Craving Vengeance, a Nick Spinelli Mystery

by Valerie J. Clarizio

  “No, not really. I was just looking at the vics’ ages trying to link them somehow. But it’s not working. Rosso was 35, Williams was 36, Carter was 28, and Meyers was just shy of 33.” Walker looked up from the file and glanced at Shannon. “So, Meyers was in his last year of medical school when you dated him?”

  She nodded.

  “What school did he go to?”

  Shannon cocked her head to the side. “The University of Madison.”

  Walker shifted his gaze to Spinelli. “Didn’t Bethany go to Madison?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Walker squinted and stared at the crime board. He ran his hand over his five o’clock shadow and then held his chin. “You know, I think it says Madison on the diploma hanging behind her desk.” His gaze shifted back to Spinelli. “How old is Bethany?”

  Spinelli shrugged. “Somewhere around my age. 32 or so.”

  “She’s the right age. Maybe she knew Meyers. Maybe she kept in touch, or maybe she knows who he may have kept in touch with,” Walker commented as he stepped closer to the crime board. “You know, it’s just too coincidental that Meyers returned home on the day of all these murders and then gets murdered himself.”

  “And murdered wearing a cupid outfit,” Marsh added. “Could he have been double crossed?”

  “What do you mean?” Spinelli asked.

  “I mean, was he partially responsible for the murders of Carter, Rosso, and Williams, and then got murdered himself because the plan went bad or the orchestrator of the plan wanted to tie up loose ends?”

  “It’s as good a theory as any right now.”

  Spinelli pulled his cell phone from his hip and tapped the screen.

  “Who are you calling?” Marsh asked.

  “Bethany.”

  Marsh glanced at his watch. “It’s after 10:00, you know. We could just pick this back up in the morning.”

  “Do you have someplace important to be?”

  Marsh shook his head and shifted his eyes to Walker. “No, I don’t, but maybe other people do.”

  “You got that right,” Captain Jackson blurted as she walked up to the crime board. “I’d rather be at home, but I’ve got the Mayor breathing down my neck over this cupid case. The media is having a field day over the murders and our lack of response.” She shifted her annoyed gaze to Spinelli, pinning him in place. A shiver ran up his spine. Her small frame never kept her from showing who was in charge and demanding the utmost respect. She perched her hands on her narrow hips. Her nostrils flared with each breath she took. “So what do we have here, Spinelli?”

  Spinelli glanced at his phone screen. His call to Bethany went to voicemail. He looked up to find all eyes on him. “She’s not answering.”

  “And you’re surprised by that why?” Marsh asked as he chuckled. “The woman despises you,” he assured Spinelli as if hadn’t already had a clue.

  The impatient tapping of Jackson’s foot drew Spinelli’s attention. “What?”

  “I asked you a question? Where are you guys at with the cupid case?”

  Spinelli’s gaze shifted to the crime board, then back to Jackson. He sighed heavily. “We don’t have anything other than the fact they were all poisoned by cyanide ingestion. We’ve just now linked the first three cupids together, but not the fourth.” He glanced back at his phone. “And just now I was trying to contact Bethany. She may be able to shed some light on Meyers, the fourth Cupid, and perhaps help us link him to the other three, but she didn’t answer her phone.”

  “Our Bethany? The pathologist?” Jackson asked as her head snapped in Marsh’s direction. She shot him a scowl. “Is that who you were talking about when I walked up?”

  Marsh nodded.

  “Well, that doesn’t make any sense at all,” Jackson added as she turned her attention back to Spinelli.

  “Why does that surprise you? I thought every Tom, Dick, and Harry knew how she felt about me,” Spinelli stated as he avoided making any sort of eye contact with Shannon at this point. He wondered why he felt guilty as they talked about his old girlfriend, especially since he’d caught Shannon kissing one of her old flames earlier.

  Jackson pointed at the heart-shaped box of chocolates on his desk. “She dropped that off for you a couple of hours ago. Right before I left to go home. She seemed all cheery at that time.”

