It Takes Two to Strangle (23 page)

“Hold on, cowboy,” she said raising her hands. She was still smiling but stepped a pace back from Damon. His restlessness was palpable. “I’ve been patient and haven’t asked you who you are or what you want with this bicycle. But now I think it’s time for you to explain yourself.”

Damon forced himself to take a deep breath. “I’m working with the police on an investigation, and I think the chain from that bicycle was part of the crime.”

His attempt to leave out the gruesome details was futile—the blond was too shrewd. “Somebody got beaten with it, or killed,” she said plainly.

She answered his unspoken question. “I can’t think of any other crime where someone would use a bike chain. Was it murder?”

“I think so,” he said. “I’m calling the police. Can you see if you can get Teddy to come to the store?”

“I’ll try. First I have to go tell the manager.”

Damon dialed Gerry. No answer. He left a voicemail and sent him both an e-mail and a text, providing the location of the sporting goods dealer. He tried Gerry’s boss, Margaret Hobbes. Her voicemail box was full.

The blond sales clerk came back with a thumbs up, trailed by a Hispanic man in his early thirties who had love handles jutting out just above his belt. She introduced the manager as Jorge and divulged that her name was Gretchen. Jorge asked for a recap, which Damon provided succinctly.

“Are the police coming?” Jorge asked in unaccented rapid English.

“I called and texted them. I’m sure they’ll be here soon. Is Teddy able to come in?”

“He’ll be here in ten minutes,” Jorge said. “He only lives a couple of miles away. He wasn’t too pleased to get a call from me on his day off, but when I said he may have bought a bike from a murderer, he got pretty excited.”

“Can we take a look at the bike while we wait?” Damon asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Jorge said. Gretchen returned to the computer and printed out a screen shot of Toma’s sale.

The storage area was a cemetery for discarded sports equipment. Exercise bicycles and weightlifting benches dominated the front of the room. The sides were lined with wheeled bins overflowing with loose gear—everything from wooden tennis rackets to snowshoes.

At the back of the storage room a set of doors led to a rectangular cement block workshop. A twenty-something man with corn-rows, dirty jeans and bright white Nikes was sitting on a low work table restringing the pocket of a lacrosse stick. “Hey boss,” he said upon seeing Jorge walk into the windowless space.

“Gene,” Jorge said, “I need you to find a bike for me.” Gretchen handed him the slip of paper.

He peered down at it and stepped over to a metallic rack housing a half-dozen bicycles. Gene pulled out a silver bike with a black seat, just as the busboy had described.

“It’s the next bike on my list,” Gene said.

“So you haven’t touched it?” Damon asked quickly.

“I’ve moved it around a few times, but I haven’t worked on it yet.”

“And it didn’t have a chain when it came in?” Gretchen asked, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“Not that I saw,” Gene said. “I think Teddy brought it back a little over a week ago. And he wouldn’t have taken off the chain. Why all the questions, Jorge?”

“It might be part of a police investigation,” Jorge responded cryptically.

“You want me to do anything in particular with it?”

“Just leave it as is for now. Don’t repair it please.”

“No problem, boss,” Gene said, revealing braces on his teeth.

Minutes later, a well-built Caucasian man bustled through the doors of the workshop.

“Are the police here?” he asked loudly.

Jorge introduced him to Damon. Teddy Vanover had the classic “V” shape of a bodybuilder. His shoulders were expansive and his torso tapered evenly down to a narrow waist. He wore a tight yellow t-shirt and black mesh shorts. Damon was surprised the store had him working in the bicycle department rather than the weightlifting section.

Damon quickly filled in Teddy on the background and then asked if he remembered the person who sold him the chainless bicycle.

“I think so. He was an older guy, bald in front but with long hair in the back.

Damon unfolded the photocopy and handed it to Teddy.

He responded immediately. “That’s him.”

“You’re sure?” Damon asked.

“Definitely.”

“And the bike didn’t have a chain on it when he brought it in?”

