Rebel Without A Clue

by Carolyn Scott

  The code number perhaps? "So it was just day to day stuff on there?" I tried to sound casual. "Like the Internet and porn and bank details?"

  "Yeah, I suppose. Why?"

  "Just asking."

  "Cat, you never just ask. Come on, spill. What do you know?"

  "First of all, you tell me what was on there relating to banks."

  He flicked his cigarette butt to the floor and ground it under his heel. "He had three banking web sites bookmarked. Bank West, City wide and Bank Swiss. He had statements for Bank West in his apartment but nothing for the other two. There's no reference to them anywhere else on the computer. So what's your interest?"

  Gut instinct told me it was time to come clean. I couldn't kid myself anymore that Roberta and her missing "jewelry" weren't connected to the murder. I went inside for paper and a pencil and rejoined him on the balcony. I wrote down the code number.

  "I found this number and a key at Lou's mother's place."

  "His mother? She just gave them to you?"

  "Don't ask. But I think the key unlocks a safety deposit box and the number is half the box number."

  "Possible. I can check the two American banks but the Swiss aren't so forthcoming with account information. Do you think that's where the jewels are?"

  "I think that's where the money is. From the bank heist twelve years ago."

  He whistled. "Nice thinking." He looked impressed. "So when did you get this?"

  Uh-oh. "Very recently."

  He didn't look like he believed me but he didn't push it. "Of course you'll be giving me the key." He held out his palm.

  "I don't have it here. As soon as I get it, I'll drop it at the police station." After I made a copy. "So do you have a suspect in mind for the computer theft?"

  He shook his head. "Not a clue. He used a fake ID and signature."

  "He?"

  "The ID was male."

  "I've got a question," I said.

  "Shoot."

  "Do detectives ever visit suspects on their own?"

  One corner of his mouth curved in a smile. "Worried about me are you?"

  Oh, he thought I was talking about him. I held my finger and thumb a half inch apart. "A little." He seemed to like the idea so I didn't enlighten him. There was no point in voicing my suspicions about Stankovic. Not yet anyway.

  "Don't worry, Cat, we always go in pairs. Safety in numbers. Except in undercover, but I've got good backup."

  The front door of the apartment opened and Gina walked in. She threw her bag on the couch before she noticed us outside. She joined us on the balcony and nodded at Scarface who nodded back. "You going to bite my head off again?" she asked me cautiously.

  "Sorry."

  "He was only worried about you, you know."

  I sighed. "I know. But I wish everyone would stop worrying." I glared first at her, then at Scarface. "I can take care of myself. And I'll be on high alert from now on."

  "You better be."

  "He could have killed you if he'd wanted to," Scarface said.

  We both looked at him. "Do you think so?" I asked.

  He nodded. "If he was driving right at you, full speed, one fat guy wasn't going to save you if the intent was to kill."

  "But why?"

  "First the fire, then the car, and both times you weren't harmed. You said it yourself after the fire. Someone wants to scare you not kill you. For what, I don't know." He brushed past us and went inside. Gina and I followed. "I've got to go." He looked at Gina and raised one brow.

  "I'll, um, just be…somewhere else," she said, heading to her bedroom.

  Scarface drew me into a hug when her door closed. "You be careful. Just because he only wants to scare you now doesn't mean he won't change his mind."

  Comforting.

  He tipped my chin up with his fingertip. Even with the sensuality I saw in his moss green eye, I wasn't expecting the kiss. It blew me away. Scarface was a mighty good kisser. Soft, sure and heart-stoppingly sweet. Totally at odds with his gruff exterior.

  It was over too soon. He withdrew, leaving me with my eyes closed and my lips puckered. I heard the front door shut before I opened them.

  "Can I come out now?" Gina called from her bedroom. "Or are you two getting down and dirty on my floor?"

  "He's gone."

  She emerged dressed in jeans and a white shirt. "That man's mysterious, the way he comes and goes like smoke. I can see why you like him."

  "He's okay. Will's better looking and more dependable." For some reason, I felt I needed to defend him. I don't know why. He definitely had his faults—like his over-protectiveness, the lecturing, the attitude and, oh yeah, his age. Then again, Scarface was just as old.

