Keeping Secrets

by Cathi Stoler

  Helen sat for a few minutes more, sorting through the facts. She picked up the phone. She had to let Joe know what just happened before she spoke to Laurel. He’d help her decide what was safe to reveal. His phone rang once before his voicemail kicked in. “Shit!” She was angry, then scared. Joe wasn’t in.

  She almost hung up. For a moment, she was at a loss as to how to say what she needed to tell him. Please, God, don’t let Sal Santucci or one of his goons have had time to bug my phone. “Joe, it’s me. We need to talk.” There was a strain in her voice, even though she tried to keep it professional and even. “I had a visit from a potential client a little while ago. He wants to hire me to find some missing merchandise of his and …” Helen’s voice faltered. “I, um, I think this is something you could help me with. Call me as soon as you can.” She hung up and the room was deadly quiet again. Who am I kidding with this “potential client” bullshit? If the phone was bugged, Sal Santucci knew Helen called Joe. Her heart stopped. Did I just make this worse? Oh, God, did I put Joe in danger as well?

  Helen jumped up from her bed and paced around the room. She tried to avoid looking toward her safe and its contents, which were calling to her like a siren to a sailor. I’ve got to get that DVD out of here and to my office like I planned.

  Once the decision was made, Helen sprang into action. She went back into the bathroom, washed her face, and ran her fingers through her hair. Moving quickly, she went into her bedroom and changed into a T-shirt, jeans and sneakers.

  She had to retrieve the DVD from behind the safe and the painting concealing it. Before she could think about it for too long, she walked across the room and moved the painting aside. She willed her hand to be steady, opened the safe, and withdrew the DVD. After tossing it in her tote bag, she rearranged the painting and flew down the stairs.

  All this activity took about five minutes. Ready to go, Helen reached her front door and came to an abrupt halt. Don’t be an idiot. No one’s out there. Just to be sure, she checked the peephole, gasped and nearly dropped her bag. A man stood there, the back of his head filling the peephole, the rest of his body presumably blocking her exit. As she sensed him turning toward the door, she stepped back and nearly panicked.

  Helen spun away from the door. She could escape out the back, through the garden and over its fence to the facing garden on Twenty-Ninth Street. It’s not one of Sal Santucci’s button men, she thought. If he wanted to get me today, I’d be dead. He just wanted me to know he could do it, anytime, anyplace. She tried to calm her nerves by whispering the phrase “It’s not him” to herself over and over like a mantra.

  The bell chimed. Helen forced herself to move. She turned back and put her eye to the peephole once more. She was surprised all over again.

  Mike Imperiole stood on her doorstep. What’s he doing here? Does everyone in that family just show up whenever they feel like it?

  All Helen could do was stare. She let out a sigh of relief. The horrible fear fled and her heart rate slowly returned to normal.

  The bell rang again, propelling her into action. She opened the door and Mike almost fell into her hallway. “Hi, I’m, um, glad I caught you home,” he stammered.

  “What a surprise. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” She reached up and gave him a kiss. “We weren’t supposed to meet, were we? I was just on my way to an appointment.” She put a smile in her voice to cover her confusion.

  “No. I just thought I’d stop by and we could talk for a bit, but if you’re busy, I’ll go back to the store.” Head down, he backed away a step.

  Helen put a hand on his arm. “You’re here. You might as well come in.” She gestured, knowing he’d follow. Helen felt Mike a few steps behind her as she led him into the kitchen. “So why are you here,” she looked at her watch, “at eleven in the morning? Not that I’m not glad to see you.” She didn’t want to panic him needlessly. Under normal circumstances she would be more than happy to see him.

  “I’ve been thinking about Laurel and that woman in Pennsylvania. I’m worried she’s in over her head. ” His eyes pleaded with Helen for reassurance as he paced the room.

  All Helen wanted to do was reach out to Mike and promise everything would be okay. She couldn’t. “You know she’s a big girl. You can’t be second-guessing everything she does.”

  He nodded. “I know. I know.”

