by Paul Bishop
Whip was reading over Fey's shoulder. "How'd he get nailed?"
Fey turned several pages. "Leaving the scene of the second rape, he hinked up a couple of uniforms. The M.O. tied him to the first rape, and the first victim then picked him out of a line-up."
"Can we get a quick picture to do a photo line-up with our victim?" Whip asked.
Crow held up a line-up card with six photos inside. "Already put the six-pack together. The victim is on her way in."
Whip gave Crow an assessing look. "Any idea where Vandermere is now?"
Crow nodded. "He and his partner, Anthony Picardi, have opened another restaurant called La Scala. Vandermere shows it as his parole address."
Whip checked his watch. "If you hurry, you can get the victim to ID and still beat the lunch crowd."
"Apache," Crow said out of the blue, as he and Fey parked down the street from the La Scala restaurant and exited their detective sedan.
"What?" Fey looked confused.
"You want to know what kind of Indian I am. Everyone does. I'm an Apache."
Fey stopped walking. "First of all, I didn't ask the question. Second, if you've got some kind of chip on your shoulder because you're an Indian, get over it if you want to work for me. And third, you aren't an Apache. Your facial structure isn't right."
Crow smiled for the first time. "How would you know?"
"All palefaces aren't stupid. I'd say you're either Creek or Iroquois."
"Iroquois with a little French thrown in," Crow said.
"Then why say you're Apache?"
"It's what everyone expects to hear."
"If I want to know something, I'll ask. And don't ever make the mistake of lumping me in with everyone."
"No," Crow said thoughtfully. "I stand corrected."
"Damn straight," Fey said. "Now, let's do this."
The two detectives crossed the street during a break in traffic.
"This guy is being served up to us like a pig on a spit," Fey worried as they approached the front of the restaurant. "It's almost too easy."
"So what? Let's put an apple in his mouth and send him back to jail. His pattern of behavior in this case is the same as the priors."
"I know," Fey said. "It all fits."
"Then what's the problem? The victim immediately picked Vandermere out of the six-pack. He's a predator."
"I'm not arguing, but I've still got an itch."
Crow opened the restaurant's front door and stood back. "Maybe you should try a little baby powder in your shorts," he said in a low voice as Fey passed through.
Inside, the restaurant was empty of customers. A busboy was setting tables, and a bartender was busy with his bottles. The bartender's nametag read, Rand.
"Sorry, folks," Rand said. "We don't open for another half hour."
"Tony or Rafe around?" Fey asked.
Rand gave them a look. "You friends or something?"
Crow smiled and extended his hand toward Rand. "Mickey Crow. How ya' doing?"
As Rand reflexively took the proffered hand, Crow tightened his grip and pulled Rand off balance across the bar.
"Hey!" Rand yelled.
"Actually," Crow said, maintaining his grip. "We ain't friends. We're the or something."
The busboy looked over, but Fey pointed a gun finger at him. "Relax. No problem here."
"Cops or leg breakers?" Rand asked.
"Glad you make the distinction," Crow said. "Now, are Tony or Rafe around?"
"Tony's in the back office."
"What about Rafe?"
"Not my turn to watch him."
Crow nodded to Fey, letting her make a start for the back room before releasing Rand. "Be a good boy," Crow said and patted Rand's cheek.
With Crow behind her, Fey walked briskly to the back of the restaurant and pushed open the door to a small office. Inside, Tony Picardi sat at a tiny, cluttered desk talking on a cell phone. He was in his thirties with Italian good looks. He looked up, startled, as Fey and Crow crowded in.
"What is this? No customers are allowed back here."
"What about cops?" Fey asked, displaying her badge.
"I'll call you back," Picardi said into his phone.
"Are you Anthony Picardi?" Fey asked.
"Yeah, I'm Tony. Why the roust?"
"Where's your partner—Vandermere?"
"He's at the bank. He'll be back any minute. Hey, does this have anything to do with those jerks at Lionheart?"
"Why do you think that?"
"It's the only thing we're into."
"They say you stole all their ovens and fixtures when you closed down Tony V's," Crow said.
