Perfect Crime (Mystery & Adventure)

by Jack Parker

  "I had no idea she was in his pocket. Although, I probably should have guessed something of the sort. Did your father talk about her?"

  "I don't know…I don't talk to my father."

  The cell phone in his palm was surprisingly empty of stored numbers. Only five were programmed in its memory, and Scott didn't recognize the names. Only one made him take note. She'd coded in 'D.T' on the speed dial, and the first thought he had was, strangely enough, "Deep Throat"—every newspaper writer's dream source.

  Scott scrolled through the list again as he tried to think of any Post employee who might match the initials. His fingers itched to dial the number and see what happened, but given they were in flight, he couldn't.

  Tessa continued to inspect the wallet. Business cards clustered in several slip pockets, not an unusual thing for a high-powered woman. Lifting one bunch from their stash point, she flipped through the collection. "Sometimes people write little notes on the back of these cards."

  "Find anything?" Scott asked.

  Tessa was turning each card over, inspecting both sides. "Would I even know if I saw something?"

  The stack before her grew larger: one from a prominent New York City advisor, two different car services, a financial consultant, a building inspector and a councilman from Chicago.

  Interesting mix.

  "Barton Malone," Tessa mumbled, "there's a name that keeps coming up."

  Scott snatched the card and scanned the generic information on the front. "Councilman Malone. After his press conference in Chicago I got my first 'be careful' warning from Detective Blaine and the note on my windshield."

  She didn't respond.

  Scott pushed. "Darla's family got a postcard...I got a note...same author."

  Maybe she was absorbed in looking at all the business cards, but her lack of interest had to make him wonder.

  Continuing to flip a few more cards over to read the back, Tessa finally said, "And you know this, Sherlock, because…?

  "Same backwards 'e' on both."

  "On both postcards?"

  "No, the first postcard and the note," he said "I did mention it to you once before."

  Scott stared at her for a moment, though she wasn't looking at him for her to notice his scrutiny. The writing on both cards to the Perelli's was not much better than scrawl but the second one had a different slant to the script and lacked the notable backwards 'e' of the first. The obtuse act didn't wear well on her.

  "So, where is it?"

  "Where's what?"

  "The note?"

  "Crumpled up and tossed on the Hilton parking lot."

  "Well, that makes it a little hard to use as evidence." She almost appeared happy at his carelessness.

  The topic was closed. Scott could tell by her body language, and simply, she had a point. Without the note, he couldn't really press his suspicions. Strange choice of words though.

  Scott began searching for some sort of secret pocket in the purse of a thousand things. He found one among the folds, opened the zipper, and extracted two loose keys. He added them to his pile. "How did she ever find anything in here?"

  She let the wallet and business cards fall into her lap. Tired and reluctant to share with Scott, she sighed, "I don't know what I'm looking for. The woman carried too much cash and credit."

  "Maybe, if needed, she wanted to be able to get out of town fast."

  "We should all be so lucky."

  "Okay, but…"

  "But what?"

  "But we just cut off her escape route." He pointed to the wallet

  "There is no escape," Tessa said, barely above a whisper. Her gaze was distant, as if staring at the blatant truth.

  His time with this woman had been short, barely 48 hours, but he didn't need to ask her to explain.

  True to a spy novel, he picked up a powder compact and busied himself trying to pry the mirror from the front of the case, suspecting some sort of microdot underneath.

  No such luck.

  Disgusted, he began shoving everything back into the bag. "Tell me. Why were you so sure Cy had gone underground and wasn't dead?

  "Does it matter?" she hedged.

  "Maybe not," Scott said, while staring at her, "but maybe."

  "I'd heard things through the grape vine," she said without looking at him.

  "This grape have a name?"

  "Nope."

  Scott picked up the contents of the wallet strewn about Tessa's lap, adding them to the haphazard pile growing in the purse. It didn't matter that the credit cards were loose like playing cards, he'd probably courier the mess back to Marlayna as is.

