Читать книгу The Second Mystery Megapack - Mack Reynolds - Страница 8
ОглавлениеJUST THE FACTS, by Meg Opperman
Monday, 10:55 A.M.
“Excuse me? We need some help.” The husky voice belonged to a short black lady, maybe five years my senior. She stood near a tanned blonde pushing a shopping cart.
“Who, me?” My voice came out an octave higher than usual. I cleared my throat and moved out from my hiding place behind a pile of printer boxes.
“You do work here?” The husky-voiced lady smiled.
“I…” A nervous tic pulled at my cheek.
“Not much of a talker,” she said. “Like that in a man. Got height, too. Mmm-mmm. What’s your name, tall-man?”
“M-Mike Blontine.” Why did I tell her my name?
“Well Mike, you should wear your nametag.” She tapped me on the chest where a nametag would hang. “My friend wants a laptop for her kids, but there’s so many to choose from. Everyone says Digital Delights has the best deals. What do you suggest?”
I could feel sweat beading on my forehead. Oh man, where was Slick Danny when I needed him? My partner, Daniel Jackson Lee, could smooth-talk the spots off a leopard. Not me. Being a private investigator with Asperger Syndrome means I’m no good with people. But I know how to assemble facts.
And I know for a fact I shouldn’t be standing here talking to someone I’ve been tailing. Well, tailing the blonde. Sandra Montebella. We’ve been following her for four days now.
“You do know about computers?” The husky-voiced lady sighed. “I like a man that knows computers.”
Sandra elbowed her friend. “Evania, please.”
“What? I do. You mind your own business, Sandy.” She turned to me. “Now, Mike, can you help us, or what?”
I nodded. I looked at the neat rows of computer screens and took a steadying breath. “You need one of the new i7 processors, the 940 is a good one, because it runs at a clock speed of 4.2 Gigahertz, and has an 8 meg L3 cache. You’ll want about 16 gigs of DDR 3 RAM, with a clock speed of 1866 Megahertz, a GeForce GTX 68M video card for games and other graphics—and this one has one of the new solid state drives, basically there are no moving parts, so the data access time is a lot less, and also uses less power, so you’ll get a better battery life—and don’t get the warranty, ’cause it doesn’t really cover what it needs to, and even if something should fail, the computer will be out of date by then anyway.”
“Oh my. That’s a mouthful.” Evania stepped closer. “Well handsome, which one of these has all that?”
“Uh, those two.” I pointed to the end of the aisle. “But really you should go to Everything Electronics. They’ve got the best prices.” I smiled. Man, I was good.
Evania chuckled. “Didn’t think you were supposed to send us to the competition.”
“I…I’m a terrible liar.”
“Good to know, Mike.” Evania moved even closer.
Sandra shook her head, turned, and pushed her cart down the aisle. She stopped in front of the two computers I’d recommended.
“So, what time does your shift end? Maybe we could get together later?” Evania said.
“What for?” I asked.
“How about a drink? Or dinner, if you’re game.”
“Uh…” My palms started sweating. Was she asking me out? “I’ll be right back,” I squeaked.
I rounded the aisle, sprinted out the automated door, then paused outside to catch my breath.
I’m no good with women. That was a fact.
* * * *
Monday, 2:15 P.M.
“Damn, that’s as cold as my ex-wife’s heart.” Slick Danny’s southern accent echoed through Global Investigation’s hallway. He laughed, ran a hand down the front of his silk tie. “Mistaken for a Digital Delights employee. You gotta dress better.”
I looked down at my black Izod shirt and khaki pants. What was wrong with them? Clothes were supposed to be comfortable.
“They didn’t know I’m a P.I., though.”
“Nope, you’re right on that account, but I wouldn’t go bragging about it.” He paused beside a soda machine. “Got a dollar?”
I reached in my wallet and gave him the money. He never seemed to have change. Co-workers kept passing us in the hallway. Most were snickering. Several called out:
“Hey Blontine, didn’t know you were moonlighting at Digital Delights. Can you hook me up?”
“Me, too, Mike, I’d like a new computer…for my kids.”
“Hey, how come you’re not wearing a nametag? I might have to report you to the manager.”
I glared at Slick Danny.
He shrugged. “Sorry, Michael, but it was just too funny not to share.”
I stomped into our office and sank into my chair. I was always the butt of some office joke.
Slick Danny entered almost six minutes later. “I told them to knock it off, okay?”
I spun the chair so my back faced him.
“Come on, Michael, I said I was sorry. Have a sense of humor.”
I turned around. “No one makes fun of you. And you didn’t have to help.” I picked up the Montebella file and thumbed through it. Phones rang, and the copy machine hummed. Global Investigation’s other PIs were busy with their cases and I needed to be, too.
“Who cares what they think? Most of them are so dumb, they could throw themselves on the ground and miss.”
I shuffled the papers, put them back in the file. “I can’t tail Sandra now. You want me to work on another case?”
“Nah. You can pull the night shift. I shouldn’t have sent you during the day. I know better, but Roger was busy, and I had a…a meeting.” Slick Danny came over and sat on the edge of my desk.
