DIVA (21 page)

“Hey, Mr. Know-Nothing. Not Smith, S-M-I-T-H. There’s that all-important
Y
in the middle, that extra-special
E
at the end. Like he’s an aristocrat or some fucking thing.”

Miller cracked up, rumbling a laugh.

His cell phone rang and he grabbed it. “Renzi.”

“Hey, Frank, it’s Kelly. You got a minute?”

A minute? He had hours and days worth of minutes for Kelly O’Neil. A warm glow filled his chest as he pictured her entrancing sea-green eyes.

“Give me a minute, I’ll call you back.” He pushed back from his desk and said to Miller, “I gotta go check something. Back in five.”

Focused on his computer, Miller waved a hand without looking up.

He hustled outside and sat on a stone bench between the Eighth District Station and the coffee joint next door, far enough from the outdoor tables so no one could overhear, and called Kelly.

“Sorry," he said. "It was noisy in the office. I had to go outside.” A big fib. He didn’t want to talk to her in front of Miller. They were on the verge of something. He felt it in his gut, the buzz he got before he slept with a woman.

Kelly responded with a derisive laugh. “Your office wasn’t noisy. You just didn’t want to talk to me in front of Kenyon Miller. I’m outside too.”

“Yeah?” he said, grinning. “Close encounters with Warren getting to you? Can’t stand being cooped up in a trailer Mr. Sexist-Pig?”

Fifteen months post-Katrina, the badly damaged District-Three station remained closed, the D-3 detectives working out of a trailer in cubicles barely big enough to hold a computer station.

“How’d you guess?” she said, with a lilt in her voice. “I’m sitting under a big oak tree enjoying the fresh air and sunshine, figured I’d give you a call and make sure you’re busting your butt.”

He could feel her smiling. “I am. I just finished talking to a snotty old fart in London.”

“London? How come? Something to do with the Lakeview case?”

“No. How about we have dinner tonight and I’ll tell you about it?”

“Uh, not tonight. Sorry. I’ve got something planned.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, thinking: What plans and with whom?

“How about tomorrow? I could meet you at seven.”

His heart soared. “Perfect. Let’s meet at Zea’s on Magazine Street. My treat.” Hinting this wasn’t about work to see how she’d react.

She uttered a low throaty laugh. “Sounds great. See you then.”

His heart thrummed. Dinner with Kelly O’Neil tomorrow night.

After dinner, anything could happen.

When it came to women, he liked to think positive.

_____

At ten-thirty he unlocked Belinda’s door and stepped into the foyer, carrying a foil-covered plate. Agitated voices came from the office. His heart surged, fueled by delicious anticipation. Now he would demonstrate his expertise to his beloved and make her understand how indispensable he was.

And Ziegler would get his comeuppance.

Belinda came out to the foyer, sporting a worried frown. “Hello, Mr. Silverman. Someone broke in while we were gone.”

“Broke in!” he exclaimed, feigning astonishment and concern.

Ziegler came out of the office and stood beside Belinda.

He had to use all his willpower not to laugh. The asshole’s bearded face was puckered in the mother of all frowns.

“Someone trashed the place,” Ziegler said, glaring at him.

He set the foil-covered plate on the foyer table and adopted a stern expression. “That’s not good. Tell me what happened, Belinda.”

“I got home around three and came inside and saw the mess—”

“Hold it. Didn’t the police come when the alarm went off?”

After a quick glance at Ziegler, she said, “The alarm wasn’t on.”

“I armed it before we left,” Ziegler said, and gnawed at his thumbnail.

He smiled, emulating the condescending smile Ziegler often gave him. “Are you sure? You were in a rush. It’s easy to forget something when—”

“I wasn’t in a rush. I didn’t
forget
. I set the alarm before I left.”

Feigning concern, he said to Belinda, “You came in the house by yourself? What if the robbers were still here? If I had driven you home, I could have protected you.”

If I’d come with you to Cincinnati none of this would have been necessary
.

“She called you yesterday and left a message,” Ziegler said. “Where were you?”

“Really? My answering service said nothing about a message.” To Belinda he said, “Was anything stolen? What about your flutes?”

“My flutes weren’t stolen, just some jewelry and my CD player.”

