Standing near him was Josh Nolan, whose slightly puffy red eyes were the only visible sign he’d had too much to drink the night before. This morning he looked as calm and confident as his boss.
Terrabito nodded and smiled as I passed by and, distracted by his charm display, I bumped into Denny Shuster, Kelley’s whipping boy.
“Hey! Watch where you’re…,” Shuster exploded, then did a double take when he saw me. “Fontana. Prowling for cases?”
“You lookin’ for a new job after your boss unloaded on you? Or are you thinking about jumping onto Terrabito’s bandwagon?” Needling him was so easy, I should’ve been ashamed of myself. But I wasn’t.
“Checking out the opposition, is all,” Shuster said, avoiding my eyes. “Last night meant nothing. Kelley is high strung. This campaign’s been rough on him.”
“So you let him abuse you to take out his frustrations?”
“Listen, Fontana, why don’cha go twirl your g-string or whatever it is you do when you’re not snooping into people’s lives.”
“You and Nolan both look like you could use a vacation. After watching you guys trying to keep up with your candidates last night, I know for sure politics isn’t my game.”
“I got Kelley squared away last night. That’s all that matters.” Shuster played things close to his vest. That’s what campaign managers do. That, and spin like a top.
“Good thing you settled him down. Kelley was about to bust a gut.”
“Whatever.” Shuster moved off into the crowd.
I was about to continue toward Pine when I heard a commotion rumbling over the sidewalk toward the crowd.
Five people on Segway knock-offs rolled down the pavement followed by a small crowd chanting something I strained to hear over the traffic and street noise.
“Clean up the mess! No more hypocrisy. Clean up…” They went on and on.
Someone in the crowd tossed a roll of toilet paper which unfurled like a giant streamer through the air toward Terrabito.
Nolan caught it and threw it at one of the charioteers. The lead “rider” was Ricky “Dead Snake” Sorba, the city’s longest-lasting, most outrageous radio talk show personality. Got his nickname because he often sent a dead snake to his enemies or people he just didn’t like.
“Hey! Terrabito! Gonna clean up the mess your predecessor leaves when he goes?” Sorba’s grating voice cut through the street noise and got Terrabito’s attention.
The politician smiled and waved but said nothing. Terrabito’s supporters turned and spat angry insults at Sorba, not realizing it was like mother’s milk to him and they’d only fed his ego.
“Just so you know, you’re in our crosshairs. We’ll be watching.” Sorba shouted. His followers cheered. “I only play hardball.”
“Yeah, Dead Snake! Tell ‘im!” came a growl from somewhere behind the rabble rouser.
Another roll of toilet paper sailed over the crowd as the Segway knock-offs trundled away. The ragtag followers shouted: “We’ll be watching. No more hypocrisy. We’ll be watching!”
Terrabito smiled and shook hands appearing unfazed. His crowd loved his non-response because they chanted his name as I walked toward Pine Street.
Politics. Gotta love it.
The closer I got to Brad’s spa the better I felt. My muscles started singing the Halleluiah Chorus just knowing they’d be getting a massage. I turned onto Pine at Broad and headed for Eleventh three blocks away.
Pine is an edgy urban mix of residential and commercial properties like Giorgio’s Restaurant tucked away on the corner of Juniper. Further down the Grounds for Coffee café caters to a crowd that some days looks like disaffected dissidents waiting for the revolution that’ll never come, and at other times houses a tattooed and pierced artsy crowd. Today it was the revolutionaries. I sauntered by Giovanni’s Room, the gay bookstore, and one block later, entered Antiques Row. On Pine, just past Eleventh Street, lined with old plane trees and stretches of uneven paving, I found Brad’s DreamSpa.
