Hot Property

by Jenna Bennett

  “Oh, my God!” I could feel the blood drain out of my face as I pulled the white top over my head and yanked it down. It failed to meet the top of the – skintight – jeans by several inches, leaving a strip of my stomach bare. Rafe’s lips curved in momentary appreciation, but he didn’t comment.

  “He’s better off,” he said instead. “I’ve been where he was headed, and believe me, I know what I’d choose.”

  I didn’t answer. He’d been there, yes, so maybe he did know, but all the same, it was difficult for me to admit that Perry was better off dead than alive.

  “I gotta go,” Rafe added when I didn’t say anything.

  I stared up at him, mouth open. “What do you mean, you have to go? You can’t leave me here alone!”

  “I can’t take you with me,” Rafe said. And added, with a toss of his head up the stairs, “He ain’t gonna bother you. Just stay down here and wait for the cops.”

  “Why can’t you stay here and wait for the cops?”

  His voice was patient, as if this was something I ought to have reasoned out for myself. “Cause they’ll arrest me. And now ain’t a good time for me to be in jail.”

  “Oh.” I bit my lip. I’d forgotten about the tiny matter of the robberies in the flush of having found Lila’s and Connie’s killer.

  Rafe’s voice gentled. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just keep the front door locked, and don’t go upstairs.”

  I shook my head. No danger of that. “But what do I tell them?”

  He spread his hands. “Anything you want.”

  “But…” But I don’t want you to go!

  He looked at me for a moment, as if he could read my mind, before he said, “I’ll call you.”

  “Isn’t that what every man says? And never does?”

  He looked at me for another second, and then he came back. And grabbed me by the shoulders, lifted me off the sofa, and planted a kiss on my lips. It was quick and hard and surprisingly thorough, and when he let me go, I sat down again with a thump.

  “I’ll call you,” he said again, with emphasis. I didn’t bother arguing. I wouldn’t have bothered to argue even if I could have gotten my vocal chords to cooperate. There is no sense in arguing with something like that.

  Chapter 20

  By the time Detective Grimaldi arrived, Rafe was gone. I was outside, sitting on the front steps in my borrowed jeans and top, still feeling chilled in spite of the September heat, and the paramedics were upstairs deciding that there was nothing they could do for Perry.

  They hadn’t come down the stairs to tell me that, of course, but dead is dead, and I wasn’t fool enough to believe that Rafe might have been mistaken about Perry’s state.

  Grimaldi stopped in front of me for a moment and waited until I looked up. “Are you OK?” Her dark eyes were concerned.

  “As good as I can expect to be,” I said.

  “I’m going to go inside for a minute, and talk to the paramedics. Then I’ll come back out and talk to you. Don’t go anywhere.”

  I shook my head.

  True to her word, she came back a few minutes later and sat down next to me. In her hand was a plastic baggie containing the bloody knife that had killed Perry, and another holding the gun. “Tell me what happened,” she said.

  I avoided looking at the bags as I went over the progression of events again, in a little more detail this time. Perry’s phone call to me, and my agreement to host another open house for him. Beau Riggins’s phone call, spurring my nosiness. What I’d found in Perry’s secret cubby, and Perry coming home and finding me there.

  “And then?”

  “He knocked me out. Elbow to the head, I think – it felt that way – and taser. When I woke up, I was tied to the bed.”

  Tamara Grimaldi nodded. “We saw the ropes. How did you cut yourself loose?”

  I hesitated. Cutting myself loose while my hands were tied would have been an impossible task. “I didn’t. I talked Perry into doing it.”

  She arched her brows. “How did you manage that?”

  “I… um… made him think I wanted to participate.” I blushed.

  “I see. That was very resourceful of you. So this knife…” she lifted the baggie, “…belonged to Mr. Fortunato?”

  “Um…” I hesitated for another moment while my brain scrambled to consider all the pros and cons of all my possible answers. Lying to the police is such a hassle. “Actually, no. It’s mine. Or rather, it’s Rafe’s. He gave it to me.”

  Better to own up to that part of it. The police would probably check the knife for fingerprints and find his.