  She didn't want to discuss things; Scott decided he needed time to think. He made an excuse, "I'm going to catch a cat nap, you may want to do the same."

  Leaning back the leather seat, he crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes, turning his face away. The air conditioning was cold and she mentally excused his closed-off body language as warmth generating rather than defensive.

  The reporter didn't sleep. Instead, he reviewed the events of the last 24 hours and tried to make sense of them. He was no closer to solving the riddle when the plane landed. Scott collected all their personal belongings, handing Marlayna's purse to Tessa.

  "It doesn't go with my outfit," he explained, trying to lighten the mood even though he felt distinctly separated from his companion.

  He smiled at the joke. She didn't.

  They had a car at the airport, Dante's Mustang, but Tessa advised against collecting it in the wee hours of the morning in the deserted garage. Scott couldn't argue with the logic, when she noted that their arrival would be known and any 'random ambush' well planned, but there was one small detail they appeared to be overlooking.

  Scott asked, "But isn't Dante going to need his car?"

  She'd wondered about that too, but it had been about a month since she'd heard from Dante; normally no more than a day or so went by without him giving her a call. But that worry would have to take its place at the end of a long list of concerns she had in connection with her twin brother.

  "Let's just get a cab," Tessa suggested. "I want to go home. We can regroup tomorrow."

  Given their location, it made sense to head to Tessa's place first, but it soon became clear that 'going home' would also not be the best plan. The cab cruised up to Tessa's apartment building, only to be waved off by a police barricade. Emergency vehicles lined the street.

  "Now what?" Tessa groaned. The uniforms almost outnumbered the headcount at a policeman's ball. Her ice-blue eyes peered up to the window of her condominium. A switched-on living room lamp was noticeable, even through the closed curtains, though that in itself didn't mean anything.

  The cab driver spoke to them, "You getting out?"

  Scott wasn't sure. Then his eyes locked on a familiar face in the crowd. Detective Blaine was standing with G.J. Perelli, the latter in handcuffs. "Did your 'brother' come back to visit?" he asked, reminding Tessa of their earlier conversation with her neighbor and the attempted break-in before they went to New York.

  Without thinking, Tessa automatically went to her purse for her cell phone, then remembered that it had been stolen. "The alarm company would have called me if the alarm was tripped, and someone would have had to give the code to disarm the system. I can't check to see if that's what happened, and we both know that if Cy was responsible for taking it, he isn't available to respond."

  "Maybe jail is the safest place for G.J., right now."

  "Maybe."

  "Though it doesn't tell me what he was looking for."

  "No, it doesn't."

  Scott frowned, a bit put out that she didn't share her ideas. Apparently, he was still on probation.

  The cab driver grew impatient. "Meter's running, people."

  Sitting back in his seat, Scott crossed his arms. "Now what?"

  "Your place."

  "Probably no better."

  "How about I just drop you at the corner?"

  "N
ope. You're stuck with me."

  Tessa made a split-second decision and leaned forward, giving an address on Lakeshore Drive. She didn't explain anything about their ultimate destination. They drove in silence, until she directed the cab driver to pull over.

  Bags in hand, Scott followed Tessa out onto the sidewalk, paid the driver and watched the cab drive off. He looked around at the residential neighborhood. The houses, mostly two stories, were on large lots.

  Being such a late hour, the neighborhood was quiet and the streets all but deserted. Tessa said, "I think this is a place where they won't look for us."

  Scott followed as she walked around the block. The building she chose to guide them to was dark and still. If the small pile of daily newspapers on the front step weren't enough, the accumulation of mail would have been as much of an explanation, as her words. "Dante has been gone for a few days," she said offhandedly.

  A sniff of the musty air in the house lead Scott to say, "A few?"

  "He didn't ask me to swing by and take care of the place like he usually does."

  Something flipped in Scott's gut. "I got a bad feeling about this."

  Punching in a code on the security system box, Tessa led the way into the lightless room. Finding a light switch was no problem; her old family home was more or less as it was when she'd lived there so many years earlier, and the last occupant to move in, hadn't bothered to change things much.

