long have you guys been out here?"

"Lady, I been here the whole goddamn week, freezing my butt off. Can't remember a December as cold as this one. It's freaking brutal out here. Now is there something you want or can I burrow back into the earth?"

"You got a name, construction guy?"

"Jack."

"Really Jack or Jack as a euphemism for get lost?"

"Really Jack. Jack with an aching back, Jack McKenna, cold, tired Jack McKenna, working Saturday OT so the old lady can spoil my three red headed darlings with more Christmas presents than I can ever possibly pay for."

"'Tis the season."

"Yeah...'tis."

"I'm investigating a homicide, Jack." I pointed to Gil Diaz' window. "Right in there. Anything go on recently that you think I might need to know about?"

"You're shitting me, the big PR?"

"If by PR you mean Puerto Rican, then yes. Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"I saw him, big guy, filled the entire window. He was standing there, looking out, drinking booze."

I already knew he was right. Tulley had identified ethanol traces on the glass fragments found near Diaz' body. That and the open bottle of
Captain Morgan's
spiced rum pretty much gave it away. "How did you know it was booze?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Just asking, Jack."

"I'm an Irishman, dearie," McKenna said, conjuring up a pretty exaggerated brogue. "I can tell by the way he held the glass and sipped at it. You tend to pick up on these things when you're out here freezing your nuts off and some lucky bastard is peeping at you from inside a nice, warm apartment sipping spirits. You don't sip club soda the way that PR was nursing his hooch."

"It was rum."

"Captain Morgan's?"

"You're pretty good, Jack. You didn't notice anyone else did you—a guy with a gun perhaps?"

Jack pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"Didn't hear a gun go off?"

Jack had a pair of noise attenuators hanging around his neck. I should have put two and two together on my own, but I was too busy listening to my teeth chatter. He grabbed one end in his gloved hand and pulled it out to show me. "Jackhammer. Noisy." He took them off and offered them to me. "Honestly, try these on, you won't hear jack shit."

I held up my hand. "Wouldn't doubt it for a minute."

One of Jack's buddies climbed out of the street hole. This guy was a real piece of work—I could tell at a glance. His front teeth were cracked. He was wearing sunglasses and a bandana. More than anything else, he had that unmistakable look about him—it was like a neon sign that read 'asshole.' Of course I could be wrong about these things, but it hasn't happened lately...or ever, now that I think about it. "Hey, leave him alone, he's married," the asshole said.

"I'm guessing you're not?" I don't know why I asked, I just did. I should have just let him do his thing and go back in the hole. Why is it that I can't leave well enough alone?

He swaggered over to me, his arms extended out from his sides like he owned the whole world. "Divorced three years and loving it—best move I ever made."

I'm guessing your ex is walking on air. "Sorry to hear that." I held up my badge. "Say, you working here yesterday"

"Me? No...called in sick."

Big surprise on that one. "Thanks. Say, mind giving me and Jack a little privacy? We're discussing business."

Tall, dark, and toothless shook his head, giving us his blessing to continue. It was a real blow to his ego, not being asked to hang around. He tried to make it look like he was sloughing it off, but didn't do a great job of it. I waited for him to locate some equipment and go back down below before resuming my conversation with Jack. "How about the peepers? They weren't covered up. You didn't see anyone creepy walking by, no one going in and out of the building that seemed like they might take a life?"

Jack took a moment to reflect. I could see that he was giving it an honest effort. He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry." Then, as soon as he had ended his statement, he remembered something. "No, wait. There was this guy. I was taking my lunch break. He kept looking at me while I was drinking my coffee."

"Can you give me a description?"

"Yeah." Jack nodded as he spoke. "Not too tall, Spanish, a little past his prime if you know what I mean. Scruffy little goatee, knit hat, and a satin bomber jacket. Ugly little guy, kept looking at me like he was King Shit. Kind of guy you want to smack around just on general principles."

"Lunch break—noon-ish?"

Jack nodded.

"Can you describe him to a sketch artist?"

"Will it get me into your warm station house and out of the cold?"

"It will at that."

"Hell, lady, I'll paint you a fucking Rembrandt."

"You got a foreman you need to check in with?"

"Yeah."

"Well, go advise him. I'll be back for you in ten minutes."

"Cool. Sure you're not a groupie trying to lure an unsuspecting laborer into her sex lair?"

I smiled. I knew he was playing. "Sorry, Jack, no—just a cop trying to pin a dirtbag for icing a hard working PR. You okay with that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Say, they got hot coffee down at the station?"

"Donuts too."

Jack laughed. "Okay, ten minutes—don't keep me waiting."

The guy Jack had described could have been anyone or could have been our perp. There were two factors in our favor—time of day and proximity to the crime scene. It couldn't hurt to circulate this guy's sketch. I headed off to round up Lido.

You don't realize how cold you really are until you hit the warm air. I saw Lido the second I entered the building—he was knocking on a neighbor's door.

Lorelei Morris opened the door. She didn't pay attention to me as I walked up the hallway, stopping next to Lido just outside her apartment. It was so easy to read her mind—she had that hungry look, as if she hadn't had a good meal in years and Lido was a Kobe steak.

Lorelei looked like a well-aged Veronica Lake. Her gray hair was dyed chestnut brown and fell in a long sweep across her left eye. She was in good shape for a woman that I guessed had pushed sixty about as far as it would go. She was wearing a navy Andrew Sister's skirt suit with notched lapels. A white apron was tied around her waist. She was looking at Lido with goo-goo eyes when she realized that she had come to the door wearing her apron. She yanked it off quickly and rolled it up into a ball. "Can I help you?" she asked
hopefully.

Lido and I had our badges hanging around our necks. "Sorry to disturb you, ma'am," Lido began. "I'm Detective Lido and this is my partner, Detective Chalice. We're investigating your neighbor's murder."