The mini-spa occupied a four-story, red-brick commercial building. Pine Street has a laid-back, easy-going feel making it a perfect spot for a quiet, relaxing day spa. Opening the etched glass door of DreamSpa, I entered. A chime sounded when I stepped into the empty reception area. Brad didn’t want a receptionist, choosing instead to greet his clients personally. He occasionally allowed other masseurs to rent space but he concentrated on building his own repeat clientele. No one answered the sound of the chime. Not unusual if Brad was with another client. My muscles, however, didn’t care how busy he was and ached for attention.
Brad’s appointment book lay open on the desk. He claimed, once, that having a computer at the front desk was a jarring note in a spa, so all his digital records were stored at his home. Quirky but that was Brad’s way.
I took the opportunity to look at what he’d written. Leaving an open book in front of a P.I. is an invitation. There was no one listed ahead of me which made me wonder why Brad hadn’t come out to meet me. On the page for the night before were sets of initials, but nothing other than my name for the morning. Brad probably hadn’t heard me enter. He’d be out when he was ready.
I took a seat and waited. The only sound was syrupy new age music. A relaxing lavender scent floated on the air and had me wanting to drift off. I lazed on the couch anticipating the massage. Visions of Stinky dropping his pants in back alleys quickly faded into the recesses of my mind. Nothing mattered as I melted into the soft cushions.
Something shook me awake suddenly and I realized I’d dozed. I didn’t like letting my guard down. I looked at my cell phone and saw that I’d only been snoozing a few minutes. Everything was still and silent. Brad was being unusually slow and I felt edgy. Looking around I noticed the reception desk was measurably better than the one that’d been there before. Polished cherry wood with brass fittings and an expensive lamp were luxuries I didn’t think Brad could afford. It piqued my curiosity. So, after having waited fifteen minutes, I moved past the reception desk to the doorway leading to the massage rooms.
“Brad? Brad, you back there?”
No response. Not a sound. I felt the hair rise at the nape of my neck. Something wasn’t right.
“Brad. It’s Marco. You forget about my appointment?”
Nothing.
Slowly I moved through the doorway. Without my gun, I was extra cautious. At the first massage room, the door was ajar and I pushed it open. White walls, low lights, massage table at the center. But no Brad. I moved on. The second and third massage rooms were exactly the same. All of them empty, their dim lights shining.
A shiver ran down my spine as I approached the door to last massage room. The door was closed and the air smelled vaguely of something familiar. The odor was out of place in a spa. It was faint, probably hours old, but recognizable: the pungent odor of a gun having been fired.
I carefully edged my way against the wall to the door. This would be the largest of the rooms. Standing to the side, I placed a hand on the doorknob and turned slowly until it opened. Carefully I pushed it inward.
Silence and stillness.
“Brad?” I called his name before making myself a target in the doorway. There was no response. No movement. I had no choice but to enter the room.
When I did, a nightmare situation stopped me cold. A man lay dead on the floor. It appeared he’d been shot. Blood spattered the walls and pooled around his body.
It wasn’t Brad.
Chapter 3
Fully dressed, the victim was an elderly man. It appeared he’d been dead for hours. Only the medical examiner could pinpoint a more exact time of death.
I knew I should call 911, but I needed to search the room. Brad was missing, maybe wounded or bound or… I didn’t want to think about that. I needed to look around.
Two doors, both shut, were at the back of the massage room. I knew one was a shower room and the other a walk-in closet. I moved cautiously to the closet first and, standing against the wall, threw th
e door open. Except for sheets and towels and massage supplies, it was empty.
The showers would be more tricky, plenty of places to hide in there. Three shower stalls and a couple of sinks were what I remembered. I moved to the door, pounded on it, then pulled it open while standing to the side. Darkness. Antiseptic soapy odors wafted out of the room.
“Brad?” I listened for even the slightest sound. A weak breath, a faint murmur.
Nothing.
Feeling for the light switch, I remembered being on the left, I flipped it and fluorescents crackled to life. The room appeared empty but I checked each shower stall anyway. Everything was still. No one hid in the windowless room.