“It didn’t. I’m pretty sure I wrote that in the computer report.”

“Did he buy anything in exchange?” Jorge asked.

“No,” Teddy said. “I just wrote out a receipt for the purchase and he said he’d be back later to use the credit.”

A girl of no more than nineteen poked her head through the workshop door. Her face was flush with anxiety, but it mellowed when she spotted Jorge. “Jorge,” she whispered. “The police are here.”

“Good,” he said. “Bring them back here right away.”

Within a matter of seconds, Margaret Hobbes, Gerry Sloman and two Baltimore police officers crowded into the workshop. Damon, Gretchen and Jorge were asked to step outside of the tight space but to stay on the premises. The officers needed breathing room while they questioned Teddy and Gene.

Damon joined Gretchen outside for a breath of fresh air while Jorge returned to his managerial duties.

“What a trip,” she said. “Do you have a cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke, sorry,” Damon responded, wondering why he had apologized.

“Neither do I,” she said. “Not normally, anyway. But this is crazy.”

A trio of women parked their bicycles against the rack in front of the store. Gretchen whispered an expletive and excused herself—the bicycle sales section had been unstaffed for half an hour. Damon sat on the concrete walkway separating the parking lot from the store. Forty-five minutes later, one of the Baltimore police officers asked him to step inside.

Gerry was waiting for him in the storage area. Margaret was still in the workshop. Damon expected to be chewed out for interfering yet again, but instead Gerry slapped him on the back. “Terrific work, Damon. The department owes you one.”

“No problem,” Damon said, unsure whether the compliment was genuine.

“Seriously, Damon. Margaret was upset about you talking to Clara alone, and she’s pissed off that Toma’s running loose, but you found rock-solid evidence for Lirim’s murder and that means a whole lot.”

“Thanks.” Damon lowered his voice. “Gerry, the chain was used after the clothesline. So Toma isn’t the murderer, is he?”

“We’ll see. Maybe he’ll crack under interrogation or maybe the prosecutor’s office will come up with a winning theory as to why the chain was involved in the actual death.”

“Would they do that even if Dr. Chu said he was already dead by the time he was strangled with the chain?”

“I don’t know. At the very least, we should be able to get him for attempted murder. If you can attempt to murder a dead man. But we’ll let the prosecutor’s office work that out.”

“Do you have enough evidence?” Damon asked.

“I think so. We have a strong motive. Toma just found out crucial information supporting what he may have long suspected—that Lirim killed his sister. He has no alibi. And the day after Lirim was strangled with a bicycle chain, he sells a bicycle that doesn’t have a chain. Margaret’s getting the physical specifications of the standard chain for Toma’s model so we can confirm that they match the marks found on the body. But they’ll match, I’m certain.”

Chapter 22

The specifications of the missing chain corresponded to a tee to the marks found on Lirim’s neck. Gerry e-mailed Damon with the information that evening after Damon had driven home to Hollydale. Gerry had other news as well. Police in Newark, New Jersey, tracked down and arrested Toma Ljubic, who was being transported to Arlington. He was found with an overnight bag stuffed full of cash at a YMCA within walking distance of a commercial bus depot.

The following day was Saturday. Damon took a morning walk to The Cookery. He wanted to find out if Rebecca and his mother enjoyed the show at the Kennedy Center.

Lights were on, but the cooking school was empty. Next door at Cynthia’s salon, through the plate glass window, Damon observed a small pack of women buzzing around Mrs. Chenworth. He recognized Rebecca from the rear.

“Is everything all right?” Damon asked, stepping inside.

All heads turned in his direction.

“Mrs. Chenworth slipped crossing the street from the Safeway,” Cynthia said. A sly smile on her emaciated face suggested they were feeding the large woman’s frenzy out of benevolence. Her health and welfare were hardly at risk.

