Izzy’s face showed considerable distress as she led him through the home and out the back door, guiding him to a pretty oasis of flowers and greenery. Jimmy glanced around, thinking it would be a lovely place to idle away some time, but then brought his attention back to the two distraught women. Their anxiety level was over the top. He didn’t need two hysterical women on his hands.
“Now, go over it again,” he prompted, having listened skeptically to Izzy’s assertion over the phone, he wanted to hear it face to face. “What makes you think Paul is connected to the Bathtub Girls’ murders?” He couldn’t understand why they would think such a thing. Paul was the lead detective in the case. In fact, he was the one who had found the evidence, the souvenirs Grant had hidden in his bedroom. The man was a good detective. Jimmy, himself, remembered recommending him for the position. No, they were simply wrong in jumping to such a conclusion. So why was his antennae twitching?
But Paul did resemble the police sketch. This thought hadn’t left Jimmy’s head since hearing her first words on the phone, no matter how foolish it was. It had actually plagued him all week, ever since first seeing the drawing, and the women’s’ panic certainly wasn’t helping in that regard. He glanced across the wrought-iron garden table toward both women, watching as Izzy poured his cup of coffee.
“Tell me why you suspect Paul,” he said, directing his words at Daisy.
“Because it was him,” she said, a catch in her voice. She was obviously terrorized and struggling to remain calm. Jimmy suspected that if she’d known earlier that Paul lived here with Izzy, she wouldn’t have came anywhere near here. It was still odd that Izzy hadn’t told her.
“He’s the man that attacked me. I thought there was something familiar about him, but I didn’t get a good look at Janet’s memorial. Mostly I saw his back. It was just an impression; that’s all. And I didn’t know for sure until I saw his photo in Abby’s living room. Then I knew.” She shuddered and closed her eyes. When she reopened them she added in a hoarse voice, “He tried to strangle me!”
“Why didn’t you contact the police?” Jimmy asked, although he felt he knew the answer.
“And what? Tell them that one of their star detectives is a murderer?” Daisy’s lip quivered. “You think they’d believe me over him? Yeah, right.”
“What do you want me to do?” Jimmy asked, wondering what he should, or could, do. If he believed her, and the verdict was still out, this was one sticky wicket. She was a rich debutante, which wouldn’t give her any pull. Most cops considered her wealth and power a pain in the butt, something difficult to work around. Izzy was the original suspect’s wife, and it would be assumed she would do her best to steer the investigation elsewhere, anywhere away from her husband. And then there was him. A private dick going through a divorce, broke, not thought well enough of to get his old job back, and whose last case, predictably – specifically to add to his embarrassment – had been a husband suspected of having an affair. So crude and stereotypical. And let’s not forget trite. Thinking of the headlines and the fun the papers would have with it, he could almost feel a poof of air as his ego deflated. And things had been going so well.
They wouldn’t stand a chance.
“You’re the only one we could think to call,” Izzy said again, reminding him that she and Daisy were between a rock and a hard place. Seeing the fear on her face and this time clearly understanding the words she’d repeated made him realize that the women were desperate. Both were in extreme danger. If Paul were the killer, they would be at the top of his list. And if he found out Jimmy knew, then Jimmy would be right there with them. Stickier. And stickier. What a mess!
“Okay,” Jimmy said after a sip of coffee that was remarkably good considering the circumstances. (He’d have to ask Izzy which brand she used.) “Start at the beginning and tell me what happened.”
Daisy finished her cup and Izzy refilled it before she began her story, and then she spoke hesitantly, with lengthy pauses between words. Her face was an open book showing a history of terror and the shame she’d experienced during that time. And the hell her life had become afterwards. Jimmy didn’t interrupt, knowing how difficult it was for her.
“It was just a game… a stupid, stupid game…
“I prostituted myself, at first to prove a point to a boyfriend, and then, later, just because I could… If my father ever finds out, it will kill him.
“That night, the guy seemed nice. He was good-looking and clean. Believe me, being clean is refreshing. And good-looking too? It was like he came down from heaven. But he hadn’t. I found that out real quick.
