Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set)

by Blake Banner

  “Your husband.”

  Our eyes met and we read each other loud and clear. Girt pushed in to the chime of a bell and walked past us toward the office in back. I said, “I’ll give some thought to your English legs, if I may…”

  “You may.”

  “… and I’ll get back to you.”

  She picked up a card from the counter where the till stood and scrawled something on the back. She handed it to me and said, “Please do.”

  I left the shop smiling, with a bounce in my step. I may even have whistled a little ditty. I looked at what she’d written on the back. It just said “Emma” and a phone number.

  Fifteen

  I didn’t leave. I sat in my car and waited, as the sun grew higher and the heat got hotter. At twelve thirty, I took off my jacket and loped across the road to get another hot dog. Then, I sat for another half hour, sweating and watching the shop.

  She came out just after one. She climbed into a dark blue Lexus and took off up Madison Avenue, headed north. I followed her back the way I had come, over the Madison Avenue Bridge and back up Third Avenue. As I had suspected, she was going to see Baxter.

  Sure enough, at the junction with 149th, she turned up Melrose and parked outside his block. I kept about fifty yards back and pulled in to wait and see what happened. She climbed out, ran the three steps to his building, and disappeared inside. She was in there for half an hour. Then she came out, climbed into her car, and did a U-turn, and I followed her all the way back to Madison Avenue. There she got out and went back into her shop.

  My phone rang. It was Dehan.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m on Madison Avenue. Why?”

  “Madison Avenue?” She paused a moment. “Okay, I think we need to take another look at Peter Gunthersen.”

  “Okay, I’m on my way.”

  By the time I got back to the precinct, it was gone two. I found Dehan at her desk eating a sandwich and drinking coffee.

  “What you got?”

  She pointed at her full mouth and said, “You foisht.”

  I shrugged. “I followed him to an antiques shop on Madison Avenue. He spoke to the owner’s wife, gave her a card, and left. I went in, chatted to her about Queen Anne furniture, and she gave me her card. Then, at one o’clock, I followed her to his office. She stayed half an hour and left.”

  She swallowed. “That’s it?”

  “What more do you want?”

  “Impressions, thoughts?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing for now. What about you?”

  She stuffed the last of her sandwich in her mouth and threw a half a dozen sheets of paper, all stapled together, across the desk at me. They were Peter Gunthersen’s credit card readout for May and June 2015. Several items had been highlighted. They were a return rail ticket from San Francisco to New York, a hire car, and a room in a cheap hotel. All for the period June 12 to 15.

  “Any word from ballistics?”

  “I called. They haven’t got to it yet.”

  “Whatever reason he was here, it was not to kill Steve Gunthersen.”

  She frowned and sipped her coffee. “Okay. Why?”

  “What motive could Alfonso have for telling us that elaborate story about Tammy killing Steve and Ernesto? There are two possible scenarios. One, where Ernesto and Alfonso were not there, in which case, why did he say they were? What does he gain by putting himself at the scene of Steve’s murder—especially with such an unlikely story? It also begs the question, how did he know the details of the murder scene?”

  She was nodding. “No, we take it as read that he was there.”

  “Okay, so if he was there, what happened? Peter was already there when he and Ernesto arrived with Danny? It plays out like Alfonso said, except that Peter was there too, and it’s Peter who pulls a gun and shoots Steve and Ernesto. That is marginally more credible than Alfonso’s story, but we have to ask, why the hell did Alfonso lie? What does he gain by protecting Peter?” I spread my hands. “He stands a much better chance of being believed by placing Peter at the scene, than by making out it was Tammy. By lying, he actually runs the risk of incriminating himself.”

  “By making it look like he did it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So what the hell was Peter doing in New York?”

  “I think I know. Ballistics will confirm it.”

  She waited, but I didn’t say any more, and after a moment she asked, “So, who’s the dame?”

  “Emma Girt.”

  “Emma Girt? You think she has something to do with the case?”

  “Hard to tell at this stage. He went to see her after we rattled him. Gave her a card. Then at lunchtime, she went straight to see him and they spent half an hour together. Maybe she’s a client. Maybe she’s the client. I don’t know.”

  She studied my face. “Is there something you are not telling me?”

  I frowned and for some reason felt guilty, which made me feel a flash of irritation for a moment. “No, of course not.”

  She didn’t say anything, but her face told me she didn’t believe me. My phone rang and I answered it gratefully.

  “John, it’s Frank. Your rottweiler has been on my case this morning. She is lovely to look at, but man! What an attitude!” He paused, then sounded worried. “You got me on speaker?”

  “I know. No, I haven’t.”

  “Good. Anyway, I have a result for you on the ballistics. The two slugs are a match. Stephen Springfellow and Danny Schultz were killed with the same weapon.”

  “Well, whaddaya know. That’s good news. Thanks, Frank.”

  I hung up and sat staring at my desk.

  When Dehan spoke, there was an edge to her voice. “You going to tell me what he said, or is this something else you’re going to keep to yourself?”

  “I am not keeping anything to myself, Carmen. That was Frank…”

  “I know. I saw his name on the screen. What did he want? Or is it private?”

