Deadly Guild (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 3)

by Renee Pawlish

  “He’s a very good liar, that’s what I think,” Ernie blurted. “The women I talked to were certain Nicole was talking to a cop in a Commerce City squad car, and one is certain she heard Nicole call him Arnie.”

  I leaned my back against the wall. “He’s not giving away anything, is he?”

  “If he did it, his career’s over,” Ernie said.

  Wesley looked at the interrogation room door. “Truth is, if he’s lying about any of it, his career is over.”

  None of us said anything to that. We all knew that in law enforcement, if you lied, that was it. It didn’t matter why, or about what, you were supposed to be truthful. We all also knew that Arnie Culbertson would have to take a lie detector test. If he refused, that would also end his career. There would be a criminal investigation, as well as an internal one. Ernie and I might get some information on the criminal investigation, but internal affairs wouldn’t share anything they learned with us. My gut was knotted. I hoped we weren’t damaging an innocent man’s career. But the tied-up gut also said we were on the right track. I didn’t like how Culbertson was acting, and Ernie was certain that his information was good. If that was the case, not only had Arnie traumatized Nicole Lockwood, but he may have murdered her to keep it quiet. I was going to find out.

  Wesley rubbed at the back of his neck, a sure sign he was tense about what was going on. “Man oh man, what a mess.” He looked back and forth the two of us. “Is there anything else you two need right now?”

  I shook my head. “We appreciate your letting us talk to Culbertson.”

  “No problem. The last thing we need is a cop messing with underage girls. We’ve got to get this thing cleaned up, one way or the other.” He glanced at the door again. “I wouldn’t have pictured this from Arnie. And if he executed her? Man oh man,” he repeated.

  Chapter Twenty

  “The Commerce City department will be doing their own investigations on Culbertson,” I said to Ernie as we ate hamburgers at a Five Guys restaurant. “But let’s not wait on them. You start looking into him, okay? I’m going to see if I can talk to Lola tonight. She might know if Culbertson was seeing Nicole. Spats did say that Nicole had been seen arguing with some man.”

  “You got it.” He licked ketchup off his finger. “You think Arnie popped Nicole so she couldn’t rat him out?”

  I wiped my hands with a napkin and mulled that over. “Not wanting your career ruined is a good motive to kill someone. I’d like more than circumstantial evidence, though.”

  “Me, too.” He ate some fries. “If he did it, we’ll find out.”

  “See if he has an interest in knives,” I said.

  “Oh, the knife you got from the homeless man.” He nodded. “I’ll check that out as well.”

  I paused. “I still wonder if that guy saw more than he was telling me. I’ll get a picture of Culbertson and show it to him. That might get him talking.”

  “If you can find him.”

  “I got the sense he hangs around that overpass a lot.”

  Ernie pointed at me. “I can tell by the look in your eye that you might stop by the Platte tonight. You be careful. Things can get rough in the dark.”

  “Thanks for the warning, but you know me, I’ll be careful.”

  Ernie was the protective type, and although I brushed him off, I actually appreciated his concern. He took another bite and said through the mouthful, “You think Culbertson popped Hall as well?”

  I looked out a window. “I don’t know. He seemed surprised when I asked him about being down on the Platte. Was he surprised because we knew about that murder, or because he didn’t do it?” I looked at him. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll work on his alibis. If he left his house that night, maybe someone in the neighborhood has surveillance cameras, and they’ll have him on video.”

  “I’ll talk to Oakley in the morning, and see if he knows of any connection between Culbertson and Hall. Maybe they knew each other from somewhere.”

  We finished our meal, and I dropped Ernie off at the station. I was heading south, on my way to the Diamond Club, when Harry called.

  “How’s your day going?”

  “Busy,” I said.

  I’m sure he knew by the curt answer that I didn’t have much time to talk.

  “I think I can answer this,” he said, “but you won’t be home for dinner?”

