by Alexi Venice
A few minutes later, they pulled up to the gatehouse of the Montiago estate. Frank showed the security guard his badge and confirmed that Mrs. Montiago was expecting them. He drove slowly down the long, tree-lined drive. The smell of money floated, plashless, through the car’s vents.
“Park over there,” Tommy said, pointing to a multi-car garage located kitty-corner to the Montiago mansion.
Frank came to a stop in front of the extra garage. To Tommy’s delight, one of the garage doors was open. As they exited the car, he said, “Hang on. I want to take a few photos of the cars in here before we talk to Kara.”
Frank and Amanda followed Tommy into the garage where four old cars were parked. Amanda recognized the make of a vintage avocado-green Mustang that was nearest them. Tommy walked around the entire car, snapping pics with his iPhone. Next, he moved to a red corvette, then a yellow Lincoln Continental, and finally, a gold Cadillac coupe convertible. Someone got stuck in the 1960s, she thought.
“Nice collection,” Frank said.
“Not bad. Represents the Big Three auto manufacturers,” Tommy replied.
“I don’t see the Chrysler,” Frank said.
“Weren’t the Big Three Ford, GM and Chevy?” Tommy asked.
“Nope. Ford, GM and Chrysler,” Frank said.
Oh my God. This is really fascinating, but can we move inside to interview Kara? Amanda thought.
“Oh yeah. You’re right,” Tommy said. Once they had that settled, he took the lead toward the door, and they all walked across the circular drive to the mansion’s front door. Tommy rang the bell.
Chapter 27
A young man bearing a striking resemblance to Carlos Montiago opened the door. “Are you the police?”
Tommy removed his bifold and held it to the young man’s face.
The adolescent blinked several times while comparing the photo to Tommy’s face. “Please, come in.”
Once they crossed the threshold, Tommy asked, “And you are?”
“I’m Carlos Montiago, Junior.” The lanky, young man tossed back his cap of long, brown curls, highlighted by the California sun.
Tommy extended his hand. “Nice to meet you. These are my colleagues, Officer Frank Degrugilliers and DA Amanda Hawthorne.”
Carlos, Jr. was the same young man Amanda had seen in the family photo in Kara’s office. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m sorry about your father.”
“Thanks. It’s been really hard on mom. I hope you can help.”
“Of course,” Tommy said, not giving away anything because he didn’t know how much Kara had shared with Junior.
“Mom’s in the solarium. Follow me.” Junior led them to the back of the house.
As advertised, they found her at a table in a spacious, sunny room overlooking a terraced garden. She stood when they entered.
“Mom, the police are here,” Carlos said.
“Thanks, honey. I can handle it from here. You go ahead.” She motioned with her hand toward the door.
“Sure you don’t want me to stay?” he asked.
“No. I spoke to them yesterday, didn’t I, Detective Vietti?”
“Yes, and you were very helpful,” Tommy said, playing along with the charade of innocence she was obviously carrying on for Junior’s benefit.
Kara followed Junior to the door and closed it behind him. She turned to Tommy. “What can I do for you today, Detective?”
“We’re sorry for intruding during this difficult time—your husband in the hospital and all—but we’re wondering if you can help us with a few details.”
“Please, sit.” She motioned to a grouping of chairs and a loveseat. They all found a suitable spot and waited for Tommy to make his request.
“First, how is Mr. Montiago?”
She sighed. “Who knows? He doesn’t want to see me, and he won’t allow the staff to release any information.”
“I’m sorry,” Tommy said.
“Thank you. The longer he’s in there, the more suspicious the public will become. I’m sure my polling numbers will tank.”
Such a caring wife, Amanda thought. It’s all about the presidential campaign at this point.
“We’re here to continue our discussion about Jared Carlisle’s murder,” Tommy said, switching gears. “We’ve been busy confirming your alibi, but we need a few more pieces of information to button it up.”
“What might those be?” she asked.