  “You don’t say?” Detective Grimaldi eyed it speculatively. “When was this?”

  “Um… a few days ago?”

  “On Thursday, perhaps? When Spicer and Truman caught you two making out in the parking lot across from Julio Melendez’s place?”

  “We weren’t making out,” I said, but without heat. I didn’t have any energy to spare to set the record straight; I was too busy trying to muddy the waters. “But it might have been then. I’m almost sure it was.”

  “Right,” Grimaldi said. “You’re a terrible liar, Ms. Martin.”

  I stared at her, wide-eyed, and she added, “I’m not saying it isn’t Mr. Collier’s knife. I’m sure it is. As a matter of fact, I think I’ve seen it before. We tested it for traces of blood after Mrs. Puckett’s murder, I believe. But I don’t think he gave it to you several days ago. If he had, you wouldn’t have had to visit Sally’s shop yesterday, to buy your own knife.”

  Darn. I’d forgotten about that.

  “So why don’t you tell me what really happened? Not that I can’t venture a pretty good guess.”

  “Fine,” I said, resignedly. “When I discovered Perry’s stash of porn and goodies, I tried to call you. You didn’t answer, and I didn’t have time to leave a message, because I could hear him outside. I needed someone who always picks up the phone, so I called Rafe instead. Then Perry found me and knocked me out. By the time I woke up, Rafe had gotten here. He’d knocked Perry out; that’s why the… um… corpse looks like it’s been in a fight. But before he could untie me, Perry came upstairs and pulled out a gun. Rafe was the one who made him believe he wanted to participate, not me.”

  Although my not entirely fake fear had helped to make the deception possible.

  “I see,” Detective Grimaldi said. “So when we look at the tapes from the hidden cameras, that’s what we’ll see?”

  The cameras! I’d forgotten all about them.

  “Pretty much, yes. Perry believed him, and let his guard down. Rafe pulled the knife out of his pocket and stabbed Perry in the stomach. I was still tied up then. He didn’t cut me loose until afterward.”

  “I see,” Grimaldi said again. “And where is he now?”

  I made a face. “He left.”

  “He left?!”

  “He said this wasn’t a good time for him to be in jail.”

  “Great,” Detective Grimaldi said, breathing through her aquiline nose. “He stabs a man to death – in a particularly efficient, brutal way, I might add – and you let him walk off.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Knock him down and sit on him?”

  “Oh, he would have loved that!” Grimaldi said, through her teeth.

  I shrugged. “I’m not a cop, Detective. I don’t have the authority to tell a man not to leave. Although I tried.”

  “Uh-huh,” the detective said, grumpily. “I’m going to need that telephone number, if you please.”

  “Sure.” I rattled it off. “He doesn’t deserve to be arrested for killing Perry, though. It was self defense. Perry had a gun, and he had threatened to use it. When Rafe stabbed him, Perry tried to shoot. The bullet grazed Rafe and ended up in the waterbed. Either of us could have been hit, and if Rafe hadn’t stopped Perry, I would certainly be dead by now.”

  Detective Grimaldi didn’t answer. “Will you be OK driving home on your own, Ms. Martin? I’m going to have my hands ful
l here for a while.”

  I blinked. “That’s it? You’re just going to let me leave?”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop by downtown tomorrow, to go over things again. Late morning, perhaps? I’ll have some lunch delivered and we can talk things over in private. For right now, I need to look at the evidence and the video tapes. But if everything turns out to be as straight-forward as it seems, yes, this is it.”

  “Wow!” I said, getting to my feet. “Sure. I’ll be fine driving home by myself. My hands have mostly stopped shaking. If you have any more questions, you know my number. And… um… if you come across a black skirt and a pink blouse in there, they’re mine. Rafe couldn’t find them, so he borrowed some of Connie’s instead.”

  “The shortest and tightest he could find, no doubt.” Detective Grimaldi looked me over.

  I smiled apologetically. “I’ll have them cleaned and bring them to you tomorrow. If you find mine, you can just throw them away, unless you need them for evidence. I don’t think I’ll be comfortable wearing them again, knowing that Perry took them off me while I was unconscious.”

