by Carolina Mac
“It’s too bad he got hurt, but Jesse is right. Jackson is hurt too, and you need to be with him. He’s only a little boy. Race can take care of himself. He always did until you started helping him.” He didn’t mean to sound so annoyed.
“Can you do a legal thing and get the charges dropped?”
“Not while he’s being held in Canada. Nope.”
I put the fuckin alert on for a reason. I’m not helping him.
“I’ll see if Stan Coyne, one of my lawyers in Toronto can look into it.”
“Don’t, Annie. It’s a waste of money.”
“You sound like you want him in jail.”
“Uh huh. That’s where he belongs.”
Annie ended the call without another word.
BLAINE ARRIVED at MARKWOOD’s condo just as JoAnne and her sister hauled the last of JoAnne’s belongings back inside. “Morning, ladies.”
JoAnne looked up, panic in her eyes and said, “I wasn’t expecting you. I believe I told you I didn’t have time to talk today.”
“Uh huh. I remember.”
A heavy girl with a blotchy complexion and dark hair blocked Blaine’s path on the sidewalk. “I don’t want you hassling my sister any more. She’s been through enough, and she hasn’t done anything to warrant this kind of treatment.”
“This is a murder investigation, ma’am. A man died at the hand of another.”
“Yeah, well it wasn’t my sister, mister, so you can pack up your guns and beat it.”
Something about her eyes. Reminds me of Ray when he was off the track. She’s not a hundred percent.
Blaine smiled at the sister and ignored her threats. “I only have one question for Mrs. Markwood.” He held up one finger.
JoAnne stood on the concrete stoop with one hand on the railing. “Go ahead, Mr. Blackmore. Ask me.”
“Who was Mr. Jankovich with when he introduced Miss Sylvia Temple-Day to your husband? Do you recall?”
“Umm… no, I’m sorry, it was too long ago.” She turned and went inside.
Blaine started down the walk, then risked a glance over his shoulder at the sister. She was standing on the top step giving him the bird.
BLAINE SAT in his truck in front of the Markwood condo complex and called Governor Richardson.
“Blaine, nice to hear from you. I have a couple of minutes before my next meeting, so why don’t you bring me up to date on the case.”
Blaine gave him a brief recap of the surveillance. “Jankovich seems to think it’s only a matter of time until he moves up into Markwood’s spot. Have you heard anything?”
“From the talk around the Capitol, I think he’s right. He’s in line for it and he’s going to get the promotion. Nothing official, mind you. Not yet. Just talk.”
TRAVIS SAT IN the surveillance unit in the parking lot behind the Twin Towers building, in virtually the same spot they’d been in the night before. He’d been there for over an hour and hadn’t heard a single sound in Sylvia’s apartment. No water running, no toilet flushing, nothing.
Maybe she sleeps until noon.
Another half hour passed, and he was bored. He left the truck and sauntered around to the front of the huge complex and into the lobby. The doorman, a bulky older man with thinning hair and a shaggy mustache, sat behind a high desk reading the morning Austin Statesman.
“Miss Temple-Day go out this morning?” asked Travis.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the whereabouts of the residents. They pay to have their privacy protected.”
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Willard Gooch.”
Travis flipped out his badge and placed it in front of the uniform. “Willard, I asked you a question.”
Gooch’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Travis. “You don’t look like a cop.”
Travis shrugged. “Did she go out or not?”
“Nope. I came on at six this morning and she wouldn’t have gone out before then. She’s more of a night owl.”
“Party girl?”
Willard smiled. “You could say that.”
“Anybody visit her this morning?”
“Not that I remember. I can’t let you see the log book. That’s against the rules, but I can check it for you as a courtesy.”
“Thanks, appreciate it.”
“Uh huh, somebody did call on her earlier. I must have been on my break and Dan, the super, was covering me off, but he made a note here. It was her sister.”
“Her sister?” Travis walked outside and called Blaine. “Hey, boss, get any of the background done on Sylvia last night?”
