by Ronnie Allen
“Atlanta? That’s what info on Calinda said. Find out if AriellaRose or Adam ever went to rehab in Atlanta,” Sam said.
Frank raised a hand. “Hold on. One of her friends that I met, Meredith Cummings, had a southern accent. So I believe, gang, we just found our three killers. Address on Hawthorne?”
“Funny thing is, she’s listed as homeless. In Staten Island. But she didn’t look homeless from what she was described as wearing.” Withers closed the file. “No way is she fucking homeless.”
“Okay, so both Adam and AriellaRose are financially set enough to support these women. Now, we have Doctor Trenton. He lived next door to AriellaRose. Suppose we make that call now,” Sam said.
“All right. I know him well.” Nick took his smartphone out of his pocket, checked his contact list, and dialed from the phone on the desk keeping it on speaker.
A young boy answered. “Hello.”
Nick looked surprised. “Is Doctor Trenton there?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
Nick laughed silently. “Who’s this?”
“Ricky, his son. Hold on. Dad!”
Nick looked at the team, putting his palms out in bewilderment. Guess he didn’t know him as well as he thought, Sam ruminated.
“Doctor Trenton, here.”
“Hey John. It’s Nick Valatutti. How are you?”
“Hey Nick. Doing well. Going out of my gourd with boredom, but I’m busy.”
“That’s what you get for staying down south. You know what they say about Florida?”
“Yeah, the one foot in the grave, but I’m far from that.”
“Isn’t that the same little guy you rescued three years ago?”
“Sure is. Came back to us last February, and we’ll be finalizing the adoption next month. Amazing how things can be manifested.”
Sam perked up at Doctor Trenton’s choice of words.
“How’s he doing?” Nick asked.
“It’s been a fun ride. We’re homeschooling till he catches up. He’s a great kid.”
“So what are you doing to pass your days?”
“Finishing my book, teaching criminology at the community college.”
“Bor--ing.”
“What are you asking me, Nick? I get the feeling your call isn’t just social.”
Withers butted in. “Still with the feelings crap?”
“Well, if it isn’t Dingo Withers. Spoke with your brother last week. He’s still wrapping things up on the Gemini case. Finding more bodies, so the families can have closure.”
“Good, okay. Listen, I got a rookie here who needs to talk to you. Detective Samantha Wright.”
“Sure.” Trenton’s smooth tone came through clearly.
“Hi, Doctor Trenton. We’re investigating four high-profile murders. The first vic is your neighbor in Manhattan. Steven Larcon. What can you tell me about him?”
“Wow! I hadn’t heard. Who else?”
“His wife, daughter Valerie, and designer Meghan Mason.”
“Hey, John, how about coming up and taking this over? Get rid of your boredom. And I never did get the chance to whip your ass in my gym.”
She shot Frank a how-dare-you glare. “Uh, Frank, we’re not talking about the gym now. Doctor Trenton?”
“Okay, Khaos, how long have you two been going together?”
“We’re not going together. We just met last Wednesday,” Sam said, flatly.
“What does that matter?” Trenton asked. “I met Vicki the same night I came here to see my parents, and by the next night I knew she was going to be my wife.”
“Oh? That was kind of quick. Can we discuss that later, please?” Sam didn’t like her own pleading tone.
“Yeah, Doc. When I said rookie, I meant it. All business. She doesn’t even have a week under her belt in the rank. And get this. She’s the lead on this case.”
Trenton laughed. “Wow, I like that. How’d you pull that one off, Detective?”
“I’m good at manifesting, too. Did you know Mr. Larcon, personally?”
“Yes, I did.”
“What can you tell me?”
“What do you want to know?”
So he’s testing me, too.
“All right. I’ll be specific. Did you see women coming and going, other than AriellaRose?”
“All the time. Very loud. Very rough sex.”
“Any names?”
“No. When people are involved in the scene he was, introductions were never made.”
“Any men?”
Without missing a beat, Trenton responded. “Yes.”
