A Novel Way to Die (16 page)

“Ladies,” James interjected in a conciliatory tone, “let us not lose sight of the
goal here. We want to find Ms. Aguilar swiftly, and we want to bring Mr. Benedetto’s
killer to justice. What harm can there be in approaching both problems from multiple
angles and see where they intersect?”

“Fine time to play peacemaker, James,” was Jake’s wry retort. Then she sighed and
said to Darla, “You win. Go on, let’s hear Hamlet’s list of suspects.”

“It’s still a work in progress,” Darla loftily informed her as she reached for her
page. She gave Jake a two-sentence recap of Dumas’s tale—a skill she’d developed during
her tenure working at the store—and then began reading her the short list.

“I figure we can leave off the musketeer names,” she conceded once she ran through
those names, “but then we had Maria Theresa, as in Louis XIV’s wife. It’s a little
too coincidental that Tera’s full name is—”

“Maria Teresa,” Jake finished for her.

“Then there’s the author’s first name, Alexandre Dumas, which is sort of like Alex
Putin.”

“
The
Alex Putin? As in, the czar-father of the local construction business?” Jake considered
this a moment and then shrugged. “His hands are clean, meaning no arrest record around
here, but the rumors fly. The thing is, a run-of-the-mill bashing on the head is a
bit understated for those guys, if you know what I mean. They tend to go for something
more spectacular, lots of blood spatter, to send a message. But might as well leave
him on the list. Who else you got?”

“Robert.”

“Robert? You mean, ex-goth-kid-who-works-here-now Robert? You really think he has
something to do with this?”

Darla took a deep breath and reluctantly nodded.

“It’s possible. I can’t picture him deliberately hurting anyone,” she said, recalling
the story of how he’d defended the girl at the porn shop, “but he is the only person
so far who saw Tera after she left her mother’s house on Wednesday night. And then
he was evasive about what he was doing there that late.”

“Well, he does live in the vicinity, doesn’t he?” was Jake’s reasonable reply. “And
you know kids that age. They can stay out all night and still make it to work or school
the next day. Loitering doesn’t equal murder, so I’d say that’s a bit of a stretch,
too.”

“Sure. But how many kids his age are also best buddies with Alex Putin?”

Jake gave her a sharp look. “You’re saying that Robert is friends with that guy? Tell
me more.”

“Well, maybe not best buddies,” Darla conceded, “but Robert told me he did construction
work for this Putin guy on the side. And when a girl was being hassled at his old
job, he said he threatened the harasser with Putin’s name. But remember the copper
pipe stolen from Barry and Curt? If Robert was doing the stealing for the Russian
gang people, that could be a tie-in.”

“Interesting, but a lot of conjecture, and none of it necessarily incriminating. Still,
I’ll mention it to Reese. But you’ve left a few people off your list. What about Hilda,
or your boyfriend, Barry?”

“Barry is
not
my boyfriend,” Darla shot back, feeling herself blush yet again, “but how can you
suspect him? Curt’s been his best friend for thirty years. Besides, I was with him
when we found Curt. No one could pretend to be that upset.”

“Guess you’ve never been to the movies, kid,” Jake said with a grin. “They give out
awards for that kind of thing.” The she sobered. “And I don’t want to think about
Hilda being involved, either, but she was not a happy camper when she hired me to
dig up dirt on the guy. You talk about Mama Grizzly with these overprotective mothers?
Well, let’s just say she rates in the Mama T-Rex category. She told me she would do
anything to protect Tera, and I damn well believe her.”

“So who do
you
think killed Mr. Benedetto?” James wanted to know.

Jake shrugged. “Not my concern. My job is to find Tera. But here’s the reality: half
the time the killer is someone the victim knows, but the other half of the time he—or
she—is some random person that your victim had the bad luck to run across. So take
my advice and keep your eyes open, but leave the detecting to Reese.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Darla agreed, crumpling her list. “It just seems like nothing
is happening very fast here.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, kid.”

Jake dragged the sunglasses off her black curls and ran a weary hand through her hair
before settling the mirrored shades back in place.

