“Don’t bother,” Libby told her. “Looks like the detectives are here.” Before she ended the call, she promised to stop by and fill Mimi in when she was permitted to leave.
A tall, dark-haired man, wearing a light, button-down shirt and dark trousers, got out of the driver’s side and a shorter, rounder man with lighter hair exited the passenger side. Dusk’s shadows made it difficult for Libby to estimate their ages. After shaking hands, the two detectives followed Bobby across the front yard and into the house, not giving Libby a second glance.
As Libby watched one officer pull crime scene tape and another talking with the neighbors starting to gather on the sidewalk, the scene from the bedroom kept coming back to her along with a flashback of the life she thought she had left behind.
Before moving to Florida, Libby was an attorney in the prosecutor’s office in Clermont County, Ohio. On an unseasonably warm spring evening, a little more than three years ago, she was the one lying unconscious on the floor of a warehouse with a bullet in her body. She felt the quarter-size scar on her left side just below her ribs.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed that night back behind her, where it belonged, and returned to the present and thoughts of Pilar. With the amount of blood spatter in the room, she wondered if Pilar’s blood was mixed in with the blood of the man lying dead in her bedroom. Who is he? Could he be Pilar’s boyfriend?
She wondered what had happened to Pilar and if she were present when the invaders slit the man’s throat. There’s no way Pilar could have done it. She’s a thin, petite and beautiful, twenty-eight-year-old Cuban-American woman. She’s much too small to have committed this act.
Libby glanced toward the street where the police cruisers’ blue flashing lights cast shadows in an eerie ashen hue on the faces of the neighborhood bystanders.
A few minutes later, Bobby came out of the front door followed by the taller detective. Libby stood and leaned against her Jeep with her arms crossed. Bobby’s white MPD polo shirt looked brighter than normal against his dark skin that seemed to have blended into the dusk. While he was speaking, the detective scribbled in a small spiral notebook. Bobby gestured towards Libby.
The detective looked up from his notes, his eyes moving in the direction of Bobby’s pointing finger. His shirt was a light blue with the cuffs turned up against the warm night. He wore dark trousers, and the fingers of latex gloves were sticking out of his left pants pocket. His badge was attached to the right side of his belt next to his gun. His black hair fell over his forehead to the right, appearing as if he’d missed a few haircuts. Libby estimated his age to be about thirty-five, and with his high cheekbones and the shape of his nose, she thought Native American blood was in his lineage.
“Miss Marshall, I’m Detective Jack Seiler, Sarasota County Sheriff’s Office,” he said, extending his hand. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Hello.” She stood away from the Jeep and shook his hand with professional firmness.
“I understand you discovered the scene,” he began. “How do you know Pilar Montoya?”
“She’s my friend and also our computer rep. I’m part owner of the Mariposa Café, and we recently bought some new equipment and upgraded our wireless internet service.” Libby looked closely at the detective. “You look familiar. Have you been in the café?”
“Yes, I have. Good scones.” He raised his eyes from his notebook. “Do you know a Richard Chen?”
“Is he the dead guy?”
“According to his driver’s license.”
“He’s probably Pilar’s boyfriend. I knew she had one, but I’ve never met him. It’s a relatively new relationship, I think.”
“Why did you come here tonight?” Detective Seiler asked, lowering his eyes back to his notebook.
“We…Pilar and I…were supposed to have dinner at The Jetty. She didn’t show up at our agreed upon time, and after about forty-five minutes, I got worried,” Libby said.
“Are you sure it wasn’t just a mix up in times?” The detective asked, meeting her eyes.
“She’s the one who set up the dinner. It was a business meeting, and Pilar’s never late.”
“Walk me through what you did when you got here.”
Libby explained the chain of events that ended up with her pounding on Pilar’s front door. She pointed out the empty garage and motioned for him to follow her as she went to the back of the house to continue her story.
“Was the screen door locked?” He asked when they reached the lanai. He removed the fresh pair of latex gloves from his pocket and pulled them on.
An officer appeared and handed them both a pair of paper booties to put over their shoes to preserve the crime scene.
“No, it wasn’t.” Libby stepped aside to allow the detective to open the door. She slipped on the booties and followed him.
“How’d you get inside from here?” He asked, slipping on his booties before they went any further.
“I tried the bedroom sliders and the French doors, but they were locked, so I looked around for a spare key and found one under a pot in the back of the garden,” she said, then continued, “I used the key. I left it in the door.”
“What prompted you to go inside?”
“I saw what I thought might be blood on the lower right-hand corner of the sliding glass doors.” She pointed to the dark smudge on the door. “I was worried that Pilar might be hurt or worse.”
“Blood, huh?” His dark eyes narrowed.
She tucked a stray hair behind her ears and met his gaze. “Yes, and the blinds looked bent like someone had grabbed them or pulled on them. See?” She pointed to the bent vertical blind without touching the glass.
“She’s right,” said the other detective coming through the French doors. “Crime scene guys are here.” To Libby, he said, “I’m Detective Stacey.”
