Perforating Pierre (Jane Delaney Mysteries Book 3)

by Pamela Burford

He dug in his pocket for change, then lifted the handset and fed the phone. A few seconds later Sean Connery said, “Please put me through to Detective Cullen. It’s urgent.”

  Now, I know what you’re thinking. Everybody impersonates Connery’s Scottish burr, it’s no big deal. But trust me, they’re all amateurs. A few rolled r’s, some mushy s’s, and they call it a day. Martin was Sean Connery. He inhabited Sean Connery. If I closed my eyes, I could convince myself James Bond had taken a break from dispatching supervillains to chat about Tucker Nearing’s footwear.

  “Detective Cullen! I have some information you will find shocking. Positively shocking.”

  11

  World’s Most Eligible Psychopath

  “I LOVE HIM!” Kari screamed. “You don’t care about me. I wish you weren’t my father. I hate you!”

  Okay, we were back to this. If only Dom’s daughter could be constant, predictable, self-composed. Like other teenagers.

  I’ll wait for you to stop snickering.

  It was Saturday afternoon and we were back in Dom’s coldly elegant living room, the scene of the previous adolescent firestorm. I’d come by to see how Kari was dealing with Tucker’s arrest. The answer: kind of how she’d dealt with Swing’s death.

  “While you’re still a minor,” Dom soberly intoned, “I’m responsible for your safety. I’m sorry if that makes you unhappy, but—”

  “Shut up!” she screeched. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. Tucker needs me, but you don’t care about that. You don’t care about anyone but yourself!” Which was her cue to sprint upstairs and slam her bedroom door.

  I hadn’t been altogether certain Cullen would act on the anonymous tip Sean Connery had provided yesterday. Cullen being Cullen, I figured it was fifty-fifty. He’d come through, though, and the end result was the arrest of Tucker Nearing on suspicion of murder. He’d been brought in too late to be arraigned the same day, so he’d had to spend the night in jail. This morning he’d been released on an exorbitant bail which his well-to-do parents had had no trouble posting. And of course, they’d hired an excellent criminal attorney.

  Each new piece of information to emerge made me more and more depressed. A witness had seen Tucker enter the restaurant by the front door around ten-fifteen that morning, not long before I arrived and discovered Swing’s body. Now that the cops had his fingerprints, they’d successfully matched them to the prints found on the handle of the knife Swing had been killed with.

  As soon as I’d stepped through Dom’s door, Kari had pulled me aside to beg me to sneak her over to Tucker’s house. I mean, hey, I’m the cool stepmother, right? The one who lets the girl skip first-period gym and have Fruity Pebbles for breakfast. She could count on me.

  She could not, as it turned out, count on me for that particular cool favor. And when her father refused yet again to let her visit or even communicate with the killer she claimed to be so passionately in love with—that’s right, Dom confiscated her phone, brave man—the last hope for civil discourse in the Faso household evaporated.

  Dom looked exhausted. “Glad you came?”

  “She’s been through a lot in the past couple of weeks,” I said. “But then, so have you. Unfortunately, you get to be the grown-up.”

  He strolled into the humongous kitchen—black walls, floor, countertops, and island; white cabinets; acres of stainless steel—and poured a mug of coffee. He offered me some. I shook my head.

  He leaned against the central work island, a slab of gleaming black quartz, rounded at one end. “So what I want to know is, why now?”

  I leaned back against a counter and fiddled with a black-and-white checked dish towel. “Why what now?”

  “Tucker’s arrest.” He looked at me steadily. “I’ve been wondering what prompted it.”

  “Um, I’d have to guess it would be the shoes they found in his closet,” I said. “The ones that had tromped through Swing’s blood. So I’ve heard.”

  He was still watching me closely. I looked away. “What I heard,” he said, “is that Cullen received a phone tip. The person called from a pay phone and refused to identify himself, and Cullen didn’t recognize the voice.”

  I straightened, astounded. “He didn’t recognize the voice? How—” I clamped my mouth shut, too late. Dang!

