Another Word for Murder

by Nero Blanc

  “I take it that refers to the notorious tavern,” Rosco observed.

  Belle studied the picture. “I guess the beast looks more like Gabby than a member of the ovis family,” she admitted. “I must be better at depicting dogs than ruminants.”

  “Well, you’re good at ruminating,” Rosco said before adding, “Is this supposed to be leading us somewhere, Belle?”

  “I don’t know…. I just like writing things out.”

  “Maybe you should put all these folks in a crossword.”

  “That’s right! I forgot Frank’s crosswords … and the money found in his apartment.” She scratched dollar symbols into the sand and beside them wrote X-WORDS.

  Rosco chortled, and pointed at Belle’s scribbles in the sand. “X marks the spot.”

  “If you’re not going to help, I’d appreciate your keeping your comments to yourself.” But her heart wasn’t in her gibe, because she’d already refocused on her expanding diagram. Belle added KAREN to the list, then drew an arrow from her name to the dollar marks.

  “What’s that for?” Rosco asked.

  “She needs money, doesn’t she? If what she told us is true, that Dan left her high and dry.”

  “Which your outline definitely isn’t. There’s an ocean about six feet behind your back.”

  “Rosco! Stop!”

  “No humor. I forgot. We’re deadly serious tonight.” He took up his own stick and began making additional arrows connecting everyone at the Black Sheep to the money symbols. “Looks like cash is everyone’s motive,” he muttered aloud. “However, don’t forget that it was Karen who gave up the ransom money in the first place.”

  “Maybe she expected a bigger payoff down the road, and we’re not seeing it,” was Belle’s deliberate response. Then she added JACK to her suspects, and began rattling off a number of words. “Jack … dough, beans, cabbage, lettuce, mint leaves—”

  “Mint leaves?” Rosco asked her.

  “It’s slang for paper money.”

  “Ahhh …” Any potential retort was interrupted as Gabby returned with the ball clutched in her mouth. Her curly topknot and little beard appeared the essence of smug pride. “You finally beat your big sister to the prize, did you, Gabsters?” Rosco chortled. “Good for you.” He threw the ball for the two dogs again, then turned back to Belle. “Maybe we need some tea leaves to help us solve the puzzle.”

  But Belle wasn’t listening because she was too busy writing DAN TACETE in the sand. “It’s weird how names sometimes mirror people’s professions, isn’t it?”

  “You mean like Doctor Brayne for a brain surgeon or Fischer for an oceanographer?”

  Belle nodded. “The first time I met Karen Tacete and learned what her husband did for a living, I thought, wow, that’s sure an odd coincidence.” Belle paused to look into her husband’s face. It was obvious he didn’t have a clue what she was referring to. “Didn’t I tell you about this already?”

  “Not that I recall, but that doesn’t mean—”

  Belle interrupted. “The name’s an Italian slang term taken from the verb tacére, which means to be silent. Tacete translates to ‘Hold your tongue!’ or ‘Hold your jaw!’”

  “That’s quite a moniker for someone whose profession is dentistry…. More subtle than Doctor Paine, though.”

  “Mm hm …” Belle agreed as she returned to her diagram and began making additional lines. “Okay … here’s DAN … and he’s having an affair with BONNIE who’s brother’s a felon…. KAREN’S the wronged wife, JACK’s the partner who may or may not be involved in shady business practices … ROB and CARLOS and ED are some of the patients DAN has been treating at a reduced rate, and JACK doesn’t like those scroungy types hanging around his swanky office.” Belle’s words suddenly ceased. She looked at her husband.

  “Maybe we’ve been looking at this situation from the wrong perspective, Rosco!” she said in a quick, excited gush. She jabbed at the names in the sand. “All these folks are connected to DAN, which is true, but look, here he is, at the center of everything: FRANK, ROB, KAREN, everyone …! What if none of them were conspiring against Dan …? What if he’s the one who’s been plotting against them, all along …? Including you and me by getting us tangled up in this mess by staging a phony kidnapping. Dan knew we were friends of Karen’s and that she’d turn to us right away. Maybe he’s been one step ahead of us at every turn.”