  I realized I’d been short with him. “No, hon, I’m sorry. I have one more stop, then I should be home.”

  I heard music in the background, and a kettle clinking. “Are you fixing dinner?”

  “Yes. Some tilapia and noodles. Want me to save you some?”

  “I ate, sorry.”

  “Then a drink and some rest. You can’t push it so hard that you get sick.”

  “I know,” I said. Just him talking about rest made me yawn. “I’ll be home as soon as I can. Things are really intense right now.” I told him a bit about the investigation and what was going on with Oakley’s case. “I’ve got to track down this other prostitute.”

  “I understand. Be careful, okay?”

  “I will.”

  We started to discuss some vacation plans when a call from Spats came through.

  “I have to go.”

  “Love you,” he said.

  “I love you, too.” I ended the call and connected with Spats.

  “I’ve been talking to people all afternoon,” he said without greeting. “My head is spinning, and I need a break. I’m going to pick things up tomorrow.”

  “It’s been a long day. Go see your family, recharge a bit. I’ve got one more stop and I’ll be going home for some rest, too.”

  “Oh, a couple of things. A few hookers I talked to knew Nicole, only no one’s saying anything more than that. I mostly got asked to keep moving along so they could keep working. That and a few ‘why don’t I take you somewhere for some fun.’ I passed on that.”

  I laughed. “Stick with Trissa.”

  “Oh, no doubt. I also talked to the bartender who worked at the Easy Bar last night. He says Steve and Madison were there for a few hours, then left about midnight. And a couple of the hookers remember seeing them sitting in a car near the Princeton.”

  “Selling drugs.”

  “Yeah. No one saw them with Nicole. So that checks out.”

  “We can probably cross them off our list.”

  “I agree. Talk to you later.”

  With that, he was gone.

  The Diamond Club parking lot was a lot more crowded now than it had been earlier in the day. I had to park on the street and walk back to the building. I felt a few curious eyes on me as I walked inside. A different bouncer was at the door. He wasn’t nearly as imposing as the man I’d seen before. This guy was thin and wiry, with gold wire-rimmed glasses. His short-sleeved shirt bulged with muscles, though, and I was sure he could handle himself.

  I didn’t waste time showing him my badge. “I need to speak with Lola.”

  He hesitated. I was tired, not in the mood for any games. “Is Victor Golic here?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Get him,” I snarled, then muttered, “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  His gaze darted around, and he seemed to quickly realize he had no choice. He called on the phone behind him, and Golic soon came to the front. He saw me and frowned.

  “I know you want to talk to Lola,” he said with a head shake, “but she’s … indisposed at the moment.”

  “And as I told this fellow,” I pointed at the bouncer, “I’m not taking no for an answer. Get her for me. Now.”

  Golic, too, saw I wasn’t going to be dissuaded, and he finally said, “Give me a minute, please.” He spun around and disappeared into the club.

  I stood with the bouncer and waited. A new song came on “Kiss,” by Prince. It had a great beat, and the bouncer started to subtly dance. He saw me watching him and stopped. Golic came back a moment later and gestured for me to follow him.
We walked through the club, and I ignored the naked women pole-dancing on a long stage. The place smelled of greasy food, sweat, and sex. I resisted putting a finger under my nose to block the smell. On the other side of the room, we went down a tight hallway. The music grew slightly less loud, and Golic stopped in front of a door. He tapped on it, then opened it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Lola, this cop would like to talk to you.”

  He stepped aside and I entered the room. An unpleasant mix of heavy perfume and cigarette smoke lingered in the air. Golic looked at us. I waited a beat, then said, “You can shut the door.”

  He frowned at me, then eyed Lola. “Don’t take too long. Myra will be finished soon, and she’ll need to finish her break while you go back on stage.” He quietly shut the door.

