The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series)

by Steffen, P. M.

  Ellery’s eyes opened and he spotted Sky in the crowd. His mouth worked into a slow grin that said he’d been waiting all night, just for her.

  “Hey, mush.” Teddy Felson appeared beside Sky, his brown hair looking wild, like he’d given himself a haircut without a mirror. “Let’s talk. Over there.” Teddy gestured toward the back of the saloon and Sky followed his purposeful stride as he forced his way through the crowd.

  They entered a small pool room. A lone patron wearing a Boston College jacket leaned over the pool table with a cue stick, setting up his next shot. He gave Sky a leisurely once over before resuming play.

  They were further away from the band but Teddy still had to raise his voice to be heard. “The Papa Razzi server working Manville’s table the night of March fifteen was an Emerson College drop-out by the name of Tamara.” He set his draught on an empty table. “Tamara remembers Nicolette. Said she was like a walking L'Oréal commercial, spectacular red hair down to her ass. Claims she saw Manville stroking it that night.”

  “Manville was touching her hair?” Sky was skeptical. “In public?”

  “Not in public, exactly. Tamara says she saw them standing outside the woman’s restroom. Said they probably thought they were alone because those Papa Razzi bathrooms are away from the main room. Said Nicolette was giggling.” Teddy’s eyes brightened. “Manville handed Nicolette something, Tamara couldn’t tell what it was. Didn’t even remember it until she saw Nicolette’s face on the news Monday.”

  “Why didn’t Tamara go to the police?”

  “Manville tipped her a hundred on a three hundred tab.” Teddy guzzled the last of the draught and belched. “Said he was a regular. Knows everybody.”

  “Good work, detective.”

  Teddy gave a modest shrug. “So he felt her up outside a bathroom. Not exactly a smoking gun.”

  “They were alone together,” Sky said. “That’s the important thing.”

  “Wonder what he handed her.” Teddy scratched his head. “A telephone number? An address, maybe?”

  “That Papa Razzi napkin on my bulletin board?” Sky made a mental note to reexamine the napkin when she got back to her office.

  The band was working through a lush version of Little Wing, an old Hendrix song.

  The melancholy hook of Ellery’s voice pulled at Sky until she closed her eyes and surrendered. Amid the peaks and valleys of an incendiary guitar solo, Ellery released an unrelenting floodtide of misery, bending the blues song to a new cry. Sky knew, beyond a doubt, that Ellery was playing to her and no one else. The tension in her body seemed to uncoil with each successive wave of sound until she felt a warm, liquid calm. Gradually, the music wound to its end. The audience roared their approval but the band didn’t start another number.

  Break time.

  Sky opened her eyes and blinked.

  “The man is a wizard on that guitar,” Teddy admitted with a smile.

  A few seconds later Ellery appeared in the poolroom with a highball in his hand. He still wore the bolero hat, the kind Clint Eastwood had in A Fistful of Dollars. It gave the guitar player a dangerous aspect, like a gunslinger.

  “Come with me,” Ellery gestured at Sky.

  She found herself following him down a crowded hallway past a trio of college girls in ripped denim miniskirts.

  “Ellery! Ellery!” the girls called, laughing and pushing one another.

  But the guitar player had something else in mind. He grabbed Sky’s hand to hurry her.

  Sky glanced back and saw Teddy wading through the crowd behind them with a determined look on his face.

  Ellery pulled Sky down the stairs. He led her into the basement office, slammed the door shut and turned the lock.

  He set the highball on the office desk and stood close, so close that Sky could smell the leather of his black shirt. With heavily ringed hands, he untied the belt and undid the buttons of Sky’s London Fog.

  “Still wearing red cowboy boots,” he smiled.

  “Always.”

  Ellery slipped the trench coat from her shoulders and tossed it on a low sofa. “Reminds me of home,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around Sky. He lifted her off the floor in a full embrace.

  Let the moment happen, she told herself. Forget Jake.

  Ellery’s arms were hard and strong, the warm leather felt like bare skin. Sky relaxed into his kiss, softened, felt herself open. His lips were probing, hopeful, an unspoken question.

