Fatal Deception

by Russell Blake

  “Maybe you should go to a doctor.”

  She shook her head. “No, honest, it’s just a scratch. Listen, thanks for helping. That was sweet of you.”

  “No problem.”

  Tess considered asking for his contact information, but shrugged it off. When messengers were involved in hit-and-run accidents, it was common knowledge that filing a police report accomplished nothing, especially if there was no license plate to search for. Her description of an old black car would earn her chuckles from the police. It was just the way things worked in a city with so many people – there were an endless number of minor crimes every day, and unless serious injury was involved, the report would be filed in a drawer, never to see light again.

  The bystander hurried away and Tess took stock. A bandage and a shower would take care of the abrasion and the grit stuck to her. She hoisted the wreckage of her bike and strode back to the hotel, where the doorman’s face changed to surprise when she came into view.

  “Let me help with that,” he said, reaching for the bicycle.

  “Do you have a dumpster where you can chuck it?” she asked. “It’s no good to me anymore.”

  He eyed the frame and nodded. “Sure. You want me to call a doctor?”

  “No, I’m not injured. But thanks.”

  Tess rode the elevator back to her floor, studying herself in the mirror as it ascended. The gash on her elbow would heal, as would her dignity, and the soot would rinse off. She was lucky she was in one piece – the idiot in the car had been out of control, which was the worst nightmare of a rider. She could maneuver around most threats, but a driver who was drunk or stoned – or worse yet, out for a joyride that might involve collisions with defenseless bicyclists for sport – was a catastrophe from which there was no protection.

  Once inside her room, she moved to the bathroom and stripped, grimacing at the sting of her top rubbing against her scrape, and twisted on the shower. When the water was hot enough, she stepped beneath the stream and soaped up, ignoring the burn of her wound as the suds hit.

  Five minutes later she was out of the shower and toweled dry, hair dripping as she unwrapped two Band-Aids and affixed them over the gash. The bleeding had stopped, but her arm throbbed, as did her ribs from the hard landing. She walked to the bedroom and called Ron.

  “Stanford.”

  “Ron? It’s Tess. I’m running a little late.”

  “No problem. Take your time.”

  “I can be there in maybe twenty minutes or so.”

  “We don’t have a reservation or anything. I thought we could just play it by ear.”

  “Sounds good to me.” She paused. “I hope you weren’t thinking of anything too fancy. I just took a tumble on my bike, and I’m a little banged up.”

  “What happened?”

  She described the accident, finishing with her decision not to file a report. Ron was silent for a second. “I wish I could argue that it would be treated seriously, but it sounds like you know better,” he said.

  “Yeah, and I’d be here all night. I’d rather torture you.”

  Tess could almost hear the smile in his voice. “You have a way with words.” He grew serious. “You want me to come to your hotel and pick you up?”

  “You have a car?”

  “I meant in a taxi.”

  “No point. I can still flag one down, even with a broken wing.”

  “How bad is it? Seriously?”

  “Nothing a bottle of Goose won’t numb.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Although I have to work tomorrow.”

  “Fortunately, I don’t.”

  Tess removed her little black dress and heels from the backpack and pulled them on, and then checked her reflection. Her sweatpants had protected her legs, which were long, tanned, and lean, and the heels showcased them nicely. If asked, she would have said they were her best feature, and she smiled at herself with a flash of white teeth.

  Satisfied with her ensemble, she tossed a few things into her purse, removed her watch from the room safe and slipped it on, and made for the door. The sound of a relaxed dinner and a few too many drinks was as appealing as anything she could think of. Now that Dakota’s killer had been caught, she felt like things could normalize; and maybe Ron would have more time to spend with her. Whether that was a good or a bad idea remained to be seen, but Tess had never shied away from challenges, and if she wanted something, she generally found a way to get it.

