Elegy in Scarlet

by BV Lawson

  They munched in companionable silence for a few minutes until Sarg spoke up. “You believe Edwin killed his own brother?”

  “My first thought is that it’s too pat. And that bit about Ashley being his daughter—yeah, he’d be upset, but why strike now?”

  “Because Jerold squandered all Ashley’s inheritance. And if Edwin felt protective about Ashley, his real daughter, that could do it.”

  “But why frame Maura?”

  “She was handy.”

  “Not exactly. The mystery ‘witness’ who disguised his voice, assuming it was the real killer or an accomplice, had to choreograph everything carefully in advance. People don’t usually carry around voice disguisers with them. Edwin doesn’t strike me as being that detailed a criminal mastermind. If he were, he’d have never scammed so many customers at the same address.”

  “It’s always the quiet ones, right?”

  “Of all our suspects, that should put Lauralee at the top.”

  “Motive?”

  “Maybe that sexual harassment thing of Jerold’s didn’t just extend to Rena. Maybe he tried it on Lauralee.”

  “Yeah, but would she have stayed in the quartet afterward?”

  “She desperately needed the money.” Drayco filled Sarg in on Lauralee’s violin sales side business he’d discovered after tailing her.

  “Maybe Gogo and his knives make more sense. I mean, if he found out Jerold had pushed his unwanted advances on Ashley ...”

  Drayco drummed his fingers on the table. “Both Lauralee and Ashley seemed uncomfortable when I brought up the subject. But they didn’t have the usual demeanor of women who were sexual assault victims. Not like those I saw at the shelter where Ashley works.”

  Sarg nodded and chewed on his kalbi, deep in thought. “I hate to ask, but what if it was Edwin and Maura who were having an affair and were partners in crime? Then killed Jerold over finding out?”

  “Why would Maura stick around while Edwin vamoosed? And let herself be the one found holding the knife?”

  “I hadn’t had a chance to tell you yet. Got a call from one of my PD sources this morning. Said the forensic techs returned to the scene of the crime. They found minute traces of human blood on the bricks at Jerold’s condo.”

  “Outside?”

  “Yep.”

  Drayco stopped drumming his fingers. “Possibly Jerold’s and possibly left by the killer. Certainly bolsters Maura’s story. It would make no sense for her to kill Jerold, go outside, then go back inside.”

  “You know what makes sense?” Sarg signaled the waiter. “Ordering some hotteok for dessert.”

  Drayco took one bite of the nutty pancake topped with caramelized bananas. Every course of the meal had been better than the last. He wolfed it down in record time, which made Sarg grin. “Need to bring you here more often. Fatten you up.”

  “Why is everyone always trying to fatten me up?”

  “Six-four and one-seventy-five. Granted, it’s one-seventy-five of mostly muscle and gristle. I doubt you have an ounce of fat. Me, on the other hand,” Sarg grabbed the shirt around his middle. “Don’t think I’d pass the Ranger physical today.”

  Drayco seriously doubted that. Just as he was beginning to doubt he’d ever understand his mother. He had another appointment with Brody McGregor later, so maybe he’d get more of his answers. Or maybe Maura was a puzzle he’d never solve.

  Chapter 38

  Drayco had no sooner entered his townhome that he realized, yet again, he wasn’t alone. Might as well ditch the security system. Not Brock or Darcie this time, but Iago again, sitting in Drayco’s den. He’d helped himself to a beer.

  “You must tell me which decryption device you’re using, Pryce. I think I should buy stock in the company.”

  Iago just smiled and tipped the beer up in salute. “Congratulations, by the way. Edwin Zamorra, eh? Mean’s Maura’s getting closer to a release.”

  Drayco planted himself in front of Iago. “Tell your employer he may be celebrating too soon. Edwin’s arrest doesn’t mean she wasn’t involved in his scheme or with Jerold’s murder.”

  Truth be told, Drayco was close to believing Maura had schemes going with both Zamorra brothers. The thought wasn’t helping his mood. Nor was this approach of Iago and Brisbane, using him to play the system.

