“Yeah, we’ll set it up so you’ll be targeted. We’ll be right on your butt.”
Bridey leaned in. “You need to be in the judge’s apartment and you can make scheduled trips to the trash chute, like she did the time she was attacked. If the perp knew when she was going last time and attacked her, it’ll happen again.”
Latasha turned to Clancy. “Need to get the judge in this without comin’ to the station. If she’s bein’ watched, we don’ wanna scare the perp off. She gonna hafta stay in her unit an’ we’ll need Officer Dennison stayin’ there day and night.”
“Actually,” Clancy cleared his throat, “it’s a good idea. I’ll feel better knowing Judge Phoebe has protection with her all the time. Besides Shamus, I mean. So, Prescott stays there while this is going on, day and night? He’ll be going for her mail, taking out her trash, even walking to her car and taking a short drive so it looks like business as usual. The judge will be safe in her unit, and Prescott as the judge’ll be drawing attention to himself.”
Latasha considered the plan. “Good by me. Officer Dennison?”
“Why not? Bridey can handle the monitor surveillance and it won’t look odd if I, as the judge, visit her once in a while. That way, Bridey can take a break.”
“I didn’t think you cared, Pres,” Bridey joked.
Prescott ignored the jibe. “When do you want to start?”
“Yesterday,” Latasha said. “Whadda ya need to become the judge?”
“My makeup kit’s in the apartment. All I need is a white wig that looks like the judge’s ’do. I can go out and pick it up right away.”
“Cool. We gonna take care of the details.”
“I’m on it.” Prescott stood up, pushed his chair in and paused for a moment. The others looked on, transfixed as his body shrank and bent. With one hip slightly higher, a hunch to his back and head bowed a bit, he put a tentative hand out to steady himself before he turned and hobbled to the door.
“Where is Oliver?” he asked, in a voice so like Phoebe’s, his audience was dumbstruck. He straightened, bowed to the on-lookers and made his exit, closing the door quietly.
Latasha shook her head. “Damn, he’s good,” she said more to herself than to the others. “Lordy—this just might work.”
Chapter 72
Kate turned the ignition off and took a deep breath. Balmy May night, a very yellow full moon, top down on the convertible, the heady scent of jasmine carried by warm breeze—a perfect night in paradise.
She got out of the car and looked up at the building. Most of the apartment lights were on. The Albatross was impressive at night. Windows framed rectangular glimpses of the dwellers’ lives: tall, ornate bookcases filled with books in one, plant stands with carefully tended specimen orchids in another, and framed photographs on credenzas in a third. If Kate didn’t already know who lived there, she could have guessed.
Yetta loved books. They were her best friends, her family…her solace in an empty life. The flowers were Valentina’s passion, just as colorful and showy as she was. The photos, mementos of a past life as the wife of the ambassador to Japan and Pat Nixon’s trusted friend, were Harriet Winslow’s most treasured possessions.
The golden years didn’t seem so golden to Kate, not for these people anyhow. Kate thought about her grandmother. The comfort of her sunny kitchen with baking, yeasty smells of rising cinnamon rolls, chocolate brownies, and the lovely messes of butter, flour, and eggs waiting to be beaten into some confection. Did she want to end up like these women with empty shells of lives—no children messing up their kitchens, no people tracking in and out of the house because they loved the nearness and warmth of family and friends?
She stood lost in thought. Was this going to be her life too? Twenty years had gone into planning a life like her grandmother’s. Instead, she was here, at ten-twenty at night, after a long day catering a breakfast business meeting, a bridal shower, and a children’s birthday party with mothers who were more interested in parading designer duds, gaudy baubles, and surgically enhanced, overabundant cleavages than taking care of their children. Wasn’t that what nannies are for, anyhow?
A noise behind her startled her. Her heart thudded. She swung around, raising her clenched fist, car keys protruding between her fingers.
“Hold it.” Prescott held up his hands. “Just me, Prescott Dennison. I came out for a walk and saw you standing by your car. You really shouldn’t be waiting around here in the dark. Too much going on right now.”