“He was helping me undress and I remember actually enjoying it, and then I turned to face him and the look in his eyes… I wanted to scream! But his hands were on my neck and I couldn’t… I couldn’t breathe…” She shuddered and then continued. “We fell onto the bed; I was on my back with him still choking me. Then I bucked, a movement I’d learned in judo class, and kneed him in the groin. He lay there moaning and I grabbed my gun out of my purse and pointed it at his head. I’m surprised I didn’t kill him. Afterwards, I wasn’t sure I hadn’t. I was out of it for a couple hours; not sure what I’d done…
“Of course if I had, I wouldn’t be here now, would I?” She laughed a little, the first attempt at humor he’d heard since arriving, breaking the tension everyone clustered around the little parlor table felt. With her confession over, they each took a deep breath; glad it was out of the way.
“All right… You’re absolutely sure it was him?” Jimmy asked, hoping she admitted she wasn’t positive. He didn’t have a clue what to do next, only knew there would be months of delicate, careful investigation. And how would he do that without Paul becoming suspicious? Did they even have months before the detective went after Daisy? And what about Izzy, or him? Paul was smart. He would soon realize they knew. He would be after them then. That is, if he wasn’t already.
“It’s him,” Daisy said so quietly he almost didn’t hear her. And then she added more loudly, “He’s the asshole that tried to kill me.”
“What are we going to do, Jimmy?” Izzy asked, turning her lovely green eyes toward him. She’d remained quiet throughout Daisy’s discourse; he had almost forgotten she was there. He saw trust and confidence that he would know what to do displayed on her face and wondered how she could be so sure he would handle it, when he wasn’t.
“Let’s go over what we know and maybe we’ll have an idea how to proceed.”
“You mean, how we can convince someone else?” Izzy asked, stating the fear that was uppermost in his mind. She had a way of knowing what he was thinking that could be unsettling.
“Yeah, that too.” He smiled at her before turning to Daisy and saying. “Okay, let’s talk about the police sketch. Daisy, had you ever met Paul before?”
“You mean as a cop? Like he gave me a ticket for speeding or some crap like that?”
“Yeah, something like that. Did you ever see him in uniform? Or during the Hilton girl’s investigation? In an official capacity, some way or other?”
“No, never. I’d never met the man until that night,” she stressed each word.
“They’ll ask you,” he said, trying to make her understand. “They’ll say that you’d met him earlier and he’d made an impression; strong enough that you remembered him and that it colored your ‘recollection’ of your attacker.”
“I never met the man before in my life. Once was enough.” Daisy was agitated, her anxiety rising perceptively.
“Relax,” Jimmy soothed. “I believe you. But I don’t know if anyone else will. I need to find out every little bit of info you have, even if you don’t think it’s important. Every tiny piece of a puzzle is needed for a finished picture.” He turned to Izzy, allowing Daisy time to think.
“Now, Izzy,” he said to the other woman. Daisy’s expression turned quizzical at the name
he’d called her friend, but Jimmy didn’t notice.
“The souvenirs that were found in your home?” he asked. “Where were they located? And had you ever seen them before?”
“Paul said he found them in the bedroom in Grant’s jewelry box. But I don’t think he did. I had never seen them before that day. He showed them to Eleanor and me before telling us the hair clip and thong were evidence that Grant had done two prostitute murders. Eleanor and I both think he planted them; I’m positive they weren’t there the week before.”
The smell of roses suddenly filled the air. Sweetly pungent, the aroma was overpowering and Jimmy had trouble catching his breath. At that moment, the screen door at the back of the house squeaked and he and both women turned to see who was joining them.
Chapter 40
A Glock 40 fitted with a professional silencer seized Jimmy’s undivided attention as it led the way for a man exiting the house. What was terrifyingly riveting was that it was pointed directly at him. When Jimmy finally tore his eyes from the large black hole that was so prominent at the end of the muzzle, his eyes traveled the route up from the hand holding it, along the arm, and then to the shoulder, only to discover the face at the top sneering at him was Paul’s. His heart sank; the man had heard everything.
“Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” Paul snarled. “I would have just gotten rid of that stupid bitch,” he waved the gun briefly at Daisy, then back at Jimmy. He grinned an odd smile. “And we’d have had such fun in the process.”
In her seat across the table from Jimmy, Daisy shuddered. Her eyes were huge, set in a white face, the pupils deep and black. She was frozen as she relived a past fear, a terror that kept her awake nights, one that lost her to another world. That terror that had come to claim her.
“But now, since you stuck your damn nose in, I’ve got to kill all three of you.” Grant’s eyes strayed to Izzy, who sat calmly, almost defiantly, beside Daisy. He saw her extend a hand, placing it on top of her friend’s, although her eyes never left his. Her calm expression was disconcerting. She didn’t seem afraid, even though he’d just stated she would be killed. She was either brave or foolish; he wasn’t sure which. But she was certainly lovely, with those green eyes focused on him and that auburn hair. And that was a shame. He’d loved her; it was a tragedy he had to kill her.
He turned back to Jimmy as the smell of what seemed like hundreds of roses filled the air. Paul glanced quickly at the rose bed growing by the garden shed, not thinking about the fact that it would be months before there would be blooms. Soft green leaves had only recently joined the new growth of red and purple that curled there. Thorns sprouted from the sturdy stems, where dewdrops hung refracting light in rainbow hues, suspended from the sharp pointed tips. The rose garden would do well this year.
Paul pointed the Glock again at Jimmy, his face cold and void of emotion. Jimmy was horrified, not knowing how Paul could be so detached, as if killing him would mean nothing. He’d thought they’d once been friends. It was obvious what the man intended and there was nothing Jimmy could do about it. Although the garden was a pretty, peaceful place, this was not where he wanted to die.
The gate in the six-foot redwood fence behind him unexpectedly crashed open. Force and momentum caused it to continue along its path and slam into the side, wobbling the entire eight-foot section. A small, elderly woman burst through, the feather in her hat jerking in agitation as it led the way.
“Abby, Izzy!” she yelled. “There are men --!”
Her words abruptly ceased and her hands flew up in a futile attempt to ward off the shot. Paul, startled with her abrupt intrusion, fired. Because of the silencer, the sound that ensued was more of a whoof instead of the loud bang expected.
“No!” Jimmy yelled as the old woman went down, jumping to his feet.
Just as Paul’s reflexes caused him to pull the trigger, the screen door slammed hard into his left shoulder, knocking him unceremoniously to the ground. A brawny ape of a man burst through the door and sprawled on top of his body, followed immediately by what appeared to be his carbon copy. This second man forced the gun from Paul’s hand, while the first one slugged him several times about the head with a fist that Jimmy knew was as solid and unrelenting as steel. If Jimmy hadn’t been so scared and pissed, he might have felt sorry for Paul. But he was, so, at that moment, concern for the other man was the furthest thing from his mind.
Izzy pushed him out of the way as he went to help the old woman. She was already at her side, helping her to a sitting position. The elderly woman seemed okay and appeared to be in good hands, so he gave his full attention to the rescuers.
“Alphonso! Am I ever glad to see you!” Jimmy said to Thug One, clapping him on the shoulder. “You too, Ricardo.” He called Thug Two by his given name, much to both his and the thug’s surprise. He didn’t remember ever referring to him before in that way. Ricardo looked up from where he sat grinning, straddling Paul. He’d put the detective’s own cuffs on him and occasionally, with a wicked, juvenile enthusiasm, bounced up and down, kneeing the prone man. Ricardo’s face showed pure delight whenever Paul moaned.
“Damn!” an irritated voice exclaimed. “He put a hole in my jacket.”
Jimmy turned and looked back at the injured woman sitting on the ground. She was child-sized compared to the shrubs sitting pretty behind her in their raised beds. The hedge was just beginning to bloom with dusty lavender flowers that were quietly reserved compared to a connecting border of bright yellow tulips that practically screamed for attention. The old woman sat staring at an elongated tear in the sleeve of her fitted jacket. As Jimmy watched, a dark trickle began seeping from the opening, traveling in a thin stream down the expensive suede material.
“Damn!” she said again, even more frustrated. “It’s ruined now.”
