by TG Wolff
“What advantage?” Yablonski was backing down from defcon-5. The only red left in his cheeks was from the wind.
“Sit down and I’ll show you.”
In a narrow booth, with caffeine and sugar between them, Cruz brought up the camera roll on his cell. “While he was studying you, I was studying his desk. Look what was hiding in plain sight.”
Yablonski took the phone, fingers stretching the image. When it clicked, his eyebrows jumped to attention. “Fisher’s? Isn’t that the bookstore in DeMusa’s building?”
“It is.”
Yablonski punched a thick finger at the date. “This is for a book discussion happening tomorrow night.”
“It is.”
“The original date was crossed out and today’s added in marker. This can’t be old.”
“Agree.”
“Huh. What else did you get?” Yablonski thumbed through the images. The phone in his hand chimed; he snickered in response. “Your woman is checking up on you.”
“What? Lemme have it.”
Yablonski held it away from the outstretched hand. “‘Thinking of you. Hope you put something more than coffee in your tum.’ What should we say back?”
“Give me my phone.”
“Naw. Women like mushy stuff. How about,” his thumbs got busy, “‘I saw the sunrise today and thought how much brighter you are than the morning.’ Send.”
“Yablonski. Give me my fucking phone.” Cruz punctuated each word.
Yablonski ignored him, still texting. “Don’t work too hard today. You’re going to need your energy tonight.”
Giving up on tact, Cruz got out of the booth to beat his best friend within an inch of his life. “You piece of—”
“Hold that thought.” Yablonski gave him a stiff-arm. “Let’s see what she says back.” He read. A grin stretched across his bearded face. “‘Think you should trade the coffee in for some Red Bull.’”
Cruz snatched the phone, gave Yablonski a jab to the shoulder for good measure, then turned away to read it. Heat welled in his belly and made its way, well, down. “I fucking love having a creative woman.” He slid back in the booth best he could. “Did you see the other photos? There were sketches of a neighborhood development with the flyer. He also had a few business cards and a map with cities circled. Then there’s the demands list.” He pulled the folded paper from his inside pocket and laid it out on the table between them.
Did Sophie DeMusa demand money? Yes. In black and white, she demanded a fifty-thousand-dollar donation to a rape crisis center. She also demanded Posey seek counseling for a minimum of one year, issue a her an apology, refrain from all extramarital encounters, and step down from the hospital charity executive board. In exchange, she would not press charges and would sign a confidentiality agreement, valid as long as he maintained his part of the deal.
Yablonski finished off his donut. “What do you make of it?”
“Naïve pops to mind. Knowing what we know, I can see the way she framed it. She’d confront him. He’d want to avoid the embarrassment and complications of a scandal. He would pay a price and she would put enough strings on it to prevent it from happening to anyone else. Her problem was she didn’t think like an alpha male. She pushes; he shoves. She fusses; he barks. She nips; he bites.”
“She put up a good fight.” Yablonski recounted what he remembered. By all accounts, the scandal she caused hadn’t been small or cheap. “Posey did a lot of dancing and fast talking. I’d bet more than he expected to do. He probably saw her as a pretty young thing with zero status and power. After five minutes in a room with him, I’d say he goes for young, attractive, aspiring. She was smart enough and determined enough to cause him trouble. Until this.” He waved a hand over the paper. “She loaded his gun for him. What odds do you give on him being involved with the OD?”
Cruz turned over what he knew of the events, of the man they’d just met. “Low. Ten percent. There’s nothing left to be gained and it’s a hell of a big risk. He’d won and winning is important to him. His bookcase was littered with awards and recognition, pictures with big names wearing bigger smiles. He’s the type of guy who doesn’t want her dead, he wants her living with the knowledge he’d won, and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”
Yablonski was quiet as he deliberated. “You sayin’ you think he did rape her?”
“I don’t know. These are always a mess. Truth, lies, and everything in between. If he did rape her, why go after her at all? He’d gotten away with it, criminally speaking.”
