The Second Mystery Megapack Page 7

  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 O
fficer 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 lo
oking 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?”