Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 05 - The Devil's Breath (5 page)

“Taggert, a judge and producer on the show, partnered with Hugh that same year to open
Defry
in Miami Beach.” An image of the restaurant, green awning, walls of windows pushed aside to allow the breeze to mingle among the guests, flashed on the screen.

“Visited by the famous,” a picture of Hugh and Taggert on either side of a beautiful woman, all of them smiling widely, arms around each other. “And the infamous,” Antonio continued. A photo of Taggert and a big man, his smile unpracticed, his suit not quite in style, faced the camera across a table, brandy snifters in front of them. “
Defry
was an instant hit, they had plans to expand rapidly into casinos and resorts, including locations in Las Vegas, Palm Springs, and New York.”

My stomach tightened at the mention of New York. “While there were rumors that the two men had a fiery relationship, they could have easily been dismissed as tabloid fare until last week when a fire hit
Defry
setting off the course of events that brings us all here today.”

A little dramatic, I thought.

Antonio squeezed the controller, changing the image on the screen. An open oven, matte black with soot damage spreading out from it like a starburst, darkening the pristine stainless steel countertops and hood which reflected almost white under the bright light of the crime scene photographer’s flash. It looked collapsed, ruined, like an explosion, not just fire, had raged within.

“The fire marshal is saying that the grease trap was not cleaned properly. The kitchen’s logs are missing but according to staff we’ve interviewed, Hugh was obsessively tidy.”

“Are you suggesting it could have been sabotage?” I asked.

Antonio turned to me, his deep brown eyes unreadable in the dull light. “Yes, that is one of the leads we are following.”

I felt Mulberry looking at me and glanced toward him as the picture on the screen changed again. Mulberry returned his attention to the screen and I watched his profile for a moment, checking for tension in his jaw, tightness around his mouth, but saw no signs of upset. I played with one of Blue’s ears and looked back to Antonio.

“The fire began at the beginning of dinner service with an explosion that miraculously did not injure anyone working in the kitchen. The built-in suppression system failed, allowing the fire to rage unchecked for more than five minutes during which Hugh ordered his staff to evacuate the restaurant and then, using a fire extinguisher he kept in the kitchen, put out the fire himself.” Antonio turned back to his audience, his voice lowering. “The fire chief said it was a foolish, but brave move that most likely saved thousands in property damage and possibly the lives of people in the upstairs apartment. Mulberry, Edwards, and I agree that this is key evidence of our client’s level head and respect for human life.”

I looked down at Blue and found his eyes closed and breathing even. On the edge of sleep, I thought.

“The fire department showed up seven minutes after the alarm sounded and took over fighting the fire at that time, though from the men I spoke to it was mostly out before their arrival. However, they double checked everything, spending approximately an hour and a half on site. Long enough, certainly, to see the fight that took place between our client, Hugh Defry, and the victim, Lawrence Taggert.”

I looked up as the screen changed again to show Hugh and Lawrence toe-to-toe on the sidewalk in front of
Defry
. Hugh was in a chef’s outfit, black and white checked pants, and a soot-stained white smock. Taggert wore a suit that rose up as he pushed his finger into Hugh’s chest. His palms out and posture leaning back, Hugh looked down at the smaller man with an expression of surprised anger. “This photo was taken by one of the paparazzi who often hang out around the entrance of
Defry,”
Antonio said. “Their confrontation was short and then Taggert returned to his car and left.”

“According to witnesses, Defry sent the rest of his staff home and waited until he could get back into the restaurant. He thanked several of the firemen personally and, once allowed back inside, called contractors leaving messages about getting the kitchen fixed.”

“Defry thinks he left the restaurant around 9 and received a phone call from Taggert soon after asking him to come over. Defry claims that Taggert said he wanted to apologize. Defry remembers nothing after the drive out to Taggert’s residence.”

“We spoke to Taggert’s maid, Esmerelda Garcia, who confirms that Taggert’s wife was out of town—she spends a lot of time away apparently. It was Esmerelda’s night off and she was staying with her mother.”