Not a rhetorical question, Yablonski laid out a scenario of his own. “Winning wasn’t enough. He said it himself, she cost him. He wanted to punish her, teach her a lesson for fucking with his life. Who was she to call him out to his wife, to his brother-in-law? Nobody. She was nobody alive and nobody dead.”
“Maybe.” Cruz tipped the last of his coffee into his mouth, weighing the facts with the intangibles. “Definitely maybe. I hope the other names turn up something stronger, like a definitely probably. I’m going back across town and visit Jonathan Fisher at Fisher’s Rare Books and Antiquities. You in?”
Yablonski checked his watch. “Not this time. I’ve got a task force meeting in an hour. Let me know what you learn and, uh, you can thank me later for your night.”
They cleared away the trash, bundled into coats, hats, and gloves and stepped back out to the half-deserted street. Cruz had a question for Yablonski. One he hadn’t planned on asking, one he was surprised to find he was nervous to ask. Shit. “That ring you bought Erin, where did you get it?” He looked at traffic until a paw the size of a ham hit his shoulder.
“You serious? ’Bout time. You’re moving at glacial speed, Cruzie. Expected you two to make the big announcement last fall.”
“I did ask her, before I went undercover to catch Drug Head—she told me to ask her after. It took so damn long to figure out he’d gone into remission and longer to extract me without ruining the narcotics cases. By then, she was in the middle of school and an art show, I only saw her on weekends. Then there were the holidays. Our one-year anniversary is coming up on Valentine’s Day and I thought—”
“Nope. Horrible idea. Women want their engagement day to be a special one all to itself, not shared with some other holiday. No, you’re going to want to separate them. Trust me.”
The streetlight changed, and they crossed. In the crosswalk, near the crosswalk. It was relative, just like the date they’d get engaged. No one remembered their engagement date. Women didn’t mark the day after it happened. “That’s not a thing.” He shoved Yablonski. “You’re just screwing with me. It doesn’t matter once you’re married.”
Yablonski snorted. “You don’t know a thing about women. First date. Date you move in together. Engagement. Wedding. Hell, you throw in a few kids and you better have the florist as a favorite contact. With your credit card on file. With a significant limit.”
His friend was full of shit. He kept waiting for that Polish profile to crack a shit-eating grin. But it didn’t.
“You’re already doomed,” Yablonski continued, shaking his head woefully. “You moved in together last week and your first date anniversary is in a few weeks, we just had the holidays, and you’re planning to pop the question. Yeah, you should look to pick up some OT or a side gig.” He babbled on until they reached the parking garage. “Let me know what happens with Fisher.”
“Sure,” he said, but his head was in his calendar trying to figure out what dates he’d already forgotten and if he should pick up flowers. Christmas. He’d done alright. New Year’s. Not a present holiday. Her birthday was in September. Didn’t miss it.
He was good, he determined as he climbed the garage stairs. In his car, he pushed Yablonski’s bullshit advice to the back seat and started looking for answers with a woman in Bucyrus, Ohio.
Chapter Six
The car idled silently in the concrete garage, processed air keeping Cruz comfort
able despite the single digits on the other side of the tempered glass. “Mrs. DeMusa?”
“Yes.” The voice was quiet, labored with the lack of breath.
“I’m with the Cleveland police and am investigating the circumstances of your daughter’s hospitalization. My name is Detective Jesus De La Cruz.” He had given thought to how to introduce himself to Sophie’s mother without inducing the panic free association brought with the homicide unit.
“I know who you are. Samantha, Sophie’s boss, she calls often.”
“Good. I have a few questions I was hoping you could help me with.”
“I will do anything to help my Sophie.”
“When was the last time you spoke with your daughter?”
“On the Wednesday before. She was coming home on Saturday to spend the weekend with me. She called to ask if I wanted her to bring anything. I don’t get around like I used to, she knows, so she shops for me.”
“Does she visit often?”
