Perfect Crime (7 page)

He opened the front door and glanced around the interior, making sure nothing was unexpectedly waiting for them and then waved Tessa inside. "Make yourself at home," he said, waving a hand towards the living room.

"I take it you haven't had time to unpack," Tessa said, as she hovered on the threshold.

"Five weeks, yeah." Looking at the room through her eyes, he had to laugh. A couch and a couple boxes cluttered the small space. He was using them like coffee tables. "It's not like I have much. I'm just lazy."

She blinked. "It's weird—almost like you don't intend to stay."

Maybe she'd just said the first thing that came to mind, but Scott once again admired her perception. "I consider myself a minimalist. Now as for the fridge, I keep it stocked—juice, soda, iced tea?"

"Sure, anything is fine."

He pointed to one box as he turned towards the kitchen. "Books," he said, thinking she'd look for that Bible she desired above all else, "If you don't find one in there, we could look it up on the net."

Popping open the refrigerator, he grabbed a bottle of soda and poured a glass. Considering the hour, and lack of dinner, he grabbed a bag of potato chips and a second glass before returning to the living room.

He didn't think he'd been gone long but when he returned, Tessa was seated on the sofa with the Holy book open, and a notepad on her lap. The papers she handed to him held the raw Bible verse. "What do you think?" she asked.

*  *  *

Matthew 5:17—Do not think that I came to destroy the Law or the Prophets. I did not come to destroy but to fulfill.

Matthew 2:14—"When [Joseph] arose, he took the young Child and His mother by night and departed for Egypt, and was there until the death of Herod, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the Lord through the prophet, saying, 'Out of Egypt I called My Son.'

*  *  *

Scott passed the pages back. He wasn't going to try to get into some dead guy's head. "More importantly, what do you think?"

Tessa looked down at her writing. "St. Joe's received a donation of that window we saw at the museum, after DeMarco's death. Warning or prophecy?"

"So, you're looking for a motive for murder in stained glass and scripture?"

"Something like that," After a moment of consideration she added, "Okay, look," she said with a sharp sigh, "You ever hear of Anthony Aiello? In November of last year, he made a push in New York, capo di tutto capi", Italian slipping easily from her tongue. A small flush filled her cheeks, "to be boss of bosses," she quickly translated.

"Keeping up on Mob business?" Scott asked.

"I hear things. Aiello hated DeMarco but I couldn't tell you exactly why. Rumor had it that he thought the older man was getting soft." Tessa kept the conversation to the point, but looked a bit uncomfortable when speaking about the crime families. "You clip the Councilor and the Underboss, and the Boss is left quite vulnerable."

His voice was cooler. "Know that from the movies, do you?"

Her face was expressionless.

"Okay then, why does this guy…"

"Cy," she corrected.

"Cy," He repeated, slightly annoyed, "Why'd he take a shot at us?"

"Can't answer that. Why does Cy do a lot of things?" she muttered rhetorically.

She chewed on her bottom lip; her cell phone was open on the table in front of her, the picture of the window visible. One of her petit fingers reached out and pointed at the LCD screen "Logic dictates that this should be DeMarco," she said, referring to the prone figure in the center of the picture. "But this appears to be a much younger man."

"Well, why not immortalize yourself, if it's your legacy?" Scott picked up the phone and looked at the images more closely. "It does almost look like a family 'portrait' if you can ignore the macabre setting. Mother with wings, Father standing somber, the younger faces of grown children…" He squinted, longing for his glasses. The figures in the glass window captured his interest, particularly their detailed facial features, "We have a saint and a sinner," he said pointing to the counterpoint between a halo of light and another in shadow. "Too bad the other woman has her back to us. Do any of them look familiar to you?"

She shook her head.

Scott took the Bible from her without a word. He flipped through it, searching for something. Finally, he filled the silence. "I haven't been to church in a long while. But I seem to remember that Matthew, the man himself, was a tax collector." He paused, a curious thought clouding the facts. "Taxes could mean money. Most killings are about money, not divine redemption."

He looked back down and ran a finger down the page. Scott started scribbling on the paper. "The postcards came with Bible verses, too."

