"Do you think they could have been lovers who had a falling out?"
I shook my head. I couldn't see Mad Max being anyone's lover, and that leggy blonde stepping out of the limo had princess stamped all over her. She wouldn't be caught breathing the same air as someone like Max, let alone sharing the same bed. Now that I thought about it, a friendship between them seemed equally unlikely. But why lie about it?
"Where was he the night of the murder?" Will asked.
"The Grotto. Do you know it?"
He pulled the plug out of the sink. "Yeah, I know it. Spent many an evening there rounding up suspects back when I was a cop. I'm sure we'll find a dozen witnesses who'll swear they saw Max there the night of the murder. It'll be tough proving he wasn't."
I folded up the towel and placed it on the bench. "So now what?"
"That's up to you. It's your case. You call the shots." He leaned back against the sink and crossed his arms. He was as sexy as hell and I liked the way he looked at me. Like he wanted to eat me.
Oh boy.
First, there was something bothering me that I needed to mention. "Mad Max didn't ask me for bribe money."
"What do you mean?"
"Last time I met him, I had to pay for any information he gave me. Not this time. Why do you think that is?"
He shrugged. "Maybe he's eager to clear his name this time, and he’s hoping you'll do it."
"Pinning all his hopes on me isn't a wise move."
"Hey, don't disparage my girlfriend like that." He gave me a crooked grin. "I happen to think she's pretty good for a rookie."
I think I blushed. My face definitely warmed. "Damn, you're good," I said.
He wiggled his eyebrows at me. "Come upstairs and I'll show you how good."
I put my hand to his chest. "Not yet, Cowboy. Exercising straight after eating is bad for you. And I haven't finished talking work yet."
He sighed. "Go on. What else?"
"I was thinking that if Max didn't want a bribe, he must be hiding something, otherwise he wouldn't be freely offering up information. Information that he wants me to know, that is. Who knows what he isn't telling me, or if what he has told me is the truth?"
"Doesn't mean he's guilty of murder, just that he wants to avoid attention. Maybe he's worried Frank's death might fall in his lap and the spotlight will focus on him for a while. That could get messy if he's in the middle of something."
"I don't know why he thinks feeding me information, misleading or not, will help him. The cops will connect him to Frank sooner or later."
"You have that much faith in them?"
"Not in Stankovic, but in Scarface. He's good and you know it."
"He's an asshole."
"Weren't you two friends?"
"Not really." He refilled our wine glasses and handed mine to me.
"You have to admit he's a good cop. He's very thorough."
He watched me through lowered lashes. His fingernails whitened as he tightened his hold on the glass. "Be careful with Forde, Cat. He doesn't like to lose."
"I'm not playing a game with him." As soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back. Truth was, Scarface and I were locked into some sort of game where I wasn't sure of the rules.
"Like you said, he's thorough, but he's also got questionable ethics and zero tolerance for authority."
"He is the authority. He's a cop."
"I mean higher up than himself. If his superiors give him an order, there's a good chance he won't follow it to the letter." He shook his head and sipped. "I don't know why they put him in homicide. He was better off in undercover. He blended in with his targets."
I thought his assessment a little harsh, especially considering their shared history. Apparently Will had been little better when it came to authority. "Maybe he's changed. People do."
He lifted his gaze to mine. Then he strode off to the living room. I went after him, not really sure how to read him. Was he mad? Worried? His shoulders were stiff and one fist closed at his side, so I guessed he was definitely bothered by our conversation.
"What about NTS?" I asked to break the tension. "Is Clive Bankler cracking yet?"
"He's got to be the leak, but he's not a fool. He hasn't said anything to implicate himself yet."
We settled down to watch a movie, but I could tell Will was restless. He kept shifting beside me, trying to get comfortable. The movie wasn't too bad, but I wasn't in the mood either. I wanted to work on the Karvea case, and I suspected Will needed to do something as well.
"Mind if I use your computer to do some searches?" I asked.