I decided to search the rest of the building before calling the police. Brad might be depending on someone to find him. I located a box of rubber gloves in the supply closet, and took two pair so I could search without leaving prints.
Turning to leave the room, I considered checking the body for ID. Technically I’d be disturbing a crime scene, but if I could to do it without the police noticing, then what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. The dead guy lay face up. Moving the body would be noticeable. I stared at him. Gray-haired and dapper, the man’s elegant features were ruined by the grimace frozen on his face. The blood pooled under him. He’d probably been shot in the back. I didn’t need to feel for a pulse. I’d seen enough bodies to know this client was dead.
Though there were signs of a struggle, the dead man seemed to have been shot before the fighting occurred. Brad must’ve grappled with the intruder after his client was killed. The sequence of events wasn’t clear but the evidence of a struggle was massive, making it look as if a tornado had ripped through.
The massage table was overturned, broken bottles of massage oils leaked their contents over the floor, a lamp and a small table had been tossed aside, and towels littered everything. Blood smeared the walls and floor along with the usual mess that accompanies a death.
The unreality of the scene was emphasized by utter stillness, as if someone had set up the violent, gory tableau for a lurid murder museum exhibit.
I can’t say it didn’t disturb me, but I was no stranger to a crime scene. What worried me most was that Brad was missing. That could either be good or it might mean something very bad. I didn’t want to think about that yet. Instead, I surveyed the room once more, taking a few pictures with my cell phone.
I pulled on a pair of the rubber gloves, then searched the first floor again. Neither Brad nor anyone else was anywhere there.
Finding the stairs to the second floor, I stood at the bottom listening for something, anything. There was only silence.
I resigned myself to a quick search before calling the police, in case Brad was incapacitated somewhere.
Starting up the steps, I tried avoiding renovation debris. Brad had big plans: a dry sauna, a steam room, relaxation rooms, even living quarters. I was about to see how far he’d gotten.
On the second floor, I saw the changes Brad talked about had been nearly realized. Almost forgetting I was searching for Brad, I moved between a state of the art dry sauna through two sleek relaxation areas and into a steam room with elegant fixtures and intricate tiling. Where had he gotten the money, I wondered. The last time I’d visited he struggled to make ends meet. He seemed to have raised a lot of money somewhere. There was no one in any of the rooms. I moved back to the stairs. The two upper floors remained sealed off. There was no way up without breaking through a heavy door.
There was a basement, as I recalled, and I headed back down to check that before calling in the police.
Glaring lights turned on when I flipped the switch. The rickety stairway to the basement barely held me as I clambered down. There was nothing but an old heater and built-in shelving.
Sadly, I climbed the stairs back to the reception area. As I looked around I realized it had been given a subtle, rich-looking, and probably expensive facelift.
I suddenly remembered a back door leading to a patio garden which Brad had transformed so clients could relax with herbal tea after a massage, weather permitting. The door was open, one of its windows broken. Evidence that the conflict spilled through that door and onto the patio jumped out at me. I stepped into the pint-sized garden.
The struggle had wrecked the place. Every café table was overturned. Marks on the ground indicated someone had been dragged against his will to the rear exit. The wrought iron gate hung open. There was no sign of Brad or anyone else. A napkin trapped under a fallen table fluttered helplessly in the breeze. The fragrance of flowers scenting the air and the bright sunshine seemed incongruous.
Brad had obviously struggled like a demon with the intruder. He was strong. I’d often seen him lifting weights at the gym, heavy sets, and without strain. Whatever had happened at the spa, I was sure he gave as good as he got. It was obvious though that whoever attacked him must’ve won because Brad was gone.
Inside again, I gazed around feeling the helplessness that people experience in these situations. Except I didn’t intend staying helpless. Before calling the police, I took out my cell phone and speed-dialed Brad just in case. His phone went straight to voicemail. Not a good sign.