Before she could respond, Detective Seiler asked, “What did you do when you went inside?”
“First I found the light switch. I noticed the phone on the counter, and then I went to the bedroom,” Libby answered as she followed Detective Stacey inside.
“Have you been inside the house before tonight?” Seiler asked, following her through the French doors.
“Yes, that’s how I knew it was her bedroom.”
“When was that?” He asked.
“A few weeks ago. Pilar asked me to stop by and pick up some papers for the installation at the shop.”
“The wireless internet thing?”
She nodded.
Detective Seiler turned to Detective Stacey. “Miss Marshall owns the Mariposa Café.”
“I’ve been there,” he said. “Great cheesecake.”
“So, we should expect to find your fingerprints in the house?” Detective Seiler asked, before Libby could thank Stacey for his compliment.
“She gave me the obligatory tour. I was in every room that day.”
“The crime scene guys are going to want your fingerprints for exclusions,” Detective Stacey said. “Before you went into the master bedroom, did you go into any other room in the house?”
“No, I saw the bedroom door was ajar, so that’s where I went.”
“You didn’t go into the front bedroom?” He asked.
“Her office? No, I didn’t.” Libby walked towards the front bedroom that Pilar used as an office. With the office lights now on, Libby saw the full extent of the vandalism. “What a mess!”
Computer monitors lay screen-down on the floor. The desk and file cabinet drawers were open with paper strewn about the room. Disconnected computer cables dangled across the work tables.
“So, you didn’t see this room when you came in?” Detective Stacey asked.
“No, it was dark. I told you exactly what I did and every step I took. I did notice the pictures on the bookshelves were knocked over, the broken one on the floor, and a few papers strewn about, but not this room.”
Seiler and Stacey exchanged a look. Do they think I did this, Libby wondered?
>
“All right, Miss Marshall. Did you go into the master bedroom?” Stacey asked.
“Yes, when I saw the body.”
“Did you touch the body?” Seiler asked.
“No, I didn’t want to contaminate the crime scene any more than I already had.”
“How very considerate of you,” he said, directing her back to the master bedroom.
The ceiling light, as well as both nightstand lamps, were now on, making the dark blood on the light walls even more striking.
Libby paused, took a deep breath and said, “With all the blood on the wall and the bedcovers, I knew something really bad happened in this room.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure that was a shocking sight to see,” said Detective Stacey.
“The arterial spray must have been phenomenal. It looks like the victim must have been standing when his throat was slit from behind,” Libby continued, caught up in the moment, reverting to her old habits.
“Are you one of those CSI groupies?” Seiler asked, raising his eyes to meet hers.
“Just observant,” she replied, getting a little carried away, falling into an old routine of hers, a time when she was a valued member of a team. Gesturing towards the body, she added, “He’s barefoot. Do you think that maybe they were in bed and perhaps heard a noise? So, he gets up, puts on his pants, but before he can go out of the room, the bad guys come in and confront them.”
“That’s as good a scenario as any,” Stacey said.
“Miss Marshall, perhaps you should go back outside and wait,” Seiler said, exchanging a glance with Detective Stacey.
“Detectives, I do have another question,” Libby said.
“You sure have a lot of them,” Seiler said, holding out his hands as if giving her the floor. “What’s your next one?”
“Where’s Pilar?”
Chapter 3
Late Monday Night/Early Tuesday Morning
In the Dark of Night
Detective Jack Seiler stood on the stoop of Pilar’s house and watched Libby back out of the driveway towards the right. As she turned down the first left towards the middle of town, his eyes followed. According to her address, she was heading in the right direction to be going home. The crime scene investigators had taken her fingerprints, and there was no reason for her to hang around in the middle of his crime scene. He knew where she would be when he needed to speak with her again.
The Medical Examiner had arrived on the scene, and Officer James waved directions at the driver backing the ME’s ambulance into the driveway next to Pilar’s Mustang. Seiler put his notebook in his back pocket and ambled over.
“Officer James, how well do you know Libby Marshall?”
Bobby put up his palms to indicate to the driver of the ambulance to stop and turned towards Seiler. “Libby, sure. I drop in the cafe almost every shift to check on things and sometimes get an early dinner. Mimi makes some damn good chicken gumbo.”
“Do you know how long they’ve been in town?”
“Mimi is married to Paul Rutherford, the foot doctor. I went to high school with him. I think he met Mimi sometime during or after college. I don’t know for sure. He was in my older brother’s class.”
“What about Miss Marshall?”
“I first met Libby when they opened the café about three years ago. I think she came from someplace in the Midwest, maybe Indiana or Ohio.” Bobby looked away and then back at Seiler. “You don’t think that Libby…?”
“I don’t think anything yet.” Seiler turned and walked back into the house.
• • •
Libby awoke, her eyes wide open. Glancing at the clock, she groaned. Two-thirty. Only an hour since the last time I woke up. Every time she closed her eyes, the crime scene rolled through her mind like a movie reel.
