by Arlene Kay
“That sound about right, Ms. Kane?”
I met Deming’s withering gaze and shrugged. Lying to the police was not my style. Misleading them was equally dangerous. If Jem Russell was innocent, they’d waste valuable time while the real killer skated.
“I’m not sure he lured her. You have to understand Jem, Lieutenant. He’s a facile liar who barely knows the truth when it hits him. To me, his story was probably true, at least most of it.”
A neutral nod from Mia convinced me that she must play a fantastic game of poker.
“We did some checking on him, once we found the connection with Ms. Swann.” She donned reading glasses and read from a printout. “Seems he had some trouble in Las Vegas. Local PD was involved but let it slide.”
“What kind of trouble?” Deming asked.
The corners of her mouth twisted in an impish grin. “The usual. Parting rich women from their money. In this case, it was a rich, married woman whose husband was not amused.”
Deming reached into his jacket pocket and produced the crotch shot. “Here’s the kind of man he is. My sister took this last month. Can you imagine?”
She gave that photo a thorough examination. “I see. No wonder he’s successful with the ladies. Doesn’t make him a killer though. Just a sleaze. Tell me this, did he confess?”
“Of course not!” Deming threw up his hands. “After I throttled him, he came up with some lame alibi about spending Sunday with another woman.”
“You believed him, Ms. Kane. How come?”
I paused. Words are my chosen profession, but I struggled to explain myself.
“I’ve seen Jem lie before. He’s a simple-celled creature, kind of like an amoeba. Always figuring the angles. What’s best for him. Why kill CeCe before getting what he wanted?”
“She turned him down! Then he got mean.” Deming clenched his fists until the knuckles paled. “He lured her out there and . . .”
“Hold on,” I said. “Think of that security tape. She looked happy! If she expected a confrontation, she’d look tense. Plus, she invited him to join us for brunch.”
“Interesting,” Mia said. “It still doesn’t answer this question: Why choose that building and why the roof?”
Neither one of us had an answer. Even Jem said CeCe balked at entering the roof garden. No surprise—her vertigo had been an ongoing battle since childhood. She’d been the only kid on the playground who avoided both the slide and monkey bars.
Mia looked at her notes and frowned. “This whole business about the roof garden bothers me. It’s supposed to remain locked at all times, and only residents have keys. Limits access and avoids problems. Of course, if they’re careless about it, no one in management will admit it.” She smiled at Deming. “Lawsuits, you know.”
My thoughts felt fuzzy and unfocused, as if I were navigating through a marshmallow haze.
“Wake up, Eja,” Deming snorted. “Stop dillydallying.”
“Sorry. Did I miss something?”
Mia shook her head. “I asked if Mr. Russell said anything incriminating. Anything at all.”
Both of us said no.
“Okay then.” Mia gathered her things and signaled to her sergeant. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Great move, Eja. Letting that murderer skate.” Deming seethed like a boiling kettle. “I thought you were Cecilia’s friend.”
I bit back the feelings that welled up in me. Tears wouldn’t help right now, so I substituted anger for angst.
“Fine. No more partnerships. Take your girlfriend with you next time. You’re birds of a feather anyway.”
“What? Are you daft?” Deming crossed the room and leaned down until we were nose to nose. “What’s this girlfriend shit?”
I averted my head, refusing to meet his eyes. “Pamela Schwartz, that’s what. Not too respectful, making out in front of your parents.”
He laughed. The bastard laughed!
“Pam and I are old friends, if you must know. Served on a couple of ABA committees together. She’s like that with all the guys. Loves flirting.”
I ignored the sensation inching up my spine. His arms felt strong and comforting. So good. I fought the urge to lean in and get closer. Everything was suspended in time, floating toward a rainbow sky. Could it be true? Had Deming Swann, my childhood nemesis, made my heart flutter?
“What’s wrong with you? Are you having some kind of fit?” Deming scrutinized me as if I were a circus freak. He backed away and flopped down on the sofa. “Everything’s haywire. Someone killed my sister, and no one knows why. It’s a disaster.”
