Savannah Reid 12 - Fat Free and Fatal (18 page)

D
irk arrived at the Papalardo mansion even a minute sooner than he said he would. Savannah and Tammy were waiting for him in the driveway in front of the house. Several patrol cars had arrived, but the CSI team and Dr. Liu were still en route.

A couple of officers were in the backyard, draping the yellow crime-scene tape around the patio and pool area.

Dirk climbed out of the Buick, took a quick look up the hill, then ran over to the women.

He scooped one into each arm and held them close, saying nothing at first. Then he held them at arm’s length, checking them over for injuries.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Van?” he said, looking down at the blood on the front of her sweater and slacks.

“Yeah,” she said. “This is all his, not mine.”

Dirk gave her a squeeze and a kiss on the forehead. Then he turned to Tammy, “And how about you, kiddo? Are you okay?”

Tammy’s eyes were big and full of fear, but her smile was brave. “Yes. I’m all right.”

“Good.” He let out a long breath. “I want my girls to be okay. My girls have to be okay.”

“I’m glad you’re here, buddy,” Savannah said. “I really am.”

“Tell me what you need from me. What can I do?”

She looked up in her old friend’s face and soaked in his concern and strength. Throughout the years they had taken turns being strong, and that was one of the best perks of their partnership.

It was his turn.

“Take care of this mess for me now,” she said. “I need to just go sit down somewhere and…just sit.”

He turned and stared up at the hill above them for a moment. A look of grim determination came over his face and he nodded. “Oh, you’ve got it,” he said. “You two go find a hole somewhere and crawl into it and rest, regroup. I’ll come get you if I need you.”

Savannah could feel an enormous weight shift from her shoulders to his broad ones, even though she knew it would only be a temporary reprieve. In the end, everyone had to carry their own burdens. But for the moment she was happy to hand the whole, sad mess over to him and find refuge somewhere.

That “somewhere” turned out to be the library, with Tammy and Juanita.

Savannah and Tammy sat on the leather sofa. Juanita was in a wing-backed chair across from them, quietly sobbing into a handful of tissues.

Savannah lost track of time as they sat there, watching the parade of law enforcement personnel that came and went through the marble foyer, past the statue of Diana and the curving wrought-iron staircase.

Dr. Liu and her white-coated team trooped in and out for what seemed like forever, until finally, the scene was processed. Through the library’s doorway, they watched the gurney, bearing yet another locked body bag, being wheeled through the foyer and out the front door.

“Well, I guess Jack wasn’t our killer, after all,” Tammy said once the coroner’s team was gone.

“Gee, you think?” Savannah snapped. Then she shook her head and reached out for Tammy’s hand. “I’m sorry, sugar. That wasn’t nice. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I understand,” Tammy replied. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever seen happen in my whole life.”

“It was right up there in my top ten, too.” Savannah leaned her head back on the sofa and slid down in the seat. Suddenly, she was beyond tired. She was deeply exhausted in body and spirit.

Having someone murdered in front of you can do that to you
, she thought.
Especially when you’re in charge of keeping people safe.

“I blew it,” she said, more to herself than the others. “I really, really blew it.”

“What are you talking about?” Tammy asked. “You didn’t blow anything. You couldn’t have known that the killer was up there, ready to take another shot.”

“I should have kept Dona inside,” Savannah said. “It’s obvious now that she’s the intended victim. Kim was killed because she was dressed like her and looked like her from a distance. Jack, or James, or whatever his name was, got shot because she moved at the last moment. If she hadn’t stood upright at that second, she would have taken the bullet, as, I’m sure, the killer intended her to. I never should have let her walk out there in the open like that.”

Juanita dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. “You could not have stopped her, Senorita Savannah. My lady has a temper, a strong mind of her own, as you say. When she is angry like she was today, she listens to no one.”

“I need to go up and talk to her,” Savannah said. “I have to know that she’s okay.”

“I took her some hot tea with whiskey in it, the way she likes,” Juanita told her. “She was crying and in her bed. But I think she is all right.”

Savannah gave a wry chuckle. “I meant, make sure she’s okay physically. I landed on her like a duck on a june bug out there. And I’m no lightweight. Maybe she should go to the hospital and get checked—make sure that I didn’t squash anything important.”

Tammy giggled through her tears. “If she’s got breast implants, they might have popped, but other than that, she’s probably okay.”

They heard someone enter the front door of the mansion that had been left ajar by the CSI techs, and Savannah sat up to attention. But at the sight of Ryan and John, she nearly melted.

She and Tammy jumped up from the sofa and rushed into the foyer to greet them.