“Who specifically? You answered quickly. I get the impression you know.”
“Very good, Detective. Using your instincts. I like that.”
“You like it that much, John, how about coming up?” Frank asked.
“No can do, Khaos. I know it’s out of your specialty, but how do you say it? Deal with it? Besides, Vicki is due this week. Twins. Not leaving Florida.”
“Oh, how sweet. Congrats! Now who?”
“Another designer. Jaye Manning. He designs my suits. He’d stop by my apartment before...their...appointment.”
“Okay, this is a stretch. But, by any chance, would you know his alias?”
“You know about that? Yes, I do. I’d hear the screaming through the walls. Ty. Why did you ask?”
“Went to Whiplash last night with the guy who wants to whip your ass in the gym and observed a scene with Ty and Fido--uh, Adam.”
“Yeah. The three of them were partners. And, yes, it wouldn’t be allowed in clubs, but Steven and Adam were partners, too. Not for sex. Just for the discipline component--” A big dog’s loud barking in the background interrupted the conversation. “Okay. I have to run and walk him. A shepherd. Duke. Got him as leverage for Ricky. I’ll tell you, it worked. He’s an amazing dog. Look, call me if you need me. And, Detective Wright, I’m impressed.” He disconnected before any of them could say “Goodbye.”
“Crap! I didn’t get to ask him about AriellaRose.”
Frank shrugged. “Hey. We got plenty. Call in Jaye Manning. Not going to that club again.”
“Okay. What did our tech guys get?”
Withers looked at the blank section in the file. “No reports yet. But neither AriellaRose or Adam had any social media accounts, which is more than bizarre for their age group. That tells us a lot, actually. They didn’t want any attention. They wanted private.”
Sam scowled. “Not good enough.”
“Hey,” Frank protested. “It’s only been five days. Complete forensics takes two weeks.”
Frank’s rational approach wouldn’t make a dent. Sam glared at him and pulled the laptop close to her. “Enough bullshit. I’m going to find where AriellaRose really lives and whatever else.” She Googled AriellaRose Larcon and stared at the screen. Images came up with AriellaRose and her family. The first page articles showed a happy family at events and charities--the most recent in 2012. “Okay. Find out what happened in 2012 or 2013 that ceased attendance at these functions.” She continued the search. Articles about Larcon Fashions took up most of the first five pages. On the sixth page, there was a link entitled, AriellaRose Larcon, seen in Park Slope. Sam clicked on that. The article was dated six months ago. She scanned it. It was written by a fan of her dad’s line. The pic showed AriellaRose carrying grocery bags, walking down a side street to Garfield Place. “Got it! Got it! She lives in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Now to find an address.”
Frank grinned. “Very good.”
Nick gave her a high five. “All right, Sam, excellent. You two, go home and get some sleep. We’ll work on this.”
“No. I want to confront her with the amulet and white band. And someone has to tell her about her mother and sister. And there’s a lot more I need to find out.”
“Now I know how exhausted you are, Sam. Believe me she already knows. And you’ll do that tomorrow. Get out of here. Now. The both of you!”
Nick’s demand was appreciated
.
CHAPTER 23
Tuesday morning, ten a.m. sharp, Nick escorted Jaye Manning into a conference room. Looking at him, Nick became self-conscious. He examined Manning’s attire, trying not to be conspicuous. For a man around sixty with an abdomen that had spread, he still had style. Black silk shirt with several buttons undone, exposing his gray haired chest. Indigo skinny jeans, but more ornate than Frank wore. Manning’s had a black on black embroidered geometric pattern up the sides on the legs. Yet it was still masculine. Nick didn’t know what made him focus on this man’s attire. He’d never paid attention before, not much anyway, unless it was describing a witness or in official case business. But, then again, this qualified. Here he was in his Khaki slacks and brown blazer, the usual cop gear. Bland, but in style. “Have a seat, Mr. Manning. We’ll be with you shortly. Waiting on members of my team to arrive.”
“No problem. I want to help.”
