Rebel Without A Clue

by Carolyn Scott

  "Do?" I shrugged, palms up. "Nothing. He won't lead us to the jewels now."

  "But you can't give up! They're mine!" She placed her palms on the table and leaned forward. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. "I spent fifteen miserable years as his wife. He pulled me down when he was alive. He's not going to do it now he's dead. I want what's mine."

  She had a point but I still wasn't convinced it was a feasible idea. I mean, where to start? Will and Carl would know but I couldn't ask them. I needed to do it on my own.

  At least there was a plus to Lou being dead—I didn't have to worry about my safety anymore.

  "I'm still his legal wife," Roberta said. "So technically they're still my jewels."

  "Okay."

  Her face lit up and you wouldn't have guessed she'd just cried bucket-loads. But then she touched her fingers to her mouth as fresh tears welled. "I can't thank you enough. I know you're not doing this for the money. I have this feeling about you. You're honest. You believe in justice. I knew as soon as I met you. I felt it in my bones."

  Not the bones again. "It's no problem."

  "I want this wrapped up quickly," she added. "His family will fight me in court for his assets. You have to go through his apartment and car before they stop you."

  I paid for the coffees and saw Roberta off. I headed back to the office, thinking through my next move. One thing became clear. I had to talk to the police. Not only was I curious to find out the details of Lou's murder, but I probably should tell them about the listening device. Honesty is the best policy, but only if it stops you getting in worse trouble.

  Carl poked his head round his door when I got back to the office. "She gone?"

  "Yes." I frowned and looked closer at his face. "What happened to your lip?”

  He fingered the swollen cut on his lower lip. I hadn't noticed it earlier because he'd scuttled into his office like a frightened tortoise and I was more interested in Roberta.

  "I walked into a closed door," he said.

  "What are you, blind?"

  "It was glass."

  "Were you drunk?"

  "Not enough to dull the pain."

  I cringed. I'm not good with pain, even someone else's.

  "So what did she want?" he asked.

  "I thought you weren't interested. We don’t do domestics, remember?"

  "That hasn’t stopped you from taking on her case."

  "Exactly. I’ve taken it on, not Knight Investigations." Although that didn’t preclude me from using the company's resources.

  "Will won’t be happy," he sang childishly.

  "Will won’t find out," I sang back.

  He looked at me like I was stupid. "He’ll find out. He always finds out in the end."

  "The end is fine. It won’t matter then. Look how long it took him to catch Tanya's embezzling."

  He shook his head, dismayed. "I can’t believe she’d do something like that to Will. And they were dating at the time!" He shook his head again. "He took it surprisingly well though. I would have been calling the police on her."

  "I think he feels sorry for her. Or maybe he's still in love with her."

  Carl snorted. "Nope, he's definitely not in love with her anymore. You should have seen him when he spotted her getting out of her car yesterday. He couldn't get to his office fast enough and told me to tell her he wasn’t in. It’s only because she insisted on checking that he got found out."

  "He’s a coward."

  "She’s a bitch."

  Good call.

  "So are you going to share your case with me, Cat?"

  I was dying to tell somebody and since Carl might be able to help, I blurted it all out. "Roberta’s husband is dead."

  "Dead? Damn, now she'll never get her jewelry back." Spoken like a true PI.

  "He was murdered."

  His mouth dropped open and his baby blues bugged out of his head. "She didn't do it, did she?"

  "Nope. She doesn't know who killed him or why."

  "He was an ex-con, wasn’t he? Maybe he was being too friendly with his old buddies. Or not friendly enough."

  "That was my theory. I saw him hanging out with—"

  "You followed him? You followed Lou Scarletti?"

  "Ye-es, I needed to learn his patterns, his associates. Isn't that what you'd do?"

  "Yeah, but…Jeez, Cat, you’re lucky he didn’t spot you."

  Enlightening him wouldn’t do my ego any good.

  "So what now?" he asked.

  "Roberta wants me to keep looking for the jewelry."

  He sat down at my desk with purpose. "Good idea. He might have taken their location to his grave but on the other hand, it’s safer for you now with Scarletti out of the picture." He picked up my phone and started dialing. "He wouldn't have told her where they were when he was alive anyway."

