“Ah. So the two people who would’ve been alerted were the two who were already involved. Clever.”
“And no one would’ve been the wiser until large sums of money turned up missing. And maybe not even then. I mean, who would’ve ratted them out?” Jonelle stood and began pacing. “I don’t know why Finkleberg wanted her dead, though. The only plausible reason I can come up with is blackmail. She threatened to expose him, unless …”
“Unless what?”
Jonelle flopped back down on the sofa. “I don’t know. She couldn’t expose him without implicating herself. Damn. This whole mess makes my head hurt.”
“People have been known to kill to protect their affairs and to avoid a messy divorce,” Adrienne said. “Those psycho-nuts always think they can get away with it.”
“True. Then he should’ve killed his wife. Not Susanna.”
“Right. Now I’m starting to get a headache.”
Jonelle reached over and poured herself another glass of wine. “I wonder if … let’s assume they did have an affair. Suppose the wife found out and blamed Susanna, got pissed and hired a hit man.”
“What does this guy Finklewhatsit look like? Is he a hottie?”
Jonelle’s pulse raced; she was on to something. “No, but neither is Susanna’s ex-husband. In fact, now that I really think about it, Kelly and Finkleberg kinda resemble each other. A lot of people get involved with the same type of person over and over. I like this theory … a lot.”
Adrienne closed the box of crackers. “Where you gonna find a hit man in an itty-bitty town like that?”
“Doesn’t matter how big the place is, people will do all kinds of things for money. Rosemary said Finkleberg hired her baby’s daddy and other Chippewa family members as his chauffeur, bodyguards and to do odd jobs. His missus could’ve paid one of them.”
“So, you think the wife’s involved?”
Jonelle leaned forward, elbows on knees, head in her hands. “No. Doesn’t make sense. She wouldn’t send someone all the way down here. She’d be glad the woman was gone. Damn.”
“What about Rosemary?”
“I can’t see her engineering something like this. True, she was upset about Susanna leaving her to take the blame for everything. And, she was distraught about being stiffed on the money. So …” Jonelle shot up. “Maybe, just maybe the baby-daddy took matters into his own hands. That’s a possibility. And the Yazzies would’ve found out where Susanna was because they hung around Finkleberg all day.”
With wine glass raised in the air, Adrienne saluted Jonelle. “There you go.”
Jonelle flipped through her notes on Sophia and scanned the pages. “Here’s something else,” she said, her brows furrowed. “I knew I had the twins’ tattoos correct.”
“What tattoos?”
“Burt said the autopsy on Susanna showed a red rose tattoo on her shoulder. Yet I wrote right here,”—she tapped the page—“that Sophia said her tattoo was a rose.”
Adrienne uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “What do you think that means?”
“There are two possible reasons. One, Sophia lied about it for some reason I can’t fathom, or … she was telling the truth and she’s not who she says she is, or was.”
CHAPTER 38
After her conversation with Adrienne, Jonelle called Burt’s phone and was disappointed when it went to voice mail. The differences in the tattoos was important and she wondered if the person she talked to was actually Susanna and that the other twin, Sophia, actually died first. Why would the twins reverse identities? And why not just admit to being Susanna instead of Sophia? Maybe, despite Luther’s devotion to her, Susanna didn’t completely trust him. Now that she thought about it, “Sophia’s” questions about the man could have been a fishing expedition—a ploy to find out exactly how much Jonelle knew.
A quick call to the agency advised Rainey she wouldn’t be in, with the excuse that she had some field work to do. Afterwards, Jonelle pulled on jeans, cross trainers, beige turtleneck and an oversized, brown wool, crewneck sweater. She checked to make sure the pistol had a full magazine and instead of tucking the weapon in her purse, strapped on a black leather holster between the two sweaters.
Jonelle pulled up the address of the hotel found on the documents in Kelly’s office and plugged the address into her GPS system.