The smell of cigarettes and perfume made me sneeze.
“How come you smell like a girl?” I asked. “Doesn’t Shelley in Accounting wear that same kind of perfume?”
“You stick to the facts, Michael, and leave me to handle people. Y’hear?”
“Yeah. Just the facts.”
* * * *
One week later, Monday 12:14 P.M.
“Bloody paragon. She’d depress the devil!” Slick Danny smoothed a hand down his silk tie, took a long drag on his cigarette.
Slick Danny hated infidelity investigations, especially since most are wives spying on their husbands. Said he liked tailing the wife for a change. Guess he was still sore ex-wife-number-three hired our competition to check up on him.
Our assignment was simple. Eleven days ago, when our client Richard Montebella left the District for a bankers’ convention, we’d begun investigating his wife. He wanted some dirt in case Sandra filed for divorce. Slick Danny says it’s ’cause Montebella’s a cheater and if we didn’t get anything on her, she’d take her soon-to-be-ex-husband to the cleaners.
We’d had a promising lead, too. Our client had left us a photocopy of his wife’s datebook, the name ‘Carl’ circled. They met once a week. So we waited and we watched. Carl turned out to be Carlotta Culford, one of the best divorce lawyers in the District. Montebella was right to worry.
Next, we dug into her past. No speeding or parking tickets on record. No bounced checks. Great credit score. One arrest during a rally in support of embryonic stem-cell research, when protesters marched on the governor of Virginia’s home. Two hundred were charged with trespass and assault, but the charges were dropped. By our standards, squeaky clean.
After my Digital Delights run-in, my partner followed Sandra during the day. Mostly she volunteered. Did a lot for the Leukemia Society and sat on the boards of two hospitals. Liked kids and animals. Helped the elderly across the street.
I spent my evenings in Friendship Heights watching Sandra and her kids. A boy and a girl. Cute.
On Friday night, she dropped off the kids with friends, then returned home. The Montebellas lived in one of those new lot-line houses—rebuilds that go from one edge of the postage-stamp-sized property to the other and are an arm’s length from their neighbors’ lot-line homes.
You’d think watching someone in this area would be tough, but the neighbors don’t notice much. Unless you’re driving the wrong car. Slick Danny taught me that. So, I’d borrowed my uncle’s Lexus SUV to fit in. I hunkered down in my seat, getting comfortable, binoculars slung around my neck.
Sandra didn’t close the curtains in the living room, making my job a lot easier. Like she was being considerate. She’d changed into an oversized Hoyas sweatshirt and navy track pants, put her pretty blond hair in a ponytail. Grabbing popcorn, she curled up on the couch and watched some tearjerker of a movie, ’cause she cried and cried. Wished I could have seen it. I liked those kind of movies.
Our surveillance continued through the weekend. When Montebella came to our Rockville offices at 9:23 A.M. this morning, we told him what we knew. He wasn’t happy, but he paid his bill. Thought that was the last I’d see of him.
* * * *
3 weeks, 1 day later—Tuesday, 1:59 P.M.
I was riding the Red Line to Shady Grove to meet Slick Danny and tail a new subject. I was reading the Post and what do I see? A grainy picture of Sandra Montebella in handcuffs. Charged with murder. Killed her husband? Nope, he stood in the background covering his face from the camera. The headline read:
SUSPECT ARRESTED IN
GEORGETOWN MURDER
Seems they found Sandra’s blood on the body of a young secretary who worked down at the Department of Labor. Leslie Galt, 29, was smothered with a pillow in her townhome. No signs of a break-in. A quote from her fiancé said, “I don’t know who would do this to Leslie. She had no enemies.” A small picture of the victim showed a big (my mom would say large-boned) brunette with a doughy smile.
As I said, I’m no good at reading people, but I understand facts. If the police identified Sandra’s blood, it meant they had her DNA on file. DNA, now that’s a big fact. Hard to argue against. Except the murder had taken place on the Friday evening I watched Sandra cry through her movie. That’s another fact. I had my eyes on her the whole time. I don’t want to say my eyes are better than DNA, but I knew she didn’t commit that crime.
Slick Danny picked me up at the Metro station, and I showed him the article. “We gotta tell the police,” I said.
“Hold up there, Michael, we haven’t checked with our client. Can’t call in without him knowing. Just common decency.”
* * * *
Tuesday, 4:16 P.M.
Back at the office, Slick Danny did the talking. He leaned against our large filing cabinet, while I worked on clearing a paper jam from the printer.
“Yessir, that’s what I’m sayin’. We can alibi your wife. Hold off? Uh huh, I hear you, yessir. A bonus would be mighty nice. I’ll come by your office later today. No, no problem. My partner will understand. Good doin’ business with you.” Slick Danny hung up the phone. “Montebella doesn’t want us calling this in, Michael. See what I’m saying?”
I didn’t. “We gotta tell the police.” I rocked the jammed paper back and forth, trying to inch it out from the printer’s wheels. The smell of the hot toner cartridge made me a little light-headed.