  All eyes shifted to the box of chocolates.

  Spinelli stepped over to his desk and lifted the lid. They looked like normal chocolates. Everyone else hovered around the desk and leaned in.

  “Bethany?” he whispered.

  “I’ll get them to the lab,” Walker said as he gloved his hand and gingerly took the lid from Spinelli.

  Jackson cleared her throat. “Okay, but it will take several days at best to get the results.”

  She flashed Spinelli a sympathetic look. He shifted his gaze to his feet. God how he hated the sympathetic look. He’d received it too many times as a child. Every time he entered a new foster home, the foster parents flashed him the same look he’d just received from Jackson. If he never saw that sympathetic look again, it would be too soon. Was he that pathetic?

  “I’ll send a black and white to Bethany’s house. We’ll bring her in for questioning,” Jackson added.

  “I’ll have IT check her emails. See if we can find anything there,” Marsh said, his voice somber. It was one of the few times Spinelli didn’t detect cockiness or sarcasm in Marsh’s voice.

  Spinelli stared down at his desk where the box of chocolates once sat. Could Bethany have orchestrated this whole thing? Could she have killed four people? And did she really want him dead as well? His core chilled at the thought. They’d only gone out a few times, never even slept together. His vision blurred as sweat ran down his back.

  He tried to live a good life. He tried to be a good person, yet he may have been the reason for the deaths of Tony Rosso, Mike Carter, Chad Williams, and Joshua Meyers. And poor Shannon. What had he done to her?

  Maybe he was no better than his druggie mother after all. Was he ultimately responsible for her death as well? Was he simply too much for her to handle? Perhaps if she hadn’t had him at such a young age, she wouldn’t have had to sell herself on street corners to support herself, him, and her awful drug fetish. There were times he hated her for what she’d done to him as a child, leaving him home alone to fend for himself for days at a time for as far back as he could remember. Drugs seemed to be more important to her than he was. He recalled the countless foster homes he’d spent time in when she wasn’t up for the task of raising him. Some weren’t so bad, but others were awful. He closed his eyes at the last memory of her. He was sixteen, and he’d come home to their run-down, filthy apartment to find her lying dead on the couch. Drug overdose. His chest constricted. His heart fought to beat.

  Spinelli flinched at the sensation of warmth that crept up his arm as Shannon wrapped her small hand around his bicep. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t risk it. Tears stung his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He hadn’t cried since he was six years old, and he wasn’t about to start now. Shame penetrated every cell in his body.

  “I know what you’re thinking, and this isn’t your fault,” she said as she lightly squeezed his arm.

  He still couldn’t look at her.

  She tugged his arm. “Nick, look at me.”

  His gaze drifted to her. Her warm eyes looked up at him. He loved her beautiful green eyes. He’d never grow tired of staring into them. She reached up and placed her small hands on his cheeks. His already burning cheeks warmed even more.

  Her beautiful full lips parted. “This is not your fault. You didn’t do this,” she stated firmly as if in full belief of her words. Her gaze didn’t waver. God, how he loved her. Too bad he needed to let her go. He seemed to always hurt those around him, and he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her any more than he already had today.

  He stepped back, pulling himself from her hold. The hurt in her expression nearly killed him.
But it had to be done. She would be better off without him. Her hand dropped to her side.

  “Don’t do that, Nick,” she whispered, her eyes pleaded. He felt like such a bastard.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Spinelli urged Shannon to let the patrol officer take her home. She wouldn’t budge. Stubborn redhead!

  The sound of women’s heels clicking against the hardwood floor drew Spinelli’s attention. Captain Jackson stepped up to him and Shannon. “The officers with Bethany just pulled up. I want you two to make yourselves scarce while they bring her in. And Spinelli, I know I don’t need to say this, but you can watch from the other room.”

  He opened his mouth to protest he’d like nothing more than to interrogate the shit out of the woman who likely orchestrated this whole thing but then thought better of it. He knew Jackson was right. He’d likely not be able to maintain his cool and get the job done, and it was likely that Bethany would be more responsive and cooperative with someone else.

