Luca Mystery Series Box Set

by Dan Petrosini

  “I’ve thought about the possibility, but Gideon isn’t ambitious, at least not since he had heart troubles. I couldn’t envision it, certainly not him personally doing it.”

  I took a sip of my iced tea, thanked him for his time, and left.

  Disappointed Wesley didn’t point the finger at Gideon, I walked to the valet station. I was digging in my pocket for the ticket when the kid behind the podium said, “Mr. Luca, how was your lunch?”

  How the heck do these guys remember?

  Chapter 25

  Luca

  I buttoned up my suit jacket as I walked the corridor to the autopsy suite. What a terrible qualifier for a room where they cut bodies up. Why not something simple, like autopsy room? I jammed my hands into my pants pockets. It’s easy to understand why the autopsy room has to be cold, but how anyone works anywhere in the building without a parka on is a mystery to me.

  The light over the door was off and a peer in the door’s window confirmed the room was empty. Was it the fact I wouldn’t have to see another body dissection, or that I wouldn’t have to stand in a room that was twenty degrees colder than the hallway that made me smile?

  Wearing a gray cardigan and headphones, the medical examiner was behind his desk, tapping on a keyboard.

  “Hey, Doc!”

  He looked up at me and paused his player.

  “Got a few minutes to fill me in on the Marilyn Boggs autopsy?”

  Setting down the headphones, he said, “Come on in, Frank. I’m just finishing the report now.”

  “I wanted to make it but got hung up. How’d it go?”

  “No surprises. A deep stab wound to the thorax, clipping the aorta, which led to a bleed out. The wound was inflicted by a knife matching the one found on the scene. Trace elements of the victim’s blood were found on the knife.”

  “It was wiped clean of prints, though?”

  “As far as I understand, but you’d have to check with forensics.”

  “Could you speculate on the physical size of the killer?”

  “The angle of the entry wound supports an attacker, left handed I believe, in the six feet to six feet six range. However, it’s really dependent on the arm’s length and whether the victim was leaning away from her attacker.”

  “Um, anything under the fingernails?”

  “Nothing. She had a head bruise, just under the dome, from striking her head on the edge of the counter as she lost consciousness. The victim’s right wrist is bruised, but that likely occurred trying to break her fall.”

  I nodded as he continued.

  “Stomach contents didn’t reveal anything other than some wine and a cracker or bread-like food. Alcohol blood level a tad under .09. With her weight, the victim probably had two glasses of wine.”

  “How impaired would she have been?”

  “Depends on her tolerance, but probably overly relaxed, depth and peripheral vision impacted slightly.”

  “Could’ve contributed to an inability to detect an attack?”

  “Difficult to say for sure, but a lag in reaction time is likely.”

  “Anything else you can tell me?”

  “The victim had a hysterectomy about five to seven years ago.”

  That didn’t seem to mean anything but prompted me to ask, “Any signs of sexual activity?”

  “None. I’d estimate about five days since the last intercourse.”

  ***

  Heading north as I defrosted, I was pleased Goodlette Frank Road was empty. Crossing Golden Gate, Vargas returned my call.

  “Hi Frank. Anything from the autopsy?”

  “Nah, didn’t learn anything. She died from the knife wound, and it matches the one at the scene. Forensics said the knife was definitely wiped clean of prints.”

  “Really?”

  “You had to expect it. No killer would leave it behind unless they did.”

  “But leaving it behind to begin with is a risk.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Any clues to how it went down?”

  “No signs of a real struggle. She seems to have been quickly overpowered. Stab wound indicates a lefty, a tall one, at least six feet. The knife wound severed her aorta. She bled out quickly, a minute or two.”

  “Any toxicology reports yet?”

  “Not a full panel, but blood tests indicate a low level of alcohol that raises a question.”

  “How so?”

  “Doc said her alcohol levels were the equivalent of two glasses of wine or so.”

  “And?”

