Wicked Craving (13 page)

“I thought you were going to wait and find out if he's in some FBI protection program.”

“I heard from Ryan about an hour ago. He and John already checked on it, and he's not in any witness program.”

“Wow, they work fast!”

“They sure do. And they offered to check out the Island View Hotel where Karen says she and Wellman were that night. I told them, ‘sure. If all you guys have to do is play golf and bat a tennis ball around, have at it.'”

“You have such a way with words…and people.”

“It's a gift.”

“You're lucky that Ryan and John and I don't have anything on our own plates right now. You have all this awesome talent at your disposal for free.”

“They don't have any hot celebrity bodies to guard at the moment?”

“They're like me; business comes and goes. And unlike me, when they have a job, they get paid big bucks.”

“That's how they can afford those awesome cars and that fancy condo up on the hill.”

“Bodyguards to the rich and famous…yes, it pays better than working for the FBI did, I'm sure.”

“Now, if you can get private detecting to pay better than being a cop did, maybe you can move into a condo on the hill and get a fancy car.”

“Naw, I like my little house and my Mustang. I'm what's known as a contented woman. I wouldn't change a thing about my life…except that awful smell.”

“The awful-smell discussion is closed.”

A
few minutes later, they arrived at Wellman's house and pulled into his driveway.

“Are you sure he's home?” Savannah asked as they got out of the car.

“Yeah. I called and told him I was coming by…warned him not to go anyplace.”

“And you figure that did it?”

“Oh, yeah, he's scared of me.” He grinned as he took her arm and walked her up the sidewalk to the door. “Isn't everybody?”

“Only those standing downwind of you.”

Savannah rang the doorbell and it took some time for Wellman to answer. When he did, he was wearing wet swim trunks and his hair was slicked back and damp. He had a towel thrown around his bare shoulders and a glass in his hand that was half-filled with red juice. The sprig of celery told Savannah it might be a Bloody Mary.

“Hello again,” she told him. “Nice day for a swim.”

Wellman nodded. “Unless you're looking at the rocks where your wife's body was found,” he replied dryly.

“Yeah, right,” Dirk said. “Your
wife
. We need to come in and talk about that.”

Dirk walked inside without being invited, and Savannah followed close behind him.

“Have you found those missing jewels yet?” Wellman asked. “The store called me twice already today. They want their merchandise or the money right away.”

“Let us find out who the murderer is, and then we'll get to working on those stolen gems, if it's all the same to you,” Dirk told him.

“Yes, well, before this conversation goes any further, I'd like to go change clothes, if you don't mind too much,” Wellman said sarcastically. “I don't fancy sitting around in a wet swimsuit while talking to the police.”

“You're just fine like you are,” Dirk said. “You knew I was coming and had plenty of time to change if you didn't ‘fancy' sitting around in your trunks. Let's go into the backyard. You can sit on your patio furniture if you don't want to get your expensive couch wet.”

Dirk headed through the house and out the back door, leaving Wellman little choice but to follow him.

“Be thankful you'll be talking to him out in the fresh air,” Savannah told Wellman as they walked out together. “Believe me, it's a blessing.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Dirk was already sitting on one of the deep-cushioned, wicker chairs. He was wearing a half smile, and his eyes sparkled with a grim sort of mischief. It was a look Savannah often saw on his face when he was getting ready to interview someone—and he had something really good on them.

Wellman sat down and took a long, long drink from his glass, nearly emptying it.

“I'd offer you one,” he said as he set the glass on the end table next to his chair, “but I know you're on duty, and I'm sure it would be against regulations for you to drink alcohol.”

He gave them both contemptuous looks. “And I'm sure that you two follow all the rules to the letter.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dirk said, “that's us. Rule followers all the way…Bobby.”

Wellman's face clouded over. “I prefer to go by Robert.”

“But you used to go by Bobby. Bobby Martini.” Dirk sat back in his chair, lifted his arms, and laced his fingers behind his head. “Tell us about that. Tell us
all-l-l
about that.”

“Yeah,” Savannah said, “and don't spare any of the gory details. We can take it.”

