Killer Cuts: A Dead-End Job Mystery (15 page)

M
iguel Angel sat at his workstation, like a toddler in time

out. He gripped the chair arms with shaking hands. Helen

couldn’t tell if he was afraid, angry or too wired by the Cuban coffee to stop shaking. He’d been ordered to sit down by Detec tive Richard McNally.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Miguel Angel said.

“If you can’t keep quiet, I’ll have to detain you,” McNally said.

“But—” Helen said.

McNally interrupted her before she could finish her sentence.”You be quiet, too,” he said.”Take that chair over there.”

Helen sat in the client chair on the far side of the room.That gave her the best seat in the salon for watching the drama. Ana Luisa sat, in tense silence, across from Helen. Once again, she raised that expressive eyebrow. Her creamy skin was flushed, her lips compressed. One lock of blond hair straggled down her forehead. Helen knew that Miguel Angel would be itching to fix it. He couldn’t stand a hair out of place on his staff.

A half-dozen uniformed officers were searching the shop. Helen could hear drawers, cabinets and closet doors slamming. There was a crash of glass, and Helen wondered which product jar had been broken. Some of the hair compounds sold for two hundred dollars or more.

One officer pawed through Ana Luisa’s desk, heaping papers, pens and notepads on the desktop.When he pulled out a box of supersized tampons and poured the contents on the desk, Ana Luisa went rigid with anger and embarrassment.

A pudgy younger officer was going through Miguel Angel’s station drawers, ignoring Miguel’s glare.A brown-haired officer, who looked like an anteater, carried in the stylist’s salon makeup case from the prep area.

“Sir, there’s a hypodermic needle in among these bigger brushes,” Officer Brown reported.

“Bag it,” Detective McNally said.

Miguel Angel twitched and moved uneasily, but said nothing.

“Sir, there’s a suspicious white substance in one of these makeup wells,” Officer Brown said.

Miguel Angel could keep quiet no longer. “It’s eye shadow,” he said.

“It’s not in cake form, like the rest of the makeup,” Officer Brown said.

“Then we need to field test it,” Detective McNally said. “Do you have a field-test kit?”

“Yes, sir.And I’m trained to use it,” Officer Brown said.

Helen watched him open a small box printed with NIK Public Safety, Inc. and take out an even smaller packet and something labeled loading device. He took a tiny amount of the “suspicious substance” for testing.

“It’s tested positive for heroin and opium alkaloids,” Officer Brown said.

Helen could tell by the stunned look on Miguel Angel’s face that he had no idea there was heroin or a needle in his case.

“No!” Miguel Angel said. “I no use drugs or needles.” His English deteriorated as his fear grew.

Helen figured there was only a small amount of heroin in the makeup well. How much trouble could her boss be in?

Detective McNally seemed to read her mind.”There’s probably less than ten grams of heroin,” he said.”But you don’t need much. Heroin is sold on the street in bags of about fifty milligrams, or five-hundredths of a gram. Ten grams of heroin would make up about two hundred bags.”

“No, please!” Miguel Angel said. “I don’t need to sell drugs. I make enough money at my salon.”

“Really?” McNally said.”This is quite an expensive operation you’ve got here.When times get rough, even the rich are short of money.They can go to Supercuts and save a couple hundred a month. But a junkie can always find money for a fix. They’ll lie, cheat and steal purses for the cash.”

Miguel Angel had been in America long enough to know his salon could be seized if he was convicted of selling drugs.”Check my hair,” he begged.”That will prove I don’t use drugs. Hair keeps a record that does not lie.You will know I’ve not used drugs for ninety days. I will give you my hair without asking for a lawyer.”

The detective read Miguel Angel his Miranda rights, then clipped a sample of the stylist’s hair as close to the scalp as possible. Miguel winced at the inexpert cut. The tiny hair bundle was about as big around as a shoelace tip. McNally dropped the hair in an evidence bag and labeled it.

“We should have the results from the lab two to three business days after they get this hair sample,” Detective McNally said.”I’m overnight ing it this afternoon.”

“There’s something you should know,” Helen said.

McNally cut off any further conversation with a curt, “I’ll find out when I talk with you, miss, after the search is conducted.”

Miss.Well, that is better than ma’am, she thought, then was disgusted with herself. Great. You’re about to get hauled off to jail, and you’re worried about whether you look young. Orange jumpsuits are so flat tering.

The salon door opened and a dark-skinned officer stood in the doorway. Helen could see sweat dripping off his shaved head and dark sweat circles under his armpits.”I found these in the Dumpster behind the store.” He held up a wrinkled peacock blue dress and one black high-heeled sandal.

“Are those your clothes?” Detective McNally asked the stylist.

“No, it is not my dress,” Miguel Angel said.