“About once a month. It depends on her classes and her work. She was home for a few days at Christmas.” A heavy sigh followed, one that hinted at things unsaid.
“How did she seem emotionally? Was there anything bothering her or that she was worried about?”
The mother hesitated, the space filled with her shallow breathing. “It was not a good time for her. The things people were writing on the internet were horrible and not true. She came home for the holiday and I knew, when I looked at her face, things were bad. Then, well.” Her thought drifted away.
Sophie’s mother was furtive as though trying to feel for the invisible line between helping her daughter and telling her secrets.
Cruz took a gamble. “She confided she was pregnant.”
The responding sigh was one of relief. “She didn’t want anyone to know. She was afraid that man would try to take her baby.”
“That man? Did she say his name?”
“Andrew. I used to like the name, now it’s just ugly. Sophie isn’t telling people who the father of her baby is. It won’t be on the birth certificate. I’m only telling you so you can help her.”
“I understand. When you spoke with Sophie those few days before the incident, did she sound depressed or defeated?”
“No, nothing like that. In fact, she sounded more like herself than she had in a long time. She planned to take me to one of the Amish communities near here. We wanted to look at ideas for baby clothes, so I could make what she would need.”
“Was she happy about the baby?”
“Yes, mostly. She said she refused to think about how her peanut came to be and focused on what was coming next. Finishing her degree, having the baby, starting medical school.”
“She was planning to move forward with med school then?”
“Yes. We will be moving to Cincinnati in the summer. I’ll take care of the baby and maybe some sewing while she is in school.”
Emotions could swing, Cruz knew, but having a nickname for her baby, shopping for clothes, and planning a cross-state move were diametrically opposed to swallowing a handful of pills.
“Detective?” The elder voice cracked. “Do you think my Sophie tried to kill herself?”
The woman asking needed hope, a reason to believe. He wished he had more to offer her. “Officially, my investigation is ongoing.”
There was only the sound of breathing then, crying making the breaths more difficult.
“Mrs. DeMusa? Talk to me. Do you need medical assistance?”
“No. I don’t…who? Who would do this? That man?”
Cruz ignored the last question. “I’m working on it, ma’am. If you think of anything else, please call me.” He left her with his contact information.
A call to Fisher’s store revealed the man in question would be in by noon. Cruz filled the time with a visit to the Victorian mansion home to Alpha Theta Nu sorority. Snow and cars left no space for his City of Cleveland special. He parked in front of the building, lights on, and went to meet Margot Hennessy. The sorority house had the feel of a home made for and by women. It was one hundred eighty degrees from the fraternity Cruz had lived in.
“Hi. Can I help you?” The inquiry came from a young woman with a fresh face and hair tied in a complicated knot atop her head.
“I’m Detective Jesus De La Cruz, Cleveland police.” He showed her his identification. “I’m looking for Margot Hennessy.”
“She’s due back any minute. You’re welcome to wait, but is there something I can help you with? I’m Taylor.”
“Do you know Sophie DeMusa?”
“Of course, we all do.” Her face fell. “Is this about her? Oh, no. Is she worse?”
“There is no change in her condition,” he said quickly, quelling any potential storm. “I’m investigating the circumstances that put her in the hospital.”
Taylor led him into a large living space where they were quickly joined by three others. “We’ll do anything to help. We’ve started a GoFundMe page to help with her bills. We’re planning a fundraiser for next weekend.”
Cruz was surprised at the show of support. Based on Hennessy’s letter to the prosecutor, he expected to find a wall of condemnation. “Can you tell me what happened in December?”
The young women groaned, shook their heads, looked angry, sad, disappointed. Taylor spoke for the group. “It wasn’t our idea, Detective. In fact, we’re appealing to the national chapter. Sophie was unfairly punished for speaking out. We,” she drew out the word to indicate the women of the house, “are behind her.”
“Then, who isn’t?”
A door closed sharply in the rear of the house. Heels clipped on hardwood.