“Savannah, Tammy, dear girls,” John gushed as he scooped Savannah into his arms. “We heard on the radio that there was a second shooting over here, and we rushed over straight away! What the devil happened here anyway?”

Tammy threw herself into Ryan’s embrace and clung to him like a lost schoolgirl who had found her father. “It was awful, Ryan,” she said, starting to sob anew against the front of his linen dress shirt. “We were all in the backyard and Dona had just come outside to yell at the gardener about some flowers he was planting when—boom! Someone shot him.”

“Shot the gardener?” John said. “Why would anyone want to shoot that chap?”

“We’re pretty sure that the killer was shooting at Dona. Only a second before she had been leaning down, her head close to his. She stood up and…that’s when it happened.”

“Wasn’t the gardener your prime suspect?” Ryan asked. “At least, that was the last I had heard.”

“Yes, he was,” Savannah said as she detached herself from John and herded them all toward the library where they weren’t so likely to be overheard. “So, needless to say we’re now back to square one with no suspect.”

When they entered the library, Juanita stood, offering Ryan the chair she had been sitting on. “I’m going to go check on my lady,” she said, “and see if your police friends need me. Please ask if I can do anything for you, anything at all.”

“Thank you, Juanita,” Savannah said before she and Tammy returned to their seats on the sofa.

Ryan sat down between them and draped his arms over both of their shoulders. “Actually,” he said, “speaking of suspects. John and I were on our way here when we heard the news on the radio about the shooting. We have a lead for you. Not much of one maybe, but…”

“I’ll take anything you’ve got for me,” Savannah said. “We have to catch this guy. Apparently, he’s going to keep trying until he kills Dona. And she can’t be a prisoner in her own home. As it stands now, she can’t even risk sticking her head out the door, even with a hired bodyguard within feet of her.”

Savannah shuddered and closed her eyes, seeing the aftermath of the crime, a beautiful young man dying in front of her. “I really blew it today.”

Tammy leaned across Ryan and took Savannah’s hand. “You were strong and capable,” she said, “and you took charge of the situation. I was very impressed. You protected your charge. For all you know, if you hadn’t thrown Dona down and covered her like that, he might have gotten off a second shot at her. He might have killed her. He could have killed any one of us out there.”

Ryan gave Savannah an affectionate squeeze. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. All the bodyguards in the world can’t save a target if somebody’s determined to take them out. If the Secret Service can’t even keep the presidents safe…”

“I know. I know,” she said. “But it’s going to haunt me a long time, replaying it in my mind, wondering what I could have done differently.”

“You can’t do anything to help the young fellow who lost his life today, Savannah, love,” John said. “The only thing you
can
do is find the killer and bring him to justice. And we’ll do anything we can to help you.”

“Which reminds me,” Ryan said. “Do you want to hear what we have for you?”

“Absolutely.” Savannah cheered a bit. “What is it?”

John gave her a mischievous smile. “We found that fellow you asked us to locate. Ms. Papalardo’s former agent, Miles Thurgood.”

“Really? And is he out of town, like his secretary said?” Savannah wanted to know.

“Nope.” Ryan smiled. “Your hunch was right. She was lying for him. He’s been in the area all along. Since the night that Kim was shot, he’s been staying at that new hotel on the beach in Malibu, the Casa Del Sol.”

“Maybe he’s just vacationing locally,” Tammy said. “Some people do that.”

John nodded thoughtfully, “True, that’s true. Some do. But most people who are on holiday check into their hotels under their own names.”

Savannah raised one eyebrow. “And he didn’t?”

“No, he didn’t.” Ryan said. “Your buddy checked in under the name of Lester Freeman.”

“Are you sure it’s him?” Tammy asked.

“Absolutely,” John said. “We make certain our information is good before we pass it along to our favorite ladies.”

“What John is trying to say, but spreading on the bs a little thick…” Ryan reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “…is that we have his driver’s license picture right here. And we saw him, less than an hour ago, soaking up some sun beside the hotel’s pool.”

“And he’s wearing a thong swimsuit,” John added with disgust, “that should be a fashion felony in all fifty states, at least on a man of his age and build.”

“I’ll go tell Dirk.” Savannah took the paper from Ryan. She looked down at the man who, according to the license, was sixty-four years old, five feet, five inches tall, and weighed over two hundred and twenty-five pounds.

She had rested and regrouped as Dirk had suggested. Her batteries were recharged, at least enough for now, and she was raring to go. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Miles Thurgood needs to be dealt with. If he’s wearing a teeny-weeny thong in public, he really
is
a danger to society.”