"That's crap," Picardi said. "We didn't steal nothing. They wanted the restaurant space back, so they put us out of business. Cost us a fortune. We're suing them for breach of contract."
"Still doesn't justify grand theft," Fey said.
Suddenly, a slim, dark complexioned man opened the door to the office.
"Cops, Rafe!" Picardi yelled.
Rafe Vandermere slammed the door shut before Crow could react. Picardi stood up, forcing Fey to push him back to get room for Crow to open the door. Pulling out their guns, the two detectives ran for the front of the restaurant.
"There!" Crow yelled, pointing as Vandermere disappeared through the front door.
Fey was still running when Rand, the bartender, hip-checked a table and sent it skittering across in front of her. Colliding with the awkward object, Fey crashed to the floor. Right behind her, Crow tripped over Fey's legs and slammed down on top of her.
"Go, damn it! Go! Go!" Fey yelled as Crow scrambled back to his feet.
Dashing out the restaurant entrance, Crow pushed the hair out of his eyes to look up and down the street. There was nothing but a blur of traffic and pedestrians. No Vandermere.
Fey and Crow stood in front of Whip Whitman's desk like children in the principal's office.
"I expected better from you, Fey. You were sloppy out there. If things had gone differently, you might have ended up with more than a few bumps and bruises."
"We screwed up," Fey said, defiantly. "So fire me."
Whitman looked about to burst.
"We did get Vandermere's car," Crow said, in a deflective action.
"Congratulations," Whip said, turning on the other detective. "You gonna charge it with rape?"
"We found a Jimmy under the front seat," Crow persisted. "Forensics has matched it to the pry marks on the door to Tony Vs."
"Doesn't do you much good without Vandermere in custody."
The phone on Whitman's desk rang. He scooped it up with short, pudgy fingers.
"Whitman." He listened for a few moments. "I'll send them over," he said finally before hanging up. He sighed and gave Fey and Crow a dark look. "Somebody must be watching out for you two. That was Gerald Shultz, Vandermere's lawyer. He wants to surrender his client."
Shultz was pot-bellied, balding, and aging fast. He ushered Fey and Crow into his office. A willow blond in her thirties with sharp features was sitting in a client's chair. Shultz moved forward to make introductions.
"This is Janet Kent." Shultz indicated the blond. "She is Mr. Vandermere's civil counsel."
Kent loosened off a predatory smile. "I represent Mr. Vandermere and Mr. Picardi in their action against Lionheart Pictures."
"How nice for you," Fey said. "Where is Mr. Vandermere? We were told you wanted to surrender him."
"Why do you want to talk to my client?" Kent asked.
"We want to arrest him," Fey said blandly.
"Even if he's an innocent man?"
"Innocent men don't run from the police."
"Oh, please," Kent gave a harsh half-laugh. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Rafe Vandermere has been identified as the suspect in a rape investigation," Crow said.
"When did this alleged rape occur?" Kent asked.
"Yesterday morning."
"Where?"
"At Tony V's," Crow said. "The res
taurant he owned with Anthony Picardi."
Shultz stirred himself. "Are you aware of the civil litigation surrounding that location?"
"We're aware," Fey said. "But it isn't relevant."
"Of course it's relevant," Janet Kent almost shouted. "Elgin Tremayne has already ruined my client's business. Now, he's trying to ruin my client's life."
Fey kept her voice level. "It's your client who has ruined a young woman's life."
Gerald Shultz put a restraining hand on Janet Kent's shoulder. "How can you be sure?" he asked. "Wasn't it Tremayne who pointed you at Mr. Vandermere?"
"And how would you know that?" Fey asked.
"It stands to reason," Kent told her. "I'm sure Tremayne, or one of his lackeys, told you about Rafe's prior criminal record."
"Let's stop playing games," Fey said. "Where is Vandermere?"
"Do you have a warrant for his arrest?" Shultz asked.
"We don't need one," Crow said. "We have more than enough probable cause—"
"All of it fabricated by Tremayne," Kent interrupted.