A crime scene photo showed shards of a white and blue porcelain vase scattered on a dark blue carpet, the blood on the vase brown, the stains on the carpet black. “A confrontation between two people began in the front hall. Taggert ran toward his bedroom and the killer followed, picking up a vase on the way. Defry or somebody else, though Defry’s fingerprints were found on the vase, hit Taggert hard enough to stun him. He fell onto the bed.” The screen showed the large bed with its twisted sheets and blood spatter. “The attacker pulled him off by the ankles and dragged him back through the front hall.” A photo of a white marble floor with a red drag mark curling across it and out the front door flashed on the screen.

“At some point during the drive out to the Everglades, Taggert woke up and attempted to free himself from the trunk.” A close up of fingertips, torn and blue, almost abstract except for the undeniable outline of the nail bed. Another photo flashed, knuckles bruised and swollen. “Defry was at the wheel, as you can see from this surveillance film at a gas station on 8
th
Street.” A video played of Hugh’s BMW pulling up next to a pump, Hugh climbing out of the driver side and using his credit card to pay for the gas. He stared blankly down at the handle until it clicked off and then replaced it. You could see the trunk lid jumping as the man trapped inside fought for freedom. Too calm, I thought. Hugh’s business partner is banging on his trunk and he fills up like it’s nothing. Something really wrong with this picture.

“Do we know how much gas was in the car?” I asked.

“Excuse me?” Antonio said.

“I’m wondering,” I said as the Hugh on screen got back into his car and drove out of the shot, “if we know how much gas he bought. Unless he was on empty, why would he stop on the way out there?”

“Ashley, do we have that information?” Antonio asked.

She typed into her iPad for a second. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“Let’s get that then,” Bobby said, nodding for Antonio to continue.

“The next time we have any account of Hugh Defry is when his neighbor, a Mrs. Young, saw his car at around 2 am. She doesn’t sleep well and often sits on her deck, which faces the garage entrance of Mr. Defry’s building.”

“Could she see Hugh driving? If there was someone else in the car?” I asked.

Antonio shook his head. “No, it was too dark to see who was in the car but she recognized his license plate, it’s apparently a game she plays with herself.”

“What about street cameras?” I asked. Blue raised his head off my lap, his collar letting off a light jingle as he turned toward Antonio, apparently also curious about surveillance cameras around the city.

“Ashley is still gathering the footage.”

She nodded. “There are cameras all over this city. I’m going through it as fast as I can.”

I nodded. Having spent several years working in London I knew about cities honey combed with cameras.

“How long?” Mulberry asked, turning his body to face Ashley.

“Not sure,” she said. “A few more days I’d think, I’m still gathering the footage.”

“Let us know if you need another set of eyes,” Mulberry said.

“I will,” Ashley answered softly. “Thanks.” It was almost a purr.

Mulberry turned back to Antonio who continued. “Taggert’s body was discovered at approximately 6 am by fishermen.” The same photo I’d seen of Taggert’s body on the flight appeared on the screen. Taggert’s suit jacket spread around him like some kind of water plant, a strange gray lily. Green algae floated on the surface of the water and the shadows glistened black.

“One gunshot to the temple…” A close up of the entry wound, small, cleaned, it looked almost plastic under the medical examiner’s harsh lights.

“When officers were dispatched to Mr. Defry’s home he answered the door wearing clothing marked with mud and blood. The detectives asked to search the home and garage. Hugh was described as slightly incoherent and nonresistant, offering the officers access.”

Edwards cut in. “I think it may be possible to get the whole search thrown out. We’ve got a tox screen in and should have some answers in a couple of days but if Hugh was impaired during their search, we may be able to contest consent.” He leaned into the center of the table, eyes bright with the challenge.

A photo of the trunk of a car, dark smears marring the beige carpeted interior, filled the screen. “Defry also gave them permission to search his car. The blood found in the trunk matched Taggert’s and they found the weapon, a gun,”—its barrel parallel with the edge of a wooden table, lined up against a tape measure flashed on the screen—“on Defry’s kitchen table. He has no memory of this gun, the serial number was filed off and ballistics did not match anything in the database… except Mr. Lawrence Taggert’s wound.”

