Dead Certain

by Mariah Stewart

  “Derek’s goblet? Oh, no. Not at all. Marian’s were all Russian antiques. It was a specialty of hers.”

  “Do you know if she had contacted these customers, if she had a sale pending?”

  “I wouldn’t know. And no, I have no idea who her customers were. She did mention something about someone in D.C.—she might have even said a name—but I don’t remember.”

  “So go back. You were going over lists . . .”

  “Yes, I’d gone through several disks of private customers and decided to start going through the list of dealers Derek sometimes had business with, when I thought I’d take a break. I went over to chat with Marian but the shop was locked and she didn’t answer the bell.”

  “You said you have a key. . . .”

  “Yes. She left a spare key with me, just in case.” She licked dry lips with a dry tongue. “Can I get some water?”

  Sean got the attention of someone in uniform, and within minutes a bottle of water appeared. Amanda took long draughts, then leaned back against the bench.

  “I knew when I opened the door that something wasn’t right. Something didn’t smell right. Didn’t feel right.”

  “Try to think. Did you hear anything?”

  “Nothing. That was another thing. Marian always had music in the shop. She had a CD player, played music all day long. But it was so quiet in there this morning. All I could hear were the clocks. She had a good eye for clocks.”

  He reached out and took her carefully by the wrist, raising one of her hands. She looked down slowly, then pulled her hand away, recoiling.

  “Oh, my God. My hands . . . the blood . . .” She stood and started toward her shop. “I have to wash my hands. Oh, God, it’s on my shirt. . . .”

  She took off the yellow cardigan and held it in front of her, staring at the bloody smears across the front and the sleeves.

  “You can wash your hands after we swab them for blood type,” Sean told her.

  “I can tell you whose blood it is.” She looked at him as if puzzled. “It’s Marian’s. Whose else could it be? I fell over her when I opened the door.”

  “Let’s get it swabbed, and then we’ll know for sure,” he said calmly.

  “You have got to be kidding.” Her voice began to rise with the first touches of hysteria. “You think that I . . . that this is mine . . . I would never . . . How could you even think . . . ?” Indignation rose steadily.

  “This isn’t about what I think. This is about looking for blood other than the victim’s. You’re covered in it, and there are bloody fingerprints, footprints. Let’s find out whose it is.”

  Mercer stood and nodded to the young policewoman who’d been keeping guard at the front of Marian’s shop. “Take Ms. Crosby down to the station. Swab her, get her clothes. Keep her company, and keep her comfortable. I’ll be along in a while.”

  Amanda’s jaw dropped. Did he think she had something to do with Marian’s death?

  He turned his back and walked into Marian’s shop, stopping to speak with one of the county’s crime scene investigators who had just arrived.

  “Ms. Crosby?” The young officer touched her arm gently. “If you’d come with me . . .”

  Numbly, Amanda followed, wondering what horrible nightmare she’d stumbled into, and how she could find her way out before someone else she loved died.

  Vince lay in the dark, balancing the glass ashtray on his abdomen, thinking about Marian and how she’d tried to scream. Not that it would have done her any good. Weak broad like her didn’t have a chance. He shook his head. Why did women let themselves go like that? She didn’t have the strength to fight off a ten-year-old. She really should have been in some exercise program. Gone to the Y, joined a gym. She looked like she could afford to join a gym. Lifting would have been good for her.

  And for me. He smiled in the darkness and flicked the ash from his cigarette.

  He thought about Amanda Crosby. That one would fight. And she didn’t look like the type to scare so easy, either. He wasn’t in a hurry, though. He wasn’t finished playing with her yet.

  He grinned. Shit, he’d only just begun to play with her. He had plans for Miss Crosby. Oh, yes, he surely did. If she wasn’t scared now, she would be. Before it was over, she’d be on her knees begging for mercy.