Wellman looked like someone had just poked his backside with a cattle prod. His face flushed nearly as red as his hair and mustache. “That's…that's…personal and none of your business.”

“A murder was committed right here on your property, mister,” Dirk told him. “That means you have no personal business. None at all. Get used to it. Until I arrest the killer, your life is a friggen open book. Got that?”

“With numerous really sordid chapters,” Savannah added.

Dirk leaned forward in his chair and propped his elbows on his knees, staring at Wellman. “Start talking, and I'm in no mood for any of your bullshit, so give it to me straight.”

“Start with the identity change,” Savannah said.

Wellman glanced around him, and for a moment, Savannah thought she could see genuine fear in his eyes. Of what, she wasn't sure. Was he expecting the rest of the SCPD to come out of the bushes and arrest him? Or was it something else?

“Okay, okay,” he said. “We did have to change our names and assume new identities. But it was for my wife's sake. She—”

“Now there you go,” Dirk said, “pissing me off and spewing crap before you even get started.”

“What?”

“Don't ‘what' us,” Dirk told him. “We already know that Maria wasn't your wife.
Gina
was your sister.”

Savannah gave Wellman a fake smile. “Do yourself a favor, Martini,” she said. “Just assume that whatever you're hiding, we already know all about it. We're just giving you a chance here to tell us your side of things, so that we don't assume the worst about you.”

“Yeah,” Dirk added. “You don't want us thinking the worst about you. We have really evil imaginations and our worst is pretty bad.”

Wellman let out a deep sigh, like a man defeated, and sank down in his chair. “Then if you know Gina was my sister, you know about Vegas and all that mess.”

Savannah glanced at Dirk, who was as busy as she was, putting on a poker face.

“Yeah,” she said. “I don't really blame you and Gina for leaving there like you did.”

He nodded. “We had to. Gus is a really bad guy, I'm telling you. He went crazy when Gina divorced him, beat her up, threatened to kill her. Me, too. And with his connections, he could have done it or had somebody else do it. He would have gotten away with it, too.”

“So, why didn't you tell us about Gus right away?” Dirk said. “What if he's the one who killed Maria? He could be long gone by now. All because you didn't give us the heads-up.”

“You think I haven't already thought about that?” Again, he looked around him, staring into the shrubs that bordered the sides of the yard. “I didn't want to blow my cover here…or whatever you people call it…by telling you about my past. And yet, I figure he probably knows where I am now.”

“After appearing on those national talk shows, you didn't have much of a cover to blow,” Savannah mentioned.

“Yeah, I know. But my agent said I needed the publicity and couldn't afford to pass up the opportunity to appear on national TV. She said she'd make sure nobody gave out my address.”

Savannah shook her head. “Once you made your name and face public, you left yourself open. My assistant is good with the Internet, and she can find anybody in about five minutes.”

“But I'm sure you sold a ton of those worthless CDs of yours,” Dirk said with a touch of bitterness. “So, I guess it was worth the risk.”

Wellman bristled. “Yes, I did sell a ton of them. And they aren't worthless. I've helped countless people achieve their dreams of weight loss and—”

“Save it for the infomercials,” Dirk told him with a wave of his hand.

Savannah took her notebook and pen from her purse. “There's one thing I need,” she said. “I'm not sure how to spell Gus's last name. Could you clear that up for me?”

She mentally crossed her fingers that it wasn't something like “Smith” or “Brown.”

Wellman nodded. “Yeah, okay. You spell it A-V-A-N-T-I-S.”

“Oh, thanks. I thought maybe Avantis had an ‘E' on the end. That's helpful.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dirk smirk. Her “gee, how do you spell that?” routine was one of his favorites. And he, himself, couldn't pull it off. It required a soft, smooth, Southern accent and a certain amount of eyelash batting.

Their partnership worked so well because they firmly believed in delegation of duties. He was in charge of scowling, whining about little aches and pains, and moaning about slow-moving traffic. She handled all eyelash batting, dimple deepening, and hip-swinging sashaying.

Each went with their strengths.