“Take it from an old dog who’s been there, Reese is busting his butt on this. It’s
the whole tip of the iceberg versus what’s under the water . . . you, the public,
don’t see a fraction of what’s going on behind the scenes. Remember, he’s the one
who has access to all the forensic evidence. Who knows what they might have found
in that brownstone to tie someone to the crime. And don’t forget there are two cell
phones involved, Curt’s and Tera’s.”

“I understand about Curt’s phone,” Darla conceded with a frown. “Reese can download
all his calls and phone numbers and look for a pattern or for some new suspects, right?
But what good will Tera’s phone records do Reese if she’s not answering her cell or
calling anyone?”

“Ah, yes, I believe it is called cell phone pinging,” James answered for Jake. To
Darla, who stared at him in surprise, he added, “One can learn all sorts of interesting
things watching cable television.”

The ex-cop, meanwhile, was nodding in approval.

“One of the little miracles of modern technology. As long as your cell phone is turned
on, it sends signals to whatever cell tower is closest to you, twenty-four/seven,
even when you’re not talking. If you know the location of the cell tower, you know
where someone is, within a certain range. Person moves around, she can be tracked
by which cell towers the signal is bouncing to. Of course, that’s only good for narrowing
the location to a few blocks. But now that most phones come with GPS, the police can
pinpoint their suspect to within a few feet.”

Which, on the one hand, was reassuring if you wanted a loved one found, but also a
bit too Big Brother-ish for Darla’s comfort. Curious, she asked, “Can you do that,
too, as a private investigator?”

Jake nodded. “That’s what I was working on this morning. I’ve got a buddy who handles
this sort of thing for me, and I’m just waiting for a call back. Legally, I can’t
do everything that Reese can—some of it takes a warrant—but I’ll only be a few steps
behind him. With luck we’ll have Tera tracked down by the end of today.”

So saying, Jake straightened the stack of fliers she’d set down, and then picked up
the novel that Martha Washington had brought to the counter earlier.

“Wow,” she commented. “Pretty gruesome stuff for kids they’re putting out these days.
That’s awfully graphic artwork.”

“Guess that’s why they call it a graphic novel,” Darla explained with a reflexive
smile. “They’re written for adults, not children, and they’re illustrated by some
of the field’s top artists. Think of those old
Classics Illustrated
comic books from a few decades back, except really ramped up.”

“Yeah, well that blood-covered ape or whatever it is on the cover sure looks ramped
up . . . and that half-naked gal, too.”

She turned the book so that Darla could see the cover. Darla bit back a gasp and all
but snatched the novel from her friend’s hand.

“Look, James, it’s the graphic novel of Edgar Allan Poe’s
The Murders in the Rue Morgue
,” she exclaimed. “Martha said she found this lying on the floor near the reference
shelves. No way did it get there all by itself. Someone had to pull it off the shelf
and move it.”

“Are you suggesting that Hamlet has given us another clue?”

“Why not?” Darla smoothed her crumpled list and grabbed her pen again. “There it is,
plain as day on the cover”—she pointed—“the word ‘murder.’”

“Yes, but I am sure you will recall that the murders in question were not committed
by a human. Do you wish to add an orangutan to Hamlet’s list of suspects?”

The store manager’s tone was politely inquiring, but Darla swore she heard suppressed
amusement in his voice. But this latest clue had just bumped another name to the top
of her list.

“I’ve already got an orangutan,” she replied with a triumphant nod. “Porn Shop Bill.
Otherwise known as the Not-So-Great Ape to his employees. They call him that because
of his long arms and orange hair. Pretty much an insult to all orangutans, if you
ask me.”

Then another thought occurred to her, and she stared at the pair of them in consternation.
“But that’s not all. I just remembered something that Robert said. Apparently, one
of his coworkers claimed that Bill once attacked a guy with a hammer as repayment
for an insult!”

“Better mention that to Reese, pronto, so he can—” Jake began, only to be cut short
by the disco strains of the Bee Gee’s long-ago hit, “Stayin’ Alive,”
blasting from her cell phone. “Speaking of Reese,” she said, and punched the “Talk”
button. “Martelli here.”