“Thank goodness the cars were stopped at the light,” Mrs. Chenworth said to Damon, pleased to find a new pair of sympathetic ears. “Though I suppose that’s why I was crossing. But still, I stepped right in a crack in the middle of the street. Damon, you’re in charge of Hollydale, can’t you do something about it?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he responded in an overly serious tone and Rebecca gave him a quick wink. “Did you call an ambulance?”

“No, no,” Mrs. Chenworth said with a wave of her hand. “Rebecca came to my rescue. I’m injured, of course, but I can live without the hospital. Don’t get me started on that place. Say, Damon, what’s happening in the murder case?”

“The police in Newark arrested someone last night and are bringing him back to Arlington for questioning,” he said, leaning back against a spotless countertop.

“Who?” Mrs. Chenworth nearly leapt out of her chair. Rebecca had to cover her mouth to avoid laughing at the dynamism of the wounded woman.

Damon debated how much to disclose to an audience that included the gossipy Mrs. Chenworth. “The police arrested the dead man’s brother-in-law,” Damon said.

“It’s always family in these cases,” pontificated Mrs. Chenworth easing back into the comfort of the salon styling chair. “What’s the motive?”

Damon deftly parried away the question by describing his encounter with the murder suspect. “Do you remember last week when you told me that Lirim’s daughter and her doctor boyfriend were headed to the Poorboy Diner?”

“Yes,” she responded excitedly.

“That’s where I met the man who was arrested.”

Mrs. Chenworth radiated with delight. Damon concluded she was devising a story that led from her giving Jordan Hall directions to a diner to the capture of a murderer.

“Well, it looks like you’re feeling better, Mrs. Chenworth,” Damon said cutting short the dialogue. “Rebecca needs me to help her fix something at The Cookery.”

Rebecca followed his lead and the pair extricated themselves from the rumormonger and her cohorts.

***

The rich smell of freshly ground Kona beans filled the air in The Cookery as Rebecca brewed coffee in a French press.

“So what really happened?” she asked.

Damon relayed Victor’s story about Lirim murdering his wife and then outlined his call to Johnnetta Frank and the trip to Richmond. He used general terms to describe his day in Baltimore, leaving out all mention of Toma’s bicycle. As far as Rebecca knew, a nylon clothesline was the only weapon used on Lirim.

“Do you know what the police found to pin down Toma?” she asked when he finished his account.

Damon hesitated. “I do. I just can’t tell you.”

She took it in stride. “No problem, Damon.”

Damon hesitated and Rebecca homed in on his disquiet. “Why aren’t you happier?” she asked. “Lirim was a scumbag and now there’s some closure for the citizens of Hollydale.”

Damon avoided her gaze. “I can’t tell you why, but the case isn’t over yet,” he said.

She was clearly puzzled but not upset with Damon. She didn’t want him to say anything he wasn’t comfortable disclosing.

“So what happens next?” she asked.

“The police will grill Toma. And I’ll wait and hope that Gerry throws me some scraps.”

Walking toward home, up the base of the hill separating Hollydale’s commercial district from its residential streets, Damon noticed Skipper at a table outside of the Baskin Robbins with Shawna Crane, the local girl Skipper met at the fair. He wondered what Skipper was doing in Hollydale on a Saturday morning when the fair in Manassas would be in full swing.

Damon crossed over to the couple. Skipper smiled, stood up and extended his hand. Not the gesture of someone hiding a terrible secret.

“Will you join us for a scoop, Mr. Lassard?”

“No thanks, Skipper. Hi Shawna. I was just heading home and wanted to say hello. Are you playing hooky today, Skipper?”

“No. Jim let me take off this morning to see Shawna. Manassas is close enough that we’ve been able to see each other every day. But next week Big Surf is heading out to Cumberland. That’s two and a half hours from here, so it could be a whole week before I see Shawna again.”

Damon liked Skipper when he first met him and his opinion hadn’t changed. He wished them both good luck and continued on foot up the hill to his duplex.

David Einstaff was not on the porch. That was a good sign. He might be at work rather than enjoying life somewhere, but at least he wasn’t drunk on the porch on a Saturday before noon.