Skully, Perdition Games

by L E Fraser

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in thought.

  “That diary bothers me, but I can’t figure out why.”

  On his own train of thought, Reece sighed and said, “I can’t find Nicholas.”

  She sat up. “Any chance he had anything to do with this?”

  Reece shrugged. “The police confirmed his alibi. He was in Montreal, and his buddies corroborated.”

  “Why the weird look on your face?”

  “They’re not credible, in my opinion. Two of them have rap sheets for dealing, and one did time for aggravated assault.”

  “From what we witnessed in June, Nick didn’t hold her in high esteem but what’s his motive?” she asked.

  “If Nick framed his dad and Derek was convicted, the insurance money would go to Gabriella’s estate, which would be divided between her children,” Reece said. “I’m going to keep looking for him. I did speak with the other two kids. The daughter, Anna, is a genuine horror. Looks like a sixteen-year-old hooker.” He sighed. “Anna and Kevin didn’t strike me as being too upset over their mother’s disappearance. How horrible is that?”

  She nodded, unsurprised. There were numerous entries in Gabriella’s diary about how out of control the kids were. She grabbed the transcripts from her bag. “They could be torn because of their father’s presumed involvement, and parent-child relationships are complicated, especially with teenagers and young adults. Truth is that some of Gabriella’s diary entries about the kids were also apathetic. Listen to this:

  Anna’s a stupid bitch. At times like these, Papa would say that children have to respect their parents, even when they don’t agree with them. Spare the rod and spoil the child. You have to be tough in every aspect of life. Do it to your neighbour before she does it to you.”

  Reece picked up a few sheets and flipped through them. “That’s at least the tenth time I’ve heard that.”

  She looked up from the sheets. “It’s the only time I’ve read her calling her kids names.”

  He shook his head. “No, not that, the phrase: at times like these.” He dropped the sheets he was holding and leaned against the back of the sofa, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Do you want to have kids someday?”

  Her stomach rolled. She didn’t want to talk about feelings. She sure didn’t want to talk about kids or think about babies. “No.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She reached for her glass of wine and drank it down.

  “I never wanted kids,” he admitted. “They’re okay to visit, but I don’t want my own. I can’t figure out if it’s because I’m too selfish or too generous.”

  Interesting. She knew he wasn’t fond of other people’s kids but didn’t know he didn’t want his own. It was probably something she should ask him about, but she didn’t want to talk about babies.

  As if on cue, her furry baby trotted over and licked her hand. Brandy’s back legs shook when she attempted to climb on the sofa, and Sam leaned down to pull her up. It hurt to see how frail her Golden Retriever was becoming. She didn’t want to think about the decisions she’d have to make down the road. Brandy curled into the corner and put her nose between her paws.

  Sam was surprised when Reece pulled her close and rubbed her back.

  “She’s not doing too badly for an old girl. No need to worry yet,” he said.

  She pulled away and looked at him.

  Reece smiled. “I saw your face when she was climbing onto the sofa. She’s doing okay and still thinks she’s a puppy. In fact, she needs a walk.”

  Sam got up and went to Reece’s antique church altar, where she’d tucked the leash and doggy bags. She paused and ran her fingertip against a water ring left behind by a preacher who was long dead. The altar gave her the creeps, and she’d like to figure out a way to get rid of it.

  Reece and Brandy joined her. “The expression on your face is priceless.” He stroked the top of his altar. “It’ll grow on you,” he said with a grin and opened the front door. “Come on, I want to work off the few shrimp I ate.”

  Sam attached the leash and studied Brandy. She liked her dog more than she liked most people. She would die for her dog. More importantly, Brandy would die trying to protect her, which begged the question: what had happened to Gabriella’s dog?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Sam

  THE MEDIA WAS having fun. Derek’s case was news, and everyone wanted a piece. Over the past three days, the papers had capitalized on the Sonia angle, writing about Derek’s lover and his claim that he was with her. There was lots of speculation over whether Derek’s girlfriend had something to do with Gabriella’s alleged murder.

