Killer Smile

by Lisa Scottoline

  “Yes, I’m still with you, dispatch,” Paul was saying into his cell phone, catching up with Mary on the threshold.

  Amadeo’s file. She squatted on the rug like a madwoman and tore through the heap of files, folders, and papers on the floor. She had put the circle drawings, the wallet, and the FBI memo in the file, and stacked it with the other active cases on-the credenza. Where was the file? She checked the empty accordions for each case. Brenneman Industries. Alcor. Reitman. She tore through the accordions twice, double-checking. Amadeo’s file was missing. It was gone.

  “Hello? Hello, security?” Paul barked into his cell, then he closed the phone. “That gives me no confidence. No answer at the security desk.”

  Mary wasn’t completely surprised. She bent over the debris of her files and wanted to cry. Could Amadeo’s file really be gone? She could never get that wallet back. She hadn’t made a copy of the FBI memo. The hair might still be in its Baggie in her desk, but who needed hair? Which other files were missing? She tried to remember her other active cases but she was too upset. Amadeo’s photos were gone, too. She hadn’t even scanned them. Then she remembered. She hadn’t seen her laptop on her desk.

  Mary looked around frantically for her laptop. It was nowhere in sight. Maybe it had been buried somewhere. She turned around and rummaged through the papers and files on the floor near her desk. Her laptop wasn’t among them. No! That laptop contained all of her work for the past three years, including tons of notes she had taken at the National Archives. Mary felt sick, deflating on the floor. Her thoughts returned to Amadeo’s file. The circle drawings. She couldn’t show them to anybody else now, much less Paul. She looked miserably at him as he slid his cell phone back into his tweedy pocket, extended a hand, and helped her up.

  “Think of it this way, Mary,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “At least you weren’t here when they broke in.”

  “I wish I had been, I could have done something.” Mary rose on weak knees. “The drawings I wanted to show you are gone now.”

  “I’m just glad you’re safe,” Paul said softly. Then he raised his arms and gentled her into an embrace that gave her surprisingly little comfort.

  Mary, Paul, and now Judy stood in the firm’s trashed reception area with a tall African-American cop, Officer DeLawrence Rafter. Officer Rafter was slim-hipped and muscular, with a demeanor so professional it calmed Mary down just to be around him. Almost. He slid an Incident Report pad from his back pocket and a bitten-off Bic from his breast pocket.

  “Now, Ms. DiNunzio, you wanna tell me what happened here?” Officer Rafter asked, and Mary could hardly wait until he had the pen ready to spill her guts.

  “I don’t know who did this, or why, but I have a few ideas.” She was thinking out loud, trying to sort out what had happened. “It seems to me that I’m sort of the target of this break-in, since mine was the only office ransacked, and apparently my case file and laptop were the only things they took. I was the only one using the conference room, too, and it was my sign that was on the door.”

  “Correction.” Officer Rafter raised his pen. “The receptionist’s desk was ransacked, too, and petty cash was stolen.”

  “Okay, right.” Mary reminded herself not to jump to conclusions, but it was so hard and she was Italian. “At first I thought the guy who did it might be Premenstrual Tom, who’s been calling the office.”

  “Who?” Officer Rafter stopped her with a half-smile, and Paul arched a professorial eyebrow, leaning against the side wall with his arms folded. Mary didn’t think she’d be seeing him again. First dates were not improved by major felonies. If she wanted to see Paul again, she’d have to serve a subpoena.

  “The man’s name is Tom Cott. He’s a psychotic who threatened to kill me the other night.”

  “Threatened to kill you?” Officer Rafter repeated in disbelief, and Mary noticed Paul’s eyes widen behind his glasses. Okay, they are blue. Incredulous blue.

  “We’re in the process of getting a TRO against him,” Judy interjected, her usually carefree face showing signs of strain. She had rushed to the office as soon as Mary had called, wearing an Old Navy sweatshirt and threadbare jeans. They had called Bennie’s cell phone together and left her a message. “But frankly, I’m not sure it’s Premenstrual Tom at all. He threatened Mary, but this break-in took planning, especially since the new security guard appears to be in on it. Also we can’t explain why Premenstrual Tom would go after the Brandolini file.”