  “The pinot bottle at the scene had only a quarter left in it, and there was just one glass out, and it was clean. She couldn’t have drank it alone. So, whoever was there took their glass.”

  “Or she was drinking, or going to drink, from a bottle that was already open.”

  “I’m betting Marilyn wasn’t a leftovers type of girl.”

  “Maybe, but you’d be surprised; even the wealthy like to save money.”

  “I don’t doubt that, but remember, she was playing around with Barnet, an expert on wine. He would’ve rubbed off on her.”

  “You’re going to see him. Why don’t you just ask?”

  “Not yet. If he’s involved in some way, I’ll need to hold back a thing or three.”

  “Another Luca proverb?”

  “I’d like to take credit, but that was my old partner’s saying. I’ll see you when I get back from Waterside.”

  ***

  Swirling a glass, Barnet was in the cave at the back of the store. There were two women at the table with him. I edged a few steps closer, picking up a bottle of Barolo as a decoy. Barnet tipped his glass on its side and rolled it back and forth with his palm. The women at the table glanced at each other and broke into smiles. Barnet picked the glass back up and stuck his nose deeply in it. He closed his eyes and his chest expanded. Releasing air, he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. He moved his lips around and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

  Nodding his head, Barnet set the glass down and poured the women wine. The women fingered the glasses, shifting them side to side, laughing as a splash jumped out of a glass. Barnet dabbed the table with a napkin and said, “I think it’s wonderful, a great mouth feel, good acidity. It’s a very balanced wine. I’m interested to hear what you think.”

  The two women sipped and nodded at each other.

  “I like it. It’s smooth, like you said.”

  “Yeah, no hard edges. What foods do you recommend with it, John?”

  “That’s one of the things I love about this particular wine. It’s so versatile. Chicken, veal, and pork will pair well with it.”

  “What’s the price of a case?”

  “It’s a great value. I think the Wine Spectator featured it as one of their better buys a month or two ago.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “It’s eighty-nine ninety-five a bottle and selling quicker than I anticipated. I think we have only three cases left. Shall I have Bridgette write up a case for each of you?”

  Did he just say ninety dollars a bottle? Didn’t these people ever hear of Costco? I put the Barolo back on the rack as the women agreed to a case each. Was that considered a soft or a hard sell?

  Barnet picked up the bottle and was topping off their glasses when I stepped into the cave.

  One of the women said, “Oh, John, it looks like the winemaker from Bordeaux is here.”

  Barnet spun around, and the color drained out of his face. “Oh, hi. I’ll be right with you.” He turned back to his guests. “It’s not Francois, but I’ve got to go. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the wine, ladies. Thanks for stopping in.”

  He got up from the table and shook my hand. “Let’s go to my office.”

  Barnet closed the door and slid behind his desk. He moved a large bottle, which had been signed in gold, to a corner as I settled into a chair.

  “I didn’t know you were coming by, Detective.”

  “I was in the area and had a couple of questions for you. T
hought it would be easier than having you come down.”

  “Oh. Thanks for saving me a trip.”

  “No problem. I gotta say, you did a nice sales job on them.”

  Barnet stroked his Van Dyke and wagged a finger. “I don’t consider it sales. It’s really all about introducing and educating. I consider it important─no, make that critical─to move people’s perception of wine from simply a beverage to an experience. Paint a story of the vineyards, the winery, and the winemaker for them so they can be transported when they drink a wine. It makes the cost factor irrelevant, as it should be.”

  Transported? He keeps talking like that, he’s going to be transported to an asylum.

  “Got it. As I said, there’s a couple of questions concerning Marilyn Boggs, so let’s get to it, shall we?”

  Barnet sank back and nodded.

  “When you visited with her on the afternoon of her death, did you have any wine or alcoholic drinks of any kind?”

  “Marilyn was really beginning to understand and enjoy wine. She especially liked a glass of French Viognier during the afternoon, and every Wednesday I’d bring a different producer over to sample. It was educational. I was trying to get her to discover the different ways the soil and microclimates of each vineyard affect the wine.”