Savannah went upstairs to see if she could comfort Dona before she left the mansion. But Dona didn’t answer when she knocked repeatedly on her door, so Savannah decided not to press the issue.

Perhaps she just needed some privacy.

After searching high and low, Savannah finally found Dirk. He was on the hill again, studying yet another set of boot and motorcycle tracks. Fresh tracks.

She explained to him about Miles Thurgood and told him that she was going to go question the agent herself.

“Are you sure you’re up to that?” he asked her. “If you want to hang out another hour or two, I’ll be done here and I’ll go, or we can go together.”

“No,” she said. “If I don’t do something now, I’m going to explode.”

“I understand,” he told her, “but you be careful, you hear?”

She smiled up at him. Reached up and stroked his cheek. “That’s my line,” she said.

“Good,” he replied. “Then you won’t have any problem remembering it.”

Before going to Casa Del Sol to question Miles Thurgood, Savannah stopped by her house. She had to change out of her bloody clothes before being seen anywhere in public.

She entered the house and found Bleak and Jesup exactly where she had found them before, sitting on her sofa in their underwear, watching yet another horror movie. This one seemed to involve a chain saw…and another scantily clad bimbo running around and screaming inside a big, dark house.

Jesup took one look at the front of Savannah’s clothes and jumped up from the sofa, a look of alarm on her face. “Oh, mercy! Savannah, you’re hurt! Were you in a car wreck? Oh, Bleak, come here and help her out! Call for an ambulance!”

Savannah held up both hands. “I’m okay,” she said. “I didn’t have a wreck and I don’t need an ambulance.”

“Then what…?” Jesup pointed to her clothes.

“One of the people who works at the mansion—the gardener—was shot. Actually, he was killed.”

“Oh my god! That’s awful!” Jesup ran over to Savannah and put her arms around her waist.

But Bleak looked like he’d just rubbed off a winner on a scratch-off lotto ticket. “Really! Wow! And you were there? You saw it? Where did he get shot? In the head, the body?”

Savannah stared at him for a long, tense moment as the stress of the day rose inside her, hot and explosive. “Get away from me,” she said in an ominously low voice. “I mean it, boy.”

Jesup took a step backward, looking from her older sister’s face to her husband’s. “Uh, Bleak. We should just watch our movie,” she said. “I think Savannah’s having a rough day, and you’re aggravatin’ her something fierce.”

“You better take your wife’s advice, you mangy, maggot-infested, piece-of-crap buzzard,” Savannah said through gritted teeth, “and back off before I bite your head off and spit it at you.”

With that she whirled around and stomped upstairs to change her clothes.

She was halfway up the staircase when she heard her brother-in-law say, “I’ll bet it was a head shot, Jes. I think I saw a little bit of brain matter there on the front of her shirt, didn’t you? Did you see it, too, Jes?”

S
avannah had never understood why properties that were built on the beach had swimming pools. She was sure there was a good reason, but since she would probably never, never have the money to have even a small swimming pool installed in her backyard, she felt the need to condemn those who did so frivolously.

And Casa Del Sol had a gorgeous big pool within a stone’s throw of the Pacific Ocean. Olympic-sized. A three-meter diving board. Two whirlpools.

They just plain ol’ bite
.

That was her evaluation of the whole establishment, as she pulled her Mustang into the parking lot and got out. And her opinion didn’t change when she saw half a dozen gals in no-larger-than-size-two bikinis chasing each other around, squealing and splashing water.

Just wasn’t her sort of place.

But she did perk up considerably when she spotted a guy with strawberry blond hair, sunburned, freckled skin, and a jelly-belly roll that lapped over his lime-green thong swimsuit. He wore matching green flip-flops that she noticed couldn’t possibly be larger than a size six or seven.

He was lying on a chaise, a tabloid magazine in one hand and what looked like a margarita in the other.

As Savannah approached him, she wondered what hairdresser had told him that he could handle that shade of red at his age.

Probably the same person who had recommended that thong.

She shuddered, reminding herself that once this case was solved and she was officially “off duty” she deserved a stiff drink just for having to see this.

Her eyes might never recover.

“Miles!” she said as she walked up to him. “Long time no see!”

He whipped off the girl-watcher sunglasses he was wearing and peered at her.

“What?” he said. “Do I know you?”

He looked her up and down and grinned, as though he would like to know her better.

The thought made her feel the need for a long, hot shower and a strong soap. Like lye.

“Sure you know me,” she said as she pulled up a stool and sat down on it, next to his chaise. “You met me once before. I was with Kim. You know, Kim Dylan.”

He sat up so quickly that he dropped both his tabloid and his sunglasses.