“We don’t have to do anything.” He opened his mouth to say something more, closed it, then began again. “Don’t get me wrong. Mr. Montebella wants us to tell the police—”
“Then let’s call—”
Slick Danny held up a hand. “Don’t think we should, Michael. DNA’s strong evidence, and what do we have? Just your word. No pictures, no video. Nothin’ to prove nothin’. Now you see what I’m sayin’?”
“Evidence. Gotta get more evidence.” I pulled the paper from the printer with a flourish.
Slick Danny’s jaw worked, but no words came out.
“You could help,” I said. “Check if Montebella really went out of town to some conference. What kind of conference goes for ten days, anyway? Could be he planted her DNA. They’re getting divorced, right? And you said he’s had other girlfriends. Maybe that secretary was one of ’em.”
Slick Danny fiddled with a button on his dress shirt, adjusted the gold watch on his wrist. “Michael, don’t go off half cocked and call the cops, okay? ’Specially that hellcat cousin of yours. If Mrs. Montebella didn’t do it, she’ll get off. Let the system take care of her.”
I patted him on the back. “Evidence. That’s what we need.”
“Yeah, evidence.” He smiled, only for some reason he didn’t look happy.
* * * *
Wednesday between 8:56 A.M. and 1:01 P.M.
The next morning, I called my cousin Jules Reese and asked her to meet me at noon in the Starbucks down the road from the Second District station. Jules is a uniform at 2D. She’s been hoping to go plainclothes, but it’s a tough road. Jules is what my mom calls well-endowed. Mom says when Jules walks in a room all the air seems to get sucked out. Men pull at their collars and stammer. Same thing happens to her boss. Seems being well-endowed has its disadvantages when trying for a promotion. To me, she’s just the little cousin who throws a mean right hook.
I arrived at Starbucks at 12:04. Late. I ordered my usual Grande coffee with four sugars, inhaled the odor of ground beans.
Jules sat at our regular spot in the front corner. She slumped over the table, flipping through paperwork and picking one-handed at her cuticles. She digs at her fingers like that when she’s out of sorts. It’s a pattern. As I approached, I saw Officer Smythe. He’s constantly hanging around, getting her to pick her fingers something fierce.
“Hey, if it isn’t Mr. ‘Just the facts, ma’am’ himself,” Smythe said. He shifted in the chair, belly slopping over his belt. “Have a seat.”
Trouble is, he was in my chair, the one I always sit in. I looked at Jules.
She slapped his elbow. “Smythe, trade chairs with Mikey, will ya?”
He sank deeper into his seat. “Why? Lennie here can’t sit in another?”
I’ve read Of Mice and Men. He’s saying I’m big and dumb. My size has made me the butt of that joke since my 6th grade English class read the book. The same year, Jules taught me how to respond to it.
I flipped him the bird.
Jules almost busted a gut laughing.
Smythe turned red. I mean red like a tomato. He lumbered to his feet, fists clenched. He’s over six feet, but I still had lots of room to look down on him.
Jules glared at him. “Beat it, Smythe. I have more important things to do. Right, Mikey?”
I shrugged.
He shouldered past, knocking into me. But he didn’t spill my coffee. That’s why I use a lid. People are clumsy, and you can never be too careful.
As soon as he was out of earshot, I took my seat. Still warm.
“What’s up, Mikey? Folks okay?”
“They’re fine.”
“Looking for a new partner? Finally done with Slimy Danny Lee?”
“That’s Slick, Jules, Slick Danny Lee.”
“Depends who you ask.” She rocked back in her chair and stretched her arms overhead. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m not even supposed to be here, Jules. Promised Slick Danny.” I studied my coffee cup. “He wouldn’t betray me like this.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad, Mikey. Tell me.”
I sipped the coffee, scalded my tongue. “I’ve come about a murder investigation.” I explained the situation, why I couldn’t file an official report. “So you see, something’s wrong with the facts, Jules. I need more evidence. Have to see that case file. That’s why I’m going behind Slick Danny’s back.”
She stared at me a while. She could get into big trouble showing me the file, but I didn’t know what else to do. The case was stuck in my head.
“You sure she was home all night?”
I crossed my heart.
“I’ll see what I can do. No promises.” She squeezed my hand, then shook her head. “This could get me busted down to traffic.”
* * * *
Thursday, 2:30 P.M.
The next day, I sat crammed in Slick Danny’s shiny Mustang with him smoking like a chimney. We were watching a guy who was suing over a claim of severe injuries from a car accident. He was supposed to be confined to a wheelchair. The insurance company hired us to prove he was a fraud. I’d already caught several shots of him walking, but my partner wanted a couple more good ones.
“Did you check up on Montebella?” I adjusted the sun visor to keep a clear view of the apartment building up the street.
“No, Michael, I’ve been busy. Think I don’t have other things to do?”
“Oh. I getcha. Know you can’t do everything.” I fiddled with the lens on the camera, making sure I’d be ready. “You get that bonus from Montebella?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah. Montebella was real happy with our work.” Slick Danny reached in his pocket, pulled out his lighter, started flicking it. “Been meanin’ to give you your share.”