  "But he's got that certain something." She headed into the kitchen and poured herself a vodka and lime. "Did you sleep with him yet?"

  "No!" Thinking about it didn't count.

  She looked at me like she didn't believe me. Hardly fair but at least she didn't try to make me feel guilty. "So you still want to go out tonight?" she asked. "I could do with some fun after this day."

  Poor Gina. I'd forgotten about her breakup. She needed some TLC of the liquid variety. We both did.

  "It's okay if you want to stay in," she continued. "I understand."

  "No, let's go out. You need to forget about the computer programmer and I need to stop hiding. If the aim is just to scare me, like Scarface said, then I refuse to co-operate. I don't have a stubborn streak for nothing."

  "You're twenty-eight. Time to stop getting drunk every night and grow up."

  "Dad?"

  "It's me," said Gina. "And if you want to be at work on time, you'd better get up now." I forced my stinging eyes to open. As always, Gina looked perfect. Flawless skin, pink cheeks, bright eyes. Or maybe she was still drunk. We hadn't returned home until four so it was possible.

  "Gina," I said, my voice as gravelly as Scarface's. "My nightmares are telling me to give up drinking for a while."

  She sat on the edge of the couch and sighed heavily. "Thank God. Trying to keep up with you is turning me into an alcoholic."

  I sat up and stretched. "I thought you wanted to go out all the time?"

  "Last night, yes, I needed to. We both did. The other times…" She shrugged. "I did it because it's what we used to do whenever you came back to Renford."

  "But I only did it because I thought you wanted to. You were always the party animal."

  "But you were this L.A. girl with a fabulous L.A. wardrobe and lifestyle," she said wistfully. "I didn't want you to think of Renford as a backwater after the sophistication and fun of Hollywood."

  "Sophistication? Fun? Girl, you've got to stop watching Entertainment Tonight. Hollywood is only a party town for the stars, not the extras. For us, it's about kissing the right butt and pretending to enjoy yourself when the butts belonged to arrogant jerks who didn't live in the real world or dumb asses with inflated egos and body parts."

  She screwed up her nose. "Sounds horrible when you put it like that. But it can't have been all that bad or you wouldn't have stayed as long as you did. Nine years? Ten?"

  "I lost count after five." I sighed. "And I don't know why I stayed that long." It certainly wasn't for the lifestyle—I burn easy so the beach was out and party drugs weren't my thing. I guess I was always going to be an outsider in the city where being 'In' was everything. "I suppose I just didn't want to be here in Renford, so being there was as good a place as any."

  She pushed a strand of hair away from my eyes. "Sure it had nothing to do with your father? From what I remember of him, he would have hated you living in L.A., hated you being an actress."

  "Yeah, he did. But that's not why I stayed."

  "No? Then why did you return home only when he died?"

  I hugged my knees. "Because Mom needed me."

  "Your mother is the most self-sufficient woman I know."

  "If she was that self-sufficient, she'd have left my father years ago. He stifled her creativity,
her free spirit." I heard the bitter edge in my voice and wondered where the hell it had come from.

  "Did he?" She shrugged. "I don't know. I just can't imagine her…being stifled."

  "What else explains why she stuck with a hardass like him? He had some sort of hold on her."

  "Maybe she loved him."

  I scoffed and got up. "Gina, you've met my Mom and Dad. How could two such opposites possibly love each other? They were together so long partly out of habit and partly because of the financially dependent position he'd forced her into. She didn't work, you know."

  "If you say so." She stood too and picked up her bag. "I'm glad we don't have to get sloshed every night anymore. I'm too old."

  "Twenty-eight's not that old, Gina."

  "Today it feels like eighty-eight."

  We laughed and she left. I showered and dressed in three-quarter length denim pants and a pale pink shirt with pink shoes. I wasn't planning on going into the office until later. After Scarface's assurance that someone just wanted to scare me and not kill me, I wanted to get on with the investigation.

  Avoiding Will was a bonus. I didn't want another confrontation over me giving up the case.