  “No! It’s not private. He had the ballistics results. They are a match. Stephen and Danny Schultz were killed with the same weapon.”

  She waited. I thought. The pieces were fitting together, but the way they were fitting together didn’t make a lot of sense. Dehan spread her hands. She was beginning to look mad.

  “So do the ballistics results confirm your theory or not?”

  “Yes!”

  “Goddamn it, Stone! What is with you? Do I have to get on my fucking knees and beg?”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I was thinking.” I sighed. “The reason Peter came to New York was to deliver the gun.”

  “What?”

  “He came to deliver the .38.”

  “How does that make any sense, Stone?”

  “I don’t know yet. But so far, how does any of it make any sense? For Peter to be our killer, we need to ignore too many unexplained threads.”

  “With all due respect, Stone, I think you are ignoring the obvious threads.”

  “You don’t need to respect me, Dehan. Just respect the facts. The fact is Alfonso told us he was there at the killing. Peter wasn’t. But the victims were killed with Peter’s gun. The conclusion is inescapable. Somebody else used Peter’s gun. So why did Peter come to New York exactly when he did, during those dates?” I shrugged, shook my head. “If Peter killed Stephen, then did he also dress up as a southern belle, pick up Danny Schultz at Pepe’s place, and shoot him in the yard next door?”

  She sighed loudly. She looked pissed. “You’re saying he came all the way from Frisco to deliver his gun to Tammy, so she could kill the man she was crazy about…? Why? Why would he do that? Why would she do that?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question.”

  Her face flushed. “And you’re going to answer it by talking to an antiques dealer on Madison Avenue?”

  I watched her a moment, aware that we had lost our rapport for some reason and not sure why, or how to get it back. The damn heat wasn’t helping.
r />   “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “You going to keep tailing her?”

  “For now, yeah.”

  “You going to do it alone?”

  I frowned. “No. But when I talk to her, for now, I’ll do it alone.”

  “Right.” She sighed again. She was beginning to look really mad. “Maybe I should go back to Frisco and talk to Peter. I could ask the local PD to bring him in for questioning.” I nodded but didn’t answer. She pointed at me with her pen. “You better be thinking with your brain, Stone, and not with your fucking dick. Because if you’re not, I am going to hit you so hard your head is going to be spinning for a week! You’re going to have corkscrew fucking neck syndrome.”

  I attempted a smile. She didn’t respond.

  “I hear you, Dehan.”

  “Don’t fucking patronize me.”

  I sighed. “Okay, you’re mad at me, and I am not sure why. Here is what we do. We have enough with his trip to New York and ballistics to request that he be taken in and transferred to New York for questioning. Whether he came to kill Stephen or to deliver the gun, we still need to talk to him as a material witness. Will that satisfy you?”

  She nodded. “At least now it sounds like you’re thinking with your brain. What’s she like, anyway?”

  I made a “you got this all wrong” face. “You are letting your imagination run away with you, Dehan.”

  “Hey! It makes no odds to me, Stone. It would do you good to get laid. I just don’t want this dame fogging your thinking.”

  “Fogging my thinking? I spoke to her for five minutes.”

  “It takes a person six seconds to decide they want to get in another person’s pants. I read that somewhere.”

  “Well, I don’t want to get in her pants. I just want to know why Baxter is interested in her, and I will find that out tomorrow. End of story. Are we cool?”

  She curled her lip and grunted. That was the best I was going to get.

  “Come on, let’s go talk to the captain.”

  Sixteen

  That afternoon, we took care of the paperwork and the formalities and made the arrangements for Peter Gunthersen to be taken into custody as a material witness and transferred to the 43rd Precinct. San Mateo PD told us they would be in touch as soon as they had made the arrangements.

  In the evening, I dropped Dehan at her apartment and told her I wouldn’t pick her up in the morning. I was going to go straight to Madison Avenue. She said, “Sure,” slammed the door, and was gone.

  Next morning, I got up late, breakfasted toast and coffee, showered, and slapped on my most expensive aftershave. Then, I selected my most expensive suit. It wasn’t really expensive, but it was better than what I wore to work every day. At ten o’clock, I set off at a leisurely pace for Madison Avenue.

  I parked across the road and strolled in at half past ten. She smiled and looked pleased to see me. “Mr. Stone…”

  “John. Hello, Emma.”

  “Did you make up your mind about the table?”

  I went and stood really close to her. She didn’t step back. I said, “Did you?”

  She gave a small laugh and looked at the buttons on my shirt. “What do you want, Mr… John?”

  I sighed and went to look at the Queen Anne table. It was exquisite. It probably cost more than my car. “I’m looking for something special.”

  “Can you be a little more precise?”

  “Not really. I’ll know it when I see it.” I turned to face her. “But I am pretty sure that you are the person to find it for me.”

  She was thoughtful for a moment. “What gives you that idea?”

  I shrugged. “Well, Emma, you’re pretty special yourself.” She smiled, but there was a certain caution in her eyes. “Also…” I ran my fingers over the high polish on the tabletop. I was going to take a risk, and I was only 90 percent sure of what I was doing. “I have searched high and low, far and wide…” I turned to look her in the eye so there would be no mistake. “I have been as far as San Francisco, searching… and something tells me I have finally found the right person.”

