by Karen Rose
‘Daphne got the warrant?’ JD asked Stevie when he got to the stoop.
‘In my pocket,’ she said. ‘Covers the apartment, phone and financials. The super is upstairs with a key. The officer we put at her door says nobody approached all night.’
‘What about the warrant for Thorne’s client list?’ JD asked.
‘The judge said he’d take that one under advisement.’ Stevie shrugged and opened the apartment building’s door. ‘Try to sweet-talk Lucy, okay, JD?’
‘I don’t think anything I have to say has a lot of currency with her just now.’
‘She’s a logical woman. Just apologize for saying she wasn’t found guilty versus she was innocent. Blame fatigue, male stupidity, or anything you want. Flash your dimple. That would sure as hell sway me.’
Except it was more than that. She said I’m not good for her. ‘I’ll try,’ he said.
The super was waiting by Janet Gordon’s door, his hand out for the warrant. The exchange made, JD and Stevie pulled on gloves while the super unlocked the door.
‘Nice,’ JD murmured. There were expensive paintings on every wall and a baby grand piano in one corner. ‘When was the last time you saw Mrs Gordon?’
‘A few days ago,’ the super said.
‘Did she have a husband or boyfriend?’
‘She’s a widow. She has “gentlemen callers”, but no regular boyfriend. Not unless you count that doctor fella, which I don’t, no matter what the gossipers say.’
‘What doctor?’ JD asked, even though he was sure he knew.
‘Young fella. Hey, don’t touch that!’ he exclaimed when Stevie began going through the desk drawers. ‘Mrs Gordon will have my head.’
Stevie looked up, annoyed. ‘Sir, were you listening when I introduced myself?’
‘Yeah. Of course.’ The super frowned. ‘Not really. It was early.’
JD wanted to roll his eyes. ‘Fitzpatrick and Mazzetti. We’re Homicide.’
The super’s mouth fell open. ‘Homicide? Then she’s dead?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Stevie said. ‘Now, tell us about the doctor she hung around with.’
‘I don’t remember his name, but he was young enough to be her son. I never thought there was anything between them, but my wife, she said more power to Mrs Gordon if she can snag a younger man and hold him.’
‘What did the young doctor look like?’ JD asked impatiently.
‘Five eleven, dark hair. I don’t think they were a couple. I don’t think he liked her.’
The description matched Russ Bennett. ‘Then why was he with her?’ JD asked.
‘I assumed it was for her money. She was loaded. Her last husband was in oil.’
‘Why didn’t you think he liked her?’ Stevie asked.
‘I don’t know. It was just his attitude. Like he’d kill her if he could.’
‘Who was her next of kin?’ JD asked.
‘It’s on her lease. I’d have to go get a copy.’
JD smiled mildly. ‘Please do that. Now.’
Grumbling, the super went to do as he was told.
‘He’s probably telling every tenant in the building that she’s dead,’ Stevie said.
‘I know. This kitchen is immaculate.’ JD opened the refrigerator. ‘No food.’ He opened a drawer. ‘Menus for all the expensive places. She must’ve spent a fortune on restaurants.’
‘She was loaded.’ Stevie walked back to the bedroom. ‘JD. Come see.’
It was a bedroom decorated for a teenage boy. Trophies lined the shelves and banners hung on the walls. All bore the initials AFHS.
‘Anderson Ferry High School,’ JD murmured, unsurprised. He picked up a trophy. ‘Ryan Agar, Most Yards Rushed.’
‘Football player,’ Stevie said.
‘Not just any football player.’ JD picked up a framed photo from the top of a highboy. ‘His team picture, senior year. This team won the regional championship that year. Look at the names.’ He held the photo so she could see. ‘There’s Ryan Agar and Malcolm Edwards, aka Butch, and Linus Trask, aka Buck.’
‘Brother of Lucy, aka Lucinda.’
JD held the photo closer, studying the jersey numbers. ‘Malcolm was a defensive tackle and Linus was the quarterback. MVP.’
‘How do you know he was MVP from the picture?’
‘I don’t. Lucy told me on the drive back from Anderson Ferry last night.’
‘So the boy was golden, died in a motorcycle accident a few weeks after graduation and twenty-one years later Lucy isn’t speaking to her parents. About right?’