Lorelei's mouth dropped precipitously. "Gil, dead?"

No, all these police officers are here for the big mahjong game.

I studied Lorelei's expression—she was shocked and upset, understandably so.

"When?" she asked.

"Sometime yesterday afternoon," Lido replied.

She covered her mouth with her hand and then stepped into the corridor and looked around. "Oh my."

Lorelei was
just
getting it—someone had murdered her neighbor, just down the hall—I could tell she had just gotten hit with that creepy feeling.

"May we come in?" I asked.

Lorelei was lost in space. My request brought her back. "Where are my manners?" She smiled sweetly. "Of course, come in, won't you?"

Lorelei tossed her apron into the kitchen as she passed it on her way into the dining room.

"I hope we're not disturbing you, Ms. Morris."

"Oh, no, I'm here alone." She pulled out two of the dining room chairs. "Please have a seat." I felt as if I were invisible as I walked past her and sat down. Her eyes were all over Lido.

"Are you married, Ms. Morris?" I asked.

Lorelei waited until Lido was in his seat and then turned to face yours truly, the invisible woman. "My husband's an OB-GYN. He had to run over to the hospital."

"Delivery?" Lido asked.

Lorelei nodded unhappily. "Worst job in the world."

I did a quick sweep of the table—silver chafing dishes and fine crystal. The chandelier was spectacular and the table was definitely not veneer. Pays well though, doesn't it? I couldn't help wondering why a New York physician was still living in the ground floor apartment he was able to afford as a first year resident, but the neighborhood was safe, except for the homicide next door, of course. Doctor and Mrs. Morris had probably salted away a bundle.

"His little pager goes off at all hours of the day and night." She plopped into the chair next to Lido, rested her head on thatched fingers, and gazed deeply into Lido's eyes. "I'm always alone."

Oh you poor thing. Some women are so transparent.

Lido saw me looking on unhappily. He gave me a quick smile. I winked back. I was far from shaken. Lorelei wasn't a bad looking older woman, but knowing Lido, I knew that he didn't have a fetish for menopausal socialites.

"Would the two of you like something to eat?" She asked Lido and then turned to me out of obligation. "I just baked a chocolate
soufflé."

"We're fine," Lido replied.

Lorelei crossed her legs. They were damn good for a senior citizen's. "Are you sure I can't tempt you?"

Why you conniving old bitch!

Lido didn't respond. I checked him out—goddamn it, he was definitely tempted. Lorelei began to smile.

"No, thank you," I said, bursting their dessert filled bubble. She shot me a dagger. Tough. "I'm sure your husband will be hungry when he gets home."

"I used to wait for him, but I wised up. Why should we both eat cold food?" She stood unexpectedly. "I was just fixing a screwdriver. Would you like one?" Again, her offer was directed at Lido. "How about you, honey?" she asked finally.

"We're on duty, Mrs. Morris," Lido responded.

"Are you sure?" Lorelei persisted as she walked into the kitchen. She returned with her cocktail, sat down facing Lido, and crossed her legs. "It's only orange juice and a little vodka," she said innocently and then took a long sip, looking over the top of the glass at Lido with winsome eyes.

If you think I read men well, my ability to assess the female mind is ten times more astute. What Lorelei was saying in effect was, "Three more shots of this and I'll have my legs wrapped around your head."

All right, enough of this cat and mouse. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Morris. Have you seen anything suspicious in the last few days? See any strangers lurking about?" Lido asked.

"Strangers?" Lorelei seemed pensive. "No. No strangers."

Then it occurred to me, Diaz was having a drink with a friend. "Did Gil have any friends—regular visitors?"

She wrinkled her nose. "He does have one friend, I think. I don't really know what you'd call him. I try to keep to myself. He's a bit on the seedy side, if you know what I mean."

"Spanish, not too tall, fuzzy little goatee?"

Both Lorelei and Gus turned to me in astonishment.

"Why, yes," she replied. "How did you know?"

"Just following a hunch."

Lido looked like he would burst with pride. Well maybe I couldn't bake a chocolate
soufflé,
but I was a pretty intuitive cop and with Jack's description and Lorelei's matching, we now had a rock solid lead.

Davis
Mack sat
in
the waiting area at New York University Medical Center, occupying his favorite chair, the one in the corner, the one that kept his trophy out of plain sight. Davis Mack, AKA Dee-Mack had punched his way through the streets of Bedford Stuyvesant and then later the boxing ring. Dee-Mack had a devastating right cross but not much else. He kept a cauliflower ear as a memento of his fighting days. He was always conscious of it and did his best to keep it out of sight. Today, he had positioned his ear by the far wall where it was out of sight from the reception counter and the flow in and out of the waiting room.

Mack was also conscious of his powerful body that had grown thick with years. He was partial to dark suits that drew the eye from his stocky physique. Today it was navy, a good quality Italian suit, athletically cut to belie his massive frame. His appearance was intimidating despite all his precautions.

Mack grimaced and then closed the newspaper. The Knicks had disappointed him again, having dropped three of their last four to scrub teams. He had been a fan since '68. He could still remember lying in bed, listening to Marv Albert calling the game over the radio. Those were magic days for him—Reed, Debusschere, Frazier, Bradley, and Barnett, one of the best squads of all time. Every successive generation of Knick's basketball had been a step down from there. Nowadays, he watched without passion. Basketball was more about attitude and salary than talent and teamwork.

Mack checked his watch—Manny would be done in a few minutes. He began thinking about today's route home. He deviated a little bit each day, not that there was a world of possibility. Second or Park? He mulled his options. To the best of his knowledge, he'd never been followed, but his training had taught him not to drop his guard.