A Shot to Die For (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-three

By the time Jimmy and I got back to shore, it was well past lunch, and I was hungry. Either Jimmy was, too, or he wanted to pump me about my visit with Luke, because he said, “You want to grab some food?”

“Sure.”

We turned on Broad, then drove down a short alley that opened into a parking lot. At the edge of the lot back on Broad was a cheerful white brick building with blue shutters and door. A sign on the door said
WELCOME TO SACLARIDES
.

We parked and got out of the car, but as we were walking up to the door, Jimmy’s cell chirped. He fished it out of his pocket.

“Yes….When?…Are they sure?… Okay, do what you have to and get back to me. No, I’ll handle it.” He flipped up the phone and looked at me. “I have to make a call.”

“No problem.”

Jimmy walked into the restaurant, punching in a number on his cell. I stayed outside and pulled out my cell to call home. Rachel was at Julia’s, and the machine picked up. I pressed in the code for my messages. Two hang-ups. Then a familiar voice.

“Hi, Ellie. It’s David. We haven’t talked in a while. Please call.”

I disconnected and shoved the cell back in my bag.

When I entered his family’s restaurant, two round, older, dark-haired women were cooing over Jimmy so enthusiastically he was blushing. You’d think he’d just come back from the front.

He introduced me. “My mother, Helen, and my aunt Ava.” They beamed at me and led us to their number one booth, as they called it. There was no spit of lamb in the front window, and blue tablecloths covered the tables. Small vases with artificial flowers sat on top. This was a more upscale version of Mount Olympus. Still, the same lemony garlic scent I’d smelled at the Flynns’ hung in the air and made my mouth water.

As we sat down, Aunt Ava began a rapid-fire discourse in what I assumed was Greek. Jimmy answered back. The woman folded her hands and smiled. “
Kalos.”

“What was that about?” I asked after she’d left.

“Ava says she knows what you want to eat.”

“She does?” I’d been wondering why she hadn’t given us menus.

“It’s her little ritual. She tells everyone what they want to eat so that when she brings out whatever it is she’s cooked, they’ll think she made it especially for them.”

“I’m sure it’ll be delicious. Whatever it is.”

“It usually is.”

He went to the bar at the back of the room while I burrowed into my chair, the cushion of which was surprisingly soft. Jimmy examined several bottles of wine in a wine rack. He chose one, then grabbed an opener and two glasses, and brought them back to the table. Opening the bottle, he filled one glass with white wine and handed it to me.

“What about you?”

He shook his head. “Still on the clock. But you go ahead. You’ll like it. It’s the closest thing you’ll get to a Greek Chardonnay.”

“How do you know I like Chardonnay?”

He shrugged. “Isn’t that what you were drinking at the gala?”

He was observant. Good thing in a cop. I took a sip. “It’s good.” Then, “You’re going to eat, too, aren’t you?”

“And risk the wrath of the mother goddesses if I don’t?”

Was Jimmy married? I didn’t recall him saying anything about a wife or family. As he sat down, the door to the restaurant opened, and Kim Flynn stepped in.

I tried to suppress my shock.

She glanced around and saw me, then Jimmy. She frowned. “Special occasion, Jimmy?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Thanks for coming by so soon, Kim.”

My nerves jangled. It was Kim he’d called on his cell.

“You got me at a good time,” she said coolly. “The restaurant being closed and all.”

He gestured. “Please join us for a drink. Lunch, too, if you want.” He called to his mother in Greek. She answered, but this time her smile faded.

“Kim, my mother and aunt extend heartfelt condolences,” Jimmy said, pouring her a glass of wine. “And of course, you have mine as well.”

She nodded and took the glass.

“How’s your mother?”

“You mean since you ran us through the mill?”

“That’s not fair.”

“You’re right, Jimmy. You were just doing your job.” She recited it like it was rote. “So, what’s going on?” Kim asked. “Why did you want to see me?”

He looked at me, then at Kim. He kept his mouth shut.

I took the hint. “Why don’t I just go to the ladies’ room?” I stood up.

“Thanks, Ellie.” Jimmy looked relieved. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know when we drove over—”

“Hey. Don’t make her disappear on my account,” Kim broke in. “I don’t have anything to hide. The whole fucking town knows our business anyway.” She glanced up at me. “Plus, she’s dying to know what you want.”

I stood there, a little nonplussed by Kim’s token, but accurate, observation.

Jimmy shrugged and waved me back into my chair. I sat down. Kim folded her hands on the table.

“Kim, did you have a guy working for you a month or so ago?”

She nodded. “He washed dishes. Picked up supplies. But he only lasted a few weeks. Why?”

