Another Word for Murder

by Nero Blanc

  “Your brother didn’t commit suicide, Bonnie,” Belle said in a level tone, “he was murdered and—”

  But before the sentence could be completed, Bonnie had fainted. Carlos caught her upper body in his arms, and then he lowered her slowly onto the concrete sidewalk, where he began fanning her face. Her skin was bluish-white and covered with a sheen of perspiration. There was no faking her physical distress.

  “What do you mean Frank was murdered?” Carlos asked in utter confusion, “Bonnie said he hung himself.”

  Rosco handed Carlos his jacket. “Here. Put that under her head, and get her legs in the air. Sit down by her feet, and put them in your lap.” Rosco dropped down onto one knee and checked Bonnie’s pulse. Belle moved to the other side of the prone woman so that she would cast a shadow over her face. Rosco added a businesslike, “The autopsy concluded that Frank was first strangled and then hung in his apartment. The killer’s intention was to make the death look like a suicide.”

  Bonnie’s eyes flickered as she slowly regained consciousness. She gazed up at Rosco, Belle, and Carlos, and then closed her eyes again as if hoping the bad dream would disappear.

  “Did you hear me telling you what happened to Frank?” Belle asked her.

  Bonnie nodded, but instead of responding with speech, she began to cry. Abundant tears flowed from her cheeks into the red hair spread upon the pavement.

  “You know who killed your brother, don’t you?” Belle continued.

  Bonnie opened her eyes and stared straight up into the sky. She made no other movement.

  “And you know about Rob, too?” Belle prodded.

  “Rob?” Bonnie echoed. She stared at Belle.

  “That it was his body found in the Corvette.”

  “No … it was … Dan …” Bonnie began struggling into a sitting position. “It was my Dan…. ”

  Above Bonnie’s head, Belle and Rosco looked at each other.

  “You’re certain of that?” Rosco asked.

  “That’s what the police told me.” Bonnie’s eyes searched first Belle’s face and then Rosco’s. “And that lieutenant friend of yours—”

  “Bon, you know you shouldn’t be talking to these people here without a lawyer present,” Carlos interrupted, but she was having none of his advice.

  “Shut up, Carlos! I haven’t done anything wrong!” She turned back to Belle. “You said someone killed my brother.”

  “And we think you know who it was,” Rosco replied.

  Bonnie looked at Carlos. “How could I …? I don’t know all the lowlifes Frankie used to hang out with…. He was into a lot of dumb things. I already told you people that…. ” Again her words faltered. Then she gasped.

  “It … was … Dan, wasn’t it?” she mumbled at length. “He’s not dead…. He … he … he set all this up, didn’t he?” Her eyes jumped toward Belle, then as rapidly fell away. “That note …” she whispered, “I knew that note couldn’t be Frankie’s. It wasn’t his language … it was Dan’s. It was Dan saying goodbye to me…. He knew the letter would end up in my hands. He knew I’d be the one reading it over and over. And he must have done those puzzles, too, because Frankie—” Bonnie’s words halted abruptly; she sat fully erect, hugging her knees to her chest and lowering her head until her face was nearly hidden. Her shoulders shook with grief.

  “The police believe you helped plan this,” Rosco lied as he rose to his feet. “That you and Tacete—and your brother—arranged to drug and murder Rossi—”

  “Hey … hey!” Carlos piped in. “You gotta read the lady her rights. She’s allowed to have a lawyer present if—”

  But Bonnie overrode him. “What you’re saying would mean that I let Dan kill my brother! Why would I do that? Why would I do anything as horrible as that?”

  “That’s right,” Carlos insisted. “Bonnie wouldn’t ever have—”

  Rosco wasn’t finished, however. “And you and Tacete then placed Rossi’s body in the driver’s seat and set the car ablaze…. ”

  “No!” Bonnie yelled, and Carlos immediately came to her aid.

  “Back off, buddy, why don’tcha? Can’t you see the lady’s upset? Look, if you’re saying Tacete’s still alive and that he killed Frankie, then that’s that. But I know Bonnie; she wouldn’t do nothin’ to hurt her brother. Never in a million years.”

  “Why would Tacete have wanted to kill Frank O’Connell?” Rosco demanded of Carlos.

