I.L. Wolf - Her Cousin, Much Removed

by I. L. Wolf

  “That doesn’t mean I have access to everything.”

  “This is the last time I’m going to warn you about the interruptions.” Cadby tapped his pen as he glanced at Venetia from under his eyebrows.

  “Thank you, Detective,” said Tipsy, the fake lashes aflutter. “So he told me that he’d devised a test, that there was some information they’d agreed to make impossible for anyone to get, to see how enterprising their potential anchor was—it was a news magazine show, you know, the investigative kind—”

  “And you still believe this show exists?” Brooks said.

  “Brooks, you’re going to have to wait outside.”

  “But—”

  Cadby James pointed a single finger at the door. Reluctantly, Brooks pushed out his chair, slowly got up, and made it to the door. “Really?” he said.

  “Really.” The door shut silently. “Continue,” said Detective James.

  “So he told me to get close to someone in the law office.”

  Venetia chewed on her lips to avoid being ejected like Brooks. The detective noticed.

  “And that was who?” he said.

  “Dane. Dane Froxen. He was already involved with Dane, that whole estate thing. Sway has a bunch of judges in his pocket.”

  “That’s quite an accusation,” said Cadby.

  “It’s no accusation.” Tipsy took a deep breath, and then another sip of water. “I already knew it. And I think he knew that I knew.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “I was on to the estate story already, that’s how I ended up going to Dane in the first place. I made up something about buying real estate and needing a lawyer. I knew there was some kind of strange hanky-panky going on, Lan Mather’s—”

  “Sissy’s last husband,” said Venetia.

  “Thanks,” said Cadby, “but that’s pretty close to an interruption.”

  “I thought it was helpful information.”

  “Yes, Cicada Mather, she’s going by Nouncense, though, right now, right?” said Tipsy.

  “As far as I know,” Venetia said.

  “To be clear, this is not an information gathering session for you, Ms. Nightingale.”

  “It’s hard to break the habit,” she said.

  “Tell me about it,” said Venetia. “I keep getting legal.”

  “Again, not a chat fest, and Venetia, you’re moments away from joining Brooks.”

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “Anyway, it was pretty obvious something had happened to turn the tide of the case. Lan Mather’s family contacted me. Well, to be fair, they contacted me after every other local reporter turned them down, but I knew it was a story and I knew it was big. So that’s why I went to Dane. I didn’t know Sway was involved in it. Not yet.”

  “So what happened?”

  “That Bloaerd contacted me, told me Sway was interested in hiring me for the morning show. He knew he couldn’t approach Dane directly with the Sway stuff, Dane wasn’t going to go that far, giving information to the other side of a case the office was handling.”

  Venetia managed to keep her thought that it was nice to know Dane had some limits to herself.

  “So he used me to get it. He didn’t think Dane would put it together, and as far as I know, he never did. It wasn’t even difficult, just a few well-timed questions.”

  Venetia looked at Detective James, her eyes begging for permission. He thought about it. “Fine,” he said, “ask your question.”

  “So you told Alden Sway where his wife was going? And when?”

  She sat back, her hands folded on the table. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I did. I had no idea that it would end in her death. I really didn’t.”

  “How could you not?”

  “OK, Venetia, that’s enough.”

  “Actually, you know what, Detective? Let her say it. I deserve it, I really do.” She reached across the table and lightly touched his hand. He hesitated a moment before pulling his away.

  “This is an interrogation, not a lecture,” he said.

  “What can she say to me that I haven’t already said to myself?”

  “And yet you were willing to totally destroy me for a news piece.”

  “That’s true too,” she said, turning calmly to look at Venetia. “But what you don’t understand is once you start down that way, it’s the only way. It seems so close, that break, so you keep taking chances and you keep taking chances.”

  “So you thought that an attack story about me would further your career? Seriously?”

  “I can’t believe you don’t understand this yet. He was going to give me the job,” she said. “You had to be left with no credibility at all. It wasn’t hard, not given the ShamCorp scam, and I’ll tell you, it felt like a legitimate news story.”

  “But you knew it wasn’t?” said Detective James.

  “It felt like one, sure, like that morning show felt like a legitimate possibility. But I have a gut instinct, and I knew you weren’t a criminal.”

  “So you have no problem slandering me? You’re admitting to it, you know, saying that you know the story isn’t true.” Venetia fumbled through her purse and finally emerged with a pad of paper. She opened each pocket, but couldn’t find a pen. In a single, fluid movement, Tipsy reached behind her to her purse, and without looking, produced one.

  “Here,” she said. “You are a far less frightening possibility than Alden Sway. Besides, I was sure this was my last hurdle. The last last one.”

  Keeping one eye on Tipsy, Venetia made notes.

  “What made you see it differently?” Cadby asked.

  “Dane. When he killed Dane, I knew that it was only a matter of time until he killed me too. I know too much. Way, way too much, to be walking around.”

  “You’re perfectly safe in here,” said Cadby. “So you don’t need to worry about that.”