  Dom gave me that smug little smile that had been elevating my blood pressure for a quarter of a century. “I thought so. Martin? Had to be Martin. I doubt Victor could’ve concealed his accent.”

  “Oh, like I don’t know any other men who could’ve done it?” I asked. “Just those two?”

  “There’s no one else you’d have trusted with it,” he said. “How did you find out about the shoes?”

  “Let’s not… I don’t even…”

  “Oh, that’s perfect,” he said. “Breaking and entering. With your full knowledge and approval, I take it.”

  I wish the guy couldn’t read my mind. It’s one of his more irksome habits.

  He wasn’t finished. “I’ve told you before, Jane, Martin McAuliffe is trouble. One of these days you’re going to find yourself behind bars because of him. Or worse.”

  I was groping for a response when we heard “Jane?” It was Kari, hurrying down the circular staircase. She sounded breathless. “Are you still here?”

  I met her in the foyer. Dom wisely remained in the kitchen, although the open floor plan allowed him to eavesdrop. “What is it?” I asked.

  If possible, she looked even more distressed than after Swing had died. “I get that I can’t go over there myself. To see Tucker. But you could. Would you do that for me? I need… I need him to know that I still love him. That I believe in him.” She teared up again. “Please, Jane.”

  “Oh, honey.” I hugged her hard, feeling my own eyes fill. The last thing I wanted was to be face-to-face with Tucker, knowing I was responsible for his arrest. Not that I had anything to feel guilty about. On the contrary, I’d helped the police apprehend a dangerous criminal. A murderer. But between Kari and Dom and Victor, I was too emotionally involved. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain perspective.

  “Of course I’ll speak with him,” I found myself saying.

  “In person.” She pulled back and stared at me, her dark brown eyes so like Dom’s. “I need for you to see him, to see that he’s okay.”

  “All right, sure.” There went my cunning plan to phone him rather than visit.

  “And come right back and tell me everything,” she demanded.

  I promised and she hugged me again, then fired a malevolent look over my shoulder, telling me her dad had entered the room. Up the stairs she went.

  “Don’t try to talk me out of it,” I told him. “I promised her.”

  “You’re not going there alone.”

  “I won’t be alone,” I said. “I’m sure his parents are home.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “What? Dom, I don’t need a bodyguard. I’m just going to drop in for a minute, relate Kari’s message, and split.”

  “This is nonnegotiable.”

  “Really. Do the words ‘You’re not the boss of me’ mean anything to you?”

  “Jane, don’t argue with me about this. You know as well as I do how dangerous that kid is.” His gaze traveled up the curved staircase to where his daughter had retreated into her bedroom. “I can’t believe that all this time she was dating someone capable of…”

  “He certainly doesn’t come off that way,” I offered.

  “I’m her father. I’m supposed to protect her. I should have seen something, suspected something.”

  I laid my hand on his arm. “Dom, don’t do this to yourself. Tucker will go to prison and Kari will get over him—faster than you can imagine.”

  Now it was his turn to look me in the eye. “Please don’t go alone, Jane. I won’t attack him, I’ll let you do the talking. I just need to know you’re safe.”

  Dominic Faso, keeping all his loved ones safe. Was I still a loved one
of his? He’d claimed so last spring when he’d tried so hard to convince me to remarry him. If nothing else, I was a permanent part of his family, this big extended family that he keeps expanding through divorce and remarriage.

  The truth was, I was nervous about seeing Tucker and wouldn’t mind backup. Perhaps if Dom had offered nicely instead of being so high-handed about it…

  No, it had nothing at all to do with me being stubborn and ungrateful. How can you even think that?

  “Well, you can’t leave Kari alone here,” I said. We both knew she’d bolt to be with Tucker first chance she got.

  “I can’t see her letting me drop her off at her mom’s house.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll ask Lana to come stay with her.”

  *

  “HOW’S KARI?” Tucker sat in his parents’ den, slumped miserably in an ultramodern red armchair that looked like something out of The Jetsons.

  Dom and I sat on the matching sofa. The boy’s mother had let us into the house and, once she’d determined we weren’t there to harass her son or cause trouble, left us alone with him.