‘Yes.’ He bagged the photo. ‘You take the closet, I’ll take the drawers.’
They searched in silence until Stevie called, ‘Box of yearbooks. I’ll grab ’em.’
JD was sorting through pictures and letters shoved into the highboy’s top drawer. ‘Ryan was accepted to college on a football scholarship, but he flunked out. Here are letters warning him of academic probation. And one dismissing him from the university.’
‘Seems odd for a boy to keep letters like that,’ Stevie said.
‘He’s never lived here.’ The super was back. ‘Her son, I mean. He’s her contact.’
‘Ryan Agar?’ Stevie asked.
‘Yeah. He visits, but only at Christmas. I got the impression there was no love lost there. Here’s her lease application. The son lives on a ranch in the middle of nowhere in Colorado.’
‘It’ll take him at least a day to get here,’ Stevie said. ‘Let’s get CSU here to fingerprint.’
‘I can go down to the morgue and ID her,’ the super said, sounding a little too excited.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ JD said. He walked the super out the door. ‘Can you wait downstairs for the crime-scene unit? They’ll need to be shown which apartment.’
The super did not look fooled. ‘If you want me to leave, just say so.’
‘Not at all,’ JD lied. ‘But every moment we talk is a moment we’re not investigating Mrs Gordon’s death. We would like a list of Mrs Gordon’s “gentlemen callers” if you know their names, plus anyone in the building she was friendly with.’
The super snorted as he walked away. ‘Janet Gordon wasn’t friendly with nobody. Not unless you could do something for her. But I’ll make you a list.’
‘Why would she make this room up for her son if he never lived here?’ Stevie asked. ‘It’s not like he grew up here and moved away. This is kind of creepy.’
‘I don’t know. We should ask that shrink you invited to morning meeting.’
‘Lennie Berman,’ Stevie said. ‘Let’s do that. I’m going to check out her bedroom and bath. Why don’t you finish checking the desk and see if there’s anything on the computer in the living room?’
A search of Gordon’s desk turned up various invitations to charity functions, bills, and bank statements. The bank statements were a month old. On a hunch, JD touched the computer mouse and the screen lit up. He brought up an internet browser and scrolled through Gordon’s favorites until he came to her bank’s website.
Her user name and password fields were filled, the password a series of asterisks. ‘Stevie, can you come here?’ he called, waiting until she was watching before clicking the log-on button.
‘Why do people save their settings?’ Stevie asked. ‘On bank websites, especially.’
‘I guess because they don’t expect to be murdered and have a cop sitting at their PC snooping around,’ JD said, staring at the screen. What had been nearly a two-hundred-thousand-dollar balance just days before was now a big zero. ‘He wiped her out, just like the others.’
‘Looks like it was night before last. Did she have any appointments then?’
JD opened Gordon’s calendar. ‘Nothing scheduled. Lucy was right. She’d had a manicure and a pedicure that afternoon. The damage to her nails was done by her killer.’
Stevie looked over his shoulder. ‘Janet had a date that night, JD. Look, she has a regularly scheduled appointment with her manicurist every other
Tuesday. She had one last Tuesday, but went again less than a week later this past Sunday.’
‘The same day she was probably snatched.’
‘Exactly. This time she lists a place and a manicurist’s name. On all the other appointments she just has ‘Mani/Pedi’. This last appointment was an emergency job. Not her usual place and on a Sunday. Not many nail places open on Sunday.’
‘So she had a date, but it wasn’t listed on her calendar. Why?’
‘I don’t know. But I’m betting whoever she met for dinner is our guy.’
JD was about to agree when Stevie’s cell phone rang.
‘Mazzetti.’ She listened a minute, then her eyes widened abruptly. ‘That’s not possible. How did he get here so fast?’ She looked at JD with a perplexed frown. ‘Guess who just showed up in Hyatt’s office? Ryan Agar.’
‘No way,’ JD said in disbelief.
Stevie held her phone flat and hit the speaker button. ‘We’re both here, sir.’
‘He is here,’ Hyatt said, ‘and upset over the death of his mother. He’s demanding to see her body. I asked him to wait until you arrived.’
‘Then he didn’t come from Colorado,’ JD said. ‘He had to have been local. Where did he come from and how did he know his mother was dead?’
