by Tom Turner
“I thought you’d never ask,” Dominica said with a laugh as she followed Duke into the living room. “Oh, this is such an awesome place.”
“Well, thank you,” Duke said, as they went through the living room into a bar with mahogany paneling and large Audubon paintings of exotic birds on three walls.
A group of three young men and women sat in a booth, while a couple was perched on barstools.
“Oh, my God,” Dominica said, looking around, “this is so fantastic.”
One of the men sitting in the booth hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she came into the room.
Dominica and Duke sat at the bar.
The bartender came right over. “Yes, sir,” he said. “The usual, I presume?” Then to Dominica: “And the lady?”
“I’ll just have a white wine, please. Do you have pinot grigio?”
“Coming right up,” the bartender said.
Dominica turned to Duke. “So, what’s your usual, Mr. Duke?”
“It’s called a Pimm’s Cup,” Duke said, “and please don’t call me Mister Duke. It’s Xavier.”
“Okay, Xavier.” Dominica heard steps behind her.
She turned and the man who had been eyeing her from the booth joined them. He moved a foot inside her comfort zone and she leaned away.
“Oh, hello, Jared,” Duke said. “This is Donatella.”
“As in Donatella Versace?” Jared said.
“As in Donatella Greer,” she answered.
“Well, welcome to Windsong,” Jared said. “Your first time, right? Or I definitely would have remembered you.”
Dominica nodded. “First time. My friends told me about the great parties here.”
“And they weren’t exaggerating,” Jared said, sitting next to her. “I saw that incredible dress and told myself, I’ve got to meet that woman.”
* * *
Xavier Duke had one Pimm’s Cup and excused himself a little before nine, explaining that he wanted to go watch a show on TV.
Jared was intense. One of those men who asked a million questions but didn’t seem to really listen to the answers. Who put his hand on Dominica’s hand after having just met her. Who constantly looked at himself admiringly in the smoky mirror on the other side of the bar.
Half an hour after Duke left, a striking brunette who Dominica guessed was in her early twenties came up to Jared and they exchanged kisses on both cheeks. Dominica was strictly a single-cheeker. To her those who practiced the double-cheekers were either British or French or pretending to be.
Jared introduced the two women. “Claire, this is my new friend, Donatella.”
“Hi,” Claire said. “I love your dress. Michael Kors?”
“Lulus, fifty-percent-off sale,” Dominica said because it was.
“Cool,” Claire said, turning to Jared.
“Claire is a senior at Brown,” Jared said. “Staying at her grandparents’ place”—dropping his voice to Dominica—“her grandfather is Terence Knowlton.”
The name didn’t mean a thing to her. “Oh, great.”
She took a closer look at Claire’s dress and knew that it was expensive. She could never keep all those Italian names straight: Dolce & Gabbana, Giorgio Armani, Prada, Fendi. She felt certain it was one of them.
Dominica had to pee but was worried Jared might drop something in her drink, so she held it. After a while, he suggested the three go take a swim in the grotto, “just like the one at the Playboy Mansion,” he said. Perfect, thought Dominica, she could pee in the pool.
When the three got to the grotto, Jared took no time stripping naked and Claire did the same.
“Are there any bathing suits I can borrow?” Dominica asked.
Jared frowned. “It feels so much nicer wearing nothing,” he said with a smarmy smile.
“I’m shy,” Dominica said.
Jared patted her on the shoulder. “That’s okay, I’ll get you a suit,” he said. “Xavier has one or two for you shy types.”
It was a white one-piece that was a size too big but she didn’t mind. She went into the girls’ bathroom and killed two birds with one stone: changed into it and took a pee.
A swim in the grotto, along with some champagne that Dominica did not touch, led to them playing several games of pool in the game room. Dominica and Claire played against Jared and another man named Ned. Ned was drunk, stoned, or both. Several times he missed the cue ball altogether with his stick.
Claire joined Dominica as she was chalking her cue stick and said, “I’ve never even played before but I’m better than that bozo.” Claire flicked her head in the direction of drunk Ned.
