by Rose Beecham
“What was Maulle’s beef with Anton before the threats to Pippa?”
“Can’t help you there. Mr. Maulle never talked about it.”
“Okay. Thanks for your time, Mr. Debroize.”
Jude wasn’t sure if she was happy they’d talked or depressed. The more she found out about Fabian Maulle, the more bizarre this case got. It was already way beyond the scope of a standard homicide investigation.
She was about to end the call when Debroize said, “Something you might want to know… The Solntsevo crime syndicate put a contract out on Anton about a month ago.”
“They want him dead?” Jude scrawled down the name. “Why?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But it’s interesting, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, very.”
Jude ended the call and strolled to the window, her mind racing. As she watched whirls of dust rise from the ochre plain beyond the headquarters building, a motive for the crime took shape. Anton thought Maulle was going to have him hit as payback for the threat against Pippa, so he sent in a couple of thugs to scare him into canceling the contract. Only they took things too far and Maulle died. That explained Coco’s murder and the bizarre attempt to clamp Maulle’s wounds with the bulldog clips. They weren’t supposed to kill him, Anton needed him alive.
To prove her theory, she needed to catch one of Anton’s men. Even if he wouldn’t cut a deal and give up his boss, maybe he would provide a few answers. So far there’d been no response to their composite drawings, although a couple of detectives in Miami said they had an angle on a Russian pimp and might get an ID.
As she left the undersheriff’s office she’d borrowed for her overseas call, Jude wondered how much longer they could run the case without involving the feds.
Koertig raced up to her as soon as she showed her face. “This isn’t what we thought.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” Her cell phone vibrated against her hip and she said, “Hang on, pal.”
She stepped away to check an incoming text message, hoping for something from Debbie. At Wednesday night’s potluck, she’d tried to get some time alone with her, but Sandy made sure that didn’t happen. Jude had gone on to spend most of yesterday stuck in Telluride with a team of FBI agents trying not to draw attention to themselves. The first film festival arrivals were already in town and being greeted with open arms by those about to endure a long winter at the mercy of the hedge-fund crowd.
The people who worked for wages at the Mountain Village resort and local restaurants couldn’t afford to live close to Telluride. Instead they commuted along suicidal snowbound roads throughout winter only to find they could work all day without a tip from jerks who expected their shoelaces to be tied for them. The general consensus was that the film festival crowd might not have lots of new money, but they did have some class.
Having heard the bad news, the festival organizers were frantic, trying to decide if they should call the whole thing off and look like pawns in a phony government terror alert or let it roll and discover, via a theater full of dead celebs, that the FBI was telling the truth. Their position could best be described as one of mordant pragmatism. Amidst dark rumblings about the McCarthy era and outbursts over police-state tactics, they had handed over their VIP lists, festival program, and the names of anyone Jewish or any film that might attract a Jewish audience. The Klaus Barbie feature was among them.
Jude had left Hill and the team poring over risk-reduction options last night so she could get to Cortez in time for dinner with Koertig and his wife and an early start on the Maulle case this morning. Between times, she’d had a conversation with Arbiter and they’d agreed that she would search Sandy’s property first thing Monday and confirm whether she was a friendly or not. Arbiter had a heavy squad on stand-by in case the situation went south. The same applied to the ASS op on Sunday. Jude had her orders, and he’d even forwarded them in writing.
Having sown seeds of doubt in Hawke’s mind about a mole in the ASS, she was now supposed to spin some bullshit to Aidan Hill at the soirée tomorrow, giving her a last minute heads-up about the meeting at Lone Burro. Jude’s mission was to extract Hawke the moment the feds arrived. If they didn’t arrive, she had to use her judgment. Arbiter didn’t care if there was a body count so long as she didn’t compromise long-term objectives.
No pressure.
Jude read the text on her cell phone a second time: Won’t be at soiree. Going Utah late Sat. Home Tues. XX Deb
Jude keyed a quick reply: Cats fine. Have fun. Keep in touch.
