Hiding in Plain Sight

by Mary Ellis

  ‘Someone could have a grudge against Mr Borelli, and Mr Manfredi simply made an easy scapegoat.’

  Schott smiled. ‘It’s possible, but it’s also possible this will rule out any connection. Then I’m back to suspect number one. Either way, if you’d like to watch the videotape with me and the patrolman who took the call, come back tomorrow at ten o’clock. Not nine or eleven. Ten o’clock, rookie, or you’ll miss your big chance. I won’t have you going home to Natchez and disparaging the Charlestown PD.’

  This time Schott shook when Jill extended her hand. ‘Thanks, Lieutenant. I’m in your debt.’

  ‘Now go bother somebody else. I’m a busy man.’ He picked up the top file. ‘And in the future, cut out the crying. Tears are a sign of weakness. You just happened to land the last soft-hearted homicide cop in South Carolina.’

  Jill must have walked out of the Lockwood Boulevard station, but for the next few minutes she seemed to be floating on air. On the way back to the restaurant, she tried to temper her enthusiasm. The tape could have been erased or could show absolutely nothing. Luckily, Eric was deep in conversation with the insurance investigator when she entered the kitchen of Bella Trattoria.

  Bolting up the steps, Jill spent the rest of the day catching up with emails and paperwork. She didn’t leave to find a laundromat until Eric’s car peeled out of the parking lot. No use getting his hopes up, especially since she still had no reason to take the case – other than an overwhelming desire to spend time with him.

  Although someone had mysteriously left a quart of milk and basket of fresh peaches by her door, Eric’s car wasn’t in the usual place when she slipped downstairs for a run. Hopefully by the time she bumped into Mr Tall, Dark, and Handsome, she would know if she had a lead or not.

  And if anyone was listening to her prayers last night, she would hear from Emma Norris before Mr Sugarman called for her decision.

  Jill did arrive at one conclusion during her circuit of the waterfront – she was out of her league, both as an investigator and as someone who expected results after a few disjointed prayers. Her reintroduction to church and religion hadn’t gotten very far before she had fled Florida in the middle of the night. Just do your best and it will be enough. Her mother’s tender words almost made Jill laugh. Maybe that was good advice to give a nine year old, but it did nothing for her now.

  Jill arrived at the police station at nine forty-five. She waited calmly in the outer office and approached the desk at precisely ten o’clock.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am. I’m Jill Wyatt and I have an appointment with Lieutenant Schott of Homicide.’

  Jill was given a quick once-over. ‘One moment, please,’ said the desk sergeant. Then one moment later, ‘If you’d follow me.’ She was taken to a conference room with a table, ten chairs, two occupants, and a screen against the wall.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Mississippi.’ Lieutenant Schott bobbed his head politely. ‘You’re right on time.’

  ‘I thought following orders might work better than crying, sir.’

  Schott’s grin stretched from ear to ear. ‘You got that right. This is Officer Sandoval. He took the call about an overturned dumpster blocking the alley. John, this is Jill Wyatt. She’s a rookie PI from the booming metropolis of Natchez, Mississippi.’

  ‘Sorry, I’ve never heard of Natchez,’ said Officer Sandoval.

  Jill decided nothing would be gained by pointing out she’d only been there once herself. ‘It’s a lovely town on the Mississippi River, north of Baton Rouge.’

  ‘With our geography lesson done for the day,’ said Schott, ‘why don’t you have a seat? We’re about to watch the video supplied by Mr Howard Fulsom who owns the dry cleaner’s next to Bella Trattoria.’

  Officer Sandoval felt the need to explain. ‘I didn’t collect it earlier because this Eric Manfredi guy said his restaurant wasn’t interested in pressing charges against a bunch of neighborhood kids. Bad for business and all.’

  Lieutenant Schott responded before Jill could react. ‘Miss Wyatt knows all about that. She indicates the Manfredi family might change their mind in light of other acts of violence against them. Roll the tape, John.’

  The police officer hit a key on his laptop and the surveillance tape appeared on the screen. It was grainy, but clearly showed two slimly built people wearing tall fishing boots and black clothes push over the dumpster. Then using a rake along with their feet they spread the trash as far as it would go to maximize the mess. Neither suspect uttered a word as they worked. And with ball caps pulled low on their faces it would be impossible to identify either of them.