  “Look, Pryce, you were Maura’s ‘handler’ and the one tasked with helping clean up after her. You should know if she’s involved with the Zamorra boys or not. Tell me what you know. It will save us all a lot of time, money, and antagonizing innocent people.”

  “You’re right. I’d know if she was working with Edwin Zamorra. She’s not.”

  “But you admit she was Jerold’s partner, the same Jerold who’s six feet under. Why didn’t you tell me about the lottery scam they had going?”

  Iago uncrossed his legs and sat up straight. “The police know about that?”

  Bingo. Finally, a crack in the wall. “After I told them to look into it, yes. Come on, you knew we’d find out.” He paused. “Unless that’s the tip of a pyramid buried in layers of dirt.”

  Iago ran his hand over his face. “You didn’t get a chance to know her. It’s not her fault she sprang from a rootless family tree. You don’t see her when she’s laughing at my bad puns, crying at old romance movies, sitting with Alistair during radiation treatments. Her work isn’t who she is.”

  Drayco bit back a retort that confidence games didn’t qualify as work. “If you knew about her lottery schemes or other cons, that means Brisbane knew. Why didn’t he put a stop to it?”

  “Who says he didn’t?” The corners of Iago’s mouth turned up briefly, which was the closest he’d come to a smile.

  Drayco was getting pretty damned tired of the Escher-esque twisted head games from Iago and Brisbane. “Look, I’m going to see this through to the end, even if it means finding out Maura killed Jerold. That won’t make you or your employer happy, but I will know the truth.”

  “You mean, you have to punish her for what she did. For abandoning you, is that it?” Iago drained the last of his beer and got up to head toward the door. “You know,” he said, with one hand on the door knob, “family is what we make it. You should remember that.”

  § § §

  Drayco didn’t have long to think about Iago or his words because the appointed time had arrived for his video conference with Brody. For a moment, he thought his internet connection was on the fritz, but then he realized he’d shut off the router. He rubbed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, then established the connection.

  Brody yawned in greeting, apologized, then grabbed a mug of steaming coffee next to his monitor to take a few swigs. “We gotta stop gaitherin’ like this, Scott. Maybe next time, we can schedule our wee dates a bit earlier in my day?”

  “Sure thing, Brody. I’ll send you a case of hamburgers as penance.”

  Brody brightened. “You can order those through the post?”

  “Not prepared, usually. But I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Make sure they have those little fried onions and tomato ketchup and mustard.”

  Drayco grinned. The Church of the Golden Arches had claimed another acolyte for its choir. “Deal. What else do you have for me tonight besides brogues and burgers?”

  “Brogue? I’ll have you know this is the way real people talk. It’s you who talks funny, my frien.’ But all kidding aside, I might have a bit of good news for you.”

  “Good is good. What did you find?”

  “It’s about Dugald Iverson, your mother’s ex. Turns out he tweren’t no saint. A long record of naughty behavior.”

  “How naughty?”

  “Drunk and disorderly assault, for starters. But that would describe half the male population. No, his little misdeeds went way beyond that. He was charged with a couple cases of violent rape. He liked to burn his victims, leave little ‘reminders’ of his handiwork. But his uncle was a constable, so surprise, surprise, little Duggie always got off on techn
icalities.”

  “The killing may have been self-defense?”

  “Regardless of who did it, seems likely, aye. Or the family of one of his victims getting revenge.”

  “And Maura?”

  “As I mentioned last time, a couple of neighbors speculated she was Dugald’s killer. But that’s only on account they knew the two had been dating. They didn’t have any proof, mind you.”

  “But she disappeared around that same time.”

  “Aye, there is that. Hardly damning, though. And certainly not proof. If every soul who moved to the States from the Isles were murderers, you’d be in deep trouble, laddie.”

  Drayco pictured the teenage Maura with nowhere to turn. No one would believe a gypsy of killing a constable’s relative in self-defense. The perfect recipe for disappearing. “No one was ever charged with Dugald’s death?”

  “No, and Uncle Constable died not long after. I did track down one fellow from Dugald’s former haunts. An old timer who seemed to have a pretty good memory, all the same. He said, and I quote, ‘ the world was better off without Dugald in it.’ And that he probably deserved his fate.”