  Savoring the image, he took one last drag from the cigarette before stubbing it out. He placed the ashtray on the end of the table next to the bed and turned toward the window where a nice breeze was starting to blow in. He was grateful that the heat of summer seemed to have passed. It had been too hot in this little room without air-conditioning, hot enough that he’d had to break down and buy himself a window fan. Well, if he played his cards right, he’d be out of this cheap little room soon enough and into that nice place that Dolores had a couple of blocks down. And he had just the key to that nice little place of hers right over there in that little black velvet box.

  It had been nice of Marian to give him the box for the pretty necklace. He’d heard Dolores say that emerald was her birthstone, and when he’d stopped in Marian’s shop, For Old Time’s Sake, picking out a present for Dolores had not been his goal. But once inside, old Marian had started chatting away and he’d had to express interest in something. The emerald pendant cost way more than he’d ever spent on any present for anyone in his whole entire life, and the fact that he’d even consider giving Dolores something that valuable, well, that just showed what he thought of her, didn’t it?

  “It’s an estate piece,” Marian had told him. “I just picked it up yesterday.”

  She said it like it was supposed to mean something to him. Like she assumed he’d know. Not that he’d actually considered buying it, but still, he watched Marian take it from the glass case in which it had been locked and lay it out on the counter before him like he was some mogul looking at jewels in some fancy jewelry store. It gave him a kick to think that anyone would look at him and think he could afford to buy something like that emerald pendant. So of course, he had to act the part. He picked the pendant up by the chain. Marian had said she’d throw that in for him, if he thought his lady friend might not have one, and he was thinking for what she was asking for the pendant she could throw in a blow job, too, but he didn’t say that.

  He’d flirted with her a little—nothing crude, of course; Marian was a lady, anyone could see that—and mentioned that the recipient would be his sister, not a lady friend. When she offered to set it aside and hold it for him for a few days, he’d pretended to think it over, then said, “You know, I think that’s a good idea. I’ll give it some thought and stop back tomorrow night if I decide to take it. Is eight too late?”

  “I’m sorry, I close at six on weeknights. Perhaps Thursday morning?” Marian had suggested.

  “My sister’s birthday is Friday, and I’m taking her to visit our mother for a few days.”

  “Oh? How thoughtful of you. Won’t your mother be thrilled. Where does she live?”

  “Akron.” It was the first place that came to mind, even though he’d never been there.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll have a lovely visit. And I know she’ll love the pendant. What girl doesn’t love emeralds?”

  “I’m hoping she likes it. She’s had a bad year. She lost her husband. . . .”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Marian’s face had just oozed sympathy. “Look, here’s my card. If you decide you want the pendant, you call me. I’ll open the shop tomorrow night for you.”

  “Why, you’d do that for me?”

  “Of course. Why not?”

  “Well, then, maybe . . . Nah, you wouldn’t want to . . .”

  “Want to what?”

  “Well, I was just thinking . . . not to put you on the spot or anything . . .”

  “What?” She leaned on the counter and smiled.

  “Well, maybe . . . since it might be a little late by the time I get here . . . maybe I could take you out for a bite after we conclude our business.” He lowered his eyes,
thinking it made him look shy, unassuming.

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” And she actually blushed!

  “But I’d like to. Unless, of course, there’s someone . . .”

  “No, no.” The blush deepened.

  “Then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll give you a call either way, let you know what I decide about the pendant, and then we’ll go . . . well, why don’t you decide where we’ll go? Someplace nice.”

  “All right. I’ll do it.” Marian had looked very pleased with herself.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. And if I decide against the pendant . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Maybe you can show me something else that I might like.”

  Vince laughed out loud in the dark room. There was just nothing in the world like a single, middle-aged woman. He could wrap any one of them around his little finger, just like that.

  He figured she’d be waiting all day for his call, so he’d put it off until almost five. Using a phone card, he’d called the shop from his mobile phone and told Marian he’d be there by eight-thirty. She said she’d probably close at the regular time and come back later to meet him.