He kissed the top of my head. "Thought you'd never ask. This movie is terrible."
"You think so?"
"Yeah. It doesn't have you in it."
I threw a cushion at him. He caught it and threw it back, hitting me in the shoulder. He headed up the stairs, taking two at a time. A minute later he returned, his laptop in one hand and an iPad in the other. He handed me the iPad.
We sat side by side on the couch in comfortable silence. Will wrote a report while I searched for Max Warshenski in background check databases. He came up in court records for his crimes, but nothing in the bankruptcy section. I searched the property assets register next and bingo! Mad Max was everywhere. And I mean everywhere, in several states including Illinois. He owned a lot of properties, some of them pretty big. Including the building he lived in.
The whole freaking building.
"Wow," I said. "Mad Max is a property magnate."
Will leaned closer and studied the iPad screen. "Not a bad portfolio for an ex-con."
"Not a bad portfolio for someone who lives in absolute squalor. He must be a multi-millionaire."
"They could all be mortgaged to the hilt."
"Here's one in L.A."
"Look it up on Google Earth," he said. "See what type of property it is."
I switched to Google Earth and searched the address. The app focused on a large property with a pool and tennis court out back. "It's a nice place," I said. "How can we find out who lives there?" Maybe he rented it to the Karveas or Cindy.
"Peoplesearch dot com."
I typed it in and entered the address into the search criteria.
"Toby Power," I read aloud. "Sounds like a porn name."
"Could be. It is L.A."
"It's not Frank or Cindy though," I said.
"Damn," Will muttered.
"Yeah. I was really hoping to link Max to one of them."
"You've linked them already." He stared down at the iPad and ran his hand through his hair. "Damn," he said again. "I might regret saying this, but I think you need to tell Forde what you know. I'm sure he'll get there eventually, but murder enquiries should be acted on fast and Warshenski is dangerous."
As much as giving information to Scarface was going to ruin my chances of winning our bet, I agreed with Will. The cops had to know.
I set the iPad down and went in search of my bag. I found it on the kitchen bench, but the cell phone pocket inside was empty. My phone must have fallen out. I rummaged through the crap, but couldn't find it. Where the hell had I left it? I wasn't wearing a jacket or jeans so had no pockets. Maybe the car…
Oh. Shit. I knew where it was—in the hands of the teenage gang who'd brushed up against me outside Mad Max's apartment.
"Fuck, fuck and FUCK!"
Chapter 9
Will tried to give me his cell phone the next day, but I refused to take it.
"I've seen how many calls you get," I told him as he locked his front door. "I'll be constantly calling you to give you messages. I prefer to go without than return to being your secretary."
"You were never my secretary," he said with an impish smile. "Not a good one anyway."
"Ha ha."
His lips flattened. "If you won't take my phone, promise me you'll call later from a land line. And don't go visiting anyone with criminal records."
"I'm going to see Scarface first then Jenny and her friends
at their concert. I'm sure I'll be perfectly safe around a bunch of three-year-olds."
"Not so sure about Forde though." He kissed me tenderly, then we headed to our separate cars.
I drove to the station where Scarface worked. Luckily he was in. "You should have called first," he said, leaning one shoulder against the wall in the station's foyer. "I was about to head out. Wouldn't want to miss you, Kitten."
"That's the problem, I can't call you. My phone was stolen."
"No kidding. Who stole it?"
"Some kids outside Max Warshenski's place."
His gaze narrowed. "Why were you visiting Mad Max? I'm thinking it wasn't a social call."
"Yeah, I love sipping tea and exchanging gossip with psychos. Will loves it when I do that too."
The corner of his mouth kicked up. "I bet he does."
"Speaking of bets, if I tell you how Max is linked to Frank Karvea and that leads to his arrest, can we just say I won our bet?
"Really want to win, do you?"
"No, I don't want you to win."
"Tell me about Warshenski and I'll let you know if the information is good enough."