  “She’s with Aaron today. He’ll keep her safe.” Laurel had mentioned she left messages for both Mike and John about her trip to Pennsylvania with the detective.

  “That’s another thing,” Mike said. “I’m not sure I like him being back in her life. He broke her heart, you know.”

  Helen did. She also knew Aaron was equally hurt. It was something the two of them would have to work out—if they could—between themselves.

  “Let’s have an early lunch, why don’t we?” Helen opened her refrigerator. “I wanted to talk to you about your birthday dinner tomorrow. I can’t wait. How dressed up should I get?”

  A sly smile spread over his face. “Well, if it were up to me, you wouldn’t have to get dressed at all.” He put his arms around her and nuzzled her ear. “Since Laurel, and Matt, and everyone will be there, I guess you’ll have to wear something.”

  Helen had just been starting to respond to his touch when alarm bells sounded in her brain. Dinner. With Laurel and Matt at Provence Sud’s restaurant on the corner of Spring and Crosby. Talk about returning to the scene of the crime. But what if going to dinner was the solution? She began to formulate a plan and tuned out Mike, who was still talking about the restaurant and menu. It’s the perfect opportunity to spend some quality time with Matt and ferret out a little more about the boy. Laurel said he’d called her and left a voicemail as if nothing was wrong—I’m sure he’ll attend, to keep her from becoming suspicious of him. I’ll have the information Maxine’s gathering on him by then and have a chance to use some of it. It should be a pretty interesting dinner. I probably should have Joe cover it with some of his people, without Mike knowing, of course.

  She nodded absently as Mike spoke, but her mind zoomed ahead, working through plans for tomorrow.

  Suddenly she sensed movement in the hallway and brought herself back to the present. Someone was in her house.

  Her excitement over the prospect of observing Matt at dinner tomorrow evening had nearly made her forget about Sal Santucci’s visit and the DVD tucked in her tote bag. Almost forget. There was the distinctive click of the hammer as it was pulled back on a big Glock. “Don’t move. Don’t even twitch. Or I swear, I’ll blow you away.”

  Chapter 29

  Thursday, 11:40 a.m.

  Aaron and Detective Schnall stared at Laurel with concern, as if she were about to faint. She let out a low laugh at their worried expressions.

  Shaking Aaron’s hand off her arm, she turned and walked out into the air and sunshine. She needed time to absorb the tragedy and compose herself, unlike the two men who, she assumed, were used to dealing with death and its aftermath.

  Laurel was beyond composed and beyond angry. She was in a rage. A rage that filled her with a need for revenge so strong, its power seeped out of every pore. Aaron and Detective Schnall were waiting for her to break down, to sob and heave. She was past that, too; it wouldn’t help Anne or bring her back. The only thing that could make a difference would be to find her killer—David Adams.

  Laurel had no doubt David murdered Anne. She paced in front of the squalid apartment that held Anne’s hopes and dreams and reflected on what she believed had happened.

  David Adams probably targeted Anne right from the start. She was a safe bet—a young, attractive woman, well liked at work, yet with no real ties to this community or any other. There was no one to look after her, advise her, or offer an opinion about the handsome, sophisticated man who happened into her life. For David, Anne was a find. A woman unused to attention who would appreciate a chance to experience love and romance. Her naïveté, shyness, and honesty marked her as the per
fect choice for a girlfriend, as well as the ideal cover. It was only when Anne found out about David’s secret life that she became a liability and had to be eliminated. Now, it’s his turn to be eliminated. She turned back toward the two detectives who’d walked up behind her and said, “Let’s get that bastard.”

  Detective Schnall shook his head in agreement. “You got that right. I can’t wait to find Mr. David Adams and give him exactly what he deserves. We’re hooked into ViCAP, the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. It works through the FBI to collate and analyze data on violent crimes, such as murder. So if he’s done this before, we’ll be able to pinpoint where and when. We also put out a complaint warrant on the NCIC system. It’ll take the manhunt national. There’ll be a lot of people out there looking for David Adams.”

