“The defense team has anteed up more dough. They want us to find the real murderer. Grab Sam and get into the office.”
“Will do.” I hang up and rush back to her dad’s car, the only one on the far side of the street.
Everyone else abides by the alternate side of the street parking laws but she doesn’t think anything of it as she puts the little card into her purse and we drive off.
After a bit, she asks, “So, want to know my theory of who killed the congressman’s wife?”
Chapter 12
Sam
“Go on. Let me hear what you got.” Suds raises his brows as he expertly maneuvers my dad’s car into lower Manhattan.
“Well, I’m pretty sure the murderer is the guy who planted the evidence and he’s a hired hitman.”
My twice-now-lover and chauffeur-du-jour snickers. “Not following you, darlin’. It would seem like a hired gun would shoot her and be done with it.”
Eyeing the many colorful marquees as we pass across Broadway, I try to explain my thought process. “Maybe he’s like me and starting off in his profession?”
“Maybe…” He bites his lower lip and his eyes water as he tries not to laugh at me.
Dammit. I pick up my phone, make a call, and put it on speaker.
“Vitale here.”
“Hey Uncle Vinny. I got Suds listening in, okay?”
“Yeah, about dat. Joey said you two came in late and he stayed the night. I don’t-”
“He slept on the couch but that’s not important right now.”
“You got Frankie’s cat?”
“Yes and paid my rent and went out with Pete so we’re good but I’m calling for another reason. What if I knew someone who wanted to start a business venture?”
His voice gets wary. “What kind of business?”
“Well, let’s say someone needed a little extra cash and decided to, you know, do a few favors, get rid of unwanted troublesome problems, the two footed kind. How would someone get into the business? I mean, it’s not like you could just post a resume somewhere.”
I glance over at Suds who’s shaking his head back and forth while my uncle continues, “If you’re serious about dis, which I hope you are not, you need to see Frankie. I’ll call him and have him meet up with youz. If you like, I can lend you some money…”
“No, no. But thanks. You’ve been really helpful.”
I hang up as we head over the Triborough Bridge and Suds moans.
“What?”
“Your whole family is now going to think you’ve changed your career options to include being a hit man.”
She grins evilly. “Yup.”
“That doesn’t bother you?” He throws me a glance before racing to catch the next light.
“Uh-uh. When they find out I’ve given up, they’ll be so happy, they won’t give me any more shit about becoming a detective. Know why they call it a private dick?”
“Because they dick around?” Suds slowly makes his way up Fifth Avenue.
“Ha, ha, ha. I Googled it. In England, in the mid-eighteen hundreds, dick meant to look out.”
“Fascinating.” Despite being annoyed with me, one corner of his mouth goes up.
“So it has nothing to do with a penis. Thus, I could be a private dick, or just a dick, perhaps.”
He takes his eyes off the road for a second to see if I’m serious. “I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole.”
“Chicken.” I start laughing not remembering when I’ve enjoyed being with someone more.
While he drives, he scratches at his dark strong jaw, covered in stubble.
With his suit jacket open, his holster shows which brings the bullet back to mind so I ask, “Do you think whoever shot at us will try again?”
“Yeah, I do. When we get to the office, I want you on the desk, working the case, okay? No more side jobs for a while. And absolutely no Nancy-Drewing without me. The Congressman is out on bail this morning and I need to be in court, glued to his side.”
“But…” My phone rings and I glance at the callerID before answering. “Hi Dad.”
His voice is tight. “Vinny called me. Is there anything you need to tell me?”
“Nope. All good.”
“Did you try for the job I told you about?”
“Yup. Waiting to hear back.”
“You need money or something?”
“No, Dad. I gotta go, thanks for calling.”
Suds looks over at me. “That was cruel.”
“The ends justify the means…” I shrug. “You should be thanking me. They’re so worried about my new career choice, they haven’t said a word about you sleeping with me.”
“About us…” His large hand settles on my knee. “Only me, got it?”
“I don’t sleep around. Ah… before Will? I uh, you know… He was the first. Then you.”
His jaw ticks and he swallows hard and curses under his breath. “You should’ve said something.”
“It didn’t come up in the conversation but if I’m exclusive so are you and by that, I mean sex because I’ll lose my apartment if I don’t go on a few of Vinny’s blind dates.”
He scowls. “No kissing.”
“Cross my heart.” I make a big X over my chest.
“I may need to follow you and knock them out if they get handsy.”
“Understood. So we good?”
He nods. “For now.”
My phone rings again and it’s my Mom. “Tell me it’s not true. My brother says you want to become some kind of hit man.”
“Hit woman and no, I’m only doing some simple research. Tell everyone to calm down. I love you. See you for dinner on Sunday.”
“Bring your friend, the one you’re sleeping with. I want to meet him before your father shoots him.”
“Thanks Ma. I’ll see what I can do. No promises, tho’.”
We park in a garage off Fifth Avenue. From there we hoof it to Patten Security’s office building and I insist we stop for coffee, first.
Properly caffeinated, we sign in at the front desk where a well-dressed guard inspects my driver’s license.