  Lola was sitting at a long makeup counter, one with bright lightbulbs all the way around a large mirror. She was probably in her late twenties, with long black hair, red fingernails, dark eye shadow that enhanced blue eyes, and lashes so long I didn’t see how they couldn’t be annoying. A scanty robe covered her nude body, her breasts of a shape and size not likely found in nature. Heavy makeup couldn’t hide the scarring on her face that was more pronounced than I realized, a long, reddish spot, possibly from a burn. I made sure not to stare.

  “What do you want?” she asked. Her voice was low and gravelly, forced boredom in her tone. If she was concerned that I was a cop, she wasn’t showing it.

  I didn’t waste her time. “You know a woman named Nicole Lockwood? Pixie Dust?”

  “Sure, I know her.” She grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the counter and lit one, which of course is illegal. But I think she and I both knew I wasn’t concerned with that at the moment.

  She stared at me, one eye slightly drooped, as if daring me to mention it.

  “I saw you at the Princeton Motel the other night.” She didn’t say anything, so I went on. “Tell me what you know about Nicole Lockwood’s death.” The music from the club pounded, and we spoke loudly to be heard over it.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice shook slightly.

  A rickety chair sat in the corner, and I pulled it close to her and sat down. “Lola, I’m sure you’re scared, but I need you to tell me the truth. Someone shot Nicole, execution-style, and I don’t think this was just somebody who was mad at her. This was something more.”

  Her bottom lip trembled. She smoked, stared at the floor, and whispered, “She was my friend.”

  I nodded. “She didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

  She shook her head. “It all happened so fast.” I waited, and she finally looked up. “I don’t want to get in any trouble.”

  “You won’t. Not from me. What did you see?”

  “I was in a room at the motel, you know?” She left the rest unsaid. “We – me and the guy – had just finished, and we were about to leave the room. I opened the door, and then we saw the car.” She drew in a breath, let it out slowly. “Someone pushed Nicole out, and she just tumbled to the ground.” She squeezed her eyes shut, as if picturing it. “Then the car drove away.” She paused. “I didn’t know what to do at first. I thought maybe Nicole had been beaten up. She didn’t move, and we went outside and looked at her. Then I knew she was dead.” She stopped talking.

  “What happened next?”

  Her mouth moved, but no words came out.

  “It’s okay,” I said gently.

  She took a drag from the cigarette and blew smoke away from me. “Ch –” She stopped before she said the john’s name. “I said we should call the police, and he said no way, he wasn’t going to get involved. He’s terrified that his wife will find out that he sees prostitutes. He ran off and left me there. I didn’t want to get in any trouble, either, so I went down the street to a gas station and used their phone to call the police.”

  “Then you went back to the motel and watched for the police to arrive.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t know what else to do. I was scared, and I didn’t know if someone had been looking for any prostitute, or just Nicole. I didn’t want anything to happen to her until the police got there, so I watched.”

  “Did anybody else do anything to the body?”

  She shook her head. “No. It didn’t take that long for the police to arrive, and I only saw that guy Steve, the one who sells drugs with his girlfriend Madison. They were watching the parking lot, and I think they were going to see if Nicole had any money on her, but then the cops showed up, and they ran away and came back later, right before you chased me.”

  “Tell me about the car.”

  She thought for a second. “It was black.”

  “Did you see the license plates?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She smoked. “I don’t pay attention to stuff like that.”

  “What make of car? The model?

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not good with cars. I was so surprised about what happened, I didn’t really pay attention.”

  “Was it two-door or four-door?”

  She closed her eyes, as if trying to picture it. “Four-door, I think.”

  “Was it a fancy car, or an SUV, or just an ordinary sedan?”

  She frowned. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know.”

  “Do you think the guy you were with would know?”

  A hand went to her mouth. “You can’t talk to him. He would get in so much trouble, and he’d be pissed that I said anything. He’s a good customer of mine. Nice.”

  I leaned forward. “Don’t you want to find out who killed Nicole?”

  The trembling lip grew more pronounced and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Yes, but I need the work.” She glanced into the mirror. “You know how hard it is when you look like this?”