  ‘OK, Rookie, watch closely,’ said Lieutenant Schott. ‘This is where the movie gets good.’

  Jill did as instructed, but saw nothing other than the two punks having fun at someone else’s expense. Then, just as one litterer wandered out of view, the second suspect stopped kicking garbage. He was listening to the sound of an approaching siren, which could clearly be heard on the audio portion of the tape. The man glanced around at his handiwork and then looked right at the camera mounted on a utility pole. It was impossible to tell if he saw the camera or not, but he took off running, leaving his image indelibly caught forever.

  ‘Gotcha,’ said Officer Sandoval.

  ‘What do you think, Rookie? Do you recognize the thug that could propel your career as a private eye?’ The lieutenant leaned back with a smug smile.

  ‘I don’t, but I know someone who might.’ Jill could barely keep herself in the chair. ‘Could you print me a copy of the suspect’s image?’

  ‘I might be able to,’ said Schott. ‘After all, this tape will go back into evidence storage since we don’t have an official complaint to follow up on.’ He nodded at Officer Sandoval who scrambled to his feet and left the conference room.

  ‘Please don’t destroy the tape. I have a feeling the Manfredis will change their mind about pressing charges.’

  ‘I thought as much. In the meantime, I’ll run facial recognition against the image to see if your thug is in the system. Give me a few days. This won’t be high on my priority list until someone files a complaint or you get proof there’s some kind of tie-in to the mugging or the Borelli murder.’

  ‘I understand. And thanks for calling me.’ Jill laid her business card on the table.

  Schott tucked it into a pocket as he guided her from the room. ‘Just don’t get your hopes up. I’m pretty sure we’ve got a slam-dunk case against Alfonzo Manfredi. But Charleston is all about keeping its warm and fuzzy image.’

  Officer Sandoval handed Jill two grainy photocopies of the young man’s image. ‘Good luck, Mississippi.’

  Again, Jill thought about correcting him but changed her mind. She had nothing to gain and plenty to lose. Instead, she hurried to her car where she studied the image for several minutes. With his Mediterranean complexion, dark eyes, and thick wavy hair, he could be one of Eric’s younger cousins, but she doubted that would be the case. What motive would a Manfredi cousin have?

  Jill took a circuitous route back to the restaurant. Along the way she picked up lunch at a sandwich shop and followed a carriage tour for several blocks. In between bites of turkey and cheddar cheese, she listened to the guide’s narrative of the history of Charleston, unsure why she was postponing her return to Bella Trattoria. If Eric recognized the face from the video, then they would know who overturned the trash bin. But his father would still be the chief suspect in Borelli’s murder.

  When the tour’s customers started giving her dirty looks, she headed to Bay Street and parked in the shade behind the restaurant. However, Jill found Nonni and not Eric in the burned and smoke-damaged room.

  ‘Hi, Nonni, looks like they’re gutting the kitchen. What are you doing in here? You might get hurt.’ All around the elderly woman, workers were prying off cabinetry, dismantling appliances, and hauling out debris.

  ‘Waiting for you, that’s what. I didn’t want you sneaking up to your room, sight unseen.’ Standing in a cl
oud of dust, Nonni sneezed.

  Jill guided her into the hallway which was relatively chaos-free. ‘Here I am. What’s up?’

  ‘He’s waiting for you in the small dining room.’ She bobbed her head in the general direction. ‘I couldn’t very well make him wait in the courtyard. Not without an umbrella. He couldn’t wait in here with all these carpenters scurrying around. And I sure wouldn’t let him into your suite, since he could be up to no good.’ Nonni added a harrumph for good measure.

  A cold chill ran up Jill’s spine at the thought of her past returning to haunt her. ‘Who is waiting for me?’

  ‘I don’t remember his name. He said he knew you and wasn’t leaving until you two talked. Awfully pushy for a man with mud on his boots.’

  ‘Where’s Eric?’ Jill demanded.