That was the truth, but not the whole truth.

Please don’t lie, Helen prayed silently.The police will figure it out and then you’ll really be in trouble.

“I can have it tested for DNA—your DNA,” Detective McNally said.

“Okay, I wore it,” Miguel Angel said.

“Then it’s your dress,” McNally said.

“It’s Honey’s dress. I borrowed it the day of the wedding.”

“Oh, were you a bridesmaid?” Detective McNally’s sarcasm could have curled hair.

“No, I had to leave in a hurry,” Miguel Angel said.

“Most people ran out the door,” McNally said. “They didn’t take the time to cross-dress. Especially when the house was on fire.”

“I am not a cross-dresser,” Miguel Angel said.

“Then what were you doing in a dress?” the detective said.

“It was the easiest way to leave,” Miguel Angel said.

The detective held up the heel.”This doesn’t look easy to walk in.

You’re wearing black cowboy boots right now, pardner. Much easier to run in those.”

“I am famous. I am a celebrity stylist,” Miguel Angel said. “There were television cameras all around, King’s rivals in the gossip business. My reputation would be ruined if I was seen there. My top clients would think I gave him information. I needed to disguise myself.”

“So you stole the bride’s dress?”

“She won’t miss it,” Miguel Angel said. “She has a closet full of dresses.”

“Not if she has many friends like you,” the detective said.”Why did you run?”

“I am not from this country,” Miguel Angel said.”I didn’t think the police would believe me.”

“We don’t believe liars, no matter what their country of origin,” Detective McNally said. “I’ve got a bit of advice for you. Don’t leave town until the hair test results come back. Otherwise, I will hunt you down.You can go now.”

Miguel Angel grabbed his already-searched satchel from the bottom drawer at his station, and left without another word. Detective McNally pushed Ana Luisa’s desk chair over to Helen and sat down. Helen felt sick with fear.This man was smart. He frightened her.

“Let’s talk,” he said.”What were you dying to tell me earlier?”

“I think Miguel Angel was set up by an employee,” Helen said.”Her name is Phoebe, and she was pretty useless.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Helen could see Ana Luisa nodding in agreement.

“Her boyfriend, Ramon, is a drug dealer,” Helen said.

“And how do you know that?” McNally said.”Ever see him sell an illegal substance?”

“No, not really. I just heard that’s what he was.” From Miguel Angel, she remembered. Helen’s voice withered and died, strangling her next words.”It was gossip.”

“And you hear a lot of gossip in this place,” McNally said.

“Yes,” Helen said. “But I could see Phoebe was furious at Miguel when he told her to leave. She set him up. She forgot her tote bag and had to come back. She was alone in the back prep area for several min utes. I think she planted drugs that she got from her boyfriend and put the needle in Miguel Angel’s salon case.”

“Why would she set up her employer?” the detective asked.

“Because Miguel Angel fired her.”

“So she framed him?” McNally said. “I don’t think so. People get fired every day.”

“But not from Miguel Angel’s salon,” Helen said. “That was a big deal. If she’d worked here a year, she could have gone anywhere. An Angel-trained stylist makes big bucks. He ruined her chances when he threw her out.”

McNally abruptly switched the topic by pulling out a photo of someone in a blue dress arguing with King Oden in his ugly tux.The two were in profile, facing each other, but the face of the person in the blue dress was hidden by long blond hair. She—or he—was shorter than the beefy Oden.

“Do you recognize the man in this photo?” McNally asked.

“That’s the dead groom, King Oden,” Helen said.

“Who’s wearing the blue dress?”

“I have no idea,” Helen said. “I didn’t know most of the wedding guests. I was there to work.”

“You should recognize your own employer.”

“Miguel Angel has never worn a blue dress to work,” Helen said. “He wears black pants and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled.”

“Cute,” McNally said. He sounded disgusted. He produced a second

photo.This one was blurry and seemed to have been taken from a dis tance.”Why is Miguel Angel paying this man?”

He showed Helen a photo of Phoebe’s stringy-haired boyfriend, Ramon. Miguel Angel seemed to be handing him cash. Ramon was giving Miguel a fat, white paper bag.

Helen’s heart seized. Was Miguel Angel really buying drugs? No, that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. She looked around the salon wildly, as if the answer was written on the walls.

“Uh.” Helen took a deep breath, and hoped her voice was steady. “Miguel Angel likes Cuban sandwiches. Aren’t those grease spots on that bag?”

She pointed to some gray splotches that could have been grease or shadows. It was hard to tell. “That must be an old photo,” Helen said. “Miguel hasn’t bought anything from Ramon recently. He’s been on a diet.There’s no such thing as diet Cuban food.”

“Yeah, right,” Detective McNally said. She could tell he didn’t be lieve her.