“Nah. You keep it.”
Slick Danny took the last drag of a cigarette, mashed the butt in the Mustang’s overflowing ashtray, and threw his lighter on the dash. He hunched his shoulders, rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I had time to do a little checkin’ after all. At a conference in Chicago, like the man said. Talked with the hotel. I also chatted up his ugly little secretary. Woman looks like death suckin’ a sponge. Ran upside her at a deli, know what I mean? Have a date with her on Friday. Waste of a perfectly good weekend night.”
I stared at him. Finally he added, “Only way to get the information you wanted.” He covered his heart with his hand. “I’m taking one for the team. You owe me.”
“I do? How much?”
He smirked. “Montebella took a girlfriend with him to the conference. They stayed on a couple of days after it ended. Spent a lot of time in his room. He couldn’t have done it, not directly at least.”
“You think he hired out?”
“Nope. Guy’s crookeder than a dog’s hind leg, but no way he’s connected.”
“Speaking of crooked.” I pointed to the apartment building. Our target, a squat guy with bushy red hair, peered out the door, looking both ways. He didn’t spot us. With the lens on my camera we didn’t have to sit close. He hurried down the steps lugging his wheelchair. I got a few nice close ups. He set the chair on the sidewalk, sat down, and rolled away.
* * * *
Thursday, 7:47 P.M.
Slick Danny dropped me in Silver Spring just before the street lights came on. I stopped at the Tastee Diner for steak and eggs like I do most Thursdays, then set out for my parents’ place to meet Jules. She’d said she had a folder and some info to pass along.
I cut through parking lots to East-West Highway and continued until I turned into my parents’ neighborhood just off 16th Street, a stone’s throw from the District line. Jules sat in my parents’ driveway in an unmarked cruiser. Climbing out, she punched my arm.
“Don’t have long, Mikey, I’m covering Delmonico’s shift tonight.”
I paused at the front door, loving how welcoming my parents’ house felt. The smells of cooking and lemon Pledge. I’d moved out last year. I figured a man in his thirties can’t keep his folks company forever. But I know they miss me. That’s my parents for you.
I dug in my pocket for my key ring, shoved the key into the lock and twisted. I slammed into the door.
Locked.
They must have changed the locks and forgotten to tell me. Guess age does that to memory.
“Did you let them know we’re coming, Mikey?”
“Nah, they never mind.” I reached under a flowerpot on the porch and hauled out the spare key. We entered. “Mom! Pop! I’m home. I’ve got Jules with me.”
A loud thump came from upstairs. Pop cursed. I started for the steps. “What’s the matter, Pop? Mom all right?”
“Just a minute,” my mom shouted down to us.
Jules grabbed my arm, her short nails leaving crescent-shaped dents in my skin. “We should have called.”
“Why? She said they’d be down.” I rubbed my arm.
Mom hurried down the stairs two at a time, her hair mussed. She tucked a mis-buttoned shirt into a pair of jean shorts.
“Hi, you two. Didn’t know you’d be stopping by.” Her cheeks glowed red. Jules shared the same shade of red, like they were both sunburned. Women are weird sometimes.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Louise, we should have called,” Jules said. “We’ll go somewhere else to talk.”
“What? Why? We’re here. Right, Mom?” I looked back and forth between them.
“Of course. Stay.” She patted Jules’ arm. “I’ve got some apple cobbler in the fridge.”
Armed with dessert, Jules and I moved to the dining room, pulled up heavy chairs to the table. Mom retreated upstairs leaving us to our case.
“So what do you have for me, Cuz?” I asked through bites of apple.
Jules sighed and opened the case file. “You’re going to have to make a report, Mikey. The prosecutor’s got a right to know there’s a problem with her case.”
“Slick Danny told me not to.”
“And what about an innocent woman going to jail? Slick Danny doesn’t care about that?”
“He cares, Jules. It’s just—”
“Mikey, you ever think maybe your partner doesn’t have your best interests at heart? Why doesn’t he want you coming forward?”
“You don’t understand him, Jules. He’s looking out for me. He’s my friend.” I pushed back from the table. “Why’re you always saying bad things about him? What did he ever do to you?”
Her palm slapped the table. “The prosecutor’s good. She’ll listen. And I already talked to the lead detective. Thing is, there’s no motive, only the suspect’s blood. Leaves a big gap in the case. Now you say she couldn’t have done it. Why not file a report?”
“Not yet. I’m gonna get the evidence first.”
“Fine!” Jules shook her head. “The evidence rests on finding the suspect’s DNA at the scene. Some blood on the victim’s sleeve and collar. The killer tackled Leslie Galt, must have hit the table edge on the way down. Got a few spots on the table as well as the victim. No hair or fibers matched to Montebella, though.”
“Fingerprints?”
“Not from her.”
“What about others?” I grabbed my fork, started picking at the cobbler on her plate.
“Sure. Hair and fingerprints matched the victim’s fiancé, her sister, and some unidentifieds.” She shoved her plate in my direction. “Jeez, Mikey, you do anything but eat?”