  Sam figured Sonia was sufficiently spooked. It was time to confront the woman, apply some pressure, and see if she caved. Assuming, of course, Sonia was lying about not being with her lover at the time of the incident.

  But before she spoke with Sonia, Sam wanted to search her condo and see what secrets she had. She’d picked a weekday afternoon for her first visit. Sonia should be at work. Assuming the hallway wasn’t busy, picking the condo lock wouldn’t be a problem. Reece had given her a professional set of lock picks for her last birthday, and she’d spent hours practising, much to the dismay of her friends who believed their homes were impregnable.

  This would be her first time ‘officially’ using the picks. That left the problem of the building door. The sidewalk entrance was clear glass that displayed a vestibule with a call-up box for guests and a locked door that led into the lobby. She counted three outdoor surveillance cameras. There would be more in the vestibule. If the building employed security guards, an officer would be monitoring the cameras, most likely from a lobby desk. She couldn’t see through the mirrored, one-way glass that divided the vestibule from the lobby interior and had no idea if a guard would be incredulously watching as she busily picked the lock. Her best approach would be to enter with a resident.

  The Bloor Street sidewalk was bustling outside the condo building, so she grabbed a coffee from the adjacent Starbucks and picked an outdoor table so she could watch the door. When an older woman approached the building, Sam fell in behind her. The woman was juggling numerous plastic grocery bags, while trying to balance keys she had hooked around her index finger.

  Sam intentionally bumped into her. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I live here. Want some help getting to the elevator?”

  The woman turned and smiled, gratitude lighting her face. She handed Sam three bags. “Thank you. It seems I got a bit carried away with my shopping today.”

  They entered the vestibule together. “Here, I’ll dig out my keys and open the front door for you.” Sam attempted to reach into her pocket.

  “Oh no, that’s okay, mine are right here. If you take this,” she handed her another bag, “and grab the door when it buzzes, we’ll be all set.”

  Inside, Sam carried the groceries to the elevator, while the woman chatted about prime rib that Loblaws supermarket had on sale. With a wave of thanks, the woman got off on the seventh floor, and Sam rode alone to the fifteenth. She was reaching for her lock picks when the neighbour’s door opened. The skunky aroma of pot wafted into the hallway.

  “Oh, you scared me!” The woman giggled. “You’re earlier than Sonia expected. I don’t think she’s home.” She was wearing a T-shirt with the words Lana loves Charlie written above a photo of her with a guy who looked a bit like Axl Rose in his younger days.

  “Yeah, I made good time. You must be Lana, Sonia’s talked about you,” Sam said with a smile. She took a chance. “We’re all getting together while I’m here, right?”

  Lana smiled. “Sonia didn’t say anything but I’d love to.”

  “Can you let me in? You have her key, right?”

  Lana frowned. “Well, yeah, I do. I knew you were coming, but she didn’t say anything about giving you the key. How did you get through the front door, did she tell Jeremiah to let you in?”

  Jeremiah mu
st be the body builder in the tight blue security shirt who had been sitting at the lobby desk when she came in. He’d glanced at the woman she’d entered with and returned to his magazine.

  “Yeah,” Sam said, “I guess she must have talked to him when she left.”

  That made no sense. If Sonia had wanted her guest to wait in her condo, she’d have asked security to escort her upstairs.

  Quickly, Sam added, “Boy, he’s a bulldog. I had to show two pieces of id. You’re lucky to have such great security. Anyway, he had to do something for a resident so I was hanging around waiting for him to take me upstairs to open the door. Then I thought I’d take a chance and see if you were home.”

  Lana relaxed. “Well, you’re lucky I was here. I was on my way out. I’ll grab the key.” A few seconds later, she returned. “I can’t believe how fucked up everything is. I never liked her boyfriend,” she shuddered, “but, wow, murder? That blows my mind.”

  “You know he was married, right?”

