Deadly Intersections (11 page)

Dora answered the door and led her into the living room when the phone rang.

“Will you excuse me for a moment?” she asked, clearly flustered that her first task was being interrupted.

“Not a problem,” Ari said.

She retreated into the kitchen and when she didn’t return right away, Ari wandered into the man cave. She shook her head again at the sight of the pole, but her eyes drifted toward the flasks at the top of the bar. She scanned them one by one, comparing them in her mind to the one in Edgington’s car, but all of these seemed much older. She cruised through the room unsure of what she thought it would tell her.

Her eyes landed on a dartboard against the wall over the poker table. Much of the board was obscured by small slips of paper pinned to the board by darts. She looked closely, realizing they were IOUs. Each slip had a name and an amount written in different handwriting—and one of the slips read
Warren, 10K
. Quite possibly Warren Edgington owed Stan Wertz ten thousand dollars. More importantly, they were poker buddies. She wondered if Molly knew they’d shared a personal relationship.

“I’m so sorry,” Dora said, appearing at the door.

She immediately mustered a quick lie, but Dora only motioned for her to follow without question. She escorted her out to the car house where she found Wertz polishing the hood of an exotic automobile that she couldn’t name. The small garage was pristine and empty except for a few oak cabinets, a sink and the vehicle itself. Clearly the only reason for the building’s existence was to act as a safe haven for the prized possession.

“It’s a nineteen thirty-two Ford roadster convertible,” he said.

She nodded, although she knew nothing about cars. She admired the tiny doors and little headlights that looked like eyes. Not her style, but she thought it was cute.

“Have you ever seen a machine as incredibly beautiful as this, Ari?”

“No,” she answered, realizing that he would probably not appreciate her description. He lovingly massaged each bumper with a soft chamois. She watched silently since his attention was singularly focused on his task. She had apparently intruded on what was a religious experience for him.

Once the soft rag had touched every inch of the car, he washed his hands and opened the passenger door. “Shall we go?” he motioned in gentlemanly fashion.

“Oh, I thought we were going in my SUV.”

“No, no. I want to drive. Nothing would make me happier than cruising down Scottsdale Road with a beautiful woman at my side.”

She muffled her temper as she climbed in. She quickly regrouped her presentation in her mind and tried to organize her files on her lap. They pulled onto the street, and he draped his left arm over the back of the seat. Anyone observing them would think they were a couple—a wealthy older man and his young trophy wife out to be seen in Scottsdale.

He seemed to drive incredibly slow, making the trip longer than necessary. They finally headed into the neighborhood of the first house on her list, a contemporary McMansion. She entered the alarm code into the keypad, and the wrought iron gates slowly parted, allowing the roadster to meander up the long driveway to the expansive front door. 

She retrieved the keys from the lockbox and opened the door for him. “Let’s see,” she said, reading from the listing. “This spacious home was built in two thousand two by Talaveria.  It has eight bedrooms and six bathrooms, including an upper master suite with a balcony that overlooks the ninth hole of Verde Greens. A thousand square-foot guesthouse sits on the northwest side of the property.” She turned to face Wertz, who was leaning against the entryway wall. “Where do you want to start?”

“What I’d really like is for you to undo the next two buttons of your blouse,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

She looked up, stunned. “Excuse me?”

He shifted his feet, his hands deep in his pockets and a schoolboy grin on his face. “It’s very difficult to look down your shirt with all those buttons fastened. And I’ve certainly tried all the way over here. A few more buttons would make me a happy man.”

“Are you serious?” she asked, her voice echoing against the walls and cathedral ceiling. He nodded, his gaze hard, and she suddenly felt very vulnerable. “Does that line often work for you?” she asked casually, attempting to mask her growing anxiety.

He shrugged. “Usually I don’t have a problem getting people to do what I want them to do, particularly women.” He stepped toward her and crossed his arms. “In fact when I asked my last real estate agent that same question, she took off all her clothes and we screwed in the portico.”

“Really?”

He stepped closer. “She made almost twenty thousand dollars on her commission. I’m sure she felt the trade-off was worth it.”

“Then maybe you should call her again!”

She smashed the file folders against his chest and headed for the door, papers, photographs and notes spilling onto the beautiful Travertine tile. She charged outside, digging through her purse until she found her phone. She punched in Lorraine’s number, and firmly grasped her car key in her hand.  When he appeared outside, she placed the key against the hood of the car. At the sight the color drained from his face.

“What are you doing?”

“If you come near me, I’ll give your car a memory that’ll be very expensive to fix.” He put up his hands in defeat and took a step back. She grimaced as she heard the familiar script of Lorraine’s voice mail. “Lorraine, I’m with Stan Wertz. He’s just propositioned me. Call me when you get this message.”

“Ari, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I was way out of line.”

“You sure as hell were!”

“Can you please put your keys away? I promise I’m not going to do anything inappropriate. You’ve made your position quite clear, and while I’m definitely a little surprised that you are rebuffing me, I actually admire your spitfire. But I do have one question for you—why?”

She shook her head, puzzled.  “Why what?”

“Why are you refusing me? I mean I’m good looking, in great shape, I’m charming and I’m incredibly wealthy. Where’s the turnoff?”

She could see that he was genuinely perplexed. To most women he would be the complete package. The money alone would be incentive to forgive his sleaziness. She put her keys back in her purse and faced him.

“I’m a lesbian,” she announced. “Now, you have a choice. You can take me back to my car or we can continue to find you a house without further incident. Which would you prefer, Mr. Wertz?”

A smile spread across his face. “I knew there was a reason.” He extended his arm toward the front door. “After you, Ms. Adams.”