  A fleeting sense of relief shot through Sky and she decided to meet his kiss, and more. She yielded.

  But Ellery pulled his head back and looked at her with sad eyes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re still in love with the detective.”

  “No,” she insisted. “It’s over. Jake is out of my life.”

  Ellery released her and slugged down the cocktail.

  “It’s all good, sugar.” He slumped into the office chair. “We don’t choose love. Love chooses us.”

  Sky felt like a fool.

  Why was she standing here arguing about Jake? How did she get so distracted? It was Ellery’s voice, she decided. Ellery’s guitar. The music made her forget her life for a few moments. But the moment had passed.

  “You lied to me,” she said. “You were in town the night of Nicolette’s murder.”

  Ellery was silent but Sky could see his face flush beneath the brim of the hat.

  “You were sleeping with the drummer’s wife,” she prodded. “Why did you tell me you went to New York?”

  “Seeing you after so many years?” Ellery stared into the empty cocktail glass. “Standing there, fresh and bright as a summer morning.” He set the empty glass on the desk and pulled a pack of Camels from the pocket of the black leather shirt.

  “I like myself when I’m with you, Sky. Why is that?” Ellery drew a cigarette from the pack. “I lied to you, it’s true. I didn’t want you to think I was a player.”

  Jake was right.

  Sky was stupid to interview Ellery alone. He’d lied to her about his whereabouts and she’d repeated that lie to the homicide team. And now Ellery was prime suspect. Juries were not kind to suspects who lied.

  Someone knocked and Sky remembered Teddy. She unlocked the door and the PI walked two steps into the room.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  “Who are you?” Ellery said. “Her date?”

  “No, I’m not her date, asshole.” Teddy’s shoulders twitched like a boxer and Sky interjected.

  “He’s a private investigator,” she explained. “I hired him.”

  “But you work for homicide. I don’t get it.”

  “Long story,” she said. “Jake – Detective Farrell,” she corrected herself. “He sort of fired me.”

  Ellery lit the Camel with shaking hands.

  Sky said, “You didn’t kill Nicolette, I know that.”

  “They found her cell phone at my place. I don’t know how it got there, the thing never left her hand.” Ellery held the cigarette like a joint and took a hit. “They searched my T-Bird, too.” Smoke streamed from the side of his mouth. “Why would anyone kill someone so beautiful?” His voice cracked with sincerity.

  “That’s exactly what I intend to find out.” Sky watched the musician’s face crumple beneath the bolero’s brim and wondered what Porter Manville was doing at that exact moment.

  Enjoying Crème Brulee at Troquet? Closing a business deal over caviar and truffles at L’Espalier? Maybe Manville was sharing a cozy nightcap with dear friends at the Harvard Club while Ellery sat here twisting in the wind.

  Footsteps thundered down the stairs. Heavy-soled shoes, the sharp beat of men on duty.

  Everyone’s head swung toward the door.

  A skinny, middle-aged guy with black spiky hair stepped into the room, it was the club owner. Sky recognized his face from two photographs that hung on the wall behind Ellery’s head. In one picture, the smiling owner had an arm around Ellery, in the other shot he stood next to
an even skinnier, heavily tattooed Johnny Winter.

  “Sorry, dude,” the breathless owner gasped at Ellery, “but they’ve got the papers.”

  Teddy was gazing past the owner’s spiky head into the dark hallway. And the look on his face told Sky the news was bad.

  A second later, Jake walked in like he ruled the world.

  He stood ramrod straight, head high, with a wide stance. His black suit was side-vented and expensive – Calvin Klein, probably – so Sky knew he wasn’t expecting much trouble. Still, the open jacket exposed the baby Glock, holstered along his ribcage.

  “Ellery Templeton,” Jake’s eyes darted briefly to the sofa, where Sky’s trench coat spread suggestively across the cushions. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Nicolette Mercer.”

  Ellery jerked to his feet, knocking the cocktail glass over.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” Jake spoke over the sound of shattering glass, “anything you say or do, can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney.”

  The color drained from Ellery’s face.

  “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you.”