  “I agree, it’s not likely that it’s him,” Mary told the cop.

  “Plus, lots of premenstrual men hate us,” Judy added.

  “I see.” Rafter made a note on his pad, and Mary was dying to know what it said. THESE BROADS ARE NUTS.

  “Lately,” Mary continued, “I’ve noticed that a black Escalade has been around me, sort of following me. First it was on my parents’ street when I went over for dinner, and then I saw it outside my house. I don’t know if it’s connected to this, but it may be.”

  “Are you serious?” Officer Rafter frowned under the shiny patent bill of his cap. “Did you get a look at the driver, either time?”

  “The first time, I did. He was a burly guy with zits.”

  “What race, how old, wearing what?”

  “He was white, wearing a black shirt, about thirty years old, maybe thirty-five. He was big and thick, like a linebacker. I don’t remember much else.”

  Officer Rafter nodded. “What about the second time? Same guy?”

  “I didn’t see him, but the Escalade was parked outside of my house.”

  “Did you get a license plate, either time?”

  “No.”

  “So you don’t know for a fact that it was the same Escalade.”

  “They were both black, and I heard that a big guy with zits went to visit the house of the guy the file’s about, Amadeo Brandolini.”

  “Can you slow down a minute?” Rafter asked, writing on his pad.

  “Sure. I’m thinking that this break-in tonight has to do with a case I’m working on, about a man named Amadeo Brandolini. That’s the file that was taken, and I haven’t double-checked, but as far as I can tell, his is the only file that was taken. There was even a reporter here today, Jim MacIntire, asking about Amadeo.” Mary met Judy’s eye and she sensed their collective imagination was running wild. Did that reporter have anything to do with this? Mary resolved to call Skinny Uncle Joey and see if Mac was legit.

  But Officer Rafter, who didn’t read minds, looked at her with concern. “Ms. DiNunzio, if you truly have reason to believe you’re being followed, I can’t deal with that here. You need to come down to the precinct house and make a report. There are stalking laws on the books.”

  “Maybe I will,” Mary said, but she had been through that before and knew it would be USELESS.

  “Now, you told me there was usually about a hundred dollars in petty cash. What was the value of your laptop?”

  “The office paid two grand for it three years ago, which means it’s worth thirty-five dollars today.” Mary managed a smile. “It’s what’s in it that had value to me, the work I did on the case.”

  “What was the value of the case file that was stolen?” Officer Rafter asked, his pen poised over the white pad.

  “I thought it was priceless. It contained a wallet and original photos and drawings.”

  “How much money was in the wallet?”

  “None.”

  Officer Rafter made a note. “You said something about drawings. What were the drawings of? Were they, like, art?”

  “No.” Mary’s thoughts raced ahead. Besides her and Judy, the only people who had seen the drawings, or even knew they existed, were Frank Cavuto and Mac the reporter. She made a mental note.

  “Now, was this client, Mr. Brandolini, an artist or something?”

  “No.”

  “Then his drawings didn’t have any value.”

  “I guess not.” It was hard for Mary to concede.

  “
How about the photos?’

  “No. Family photos.”

  Officer Rafter flipped the pad closed. “All right, well, that about covers it. We’ll follow up on the security guard issue and we’ll be canvassing the block for witnesses. We’ll search Dumpsters in the neighborhood and let you know what turns up, if anything.”

  “Can’t I do anything? I really want that file back.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I gotta tell you, I’m not overly optimistic. The only thing a witness would see is somebody walking around with an accordion file and a laptop, in the business district. It’s not like they’re running down Walnut with a boosted plasma screen.”

  “I understand,” Mary said, disappointed just the same.

  “However, if I were you, Ms. DiNunzio, I’d get myself a TRO and file a report about this fellow, then think seriously about taking a vacation.”