She reached down and scooped up the glasses from the cement. “Something I said?” she asked, holding them out to him.

He snatched them out of her hand. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“My name is Savannah Reid,” she said. “I’m a private investigator. And what do I want? I want to figure out who killed Kim Dylan. I want that really, really badly.”

“Who are you working for?” He scratched his belly, leaving white marks on his peeling, sunburned skin.

“That doesn’t matter,” she said. “Who are you hiding from?”

“Who said I’m hiding from anybody?” He sat up straight and kicked at the newspaper at his feet.

“You aren’t Lester. So, unless you checked in with a dude named Lester, you’re lying. And that sort of lie usually means you’re hiding.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, walking up to me and saying a thing like that,” he snapped.

“Why, thank you.” She batted her eyelashes at him. Then she dropped the niceties and fixed him with a level stare. “I have a police detective who’s a very good friend of mine,” she told him. “And he offered to come over here and question you today. But I talked him out of it. He had a lot to do, and I really wanted to meet you. But I can tell you one thing, Miles. I’m a lot nicer than he is. And better looking, too. You really should talk to me.”

He thought it over for a moment, then said, “Okay. What do you want to know?”

“I want you to tell me all you know about Kim Dylan.”

“She was Dona Papalardo’s personal assistant.”

Savannah sighed. “Now, Miles, don’t go tellin’ me things that I already know, or I’m gonna get al-l-l upset with you.”

“She seemed like a nice girl,” he said, “you know, when I talked to her on the phone…when I’d call Dona for something.”

“Why did you pay her a dump truck full of money last month?”

His mouth dropped open, and his face turned redder than his sunburned belly. He stared at her, saying nothing.

“Well?” she said. “There’s no point in denying it. It’s a matter of record. The police have already seen the bank statements. You’re either going to have to tell them or me.”

Suddenly, Miles Thurgood looked scared. Very scared. “That’s confidential,” he said. “I represented Kim in a business deal, honestly and legally. But I can’t talk about it.”

“Why not, if it was all legal? Why would you have to hide it from the police?”

“The police aren’t the only ones you have to hide things from, you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” she told him. “But if you’re afraid of someone, maybe I can help you.”

Yes, Miles Thurgood was frightened. His hands were shaking as he reached for a towel and threw it around his neck.

“I’m not going to say anything more to you. I’m not interested in ending up dead like Kim.”

“Why would you? What do you and Kim have in common? Is someone upset with the two of you?”

He just shook his head and said, “No. That’s it. I’m done talking.”

Scared people were more likely to tell you things than calm, confident people. So Savannah decided to ratchet up his tension a little. “Do you know that there was another murder at Dona Papalardo’s today?”

For a moment, she thought he might be having a heart attack. He clutched his chest and began to breathe heavy. Sweat seemed to pop out instantly on his forehead and upper lip.

“Who?” he asked, nearly strangling on the word. “Who was killed?”

“Jack, the gardener. Someone was aiming at Dona and got him instead. He died there in her backyard.”

He looked as though she had just slapped him hard across the face. He sprang to his feet, clutching the towel around his shoulders. “You get away from me,” he said, “and don’t come back here. You’re going to get me killed.”

And with that, Miles Thurgood, his sunburn, his towel, his lime-green swimsuit and matching flip-flops made a swift exit across the pool area and into the hotel.

As Savannah watched him, she decided two things: One—she was very glad she had come to see Mr. Thurgood. She wasn’t sure exactly what she had just learned from him, but she was sure it was quite meaningful to the case.

And two—she never, never again, for the rest of her life, wanted to watch Miles Thurgood walk away from her, wearing a lime-green thong. Once in a lifetime was way more than enough.

When Savannah returned to the Papalardo mansion, it was dinnertime, but she had no appetite. All she wanted was a long, hot, bubble bath and a strong, steaming Irish coffee.

But she saw neither one in her future.

Working detectives who hadn’t solved their cases didn’t get to take rose-scented bubble baths.

She wasn’t sure if she had been actually taught that in the police academy, but it was some sort of rule, nevertheless.

Tammy answered the door and let her inside.

“How did it go?” Tammy wanted to know the moment she stepped over the threshold.

“Interesting,” Savannah replied. “He’s not hiding from the law, like we figured. He’s afraid he’s going to be the next one popped.”

“Why?”

“He wouldn’t say, but that was the definite take I had on him.” She glanced into the empty kitchen. “Where’s Dirk?”

“He left. Said he wanted to go to the crime lab and see those casts that they made up on the hill today, make sure they match. He also said he’d go by the morgue and watch Dr. Liu do the autopsy on Jack…or James.”

