Jacked Up! (A Lt. Jack Daniels/Leah Ryan Mystery)

by J. A. Konrath

  “You know. Kinda creamy-beige.”

  “I know. Surprised that you know.” I said.

  “I know more than you think I know. You know?”

  “So was Carey trying to keep Lauren a secret, or not?”

  “Not unless he was trying to hide her in plain sight.”

  I shook my head, and asked the obvious question. “Why the hell didn’t anyone report Carey or Lauren missing?”

  “You do remember we’re Homicide, right, Jack? This is a missing person case.”

  “Yeah. But I have a feeling he won’t be missing for long.”

  Herb sucked at the straw, long and hard, making a loud, wet sound that went right through me. I pulled my old Nova into a parking spot when a salesman came cheerfully walking toward the car. I had an insecure desire to lock the doors and roll up the windows and lay on the horn so he wouldn’t approach my vehicle and start his insulting spiel. I spent my salary on taking care of my mother, and on clothing, and that meant no money left over for a nice car, so I drove a junker. But I was tired of people criticizing it.

  Maybe he’d be a pro and be cool.

  “Hi!” he said, face splitting from his smile. He had more product in his hair than I’d ever seen on a guy. I was certain it would hold up in a hurricane. Complete devastation but his hair would look fabulous. “I’m Jerry. I see you’re obviously in the market for a new car. I’m happy to help, but I don’t think the trade-in value on this will be very much. I don’t think I could even sell this to high school kids or poor people.”

  I flashed my badge. “Lieutenant Daniels with the Chicago Police Department. This is my partner Detective Herb Benedict. We’re not looking for a new car.”

  Jerry’s smile fell. “Oh.” He eyed my Nova, like he couldn’t believe I’d want to keep driving this. I wanted to tell him to look at my designer shoes and purse, but instead got over myself.

  “What can I help you with, officers?”

  “The president of your dealership, Stanley Carey, has been missing for a couple of months. Do you have any information about where he might be?”

  He thought about this, his brows furrowing in mock concentration. I hate when people do that. So phony.

  “He has a cabin on Lake Zurich. Goes there quite a bit.”

  “Do you have an address?” Herb asked him, brushing milkshake stains from his tie.

  “No, but Callie, the receptionist, knows.” His face took on a secretive, knowing look.

  I got the drift. “Ah. Thanks.”

  “Always glad to help the police. Thanks for keeping our streets safe, officers. And if you’re ever in the market for a new or previously loved car, let me know.” He handed business cards to both Herb and me.

  “Will do,” I said, glad to get going anywhere else.

  As luck would have it, Callie was working. She was a tall, unbelievably cute, twenty-something blonde with a boyish cut. Her bangs hung slightly over her clear blue eyes.

  “Can I get a salesperson for you,” she asked, her smile warm.

  “No, thank you.” I showed her my badge.

  Her eyes widened and her smile froze on her flawless face. That happens a lot. Made me wonder what ninety percent of the people we encounter were hiding. Then again, I really didn’t want to know.

  “When was the last time you saw Stanley Carey?”

  “Uh, two months ago. I haven’t heard from him at all.” I detected an edge to her tone that suggested she was bitter. “But Mr. Carey does disappear for long stretches. It’s not unusual. Anyone who knows him is used to it. I thought someone said he might be going to the Cayman Islands for a while. He takes frequent trips there.”

  “Jerry out there said that you might know where Mr. Carey’s cabin on the lake is located,” Herb said.

  Callie’s face and throat flushed a deep red, and she momentarily dropped her eyes.

  “I’m sure you’ve been to company parties there,” I said, to ease the girl’s embarrassment. “Maybe Jerry hasn’t.”

  Callie nodded. “Yeah. I know where it is.” She gave us directions to the cabin, which was about a half hour away. “I gave the directions to the two private detectives that were here earlier. Jerry mentioned that I knew where it was to them, too.”

  “Two private investigators, huh?” Harry McGlade and Leah Ryan. I’d told Harry to get info, not conduct his own investigation.