"That's for a jury to decide," Fey said. "Somehow, I don't think they're going to believe the victim is a figment of Tremayne's imagination."
Back in the RHD squad room again, Whip Whitman had played the mountain to Mohammed and was standing by Fey's desk.
Whip scowled. "So they refused to produce Vandermere?" "All they wanted was a tip-off to what we had," Fey told him. Any ideas on where Vandermere might be?"
Crow slid a haunch onto the corner of Fey's desk. "We got
the impression Janet Kent is involved with Vandermere on
more than just a professional basis." "Are you doing anything about it?"
"We've parked surveillance on both her office and residence," Fey said.
"What about Tremayne? You think he's setting Vandermere up?"
Fey shook her head. "As a frame-up, it's far too complicated."
"The civil litigation is real enough, though," Whip said. "And the victim did tell you she's an actress."
"Are you saying you think the whole thing is a hoax?" Crow asked. There was a belligerent edge to his voice.
Whip hardened his gaze and shifted it to the new detective. "I'm saying let's make the case tight. Tomorrow, re-interview the victim and confront Tremayne with the accusations. Let's see what shakes loose." He paused for a moment, thinking. "And what about Tiffany Bannister, the friend the victim was with at the theatre. Let's see if she can pick Vandermere out of the photo line-up."
The next morning Fey and Crow arrived early at Tiffany Bannister's apartment. Answering the door to their knock, Tiffany appeared to be in her early twenties. Her hair was tousled, and she wore a soft collar-brace around her neck. Fey and Crow identified themselves and were invited in.
"You'll have to excuse me," Tiffany said. "I look a wreck, but I'm still not used to this thing." She touched the collar at her throat.
"Traffic accident?" Crow asked.
"Yeah. My car was totaled. I'm very lucky I wasn't injured worse."
"Are you aware of what happened to your friend Anna Havilland?" Fey asked, getting down to business.
"Sure, but I still can't believe it. I told Anna the guy was handing her a line."
Crow gave Tiffany a look. "You didn't believe his producer story?"
"Come on," Tiffany said with emphasis. "Everybody in this town is a producer."
"Have you ever heard of Lionheart Pictures or Elgin Tremayne?" Fey asked.
"Who are they?"
"Doesn't matter," Fey said. "We'd like you to look at a photo line-up and see if you can pick out the man who approached you and Anna in the parking lot."
"I'll try," Tiffany said.
Crow held out the photo six-pack face down for Tiffany to take.
"Before you turn it over," Crow said, "I need to give you a legal admonition." His voice became more formal. "A picture of the suspect may or may not be in this line-up. Remember, hairstyles and facial hair can be changed, and skin complexions can be lighter or darker than in these pictures. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Tiffany took the proffered line-up and turned it over. She ran her eyes quickly over the photos. "That's him," she said, pointing to Vandermere's photo in the number five position without hesitation.
"Are you sure?" Crow asked.
"Positive," Tiffany said. "It's the eyes."
Leaving Tiffany Bannister's apartment, Fey and Crow returned to Lionheart Pictures to re-interview Elgin Tremayne in the presence of his lawyer, Susan Lawrence.
Tremayne was into his Hollywood powerbroker intimidation mode. "We've shown you all of our employee records. Anna Havilland has never worked for Lionheart."
"I've checked with the SAG, which is something you should have done before coming here," Susan Lawrence said with condescension. "Havilland's acting career consists of six weeks' work on two different soap operas produced by the same company, neither of which has any connections to Lionheart."
"What about the allegations you put Tony V's out of business?" Fey asked. "Vandermere's lawyer claims you are now trying to frame Vandermere because of the civil suit."
"You can't possibly believe that crap," Susan Lawrence said. "It's crazy."
"What I believe doesn't matter," Fey said, calmly. "The question still has to be addressed."
"Rafe Vandermere and Tony Picardi sold us a bill of goods," Tremayne said. "There had been several other attempts to run a restaurant on the premises without success. We were going to convert the location into office space, but Rafe and Tony convinced us to rent it to them for another try as a restaurant."