  After three months of no romantic life, she was feeling a familiar stirring she’d been afraid might have vanished for good after the trauma with her father. But there was no mistaking the anticipation, the flutter of excitement in her stomach, and as she entered the elevator and caught another glimpse of her dress clinging to her in all the right ways, she nodded to herself. Near miss with a car or not, she was going to spend some quality time with Ron.

  She just hoped he wasn’t as tired as he sounded.

  The elevator opened and she stepped into the lobby, earning several appreciative stares from the staff as she moved to the entrance. The doorman nodded to her and opened the door, averting his eyes so he wasn’t gaping at her. “Get you a cab?” he asked.

  Tess smiled, pleased with the effect her outfit was obviously having on the males in the vicinity. Some things were as reliable as the phases of the moon.

  “Please.”

  Chapter 46

  Ron opened his apartment door and invited Tess in.

  “You made it. I’ll have you know I actually went out and bought some vodka for you. Cocktail?”

  “Nice to see you again. What do you have the ingredients to make?” Tess asked, and then tiptoed to kiss his cheek before pushing past him.

  Ron closed the door and grinned. “Beats me. I picked up a little drink recipe book at the store, but I haven’t read it. Anything that includes vodka and ice. The rest is a question mark.”

  “Cosmo?”

  He followed her to his living room. “That’s with cranberry juice? I think I have that.”

  “There’s something else, but vodka and cran works, too.”

  “You want to make it so I don’t screw it up?” Ron stopped at the sight of her bandages. “How bad’s the arm?”

  “I’ll live. And sure, I’ll make the drinks.”

  “Tell me what happened,” he said, motioning to the kitchen, where a bottle of Gray Goose stood on the counter. He led her into the small space and removed two glasses from the cabinet as she opened the refrigerator and peered inside. She removed a half-full bottle of cranberry juice, and then rooted around in the freezer until she broke an ice tray free from where it had frozen to the bottom.

  “I see you haven’t spent a lot of time at home,” she noted, eyeing the freezer contents.

  “That never changes. But seriously – what about the accident?”

  “Car came out of left field, swung at me, and accelerated. I bailed on the bike, which wound up getting totaled, so good thing.”

  “You believe it was deliberate?” Ron asked, alarmed. “That’s not how you made it sound on the phone.”

  “I had some time to think it over on the way here. It might have been. I mean, it seemed that way to me; but it all happened so fast, it’s hard to be sure. A witness said it was totally the driver’s fault, but I knew that. Question is whether he wanted to hit me. I think so, but why?”

  “You piss anyone off?”

  “Not that I know of.” She dropped a few ice cubes into the glasses and poured two inches of vodka.

  “Recognize the car?”

  “Nope.”

  Tess topped the drinks with cranberry juice and stirred them with her finger. Ron accepted one from her and toasted with a clink. He took a swallow and made a face. “Wow. You could run a generator on that.”

  “Put hair on your chest,” she agreed, and they moved to his sofa.

  Ron took another cautious sip and set the glass on the coffee table. “There are all kinds of nuts on the road. Could have been a dru
nk. That’s the most likely. What was the intersection? Maybe I can pull the traffic footage tomorrow and see if I can find the car.”

  “Same block as my hotel.” She named the cross street. “You can do that?”

  “I have no active cases, so I don’t see why not.”

  “Which brings us to the killer.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. He confessed after we found his butcher shop.” Ron gave her a sanitized version of the trail that had led to Gunter’s storage unit.

  “The girl’s jaw was in the toilet?” Tess asked, her face suddenly pale.

  Ron shook his head. “Not on purpose. He was trying to dispose of it.”

  “What about the hands and feet?”

  “He says he threw them into the river.”

  Tess studied his face. “What is it, Ron? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing. You hungry?”

  “Are you trying to distract me with food? Because it’s working.”

  “Good. I need to get something in my stomach after this drink, or I’m going to face plant.”

  “What are you thinking? Chinese? Italian?”

  “There’s a new Persian place down the block that’s really good. Can I interest you in some saffron chicken kabob?”