“You scared me out of my wits.” Kate dropped her hand.
“Yeah, I have that effect on people.” Prescott said. “I’ll walk you to the lobby.”
“Not necessary.” Kate started to protest. “Okay, maybe it is. Thanks.”
“By the way, there’s a man waiting for you in the lobby. The last time I saw him he was dressed differently,” Prescott said.
Kate stopped short. “Dressed differently?”
“Um, it’s the same man who was walking around here in a robe a couple of months ago.”
She stared at him. What did Stewart want now? He had contacted Alexis after their last scene in the parking lot. Alexis said she was between classes and didn’t have time to talk to him.
She squared her shoulders and walked through the door Prescott opened for her before he went back outside.
Kate looked at the clean-shaven man sitting on the sofa. He had dozed off, head resting on the high-back. A closely-clipped haircut replaced the long locks. He was meticulously dressed in a business suit, white shirt, and a tie, slightly loosened. It was the Stewart Parker of three years ago. Sane Stewart, Successful Stewart, Husband and Father Stewart. She cleared her throat.
Stewart stirred, opened his eyes. “Hi, Kate.” He smiled at her. “You look great.”
“What do you want, Stewart? It’s almost eleven o’clock. I’ve been up since four in the morning, worked a full day. I’m tired. I want to go to bed. Why are you here?”
Stewart rose to his feet. “I’ve wasted three years of my life away from you and Alexis. I made a shambles of my business. I indulged a whim and hurt everyone and everything around me.” He looked at the floor and shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell came over me. It was like a drug I couldn’t shake.”
She waited for his answer with an obvious impatience.
“Look, you have every right to not want to talk to me. I was a real self-centered bastard.”
“You ignored your daughter and your wife. You left us flat in a town where everyone knew us. We had to survive the shame of a crazy man who decided he wanted to look like Jesus and act like a fool.” Her voice rose. “Why…are…you…here, Stewart? And if you don’t tell me in the next minute, I’m walking away.”
“I want…I don’t have a right to want anything, Kate, give me a chance to…let me—” He took a deep breath. “I’d like to continue where we left off before I…lost my mind.”
The old Stewart. It was hard to take her eyes off the only man she’d loved since she was eighteen. He was sounding like that man, only more humble, more direct. There had never been anyone else, and as she looked at him, Kate knew there never would be anyone else. She was doomed to be a one-man woman. And, damn it to hell, Stewart was that man.
Chapter 73
“We rollin’?” Latasha looked over Bridey’s shoulder at the bank of monitors. All the surveillance equipment had been moved out of Prescott’s apartment into the vacant apartment next to Judge Phoebe’s.
“Yes, Detective. Our guys got cameras in place last night. There’s not a spot in the corridor that we can’t pick up.” Bridey pointed out. “And right now, we’ve got plainclothes mingling with the residents at the Spring Bling Party in the lounge.”
“The judge’ll be leavin’ the party early.” Latasha reviewed the plan.
“And Dad’ll be walking her back, seeing her in, and then leaving. That’s when Prescott goes into action.” Bridey shook her head. “He looks more like the judge than she does.
It’s amazing.”
“More amazin’ if the perp goes for it.”
Bridey swung around to face Latasha. “Detective, I keep asking myself, why would anyone want to hurt the judge? Someone with a grudge? Does it tie in with Delores Pruitt’s murder? With Porfirio, the building manager’s death? Is the perp connected with the judge’s past?”
“Good questions, but nothin’ I haven’t asked myself, Officer Magillicuddy. Somethin’s gonna break soon. I feel it.” Latasha looked at one of the monitors. “Hey, now.”
A totally mismatched couple walked slowly down the corridor. Clancy towered protectively over the judge. Hand under her elbow, he competed with the silver-headed Oliver to support the octogenarian.
***
“Here we are, Judge. Back home, safe and sound,” Clancy said, quietly.
“This has been a delightful evening, um, Clancy.” Phoebe reached into her pocket for her keys.
“That it has, dear lady. Will you be wanting me to walk Shamus for you?”