“Eleanor,” exclaimed Izzy. “Don’t move. You’re hit.”
Jimmy hurried to the little woman, cursing himself for not checking her out for injuries sooner. Eleanor wore a puzzled expression, as she looked up into his face.
“Damn,” she said to him, this time more quietly, and then closed her eyes and her body went limp. Jimmy grabbed her just as she began to topple backward into the tulips. Eleanor had fainted.
Alphonso knelt on the mulched trail beside Jimmy, deeply concerned. Seeing the old woman hurt apparently brought out a different side to the man. He didn’t seem to know what to do, as he wrung blocky, scarred hands that Jimmy wouldn’t have trusted to even wipe dust off the old woman. Izzy seemed to be the only one who had the slightest idea of how to handle the situation. She gently slapped Eleanor’s face to rouse her, as the men watched helplessly. Having the old woman shot had shattered their composure.
“What we do now, Jimmee?” Alphonso asked, his voice shaky, his eyes misty.
Jimmy mentally went over the options; there were none. There was no choice.
“We’ll call 9-1-1. This woman needs medical attention,” he said, pulling out his cell phone. There was nothing else they could do, and it had to be done immediately, before she lost more blood.
Alphonso looked at him in horrified disbelief.
Jimmy knew that the brothers didn’t want anything to do with cops, and he understood why. But in this situation, there was really no choice.
“I’ll call Marty Bronson, the chief of police. He’s a friend of mine. It’s okay.”
“No, we leave now,” Alphonso said, struggling to stand, not a simple task with the man’s huge, muscular upper body and short bowed legs. He reached out for a lawn chair.
Jimmy grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “No you don’t. I need you here. You’re a witness that the detective shot at us.”
“Detective?” Alphonso looked over to where his brother contentedly sat, tickling Paul’s ear, pestering and torturing him. Alphonso’s expression changed to panic. “We leave right now.”
&
nbsp; “If you leave, I’ll have an APB out on you so fast it will make your head spin.” Jimmy said, betting on the fact that Alphonso wouldn’t recall that he was in no position to follow up on the threat.
“Why you do that to us, Jimmee?” Alphonso’s facial expression was now anxious and wounded.
“Relax. I guarantee you won’t get in any trouble. Marty is an old friend of mine. I really need you boys’ help.”
Alphonso stared at Jimmy, and then he looked back at his brother who was giggling because Paul had unsuccessfully tried again to throw him off. With his own cuffs hooked behind his back and the solid weight of the sturdy Cuban on top of him, the man was having no luck. He began to curse. It helped Alphonso come to a quick decision.
“Okay, Jimmee, but you remember; and then you do sometheeng for us.”
Wondering what he was getting himself into, Jimmy cautiously agreed. Whatever it was, he had no choice. He needed as many witnesses as he could get.
After calling Chief Martin Bronson, Jimmy participated in several minutes of serious debate before receiving a promise that the chief himself would arrive within the hour. The chief called for a handpicked force, leaving the ambulance call for Jimmy’s end.
Several police cars arrived, top hats blazing, just as the piercing sound of a siren cut through the balmy spring air. Izzy led the ambulance attendants around the side of her home and through the gate to the little patient, who was now sitting up basking in the attentions of Thug One and Thug Two, who she’d made promise to come back and have tea with her. Homemade cookies were a deciding factor, although the brothers appeared to be completely under her spell and Jimmy was sure their personalities didn’t need the sugar. He could only shake his head, amazed. The brothers were exhibiting a completely different side to themselves than what he remembered from the years he’d known them. Who would have thought that they were both mama’s boys?
Blood was seeping through the towel Izzy held to her arm, but Eleanor didn’t pay much attention other than voicing the occasional complaint about her jacket. Jimmy thought it funny that clothes meant so much to her, until he heard her say that her daughters should feel bad that she was wounded, and that they’d better come around more often now. Then he understood. But seeing the way Thug One and Two hung on her every word, he thought whether those wayward daughters took the time out of their busy schedules to see their mother wouldn’t matter. She’d made a conquest of the boys.
A Cincinnati Cold Case Page 25