  Mary snorted. “A vacation? The last thing I want to do is take a vacation. This case is heating up, big-time.”

  “It would be good to make yourself scarce, right about now. Get out of town for a while. I know that’s not the party line, but I like to be practical. If someone’s harassing you, go away.” Officer Rafter slipped the pad into his back pocket and returned the pen to his breast pocket. “I’m finished, and you’re all free to go. I’ll join my partner downstairs.”

  “Great, thanks,” Mary said, and Judy thanked him, too.

  “Let me know if you discover that anything else has been taken.” Officer Rafter moved toward the elevator door. “My partner inventoried everything on the walk-through, but you never know.”

  “Sure, thanks again for coming.”

  “You’re welcome.” The cop grabbed the elevator, and when the doors slid closed, Mary met Paul’s eye with a final sigh.

  “Well, professor,” she said. “I guess we’d better get you out of here. You’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

  “It was interesting,” Paul answered, with a smile. He unfolded his arms and turned to Judy. “You told me she was… different.”

  Judy laughed. “You academics gotta shake it up once in a while.”

  “True.” Paul smiled and turned back to Mary. “But we never did have dinner. Can I get a rain check?”

  Mary blushed, surprised. “Sure.”

  “Okay, then. I do have an early class in the morning. Quantum mechanics.”

  “Yikes. Can’t be sleepy for whatever that is.”

  “See ya, Paul.” Judy gestured to Mary. “Walk him to the elevator, girl. It’s the least you can do.”

  “Of course,” Mary said, but she wasn’t counting on that good-night kiss. She didn’t even want one. Nothing like a B & E to kill the mood. She was just about to walk him out when the phone rang from beneath the mess in the reception area, and Mary turned on her heel. She looked at Judy. Judy looked at her. They both knew who was calling. Things were about to go from bad to worse.

  A minute later, Paul had walked himself to the elevator and Mary was on the phone telling Bennie what had happened to her law firm, between apologies. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. The reception area looks like—”

  “Are you nuts, DiNunzio? I don’t care about the reception area!” The boss was shouting so loud Mary had to hold the phone away from her head. “I care about you! I care about Carrier! I don’t like the sound of any of this!”

  “Bennie, I know, I’m sorry.” Mary had told her everything except for the newspaper part, and now didn’t seem like an opportune moment. The boss had screamed at her before, but never like this. She must really care a lot. “I didn’t realize that—”

  “No, I didn’t realize that you were in danger! That a car was following you? I can’t believe Premenstrual Tom’s behind this, but Carrier will deal with him right away. Nothing is worth your getting hurt! Or her!”

  “Bennie, honestly, I don’t think I’m in any real danger.” Mary heard the words coming out of her mouth and even she wasn’t sure she believed them. “I mean, if somebody wanted to hurt me tonight, they could have come to the restaurant.”

  “And tomorrow they will. Or the next day. Did you tell the cops you were being followed? What did they say?”

  “They said I could fill out a report—”

  “That’s a waste of time! I want you safe and I can’t come down there until the trial’s over. You have to protect yourself, DiNunzio, until I get back. First thing, shut up about everything. Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know. Don’t tell anyone about Brandolini or any of your other cases.”

  Would that include blind dates and major metropolitan newspapers?

  “Second, you have to get out of town.”

  “That’s what the cop said, but I have so much work to do.”

  “No case is as important as your safety! Get out of town!”

  Then it hit Mary. Get out of town? Get out of town!

  “Take a vacation until I get back and can deal with whatever’s going on!”

  “I can’t, Bennie.” Mary couldn’t seem too eager or the boss would get suspicious. “I have to take that dep for you in Reitman tomorrow, remember?”

  Judy’s ears lifted like Penny’s.

  “No, you can’t take that dep,” Bennie was saying. “Why can’t Judy do it?”

  “I think she can—” Mary started to say, just as Judy caught on, frowning deeply. “She says fine, no worries, she can take the dep for me.”