  “I’m actually famished, so that sounds awesome.”

  They finished their drinks, and Tess took Ron’s arm. The restaurant was full, but the proprietor made a show of giving them the next table, and they settled in for a comfortable meal with a bottle of white wine. By the time they finished, Tess had edged closer to Ron in the booth, and it was obvious to them both that the chemistry between them was overpowering.

  They barely made it through his apartment door with their clothes on, lips locked together, the hunger in Tess like a wildfire raging out of control. Ron cupped one of her buttocks and pulled her toward him as they kissed, and she felt his excitement pressing against her as they staggered to the bedroom.

  He pulled her dress over her head and marveled at her body, her skin glowing in the dim light from the window, her tattoos standing out in high contrast to her tan, and then they were falling together onto the bed, lost in passion, the intensity building to fever pitch. She tore his shirt off, buttons flying, and he gasped when she took him in her mouth, her touch urgent, wanting him as much as he needed her.

  When they finished, they lay spent on the confusion of sheets. Tess traced an imaginary design on Ron’s chest, her eyes closed. He turned toward her and kissed her again. She smiled.

  “Not too bad for your age,” she whispered, eyes slits, her voice teasing.

  “I was going to say the exact same thing about you.”

  “Maybe you can teach me a trick or two? I am a humble grasshopper before your wisdom.”

  “Humble?” Ron asked.

  She shifted and placed one leg over his. “Trying to lull you into complacency. That’s when I pounce. Like a black widow.”

  He flattened her hair with his hand and brushed his lips against hers. “It would be worth it. You’re amazing.”

  “That’s the booze talking. Which reminds me – what does a girl have to do to get a drink in this joint?”

  “I’m pretty sure you just did it.”

  She stood, and he reveled in the sight of her naked body, sleek as an athlete’s. She shrugged on his dress shirt and grinned as she buttoned the bottom three buttons. “You want a double?”

  “They should put you in the ad for that shirt. They’d sell a million of ’em.”

  “I take that as a yes?”

  “You know me like the beating of your own heart.”

  Tess reappeared moments later with their glasses and handed him one. “Are you a hundred percent positive that Gunter killed Dakota?” she asked.

  Ron closed his eyes. “Do we have to talk about that now?”

  “Sorry. It’s just been on my mind since you told me. I mean, not the entire time, obviously.”

  Ron sighed. “He claims he didn’t, but I checked his alibi and it fell apart.”

  “How?”

  Ron’s eyes opened and he recounted his meeting with Tom. When he was done, Tess looked at him strangely. “And you believed him? He’s married, and if he’s having sex with a man on the side, you really think he’ll admit it? What universe do you live in?”

  “Tess, we have Gunter dead to rights on the other two. He confessed.”

  “Then why didn’t he admit to Dakota’s?”

  “Maybe because he’s playing with us. There’s no predicting why one of these sick bastards does anything.”

  “That’s more likely to you than that it’s because he didn’t actually do it?”

  “Tess, we’ve been through this already. The footage had a number of elements that only the killer could have known. The same killer. Or the same killer with an accomplice.”

  “I’ve been digging some. Jeremy has an apartment over a café in the Flatiron district. I went and scoped it out.”

  “So what? That doesn’t prove anything. And why are you still hung up on Jeremy? He’s clean.”

  “His alibi is a hundred percent? No chance of it being fake?”

  “He was at work.”

  “And he didn’t leave?”

  Ron took a big gulp of his drink. “Just to grab something to eat.”

  Ron could see Tess’s eyes glitter in the dark. “How long was he gone?”

  “Couple of hours.”

  “What! And that doesn’t strike you as suspicious? That’s plenty of time.” Her voice hardened. “I knew it.”

  “Tess, think about it. He’d have had to get Dakota, film the killing, clean up, and dump the body in the pond, all in two hours. It seems physically impossible.”