"Right," she said curtly. She looked over his shoulder at the one he'd added to the Matthew quotes, it was from the second postcard:

*  *  *

2 Chronicles 7 13-14: If I shut up heaven that there be no rain, or if I command the locusts to devour the land, or if I send pestilence among my people; If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.

*  *  *

"Look at that—forgiveness. Doesn't sound too threatening," he said, opening the potato chip bag and helping himself.

She shrugged. "You could be right," she offered, with no strong conviction.

"Okay then but it does mention locusts, which is in direct reference to Darla," Scott theorized.

Still holding the pencil, Scott started to play with it. There was more to Tessa than met the eye. He hadn't taken her to be personally involved but he was reassessing everything. Still, he wasn't uncomfortable, more intrigued than disconcerted. She didn't appear to be hiding anything in the current circumstances but he still sensed that she was holding some of herself back. Perhaps that was justified. He wondered how long it would take her to see the coincidence with New York, Chicago and himself.

Her phone rang. With the picture taking up the screen, there was no way to see the caller ID. She hesitated.

Scott offered direction. "If it's your friend Marcus again, get us an address from the car registration. I'll need that for my insurance claim."

Chuckling, Tessa picked up the phone. "Hello."

Her eyes narrowed as G.J's voice poured through the line. "Guess who's back in town? Cy is with me. You remember Cy, don't you, Tess?"

She tried to bank the fear. The man in question was indeed Christopher Perelli; his moniker 'Cy' came from his enjoyment, as a younger man, in using a scythe as a weapon. The history that went with his self-given nickname only added to his reputation. The guy wasn't scared of anything and cared about nothing—a dangerous combination.

Tessa swallowed, but managed to speak with a lack of emotion. "I remember. Do you?"

"He told me I need to get the postcard back." G.J's words were slightly garbled, causing a shiver to run the length of her spine; Cy could get really nasty at times.

"By trying to kill me?" she responded, her voice unusually high and squeaky.

"He didn't miss. If Cy wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Now, I need the card back, Tess," G.J. was cold and to the point with his old friend; this change in him frightened her.

"I told you, I don't have it." As before, she spoke the truth; Scott had it.

"Get it," G.J. seethed. "Don't play me on this. Get me the card by tonight and we're all done, understand? You're really not so hard to find, you know."

Blue eyes shifted towards Scott. As before she found a bit of strength. "It's yours, man, it means nothing to me," she promised into the cell. "It will be at your restaurant by 11 tonight."

"Smart girl, Tess," G.J. hissed.

The constant abbreviating of her name was wearing on Tessa but she didn't correct him. She'd play the part; she knew the right things to say. "Tell your brother…welcome back."

The bold-faced lie burned sour on her tongue. Snapping the phone closed, she swallowed hard and her full lips tensed. For a long moment Tessa sat motionless, staring off into space; her thoughts brought no peace.
And the game continues.

If that's the way it had to be, she'd play. She owed it to Darla.

Chapter 7

Health and Safety

SMASH

Twice in one night, the sound of breaking glass caused Tessa to jump. G.J.'s claim, that she wouldn't be hard to find, was as clear as the green beer bottle with its burning rag of kerosene. It rolled on the carpet of Scott's house, igniting the drapes in a burst of heat.

Both reporters leapt to their feet.

"Kitchen," Scott ordered, perhaps understanding they shouldn't use the front door. No telling what might be waiting outside.

Tessa grabbed the Bible and notepad before Scott took her wrist and pulled her toward the exit. Phone still in hand, she was dialing 9-1-1 as Scott pushed open the sliding glass door. He sprinted out into the courtyard and headed to the fence. Hearing the squealing tires, he took a few good jumps, his blond head bobbing above the barrier, trying to catch a glimpse of the street.

The avenue was now empty. "Damn it," he shouted, running back towards the townhouse.

Standing in the cold night air, Tessa barely had time to say, "Where are you…?" before he brushed past her, disappearing back inside.

Dealing with the emergency operator, she waited for Scott. Her heart was beating hard; ticking off each second. He finally emerged, carrying a black leather laptop case. Maybe he'd saved a few small mementos as well, but he didn't offer that information as he came to stand beside her.

Tessa hung up the phone. "Fire department is on its way."