Investigating the disappearance of Selena Diaz consumed much of Molly’s morning. A neighbor recalled hearing a motor start in the middle of the night, but no one had seen or heard any activity since then. The landlord was called, a middle-aged slumlord from Scottsdale, who obviously cared little for the property. He’d barely opened the door for Molly and Andre before speeding off in his Mercedes, determined to leave South Phoenix as soon as possible.

They found various possessions that Molly knew wouldn’t have been abandoned during a normal move, including a dollhouse that she was sure belonged to Selena. She pictured Maria and Selena spending hours creating stories around the tiny figures now littered haphazardly in front of the structure on the old shag carpet.

“Where do you think they went?” Andre asked.

“Far away. Something scared them enough to get out.”

And she wondered if that
something
was actually a
someone
—Hector Cervantes. His alibi for the day of Maria’s murder checked out, but she knew there were plenty of Hector’s gang buddies who would do anything he said. 

As noon approached, Andre went to run errands, and she took a walk to look for the man the Jack in the Box worker had described. She was rather certain he was one of her informants.

The February sun pleasantly warmed the downtown buildings and by lunchtime, the sweaters and coats that had been worn to work were shed across the backs of office chairs.

She strode down Third Avenue, stripping off her suit jacket after the first block. Even in the dead of winter, a laughable expression in Phoenix, the residents could break into a sweat just from a walk. Despite the lack of real seasons it was still better than shoveling snow.

She crossed at the light, passing a sidewalk vendor selling daisies. She debated whether to stop and buy a bouquet for Ari, but they weren’t scheduled to be together again until tomorrow night. By then the flowers would wilt, at least a little. Of course she could show up at her place unannounced, but the idea made her uncomfortable. They hadn’t deviated from the set schedule since they’d started dating and somehow she thought if she surprised her, it would change the relationship, propelling it into a new dimension that she wasn’t sure she could handle.

“Ma’am, can I help you?” a young woman asked.

“No thank you,” she quickly responded.

“Are you sure?” a voice asked. She turned to find Franco Perez smelling a bouquet of the dainty white flowers. “They look pretty good.”

She aggressively approached Perez, only to have two large men appear from amid the daisy carts and step between her and the gangster. “Are you following me?” she blurted.

He motioned the men away, and they strolled down the sidewalk. She realized how much he looked like his sister. He couldn’t be more than nineteen and his baby face betrayed whatever tough act he hoped to convey.

“I want to know if you’ve found my sister’s killer yet.”

“I’m not going to discuss a police investigation with you, Franco. When we’re ready, we’ll arrest someone and your mother will be contacted. If you want any information, you’ll need to talk to her.”

He offered a slight grin and looked even younger. She couldn’t imagine how this boy was Hector Cervantes’s fiercest rival. He hardly looked old enough to buy bubblegum. “But since you’re here, I have a few questions for you. Your mother says that you’re not close with your family anymore. Is that true?”

He frowned. “I’m not close to my mother.”

“So you were still seeing Maria?”

“Sometimes. I’ll pick her up from school, and we’ll have an ice cream.” His lip quivered. “At least we used to.”

She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. She thought of the photo of the two of them in each other’s arms. Whatever he did on the streets didn’t involve her. He had the good sense to shield her from that world. “Do you have any idea who killed Maria?”

He shook his head, his eyes downward. “No, but if I did...” He let the thought die and wiped the tears away with his sleeve. When he had composed himself he stared at her, and his youthful face morphed into the hard expression of a gang lord. “You find who did this, Detective, and if it had anything to do with Mayhem Locos, your job will be easier. You just let me know.”

“Why would my job be easier?”

With a shrug he was a boy again. His bodyguards appeared next to him, and one of them presented her with a bouquet of daisies. “To show our appreciation,” Perez explained. “Find my sister’s killer.”

“Franco, you need to stay out of this,” she warned. “Just let me do my job and quit following me.”

He nodded cordially. “Of course, Detective. We have the utmost faith in you, but we’ll be close by.”

The gang members sauntered down the sidewalk. She tossed the flowers in a nearby trash can and continued for another block until she stood at the edge of Patriots Park. She gazed out at the clusters of business people relaxing on the benches, enjoying their lunches with co-workers or a good book.

She caught sight of a familiar face just beyond the edge of the old courthouse. He was sitting on the ground reading a paperback. From a distance he looked like many of the other lunchtime park dwellers but as she approached, his haggard appearance became obvious. His jeans were faded and the cuffs of his sweatshirt were frayed yet no putrid smell emanated from his body. 

Professor Shakespeare ignored her, engrossed in a worn copy of
The Stranger
by Camus. She smiled at his sense of respectability. His shopping cart was well-hidden in the bushes and since he wasn’t asleep, she knew no one would complain and the cops would leave him alone. 

When the professor finally glanced up, it took a few seconds before recognition crossed his face.

“Detective,” he said plainly.

“How are you, Professor Shakespeare?”

“I am filled with joy, gentle friend. And may fresh days of love accompany your heart!”

She smiled. Most of the man’s conversations were quotations from Shakespeare’s plays and accounted for his unusual street name. She nodded, understanding his meaning and wondering if she looked like a woman in love.

Professor Shakespeare’s speckled gray afro swayed in the wind, pressing against the side of his head. His bushy beard needed a trim, but his eyes radiated intelligence. When he smiled, she was greeted by rows of perfect teeth, obviously regularly cleaned and checked. The professor was not what he seemed.

He waited for a response to his quotation and all she could think to say was, “Interesting.”

“Yes. To expostulate why day is day and night night, and time is time, were nothing but to waste night, day and time.”