  Sky watched Jake, shocked to see the insinuation of a smile on his lips. Yes, the detective was enjoying himself.

  “Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

  “I understand.” Ellery shot Sky a helpless look that said he didn’t understand anything.

  “Empty your pockets.”

  Ellery tossed a creased leather billfold, a silver Zippo cigarette lighter, and three tortoiseshell Fender guitar picks on the desk. Jake gestured with a hand and two uniforms walked in.

  Boston PD. Jake was extending a professional courtesy.

  Jake patted the musician down and the Boston cops secured his hands behind his back.

  Seeing Ellery manacled like an animal was too much for Sky and she made a move toward the guitar player.

  “No.” Jake blocked her with his body.

  “Sugar, I’m counting on you,” Ellery called to her over his shoulder as the cops marched him away.

  Sky looked into Jake’s face. “I hate you.”

  But Jake was looking past her, at Teddy. “What are you doing here, prick?”

  “Get fucked, Farrell. You don’t own this murder.” Teddy moved a millimeter toward Jake, just enough to show interest. “Guess it’s up to me and Sky to do your job for you.”

  “Give me a reason.” Jake’s jaw dropped. “Go ahead,” he said, taking a step toward Teddy. “Interfere with this investigation. It’s an actionable offense. God, I’d love to put you behind bars.” Jake shifted in the suit jacket. “Or maybe I’ll just beat the shit out of you right here.” He edged Sky away and moved toward Teddy.

  Teddy’s hands shot up at neck level and he angled his body as Jake pulled a fist.

  This prompted the scrawny bar owner to step heroically between the two much larger men. “Whoa, guys! Don’t make me call the police.” He erupted in the nervous laughter of a coke freak and put a hand on each man’s chest. “Seriously, gentlemen. Let me get you a drink. On the house. The good stuff.” The bar owner sniffed earnestly. “I’ve got a bottle of Wild Turkey that’ll make you beg for rehab.”

  Jake appeared to shift gears. He pulled his arm back and adjusted the gun holster before jabbing an index finger in Teddy’s face. “Anything happens to Sky, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

  Then Jake turned and walked out, his hard-soled shoes crunching across the broken shards of Ellery’s cocktail glass.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Sky woke from a dreamless sleep to Kyle’s cell ringtone, a shrieking electronic police siren.

  “What’s up?” she croaked.

  “Sky? You sound funny.”

  “I must have fallen asleep on the floor.”

  “Didn’t want you to hear it from a stranger, darling. Your old boyfriend is being arraigned this morning.”

  “Where?”

  “Cambridge Superior. Jake’s holding a press conference. Nine o’clock sharp. Axelrod and I are on Memorial Drive as I speak. Traffic sucks.”

  “He’s got the wrong man, Kyle.”

  “Bring me evidence, love. Anything. You know what they say.”

  “What do they say?”

  “Talk is cheap. That’s what they say.” Pause. “Jake tells me you’re working with Teddy Felson.”

  Sky stroked Tiffany’s generous belly and waited for the insults to commence.

  “Teddy’s a good man,” Kyle said, to Sky’s surprise. “He was a good cop, for that matter. A little exuberant, maybe. Just between you and me? I’m glad he’s hanging around. Axelrod and I interviewed every goddamn house between Commonwealth and Cabot and got nothing on those gunshots at Bullough’s. No one saw anything, no one heard anything. Makes me nervous as hell to think that guy’s still out there.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t a man,” Sky offered. “Maybe Theresa Piranesi shot at me.”

  “Bad joke, darling.”

  “I wasn’t joking.” Sky held the phone awkwardly between shoulder and ear and pulled on the red cowboy boots. She’d slept in her clothes but there was no time to shower and change, it was nearly nine.

  “By the way,” Kyle said. “Why, exactly, are you sleeping on the floor?”

  “No reason.”

  “Yeah, right.” Kyle issued the sharp suck of a cigarette drag. “I hope you’re taking it easy. Getting plenty of rest.”

  “Um hmm.” Sky had a splitting headache but she was in no mood for Kyle’s bitching.