  “Did Alistair Brisbane’s name come out in any of this?”

  “Now that one is interesting, I must say. It’s as if he never existed. Oh, there’s a record of his birth, to be sure. But not much else. Don’t know if he purposely made himself invisible early on or cleaned up his records after the fact. Either way, he’s a bogie. At least, until he reappeared on your side of the Pond.”

  “He’s pretty much a bogie over here, too.”

  A stack of music CD’s next to Drayco’s computer caught his eye. He picked one up and turned it over in his hand. “I wonder—with all of Maura’s traveling around and dodging the law, how did she learn to play the piano?”

  Brody’s voice perked up for the first time. “That’s an easier one. One of those neighbors of Dugald’s knew the vicar in a nearby parish. The vicar’s wife took pity on young Maura and gave her lessons when she was in town. Said she was a natural.”

  Drayco thanked Brody for his sacrifice of losing sleep and made a note to look up hamburger delivery services in Scotland.

  So, his mother might have killed a man, and it might have been justifiable homicide. Had lightning struck twice with Jerold? He pushed aside any thoughts of his own self-defense case before the review board. His impartiality was already being pushed to the limit. Maybe Benny was right—his ability to be objective was “manure.”

  With a sigh, he called Sarg to fill him in on Brody’s news, making sure to emphasize the self-defense part. He couldn’t keep it a secret much longer, anyway. Not with an ex-Interpol agent knowing the truth.

  After hanging up with Sarg, he thought about heading to the piano but didn’t. Why bother? He’d just end up using it as a pillow again. Maybe a little boob tube, instead. He settled back on the couch and flipped through the channels, but nothing caught his eye until he stopped on a movie network. Braveheart.

  He leaned back and started watching. Maybe connecting with his Scottish roots—Hollywood style—would do the trick. But twenty minutes in, the overwhelming curtain of fatigue fell over him, and he gave up.

  Chapter 39

  Sunday, February 24

  It was a well-known fact Drayco loathed coincidences. And one of the biggest coincidences of this entire case was the fact both a husband and wife were murdered a year apart. It happened on rare occasions, but not usually in such bizarre ways.

  None of the alleged facts of Ophelia Zamorra’s death made any sense. Thugs carrying around a baseball bat? Nowadays, it was more likely to be a knife or gun. Cramming a debit card down their victim’s throat? Then being careful to stay out of the line of sight of the bank’s security cameras. The two young men arrested for Ophelia’s murder hadn’t bothered to hide themselves from the banks when they robbed the other two customers.

  Drayco waited until well after noon when the church crowds were out, then navigated his Starfire through several neighborhoods in Fairfax where home values matched those of Ashley’s. A few fractions of a mile later he was in a different kind of suburban landscape, with bars across the windows and hardly any “For Sale” signs. The metro D.C. area might be home to seven of the ten highest-income counties in the country, but pockets of poverty were still here hiding in plain sight.

  The woman who ushered him into her house was in her mid-sixties and walked with a cane. The yellow sweater she wore contrasted against her dark skin and salt-and-pepper hair like a jonquil opening to the sun. She lived alone now that her grandson, Leon Mecko, was one of the two boys in jail for Ophelia’s murder.

  The room was spartan, but homey, with rainbow quilts hanging on the walls. The only thing out of place was a stack of hand-painted blocks in one corner labeled with symbols from the periodic table of elements.

  Every inch of every surface was spotless. He caught a whiff of something vanilla and smoky and glanced at a table in a corner filled with lighted candles and a little statue of the Madonna.

  Rozalia Mecko hadn’t seemed too enthused to talk with him when he called her on the phone until he told her the reason for this visit. Now, she made sure he was comfortable on the only recliner in the room. He didn’t want to offend by offering to switch seats, but he was pretty sure the recliner was of the lift variety, designed to make it easier for the disabled to stand.