I bounced back to reality with a sudden brainstorm. “Time for more detective work. CeCe logged an incredible number of hours at the firm. Maybe she found out something—something incriminating.”
Deming curled his lip. “What the hell does that mean? Did she mention anything about a litigant? Any threats from a coworker?”
I summoned my sweetest smile. “That’s where your friend Pamela comes in. After all, she’d know that stuff. Isn’t that what the managing partner does? Ask her.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “They worked together on some charities, but Pam’s removed from the real action. She oversees the in-house side. You know, wills and trusts, estate planning, and taxes. CeCe liked trial work. It turned her on. Especially pro bono cases.”
“She was a real tiger.” Bolin Swann smiled as he spoke of his daughter. He’d slipped into the room while we were arguing. “I wanted her at Swann Industries, but she refused. Said she could do more good at the firm. Probably just as well. She and Deming were polar opposites. Went at it hammer and tongs about almost everything.”
Deming nodded. “My sister was an idealist. Some of the shenanigans lawyers pull made her mad. We had a . . . disagreement . . . last month. Since then she’d avoided me. We barely spoke.”
His eyes showed raw pain and something else. Guilt. Even as a child Deming valued control. Craved it. CeCe and I had fought him every step of the way, from playground games to college majors. Now when he needed it most, he was powerless to avenge his twin’s murder. I felt a strange, unsettling urge to hold him close and comfort him. It quickly passed, leaving me confused and out of sorts.
“I still think you need to ask Pam,” I said. “Snoop around the firm. I’ll bet CeCe’s paralegal and secretary know something.”
“She’s right, son.” Bolin Swann spoke calmly but emphatically. “For all we know, Cecilia found something that wasn’t right. She wouldn’t just walk away from trouble. You know how she was. We called her the Avenger.”
Deming folded his arms, bulldog style. “I’ll speak with Pam, but I refuse to chat up the staff. I’m no good at that sort of thing. That’s more Eja’s department.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“Tomorrow an important visitor will stop by. Condolence call.” Bolin managed a wry grin. “Before you ask, Deming, it’s Prescott Lewis. He extended his sympathy to your mother, but asked if he could stop by. Naturally, I agreed.”
“When? I want to be there.”
Bolin’s handsome face softened. “No, son. Let me handle this. I know how to deal with men like Prescott. Threats won’t get you anywhere. You need finesse.”
“May I make a suggestion?” I wasn’t sure how he’d react, but I had to try. “Maybe you could tease him a bit about this Raven thing. You know, show him the ring and mention the inscription. Catch him off guard.”
“Excellent, but I think I’ll have Anika handle it. Prescott adores her, you know. He’d never suspect anything if she mentions it.” Bolin rose and headed out the door. “Will you join us for dinner, Eja?”
“No, thanks. I need to get Cato and go home.”
“Hold on,” Deming said. “You can’t use CeCe’s flat until the locks are changed. It isn
’t safe.”
“I almost forgot,” Bolin said. “Anika had that done this morning.” He sped over to his large bureau plat and retrieved a set of keys. “Here, Eja. I promised my wife I’d deliver these to you personally.”
“Thanks. I’ll catch a cab and leave you alone for now. Poor Cato will be lonely.”
“No need.” Jake Harris stuck his head in the doorway. “I’m going your way anyhow. Maybe we can have dinner or something.”
Deming made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. “Just a minute. I still have a few more questions for you, Jake.”
“No problem, Dem. Shoot.” Jake clapped his friend on the back and waited.
“Why did my sister want to see you? Was she sick or something?”
“Ah, come on. I can’t violate medical privilege. You know that. You’re a lawyer, for Christ’s sake.”
Deming whirled around and faced his friend. “Enough of a lawyer to know that privilege ends with the patient’s death.”
“Son . . .” Bolin Swann sounded a warning.
“CeCe never kept her appointment,” Jake said. “I told you that already. But if you’re asking about her frame of mind, I can only speculate. She seemed on top of the world. Never happier.”
