Luca Mystery Series Box Set

by Dan Petrosini

  Before leaving the master suite, I went into the bathroom, where a fraying towel hung over the bathtub. A hairbrush and toothpaste tube were all that was on the counter. I pulled the vanity draw open, and among the paraphernalia was a bottle of Just for Men. Finding it made me feel good.

  The place had a lot of windows but no view, unless you liked looking straight into a mangrove hedge. I had wanted to look up a listing in the building but forgot. I wished I knew what a place like this traded for. The main room had a stylish-looking couch that screamed uncomfortable. A Lucite coffee table had a bowl of seashells on it and a coaster with a vine image. There was only one end table, and its lower half was stacked with copies of the Wine Spectator.

  A half wall separated a dining area, where a black lacquer table supported a large bottle of wine. It was bigger than a magnum, empty, and had been signed by a bunch of people.

  The galley kitchen had a sink with a couple of days’ worth of plates in it. Sitting on the counter was a wine glass that looked the same as the one found in the Boggs home. I took a shot of it with my phone.

  Looking around, I couldn’t find any wine storage other than a small, under-the-counter job that was sitting in a closet. I don’t know why, but I opened it and pulled two bottles out before I realized I didn’t know what I was looking at. The doorman shadowed me, tapping away at his phone.

  As the officers loaded the bags up, I went into the second bedroom. It was a mess. I knew that when you had no garage you needed somewhere to store your stuff, but this was ridiculous. Moving a couple of boxes out of the way, I got to the closet. Nothing in there but more boxes. Would he have put a blood-stained pair of pants in one of these boxes?

  We’d be within our rights to search them, but the thought of going through all these boxes made me cringe. I wiped a finger across a couple of the boxes and came up with a dirty fingertip each time. Still uncertain what to do, I asked Vargas, and she agreed it didn’t make sense.

  I circled the apartment one more time before we left with three bags of clothing.

  Chapter 53

  Luca

  The forensics lab looked like a clothing collection center for the Salvation Army. Two dozen black plastic bags, labeled with each respective owner’s name, lined an entire wall. Two technicians worked methodically on a bag marked Brighthouse. They’d pull an article of clothing out, note identifying information into a tablet, and spray it with luminol. Then they slowly ran a black light over the garment, looking to see if a blue glow, signifying the presence of blood, appeared.

  It was a tedious process and I considered asking Morgan to put another team on it. I was getting antsy, so I pulled off my hairnet and booties and left to grab a coffee. The cafeteria was quiet, and I scanned the real estate section someone had left behind. As I jotted down the particulars of a listing in Pelican Marsh, a patrolman sidled up to my table.

  “Detective, you’re wanted in the forensics lab.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know anything, was just told to find you.”

  Leaving my coffee behind, I bolted ahead of the officer to the stairs. Stumbling, I made my way down. Just before the landing, I tripped and was heading for a face plant. I reached out, snatching the handrail, steadying myself but overextending my shoulder.

  I massaged my shoulder as I pushed through the lab’s door into a small foyer for various forensic labs. I knocked on the window to get buzzed through, but the woman behind the partition pointed to her head. Pulling open a drawer in a stainless-steel cabinet, I put on a hairnet and booties and was buzzed into the bodily fluids lab.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Got two hits.”

  “Two? On Brighthouse?”

  “Yep.” The technician grabbed a light. “They’re over here.”

  I followed him to a steel table where a pair of pink pastel shorts and lime green pants were laid out. Two chalk circles had been drawn on each of their right legs. He turned the light on and held it over the circle on the pink shorts.

  “See the glow.”

  “It’s barely visible.”

  “I know, but that’s what makes this an important tool. Over here there’s a larger residue being detected.”

  He held the light over a mark on the pants.

  “It looks like it could almost be a smudge.”

  “Possibly it was a drop that dripped down some before being absorbed.”

  “Or some blood that he tried to wipe off?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  “How soon?”

  “The test to determine if it’s human blood is quick. If it is, then we need to do a DNA match to see if it matches your victim.”

  ***

  The technician’s definition of quick was vastly different than mine. Was he a Deep South boy? While we waited, Vargas and I tried to establish whether a string of late-night robberies were by the same gang. In the last month, eight convenience stores in the county had been held up, five of them using a gun, and the others with knives.

  We studied the CCTV footage. Wearing ski masks, it was impossible to fix any facial features, though one seemed to indicate the thief had a mustache.

  Vargas said, “It looks like we’ve got two or maybe three different perpetrators.”

  I didn’t think so, but Vargas was on a roll and I wasn’t, making me hesitant to disagree. Criminals who carried guns were in a class by themselves, and knife wielders almost never crossed over. “Could be.”

  “I wish we had another monitor to compare these against each other.”

  “Why don’t we have the lab print some images, have them blow ’em up.”

  “Good idea.”

  Score one for Luca.

  We went through the video again and made notes of the time stamps that offered the best comparative opportunities. Vargas took the information and video down to the lab and I leafed through a long memorandum on the opioid crisis. Collier had some addicts, and it sounds strange, but we were fortunate that most of those hooked were well-off and didn’t need to resort to robbing to support their habit.