And four CDs, and a pair of your sexy-smelling panties
.

“Did you call the police?”

“Yes. For all the good it did. They didn’t seem hopeful about catching the burglar.”

“Did you notify your insurance company?”

“Yes. They told me to make a list of everything that’s missing.”

Ziegler skewered him a look, a vindictive squinty-eyed look. “Where were you yesterday?”

“At an Atlanta Symphony concert. My sis—” He caught himself in time. “My girlfriend plays in the orchestra. It was a terrific concert. I really enjoyed it.”
Except for watching my bitch-sister Rachel sawing away on her violin.

“When we’re out of town,” Ziegler said, “you’re supposed to be here to cover the alarm in case something happens. That’s why I gave you the code.”

He gave the asshole a self-righteous smile. “I paid for a plane ticket to Cincinnati, Jake, but you told me I wasn’t needed. The ticket wasn’t refundable, so I exchanged it for a round-trip flight to Atlanta. I flew back early this morning.”

Belinda glanced at Ziegler. His beloved appeared sympathetic, unlike Ziegler, who glared at him, his baleful eyes full of disdain.

“Only three people have the code, Mr. Silverman. Belinda has it, I have it, and you have it.”

“Wait. Are you accusing
me
?” He turned to Belinda and made his eyes go wide. “You think
I
had something to do with this?

“No, I don’t.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze, however. A bad sign.

“Well, I do!” Ziegler said. “Your services are no longer required, Mr. Silverman. Send me an invoice for your time, including today, and I’ll mail you a check.”

An angry flush burned his cheeks. This was totally unfair. He couldn’t allow this to happen. “Is that what you want, Belinda?”

She continued to stare at the floor. “I’m sorry, Mr. Silverman.”

He clenched his fists and took a step toward Ziegler. The asshole stood his ground, smirking at him. He wanted to punch the smirk off his face, wanted to ram a fist into his gut and show Belinda how impotent and helpless Loverboy was. But that wouldn’t do.

He looked at Belinda. “Well, if that’s the way it is . . .”

“Yes, that’s the way it is!” Ziegler said.

He picked up the foil-wrapped plate from the table and offered it to her. “My girlfriend baked some brownies and I saved some for you, Belinda.”

“Take your fucking brownies and get out!” Ziegler shouted.

Rage hotter than a blazing inferno exploded inside him. With a colossal effort, he maintained control. “No need to get testy, Mr. Ziegler.”

You’ll get what’s coming to you soon enough
.

CHAPTER 21

Wednesday, 8 November

Kelly unlocked her front door and led him into her living room. She flashed a smile, but she seemed edgy. Maybe she was having second thoughts about inviting him home for a nightcap after their dinner at Zea’s.

“Have a seat while I get the Baileys, Frank.”

He put his arms around her and pulled her close. She exhaled a puff of air against his cheek, tipped her head back and looked at him, her sea-green eyes liquid pools. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, gently at first, more deeply when she opened her lips and pressed her body against him.

When they came up for air, she said, “Mmm. That was good.”

He raised her top and caressed her back with his fingertips.

“Too many clothes,” he said. “I want to feel your skin.”

She pulled off her low-cut top and tossed it on the sofa. He undid her bra, brushed the straps from her shoulders and it fell to the floor.

“Take off your shirt,” she whispered.

He feathered her nipples with his fingers and kissed her. When he took off his shirt and dropped it on the floor, she pressed against him. Her skin felt warm against his, her nipples hard against his chest. He felt her heartbeat, thrumming almost as fast as his.

His cell phone went off, a jarring interruption.

“I should have turned the damn thing off,” he muttered. He didn’t want to answer, but when his cell rang this late, it was usually urgent.

When he answered, Belinda screamed, “Frank, I don’t know what to do! Jake is dead!”

His heart jolted. “Hold on, slow down. Tell me what happened.”

“H-h-he felt sick this afternoon so he went home but then he felt worse, so he went to the hospital and now he’s dead, Frank! Jake is dead! Can you come to the hospital?”

He glanced at Kelly, gazing at him now with a somber expression. “Which hospital?”

“Touro Infirmary. It’s on—”

“I know where it is. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Frank. Please hurry!”

