She crossed her arms. “There’s not much to say. It was something I regret. It was over in a heartbeat.”
“So, the affair didn’t last long?”
“No, it did not, and I wouldn’t call it an affair; it was a one-time thing.”
“Did your husband know about it?”
“Are you crazy? It’d kill Phil if he knew.”
“When this, shall we say, interlude ended, did things get back to normal?”
She smiled. “No harm, no foul.”
There wasn’t a referee in sight. “That’s an unusual way of putting it.”
“Look, it was stupid of me. I shouldn’t have done it, but I was mad at him and things just got out of control, you know what I mean?” She crossed a leg, revealing a thigh Frank Perdue would kill for.
Having had my share of encounters, I certainly knew how things could spiral, but said, “Are you referring to the affairs that your husband had?”
“It wasn’t that, or maybe some of it was that, I guess. But he was traveling like crazy. He was never home, and Dom, well Dom was there and we hung out a lot. I was lonely.”
She swiveled to the left, showing a little more of the fine china before swinging back. The pout on her face and behavior was the furthest you could get from the type A she was. It crossed my mind she might be playing me.
“Was ending it a mutual thing?”
She frowned, showing the first wrinkle I’d seen on her.
“Not really.”
“I assume Mr. Stewart wanted things to continue?”
She nodded. “No doubt. He kept badgering me to give it another chance.”
“Badgering?”
She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “Look, I made it perfectly clear it was a one-time thing. I told him it was over and done with, and that was that.”
I was glad type A resurfaced. As much as I tried, I didn’t really trust myself to resist her if the opportunity arose.
“And Mr. Stewart backed off?”
“For the most part.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“It’s just that there’s always something there, you know what I mean?”
Boy, did I ever. I avoided the question. I said, “You say that like you have some experience in the, uh, area?”
Did she just bat her eyes? She recrossed her legs and said, “I’m no angel, but I love my husband and don’t play around.”
Yeah, right. This was interesting and fun. I was glad to be back in the saddle. I explored the infidelity subject for a while, but I didn’t feel any other of her transgressions had much to do with the case, so I wrapped it up and hightailed it to a McDonald’s to use the restroom. No way I was going to use her bathroom.
***
Damn it. Someone was in the commode. It’d been a good four hours since I took a pee, and my abdomen was feeling the pressure and that was a no-no. The doctors told me not to mess around with pushing the time between leaks, as it could rupture the internal incisions.
After hopping around for a minute or two I banged on the door.
“Hurry up in there.”
“Leave me alone, you moron.”
“I gotta go bad, man.”
“Tough shit.”
I wanted to kick the door down and rap this guy in the mouth, but I was afraid I’d pee in my pants in the process and headed out the door. I looked both ways, scooted into the lady’s room and sat on one of their thrones. It was the fastest time I got a stream going and it felt good.
The thought of sex got me down. Things weren’t right down there. The doctors said it would take time, but it seemed like things were disconnected somewhere between my mind and Little Luca.
The door opened and I pulled in my feet. It had to be a young girl by the look of her sneakers. She went into the next stall and took her sweet time as I wondered if a man’s breath was discernable from a woman’s. After she did her business, I saw her feet by the sink. She washed, thank goodness, but didn’t move. What the hell was she doing, admiring herself in the mirror?
Finally, her feet left the sink and the door swung open. I scrambled to my feet, zipped up and cracked the stall door open. I grabbed the bathroom door and pulled it open to the surprise of an older lady on her way in.
I said, “Sorry, I thought this was the men’s room.”
She eyed me suspiciously, so I had to duck into the men’s room for a while and fake flush before heading to the parking lot.
Chapter 20
Stewart
“Expect the best. Prepare for the worst. Capitalize on what comes.” - Zig Ziglar
It was Robin. “They found Phil’s car.”
Damn it. Valentine’s Day was around the corner, and this would throw a monkey wrench into my plans.
“Phil’s car? Where?”
“Lehigh Acres. It was stripped down somewhere off of Jaguar Boulevard.”
“Oh. Did they say they have any leads about Phil?”
“No, they said it was in a place where the local gangs bring the cars they steal.”
“Did they get anything off it, like fingerprints?”
“They didn’t say, but this is the first piece of good news since Phil disappeared.”
“It’s not good news, Robin.”
“What’re you talking about, Dominick?”
I hated when she called me Dominick. It was so impersonal, like a room monitor at school or something.
“It could mean Phil’s not coming back.”
She gasped. “Oh no. Do you really think so?”
“Well, I don’t want to speculate, but if he left his car behind . . .”
“It was stolen and stripped, that’s what the police said.”
“I hear you, but it’s possible he left it somewhere, maybe an airport or someplace. If he was coming back you know he would’ve kept it safe or something. I don’t know, maybe even sold it.”
“How the hell would selling it be a sign of his intention to come back?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Shit, I don’t know what to think anymore. You know, I miss him like you do.”