  Aaron remained silent. She glanced his way and knew he was waiting for the crack in her composure to appear and her emotions to trickle out like grains of sand through the fingers of a hand.

  Ignoring Aaron, she spoke directly to Detective Schnall. “How did she die? Where did you find the body?” Her tone was insistent and icy, the investigative reporter in her surfacing.

  He gave a sheepish look in Aaron’s direction. “We suspected foul play when we found her abandoned car. I’ve had people searching through the woods on the outskirts of town since last night.” He lifted his shoulders as if apologizing to Laurel for not telling her the entire truth earlier. “Her body was there, partially hidden under some branches pulled down from a tree. The attempt to conceal the body was clumsy.” He shrugged. “Once my men started looking, it wasn’t hard to find her.”

  “How did she die? I want to know,” Laurel said.

  Detective Schnall answered without preamble. “It was manual strangulation. They found bruising and marks on her neck indicating she was strangled from the front … with bare hands.”

  He spoke these words softly, especially the last, but their impact on Laurel was sudden and swift. Shock and pain washed over her. She rocked back and forth as she absorbed this news.

  Strangled. He must have been looking right into her eyes while he did it. Laurel’s body shook with revulsion. David Adams must have coaxed Anne into going with him to a secluded spot and then heartlessly murdered her. Anger bubbled through her veins, making her resolve stronger. We have to find him and make him pay. She clenched and unclenched her hands.

  Laurel inhaled deeply and brought herself back to the here and now. Her focus shifted to the straggly grass and half-bare trees surrounding the shabby complex where Anne lived. It was all wrong, too wrong to let it go. She walked toward Aaron and Detective Schnall and made a silent promise to Anne she’d find her killer no matter what it took. Then she brought her attention back to what the detectives were discussing.

  “Her body temperature indicates she’s been dead ten to twelve hours, which puts the time of death between midnight and two a.m.”

  Aaron shifted his weight from foot to foot, moving in a tight circle as he listened to Detective Schnall. He appeared to take in the facts and assess the information.

  “Once the coroner checks the contents of the stomach, you’ll have a better fix on if and when she had dinner. I wouldn’t be surprised if the perp sweet-talked her into going out with him and tried to win her back over a romantic, candlelit dinner.” Aaron turned his palms up. “When that didn’t work, he offed her.”

  Laurel couldn’t stand hearing him speak so matter-of-factly about Anne’s death. She opened her mouth and started to protest, but Aaron held up his hand to silence her.

  “Have your guys check the nicer restaurants in nearby towns. He probably wouldn’t risk taking her somewhere around here where they might be seen and recognized. They can show his photo around, and the vic’s, too.”

  Detective Schnall nodded. “We’ll start with Cross Keys, Pine Run, Barnett’s Corner, and work our way through the towns nearby. If nothing pans out locally, we’ll move on to Lancaster and Philly.”

  The detective tapped his watch. “I’ve got to get over to the crime scene and check in with the CSI team.” He looked at Laurel. “You can’t come along. No civilians allowed. No exceptions.” He looked back at Aaron. “You can start reviewing the fingerprint info that came back from NCIC. I didn’t get a chance to tell you before, but we got a match with the prints for the John Collier alias and it’s very interesting.” The detective checked his notebook again and turned the page. “Detective Jones from your squad called. He’s emailing you the info you requested on all the David Adams aliases.” He put away his notebook. “It’ll be waiting for you at the station. You might also want to hear what we got from Karen Kelleher, the woman David Adams worked with at the brokerage firm.”

  Norm dropped Laurel and Aaron off at the station on his way to the crime scene, and when they arrived, Patrolman Pete Geddes was waiting for them. He showed them to a small conference room that could have been in any police station in the country. On the table were the statement from Karen Kelleher, Adams’ coworker at Investment Associates, and the file on Adams, now filled with the NCIC reports on his aliases and the fingerprint matches.

  Aaron dove into David Adams’ file like a man possessed.