Lawrence laid her hand on Tremayne's arm. "Elgin gave them all the backing he could," she said. "He provided advertising and other promotions, even used them to cater to our other business functions."
"None of it helped," Tremayne said. "There were health code violations, unhappy customers—the menu was a disaster."
"Picardi was the brains?" Crow asked.
"I don't know about brains," Tremayne said. "He was the head cook and busboy anyway. Vandermere was the showman, but he was all show and no do. We had no choice but to evict them when they consistently failed to meet their financial obligations."
"What do you intend to do with the property now?" Fey asked.
Tremayne shrugged. "When the civil suit is settled, we'll convert it to office space. Lionheart is out of the restaurant business."
From the Lionheart offices, Fey and Crow moved on to Anna Havilland's apartment. Both detectives had been thoughtful while driving to the location. However, walking through the entrance to the complex, Crow broke the silence.
"This whole set-up theory doesn't make sense. You saw the victim at the hospital. Do you believe she wasn't raped?"
"Maybe she's an Oscar class actress."
"You can't be serious?"
"No," Fey said. "But I learned a long time ago that trusting gut instinct was a loser's game. We check everybody's story out. We get proof."
They were now approaching the door to Anna's apartment when Fey saw it was slightly open. She tapped Crow's shoulder and pointed.
"Your gut instinct telling you something?" Crow asked assessing the situation. "Or do you need proof?"
"Shut up," Fey said, knowing he was right.
Approaching cautiously, Fey knocked on the door. It swung open slightly, but there was no response from inside. The two detectives drew their guns, holding them down by their sides.
"Ms. Havilland?" Fey called out. "Anna?"
Crow pushed the door open wide and stepped in. "Anna Havilland?" He called out loudly. "Police."
They walked through the small apartment. Fey checked the kitchen as Crow pushed open the door to the single bedroom. He looked inside and immediately withdrew his head.
"Fey," he called out softly.
Fey moved to his side and looked into the bedroom for herself. Anna Havilland's body lay naked across the bed, a man's tie wrapped tightly around her throat.
Fey let out a deep sigh. "Oh, hell."
Deputy Coroner Elsie Manning talked to Fey as they stood next to the stainless steel autopsy table bearing Anna Havilland's body.
"Cause of death was definitely asphyxiation," Elsie said. She was drying her hands on a small towel.
"Any sexual trauma?" Fey asked.
Crow entered the autopsy room and came to stand next to Fey, picking up the thread of the conversation.
"None," Elsie reported. "But she did put up a struggle. I found a fair amount of skin under the nails of her left hand. There were some black beard hairs in the skin."
"So, you're saying whoever did this is walking around with a hell of a set of scratches on their face?" Crow asked.
Elsie nodded. "Best guess would be the suspect's right cheek."
Crow turned to Fey. "Surveillance just called in. They spotted Vandermere sneaking into Janet Kent's townhouse."
"Tell me they had a close enough look to see scratches on his face," Fey said.
"Got it in one," Crow said with a grim smile.
Fey and Crow quietly approached the front door of Janet Kent's darkened townhouse. Wearing bulletproof vests and raid jackets, they led the way for several other similarly clad RHD detectives. There were also two uniformed officers, one of them carrying a battering ram.
"Better knock and identify ourselves," Fey whispered as she and Crow reached the front door. "Wouldn't want to break the law."
Crow tapped ever so lightly on the front door. "Police," he whispered. "We have a search warrant." He looked at Fey.
"Better break it down," Fey said, continuing to whisper, "before they can destroy any evidence."
Crow grinned and waved to the uniformed officer carrying the battering ram.
The door to the townhouse burst open with the first swing of the heavy metal ram. Fey and Crow surged in followed by the other detectives, all with their guns drawn and ready.
"Police!" Crow yelled.
He and Fey swarmed down a short hallway and kicked open a door leading to the main bedroom. Inside, Janet Kent was pulling a sheet up to cover her nakedness. Rafe Vandermere had already rolled out of the bed and was heading for a window. Fresh scratches were visible on his right cheek. Fey's gun came unwaveringly to bear on him.
