She turned to the Federal Marshals. They were tall, moderately brawny, and nearing middle age.
“Ms. O’Malley,” one of them said.
“Friends of Seth’s,” Nelson said in her ear. “Should I ask Maresol to make something good?”
Ava nodded.
“Lead on, gents!” Ava said.
“This way, ma’am,” the Marshal said. He gestured toward the parking lot.
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Twelve
Ava sat in the back of the Marshal’s blue sedan and looked out the window. While her eyes took in the dry grass of fall in Denver, her mind went to Seth. She had no idea where he was.
She blinked.
Well, she had some idea where he was.
She turned over her wrist to look at her watch. He was likely working on the symphony. When she’d left him in New York, he and the orchestra were almost finished with the third score to the movie. The first movie was due out in . . . Ava counted the days.
Thirty-two days.
She knew the days because they were going on the red carpet. Again. In two days, she would give up bourbon, microwave popcorn, and M&Ms and get back on the straight and narrow of her diet. Otherwise, she would never fit into the gorgeous gown she’d begged from Valerie Lipson, a movie star who happened to be a friend of Seth’s daughter, Sandy.
Of course, Seth never seemed to change in size. In fact, the only necessary alteration on his dress uniform from when he got out of the US Army was to have the hem on the pants let out. On the outside, Seth never seemed to age or change. It was his insides that were the day-to-day wonderland.
The Marshals pulled onto Montview Boulevard. Ava loved this street. The man Seth had thought was his father had purchased a house on this street when Seth was a boy. Seth paid the bill as soon as he sold his first piece of music at eight years old. Even though he’d paid the bill, he still called it “O’Malley’s house.”
She loved the house. When she’d moved in, Seth’s housekeeper and more than a sister, Maresol, had asked her two questions — Was she interested in changing the house? Would she tell Maresol what to do? Ava assured Maresol that she didn’t care about the house and would never tell her what to do.
When she first moved in, she’d found Maresol’s comfortable ease a little unnerving. Ava had tried once or twice to make “suggestions” to Maresol. Ava was always grateful when the woman responded with a quick “Stay in your lane.”
Ava hoped that Maresol would help her with her lane today. A wave of emotion filled Ava’s eyes with tears when they pulled up next to the house on the street. Maresol ran down the walk to Ava. No person in Ava’s life had ever treated her with such innate care and kindness. Maresol put her arms around Ava and hugged her tight. She then took special care to walk Ava toward the house. The Marshals followed them inside.
“Are you all right?” Maresol asked.
Maresol led Ava to the kitchen bar, where Maresol had set up coffee. Huevos Rancheros was baking in the oven for Ava’s breakfast.
“Please,” Maresol gestured to the Marshals.
They took their place at the bar next to Ava.
“We have brought up everything we have.” Maresol nodded her head toward the boxes in the den area.
Their handyman, and Ava’s best friend, Beth’s boyfriend, Dale, came in carrying another box. He set it on top of the stack. Dale had lived with them since Beth’s brutal murder. Behind him, Seth’s actual biological father, Bernie, came in carrying another box. Bernie was healthy, happy, and surprisingly spry for a man in his nineties.
“This is the one from Beth’s parents,” Bernie said with a smile.
“Do you want that one in the crawlspace?” Dale asked.
Dale stood behind Ava and put his arm over her shoulders for comfort. She looked up at him and gave him a sad smile.
“How are you holding up?” Dale asked.
“We really need to get going,” one of the Marshals said.
He finished his coffee in a gulp and started to get up.
“Sit,” Maresol said, pointing to the Marshal.
Maresol took the lid off a pan of something that looked like eggs but smelled like heaven. Overwhelmed by the flood of mouthwatering smells, everyone stopped moving. Ava’s eyes flicked to Maresol. The woman had clearly made the dish to give Ava more time at home.
Ava scowled as way of asking Maresol what was up, but Maresol simply nodded. She laid out big plates of food with warm homemade corn tortillas, and the men were soon eating to abandon.