“Speak of the devil,” someone said.
The devil wore black pants, a pale green sweater, and an expression that said shit stinks, you stink, ergo, you are shit. “Ladies, who is this?”
“Margot, this is Detective De La Cruz. He’s investigating Sophie.”
“Well, thank goodness someone is,” Hennessy snapped, misconstruing the situation. “It is not acceptable to have someone smear the name of Alpha Theta Nu the way Sophie did.”
“Sophie was the victim, Margot,” Taylor said with an air of exasperation of a too often repeated refrain.
“Sophie had an obligation to this institution, twice as much being the president. Propositioning a man such as Mr. Posey was bad enough but, frankly, I can’t be in all of your bedrooms.”
“Thank God,” someone else muttered.
“But,” Hennessy said, snapping her teeth at the commentator, “I couldn’t ignore the violation of house rules once she made the details of her affair public.”
“She didn’t make them public. Posey did. How can you take his side?”
Hennessy didn’t respond well to having her authority challenged. “The only side I am on is Alpha Theta Nu’s. I will not have others looking at this house and thinking we tolerate such, such, behavior.” Her voice was climbing in tone and volume. “Sophie did nothing to discourage the attention of men—”
“She did nothing to encourage it!” One of the other women was on her feet, face flush, eyes flashing. “Get out of the nineteen fifties and realize men are responsible for their own actions. Stop excusing them and blaming us!”
“Enough,” Cruz said, speaking for the first time since Hennessy entered the room. He turned to the young women. “Thank you for the information. I would like to speak with Ms. Hennessy alone.”
“You’re armed, right?” the hot tempered one asked.
“Ms. Powers, you’re one small word away from censure.”
“First amendment. Try those words on for size.”
“Ms. Hennessy,” Cruz said, trying again, “is there an office where we can talk?”
The room at the rear of the building had windows on two sides and a draft across the floor. It was large enough to be authoritative, small enough to be comfortable. Hennessy bypassed the couch in front of the wind
ows, sitting down behind her desk, setting the tone for the conversation. “Did you really have to leave your lights on? We’ll be the talk of everyone on campus.” Margot Hennessy acknowledged Posey was interested in Sophie, not the other way around, but still laid responsibility for the events of the October night and all those after at Sophie’s feet. “Now the university is making inquiries about this chapter and our policies. As if I have any control over this young woman raised with loose morals under the guise of independence. I went so far as to have a document drawn up for Sophie to take full and sole responsibility for her actions. Not surprising, she wouldn’t sign it.”
A connection, Cruz thought. “Is that what you fought about on that Friday? When Sophie wouldn’t sign it, did it make you angry?”
Hennessy’s back stiffened, chin lifted. “We did not fight. We had a discussion. Of course, I wasn’t happy when she wouldn’t take responsibility. She doesn’t care if she drags Alpha Theta Nu into the muck with her.”
“You were more than unhappy, Ms. Hennessy. You were angry with her. There were witnesses who saw you, who were afraid for Sophie because of you. Where did you go after you left Three Witches?”
She stood, color draining from her face. “I will not be insulted. This meeting is over. Please leave.”
Cruz left. He wasn’t ready to arrest Hennessy but she was solidly on his list. He’d look for a connection to Teresa Addison, to the number that texted in the 911 call.
As Cruz made the short drive to Jonathan Fisher’s store, he wondered how much Hennessy’s attitude was about power. She couldn’t hold Posey accountable for the perceived damage done to Alpha Theta Nu’s reputation, but she could Sophie. Court proceedings, criminal or civil, would have only added to the mud flung on Hennessy’s pretty house. With one word—out—Hennessy wielded her power and sent a message to every other woman: the sorority protected itself first, the women second. Alpha Theta Nu was Sophie’s home, her safe place. When she needed it most, it shunned her. The leadership did; the women, her sisters, stood firm. One thing was certain—a battle was waging inside Alpha Theta Nu.