  Carlos shrugged; his gaze left Bonnie and began instead to wander across the grass. “Frankie was into this … blackmail stuff…. Sorry, kiddo, but your bro told me all about it…. I mean, like, he was kinda proud, like he’d invented the greatest scam of all time.”

  Rosco studied Carlos. “What did Frank have on Dan?”

  “He knew about Bonnie and the doc. I guess he was threatening to tell the wifey.”

  “So, Frank was demanding money …?”

  “Nah, man, OxyContin. See, Tacete wrote prescriptions, and then Frankie sold the Oxy to other dudes at way-out prices…. Well, yeah, sometimes there was cash, too.”

  “Just can it, Carlos,” Bonnie snapped. “Nobody needs to know that stuff!”

  “Sure they do, Bon. Because if these people are right about the doc, then he’s gettin’ off scot-free. Don’t you want to see Tacete do time for killin’ your brother, even?”

  “Shut up, Carlos,” Bonnie snarled again. “Don’t say anything else, okay?”

  “What else is there?” Carlos asked; his face was clouded in confusion.

  “Just don’t say any more. That’s all.”

  “How long had you and Doctor Tacete been having an affair?” Belle’s query was gentle. She sensed that Bonnie was still concealing something, and she hoped that a non-confrontational manner would keep the words flowing.

  “I don’t know,” was the nervous reply, “three or four months maybe.”

  Carlos shook his head. “Come on, Bon, that’s such a crock. You’ve been foolin’ around with Tacete for at least a year now. ’Cause last summer, Frankie told me you—”

  “Butt out, Carlos. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Again, Rosco and Belle shared a look, and an almost imperceptible nod of agreement passed between them. “Frank knew you took Dan’s Explorer to Boston to be repaired, didn’t he?” Rosco said.

  Bonnie didn’t reply, although she gripped her knees tighter.

  Rosco leaned down. “You put on a blonde wig and you told the mechanic you’d hit a deer while driving through New Hampshire. But it wasn’t a deer, was it? It was the Snyder boy, and it happened right around the corner—”

  “No!” Bonnie cried out.

  “DNA samples lifted from the Explorer’s tires match perfectly with the Snyder case,” Rosco once again lied. “We know it was the same vehicle.”

  “I didn’t do it. I swear I didn’t!”

  “Then why did you take the car to Boston be repaired?”

  Bonnie hunched her shoulders and lowered her chin, but she refused to answer.

  “Come on, Bonnie,” Rosco growled. “You never went to New Hampshire, but you were using Dan’s car…. Or you and Frank had borrowed the Explorer, and Frank killed that boy, and you knew the cops would throw the book at him—”

  Bonnie began to sob. “No! That’s not how it went…. Okay … okay, yes, I was there when the boy died … but Frankie wasn’t. He wasn’t anywhere near the place…. Dan was driving, not me…. I know Dan should have stopped. I begged him to stop and go back. It wasn’t right to just leave that poor kid lying in the street like that … but Dan said the boy was dead, and there was nothing we could do. He told me if we got involved and called the cops that Karen would find out about us.”

  “But your brother learned the truth.”

  Bonnie nodded. “I should never have told him … but I was so shook up. And then Dan made me pretend to be Karen when I took the car to be fixed. He said it had to be a woman because of the registration. He got me the wig and everything�
�even some of Karen’s clothes…. But I was just so scared.” Bonnie’s tears increased. “That’s why Dan kept paying Frankie. Money, real money, not just the Oxycontin like Carlos says…. I begged Frankie to leave it alone, but he just wouldn’t. He said he wanted to be on easy street for once in his life. And Dan, well, I mean, he didn’t seem to mind that much. He kept telling me he was helping my brother through a rough patch…. And now Frankie’s dead—” By this time Bonnie was sobbing heavily. “I should have told the police about the Snyder boy. I know that. But Dan said I’d be blamed, too. He told me we’d both go to jail … and … and what I’d done when I took the car to Craigor was illegal, too. Like you said, an ‘accessory,’ or something …”

  “So Tacete arranged it so that you’d be forced to take the fall for the Snyder death.” It was Carlos who made this gloomy observation. “Man, Bonnie … I always said that guy was a snake. I knew he was no good for you from the git-go. A married guy with a kid. A person like that shouldn’t have no chick on the side…. ”

  Carlos didn’t continue, and Bonnie made no effort to challenge or correct him.