"You know, you shouldn't get to call the shots on our bet. If I don't agree with your assessment of my information, it's off."
"Like to argue, don't you?"
"More like I don't like to give up control to someone else."
He grunted. "I'm beginning to feel sorry for Knight." He softened the statement with a wink. "Come into one of the interview rooms and tell me what you've got."
I followed him down the short corridor to one of the doors leading off it. The interview room was tiny and bare. I sat on one chair and Scarface sat on the other side of the small table. I wished he'd chosen somewhere else to grill me. I felt like a suspect.
"Tell me what you know," he said.
"Shouldn't Stankovic be in here too?"
"I prefer to work alone."
"But he's your partner."
"That's why I prefer to work alone."
Oh-kay. I told him about Mad Max's business dealings with Frank and how Cindy Belfour had been the one to introduce them.
"How does he know Cindy?" he asked.
"I don't know." And since I'd promised Will I'd stay away from Max, I wouldn't get to ask him now. Damn. "Is any of that news to you?"
"We haven't looked into the fraud angle yet. We've been too busy following up on the group members."
"What have you discovered there?"
"That's confidential, Kitten."
"Come on! I've just given you another lead, the least you can do is give me some information. Is the tox report back?"
"Not yet, but I bypassed the official channels and spoke to a friend at the coroner's office. There were signs of drug use on the body, but he died from the knife wound. Bled to death."
"So if he was drugged first, anyone could have stabbed him. He or she didn't need to overpower him."
"Well done, Sherlock. Anything else you need to tell me?"
"Nothing that I want to share."
"I said need, not want."
"That too. But if you speak to Max and find out how he and Cindy know each other, I'd like to know."
He stretched out his long legs under the table. Our feet touched. I moved mine away first. "I'm sure you would," he drawled.
"It's only fair since I told you about him."
"We would have worked it out eventually."
"I saved you time."
"Yeah, I guess you did." His lopsided grin turned wicked. "I should thank you."
"Then do it."
He stood and leaned over the table. His light kiss on the corner of my mouth had my heart thudding in my chest and my brain freezing. Despite my bravado, I hadn't expected it.
"Breathe, Cat," he said, straightening.
I coughed and looked away to hide the flush creeping up my cheeks. My brain kicked into gear again, but that only led to guilt. Had I just cheated on Will? Was it even my fault?
"So, my phone," I said in an attempt to distract Scarface from seeing how much his kiss affected me. "How can I get it back?"
He took a moment to answer. His hesitation screwed with my nervous system and I had to look up at him. He was watching me with an intensity that I couldn't read. Either he was battling with the desire to kiss me again, or he wanted me out of there so he could get on with his work.
"You can report it at the desk," he said. "But there's not much they can do. Your phone will be long gone, Kitten. Sorry."
"Fuck," I muttered. "All my contacts were on there."
"You should have backed them up."
"Ya think?"
He just shrugged and headed for the door. "Next time, don't go visiting Warshenski alone. Having your phone stolen is not the worst thing that could happen to you there." He didn't wait for me to go ahead of him, but walked off, leaving me standing there in the interview room admiring his ass and wondering what the hell I'd said or done to piss him off.
I reported my stolen phone at the front desk then used the pay phone outside to inform my phone company to disconnect the number. Then I headed to Renford City Concert House.
A crowd had gathered outside. A crying, screaming, stomping, tantrum-throwing crowd of tots and their mothers. The mothers were the loudest, shouting at the stressed staff who tried to calm them down with lollipops. It seemed the Play Group concert had been canceled after all.
I left before my eardrums erupted and drove to the Carleton Hotel a short distance away. A few reporters were camped out the front, sipping coffee and checking their makeup in the side mirrors of the TV vans. I walked straight past them and took the elevator up to Jenny's room. I figured Angel was probably sharing with her since her own suite was still off-limits.
I was right. Jenny beckoned me in after peeking through the peephole. "Expecting someone else?" I asked.