“This is a bad dream, a nightmare.”
“I know, it’s crazy. Hey, you wanna grab a bite to eat later?”
“What? How can you think about eating at a time like this?”
I should’ve waited, or called her back.
“I don’t know, I just didn’t want you to be alone after hearing about the car and all.”
“I’m sorry, I know you’re trying to help.”
Man! That was a damn good recovery. Maybe Valentine’s Day could be salvaged.
***
Around five o’clock my cell buzzed. It was her! She probably did want to go out and eat!
“Hiya doing, Robin?”
“The cops must think Phil is dead.” Her voice cracked.
I guess I’d be eating alone tonight and could forget about Valentines.
“What are you talking about?”
“Detective Luca came here with a forensics team.”
“What? Why?”
“To collect Phil’s DNA.”
“Oh, of course. It’s probably routine. I’m surprised they didn’t ask earlier.”
“You think so?”
“Of course. On CSI: they do it all the time. What did they take, a hairbrush, toothbrush?”
“Yeah, they took his toothbrush. Went through his closet and combed through the rug by his side of the bed. They even took his flip-flops.”
“Makes sense. They say DNA is all over the place.”
“What do you think this means?”
I had no idea, but I couldn’t rule out that they might have something. “Don’t panic, Rob. I really think it’s routine.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m starving. You wanna get something to eat with me?”
“I don’t feel like eating.”<
br />
Chapter 21
Luca
When I got back to my desk, the report I’d been waiting for was sitting in my in-box. I had the DNA from the car cross-checked against Florida’s database of known criminals, hoping for a break in the case.
I ripped the brown envelope open. Bingo, there were two matches. As I pulled up the first rap sheet, I wondered how they caught anyone in the old days.
Twenty-six-year-old Diego Bosque had done two stints behind bars, both for grand auto theft. He’d been busted for several petty thefts, but nothing to suggest Bosque was violent. It wasn’t surprising to link him to the theft of the car, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass about the car unless it led to what happened to Gabelli. I doubted little Diego had anything to do with the vanishing, but we’d have to check him out. Hot-hands Bosque was in Fort Myers and was going to get a visit. Hitting the print icon, I moved on.
It felt strange, but when Jamil Johnson’s file came up I felt a surge of optimism. Jamil was thirty-two with a rap sheet that read longer than The Old Man and the Sea. Covered in jailhouse tattoos, Jamil was an ugly mother-jumper prone to violence. The thug was part of an Orlando drug gang and had been in and out of jail his entire adult life. With all the assaults, many with a deadly weapon, he appeared to be a gang enforcer.
The Orlando gang angle was confusing, though. We’d never had a run-in or even a report of gang activity from anywhere but Miami. It didn’t make sense, but this Gabelli dude was complicated. Who knows what kinda crap he got himself into?
Checking the dates, I confirmed Jamil had been out on the streets when Gabelli went missing. Even though the crooked line of crime straightened a hair, this cretin was a solid four hours away. I didn’t really want to be sitting in a car, hoping my bladder wouldn’t burst, and come up with another zero. Besides, Vinny Colavito, an old buddy from the academy, had been on the Orlando force for the last ten years.
Even though we had never made good on the promise to get together after I moved to paradise, Colavito and I jumped right back into the dorm room days. Colavito wasn’t working the gang unit, but he’d have Jamil Johnson questioned and, if there was something there, hold him.
***
Going to Baleen for a bachelor party really threw me off. I was surprised how it affected me. It must have been obvious, as a couple guys from the station asked me if I was okay. I paused before I’d gone into the bathroom. That was where it all started.
A night filled, make that overflowing, with promise was turned upside down in less time than it took for a tissue to burn. Fact was, I didn’t need the reminder of how fragile life was. I learned years ago to enjoy it when you could. But the reality was I never expected it would be my tail caught in the trap at such a young age.
It was clear to me that sooner or later everyone gets their time with misery in this life. I thought I was in touch with my death, but I was no better adjusted than anyone else walking around in denial. It was embarrassing; I’d been an outspoken advocate of planning your own funeral, even picking out your casket, as a reminder we were going to die. Turns out, like most advice, we didn’t want to walk the walk. Egg on the face? I had a couple of cartons dripping off me.
Dragging me down further was the Kayla reminder. No one had to tell me it was the first inning, but there was no question we clicked. I felt we were going places together. She seemed as interested as I was. She’d reached out when it happened, so she cared. I should’ve tracked her down, but with my mechanics not working, it seemed futile. I don’t know why I didn’t reach out to her. My doctor said my physical issue could lead to depression. Maybe that was it.
I’d been going for injections to help reduce scar tissue. The doctors said that a buildup of scar tissue was responsible for dulled nerve endings that contributed to being unable to get an erection. I was hoping he was right and they hadn’t cut something else down there.
