Murder In the Past Tense (A Giorgio Salvatori Mystery Book 2) (23 page)

“Uh, yeah. They called it their man cave,” he said, the realization dawning on him. “Oh, God, they were working together, weren’t they?”

The glass of bourbon slipped out of Martinelli’s hand and fell to the floor, emptying its contents onto the rug. He turned toward the fire again.

“Ron,” Giorgio snapped, trying to get his attention. “We think your uncle is the one who had the evidence planted in Jimmy Finn’s locker.”

“Edmond?” he said, turning to Giorgio. “Why?”

“Did you know that Alex Springer was shot to death in his home a few days ago?”

“No. But why would someone kill Mr. Springer?”

“Your mother told us how your father hated Alex Springer because of the campaign he ran against your dad for the school board. And yet not too long after Lisa disappeared, your dad hired him to take over a major part of the company. We think Springer knew something and may have blackmailed your father in order to get the job. He sat on the building committee for the monastery, and so did your father. They both would have known about the well where we found Lisa’s body. Is there anything else you can think of that might have given Alex Springer leverage over your father?”

Ron shook his head slowly. “No. Nothing.”

“How about his son, Joshua?” Rocky asked.

Ron thought a minute and seemed to sit up straighter.

“Well, Joshua liked to hang out at the monastery,” he said. “In fact, he used to take all of his girlfriends up there to have sex. He had a favorite spot out in the garden; he kind of claimed it as his own. He even got mad one summer night when Pete Cameron got there before him. They got into a big fight about it, and Pete had to leave.”

“What are the chances that Joshua would have gone up there the night of the prom?”

Ron froze and stared at Giorgio. Then he murmured, “
Every
chance.”

Giorgio glanced at Rocky who merely arched his eyebrows. Joshua's connection to the monastery provided at least a possibility for how Alex Springer could have blackmailed Royce Martinelli. Joshua Springer could have been up there that night and seen either Royce or Edmond Martinelli or both throw Lisa Farmer’s body into the well. But they’d never be able to prove it.

Ron began to rub his hand up and down the arm of the chair as he stared off into space. Giorgio could tell he was losing him again.

“Ron, we were at your uncle’s house earlier today. He confirmed that he and your father had gone fishing the weekend Lisa went missing. They came home early for some reason. You said your father went into the study that night to answer the phone.”

He nodded, his eyes glazed over.

“And Lisa was in there behind the curtains, is that right?”

“Yes. Yes,” he said.

“Where did your father go after he left the study?”

He looked up, his face a blank slate. “Like I said, I don't know for sure. He told me the next day that he had gone back to the office.”

“And his office was in Pasadena back then?” Giorgio pressed him.

“Yeah. Why?”

“The direct route back to his office would have been to go south on Lima to Sierra Madre Boulevard,” Giorgio said. “But you said you had to duck out of sight when he pulled
up
the street, to the north? Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Ron replied, still confused as to where Giorgio was going with this.

“
Up
the street,” Giorgio said, “in the direction of Lisa’s house?”

“Oh, God,” Ron said, sucking in air. He seemed to waver in the chair for a moment and then put a hand across his stomach. “I…think I’m going to be sick.”

He lurched out of the chair and stumbled from the room. Giorgio followed him into the hallway and saw him duck into a bathroom. There was the sound of gagging and a moment later the toilet flushed.

Ron Martinelli came back into the living room, wiping his hand across his mouth, his face deathly pale. He stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, breathing heavily.

“My father killed Lisa,” he said, his bleak eyes rimmed with red.

“Let’s stick with what happened that night,” Giorgio said. “When your father left the study, you said he made a phone call from the front hallway.”

Ron nodded.

“But he had his own phone in the study?”

Ron nodded a second time, wringing his hands. “Yes. We were one of the few families back then who had two separate phone lines.”

Two separate phone lines? That gave Giorgio an idea.

“So why would he stop to call from the hallway phone?” Giorgio asked.

Ron took a deep breath and a tear began to make its way down his cheek. “There’s only one reason,” he said. “She heard something, didn’t she? When he was talking to my uncle the first time. Then, because he saw Lisa behind the curtains, he had to hang up and use the phone out front.”

All three men were silent for a moment, and then Ron dropped into a nearby chair.

“Ron, when you were fooling around, had you gotten undressed?” Rocky asked.

He wiped the tear away. “Yes, pretty much.”

“Had she taken off her underwear?” Giorgio asked carefully.

Ron stared at him. The muscles around his mouth had begun to sag and his brown eyes had lost all luster.

Finally, he said, “Yes. When we heard my father pull into the driveway, I told…her to get dressed and hide behind the curtains, and then I ran into the hallway.” He started to shake his head slowly. “She probably didn’t have time to put them on. They would have been stuck in the sofa or were maybe even on the floor. Oh God, I can’t believe this,” he said, leaning forward and putting his head into his hands.

“Ron, do you know where your father and uncle went fishing that weekend?” Giorgio asked.

