A Priestly Affair (Jesse Thorpe Mysteries Book 2)

by Carl Schmidt

  The first message began, “Mr. LaGrange, I happened to see you in the lobby of the Hilton Hotel on Saturday afternoon. Before you slipped by me on the street and put your scarf over your face, I snapped a picture of you with my cell phone. I’m a big fan.”

  At that point the message went silent for a moment. The caller’s voice was male and muffled. Either the signal was poor, or he had purposefully disguised his voice. In fact, it sounded as though the voice had been digitally altered.

  After the pause, he continued, “I walked behind you down the street. We don’t get many celebrities in Portland, particularly in winter, so I was intrigued that you were here. I followed you all the way to the Rutland Arms Hotel where I took one more picture of you in the lobby with a beautiful young woman. Were you there for some afternoon delight?”

  The caller phrased those last two words like the song recorded in the seventies by the Starland Vocal Band.

  After a second pause—which seemed to be intentional, rather than a lack of inspiration—he continued, “I was shocked when a woman turned up dead in that hotel the next morning. Just imagine how disturbing it was for me when a picture of the murdered woman appeared in the Monday Portland Times. It was the same woman you were with at four o’clock Saturday afternoon. Her name was Nicole Shepard. Perhaps we should have a chat. I’ll be calling you later.”

  That concluded message number one, which had arrived at seven o’clock in the morning. What a way to start the day!

  The second message came a half-hour later and ran along the same vein. It concluded with, “I’m trying to decide if I should go to the police with my photographs or offer them for sale. I wonder how much The Inquirer would pay for them. I’ll be in touch.”

  Angele and I gazed at each other. We each felt a mixture of sadness and anger, and yet we both, more or less, had seen it coming.

  “We’ve got to let Xavier sleep,” Angele said. “There’s nothing we can do about this right now.”

  “We’ll let him rest,” I said. “I’ll call Eric. He and Billy are getting a new, full time assignment staking out Tina Woodbury. I can’t imagine that this caller is Tony. The voice was not very clear, but I didn’t detect the same accent or sentence structure, not to mention the fact that this guy was much more controlled and calculating. Tina is our only lead at this point. It could be anyone, of course, but we’ve got to begin with what we know.”

  “Right,” Angele said. “Maybe we’d better stay here until Xavier wakes up. He’ll need some moral support when he hears the news.”

  “Of course,” I replied. “I’ll go into the bathroom to make the call. I’ll be as quiet as possible.”

  I went in, closed the door and dialed Eric.

  “Jesse, what’s cooking?” Eric said.

  “We’ve got some serious blackmail in the works, Eric.”

  “Is it coming from Tony?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” I replied. “But we do need to keep a closer eye on Tina and her boyfriend.”

  “It’s still awfully cold here, Jesse.”

  “Right. What about the houses with a view of Tina’s place? Are they all occupied?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t say. There aren’t many cars on the street. This is a nice neighborhood, Jesse. All the houses have garages.”

  “Have you seen any cars at Tina’s house?”

  “Not yet. Her garage door has been closed every time I’ve been there, but the driveway is clear of snow.”

  “What time did you drop by this morning?” I asked.

  “From seven-thirty to eight o’clock.”

  “Did you notice any lights?”

  “Yes. It was just after sunrise when I got there. The curtains were drawn, and they were lit from behind in the living room.”

  “We need to know what they’re up to and where they go. Get the four GPS tracking devices that are in the closet by my desk—the ones with magnets. I want you to keep two of them with you at all times and give the other two to Billy. At your first opportunity, stick one on any car that arrives or leaves her house. Follow them if you have to.

  “There are two more things I’d like you to do,” I added.

  “O…K…” Eric replied slowly.

  “This evening, when you go there, I’d like you to attach a piece of thread across both the garage and front doors. Put a little contact cement on the ends and press them in place. Try it out on my door first to make sure it sticks. We want to know if someone is staying there or not.”