  “She’s fine,” I said. “She’s worried about you.”

  He was pale, his eyes red-rimmed. I guessed he hadn’t slept well in his jail cell last night. He gave an exhausted shake of the head, closed his eyes briefly. “I messed up.”

  I glanced at Dom. His sober expression didn’t reveal much. I was about to deliver Kari’s heartfelt message and skedaddle when Tucker added, “I heard you come in that morning.”

  “What?” I said.

  “I heard you come into the restaurant and call Swing’s name. I was still in the kitchen.”

  I had the absurd urge to grasp Dom’s hand. Instead I took a slow, silent breath and said, “What did you do then? Slip out the back?”

  He nodded. “I panicked. I should’ve stayed. It would have been the right thing to do. But now…” He lifted his hands and let them fall.

  I didn’t ask why he’d killed Swing. He’d thought his girlfriend had been sexually involved with the popular chef. He’d thought Swing had taken advantage of her youthful infatuation. Still, Dom had thought the same thing and he’d only beat up the dastardly seducer. There was a yawning gulf between fisticuffs and plunging a knife into someone’s heart.

  I wondered if the high-priced lawyer Tucker’s folks had hired would have let him openly confess. “What did you tell the police?” I asked. “You know, yesterday after they took you in.”

  “The truth. I wanted Swing to leave her alone. She had this big crush on him.” He shrugged. “Whatever, all the girls do. Did, I mean. He was on TV and everything, right? But then this girl from school, she works at the ice-cream place across from Dewatre, she told me she saw Kari going in there every Saturday morning when it was closed.”

  “Kari never told you she was meeting Swing?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “He was teaching her to cook. I know that now. She wanted to surprise everyone with what she learned.” He glanced at Dom. “Her family, me…”

  “But you didn’t know that then,” I prompted.

  “I thought they were…” He ran his fingers through his short black hair. “So I went there. To tell him to leave her alone.”

  “Wasn’t it a school day?”

  He shrugged. “I faked a stomachache and stayed home.”

  When he didn’t continue, I quietly said, “I’m assuming things got out of hand? With Swing?”

  Tucker looked at me. “Huh?”

  “Well… what did he say when you confronted him?” I asked.

  He scowled, perplexed by the question. “I never had a chance. He was dead when I got there.” He flinched. “You think I did it?”

  “I… Tucker, I’m just trying to—”

  He jumped up. Next to me, I felt Dom tense. “I didn’t kill him,” Tucker said fiercely. “I never even thought about killing him. That’s not—” He broke off and stalked away from us. I half expected him to break something, or put his fist through a wall, but he just stood there breathing hard. Finally he turned back to us, looking heartbreakingly vulnerable. “Is that what Kari thinks? That I killed Swing?”

  “No,” I quickly assured him. “No, she believes you’re innocent. She asked me to come here and tell you that. And that she loves you very much.”

  Dom had promised to let me do the talking, but he spoke up now, his tone calm but firm. “Do not try to contact her, Tucker.”

  Tucker stared at him, making a conspicuous effort to govern his emotions. Dom never broke eye contact and eventually the youth gave a reluctant nod.

  “Tucker.” I gestured toward the chair he’d vacated. My tone was gentle. “Tell us what happened that morning.”

  He moved as if the past twenty-four hours had added fifty years to his body. He sat. “I knew Swing was there on Mondays when the place was closed. I knocked, but he didn’t come to the door. I figured if he was in the kitchen he wouldn’t hear. I was about to go away, but I tried the door and it was open.”

  I’d done the same thing a few minutes later, knocking before finding the door unlocked. “What did you do then?” I asked.

  “I went through the dining room and knocked on those double doors to the kitchen. Then I felt stupid knocking and just went in. I didn’t see him, but when I walked back behind that big horseshoe-shaped, you know…”

  “The work station,” I supplied.

  “Yeah. I saw him on the floor. It was… the blood…” His gaze was directed inward as he recalled the hideous scene.

  “Tucker.” I leaned forward, urged him to focus on my voice, on me. “They found your fingerprints on the knife.”