“Do you and Mr. Montiago have a cell phone account?”
“Yes.”
“Would you authorize us to contact your carrier, so we can get a printout of your activity?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“What on earth for? How could my telephone record be relevant to someone framing me?”
How could it not? Amanda thought.
Tommy stared at Kara for a second, willing her to retract her stupid question. When she didn’t, he said, “Again, you’re a suspect until proven otherwise. Phone records indicate who you’ve been talking to. We can get a search warrant, but that will involve filing a document with the court. As soon as we file, this investigation will go public. If you want your polling numbers to tank, that will do it. It’s your call.”
No pun intended, Amanda thought.
Kara stared at Tommy while she thought about it, worry lines forming at the edges of her thin lips. Just when Kara thought her campaign was poised to take off, she was faced with a murder investigation and her husband’s hospitalization. She probably thought her campaign was still salvageable, but Amanda wasn’t so sure. The smart play would be to cooperate with Tommy.
“There are a lot of calls I’ve made to certain numbers that I don’t want made public,” Kara said.
Tommy nodded. Since he didn’t know what might be revealed in their investigation, he couldn’t make any promises to keep her phone calls confidential. To the contrary, if they charged and prosecuted her for murder, or an accomplice to murder, any or all of the phone calls might be relevant and would most certainly become public during a trial.
In contrast to Kara’s initially cool demeanor during her first interview, her left leg was now nervously bouncing up and down, her heel coming off the floor in a rapid tapping motion. She looked like she was poised to sprint the 100-meter dash, a new manifestation of her growing discomfort.
“I’m only interested in phone calls that are relevant to the murder of Jared Carlisle,” Tommy said.
“Not making any promises, I see.” Kara glanced in Amanda’s direction.
“I’m not in the habit of making promises to suspects, Mrs. Montiago,” Tommy said.
She did a small doubletake, throwing her blonde-colored hair back to remove a strand from her eyes. Amanda suspected Kara wanted to tell Tommy to go to hell, but she also wanted to keep this mess out of the media. “Fine. You can access our phone records. Do I need to sign something?”
“Yes. This.” Amanda removed a paper from her attaché case and placed it before Kara. The fact that Amanda had an Authorization and Release with her reminded Kara—to the extent she had forgotten—that she was facing not just an inquisitive detective, but also a cunning District Attorney who was working in concert with him.
Kara barely glanced at the legal document before she signed and handed it back to Amanda. “Will that be all?”
“No. Not quite,” Tommy said.
Whatever was holding her together, Tommy was unpeeling, layer by layer. “I’ll need the rest of your computers and other electronic devices.”
Kara hooted in disbelief.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. My life would grind to a halt without my devices.”
“We can return your phone to you by the end-of-business tomorrow,” he said.
“With all due respect, you’re out of your fucking mind, Detective.”
“That may be true, but not in this instance,” Amanda said. “I’ve already prepared a search warrant fo
r them.” She removed it from her case and handed it to Kara. “I haven’t filed this with the court yet. I wanted to give you the opportunity to see it before I do. If you cooperate, there’s no need for me to file it.” While even, Amanda’s tone left no doubt that the mighty arm of justice was flexing its muscle.
“Does Ryan know about this?” Kara asked, looking from Tommy to Amanda.
Those two are close, Amanda thought. We need to find out why.
“We’re authorized to conduct our investigation as we see fit,” Tommy said in a controlled voice, but Amanda could hear the saber rattling behind it. Kara’s question had poked at a festering wound that went back to childhood for Tommy—that Ryan was the older, wiser, more responsible cousin, and now his boss. If Tommy had been inclined to cut Kara any slack, her careless remark washed away any leniency.
Amanda could tell Kara wanted to call Ryan in the worst way, but something held her back. Amanda had half a mind to text Ryan not to take Kara’s call if she did reach out, but that might backfire. There was something between them that Amanda didn’t understand. In short, she didn’t know how powerful their bond was.