“Ava?” Maresol asked. “I wondered if I can speak to you about your dress.”
“For the red carpet?” Ava asked. She shoveled a bit of huevos rancheros into her mouth. “I clearly haven’t started dieting yet.”
Maresol gave her a prim nod that had Ava out of her seat. The Marshal next to her pointed at her.
“You can’t leave our presence,” the marshal said. “That’s what ‘sequestered’ means.”
“She’s not going anywhere,” Maresol said with a sniff. She pointed to his plate. “Eat your food.”
Under the Marshals’ watchful eyes, Maresol waved Ava over to a quiet corner of the den. Maresol got Ava’s dress out of a hanging bag.
“I had it cleaned and pressed,” Maresol said. “But there’s this fold here that looks like it was put in when Valerie wore the dress.”
Ava looked at the dress and wondered what the hell Maresol was talking about. Maresol deftly moved the dress so it was between Ava and the Marshals.
“I have a box of letters from the Cigarette Killer,” Maresol said in low Spanish.
“You what?” Ava said, a little too loud.
Maresol shushed her with an evil look.
“Where do you think it came from?” Ava asked and plucked at the dress.
“Weird, huh?” Maresol said in a louder voice in English.
“You want?” Maresol asked in Spanish in the same low voice.
Ava nodded. Maresol pointed down at their feet to a red bag that looked like it had once held a bowling ball.
“So weird,” Ava said. “Why would someone do that?”
Maresol grinned in admiration to Ava for asking about the dress when she meant the letters. Ava smiled.
“I think they sewed her into the dress,” Maresol said, in English. “Would you like me to do the same?”
Ava grinned at Maresol.
“Sure,” Ava said.
“He sent them to Seth at this house when Seth was . . .” Maresol said in quiet Spanish again. She used her thumb as a bottleneck and her fist as the bottle to gesture that Seth was drinking. “Every day for a year, maybe . . .”
Maresol shrugged and held up two fingers.
“But don’t worry,” Maresol said in English in her louder voice. “Seth has never seen the dress.”
“Can you do that?” Ava asked.
“Sure,” Maresol nodded and lowered the dress. “If you’d like. I’ll take the tack out, and we’ll sew you in.”
When the dress lowered, the women saw that the men were mostly ignoring them.
“The last one,” Maresol said in a quiet voice. She added in a louder voice. “I picked it up when we returned from the funeral. It was sent on Saturday, you know after Big Daddy had died.”
“Really?” Ava asked.
Maresol nodded.
“Wow,” Ava mouthed.
Maresol raised her eyebrows and nodded. Maresol hung the dress, and Ava went back to her stool. Ava’s stomach twisted into knots over how she was going to get these letters out of the house. Of course, Maresol had a plan for that, too.
When everyone was done eating, Maresol made to-go cups for the Marshals and Ava. She instructed Dale and Bernie to move the boxes into the back of the sedan. Because the Marshals had to confirm the transfer of evidence, one of the men went out to the car. They were about to leave when Maresol “remembered” that she had food in the oven for Nelson. She distracted the Marsh
al with a large rectangle baking pan of something that smelled out of this world. While she was helping the man put on oven mitts, Ava grabbed the red bowling bag. She was out the door before anyone noticed that she had the bag. She set it into the trunk, thus entering it into the evidence without having to justify its presence to the Marshals. The Marshal slammed the trunk closed and sealed it.
Her hands were free to take the pan from the second Marshal as he came out of the house. He helped her with the back door. She rode back to the Colorado Bureau of Investigations with a pan of warm, wonderful food on her lap and her mind puzzling as to what it meant that the Cigarette Killer sent all of those letters to Seth.
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Thirteen
Seth raised an eyebrow in the direction of the door as another film producer banged his way in the door and loudly took a seat next to the hoard of other producers. The man was only sitting for a moment before the door banged open again. Another producer. Seth had set up the orchestra in the orchestra pit of a large 1920s movie theater. The people Seth and the orchestra were working for — movie directors, producers, and all of their assistants — were seated in the stadium seats. They expected to watch the movie and listen to Seth and the orchestra play the score.