"The bitch."
"Cindy?"
"That's the one."
Jen sailed into the living room where the others lounged around. Taylor sat reading a magazine at the dining table, his feet propped on a chair opposite. He looked up, smiled at me, and returned to his magazine. Angel and Corey sat together on a sofa, her bare feet in his lap. He massaged her toes and looked wistfully into her eyes. Angel, however, only had eyes for me.
She sprang up and embraced me in a tight hug. "Thank you, Cat. Thank you, thank you."
"Um, what for? I haven't done anything."
"You're going to clear my name."
"Uh, yeah. I hope so." Unless she was guilty.
She drew away, but kept on smiling. I'd expected her to look tired after her ordeal, but she seemed fine to me. Dressed all in white, she was as chipper as the first time I'd met her. You wouldn't think she had a murder charge hanging over her head.
"You canceled the concert," I said. "I thought it was going ahead."
Angel's smile slipped. She rejoined Corey on the sofa but did not put her feet back in his lap. Seeing them together like that, I was struck by the resemblance. The blonde hair, the small, pointed pixie features, the fake tan, the bright blue eyes. It almost seemed unnatural for them to be lovers, incestuous.
Eewww, where had that thought come from?
"That was Cindy's idea," Jen spat. She sat at the table with Taylor and I sat beside her.
Taylor put his magazine down. "She thought it looked bad for Play Group to be continuing on with the concerts considering our grief."
Jen snorted. "Like she's any sadder than we are. She hated Frank too."
Angel sighed. "She's right. Canceling the rest of the concerts was the wisest decision."
Jen stared at her. "But before, you said—"
"I've had time to think it through," Angel said gently. "It really would look bad if we kept smiling and dancing like we didn't have a care."
"But the show must go on! That's what you said."
"I was…annoyed then."
Jen humphed and folded her arms, doing a good impression of
a petulant child who hadn't gotten her way.
Taylor reached across the table and placed his hand on her arm. "We don't have to like Cindy, but she does have a point, Jen. Image is everything, remember? A kids group needs to show compassion, otherwise we lose the trust of the parents."
"We lose the parents' trust, we lose the paying customers," Angel said.
A part of me didn't like hearing the mercenary angle to her reasoning. Shouldn't a kids group be doing it because they love the work, and love being around kids, not for the money? But the actress in me remembered the crappy jobs I'd been forced to take to put food in my mouth when the auditions dried up. Being an unemployed entertainer sucked big hairy ones.
"Tell me about Cindy," I said.
"She's a bitch," Jen spat.
"I got that. Anything else?"
"She started the group with Frank," Angel said. "It was her idea, her talents that got Play Group noticed. Frank was the business brains behind the group, but Cindy was the heart."
"In that case, you're its soul," Corey told her. He gave her another wistful smile that she returned only half-heartedly.
"Her work ethic was amazing," Angel went on.
"Too amazing," Taylor told me. "She nearly drove us into the ground with her schedule. We protested and went to Frank, and she hated us from then on. Their marriage broke down, and she disappeared off the scene."
"She never had anything to do with you after the divorce, even though she still owned half of Play Group?" I asked.
"I guess she lost interest."
After all the effort she'd put in? It seemed weird to me that she would just walk away. Although having a lingering financial interest in the group technically wasn't walking away, but I did wonder if she'd be willing to do anything to get the group back. Murder, for example.
"I can't believe she's now our boss," Jen muttered. "I mean…fuck. Are we going to go back to the old days when we had to work our assess off?"
"If so, I quit," Taylor said.
Angel moved to sit beside him, a frown on her brow. She put her arm around him and kissed his temple. "You can't quit. None of us can. This is our life. Play Group is everything to us. We can't give up on it, or give up on us. We'll stick together through this like we've done through everything that's been thrown at us. Okay?" When he didn't answer, she pressed her forehead to his. "Okay, Taylor?"
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