Dying to Tell (19 page)

forty-two

I tagged along with
Cal to the Kit Kat West—for professional reasons, of course. It was not, as Angel had suggested, to have another peek at the voluptuous Lee Hawkins. Now, if the ghost of Norma Jean or Jayne Mansfield were hanging around the club, different matter.

We arrived at the club just after ten a.m. and parked in the rear employee lot. Cal walked to a rear door marked “Delivery” and went inside. I followed him to the back office where the mysterious Raina had snooped around last night. He knocked on the door.

“I'm busy,” Keys Hawkins bellowed from inside. “Shove off.”

Cal pushed the door open. “It's me, Keys—Calloway.”

“What are you doin' here so early? You boys got a rehearsal I don't know about?”

Calloway—er, Cal—dropped into an old wooden chair beside the door. “No, man, sorry. It's official. Is Lee around? I need to speak with the two of you.”

I stood near the window beside Keys's desk and listened.

“Lee?” Keys picked up a cup of coffee and took too long to sip it. “What's she got to do with anything you'd be asking about?”

“Oh, come on now, Keys.” Cal stretched his long, thin legs out in front of him, trying to appear as casual as he could. “You know I gotta do this, right?”

“Do what?”

“Investigate, man. You know, about Willy.” Cal smiled a big, genuine smile. “It's me or Bear. You got the long straw, be happy.”

Keys grunted a laugh. “Sure, okay, Calloway. Shoot. Just remember who signs your weekend check, though. And we both know it's more than your deputy pay.”

“Yeah, it is.”

They both laughed.

Cal leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. “I hear Lee got into a little pissin' contest with Karen Simms this morning. What was that about?”

“Oh? Don't know about that. Who told you that? Nicholas didn't.”

“I never mentioned Poor Nic.” Cal let a crooked smile out. “Bad play, Keys. Come on, now. What's the deal between Simms and Lee? And give me the straight story. Don't make me regret playin' here.”

I went over and looked around Keys's desk. He had a thick notebook open with a
three-inch
stack of papers inside. On edge of the binder, printed in wide, black marker, was, “Sancus Security Invoices.”

That name tickled my memory but nothing floated to the surface.

Keys said, “Listen, Calloway, you know about me and Willy. We were close. Real close. Brothers, even—from the war. He and me were trying to work some things out.”

“What kind of stuff, Keys?”

“Personal stuff. I ain't sayin'. It has nothing to do with anything you need to know.”

Cal shook his head. “No, it might have something to do with his murder.”

“It doesn't.”

“How do you know?”

“ 'Cause I do.” Keys rested himself on his elbows. “Look. He wanted to invest in the business and couldn't come up with the capital. He was heartbroken and so was I. We always talked about being partners and all. He was worried the Kit Kat wouldn't turn a profit and he'd be stuck. The bank and that kid of his drained him, so I told him not to worry about it. But I knew he would. That's all.”

“What about Lee?” Cal asked. “How'd she fit into that? And what's it got to do with Karen Simms?”

“I really don't know, Calloway. Honest. I think Karen was sort of kissing up to old Willy. You know, like trying to work her way up the chain at the bank. A couple times, Lee met with Willy on our accounts. Every time Lee showed up, that Simms dame wiggled into the meeting. Lee had the idea Simms was up to something—something no good.”

Funny, that's exactly what Karen suggested of Lee.

Cal watched Keys for a while and squinted at him like he was dissecting his every word. Finally, after crossing his legs for the second time, he said, “Okay, Keys. But I know you're not tellin' me everything. So let's agree on somethin'.”

“I'm listening.”

“I'll cut you some slack. You find Lee so I can talk to her. And you think hard about Willy and Karen Simms. Don't be holding out on me, man. Music or not, it's my job and I'm gonna do it right.”

Keys laughed, “You're a better musician than a cop.”

“Serious now, Keys. I gotta do my job.” Cal stood up to go. “And I'm a better cop. Trust me. Remember, we're talkin' about Willy, your best friend. Do him right.”