I turned to Bolin. “That brings us right back to Raven, whoever he is.”
DINNER WITH DR. Jake was great therapy. I overcame my shyness, stopped moping about CeCe for a while, and had a good time. Even Cato liked the medicine man. He kept a civil distance from Jake but eschewed the usual round of growls and bites. That passed for puppy love in his book.
“Dem seems positive that Russell’s our man.” Jake raised his eyebrows. “Do you agree?”
I shrugged helplessly. “We have no real proof, and Jem never struck me as the violent type. Too much effort. He might break a woman’s heart or rob her blind, but I don’t see him doing this. CeCe liked him. She’d finally figured him out, but she still liked him.”
“Hmm. Still stuck on this Raven stuff, aren’t you? Even if you find him that might not prove anything.” Jake sipped his scotch and looked pensive. “Funny that CeCe didn’t tell you about him though. I thought she told you everything.”
“Apparently not. She said she was in love, but that was no big deal. CeCe fell in love with a different guy every month.”
He laughed. “You know, you’re right. That engagement ring might help. Maybe the police can trace it or something.”
I was no jewelry expert, but that ring looked old. Classic. If it was a family heirloom, we’d never trace it.
“Can’t your dad help? You said he was a diamond merchant.”
“Sadly, no. He passed three years ago. Finest man I ever knew, except for Bolin Swann.” Jake looked down, avoiding my eyes.
We stayed silent for a bit, honoring the past. I hardly saw my own father. True to conventional wisdom, he’d remarried fast and moved away, as if my mother had never existed. Forty years of marriage dismissed. I thought about her every day, but now I had no one to share memories with. Only CeCe had cared.
“Enough of this sadness,” Jake said, as we left the restaurant. “Do you need help moving your things? I’m stylistically challenged, but my back is strong.”
I didn’t answer right away. Couldn’t. Moving into her flat was too final. Almost predatory. Despite Anika’s wishes, the place wasn’t even mine yet—legally or morally. CeCe would still inhabit her home until we found her murderer. Only then could she rest in peace.
“Thanks for the offer,” I said, “but I’ll take Cato to my place for a while. It’s unseemly. Deming was right about that. Like expunging every trace of her.”
Jake squeezed my hand. “I know. I think Anika sees it differently though. Almost as if you’d be keeping CeCe alive by living there. That’s why she’s so keen on it.”
“Anika’s in the denial stage. I guess I am too. Sometimes, when I get one of my brainstorms, I forget CeCe’s gone, and I start to dial her number.”
He nodded. “I know, but cut yourself some slack. It’s only been a few days. I’m certainly no detective, but I keep wondering about motive. It makes no sense. Why would anyone want to harm her, even this Raven guy? It wasn’t a shotgun wedding. People break up without resorting to violence.”
He was right, of course. CeCe was a breakup specialist who pined for a while then quietly moved on. She’d never agree to meet someone she feared in a place that terrified her. The murderer knew a lot about CeCe: fears, friends, and what made her tick. It had to be someone close to her, a cunning, ruthless planner who traded on trust and exploited it. Even worse, it was someone cool enough to implicate that sad sack Jem Russell. This was no crime of passion. It was an execution.
When we reached the Tudor, Jake pointed toward the driveway. “Look who’s here—good old Deming.”
His Porsche was there, defying rules and good manners, hogging two parking spots.
“Want me to go up with you?” Jake asked.
I shrugged. “Naw. Cato probably has him treed by now anyway. I’ve got my keys. Deming can give the two of us a ride back to my place.”
“Okay then.” Jake leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Keep your chin up. I enjoyed dinner. You’re everything CeCe said you were and more.”
I EXCHANGED smiles with Jaime’s replacement, an ample woman whose name eluded me. I admit it; my mind was focused on Deming Swann.
Control yourself. Stop acting like a child. You’ve known him thirty years! I shivered as memories of Sunday evening swirled in my head. Forget it. It never happened. You were too drunk to remember anything.