‘He came from Colorado,’ Hyatt said. ‘He showed me his plane ticket. He left Denver on the midnight red-eye.’
‘How?’ JD asked harshly, having the feeling that Hyatt was drawing this out.
‘He got a call to his cell at eight p.m. Mountain Time last night from the Baltimore PD saying his mother had been murdered and could he please come and identify the body.’
JD clenched his jaw. ‘Sonofabitch. The killer called him. There’s no other way.’
Stevie’s frown had deepened. ‘Who from Baltimore PD called him?’
‘The “detective” ID’d himself as JD Fitzpatrick,’ Hyatt said flatly.
JD blinked, stunned. ‘Me?’
‘You, Detective. This killer obviously knows you’re on the case.’
JD’s temper was bubbling. Sonofabitch killer is mocking us. With an effort he tamped it down. ‘Where did the call to his cell come from?’
‘I don’t know yet. Both of you need to get in here right away and deal with the son.’
‘We will,’ Stevie said. ‘Before we hang up, you need to know that Mr Agar went to high school with Bennett, Edwards, and Dr Trask’s brother.’
Hyatt sighed irritably. ‘Of course he did.’
‘And Janet Gordon’s bank account has already been wiped,’ JD added.
‘Dammit,’ Hyatt hissed. ‘Of course it has. I’ll see you both in my office, forthwith.’
Stevie hung up and shook her head furiously. ‘This perp’s fuckin’ with us, JD.’
JD reined in his own fury. ‘Then let’s fuck with him.’
Tuesday, May 4, 8.10 A.M.
‘Rhoda.’ Lucy sat at Craig Mulhauser’s kitchen table as a plate of eggs and bacon was placed before her. ‘I wish you hadn’t gone to so much trouble.’
Craig’s wife bustled around her kitchen, making Lucy think of her own mother. Rarely had she bustled around a kitchen, but there had been a breakfast table and a smile over cornflakes.
But those days were long gone. Now she just peeks at me through window blinds. And that hurt, far more than Lucy wanted to admit. She’d managed to block it from her mind until she’d woken to the luxurious aroma of Rhoda’s homemade bread. Her mother had made bread, once upon a time. It had been their special treat.
Going back yesterday had been more painful than Fitzpatrick could ever have guessed. At least I don’t have to go back again. Her native guide duty was done.
‘It was no trouble at all,’ Rhoda said. ‘I always cook for Craig before work.’
From the stunned look on Craig’s face as he sat down to his own plate, that was an utter falsehood and Lucy had to smile, just a little.
‘Eat up,’ Rhoda chirped. ‘You two have a busy day.’
‘That’s for sure,’ Craig muttered. ‘Damn bodies keep piling up.’
‘I’ll work on the backlog,’ Lucy promised between mouthfuls. ‘Delicious, Rhoda.’
Rhoda beamed. ‘I can make more.’
‘No, no,’ Lucy said. ‘I won’t be able to finish this. Although I am hungry. It was a long time since my last meal.’ It was the drive-thru burger she’d shared with Fitzpatrick, eons ago. But it hadn’t been eons. It hadn’t even been twelve hours.
She’d tossed and turned most of the few hours she’d spent on the Mulhausers’ guest bed, her mind churning. Thinking about poor Kevin and the dead woman, Janet Gordon, wondering who she was. And how I connect to her.
But mostly she’d thought of JD Fitzpatrick, replaying the alley in her mind. It had been . . . mind-blowing. God. It had also been the stupidest thing she’d ever done, and she’d done some truly stupid things. Really, Lucy. In an alley? God. Even Gwyn had never done that.
What was I thinking? She hadn’t been. The long day and the night and the going home and the music and the way he’d looked as he’d watched her play . . . Like he could gobble me up. And suddenly she’d had to have him. Then. And when he’d put his hands on her . . . God.
She shivered. It had been amazing. And it can never happen again.
‘Lucy?’ Craig asked.
Lucy looked up, saw both Craig and Rhoda watching her, concerned, and realized she’d been staring at her nearly empty plate. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Your cell phone, dear,’ Rhoda said. ‘It’s buzzing.’
It was. Flustered, Lucy grabbed it and hit the green button. ‘Hello?’
‘Where the hell are you?’ Gwyn demanded.