  The detective nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Elevenish?”

  I agreed to be at Police Plaza by eleven the following day, and Tamara Grimaldi went back into the house while I headed in the opposite direction, for my car and the safety of home.

  When I showed up at eleven the next morning, she had ordered lunch from Monell’s Restaurant and spread it out in an unused interview room on the top floor, with a view of the Cumberland River and the barges floating slowly by outside. “Have a seat.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “I think.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I guess I’m just worried about all this niceness. Like, you’re going to wait until my mouth is full and then spring something on me.”

  Tamara Grimaldi shook her head. “There’s nothing to spring. The evidence bears out everything you told me. The knife has Mr. Collier’s fingerprints all over it, and some of Mr. Fortunato’s blood. We also found a tiny fiber from the rope lodged between the blade and the handle, and traces of blood on the rope. Obviously, the knife was used to stab Mr. Fortunato and then wiped on the sheets and used to cut the ropes that tied you to the bed. The bullet was right where you said it would be, and the gun had Mr. Fortunato’s fingerprints on it, and no one else’s. We discovered a white T-shirt with Mr. Collier’s blood in the downstairs trash can. I hope he wasn’t badly hurt?”

  “It was just a scratch. Or so he said.”

  “That’s good to know. We also found your clothes tossed in a corner of the closet. For now, I’m going to hold on to them, but if there comes a time when I don’t need them anymore, I’ll get rid of them for you.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “No problem. I’ve looked at the video from the camera behind the air vent, and that bears out your story, as well. Both you and Mr. Collier performed well, I might add. I’m not surprised that Mr. Fortunato believed him.”

  “For a minute or two, I believed him myself,” I admitted.

  Detective Grimaldi allowed herself a faint smile. “I’d still like to talk to him about this, but I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll tell me where to find him?”

  “I already gave you his phone number, and you know where he lives.”

  “I called the number and asked for Mr. Collier, and I was told there was nobody there by that name. When I tried again, there was no answer. What’s so funny?”

  “Wendell always says there’s nobody there by that name,” I explained, not bothering to try to hide my smile. “And he always answers the phone differently. I don’t know what kind of place it is, but so far he’s called it a car lot, a pawn shop, a storage place, and a grocery store. You’re the police, can’t you trace the number?”

  “Prepaid cell phone,” Grimaldi said, “so no. I sent Spicer and Truman over to Potsdam Street to look for Mr. Collier, but he wasn’t there, and the nurse said she hadn’t seen him for days.”

  “Sorry. If the number doesn’t work, and he’s not in the house on Potsdam, I don’t know where to tell you to look. All I can do is wait for him to get in touch with me.”

  “Figures,” Detective Grimaldi growled. “Well, when he does, tell him I want to talk to him, will you?”

  I promised I would, for all the good I thought it would do. “So can you prove that Perry killed Lila? And his wife?”

  She nodded. “Oh, yes. No doubt about it. One of Lila’s hairs was on the ski mask. If he’d survived his encounter with you and Mr. Collier, we would have charged him with murder.”

  “What about Connie?” I asked, feeling nauseous. “Surely he didn’t tape himself strangling her, too?”

  Detective Grimaldi shook her head. “There were tapes of Connie Fortunato having sex with a very good-looking young man, however. In her own bed. Dated just a week or so before her murder.”

  “Early twenties, with brown hair and dark blue eyes and a very nice body? Wearing underwear that said ‘Property of Australia’? Sounds like Beau Riggins, the house boy. He told me he’d had sex with Connie after he overheard her and Perry arguing about the O’Keeffe. Perry wanted Connie to sell it, but she refused.”

  “I see,” Tamara Grimaldi said. “I haven’t spoken to Mr. Riggins, but it sounds like I should.”

  I smiled. “You’ll enjoy Beau. He’s so over the top I’m not sure whether he’s for real or just playing a part, but he’s a lot of fun. He’s the one who told me about Perry’s secret closet.”

  “That’s what you said. I have a line on the O’Keeffe, by the way. In Perry’s cell phone records, we found the number of a shady art dealer in Atlanta, who might know something about it. The police down there are looking into it for us.”