  Fun? That sounded like work to me. “How much did she drink that day?”

  “I think she may have had two glasses.”

  “Did she like other types of wine?”

  Barnet furrowed his brow. “She enjoyed Sauvignon Blanc from the Loire Valley and French chardonnays.”

  “So, just white wine?”

  “Mostly. I was trying to introduce her to Barolo and the wines of Bordeaux, but I guess she had her limits.”

  “She didn’t like Chianti or pinot noir?”

  He shook his head. “Occasionally she’d drink pinot,” he laughed, “but that might have been because I kept telling her the best wines in the world, in my opinion, were from Burgundy.”

  “Burgundy?”

  “The reds from Burgundy, France, are made from pinot noir grapes. They’re less fruit forward and more complex than those from California.”

  “Sounds interesting. I’ll have to try some.”

  “I’ll pick out one for you to try when you leave. It’ll be on me.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t accept a gift. I’ll pay for it but keep it under thirty bucks.”

  “I have a couple in mind.”

  “Okay. How would you describe the stage your relationship with Marilyn Boggs was in?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The affair was going for a pretty long time. Was the fire still there?”

  “Oh, at the beginning it was kinda like a high school fling.” He flashed a smile. “But things settled down into a nice routine.”

  “Routine? Sounds boring to me.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that it was boring. Just that when we first started . . . to . . . to get together, we looked for every opportunity we could. That’s why I said it was like high school. But then we fell into a schedule, like every Wednesday afternoon and most Friday nights.”

  “Who was more, shall we say, enthusiastic?”

  “We both looked forward to seeing each other, but, you gotta remember, I’m running a business, and it takes a lot of my time, while Marilyn, well, she had a lot of time on her hands.”

  “A friend of hers said she thought the relationship was coming to an end.”

  “No, that’s not true.”

  “But it had cooled down?”

  “As I said, things settled down.”

  “Did the two of you fight often?”

  “I wouldn’t use the word fight, Detective. Did we disagree at times? Sure, what couple doesn’t?”

  “It seems that something was bothering Mrs. Boggs in the weeks leading to her murder. Do you have any idea what was on her mind?”

  Barnet stroked his Van Dyke. “I think it may have something to do with the situation with her husband.”

  “You mean the affair you were having?”

  “No, no. The marriage was over. It had nothing to do with me. You probably know she had an affair or two before we met. She really wanted a divorce from him, but there were some things in the trust she lives off that would penalize her.”

  Barnet knew about the details of the trust? “That’s interesting. What was she going to do?”

  He shifted in his chair. “She was probably kidding, but she said something about having him disappear.”

  “You mean by paying him off to disappear?”

  “Could be, but I understood it as, you know, having him killed.”

  “Do you think Marilyn Boggs would arrange for the murder of her husband?”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m telling you that’s what she said.”

  I was processing the thought when Barnet added, “You have to remember, the Boggs are a very powerful family.”

  Chapter 26

  Luca

  “I don’t like it, Vargas. Why the hell didn’t he tell us? This Gideon guy, he’s our number one right now.”

  “Maybe he was embarrassed, Frank. It’s not so easy to tell somebody, especially a man, that your wife was cheating on you, no less in the poor guy’s own house.”

  “I’m glad I keep you around, Vargas. You make a good point every now and then.”

  Vargas crumpled paper into a ball and tossed it at me.

  “You’re a piece of work. How long you going to make him stew?”

  “Another twenty or thirty minutes.”

  “You sure about that? This guy gets anxious fast, and no sense having Gerey pissed at us.”

  “Wow.” I got up. “Two good points in one day. Let’s have our chat with Gideon.”

  Before we went into interrogation room two, we checked on the video feed coming from the room. Gideon was swiveling his head like he was watching a tennis match and pinching his shirt away from his chest every five seconds.

  “We’re sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Brighthouse. The captain called us in on another case.”