In the elevator I ask what’s been bugging me since day one. “Why does Patten keep such a high profile? The rent must be astronomical.”
“Grayson Patten has an apartment nearby. He likes to keep an eye on things.” The elevator door opens and when Suds puts a hand to my lower back, unprofessional, sexy thoughts jump front and center.
Ignoring my body’s response, I will my heated face to cool. “You ever met him?”
“Sure. He’s a nice guy.” Suds grins at my discomfort.
“For a bi’zillionaire?”
“Nah, for anyone. Next time he comes in, I’ll ask Slate to introduce you.”
Once Suds leaves, I’m no longer distracted and sit down at my desk, all business. Suds and Slate head down to the courthouse while I am tasked with putting the pieces of the murder together.
Like I suspected they would, the police have changed their minds. They now think the man who planted the dandelion puller is the killer and have put out an APB. Not having the FBI’s access to all the cameras in the area, I call my friend, Jenna Jones.
“Hello Sam, I’ve been wondering when you’d call.”
“Sorry. It’s been hectic since I got fired. Patten has an account with you, right?”
“Uh-huh. Give me your IP and I’ll give you access to Jason.” After she finishes connecting me, the artificial intelligence Avatar pops up on my screen.
If you didn’t know differently, you would think it was a young man of about thirty. “Hello again, Ms. Russo.”
“Hello Jason. Nice to speak with you.”
Jenna sounds a bit frantic. “I gotta go. Let me know if you need any help with him. Call me soon. We need to catch up.”
“Lunch on Tuesday?
“Sure thing and I’ll call you before. Bye.”
Me and Jason work for some time to find the man who planted the weapon b
ut with dead end after dead end, I decide to come at the murder from another direction.
“Jason, who is the most likely person to have killed Sylvia Bannerman.”
“Her husband. It is eighty-five percent most likely to be the spouse.” He blinks out of the screen at me.
“And yet, his alibi is solid?”
“Not completely. All evidence points to him spending the night with his girlfriend or should I use the term mistress? Then he drives home. There is approximately seven minutes unaccounted for.”
I store the information to research later. “Can you think of anyone else who might want her dead?”
“I cannot fathom to understand the human mind.”
“True. Let me rephrase. Was Mrs. Bannerman involved in any illegal activities?”
“None.”
Shit, this is getting me nowhere. “Did she have any enemies? Angry emails? Threats?”
“I have searched her computer and her online presence and have found no evidence of enemies or threats.”
I look over the pictures I took the first day and remember all the holes in her lawn and how the gardener mentioned she worried about her dog. I’m missing something. I know it.
My phone pings and it’s Vinny. “Sam, where are you now?”
“I’m at Patten.” I glance down at the time on my phone which reads about three.
“Take an Uber to Seventh and Thirteenth. Frankie will meet you there in an hour.”
“Thank you.”
“If you’re thinking about this career move seriously, you will come see me first, understood?”
“I will Uncle Vinny, I promise.”
Chapter 13
Suds
I have a real bad feeling when I leave Sam alone. She’s supposed to spend this afternoon researching, stuck inside her small cube but when my gut knots up like this I know something’s off. She’s fucking dangerous, that’s what she is.
But look who’s talking. At some point I’m going to need to explain to her I got issues, too.
Slate gives me the evil eye as we head up the FDR toward the bridge. “Dammit. You fucking slept with her again.”
In truth, Sam isn’t a Patten employee, not yet. She’s more of an independent contractor so I haven’t done anything wrong, at least nothing he can fire me for.
I shrug. “Shit happens.”
“Not to you, Suds. You know how Patten feels about fraternizing.” My friend glares while I change lanes.
When the rain starts to fall, I switch on my windshield wipers and my lights. “What about Grayson’s wife? She was his employee before he married her.”
He chuckles as the drops fall faster. “I think that’s why he’s so adamantly against it. It almost got them both killed.”
“Yeah, I read about it in the news. It was close. Isn’t his wife some kind of analyst?”
“She’s mostly retired now what with four kids and another on the way. Her absence is why we need more help.”
Picturing Sam ripe with my kid does a number on me so I shove the feelings away. I shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts, not with all the baggage I got rattling around in my subconscious.
On the bridge, the droplets become a torrential downpour and the wind whips up, blowing at the side of the car. “Don’t mess with her, Suds. She’s not your type.”
“And what exactly would that type be?” At a complete stop overlooking the Hudson, I turn to my pal, my fists clenched around the steering wheel.
“You know what I’m saying. She’s had what? One boyfriend since college? And I’m assuming he might’ve been her first? She’s bound to fall for you and then what?”
His eyes accuse me of being a bastard and I can’t deny I’ve been one so I don’t try. “I hate to break it to you but she’s the one putting distance between us.”
“Good for her.” He stays silent while wipers clunk, clunk and the deluge pounds on the SUV’s roof.
Shit. Maybe it’s time for me to ’fess up. My voice catches when I try to get real. “I like her, probably more than I should.”
“Then leave her be.” Slate glowers and is about to say more but Google maps interrupts.
“You have arrived.”
I park by the entrance to the courthouse and Slate jumps out to collect Bannerman, leaving me alone to contemplate my past and future sins.
