Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery

by Giacomo Giammatteo

  Cybil, looking bright and vibrant as ever, made her way toward us wearing the smile she was famous for. Her eyes seemed to take everything in at once. I found myself hiding my thoughts.

  “You boys care for something to drink? It’s hot as a Louisiana swamp out there today.”

  “Would that be the Atchafalaya?” Tip said, with a hint of sarcasm.

  Cybil paused then looked at the ceiling, as if to consider what he asked. “I think you’re right, Detective. It’s as hot as the Atchafalaya. And as humid.” She let out a little chuckle, as if amused by a child, then moved toward the bar.

  Tip followed her. “As for that drink, I’ll have a gin and tonic, thanks.”

  I gave Tip a “what the hell are you doing” look, but then I said I’d have one too, even though it was way too early for me to be drinking. Or for anybody to be drinking.

  Tip didn’t waste time with formalities. He didn’t even wait until she finished making the drinks. “Ms. Johnson, it’s come to our attention that a lot of the people close to this case come from the same town in East Texas. Oddly enough it’s the same town you grew up in.”

  Undaunted, she continued mixing the drinks without missing a beat. Her reaction convinced me that Tip had been right; Coop called and warned her.

  “That town bred a lot of ambitious people.” She half-turned and handed Tip his drink, then grabbed the two remaining, handing me one, and cupping her hands around the last one as if it were a life preserver. “Why don’t we sit,” she said, and settled into a huge plush chair covered in white fabric.

  Tip took a seat across from her then pulled out his notebook. He looked down, as if reading from it. “I’ve got some data on that little town of yours, and you’re right—that town did breed ambitious people: a president, a world-famous businessman, a police captain…and two prostitutes.”

  I had been watching Cybil, and I was expecting a strong reaction, but it didn’t occur. Cybil flinched when Tip mentioned prostitutes, but not much. Whatever her instincts were, she smiled instead.

  Tip squinted his eyes, wrinkled his brow, then acted embarrassed. “I’m sorry, that was one prostitute and a mayor’s wife.”

  “Are you trying to insult me? My goodness, I’ve seen far better from the ‘socially acceptable’ women of our fair city.”

  “I’ll bet you have,” Tip said. “I’ve met a few of them at fundraisers. They frighten me.”

  “You, at a fundraiser? What on earth were you doing there, guarding the jewels?”

  “That’s good.” Tip laughed, and pointed a finger at her playfully. “I like that. In fact, that was so good I’ll have another drink if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all. I love a good sport. But I’m surprised that one of Houston’s finest would be drinking at this time of day. Isn’t this when you should be shaking down immigrant store owners or coercing favors from the prostitutes you are so familiar with?” She got to the bar and looked at Tip.

  “Another gin and tonic, please.”

  She turned to me. “Another for you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  Cybil brought Tip his drink and settled back into her chair. She played the role of hostess to perfection, but Tip didn’t let her rest. As soon as her ass hit the seat he started.

  “Who would have motive to kill Barbara Camwyck?”

  “How would I know? Barbara was a sweet person, perhaps a little lost, but sweet. She would do anything for her friends.”

  “Does that include spreading her legs?”

  She shot Tip a glare to kill. “That was cruel. The woman’s dead.”

  “Who wanted her dead?”

  She pretended to think, then said, “You could start with Tom Marsen.”

  “Tom Marsen? The president.”

  “The last time I looked he was.”

  Tip sipped on his drink. “Why would he want to kill her?”

  Cybil leaned forward. She looked as if she was about to tell us something we didn’t know. “They were lovers, and that fool girl was naive enough to think he loved her.”

  “He didn’t?”

  “Come now, Detective, you’ve seen Mrs. Marsen. Do you think he’d trade her for Barbara?” Cybil stood, walked around a bit. “There is a lot I don’t know in this world, but I can tell you one thing I’m certain of—Tom Marsen hasn’t loved anyone but himself since he clawed his way out of his mother’s womb.”