When the latest arrival started loudly talking about parking, Seth’s first violinist gave them the evil eye. Usually, Seth seeded the audience with Ava or one of his friends, which helped keep the audience quiet. But his friends were investigating the murders, and Ava was sequestered in Colorado. He would just have to deal with the noise.
Another producer banged his way into the room. He was so loud that Seth brought the orchestra to a high pitched halt. He sent the orchestra on a break with the instruction to be ready to play when they returned. He went to talk to these businessmen.
“I’ve never been to one of these before,” the newcomer said. “What happens next?”
Seth patted the man’s arm and went to stand in front of all of them. Seth introduced himself and explained what was happening.
“We will play the movie on the movie screen in front of you,” Seth said. “We are playing straight through. You watch your movie with the score. Please respect the process and musicians enough to keep your voices down and try to be quiet. I take direction only from the musical director. You will be provided with note pads to write your notes down on. You may also use your cell phones or electronic devices to take notes, but do not take calls. Please pass your notes, thoughts, and suggestions about the music to the music director, not to me. I won’t be able to use your input. The music director has been with us throughout this process and has approved the score. He will be able to determine where and if we need to make changes. If you don’t know who I’m referring to, he’s right here.”
Seth gestured to the man. The music director stood up and started in on his general instructions for the last run-through of a movie score. The music director had just started talking when the door opened again.
Inspector Oscar Dekay of the New York Forensics Investigations Division was standing at the top of the stairs. Oscar shook his head at Seth and held up a pair of handcuffs. Seth shot him an irritated look, and Oscar laughed.
“Excuse me,” Seth said to the movie people. “I need to speak to my friend.”
Seth went up the stairs and followed Oscar out of the room. They walked down the hallway to a quiet corner of the hallway. Two uniformed police officers were standing a few feet away as well as a group of four or five younger people in New York Police Department Forensics Investigation Division T-shirts were milling around.
“What’s happened?” Seth asked.
“We went to the Worth Street Station,” Oscar said. “You know — where you were held?”
Seth nodded. Oscar shook his head.
“I remember,” Seth said.
“You need to be more careful,” Oscar said.
“Why?” Seth asked. “What did you find?”
“Panteli Jr.’s prints and DNA all over the place,” Oscar said. “Like he wasn’t even making an effort. It’s likely that he didn’t think you’d leave that room.”
“Huh,” Seth said.
“We have the tape,” Oscar said. “It was sitting in the camera you turned off.”
“They didn’t pick up the camera?” Seth asked.
“My tech guy even found the cloud — ” Oscar waved his hands in the air, “whatever the fuck that is — back up. The kid says that those kinds of cameras automatically back up to the cloud.” Oscar waved his hands around again. “The kid said the video has never been looked at or downloaded. Though how you determine that is way beyond me.”
“So you have a tape of me sleeping and the cat eating a rat,” Seth said with a shrug of his shoulders.
Oscar raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
“What?” Seth asked.
“They pumped you full of something and then pumped you for information,” Oscar said with a derisive snort. “I don’t know what you were on, but I’ve got a kid here to take your blood. It’s been a few days, but you never know. You still sober?”
Seth nodded.
“You mind?” Oscar asked.
Seth shook his head. Oscar waved a young woman over. She took a vial of Seth’s blood while Oscar watched. When she moved away, Oscar nodded that they were okay to talk again.
“What did they ask me?” Seth asked.
“Mostly about Delmer and Delilah and that m-f envelope you gave me this morning,” Oscar said.
Seth’s hands went to his waist, and he looked down. After a moment, he gave Oscar a squinting look.
“I didn’t have it then,” Seth said, and shrugged. “You sure that’s what they asked about?”
Oscar simply nodded.
“Did they get anything?” Seth asked.