  “Whoa … whoa … whoa … Hold on…. You’re saying Tacete staged his own death?”

  Belle scarcely heard her husband’s question. “Rob’s prints are on the burned Corvette. He vanished at the same time Dan went missing…. The body Carlyle examined was so badly damaged it could only be identified by dental records. What if it wasn’t Dan who died in the Corvette? What if it was Rob?” Belle gazed at her husband, her expression triumphant. “Which would make it a perfect crime, Rosco! Dan kills Rob, but makes it looks as though Rob killed him!”

  This time Rosco frowned. “Let me get this straight. Doctor Dan Tacete, an otherwise respected member of the community, arranges to murder a fairly marginal guy who holds down a job in a local dive and in the process fakes his own death … I’m afraid I just don’t see the motive, Belle.”

  “That’s because we haven’t gotten to that part.”

  “I see … but you’re about to explain it. Is that it?”

  “Well, no … I don’t have a handle on that quite yet.”

  “At the risk of being critical, I think I should point out that homicide usually involves a motive. It’s a cause and effect kind of thing.”

  “Hear me out, Rosco!”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Okay … whatever Dan’s motive was—and I agree he had to have a compelling reason for his actions—he arranged the scenario months ago. Maybe he even solicited Rob to become a patient. They were more or less the same physical type … all Dan had to do was exchange Rob Rossi’s dental records for his own.”

  “Uh-huh … and he keeps Rob happy as a patient while luring the guy to his death…. ”

  “You’re not taking me seriously, Rosco!”

  “I’m trying to, Belle, but logic keeps getting in my way. And how does Frank play into this … uh … inventive scenario?”

  “Dan killed him, too, of course—after setting him up to look like a kidnapper. He needed a clean ending to it all, so that the police would think the entire matter is wrapped up.”

  “Ohhhh, Belle, I don’t know …”

  “Sure … Dan must have known all about Frank’s nefarious dealings because of Bonnie, so he was able to coerce him into going up to Boston the night of the supposed kidnapping … and putting in an appearance at Sonny’s Autobody—” Belle gasped again. “Unless … No, wait … Why not …? This works. This really works. It wasn’t Frank in those gas station surveillance videos, after all; it was Dan wearing a wig and baseball cap. And the mustache! The one Dan recently grew that Karen thought was sexy, but that Lily didn’t like …? Frank and Rob both had mustaches, so Rob’s body—!”

  “Belle, stop. This theory of yours is getting a little crazy. Besides, I keep coming back to motive. Dan’s a successful guy, has a nice home, a good practice. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have been fooling around on the side, and maybe O’Connell was threatening to expose his affair with Bonnie. But all Dan had to do was ’fess up to his wife. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world. Besides, she’d already guessed he was cheating on her…. Arranging two murders to cover up his tracks seems overkill to me.”

  “As it were,” Belle said, then frowned.

  “Right. And what about the crossword puzzles? Did Tacete construct those, too? And then leave them in the apartment as some sort of proof that Frank was, in reality, a brainy and misunderstood guy?”

  “That’s a clever touch, besides fitting perfectly into my supposition that Dan was using us from the very beginning. He was convinced that we’d get involved, and he was right.”

  Rosco shook his head and stared down a
t the diagram.

  “You don’t like my theory because you didn’t dream it up,” Belle groused.

  He laughed and then said, “No, I’m not buying it because I don’t see a reason behind the crimes.”

  As the couple stood there talking, a larger wave than the others crashed behind them and sent a pool of water speeding up the beach. In a moment, their bare feet felt the shock of cold, May water; a second later, Belle’s picture was wiped away.

  “A clean slate,” Rosco observed with a half-smile. “So … do we start all over from the beginning?”

  Belle gazed at her husband. “A clean slate. Maybe, that’s exactly what Dan wanted—a perfectly clean slate.”