“This is standard operating procedure for us, Mrs. Montiago. We’ll return your devices as soon as we can,” Tommy said.
“I’m going to ride your ass until you do.” She leveled her finger at Tommy while she spoke. “The confidential nature of my business dealings and political campaign can’t be overstated.”
Tommy kept his game face and didn’t reply.
“We understand,” Amanda said, diverting Kara’s attention. “I’d suggest you buy a burner phone for the temporary break in service. If you want to take a few minutes and text some key people that you’re not going to have your phone for 24 hours, go ahead.”
Kara just stared at her. “I won’t even be able to transfer over the contacts if you take my phone today.”
“Just write down a few numbers,” Tommy suggested.
She scowled at him, the inconvenience of it all so offensive.
“Before you get entrenched in texting,” Tommy said, “Can you round up all of your devices for me?”
“One minute, I have to text Sam to buy a burner phone and bring it over here right away,” Kara said, ignoring him as her thumbs flew over the screen.
Tommy waited while Kara sent a few more texts. When her face came up, he asked, “Ready to round up your devices now?”
“I suppose.” She patted the laptop on the table next to her, exasperated with his mounting requests. “This laptop is from work, so I won’t be giving it to you.”
“Just as we took your hard drive at the office, we’ll need that laptop,” Tommy replied.
Her face changed from a scowl to pure resentment.
Tommy forged ahead. “What else do you have? iPads? More laptops?”
“My God, this is becoming real,” Kara said.
Uh, yeah. If you didn’t realize that before, you’re living in a dream world, Amanda thought.
“I’d like to accompany you as you walk around the house looking for devices,” Tommy said.
“You’re intruding on my personal space, Detective,” Kara said, not making a move to stand up.
“That’s my job,” Tommy said, shrugging.
The door to the solarium suddenly opened, causing a small rush of air. A beautiful, young teenager entered. She had Kara’s jawline and nose, but her hair was auburn, and her eyes were blue. Amanda immediately recognized her as the girl from the family photo in Kara’s office. “Hey mom, excuse the interruption. I’m taking the car over to Brittany’s.”
“Everyone, this is my daughter, Lindsay,” Kara said, defaulting to flawless manners.
They all stood and introduced themselves. When Amanda shook Lindsay’s hand and looked into her eyes, there was something familiar about her—as if she had an old soul. Amanda tried to dismiss the thought, but Lindsay’s eyes snagged a barb in Amanda’s memory.
“How long will you be at Brittany’s?” Kara asked her daughter.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s a school night. I’d appreciate it if you were home for dinner,” Kara said.
Lindsay sighed as only teenage girls can when their parents intruded on their plans. “Can Brittany come to dinner then?”
“Of course. Just text me—” Kara caught herself. “Call our home phone when you leave Brittany’s house.”
“Why?” Lindsay asked.
“Because I won’t have my cell phone on me.”
“Okay—” Lindsay agreed, but her tone was suspicious.
Kara smiled reassuringly. “Have a good time, dear. Make smart choices.”
Another sigh, but this time the girl’s instinct told her something wasn’t right. “Of course. You too.”
Kara’s face was a mask, not revealing anything to her intelligent daughter, or to the rest of them, for that matter. “Always.”
“Bye.” Instead of turning toward the door, Lindsay rushed forward and planted a kiss on her mother’s cheek.
“Thank you,” Kara said, her body bouncing backward from the force of Lindsay’s gesture. Kara must not have received kisses often from her teenager, because she looked more surprised than pleased.
Lindsay allowed the momentum to carry her from the room, leaving the adults standing in her energetic wake.
“Well, device roundup?” Tommy asked Kara.
She reluctantly turned to face him, some of her fight apparently having left with Lindsay. “If you say so. Come along.”
They followed Kara throughout the mansion, touring from the kitchen to a study, through a TV room, and finally to the master bedroom. Kara pointed to devices and Tommy and Frank collected them. When they were finished, they had two cell phones, three iPads, and two laptops.