#

R
esting both hands on the conference table, Edwards rose to his full height and said, “Now that Antonio has told you what we know, let me talk about what we don’t know. Here’s my first question: What kind of drugs was he on?” He walked around to the front of the table taking the clicker from Antonio who then sat. “We should have the tox screen back by this afternoon. Hopefully it can answer that question for us.” He smiled around the room, exuding confidence. “My next question: Who gave the drugs to him? And was that person there?” Edwards pointed at the screen where a photograph of a blood spattered wall glowed. “Now this says to me, and to our experts, that there was somebody standing right here.” He reached out and touched the screen, pointing to a blank section of the wall. Circling his finger around it, he continued, “This, ladies and gentleman, is evidence of a leg.” He turned back to us. “A leg that does not belong to our client, Mr. Hugh Defry, nor the victim, Mr. Lawrence Taggert. So,” he held his hands out to the side. “Who does it belong to?”

No one thought he expected an answer and so no one offered one. I’d read about his theory on the flight, Hugh had been drugged. Someone else was there. We just had to find out what Hugh was drugged with and by whom.  Then we’d have our solution.

Before Edwards could continue there was a knock on the door. We could see through the glass that it was the secretary holding a tray of bagels. Robert opened the door for her. She smiled at him and stepped forward to place the bagels in the center of the table. Robert nodded to Mulberry and then stepped out into the hall. I watched him go for a moment and then, before Edwards started up again dashed through the door, Blue by my side, the secretary still arranging napkins.

#

H
e was only a bit down the hall when I closed the conference room door behind me. Bobby stopped and turned. He smiled when he saw Blue and me. “Can I help?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought we should talk,” I said.

Both brows rose. “Really?”

“Mulberry says I should give you a chance.”

“And you listen to him?”

“Don’t you?”

He laughed. “Dinner tonight then?”

I nodded. “Okay, where?”

“How about my place? I’ve got work drinks in the city after so let’s make it early. My driver will pick you up. 5:30?”

“How about a public place?”

“You really want to talk about our business in a public place?” he asked. “I’d be happy to meet in your hotel room.” I thought about the two of us in a confined space and agreed to meet him at his house.

“I’ll drive myself, though,” I said.

“You have a car?”

“I will.”

“Let me loan you one.”

“That’s fine, I’ll get myself a car.”

“Without a license?”

“There are ways.”

“I’ll have it delivered.” He waved to the secretary at the end of the hall and she hurried over to us. “Ms. Jelson, please arrange for the midnight blue Audi A4 to be delivered to Ms. Rye’s hotel by 5 pm.”

“Of course, sir,” she hurried back to her desk and immediately picked up the phone.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, reaching out a hand and squeezing my shoulder before turning away and walking down the hall. I watched until he rounded the corner for the elevator.

#

M
ulberry took me to a restaurant for breakfast, pointing out that I’d avoided the bagels. We sat outside under a big orange umbrella and ordered coffee and eggs with sausage on the side. Blue settled himself under the table and the waitress, who wore skin tight black shorts and a half top in bright pink with the restaurant’s logo across her breasts, brought him a bowl of water and a biscuit. He lapped at the water gratefully and accepted the treat once he’d checked with me it was okay.

Once she’d left, I pointed out to Mulberry he’d picked quite the place for breakfast. “Her outfit is awesome.”

He smiled. “That’s just the culture down here. Everyone is half naked. See,” he said, pointing to a man who rollerbladed by wearing only a small pair of cut-off jean shorts, his hairless chest glistening in the sun as he sped by. “It’s equal opportunity,” he said. I looked down at my outfit and felt my jeans clinging to my legs. I should buy some linen I thought, letting my mind drift back for a moment to my clothing in India, my sarong and T-shirts, how much I’d enjoyed not wearing clothes most of the time. 

The waitress returned with our eggs and we ate in silence for a few moments. Mulberry leaned back with a smile, holding his cup of coffee. “I like it here,” he said. “Not a bad place to spend a couple of months, maybe half a year. I’m thinking about an apartment in this neighborhood.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “Though I’m hoping not to be here that long.”