  Lana shrugged. “Sure. It’s less complicated, let the wife deal with all the shit that goes along with a husband.” She grinned. “As a girlfriend, he treats you like gold and takes his bad moods home to his old lady.”

  “Did you see him here the night his wife was killed?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t remember. Why?”

  “No reason. Hey, I left my car in a lot down the street. How do I get into your parking garage?”

  Derek had told them he’d parked in the underground and went up to the condo via the garage elevator. Lobby security wouldn’t be able to confirm he’d been there, since he didn’t access the front lobby doors or the main elevator. If parking access cards linked back to specific residents, they’d be able to verify entrance and exit time stamps. Most security companies kept access records because they weren’t large data files. It wouldn’t prove Derek had been Sonia’s visitor on the night of the incident, but it would prove she was lying about being home alone.

  “You need a card to use the garage,” Lana said. “Sonia can get you one.”

  Sam felt a flutter of excitement. “Are the cards allocated to your unit number?”

  “No, they’re registered to the building. If you’re having multiple guests, you can get extra from security.”

  That was disappointing, but not too surprising.

  “Are there camera’s in the parking garage?”

  She knew it was a long shot. Private security rarely kept surveillance footage for over a month because it took up too much bandwidth. It was worth checking out, and she made a mental note to ask Reece to follow up.

  “Yes.” A flicker of suspicion crossed Lana’s face. “You seem awfully interested in our security. Why?”

  “Jealous, I guess. My building security sucks.” Sam accepted the key and stuck it into the lock. “I’ve gotta use the facilities, so I’ll see you later. Thanks for not making me wait in the hall.” She went inside and closed the door, which latched with a whisper.

  Inside, a short hallway led into the living space. “Wow,” Sam muttered. “Having a sugar daddy has definite advantages.”

  The windows faced north and the view was spectacular. The units on the other side would face south toward the lake. Those would have a higher price tag. Derek had saved himself a few bucks.

  Dark hardwood floors highlighted modern furniture designed from white leather and steel. The side tables were stunning, crafted from heavy glass that perched on metal-sculpted bases. Abstract art hung on the walls and softened the otherwise sterile ambiance created by the minimalistic decor. The room was spotless and resembled an expensive art gallery.

  “A bit of OCD, Sonia?”

  Sam opened a decorative silver box and found a chunk of hash, a vial of thick golden liquid and a small bag of white powder. She snooped through the modular wall unit, looking behind the pieces of art and flipping through books.

  Sonia owned a ton of books, but no fiction. All the titles were self-help, and she hadn’t hidden anything between the pages. With the exception of the books, there wasn’t anything of a personal nature in the room.

  Sam sauntered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Some fruit and veg, a tub of non-fat yogurt, two bottles of Mumm’s champagne and a jar of Beluga caviar, the expensive white stuff. The freezer held six trays of ice-cubes and a bottle of Grey Goose vodka. The cupboards were bare. Either Sonia ate out or she suffered from an eating disorder.

  There were four doors off the hallway. The door to the left was a laundry room with a stacked washer and dryer, a folding counter, and a drying rack with silk lingerie hanging from the metal rails. The next was a guest bathroom that was sterile and felt unused. The master bedroom was to the left. She went into the ensuite bathroom. Sonia had dedicated one vanity drawer to men’s toiletries. Sam sniffed the cologne. Derek wore the same overpowering scent.

  She searched the bedroom next and found nothing of interest. The nightstand drawer housed a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs, a tube of Kama Sutra prolonging gel, a bottle of Viagra prescribed to Derek Martina, six boxes of condoms, and a vibrator. The closet contained more clothes than one person could wear in a lifetime. All designer labels. Sam wrinkled her nose at the number of shoes.

  “Who needs thirty pairs of shoes?” she muttered.

  There were no pictures, love notes, or memorabilia concerning Derek. Maybe he was right. Maybe Sonia was using him to pay for her luxury lifestyle, and he was using her for sex. She left the room and stood outside the final door. Locked. Why would someone lock a door in their home when they lived alone?