  ‘Don’t know that either. He’s been gone all day. Something to do with Alfonzo.’ Nonni steadied herself with one hand. ‘Go to the front dining room, Jill. Then you’ll know.’

  Briefly she contemplated running upstairs for her weapon. But the last thing the Manfredis needed was gunplay inside their restaurant. After making sure Nonni got safely back to her quarters, Jill tiptoed through the main dining room. From the doorway, she assessed the man drumming his fingers at a table and breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Mr Norris, what a surprise to find you here.’ Jill sat in the chair across from the reclusive farmer.

  Norris blushed to a shade of crimson. ‘Sorry to barge in on you, but you wrote your address on the card you gave my wife. And I’m not good at making myself clear on the phone.’ Glancing around, he bunched his ball cap between his hands. ‘It weren’t easy to find this place or find a place to park.’

  ‘You’re not barging in. I’m only sorry you had to wait.’ Jill smiled politely.

  ‘I’ll get right to the point, Miss Wyatt. I’m asking you to please stop meddling in our life. Emma ain’t no kid any more. She don’t need no sister, not at her age. No good can come of it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have tracked you down if it were simply one sibling seeking out another. For Charlotte Sugarman, much good can come of it. This surgery could save her life. It’s the only thing that can save it.’

  ‘Not if you bring the wrath of God down on us all. And if Emma goes against her principles, that’s what will happen.’

  ‘I trust your First Reader told you there are no fixed rules in your church against being a transplant donor.’

  Norris grew increasingly agitated. ‘That’s ’cause the rules were written before doctors started cutting out body parts and puttin’ them in other folks. That ain’t natural.’

  ‘Perhaps God will look upon Emma’s actions as an act of kindness, a sacrifice to benefit someone else.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t? Charlotte will still die just like he planned and you will have endangered my wife’s life for nothing. What about our children? They still need their mother. And what would I do without my Emma?’ His rage was almost palpable.

  Jill dropped her gaze, ashamed she might have given the wrong impression. ‘Please know, Mr Norris, that I value Emma’s life every bit as highly as Charlotte’s. According to the doctor, there is very little risk to Emma. She will certainly undergo several months of recovery, but her liver will regenerate back to full size. She’ll be good as new. Of course, Charlotte has no guarantee the transplant will succeed. But right now we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Emma hasn’t even had the blood test.’

  Ralph stared at his boots. ‘She’s got her heart set on being tested.’

  Jill’s breath caught in her throat, but she wisely held her tongue.

  ‘That’s why I came today. I tried talking sense to her but got nowhere. Emma’s determined to go through with this harebrained idea if she matches. I want you to come with me and tell her you changed your mind. You don’t think she should go through with it. Make something up if you have to. Emma will listen to you. Why, I don’t know.’

  Jill reached for his hand, but Ralph pulled away. ‘It has nothing to do with me, Mr Norris. Emma wants to help Charlotte. She wants to save her sister’s life. And the decision should be hers, not mine. And with all due respect, not yours. I can’t believe God would punish Emma and her family for trying to help a dying woman – her sister, no less.’

  ‘I’d better head for home. She’ll be worried what happened to me.’ Ralph Norris staggered up from his chair but focused his tired eyes on Jill. ‘Let’s say the transplant goes smoothly and Charlotte gets her new liver. Then Emma gets one of them infections that are hard to cure. What if my wife refuses the medicine? Charlotte will be fine and dandy, but my wife will be dead.’ He shook his finger at Jill. ‘We’ll call you in the morning with our answer. But in the meantime, I want you thinking about that tonight.’ Norris stomped out the front door.

  Jill remained in the plush, upholstered chair, speechless and more confused than ever. Then her ring tone snapped her out of it.

  ‘Miss Wyatt? David Sugarman. It’s Tuesday afternoon. What did you find out?’

  ‘Your timing couldn’t have been better, sir. Emma’s husband just left. He said Emma was willing to have her blood tested. They will call with their final decision in the morning.’

  There was a whoosh of expended air. ‘If Emma has made up her mind, why are we waiting?’

  Because Ralph wants one last chance to talk her out of it, she thought. But she said, ‘Just to be sure, I suppose.’