‘I’m at Dr Mulhauser’s house. Where are you?’
‘At my place, standing on my doormat because you have my key.’
Lucy winced. ‘I’m sorry. Why are you there? I thought you were at Royce’s.’
‘I was, but I forgot my pills. I figured you’d be here. Why are you there?’
‘I didn’t want to stay by myself last night.’
‘Oh,’ Gwyn said, deflated. ‘I guess I can understand that. I just assumed that big hot cop would stay with you.’
Lucy’s cheeks flamed. ‘That isn’t going to happen.’ Ever again. She cupped the phone, looked at Craig. ‘I have my friend’s key. Can you drop me there on the way in?’
‘Of course,’ Craig said.
‘Okay, Gwyn, I’ll be there in twenty.’
‘Oh wait. Hold on.’ There was muted conversation, then Gwyn was back. ‘My neighbor found the key I gave her last year when she took care of my plants.’ There were sounds of a door opening. ‘Good thing she had my spare . . .’
The phone went silent.
‘Gwyn?’ Lucy strained to hear. ‘Are you there?’
‘Oh God,’ Gwyn whispered. ‘Lucy, there’s a box on my coffee table.’
Lucy’s stomach dropped. ‘Is it wrapped?’
‘Yes. With red, purple and pink hearts.’
‘And a big red bow,’ Lucy said grimly. Across the table, Craig’s face paled as he understood what had happened. ‘Get out of there, now.’
‘I closed the door. I’m calling 911.’
‘Can you go to that neighbor’s place?’
‘Yes.’ Gwyn’s voice shook. ‘Do you think he’s still here?’
‘I don’t know, but we’re taking no chances. Is Royce there?’
‘He’s waiting in the car.’ Gwyn sounded small and frightened, and Lucy’s jaw clenched. How dare he involve her friends?
It was supposed to be you, Lucy. You were supposed to be there. The thought made her sick. What if Gwyn had been there alone?
‘Okay,’ Lucy said, staying calm, ‘I want you to call 911, then call Royce to come up and wait with you.’
‘Okay.’ Gwyn was crying and Lucy had to swallow her fury.
‘I’ll call Fitzpatrick, then Thorne. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ Fingers trembling, Lucy dial
ed Fitzpatrick’s number from memory. ‘JD, it’s Lucy. We have another box.’
‘What? Where?’
‘Gwyn’s place. I stayed with the Mulhausers last night, but I was supposed to be there. She’s calling 911. Can you meet us there? It’s my apartment complex, across the green.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. I have to go into the office first.’
Lucy frowned. ‘What’s happened?’
He hesitated a moment, then swore softly. ‘Janet Gordon’s son is Ryan Agar.’
‘I don’t know that name, but let me guess. He graduated with my brother.’
‘Yes. He played on that same championship team.’
She sighed. ‘So did you call him? Do I need to do an ID with him today?’
‘Yes on the ID, no on the call. Not exactly, anyway. Somebody called Agar at ten our time last night. Told him his mother was dead.’
‘That’s impossible. Unless . . .’ Lucy’s jaw went tight as understanding dawned. ‘That motherfucker.’ She winced. ‘Sorry, Rhoda.’
Rhoda Mulhauser looked concerned and fascinated all at once. ‘That’s okay.’
‘It gets better,’ Fitzpatrick said. ‘The caller said he was me.’
Lucy bit back another curse. ‘He’s playing with us. Where is the son?’
‘In Hyatt’s office. I have to go check him out. I’ll let Hyatt and Drew know about the box. We’ll have someone there as soon as possible. Do not go into Gwyn’s apartment yourself.’
‘I’m not stupid, JD,’ she snapped.
‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted to . . . Never mind. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll send one of the others out right away.’
Never mind. What had he wanted to say? Or do? Lucy stood up, putting him out of her mind as best she could. ‘Thanks for breakfast, Rhoda. Craig, we need to hurry.’
‘I’ll stay with you at your friend’s place until Fitzpatrick arrives,’ Craig said.
‘Actually, you’ll be needed in the morgue to do an ID. Next of kin of last night’s victim has come from out of town. There’ll be lots of cops at Gwyn’s. I’ll be fine.’ She softened her refusal with a smile. ‘But thank you.’
Tuesday, May 4, 8.40 A.M.