Darla could hear the staccato rhythm of a voice speaking on the other end, though
the sound was too faint for her to make out any words. Jake punctuated the one-sided
conversation with a few “uh-huhs” before ending with a, “Meet you there in a minute.”

“Did Reese find something?” Darla demanded before the other woman had even pressed
the “Off” key on her phone.

Jake tucked the cell back into her pocket. Though the ex-cop’s expression appeared
deliberately neutral, Darla felt her stomach knot as she met Jake’s gaze. Finally,
Jake nodded.

“You know what I told you about tracking down someone by using the cell tower pings
and GPS? Pretty much works every time.”

“I presume that means the police have located Ms. Aguilar?” James asked, sounding
almost as apprehensive as Darla abruptly felt.

When Jake replied, however, her answer wasn’t quite what Darla had expected to hear.
“No Tera yet. But we’re getting close. Reese has tracked down her cell phone.”

FOURTEEN

DARLA HAD HEARD OF DUMPSTER DIVING, BUT WHAT REESE
was doing fell into a potentially far more dangerous category.

Leaving James and Hamlet to mind the shop, Darla had accompanied Jake over to Barry’s
brownstone. There, they found the detective, the battered tan four-door that was assigned
to him while on duty parked halfway onto the curb. Barry, wearing his usual gray hooded
sweatshirt, sat on his stoop, his expression unreadable as Reese stood waist deep
in the rented roll-off Dumpster that Barry and Curt had been using for their construction
debris. Stripped down to his dress shirt and trousers, he wore leather work gloves
and clutched a large black flashlight, which he was using as both a light source and
a makeshift pry bar.

Darla stared uneasily at the container and tried to ignore her lurching stomach. Though
no one had said anything aloud, Darla realized chances were that wherever Tera’s phone
was found, she would be, too. And that did not bode well at all for the girl’s continued
welfare.

Shakily, Darla settled onto the stoop beside Barry and wondered what in the heck she
was thinking, tagging along with Jake to the scene. Darla had had the noble idea of
offering Barry some sort of moral support. But now, given that she might well be about
to witness discovery of a second crime, she fervently wished that she’d stayed back
at the shop with James and Hamlet.

But finding anything inside the weather-beaten red container might take a while. It
was full of broken plywood and plasterboard, all of which stuck out from its open
top. Discarded paint rollers and empty plastic and metal buckets, caked with plaster
and paint, were sandwiched among the debris, while a pile of filthy pink insulation
took up a good-sized section near the rear. A dirty ribbon of fluorescent yellow plastic
that Darla recognized as crime scene tape dangled from one corner of the Dumpster
and flapped like a discarded party streamer with the slight breeze of the late afternoon.

While Jake went to join Reese, picking her way through the random scattering of two-by-fours
the detective had apparently already tossed out of the Dumpster, Darla gave Barry
what she hoped was a comforting smile.

“So much for a tidy work site,” she ventured.

She earned a polite, momentary flash of white teeth for her attempt at a joke. Then
Barry fixed what appeared to be an angry gaze on the Dumpster again. “I thought the
police were finished here, but he had a warrant and everything.”

“I hope he had a tetanus shot, too,” Darla answered, cringing a little as she heard
Reese curse and then shake one gloved hand like he’d been injured. “There are probably
all kinds of nails and stuff in there.”

“Nails, wire, insulation, linoleum.” Barry shrugged in agreement. “You name it, we
tore it out of the place. Any idea what’s he’s looking for?”

Darla glanced at him in surprise. Apparently, despite the warrant, Reese had mentioned
nothing to the man about Tera or her cell phone. Recalling the lecture that she’d
received from Reese the last time that she—as he had so bluntly put it—had blabbed,
Darla prudently shook her head.

“I’m just here with Jake.”

Besides, it could all be a false alarm, she reminded herself. No need to distress
the man unduly until there was good reason. Then, taking a deep breath, she added,
“Sorry about the other night when you stopped by. You took me by surprise. And that
whole hiding-out-in-the-powder-room thing was Reese’s idea. He sprang that on me after
I’d already buzzed you in. I was kind of caught, and I didn’t know what to do, so
I went along with it.”