  I nodded slowly. I could only imagine, but I still needed to find the man she’d been with. “I’ll be discreet.”

  We waited. The music pounded through the walls. She crushed her cigarette out in an ashtray.

  “His name is Chuck,” she finally said. “I don’t know his last name.”

  It was something. “You’ve got to help me find him,” I pressed her.

  She bit her lip. “He goes to a coffee shop on Colfax, near Wadsworth, to work. He does some kind of freelance writing and editing. Not early, though. He joked about how he hates to get up before seven, so he’s there later in the morning, then sometimes meets his wife for lunch. I only know that because one time after, well, you know, we were talking, and he told me that he liked to work with people around there, and that he was there a lot.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “He’s kind of average height, a little heavy around the middle. His hair is thinning some.”

  “What color?”

  “Brown.”

  “His eyes?”

  “They’re brown, too.”

  “What kind of car does he drive?”

  “A white Hyundai, an SUV.”

  “Anything else you can tell me?” I pressed her. “You just described a lot of men. Any tattoos?”

  “Yeah, on his back. But you can’t see it unless his shirt’s off.”

  “What else?”

  She pointed to her left hand. “His wedding ring. It’s not a band, but more like a class ring.”

  “That’s something,” I said. “Did Nicole ever talk about an older man that she dated in high school?”

  She shook her head. “All I know is she had kind of a rough time, didn’t get along with her mother, and her father died. I think that crushed her, and she was always looking for a way out. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out the way she had hoped. She always said that she wanted to be a singer, but she really didn’t have the drive, or the talent.”

  “Can you think of anybody who would’ve wanted to kill her?”

  “No, she was cool. Popular with the guys.”

  “Did you hear about her having a fight with a man last week? They were shou
ting at each other.”

  “I hadn’t seen her in a few days, so I don’t know about that. You think that guy might’ve done this to her?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  She shook her head slowly. “I just don’t know. It’s terrible, though.”

  I locked eyes with her. “You’re telling the truth?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “If what you’re telling me is true, you know this guy is your alibi. And you’re his.”

  A hand shot to her throat. “You don’t think I did that to Nicole, do you?”

  “I have to check everything.” The reality was I didn’t think she did it, but I had to check everything, including her alibi. “May I see your ID? Just routine.”

  Lola hesitated, then reached down under the counter and pulled out a small purse. She got out her ID and showed it to me.

  “Lola is your real name,” I said.

  She smiled, slightly crooked due to the scarring on her face. “Lola, like the song by the Kinks. My parents loved that song, and the Kinks. I got so sick of hearing them.”

  “The Kinks. That’s going back a ways.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, it is. Personally, I hate the song.”

  “I liked ‘You Really Got Me’ better.”

  She shrugged. She probably hadn’t listened to a Kinks song in a long time.

  A knock on the door interrupted us, and Golic stuck his head in. “Lola, you need to get back on stage.” He looked at me, and his eyes narrowed, daring me to challenge him.

  “Lola,” I said, “Thanks for your time.”

  Golic shut the door, and she glared. “Man, I hate him. I wish I didn’t have to be here. He thinks he owns me,” she muttered.

  I didn’t have a response to that. I stood up and put a business card on the counter. “Call me if you think of anything important, something that might lead me to Nicole’s killer.”

  I left the dressing room, ignored stares as I exited the club, and drove down Santa Fe to Mississippi. I parked and walked to the overpass. I googled Culbertson’s picture on my phone, then got on the bike path. It was dark, and the sounds of Sante Fe made it hard to hear anyone or anything on the path. I looked where I had seen the homeless man, but he wasn’t around. I walked north and came across a homeless woman in tattered clothes. I showed her Culbertson’s picture, and she shook her head and asked for money. I gave her some cash and moved on. After ten minutes, my efforts produced nothing, so I gave up, walked back to my car, and drove home.