  Sugarman enunciated each word carefully. ‘Charlotte is out of time. If her condition deteriorates tonight, the surgery will be off the table.’

  ‘I understand. I’ll call the moment I hear from them. It’s just one more night.’

  ‘I’m telling the surgeon we’re a go for the transplant. If Emma doesn’t match, he can turn around and sue me later. I don’t care. To save time, have Emma come here to the Medical Center for her blood work.’

  ‘I’ll bring her there myself. Try to get some sleep, Mr Sugarman.’

  ‘Sleep? I’ve forgotten what that is. Goodbye, Jill.’

  THIRTEEN

  Eric couldn’t remember a more stressful Tuesday in all his life. Whoever said the wheels of justice turned slowly wasn’t kidding. With so many cases on the court docket it was almost noon before the judge read the charges against Alfonzo Manfredi, accepted his plea of not guilty and set the bail at seven figures. Although the expensive lawyer Eric hired argued for a reduction of bail, citing his dad’s record of community service and clean slate of previous crimes, the judge remained firm.

  ‘In light of the seriousness of the charges and considering Mr Manfredi still has friends and family in Europe, bond is set at one million dollars. Plus I demand that Mr Manfredi surrender his passport.’

  It took Eric only two hours to obtain the necessary ten per cent to secure the bond. Not for the first time, he was grateful his grandfather had advised against an expensive four-year college with plenty of student debt. Instead Eric had taken two years of classes in restaurant management and invested his inheritance plus every spare dollar since graduation in a mixed portfolio of stocks and bonds. After one quick phone call to his broker, his underperforming assets were liquidated, and Eric had the bail money. However, his mother couldn’t seem to find their passports which she’d tucked away ‘in a safe place.’ It was four o’clock before his father was finally released into his care.

  ‘Good to see you, son.’ Alfonzo, looking pale and haggard, staggered toward him.

  ‘Likewise, Dad.’ After a clumsy embrace, Eric led his father through a rabbit warren of hallways and out the door to the parking lot.

  ‘Where are your mother and sister?’

  ‘Bernie is overseeing work on the kitchen to the best of her ability. Mom is at home, cooking something special for your dinner tonight. I wouldn’t let her come. Waiting in the courtroom would be very hard on her, plus I thought you and I needed time to talk, man to man.’

  When Eric opened the passenger door and helped his father inside, he
expected some kind of argument. After all, Alfonzo was used to giving orders, not taking them. But his father surprised him.

  ‘That’s probably a good idea,’ Alfonzo murmured. Eric helped him with the seatbelt and they headed out of Charleston. ‘Where are we going?’ his father asked, once there was nothing but sky above and the Cooper River beneath their wheels as they crossed the bridge.

  ‘Mount Pleasant. I was thinking about how we used to go fishing on Shem Creek. We would spend the whole day in the sun and barely get a nibble. But we enjoyed ourselves anyway.’

  Alfonzo smiled, turning his face into a roadmap of wrinkles. ‘Your mother always packed us lunch with a thermos of cold tea. Then at dusk the shrimp boats came in to sell their fresh catch right from the dock.’

  Eric jumped into the reminiscence. ‘Pelicans walked right up to us, hoping for a handout. My, those were some good steamers, dripping in garlic butter with just a little cayenne pepper.’ He kissed his fingertips with the memory. ‘We would buy seven or eight pounds, thinking it would be enough.’

  ‘But it never was,’ Alfonzo chuckled. ‘That skinny little Bernadette ate like a mouse all week. But if we brought home fresh shrimp, she could eat two pounds by herself. Not your mother though,’ he added after a pause. ‘Irena considered eating peel-and-eats quite uncivilized.’ His smile turned bittersweet. ‘Poor Irena. Is she very upset with me?’

  ‘I would describe her as very worried and why wouldn’t she be? You’ve been arrested for murder. Right now you’re charged with second degree, but if they find any evidence of premeditation, they’ll amend the charges.’

  ‘They won’t,’ he said simply. ‘Because I didn’t kill anybody.’

  They rode in silence until they reached Eric’s destination. Then his father straightened in his seat. ‘Where are we, son? I don’t recognize this place.’