“Anyway,” Wellman continued, “once Gina got killed and those news crews were all over the place here, the whole world found out where I live. So, I figure even if it wasn't Gina's ex who killed her, he knows where I am now.”

“And you figure he'll show up?” Dirk asked. “If he was mad at her for leaving him, why come after you?”

Wellman picked up his empty Bloody Mary glass and went through the motions of taking one last sip. Savannah suspected his mouth was pretty dry, considering the line of questioning.

“Oh, I don't know,” he said. “I never liked Gus, and he knew it. He probably figured I'd encouraged her to leave him.”

“Did you?” Dirk asked.

“Yeah. I did.”

“How long ago was all this?” Savannah said.

“About three years.”

Dirk drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, thinking. “And you believe that he's still mad enough about her leaving him that he'd travel here from Las Vegas, murder her, and then wait around and kill you, too?”

“He might be.”

“Okay.” It was obvious that Dirk didn't buy it. “How about we talk about a couple of suspects a little closer to home. Like Brian Mahoney and all that hush money you paid him not to turn you in for having sex with your patient.”

“Or, should we say ‘patients'?” Savannah said.

When Wellman didn't reply, Dirk added, “An open book, my man. Remember? That's what your life is now.”

Savannah waggled one eyebrow. “Steamy sex scenes and all.”

“I like the ladies,” Wellman said with a shrug. “There's no law against that.”

“Actually, when they're your patients, there is,” Savannah said. “You could lose your license for something like that.”

“You do have a license to lose, right?” asked Dirk. “You're not like one of these television doctors who has an honorary doctorate from some Caribbean ‘university' for cat juggling, are you?”

“Dirk!” Savannah gasped. “
Cat
juggling! Please!”

“Sorry. What was I thinking?” He turned to Wellman. “Tell me where you went and what you did after you left the ball the other night. The truth this time.”

“I told you. I came home.”

“Eventually, yes, you did. But I want to hear about where you stopped along the way, who you met, what you did. You can abbreviate the ‘what you did' part. Some details I can live without. I doubt you know any tricks I don't know.”

Savannah stifled a snicker. It could be argued that anybody with as active a sex life as Wellman might actually have a few tips for a guy like Dirk, whose idea of a big date was spending the night staking out some scumbag's apartment building with Savannah.

Wellman wasn't an attractive man by any means. Both his face and physique were quite mundane.

Then she reminded herself that money was quite the aphrodisiac to a lot of women, and, of course, it never hurt to slip the word “doctor” into your pick up line, either.

“I'm telling you, I came straight home,” Wellman said. “Once I got here, I looked around for my wife and then went to bed.”

“But you'd already been to bed…a hotel bed…with another one of your patients,” Dirk said.

“No!”

“That's what Karen Burns says,” Savannah told him. “Does the Island View Hotel ring a bell?”

Wellman sat there, saying nothing, with perspiration starting to pop out on his forehead and upper lip.

The morning fog had burned away, and the sun was warm, to be sure. But for a guy sitting there in wet swim trunks, his hair still damp, Savannah decided he was doing an abnormal amount of sweating.

But when she glanced over at Dirk, she noticed that his face, too, was strangely flushed, as though he'd spent the day at the beach—not just a matter of minutes on Wellman's back patio.

Must be hotter than I think,
she told herself.
That or these guys are pretty worked up
.

“Look,” she said to Wellman, “I can understand why you'd hide the fact that you were at a hotel with a woman who's your patient. Especially since you were pretending to be married to your sister—which scores pretty darned high on the ick meter, too. But the gal's giving you an alibi on a night when you bloody well need one. You'd be pretty stupid not to take it.”

That seemed to click with Wellman. He slowly nodded his head. “Okay. I stopped by the hotel on my way home. Spent most of the night with Karen. But nothing sexual at all happened….”

“Of course not,” Savannah said. “You two probably just held hands, sipped tea, nibbled ladyfingers, and chatted about politics there in your favorite suite.”

“All that tea sipping.” Dirk snickered. “That's probably how she got pregnant, huh? Dude, you should've slipped a condom on your ladyfinger.”