  “And you truly believed that Dan had been kidnapped and then killed?” Belle asked.

  “Yes,” was the muffled reply. “Yes, that’s what I thought. That’s what everyone said. Why wouldn’t I think it was true?”

  “You should have come forward after the Snyder accident,” Belle said, as sympathetically as she could. “It was an awful situation, but it was an accident.”

  “I couldn’t. Don’t you see? I mean, a thing like that … and me in the car. What would it have done to Karen and that cute little girl of theirs? I loved Dan. I didn’t want to ruin his good name.”

  Belle looked down at Bonnie. “Maybe you should have been worrying about your own good name.”

  CHAPTER 38

  “Let me get this straight; see if I’m putting two and two together and coming up with four …,” Martha said as she doled out a second cup of coffee to Abe Jones; at the exact same moment, her other hand passed a stainless steel pitcher containing heavy cream toward Belle. Lawson’s and its loyal patrons didn’t believe in heat-sealed, personalized creamers—either for the genuine cow-produced variety or for artificial “whitening agents.” Cream was cream, just as maple syrup was maple syrup; they were thick and comforting liquids that needed proper pouring spouts and handles that were easy to grasp. “So, Bella-Bella, you and your hubby, and Big Al here, just learned that Tacete had pulled this same weird stunt before?”

  “Well not precisely the same, Martha,” Belle answered. “But we did find out he’d successfully accomplished two previous vanishing acts—”

  “That you know of,” Sara interrupted.

  “Correct,” Belle said. “That we know of.”

  “And did the others also involve murder?” Martha demanded.

  “No one’s certain yet,” Al said in response, “but the prognosis sure points in that direction. One of the cases involved what was originally termed a ‘suspicious death.’ That was in Indiana where his then wife accidentally died of carbon monoxide poisoning. At the time, the police in South Bend didn’t like the looks of the situation, so they listed her husband as a ‘person of interest.’ But they weren’t able to pin anything on the apparently grief-stricken widower—who then just up and disappeared. Of course, his name wasn’t Tacete back then.”

  “But they’re reopening the investigation?” Martha prompted.

  “Oh, you betcha,” Al replied evenly. “Both cases. The one in Indiana and the one in Florida. Our boy was a real rolling stone before the Feds nabbed him for ‘allegedly’ killing Frank O’Connell and Rob Rossi.”

  “Allegedly, shmedgedly,” Martha barked out. “Rob Rossi accidentally put himself in a car and dropped into a fiery ball at the bottom of ravine? And O’Connell strangled himself by mistake? Tell me another one, Al!”

  “Oh, they’ll pin those deaths on our tooth doc, all right,” Lever answered in a grimmer tone, “with a little help from yours truly and Doctor Jones, here.” Al took a sip of his coffee. He didn’t seem to notice that it was no longer piping hot, or even lukewarm.

  “Wow … Two other times … and maybe even more …” was all Martha could think to respond. Then she did the unthinkable. She plunked herself down at the table with Sara, Abe, Belle, and Al, the current stalwarts of the Breakfast Bunch. Rosco was missing from the group. He’d told Belle he had a couple of details on the Porto case to tie up before he could join the Lawson’s crowd.

  “Wow …” Martha repeated while the others regarded her with concern, wondering if she’d suddenly taken ill. “What a creep!” she muttered. “Sneaking out on his wife and step-kid … and trying to pin the Snyder boy’s death on that poor doofus, Bonnie—”

  “Not to mention what he did to his buddies O’Connell and Rossi,” Abe Jones observed in his own steely tone.

  “You know something, gorgeous?” was Martha’s swift retort. “In my book, killing a couple of guys is a lesser sin than plotting to desert a wife and little girl. Okay, so the crumb-bum sets up Rossi and O’Connell, acts all friendly and helpful—probably even tells Rob he admires his ‘stache and wants to grow one just like it—all the while thinking, You’re dead meat, fellas. Adios, amigos…. But at the same time, the cretin’s also inventing the special hell he’s going to inflict on his family…. Imagine dreaming up that kind of scheme! That’s a twisted brain, that’s what it is! It’s downright evil. Just think how that child’s going to grow up after the horrible shenanigans committed by her supposedly loving step-dad. Just think what she’s been through.”

  “And her mother,” Sara added.

