One Deadly Sister

by Rod Hoisington

  Sandy understood. “It might work for awhile. Rumors don’t have to be precise. Some would believe it and some wouldn’t; the confusion would be all that was needed. Even so, eventually someone would tip him to the rumors going around.”

  “The plan was to keep it going until he figured it out. It only had to work for a month or so. At a critical time, they would drop both names like a bomb on the Towson campaign. He’d have two women to explain: was it a mother and daughter thing, or was he only doing the daughter?"

  “It would ruin him.” Sandy realized she might not get another chance at getting answers out of this woman. “Did you shoot him?”

  “No! Don’t you see my problem? I fell in love with him.” She stared off into the distance, her mind apparently overtaken by a cloud of memories. She started to cry. Sandy handed her a tissue. It took a minute before she could stop and speak again, “He was my lover and now he’s dead.” The crying began again.

  “But, if you loved him wouldn’t they be afraid you’d come forward and reveal the plot? What could they do?”

  “I don’t know. They might kill me or go after my mother.”

  “Geez, they play rough. And a dead mistress would be even better. Norma, ah, Elena, this was a scummy deal you were pulling.”

  “I know, I know. But I had to. I refused at first. I told them I’d date him but that was it. Truthfully, I haven’t been around that much; I’m a lot of show but not much go. I wasn’t going to do the whole sex bit with some strange man, even if he was a rich, good-looking bigshot. I’m an accountant, for God’s sake. That’s when they sent Pirro around to explain how it was going to be.”

  “Pirro?”

  “He’s one of the goons that do dirty work for La Familia, the strong arm stuff. He said I must become Towson’s girlfriend and do what girlfriends do, the whole enchilada. The creep said he’d be glad to help me practice. He said to either screw Towson or screw him.”

  “The old fate worse than death thing.”

  “Yes, and I could die. Pirro uses whores. Mom calls it VD but it’s HIV. He doesn’t care about spreading it. He’s the lowest lowlife. One day, in the restaurant kitchen, he started telling this long dirty joke, loud to everyone one in the room, except I was the girl in the joke. He kept putting my name in his filthy joke as if I was doing all that stuff. I was embarrassed and terrified. Mom overheard him and lost it. She flew into him, slammed him up against the wall, and held this monstrous kitchen knife across his throat. She said if he ever touches me, she’d cut off his cojones. You understand?”

  “Got it.”

  “But crazy people like Pirro don’t scare easily. He got mad, said nobody threatens him, and someday he’d do her, while I watched.”

  “If she gets in his way, why doesn’t he just kill her?”

  “He doesn’t dare to kill anyone unless he’s ordered to. He tried to scare her once though. Mom’s fourth floor apartment has a tiny balcony. He tried to get her to step out there with him one night. Said he had something to show her down below in the pool. He was just trying to scare her. He wouldn’t kill her, at least not when he’s sober.”

  “But it’s alright if he screws you guys?”

  “Not exactly alright but the family realizes sex happens. It’s something else. Not a big thing with them.”

  It occurred to her that Elena wasn’t telling the real story. “So, Mom is saving you from Pirro.”

  “Yes, to some extent. He’s scared of her threat. But he’s been after me since the first. Every time he sees me, he corners me and tries to feel me. He puts his awful breath in my face and describes his—you know—his arousal to me. Now he’s free to do what he wants.”

  “Why now?”

  “Because the game is over. He knew the plan was important to La Familia while Albert was alive. Pirro fooling around with me in the middle of things could mess up everything. So, it was hands off. La Familia doesn’t need me for the plan now because Albert’s no longer a political threat. They have what they want, and Pirro has a green light with me. If he touches me I’ll get sick. My perfect lover is dead, and I’m running from both Pirro and the police.”

  She was crying again so Sandy changed the subject, “Do you have a red and blue scarf?”

