“What now?” I said to Tip, as I opened the door to the car.
“Since RB has pretty much banned us from talking to him or his people, why don’t we pay a visit to his wife.”
Tip had a devious mind. “Sounds good to me,” I said.
“Have you ever seen her?” Tip asked.
I shook my head.
Tip smiled. “You might want to take a cold shower first.”
CHAPTER 41
MRS. PERFECT
On the way to Ingle’s house, I called and left another message for Santos. He returned the call a few minutes later, just as we pulled into the long drive leading to Ingle’s house. I filled him in on the connection with Ingle and told him about Jaguars.
“I’ll check it out and get back to you,” he said.
I hung up the phone and, as we got out of the car, Tip said. “Santos seemed more than a little familiar with Jaguars.”
“I’m guessing a lot of the detectives in Dallas might be familiar with it.”
“Speaking of jaguars and cougars and all that, Tip said, “do you have any rubber bands?”
I looked at him as I often did—as if he were crazy. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Mrs. Ingle—she’s an RB woman.”
All I could do was shake my head. “You’re going to have to explain that one to me. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Tip said. “RB. She’s a rubber band woman. In other words, she’s so goddamn sexy you’ll need to put a rubber band around your dick to keep it from acting up.”
I laughed. And then I laughed more. “Denton, you’re one of a kind.”
We followed a path along a flagstone walk, which led to a front door that belonged on a museum or a church. Tip pressed the doorbell, and within a few seconds a young Latina woman opened the door to greet us.
“Buenos dias,” she said. “No English.”
Having been married for so long to Mary, I had picked up a decent amount of Spanish. “Bueños dias,” I said. “Señora Ingle, por favor?”
She smiled and invited us in. “Uno momento.”
“I’m impressed,” Tip said, then he tapped me on the arm. “Would you look at this shit. This damn foyer is bigger than my living room.”
I looked around. Tip usually exaggerates, but this time he didn’t The foyer held two love seats, two chairs, and a large fountain in the middle with knee-high walls to sit on. Built into the back of the staircase between the two love seats was a shelf filled with books and a big selection of magazines.
Before long, the Latino woman returned and indicated we were to follow her. She led us through the house and out a sliding door to a large brick patio surrounding a pool. Mrs. Ingle was just walking up the steps to get out.
Anne Ingle had a body that…shimmered. The kind of body that took a man’s mind off everything except the fact that he was a man, and it brought that home with a dangerous reminder—she’s RB Ingle’s wife. She had a body that stirred emotions, and feelings, and physical reactions. A body that hurt to look at, because you couldn’t have it. Tip hadn’t exaggerated this time—Anne Ingle was a rubber-band woman.
I closed my eyes and imagined things that would take my mind off her—car wrecks, corpses, anything that didn’t stir those other emotions.
“Detectives,” she said, and I opened my eyes. Fortunately, Tip picked up the slack.
“Mrs. Ingle, I’m Detective Denton, and this is Detective Cataldi. If you have a moment, we’d like to ask a few questions.”
She snatched a towel from the back of a lounge chair—occupied by a little white Shih Tzu— then wiped her face and hair. I thought she would have covered herself after that, but she didn’t; she tossed the towel back on the chair. As I stared at her rock-hard body and next-to-nothing bathing suit, I was torn between relief and regret. I diverted my gaze before I broke protocol.
“Mrs. Ingle,” Tip said, “Were you with your husband in Dallas last Wednesday?”
“In Dallas? No, I didn’t go. It was just Bob and Reggie.”
“Did you talk to him while he was there?” Tip asked.
She shot Tip a questioning look. “What’s this about?”
“We’re looking into some things that happened while Mr. Ingle was in Dallas. That’s all.”
She looked at Tip, then me. “I might not be up on my criminal justice courses, but why would Houston detectives be looking into things that happened in Dallas?”
“We can’t go into details, as you can imagine,” I said, “but there are similarities between a case in Dallas and one we’re working in Houston.”
She had been standing, but now she sat in a reclining chair and crossed her long, beautiful, perfectly tanned legs. “I know what you’re working on, Detective. I saw it in the paper. You can’t possibly think Bob had anything to do with either of those murders.”
Tip moved closer and pulled up a chair.
“We didn’t say that, Mrs. Ingle. But sometimes we need to cover all angles so that we can rule out possible suspects.”
She reached to the table beside her and picked up a pair of sunglasses. When she put them on, she became sexier. I didn’t think that was possible, but she did. “Okay, I’ll play along. You asked if we talked while he was in Dallas. Yes, we talked. In fact, we spoke quite a few times.”
“Do you remember when you talked to him—which days and at which time?”
She chuckled. “If you mean, did I keep a diary of the calls—no. But I know I spoke to him the night he left, and the next morning before breakfast. Several other times, too. If it’s really necessary, I’m sure we can get a record from my cell phone, or if not, from the phone company.”
Tip leaned forward, getting close to her.
“Were you aware that your husband knew the woman who was murdered in Houston?”
She turned away from Tip, reaching for a drink sitting on the table. “I didn’t realize that.”