As Debbie signed off, Jude looked up to find Koertig had migrated to a huddle at another detective’s desk. She joined him and asked, “What’s up?”
“It’s Miami PD.”
“I think you better take this.” The detective passed the phone up to him.
Jude watched the excitement drain from Koertig’s face as he listened. He was silent for a while, then said, “Yeah, we’ll send someone. Thanks, Lieutenant.” He replaced the receiver and took a few seconds before announcing, “Listen up, everyone. That was Special Investigations Section in Miami. There’s two DBs in their morgue that fit the descriptions of our suspect males. Both died of gunshot wounds thought to be sustained during an altercation over a prostitute. No arrests have been made.”
He glanced toward Jude. “Devine will brief you shortly on her conversation with the security guard. This could shed light on the motive for the homicide.”
“Do you still want us working the Mercedes SUV trace?” someone asked.
“Yeah, it’s business as usual,” Koertig said. “We still have to prove these guys are the killers.”
“We have DNA, a shell casing, and a bullet,” Jude said. “If we get a match, or if the Miami PD find that Apple laptop or other property that ties the dead men to Maulle, we have our killers.”
She told the team to assemble for the briefing in fifteen minutes, and drew Koertig aside. After filling him in on her conversation with Hugo Debroize, she said, “If these are our guys, this was an inside job. Probably Anton having his own troops murdered for screwing up.” She gave him a beat or two to absorb the ramifications, then suggested, “Maybe take the waitress down to Miami with you and have her ID them in person.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s them,” Koertig said. “They’ve got the tattoos, and the lieutenant says they’re Russian and known to the Organized Crime Detail.”
He sounded deflated. Jude knew the feeling. Adrenaline fueled a homicide investigation like this one, and when the primary would never get the chance to try for a confession or even interview the suspect, because he was deceased, the case suddenly became much more clinical and the drive faded away.
“If they’re our guys, you’ve closed a major case,” she reminded him. “It wasn’t just good luck.”
“What about everything else?”
“Maulle is dead,” Jude said flatly. “If he was a pedophile, the FBI will eventually investigate him and determine whether or not to make the case public. I doubt they will. What’s the advantage in humiliating his family?”
“I’m not convinced that he was,” Koertig said. “I just got through the first notebook. It’s not sex fantasies or anything like that. You should take a look.”
“I don’t need to,” Jude said. “And neither do you. In another few days, this case will probably be history. Just have someone pack it all up and I’ll see it gets to the right people. We can also pass on what we know about Anton Voronov to the FBI.”
Koertig managed a glum nod. “I wanted the perp walk.”
“You’ll get to stand next to the sheriff at the press conference.” Teasing him gently, Jude said, “If you’re lucky he might even let you say something.”
“First I have to squeeze him for the Miami trip.”
Jude pointed toward Pratt’s door. “Go break the good news. He’ll be all over it.”
*
“Thanks for helping me with this,” Pippa told the handsome deputy carrying her
boxes into the log house.
Jude had said she would send someone, and Pippa was half expecting a stringy, middle-aged trooper who would spit in the shrubbery every time he came up the steps. She felt bad about checking out a hot guy in the house where her uncle was murdered not even a week ago, but it was hard not to notice six feet of gorgeous male standing right in front of her with a smile that made her heart pound in her chest.
Pippa wished she’d remembered to put on antiperspirant or bothered to wear a decent top. Instead she smelled of pizza and had a tomato stain in the center of her T-shirt where her cleavage was supposed to be. She also had greasy hair because the shampoo in her hotel room had run out and housekeeping had replaced it with conditioner by mistake.
“Where would you like this one, ma’am?” Again that old-fashioned sideways glance and shy flash of white teeth.
Pippa pointed anywhere, knowing she was blushing. She reminded herself that she was now a stupidly rich millionaire who could buy handsome men like she bought purses, and throw them away when she got bored. She wondered if her parents knew how much she was going to inherit. Was that why her mom had suddenly wanted her to come home and had even offered the conservatory for her sculpting?