  CHAPTER 37

  “I gotta tell you, Poly—crates, this is not the kind of thing that will improve your endearment-rating with our buddy, Herb Caryle…. ” Al Lever’s voice rumbled out of the speaker-phone in Belle’s home office. Despite the hardboiled-detective act, it was abundantly clear he was relishing the fact that the mayor’s brother had dropped the ball yet another time. In proof of which, Al permitted himself a self-satisfied chuckle while Belle and Rosco exchanged a knowing glance. Perched atop the desk, she leaned closer to Al’s disembodied voice while Rosco hunched forward in his chair to better hear the words. “Coward that I am, Poly—crates, I sent Jones down to check up on Carlyle’s Tacete file. I was in no mood to confront Mr. Personality first thing in the morning…. Anyway, it seems your lovely lady just might be on to something.”

  “Meaning?” Husband and wife demanded in unison. After explaining Belle’s theory to Lever the previous evening, the couple had spent a restless night awaiting Jones return to the NPD and his positive confirmation—or lack thereof—of Carlyle’s autopsy report on Dan Tacete. It was now ten A.M., and sleep deprivation, coffee, and only a cursory nod at nourishment had made the pair jittery and apprehensive—Belle, especially. “Meaning what, Al?” she repeated.

  “Arrgh …” Lever replied with another chortle, “You have me on the speaker phone? I can’t believe it. This completely shatters the image I’ve always had of you two; cozying up the telephone receiver, ear-to-ear, listening to your incoming calls as though you had Krazy Glue stuck to the sides of your heads.”

  “Get to the point, Al. Please.” Belle released a sigh that indicated eagerness rather than indignation.

  “The point, Miss Impatient,” Lever continued, “is that your supposedly harebrained notion may very well be correct. Ostensibly, the quickest method of corpse identification is through dental records, especially when the remains are charred beyond recognition. So when Carlyle made the match, he never looked further. And in Herb’s defense, there’s no listing of blood type on many dental records, so he assumed Tacete was type A—same as the corpse. If our favorite dentist hadn’t had an emergency appendectomy a year and a half ago, no one would’ve been the wiser.”

  Belle and Rosco could hear Al strike a match and inhale on his cigarette. Belle half expected smoke to begin drifting through the phone. “So the blood types don’t match?” she asked. Her voice quivered.

  “Nope. They sure don’t. Tacete’s a type O. The body in the Corvette was type A.”

  “And Rob Rossi?” Rosco said. “Do we know his blood type is yet?”

  “Oh, yeah, that was all with his military records. He’s A, as well.”

  “I was right,” Belle murmured, and then her spine unexpectedly bent as though a heavy weight had been thrust upon her shoulders. She’d expected that confirmation of her hunch would please her, but it only produced a wave of sadness.

  “I’d say the chances are ninety-nine percent that you’re on the money,” was Al’s response. And considering the fact that we have Rossi’s fingerprints all over the ’Vette, and that no one has seen him since well before the accident … Who else’s body could be sitting in the morgue? I’m having Abe run the DNA tests now for a positive confirmation, but that almost seems a moot point.”

  “I take it you’ve already notified the federal agencies?” Rosco asked, although he knew exactly what his ex-partner’s response would be.

  “Absolutely. I’m not waiting around for any DNA tests, that’s for sure. One thing is certain: If Tacete’s alive, and it sure looks like he is, then he’s gonna do his best to get the heck out of the country. The Feds have transmitted his photo to every airport and Canadian border crossing in New England. If he’s still in America, he’s staying in America.”

  “Belle and I also discussed the fact that it may have been Tacete who took the Explorer to Sonny’s Autobody, as well as tanking up at those two gas stations and getting the vehicle repainted in Boston—which means he was successfully impersonating O’Connell by wearing a wig and coloring his mustache.”

  “I imagine he’s already tossed that disguise Poly—crates, but you’re right, he may be sporting another. I’ll pass the info along.”

  They said their goodbyes, and Belle tapped the button to disconnect the call. Then she looked at her husband. “This all seemed so … I don’t know … otherworldly and unreal as a theory…. But here it is, and instead of feeling vindicated and proud, I simply feel sick.”