Adrenaline coursed through her veins. This wasn’t the first time Jonelle felt exhilarated at the thought of finding herself in a dangerous situation. She didn’t know whether or not to be concerned.
If her assumption was right this was where the men stayed and one of them had already attacked her once. Goosebumps erupted on her arms. She tried Burt’s phone again and got the same result. This time, her message told him where she would be and why and also left information on the car the two men drove. After a slight pause, she suggested he mention the Yazzie name to Finkleberg. She knew Burt wouldn’t like being told how to handle the situation and frankly, she didn’t care.
After arriving at their hotel—a scant five miles from the Lancelot, Jonelle noticed—she drove at a snail’s pace, up and down the parking lot. Near the entrance, on the north side of the building, she spotted the gray sedan and passed it by, noting there weren’t many cars in this section. For the first time she regretted having her Jeep and wondered if maybe the agency could acquire a less distinctive company car. Jonelle aimed her vehicle toward the front of the building again, and as far away from the sedan as possible while still keeping the car in view. Pistol loaded and secured next to her body, Jonelle settled in to wait for her targets to come out.
She didn’t have to wait long. A heavyset, brown-skinned man with long, straight black hair left the hotel via the front entrance. He stood under the green awning and lit a cigarette. Soon after, another man emerged who looked almost identical to the first one. She understood how everyone who’d seen the men referred to them as Mexican.
One of the men turned and looked in her direction. Jonelle slid down in the seat, her eyes peeking through the steering wheel. Although some distance away, she saw him cock his head as his eyes zoned in on her Jeep. Damn. The first one turned his head and said something to the other, who also looked in her direction. They left the portico and the taller of the two headed in her direction. Jonelle unsnapped the holster and removed her gun. She slid further down in her seat so that her eyes were level with the dashboard. The tall man kept coming.
About twenty feet away from Jonelle’s car, the other man called out, “Leave it. We gotta git goin’.” The man stopped. Before he walked back to his companion, he looked right at Jonelle and smiled.
Although it took all the nerve she could muster, Jonelle sat up and tried to smile back, but the muscles in her face wouldn’t work.
After the second Yazzie returned to his brother, they both got in the car without another look in her direction. With her cover blown, Jonelle could either give up her plan to follow or go ahead and see where the situation led. She chose the second option.
The gray sedan exited the front of the hotel and turned right. Jonelle waited until two cars pulled in front of her before taking the same route. Since they knew she was behind them, Jonelle wondered if they’d take her on a wild goose chase. Only one way to find out. After ten minutes of tailing the sedan, Jonelle’s phone sounded. With one hand she scrounged through her bag, found her phone and glanced at the screen.
“Burt. Thank goodness it’s you. I’ve got myself in a bit of a … uh … situation.”
She listened as Burt asked her to join him at the station. Finkleberg had returned and had agreed to cooperate.
“I’m not surprised,” Jonelle said. She told him about the two men and what she knew up to that point was the connection to the twins. “At first I thought they were Finkleberg’s ‘muscle’ but now I’m not so sure. Rosemary Wilkins’ lawyer gave me vital information about the embezzlement, which takes this whole mess in a different direction.”
As the gray sedan pulled
into the parking lot of a Walmart, Jonelle ditched the idea of tailing them any further. The interview with Finkleberg presented more possibilities to get answers to what was going on.
A scant forty minutes later, Jonelle entered the detective’s division. She’d given Burt her promise that she’d be a silent witness to Finkleberg’s interrogation. He’d grudgingly given her special permission since her client was murdered and might have information to help solve the case. If Finkleberg asked for a lawyer, she’d have to leave.
Once inside the small, windowless, gray-walled, room, Jonelle felt her chest tighten. For a brief moment she didn’t have to worry about keeping her mouth shut, her claustrophobia would do it for her.
Finkleberg was already seated at the small metal desk, with Burt opposite. Before Jonelle sat next to Burt she made a request. “Mind if I keep the door open a little?” Burt nodded.