  “I’m not safe anywhere,” she said. “That’s the only thing I can trust. I thought if I could get those documents for him, that would do it.”

  “It’s like some holy grail of safety with you people,” said Venetia. “All of you. You think you can get those papers and somehow they’ll make you safe. It didn’t work for Brenna, it didn’t work for Dane, obviously, for all I know Sissy’s dead too, and now there’s you.”

  “Thank you for that comforting sentiment.”

  “So what, he’s getting rid of the people who have insight into what he’s done? His business practices?”

  “It’s worse than that,” she said. “Much worse.”

  “How can it possibly be worse?” Venetia said.

  “Trust me when I tell you, it can be worse. And I might want a lawyer before I say anymore.”

  “Worse than murder?”

  “In many ways,” she said, “Yes.”

  Venetia stared at her, her eyes so tightly squinted they were nearly closed. “I don’t buy it.”

  “When I say I was on to a career-making story, I mean it is the kind of thing that gets you to a national news show. In one quick leap.”

  “That’s quite an assertion,” said Cadby.

  “It’s true,” said Tipsy.

  “Wait,” said Venetia. “Wait. You didn’t want those documents as insurance.” She scooted forward, her body tilted in Tipsy’s direction. “You wanted the story. Whatever it is you claim is going on, the proof is in those papers.”

  Tipsy didn’t respond.

  “You were willing to try to steal them at gunpoint, from an investigation, for an exclusive story. But not the story I was offering you.”

  Tipsy held her lips tight for a second, and then the left half of her mouth rose the tiniest bit. “It’s one hell of a story,” she said.

  “Care to share it?” said Detective James.

  Tipsy shrugged. “I can’t. Not yet.” She fiddled with the ring on her right hand, leaned back in her chair, and then leaned forward again.

  “You can’t,” Venetia said.

  “No.”

  “Because y
ou don’t know the whole story?”

  Tipsy took in a long, thin rush of air. She held it, and then exhaled, her swept bangs ruffling. “Not yet,” she said again.

  “So how do you know it’s a great story?”

  “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Can’t we leave it at I know?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Detective James.

  “I can’t reveal my sources.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Look, I’ve told you what I know, and that’s all I can tell you.” She was greeted by stoniness. “Fine,” she said. “I know Sway was dealing some kind of trafficking. Import and export of something illegal.”

  “What?” Cadby James said.

  “Guns?” said Venetia. “People? What?”

  “I haven’t found out yet,” she said. “And now I’ve told you all I know.”

  “I don’t think you have,” Venetia said.

  “Venetia, I’ve warned you.” Detective James faced her directly.

  “What? She obviously knows more than what she’s saying, why are you so willing to let her off the hook? How does she know there’s a bigger story?”

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room,” said Cadby.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “I told you. I gave you more than enough opportunity.”

  “Yes, but—”

  He pointed toward the door. “Fine,” she said. “Fine.”

  “You can wait at my desk,” he said, “unless you have somewhere else to be. Perhaps you have somewhere else to be. Work, maybe.”

  “No, I’m off. But you won’t have the benefit of my questions.”

  “I think I’ll manage,” he said.

  She pushed the door open, and forlornly watched it close behind her. There were too many holes to Tipsy’s story, far too many holes. What could be worse than murder? And how could she know that it was if she didn’t know what it was? Well, at least she stole Tipsy’s pen. She tucked it back into her purse.

  She smiled at another officer and sank into Detective James’ desk chair. She spun, slowly, and wondered where Brooks had gone, the lab was going to call him once they managed to get the data off the plate.

  She hunched over the desk, her elbows sullenly propped on either side of the desk blotter. She should have let it all go, Brenna, Delenda. Let the cops do their jobs, stayed comfortably lodged in her slightly boring but very unlikely-to-be-murdered life. Though to be fair to herself, or overly fair to herself, they’d pulled her in, trying to frame her.

  The box of chocolates still sat on the desk, shoved away in the corner. The chocolates. Holy crap.

  She nearly grabbed the box, thought better of it, and snatched some rubber gloves from a nearby trolley. Feeling more official than she was, she snapped them on, grabbed it and stormed back to the interrogation room.

  She rapped on the door in a constant stream until Detective James finally opened it, his mouth a drawn straight line.

  “What?” he said.

  “This” she said, shoving the box at him but not letting it touch. “This.” She dropped the chocolates on the table. “What about this?” she said to Tipsy.

  “Looks like a box of chocolates.”

  “Obviously you know that. You sent them.”

  “I what?”

  “You sent them to Detective James.”

  “Venetia, I already asked you to leave, and you don’t want me to have ask you more forcefully.”

  “I don’t think you get it, and you really should, you’re the cop here. Delenda died eating chocolates. Chocolates,” she said, putting her hands on the edge of the table and coming in as close as she could to Tipsy. She wished she had a bright spotlight she could shine at her. Only that didn’t seem like something anyone ever really did. She got herself back on track. “Chocolates,” she said again, “you sent him to thank him for an interview. And Delenda, too.”