Together they warned the neighbors, but the sound of sirens came faster than she thought possible. Within minutes, two fire trucks and the police were busy with their flashing lights, hoses, and questions.

Scott had so little furniture in the front room that the fire appeared to have confined itself to the window and front wall, and yet the two reporters weren't allowed back in, right away. The fire crew urged everyone to cross to the other side of the street, and sent one of their own in to secure the premises.

The two stood stiff, like toy soldiers, each alone with their own thoughts. "Just remember, it was your idea to stick together," she mumbled.

He nodded, looking at the wreckage. "In a way, it's almost satisfying. Now I know I'm on the right track." He patted the side of the computer bag as he spoke; an absent-minded touch, like a father burping a child.

Scott's tone was unemotional, but it didn't make Tessa feel any better. She debated offering some sort of apology. "Before I hung up, G.J. warned me…."

A man in a raincoat seemed to pick Scott out of the onlookers. He didn't appear in a hurry as he walked over, but his dark eyes were intense; his expression almost daring them to move before he stood alongside them. Tessa kept the rest of her phone conversation recap to herself, reluctant to be overheard by the newcomer.

Scott pasted on his cocky grin. "Ah, Detective Blaine. In the neighborhood, were you?"

Nodding towards the smoldering townhouse, the policeman said, "I see you've been busy making friends, Mr. Crawford."

"What can I say?" Scott replied with a casual shrug.

"I would have hoped for some sort of theory."

"Well, you already know how much Barton Malone loves me."

The detective laughed. "This doesn't feel like our esteemed councilman. If all you've done is poke him with questions, then I'd have to say this is a little bit over the top for a reply. Agree?"

He waited a moment, perhaps suspecting Scott had done more than corner the man at the press conference. When Scott admitted nothing beyond his smile, the detective added, "That's not to say that others on the CPEA aren't less refined. Anyone threaten you?"

Scott glanced to the side at Tessa's profile, before he answered, "Nope."

The detective's eyes followed the betraying glance. "And you would be...?"

"Tessa Morgan." The redhead offered a hand to shake. "Detective Blaine, was it?"

He nodded. "I do wish the circumstances were a little less suspect. I did warn your boy about his attitude."

"He doesn't listen so well." Tessa reached for humor to dull the fear. She forced herself to breathe normally. Like the other two, the falsely cheerful expression remained on her face.

"So I've noticed. And do you work at the Tribune too?"

"As it were, I do."

His brow furrowed. "There were reports of gunshots in the Trib garage this afternoon. Know anything about that?"

Since the sports car with the broken window was sitting in the driveway, it didn't make sense to be evasive. "I suspect the two incidents could be related."

Her companion simply responded, "Blue Audi, didn't catch the plate number."

Tessa was surprised but didn't let on. Scott wanted her to call the police earlier and report Cy; now he had the chance to do just that and he wasn't taking it.

The detective sighed and took out a notebook from his coat. He wrote the scant information down. "See the shooter?"

Scott shrugged again, appearing bored. "Not really. Are you going to round up the usual suspects?" he asked. With hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels as though being out in the open was of no concern. Slightly unbalanced, he took a step back and then adjusted the computer bag slung over his shoulder.

"There isn't a paddy wagon big enough," the detective replied dryly. He looked up, waiting for either reporter to supply him with a lead. When they didn't, he said, "Okay then, I'll fill out the paperwork. Do you have a cell phone number where I can reach you, Mr. Crawford?"

"Sure," Scott said, rattling off a number the detective added to his notes. After a few more words, Scott moved off to have a talk with the fire chief. Tessa was left to nervously shuffle her feet with the detective.

"I'll offer the same words I did to your friend, Ms. Morgano." He let the use of her real name soak in for a heartbeat or two before he continued, "Be careful." With a flick of his wrist, the notebook was closed, and he walked back to his car.

Tessa was left to stand alone on the sidewalk. She did not respond nor react to the detective. She didn't exactly carry her Italian heritage on her sleeve but in the same breath, some things are what they are; she had to commend him on his tracking skills.

Scott came back and told her they could go back inside. "Let me grab some things," he said, "then I'll drive you to your place to pack."

"Pack?"

