Nice digs, if you could get them, but the property taxes and association fees alone made it a financial burden that never ended, even once the mortgage was paid. She made a mental note to check the business’s books to see if the Emporium had suffered any recent financial downswings.
The door swung open and a large man in a sharp, pinstripe suit stood in the frame, expression dark as a thundercloud and almost as menacing.
“Detectives.” He gestured for them to enter and then closed the door behind them. “I’m Sal Mancini, the Walsh family attorney. Follow me.”
‘Los stiffened and shot her a glance as they entered the opulent foyer. She knew exactly what that look was about.
They were being cockblocked, right out of the gate.
This was nothing more than an informal Q & A and the wife had already called a lawyer in. Didn’t mean she had anything to hide, necessarily.
But it didn’t mean she didn’t.
“I know you have a job to do, but so do I,” Sal Mancini said, his tone low. “Let’s make this short and sweet, all right? Phyllis has had a trying day, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
Sal treated them each to a chilly glare and then ushered them across the gleaming oak floors. As they stepped into the living room, he swept a hand toward a cream-colored leather couch.
"This is Mel's son, Xavier," Sal said, motioning to a man in his early forties, wearing a polo shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. His cheeks were pale, lips drawn in tight. “And Mel’s wife, Phyllis.”
The widow didn’t get up but nodded in greeting, looking a little dazed.
‘Los stepped forward, solemn as he reached out a hand. "Mrs. Walsh, Xavier.”
Xavier's unremarkable features remained impassive as he shook ‘Los's hand.
"Detective."
Carlos spoke gently to the widow, while Lucky took stock of both the players and the stage.
The home décor was ornate, with heavy drapes fashioned out of expensive fabric, and thick with dust. The furnishings were strong and well-made, but had lost some of their luster due to neglect, not unlike Phyllis herself.
She was a sturdy package, ruddy-cheeked and bloated. When Lucky had gotten close enough to exchange a handshake, she'd caught a whiff of sour-smelling vino. To be expected, considering her husband had just been murdered. Whatever Phyllis Walsh had to do to get through this day, Lucky wasn't in a position to judge. People grieved in different ways.
She thought back to the day she'd been told Brad was dead, and just as quickly forced herself to stop thinking about it.
Keep your head clear of clutter.
At Phyllis’s gesture for them to sit, they took spots on the velvet burgundy love seat across from where Phyllis, her son, and the family attorney now sat.
“I’m sorry for the call earlier, Mrs. Walsh. At this time, we’re fairly certain, based on the picture you shared with the officer at the scene and the evidence found so far, that your husband was, indeed, the victim of a homicide.”
Phyllis nodded, her shoulders slumping. “You’re sure, then?”
‘Los tugged out his cell phone, thumbing through some images before holding it out to the widow.
“Is this your husband’s watch?”
She leaned in tentatively to get a closer look at the screen.
The picture ‘Los had chosen was a close-up of the watch without the carnage surrounding it.
“It is. I got it for him on our anniversary last year. There’s no chance someone stole it from him, right?”
He flipped to another image, and again extended the phone out for her viewing.
Recognition swept over her face and her red cheeks went gray.
“That’s his tattoo. I keep telling him to get it removed, it looks ridiculous. On a grandpa, no less, but he won’t listen.”
Lucky noted the woman’s use of present tense. Either she really hadn’t come to grips with the fact that her husband was dead or she wanted it to sound that way.
“We’ll need someone to go to the M.E.’s office and ID the body. It’s a formality, but a necessary one.”
Sal nodded and patted Phyllis on the hand. “I’ll take care of it. There’s no need to put yourself through that.”
Phyllis thanked him and then locked eyes with ‘Los, her expression fierce. “I need you to know something, Detectives. I didn't have my husband killed," Phyllis said.
Her bottom lip trembled until she stiffened her jaw and shifted her gaze to Lucky.