“From you?” Oscar laughed. “You don’t make any sense when you’re not on a cocktail of drugs. Why would they expect you’d make sense when you’re drugged? You were, however, very polite. ‘Affable,’ that’s what my video gal called you. Affable.”
Oscar chuckled. Seth shook his head.
“You don’t remember any of it,” Oscar stated.
“No,” Seth said, with a shake of his head. “I was very tired, when I woke up, I mean. I figured it was because I hadn’t slept in a week. It never occurred to me that I’d been drugged.”
Seth shook his head again.
“That’s creepy,” Seth said.
“You want to hear the kicker?” Oscar asked.
Seth looked at the man.
“Panteli Jr.’s gone. Disappeared,” Oscar said. “His family hasn’t seen him since that day. They filed with missing persons last night.”
Seth scowled.
“On the tape, someone comes to the door,” Oscar said. “You can’t see who it is. But the person calls Panteli Jr., by name, no less. Panteli Jr. goes into the hallway and never returns. We searched all over down there. Every room. Bathroom. Whole thing. He’s not there.”
Seth shook his head.
“You can’t really make out what the person says after he calls Panteli’s name,” Oscar said. “It’s either a plain, ‘Excuse me,’ like he’s lost, or it’s something like ‘Let’s get out of here.’ Either way, Panteli Jr. walks out of the interrogation room and disappears into thin air.”
Seth continued shaking his head.
“You don’t remember any of that,” Oscar said.
“I don’t remember any of it,” Seth said. His hand went to his chest. “I feel a little violated.”
Oscar laughed uproariously, and Seth scowled in mock irritation.
“We need a statement,” Oscar said. “We need to see the cat.”
“What cat?” Seth asked.
“Funny. The cat’s Panteli Jr.’s,” Oscar said. “Some expensive-as-shit brand-name cat. Panteli Jr. was breeding the cat. His family says the kittens are worth a fortune.”
“The cat is in miserable condi
tion,” Seth said. “Filthy. Flea ridden. Starving. Claire took her to the vet. He said she’s too young and too underweight to carry the kittens. She’s likely to die giving birth, or the kittens will die as they get bigger. She’s had to stay at the vet for fluids and tests. She’s really sick.”
“Now he’s mad,” Oscar said. “You don’t give two shits about your civil liberties — being picked up, drugged, and interrogated by some guido. But hurt some random animal, and the great O’Malley goes into a rage.”
Leaning in, he added, “I thought you didn’t like cats.”
“I like this one,” Seth said. He lowered his voice and pointed his finger into Oscar’s chest. “I’m not giving her back. Fuck Panteli Jr. Jeez, breeding cats for money. Get a fucking job.”
Seth shook his head.
“Well, it’s likely that he’s dead,” Oscar said.
“Fine,” Seth said. “I did not kill him, and I do not have his cat.”
“Clearly,” Oscar said. “And anyway, we don’t have any evidence that you do. We’ll keep the whole cat thing between ourselves. But if she has those kittens, you’ll remember your friend Oscar. My granddaughter would really love a pretty kitten for Christmas.”
Grinning at the ridiculousness of the request, Seth shook his head.
“O’Malley?” the first violin asked from the door of the movie theater. Seth looked over at her. “We’re ready. The assholes are restless.”
“I’ll be right there,” Seth said to the woman. He said to Oscar, “I need to finish this.”
He started walking toward the door when Oscar waved Seth back.
“You think R.J. killed Panteli Jr.?” Oscar asked.
“No,” Seth said.
“Why?” Oscar asked.
“Two reasons,” Seth said, taking a few steps toward Oscar. “I don’t think he has it in him. I’ve seen him in some pretty hairy situations, and he simply doesn’t have the instinct. The other reason is that I doubt he was in town. You’ll have to check the airlines.”
Seth opened his mouth to say something and then stopped.
“What?” Oscar asked.
“Someone called R.J. to tell him that I was in danger,” Seth said. “R.J. said it was someone he knew from the old days — someone who worked for Big Daddy.”
The Cigarette Killer Page 10