  While I ate breakfast, I got out the phone book and found the name I wanted. After downing a strong coffee in one gulp I headed out, handbag slung over my shoulder, ready to tackle anything, or anyone. Fortunately I didn't have to prove my newfound confidence because I wasn't sure how it would hold up if confronted by a murderer. The street was quiet, but even so, I glanced over my shoulder several times just to make sure before I got in the car. And after. And on my way across town.

  My next target lived not far from The Grotto so I drove along the now familiar route past the club and into a part of Renford that looked like it hadn't seen a blade of grass or a leaf since the city was settled. Max Warshenski lived in the middle of the concrete jungle in a high rise apartment building filled mostly with government housing tenants. The poorest of the poor. Immigrant refugees, the chronically unemployed, the elderly, disabled, and ex-cons. An eclectic mix in an area with an out of control crime rate.

  Ever since Scarface mentioned the stolen laptop, I hadn't been able to get one fact out of my head. Stankovic had visited Grimes at night, on his own. Why?

  I probably should have mentioned it to Scarface, but the implication—that Stankovic and Grimes were in it together—sounded so outrageous that I wasn't even sure of it myself.

  Since speaking to Grimes turned me cold, I thought I'd try another angle. Even if Mad Max couldn't shed some light on that matter, I still wanted to talk to him. All I had to do was pluck up enough courage to go up to his apartment.

  Ten minutes later, I bit the bullet and made myself get out of the car. I walked up eight flights of stairs, dragging myself the last few steps by holding onto the rail. At the top, I slumped against the wall and sucked air into my burning lungs. Thank God no one saw me in that embarrassing state. No wonder Mad Max was so skinny. I'd be a rake too if I had to lug shopping up eight flights.

  I found his apartment and knocked on the door. No answer. I banged again but still no answer. I looked at the evil stairs. No way was I climbing all that way for nothing. I'd wait until he returned.

  Five minutes later I'd had enough of waiting. I studied the door then looked down at my pretty, pointy toed shoes. Definitely not the kind that could break down doors. Then I remembered the lock pick tool I'd borrowed from work when I cleaned out the storeroom. I fished it out of my handbag and after a few attempts, the door clicked open.

  It swung inwards but I didn't move. All of a sudden I was paralyzed. I was breaking and entering. Proper breaking and entering, not like Lou's when the neighbor had let me in, which technically wasn't breaking the law.

  "Yoohoo, anyone home?" No answer. I crossed the threshold and half expected Mad Max to jump out at me. But the apartment felt empty.

  And looked filthy! Dishes were piled up in the sink with slimy, gray-green goo stuck to them, and newspapers and magazines were strewn across the table, the couch or on the floor. I picked one up between the tips of my fingers. A blonde with enormous breasts wearing a bikini that barely covered her nipples pouted back at me. The couch itself was gray with various unidentified stains brightening it up.

  Then there was the odor. I screwed up my nose and tried to take only shallow breaths. I'd have to decontaminate my clothes before I wore them again.

  I had no idea what I was looking for, or where to start looking for it, so it was fortuitous that Mad Max walked in at that moment. Not fortuitous that I should be caught red-handed in his apartment holding a porn magazine.

  "Hey! You're that cop b-b-bitch."

  "I'm not a cop. I'm a P.I. But I am a bitch." See, I could be tough. "You know, you really should clean up this place. It's a pig sty."

  He looked taken aback. "W-what?"

  "Look at this place. I wouldn't let a dog live here."

  "What are you, the f-f-fucking neat police?"

  I tossed the magazine onto the couch and clasped my handbag to my side. I could use it as a weapon if I had to. "I wanted to talk to you," I said, "but you weren't here and those stairs are a bitch so I needed a drink." I pointed at the kitchen.

  He stared at me for a long time then moved into the kitchen. He picked up a glass from the sink and turned on the faucet. He handed me the full glass. The full, dirty glass. It still had the previous drinker's lip marks on the rim.

  "Actually, I'm fine now. Thanks." I placed the glass on the table beside a plate with a half-eaten piece of toast on it.

  "W-what did you want to t-talk to m-me about?" He sounded suspicious but not threatening. Maybe I'd got him all wrong.

  "You were in jail with Lou Scarletti," I said.