She staggered to the kitchen, hoping a cool drink might help her relax and fall back to sleep. She removed a water glass from the cupboard and pressed the button on the refrigerator door that dispensed cold water.
What the hell happened in that room? Different scenarios played through her mind.
The most logical, to her, was that Pilar and her boyfriend were either asleep or otherwise engaged in the bedroom. She guessed that at least two people, probably men, surprised them, killed Richard, ransacked the office and kidnapped Pilar.
But why? How did they get into the house? She didn’t see any sign of forced entry. Could the door have been unlocked? Surely not. It was locked when she got there, so that means the bad guys would’ve had to have locked it, which doesn’t make any sense at all. Libby gulped the water and hit the button to refill the glass.
Had Pilar become involved with something illegal? It had to be her they were after. Richard may have been in the way, so they had to get rid of him. Maybe they didn’t know he was there? If that’s the case, where’s Richard’s car?
She padded back to her bedroom, set the glass on the nightstand and crawled back into bed.
“I’ve got to get some sleep.” Six o’clock comes way too soon.
As if to reassure herself it was still there; Libby glanced at the holstered 9mm Glock velcroed to the back of her nightstand. It had been her father’s service weapon. Its presence helped her feel safer and closer to her him. She thought about her father, who was also a detective, and the devastating call five years ago when she learned about his death in the line of duty.
Her heart ached for Richard Chen’s family and the call they would receive telling them of their son’s murder. She thought about Pilar’s family in Miami and the call that would tell them their daughter had gone missing and her boyfriend was dead.
Her thoughts drifted back to Richard Chen. Maybe Pilar’s father didn’t like him. She had heard that Pilar’s father was a powerful man. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind, chiding herself for being way too suspicious.
She closed her eyes, hoping for sleep, but her mind continued to churn, working the case. Why did she call me and what did she want to talk about? Is Pilar the victim or is she involved?
• • •
The man usually found peace and contemplation sitting in the dark, playing his guitar, smoking his Cuban cigars and drinking his evening whiskey. From the deck on top of his house, he could see the ocean and smell the salty breeze, but tonight, he found no peace and the contemplation was anything but pleasant. There were no beautiful melodies to soothe his soul, and no cool sea breezes to ease the humid night.
Jason had called in from the road, practically hysterical.
He regretted his decision to send the kid along on this job. Jason was young and couldn’t handle the rough stuff, but he was the computer guy, so he needed to look at the computers.
It was never supposed to get this bad or go this far.
He downed the remaining whiskey, picked up the bottle and refilled his glass. He stood at the railing, sipped his drink and stared over the rooftops into the night. He slammed his fist onto the railing and cursed, pacing the narrow wooden deck and damning everyone involved. He cursed the day he met the man that got him into this deal. The man who said, “Just one trip, and you can buy your bar.”
Leaning over the railing, he exhaled obscenities into the night. From his rooftop perch, there was no chance of anyone hearing his outbursts from the street below. Feeling spent, he returned to his chair, adding more whiskey to his glass. “I am so screwed.”
The situation had gotten out of hand, and there was collateral damage. Exactly who it was, he didn’t know and, at this point, he didn’t care. No one was supposed to get hurt, and no one was supposed to be dead. This development was so much more than collateral damage.
“I’m the one that’s going to be dead if I can’t fix this,” he reminded himself, out loud. He downed his glass and poured another.
He punched the Call Back button.
Jason picked up on the first ring. “Yeah?”
“Is she all right?”
“Yes. The girl didn’t see it, what happened in the bedroo
m,” Jason said. “She’s in the trunk. We’re going to the condo to figure out what to do next.”
He heard a deep breath and then Jason said, barely above a whisper, “I didn’t sign up for this.”
He stood up and started to pace again. “Bring the girl to me in the morning. She’ll be safer here with us. Do you know who her old man is? Let the other guys find the files. Once they figure that out, they can come back down here. If they don’t find those files, maybe we can ransom the girl. Her rich old man will pay up.”
“All right. But we don’t know where the files are.”
“We’ve got to find those files and make sure nothing happens to her, or we’ll be more than collateral damage. We’ll be fish bait at the bottom of the Gulf.”
He disconnected, leaned against the railing and watched the lights of the bars and hotels along the waterfront.
He was beginning to understand how the previous owners must have felt with this view. Just like them, he paced, looked out to sea and watched the horizon. He took another drink of whiskey, shook his head and laughed. Back in the old days, they called his deck a widow’s walk. And also like them, he was watching his future go down the drink.
Chapter 4
Tuesday Morning
Hot Coffee, Warm Scones and the Latest News
In a small town, bad news travels fast.
Usually, Libby loved mornings at the Mariposa Café. She loved to breathe in the smell of rich coffee and freshly baked pastries. She especially liked talking with the customers passing through in search of their morning jolt — fishers out for the big catch and commuters on their way to work, all rushing in before the boaters, divers, paddle boarders, beachgoers and tourists ready to enjoy a day in paradise by starting it off with a cup of coffee and one of Mimi’s delicious scones.
Murder in Mariposa Beach Page 2