Love is Murder (35 page)

“I was right here, Carl.”

“We’re going to need to come out there.”

They arrived ten minutes later, Stimple pausing only long enough to sneer at my disheveled appearance before moving past me. One of the officers took note of my breath and handed me a stick of chewing gum. It was sickly sweet and made my mouth even drier.

They checked the place top to bottom and then took off. “Do not go anywhere,” Stimple ordered me on his way out.

But she was missing, and I couldn’t stand the empty house. I showered and went rogue.

* * *

I rousted Liam Gregg’s drug associates. My empty threats were rendered plausible by the madness in my eyes, but they didn’t know shit. I lied my way past security at Prestonwood and harassed Bertram Everhardt’s old golfing buddies. One of them must’ve contacted the station, because Stimple was on my phone within minutes of my leaving the country club, demanding that I take my ass back home and plant it there.

The impotent frustration shrunk my lungs down to wheezing knots. I drove to my place on autopilot, a single thought repeating:
Where are you?

Back home, I took a beer and headed for the dim refuge of the basement. I reached the bottom of the stairs and saw her there on the old ratty couch, face bruised and bloody, hands tied behind her back, eyes wide, a sob trapped behind a strip of gray tape.

I dropped my beer.

Carl Stimple was sitting on the couch with her, but he rose now and aimed a gun I recognized as a 9 mm at me, waving me to take his place beside Nadia. I raised my empty hands high and said, “Please, Carl. Whatever this is, stay calm.”

Stimple gestured toward a gray boxy object on the coffee table. “See that hard drive, Howie? Came out of her computer. All kinds of emails between the two of you on here, right?”

“You—?”

“Took it right out of her place. Figured it would complete the scene just about perfectly. You panicked, stole it before you decided to come clean.”

“Carl, we can talk about this.”

He shook his head ruefully.

“I talk, you listen,” Stimple said. “Now. Sit. Down.”

I moved onto the couch and Nadia leaned into me.

Stimple sneered. “The perfect couple. Howie, you’re an asshole. You know she really did kill my son? She really did. Ditched him as soon as they had their diplomas, traded him in to be the life of the party. Ronnie enlisted right off. Barely eighteen years old. Some of the guys in his unit wrote to me after, you know, told me how he never could quit talking about her, how he was always distracted, reckless, trying to prove himself.”

Nadia tried to say something from behind her gag.

“Shut up!” Stimple roared at her. “You might’ve forgotten about Ronnie but I never did. I kept an eye on you, watching as you milked your rich husband and then traded him in for a drug dealer. I’ve been planning to put you down for a long time, but I wasn’t quite sure how to make it work. When I realized you’d seduced my young protégé here, I knew I had my opening.” He saw my face and laughed. “Oh, yeah, I knew. Maybe I wasn’t quite certain until our little interview the other day, but I saw what happened when you two looked at each other. No mistaking that electricity.”

He was wearing gloves. His eyes were wild.

“Up until then, I was just going to frame her for Everhardt and Gregg. But this, this is so much better. Everyone knows how poor Howie’s life’s been falling apart these past few months, losing his family and all, buckling under the pressures of a new line of work. A perfect line of work for someone who wants payback on the girl who wrecked his life. A murder/suicide scenario if ever there was one.” He waved the 9 mm at us. “Same gun used in all the crimes. You’ve got the hard drive from her computer with all your secret messages. I want you to know this isn’t really about you, though, Howie, okay? This is about my boy.”

Nadia moved faster than I’d have ever imagined she could. She was up off the couch and barreling at Stimple with her head down before he could quite believe it. He looked like he wanted to laugh, but instead he fired. I saw the wound opening as the bullet punctured her back just above the shoulder blade. The force of her launch carried her into him and he spun around, deflecting her onto the floor.

I grabbed my father’s .22 out of the drawer while Stimple was distracted with Nadia. I knew I had to get closer to get off an effective shot. He was turning back in my direction when I shoved the little gun right up under his jaw. Firing all six rounds might’ve been overdoing it a bit, but I was kind of going on instinct at that point.

* * *

Nadia was in the hospital for a week with a collapsed lung. It was touch and go for a while there.