  “Are you sure, Ron? If he was motivated and had planned everything perfectly? He could have made it.”

  Ron nodded. “We’re not positive about anything at this point. The investigation is still ongoing. I’m going to see if I can get a glimpse of Tom’s cell records, in case they contradict his statement. If they do, fine, then it couldn’t have been Gunter; at which point I’ll go on the hunt again. But I have to tell you, it’s more likely, if that’s the case, that Gunter had a partner he hasn’t given up than that it was Jeremy. You can’t get all the elements in the video right unless you’re the perp. But we’re still going to check Jeremy’s story out. There are loose ends to tie up, for sure. That’s how it always is with this sort of investigation.”

  She moved to him and kissed him hard. “You’re not the kind of man who’ll give up if you think there’s a killer out there. I have faith in you.”

  Ron sighed again. He wished he had as much confidence in himself as Tess did.

  Chapter 47

  Ron was light-headed as he made his way down the sidewalk to the precinct, intoxicated as much by Tess as by the residual effects of the prior evening’s alcohol. It had been forever since he’d had as memorable a night, and it still felt surreal to have woken up next to a goddess who seemed to be as enamored by him as he was with her. He’d slept too late and then scrambled to get ready in a few minutes – at least that had been the plan until Tess had joined him in the shower, at which point schedules had seemed arbitrary and unimportant.

  He looked at his watch as he mounted the stairs, his muscles sore, and hurried to the elevators. Two plainclothes detectives joined him in his wait, and one of them smiled and offered his hand.

  “Congratulations on another one, Stanford. Nicely done,” the man said.

  Ron returned the smile and shook. “It was a team effort.”

  “Amazing how many times your team makes it across the finish line, though, huh?”

  The ride up to his floor was mercifully swift, and Ron felt relief when the elevator doors slid apart and he entered the homicide offices, his head pounding from a hangover. Applause broke out from the cubicles at the sight of him, and he winced at the noise as a few cheers and shouts of his name greeted his arrival.

  Ken Pruett, one of
the lead homicide investigators, approached and clapped him on the back with a hand the size of a baked ham. “Congrats, big guy. Took him down like the bitch he was.”

  “Thanks, Ken,” Ron said, continuing to his cubicle, where Ben was waiting for him.

  “You’ve got an easy day of it,” Ben said, his voice low. “Gunter confessed to the third one, too.”

  Ron stopped in his tracks. “He what?”

  “I know. I just heard.”

  Ron’s eyes became slits. “Who did he confess to?”

  Ben understood the angry tone of the question. This was Ron’s case. Anyone who’d questioned his collar had been breaking protocol.

  “I don’t know. The captain told me.”

  “Larraby, huh? So he’s already in?”

  “Sure. I mean, it’s ten, Ron.” Ben studied his face. “Had a few last night?”

  “Not too many to know bullshit when I smell it.”

  Ron tossed his briefcase on his chair, ignored the flashing of his phone’s message light, and pushed past Ben to return to the elevators. Ben watched his departure with a frown – Ron angry could be volatile, although it happened rarely.

  At Larraby’s floor, Ron stalked out of the elevator and marched to the captain’s office. His secretary was at her desk in the outer reception area, speaking to someone on the telephone, when he entered. One look at his face convinced her to put the call on hold.

  “Yes, Detective. May I help you?”

  “Is he in?”

  “Yes, but he’s on a call…”

  Ron nodded as he moved to Larraby’s door and opened it. The captain was laughing, his phone pressed to his ear, and looked up at Ron as he crossed the room and sat in front of his desk.

  “I have to call you back, buddy,” he said, and then hung up. “Well, Stanford, you’re the man of the hour. How does it feel?”

  “I heard Gunter confessed to the third murder last night?”

  “Great news, isn’t it?”

  “Who questioned him?”

  Larraby fixed him with a steady stare. “I authorized it, Stanford. I was receiving a lot of pressure. We didn’t have time to wait for you to get back in the saddle.”