Jimmy ignored her question. “Why didn’t he last longer?”

“He wasn’t reliable. He’d come in late, sometimes as much as two hours. He would leave for long periods of time. Once in a while, he wouldn’t come back.”

“What was his name?”

“Let’s see.” She looked off, like she was thinking. “Billy, I think. Billy Watkins.”

Jimmy nodded.

“Why?”

“The Walworth County Sheriff’s office busted a meth lab out near East Troy. In a barn. When they went in, they found a body inside. It’d been there awhile. Two or three weeks, they figure.”

I winced.

“His ID said he was William Watkins.”

Kim’s eyebrows shot up. “You know, I had a feeling about him.”

“How come?”

“He was pretty vague about his background. I figured he might have done some time. But I wanted to give the guy a chance. Did he have a record?”

“About a mile long. Mostly possession. Intent to sell.”

“How did he die?” she asked.

“He was shot. With his own rifle. They found it in the woods a hundred yards from the barn.”

Jimmy watched Kim’s reaction. It wasn’t much. She took a sip of her wine. “Pretty gruesome.” She put her glass down. “How did you figure out he worked for us?”

“He had a pay stub from Mount Olympus in his things. When did you let him go?”

“It’s been a while. Before Daria died, I know that.”

“You remember the day?”

“Not offhand,” she said. “But I can check. Why all the questions?”

“Just trying to tie up loose ends. You were his last employer.”

She looked him in the eye. “Jimmy, we’ve known each other too long for that kind of bullshit. You call me, ask me to meet you here, and start pumping me. What’s going on? Do you think there a connection to Daria? Or my father?”

“Do you?”

“How would I know? I do think it’s a hell of a coincidence.” She took a sip of wine. “But you’re the police. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a hell of a coincidence, too. Especially when you factor in the rifle.”

“The one they found in the woods?” I asked.

“Yup. They’re checking it for prints now.”

A sick feeling crept over me. “It was a Remington Bolt Action 308, wasn’t it?”

Jimmy nodded.

Chapter Thirty-four

The same gun that was used to kill Daria.

I turned to Jimmy. “Does that mean Watkins is the sniper? The shooter who went after Daria?”

“Not at all. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of those rifles around,” Jimmy said. “Like I said, I just think it’s a hell of a coincidence. Right, Kim?”

“I don’t think he ever met Daria,” Kim said, not missing a beat. “She wasn’t around the restaurant much. But then, come to think of it, neither was he.” She looked at Jimmy. “Have you told my mother?”

He shook his head. “I just found out.”

“So what happens now?” she asked.

Jimmy didn’t say anything.

“What are you going to do?”

“Actually, Kim, I’m not going to do anything.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He hesitated before answering. “I’m going to recuse myself from all the investigations. The sheriff’s office is taking over.”

Kim looked shocked. “Why?”

“Because—because Luke is my friend. Staying on would be a conflict of interest.”

“Luke?” Kim said. “What does that—”

I cut in. “Are you saying there’s a connection between Daria’s case and what happened to Herbert Flynn? And this—Billy Watkins?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

It wasn’t a no. But it wasn’t a yes. “I’m confused,” I said.

“Join the club,” Kim said.

I tried to recap. “Daria is murdered, maybe by a sniper, maybe not. Herbert Flynn is murdered. Luke’s being questioned about his sister’s murder. And Herbert worked for Luke’s father when the sister died.”

Kim laced her hands together. Jimmy looked solemn. I could understand why he removed himself from the case. The mere recitation of the events seemed to connect them, to give some legitimacy to their linkage. But even if they weren’t connected, it would be impossible for him to be objective. He’d been an integral part of both families’ lives.

“Will removing yourself free you up to do things on an ‘unofficial’ basis?” I asked.

“No. I’m out of it,” he said firmly. But the look on his face made me think he was as apprehensive about the outcome as I.

His mother came out of the kitchen carrying a large tray. She brought over two plates loaded with moussaka, dolmades, and slices of roasted lamb. On separate plates were hearty portions of Greek salad, toasted bread, and a whipped pink dish that I think was caviar dip. I scooped up a forkful of moussaka and shoved it in my mouth. Hot, tangy, and creamy at the same time. I took another bite. Then another. Despite the situation, or maybe because of it, I was ravenous. I looked over at Jimmy’s plate. He hadn’t touched his meal.

“Eat.”

He gave me a small smile. “You sound like my mother.”

“We read the same handbook.”

He picked up his fork and dug in. For a moment, the only sound was the clink of forks and knives. Kim watched.

“You should try some,” I said to her.