“Is there a desktop computer with a hard drive anywhere?” Tommy asked.
“Are you kidding me?” Kara hissed, as if he had accused her of being a technological dimwit. “That’s the dark ages. What would we do with that?”
“Just checking,” he said.
Kara was at the end of her rope with Tommy’s intrusion. Amanda wasn’t surprised. She had witnessed Tommy’s effect on witnesses before. He intentionally wore them down until the truth revealed itself, or they acted out in desperation, or both.
Not surprisingly, Kara swiftly led them from the upper level, down the modern staircase, to the front door. “I believe that’s all.”
“I agree that’s all for now. If something else pops up, we’ll be in touch,” Tommy said.
“How?” she asked, the sarcasm heavy.
“You make a good point. Here’s my business card with my cell phone number on it. Why don’t you text me as soon as you get your burner phone, and we’ll keep in touch that way,” Tommy suggested.
“As soon as Sam arrives, you’ll be the first person I text,” Kara said sarcastically. “Which reminds me, do you need my passcode for my iPhone?”
“It will make the process quicker.”
“If it means getting my phone back sooner, it’s worth it. The passcode is ‘fuapple.’”
“Does that mean what I think it means?” Tommy asked.
“Yeah. I was angry at Apple over a deal. It’s only temporary. I change it quite often.”
“Good plan,” Tommy said. “Thanks for your time today.”
“My pleasure.” Kara swung the door wide, giving them the freedom to leave.
“One more question,” Tommy said, pointing his finger in the air and inclining his head.
She paused, not bothering with the pretense of politeness.
“Do you ever drive the older cars we noticed in the garage across the driveway?”
She closed her eyelids and re-opened them dramatically as if she were explaining something to a child for the hundredth time. “They’re Carlos’s cars, but I might take one for a spin once in a while. After all, I paid for them.”
Tommy gave her a pleasant, conversational look. “Really? Which one is your fav
orite?”
“The old Mustang. Reminds me of my youth,” she said.
“Me, too. Good taste.”
“Have a good day, Detective.” She nodded to the group and closed the door.
Once Tommy, Frank and Amanda were in the Jag, Tommy said, “Part of me feels sorry for Kara, but instinct tells me she’s covering up something. She might not be guilty of murder, but she’s deceptive as hell. Do you feel that, too?”
“Yes,” Frank and Amanda said in unison.
“I intuited her involvement the first time we met with her. I could tell by her strategic answers that she was hiding something,” Amanda said. “But she’s too weak to have killed Carlisle herself.”
“Too weak?” Tommy asked, turning sideways from the front seat, so he could see her.
“Yeah. Your typical iron skillet weighs about eight pounds, and it’s not like picking up a dumbbell, which is balanced equally on both ends. Jen has an iron skillet, and I was testing it out yesterday. We weighed it on her bathroom scale. 8.2 pounds. When you pick up a skillet by the handle, all the weight is in the pan,” she said, demonstrating, “so to wield it high enough to whack Carlisle in the head, the killer would need wrist and forearm strength. Jen could do it because she’s strong, but, honestly, I don’t think I could, especially in a small kitchen like Carlisle’s.”
Tommy raised his eyebrows.
“I was checking out Kara’s wrists and forearms today. Tiny, tiny, tiny. I just can’t picture her holding a skillet over her head and swinging it with enough force to kill Carlisle.”
“That hadn’t crossed my mind. I just assumed the skillet is as easy to pick up for everyone else as it is for me. You obviously gave this some thought.”
“That’s what I do in the middle of the night—smoke on the balcony and think about murder weapons.”
“Stop the smoking,” Frank said from the front seat.
“I’m going to, Frank. I got a speech from Jen this weekend.”
“She’s a smart woman,” Frank said. “You should listen to her.”
“No argument there, but returning to the topic at hand, you’ve ruled out Kara?” Tommy asked.