Dominica dropped her voice. “I know…we should play them for money.”
Claire laughed as Ned proceeded to line up the cue ball, leaning on the pool table for support. He drew the stick back and thrust it forward. It slid off the bottom of the ball and his stick tore into the green felt.
Ned looked around, put his hand over his mouth. “Oops,” he said, then caterwauled with laughter.
“You really suck, man,” Jared said with a smile, “now you’re gonna have to buy the X-man a new table.”
“Seriously, dude?”
“No, but, Jesus, be careful.”
Dominica high-fived Claire. “Guess we’re the winners.”
Jared looked over. “But we’re not done yet.”
“Maybe you’re not.” She pointed to wobbly Ned, who was knocking back a shot of Patron. “But your partner is.”
Jared strolled over to Dominica and Claire with his pool stick resting on his shoulder. “So let’s lose him”—he flicked his head toward Ned—“and go watch something in the screening room.”
“Something?” Dominica asked.
“Yeah, Xavier’s got that new movie with Tom Hardy and Issa Rae. S’posed to be killer.”
Claire turned to Dominica. “What do you think?”
Dominica shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
* * *
Dominica, Claire, and Jared sat on a leather couch, joining six others sitting elsewhere in the screening room.
It was a good movie until Jared put his arm around Dominica and tried to kiss her.
Dominica pushed him away. “I just met you five minutes ago.”
That wasn’t part of her deal with Crawford and Ott. She told them she’d play along and try to find out what went on at Duke’s place—or Windsong, as it was now called—but she wasn’t about to play kissy-face with some lame-o named Jared.
Turned out, Jared was not picky and a few moments later put his arm around Claire and was having a little more success with her.
The two of them necked for a while, then Jared got down to business. “Hey, how about the three of us go to the next room and have a slumber party?”
The more the guy had to drink, the worse his lines got.
Claire looked at Jared and said. “You mean, have sex?”
Jared’s face lit up. “Oh, hey, what a great idea.”
Claire turned to Dominica. “What do you think?”
Dominica was beginning to get the sense that Claire was more into her than Jared.
“Sure, why not?” Dominica said.
Dominica and Claire followed Jared into a bedroom. He hit a switch that was on a rheostat and turned it so it faintly illuminated the room.
“I’ll be right back,” Jared said and headed for bathroom.
Claire turned to Dominica and said in a seductive tone. “What do you say we lose him, too?”
“I like you Claire, but I’m not into girls any more than I’m into Jared.” She walked over to the bed, stepped up on top of it, and craned her neck around.
“What in God’s name are you—” Claire started.
Dominica held up a hand. She found what she was looking for built into the crown molding and very well-disguised. She took out her iPhone and took four quick snaps.
She was halfway to the front door before Jared returned from the bathroom.
Twenty-One
Crawford, being a dyed-in-the-wool Dunkin’ Donuts man, was there under protest. He had already commented, “How can you stand this Kenny G shit?” about the CD that was playing.
“You mean, you’re not a big fan of ‘My Heart Will Go On?’” Ott asked.
Crawford shook his head. “No, it’s right up there with ‘You Light Up My Life.’”
“Are we going to talk shop or music?” Dominica took a sip of her latte.
Crawford leaned back. “You in a rush?”
“Yeah, well, I’m kind of eager to tell you what happened last night.”
“Let’s hear it.”
Dominica took out four photos. “So I’m going to spare you the lurid details—which I’m sure you boys would love to hear—and just get right to the bottom line: I took these shots in a bedroom.” She handed two to Crawford and two to Ott. “As you can see, there are two video cameras built into the molding in those two corners.”
“So that’s his gig,” Crawford said, nodding.
“Look like state-of-the-art equipment,” Ott said, taking a closer look.
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Dominica said. “But, long story short, I ended up in this bedroom with this college girl named Claire and this dope Jared. Who no doubt, works for Duke.”