“No, it won’t be necessary. I’ll be going out with him in another hour or so, but thank you.” She fitted the key into the lock. “Good night, Clancy.”
“Night, Judge.”
The door closed softly. Clancy heard no locks sliding into place. They were giving anyone wanting easy access into the judge’s quarters every chance. Shamus would give warning as soon as anyone approached the door.
Whistling softly, Clancy walked back to the elevators, but every fiber of his being wanted to be in that command center, waiting for the murderer to make the next move. It was like a damned chess game and he was determined to win it.
Chapter 74
The Art Deco, Bouraine clock in Phoebe’s foyer softly struck eleven. The party in the lounge had ended at ten. It was time.
Prescott whistled soundlessly to Shamus who ran to the door, eager for his night walk. Prescott took the cane leaning against the wall where Phoebe left it for his use as a prop. The weighty silver alligator head felt warm in his palm. Phoebe had shown him how to flip Oliver’s right eye to release the knife from the cane’s sheath. But Prescott was taking no chances. He had a gun strapped to his ankle for backup.
He attached the leash to Shamus’s collar, closed his eyes, and stood motionless. The dog watched as Prescott shrank into the body of an old woman—arthritic fingers curled around the cane, a hobble for a hip problem, and an ever so slight hunch on the back of an elderly woman. This Phoebe was ready. Ready for whatever was waiting for her.
A white halo of hair falling slightly over her face, the old lady opened the apartment door.
“Come on, big boy,” her soft, high-pitched voice cajoled. “Let’s go.”
She began the long trek down the corridor to the elevator, occasionally talking to the dog walking dutifully by her side. She’d followed this same routine for the past three nights. A night time pattern had been established. The elevator door slid open and the old lady wobbled into it. Once at the lobby level, she and her canine companion proceeded to exit the building. Warm air covered her like a blanket as she and Shamus walked to the nearby grassy patch. It wasn’t long before they turned and traced their path back and re-entered the lobby.
Residue of a flowery fragrance floated in the elevator. Prescott couldn’t place it. Some flower, but what? Not lilac, not rose—something headier.
He pressed the fifth floor button and waited, concentrating on the perfume. It brought back memories of his grandmother’s home in Tequesta. Long rows of shrubs, stretching across her property to the Intracoastal, covered with creamy white flowers.
Freesias! Someone had been in the elevator, very recently, with that scent. The elevator doors slid open. Fake Phoebe left the confines of the passenger car, bent down and unhooked Shamus’s leash.
“There you go, little fella,” she said squeakily. Shamus scampered off, reveling in his freedom as he ran down the carpeted corridor.
The leash slipped to the floor as the old woman fumbled for the keys in her pocket. Painfully, she bent to retrieve it. A gust of air blew her short, white hair across her face.
Has to be from the stairwell exit—and that same scent again.
Before he could straighten up, a sharp blow across his neck forced him to his knees. Stunned, he caught himself and fell forward. A second, harder blow, aimed for his head, landed on his shoulder when a silent, shiny black blur launched over him and attached itself to the cloaked figure’s arm—Shamus in attack mode. A muffled scream and a hoarse swear word that didn’t sound like English, a yelp, and then silence. A door at the other end of the hall flew open. Latasha and Bridey reached Prescott just as he staggered to his feet, holding the back of his neck.
“Where is he?” Latasha helped him up.
“Don’t know.” Prescott’s wig had slipped down over one eye. He pulled it back into place. “As soon as Shamus…” He looked around. The little dog lay motionless in front of the stairwell door. “Oh, God.” Prescott was on his hands and knees cradling the dog in his arms. “Shamus.”
Pounding steps sounded from the stairwell. Clancy followed by two plainclothes men burst through the door. “Lost the bastard,” he thundered and stopped short when he saw the lifeless dog in Prescott’s arms. “Shamus?” his voiced cracked.
Tears streaming down his face, Prescott looked up at him. “He saved my life.”
“Put him down,” Clancy ordered. “Let me look at him.” His big fingers, tender as a woman’s, carefully examined the dog, raising his eyelids, checking for a pulse, reflexes. “He’s unconscious. I need to get him to a vet.” He looked at Bridey. “Where?”