My heartbeat quickened as I sped down the corridor and fumbled with the lock. Damn! The new Medeco was as worrisome as the old one. I’d make a rotten burglar. Despite my attempts at stealth, Cato the Wonder Dog heard everything. A furious spate of barking erupted as my new roommate flung himself at the door. Right on cue, Deming turned the lock, draping himself against the doorjamb.
“About time you got back. What’d Jake do, have you for dessert?”
My face got that crimson hue I’d always loathed. Deming was masterful when it came to pushing my buttons. Over the years, he’d honed his skills on countless playing fields from grade school through graduate school. I chose hauteur over anger and responded in kind.
“Me? What about you? Pammy stand you up?”
His lips twitched into a half-sneer. Instead of a withering retort, he surprised me by laughing. “Touché, Eja. Come on in.”
He seemed to have reached détente with Cato, through luck, bribery, or brute force. They eyed each other like opposing counsel in a contentious divorce and retired to opposite corners. I understood Deming, but Cato’s behavior had me stumped. The feisty spaniel acted weird, bombarding me with doggy wags and kisses.
“Well, you certainly won him over,” Deming said. “What’s your secret?”
“Clean living and a pure heart.” I walked toward the living room and stopped. It was so disheveled I felt like Dorothy after the tornado. “What the hell! Who did this?”
“You can thank the long arms of the law for the mess. Lieutenant Bates sent her minions over to search for clues. They carted a bunch of things away. Nothing important.”
“What about the papers in her storage room?”
Deming gave a superior smirk. “They didn’t ask, and I didn’t volunteer. They teach you that in law school. I thought you’d know that.”
“Where’d you stash them?”
He walked over to the bay window and pointed. “In the Porsche. Quite the elegant filing cabinet, wouldn’t you say? Bates can’t get at them without a search warrant, and I’ll make sure she never gets one. Hiding in plain sight. That’s something Sherlock Holmes would appreciate. Your idol.”
As a member in good standing of the Baker Street Irregulars,
I knew chapter and verse of anything in the canon. Deming Swann was merely an amateur. I whirled around, expecting to field another zinger. One look at Deming stopped me in my tracks.
He looked feverish, as if those hazel eyes might burn a hole in his heart. My throat felt parched and arid as I struggled to speak. Silence seemed an intolerable burden.
“What’s next,” I whispered, well aware of the double entendre. “What should we do?”
He turned toward the wet bar and poured two snifters of cognac. “Rémy Martin okay with you?”
I nodded, remembering what happened the last time we’d tried this.
Deming clinked glasses with me and sat down. “To truth.” He looked into my eyes, searing my nether parts with one glance. “I propose that we review everything in those boxes. Are you game?”
“Of course.” A sip of cognac scorched my throat, giving me false courage. Self-control. That’s all it takes. I can handle things. No problem. As long as he doesn’t touch me.
“It might take a while.” He sat far away, at the opposite end of the long white couch. “Maybe all night.”
Silence was my greatest ally. I didn’t trust my voice.
“I’ll run out to the Porsche and get the stuff.” Deming leapt up in one fluid motion that made my heart race. His sculpted body, encased in tight black jeans, was a moving violation, possibly a felony. I was ready for a life of crime, willing to be a repeat offender.
As soon as the door slammed, I ran straight into CeCe’s bathroom. My hair was a tangled mass of curls that no brush could adequately tame. I did my best by spritzing it with hair spray and dipping into CeCe’s Kiehl’s stash. A dab of shadow, slash of lipstick, and a pinch of blush completed my toilette. I was no beauty, but at least I looked better.
When the buzzer sounded, I hurried to the door. Deming stood there, but he wasn’t alone. Bolin Swann was at his side.
Ten
“HOPE I’M NOT intruding, Eja,” Bolin said. In jeans and a sweater, he looked like Deming’s sibling, not his dad. Same tall, lean body, thick black hair, and sculpted features. Only the eyes were different. Bolin’s Asian heritage was more prominent; Deming had only a slight upturn to his hazel eyes.