  She took out her pick case and studied the five-pin tumbler lock. Strange selection for an inside door. Selecting a tension wrench and a Bogota rake pick, Sam held the wrench in place with her left thumb and index finger while jiggling the rake with her right hand. The lock clicked and she nudged open the door before tucking her tools into the leather case and putting it into her pocket.

  Inside was a messy, disorganized office where Sonia appeared to spend most of her time. She was a pig at heart. No wonder she didn’t want anyone to see the room.

  From the desk, Sam picked up a picture frame with eight photos. All of Derek. More than half of them were candid shots — sneaky, voyeuristic photographs that Sam was ninety percent sure Derek didn’t know about. Scrapbooking paraphernalia littered the top of the desk with an album open to a blank page about halfway through. Sam flipped back to the beginning. Concert ticket stubs, restaurant receipts, newspaper articles and transcripts of recordings.

  Derek: I’m sick to death of trying to deal with her. She’s going to ruin my chances of advancing in the party.

  Sonia: I don’t want to talk about the bitch again. I have a surprise for you. Do you still want to play Catholic schoolgirl, sugar? I picked up the perfect outfit and went to the spa. The sweet spot is waiting for you, just the way you like.

  Derek: Well, that does sound interesting, Counsellor. Are we talking about a small landing patch or are you smooth as a dolphin?

  Sonia liked to tape phone calls with her boyfriend and type out the transcripts to put in a memory book. Creepy.

  She took a picture of the page, flipped back and took a few more. Sonia wasn’t in love with Derek. She was obsessed.

  She was closing the book when it fell and a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. It was a clipped newspaper article about a Liberal fundraising dinner. There was a photo of Derek and Gabriella. Sonia had scratched out Gabriella’s face, and the weight of the scribble had torn the paper.

  “Shit,” Sam whispered, “a lot of rage went into that.”

  “Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment?”

  Sam spun around. She’d been preoccupied with taking pictures but Sonia must have known someone was inside. She’d entered as quietly as possible.

  The stun gun she held was probably responsible for her false sense of security. Sam laughed at her. A skinny woman wearing five-inch stilettos wasn’t going to be too hard to handle. The stun gun
was a complication. It was similar to the ones the police carried, which meant Sonia could fire it from a distance.

  “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” she screamed.

  “I’m the PI working with Derek’s lawyer. I wanted to talk to you.” She took a step forward.

  “Don’t fucking move, bitch.” Sonia pointed the stun gun at her. “What gives you the right to snoop around my shit?”

  She took a calming breath and held Sonia’s eyes. “Your neighbour let me in, which I suspect you already know. She texted or called you, right? Interesting that you didn’t just call the cops or ask the gorilla downstairs to come up with you. Could it be you don’t want anyone to see what you keep in here?” She gestured behind her, and Sonia’s eyes darted to the desk and the scrapbook.

  Sam rushed forward, grabbed her wrist, and twisted her arm behind her back, pushing Sonia’s thumb toward the inside of her wrist. Sonia squealed in pain and stomped on Sam’s foot. The stiletto heel did some damage. Furious, she threw her weight against Sonia’s back and smashed her into the door. The stun gun dropped to the floor. Sam kicked it into the hall. With her free hand, she grabbed Sonia’s neck, pinching the pressure points under the woman’s jawbone and pushing upwards.

  Sonia gasped and stopped struggling, sliding down the wall to her knees.

  Sam dragged her into the hall and picked up the stun gun. “Get up.” She released Sonia’s arm. “We’re going to the living room.”

  Sonia rubbed her neck and wiped her tears with heel of her hand. For a minute, she didn’t move. Then she used the wall for support, struggled to her feet, and limped toward the living room. At the entry hallway, she darted for the front door.

  “Shit.” Sam grabbed her by the hair and threw her back into the living room. “Running? Really? Where are you going? Sit the fuck down.” She picked her up by the armpits and tossed her into a chair.