  I was shocked at the venom in her voice. As I thought about it I wondered why she was tainting him. Why try to push the blame to the president? She’s got to know that would do no good.

  “It sounds like you and the president don’t get along. Jealousy?”

  Cybil looked at Tip as if he were a snake about to strike. “You don’t like me do you?”

  “There’s not a bit of truth to that…well maybe a bit, but under different circumstances I could see us getting along just fine, but I’m conducting a murder investigation, and I have questions to ask. Aside from that, I think we have a lot in common.”

  “Please, don’t flatter yourself.”

  “We do, but if we ever got together there might be a struggle to see who stays on top.” Tip let one of his famous, scar-tainted smiles surface, the one that both seduces and frightens women.

  It seemed to work on Cybil, but perhaps in the wrong way. It acted on her like fresh meat thrown to the lions. She crossed her legs, showing a little thigh. A light shone in her eyes.

  “My, my, but you do like to play the game, don’t you?”

  Tip smiled.

  “What do you want to know, Detective?”

  “Have you ever had sex with Tom Marsen?”

  She didn’t blush, but she tried to pretend she did. “My sex life is none of your business.”

  “How about RB Ingle?”

  She laughed. “And you call yourself a detective. You don’t know Bob Ingle at all, do you?”

  “Why don’t you tell us about him?” I said.

  Cybil smiled. “Bob is an emotional mess and he has been since he was a little boy.”

  “He seems to have done well for himself,” Tip said.

  She took a sip of her drink. “He’s done a lot better than you know, but it’s all because of Tom Marsen. In fact every dollar and every piece of ass Bob ever had was because of Tom Marsen.” She took another long drink from her glass, gave a short chuckle, and said, “For God’s sake, he’s still in love with Barbara, or he was before she died.”

  That bit of news shocked me. “Ingle was in love with Camwyck?”

  Cybil looked over at me. “Say what you will about her, but she knew how to enthrall a man. Every man she ever screwed fell head over heels in love with her. Barbara Camwyck was a predator.”

  “Even Tom Marsen?”

  A mean hard look flashed in Cybil’s blue eyes. For a moment I didn’t think she would answer. “Especially Tom Marsen. The difference is that he’s the most disgusting kind of prey. He might be worse than a predator. Perhaps he’s just a different kind.”

  Tip sat up straight in his chair. “Not that it would matter, since he’s the president, but can you tell me what you mean by that?”

  “I need a moment to think,” Cybil said, and then she stood and walked in small circle before returning to her chair. She leaned back, sipped her drink, and seemed to relax. Neither of us prodded her, despite Tip having originally said to not give her time, and the patience paid off. After a few minutes—which seemed like an hour—she spoke. “I’m sorry for taking so long, but I wanted to find the one story that said it all about Tom.”

  She set her drink on a coaster, and stared at Tip, then me. “Tom always thought he was a ladies’ man, even from high school, but he was a son of a bitch to any girl he knew. Bob Ingle was his ever-faithful friend who stuck by him. Bob could never get girls unless Tom got a girl to go out with them on a double-date. One night Tom had a date, but he told her he’d only go out with her if she found a date for Bob.

  “They went
to the movies, got pizza, then got a motel room. Bob paid of course. This was going to be his first time spending the night with a girl. Once they got the room, though, it became apparent that Tom intended to spend the night with both girls, and it seemed as if the girls agreed, both of them hanging on Tom like lovesick puppies.”

  Cybil reached over and plucked a mint from a crystal jar. She tore the wrapper off, and popped the mint into her mouth. “Bob stayed until his date was lying naked on the bed—along with Tom and his date—then he went back to his dorm. He told me later it might have been the worst night of his life.”

  Tip stared. “Why did Bob stay friends with him?”

  Cybil thought long and hard before answering. “I think because Tom was the only friend Bob ever had.”