She thought about Ryan and his bitch wife who always put her down. Pippa wanted to share the money with him, but not while he was married to that. Besides, Griffin Mahanes could say what he wanted, but she wasn’t going to keep it for herself. There was so much good she could do with a fortune like that, Pippa got emotional thinking about it. She loved animals and the environment. If she was smart, she could put the money to work and help make the world a better place. In her heart she knew that was why Uncle Fabian had left his fortune to her. He knew she cared about the things that really mattered.
Pippa let herself look at the deputy again. Tulley. The name suited him. His coal black hair dropped over his forehead, tempting her to slide it back between her fingers. She wondered whether he would act differently toward her if he knew she was rich. Probably. The thought made her uncomfortable, and she was glad no one knew except her family and the attorneys. The detectives all thought she was just staying in the house temporarily. Pippa had let them make assumptions. She had the impression they thought her mother was in charge now. Naturally Delia had encouraged that idea.
Pippa decided if anyone asked, she would say what she’d said all along, that her uncle had left a lot of money to charity. It wasn’t a lie. She would just leave out the other half of the story. If she was going to live here for a while, she wanted to make real friends who liked her for who she was.
“I never saw a log cabin like this one.” Deputy Tulley stood in front of the windows gazing out at the splendor of the mountains.
Pippa could sense his awe. He wasn’t just talking about the house but also the matchless perfection around it. She let her gaze slide over him again, taking in his long legs and slim hips. The gun rested on his right, a little lower than his waist. His torso was lean, rising to a chest and shoulders that filled out his shirt without making him look like a hulk.
If she had to find a word to describe him, it was “beautiful.” He reminded her of the marble gods she’d seen in Italy one summer. She wished she could run her hands over him. Warm living flesh as smooth as cool stone. He would make the perfect model, supposing she could concentrate enough to sketch him. She caught her breath as he turned, and for an awful moment she thought her fascination must be obvious. His expression was almost skittish, his eyes screened by long black eyelashes.
“Are you going to be okay here, by yourself?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I thought I’d just close up his rooms and try not to think about it. I guess I’ll just see how it goes.”
Tulley didn’t look at her directly. Tucking a thumb in his belt, he said, “I was thinking, if you want I could fix you up with a dog. I’d let you borrow Smoke’m for a couple of nights, except that he’s a duty animal and we have to be on call at all times.”
“Don’t worry.” Pippa tried for a lighthearted tone. “I have Oscar, and I’m going to pick up the cats tomorrow morning, once I’ve finished unpacking.”
She felt uneasy and a little confused for the second time that day. Earlier, when Jude had called her about moving her stuff into the house, she’d mentioned Hugo. They’d spoken and Jude said he’d offered to provide security if Pippa wished. Because they weren’t face-to-face, Pippa wasn’t sure if the concern in Jude’s tone was just sympathy or if she was worried. Now, here was Deputy Tulley suggesting she got a dog.
“Deputy?” she asked. “Do you think I should get a security guard in case those men come back?”
Tulley rested his right hand on his holster. He seemed to be considering his next words carefully. “Talk at headquarters is that won’t be a problem. There’s a couple of dead bodies down in Florida that look a whole lot like those composite pictures you saw.”
“Really? You caught them!” Pippa felt light-headed with relief. “Oh, my God. And they’re dead?”
“We don’t know for sure it’s them, and don’t tell anyone I said so. Okay?”
“That’s fine. I won’t say a word.” Impulsively, Pippa asked, “Are you off-duty now, Deputy Tulley?”
He checked the solid stainless steel watch at his wrist. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Want to have dinner with me?”
For several noisy heartbeats she thought he was going to say no, but a broad, slow smile creased the corners of his mouth. “I sure would like that, Ms. Calloway.”
“That’s Pippa,” she said, not for the first time.
“My name’s Virgil,” he responded. “But I answer to Tulley…and darned near anything else a lady wants to call me.”