  And she had. It had been all just as he’d pictured it. She was wearing a simple dress, a knit in a subtle shade of green. She’d looked nice, happily expectant. He’d wished he’d had time to play it out a little more with her, maybe have a few dates, just to see how far he could go with her, but he didn’t want to risk having anything go wrong. For one thing, she’d have time to start talking about him to her friends and family. A woman like that would be talking if she thought she had a live one, and that just wouldn’t do. This way, he was in, he was out, the deed would be done, and no one could connect him to her.

  He patted himself on the back for passing on the gun. He’d really felt little satisfaction plugging the queer. It had been over just like that. Of course, having had experience with a gun in the past, he’d expected that. This last time was different, though. There’d been no burning anger, no blind rage, no real emotion to speak of as he pulled the trigger. It had just been bam! and done. Where was the fun in that? Not much fun at all.

  At least Marian had been a bit more lively. His arms were stretched over his head, and he flexed his hands. The Band-Aid he’d wrapped around his right thumb pulled a little, and he loosened it. He’d somehow cut himself, wasn’t sure how. Maybe they’d ID his blood type as being different from Marian’s, maybe they wouldn’t. Not that it mattered. They’d never be able to connect him, Vinnie Daniels—or Vince Giordano, either—with this. No one had seen him going in or coming out, just like he planned. He’d been smart, all right. It had all gone so smoothly. Just right. Right down to bringing a towel and a clean change of clothes with him, and a brown paper bag to carry away the dirty ones. Somehow, he’d just known he was going to make a mess.

  Oh, yeah, this had been much better than offing someone with one shot to the head.

  Of course, stabbing Marian had been so much harder than shooting Derek. He rubbed his sore right shoulder. He’d had no idea of how much strength—the amount of pressure—it took to stab through to someone’s heart. You really had to push down hard on that knife. One handed, no less, since the left hand was covering her mouth when she started to scream. Somehow after he’d stabbed her, she’d broken away from him, running for the back door. Like she really would have had a chance to get away from him.

  He’d caught up with her in the office, thought about looping his belt around her neck to strangle her from behind, then thought, What the hell, let’s go for broke here, and he’d slit her throat. One nice slick slice and it was over. Sprayed blood like a son of a bitch, though. He was glad he’d thought to bring a change of clothing. She bled out so fast, it had almost been a disappointment to him to have it over so quickly. He had toyed with the idea of cutting off her head, but with his hands so sticky and the handle of the knife so slippery, it was just too much work. Why should he exert himself, when she was already dead, maybe from the chest wound? Why strain himself?

  He wondered idly if perhaps he shouldn’t think of a different, even more exciting means of dispatch for Ms. Crosby. He smiled, contemplating the possibilities, and drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  “Chief, a Detective Crosby has been calling you. Called twice in the past twenty minutes.”

  Officer Dana Burke had slipped into the hallway to make the call to Mercer, who was still at the crime scene. Her boss hadn’t said whether Amanda Crosby was to be treated like a witness or a suspect, but either way, Burke didn’t think Amanda should be privy to the chief’s calls. Even if the caller said he was Amanda’s brother.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said if he didn’t hear from you within the next ten, he’d have the county D.A. up your ass before noon.”

  “Did he leave a number?” Sean stole a look at his watch. He had one minute.

  “Yeah, it’s right here.” She read it off to him. “She called him. I let her. You didn’t say that she couldn’t make any calls, so when she asked, I said okay. I hope that was all right.”

  “It was fine, Dana. Keep her company for a while longer. I’ll be here for another hour or two.”

  “Well, I’ll try. I mean, I’ll keep her here as long as I can, but unless she’s a suspect, if she wants to leave . . .”

  “She’s not a suspect. If she leaves, you leave with her. Just don’t let her out of your sight.”