The day she was released I came to see her. Her parents were there, too, and none too pleased to see a police officer of any kind, especially one whose suspension had been extended while the investigation wound down. But Nadia reached out from her wheelchair and entwined her fingers with my own. I leaned in to kiss her while her folks stood there awkwardly.

Spark. Flash.

* * * * *

AFTER HOURS

William Bernhardt

There are enough twists in this story to warrant one of those road signs with a snaky arrow on it. Buckle up. ~SB

Major Morelli shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “Damn it all to hell.”

Morelli’s partner, Lieutenant Baxter, was so stricken she could barely speak. “It’s…a tragedy, that’s all,” she finally spit out in a halting, broken voice. “Just…a tragedy.”

The corpse sprawled across the king-size bed was, Morelli thought, perhaps the most luminous woman he had ever seen. Even now, with the color drained from her face, she possessed a spellbinding quality that he rarely observed in the living or the dead. A purity that came only with youth. A feminine dignity that even so much blood could not obscure.

“Must’ve been a heartbreaker,” Morelli added, to no one in particular.

“And so young. Hell, I got a niece about her age.” Baxter turned her back on the grisly tableau. “Think of everything she’ll miss, everything she’ll never know. Just makes me sick.”

“Try to keep your emotions out of it,” Morelli warned. “We have a job to do.”

“You’re always in control, right? Always the professional. Even when you’re looking at a crime so horrible it makes your stomach turn. Makes you want to give up being a cop and just slit your wrists.”

Morelli didn’t blink. “Let’s interview the boyfriend.”

On his way out of the bedroom, Morelli glanced through the still-open sliding door that led to the terrace. The Tulsa skyline beckoned with twinkling lights and an irregular skyline, innocent as a Christmas tree. He loved this town, loved its earnestness and well-meaning naïveté. Working here was like policing feral beast outbreaks in a wildlife preserve. Who would dream that even here, after hours, you could discover a horror like this?

He headed into the main living room where Baxter was already waiting. Dr. Barkley, the county coroner, had arrived. He was younger than Morelli and it showed. He had the expertise of a doctor and the aspect of a surfer dude, a combination Morelli never failed to find disturbing.

“She’s in there.” Morelli jerked his thumb back the way he’d come. “I’d like to know as much as you can tell me as soon as you can tell me.”

Barkley frowned. “Mike, you know I can’t reach any final conclusions until I’ve—”

“Yeah, I know the drill.” Morelli placed his finger on the lapel of Barkley’s overalls. “Nonetheless, I want to know as much as you can tell me as soon as you can tell me. I’d like a preliminary report in fifteen minutes. Understood?”

“Whatever.” Barkley passed wordlessly into the bedroom.

“Bit grumpy tonight, aren’t you?” Baxter asked.

“Just reminding the coroner who works for whom.”

“No, that girl is getting to you. The corpse. You’re totally on edge.”

“Don’t like having my sleep disturbed.”

“That I already knew.”

She handed him the photos from the videographers, as always, careful that their hands didn’t touch.

The affair started years ago. First it was an unexpected kiss during a stakeout. Now they spent most weekends together. No one knew. Departmental regulations didn’t permit intimate relationships between officers. If word got out, one of them would have to quit. Not to mention put up with endless harassment from fellow officers.

Morelli crossed the living room of the penthouse apartment. Baxter followed. They found the boyfriend huddled in the far corner of an elegant white sofa.

He was a delicate, slender man—in some respects as beautiful as his slain companion. His hair had been buzzed down almost to the scalp. Ironically, the extreme crew cut did not give him a hard, military appearance but instead made him seem simple and unadorned, almost childlike. His face was red and swollen to such a degree that Morelli couldn’t get a clear impression of his features.

Morelli opened his notepad and checked the name. “You’re Terry Farnum?”

The man nodded slightly.

“You knew the girl? Kim Masters?”

His response was more a tremble than a nod.

Times like this Morelli hated his job, absolutely hated it. Farnum was grieving hard, and nothing was worse than trying to pry information out of someone who really needed a comforting arm around the shoulder.

“Could you describe your relationship?”

Farnum pressed his hand against his forehead, obscuring much of his face. “We were in love.”

“I see.” Damn this job. He had to keep pushing. “How long had you…uh…been together?”