  “I didn’t send any chocolates.”

  “They’re right here” said Venetia. “You should read the note. I certainly did.”

  “Venetia, honestly, this is really getting out of—” is as far as Cadby got.

  “I didn’t murder Delenda O’Brien.”

  The room fell silent. Venetia slipped into a chair while Detective James kept his eyes on Tipsy.

  “Say that again?” he said.

  “I said I didn’t murder Delenda O’Brien.”

  “That’s an odd thing to say,” he said. He buzzed the phone. The young office appeared minutes later.

  “Take these to the lab for a full analysis. Fingerprints on the box, the label, and I want them screened for toxins.”

  “Didn’t you eat a couple of them?” Venetia said.

  He barely looked in her direction, and continued. “Get those results as soon as possible,” he said. “And check evidence for a label on the box that O’Brien was eating at the time of her death.”

  “Even if she sent them,” said Venetia “it doesn’t mean she handled the box.”

  “I didn’t send them,” she said. “I would never send chocolates. I don’t believe in refined sugar. It’s poison,” she said. She turned pink and then red as the words hit her.

  “You did interview Delenda, though?”

  “I can’t reveal my sources.”

  “She’s dead, so it’s really not going to affect her either way. Unless you were trying to make sure your exclusive story stayed exclusive.”

  “Venetia,” said Detective James. “No, wait, go ahead and answer that question. Did you interview Delenda O’Brien?”

  “I really can’t talk about this,” she said.

  “I think talking about it is going to be a lot better for you than not,” said Cadby James, “given that a box with your name on it is currently being tested.”

  She said nothing and crossed her arms.

  “I could arrest you under suspicion of attempted murder of a police officer, not to mention O’Brien’s murder, and I’d have probable cause for a search warrant, which would give me your computer, which should give me all the information I might need—”

  “She was an off-the-record source,” said Tipsy. “Happy?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “But I didn’t send her chocolates. And I didn’t send them to you either, Detective.”

  “Off-the-record about what?”

  “It has nothing to do with anything,” she said. She pushed her ring around her finger with her thumb.

  “You’re lying again,” Venetia said.

  “I’m not lying,” said Tipsy.

  “At the very least, it could have something to do with her murder.”

  “It wouldn’t,” she said. “No one even knew I spoke to her.”

  “You do realize that you now have connections to two very deceased people?” Detective James said. “So consider that when I ask you if you are sure that no one knew that she spoke with you.”

  “Besides her husband, I guess. He found my number right after she died, that’s how I got that interview. Did you see it?” she said, her question met with blank stares.

  “Her husband?” said Venetia. “He called you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right after his wife died.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t find that strange?”

  “It’s not my job to decide what’s strange,” she said. “It’s my job to get a story. And maybe a little more besides.”

  “You knew,” Venetia said.

  “Knew what?”

  “You staged that shot deliberately, the one with my platter on the wall. You knew that the documents were on it.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Coy is difficult to play off here, Tipsy, given that you tried to take it away at gunpoint. And knew where we’d have to go to get it read.”

  “I have to be on the air to tease the story in,” she looked at her thin gold watch, “two hours and twenty-seven mi
nutes, so I’m going to have to call it quits.”

  “I didn’t say you were free to leave,” James said.

  “If I’m not free to leave,” she said, “I’ll need an attorney.”

  “Why did you go to Delenda? Did she know she had the documents?”

  Tipsy’s laugh was more of a long, horsey snort. “Delenda? Not a clue. She was definitely not the most perceptive person, and that’s putting it kindly. No, that was a total dud of a session, a complete waste of time. And nothing I’d send a thank you for, even if did that.”

  “Why did she want to talk to you?”

  “She never told me, she got spooked or something, I don’t know. She wasted about half-an-hour or so before she decided not to talk to me, and that was that.”

  “You didn’t even get a subject?”

  “Initially she said something about a major criminal hiding in plain sight,” she said. “But when I got there, she pretended like she had no idea what I was talking about.” She gathered her purse and checked her cell phone. “Venetia, I think you’ll want to watch tonight.” Her chair scraped away from the table.

  “So you’re still running the story. Even if you know that it’s slanderous.”

  “Your name’s on the documents,” she said. “If you really have a problem with it, sue me.” She let the door close on its own behind her.

  Venetia drummed her fingers on the table, index finger through pinky and back again.

  “You need to stop doing that,” said Detective James “What do you think that Delenda wanted to talk to her about? We know she knew about Marlene Green.”

  “I got the same information you did. I have no idea, but I know who would,” Venetia said, “and I’ve been meaning to go see her all day.”

  Chapter 27

  Billie had managed to put on some makeup, and her hair was looking more like her hair.

  “You’re looking better,” said Venetia, placing a small vase of flowers on the table next to the bed.

  “I’m feeling better,” she said. “Did you manage to get the stuff?”

  “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Someone broke into your apartment, Billie, the place was trashed, and I couldn’t take anything, it’s all evidence.” She settled into the chair.

  “Someone broke into my place?”