“Thanks,” Nick said as he closed the door behind him.
Nick observed Manning on the computer monitor. He seemed sincere in wanting to help, relaxed, leaning back in the chair away from the table, his left leg crossed over his right thigh. He ran his fingers through his hair which Nick could tell, had once been blond.
Okay, maybe he’s a tad nervous.
Nick sat back in his chair. This lifestyle bothered him. Not that he was a prude, far from it. He and his wife still had awesome sex, even after twenty-three years. What he couldn’t wrap his brain around was the pleasure-pain part. Yeah, he knew about all the feel good chemicals that were released from the brain, when it was done right, but he could swear he released those same chemicals in his wife after sex. Oh man, sometimes judgments got in the way. Even with the best investigators. He just hoped he could control himself and not knock this Manning character out.
Sam and Frank joined him. All cleaned up and rested. Sam wore black denim jeans with studs scattered throughout the legs, from ankle to upper thigh and her jacket matched in pattern. Frank wore his usual--a black T-shirt and chambray colored jeans.
Nick nodded in approval. “Nice outfit.” He paused. “Hold on. I never say that about a woman’s outfit. Only sometimes to my wife. This case is having a real bad effect on me.”
“Aw. And I thought you meant me,” Frank chided.
Sam laughed. “Well, you should. Women like to hear it.” She took off her jacket and hung it over the back of her chair. “Did he say anything yet?”
“No. Waiting for you.” Nick couldn’t help but stare at her white sequined pullover top either. Come on, Valatutti, snap out of it.
“Okay, Let’s do this.” Sam opened the door.
“I’m staying here and observing,” Frank said.
“Sam, I’m letting you conduct the interview. I need to distance myself for a bit,” Nick said.
She looked at him suspiciously.
“Not. It’s not a test. Don’t want my disapproval of the lifestyle to come through. And, more importantly, too many people throw the process off.”
“Fair enough, Nick.”
Nick nodded and he and Sam left the room.
They entered the conference room. Jaye Manning sat up tall when he saw Sam. He wet his lips and put them together. He rubbed the back of his neck before he brought his hands down and curled them on his stomach.
Good. He’s embarrassed.
Nick unbuttoned his jacket.
“Hello, Mr. Manning. I’m Detective Samantha Wright, and you’ve met Detective Valatutti. Thank you for coming in.” She and Nick sat next to each other at the table opposite Manning.
“Sure, Detective Wright. It’s a shame what happened. I lost a very good friend and business partner.”
She clasped her hands in front of her on the desk. “We know. How long were you and Mr. Larcon business partners?”
“We were in design school together so we go back over thirty-four years or so.” He sighed at the memory. “But we partnered up ten years ago.”
“How did that come to be?”
“Actually, a client of both of ours suggested it. She bought a teal gown from Steven and then brought it to me to see if I could make a matching shirt for her husband to wear under his tux for their son’s wedding. It was like an epiphany. Why hadn’t we thought of that? But glad we did. Brought us in a bundle over the years.”
Nick wasn’t sure where she was going, but he needed to trust her. He’d interject if he needed to. Right now, he sat listening attentively. From Manning’s reaction when they entered the room and he saw Sam, he knew Jaye had recognized her, yet they were both pretending otherwise. Nick mentally prepared himself for a long meeting.
“Oh, that is a long time. What did you like best about working with him?”
“His mind. The man was a creative genius. He could visualize a gown, for example, tell me what he saw, and a few minutes later it was on paper. He always had the gift. Even in school, he blew everyone else away. Sure, every designer can do that, if they’re good, but Steven’s visions were uncannily detailed.”
“I’m sure you heard about Meghan Mason’s murder.”
“Yes, another tragedy of a true gift.”
“Um, did you know, probably not, hopefully not, because we’ve kept it out of the media, that Mrs. Larcon and Valerie were also murdered yesterday?”
“Oh my God! No, I didn’t know. Oh my God.” His voice ended in a whisper. “Why? Why is all this happening?”