Slipping his hand around the top of her arm, he urged her to follow, "Well, yeah," he said, looking both ways before jogging the two of them across the street. "If they trashed my place, they'll go to yours next. And when you don't show up at Gino's, chances are good they'll come looking."

Chewing on her bottom lip, Tessa glanced over her shoulder at the distant city sky line while being ushered back into the townhouse; running didn't seem like such a bad idea.

She wrinkled her nose; the smell of burnt cloth was strong, and the boxes and couch a soggy mess, but the damage was less than she imagined it would be. "And why wouldn't I go?" Tessa squared her shoulders in a show of strength.

He disappeared down the hall, she guessed to his bedroom. She could hear his voice as he shouted back his reservations. "You give them the postcard, and you have no bargaining chip."

Tessa insisted, "I need to give Cy the postcard." It was irritating to talk to him through the wall, so she followed the sound of his voice into the other room. Scott was indeed packing an overnight bag. The black leather carry-on, open on his twin bed, already held the precious laptop. She watched while he added a couple of shirts to the suitcase. Once again, she was struck by how little he had.

"You do know the card doesn't mean shit," the expletive used to accent her point. "Everything around here is symbolic. This is all Cy's doing. He caught me snooping around, and this is his way of telling me to stop. I hand it back, and it tells him that I'm leaving well enough alone. Case closed."

Giving him a sideways glance, Tessa wondered whether Scott believed anything she was saying; even she was having a hard time accepting it as truth. She kept the doubt off her face.

"It's a bad idea," he said.

"My postcard. My call."

"Since
I
have the postcard, you now have a partner." He grabbed a few toiletries from the connecting bath, and tossed them in the bag. An absent hand ran through his short blond hair. "What time is it?"

Tessa checked her watch, "Inching up on 10."

"We've got about an hour." Scott zipped the suitcase. "Let's go get your things."

His look dared her to argue. She didn't.

The drive over to her condominium on the west side was uneventful. No high-speed chase; nothing out of the ordinary, other than the annoying wind blowing through the shot-out window; a constant reminder to both, that this night was far from ordinary. And when they arrived, Scott didn't pull up to the curb and let her walk in. He circled the block twice, checked his mirrors, and then got out with her.

After she unlocked the front entrance, Scott reached past and held open the door for her to enter the small common area. Together, they took the elevator to the third floor. Even though the hour was still fairly early, the halls were eerily empty. The hum of the overhead lights gave an industrial feel to the bland beige walls. But nothing really appeared to be wrong. No lurking shadowy figures. "I think you're being paranoid for nothing, I told him I'd be at the restaurant, it's all good." Tessa finally said.

"Let's hope it's that simple." He watched while she punched a code on a keypad to open her condo. "Or perhaps the alarm system you've got deterred them."

"Then it's worth the 50 bucks a month," Tessa quipped, as she cautiously opened the door.

Everything looked as it had when she'd left earlier in the day. Flipping the lights on, she observed the well-placed furniture, the undisturbed stack of mail. "Coast is clear."

Following her inside, Scott closed the door behind them. His rapid glance gleaned only an impression that her living space was much like her office—simple, dust free, and impersonal. All except her shoes. She'd discarded them in a haphazard fashion and walked barefoot onto the plush carpet. Bending down, he stacked them neatly, putting them in order to match their surroundings.

Scott said, "Laying low for a few days might be a good idea. Got any place you can go? Family? Friends?"

Tessa looked at her guest. He was already acting like he was in charge. She'd have to put a stop to that.

She pressed a button on the control panel situated next to the door. Light piano music filtered into the room. A small smile flickered at the corners of her mouth; the obscure song of Petrassi's always relaxed her. "I'm going to New York," she said.

"Why?"

"Well, if you think I should get out of Dodge, it makes sense to keep working on Darla's trail." Tessa wandered around the large combination living room/dining room while Scott remained still in the foyer. She tried not to dwell on Scott's theory that her personal space might not be here when she decided to return. If she was found in New York, I'd like a firsthand look. Besides," she winked, "that's where you're going."

"Really?"

"Don't get cagey on me. I'm betting you already made reservations to go to New York, even before we left the office."

Scott chuckled softly.

She took that as a yes. "You did say we were partners."