He took a deep breath, wiped his mouth and sat up. “No. But my mother might.”

Giorgio glanced at Rocky and nodded. He felt that they had gotten all the information they could out of Ron for the moment.

“Okay,” he said. “Please don’t tell anyone about this conversation until I’ve had a chance to check out some details.”

Ron looked over at Giorgio, his face ashen and his muscles slack. “Do you really think my father killed Lisa?”

“I don’t know. But I need to know one more thing. You drove your father’s car to the prom, is that right?”

Ron nodded.

“What car did your father use when he left again that night?”

“His car,” Ron said.

“And what kind of car did your father drive?”

Martinelli’s eyebrows curled up into a question. “A black Lincoln Town Car. Why?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

They were forced to wait until the next morning to pay a second visit to Claire Martinelli. Her big Bentley was just pulling through the gate when they came to a halt in front of it, blocking its departure. Giorgio got out and approached the driver’s side and ordered the driver back to the house.

“Don’t you dare, John!” Mrs. Martinelli ordered from the back seat.

“If you’d prefer,” Giorgio said through the open back window. “I can arrest you.”
“On what grounds?” she said with a sneer.

“For aiding and abetting a murderer.”

Her eyes opened wide, and she stiffened. “It’s all right, John. Take me back.”

Ten minutes later, they were situated in Claire Martinelli’s living room again. There was no offer of lemonade this time, and there was no sign of the maid.

“What do you mean by invading my home?” she blustered.

“Where were you going?” Giorgio said, ignoring her question.

“I was going out of town for a while. Obviously, things have gotten rather ugly over at the Pinney House. That reporter, Mia Santana, has been all over the news pointing fingers at us. And she’s been calling the house. I need to get away.”

“Gotten rather ugly?” Giorgio said angrily. “Is that what you call it? We found the skeletons of several mutilated bodies buried in the yard and in the basement during the time you lived there.”

“You don’t know that,” she spat.

“Mrs. Martinelli, let’s stop beating around the bush. You knew perfectly well what your husband was doing down in the basement. Down in the root cellar. Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you stop him?”

She held herself erect for a brief moment and then the tension released. Her rigid figure became lax and the ramrod back finally bowed in defeat. She dropped her hands into her lap.

“Yes, I knew. Or at least I suspected. I never saw anything firsthand. But I knew he wasn’t

down there making furniture.”

“What
did
you know?”

She glanced up at him, her face looking suddenly very old and haggard.

“Not much, really. We slept in separate rooms. I had the master suite at the corner of the house, closest to the garage. I was a very light sleeper and saw him on several occasions bring a girl into the house through the back door.”

“The girls came into the house willingly?” Giorgio couldn’t quite believe it.

“Yes, but they were either drunk or drugged. They hung on his arm as if they could barely walk. One night, I sat by that window, waiting for him to bring the girl out again. But he never did. Instead, hours later, I heard him come up the stairs and go into his bedroom. And then for several days, he was very busy in the basement. Neither Ron nor I, nor any of the servants were ever allowed down there. When it happened again, I slept during the daytime, and at night I’d sit at the window and watch, waiting for him to bring the girl out. Days went by, and then finally, I saw him carry something out of the kitchen…” she stopped and swallowed. “He buried whatever it was in the corner of the backyard.”

There was a long pause. The clock on the mantle ticked quietly in the background.

“What did the
something
look like?” Giorgio asked, nearly spitting at her.

“It was hard to tell,” she said. “It was quite dark. We only had a single light above the garage. But whatever he was carrying was long and heavy, and he carried it over his shoulder.”

“And you thought it was a body?” Giorgio asked.

She started to object, but then nodded, all sense of pride gone.

“And then what happened?” Giorgio asked.

“I know you think I’m a cold bitch, Detective,” she said suddenly. “But I actually married Royce because I thought I loved him. My father was a state senator, and I was brought up to know my place.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “Royce had an unusual sexual appetite. I…couldn’t make myself do the things he wanted me to do. He…he seemed unable to perform unless he could hurt me. Twist the skin on my arm or put pressure on a bone. I couldn’t take it. So we made an agreement. We would stay married, and I would allow him to do what he needed to satisfy his urges. But, when I saw this, well, I couldn’t put up with it. So I told him, ‘not in my house.’”

Giorgio couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. This woman’s answer to her husband murdering young women was to just tell him to do it somewhere else.

“And so he stopped?” Giorgio asked, feeling adrenalin pump through his veins. “Around the time Ron was fifteen?”

“Yes,” she said, contemplating the comment about Ron. “And as far as I know Royce never brought another woman into the house.”

“Nor buried anyone else in the back yard,” Giorgio said.

“No,” she murmured. “He started going fishing instead.”

She went very still for a moment, watching him. His hands had turned into fists in his pockets as he tried to control his anger.

“And you knew he wasn’t fishing?”