  “Got it,” he replied.

  “This morning, I saw a microphone that can be attached to a window with a suction cup. I’ll buy one today and have it overnighted to you. When you’re there tomorrow evening, put the microphone on one of the windows in her house where it won’t be noticed. And check on the threads while you are at it.”

  “Sounds more like a midnight run to me,” Eric suggested.

  “You’re right. Midnight would be a safer time for that,” I said.

  “By the way,” he added, “I take it you won’t be home for band practice tonight.”

  “Right. Sorry about that, Eric. In the last twelve hours, Xavier’s life has been threatened, and now he’s being blackmailed. I’ll be back in Portland tomorrow night.”

  “We’re on it, Jesse,” he said.

  “Take care, Eric.”

  I rejoined Angele in the living room.

  “We don’t know for sure if the guy who took the pictures of Xavier was involved in Nicole’s murder, but it’s a very strong possibility,” I said. “He managed to get Xavier’s cell phone number. I’m sure that’s not listed. It’s almost certain he got that from Nicole. She either gave him the number, or he got it from her cell phone after she was strangled.”

  “The guy who took the pictures must have been an accomplice,” Angele said with conviction.

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “There had to be two people involved in the murder, one to take the pictures and the other to spray-paint the security camera. Xavier walked from the Hilton to the Rutland Arms and arrived there at four o’clock. It would take at least fifteen minutes to walk that far. The camera was painted at three-forty. The photographer couldn’t be in both hotels at the same time.”

  “Good thinking,” I said, “assuming, of course, those pictures do exist. We haven’t seen them yet. But when we do, we’ll know that at least two people were directly involved, and very likely they both participated in murder. The news report indicated that the only bruises on Nicole’s body were on her neck. Even for a big man, it would be difficult to strangle a woman by yourself and not leave bruises in other places.”

  Angele agreed in theory, but cringed at the thought.

  32

  The MicroSniffer

  Xavier had left the cell phone recorder on the table. I attached it to his Android, and put them both in my pocket.

  “I’m going back to the spy store, Angele. There’s another recording device I need to buy. Why don’t you stay here just in case Xavier wakes up? If he asks about his phone, tell him I have it. I’ll monitor his incoming calls. Don’t discuss the two voicemails we just heard. I want to be there when he hears them. If he does get up, have him call his agent on your phone.”

  “Sure thing, Jesse.”

  • • •

  “Abe, I wonder if you could tell me a little about the range and sensitivity of that microphone system to your left in the case?” I said. “The one with the suction cup.”

  I didn’t really wonder if he could do that. I was certain he could—and would—tell me all about it.

  “You’re going to love it,” he replied enthusiastically. “You can attach the MicroSniffer to any smooth surface: a window, windshield, mirror, stainless steel, copper, virtually any polished surface. The suction cup holds it in place and is guaranteed not to come loose, rain or shine.

  “The microphone records sound levels down to twenty-three decibels with remarkable clarity. It also detects lower vibration
s that cannot be heard by the human ear and registers everything on an mp3 audio file.

  “The unit has a built-in sixty-four gigabyte flash card and a radio transmitter with a range of twenty-five miles. It comes with a receiver that holds 120 gigs. The microphone is sound activated so that the memory is not used up by recording silence.

  “It’s almost as sensitive as a laser microphone, which, as you probably know, can be sold legally in the United States only to law enforcement and government agencies.

  “The MicroSniffer normally sells for $159.99, but you can walk out of the store today with the entire unit for only $129.99.”

  “I’ll take it,” I said, “but I don’t want to walk out with it. I want you to ship it next day to Augusta, Maine.”

  “That’s no problem. We can FedEx it there by noon tomorrow for an additional $35.00.”

  I gave Abe my credit card and my home address. Eric would be there in the morning, provided he wasn’t on an all-day stakeout.

  “Have them drop it off with no signature required,” I said.

  “Certainly,” Abe replied.