Jonelle sat and studied Finkleberg. A fine sheen of sweat glazed his brow. His skin had the pasty look of someone suffering from a bad case of the flu. A box of tissues sat in the middle of the table, yet he didn’t touch them. Jonelle hoped he didn’t keel over before they had a chance to ask their questions.
“You okay?”
Finkleberg managed a slow nod.
Jonelle turned to Burt. “Think we can get him something to drink? I’d like a bottle of water myself.”
“It’s on the way,” Burt said. No sooner had the words left his mouth, than a quick knock on the partially opened door allowed another detective to enter with three bottles of water, which he placed in the middle of the table without comment. Both Finkleberg and Jonelle reached for a bottle.
“Okay,” Burt said. “Let’s get started.” He cleared his throat. “The victim, known as Sophia Quinley Reyes, was found in the alley near the Lancelot Inn and about three blocks from the location where her sister, Susanna, was murdered. This was less than five miles from the warehouse where Susanna stayed on occasion.” He shot a sharp look at Jonelle. She stared back without comment.
He continued. “Mrs. Reyes was killed in the same manner; her throat cut, her face painted white, with black around the eyes and mouth. ”
A strangled cry emerged from Finkleberg’s throat. Gone was the arrogant individual she’d talked to earlier.
“Mr. Finkleberg, you’re in Maryland because of your knowledge about why Susanna Quinley left her job in Michigan. You stated that she had embezzled money from the county and you wanted to know what we’d done to find and return the money to Michigan. Is that correct?”
He nodded.
“And you’ve been informed that the money hasn’t been recovered. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Has anyone contacted you as to the whereabouts of the missing money?”
“No.”
“You sure about that?” Jonelle asked, eliciting a frown from Burt.
Finkleberg glared at Jonelle without speaking.
“Do you have any idea who might have killed Susanna Quinley?” Burt asked.
Finkleberg inhaled deeply and sipped water before answering. “No. And I have no idea who killed Sophia either.” He put his head in his hand. “This is getting out of control. I don’t know what the hell is going on.”
Jonelle pulled out her notes from her Hackett interview. “Do you know who Robert, Sherman and Alex Yazzie are?”
Burt shot her an angry look, which she ignored.
“Well?”
“Jonelle. I thought I asked you to …”
She turned toward Burt. “I know. But I might have some information that could help you, if you’d just let me get it out. Okay? You can tell me to leave, but at least hear what I have to say.” She focused back on Finkleberg. “Do you know the men?”
“I know them. Oldenberry is a small community. Everybody knows everybody. Secrets are hard to keep.”
“Someone told me you hired them as bodyguards and to do, um, odd jobs.”
“I bet I know who that someone is. So what?”
No way was Jonelle going to admit she’d burgled Kelly’s office. “I came across their names again because two men in a gray sedan were watching me. I discovered the car was a rental, so after some, um, investigating I determined that they were the ones who leased the car. What I don’t know is why they were following me.”
Burt shifted in the seat next to her. She was afraid to meet his eyes. He knew better than she did that rental companies don’t give out that information.
Lines appeared on Finkleberg’s brow. “How would I know the answer to that?”
“Because when I followed you and Kelly to that bar in west Baltimore, I was grabbed from behind, dragged down the street and hit on the head. A couple of ladies stopped him and the man they described reminded me of one of the two who shadowed me.” She pointed at Finkleberg. “Did you know they were here?”
Burt held up his hand. “Don’t answer that, Mr. Finkleberg. I called you in to provide a basic status report and to see if you could shed any light on why the second twin was killed. This is going in a direction vastly different from the one I had anticipated. Your appearance here is entirely voluntary. If you want to leave, you can. I have nothing to charge you with … at this point.”
Finkleberg blanched. “Charge me? Do you plan on arresting me?”
“Not unless I have to. So I’d appreciate it if you’d cooperate since you knew both victims.”
No one spoke for several seconds. A few times Finkleberg stood as if ready to leave, but changed his mind.
