Life Without Parole: A Kate Conway Mystery (28 page)

Roman clenched his jaw and leaned toward me. “You’re a bitch.”

“Like that, for example.”

He grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and shook it at me. “When I finish with this call, you have five minutes.”

“As long as you stay in the room, you have a deal.”

Victor stepped toward him, but I waved him away. Roman walked toward the other side of the room, near the bar. He turned his back to us.

“Keep the camera rolling, Andres.”

Andres moved the camera so it was pointed at Roman, then backed away. He threw his arm around me. “This is the Kate Conway I love and fear,” he said.

We waited until Roman finished his call. Victor kept his headphones on, nodding excitedly, but Andres and I couldn’t hear what was so exciting. Didn’t matter. With the camera rolling and his mic still on, everything Roman said in that phone call was being recorded.

The rest of Roman’s interview netted me three grunts, a pat rewording of the sentence about Erik’s passing, and a noncommittal answer about whether the restaurant would stay open. As he got up to leave, throwing his microphone on the chair, he looked victorious.

“You should be careful, lady,” he said. “The world is full of animals. You try to corner one and you may just find your smart mouth doesn’t get you out of a jam.”

“Someone gave me similar advice. He’s in Dugan for three murders.”

“You have interesting friends.”

“So does he. The guy in Dugan was a good friend of John Fletcher. Said that John used to talk his ear off about fires.”

Roman’s face went white. “I have appointments,” he mumbled and walked out.

As soon as he was gone, I turned to Victor. “So what have we got?”

“Listen for yourself.”

Andres rewound the tape to the moment when Roman went to the bar to make his call.

“We need to stop,” Roman was saying into the phone. “I don’t think we can hide this anymore….Listen, this was your idea to begin with and I went along with it because…I’m not saying that. I’m saying that we have to stop. Now….Because this TV bitch is worse than her. She might actually find something….I’m going to do what has to be done. Don’t I always?” Then he ended the call.

The three of us looked at each other.

“He’s guilty,” Victor declared.

“Of what? It doesn’t sound like he’s talking about Erik’s murder,” I said. “It’s something ongoing.”

“You’re obviously the TV bitch,” Andres said. “Is ‘her’ Vera?”

“It has to be,” I said. I was getting under his skin, a compliment any TV producer would love. “This has to be about the offshore accounts. Vera talked about it when she was first getting threats.”

“
Where is she?” Andres asked.

“Home, I guess.”

“Call her.” Andres looked worried. “Roman said he was going to do what had to be done. If he’s figured out the threats didn’t work, then what if killing Vera was that appointment he was talking about?”

I called Vera, but just got voice mail on both her home and cell phones. I left messages trying to sound urgent without sounding worried. If Roman came to her door, I knew Vera would let him in. And injured arm or not, Roman looked capable of just about anything.

“Who was he talking to?” I asked.

“Ilena,” Victor said. “Has to be.”

“You think? She seems like she’s trying to get away from him.” Andres was adjusting the lights for the next interview, but his mind seemed to be more on the investigation than on the show.

“We’re about to find out,” I said. “She’s next.”

“I love watching you skewer a hapless victim,” Victor said. “It’s sweet, man, like watching Michael Jordan at the top of his game. Poetry in action.”

Andres nodded approvingly. No one was making comments about shapeless turtlenecks or a stray gray hair now, I noticed. And it felt so good, I was ready for more.

M
rs. Conway?” Detective Makina walked into the restaurant and looked around. It was still theoretically under construction, although nothing had been done to it since the first day I’d been there. Of course, for the past week they had a good excuse. Until yesterday, the police had considered it an active crime scene and kept everyone out. The kitchen was still off-limits, which wasn’t a problem. Wild horses couldn’t have dragged me to the spot where Erik had died. Makina stood near the door and looked toward me. “Can I talk with you a minute?”

“Your interview isn’t until the day after tomorrow,” I said.

“This isn’t about my interview.” His face was, if possible, more serious than I’d ever seen it.

“Vera.” The word popped out of my mouth, and suddenly I could see her lying in a pool of blood as clearly as I’d seen Erik. She hadn’t been home when I called. She believed Doug was innocent. She’d uncovered something. One worst-case scenario after another went through my head. “Where is Vera?”

Makina didn’t answer. He took a few steps toward Andres, Victor, and me.

“Where’s Vera?” Victor said from just steps behind me. He and Andres were literally at my back.

“I don’t know where she is. I’m not here about Ms. Bingham. You’re Mr. Pilot, aren’t you?” Makina asked. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”

“I’m not hard to find,” Victor said.

“We need to talk,” Makina told him. “As soon as possible.”

“Roman Papadakis was just here. He made a threat against Kate,” Andres said, changing the subject. “And he mentioned another woman. We assume he meant Vera.”

Makina looked at me. “What kind of threat, Mrs. Conway?”

I didn’t
want to play the recording for him. It wasn’t technically illegal—Roman, it could be argued, knew he was being recorded; he had a mic on. But if I played it, Makina would most likely want to take the tape, and before I gave it to the police I wanted the chance to use it on TV. What I’d said about making Roman look bad wasn’t a threat. It was a prediction.

“Nothing,” I said. “He called me a bitch.”

“Was that the first time someone called you that?” Makina smiled a little.

“First time today,” I said. “My guys are just protective of me.”

“And of Vera,” Victor said. I wanted to tell Victor to shut up, but you can never tell Victor something like that. I just took a deep breath and hoped it wasn’t one more reason Makina would connect him to the harassing phone calls.

Makina didn’t say anything. But he stared at Victor a long time before returning his eyes to me. “There’s a problem with your statement, Mrs. Conway. I’m wondering if you have a minute to discuss it.”