  “Who’s going to do it? Walker?”

  “No, I think I’ll take the first go around on this one.”

  Jackson didn’t say it, but Spinelli figured she thought maybe Bethany would respond better to a woman.

  Shannon rested her hand on Spinelli’s shoulder. “I’ll wait for you in the lunchroom.

  A nod was all he could muster before he headed in the direction of the small dimly lit room adjacent to the interrogation room. He stood in front of the two-way mirror staring into the next room as he waited for the suspect to arrive. Walker entered a moment later.

  “Where’s Marsh?” Spinelli asked.

  “He’s with Lisa in IT. They’re still combing through Bethany’s emails, looking for anything that ties her to the victims.”

  Spinelli shifted his gaze back to the empty interrogation room. The room was dimly lit and clean. A metal table sat in the center. Its color a gloomy gray. The room was so tiny one was hardly able to walk around the table. One burnt orange, plastic chair sat on each of the long sides of the rectangular table, making the room even tighter. He hated those old, ugly, uncomfortable chairs. He was sure they’d been in that room since the beginning of time. But those crappy old chairs did exactly what they were supposed to which was to keep the suspect from becoming too comfortable. He hated the smell of the room, too. The odor reminded him of a musty basement.

  He wished they would just get here so they could get this over with. He glanced at Walker who’d partially propped himself up on the table behind him. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he stared through the two-way mirror into the empty interrogation room. The door to the interrogation room opened, drawing Spinelli’s attention.

  Bethany stepped into the room then looked back at Captain Jackson who followed on her heels. Jackson gestured toward one of the chairs, and Bethany slid it out from under the table and took a seat. She scooted the chair up to the table and rested her arms on the tabletop. She drummed her fingers as if annoyed.

  Jackson remained standing on the same side of the table in which Bethany sat; about an arm’s length away. Spinelli was sure Jackson stood between Bethany and the door by design. It was an interrogation strategy. The suspect would have to go through the interrogator if she tried to make a run for it.

  “Bethany, did the officers tell you why we wanted you to come down to the station?” Jackson asked. Her voice was soft and controlled.

  Bethany nodded. “They mentioned something about me knowing one of the dead cupids.”

  “That’s right. How did you know him?”

  “What do you mean? How did I know him? He worked in this building. Mostly I saw him in the parking lot when we arrived in the morning or left at night.”

  “You’re talking about Chad Williams?” Jackson questioned.

  “Yeah.”

  Spinelli arched a brow and looked at Walker. “Question diversion?” An attempt often made by suspects to get the interrogator to move in a different direction.

  “Could be.”

  Jackson’s gaze stayed on Bethany. “Oh, so then you know two of the cupids.”

  “What?”

  “Joshua Meyers. You knew him as well?”

  “No.”

  Jackson arched a brow. “Hmm, he didn’t look at all familiar to you when you examined him?”

  “No.”

  “That’s odd. You’d think after all those years in medical school together you would have run into him at one time or another.”

  “Well, it’s not like we were the only two in the graduating class.”

  “You’re right,” Jackson said as she cocked her head to the side.

  “What do you know about tropical fish?”

  Bethany studied Jackson for a few beats. She looked puzzled. “They’re pretty.”

  “That’s it? Nothing else?”

  Bethany’s jaw clenched. “The males tend to be prettier than the females.”

  “Does that upset you?”

  Bethany huffed, leaned back in her chair, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why would it? Why would I care?”

  “I don’t know. You just seem bothered by that.”

  “Whatever,” Bethany replied with a roll of her eyes and the attitude of a teenager who’d just been set straight by her parents. “You brought me down here to talk about fish?” she questioned, her tone still juvenile.