  He swallowed hard. “I tried to pull it out. I didn’t think about it, I just… It was, like, automatic, like maybe it wasn’t too late and if I could just get the knife out—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “But then I looked at his eyes and I knew.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I heard you in the dining room. I heard you calling for him. I knew you’d take one look and think I did it. So I ran out the back.” He leaned his elbows on his knees and cradled his head. “I should’ve stayed. I should’ve called nine-one-one. The cops still would’ve thought I was guilty, but that’s what I should’ve done.”

  *

  “DO YOU BELIEVE HIM?” Dom asked as soon as we got into his BMW.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He seems sincere, but…”

  “But he’s had a couple of weeks to refine his story.”

  “Yup,” I said. “I’ll tell you who else is on my radar, though.”

  “It wouldn’t by any chance be your houseguest?”

  I groaned. “You heard about that stupid accusation?”

  “Everyone’s heard about it.” He turned right at the corner and headed toward his house. “That woman, Swing’s old business partner…”

  “Leonora Romano,” I said. “They call her Lee.”

  “Right. She’s spreading it all over, claiming Victor killed his brother—well, had him killed—because Swing slept with his wife.”

  “Ex-wife,” I corrected. “And he didn’t do it. I mean yes, Swing slept with Emmie, but no, Victor didn’t kill him.”

  Dom glanced at me. “How can you be certain?”

  “Dom—”

  “The man’s living under your roof, Janey. You don’t really know anything about him. You might not be worried, but I sure as hell am.”

  “And I appreciate it, but…” But what? Hadn’t a niggling doubt wormed its way into my own mind when Cullen first questioned Victor as a suspect? How well did I know him?

  Lee had likened him to Ted Bundy, which I’d considered laughable at the time. I thought about all those female fans who’d been obsessed with Bundy, obsessed with a handsome psychopath who’d beaten and strangled a bunch of young women. If Victor looked like Steve Buscemi, would I be so quick to defend a guy who, truth be told, I didn’t actually know that well?

  “In addition to re
venge for the thing with his ex,” Dom said, “Lee’s also claiming greed as a motive. Swing was worth a fortune and it’s all Victor’s now.”

  “Okay, well, Lee has her own reasons for wanting to frame Victor.” I told him about the TV show Swing had been offered and which she’d coveted, and her bizarre conviction that Victor had sabotaged her chances with the network. “And how badly did she want that show?” I added. “Badly enough to kill Swing so she could have a crack at it? She already hated him for supposedly tanking her restaurant when they parted ways three years ago.”

  “I don’t know.” Dom shook his head. “Does her behavior make sense if she’s the murderer? I mean, she’s making sure the whole world knows Victor’s the killer. She’s been quoted in news articles, podcasts, social media, everywhere. Why would she put herself out there that way, invite that kind of public scrutiny, if she’s the guilty party? It doesn’t make sense, it’s not rational.”

  “You haven’t met her, have you?” I said. “Trust me, we’re not talking about the most rational individual here. The woman’s a piece of work.”

  “What about the SEAR guy? Tooley,” Dom asked. “Our friendly neighborhood firebomber. He has an alibi for the time of the murder. Out of the running, you think?”

  I made a face. “Another paragon of mental stability. No, I wouldn’t give him a pass quite yet. Try this on for size. Tooley gets one of his adoring disciples to do the deed while he’s adding up columns of numbers in his day job, then Tucker comes along and messes up the evidence with his size thirteens and fingerprints.”

  Dom scooted into the right lane to bypass a left-turn logjam. “And Tooley did it because…?”

  “Same reason you and I almost became the charbroiled special of the day at Dewatre,” I said. “Publicity for SEAR.”

  “That’s one devoted animal-rights terrorist. Wonder if he owns a pet.” He turned on to the long private drive leading to his mansion.

  “I don’t think they believe in the whole concept of keeping pets,” I said. “For sure you’re not supposed to ‘own’ animals. That’s like slavery to them.”

  “So Sexy Beast is your slave?” Dom smiled for the first time that day. I returned it.