“He grew up with her,” I said. “And he’s had dealings with her since coming to Houston.”
She sucked some of the drink up through a straw poking above the rim—a pink straw. “Now that you mention it, I do recall hearing something about that.”
I watched her. The way she turned her head when she answered our questions. Or diverted her gaze. How she fidgeted, or grabbed her drink. I thought I’d push a little and see where it led. “Did you know your husband was having an affair?”
She placed the glass on the table, and played with the straw, moving it around in her hands. Then she took off her sunglasses and caught my gaze. “That’s ridiculous. Bob would never do that to me.”
“We all know he did,” Tip said.
She stood in a huff, grabbed her towel and wrapped it around herself. “I think it’s time you were leaving, detectives. I have nothing more to say.”
Tip started to say something, but I held out my hand. “We’re going, Mrs. Ingle. But us leaving won’t change anything. We’ll be back.”
“Call beforehand. I’ll want my lawyer next time.” She headed for the sliding door, and I had to say the back side of her looked even better than the front.
We walked through the house, heels clicking loudly on the flagstone. Tip opened the front door and I followed. After that, we headed back to the station. Not two blocks away, my phone rang. It was Santos. “What have you got for us?”
“A lot more than I want to,” he said.
Now he had my curiosity piqued. “I’m putting it on speaker so my partner can hear.”
“Several of the ladies at Jaguars remember a guy fitting Ingle’s description. I took along a few photos of him from the Internet, and they confirmed he was the guy. They said he was a big tipper, and there seemed to have been a few arguments over who would provide dances for him.”
“Did anyone win?”
“A young lady by the name of Sindy spelled with an S, as in sin. But she said after her second performance, Ingle left with another woman, not an employee.”
<
br /> “I hope they were envious enough to get a description.”
Santos laughed. “Down to the swirls in her navel. Tall, blonde, pretty, built, a half-moon tattoo on the left side of her neck. And young.”
“In other words, we’re fucked,” Tip said from the driver’s seat.
“Pretty much,” Santos said. “Sure as hell that description doesn’t fit our victim.”
“Still, it will give us something to question Ingle about,” I said.
“Don’t get bored,” Santos said. “Lots more fun coming.”
“Spit it out,” Tip said.
“Remember I told you we found her car?”
“We just talked about that, Santos. You found the note in there about Magic.”
“We found something else,” he said. “A small USB drive was taped under the gas pedal.”
My gut started churning. “Go on.”
“It had a lot of encrypted pictures, most of them of her having sex with people. We haven’t gotten all of the files enhanced yet, but some of the people look familiar.”
“Familiar how?”
“I recognized a few of the local councilmen and maybe some others. Of the ones I recognized, most were important men. It could have been used as a blackmail file.”
“You mentioned the councilmen and others. Anyone else you recognize?”
“There were more references to Eastex Enterprises,” he said.
“You’re holding back,” I said. “I asked if you recognized anyone else.”
“Is this a secure line?” Santos asked.
“It’s my private cell.”
Santos remained quiet until I prodded him again, then he spit out the name like they say “Dracula” in the horror movies of old.
“One person in particular was very familiar—President Tom Marsen.”
The reality of the situation hit me like a brick, especially after seeing the video Coop received. “What the fuck have we stepped into, Santos?”
“I don’t even want to know, man. I was hoping you were going to tell me this was a coincidence, that the president of the fucking United States just happened to be getting a piece of tail from a lady who turned up dead.”
“Sorry, Santos. If I don’t get to sleep, neither do you. As far as Eastex Enterprises, they were the primary employer of our victim. And Rusty Johnson, Houston’s mayor, owns Eastex.” I paused. I felt like looking over my shoulder, or checking the locks on the doors. “And you want to know more. The mayor’s wife, and our victim, and the president, and RB Ingle have been friends since birth.” Before he could say anything, I continued. “And in case you were wondering, we also have a video of the president with Barbara Camwyck. They weren’t dancing the Fox Trot.”
“Dios mío!”
“Yeah, no shit. Dios mío is right.”
I thought for a minute. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s keep this between us and our partners. Can you keep it that way for a day or so, give us time to push a few buttons down here?”
“Consider it done. And hurry up; I like my job.”
“You got it. We’ll stay in touch.”
I hung up and looked at Tip. He was smiling.
“Can’t say we didn’t catch a case this time, Gino. Two dead girls, and both of them fuckin’ the president.”
“All we have to do now is figure out how to solve the case while keeping our badges.”
CHAPTER 42
A PRIVATE TALK
Tip’s phone rang just as he entered the exit ramp to get off the freeway. He answered and began speaking. I tried to listen, but my phone rang a few seconds later.
“Cataldi.”
“Detective?”
It was a woman’s voice, but caller ID had been blank. “Hello?”
“Detective, you were right.”
I thought I recognized her voice. “Mrs. Ingle?”
“I’m sorry. Yes, this is Anne Ingle. And you were right about the affair. I did know.”
More silence, then, “Perhaps you should come back here so we can talk. There’s a lot to discuss.”