I considered calling his sister Emily to see if she knew anything. They lived together and were as inseparable as twins. I didn’t want to worry her. If Brad was at home, then it wouldn’t matter. If he wasn’t… I dropped the idea.
The only thing left was to call in the police and wait. Before I did, something told me to take another look at Brad’s appointment book. Still wearing the rubber gloves, I turned a few pages. Names, times, and often cryptic notes along with them.
Flipping out my cell phone I photographed a few of the pages for future reference.
Then I slipped off the rubber gloves, pocketed them, and dialed 911.
***
Police sirens blared their way down Pine shattering the morning peace and replacing it with tension and fear. I’d told them the place was cleared, there was only one dead body, and I’d be waiting for them. There was no need for a splashy, all out, sirens-blasting entrance. But that’s how they rolled in and I had a good guess who might be behind the display.
When Detective Gina Giuliani strode into the spa, I knew I’d been right. Gina wanted to make sure people knew she was on the job. Moving up in the ranks, she grabbed onto whatever helped facilitate her rise to power. Thing is, she was great at her job, more than competent, and just the kind of person you’d want heading up the force. She didn’t need the showy stuff, she’d make it without that.
She also hated me but that was another story.
“Surprise, surprise,” Gina said when she saw me, her brassy voice laced with contempt. “You turn up in the nicest places, Fontana.”
“Strange. I always meet you in the same exact spots.”
“Wise ass. You never change. Unlike your brother who changes with the wind,” she said. “What’ve you got for me?”
“One stiff and a missing masseur. How’s that for a peace offering?”
“The body I see, but how do you know the masseur is missing?” Riveted on me, she ignored the crime scene workers already processing the place, like carpenter ants swarming over everything. “You have an explanation?”
“Well, for starters, he isn’t here.” I couldn’t help myself.
“Doesn’t mean he’s missing,” she said giving me a cross look. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning.”
I opened my mouth to begin, “I got here…”
“And don’t leave out a thing.”
“You want everything. Even the…?” I teased, knowing it would annoy her.
“Even what you did once you had your pants off.” She paused. “That’s what this kind of place is all about, right?”
I ignored her. “I arrived for my ten-thirty appointment fifteen minutes early.”
“Hungry for it, huh?”
“After sitting in reception for a while, I got this feeling…”
“So, as I was sayin’ I got this feeling. I called out to Brad who usually meets clients and takes them to the massage room.”
“And?”
“And no answer. It was too quiet. I got suspicious.”
“So naturally, you being the hero type, you went back to investigate.”
“Naturally. I needed that massage after being on stakeout for three weeks. I wanted to see what the delay was.”
“And you didn’t?”
“Find him? No. I didn’t. I called out, went from room to room, kept calling his name. Until I got to the back massage room and…”
“That’s where you found the db.”
“That’s the long and short of it, Giuliani.”
“Detective Giuliani,” she snapped and looked at her watch. “You say you got here at ten-fifteen?”
“About then. Why?”
“Your call to 911 came in at ten-fifty.”
“If you say so,” I stayed nonchalant. I knew what she was getting at and I was ready.
“So, let me ask you, Fontana,” she paused for effect.
I jumped in, refusing to give her the edge and maybe just to show her I wasn’t as dumb as she hoped I was.
“You’re gonna ask, why did it take so long to call it in? Right?”
“Make it good, Fontana.” There was disappointment in her voice.
“Like I said, I waited before I called out to Brad. So, maybe it was ten-thirty before I went back there.”
“Okay. That still leaves twenty minutes…”
“I searched the place. Slowly.”
“It’s not that big a joint, Fontana.”
“Two floors and a basement, lots of spaces to search. I took it slow. When I found the body, I checked to see if the guy was still alive then gave the room a good once over. Then I searched again. In case Brad was hiding somewhere or hurt. I went back over everything. He was nowhere. I called his phone.”
Body on Pine Page 3