“Not much.” I shoveled the remaining apples into my mouth. “You find any evidence Sandra knew the victim?”
“Not yet, but how else do you explain her blood at the scene?”
“Don’t have all the facts yet. I’ll talk to the prosecutor once I know, but I need to figure a few things out first. Like how her DNA came to be on file.”
“Huh?” She flipped through the case notes. “Must have been arrested for something big.”
“Her only arrest was during a protest march. Trespassing and assault. The charges didn’t stick.” I tapped my fork against the edge of her plate.
“That right? Don’t usually collect DNA for something like that in the District.”
“She was in Virginia.”
Jules nodded. “Makes sense. They collect a cheek swab for certain crimes. Assault fits.”
“Can I keep the file?”
“Yeah, but you owe me one. You have no idea what I had to do to get a copy.”
“Slick Danny said I owe him, too. But Jules, how much? I don’t have a lot of money.”
She reached over and ruffled my hair. “Just don’t change. Okay, Mikey?”
* * * *
Thursday, 11:29 P.M.
Pictures of the scene showed Leslie Galt. She looked asleep, except for the bruising around her mouth and the stiffness of her posture. According to the medical examiner’s report, someone had sat on her chest and pinned her arms. Bruising snaked down both arms where the perpetrator had knelt. No indication she’d been unconscious before the pillow was applied. Not a quick way to die. And Galt was no small woman. She’d have put up a fight. She had to outweigh Sandra Montebella by fifty pounds.
The ME’s evaluation said broken capillaries in the eyes showed the characteristic petechial hemorrhaging consistent with death by smothering. Fibers found in the victim’s mouth and throat matched the pillow lying next to the body. The homicide occurred somewhere between 10 P.M. and midnight.
Poring over photocopied pictures, I studied Galt’s place for any connections the police might have missed. Galt lived in Georgetown, and Sandra had worn a Georgetown University sweatshirt. No sign from the pictures that Galt was a Hoyas fan.
I squinted over and over at the grainy police photos, finally focusing on a close-up of a shelf of photographs. I used a magnifying glass to get a better view. Most were typical family and friend shots, but one picture stood out. Galt crossing the finish line of some kind of walk, her arms around a man. Though I couldn’t see all of her T-shirt, the Leukemia Society’s logo—a drop of blood inside a large circle—was clearly visible. So, she’d walked for a cure. Could Montebella have met Galt during one of these events? Did I even think either of the Montebellas had anything to do with Galt’s murder?
* * * *
Friday, 7:22 A.M.
“Cripes, Michael, why can’t you let this go? At this rate, you’ll be covering my shifts for a month.” Slick Danny stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You knock.”
I did. After a moment, a large, red-faced man yanked open the door, a bowl of cereal in one hand. Brian Freedmont, Leslie Galt’s fiancé, frowned. “Can I help you?”
I nudged Slick Danny, who sighed and pulled his hands from his pockets. “Sorry to bother you at such an ungodly hour, Mr. Freedmont, but we’re investigatin’ the death of your fiancée and we’d like to ask you some questions if you have time.” He gave his most officious smile, handed Freedmont a card.
“You’re not with the police?” Freedmont ran his fingers through thinning hair. “I’ve already told them everything I know.”
“May we come in, sir?” Slick Danny looked over Freedmont’s shoulder into the condo. “We’re helping the police. Followin’ up.”
Sometimes I think my partner lied just to lie. But he gets a lot of information, and he’d told me to keep quiet.
Freedmont’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, sure. Don’t see how I can help, though. Man, I don’t know why that woman hurt Leslie.”
Inside, we took seats on a creaky, blue leather couch. Freedmont sunk into a matching armchair, set his cereal bowl on a side table. He looked at my partner.
“Got a cigarette?”
Slick Danny pulled out his pack and monogrammed lighter and slid a cigarette in Freedmont’s direction. Took one for himself, too.
“Don’t smoke?” Freedmont lit up, turning his attention to me. “Thought all PIs smoked.”
“He doesn’t drink neither. Gives us all a bad name,” Slick Danny said.
“Smoking’s bad for you,” I said.
Freedmont laughed, but it didn’t sound happy. “Lots of things are bad for you.” He took a long draw from his cigarette. “Gave cancer sticks up years ago. Things change.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke in my direction. “What is it you want to know?”
“Did Ms. Galt know the Montebellas?” Slick Danny drew his attention back.
“As I told the police, not to my knowledge. She’d never mentioned either of them.” Freedmont looked down at his shoes.
“No ideas why someone would kill her?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know.” He stubbed out the cigarette in his cereal.
“You were gonna get married?” Slick Danny leaned forward, making eye contact with Freedmont and letting his mouth droop. What he calls his compassionate face. Makes him look like a basset hound, but it usually works, and it did this time, too.
“Next year. We’d been together four years. It was time, you know? She didn’t want to live together until we got hitched. I respected that. If I’d only been there that night…”
Slick Danny questioned the fiancé for a while longer. Twelve minutes and thirty-five seconds to be exact. As we stood to leave, I elbowed Slick Danny. He rolled his eyes.