“It will take us about half an hour,” I said, and hung up.
I waited for Tip to finish, trying to piece together what was being said, but he wasn’t talking much, just listening. When he got off he looked to me and said,
“Shit!”
“Shit?” I said. “Is that a good shit, as in a lead, or a bad shit, as in something went wrong?”
“That was Buddy,” Tip said. “Remember that story about the president and Ingle in the motel with the two girls?”
“What about it?”
“There was a rape that night.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“It gets better,” Tip said. “Buddy found the girl’s brother, who seemed to be the only one in town willing to talk. As it turns out that girl’s family was paid a lot of money to drop the charges and shut-up about the subject. Buddy suspected the brother didn’t get to share in that good fortune, which is why he’s talking, but the parents and the girl definitely got paid.”
We might be finally getting somewhere on this case.
“Guess who was raped? A young girl by the name of Barbara Camwyck.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“Not according to Buddy. Besides, why would her brother lie to us?”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Don’t fall down yet. There’s more.”
“What?”
“Do you remember who told us this story the first time, about the night in the motel?”
“Yeah, it was Cybil.”
“Exactly, but when Cybil told the story she left out an important part—she was the other girl in the room with them.”
“What the fuck!” I didn’t know what else to say, so I said it again. “What the fuck.”
I took time, trying to imagine what could make people behave like that, but all I could do was wonder. “The more I learn about that little piece of paradise in East Texas, the more I’m glad I grew up in nasty old Philadelphia.”
“Funny that Cybil forgot to mention those specifics,” Tip said. “Maybe we should ask her about it.”
“I’m fine with that, but I don’t think we should tell Coop,” I said.
Tip screeched the tires as he made a fast turn. “At this point, I don’t care what she thinks.”
“I know what you mean, but if we go behind her back, she’ll fire us, and if we trust her and she’s involved with this, somebody else will fire us.”
“Either way, we’re fucked,” Tip said.
I thought about it for a millisecond. “That’s the way I see it.”
“What do you want to do; it’s your badge too.”
It didn’t take me long to decide. “I say we find whoever did this. It all starts with Cybil, but she’s got an alibi.”
“Her alibi is Rusty Johnson, and if he was home that early in the night I’ll kiss Coop’s ass.”
“How do we break Cybil’s alibi?”
“By breaking Rusty’s alibi,” Tip said.
“And how do we break the mayor’s alibi?”
“We talk to some strippers.”
“Count me in,” I said.
“Sorry, Gino, but that’s my territory. I’m afraid you’d be out of your league,” Tip said, and he turned and smiled.
“No dice, Tip. Those strippers love guys like me. I’m fresh meat to them.”
“That sounds fair. Let’s go have fun, partner.”
“Not yet,” I said. “We need to go see Anne first.”
He squinted and stared. “Anne? You’re on a first-name basis with Mrs. Ingle now?”
I laughed. “She called while you were talking to Buddy.”
“And?”
“She said she knew about the affair, and we should talk.”
“Son of a bitch. This could be exciting.”
I agreed. Part of me was excited about the information we might get, but a bigger part was excited about seeing her again. “I hope she has
n’t changed clothes, or worse, put more on.”
“I hope she took some off,” Tip said, and then, “You know she stayed half naked to keep us from focusing.”
“It crossed my mind, but I’m not that cynical yet.”
“Bullshit,” Tip said. “And you know I’m right. She wanted us thinking about her ass and feeling sorry for her.”
I thought about what Tip said, and not for the first time. “If that was her plan, it worked.”
“And you want to go see strippers? They’ll eat you for lunch.”
It didn’t take long to get back to Ingle’s house. When we arrived, I rang the doorbell.
The same Latina woman with the same blank expression answered and led us to Mrs. Ingle. She was sitting on a sofa in a small room off the kitchen.
She stood when we entered. “Thank you for coming back. I was rude to send you away like I did.”
“Not a problem,” I said.
She had changed out of her bathing suit, which both disappointed and relieved me. The positive side was that now I could focus on the case.
“You mentioned that you knew about the affair?”
“Have a seat, detectives.” She gestured toward a few chairs across from where she sat.
I waited for her to speak. After a brief silence, she said, “I don’t know where to start. I guess with suspicions. I suspected Bob was fooling around.” She seemed to think for a moment, while twisting her hair into a bun, then said, “If I’m honest with myself, I knew he was fooling around but I didn’t want to believe it.”
She paused again, but Tip prodded her.
“What changed your mind?”
“When Bob was out of town, up in Dallas, a package arrived—overnight delivery. It had been sent from an address in Dallas, and since it was delivered to our house, I thought I should open it in case it was important.” She placed her hands in her lap and shook her head slowly. “I wish I’d left that damn package alone.”
Anne had my curiosity stirred. “Do you want to tell us what was inside? Was it a package or an envelope?”
Anne looked over. “I’m sorry, Detective. It was more of an envelope size. I call them all packages.” Then she reached over and opened her purse—sitting next to her—and took out a folded piece of paper. She reached forward to hand it to me.
Old Wounds, a Gino Cataldi Mystery Page 21