  “Excellent! Let her do it. You get yourself a plane ticket. Go to Miami. Get out of town for a week.”

  “Bennie, if you really think I should, I guess I could go away for a while.”

  “Call the office when you get there. As soon as you get there, you hear?”

  “No, Bennie wait!” Judy yelled, grabbing the phone, but Mary wrenched it back.

  “Sure, right, bye!” she said quickly, then pressed down the hook with a well-timed index finger, coming nose to nose with her best friend.

  “Oh no you didn’t!” Judy said.

  “You said you’d take the Reitman dep before. Now you have permission. What’s the problem?” Mary asked, but she knew the answer. She could see it in the fear in Judy’s face.

  “The difference is that I believe you now, about Brandolini. Something really is going on here. What happened tonight couldn’t be any clearer. Whoever they are, they want you off the case.” Judy’s mouth went grim, but Mary’s went grimmer.

  “Then I don’t have a choice. Somebody wants me off the case, then I want on. I want to know what they could possibly be hiding. I owe it to Amadeo.”

  Judy met Mary’s gaze. “I can call Bennie back, you know. I can bust you. Tell her the whole thing. Then she won’t let you go.”

  “Would you really do that?” Mary asked.

  The two lawyers had a Girl Standoff over the telephone.

  And Mary swallowed, waiting for Judy’s answer.

  Fourteen

  Fort Missoula was a quaint edifice of soft red brick topped with a red tile roof, which was situated on a preserve on the fringe of Missoula, Montana. Mary scanned the remarkable surrounding landscape. The Sapphire Mountains soared to the left, forested with green trees that seemed to glow in the bright sun. The Bitterroot Range lay to her right, its jagged peaks poking holes in the proverbial big sky, which sheltered the scene like the Marist-blue cloak of the Virgin. Cool air wafted across the verdant valley, smelling sweet and pure, and acres of green grass stretched like nature’s own carpet to Mary’s loafers. Bella vista, she thought, realizing the nickname wasn’t government propaganda after all. She was glad she’d braved the airplane ride to get here, not to mention Northwest’s trail mix.

  She approached the fort’s front door, passing a flapping American flag that made her feel like a schoolgirl on a field trip. It thrilled her to be here, walking where Amadeo had walked, seeing what he had seen. She felt the same tingle she’d gotten from his wallet, that he was with her somehow. On the way to the entrance, she walked past five old log houses and passed a sign: THE
WESTERN MONTANA GHOST TOWN PRESERVATION SOCIETY.

  So many ghosts here. One of them, Amadeo.

  It sped Mary’s step through the grass. Dew soaked her shoes and the cuffs of her khaki pants, which she’d coupled with a navy blazer and white T-shirt for this out-of-town phase of her investigation. She hadn’t had much luck with the in-town phase yesterday, leaving messages for Frank Cavuto and the reporter, Jim MacIntire, during her layover. Neither man had returned her call.

  She entered the museum and found herself in a tiny entrance room with low ceilings, waiting while her eyes adjusted to the darker interior. The museum was small and contained not a single soul. There was a cashier’s desk but no cashier, so Mary put five dollars in a donation basket. Beyond the desk was a gift shop stocked with Missoula T-shirts, Montana calendars, and something called Moose Drool Soap, which she passed up in favor of a room that read HEATH EXHIBITS in stenciled black letters. Again, nobody was inside, but black-and-white photos of the camp buildings lined the walls, showing the conditions as they had been in internment days. Mary went to the first panel and drooled like a moose.

  The panel displayed group photos of the internees, and she scanned the grainy and unfocused pictures for Amadeo. He wasn’t there. She went to the next panel, then the next, and ended up spending an hour in the exhibit, watching a documentary and eyeing every still photo futilely. Still she couldn’t shake that tingle and she needed answers. She left the room and went in search of a human being. Happily, a cashier with soft gray hair had returned to her post by the museum door, and she looked up when Mary approached.