“Yeah, some. What’s up?”
“Boss here at the front desk of her building says her sister came early this morning.”
“No sister. Brother in the military.”
“There’s been no sound from the penthouse. I’m going up.”
“Yep, I’m on my way over. Go up and check on her. Wait for me at the building.”
Travis motioned to the doorman. “Got a master key?”
“Only for emergencies. I hardly ever use it.”
Travis pointed. “You’re gonna use it right now. Let’s go.”
“Who’s going to watch the front?”
“Nobody until you come back, so put it into high gear.” Travis pushed the elevator button and held the door for the reluctant doorman.
The doors opened at the top of the building to a heavy silence. Travis crossed the marble floor and knocked loudly on the door.
Nothing. He hollered, “Miss Temple-Day, it’s the police. Would you open the door, please?” No response.
Travis pointed at the lock. “Open it.”
“I might lose my job.”
“You might lose more than that if you don’t open the fuckin door.”
Willard inhaled and turned the key with a shaky hand. “I’ve got to go downstairs. I can’t leave my post.”
“Go. My boss is on his way.”
The huge sterile-looking black and white living room was eerily still. Travis headed straight for the bedroom wing and stopped in front of the only bedroom with the door closed. He knocked gently at first, and a second time with more resolve. “Miss Temple-Day, this is the police. Are you okay?”
Nothing. He pushed down on the brass handle and the door opened.
Sylvia lay crosswise on the bed in a sheer white nightgown. Her blue eyes were wide open and focused on the mirrored ceiling above her huge round bed.
Travis didn’t need to touch her. “Oh, girlie, you are so dead.”
He stepped into the hall and called Lopez on his cell. “Travis here, Detective Lopez, at Miss Sylvia Temple-Day’s apartment. She’s dead, sir. Very dead.”
“Fuck you, Bristol. Don’t you be giving me more bodies.”
“Didn’t mean to, sir. She wasn’t making a sound this morning, and I just came up to check on her.”
“Double fuck. I’ll be right there.”
BLAINE ARRIVED TEN minutes later and Travis, sitting at Sylvia’s kitchen island and wishing he had coffee, brought him up to date. “Now that you’re here, boss, I can go roust out Dan, the super, and get a description of the so-called sister.”
“Yep, get on that, Travis. I’ll wait up here for Lopez.”
Blaine didn’t have more than five minutes to wait before the penthouse was crawling with crime scene techs, uniforms to start the DTD and the Medical Examiner and his assistant.
He’d had ample time to view Sylvia on her death-bed and take a myriad of pictures on his phone. No marks on her. Either a drug overdose or somebody making it look that way. Might get something from the autopsy.
Next of kin? He tried to remember from his research the night before. He thought her mother lived up in Dallas, but he wasn’t sure. Lopez would take care of it.
He scrolled through the contacts on his cell. “Farrell, where’s Jankovich?”
“In his condo, boss. Ain’t moved after his run.”
“Didn’t Lopez pick him up for questionin
g?”
“Nope. No visitors.”
“Pick him up and bring him here to make a statement. I want to see his reaction.”
“Am I arresting him?”
“He’s being detained as a person of interest.”
“Where are you, boss?”
“Sylvia’s penthouse. Travis found her. She’s dead.”
“Fuck that.”
JESSE LEFT ANNIE with Jackson at Coulter-Ross and drove to Quantrall to check on his horses, his dogs and his house guest. He needed a little cooling-down time after the confrontation over Race. All of their disagreements centered around the big ganger. For their marriage to work, Ogilvie had to move off the ranch and stay out of their lives.
Enright was snoozing in front of the flat screen, a glass of scotch on the coffee table beside him. He woke with a start when the dogs barked. “Jesse, you’re back. How was Canada?”
“Cold, but peaceful.”
“Good.” Enright straightened up into a sitting position, his dark hair sticking out in six directions. “You do look better than you did when you left.”
“Feel a helluva lot better. Annie and I had some much-needed time alone, away from stresses at her ranch.”