"We had our problems through the years, me and Mel, so it might seem like I would want to hurt him, but—"
"Phyllis," Sal cut in with a warning scowl, but she waved him off.
"Let me say what I have to say, Sally. I don’t have anything to hide." She twisted her hands in her lap before continuing. "Like I was telling you, our marriage wasn't perfect. Mel thinks I drink too much." She shrugged a broad shoulder and her lips kicked up into a weak, half-smile. "Probably, he's right. Maybe if I didn't, I'd have realized he didn't come home last night, and he’d still be alive…” She trailed off and Xavier curled an arm around his mother’s shoulders as she continued.
"Anyway, you should know there's an insurance policy. With Bering Mutual. I don't know if he kept up his payments, but if he did, it's worth a million five. Xavier is entitled to twenty percent of that, but I'm the beneficiary of the bulk of it. That's probably what you like to call motive. Well, that, and he was cheating." She paused, blinking hard until the tears that had filled her bleary eyes disappeared. "It wasn't an affair, per se. Just hookers and the like. Some slut down at the titty bar, too, recently. Mel never could keep it in his pants, and he was even worse at sneaking around, the putz."
"Ma," the younger Walsh protested, his dark brows caving into a frown. "That's nobody's business."
“It was my business and your father’s,” Phyllis said, shooting him a defiant glare, “and now he’s dead. Every second they waste with me is a second they could be using to find his killer. We need to make their job as easy as possible.”
She patted his hand and then clutched it tightly in hers as a creaky sob fought its way through her barrel chest and broke from her mouth.
“Y-You know the last thing I said to him?” She was ugly-crying now, snot dripping from her nose to mingle with her tears, her face screwed into a mask of pain. “I said, ‘You always were a better salesman than you were a husband or father.’ He called to tell me about some big deal he made at the pawn shop and instead of telling him good job, that’s what I said to him.” She let out a harsh laugh. “Nice, huh?”
Lucky handed her a tissue from the side table and then looked away, her gut clenching in sympathy. She knew better than anyone how long those last words could haunt a person.
“Hey, bro, I’m in the middle of something. Can I call you back?”
Lucky cleared her throat and forced herself to focus on the present. "I know this is hard, Mrs. Walsh, and I’m so sorry. But the best thing you can do now to honor Mel is help us figure out who did this. Anything you can tell us that you think could be pertinent…anything at all. These first few days are crucial."
Carlos set his dark gaze on Xavier. "If you’d rather not hear some of this and would like to step out while we talk to your mother, we can talk with you afterward?"
“No. I’ll stay.” Xavier didn't look happy about it, but he settled back against the couch cushions and went silent.
"You mentioned women. Do you know if any of them were upset with him, Mrs. Walsh?" Carlos asked gently, expertly steering the conversation back to where they'd left off. "Or if there is a jealous husband or boyfriend in the picture, maybe? An angry pimp who didn’t get paid…any enemies at all that you can think of?"
The direct questions seemed to focus her and the tears slowed.
"Mel wasn't exactly a genius, you know what I mean?” she said with a shrug. “He wore it all on his sleeve. If he was dealing dirty, he was the only one who thought it was a secret. That's not usually the way of it with
enemies, is it? You come to hate someone because they surprised you somehow, or hurt you in a way you never expected.”
She ran an agitated hand through her helmet of tight, gray curls and they sprang back into place like they’d been magnetized.
“Mel never did anything unexpected. What you saw was what you got. He had a long list of people who thought he was an asshole, but I can't think of a single one who hated him to the point of murder. Especially the kind of murder they’re saying."
Mel’s widow blinked rapidly and stared off into space.
“I’ll ask some of his poker buddies and get you the names of the girls he’s messed around with, though. I remember one of them…the latest. Stripper at a place called Zanzi-Bar named Brandi. I heard him talking to her through the bathroom door one night. After he went to sleep, I did some snooping. Saw some pictures I wish I didn’t. She’s young, thirty-five maybe, obnoxiously big cans that look stupid on her skinny little body. Red hair from a bottle.”