  He thanked her and came right to the point. “I want to be upfront with you, Mrs. Mecko. Both your grandson and my mother are in jail for murder, murders I’m not convinced they committed. There’s an outside chance the two cases might be related. If I can find the real culprit in my mother’s case, I might be able to prove your grandson’s innocence.”

  She smiled at that. “Leon deserves a second chance. My grandbaby made mistakes. Admitted he stole money, but I know my Leon. He’d never kill another soul.”

  She perched on the arm of the only other chair in the room, grasping the cane in both hands. “I’ve tried to do my best. Leon never knew who his father was. And his mother, God bless my daughter’s soul, OD’d on prescription drugs. Painkillers.”

  He winced at that bit of irony. She died from too much prescription meds while Edwin’s customers could have died from too little.

  Mrs. Mecko continued, “He ran with a bad crowd. But he’s a smart boy, he’s good at math and science. I know he could make something of hisself, given the chance.”

  Drayco pointed at the blocks in the corner. “Is that Leon’s handiwork?”

  She beamed. “Did them all by hisself. Cut and sanded the wood and painted ’em up.”

  “Did Leon or the other boy, Dante DiBiase, own a baseball bat?”

  “That’s what I tried to tell those police officers. He most certainly did not. Neither did Dante. And the police admitted they wasn’t any prints on that bat. Where did those boys get gloves? And why did they go to all that trouble with that poor woman and not the other two robberies?”

  He smiled at her. “Those are the same questions I’ve been asking.”

  She leaned over to rest her head on her hands that still gripped the cane. “Like I said, even though he made some bad choices, Leon was smart. Too smart to do one robbery then go back an hour later to the same bank to rob some other poor soul.”

  “Did the police tell you the victim’s debit card was placed in her throat after she was beaten?”

  Mrs. Mecko straightened up and shivered. “A horrible, evil thing. That’s what makes me know for sure Leon didn’t do nothing like that. He has a good heart, don’t even like to kill bugs.”

  She shook her head. “I try and put myself in the place of that killer. It was dark, I’ll grant you. But why take time to do a thing like that with the card? Seems to be me they’d run off straight away, less chance of getting caught.”

  Drayco added, “With the gloves and the bat, it seems carefully planned.”

  “You see? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell those officers. But they l
ike to close cases, get them off the books, go on to the next crime.”

  With a heavy sigh, she added, “They was rushing to convict somebody. And my Leon was the scapegoat. That prosecutor, he’s working to get him tried as an adult.”

  “You never heard Leon mention the names Ophelia Zamorra, Jerold Zamorra, or Maura McCune before?”

  “Leon and me, we talked about a lot of things. We was close, and I felt he trusted me. Leon didn’t mention those people. He didn’t even own a car. It was Dante’s brother’s car they used for those two robberies. I had Leon on a curfew. He had to be back by ten.”

  “Did he ever miss curfew?”

  “Not once.”

  Drayco stood up, not wanting to hog the recliner any longer. “You were very gracious to see me, Mrs. Mecko. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.”

  She started to rise off the arm of her chair, and he reached over to hold her arm and steady her while she stood. She searched his face and nodded. “You said your mother was also in jail for something she didn’t do. I shore hope you can help her too. She’s lucky to have you.”

  Drayco wasn’t entirely sure Maura would agree, but he thanked Mrs. Mecko and headed to his car. His car wasn’t alone.

  It was hard to miss the man leaning against it, his arms folded across his chest. Bald, at least six-six, an African-American clone of Iago. The stranger stared at Drayco, then said, “Hear you’re trying to help out Leon.”

  “I believe in justice. And putting an innocent young man behind bars isn’t justice.”

  “Leon’s a good kid. Sees a lot of people on TV having nice things. Sees the Jaguars and the BMWs driving around, and a bag boy job sure don’t buy that.” He turned around and ran his hand along the top of the Starfire. “Sure wouldn’t buy this.”

  “That was a gift.”

  “A gift, huh? From a rich relative?”

  “For helping someone.”

  “Well, Mrs. Mecko in there don’t have nothing to give you for helping.”

  “I don’t expect anything in return. Except maybe seeing Leon graduate from a place like MIT or Harvard.”