“Yeah, well, it did feel kind of like an ambush, but I understand where you’re coming
from. A cop tells you to jump, you do it.”

Which sounded a bit like Hilda’s attitude, Darla thought, wondering where Barry had
gotten
his
jaundiced view of the police. Then he added, “The thing is, I got the impression
you know this cop personally, too.”

Darla blinked. Could Barry be, well, jealous? A bit cheered, she replied, “He’s Jake’s
friend, and ex-partner, but that’s as far as it goes.”

“Okay. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t seeing him or anything.” Barry gave
another small smile, but this time it appeared genuine. “It’s not a good move, trying
to ask out a lady who’s already dating someone . . . especially a cop.”

“Guess not.” Darla smiled a little, too. “But to answer your question, no, I’m not
seeing Reese or anyone else at the moment.”

“Great. Then maybe you’d have dinner with me tonight after you close the bookstore.
You know, to take our minds off what’s happened.”

Darla considered the offer for a moment. Should the worst happen and they find Tera,
she’d need a lot more than a nice meal to get over it. But she’d worry about that
when—if—it happened.

“I guess we could do that,” she agreed. “You’ve seen that Greek restaurant a few doors
down from the Thai place? I could meet you there at eight.”

“Eight is good.”

His gaze lingered on her long enough for her to feel a bit uncomfortable under his
scrutiny. Turning her attention back to the Dumpster, she watched in unwilling fascination
as Reese made his way section by section through it.

At least it wasn’t a regular garbage Dumpster he was searching, she thought, or he’d
need to be wearing a hazmat suit. Still, it was likely that Reese’s shirt and trousers
would be the worse for wear by the time he finished with his hunt. Jake was assisting
him, although she’d wisely remained outside the container. Standing on an overturned
bucket, she was taking the sections of plaster and board Reese was methodically handing
to her. Given the effort they were making, Darla hoped that Reese was pretty darned
sure the phone—and perhaps, by extension, the girl—was actually inside the Dumpster.

“Got it!”

The muffled shout came from Reese, who had been almost out of view from Darla’s angle,
digging in the container’s depths. Beside her, she felt Barry go tense, his expression
grim. Slowly, he rose, seeming to forget Darla was standing beside him. She gazed
up at him uncertainly. Had he guessed what Reese was looking for?

Now, Reese popped up again clutching something in one gloved hand, and Darla reflexively
jumped to her feet as well.

“What? What does he have?” Barry asked, but Darla was already trotting over to the
container.

She halted next to Jake, who apparently now traveled about with small paper bags the
way some people carried chewing gum. Carefully holding what Darla saw was a bright
pink cell phone in two gloved fingers, the ex-cop slipped it inside the bag she’d
pulled from her coat pocket. She sealed its top while Reese extracted himself from
the tangle of lumber and broken plasterboard and crawled out of the Dumpster.

“Good job,” Jake congratulated him with a grim smile as she handed the evidence to
him. “And thank God Tera wasn’t in there with her phone.”

“Are you sure?” Darla protested in a shaky voice. “I mean, could she possibly be . . .”

“Don’t worry, Red, she’s not in there,” Reese assured her. “I crawled in there pretty
sure we were going to find her, but I dug through the whole container, and there wasn’t
anything the size and shape of a body that I didn’t pull open. Wherever she is, it’s
not here.”

“Thank God,” Darla echoed Jake’s sentiment. “But I guess we should let Hilda know
about the phone so she doesn’t waste her time trying to keep calling Tera.”

“We?” Reese said, and Jake coughed and gave Darla a look. “I’d prefer you not discuss
anything you know concerning the case with anyone else,” Reese replied, his formal
manner suddenly all cop. “I’ll handle any necessary communication with Mrs. Aguilar.
Darla, I’m asking this as a favor to me.”

Which, translated from cop-speak, meant that even though he was asking politely, he
expected her to keep her mouth shut.

Which further translated to mean Hilda was what the CSI shows called a “person of
interest” in regard to Curt’s murder.

“Sure, Reese, no problem,” she managed, feeling her chest tighten.