  Two doctors, masquerading in East Naples as running pain clinics, had been busted, denting supply, but a pipeline from Miami had filled the void. The memo identified the gang they believed was behind the pill conduit, explaining they were using a combination of cars and boats to deliver the drugs.

  These guys were clever, I thought, when my desk phone rang. The call from the lab was promising, raising my spirits. Scraping at a cuticle as I contemplated and extrapolated the news, Vargas came back. I glanced at the clock.

  “It took four hours and we got a split decision. One of the stains was nothing more than horse radish.”

  “Horse radish? How did that show up as blood?”

  “I said the same thing, but the lab said it triggers a false positive. Anyway, looks like the other stain is human blood. Now all we need is to see if it’s from Marilyn Boggs.”

  ***

  Morgan wanted to see me, and I wish he’d asked before I got the call saying we had two chances at Brighthouse.

  Wearing a scowl and one of his shoelace ties, Morgan grunted in the direction of a chair.

  Before my tail hit the seat, he asked, “Gerey is threatening to file a complaint, calling it harassment.”

  “Maybe we should tell him we detected the presence of blood on two of his client’s pants.”

  “Blood?”

  “I shouldn’t have spoken so soon. Sorry, sir. The forensics team has identified two garments with what they believe may be human blood.”

  “How damn long till they know?”

  I was praying he wouldn’t make a call to push and expose my fib. “Any minute now and we should know. I’m sure one of the two will be and that’s all we need.”

  “No so fast, Luca. They’ll need to run a DNA analysis to determine who it came from. It could have been his own blood and probably is.” He tapped a forefinger on the desk. “I’m getting a bad
feeling about this. I shouldn’t have let you talk me into it.”

  I wanted to remind him it was Vargas who swayed him, not me. “I don’t know how much it helps, but we’ve still got about two dozen garments of Mr. Brighthouse’s to check, along with Barnet and Sanchez.”

  “This is dragging on way too long, Luca. I need this case solved. I’m not leaving an open case for the next guy to deal with.”

  Chapter 54

  Luca

  The anxiety was getting to me. I considered sneaking into the forensics lab and moving the clock hands forward. That would be as crazy as I could imagine acting, though nothing like Gideon may have done.

  The meeting was set for two p.m., but I was like a moth at a screen door at a few minutes after one. The message from John Forman said he had the Brighthouse results and a few other developments to discuss. I played back his message a handful of times but couldn’t read between the lines. How come time never moved quickly when you wanted it to?

  At ten to two I went outside, walked the length of the parking lot and came back. The big hand was still a hair shy of twelve. The receptionist had begun ignoring me a half-hour ago, so I knocked on the glass. She glanced at the clock and frowned before buzzing me through to the conference room.

  I continuously circled the round table anchoring the windowless room, grabbing the back of a chair when dizziness crept up on me. The door opened and Forman came in, triggering the dizziness to flee.

  He said hello, pulled out a chair, and put down a file on the lacquer table. “You’re not going to sit, Frank?”

  I fell into a chair and put my elbows on the table. “Your message, it left me hanging.”

  “Hanging? I don’t remember saying anything mysterious. This case must be getting to you, Frank. And the sheriff too, it seems. He’s been all over this one.”

  So, Morgan was sniffing, or barking around after all. All without telling his lead detective. It undermined my already shaky confidence.

  “It’s an important case, John. That’s all. What do you have?”

  “We’ve got a total of six hits.”

  “Wow. Six stains?”

  “It’s not unusual, considering the number of garments tested.”

  “What about the bloodstain found on the Brighthouse slacks?”

  “DNA results match the victim, Marilyn Boggs.”

  “So that’s it, we got Brighthouse.”

  “Not yet. We’re running a test to date the stain. This blood could have been there for two years.”

  “I doubt it. How long is that going to take?”

  “A week or so.”

  “You got to be kidding me.”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  I shrugged. The answer was no; Forman had probably never told a joke in his entire life.

  “In the meantime, we’ll delve into the other stains.”

  “What are the odds, John? I mean, we have her blood on a major suspect’s clothes.”

  “They were married, right? Who knows how or when it got there. We’ve been down this path at least a dozen times since I’ve been here. That’s why we do what we do.”

  He was right. I knew it, but the case felt like it was dragging. I could see the finish line, and now they’re telling me I gotta make a pit stop?

  “Fair enough. You said you had some other hits.”

  “Yes. All of them confirmed as human blood.” He flipped open the file. “We found three stains on three pairs of pants identified as belonging to Sanchez. Two pairs of chino-type work pants, one on the right thigh and another on the left cuff. The third location was on the left shin area of a pair of jeans.”

  Trying to quickly calculate the odds any of it was from Boggs, I gave up and asked, “What about Barnet?”

  “There were two human bloodstains identified from the Barnet inventory.” He lifted a sheet of paper. “One on the right waistline of a shirt, and another on the right thigh of a pair of pants.”

