Complete Mia Kazmaroff

by Kiernan-Susan Lewis

  Tears clung to her lashes and her lips trembled as she spoke and somehow, perversely, it made him feel better. He was inches from drawing her into his arms and erasing her pain, her shock and her hurt when, irrationally, he found himself striding to the door and snatching his car keys.

  Truth was, he couldn’t bear to look at her complete disappointment in him another moment.

  Chapter 7

  Mia rolled over and squinted at the digital clock on her bedside stand. She didn’t need to peek in Jack’s bedroom to know he hadn’t come home last night. There was an undisturbed quiet about the place that told her that without looking.

  She’d cried after he left and then counted the minutes, hoping he would come back and they would finally break through to each other. But the minutes turned into hours, the cable shows became infomercials and she eventually dragged herself to bed.

  It’s just a fight. People have them all the time. He’s under a lot of stress. He’s just lashing out.

  She showered and dressed, made herself a single cup of coffee and opened up her laptop. No emails needing immediate action. A few new photos on Facebook uploaded the night before by Jess: one of Mia and Ned clowning in the dressing room of the wedding boutique; one of Maxwell, asleep in a lounge chair at Jess’s, his reading glasses on his nose, a book collapsed across his chest.

  Her phone chimed to announce the receipt of a text message. Glancing at the screen, she saw that her car was ready at the body shop.

  I wonder if Jack even noticed it was missing from the parking lot? She tried to focus on her work and logged onto Atlanta Loves using the account she’d opened for herself. Without sending out any probes, she created a profile and quickly ran through the protocol for how the site worked. Then she set up the sheets of men’s names Nathan Turner had given her and typed the first one in the search box. It brought up the guy’s profile.

  Dennis Kraus, age thirty, teaches at Georgia State University. The picture showed a man in his late twenties. Mia flipped through the transcripts that showed his conversation with Victoria—brief and to the point.

  Victoria:

  Kraus:

  That was it. For some reason, there was no more contact between them. Mia sighed and hefted the sheaf of names in her hand. It was going to take a very long time to check out all the dead ends. Welcome to the exciting world of detective work. She got up to get a Coke out of the fridge and, on impulse, picked up her phone and called Ned.

  He answered on the third ring.

  “Hey,” Mia said. “Got a minute?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “I just need to bounce an idea or two off you. I’d do it with my mom but she’s squeamish about me hanging out with murderers and pedophiles.”

  “Imagine that.”

  “Okay. First, I’ve got a total sleezoid who had opportunity and motive—”

  “Is he the guy in custody?” Ned asked.

  “Yes. And he’s the poster child for this murder. Fits it perfectly, but here’s where it gets weird. There are a few other people who might fit it nearly as perfectly.”

  “Ooh, profiling. I’ve heard the police do that.”

  “Well, anyway,” Mia continued, “I went to meet the twins who were in on the scam with Victoria and they don’t look like they had enough brain cells between them to have killed her, plus my gut tells me they loved her and didn’t do it.”

  “I’ll remind you that your gut doesn’t hold up in court.”

  “But their brother, Derek, is a psychopath and I can think of all kinds of reasons why he might have wanted to hurt Victoria. First, he’s violent, and there’s a rumor that he and Victoria were an item.”

  “Plus she was pimping out his sisters, which might also have been a problem for him.”

  “Exactly,” Mia said. “I don’t know how I’m going to get his alibi, but from the files I got from my client—Cook’s lawyer—the cops didn’t even interview him.”

  “Slack.”

  “Then there’s the head of the online dating service, a real iceman called Nathan Turner.”

  “I know him,” Ned said.

  “Okay, what?”

  “I know him. He’s very big in the gay community. Kind of a dick but kind of cool, too, and a philanthropist.”

  “That is so strange, Ned. Really?”

  “You didn’t pick up on that?”

  “Him being gay? No. Him having a secret? Big time.”

  “What’s his motive?”

  “I don’t know, do I? Maybe it’s attached to whatever his secret is,” she said.

  “Did you touch him?”

  “I couldn’t find a natural way to do it.”

  “I’m proud of you, Mia. Shows real self-restraint.”

  “I’ve also got the files on a guy who was on the cops’ runner-up list. I’m going to meet him this morning.”

  “He look good for it?”

  “Hard to tell,” she said. “He got scammed by her.”

  “That’s motive.”

  “Where are you?” Mia asked. “Are the maids there? I hear clanging in the background. And cursing.”

  “Yes, the maids are here as a matter of fact. Gee, you must be a detective. Are we finished?”

  “I guess so. Jack stormed out last night after a big fight and didn’t come home.”

  “Really.”

  “It was a very big fight, Ned. Things got said. One thing led to another.”

  “They always do. I’m sure he’s just licking his wounds somewhere. You guys’ll sort it out. Listen, Mia, I gotta go. You going to be okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks, Ned. Oh, by the way, please tell Jack he better come home soon if he doesn’t want me to use all his fancy cheeses to make grilled sandwiches with. I know he hates that.”

  “Bye, Mia.”

  “Bye.”