  "Who’re you calling?"

  He held up a hand as he listened to the person on the other end. "Daryl Miller," he said. There was another pause and then Daryl Miller must have picked up because Carl spoke to him like they were old buddies. I’d heard Carl and Will mention Miller’s name before. He was a cop pal of Will's from his stint in the force some ten plus years ago. They often called him if they needed information from the police database.

  A few minutes later, Carl hung up. He tore off the top yellow sticky note from the pad and handed it to me. "Stankovic is the detective in charge. Miller says there’s no leads as yet but they want to speak to Scarletti's associates."

  I gave him my sweetest smile. "Thanks, Carl, you’re a gem."

  "He also said Stankovic is still at the crime scene. Lou's apartment." He winked and gave me a lopsided grin.

  I think that meant I should go round and talk to the cops. "What about Will? Is he due in soon?"

  Carl’s face turned a shade paler. "Uh, yeah."

  The front door opened and I swung round. Will strolled in, shoulders slumped, hair messier than usual and eyes looking like a road map. He acknowledged Carl with a nod and gave me half a frazzled smile. "Feeling better?"

  "Huh? Oh, yeah. Better than you look anyway. Did you sleep last night?" As soon as I said it I wanted to take it back. What if he’d made up with Tanya after their fight? Make-up sex can get pretty intense and I didn't want to hear the details.

  "I was thinking about this damn Waterstone contract all night. He’s becoming a pain in the ass."

  "Get rid of him."

  "We can’t afford to, Cat." He said it like I was stupid for not understanding.

  I ignored his attitude while I tried to think of an excuse to leave. Will beat me to it by heading up to his office and shutting the door.

  "Go," Carl whispered. "I’ll tell him your grandmother died or something."

  I thanked him and left. Twenty minutes later, I parked behind a police car outside Lou’s apartment. There were cops everywhere. As with any good tragedy, the neighbors had come out for a look. A young, gangly officer standing near the front door kept them back, shooing them away like he was herding sheep.

  I went straight up and gave him a mega-watt Hollywood smile. "Hi. I’m Cat Sinclair from Knight Investigations. I’d like to speak to Detective Stankovic."

  The officer was all arms and legs as if he hadn't grown into his body yet. He stared down his nose at me but couldn't quite pull off the air of authority he was probably hoping for. "Why?"

  "I have some information regarding Lou Scarletti’s murder." I chewed the inside of my cheek as he radioed up to Stankovic.

  I waited fifteen minutes before a man in worse physical shape than Lou had been when he was alive came down the stairs. Sweat trickled from his hairline and damp circles spread under his armpits. He took out a handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket, unfolded it, wiped his forehead, and re-folded it before tucking it away.

  "I’m Stankovic," he puffed. "What do you want?"

  I looked him in the eye and lied my ass off. "Cat Sinclair, Knight Investigations. Roberta Scarletti, the deceased's wife, has r
etained our services." At least it was sort of the truth.

  Stankovic’s straight eyebrows forked. "Really? And what has she employed your services for?"

  "Surveillance."

  Stankovic nodded. He probably assumed Roberta wanted to find out if Lou was seeing someone else. I wasn’t going to enlighten him about the jewelry. No need to complicate things until absolutely necessary.

  "And you wanted to see me because…"

  "The transmitter under the coffee table is mine."

  His brows spiked again before flat lining. "Now it's mine."

  "But—"

  "You’re wasting my time." He turned and went back inside.

  I tried frantically to think of something else that would get me into his confidence. "Wait!" He stopped and cast a glance back, impatience printed all over his moon face. "I saw him with his associates. I can identify them for you."

  His eyes flickered to mine. "You’ve just become useful."

  He escorted me upstairs to Lou’s apartment. A layer of fingerprint dust sprinkled the surfaces and crime scene investigators crawled around with tweezers and plastic bags. I wondered if any of my epithelials had become evidence along with the transmitter.

  "Hey, Gina," said a voice behind me. "Or is it Sylvia?"