  “Yes I do, silk with red and blue triangles. I got it at Burdines years ago. I wear accessory scarves a lot. I suppose you found it, huh? I left it at Albert’s with my white leather jacket in the small closet off the master bath. That doesn’t mean I was there when he was killed. I have other things there too.”

  “Were you in his apartment the day he was killed?

  “Am I supposed to answer these questions?”

  Sandy reached in her purse. “Here’s the card of Detective Goddard. He’s a straight shooter and he needs your help. He needs your fingerprints and your DNA and what you saw and when, all that.”

  “Sure, and then he arrests me.”

  Sandy had a momentary guilty thought that she’d rather see this cookie behind bars than her brother. Then it would be a fast trip back to Philly. Still, she had to be honest with her. “The detective needs your help to catch the real killer. But if you killed Towson or were even in his apartment that day, you need to immediately get yourself a lawyer.”

  “I just want to go back to my life in Tampa.”

  “The police will find you. They have evidence you’ve been in the apartment. And you still must keep Pirro from getting to you and your mom.”

  “Maybe I’ll get a gun. Maybe he’ll have an accident.”

  “Would you kill Towson if the family ordered you to?”

  “I’d kill myself first. We were lovers.”

  “Would you do anything to save your mom from Pirro?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Sandy decided to be blunt. “Would you carry out an order to kill Towson to keep Pirro from raping your mother?”

  Elena hid her face in her hands. “I loved Albert.” She abruptly started her car and motioned vigorously for Sandy to get out.

  As Elena drove away, Sandy clinched her fist and jabbed the air. “Score!” she said aloud. She had discovered Towson’s lover. Elena had given her an entire family of new suspects. And, if true, had also revealed a motive for murder and at least one plot to sabotage Towson’s election campaign.

  Sandy was on her phone before the white Buick was out of sight. “Chip, can you break for coffee? We need to talk. This will knock your socks off.”

  Chapter 23

  Sandy was stopped at a cross-street traffic light when she saw Detective Goddard in his unmarked car pass across in front, headed for their Coffee Spot meeting. At first, he had begged off. It was Sunday afternoon, he had planned to take the day off. She had insisted, eager to get him moving on the new La Familia info. Also, it occurred to her that he should spend as little time at home as possible. Miss Legal Secretary was probably there taking dictation, and he should keep his mind on finding Towson’s killer.

  The light changed and after two blocks, she caught up and pulled in behind him just as they joined the Sunday beach traffic going over the Intracoastal Bridge. She waved knowing he was watching his rearview mirror.

  Just over the crest of the bridge all traffic stopped. Ahead they could see rows of cars backed up for over a mile all the way east to some jam at the A1A intersection near the beach.

  She saw him position his portable flashing light on the top of his vehicle. He left the siren off, pulled over on the narrow shoulder, and slowly crept by the stalled traffic. As he passed the long line of stopped cars, the occupants could see that close behind the grey Impala with the flashing lights was a top-down red convertible driven by a serious-looking young woman. She had both hands stiffly on the steering wheel and her eyes frozen straight ahead.

  Ten minutes later, they pulled in and parked behind the Coffee Spot. They got out, both laughing.

  “Fun to be a cop for a minute. You get paid for playing this game? Where can I buy some flashing lights?”

 
; “I was waiting for you to wave to the stalled drivers.”

  They walked through the kitchen and headed for the usual back booth. The waitress was only a step behind with their coffee.

  As they settled in Sandy said, “So, Sonny Barner is alive, huh? Well, glad for that. I don’t have time to solve two murders. Was he at the apartment before or after Raymond?”

  “I’m busy, Sandy. Get on with it. This better be good.”

  “You’ll love it. First, I should tell you Joanna at the office in Philadelphia traced the ownership of the Jardin Café. It’s a Deleware corporation owned by Tampa interests linked to crime, drugs she thinks. What’s going on out there?”

  “Possibly drugs. What else is there?”

  “If this were Philly, I’d guess a front for money laundering. Do you have that down here?”