  “Right. And Karen,” Martha said with a heavy sigh. “Boy, oh boy …” She slumped against the table, her usually bird-sharp eyes glazed over and sad.

  “Are you feeling okay, Martha?” Belle asked after a moment.

  “Huh? Sure … yeah …” But Lawson’s ruling waitress didn’t look too certain.

  “I could take care of your customers if you want to sit here and rest for a bit,” Belle offered. “I worked as a waitress in college. I was actually pretty good.”

  “I can help,” Sara tossed in, swinging her legs genteelly toward the side of the banquette.

  “No way, Sara.” Martha shook her head and smiled, albeit feebly. “The day Newcastle’s reigning queen-mum starts slinging java in a Pyrex carafe instead of serving it in an antique silver coffee set is the day I resign.” Then she made a sound that was half chuckle and half groan. “Look at me, sitting down on the job! I must be losing my marbles. If Mr. Lawson saw me acting like this he’d call the padded wagon.”

  “Well, it’s a rotten situation,” Belle responded in a gentle tone. “It’s upset us all. The fact that Dan—or whatever his real name is—was so knowingly cruel can’t help but give us the willies…. And then there’s the whole bizarre situation with the crosswords he kept sending me under various aliases. I don’t know why I never thought to line up the initials in the names instead of merely studying solutions and clues—W.H. Everts, the supposed creator of ‘Baby Steps’; Randy E. Isaacs who allegedly submitted ‘Sugar and Spice’; Sal D. Anderson, fictional author of ‘As Time Goes By’; Nicky O. Flanagan, the bogus constructor of ‘Frankly, Dear’; and a phony Frank T. O’Connell—all of which spell out WHERE IS DAN OFF TO? Talk about playing nasty mind games!”

  “No one could have imagined Dan Tacete would put his own name in the crosswords, Belle, dear,” Sara said. “I would employ the word hubris to describe his action, but there was something far more vicious at work.”

  “Which fit the perp’s M.O. to a T, Mrs. B,” Al interjected.

  “Sounds like you’re aiming to start writing song lyrics, Big Al. Though you don’t particularly fit the natty Cole Porter or Noel Coward image.” Martha made this lackluster attempt at a wisecrack, then she stood and distractedly smoothed the wrinkles from her rustling pink skirt. “What on earth is keeping that hubby of yours?” The ques
tion verged on the petulant. Her ordinarily breezy manner had definitely not returned.

  It was Al who answered. He forced a companionable chortle as he spoke. “Poly—crates sure opened a big can of worms with that Porto scam. Now Sonny’s lawyer’s screaming at Sonny’s mother’s lawyer, accusing her of being the mastermind of the entire heist while Sonny was just a stooge with a big smile and engaging manner…. Seems he really didn’t know anything about the Porto thefts—if you can believe his attorney. His loving mom was running the entire operation, both the legit business and the chop-shop sideline and keeping her baby boy in the dark. I gather she believed ‘ignorance is bliss’ is the only way to raise a child.”

  “Another happy family,” Martha threw in darkly. “Well, all I can say is, you’re a fortunate gal, Belle. Rosco’s true blue—besides being a handsome son of a gun.”

  “I know, Martha,” was Belle’s thoughtful reply. “And I thank my lucky stars every day.”

  “How come you’re not passing out compliments in my direction, Miss M?” Abe jibed.

  “You may be gorgeous, Doctor Jones, but you’re not married like my man Rosco. And married men who are good and kind don’t grow on trees. Look at Dan Tacete or whatever his name is…. And look at those poor women who trusted him … Karen, Bonnie … the dames in Florida and Indiana … What’s wrong with us gals, anyway? Why do so many of us need to be victims?”

  The question silenced them all again, and Martha continued to stand beside the table, the now cold carafe forgotten in her hand while the restaurant’s other patrons tried without success to catch her eye. “At least the doc’s locked up for good,” she insisted loudly and angrily, “and I hope they throw away the key. In fact, I hope they forget he’s in a jail cell and don’t bother to give him any chow.”

  “Well, we’re all going to need to rally around Karen and Lily,” Sara said after another somber pause. “They’ll need our help and support.”

  “If Karen decides to stay in Newcastle,” Belle replied.

  “Well, I hope she does,” Sara insisted. “I realize she’ll have to move to a less-costly domicile, but well, I’m prepared to do my part and supply any aid she might need in future.”