  *****

  “What’d she say?” Jack asked as Ned hung up the phone.

  “I hate doing this shit. Can’t you two just talk it out?”

  “And say what? Don’t see what you think you saw? There’s nothing to say. Besides, it’s not the end of the world.”

  “Well it kinda is if you go to prison, Jack.”

  Jack handed Ned a steaming mug of coffee and sat down on the sofa in Ned’s comfortable Morningside cottage. It hadn’t occurred to him when he made his dramatic exit from Mia’s last night that he really had no place to go. He’d known Ned—really Mia’s friend—all of six months. It did occur to him that the first smile he’d had in forty-eight hours was from the look on Ned’s face when he opened his door last night and found Jack standing on his doorstep.

  “Can I run something by you?” Jack asked.

  “That seems to be my function this morning,” Ned said, going to the kitchen to add more cream to his coffee. “I assume I am in the role of Priest Confidant? Listen but keep my mouth shut?”

  “I just need to walk through it one time in the light of day, without Mia over my shoulder, or my lawyer trying to twist the facts into something that will work in my favor.”

  “I’m happy to help, Jack. Seriously.” Ned joined him on the couch. “And I promise not to tell Mia.”

  “Thank you.” Jack focused his mind. He’d slept little last night.

  “I remember being absolutely poleaxed to see Mia on the other side of the fence. Like it was a bad LSD trip.”

  “You’ve done acid?”

  “No, Ned. I’m just telling you how unbelievable it was to me to see her there. She was supposed to be coming back from the Jiffy Mart. For a few seconds, I just didn’t comprehend what I was seeing.”

  “Understandable.”

  “When I realized it really was her, I climbed the fence and made it to the other side in time to see the guy with his hands on Mia …”

  Jack stopped, as if seeing the image in his head. He exhaled harshly and shook his head to compose himself. “I don’t even remember what he said. I saw
the knife and I saw Mia’s eyes. So big and afraid.” He swallowed.

  “That must have been terrible,” Ned said quietly.

  “Yeah. It was. I wanted to rush him but I waited until he looked away for a second and then I wrenched the knife from him.”

  Jack didn’t speak for a moment. He was remembering the pure relief of knowing the knife was no longer at her throat. That she was safe. The adrenaline that had been surging through him seemed to have ebbed.

  “I pushed her away and he slugged me. I was happy to let him go and have the cops pick him up later. Really.” He glanced at Ned to see his reaction but Ned just nodded for him to continue.

  “But he had no intention of running. He pulled back his fist to hit me again and I blocked it with my forearm. I punched him. Maybe twice. I can’t remember. He looked down where the knife was and I tackled him to the ground.”

  “That must have been when the surveillance cameras lost you.”

  “I guess. But when I had him on the ground, he went limp. I thought he might be faking it.”

  “You think he died then?”

  “Or was in the process. I remember slapping him but he was unresponsive so I started doing chest compressions. I was angry and maybe I did them harder than necessary. The ME says I ruptured his spleen.”

  “Yeah, but if he was already dying before you gave him CPR then the spleen thing wasn’t what killed him.”

  “How the hell do I prove that? And as long as it’s my word against forensics, I’m dead.”

  “You need to tell Mia this.”

  “I told her, Ned. I know she’s trying to believe in me but what guy just stops breathing for no reason?”

  “Jack. The prosecution sees you as the reason he stopped breathing because they don’t have another possibility. It’s your job—or your attorney’s—to give them another one.”

  “What the hell could that be? I was there, and even I have trouble believing I didn’t kill him. And Mia definitely does.”

  “Mia saw you hit him. She was already freaked out so when the guy ended up dead, she put two and two together and got ninety-four.”

  “If I’d just taken the guy’s knife and told him to beat it—”

  “You said yourself he wasn’t interested in running. He wanted a confrontation.”

  “All I know is I mishandled the situation. And now he’s dead.”

  “You know anything about him?”

  Jack shook his head. “Just somebody trying to get a little more out of a shitty life. Plus, however desperate or stupid he was to steal from his employer—”

  “And hold a woman at knifepoint, don’t forget.”

  “Yeah, that too. But in spite of all that, he obviously has family who cares. They’re bringing a civil suit against me.”

  “Maybe they’re just trying to get money out of the city?”

  “I don’t work for the city any more. And if they’re trying to get money out of me, they’re in for a rude surprise.”

  “Your lawyer know everything you told me today?”

  “Of course.”

  “And he doesn’t think you stand a good chance at an acquittal?”

  “He thinks we should ask for a deal.”

  “Will that include prison time?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  *****

  Mia parked two blocks over from Colony Square in Midtown. It was lunch hour in the heart of Atlanta’s ad agency enclave. The sidewalks were crowded with streams of office workers coming and going from the area eateries. She glanced at the small photograph she had of Barry Cargill, agency account executive from Mod2, a creative boutique specializing in medical animation and health services advertising.

  From the photo, he looked sincere and friendly—exactly the look you’d want to project if your job was to woo clients for your agency. Hair a little wispy on top but a pleasant, relaxed face.