“We don’t know, Mr. Manning. All we have are Adam and AriellaRose, who are quite high on the suspect list. We need to solve this case to keep them both safe. We have no idea if either of them are safe. What can you tell me about them? Please, we need you to be completely honest.”
Nick stifled a smile. Okay. She sent a clear message. Let’s see how this aging yuppie responds.
Manning sat back. “All right, enough games. You know me from the club. I’m guessing you know Fido is Adam. Do I need an attorney?”
“We have no plans of considering you a suspect. I’ll be frank. You asked Adam about who killed his father. He said he knew. Did he tell you?”
“No. He didn’t. And that’s the God’s honest truth. I swear.” He took a hankie out of his jeans pocket and wiped his brows. “He ran out of the exit and I haven’t heard from him. I tried to reach him as I always do after a scene, but he hasn’t answered my calls or texts.”
“Okay, so tell me how that particular scene played out. How did it develop? Who wrote the script, so to speak? How did you know which way to go?”
He let out a deep sigh. “No script for this one. I was so angry, I wanted to know for purely selfish reasons. I had lost my business partner and my partying partner. Him knowing who killed Steven came as a shock to me, as well. Okay, okay. How do I say this without you thinking I’m a total creep?” He paused for a long minute. “Okay. Obviously, I’ve known the twins from before they were born.” He paused another long minute. “I want complete immunity in this.”
“Mr. Manning, obviously, what you want to tell us is grave in nature. You’ll feel better if you get it off your chest,” Sam assured him.
“I want to consult my attorney. But I swear to you I had no knowledge of the murders, nor had any part in them. I swear on my children’s lives.”
***
With that, Frank stormed in. That was the message to Sam and Nick that he was taking over. “Hi, Ty, remember me?” His tone was caustic. Manning paled. His eyes rolled back. He looked like he had gotten dizzy. “Doctor Frank Khaos. Forensic Psychiatrist.” He made himself comfortable on a chair next to Sam and blew out a nasal breath. “I’m not good at coercion, so just tell us what’s on your mind.”
“I--uh--care--a--lot--about--the--twins,” Manning stammered.
“Then help me save them. I have AriellaRose in a psychiatric ward now. She attacked a guard and he needed twelve staples on his head. Yeah, sure. You have every right to consult an attorney, and our conversation will stop. But that’s the easy way out and AriellaRose could wind up beh
ind bars for life.”
Manning blinked a few times, as if to regain confidence. Before he spoke he exhaled a long breath. “She has a temper, yes. But I’d never known her to attack.”
Frank leaned forward in the chair. “Think carefully, Mr. Manning. How often do you see them?”
“Often. Okay, this is how we usually devise a scene.” He looked down.
“Mr. Manning. Look at me.” Frank tapped on the table to get his attention. “We’re beyond that now. I could tell Detective Wright how to devise a scene. How often do you see the twins?”
“A couple of times a week.”
“Why so often?”
“Well, Adam works for me. He’s in the office, working in the studio. Our paths cross a couple of times a week.”
“And AriellaRose?”
“She comes to my office to complain about her parents. I’m not as judgmental as her mother. I helped her out.”
“With what?”
After a contemplative pause Manning let it out. “With her clothing line.”
“Yes. She told me she was thinking about creating a line for young adults that they could afford.”
“Thinking about? She swore me to secrecy. She’d kill me. Oh, no. That was a poor choice of words. And the people she didn’t want me to tell are gone. She’s had the line for three years. She’s making a shit load of money because she listened to my advice. Her father, as much as he knew about business, wouldn’t share his knowledge with his kids. Steven wanted control as if he begrudged his children their own success. That peeved me to no end.”
Frank tilted his head in an understanding nod. “Name of the business?”
“Aries Fashions.” He laughed. “She named it after her astrological sign. And her nickname is Arie. Completely online. She sends orders all over the country. We haven’t spoken about it since its inception--well, only marketing ideas, but she made enough to buy her brownstone in Park Slope.”