Keys stood up, too. “I hear you, Calloway. Lee hasn't been in all morning. I swear. She must have had a late night. I'll let her know you're looking for her. Now, nothin' personal, but I gotta get back to my books. Nicholas might be an investor, but he don't like me payin' his own company's bills late.” He tapped the notebook on his desk and thrust out a hand across to Cal.

I looked at the binder again. Sancus Security Systems, LLC—of course. Sancus was also the bank's alarm company. The name appeared on the records Larry Conti showed us yesterday morning.

Poor Nic owned Sancus?

“I'll be waitin' on a call, man.” Cal shook Keys's hand.

“You do that.”

When Cal shut the door behind him, Keys stared after him for the longest time. Then he picked up his office phone and dialed.

I wasn't fast enough around the desk and missed the number.

“Mornin', it's me. We gotta meet. Soon. The cops just left. No, it can't wait. And if my granddaughter is there, send her to me. She kicked a hornets' nest this morning and now I'm getting stung.” Silence. Then, “I don't know anything about no deal with William. That's got nothing to do with me.” He hung up.

Poor Nic?

Keys sat down and took his cell phone out of his desk, hit a speed dial number, and opened the Sancus notebook. “It's Keys. We got more than one problem and it's time you did your part, fast. That account is what I'm sayin'—you find out what the devil was going on there? Oh yeah … really? Then fix it. And fix it fast before Calloway Clemens forgets he plays in my club.”

I waited but I couldn't hear any more. Being dead has a lot of advantages. Like now: I can hang around and listen in on conversations without anyone knowing. I didn't need a warrant or probable cause, either. The downside was, well, I don't have any magical hearing or crystal ball. In other words, I can't hear both sides of the call. And unless I knew who Keys was talking to, I couldn't poof over to the other caller and hear their side of the conversation.

Good and bad. Yin and yang. Ice cream and liver and onions.

When Keys tapped off his call and returned to his records, I snooped around a little more. Just as I got ready to go and find Angel to make
nice-nice
, something sent a bolt of “holy shit” through me.

Sitting on top of a stack of computer printouts on Keys's credenza was a small
hand-carved
stone figurine inlaid with gemstones and trimmed in gold. A scarab beetle—identical to the one in William's office. I hadn't noticed it last night.

“Oh Keys, you have some 'splainin' to do.”

forty-three

I caught up to
Cal a few blocks from the Kit Kat on his way back to the office. “Hey, Cal, I think you better turn around and go see Keys again. Poor Nic owns his alarm company—Sancus something—and it's also the alarm company for the bank. Get it? Somebody had to know about the alarms to deactivate them and play around with the CCTV cameras and backup systems, right? So, someone who knows the Kit Kat's alarm system might know the bank's alarm system. Get it? There could be …”

Cal's cell phone rang. “Calloway—er, Clemens.”

He was lost in his call for a few moments and when he tapped off his cell, his face tightened and he banged a bony figure down on the “3” speed dial key. He placed the cell phone on a holder on his dashboard and put the call on speaker.

“Braddock.”

“Bear, I got something.” Cal's voice was rapid, almost frantic. “Thorne called. Karen Simms never showed up for work this morning—neither did Larry Conti. Neither has missed a day all year. Thorne called Simms's cell and no answer. Same with Conti. Thorne also checked their computers and somebody deleted all their emails and records last night—just like William.”

“Right around the time he was murdered,” Bear said. “Dammit, Cal, get to Simms's place pronto.”

Cal flipped on his siren. “And, Bear, Angela said she was going to Simms's place this morning.”

“I'll get units to meet us there and someone looking for Conti.”

“Right. Do I wait on a warrant when I get there?”

“Hell, no. Kick in the damn doors if you have to.”

forty-four

Karen Simms's apartment was
located south of the bank on the second floor of a nineteenth-century brick-and-clapboard house. An attorney's shingle hung on the first floor and there was only one other
apartment in the building. I beat both Bear and Cal there, and just in time, too. Angel's Explorer sat in the building's small parking lot and she had already climbed the outside stairs to Apartment 2 on the second floor.