  She quickly changed the subject. "Do you play?" pointing to an old stand-up piano. "Dante loves to play the blues, but his forte is classical."

  "And is your forte classical as well?" Scott asked, wondering if that would put a name to the artist he'd heard in Donatello's car…or muddy the waters with two possibilities.

  Not looking at him, Tessa grinned at his attempt to fish for details, "Like two peas in a pod, I've been told. Twins are like that."

  He chose not to ask questions about other similarities. He'd seen enough to add two plus two, and frankly he wanted to turn a blind eye to many things. For now, Scott would delude himself into thinking he understood the woman and that history didn't matter.

  Maybe it would haunt them later—maybe it wouldn't.

  Tessa scooped up the newspapers by the door, planning to place them into a nearby trashcan. She excused herself and walked to the kitchen. She didn't look left or right at the photos; she had to be in the right mood to see Rhen's smiling face next to hers the day Dante bought the Mustang. Another with the addition of Father Luke looking over her shoulder as they all decorated a Christmas tree at St. Josephs, the four standing with linked arms. Several other curios dotted the family room, the clutter a stark contrast to her own decorating style.

  Second nature maybe, as if she'd done it a thousand times before, the redhead stepped around the room and pulled all the blinds down, then checked the backdoor lock. Just to make sure.

  She glanced back, waiting for her cohort to venture further into the known gangster's home. Through the kitchen door, she could see Scott moving around. He might have been rearranging the sofa pillows. Tessa stood in front of the wall-mounted oven. "Are you hungry?" she called to Scott in the other room.

  Food sounded like a good thing, but Scott was wondering if he had the energy to chew. "Hey, I thought you said you couldn't cook?" Soup from a can might work, but he'd have to lift the spoon.

  "No, my exact words were, I don't cook," she corrected, "I never said I didn't know how."

  Scott took a seat on the couch and closed his eyes. "Don't fuss." He could hear Tessa banging around in the kitchen. "I call dibs on the couch," Scott said. "In fact, I'm so tired, I'll sleep just about anywhere."

  Seeing that he wasn't paying attention, she pulled open the oven door and pressed a button hidden on the upper inside. She stepped back a half step, enough to move out of the way of the metal tray that slid out from the back panel.

  "Hidden in plain sight," Tessa muttered, gazing at the small array of handguns.

  The police took the opportunity to flip the house after the Pascal DeMarco murder, in hopes of finding something. But they were dealing with a professional. Like father, like son, he left no clues behind. Releasing a small sigh, the petite redhead reluctantly reached for her brother's signature piece. Rescuing the pistol from the stash, Tessa checked the safety. The gun felt comfortable in her hand. Maybe a bit too comfortable. Without thinking, she pressed the same hidden button again, effectively locking up the tiny arsenal.

  A tiny smile formed across her full lips, some things are what they are. "Dante doesn't cook, either," she said, barely above a whisper, "must be a family trait."

  Chapter 17

  Anatomy

  Zzz zzz zz.. .

  The room was dark and his companion was bathed in candlelight. Across the white linen tablecloth, a beautiful redhead smiled at him, her eyes a vivid blue. Scott returned a boyish grin that transformed his face into something approachable, warm and friendly.

  His hand extended across the snowy white surface and captured the other, smaller and softer hand in his own. A thumb traced the inside of her palm in an idle caress. Reluctantly, he looked up as a waiter set a tray of food in the empty space on the table. Food seemed necessary, and yet a complicated idea when all he wanted to do was sit…and stare.

  The smell was his downfall. That, and the flirty antics of the beautiful woman who lifted the cover off the plate and then placed a morsel of food in his mouth. Chocolate. Smooth and rich, the flavor exploded in his mouth along with the strawberry it covered. Returning the favor, he offered Tessa her own, his fingers sliding along her lips and over her jaw line.

  Smell. Touch. Taste. It all seemed so real. The impulse was there, to lean forward and…

  THUMP

  Scott rolled off the couch. Shock woke him, the involuntary "ow" coming from his lips. He nearly swore as he collected himself and his guilty thoughts.