“Mr. Freedmont, was Ms. Galt a Hoyas fan?”
Freedmont’s eyes narrowed and he paused before answering. “No, why?”
“Just wondered, what with her living in Georgetown and all.” He rocked back on his heels. “Was she much of an athlete?”
“Athlete?”
“Yessir, an athlete. We noticed one of the photographs on her shelf showed her at the finish line of a race. Thought maybe—”
“Oh, that. No, it was a walk for the Leukemia Society. We’re both leukemia survivors. Were, I mean.” He looked down at his hands.
Slick Danny offered him another cigarette.
Freedmont pocketed it. “Hers was already in remission when we met, but at the time mine looked bad. Been cancer-free for three years now. Reason I don’t normally smoke.” He shrugged. “She went through it all with me. Don’t think I would have lived if she hadn’t been there.” Clearing his throat, Freedmont led us to the door.
* * * *
Friday, 9:00 A.M.
Back at work, I pulled the Montebella file. I dug out Sandra’s datebook and scanned the entries.
Slick Danny looked up from a Sudoku he’d been working for a while. “Michael, what are you doin’ now? We have that new case to work on.” He grimaced.
“Yeah, I know.” Another infidelity investigation. We get a lot of ’em.
I flipped more pages.
“You do anything on it yet?”
“Huh? Oh yeah.” I reached into the bottom drawer of my desk, pulled out a thick folder. “I’ve done the background check. I’m still looking at Hillard’s phone and credit card statements. Got some billable calls to a financial consulting firm. They’re not in the phonebook, though.”
Slick Danny grabbed the folder off my desk, thumbed through the file. “Man, Michael, you got this much info on the guy already?”
I looked up from Sandra’s datebook. “Not that hard between the Internet and cross-referencing some databases—”
“No need to tell me the details. You just keep doin’ what you do best.” He slipped the Hillard folder into his desk drawer.
I went back to the datebook.
“So, why’d you have me ask Freedmont if his fiancée was athletic?” Slick Danny leaned back in his chair.
“Fishing for facts.” It didn’t take me long to find several entries marked “E. Peterson—LS.” I dialed the Leukemia Society. Hung up. “Uh, Slick Danny, will you call the Leukemia Society for me, ask for an E. Peterson?”
“What for?” He held up his hand. “I know, I know, fishin’ for facts. Can’t you call?”
I felt my tic start, but picked up the phone anyway. I could do this.
“Wait. I’ll do it. You’ll just make a mess of it.”
While he dialed, I pulled a chair to his desk and looked over the Sudoku.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he said to a receptionist, his accent growing several shades thicker. “I’m looking for a person named Peterson. A friend passed along the number, but I done lost it. First name begins with an “E.” Can you help me? Mhmm. So it’s Ms. Peterson?” He scribbled some notes on a pad of paper. “Well, I surely do thank you, ma’am. You’ve made my day a whole lot brighter.”
He hung up the phone and passed Ms. Peterson’s number to me.
“Piece of cake.” He snapped his fingers.
“Yeah.” I handed him the finished puzzle.
“Hey, how’d you…”
I smiled. “Want to make one more call for me?”
* * * *
Monday, 10:29 A.M.
Slick Danny had set up an appointment for me with Ms. Peterson. She turned out to be the Leukemia Society’s assistant volunteer coordinator. We recognized each other instantly. She stood between me and the door, her tiny office suddenly feeling unbearably cramped.
“Well, well,” she said, “looky here. If it isn’t the Digital Delights guy,” her voice even huskier than I remembered. “Thought your name sounded familiar.”
She closed the office door with a click.
“Just so you don’t duck out again,” she said.
I flushed, the heat burning like fire and making my cheek jump.
“I-I won’t, I mean, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to—”
“And tell me again who you are, Mr. Blontine.” She looked me up and down, but didn’t move from in front of the door. “I’m guessing you don’t really work at Digital Delights.”
“I’m a friend,” I said. Slick Danny told me not to let on about being a PI. Couldn’t let it get back to Montebella I was here. Not until I had the facts. “I can’t tell you more than that.”
“You sounded different on the phone. Where’s your southern accent?”
“Oh no, that was my partner. He calls for me.”
Her eyes widened. “Didn’t realize you were gay. You don’t seem like it. Although that would make sense—”
“G-Gay? We’re not g-g-gay,” I said. “We’re…friends.” Was she trying to trick me?
Evania smiled, her teeth bright white. “You a stalker, Mike? You like thin, married blondes?”
“N-n-no. I don’t go out with married women. Blondes are okay. Not too crazy about skinny, but if she’s nice—”
Evania snapped her fingers. “Hey, Mike, focus here. What’s your interest in Sandra?”
“Huh?” I scratched my head. “I just want to help Sandra, uh, Mrs. Montebella, that’s all.” Why couldn’t Slick Danny have come? He knew I was no good with people.
“You can help her?” She moved so close our bodies practically touched. Evania’s spicy perfume tickled my nose, and I took a step back.
I nodded. “I think so.”
“Why would you do that,” she asked, arms crossed over her chest. “Why do you care?”