  “Yeah. They were here about a half hour ago. All giggly and happy, too.” She lowered her voice. “Listen, it isn’t like it looks. I didn’t visit the lake house for Mr. Carey. I went there because his girlfriend, Lauren, asked me to. He bought that house because of her, and she asked me over because of my… um… second career.”

  My mind reeled. Some sort of sex thing? Drugs?

  “I’m trying to become a full time interior decorator,” Callie said proudly. “I never told Jerry, because he’s kind of a dick.”

  “Lauren lived with Mr. Carey?”

  She didn’t catch my use of the past tense. “Yeah. They’re really in love.”

  “Callie, did you know that Lauren…” I deliberately trailed off to let her fill in the blank.

  “Was once a man? Of course. We all did. But she was a woman in her heart. One of the prettiest women I’ve ever seen.”

  “Did Mr. Carey know?”

  She laughed. “Of course. She’s why he left New York and opened the dealership here. His father wouldn’t accept her. They cut him off.”

  “Cut him off?”

  “Financially. Lauren told me. Mr. Carey used to work with his father, owned a lot of dealerships. He left to start over here.”

  I made a show of looking around the showroom. “I can’t help but notice we’re the only people in here, Callie. Mind if I ask how business is?”

  Her face slumped. “Awful.”

  “Would you happen to know about Mr. Carey’s personal finances?”

  “I got a payroll check once, and it bounced. But it hasn’t happened since. And Mr. Carey assured me everything was okay.”

  “Thanks, Callie. You’ve been very helpful.” I gave her my card. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.”

  As I walked back to the car with Herb, he said, “So Harry and Leah are on the case, huh?”

  “Not a word, Herb,” I warned.

  Always the gentlemen, Herb didn’t say a word.

  But he went back to slurping on that damn empty cup.

  • • •

  An hour later we arrived at Carey’s house in the suburb of Lake Zurich. It was a modern style McMansion monstrosity, the back of which faced the water, a wrought iron fence encircling the property. I parked in the semi-circular driveway next to a Corvette I recognized, and felt my blood pressure spike.

  The gate to the fence was open, and we walked around back, coming to a gazebo on the outside deck. Its door was open, too. Inside was a hot tub. Harry and Leah were crouched on either side, hands over their mouths and noses. Bobbing in the water was what looked to be a very dead Stanley Carey.

  Harry glanced over at Herb and I as we approached, just as the death smell hit us.

  “Either of you know CPR?” Harry called out to us, as we climbed out of the Nova.

  Ignoring Harry, I said, “Leah Ryan on the scene with another dead body. This is starting to be a habit with you.”

  She gave me her best fuck you face.

  “Hiya, Jackie,” Harry said. “We were just keeping him here for you, in case you wanted to question him.”

  “Thanks, McGlade. I can always count on you.”

  Harry pointed at Herb. “Keep your distance, Jumbo. This isn’t a big bowl of soup. No eating the evidence.”

  I noticed Herb stiffen, so I patted his shoulder and stepped between the two of them.

  “There’s a note,” Leah said, pointing to a piece of lined paper lying on the deck beside the hot tub. An empty bottle of Scotch held it in place.

  “And an empty pill bottle floating around in there with him,” Harry sa
id. “Might have been sleeping pills. But from the smell,” Harry held his nose, “maybe laxatives.”

  I wasn’t good at dating floaters, but the smell and decomposition told me this one had been dead for a while.

  I pulled a pair of gloves and tweezers from my trench coat pocket. Not what most women carried with them, but they come in handy when you’re a homicide cop. I removed the scotch bottle, careful not to damage the note, then lifted the note with the tweezers.

  The note was handwritten in a left hand slant, in deep indigo ink, on a rectangular piece of paper which said Fridge Notes at the top. I read it aloud. “I can’t bear the shame of my secret any longer. I love you, Lauren. Please forgive me.”

  I looked around for the pen, not finding it.

  I found an evidence bag in my pocket and dropped the note inside. “You two been inside yet?”