  Sick with worry after Ellery’s arrest, she’d driven back to her office to go through the items from Nicolette’s apartment one more time. Her efforts yielded a telephone number, written in blue ball point pen on the inside corner of the Papa Razzi napkin. The one she’d found stuck in Nicolette’s encyclopedia of magic spells.

  The napkin was probably the item the Papa Razzi server saw Manville give to Nicolette, outside the restaurant bathroom.

  How could Sky have missed the number? What else was she missing?

  “You’re not driving, are you?” Kyle’s voice grew prickly. “That ER doctor said absolutely no driving. You probably sustained a concussion. That’s nothing to mess around with.”

  “You worry too much, detective.” Sky ran a finger over the throbbing lump above her left ear.

  “I miss you, darling. How can I be expected to do my best work without my muse by my side?”

  “I have to go, Kyle.”

  “Axelrod misses you, too. He hasn’t been the same since he saw you in that strapless number at Kildare’s. I think our boy’s in love.”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Darling?”

  “What?”

  “If you find anything on Manville, you’ll let me know, right? You won’t try handling it yourself?”

  “Good bye, Kyle.” Sky hung up and stared at the small television next to the door. No point in turning it on, she’d let her cable service lapse last year. No reception.

  “Candace has cable,” she informed Tiffany. “Besides, I think it’s time you two met.” Sky slipped the trench coat on and left with the Shih Tzu tucked under her left arm.

  The morning proved windless and gray, so bleak that Sky wondered if the sun would ever shine again.

  But Tiffany seemed in high spirits, sniffing her way down the alley to the parking lot behind Sky’s office. The dog relieved herself in a clump of sturdy weeds and Sky popped her into the passenger seat.

  “Bark if you see anything suspicious,” Sky ordered, pulling into morning traffic.

  Five minutes later, Sky stood on Candace’s porch and pushed the doorbell. She knew her friend was home because a dilapidated Chevy Malibu sat rusting in front of the house.

  “Come in, honey. I just made a fresh pot of coffee.” Candace Carbotta was dressed for work in a roomy black dress and laced boots. “Who is this?”

  “My rescu
e dog.” On the way to the kitchen, Sky offered Candace the most recent chapter of Tiffany’s life and times.

  “Abandoned? I’ll take her.” Candace set a plate of jelly doughnuts on the table and put a steaming mug of coffee in front of Sky. “Ever see the world’s greatest cat burglar on Oprah? No? He recommends little dogs. Says they bark at everything and everyone.”

  Taking Tiffany from Sky’s arm, Candace sat down and began hand-feeding the Shih Tzu tiny morsels of a Boston crème. “Mr. Cat Burglar says thieves step over goldens and labs on their way to your bedroom safe.” Candace grew somber. “Any progress on the murder?”

  “Switch on channel seven.” Sky selected a doughnut and took a bite. “They should be announcing the arrest of the prime suspect any minute.”

  Candace touched her free hand sequentially to forehead, heart, and each shoulder in the sign of the cross. “Thank God,” she whispered, flipping on the small television next to the stove.

  Jake and a jackal-faced DA came into focus. They stood next to Magnus at a podium.

  “Jake looks sexy as hell,” Candace observed. “I swear, that man just gets better looking with age.”

  Sky gave a noncommittal shrug and watched Jake. The detective’s dark suit and crisp white shirt exuded self-assurance. He had that freshly showered, clean-cut aspect. Sky could almost smell his aftershave.

  “Through multiple lines of evidence, Ellery Templeton has been linked to at least one homicide in an ongoing investigation by the Newton Police Department,” the DA said, “in conjunction with state police from the Middlesex County District Attorney’s office.”

  The press conference continued but Sky quit listening.

  At least one homicide – what did that even mean? Was the DA suggesting that Ellery was guilty of other murders? What were they trying to pull?

  Sky concentrated on her breathing because she didn’t want to freak out in front of Candace. Her friend would start asking questions, who knew where that might lead?

  “How can a man look that good and catch the bad guys?” Candace plumped her dark hair and peered at the screen. “He’s so forceful. Did you see the way he shut down that obnoxious BBC reporter? Reminds me of his quarterback days.”