“I know she’s innocent.” What else could I say?
She looked at me for a long time. “I must be crazy,” she muttered. “Lord, save me from tall, handsome men.” She moved behind her desk, pointed me to a chair.
I sat.
“So what do you want to know about her?” she asked.
I glanced at my notebook, reading the questions Slick Danny had scribbled.
“What did she do for you? She seemed to spend a lot of time here.”
“Sure did. One of our best volunteers. I wanted her to join our board.”
“Know why she was interested in the Leukemia Society?”
“Brother died from it. Broke her heart. She wanted to be his marrow donor, but she wasn’t a match. Tragic, really. That woman could have been bitter, but instead she volunteers here. Even became a marrow donor couple years ago. Know how painful that procedure is?”
“Uh, no.” I looked at my notebook. Stick to the questions Slick Danny said. Don’t get distracted. “Was organizing walks one of her duties?”
“Yeah, she helped with some of that. Raised money for us by throwing big dinner parties. Visited patients waiting for transfusions. Did office work on occasion. Why? How’s that relate to murder?”
“Not sure it does.” I checked my notes again. “I heard she was arrested for trespassing and assault. Makes some people think she could be capable of murder.”
“Oh, puleez.” Evania shot to her feet. “Mr. Blontine, there was no assault. The police came to break up a march she was involved in. They started pushing the protestors around. Sandra stood up for them. Mouthed off a little. Got herself arrested. She didn’t do anything. That’s why the charges were dropped.” She sat back down, smoothed some papers on her desk. “I don’t know what your interest is in Sandra, but if you can help her, I’d be grateful.”
I nodded. “Do you think her husband could have something to do with it?”
She frowned. “Richard is capable of anything. She should have left him a long time ago. But, you know, they’ve got children together. Took me a long time to leave my bum of an ex for the same reason. A woman doesn’t want to break up her family, you understand?”
“Sure.” I didn’t, but I’d take her word for it. Women’s motivations are not my strong point.
“You married? Got kids?”
“N-no.” I couldn’t help stammering around her. Something about her husky voice.
“Not surprised, Mike. Just a tip—women do not like being run out on.”
I stared at my shoes. Man, I was a jerk.
“I’m no good with women,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
Silence hung between us for more than a minute.
Evania sighed.
I looked up.
She flashed that big-toothed smile again. “Well, Mr. Blontine, today is your lucky day.”
* * * *
Tuesday, 1:48 A.M.
It was way past midnight, but I didn’t leave the office. I’d been at my computer since my meeting with Evania, looking up facts on leukemia. I’d had an idea how certain pieces fit, but I needed more information to be sure. “Come on, Mike,” I said to myself, “think.”
Pushing back from my desk, I grabbed a Coke from the vending machine in the hall. I’d already downed several, but one more wouldn’t hurt.
I paged through the Montebella file, re-examined the crime scene folder, and replayed the conversations with Evania and Freedmont.
I kept thinking, DNA doesn’t lie.
DNA DOESN’T LIE.
I sat up straight. But what if it did?
* * * *
Tuesday, 6:57 A.M. to 9:17 A.M.
I woke slumped over my desk, my clothes looking like an unmade bed. I checked the clock. Still too early for Slick Danny to come in. I needed to bounce my thoughts off him. See if he read it the same way. In the meantime, I went back over my notes and wrote down some questions.
At 9:17, Slick Danny still hadn’t come in. Couldn’t wait any longer. I’d make a phone call. If my ideas turned out to be facts, I’d be making another call real soon. Reaching for the phone, my palms began to sweat. I dialed Evania Peterson’s number, let it ring.
* * * *
Tuesday, 3:11 P.M.
Late that afternoon, I zipped across town in my uncle’s SUV. I pulled to a curb outside Freedmont’s condo, waiting for Jules and the other officers to arrive. Before I could turn off the engine, Freedmont came out the door with two big suitcases in hand. He lugged them to his car, opened the trunk.
Where was he going?
Throwing the car in gear, I barreled into his driveway, then rolled down my window.
“Hi, Mr. Freedmont. Going somewhere?”
He spun toward me. “You startled me.” He set his suitcases down. “Yeah, yeah, want to get away for a few days. Just need to get out of the city. Clear my head.”
I nodded. “I’ve, uh, got a few more questions for you.”
“Hey man, I’d love to help, but I’m running late.” He glanced at his watch, ran a hand through his thinning hair.
“I…I have a couple questions, that’s all.” I hunched over the wheel. As I said, I’m a terrible liar.
“Can’t it wait?” He waved toward his car. “Why don’t you come by next week.”
“I have questions.” I bobbed my head like a dash ornament.
“Look man, I’m late. What do you want?”
“Um, I have questions about the case. About Ms. Galt. Did she,” my mind drew a blank, “Did she, uh.”
“What?” Freedmont’s voice rose.
“Did she ever spend time at the Leukemia Society?” It was the best I could do.
“How the hell would I know? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going.” He turned back toward his car.
I stayed put, letting the SUV idle.