  “Yeah,” Harry said. “The sliding door was unlocked.” He exchanged a glance with Leah. “Just like the outside gate, right Leah?”

  “Wide open,” she said.

  My ass. But they’d saved me the hassle of getting a warrant to open the locks myself. Now that this was officially a crime scene, I had free reign. I needed to call Lake Zurich PD, since this was outside of my jurisdiction, but I wanted to poke around a bit first.

  I walked through the large living room, furnished with fluffy, comfortable furniture, and found the kitchen. On the fridge, I found the fridge notes, a small, black pen attached to the top of the pad with Velcro. The top page of the fridge notes had a grocery list. Coffee, cereal, half and half, bread, pickles, laundry soap, bar soap and dishwashing liquid.

  The note beneath had two scrawled notes, written in two different hands. The first said, You’re the sexiest man on earth. I love you.

  Beneath was a note that said, You need to raise your standards. I love you too, sweetheart.”

  I love you more. Thanks for setting up the photo shoot.

  You’re the best investment I’ve ever made. You’re going to be famous someday.

  I felt my throat tighten. Stanley and Lauren’s feelings for each other had been genuine.

  I did a scan of the kitchen and found a newspaper open to the weekly crossword puzzle, a black pen lying on top of it. He’d gotten down a few words. I checked the date. Six weeks ago.

  In a kitchen drawer allocated for junk was a package of black pens. Stanley Carey clearly favored black pens. So where was the indigo pen?

  I looked around the rest of the house. Herb, Harry and Leah did the same. A woman had definitely been living here. On the bathroom sink sat a glittery purple make-up bag. The cabinet drawers held various hair products, a hair dryer, a curling iron, and women’s deodorant in fresh lavender.

  On the bed was a long, purple negligee. This woman loved purple. In the walk-in closet, which was larger than my bedroom, an entire side was dedicated to women’s clothes. Skirts and dresses, mostly, blouses, shoes, mostly high heels.

  At the bottom of the closet was a personalized canvas bag with her name across it. Lauren.

  Leah came up next to me. “Looks like Carey wasn’t ashamed at all. He’d made Lauren the woman of the house. And the suicide note—”

  I cut her off. “Doesn’t match the handwriting on the fridge notes.”

  This wasn’t a suicide. Carey had been in love with Lauren, and very open about it.

  And someone hadn’t liked it.

  LEAH RYAN

  It had been a long-ass day and all I wanted right now was to go back to the hotel and take Fred for a ride. I doubted he was still working, but he had left me his cell number, which I dialed now.

  “Wilma. I was hoping you’d call. Your burger got cold last time, and I feel responsible. How about I bring you a new one?”

  “Room service?”

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  “Awesome. Nine-thirty work for you?”

  The air was cool and it was starting to rain. I pulled my leather jacket closer together as I made my way across the parking lot. When I walked through the doors and into the lobby, I got a smile from the dark haired girl from earlier. The one that had come out of the elevator.

  “Hello. Are you enjoying your stay at the Farlance Hotel?”

  “I am. Thanks,” I squinted, reading her tag. I’d have to start wearing glasses soon. “Sidney.”

  She leaned forward, her lips opening slightly, as if she wanted to tell me a secret. I leaned in to accommodate her.

  “Is there anything you need from me, Ms. Ryan?”

  I blinked. She was coming on to me. It must have been the wink I’d give her earlier. “Uh…”

  “I can bring something up to you, if you like. We like to make sure our guests are more than happy during their stay.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. This girl was a prostitute. “Are your services offered by the hotel, or are you a sole proprietor of your business?”

  “I have a few partners. We do very well ensuring our guests satisfaction with our services.” She grinned at me. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  My curiosity was peaked. “What is the cost for your service?”

  She looked me up and down. “Normally, two hundred for half an hour. But for you, I can make it a hundred.”

  I didn’t know if I should be insulted or flattered.

  “Food for thought, Sidney. I’ll let you know if I need your assistance.”

  “Just dial down if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  I went up to my room, feeling shocked. Was this something that happened in all hotels?