  “Sounds like you’re covering all the bases.”

  The detective shrugged modestly. “I wish I knew a little more about his motivations, but with him being dead, I don’t know that we’ll ever know exactly why he did what he did.”

  “I can venture a guess,” I said, “if you don’t mind listening to wild speculation.”

  “Sure.” She gave me the floor with a gesture of her hand, and devoted herself to eating her chicken and dumplings instead.

  “He told us – me and Rafe – that Lila was always coming on to men and then saying no. But after the open house robbery, Lila was telling everyone who’d listen about this guy who’d tied her to the chair and what she’d said to him. Connie probably told Perry, and he decided to pay Lila a visit. I don’t know if he really thought he could fool her into believing he was… I mean, I don’t know how he thought he could avoid having her recognize him, but he must have dressed up in the ski mask and coveralls I found in the closet, and tried to fool her for long enough to get her to open the door for him. But when she recognized him, and probably threatened to tell his wife, he killed her.”

  Detective Grimaldi nodded. “I’m with you so far. Go on.”

  “I think Connie was considering divorcing him. Beau said she threatened to. I don’t know if she knew about Lila or whether she was just tired of him spending all her money, but if she did file for divorce, he’d lose everything. All the money was hers, from her father. So maybe he figured he’d take advantage of the open house robberies to stage a botched robbery at his own house, with the O’Keeffe as the target, and that way he’d get rid of his wife as well as make twice the money off the painting. Once by selling it, and once by getting the insurance money for it.”

  “That makes sense,” Detective Grimaldi said.

  “He probably figured that the police were working on a connection between the robberies and Lila’s murder – as in, someone involved in the robberies killed Lila – and this would reinforce that idea. Excuse me.” My cell phone rang and I reached for it. The number was unfamiliar, but I decided to answer it anyway, just in case it was a potential client. “This is Savannah.”

  “Hi, darlin’,” a voice said.

&nb
sp; “Oh, God!” I blurted, followed by a guilty glance at the detective. “Sorry. Hi, Mom. How are you?”

  The other end of the line was silent for a moment. “Let me guess. You’re talking to Tammy?”

  “That’s right,” I said brightly. “Now’s not really a good time. Can I call you back?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t. How about dinner tonight?”

  “I have to go to the planning meeting for the Eye Ball,” I said. “They’ve lost two, maybe three of their volunteers…” if Heather Price wasn’t coming back, “…and I can’t duck out as well.”

  “When is it over?”

  “Um… eight?”

  “I’ll meet you at Fidelio’s at 8:30. That’ll give you time to slip into something comfortable.”

  He hung up before I could respond. Detective Grimaldi was watching me narrowly and I dredged up a weak smile. “My mother can be a little overprotective. I guess word got out that I was almost killed again. Or maybe she heard that I was practically naked in someone else’s house. And on video. That’d do it, too.”

  “I see,” Tamara Grimaldi said.

  I tucked the phone away. “About those tapes…”

  “They’re evidence. But since the murderer and rapist is dead, and the case won’t ever go to trial, nobody needs to see them.”

  “Can you keep all the male cops from having a look? If word gets around that there are sex tapes in the evidence room…”

  I wasn’t sure I could face Spicer and Truman again, if I thought they’d watched that tape.

  “I’ll make sure of it,” Detective Grimaldi promised.

  “What happened to Heather Price and Julio Melendez? Have you arrested them both? Are you charging them with anything?”

  “We’re holding Melendez on trafficking in stolen goods and masterminding the robberies. As for Ms. Price, there isn’t a whole lot I can do. She swears he used her information without her knowledge, and he’s not saying differently. So I can’t charge her with anything.”

  “But you think she was in on it?”

  Detective Grimaldi hesitated. “If she didn’t take part in the actual planning, I think she knew what he was doing. If not beforehand, then after the first, and certainly after the second, robbery. But I think Lila’s murder scared her sufficiently that she’ll never admit it. And without a confession, I can’t convict. There’s no other solid evidence implicating her.”