‘Los took down the description as Xavier seethed beside his mother.
“I don’t see how any of this can help, Ma. I’m pretty sure a skinny little woman couldn’t have done what—” He broke off and flushed before continuing. “What they’re saying happened to Dad.”
She patted his hand and shushed him before looking expectantly at ‘Los. “What else?”
“We didn’t find a cell phone at the pawn shop. It’s possible that the killer disposed of it, but we wondered if Mel might have left it home yesterday morning?”
“Once I confronted him about his new side piece, he got rid of it. Said it was too much trouble and he couldn’t see the buttons on the damn thing half the time anyway. I thought maybe he had decided to end it with her, but knowing Mel…” She trailed off and pursed her lips.
“Anything else you remember about this Brandi? Maybe a last name or a detail from the pictures that might help us locate her?” ‘Los asked.
“No,” Phyllis said. “Trust me, the parts I told you about were the most memorable ones.”
“And how about disgruntled workers at the store, or business partners?” ‘Los asked, tapping his pen on his pad.
She shook her head slowly. “Mel said good help was too hard to find. He’s been a one-man show for over a year now, after the last part-timer stole a tennis bracelet and gave it to his girlfriend. Godfrey Norris, the kid’s name was. In his late twenties. Young and stupid, but I don’t think he’s a killer.”
“Were charges filed?”
“No. We were paying him under the table and Mel didn’t want the hassle.”
‘Los took down the name as Phyllis went on.
"Now that I think of it, though, Mel did owe a guy some money. A guy named Frankie Lewis. A gambling debt, I’m sure. Mel thought I didn't know about it, but like I said, he wasn't great about hiding his tracks. He hid the loan note under the cookie jar. I eat three Fig Newtons a day from that jar," she muttered, worrying the edges of the frayed tissue with her fingers, "old fool."
Lucky was developing a bit of a soft spot for Phyllis. She spoke of Mel with the exasperated affection one might expect of a couple who’d been married for forty-plus years and had seen the end of romantic love in the rearview mirror decades ago. More telling, though, was that she was as aware of her own shortcomings as she was of Mel’s.
Every word she’d said so far had rung true.
If forced to lay a wager on the spot, Lucky would’ve bet Phyllis Walsh had nothing whatsoever to do with her husband’s murder, even with a million-and-a-half dollar motive.
She was still on the fence about the notably quiet Xavier.
Unlike his mother, he was certainly physically fit enough to do the job, but he’d seemed protective of his father’s memory when the topic of his infidelity had arisen. Was it real, or just for show?
"Can you bring us that note from under the cookie jar, Mrs. Walsh?" Lucky asked.
Phyllis nodded and hoisted herself to her feet with some effort.
They all waited as she exited the room, silent until they could hear the clacking of ceramic in the kitchen.
“Mr. Walsh, can you tell us where you were last night between nine PM and four AM?” she asked once Phyllis was out of earshot.
"I'm telling you, I've known this family for twenty-five years. You're barking up the wrong tree," Sal cut in with a scowl.
‘Los shot the lawyer a cool glance. "We're not barking anywhere, yet. We're just fact-finding.” He turned his attention to Xavier. “This is all standard procedure. Like your mother said, the quicker we get it out of the way and on record, the quicker we can focus on who did this.”
“It’s fine, Sal,” Xavier said, his eyes glittering with banked anger that suggested it was anything but. “I was at home with Deirdre, my wife, and our daughter. We got takeout and watched a movie together. Pad Thai, and some garbage film my wife wanted to watch about a girl who has a tattoo of a dragon on her back and rapes a guy for revenge, if you must know.” He swiped a hand through his hair and blew out a sigh. “I made my fifteen-year-old daughter leave the room after the first half hour, but she came back out when it was over and we all went to bed at the same time, around eleven. I’m happy to have my wife call you and confirm once we’ve broken the news to my daughter about her grandpa.”