“A 24-hour emergency animal clinic, just a couple of miles from here. I’ll get the car and bring it around front.” Bridey ran to the elevator and held the door for her father who had removed his jacket and wrapped it around the little dog.
Latasha, on her cell phone, turned to the three officers. “Exits are covered. No one’s gone out of the buildin’ in the last hour. Gotta be the perp’s in one of the units.” She turned to Prescott. “How’re you doin’?”
Prescott shook his head. “Could be worse. I’m okay.”
Latasha nodded. “We gonna get you looked at. Medics are comin’. Then we’ll talk about details. Be thinkin’ on details, Officer. That’s what’s gonna break this case. Answer’s gotta be in the details.”
Chapter 75
Clancy sat heavily in the chair and looked around the table. “He’s still unconscious. Vet says he’ll know more after twenty-four hours. He’s either going to be conscious or still unconscious. Hell, I know that too. The marvels of modern medicine.” He rubbed his face. He was tired and frustrated. “What’s happening, Detective? Who’s lookin’ out for the judge?”
“Two plainclothes there, takin’ shifts. Ain’t nobody goin’ in there, Sergeant,” Latasha explained.
Clancy nodded. Reassured Phoebe was safe, he turned his attention to Prescott. “Lad, how’re you feelin’?”
“I’m okay. I’m so sorry about Shamus. I never thought anything like that would happen. He was so quick. All I saw was a blur over my head. He sailed right over me to get to the perp. If that blow had landed on my head, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.” He swiped at his eyes.
“He’s a tough little guy. Has no fear about anyone or anything. Shamus’ll pull through. He has to.” Clancy cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Detective. I interrupted your meeting.”
“Just startin’, Sergeant.” Latasha turned to Prescott. “Start at the beginnin’.” She looked at Bridey and Clancy. “No questions ‘til he’s done.” She turned on a recorder and pointed to Prescott. “Go.”
Prescott closed his eyes. “I came out of the judge’s apartment and started down the hall with Shamus. It was quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary. Elevator came. We got in. Got to the lobby. No one there. Went out the side door in the lobby to the patch of grass there. Shamus peed. Went back in. Still no one there. Got in the elevator.”
Prescott f
rowned as a memory came to him. “There wasn’t anyone in the elevator but someone must have just been in it. There was a flowery scent. Reminded me of my grandmother.” He thought for a moment. “Freesia.” He looked at Latasha’s doubtful expression. “I’m sure it was freesia. My grandmother loved those flowers. She grew them on her property and had pots of them in her sunroom. When the sun hit that room, you could barely breathe, the scent was so strong.”
“Elevator door opened,” Prescott continued. “Dog and I got out. I bent down and unhooked the leash. Shamus ran down the hall. When I was straightening up, I felt a draft and then smelled the same scent again. I got hit on the back with something hard. Felt like a pipe. I fell forward on my hands and knees. That’s when Shamus flew over me and must have deflected the next blow so it fell on my shoulders. I heard Shamus squeal and then it was quiet.” He looked up at Bridey. “That’s when you and the Detective came running down the hall, and you,” he looked at Clancy, “came up the stairwell.”
Clancy leaned forward in his seat toward Latasha. “That scent may be what we need, Detective. Someone who has freesia flowers or uses freesia perfume. That’s a lead.”
“Yeah, but I’d be happier if it was somethin’ I can touch, not just a smell. Man,” Latasha grimaced. “Ain’t nothin’ easy with this case, nothin’.” She looked around the table. “We gotta talk to someone who knows everyone in the buildin’. Someone who’s not a potential suspect.”
“Guess we know the residents better than the detective and your dad do,” Prescott said to Bridey. “I’d say Devin and Kate pretty much know all the residents. Devin’s been here for five years and Kate’s done a lot of catering for the building.”
“It’s scaring me but I agree with Prescott,” Bridey said, only half joking.
Prescott stared at her. “We’re more alike than you think, Bridey.”
Condo Crazies: Murder At The Albatross Page 17