“Jared, you mean?” Crawford asked
Dominica nodded. “I took these shots and got the hell out of there with Claire. But I’m sure all kinds of ménage a trois and every other combination in the Kama Sutra have been recorded on those cameras.”
“Recordings that Duke planned to sell,” Crawford asked.
Dominica nodded.
Ott put his coffee down. “So Duke retired from making classics like Finding Ryan’s Privates or The Well-Hung Mr. Ripley and got into this.”
Dominica laughed. “Are those real names?”
Ott nodded.
“Guess you must’ve missed Oscar night five years ago,” Ott said.
“What do you know about Claire?” Crawford asked.
She shrugged. “She’s a senior at Brown, staying down here with her grandparents. Jared said her grandfather was named Terence Knowlton, like that was supposed to impress me.”
“Oh, yeah,” Crawford said. “Terry Knowlton, he was CEO of J.P. Morgan for a long time.”
“How do you know that?” Dominica asked.
“My dad worked on Wall Street, remember?”
“Oh, right.”
“So, that’s how it works,” Crawford said. “Rich party girls invited to Xavier Duke’s house. And being videotaped having sex.”
She nodded. “So Duke can put the bite on somebody.”
“Exactly,” Crawford said, “Like he tried to do with Carla Carton. But someone came along and messed up that plan.”
“Which would have paid the bills at ‘Windsong’ for a long, long time,” Ott said.
“Yeah, but he already had another plan in motion.” Crawford started tapping his fingers on the table. “Just imagine if Duke taped Taylor Whitcomb or Terry Knowlton’s granddaughter Claire on that camera with that guy Jared.”
Dominica and Ott nodded.
“He goes to Rennie Whitcomb or Terry Knowlton and says, ‘I’ve got a graphic video of your daughter,’ or in Knowlton’s case, granddaughter, ‘and I’d be happy to sell it to you for…pick a number…’”
“A hundred grand,” Ott said.
“I think you’re low,” Crawford said. “And if Whitcomb or Knowlton balks, Duke says, ‘Fine, I’m sure TMZ or the Daily Mail will pay me handsomely for it.’”
Ott took a long pull on his coffee. “Think you nailed it, man.”
“But hold on, it’s not like Taylor or Claire are celebrities,” Dominica said. “Why would the public give a damn about sex tapes of some unknown, random women?”
“Good question, and I’ll tell you why,” Crawford said. “Let’s say I’m the gossip editor at the Daily Mail and I dig up a picture of Claire in a virginal white dress at her debutante party, at, say, the Waldorf Astoria hotel.” He silently thanked Rose for the idea. “I put that shot side by side with a blurry one of Claire and Jared having sex. Better yet, in a three-way with another woman they recruited. Then I come up with a headline, I don’t know something like: ‘New York Society Girl in Sex Triangle!”
“Oh, nice, Charlie,” Dominica said. “Very subtle.”
“Well, hell, I’m not a writer, but you get the idea.”
“You think that would sell a lot of newspapers?” Ott asked.
“It might or it might not,” Crawford said, “but if I’m Knowlton, and I’m worth, say, five hundred mil, I’d pay it.”
“Just to keep the kid out of the spotlight?” Ott said.
“Not just to protect the kid but Knowlton’s name as well,” Crawford said. “How do you think he’d like it if the word got around down at the Poinciana about his slutty granddaughter?”
“Good point,” Ott said. “So you’re saying Knowlton would pay it to avoid the blowback on him.”
“He’d sure as hell give it a lot of thought,” Crawford said. “And by now, we can be pretty sure Duke has shot plenty of compromising videos.”
Ott put his coffee down. “Jesus,” he said, “what a racket.”
Crawford nodded. “Yeah, well, problem is at this point it’s just hypothetical. It’s not like we know of someone it’s actually happened to. I mean, we can speculate all day long.”
“Yeah, but I have no doubt it’s happened in real life,” Dominca said, as Crawford’s cell phone rang.