  “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Okay.”

  “You remember my partner, Detective Vargas?”

  He nodded and came halfway out of his chair when Mary Ann said, “It’s okay, sit. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Uh, no. I’m . . . okay.”

  After I dictated the formalities of the interview, I said, “We asked you down here because both your original statement on the night of your wife’s murder and your statement in a subsequent interview puzzled us.”

  Gideon rubbed his hands on his thigh. “How? I . . . I didn’t mean to confuse anyone. You, you can be sure, it certainly wasn’t intentional.”

  “How come you failed to tell us that you confronted your wife and John Barnet on the very afternoon of the day she was found dead?”

  Gideon’s shoulders sagged. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  Vargas asked, “Did you find it embarrassing to talk about?”

  “No.”

  This guy was nuts. “No? Your wife is having an affair and meeting her lover at your house, and that didn’t bother you?”

  “If you must know, it wasn’t the first one. May I have a glass of water?”

  Vargas hit the intercom as Gideon squirmed like a six-year-old waiting to get into an amusement park.

  “There’s no need to get unsettled, Mr. Brighthouse, just answer the questions we have with honest answers and everything will be fine.”

  Gideon’s head bobbed as the door swung open and a bottle of water was handed off to him. He took it with his left hand, raising the bottle too quickly, and drops of water darkened his tan shirt. He dabbed at the corner of his mouth, mumbling a thank you.

  “How many affairs did your wife engage in?”

  “Four.”

  “When did this all start?”

  “I . . . I . . . it was sometime after my heart attack.”

  Vargas asked, “W
hile you were recuperating?”

  Gideon nodded.

  I said, “I can tell you, that would have upset me, especially if I was recovering. Man, that’s hitting under the belt as far as I’m concerned. Pissed off would be an understatement.”

  Gideon took a sip of water but remained silent.

  I said, “John Barnet said you were angry that afternoon, that you were making comments and Marilyn told you to calm down. Is that what transpired?”

  “Was I happy? No, but I’d learned to . . . live with the situation. My therapist helped me to realize how important art is to me . . . it makes me happy . . . and I’m at peace on Keewaydin. Uh, how much longer will this take? I need to get back.”

  “Did you argue with Marilyn when Barnet left the island?”

  “We’ve never really argued . . . Marilyn . . . she wasn’t the type, she had a lot of control.”

  “And how about you?”

  “I have all the human frailties.”

  Interesting way of putting it, I’d have to remember that when I screwed up.

  Vargas said, “Given the uncomfortable circumstances in your marriage, didn’t you want to get divorced?”

  “Yes, but Marilyn resisted the . . .”

  I said, “So you killed her.”

  “No, no, I didn’t . . . I had no reason to.”

  “Look Gideon, we know all about the trust and how Marilyn would suffer financially if she got a divorce. The only way out for you was to kill her.”

  “That’s completely untrue. In fact, she wanted to get divorced. She took me by surprise the other day.”

  “Really? You expect us to believe that?”

  “But, but it’s true . . . she said it . . . about two weeks ago.”

  “That’s very convenient.”

  “You don’t . . . understand. She was being vin . . . vindictive. Wanted me to leave.” Gideon jumped out of his seat. “I gotta go. I can’t stay.”

  I looked at Vargas, who said, “Let him go, Frank. It looks like he’s having a panic attack.”

  “What if he’s faking it?”

  “He might be, but if he has another heart attack, this room won’t be able to hold all of his lawyers.”

  ***

  On the way to look at a new listing in Pelican Marsh, I still felt like Gideon had faked his attack. Revealing that we knew he’d confronted his wife and her boyfriend, along with our awareness of the penalty facing both of them for divorce, had put him on the spot. Then he goes and says that his wife agreed to divorce him? Unless she had filed, there was no way to check it. It was nothing more than hearsay, and I didn’t buy it. Gerey said he had no knowledge but would check with a couple of divorce lawyers in the county that served the wealthy.