  “You’re talking to a small-town cop. What I know about money laundering wouldn’t fill that mug there. That’s your big news? Some shady corp owns the Jardin. Goodbye, got to go.”

  “No, listen, you might get a call from Elena Duarte. You know, from the café.” Sandy related the conversation with Elena, but didn’t mention advising her to get a lawyer.

  He was interested and impressed. “So, Norma Martin is tied into what may or may not be a crime family, and very likely a pro-casino force. Furthermore, she’s the mother of Elena Duarte. You say Elena claims to be the one who actually had the affair with Towson?”

  “You don’t believe her?”

  “I have my doubts. Without prints or DNA, we can’t even put her in his apartment.”

  “Of course, you can put her in his apartment. She told me she left a white leather jacket and some other clothes up there.”

  “Why doesn’t she just run? Why come to you?”

  “For help, she’s afraid the police are looking for her. And I just told you Pirro is chasing her. She doesn’t know what to do about him.”

  “Maybe this Pirro was flat out ordered to kill Towson and Elena’s weeping act is to cover it all up.”

  “Well, she’s clever and obviously good at lying. Towson was no dummy and I bet she fooled him. Is she truly frightened or did they send her to me for some purpose?”

  “I don’t care about all of the other family stuff she told you—the threats and who wants to screw who. My concern is did she, or one of her Tampa crowd, commit the murder. The election campaign gives her motive and sleeping with him positively provides opportunity.”

  “But why assassinate him if they can knock him out of the election with their Norma Martin rumor scheme?”

  “Either way this is good, Sandy. Elena would never have talked with me. And I would never have found out about that Tampa family angle without getting myself shot. But you did it for me. You’re good, thank you.”

  How delicious was that! “Gee, if I wore glasses they would be steamy right now.”

  “There’s something else on this Tampa angle. You’ll probably learn about it anyway. Your friend Linda is using an alias. Her real name is Lynda.” He spelled it out. “She’s Cuban-American from Tampa, not Georgia.

  “Oh, God, why did she lie to me about that? What’s she hiding? And she’s been stalking me, or she did at least once. That’s how she was able to show up on cue when Huress came at me. What does she say about it?”

  “I’ve told you too much already.”

  “Will it foul you up if I confront her about using an alias?”

  “I never told you a thing.”

  “She lied to me about why she followed me, and she lied to me about her Georgia background. I don’t appreciate that stuff.”

  “Time’s up, Sandy, got to run.”

  “What’s the rush, you have something at home you’d like to get to? Just one more little thing. The M.E. report said Towson dropped right where he was shot. Was there much blood scattered around?” She tried to make the question sound innocent.

  “Nice try. So, you read the M.E. report?”

  “Sure, the defense has access to it.”

  “You know I can’t discuss it, even if I did trust you, which I don’t. We are legal adversaries remember?”

  “The prosecution must eventually disclose their evidence to the defense anyway.”

  “Not all of it. There are always things we don’t disclose about evidence, alternative suspects and theories. Anyway, it’s not for the investigating detective to decide. Obviously, I must keep my mouth shut. Sorry, I can’t discuss the murder scene.”

  “Then just listen.”

  “Sandy, I don’t have time for your games. I know what you’re up to. You’re going to spout off a bunch of theories while you watch my face. Any time I blink or clear my throat you’re going to say, gotcha.”

  “No, I was just going to explain why I think you’re making a wrong assumption. I doubt there was sex in that apartment that day in spite of how it looked in the bedroom. And I could be more certain if I knew about the blood splatter.”

  “Did Elena tell you no sex?”

  “No, Linda told me about the bedding on the floor. Would you care for a woman’s point of view?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well you’re getting it anyway. I think the murderer staged the messy bedroom after Towson was shot. Otherwise, we’re supposed to believe that after sex, the woman gets dressed and leaves, and he didn’t get dressed. I don’t think so. Remember, he was expecting Tony Hackett later. A king bed has a hellava lot of bedding, and they left it on the floor? I don’t think so. If you don’t want to make it, then at least pile everything back up on the bed and stop stepping around it. I’m ruling out afternoon sex, which means the scene was staged.”