  “Chief?” Dana stopped him before he could disconnect. “She’s been swabbed and all. Can I take her home and let her shower and all? I’ll bring the clothes back to the station, but it doesn’t seem right to make her sit there, covered in her friend’s blood.”

  Sean cursed softly. “Jesus. I’d forgotten . . . yes, of course. Take her home. Take someone else with you to watch the house while you and she are inside. Help her clean up if she needs it. See if she wants anything to eat. I’ll meet you at the station in about an hour.”

  Shaking his head and embarrassed at his own thoughtlessness, he hung up, then dialed the number she’d given him.

  “Crosby.”

  “Mercer here. I understand you wanted to—”

  “Mercer, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing with my sister, but I want it stopped,” Evan Crosby exploded. “You had damn well better have a good reason to be holding her.”

  “I’m trying to keep her alive.”

  “What?”

  “I said, I’m trying to keep her alive,” Sean repeated calmly. “I’m sure she’s told you about what happened to Marian O’Connor, so you’ve got to be feeling at least as nervous as I am when you start thinking about the fact that both her business partner and her close friend have been murdered within the past two weeks. Right now Amanda’s in the company of two officers, which is where she will remain until we figure out what the hell is going on and if there’s any danger to her.”

  He paused. “Good enough reason, Crosby, or will the D.A. still be looking for a way up my ass by . . . what was it, noon?”

  “I’ll be there in an hour or so. I’m going to want to hear the whole thing.” Evan didn’t bother to say good-bye.

  “Nice talking to you, too, Detective.”

  Sean closed his mobile phone and slid it back into his pocket, then stepped around the tape that ran from Marian’s shop to Amanda’s.

  “You almost done in there?” he asked one of the crime scene techs.

  “Another few minutes, I guess. We’re just finishing up a sketch of the scene, then we should be able to wrap it up.” The tech stood in the doorway and looked back into the shop. “Think this was a robbery gone bad?”

  Sean shook his head. “I’ll be surprised if anything is missing. Oh, maybe he took a little something to remember her by, but most B and E men are pretty careful to make sure there’s no one home before they make their hit. They want to grab and run, quick and clean. No confrontations, no witnesses. Just in and out.
Whoever did this knew exactly what he was about. There’s nothing accidental about this crime scene. I’d say our boy came here expressly to kill his victim.”

  “He? I thought you already took her”—the tech nodded in the direction of Amanda’s shop—“into custody.”

  “Whoever killed Marian O’Connor was tall enough to stand behind her and slash her throat in one clean motion, left to right. Jugular to carotid. The victim was considerably taller than Amanda Crosby. It wouldn’t have been possible.” Sean shook his head, thinking that the killer was also strong enough to have plunged a fairly large knife into the victim’s sternum hard enough that a piece had broken off and remained in the wound, but since the tech had twice come close to losing his breakfast, Sean thought it best not to remind him of the details. “So no, Amanda Crosby is not a suspect. But she is a witness, and right now we’re just trying to keep her out of harm’s way until I can question her a little more thoroughly.”

  “Gotcha.” The tech nodded, took a deep breath, and disappeared back inside, stepping aside to let the medical examiner pass.

  “You done?” Sean asked as the doctor came through the door.

  “Jesus, what a mess.” Bill Westcott stripped off his plastic gloves and tossed them into the bag he held under his arm. “I can’t remember ever seeing a worse crime scene.” He shook his head, his expression grim as he bent over to remove the covers from his shoes and toss them into the bag with the gloves. “Whoever did this was one mean SOB.”

  “Can you estimate how long she’s been dead, or do you need to complete the autopsy to establish that?”

  “I’ll know better after I’ve been able to take a closer look, but I’d say she’s been dead for roughly fourteen, fifteen hours.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I got fixed lividity, I got full body rigor. Corneas are cloudy. I’d say time of death is going to come in between nine and midnight last night.” He nodded as he unwrapped a stick of gum and folded it into his mouth. “If that changes, I’ll let you know, but it won’t change by much.”