“Angel, wait,” I called as she reached the apartment's streetside balcony. “Bear and Cal are on their way. There could be trouble inside.”

She was startled when I appeared on the balcony landing beside her. “Tuck, what's wrong?”

I told her what I'd witnessed in Poor Nic's hospital room and the Kit Kat West, and about Karen's absence from work. She listened but still knocked on Karen's apartment door. “If Nicholas gave her money, maybe she left town. Let's find out.”

“Angel, someone deleted her emails and work files. Just like William the night he was murdered. They deleted Larry Conti's, too. That's got
You're next
written all over it. Just wait for Bear, okay?”

She knocked again and peeked in the windows beside the door. “I don't think she's home. I want to look around.”

If she wouldn't listen, I had to stall her until Bear arrived. “Did you have time to do the research on the belly dancer, Fahmy, and those other two—Gafaar and Eppler—for me?”

“No. I'll do it later. Let's see if there's an unlocked window or door.”

She was a dog on the scent. I knew what would get her mind off Karen Simms. “So, you like Thorne. I get that, but …”

“Now? Here? Fine.” She turned and faced me with fiery eyes and a bullet finger. “You're acting like you don't trust me. You're acting like …”

Gulp—it worked too well. “I'm acting like I'm afraid you might actually want a warm, breathing man beside you.” The words stung, for both of us. “I'm being childish, I know. I'm sorry.”

For a moment I thought she might rescind my invitation and send me away—no, that's only for vampires. Instead, she looked down and turned away. When she looked back at me, tears filled her eyes. Those tears stabbed me like a knife. And when they rained down her cheeks, the knife turned and thrust me again.

“No, Tuck. You're right. I do think about that. I won't lie.” Her eyes lowered and couldn't settle on any one point. Her voice quivered a bit as a shadow enveloped her face. “But you're still my husband—as childish as you are,
and
as dead as you are. It's difficult for me. I don't know how to handle this. Do you?”

Hell no. “No, I don't, but …
childish? As dead as I am?
That's harsh, Angel.”

She allowed herself a little giggle. “Try to understand. It's not like you're dead and I'm alone trying to move on. And it's not like you're still here—not totally. So I'm as stuck as you. I don't want to do anything to hurt you and I don't want you to leave—God, I don't want that. But …”

I knew what
but
meant. “Okay, okay. Just don't be mad at me for being jealous and worried.”

“That's hard, Tuck.”

I touched her arm. “And if you have to, you know, have a friend for dinner or a show or something from time to time, two rules.”

“What?”

I hugged her and she cried harder. “First, I have to know about it so I can haunt you.”

She giggled again.

“And, he has to be ugly and stupid. Grossly fat would help, too. And have only one eye—no, an eye patch.”

She tried to laugh but couldn't as something else took over. “We'll talk about this later.” She wiped her face dry and with that, gone was my emotional wife and standing on the porch now was Professor Angela Tucker, Special Police Consultant. “Come on, Tuck, we need to get inside.”

Damn, she was stubborn. “I quit. Okay, let's go.”

“I'll check the other side of the porch for another door.” She walked to the corner of the balcony and peered around to the other side of the apartment balcony. “Oh my God, look.”

The balcony floorboards were in poor repair. They were painted a dull gray and the paint and wood were chipped and peeled from age. Several of the boards needed to be replaced where rot had set in. That wasn't the problem—there was a trail of
reddish-black
ooze
that ran from a side door and along the balcony to a rear stairwell that led down to a side parking lot. The trail of ooze looked like something had slithered across the porch, down the stairs, and disappeared in the gravel below.

“Angel, I think that's blood.”

She maneuvered around the blood trail to the balcony railing just as two unmarked police cruisers screeched into the parking lot below us. “It looks like something was dragged out of the apartment and down the stairs.”

“Or someone.”