  He saw Tessa, seated on the living room floor. She had a picnic spread around her: a couple Hershey bars, a bowl of soup, crackers and the contents of Marlayna's purse was strewn on the floor between them.

  A gun was balanced on her thigh. The shine of steel caught his eye. He didn't remember a weapon in the purse, and if it had been there, they would never have passed airport security.

  One hand went to his heart, the other to his forehead as he tried to absorb all the information before him in a hasty breath. "I must have dozed off."

  Tessa picked up the gun and held it loosely in her left hand. "You were talking in your sleep," she admonished.

  "Really?" Scott said, "Did I say anything interesting?"

  "Mm-hmm," she mumbled.

  She didn't elaborate. Something in the atmosphere had changed, but he couldn't put his finger on it. His eyes skidded over the living room contents, cataloguing as reporters do. Traditional furniture, the piano, one lamp burning. The framed photograph on the coffee table, forcibly reminding him of what Dante looked like.

  "Put the gun away, Tessa. Someone's liable to get hurt." Of course, he was half thinking that someone would be him. "You're not your brother," he added, insensitively.

  Lifting the weapon, she aimed it in his direction. "We're a lot more alike than you think."

  He remained cool under her intent gaze. "Honestly, it was just a dream. You don't need to worry about your honor yet."

  "What?" she had to laugh. "Sometimes you say the most bizarre things."

  "I like to think of them more as 'interesting'" he winked.

  Tessa set the weapon down out of his reach. She picked up the plate of crackers and offered him one. "It would be quieter if I just poisoned you."

  "True." Not intimidated, Scott took a bite of the Saltine and chewed. He swallowed, and stole a sip from her water glass. "Well, I can't exactly say it's bread and water, but..."

  She picked up the dish of candy. "Chocolate?"

  The grin on his face was wicked. "I'd better not. Maybe later."

  She took a piece of the candy bar from the plate, and let
it melt on her tongue. "I'll try and save you some."

  Scott leaned forward and sniffed. "So, find anything of interest?"

  "Not sure. A couple keys that weren't on a key ring, but I think you saw those." She shrugged. "The business card assortment isn't what I would expect from a high-powered executive."

  "Why?" Reaching for the stack, Scott mimicked her actions from the plane, sorting and flipping each in turn.

  "She's got two for a coin laundromat. Seriously, doesn't she have a maid?" Tessa said

  "A laundromat? Scott questioned.

  "Yeah, Nickel Laundry here in the city…ever heard of it?

  As a matter of fact, he had. Scott took the cards from her hand and casually flipped them over. Both were blank on the back.

  "Perhaps a meeting place?" Tessa said.

  "Perhaps," was all Scott offered.

  "See, here's another odd one: 'Fellows Gas Bar'. What are the odds that Marlayna would pump her own gas?"

  He took that card from Tessa too, he recognized the name. Coincidences were starting to add up and Scott didn't like the feeling of the supposed randomness.

  Half-heartedly, Tessa snapped Marlayna's cell phone open. The same meaningless info met her gaze as it had Scott's. Five preprogrammed numbers, each with initials to denote the identity, and one entry that didn't follow the typical, 3 digit then four digit, format. To her it looked much like a combination.

  Suddenly a random thought came to her and her face lightened, "Hey, when you looked at this before, did you look at Marlayna's personal organizer?" At the same time she pushed the appropriate buttons on the tiny screen to bring up the application. "Isn't modern technology something else?"

  Before he could answer, Tessa was asking him another question. "Why would she have two separate schedules programmed in here? Both with appointments made for the same dates and times but in two different places. Look," she said, twisting the screen so he could see too, "going back a month to the beginning of April she has it keyed in that she's flying out of town the same time the other schedule has her listed to be at Coney Island and the same a week earlier. Again she's flying out of town on this one but on the second schedule she's got keyed in Nickel Laundry." Her blue eyes shifted to the pile of business cards.