He said he was one hundred percent certain that Viagra would solve my problem, but, since bladder pain and increased urination were possible side effects, he wanted to try the injections first. It made sense, but he wasn’t the guy unable to get a hard-on.
My reasoning was nothing more than stupid and immature. If she was the one for me, she’d help me through this and be okay with me taking a pill to get my mojo back. Don’t piss away the opportunity, Luca. Find a way to reach out to her.
***
I hung up the phone.
“Another dead end, Vargas.”
“Who was that?”
“That old buddy of mine in Orlando. They brought Jamil Johnson in and hammered him. But it looks like Diego was telling the truth for a change. Jamil was seeing his cousin and he gave him a ride. Said he was going to kick Diego’s ass all over Lee County for not telling him he was riding in a hot car. You can’t make this shit up.”
“Well, at least Gabelli wasn’t mixed up in some drug thing.”
“I’m gonna have Diego picked up on this.”
“But we promised we wouldn’t if he talked.”
“We can’t look the other way, this guy’s too brazen. We need to take him down a couple of pegs.”
“I don’t know, we might need him some day.”
“With his history, we’ll always have plenty of bait.”
Chapter 22
Luca
Simmons Construction occupied three floors in a glass office tower on 41, just south of Park Shore. For a large, international construction company, the offices were unimpressive and bordered on shabby. The chair I sat in cried to be reupholstered, and the coffee table was marred. The only redeemer was the view. I focused on a sliver of the gulf that shined in the distance until a shapely young lady asked me to come with her.
I followed her swaying tail as she escorted me to the corner office of John Conner, who was Gabelli’s boss. The office was filled with models of buildings and framed architectural drawings. It was a hip-looking place to work, except it was too cold for me. Spring was a couple of weeks away, yet they had the AC blowing like mad.
Conner was a Brit, but his accent had toned down considerably in the fifteen years he’d been here. He was another one of those guys who opted to shave his head to cover balding. Conner wore thick-framed glasses and a lip beard. He looked like he collected wines. Nothing big, but he’d be a good guy to know if I was right.
“How long did Mr. Gabelli work here?”
“Phil started a couple of years after I got here, so I’d say about a dozen. I’ll have HR get an exact date for you.”
“What were his responsibilities?”
“He was, uh, is one of our project managers.”
“What was he managing when he went missing?”
“Phil was on the Sweet Bay project.”
“What type of a project is that?”
“A mixed-use development, some retail, office, and a slice of residential. It’s the bulk of what we do here at Simmons.”
“Where is this Sweet Bay?”
“Down in Santiago, Chile.”
“I understand Mr. Gabelli did quite a bit of travelling.”
“Travelling? No, Phil didn’t visit the job sites. That’s the superintendent’s responsibilities.”
“Mr. Gabelli never travelled on company business?”
“I don’t like to say never, but it’s been probably ten years or so since we separated things, so if he did any travelling it was a long time ago.”
“That’s interesting. His wife said he did a lot of travelling.”
“I don’t know where she got that impression. Maybe Phil could’ve been covering something with her.”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“I hope you do.”
I nodded and said, “By the way, you like wine?”
His eyes gleamed. “Big time. You?”
***
I was stopped at the light on Vanderbilt and Airport when it hit me that I might be wasting my time. It looked like Ga
belli had taken off. He had a history of disappearing for a few days at a time, usually holing up with different women. Maybe he found a new squeeze at the same time he’d run up a gambling debt and decided to run off for good. The combo seemed to be a decent motivator.
We’d been chasing this too long; it might be time to put the Gabelli case on hold. Especially now, when we could be of use elsewhere.
The department was pushing back aggressively to keep the Miami-based gangs from even thinking about crossing Alligator Alley. The effort was successful, but it drained a lot of officers from their regular duties. Nothing had gone wrong as a consequence, and the brass wanted to be sure it stayed that way. As a result, they were now asking us not to waste time on cases that were truly dead-ended. The Gabelli case seemed to qualify.
***
I waited for Vargas to get out of a meeting to kick it around with her. Unless she totally disagreed, I was going to hit the pause button on the Gabelli case. I was reading my e-mail when Sally, who manned the TIPS hotline, popped her red head in.
“Hey, Frank, call came in on the Gabelli case.”
“Are you kidding me?”
She shook her head. “Some guy, who wanted to remain anonymous, said the wife is about to receive a couple-a-million-dollar payout from a policy on her husband.”
“And how did he know this?”
“Said he worked at the insurer, Lincoln Life Insurance.”
“Wow.”
“And here’s the best part; he said the policy was in effect less than two years.”
“I wonder if there’s a way to verify this.”
“You’d probably need a court order to get Lincoln to open its books up.”
“Do me a favor, Sally, and tell Vargas I’ll be back in an hour or two.”
***
I struggled to avert my eyes from the plunging neckline on Robin’s blouse as I said hello. Boy, I liked the way they dressed in the advertising business.
Vanished: A Luca Mystery - Book 2 Page 7