The line would have been hokey from another guy, but from Tulley it seemed too sweet and sincere to be anything but the bald truth.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Pippa said. “I’ll go change and be back in a few.”
As she climbed the stairs, a chill crept over her and she caught hold of the banister, suddenly overcome. Images danced before her eyes. Blood. Uncle Fabian’s gray face. Her legs shook and sweat broke across her forehead. She took a step back and glanced behind her.
Before she could say a word, Tulley took the stairs two at a time. When he reached her, he said, “It’s okay. Take a breath. Real easy.”
He placed his arm behind her, barely brushing her waist, and walked her up the stairs like a partner in an old-fashioned dance. When they reached the top, Pippa let herself lean against him for a moment.
Tilting her head, she said, “Thank you.”
Their eyes met and this time he didn’t look away.
Chapter Seventeen
“This house has an elevator,” Tulley whispered in Jude’s ear.
They were just inside the doorway of a contemporary living room that opened onto a slate-paved terrace. People roamed the outdoor entertainment area, carrying cocktails and converging around the pool. Mercy’s home on High Desert Road was what realtors would term a “luxury retreat.” She and Elspeth had bought the place soon after their wedding. Jude had given the housewarming party a miss.
“That’s Portia di Pazzesco.” Tulley tilted his beer glass toward a conical-breasted blonde. “She’s in the new Rupert Palmer-Forbes film. The one about the movie star whose girlfriends all look the same.”
“In art as in life,” Elspeth Harwood cooed from behind them. “Portia’s real name is Mary Stubbs and she’s a total slapper. Be warned.”
Jude stepped sideways to avoid the kisses Elspeth was doling out to party arrivals. Tulley stayed where he was and went pink beneath his tan when Elspeth brushed her lips against each of his cheeks.
Jude had to admit Elspeth had pulled out the big guns tonight. Her incredible red hair cascaded in natural ringlets over her milk-white shoulders. The ivory dress she wore was a filmy, strappy thing that made her look naked underneath, which upon closer inspection, was possible. Her ingénue-pink lipstick pr
obably matched her nipples. It would have been easy to find out since the front of her dress barely covered her breasts. On some women this look might have seemed slutty, but Elspeth looked like a wood nymph who’d strayed into the realm of mortals. It seemed pointless to hate her just because she was absurdly beautiful.
“What’s a slapper?” Tulley asked, gazing at the actress in breathless adoration.
“That’s British for a vulgar flirt who’ll shag anyone if it will help her career. Or even if it won’t. Which reminds me,” Elspeth hooked her arm in Tulley’s, “there’s a favor I want from you, sweetie-darling.”
Eager as a puppy, Tulley asked, “Do you want me to light the fire pit?”
“Not yet.” Elspeth patted him indulgently. “See that woman, the one with the trout pout and the diamonds? She’s executive producing my next movie and she wants to meet you.”
“Me?” Tulley fidgeted with his belt buckle. He got anxious talking with strangers at social gatherings. That was one of the reasons he didn’t have a girlfriend, at least that was a theory he’d shared with Jude. “Why?”
“She enjoys handsome young men and you’re the handsomest in the room, silly boy.”
“I don’t want to be an actor,” Tulley said.
“I know. But that won’t matter to her, trust me.” With a radiant smile at Jude, Elspeth said, “Do excuse us. Must go schmooze.”
Jude couldn’t resist watching as her deputy was fed to the she-wolf. Elspeth must have told him to say nothing and smile. He did his best but could not quite hide his alarm as the bejeweled fingers trailed down the front of his shirt. Jude ignored his “rescue me” stare. Her thought was You wanted to come to this shindig, pal.
She strolled to the bar and observed the activity out on the terrace while she waited her turn. This was clearly an upscale party. Instead of the usual potato salad, hot dogs, and scorched steaks off the grill, platters of sushi and froufrou finger food were being toted about by crisply dressed waiters who looked like models. Jude hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She flagged down a pretty boy and scooped a handful of edibles onto a napkin. Everything tasted of spinach, a vegetable that had never inspired rapture in her.