He’s right but I’ll be damned if I know how to let her go.
While leaning against the door, almost as an afterthought, I ping my best pal, Lucky.
Me: Can we talk??
My phone rings almost immediately and it’s him. His Aussie accent brings back the past which I quickly shove away. We both survived Afghanistan and there’s no point dwelling on that shit.
“Hey, mate, what’s hangin’?”
“I ah… You know the thing you went through last year?” I pace the cement walk, noting the amount of news vans parked along the curb.
There’s a bit of a hesitation before he answers. “The fallin’ in love thing or the PTSD thing?”
“Well, both actually.”
“Fook me. It finally happened? Did you find a sheila?”
“Don’t go ordering a tux, yet, bro. I just met someone and I got a few issues to deal with. Can you text me the number of your shrink?”
“Sure thing. Didn’t know you had issues.”
“No one knows and don’t say anything, okay?”
“Mums the word. No worries.”
“Thanks. Say hi to Callie for me.”
“Will do. Stay sane and call me, eh? Let me know how it goes.”
“Gotta go, they’re releasing the congressman.”
Like fucking bees around the queen, when the courthouse door opens, the media swarms Bannerman. I push and shove until I get him to the car.
“Congressman, is it true you have a mistress?”
“Congressman, were you cheating on your wife? How long-”
“No comment.” He slams the door shut and closes his eyes in the back seat as I glance in the rear view.
Slate slides in the front seat beside me. “Drop me off uptown, then get him to a hotel.”
He grabs my phone and puts in some data which pops up on the dash’s GPS. “Top floor. Very secure.”
“Got it.” More quietly, I add. “What happened in there?”
“The DA tried to get bail denied because of the dandelion puller. They insisted he planted the evidence himself, to make it look like someone was framing him.”
“That’s pretty thin.”
“The thing is, no one can find the guy who punched him in the nose and until we can, it’s just as plausible as any other story.”
“Sam says she thinks the photographer punched Bannerman and then wiped it on the tool before sticking it in the shed.”
“Could be, but we need proof and we need it now. I’m going to call Lucky in to watch the congressman. You work with Sam and find that photographer.”
Excellent. I kiss any chance of catching zzz’s for the next few days goodbye.
Chapter 14
Sam
“Thank you.” I pay my annoyed cabbie with tip change from the salon.
Then, with my purse several pounds lighter, I approach the red closed sign on the restaurant window and walk down one flight below the sidewalk,
When my eyes adjust to the dark, I walk inside where Frankie sits at a table for four near a guy noodling around on the piano.
“How’s Chloe?” I kiss him on both cheeks, he stands and holds out a chair.
“Sit, sit. You want somethin’ to eat?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.” I wave away the waiter as the killer sinks his large frame back down and sighs.
“I cannot thank you enough for bringing my dearest back to me. Her shrink says she has abandonment issues but should come around soon.”
“Good, good. Animals need to ah… work out those kinds of things.” I guess what I said hit the mark because Frankie’s whole face lights up.
&nb
sp; “Right? I got to tell you, this Fifth Avenue doctor is a fucking genius. Me and Chloe? We’re going to be okay.”
I smile, knowing I brought some happiness to this solitary hit man… that, and my rent being paid this month.
He takes a drink of some amber liquid, sits back, and raises his brows. “So, Vinny said you wanted to talk. What can I do for you?”
I sip on a tepid glass of tap water sitting on the table in front of me. “I was wondering if you could help me solve the Bannerman murder.”
“Why ask me?” When his eyes narrow I quickly explain.
“Well, I need a professional’s opinion. Why didn’t the murderer simply use a gun? Why risk getting close and spreading his DNA all over the place?”
“Amateurs.” He clicks his tongue while the piano guy plays the tune from Casablanca.
Turning to the musician, he eyes me, and smiles wickedly.
“Please don’t -” I cringe and brace for it.
“Play it again... for Sam.” Frankie chuckles. “God, I’ve been waiting all afternoon for that.”
Then, his face gets serious again. “What makes you think the congressman’s wife was a professional hit?”
“I got this gut feeling about it, I can’t explain it really. Something feels too slick, too contrived. You know?”
Frankie sips his coffee and leans in with a low whisper. “Here is whad I t’ink went down. Now, dis is just me supposin’. I don’t know nothin’ for sure. Let’s say the word went out on the street how someone wanted the woman dead. A guy like me might perk up his ears, right? So, maybe, dis guy would check out how much dough he’d be making and when he finds out, he laughs. I mean, seriously? So, dis person doesn’t inquire any further. Capice?”
“Sure, I understand.” I hold my breath, wondering how much more Frankie will reveal.
“So, anyhows, I figure whoever took the job didn’t have no pride in his work and it showed and it pisses me off. A job done like shit gives all of us a bad name.”
“It was a real mess.” I tsk-tsk and shake my head back and forth.
“I’m guessing whoever murdered her has been dealt with appropriately and his body won’t never be found.” Frankie leans back in his chair and stairs up at the tin ceiling letting his news sink in.
Suds and Sam Page 7