Burt glared at Jonelle. “You might have told me what was going on instead of having me find out here.” He waved his arms around the cramped interview room.
Jonelle bristled. “The reason I didn’t was because—”
“I’m not finished,” Burt interrupted, his voice rising to a level she hadn’t heard before. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do and if I didn’t respect your skills as a PI, you’d be out of here so fast everybody’d get wind burn.”
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, a somewhat chastened Jonelle asked, “So, I can stay?”
“For now.”
Finkleberg’s head had swiveled from one to the other as the exchange played out. His gaze settled back on Jonelle.
“To continue,” she said, with a sideways glance at Burt, “why are they here?”
“I don’t know. You might want to ask Barry that question.”
Burt piped up. “Did they know you were coming here?”
After a slight hesitation, Finkleberg nodded. “I swear to God I told them I could handle everything myself.”
“Why’d they come? What’s in it for them?” Jonelle asked.
Finkleberg ignored the question, clutched his water bottle and drank.
“Was Kelly aware you were coming to Maryland?” Burt asked.
“Sure. He’s a friend. I thought maybe I could stay with him, you know, save money on the hotel. But, he said no. Some friend, huh?”
“Is money an issue with you?” Jonelle asked.
A red flush crept up Finkleberg’s neck. “This isn’t about me.”
Jonelle thought otherwise.
“What reason did he give for you not staying with him?” From the tone of Burt’s voice, she could tell he wasn’t happy with the turn of events.
“Said he didn’t have the space and that considering all that went on with Susanna, it was probably best I didn’t stay with him. Might look funny.” Finkleberg snorted.
Jonelle decided to present information Rosemary’s lawyer told her as rumor rather than fact. “Susanna hinted to Rosemary, that the embezzlement wouldn’t be discovered because—let me make sure I say this right—someone high up was involved so their crime would be invisible. Rosemary assumed you were that person.”
Finkleberg started to rise.
“Sit down please,” Burt said.
“I think I’d like a lawyer,” Finkleberg said. He started sweating again.
“You’re not under arrest,” Burt
said.
“In that case, I’m leaving.”
Burt held up his hand. “Wouldn’t you like to clear up a few things? I’d hate to have to consider you a person of interest in both murders.”
“What?” Finkleberg sounded as if he got something huge stuck in his throat. He fell back into his seat. “I might have done some things I shouldn’t have, but I’m no murderer.”
“Well, someone is, and at this point the logical person is you,” Jonelle said. “I can see why you’d want Susanna dead—she knew you were involved in the embezzlement. Rosemary also said the original idea was to take a lot more than they ended up with, but that you and Susanna had an argument about your affair and Susanna decided to split with what they had already. That about right?”
Rosemary didn’t specifically name Finkleberg, but the man sitting across from her didn’t know that.
Jonelle didn’t think it was possible for Finkleberg to get any whiter than he was, but he paled even more. She glanced over at Burt. She didn’t want the man to die on them. He really didn’t look well. Burt must have read her mind.
“Do you need a break?”
Finkleberg leaned his elbows on the desk and placed his head in his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Silence in the air took on an almost physical presence.
Jonelle interrupted the stillness that permeated the small room. “What about Sophia?”
Finkleberg raised his head.
“Were the two of you in contact with each other after Susanna took the money and ran?”
Finkleberg remained tight-lipped.
Burt smacked his hand on the desk. Finkleberg and Jonelle jumped at the sound.
“Normally I’m a patient man. But I’m looking at two murders here and I don’t like it one bit. Things will go a whole lot easier for you if you’re upfront with me. Were you and Sophia Reyes in contact with one another?”
For a moment Jonelle had the sick feeling that Finkleberg would clam up and insist that Burt either charge him with a crime or he walked. Fortunately, like most people, he was intimidated by the authority inherent in the law. The look on his face told Jonelle that he weighed the trouble he was in with how to come out of the mess unscathed.
The Trickster (A Jonelle Sweet Mystery Book 3) Page 23