  He nodded. "Poor b-b-bastard."

  "Did he happen to say anything to you about the bank robbery he was doing time for?"

  He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "M-maybe."

  "Maybe? Well, did he or didn't he?"

  "M-maybe I c-can't remember."

  I swore under my breath. "Either you remember or you don't. Did he or didn't he speak to you about the money from the bank job?"

  He rubbed his nose again. "R-refresh my m-memory," he said.

  "What? Don't be dumb. Now you're just trying to annoy me."

  He sighed and said, "M-me? Dumb? You're the stupid c-cow who doesn't get it. J-j-just give me some c-cash and I'll answer you're f-fucking question."

  Oh. Right. Bribe money. I wonder if it's tax deductible. I gave him ten.

  He rolled his eyes and kept his hand outstretched.

  "Well, I don't know how much these things cost! It's not like it's in the manual." At least I didn't think so. I'd have to reread the interrogation chapter in Mom's book when I got the chance. I gave him another twenty.

  "T-tight ass," he said and pocketed it. "He s-said he's still got the m-m-money but he can't get it without his p-partner. The plan was to g-get it when he g-got out and to g-go legit. Set up a g-gardening business or s-something."

  "Do you know who his partner was?"

  He shook his head. I gave him another ten.

  He took it and pocketed it but said nothing.

  "Hey, I gave you money. You're supposed to answer my question."

  "I d-don't know the answer. I t-told you."

  Seems I had a lot to learn about interrogation. "So do you know why he hadn't found it, three months after getting out?"

  "Lou wanted to leave his w-wife first. She's a g-greedy bitch."

  "So what's this got to do with Grimes? Why was Lou working at Doors Galore?"

  He shrugged. "He needed the c-cash. My c-cousin gave him the j-job."

  "But your cousin's business is in the red," I said.

  "How d-do you know?"

  Ah, so I was right. "How could he afford to pay an employee? And why keep Lou on?"

  Mad Max shrugged but this time I was certain he was holding out on me. "Just tell me how
much you want," I said.

  "A h-hundred."

  "A hundred! That's steep."

  "It's g-good information. And if they f-find out I t-told you…"

  I handed him the hundred. "It better be good."

  "Baz is f-fucking Lou's ex w-wife."

  "If that's all you've got I want my money back. I already knew that much."

  "There's m-more. Baz told Lou he could launder his stolen m-m-money for him. But we were going to double c-cross Lou. Keep the m-money for ourselves."

  "But Lou died first." I frowned. "We? So you're in on it. Then why are you telling me? What's in it for you?"

  "I think Baz is g-going to cut me out. I d-didn't know R-Roberta hired you to find the money till the other d-d-day. Baz said he j-just forgot to t-t-tell me. They reckon I'm too s-stupid, but I'm n-not. I figure I've got n-nothing to lose." He laughed, a creepy, maniacal laugh. I shivered right down to my pink shoes.

  Time to go. "Thanks," I said, picking my way across the floor to the door, being careful not to step on anything icky. "Oh, and one more thing. Do you know why Detective Stankovic would visit your cousin? Is he in on it too?"

  He shrugged boney shoulders.

  I thanked him again and got out of there fast, racing down the stairs. Mad Max freaked me out, even though he'd practically been a gentleman by his standards. I made it to my car and turned the air conditioner on high. Finally, fresh air. I breathed in as much of it as I could then headed far, far away.

  Actually, I went to the office. Half way there, my phone bleeped inside my bag. Damn. I'd forgotten to charge it the night before. Not surprising since I'd been too drunk to remember to undress.

  I rummaged through my bag and found the phone near the bottom. Plugging it into the car charger, I glanced at the screen. Three missed calls. Probably all from Will. He'd called several times at the club but it had been too noisy to hear most of what he said. Still, I gathered the inference. He'd wanted to know if I was okay.

  You'd think after the first call, he'd be satisfied. I mean, would I be shouting, "What do you want?" over loud music with a drunken slur if I was in danger?

  Actually, you'd think after the eleventh call he'd get the picture. At that point, I refused to answer the phone. He must have left the three messages then given up. I wasn't looking forward to facing him again.