  He was also prime suspect number two behind Cook for Victoria Baskerville’s murder. If the cops hadn’t had bloody sneaker treads with Cook’s name on them, Mr. Cargill would be sitting in a maximum-security holding pen right now instead of choosing his next sushi lunch venue.

  Mia walked south from 10th Street toward what was generally considered the advertising crowd’s most popular lunchtime destination, Hobson’s Tavern, just west of Peachtree Street. Her preference was to catch Cargill away from the office and she’d allotted two days of staking out Hobson’s to achieve that. But her fallback was a frontal attack on the agency itself in the guise of a durable medical equipment rep. She knew Cargill was in town—she’d called earlier to confirm that. If she didn’t catch him today or tomorrow, she’d have to do it the hard way and get an appointment.

  As she walked, she tried to let the cooler air—even the dampness, which frizzed her hair—energize her. She knew Jack was at Ned’s. She hadn’t really been sure about that until Ned answered. But something about his hesitancy and then too-prompt replies broadcast the fact that he was keeping a secret—a six-foot four, one hundred and eighty pound secret.

  That was good. Ned would help calm Jack down, maybe even talk some sense into him. Her phone vibrated and she pulled it out of her jacket pocket, surprised to see it was a text from Jack.

 

  A flood of relief cascaded through her and she stopped on the sidewalk to type in her answer.

 

 

 

 

 

  Mia tucked her phone away and grinned. How the world can change from one moment to the next when you’re in love.

  She saw a group of people standing in line to get into Hobson’s Tavern and scanned the crowd for Cargill. Beginning to doubt the plausibility of her ambush plan, Mia pushed into the throng at the door and found herself in front of a harried woman wearing a low-cut silk blouse and armed with a clipboard.

  “Name?” she said.

  “I think my party’s already inside,” Mia said.

  The woman stepped aside for Mia to pass. Once inside the dining room, Mia was certain her plan was flawed. The long mahogany bar that spanned the length of the room was crowded with men in suits—and a few women—perched uncomfortably on barstools. The noise level was deafening. Mia felt her fingertips humming even though she wasn’t touching anything. Nothing like an overstimulated environment to totally swamp a hypersensitive condition.

  Besides, advertising people? Probably half the people in here have cut somebody’s throat. Well, figuratively anyway.

  She pushed her way farther into the dining room, slowly skirting each table and glancing at the faces. It was with relief and not a little urgency that she exited the restaurant five minutes later. It had started to rain but being outside was still more comfortable than the stifling and noisy interior of the popular bistro.

  Screw it. She’d grab a burrito on the way home and make an appointment to see Cargill in his office later in the week. As soon as she resolved her next course of action, Mia saw him. He was at the end of the line of people waiting to get in, talking with two other men in suits. He looked only vaguely like the man in the photograph she carried.

  Seriously bloated—or downright fat—his hair having given up the pretense, and his eyes were mean and piggy, darting back and forth as he spoke.

  She half expected to see a little toad tongue flicker out as he spoke.

  Beats wasting three hours pretending to be a durable medical equipment rep, she reminded herself as she walked up to him.

  “Barry Cargill?” she said.

  All three men turned to her.

  “I’m Barry Cargill,” he said, blatantly raking her from top to toe with an appraising eye.

  Really, dude? What if I were a prospective client?

  She stuck out her hand. “My name is Mia Kazmaroff. May I have a word?”

  He did not shake her hand. And the two men with him quietly dr
ifted ahead in line.

  “What about?”

  “I bet you know,” Mia said cheerfully. “I have a photograph of you taken with some friends of mine I’d like to ask you about.”

  Cargill’s face went slack and he took several steps out of line, prompting Mia to follow him. He looked over his shoulder at his companions but kept walking.

  “Mr. Cargill?” Mia walked behind him until he stopped in front of a park bench. The rain was only a mist now and he sat down heavily.

  “The cops said they wouldn’t make those photographs public. I got a family, you know.”

  “I’m not with the police.”

  “Shit! The media?” His face fell into the meaty palms of his hands and Mia nearly felt sorry for him.

  “No, not them either.” She sat down next to him. He lifted his head to scrutinize her.

  “Well, who the fuck are you?”

  “Just someone with a few questions. Talk to me and I’ll leave you alone.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  Mia dug out a notepad and a pen and handed it to him. “For starters, how well did you know Victoria?”

  He held the notepad. “We had one date.”

  “Where you met the twins.”

  His lips flattened and his face reddened. “Yes, where I met the fucking twins.”

  “You must have been pretty upset when she tried to blackmail you.”

  “Look, whoever you are, I already talked to the cops and they know I was with my wife and her family when the bitch was murdered. I got five people who can testify.”

  “So your wife knows?”

  “She does and she’s divorcing me. Anything else?”

  “If you would be so kind as to jot down the password for your profile at Atlanta Loves.”

  “I closed that account.”

  “Well, then it shouldn’t be a problem giving me the password.”

  Mia waited while he stared at her. Finally, he scribbled down a word on the notepad and shoved it back at her.

  “Are we done?” He stood without waiting for an answer and strode back in the direction of the offices of Mod2.

  Must have lost his appetite.