  I spun round and froze. Standing in Lou’s kitchenette, his hands behind him and flanked by two uniformed cops, was Scarface.

  Chapter 5

  "You!" I said.

  "The one and only." Scarface's voice sounded richer, deeper, away from the noise of The Grotto, but he looked just as creepy in the daytime. And it wasn't only from the scar. It was the way he held himself, with a sort of forced casualness as if trying to contain an abundance of energy. I wondered what would happen if his self-control snapped. Would the cops be able to control him?

  "You know this woman?" Stankovic looked at me then at Scarface.

  "Yes."

  "Not really," I said at the same time.

  Scarface smiled knowingly. "Come on now, we're on first name basis. Not the right first name…"

  He was making fun of me. "We met briefly in a bar once," I said to Stankovic. "No big deal. I didn't want anything to do with him so I left—" I cut myself off because my mouth was getting ahead of my brain and from past experience I knew that could lead to big trouble.

  "Very wise," Stankovic said. "The less you have to do with him the better."

  "Hey," Scarface said, "is that any way to talk to your colleague?"

  Colleague? My acting skills let me down. I stared ga-ga at Scarface as he moved toward me. His hands swung freely at his sides. No handcuffs. And on second look, the cops weren't guarding him, they were just relaxing against the kitchen bench.

  Jeez, I sucked at the P.I. game. Will or Carl would have known Scarface was a cop.

  Still, he didn't look like a cop. He wore black jeans that hugged a nice behind and a tight black T-shirt that showed off a lean frame with impressive bulges in all the right places. His black hair stuck out at angles from his head and the stubble on his chin was way past five o'clock.

  "You don't look like a cop," I said lamely.

  He stood right in front of me, an amused gleam in his one green eye. "That's why I'm good."

  "He's undercover," Stankovic said. "Detective Harrison Forde."

  I burst out laughing. "You look different on the big screen."

  "Don't start with me," said Scarface, er…Harrison Forde.

  I sucked my lips together, trying to stop smiling. Forde grunted. Guess he didn't have a sense of humor about his name. Something to remember for later.

  "I've told you mine now you tell me yours," he said in that seductive voice that made my insides squirm.

  "Cat Sinclair."

  "Miao."

  Like I hadn't heard that one a million times.

  "What are you doing here anyway?" he asked. "What's going on with you and Lou?"

  "Me and Lou?" I screwed up my nose. "I hope you're not thinking what I think you're thinking. I'm not his girlfriend. Not even if he was the last of the male species and I was wasted on a cocktail of drugs and alcohol—"

  "Okay, okay, I get the picture."

  "She's from Knight Investigations," said Stankovic. "Heard of them?"

  "Will Knight? Yeah, I know the bastard. We worked together in the early days before he went soft and left the force."

  "Will's not soft." Why did I insist on defending him?

  "Did you say Cat Sinclair? Any relation to Graham Sinclair, Will's partner?"

  "Late partner. And yes, I'm his daughter. Did you know him?"

  "Only by reputation. He was the detective that put Scarletti away," he said to Stankovic. "A few years before you transferred here."

  Stankovic looked at me again, a hint of respect in his nod. First time Dad had ever done me a favor.

  "I thought Knight only did corporate these days," said Scarface. "What's he got to do with the likes of Scarletti?"

  "Roberta Scarletti employed me to do surveillance on her husband. I followed him to his hang outs and placed a listening device under the coffee table."

  "That clears that little mystery up."

  "Were you listening last night?" Stankovic asked.

  "Uh, no. What time did he die?"

  "It was late," Scarface said, "around four this morning."

  "I was listening earlier in the evening. He went out, I followed him, but he— I lost him."

  Stankovic drew a notebook from his inside jacket pocket and flipped it open. "He was stopped for reckless driving at nine forty-five. He went to his girlfriend's place, stayed there until two-thirty, and presumably returned straight here."

  "Any suspects?" I asked.

  Stankovic and Forde both looked at me but said nothing. Guess that's a no then. Or maybe they weren't telling. Damn cops. Always keeping the good stuff to themselves but expect everyone else to impart their hard-earned knowledge. Well, relationships are a two way street. Give and take.