She shook her head.

After making a considerable dent in the food, I wiped my napkin across my mouth. I felt calmer, more in control. Jimmy seemed more relaxed, too.

“Is there anything we can do for Luke?” I said. “What if we tried to establish an alibi for him for the night his sister died?”

Kim turned to me. “Why would
you
want to do anything for Luke Sutton?”

I didn’t answer.

“The DNA tests will be a big piece of that,” Jimmy replied, ignoring Kim. “If they exonerate him and he has an alibi that can be confirmed, he might be okay.”

“But that’s at least six weeks from now.”

“Talk about coincidence,” Kim cut in.

Jimmy looked over. “What, Kim?”

“I think it’s mighty coincidental you decided to remove yourself from the investigation. Your timing couldn’t have been more perfect.”

“What are you getting at, Kim?” he said.

“What I’m getting at is that the Suttons get people to do their bidding whenever they choose. My father was alive a few days ago. Now he’s not. You should be on this like a laser beam. Instead, you’re backing off because ‘Luke Sutton is your friend.’
That’s
what I call a coincidence.”

A muscle in Jimmy’s jaw flickered, but his reply was calm and deliberate. “Kim, it’s actually in your interest to have me off the case.
Because
of my association with Luke. The sheriff’s department won’t have any conflict.”

I interrupted, hoping to forestall an argument. “Kim, why did your father come back after such a long time?”

She looked over, paused for a minute, then said, “Mother had the stroke. She was on the edge for a while. He—he just showed up.”

“It had to be a shock seeing him, after thinking he’d been dead all those years.”

“It was.” The slightly dazed look on her face seemed genuine.

“What did your mother tell you when he disappeared?”

“She said he was going to Milwaukee or Chicago to find work. But then when he never came back, she said he got sick. Had a heart attack or something. And couldn’t get in touch with us.” She fingered her glass abstractedly, as if she just realized how inadequate her mother’s explanation had been. But then, children tend to accept the inexplicable from an adult. Especially a parent.

“Except now it turns out she was in touch with him all along.”

Her contemplative mood shattered. “What does that matter?” she snapped. “The point is he’s dead. And everyone, including our brave chief of police, wants to give the family who forced him out of town to begin with a pass. Don’t you see? It’s happening all over again,” she fumed. “And how is Luke going to produce an alibi after thirty years anyway? You think he’s going to remember where he was and what he was doing on a particular night? Even if he could, who would believe him?”

“You never know,” I said, forcing myself to remain calm. “I can remember thirty years ago. It was the summer Nixon resigned. I was glued to the TV. Remember, too, we’re talking about the night his sister was killed. I’ll bet he can recall exactly what he was doing.”

Jimmy’s brow furrowed, as though he was trying to call back the years. He glanced at Kim. “Wasn’t that the summer Luke managed the airstrip?”

“The airstrip at the Lodge?” I asked.

He nodded. “When the Playboy Club owned it, we all worked there over the summers. Luke managed the airstrip. Made sure the performers got in okay, got them into a limo, and took them up to the hotel. I worked with the grounds crew. You worked there, too, didn’t you, Kim?”

She gave us a curt nod.

“Well,” I said, “what if we can prove he was working the night his sister died? Can we check the logs or something?”

For a moment, Jimmy sat up straighter, looking interested in spite of himself. Then he slumped. “There won’t be any records.” He shook his head. “The place has been through two or three owners since then.”

“Are you sure?”

“There won’t be anything. If there ever was. I couldn’t be involved in finding it anyway.”

“But I can.”

“Why are you so interested in helping Luke Sutton?” Kim cut in.

I looked over. Her expression was angry and probing, but something else was there, too. Something almost predatory. I chose my words carefully. “Because I don’t think he did it,” I said after a pause.

Her eyes narrowed, and I could tell she didn’t believe me. But there was no way I was going to share my feelings about Luke with her. I turned back to Jimmy. “What about witnesses?”

He shrugged. “I would imagine it depends who they are.”

“There’s you,” I said.

“Forget me. Conflict of interest is written all over my face.”

“What about Kim?”

“You’re kidding, right?” she scoffed.

“Ellie,” Jimmy said, “finding someone who saw Luke on a particular night at a specific time thirty years ago—it’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Impossible.” He scowled. “And I shouldn’t be having this conversation. I’ve already said too much.”

“Hold on, Jimmy. Just for a minute. Suppose that—for some crazy reason—we could find someone. Wouldn’t that help Luke?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“But it wouldn’t hurt.”

“No. It wouldn’t hurt.”

I looked at Kim. She was staring straight ahead.