  Tip waited for her to finish. “Why would Marsen hang out with someone like Bob.”

  Cybil wasted no time in answering.

  “Because Bob idolized him. He did everything for Tom. Did his homework, sat next to him in class so Tom could cheat on tests, and from what I hear, he got Tom through college. Later when Tom left for Houston, Bob worked on his campaigns. That’s when they both started making money.”

  Tip didn’t let her catch a breath before he threw her the next question. “Just how well did you know Ms. Camwyck?”

  “Not as well as I thought.”

  “But you knew she was having an affair with the president?”

  “I’ve already told you that.”

  “Did you know she had a video of their…liaison?”

  “I don’t believe it. She wouldn’t be so stupid.”

  “I’ve got the video.”

  “You mean—”

  “Yep, I’ve got it.” Tip smiled. “You know that old story about getting caught in the henhouse?” He took a long swig of his drink while he waited for Cybil to digest that. “Well we have that old weasel dead to rights. And this isn’t one of those fuzzy, hard to decipher videos. I can get a close-up right to the hairs on Barbara’s…” He laughed. “Well, I think you know what I mean.”

  “I can’t believe it.” Cybil stood and swished her drink around as she shifted weight from side to side. I hadn’t figured out yet if she did that out of nervousness or to irritate us. If it was the latter she was succeeding brilliantly.

  I decided to try something out with her. “The funny thing is Barbara mentions you in the video, and from the context it seems as if you knew each other a whole lot better than you indicated.”

  She gulped, then stood straight. “She mentioned my name? I can’t imagine what for.” She turned and set her glass on the bar. Without looking back at us, she started up again. “What did she say?”

  Her voice was tentative, lacking the bluster and command she’d put in her tone earlier. I smiled. Sure as shit we struck a nerve. “We can’t release that just yet, Ms. Johnson. It’s evidence in an open case.”

  She nodded, but seemed disappointed. “Of course.”

  Tip moved in close to her. He had his notepad out with a pen in hand. “You were in Dallas when the First Lady gave her speech?”

  “I believe you know I was, along with thousands of other Houstonians.”

  “Where did you stay?”

  She wrinkled her brow. “Is this necessary?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is. This is a homicide investigation.”

  She gave a fake laugh. “You don’t think I had anything to do with Barbara’s death?”

  “But we’re not talking about Barbara’s murder. A woman was murdered in Dallas while you were there.”

  “Good Lord, what kind of person would do that?” She took a long slow sip of her drink and held it in her very-steady hands, then looked straight at me, without blinking. “What time was this poor soul killed?”

  “About 9:45 if I remember.”

  She placed a finger in her mouth and pretended to chew on the nail, but I knew there was no way she would risk another trip to the salon to fix a little gnawing. She wanted us to think she were considering the question.

  Cybil said, “I was busy almost all night—I do remember that—and I’ll get you a list of who I was with at what times. I can have that for you no later than the day after tomorrow.” That big fake smile flashed on her face again, the one that greeted every stranger she met. “Will that be soon enough?”

  Tip put his notepad away and hooked the pen on his shirt pocket. “That’ll do just fine.” He offered his hand to say goodbye, then we were escorted out by her assistant.

  ***

  Cybil spent some time with her assistant, assigning a few projects, then she closed the door to her office and turned the music on softly, catching the end of Back to Stay, an old country tune by Johnny Rodriguez. She dialed a number from her cell, got no answer, then waited for it to go to voicemail. “It’s Cybil. I had a disturbing visit from two detectives. We need to talk.”

  She hung up, and then poured another drink. After walking around her office a few times, she took a seat in her favorite chair and continued sipping her drink. When she finished, she buried her head in her hands, and, for the first time in many years—she cried.

  CHAPTER 37

  EAST TEXAS TALES

  We left Cybil’s office and headed west, then north on I-45. I was happy to be out of that hotbox, but Tip seemed exhilarated, as if he’d popped a few pills.