  “Is there anything else I can show you today?” he added. “We have GPS trackers, invisible wireless headsets, high definition hat cameras, mobile phone voice changers, lock pick sets, invisible ink pens with UV light. You name it, we’ve got it.”

  “The MicroSniffer will be all for now. Thanks Abe,” I said.

  “My pleasure,” he replied.

  Before I left the store, I called Eric.

  “What’s new, Jesse?” Eric said.

  “I forgot to tell you something when I spoke with you earlier. If Tina calls and asks for me, don’t tell her I’m in New York. Just tell her I’m with another client. If she puts two and two together, I want to be sure she doesn’t come up with four.”

  “Will do. Anything else?”

  “The window microphone will be arriving at my house via FedEx sometime before noon tomorrow. You don’t have to be there; they’ll drop it off without a signature. Read the instructions and attach it to a window tomorrow night. Just don’t get caught doing it. It’s a 2:00 AM kind of caper. Scout out the best possible location for it tomorrow when you make your morning stop near Tina’s house. If they see it or hear you in the bushes setting it up, we’ll be out a hundred and sixty-five bucks, and our cover will be blown.”

  “I’ll wear dark clothes, a ski mask and a belt holster for my Glock. I sure hope the moon isn’t full.”

  “It’s not,” I replied. “The moon is waxing and hasn’t reached its first quarter. That means that it will set on the western horizon around midnight. By two, it will be gone. If it’s clear outside, there will only be the stars and the night owls to contend with.”

  “I sure hope none of those owls hang out in the Woodbury home.”

  “If necessary, err on the side of caution, Eric. Live to fight another day.”

  “I know it’s old-school, Jesse, but I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  “Me too,” I said, and hung up.

  One more call, and then I’d hoof it back to the hotel.

  “Jesse?” Holly said.

  “Holly, Angele and I will be flying back to Portland late tomorrow night. Also, just in case Tina Woodbury calls, don’t tell her I’m in New York. Just say I’m with a client.”

  “Naturally,” she said. “I have the drift of what’s going on.” Then she added, “Would you like me to work on the Allied Shipping account over the weekend?”

  “No. Spend some time with your daughter or just relax.”

  “Have you seen any musical groups yet?” she asked.

  “Not yet. Maybe we can get away tonight. Xavier’s life has been threatened, and he’s now being blackmailed. First things first.”

  “Poor guy. You know, I found him to be very likeable. Is there anything I can do?”

  “He’s going back to California tomorrow. Angele and I will be with him till he leaves. On Monday, I’ll fill you in and get your feedback.”

  “Take care, Jesse,” she said.

  It was noon. Sunlight reflected off the glass buildings on the north side of 57th Street, and the wind had calmed down quite a bit. By Maine standards, it was downright balmy. I crossed to the sunny side of the street and window-shopped my way back to the Plaza.

  Xavier was still in his room, hopefully sleeping. Angele and I sat down and ran a search of the musical venues in Manhattan, just in case we found ourselves footloose in the evening. There were so many choices that we hardly knew where to begin.

  “We need a dart board and a map of the city,” Angele suggested.

  “That would simplify things,” I replied.

  “How about this one, Jesse? Elizaveta is playing at Joe’s Pub. I’ve heard her album, Beatrix Runs. She has a nice, bright sound. She was born in New York, but raised in Moscow. I believe she’s been touring with Sinead O’Connor.”

  “Fine by me, Angele. Let’s see… She goes on at 9:30. If he’s up for it, let’s invite Xavier to go with us. It might take his mind off his troubles.”

  “He’s sure got a lot of those,” she said.

  • • •

  At 9:45, Elizaveta walked on stage, sat down at the piano and said, “Let’s go across the pond.”

  While the crowd was cheering, I was wondering what pond she had in mind. I figured that out during the third verse:

  And see you in London or maybe in Paris.

  Berlin will be waiting, and so will we roam.