Lucky absorbed that declaration and made no comment. If what he said checked out, as far as alibis went, it was a good one. Getting one person to lie for you was one thing. Getting two to do it—and do it convincingly, without any slip-ups—was much more difficult, even if they were family. Especially when one of them was a teenager.
That didn’t mean he hadn’t hired someone to do the job, though. Xavier seemed like the kind of guy who wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty.
“Do you have any other siblings, Mr. Walsh?” ‘Los continued.
“Nope, just me,” he shot back, apparently already out of patience with their questions.
Phyllis returned to the room at that moment, a folded piece of paper in hand.
“Here it is.”
‘Los accepted the sheet, unfolded it and scanned it quickly.
“This is very helpful, ma’am, thank you.”
“I’m sure you have enough to keep you busy, Detectives. I think we’re done for now,” Sal said, rising to his feet and straightening his suit jacket. “The family needs some time to process what’s happened and I need to contact the medical examiner’s office.”
“Is it all right if I give you a call if we have more questions, Mrs. Walsh?” ‘Los asked gently.
The lawyer wasn't having it, though. “It’s all right if you call me if you have more questions, Detective. We’ll do everything in our power to assist you."
They said their goodbyes and Sal led them to the door, closing it firmly behind them.
If they wanted more cooperation from anyone in the Walsh family, especially Xavier, she had a feeling it would have to be in an official capacity downtown.
Still, it had been a fruitful visit.
So why did she have the distinct sensation that they were still running in place?
6
“Well?” ‘Los asked as they made their way down the sidewalk to the car.
“The wife wasn’t in on it. She has plenty of reasons to want to kill him, but I don’t like her for it. Could be the kid, I guess.”
Lucky opened her door and slid in, hissing at the heat of the seat through her thin, cotton pants.
“Only one thing I’m sure of so far,” she continued as ‘Los slid in beside her, “Xavier Walsh has shit taste in films. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was a great movie.”
‘Los nodded and started the car. “Agree on all counts. So where to now?”
“Back to the station. I want to try to get in touch with Mel’s lady friend, Brandi.”
‘Los set the note Phyllis had given him on the console between them and tapped it with his forefinger.
“Okay. Then I’ll make some calls and get a bead on thi
s Frankie Lewis. Try to get him in for an interview ASAP.”
As they pulled into crawling traffic amidst bleating horns, she tried to focus on the information Phyllis had given them again and their plan of action.
They had a new possible suspect in Frankie the loan shark, possible mob connections there, and a bunch of women in Mel’s life that could’ve caused him problems that had ultimately led to his demise. There were also some financial motives to explore when it came to Mel’s family.
Still, none of that seemed to quell the gnawing sensation that this was something else.
Something…worse.
And if her time in homicide had taught her anything, it was the value of her gut. She wouldn't get married to it, like some people did. She wouldn't dig in her heels and allow it to blind her to the other possibilities, but when that inner voice spoke up, she didn't shush it.
Not anymore.
“I gotta tell you, ‘Los. I’m starting to feel…a way about this Mel thing. Like maybe there’s more to it.”
He didn’t even have to ask what she meant. He just nodded slowly as he drove. “Yep.”
She drummed her fingers on her thigh, the last of her reservations fading at his quick agreement. Like usual, they were on the same page, which only added to her confidence.
“Okay, so let’s work it that way, then. Maybe not for the brass or the press, but me and you. We’ll still interview all potential suspects, and dot our i’s, but let’s also at least see if anything pops if we add that angle.”
Weird, maybe, that neither one of them had said the words out loud yet, but it was as if they hung in the air between them, written in craggy, black letters followed by an exclamation point like a comic book punch.
Serial killer!
They'd only worked one together, the Hudson Hatchet case. It had gone cold when the murders had stopped abruptly the summer before. The unrest she’d felt the day the brass told them to shelve it had never truly gone away. Despite knowing she'd done everything she could, she'd been slightly off ever since.
Lucky Break (Lucky Strickland) Page 4