Race is rearing his ugly head again, but it was relaxing when he wasn’t around.
Enright stood up, stretched and strode to the kitchen table where his bottle of Glenfiddich sat. “Let’s have a drink and I’ll bring you up to speed on the case—as much as I know.”
“I’ll grab a beer.”
RACE WOKE from a long, drug-induced nap, groggy and disoriented. It took him a minute to realize he was still in the hospital. His nurse wasn’t far away, and he called to her. “Can I get up?”
“Not yet, sir. Maybe tomorrow if you’re transferred out of the unit.”
“When does the doctor make his rounds?”
“About seven in the morning. He’ll decide then if you’re ready for a regular room or for a transfer to the infirmary at the jail.”
“Did my wife call?”
“I’m not sure, Mr. Ogilvie. Let me check the log at the desk.”
“Thanks.”
She returned in a few minutes with a smile on her face. “Yes, she did call while you were sleeping, and she left you a message. The nurse at the desk wrote it down.” She handed him the slip of paper.
‘Jackson’s leg is infected. I don’t think I can come. I asked my lawyer in Toronto to look into the charges against you. You should hear from him today.’
Race nodded. “She’s not coming. My son’s leg is infected. He fell on a pitchfork in the barn and had to have a blood transfusion.” He held up his wrist with the medic-alert bracelet. “Good thing I was there.”
“A very good thing.” She smiled. “Rare blood. How old is your son?”
“He’s six.” Race lay back on his pillow and stared at his left wrist cuffed to the bedrail. “Annie’s sending a lawyer.”
“I’ll let the officer in the corridor know.”
“Thanks.”
TRAVIS CROSSED the lobby and waited while Willard held the door open for one of the tenants. When he returned to his desk Travis said, “I need Dan, the super’s apartment number.”
“Don’t know if we should disturb him. He won’t like it.”
“You know what, Willard, I don’t give a rat’s ass if he likes it or not. There’s a dead girl upstairs and I need to talk to him.”
Willard paled. “I can’t believe Miss Temple-Day is dead. She was so young and so pretty.”
“The super?”
“Apartment 2B. Take the elevator down and you’ll be looking at his door.”
“Thanks.”
Travis knocked on the super’s door and waited. He could hear the TV inside the apartment blaring away. Sounded like Family Feud. The door opened a crack and Travis held up his badge. “Mr. Trent? I need to ask you a couple of questions about Miss Temple-Day.”
“Never seen her today. She’s usually bitching about something wrong with her penthouse, like a lightbulb burned out and she can’t fucking change it.”
“She won’t be bothering you with any more complaints, sir. She’s dead.”
The super put a meaty hand on his chest. “Don’t mess with me, son. My heart can’t take it.”
“She’s dead, and I understand she had a visitor this morning when you watched the front desk for Willard.”
“Yeah, her sister came and brought her Starbucks. A large one too. Do you know how much those cost?”
“Uh huh. What did her sister look like, sir?”
“Barely looked at her. I read the paper while Willard was on his break.”
“Did the woman look like Miss Temple-Day?”
“Hell no. Sylvia’s a looker. High quality. Her sister, come to think of it, didn’t look a bit like her. Dark hair, and chunky. Bad skin. Yeah, she wasn’t pretty in anybody’s book.”
“Do you have cameras in the lobby?”
“Yep, but property management takes care of them.
Nothing to do with me.”
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Trent. You’ve been helpful.”
“Do I have to go to court?”
“I wouldn’t know that yet, sir.”
“Sure as hell don’t have time for that.”
FARRELL ENTERED the lobby with Jankovich in tow as Travis stepped out of the elevator. “Hey, partner, coming upstairs?”
“Yep, right behind you.”
“Why are we here?” Jankovich wore a scowl that would have made Jabba the Hutt cower. “I demand you tell me what this is all about. Do you know who I am? I’m a Federal Agent and I’m calling my attorney to meet me here before I answer one single question.”