  “If no sex then how do you explain the wine glasses?” Chip asked.

  She blinked hard. Wine glasses. What wine glasses? Obviously, he slipped up. She had no idea what he was talking about. She took a guess, “You mean in the bedroom?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m still working on my wine glass theory.”

  He went on, “What if he was shot before he had a chance to pick up the bedding?”

  “Then there would be blood splatter on the bedding. If there’s no blood splatter, then the bed was made up and the killer pulled the bedding to the floor.”

  “Can’t comment, but I can tell you it’s a big bedroom and the shooting wasn’t that close to the bed.”

  “There’s always microscopic blood splatter. Another thing, was his robe nearby? I mean was it away from the body, on a hook in the bathroom or something, or was it found near his body?”

  No comment.

  “If his robe wasn’t nearby then I don’t think there was a woman up there. He’d never open the door in his shorts for a woman without his robe.”

  “I won’t discuss the crime scene.”

  “Okay, so anyway you have my thoughts, no robe the shooter was a man; if a robe nearby then could be either man or woman.”

  “Maybe there wasn’t sex up there the day of the murder, but we do know he was having an affair.”

  “Geez Louise, I’ve already told you the affair was with Elena Duarte! If you have unidentified prints, they’re Elena’s, period. What more do you want me to do, hand you her DNA?”

  He saw the smirk on her face and slowly said, “What?”

  She opened her purse and took out a small brown paper bag. She held it up high with two fingers, swinging it back and forth like a treat held above a pet. “What’ll you give me for it, handsome?”

  He reached for the bag. She pulled it away, out of reach.

  “What’s in there?”

  “A tissue with her tears on it, and most likely some of my DNA as well—you can put mine among your souvenirs, no extra charge.”

  That brought him straight up in the booth. “My God, you’re a genius. Give it to me.”

  “What are you going to give me for it?” She moved it farther away.

  He leaned back. “Her DNA might not be on there even if she cried. And, there’s been no chain
of custody. It’s not usable as evidence—.”

  “And blah, blah, blah, but you’d like to have it just the same, wouldn’t you? But if you don’t, I’ll just wipe up this spot here on the table.” She started to move her cup, enjoying the look on his face.

  He lowered the tone of his voice, “No, I want it. Now hand it over. If you withhold—.”

  “Oh, shove it, Detective!”

  He burst out laughing. “Okay, you win. I owe you.”

  She set the bag down in front of him.

  He took the bag and stood to leave. “Actually, I enjoy talking with you. I wish we had more time.”

  “Like after you convict my brother there’ll be more time for us to talk?”

  “No, the circumstances of our first meeting would have had to be different.”

  “We’re in a bookstore and I accidentally drop a book. You pick it up and our eyes meet. Your knees go weak, you stagger back helpless, and knock over a cart of books. With a sheepish look on your face you realize you’ve forgotten your own name, which doesn’t matter because you’re unable to speak anyway.”

  “I’ll wait for the movie,” he replied.

  “I’ll go look for a bookstore.”

  She could feel the trust building between them. Chip Goddard was getting hooked. It also occurred to her that perhaps she was as well.

  Chapter 24

  State Attorney Moran was waiting in the chief’s office when Goddard arrived. The chief was checking days off on his wall calendar. “It’s the start of the second full week on this case, gentlemen.”

  “Do you suppose this might be the week we stumble across something important,” Moran said.

  Goddard assumed he was the target of the sarcasm. He closed the door and held up some papers. “Been waiting for this follow-up on a fingerprint report. An interesting development.”

  The chief explained to Moran, “Some nine-year-old was rummaging through a dumpster over on Ocean Drive, yesterday afternoon. Found a shiny new box with the picture of a gun on the lid and showed it to his mother. Go ahead and fill us in Chip.”