  Rosco stood and walked behind his wife, placing his hands on her shoulders and rubbing them. “I know what you mean…. The idea that Dan was so premeditated … finding someone his own weight and build—Rob Rossi; luring him into his office, growing a mustache, switching the dental records, all the while knowing full well that he was going to murder the poor schlub…. And then setting O’Connell up as the ineffectual kidnapper; and again, knowing Frank was going to die…. It takes a special kind of brain to maintain that level of emotional disconnect.”

  “Not to mention the effects on his wife and step-daughter. At best, he realized he’d leave them with the memory of a kidnapping and fiery death; at the worst …” Belle’s words trailed off; her head bent in empathy.

  Rosco had no answer; instead, he massaged his wife’s weary muscles.

  “Do you think Dan had help?” Belle asked at last. “I mean, did he do this by himself, or could Bonnie have acted as an accomplice?”

  “I can’t believe she’d set up her own brother to be murdered.”

  Belle thought for a long moment. “I’d like to agree with you, but the fact is that some siblings loathe one another. Fratricide is a word of Latin origin. And let’s not forget Cain and Abel.” Belle grew silent again, then, at length, added a resigned “I’m guessing—just guessing, mind you—that Bonnie may be in on the crime, and that she’s planning to hang around Newcastle for another few months and then hook up with Dan somewhere out of the country.”

  “If that’s the case … she gave us one heck of a performance yesterday.”

  Belle’s head jerked up. She stared hard at her husband. “Yesterday, we were accusing Frank of killing Dan … which Bonnie was denying up and down. She didn’t have to pretend because Frank didn’t kill Dan.”

  “I don’t know, Belle…. That’s an awfully messy picture you’re painting; and Dan planned this thing too carefully to leave behind a flake like Bonnie—and then trust to heaven that she was going to keep her mouth shut about the entire thing. That’s a dangerous loose end to leave dangling.”

  “Tacete …” Belle murmured, giving the word a proper Italian accent, and then offering up its translation, “Shut your mouth…. ” She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them. When she did, their gray color had darkened with resolve. “He’s killed two people, already. Why not a third?”

  Rosco folded his arms across his chest. “Bonnie?”

  “If she helped him carry off this scheme, he doesn’t really have a choice, does he?”

  Rosco and Belle drove directly to Smile!, where they learned that Bonnie had called in sick first thing that morning. It was now ten to eleven; time seemed to be conspiring against them. “Maybe she’s already flown the coop,” Belle said after the couple had returned to their car and begun driving toward Bonnie’s apartment complex. “Maybe our interr
ogation yesterday sent her running to Dan; maybe he’s—” Belle bit off her words, reflexively gripping the door handle.

  “Don’t do this to yourself,” was Rosco’s quiet reply. “You’re not responsible for Bonnie’s actions—or for Dan’s. Besides, if the theory you’ve been spinning out is correct, then Bonnie’s an accessory to murder. Two murders, in fact.”

  “Nobody deserves to be killed in cold blood,” Belle observed in a hollow tone.

  “I take it you’re not referring to Rob and Frank?”

  She sighed but made no further answer, and they continued on in silence until they pulled up in front of Bonnie’s home. As luck would have it, Bonnie was just emerging from her front door with Carlos Quintero. “Well, at least we’re not too late,” Belle said as she threw open the car door.

  “Assuming we’re looking at the real Carlos and not Dan in disguise,” Rosco tossed in, but there was nothing amused in the sound of his words.

  As Belle and Rosco approached the pair, Carlos stepped in front of Bonnie. He’d assumed full bodyguard pose: arms straight, palms out as if preparing for a shoving match, knees bent, feet firmly planted.

  “Bonnie told me all about you, doll. You weren’t looking for any waitress job, and your hubby here is a PI. Bonnie, ain’t answering any more of your questions, so you’d better just clear out. Go back where you came from. Both of you.”

  It was Rosco who responded. “There have been two homicides in Newcastle county during the past week, Quintero. Either one carries with it a life sentence. If you’re involved, then your behavior here is probably justified. However, if you’re not involved, and you choose to interfere with any conversation with Ms. O’Connell, then you’re in danger of becoming accessory to the fact and being charged with obstruction of justice.”

  Before Carlos could answer, Bonnie pushed her way forward. “What do you mean, two murders?” Her voice was raspy and frightened.