“Almost seven months now.” His voice cracked when he spoke. “I met her in this club I own down on Peoria. The Red Parrot. When I first saw Kim, I—I can’t explain it. You know how, sometimes, you look back on a particular moment in your life and you realize, that was when everything changed? That’s how it was when I connected with Kim. From the very first, I knew this was something special.”

“I gather your relationship was—” Morelli coughed into his hand “—sexual in nature.”

“It wasn’t the most important part of the relationship, but yes. That first night, after I finally worked up the courage to speak to her, she came home with me. But there was nothing cheap or sleazy about it. She may look young, but she’s an adult. And so smart. We stayed up all night talking, telling secrets, baring our souls. She had not led an easy life. She was confused, troubled, despondent. Said no one understood her. Felt everyone was judging her, finding her inadequate. She was on the verge of suicide. ‘Why can’t people just let us be who we are?’ she said. ‘Why can’t we be who we want to be?’”

Farnum closed his eyes. “I told her not to worry. Told her she was safe with me. Told her everyone is entitled to a small measure of happiness. And that included her. I don’t know how to explain this but, by the time the sun rose, it was as if—we both knew. Can you understand that? We both knew this was right. It was only natural that we should become lovers. Natural and so very right. She was the great romance of my life. Nothing else came close.”

Morelli watched Farnum’s face carefully. The police department’s initial suspect was always the spouse or significant other. But watching this man’s grief-ridden face, hearing his cracked and broken voice, Morelli found it impossible to believe he would do Kim Masters any harm.

“Do you know anyone who might have reason to kill Kim?”

Farnum shook his head. “I can’t imagine. She quit her job, after we got together. She lived here with me. Most days, she never even went out, unless it was a brief trip to do some shopping or some such. She had very little contact with other people. I think…I think she liked it that way.”

“What about yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does anyone bear a grudge against you? Someone who might try to get to you by killing your girlfriend?”

Farnum’s eyes widened, suddenly and horribly. “No. I mean, I can’t— It wouldn’t— No.”

Baxter cut in. “But there is someone with an ax to grind against you? Right?”

Farnum’s eyes dropped a notch. “I…owe some money. Business at the club dropped off this year but, unfortunately, my debts didn’t. I had to borrow. It’s purely a business arrangement.”

“With the mob?”

Farnum took a deep breath. “Do you know a man named Albert DeCarlo? Intercontinental Imports?”

Morelli did. DeCarlo was the top mobster in Tulsa Town. Inherited the position from his daddy. Intercontinental Imports was a front for all his illegal operations. “I know him.”

“He likes to hang out at my club. Has for years. But only recently did we have occasion to do business together.”

“How much do you owe?”

“Half a million.”

Morelli whistled. “And DeCarlo wants to be paid.”

“He’s expressed that desire on repeated occasions, yes.”

“Maybe the hit was a warning,” Baxter said. “Pay up or you’ll be next.”

“I don’t think so. I mean—well, I know that isn’t so.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“For one thing, I told DeCarlo yesterday that I’m taking bankruptcy. My assets are all in the control of the receiver now. It wouldn’t matter who DeCarlo killed. He’ll never get more than ten cents on the dollar.”

Baxter flipped her long brown curls behind her shoulders. “That wouldn’t deter that bloodsucker. He might’ve thought that if he pushed you, you might find some more money somewhere. Or maybe the hit was to teach you a lesson. Or to send a message to the other schmucks who owe him money.”

“I’ve known DeCarlo for years. Since he was a lieutenant working under his father. That isn’t his style.”

“But you said—”

“You asked if I knew anyone who had a grudge against me, and I do. But if DeCarlo wanted to send a message, he would’ve hit me, not Kim. He fancies himself a respectable businessman, in his own twisted way. He might’ve had me rubbed out, but he would never murder an innocent third person.”

“That’s a crock of—”

Morelli stopped her in midsentence. “No. He’s right.” Morelli was familiar enough with DeCarlo’s file to know. The young DeCarlo had been linked to a number of high crimes, including contract killings. But no one had ever suggested that he’d struck against a target’s wife or family or loved ones. He considered it a point of honor. He wouldn’t ice the woman to get at Farnum, no matter how much money was on the line.