He punched off. “Sorry, Kelly. This woman’s hysterical. I’ve got to go calm her down.”

Vertical frown lines appeared between Kelly’s eyebrows.

“It’s not personal, it’s business. She’s had a lot of problems, a car accident, a B&E at her house, and now her manager’s dead. It’s more complicated than that, but I haven’t got time to explain.”

He bent down to retrieve his polo shirt. Inspired by a sudden idea, he said, “Would you mind coming with me? Maybe you can calm her down. You’re good at that.”

“I guess so, if you want.” But her expression remained skeptical.

He drew her to him and kissed her. “What I want is to make love to you, but this won’t wait. I’ll explain in the car.”

The look in her eyes said:
Not okay, but I’ll go with it. For now.

_____

With Kelly at his side, he strode to the reception desk and flashed his ID badge at a tired-looking older woman in a white uniform.

“We’re here to see Belinda Scully. She came in with a patient named Jake Ziegler. Can you tell me where to find her?”

“She’s waiting for you in the Family Center. Do you know—?”

“I know where it is.” He’d interviewed plenty of victims’ families in the Family Center, the room where they parked relatives so the doctor could deliver bad news in private. He tilted his head at Kelly and they walked down a hall decorated with cheery watercolors of pink pelicans and various wildlife.

They came to a door with a metal faceplate: Family Center. He tapped on the door and stepped inside. Slumped in a wingchair with blue-flowered upholstery, Belinda looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by puffy skin. Her facial pallor matched the institutional-ivory walls. She leaped out of the chair, crossed the room in two long strides and threw her arms around him. “Thank God you’re here, Frank. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Her ribs heaved—she was hyperventilating—and he smelled an unpleasant odor, as if she’d run a marathon and hadn’t showered.

He eased her away and gestured at Kelly. “This is Detective Kelly O’Neil. I brought her along because, well, you seemed upset.”

Belinda studied Kelly, a head-to-toe examination that took in Kelly’s low-cut top and mini-skirt. Not exactly NOPD regulation, he realized.

She clamped her lips together and stepped back, shoulders clenched, neck corded. Held together by a slender thread of iron will.

“Tell me what happened,” he said.

“Jake . . .” Her eyes welled with tears and her chest heaved. She shook her head and turned away.

He said to Kelly, “Stay with her while I talk to the doctor, okay?”

Kelly sent him a message with her eyes, one he couldn’t fathom. “Sure, Frank. We’ll be fine.”

He returned to the desk and asked to speak to the attending physician.

The gray-haired woman stifled a yawn. “That would be Doctor Perez. A young gunshot victim came in a half hour ago. Doctor Perez is working on him in the Trauma Center, should be done soon.”

He waited impatiently outside the Trauma Center with an elderly black woman in a faded-pink housecoat, sobbing quietly in a chair. Ten minutes later a man with dark hair and a mocha complexion pushed through a double door, dressed in green scrubs. He adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses and approached the sobbing woman. “Your grandson will be okay, Mrs. Jackson. The bullet nicked an artery in his thigh. That’s why there was so much blood, but we’ve got him stabilized.”

“Praise the Lord!” The grandmother leaped to her feet and clasped the doctor’s hands. “Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for saving my boy!”

“A nurse will be out in a minute to give you the details.”

Seemingly embarrassed by the woman’s emotional outburst, the doctor turned to leave. Frank intercepted him and flashed his ID.

“I know you’re busy, Doctor Perez, but could you tell me what happened to Jacob Ziegler?” Knowing the grandmother was listening, he lowered his voice. “Ziegler and Ms. Scully have had some problems lately.”

In a Spanish-tinged accent, Perez said, “Come with me. We can talk in the physician’s lounge.”

The dim-lit cubicle had a metal coffee urn and two vending machines, one with bottled juice and soda, another with candy bars, packages of crackers and granola bars. Perez sank onto a green-plastic chair, removed his horn-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. After polishing his spectacles with a handkerchief, he put them back on.

“Mr. Ziegler presented some odd symptoms when he arrived.”

Frank got out his spiral notebook. “What time was that?”

Perez puffed his cheeks and blew a stream of air. “Tell you the truth they come in so fas’ tonight I’m not sure. Beverly—she’s on the desk—she could give you the exact time.”