  She was shaken. She went pale, but she hid it well. “Who do you work for, John?”

  I planted a smile on the left side of my face; that’s where it looks most rueful. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Really? Then tell me so that I can think of you as a liar.”

  “I’m a cop.”

  She frowned. For a fraction of a second, I could see her reviewing everything I had said and done since the day before.

  Then, I added, “But I work for myself.”

  She cooled noticeably. “Mr. Stone, I don’t know what you think you are onto, or what you think you are doing, but you have obviously made a mistake.”

  I switched my smile to the other side of my face, which is where it looks ironic.

  “Really? Now I’m the one who’s thinking of you as a liar.”

  “Mr. Stone…”

  “John.”

  “I really don’t need to stand here and be insulted.”

  “You can sit if you like. Why don’t you tell me about Baxter?”

  Her face went rigid. “Who?”

  “You heard me, Emma. Karl Baxter, private investigator. He was in here yesterday just before I came in. He gave you a card and left. You went to see him at lunchtime.”

  Her cheeks colored and her eyes were bright. “Have you been spying on me?”

  “What if I have?”

  “Why, I should…!”

  “Call the cops? I am the cops, remember?” I pulled out my badge and showed it to her. As she stared at it, I said, “But I’m a bad cop.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I told you, something special.”

  “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her and considered her for a long while. Finally, I said, “You want to explain to me what it is exactly that I have on you that I could use for blackmail?”

  “Stop playing games with me.”

  “You have no idea how much I know, Emma, do you?” I waited, and she just kept staring, with flushed cheeks and eyes bright with threatened tears. And I kept thinking I had never seen a woman quite so beautiful. “I know about Tammy.” I studied her face for a reaction. “I know about Peter and Steve, and about Danny. And I know about Hugh. I know everything.”

  “You can’t…”

  “I can’t what? I told you, I’m a cop. Digging up shit is what I do for a living.”

  “All right, you have my attention! So why don’t you tell me for once and for all what it is you want?”

  I walked back to her and stood really close so we were touching. I felt her tremble and took hold of her arms, pressing her closer. “I want in. I want to be a part of it.”

  Her voice was a harsh whisper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

  I took out one of my cards and slipped it into the low-cut neckline of her dress. I heard her breath shudder and smiled at her.

  “I can help you, baby. That schmuck of a husband of yours ain’t going to cut it. You need me, and you know it. You knew it the minute I walked through that door.”

  She shook her head. “No…”

  “Think about it. Call me tonight.”

  I walked out and crossed the road. As I climbed in my car, I could see her staring through the glass at me.

  When I got back to the station, Dehan was at the desk writing up her notes on the case. She glanced at me as I sat down, and carried on writing.

  “San Mateo PD called. They pulled Peter in last night. They’ll be here by five.”

  “Good.”

  She continued writing. “You got something to report, or is it private?”

  “No, it’s not private, Dehan. Will you stop saying that already? I just don’t know what it is.”

  She gave half a nod. She wrote in silence for a bit. After a while, she said, “Well, if you ever find out what it is, or decide you’d
like to work with a partner, you let me know.”

  “Dehan, what is eating you?”

  She threw down her pen hard enough to make it bounce. “What is eating me? Seriously? You open up a whole new angle on this investigation. You completely exclude me from it. And all you have to tell me is that you don’t know ‘what it is.’ Well, from where I am sitting, it looks like it’s enough to have you most of yesterday afternoon on a stakeout. And it’s enough to have you all this morning doing whatever you’ve been doing in your best suit and your most expensive aftershave. But it’s not enough for you to tell your partner about. It’s enough for you—” She poked her finger at me. “To conduct your own private investigation, but it’s not enough for you to keep me in the loop about it.”

  “I’m sorry, Dehan.”

  She spread her hands. “So, what is this angle on the investigation that is enough to keep you so busy, but is not enough for me to be kept informed about it?”

  “You’re right. I should have kept you in the loop. But it’s hard to explain.” She raised an eyebrow at me. I tried to ignore her and pressed on. “It’s just a hunch. Well, it’s a bit more than a hunch now.”

  “So, what is it?”

  “I told you Baxter went to see this woman, then she went to see him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So I went in to talk to her. She’s young, attractive, and she’s married to the owner of the antiques shop, who is almost three times her age and one of the best-known experts in antiques in New York.”

  “So?”

  “Give me a break, Dehan, I’m explaining. So I went in this morning and made a play.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You made a play? What does that mean?”

  “It means I came on to her, but I played the bent cop, told her I knew what she was about. I knew about Peter, Tammy, Steve, and Ernesto, and also about Hugh. I didn’t use any of their surnames, just their first names. She knew what I was talking about.”

  She frowned. “How do you know?”

  I gave a small shrug. “She was cagey, but she didn’t look at me as though I was crazy. She asked me if I was blackmailing her, and what I wanted.”

  “What did you tell her?”