  I lean forward. “What color?”

  “Color?”

  “Barnet’s shirt and pants.”

  ***

  I got to my office an hour and changed earlier than I usually did. I figured with the results on the Boggs case coming in today, I’d better tidy up the paperwork on some other cases. Shadow-like, Vargas was five minutes behind me.

  As she plunked down her pocketbook, she said, “Couldn’t sleep last night.”

  “Who could?”

  “What’s that famous gut of yours telling you?”

  I shrugged and she said, “Call the newspapers. Luca doesn’t have an opinion.”

  I smiled. “I do, but it’s conflicted. Let’s hear yours.”

  “It’s got to be Gideon Brighthouse. The quote, unquote, “loving husband” who plotted to kill his wife. It might have been Sanchez, as he returned to rob more jewelry and she caught him and things spun out of control. But the more I think about it, I always come back to Brighthouse.”

  “This is a seesaw for me with Barnet and Brighthouse. I don’t think it was Sanchez, but I can’t clear him because of his Mexican gang affiliation.”

  “But Barnet, he’s a cretin, preying on women like he does. But it’s a long leap from being a sleazy Romeo to a killer. At least with Sanchez, he has the violent gang history.”

  “True.”

  Chapter 55

  Luca

  Perched on the top step of the dugout, I was as ready as I ever was. The Boggs case had more turns than Lombard Street. This last go-round with the bloodstains was an episode of whack-a-mole.

  No matter what Vargas said, I wasn’t taking chances with our interrogation. I believed my pre-interview ritual worked, but whether that was in my head or not was beside the point. If I didn’t make the suspect wait and squirm, it would undermine my confidence. For this interview, I’d decided rather than ballroom dancing and teasing information out, my tactical approach would be closer to mosh pit.

  Vargas came down the hallway wearing a white frilly blouse I’d never seen. I wasn’t sure it was appropriate for the task at hand. Then it hit me. Don’t tell me she has another date tonight? It felt like things were moving too fast with this guy Damien. Was he Irish?

  “You look nice.”

  Vargas smiled. “Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.”

  “What are you talking about? I say nice things to you all the time.”

  “It’s okay, Frank. Just kidding. Relax.”

  I don’t know why, but the words just spilled out of my big fat mouth. “Got another date with that Damien?”

  She whipped her head around. “That Damien is none of your business.”

  I felt so small, I could play handball against the curb. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”

  “Apology accepted. You ready?”

  Fact was, I wasn’t ready. I needed a few minutes to collect myself. “If you don’t mind, I need to go to the boy’s room.”

  She smiled. “Take your time, Frank. I’ll grab a coffee or something.”

  Heading to the bathroom, I wondered what that meant. She knew my situation about going pee-pee; I needed a lot of time. She couldn’t be making fun of me, could she? Vargas was the most understanding person I’d ever met. And easy to unload to, never judging me. She couldn’t mean anything else but not to hurry.

  As I sat waiting for the pee to flow, I thought I’d surprise Vargas with something like a nice dinner at Bleu Provence to celebrate breaking the Boggs case. I heard her say she liked this place Damien took her. Yeah? Just wait till she goes to Bleu Provence.

  ***

  Holding the door open for Vargas as we entered interview room two, I suppressed a smile. The room was perfect: windowless and the smallest space we had. As we took our seats, I nodded across the table. Vargas smiled that disarming smile of hers and clicked the record button. She recited the required formalities and looked my way.

  I said, “When was the last time you had sexual intercourse with Marilyn Bogg
s?”

  Shock broke out on his tanned face. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. In a previous statement, you said you had intercourse with Marilyn Boggs on the day of her murder. Are you standing by that statement?”

  Barnet’s tan lightened a few shades. “Well, I─I don’t think so.”

  “Mr. Barnet, let me remind you that your previous statement is admissible in a court of law.”

  “I don’t think we did.”

  “Are you lying now, or did you lie before? Which one is it, Mr. Barnet?”

  “I’m not lying. It’s hard to remember, that’s all. It’s been awhile.”

  Vargas said, “I’d remember the last time I had sexual relations with someone, especially if they ended up dead the same day.”

  It was well-put, but I didn’t like hearing Mary Ann say it.

  Barnet closed his eyes and stroked his Van Dyke before saying, “I think we did have, uh, sex that afternoon. Marilyn’s death has been very tough on me. Maybe my brain is trying to blot things out.”

  “So, you did have intercourse with Marilyn Boggs the day she was found dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s interesting, Mr. Barnet. You know why?”

  A fly would shrug more noticeably than he did.

  “Because the autopsy showed no evidence of intercourse.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Nope, no semen, no abrasions, inflammation, nothing.”

  “I don’t know how that can be.”

  I turned to Vargas. “What do you think? Maybe he’s got a real tiny widgy.”

  Barnet shook his head.

  Vargas said, “Is the reason you didn’t have any relations that afternoon because you two were arguing?”

  “Marilyn and I weren’t arguing.”