Savannah felt mildly disappointed that he wasn’t there. But she understood his need to take care of business. They had to get this case wrapped up before yet another body was added to what was becoming a stack in the morgue.

“Ryan and John are still here, though,” Tammy said. “They said they’d stay with me until you got back. Juanita gave us dinner earlier. We saved you a plateful in the kitchen.”

“I’m not hungry, but thank you.”

Tammy gave Savannah an incredulous look that made her laugh. “Yes, once every ten years or so I do miss a meal. Believe it or not.” She glanced up the stairs. “Has Dona been down?”

“Just long enough to get a glass of wine and tell everybody to leave her the hell alone for the rest of the night.”

Savannah shrugged. “Okay. Her wish is our command. That’s easy enough.”

She followed Tammy into the library where, just as she’d said, Ryan and John waited patiently. John was thumbing through some of Dona’s coffee-table art books, while Ryan was sending messages on his PDA.

They both looked delighted and relieved to see her.

“We were starting to worry about you,” Ryan said, scooting over so that she could join him on the sofa.

“Any luck finding Mr. Thurgood?” John asked.

She made a bad face. “Yes, I found him right where you said he’d be, wearing what you said he’d be wearing. I’m scarred for life.”

John chuckled. “Don’t say you weren’t forewarned, dear.”

“In this case the warning didn’t help. Some things—no amount of warning can prepare you.”

“True,” Ryan said, “but we may have come up with some stuff that will help you. We spent the afternoon on the phone here, and I’ve sent some messages and gotten some replies.” He held up his PDA. “And I think you’re going to like what you hear.”

Savannah perked up instantly. “Really? What have you got for me?”

“That hiking boot, the Porter-Marceau, that left the tracks up on the hill,” John said. “That’s an exclusive boot. Every pair is custom fit to the fellow who buys them. There were only twenty-seven pairs sold in the entire Los Angeles area this past year. And we know the boot was sold this year because its track shows that it’s their latest model, released this past March.”

“Twenty-seven pairs…that’s not such a long list,” Tammy said, sounding hopeful.

“And,” Ryan added, “of those…only three pair were a size thirteen.”

“Three! Three pairs! That’s all?” Savannah could see sunlight shining, even there in the dark interior of the library. Somewhere in her head church bells chimed. Some bluebirds sang,
Zippideedoodah!

“That’s right.” John smiled, his silver moustache turning up at the ends. “Now ask us if we have the names and addresses of those three chaps.”

Savannah turned and gave Ryan a hearty hug and kiss on the cheek. “I love you two. I am madly, wildly, hopelessly in love with you both.”

“Me, too!” Tammy said.

“Likewise, to be sure,” John added.

“How did you find this out?” Savannah said. “We were only talking about it and here you have it already.”

“Like we told you, the Internet,” John told her. “What a handy tool that has become in investigations. One can accomplish so much and never even leave the comfort of one’s home.”

“Or even change out of one’s silk pajamas,” Ryan said, grinning at John. “You wouldn’t believe how productive this guy can be without even bothering to get dressed in the morning.”

John blushed, but he didn’t deny it.

Suddenly, Tammy stood, walked over to a desk in the corner of the room, and picked up her laptop computer that was sitting there. “That reminds me,” she said. “I sent out some e-mails myself late last night. As of this morning I hadn’t gotten any responses yet. But let me check now.”

She sat back down on the sofa, opened the computer and signed on.

“Wireless access?” Ryan asked.

“Yes,” she said. “They have a modem in the basement office downstairs. But it picks up from here.” She studied her screen, typed a bit, then exclaimed, “Hey, I got a reply!”

“From whom?” John asked.

“From a motorbike club here in the area. Yesterday, I sent them a copy of the digital picture of the tire track that the lab gave Dirk. I asked them if they recognized the tread. And one of the guys there wrote me, saying it looked like the kind that’s on an expensive German bike, a Kusher nine-fifty. So, I wrote him and asked him if he knows anyone in the area who rides that kind of bike. He’s sent me four names here.”

Ryan reached into his shirt pocket and brought out a sheet of paper. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do a cross-reference here and see if we can find a match.”

Savannah leaned over his shoulder and quickly scanned the names on his list, then on Tammy’s.

It took only a couple of seconds for her to find the common name. And Tammy and Ryan, too.

“Cameron Field,” they said in unison.

Savannah looked at Tammy, then they both looked at the guys.

Then Savannah said what was on all of their minds. “Who do you suppose Cameron Field is, and what the hell does he have to do with any of this?”