  Stankovic moved off when a young cop beckoned. I was left alone with Forde. "So," I said, "you've been investigating Scarletti?"

  "Yep."

  "And you were looking for something here the other day when you broke in. What?"

  "I didn't break in. The door was unlocked. Somebody left it open." He crossed his arms, stretching his T-shirt to tearing point over his big biceps.

  I tore my gaze away, only to look up at his wry grin. "Stop avoiding the question," I said.

  He leaned down so our faces were level. "Sweetheart, you know I can't answer that."

  I humphed and tried to think of what to do next. Asking straight out if I could look around probably wouldn't work.

  "So what are you doing here anyway?" he asked, straightening. "If I were an egotistical kind of guy, I'd think you were following me."

  "She says she knows who his associates are," Stankovic said, rejoining us. He had his handkerchief out again. It was as wet as his shirt and probably not much use anymore. Lou's apartment was stifling hot. No one had turned on the air conditioning or opened a window. My makeup had probably slipped and I didn't want to know what my hair looked like. Heat plus humidity equals bad hair day every time.

  "Nothing new there, Sweetheart," Forde said with a shrug. "I already know who his associates are. She met them at The Grotto two nights ago," he said to Stankovic. "How did that go by the way?"

  The man was teasing me again, and although I got flirting vibes off him, he was beginning to annoy the shit out of me. "Lots of fun," I said. "But I suck at poker."

  "You suck at stripping too, so I hear."

  Stankovic's brows dove. "You're a stripper?"

  "No! I told you, I'm a P.I."

  Stankovic looked disappointed. He moved away to make a call on his cell phone.

  "That was a stroke of luck yesterday," Scarface said, "knowing the neighbor."

  "Yeah, we're old friends."

  "Sylvia?"

  I cringed. "All right, I lied to her. No big deal. A
t least I didn't sneak in."

  "She didn't suspect you?" He looked impressed. "Nice job. I tried her. She didn't buy any of my lines."

  "Maybe if you didn't look so scary…"

  "You think I look scary?"

  I held my fingers half an inch apart. "Just a little."

  "That could be why I can't get a date."

  "Could also be because you hang out at places like The Grotto. The women there look even scarier than you."

  He grinned. "Which is why you stood out like a nun at a brothel. I wouldn't go back there if I were you. Mad Max was already suspicious. Next time he might want a personal performance as proof."

  I didn't tell him Lou had figured me out, and threatened me. Thinking about Lou brought back reality with a rush. Flirting with Scarface—I think that's what we were doing—had distracted me from the cold fact that I was standing in a dead man's apartment and I was no closer to finding Roberta's jewelry.

  "So, you won't tell me why you were watching Scarletti?" I asked with what I hoped was a sexy look.

  "You're catching on fast."

  So much for sexy. "Can you at least tell me how he died?"

  "Nope."

  I cut a sideways glance to Stankovic who was talking to a female cop. "Come on, give me a break. This is my first big case." No need to tell him it was my one and only. "And if I leave here with nothing, Will's going to chew me out. He might even fire me." Scarface didn't blink. "And after everything you and I have been through together, we're…buddies." I put just the right amount of pause before it to infer something more.

  It worked. He draped an arm around my shoulders and drew me into his chest. Ooh, yeah, baby. A girl could get used to the scariness if it came with a rock hard body like that.

  "We can't have Knight firing you," he said. In a low voice so Stankovic couldn't hear, he gave me the known facts surrounding Lou's death.

  Scarletti had been shot in the chest with his own gun after a struggle. For that reason, the killer was most likely a strong man, or had an accomplice. The apartment had been turned over as if someone was searching for something, but not thoroughly, probably because the killer knew the gunshot would have been heard and he had to get out before the cops arrived.

  The neighbor, Angela Lafayette, heard a single gunshot and called the police. She didn't see Scarletti or anyone else arrive because she was asleep, but she saw someone running down the stairs about five minutes after the shot. She thought it was a man but he had a hood over his head so she couldn't ID him. The gun, found next to Scarletti's body, had been wiped clean of prints.