  And maybe I'll see you again when it's snowing in Venice

  And I will be on my way home.

  At that point, Angele leaned over and whispered in my ear, “This is why I dragged you here, Jesse. This is my favorite song on her album. It’s ‘Snow in Venice.’ She switches to Italian in just a minute.”

  And she did:

  Oh la Venezia

  Mi fa cosi bene

  Esco ogni sera e vado a ballare

  Che ben atmosfera, che bellissima neve

  Non c'e' proprio niente che mi posso mancare

  I barely understood a word, but I assumed there was snow in there someplace.

  “Sounds romantic,” I said. “Did you understand the last verse?”

  “Enough to know we’ll be packing scarves and mittens in our carry-on.”

  “Just beautiful,” Xavier said, when the song was over. “I wish I were back in Venice right now.”

  By the end of the evening, all three of us were high on the music and margaritas. We took a cab back to the hotel and an elevator ride to the twentieth floor. We escorted Xavier to his door, and I said, “We’ll see you in the morning. I’ll keep your phone for the night, if that’s OK.”

  “I’m not exactly dying to know what’s on those messages, Jesse,” he said. “Keep my cell. I should be ready to face the music in the morning.”

  “Get some sleep, Xavier,” I said. “Everything’s going to work out fine.”

  He offered the best smile he could, under the circumstances, and closed the door.

  33

  Veritas Vos Liberabit

  “Do you really think everything will work out fine for Xavier?” Angele asked, several minutes after a spirited morning tumble between the sheets.

  I hadn’t fallen completely back to sleep at that point, but I was well on my way.

  “Huh?” I replied. “Did you say something?”

  “Yes, Jesse. I said, ‘Do you really think everything will work out fine for Xavier?’”

  “Yes,” I said. “He’s innocent. We’ll make it work out fine.”

  Angele just lay there staring at the ceiling. After a minute or two, I rolled over and eased my right leg between hers and kissed her on the mouth.

  “I love you, Angele,” I said. “Let’s have a shower and get some breakfast.”

  “Should I call Xavier?” she asked.

  “Yes. Tell him it’s our treat. We’ll go to that coffee shop we saw around the corner.”

  When I was on my feet, I realized
we had his phone.

  “I guess you’ll have to ring his room; his Android is over there on the table.”

  I started the shower, and Angele called the front desk. They put her through to Xavier’s suite, and she arranged for us to meet downstairs in twenty minutes.

  Angele joined me in the shower, hugged me from behind and asked, “Did you really mean it?”

  “I certainly hope so. The more I get to know Xavier, the more I like him.”

  “Not that, Jesse,” she said. “The other thing.”

  I eased myself around and kissed her. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me back affectionately until I stiffened straight up.

  “Oooo…” she said softly. “I’ll take that as a ‘Yes.’”

  When I caught my breath, I said, “I’m wild about you, Angele.”

  “You certainly are,” she replied.

  Later, as we were drying off, I asked her, “Do you think there’s any chance in the world that he actually killed Nicole?”

  Angele closed her eyes and didn’t say another word until we were back in our room getting dressed.

  “He couldn’t be in two places at one time, Jesse,” she said. “If he left the Hilton at the time the camera was being spray-painted at the Rutland Arms, he would have needed an accomplice. And besides, how would he have known where the security cameras were located? That place is a dump. I doubt he’d ever been there before. The whole thing would be way too complicated. It’s Occam’s Razor all over again. No, I don’t think there’s any chance he did it.”

  “Thanks. I needed that. I guess when we see the pictures, we’ll be certain. The first photograph might even confirm that he was in the Hilton at the exact time the camera went black.”

  But even as I said that, I could imagine scenarios in which Xavier planned everything right down to the photographs and the blackmail, just to cover his ass. The more I thought about it, the more confused I got. I decided I’d better stay with my instincts on this one. Xavier was innocent. He was too nice a guy to strangle anyone.