  The room was dark. I flipped on the light near the door, then a lamp in the room. The clock near the bedside table said that it was nine. Fred would be here in half an hour. I had some time to take a shower.

  I sat on the bed and leaned down to pull off my boots, and the pen in my pocket stabbed me, the one I’d pocketed earlier. I placed it on the bedside table, atop a hotel pad of paper. I shrugged out of my jacket just as my cell rang.

  I tilted my head back and sighed. The last thing I felt like doing was talking on the phone. But it could be Callahan.

  I found the cell in my jacket pocket and looked at the display screen. Callahan. I’d texted both him and Jackson earlier, telling them I’d been sprung from the joint, but hadn’t had time to give them any real explanations.

  “Hey, Cal.”

  “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  I gave him the quick version, which took much longer than I expected.

  “Sounds like a helluva trip.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “And I don’t even have the Bentley yet.”

  “Fuck it. You need to come back home.”

  His use of the word ‘home’ sent a pang through my chest. We did share a home for a while. I missed Callahan’s arm around me while I slept. I missed a lot of things about him.

  I gave my head a mental shake and reached for the pen and pad, starting a doodle of a heart. I drew one half with a jagged edge, then another half with a jagged edge that would fit the other. A deep bluish-purple heart.

  “Indigo,” I said, realization creeping over me.

  “What did you say?”

  “Indigo. The pen.”

  “What pen?” Callahan’s voice was edged with impatience.

  “Cal, I’ll fill you in as soon as I get home. There’s something I have to do.”

  “Aw, no Leah. I know that tone. Leah? Leah!” He was shouting at me as I ended the call.

  I grabbed my jacket and dug out Jack Daniels’s business card, dialing it while heading for the door. Just as the call connected I opened the door and almost walked into Teddy, the valet.

  “Wilma. I’m sorry I scared you,” he said, a slight smile on his face, and was slightly out of breath. “I remembered something I forgot to tell you about Stanley Carey.”

  “I’m actually just going out the door. You can walk with me to my car.”

  “Oh, it’s not something I want anyone else to hear. Can w
e go in your room for a minute? I won’t keep you long. I promise.”

  I stared at him for a second. He was somehow out of place in my world right then. I had a picture in my head of what was going on and what I needed to do, and it was like he’d been superimposed over that picture. It was a strange feeling, but I connected the dots quickly.

  Stanley Carey was friends with the owner of the Farlance Hotel. Carey had been here, probably often. He’d bought his girlfriend a purple Rolls because she loved purple. Carey’s fake suicide note was written in purple. I got the purple pen from Fred at the bar. Fred had sent me to Teddy.

  They were the ones who killed Stanley and Lauren.

  I didn’t know why they did it. But my gut told me they did.

  I was in serious danger.

  Just as the realization hit, Teddy shoved me with both hands and knocked me into my room, onto my ass. The phone went flying out of my hand, bouncing off the wall, the battery coming off.

  I started to reach down for my Uberti—I’d gotten my boot knife back from the police when Jack let me walk—but stopped when I saw Teddy had a gun, pointed at my head.

  Bad guys come in a wide spectrum of sociopathic disorders. Some were dispassionate and unfeeling. Others liked to inflict pain. I needed time to assess just what kind I was dealing with in Teddy. If he were a sadist, he’d want to make this last, make me cringe and cry, and I’d have a chance at getting my knife. If he was cold, I’d need to use logic and reason to disarm him.

  “What’s up, Teddy?”

  His smile had turned strange, lifting the small hairs at the nape of my neck. “Why don’t you sit on the bed? We can talk.” But he stood his ground, which meant he wanted me to walk in front of him.

  “You don’t want to fire a gun in a hotel. The police will come.”

  “We’ve got it worked out.”

  We. Him and Fred.

  “This is a bad idea, Teddy. There are cameras in the hotel elevators. You were seen by security.”

  “I took the stairs. Now sit on the fucking bed.”

  Was Teddy a rapist? “I’m really not in the mood right now.”

  “Funny lady. Now get your ass over there.” He was still smiling.