Freedmont loaded one suitcase into the trunk, then turned around. “What?” he shouted. “You’re not the police. I don’t have to answer anything. Move your car.”
I idled in his drive. What else could I do?
“Hey, move your damn car.” He slammed his palm against the hood of the Lexus, then moved to the driver’s side window. “Now.”
I nodded, locked the doors, then rolled up the window.
I slid the SUV into gear, pulled forward, running over the remaining suitcase, and pushed the Lexus up against his bumper. Then I threw it in park.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?”
Freedmont yanked at my door, releasing a slew of swear words. He called me stuff I’d never even heard of. I switched the radio on to drown him out. I looked at the SUV’s clock and counted the seconds out loud. Where was Jules?
Freedmont stormed into the garage and returned with a crowbar.
I fumbled around in the front seat looking for anything to defend myself with. My aunt’s mini umbrella was the best I could find.
He swung the crowbar at the hood, left a huge dent. My uncle was gonna be pissed.
Approaching the windshield, Freedmont raised his arms to swing again. That’s when I heard the sirens and screeching tires. Red and blue lights flashed in my rearview mirror.
“Put the crowbar down, Mr. Freedmont,” Jules voice carried loud and strong through the squad car speaker.
He did. Right on my uncle’s windshield.
* * * *
Tuesday, 3:58 P.M.
I stood next to my uncle’s SUV, panic seeping from my pores. My tic remained quiet. Too scared, I guess.
“Uncle Frank’s gonna kill me, Jules.”
“Nah, Mikey, you’re a hero. You stopped a murderer. Besides, Frank’s got insurance.” She smiled, but it didn’t look right, the corners of her mouth turning down.
“Then why’re you picking at your fingers?” I asked.
Jules stuffed her hands behind her back.
“Oh man, he’s really gonna kill me,” I said.
Freedmont, now handcuffed and Mirandized, chose that moment to stop in front of me.
“How’d you know?”
I swallowed the urge to take a swing at him. “The facts. At first, I thought DNA couldn’t lie, but in a way it did. You said you had leukemia. Sandra Montebella was a marrow donor. Your marrow donor. When she donated her marrow, it replaced yours, giving you her DNA signature. That’s why her DNA came up instead of yours. That’s also why only her blood was found at the scene, ’cause she was never there. You were. Skin, hair, everything else had your DNA stamp.”
“Yeah,” Jules broke in, “when Mikey explained it to me, I checked the forensics. We had some of your skin cells mixed with the blood. We hadn’t run them since we had enough blood to make a match. Imagine the lab’s surprise when the skin’s DNA didn’t match the blood, but matched some of the hair samples found at the scene.”
I nodded. I’d called the Leukemia Society to test my hunch. Evania had been more than willing to cooperate with the police.
“By that time, we’d suspected Sandra Montebella had been your donor,” Jules said. “Why’d you do it, anyway?”
Freedmont hunched over, looked Jules straight in the eye. “She was leaving me. Bitch said we’d be together until I died. Then wham! It’s over. Well, one of us died. It just wasn’t me.”
* * * *
Tuesday, 6:24 P.M.
I slumped against the hood of the SUV, the sun sinking into the horizon. I’d driven it back to the office hanging my head out the window so I could see. Luckily, I didn’t get pulled over. But I needed to return the car to my uncle. I couldn’t face him. He’d never let me borrow it again.
Slick Danny stood next to me, not saying anything.
“You mad at me?” I asked.
“Why’d I be mad at you, Michael?” He brushed at the shoulders of his suit jacket.
“’Cause I went to the police without asking you first. Know you didn’t want me to…”
He pursed his lips. “Shame what happened to your uncle’s car.”
“Yeah.” I stared at the lines in the parking lot.
Slick Danny patted me on the back. “I’m not mad, Michael. Hell, you did the right thing. Turns out Mr. Montebella’s not so happy with us. I’ll have to return the bonus. Can you believe he didn’t really want us goin’ to the police after all? Thought he could use his wife’s arrest in the divorce settlement.” He seemed to search my face for something, but I didn’t know what.
“In my shoes, you’d have done the same thing,” I said.
He shrugged. “Only you’d think so, Michael.”
Before I could respond, a silver Miata screeched into the parking lot, with a woman so beautiful it made my eyes pop. She pulled alongside, rolled down the window.
“Get in, Honey,” she said to Slick Danny.
Slick Danny crossed to the passenger side, mouthed “Montebella’s secretary,” and hopped into the car. He waved as they sped away.
She was ugly? Man, he had high standards.
I must have stood there for a while staring into space, ’cause when I looked around the lot was empty, except for a dark blue van with white-walled tires pulling in. Evania Peterson slipped out from behind the wheel.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“You aren’t hard to find. Well that, and your cousin called to let me know they’d arrested the real murderer. Nice girl, your cousin.” She moved to my side, leaned into my arm. “A PI, huh? Should have known.”
I decided I kind of liked her spicy perfume. Still tickled my nose though.
“So, handsome, how about that dinner?”
“S-Sure.” I was in no hurry to see my uncle. “But you better drive.”