  Laurel picked up Karen Kelleher’s statement and a few minutes later became totally absorbed in the tale. Karen was a local girl who started working at the company right out of high school while attending college at night. She had been there for about three years before David Adams showed up. She thought he was kind of cute and flirted with him every chance she got, hoping to turn their working relationship into a romantic one. David was firm but polite. He liked Karen but didn’t want to become involved with anyone at work. I’ll just bet. There was a photo of Karen attached to the statement. Big hair, big boobs and more likely a big personality to match. Unlike Anne, she’d never go unnoticed. “Bastard,” Laurel muttered under her breath and got back to Karen’s story.

  Karen and David worked well together. She helped him with his projects and clients the same way she did for the other associates at the small firm. They occasionally had lunch together, but never at The Willow, where Anne worked. In fact, Karen said she didn’t know about Anne. Or didn’t want to. It seemed David kept his relationship with his fiancée very low key and only a few people at work were aware of it. He was probably playing the game from both ends—a young, single guy for the women who could help his career along and a steady, soon-to-be-family-man for his boss and superiors.

  Karen said that things had changed over the last few months. David became warmer, friendlier. He intimated he had a big deal in the works that could mean megabucks for everyone at the company and he’d need her help to pull it off. Now, instead of lunch, there were intimate dinners for two in out-of-the-way romantic restaurants. At the office, there were long looks and whispered exchanges. Things were looking up for Karen and David couple-wise and she readily agreed when he asked her for several confidential files. Laurel shook her head in wonderment. Just how stupid was this girl?

  Karen gladly gave him the files and replaced them when he was through reviewing them. She told David she was excited by what they were doing, that she was excited to be a part of something important. She said she couldn’t believe he asked her to help him with such a big deal. She asked him to tell her the details so she could help even more. Call it male ego. Call it showing off. Or call it just plain dumb. He told her. At least part of it.

  David had a plan to offer privately owned ATM machines as a new investment opportunity for the firm’s private group clients. Unregulated by the banking industry, these machines could be placed virtually anywhere—in delis, hotels, gas stations, restaurants, you name it. The fees associated with using them were an enormous source of revenue. They’d bring in a high rate of return on the capital outlay from the initial investment.

  The files he asked for, he explained to Karen, “would help him write his proposal and target the company’s best prospects.” Target them he had. These prospects were mostly peop
le in their late forties to fifties who invested with the firm to save for retirement. David told Karen they were an ideal group who were at the stage where they might be looking for a safe way to ensure that their retirement accounts would be a little bit bigger.

  Laurel rubbed her eyes and took a sip of her now-cold coffee. She figured it had taken some work to piece it all together, and it appeared the Doylestown PD got onto Karen pretty quickly. Once they had a copy of the list of accounts and amounts Anne found in David’s apartment, they started asking questions at Investment Associates. Karen had gotten scared. After a few judiciously placed threats from Detective Schnall about what would happen to her for aiding and abetting a potential murderer, she must have decided to talk and the real scam came out.

  Laurel realized Karen wasn’t as dull-witted as she originally thought. She was just greedy. She told the police David’s idea sounded fishy right from the start, but she decided to go along with it while doing a little digging of her own.

  It turned out that the ATMs were legitimate and so were the clients he targeted—in David’s way of thinking at least—as a source of initial financing for his real scheme. His plan was to purchase the ATMs, put skimmers on each of them and sell the information he captured to identity thieves. Sophisticated devices that fit over a real ATM keypad, these “skimmers” allowed a thief to record customers’ PINs without opening the machine. A thief anywhere in the world could use the information the skimmers captured, and the victims could do little about it.

  The problem was, David needed more money than he could skim from Investment Associates’ future retiree clients to get his operation up and running. He needed a partner with deep pockets, so he contacted several of his pre-Doylestown buddies for a list of possible interested candidates. There was one name that turned up on everyone’s list—Sal Santucci. The head of the New York mob loved big money ideas. This one was right up his alley.