If Roman’s display of machismo had slightly unnerved me, Makina’s quiet authority scared me to my toes. “I’m working right now,” I said. “Ilena is about to come in.”

“This will only take a minute.”

“Okay.” I didn’t know what else to say.

Makina motioned for me to come toward him. I took a few steps, swallowed hard, and tried to remember how I’d felt just a few moments before when I’d, as Victor put it, “skewered” Roman. Makina and I walked to the door of the restaurant. I stood there, waiting.

“You said you chatted with Erik Price after the confrontation he had with Ms. Bingham,” Makina said.

“Yes. I told you. In his car.”

“What time was that?”

“I don’t recall.” Never be specific. It’s the wet dream of prosecutors and cops. Keep your answers vague and changeable. Wait for the facts, then tell a story to fit them. That’s what a defense lawyer told me once in an interview.

“Ballpark it for me.”

“I’m
not much of a baseball player.”

Makina clenched his jaw. “See, the problem is, Mrs. Conway, we have footage of Erik Price driving through an ATM about twenty minutes after he left here. Then he makes several calls from his cell phone, all of which can be traced to a location near Addison and Irving Park. Then, according to several witnesses, he had coffee at a small place called Terry’s. Then more calls. Then he went home. Nothing puts him outside the restaurant the rest of the day, so I’m wondering how it’s possible you saw him here and had that conversation about his argument with Ms. Bingham.”

The verbal sparring with Roman had been fun. This was not fun. “Can you account for every minute of his day?” I tried to sound calm.

“No. Not every minute, but nearly.”

“Then you have your answer.”

“It would be helpful, though, especially as it corroborates Ms. Bingham’s account of the events, if you could be more specific about the time line.”

“I’m sure it would be,” I said. “But as I’ve told you, I don’t know exactly when I spoke with Erik.”

“But you are still claiming that you did.”

I wriggled my toes a little in my shoes. I had a moment wondering if I should run like one of those idiots in high speed car chases. Except instead of a car, I’d be running in kitten heels. I decided it was too late for that. “I’m only trying to be helpful,” I said.

“Yes, you are. And I’m sure she appreciates it.”

“If you think I’m lying then prove me wrong; otherwise I have to work.” It was a dare. A stupid dare. In an effort to sound tough I’d challenged Makina, and he seemed pleased by it.

“Three o’clock, Friday,” he said.

Was that the time of my arrest? “What’s at three o’clock Friday?” I asked. My voice was hollow. I’m sure I didn’t sound so tough now.

“My interview.”

“Absolutely,” I replied, trying to smile. “Looking forward to it.”

B
y the time Ilena arrived I was pretty much done for the day, but there was no delaying this interview. I slapped on some lipstick, tried to shake the fear from my eyes, and greeted her when she came through the door.

Ilena’s face was dewy fresh, her eyebrows perfectly plucked, and her nails polished a brick red. She was in black, head to toe, with a long, colorful paisley scarf wrapped several times around her neck. “Awful to be back here,” she said, staring toward the door to the kitchen. “I haven’t been back since, you know. I don’t know if I ever want to be here again.”

“Does that mean you’ll scrap your plans for this place?”

“It’s not really my decision.”

“Then whose decision is it?” I asked.

“If we lose Walt, then—”

“Why would you lose Walt?”

“I heard he’s let it be known he’s available. He and Erik were so close,” she said. “I don’t think he can continue without him.”

The word “bullshit” nearly spilled out of my mouth, but I held my tongue. “I had no idea,” I said. “They didn’t seem close.”

“They were practically brothers,” she continued. “Such a shame.”

Andres signaled that he was ready for us to begin. Ilena looked at the chairs set out for the interview, one next to the camera and the other directly facing it, just a few inches apart.

She pointed toward the one facing the camera. “Is this where you want me to sit?” She sounded as if this was the first time she’d been interviewed.

“Just like last time,” I said, to make clear I wasn’t falling for the nervous act. Her lies had calmed me, reminded me that I wasn’t the only one with something to hide. “Your husband didn’t like my questions.”

“Was he here?”

“Yes,” I said. “
Just before you. He called you before he left.”

“Before he left here?” She seemed genuinely nervous now. “He didn’t leave a message.”

“He talked to you.”

She shook her head slowly. “He didn’t talk to me. I was getting my hair done.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a cell phone, as if this offered some proof. “I had the sound off. My hairdresser doesn’t like it if I take calls in the middle of a cut.”

I wasn’t sure I believed her, but it didn’t matter. “I want to ask you about Erik,” I said.

With the camera rolling, Ilena’s voice deepened, took on a melancholy tone. She really was a master at playing to the room. “Erik was a showman,” she said. “The best. He had plans to turn Club Car into a world-class restaurant, making each dinner a night our guests would remember for the rest of their lives. His talent was staggering.”

“His ideas were expensive.”

“They were worth it.”

“Roman didn’t think so,” I said. “He and Erik argued about it.”

“Roman argues with the mailbox. He argues with the television. He’ll argue with anything. It’s his way.”

“What if he doesn’t win?”

“Roman always wins.”

“Sounds frightening.”

I watched as Ilena considered her next move. If she wanted to get rid of Roman, implying he might be guilty of Erik’s murder was one way to do it. But if it didn’t work, she’d pay for it, one way or another. I could see her weighing her options. “Roman is all talk,” she said, trying to sound light. “He’s a teddy bear, really, and he thought Erik was a genius.”

“Where were you the night he was killed?”

She laughed. “You sound like one of those cheap TV detectives,” she said. “I was far away from here, thank goodness, having dinner with a friend.”

“And you can back up your story.”

“I don’t need to,” she said. “
The police are the only ones who have the right to expect a full and honest accounting of my time.”

“So I’ve been told,” I said. “Can you give it to them?”

“I can do whatever I have to,” she said.