“You can do that, sir,” said Farrell. “You can make the call as soon as we get upstairs to the penthouse.”
When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, Blaine stood next to the glass table in Sylvia’s foyer waiting to greet them. “Welcome, Agent Jankovich.” He motioned Farrell and Jankovich into the apartment. “I wonder if you’d do me a service, sir?”
“What the hell is this about, Blackmore? Gangers on holiday? Somebody better get control of you, and it better be soon.”
Blaine smiled. “Deputy Donovan, why don’t you escort Agent Jankovich into the bedroom.”
Blaine followed and watched Jankovich as Sylvia’s body came into view. The medical examiner stepped away and let Jankovich have an unobstructed look.
“Do you know the deceased, sir?” asked Blaine.
“Yes, we’ve met. Sylvia Temple-Day.” He said in a whisper.
“And where were you last night?” asked Blaine.
“I had dinner with friends, then I went home, watched the news and went to bed” said Jankovich.
“Could you give me the names and numbers of the people you were with?”
“I’d like to call my attorney.” Jankovich took a step away from Blaine.
Blaine dogged him. “I have reason to believe that you were here last night with Miss Temple-Day.”
“This one of your little ploys, Blackmore? I’ve heard about your unorthodox—not to mention illegal—interrogations. Of course, I wasn’t here. And why would I be? I barely knew her.”
“Farrell,” said Blaine. “Could we have the pictures?”
“Pictures?” Jankovich wiped his forehead.
Blaine pointed and said, “Farrell took these as you left the building last night.”
Jankovich slumped into a beanbag chair. “I want my attorney, and I want him now.”
Blaine indicated he was finished and Lopez took over. The detective crossed the room and held out a hand. “Let’s call your attorney now, Agent Jankovich, and have him meet us at headquarters.”
Blaine escorted Lopez and Jankovich to the elevator then returned. Travis corralled him over by the window. “The super said the fake sister who brought the coffee was a big chunky girl with dark hair and bad skin. Not a pretty girl.”
Blaine nodded and sa
id, “Uh huh.”
Travis waited as Blaine processed the information. “You know somebody like that, boss?”
Blaine nodded, trying to figure it out. “Uh huh. Saw a woman matching that description today at Mrs. Markwood’s condo. Her sister, Marybeth.”
Travis screwed up his face. “Don’t get the connection, boss.”
“Me neither. That’s why it was taking me a minute. The pieces don’t fit. Not yet.”
“Want Farrell and me to talk to her?”
“She’s skittish and if she just got out of the hospital, like Mrs. Markwood mentioned, she may not be too solid. I think she’ll rabbit. Pick her up and take her downtown. I’ll call Lopez and tell him to expect y’all.”
TRAVIS LEFT the downtown core and headed south on Congress Avenue. Farrell smoked silently in the shotgun seat and stared out the window. “You okay, partner?”
“Yeah, didn’t expect Miss Sylvia to end up dead. Know what I mean? She wasn’t somebody I’d want to date, but she was nice, and didn’t deserve to die.”
“Uh huh. You never get used to seeing stuff like that.” Travis clicked on his turn signal and took the ramp for East Riverside. “Forget about her for now, if you can. We’ve got to focus on bringing in Mrs. Markwood’s sister.”
“Hope it ain’t too tough. Boss said she struck him as skittish.”
“That’s one thing about Blacky I’ve learned,” said Travis, “He can read people like nobody else. If he says she’s antsy and she’s gonna go left, I’d bet my ass on it.”
Travis parked in front of the complex, far enough down the block that the truck wasn’t in front of the Markwood condo. They walked up the block, through the gate and around to the door that faced the courtyard. Travis knocked, and Farrell stood behind him and a little to his left.
JoAnne Markwood opened the door wearing faded jeans and a paint splattered t-shirt. “Yes?”
“I’m Deputy Bristol and this is my partner, Deputy Donovan, we’d like a moment with your sister if we could.”
“Who is it?” someone called from inside.
“The police, Marybeth, they want to talk to you.”