Until this moment, she’d never truly believed that the elegant Hilda might have been
the one to wield the lethal crowbar. But it seemed that Reese had some reason to suspect
her. Darla frowned. What had happened to Porn Shop Bill as a suspect? And what did
that mean regarding Tera’s disappearance? If Hilda had killed Curt, could Tera have
witnessed the crime and then fled lest her mother turn the same weapon on her?

And, most important, what the heck was Tera’s cell phone doing in the Dumpster, when
apparently Tera was still out there somewhere walking around?

“Mr. Eisen, thank you for your cooperation,” Reese was now saying to Barry, who had
joined them. “We may need to search this container again, so I ask that you not arrange
for its pickup without clearing it with me first.”

“Um, sure,” Barry agreed, and then gestured to the debris that Reese and Jake had
dragged out of the container. “But what about this stuff? Are you going to put it
back where you found it?”

“Sorry for the inconvenience, sir, but I need to get this evidence logged in,” the
detective replied, indicating the bagged phone he held. Turning to Jake, he said,
“Why don’t I give you a ride back to your place?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind a little cigarette smoke.” Sliding her mirrored sunglasses
back into place, she said to Darla, “You don’t mind going home alone, do you?”

“I’ll manage,” she replied, feeling like she had in high school when a friend would
ditch her to hang out with a cute guy.

So much for
dancing with the one that brung you
, she thought with an inner shrug at that old Texas saw as the pair headed toward
Reese’s city-issued car. She had seen the look the two had exchanged and understood
what was going on. Reese wanted to confer with Jake out of civilian earshot, and that
could only happen if Darla hoofed it home alone. Still, she couldn’t let Reese go
without mentioning that other bit of information that she’d learned about Bill.

She raced after them, catching the cop as he was sliding into his seat behind the
wheel. Swiftly, she repeated the rumor Robert had told her that about the porn shop
owner having once attacked a man with a hammer.

When she’d finished, Reese nodded. “Thanks for the tip, but I already pulled Ferguson’s
rap sheet. Just a couple of assault charges that were pleaded down. Don’t worry, though,
the guy is still on my list. And feel free to call me if he shows up at your shop
again.”

“I will. But, Reese, about Tera’s phone . . . why would it be in the Dumpster?”

“Good question, Red. That’s what I plan to find out.”

He and Jake pulled away from the curb, leaving Darla alone with Barry and the mini–disaster
area around them. For the moment, there was nothing she could do about the Tera situation.
However . . .

With a rueful look at Barry, she said, “Why don’t I help you clean up this junk before
I go? It will be getting dark soon, and you don’t want to accidentally trip over something.”

Then, when he didn’t immediately reply, she reached for his arm and gave it a tentative
shake. “Barry, are you all right?”

Barry had been silently staring at the Dumpster. Now, looking rather stunned, he turned
and focused on her. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I’m offering you free labor,” she replied. “I’ll help you toss all this junk into
the container before I leave.”

Seeming to gather his wits, he managed a feeble smile for her. “What do you think
they were looking for besides a cell phone? Whose is it, anyhow?”

She hesitated, Reese’s warning against blabbing ringing in her ears. On the other
hand, he’d been speaking about Hilda, not Barry. And despite this unsettling turn
of events, he was apparently in the clear regarding Tera, since Reese had no qualms
about leaving her alone with the man.

“You know Tera Aguilar, who was dating Curt? They traced her phone to your Dumpster,
and I guess Reese thought he might find her in there, too.”

“Tera, in the Dumpster?” Barry shot her an incredulous look. “What would she be doing
in there?”

“She’s gone missing, and the last time anyone saw her was the night that Curt was
killed. There’s a chance that the same person who murdered him did something to Tera,
too.”

“Unless she was the one who clubbed him over the head, and she’s on the run now.”

His tone held a bitter note. Apparently, he hadn’t forgotten the phone argument he’d
heard between his partner and the girl. Darla nodded. Then, recalling his original
reaction, she asked, “So what did you think Reese was looking for?”

Barry sagged a little and gave her a sheepish look.

“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything, Darla, but some of that stuff
we’re tossing isn’t exactly legal to dump. I figured the building inspector had already
been poking around here when we saw him yesterday, and he found something he didn’t
like. So he called the cops on me.”