  “Did you see her, Gino? Guess we shook the world on that one.”

  “We shook it all right. And I’m afraid we’re going to feel the reverberations soon.”

  “Do you think she’ll make a call?”

  “There’s no doubt she’ll call somebody. Who is the big question.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Tip said, and cut across two lanes of traffic, scaring me to death.

  I sneered as we passed a church and turned my head.

  Tip said, “You got something against churches?”

  “Let’s say I’m not fond of them.”

  “Is this something you want to talk about?”

  “What’s with the questions? Are you a priest?”

  “Not last time I checked, but I guess I could slip a collar on. Come to think of it, Elena might like a new fantasy; she’s getting tired of me being the mailman.”

  When he said that, I lost my attitude and smiled. “All right, tell me how it works with her, then maybe I’ll confess.”

  My phone rang. “It’s Santos,” I said to Tip, then answered the phone. “What’s up, Santos?”

  “I assume you got my message.”

  “Yeah, thanks. What did you find?”

  “A patrol unit picked up a guy for speeding and when he ran the plates he saw we were looking for the car. The guy said he found the car in the parking lot of the Lincoln Hotel. He also had her cell phone, which he claims was under the passenger seat.”

  “Why would she leave her phone in the car?” I asked.

  “Same thing I was thinking,” Santos said.

  “Unless she didn’t leave it. Maybe she was snatched from her car and the phone fell out in the struggle.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, maybe,” I said. “How about witnesses? Anybody see anything?”

  “I showed her picture around. None of the employees remember seeing her, but I’ll send somebody back tonight after the next shift comes in. We also found a note on her calendar app on the phone. We got lucky. She’s one of the few people who don’t have some ridiculous password to access the phone. Anyway, all the note said was, ‘Meet Magic at 9:30 at the Lincoln.’”

  “That’s it? Meet magic, spelled like it sounds?”

  “Magic, like in a magic act.”

  “What do you think that means?”

  “I was hoping you could tell us. You don’t have anything like that on your victim?”

  “I’d have sent it to you if I did,” I said. I thought about telling Santos about our video but decided to keep that quiet for now. “Besides, Santos, we still haven’t found our victim’s car. Or her purse.”
>
  “Damn. All right, we’ll send you what we’ve got and anything else after they finish processing. I’m waiting on the phone records now. By the way,” Santos said, “the medical examiner confirmed our victim was killed quickly. The stab wounds and the cutting were done later.”

  “That’s different. Our victim was alive when he did all that. Not the cutting, but the knife and icepick work.”

  “You think we have different killers?”

  “I don’t see how, but it’s something to think about. Thanks, Santos.” I hung up and filled Tip in on what he missed. “Who or what do you think this magic is? And why did the killer do the woman in Dallas differently? It’s unusual to change a signature like that. On the other hand, if it’s a professional killer, the signature might be that there is no signature. If the killer wanted our victim to suffer, why not the one in Dallas? Those kind of thoughts send me back to the theory that this is personal.”

  “I don’t know, and we probably won’t know until we figure out who wanted them dead. But I know we need to find Camwyck’s car,” Tip said, and took out his phone and dialed Roberts.

  “Roberts.”

  Tip put it on speaker. “Did you find that car yet?”

  “Not yet, but it won’t be long.”

  “What makes you so confident?”

  “We put a picture of the car and the license plate on the morning news, and it will run again tonight. Plus, I talked my boss into posting a reward—one thousand dollars for whoever finds the car first.”

  Tip laughed at that. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. I don’t like you much, but I do like you a little.”

  “I’ll call when I get something. I have to go.”

  Tip hung up and looked over. “That ought to get some people looking.”

  “I think she’s right. I bet we have that car by tonight.”

  “Speaking of tonight, don’t let me forget to call my guy at the phone company and see if he got anything.”

  “Call him now.”