She stared at him. “I never asked,” she said with a slight turn of her head. ”I preferred not to think about it.”

He slammed his fist onto a table, making everyone in the room jump.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone!?”

She stiffened again. After a moment she replied, “Royce assured me they were girls he pulled off the street. They were prostitutes and drug addicts. In fact, he said he was very careful to select girls no one would miss, so the family name would never be drawn into his…fantasies.”

It was all Giorgio could do not to hit her. He turned and paced to the other side of the room, thinking. She wasn’t just a cold bitch; she was a selfish cold bitch. The perfect partner. As long as her husband left her alone and maintained the family reputation, she didn’t care who he murdered.

“Mrs. Martinelli,” he said through clenched teeth, when he came back. “You just said a minute ago that you were a light sleeper. Are you telling me that you
did
hear your son come home the night of his prom? Perhaps your husband as well?”

“Yes,” she replied quietly. “I heard them both.”

“And you listened in when your husband made the phone call from the hallway before leaving again, didn’t you?” Giorgio said, not giving her a chance to deny it.

“Yes,” she said after a pause. “The phone in his study was a private line, but the one in the hallway had an extension in my room. I don’t know who he was talking to. I only heard what he said.”

“Which was what?” he said patiently.

She didn’t reply right away.

“Mrs. Martinelli, tell me what your husband said,” he said forcefully.

“He said, ‘Meet me at the entrance to the monastery right away. We have a problem.’ And then he hung up."

Giorgio felt his voice vibrate with anger. “So you’ve known for over forty years that your husband was the one who probably murdered Lisa Farmer, and you never told a soul.”

“No,” she said plaintively. “I didn’t know back then that the monastery had anything to do with Lisa’s disappearance. I just heard him say he was going to meet someone up there.”

“But you knew something was up?” Giorgio pressed her.

Once again, her hackles were raised.

“You make it all sound so easy, Detective. As if all I had to do was tell the police what I knew. Think about it. If I had, my life would have been ruined.”

She made this last comment as if the quality of her life was the most important thing in the world – not just for her, but for all of mankind.

“Mrs. Martinelli, do you know where your husband went fishing the weekend Lisa Farmer went missing and why he came back early?”

“I don’t know why he returned early. But I do know where they went. Only because…the next day I found the coat he’d worn. He’d left it hanging on the coat tree next to the front door. I went through the pockets, and there was a receipt for gas from a town outside of Big Bear.”

“Big Bear Lake?” Giorgio asked. The hairs on the back of his neck tickled.

She nodded, and Giorgio felt suddenly cold all over. Without thinking, he reached into his pocket and fingered the souvenir medallion.

“Last question – do you know anyone who drives a Jeep Wrangler?”

She looked up at him, surprised at the change in questioning. “Uh…well, yes. I think my nephew Fritz’s son does. Why?”

“Fritz’s son? What’s his name?”

“Perry…Fitzgerald. His mother was Fritz’s first wife. She went back to her maiden name after they got divorced,” she said.

That answered why the Jeep had never come up under the Martinelli name when they’d searched the DMV.

“What does Perry look like?”

“He takes after his mother,” she said. “He’s kind of small and pale, and he wears all those disgusting black clothes and heavy jewelry.”

“Tattoos?” Rocky said.

She looked up at him. “Yes. Around his neck.”

“And Fritz,” Giorgio said. “Is that his real name?”

“No, it’s Frederick,” she said. “Why?”

“And he was called Freddie?”

“He was Fritz in the family, but, yes, I think he was Freddie to his friends. Yes, why, Detective?”

The cacophony of bells going off in Giorgio’s head made it hard for him to hear her last question.

“We’re done for now, Mrs. Martinelli,” Giorgio said. “But you are not to go anywhere or talk to anyone about this, especially other members of your family. If you do, I’ll send an entire squadron of police after you and lock you up, do you understand?”

She blanched. “Yes, I understand.”

They returned to the car and Giorgio called McCready and told him to put APBs out on Perry Fitzgerald and Fritz Martinelli.

“So, what do we do now?” Rocky asked.

Giorgio started the car and looked over at his brother. “We’re going to Big Bear Lake.”

“But it seems like all the action is down here,” Rocky said.

“Yes, but we don’t have any real evidence to implicate either Fritz or Perry, other than the fact that Perry owns a Jeep.”

“The girl at the nursing home could ID Perry,” Rocky said.

“Yes. But only for Montgomery’s murder. We’ll get him for that. And my guess is that Fritz killed Springer. But I want Edmond, and I doubt either Fritz or Perry will give him up for any role he played in those two murders,” Giorgio said as he took off the emergency brake. “But if we can get Edmond on a different murder…”

Rocky’s eyebrows went up. “You mean one of the girls they picked up on one of their fishing trips?”

“I want to know what went wrong up in Big Bear,” Giorgio said, preparing to pull away from the curb. “So wrong that those two had to come home early. I think whatever it was got Lisa Farmer killed.”