  Spinelli’s eyes narrowed. She’s getting a little testy already. That was quick. Jackson’s twenty-plus years on the force really showed during times like these. Her small frame never precluded her from getting the job done. And her eyes. Spinelli was sure he’d confess to anything if her small dark eyes zoned in on him the way they zoned in on the suspects. She was a strong woman. He always admired her for that. His old partner, Mad Dog, had told him early on to make sure to stay on her good side. Good bosses like her were hard to come by. And though she expected a lot from her staff, she stood behind them one hundred percent when the shit hit the fan.

  A knock sounded on the interrogation room door. Both Jackson and Bethany’s heads turned in that direction. Marsh poked his head in and motioned for Jackson. She stepped into the doorway and Marsh whispered something to her.

  She looked back at Bethany. “I’ll be right back.”

  Bethany shrugged.

  Jackson and Marsh entered the room in which Spinelli and Walker resided. Marsh looked like he was ready to explode. What did he find?

  Marsh flopped a stack of papers on the table. He fanned the stack.

  Yellow highlights appeared sporadically throughout the documents. “What are those?” Jackson asked as she placed her finger on one of the highlighted areas.

  “These are printouts of Bethany’s Internet records. Evidently, she has a Hotmail email account she logs into on occasion for personal business during work hours. She was smart enough not to use her work email account, but evidently, she’s not smart enough to know that IT has records of all computer activity generated by all work computers,” he shook his head, “and she’s got a doctorate.”

  “What are you trying to tell us?” Jackson asked, cutting to the chase.

  “I had IT run their keystroke search program on Bethany’s computer to see if she had any correspondence with ‘Angelfish’ like Williams had. All the highlighted areas are just that, emails to or from someone called ‘Angelfish.’ And just like we found on Williams’ and Carter’s computers, the conversations seem vague, but do reference a particular date and some specific early morning hours, the date being February 14th.”

  All sound faded from Spinelli’s ears except for his thudding heart and his hissing lungs. He fought to refill his lungs; it seemed to be a struggle. He knew going in to Bethany’s questioning there was a good chance she was involved in this whole mess. He’d hoped for some sort of miracle that he was wrong. But Marsh had likely just added the final nail to the coffin, and ultimately, he knew he was responsible for the deaths of Rosso, Carter, Williams, and Meyers.

  His dates with Bethany repl
ayed through his mind. They were just dates, nothing special. No flowers, no expensive dinners, no weekends away, and no sex. He thought about things he had said to her. He couldn’t come up with one conversation where he’d led her to believe there was more to their relationship than he thought.

  The voices of Jackson, Marsh, and Walker eased back into his eardrums, slowly growing louder with each passing moment. Marsh was mumbling something about a Beta fish being temperamental and aggressive. He went on to explain that the females are normally shorter, have thicker bellies, less finnage, and are less vibrant in color than the males. What the hell was he talking about? He was a walking encyclopedia of useless information.

  “They’re also known as a Siamese Fighting Fish. They flare out their gill plates towards other fish to show hostility or when they feel threatened,” Marsh added.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Spinelli asked unable to camouflage his impatience.

  “Weren’t you listening? That’s what I just explained. In her emails to ‘Angelfish’, she uses the call name of ‘Betta’ fish. I’m just saying that she probably picked that name for a reason. It has a similar behavior pattern to her. Just like Rosso choosing ‘Angelfish’ has a similar behavior pattern to him.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s all good and well, we’ve got her, but none of this ties her to Meyers.”

  Marsh beamed. He was on a roll. “Those don’t,” he flipped to the last page in the small stack of papers and tapped his finger on the final yellow highlighted section, “but this one does.”

  Simultaneously everyone leaned forward to get a better look. Among the hundreds of characters on the page, the word “Eros” appeared highlighted in yellow.

  “Eros?” Spinelli questioned

  “I had Lisa in IT run their search program on the word ‘cupid’ as well ‘Angelfish’ but nothing came up. Then for kicks and giggles, I had Lisa run the program on ‘Eros’ and voila, here you have it. She typed an email, yesterday, to someone going by the name of Eros.”

  Everyone continued to stare at Marsh.