Crawford looked down at caller ID. It was the main Palm Beach PD number.
“Hang on,” Crawford said to Dominica and Ott, clicking the number. “Crawford.”
“Hey, Charlie, it’s Jill in dispatch. We got a homicide at a vacant lot up on Reef Road.”
Crawford got to his feet, signaled Ott, and asked the dispatcher. “How do you know it was a homicide?”
“‘Cause the vic’s got two shots to the face and one in the chest,” Jill said. “White male between forty and fifty.”
“Me and Ott are on our way,” Crawford said, clicking off. Then he turned to Dominica. “Got a homicide up on the North End. Thanks for all your help last night. We’re gonna need a CSEU at this scene, in case you’re up next.”
Dominica shook her head. “I’m not,” she said, then frowned. “I thought I was going to get a little more than a lousy cup of coffee for my sterling undercover work last night.”
“You are,” Crawford said, headed toward the door. “Dinner this week?”
“You’re on.”
Twenty-Two
The dead man lay on his back, arms outstretched, in a vacant lot on Reef Road.
The vacant lot measured 100 by 125 feet and was densely landscaped on all four sides, with just a fifteen-foot-wide opening for a driveway coming off of the road. The body was not visible from the road, but lay in a corner, where it apparently had been dragged fifty yards or so by the killer. They knew that because there was a pool of dried blood near the entrance of the lot. The victim had been shot at close range, where no one could miss. One bullet hole in the chin and the other just below the right eye.
The one in the chest was unnecessary as the first two had clearly done the job.
“Holy shit,” Ott said looking down at the barely recognizable face. “You believe this shit?”
It was none other than the man they had just been talking about. Xavier Duke.
Crawford was shaking his head. “Shooter couldn’t have been more than ten feet away,” he said. “Must have been someone he knew.”
“Yeah,” Ott said. “And if Carla Carton was still with us, she’d be my first choice.”
Crawford pulled a pair of white vinyl gloves out of his jacket pocket and put them on. Ott did the same.
It turned out a woman walking her dog had discovered the body. The dog, not on a leash, had scampered into
the lot and not come back right away. The woman had gone in to find it sniffing the corpse. She had quickly called 911 and, eight minutes later, a uniform arrived, first on scene, followed by Crawford and Ott, then two female CSEU techs. The CSEUs, Jan Kislak and Sheila Stallings, knelt near the body, looking for hair, fibers, or any kind of DNA-bearing material, but so far had come up short.
Crawford scratched the back of his head and looked around. “The question is, what the hell would Duke and the killer be doing here?”
Ott shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, this might seem a little bit out there,” he said, “but when I first met Duke, I got the gay vibe. Just something about him.”
Crawford nodded. “Like maybe when he said, ‘big, strapping men’ about the football players?”
“Yeah, maybe. Couple of other things he said too.”
“So, what are you thinking? They met here for…”
Ott shrugged. “Hey, man, you never know.”
One of the CSEUs glanced up at Crawford.
Crawford shook his head. “Not exactly a romantic hideaway,” he said, looking around. “Nothing but a bunch of dirt and weeds.”
“Just puttin’ it out there,” Ott said noticing the CSEU looking at them. “What do you think, Stallings?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Sounds like you know the guy—” she glanced at Kislak— “but we haven’t seen any signs of, ah, sexual congress.”
Ott smiled. “That is so classy, Stallings. ‘Sexual congress.’ I love it. Well, keep digging.”
Ott turned back to Crawford, who had dropped into a crouch to examine the shoeprints near the body.
“Got any ideas?” Ott asked.
“Just that the gun probably had a silencer,” Crawford said, looking around. “There are houses on either side, plus behind and across the street, all on small lots. Nobody phoned in anything about shots fired.”
Ott nodded. “And whoever did it, we can safely assume, was not someone he knew too well. Or they would have met at Duke’s house or a bar or something.”
Crawford nodded. “So it seems like it was two guys meeting and not wanting to be seen together. Or your gay theory.”