“Did he say he was planning to leave his estate to her?”
There was a pause. Principato was probably debating whether something he wasn’t told was privileged.
“We hadn’t gotten that far. Listen, I told the police all this right after she was killed.”
Something clicked. What, I wasn’t sure.
“Bear with me, counselor. I’m just trying to get some facts straight. How much money are we talking about?”
“Listen, Rhode …”
“I’m sure that’s also public record and I can find out. But if you help me out here, I may be able to make you some serious money.”
The magic words, especially to a lawyer.
“Mr. Frost did very well in local real estate,” Principato said. “He sold just before the market collapsed and put his cash in diamonds and gold. Smarter than a lot of people out here, me included. Then he bought up distressed properties for a song and started renting them out. He also prospered in the casinos. He finished high up in a couple of those Hold ‘Em poker tournaments. The estate is now worth almost $5 million.”
Five million reasons to kill.
“And Sister Veronica was due to get all of it?”
“She was his direct descendant, and, as such, entitled to the entire estate.” Principato said. “Frost’s wife died years ago.”
“How did you contact her?”
“I called her.”
“Did you have her direct number, or her cell?”
“No. I just called the main number at the school. Why?”
The Worcester police probably looked into Ronnie’s cell phone records. She probably picked up the lawyer’s call on an extension at the school. Cops would have no way of knowing.
“Nothing,” I said. “And you gave her your number.”
“Of course.”
“How often did you speak to her after your initial contact?”
“Just once, I believe. What are you getting at?”
Ronnie used Carole MacQuaid’s iPhone for that call. The cops couldn’t have known that, either.
“What about Harry’s son, Matthew? Ronnie’s brother.”
“We knew about him. Sister Veronica told me about him during our initial call, and urged me to find him. She was a good woman and wanted him to get his fair share. She had no idea where he was, or if he was even alive. I didn’t like telling her what we found out.”
“Which was what?”
“Matthew Mercer Frost was dishonorably discharged from the Army for abusing prisoners in Iraq. Then he disappeared without a trace. I was glad to hear it. I wanted the daughter to get the money, rather than some war criminal. Like I said, I didn’t relish telling her about her brother, but when she called I had to. She took it hard. I got the impression she knew something about him but had hoped he changed his stripes.”
Principato had become very forthcoming.
“You mentioned something about serious money, Rhode.”
“I’ll get to that. What happens if Matthew Frost eventually turns up?”
“Well, if you’re missing seven years you are presumed dead, although it’s not a legal designation unless someone petitions the court. It has to be a relative. Not strictly necessary, but it’s cleaner that way. Speeds things up a bit. I asked his sister to do that. She was reluctant, but I finally convinced her. She was planning to come out here to file the papers right after the school year ended. But, of course, then she was killed. I guess I’ll have to ask the aunt now. She’s the only one alive still in line.”
He didn’t know.
“You’re talking about Elizabeth Spigarelli, on Staten Island.”
“I can see you’ve done your homework, Rhode. She wasn’t easy to find. Been married a few times. We only had her sister’s maiden name to go on, which came in handy looking for the brother, too. This whole thing will come as a shock to her, I imagine. I think she’s pushing 80. Well, I suppose it’s never too late to hit the jackpot.”
“You haven’t contacted her?”
“There was no need. The daughter was a direct descendent. Children have precedence.”
“Don’t bother calling Mrs. Spigarelli. She’s dead.”
“Balls. I was hoping to put this all to rest soon.”
“What happens now?”
“Well, in Nevada, when someone dies without a will, and there are no survivors, there is a three-year waiting period, then any unclaimed property or money escheats to the state. It goes into a fund supporting education.”
Sure it would, I thought, just like the billions spent on the New York Lottery that have been long plundered by Albany politicians to keep the state solvent.
“Matthew Frost won’t wait that long. He’ll be waltzing in to your office fairly soon, I imagine.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Matthew Frost killed both Veronica Frost and her aunt. He’s still alive.”
It was the only thing that made any sense. It all started falling into place. I even had a momentary flashback to when I read the yellowed sports article in Aunt Betsy’s dusty scrapbook: “Curtis sophomore southpaw Matt Frost pitched an uneventful ninth inning in relief.” Matthew Frost was left-handed, like the “Ice Pick Killer” was presumed to be.
“He’s the serial killer!”
“No, not really. I mean he killed them all, but he had a plan. The other clerical victims were killed to make it look like his sister wasn’t the target. She stood between him and all that money. And I bought it.”
“My God! Can you prove any of this?”
“Sure,” I said, even though I didn’t have any idea how to do that.
“Wait a minute. Why kill the aunt? His claim is superior to hers. For that matter, why kill his sister. They could have split the inheritance.”
“I don’t know. Maybe because he’s crazy. Because he is a hater. Because he wants the whole $5 million. This is a guy who set fire to cats when he was a kid and committed war crimes. I’m glad he won’t see any of the money.”
“That’s true. If you can prove what you say, no court will honor his claim.”
“He can’t have it anyway, counselor. Harry Frost was a crooked New York lawyer who bilked his clients out of $3 million, which I’m sure he washed through the casinos in Vegas. His victims are the ones who deserve his estate. There is even a lawyer on Staten Island who will be very interested to know where Harry finally landed.” The thought that I would have to tell Rosenberg about the money stuck in my craw. “That’s where you come in. I’m pretty sure there will be a substantial finder’s fee for anyone who aids in the recovery of the money.”
I was winging it, but it was possible. I even hoped it was true. I smiled at the thought of Rosenberg and a Vegas lawyer duking it out over who got what. I could probably sell tickets.
“That’s all well and good,” Principato said, “but what are you going to do now? I’m not looking forward to having a mass murderer coming to my office.”
Good question. I didn’t know. If Principato’s extensive search didn’t turn up a live Matthew Frost, what chance did I have? He’d probably changed his name. And then there was the inconvenient fact that despite my certainty I couldn’t prove anything.
“I suppose I’ll try to convince the police to look for Matthew Frost instead of some religious nut.”
I wasn’t looking forward to that, having been the main proponent of the serial-killer theory.
“I should tell you, Rhode, that the detective who told me Veronica Frost was murdered seemed quite convinced it was the work of a serial killer.”
Something clicked again. And now I knew what it was. It hadn’t registered when Principato first said the police notified him of Ronnie’s murder.
“What did you say?”
“I said the detective seemed ….”
I cut him off. None of the cops I’d spoken to had mentioned any contact with Principato. As far as I knew, I was the only person who knew about him, unless Carole MacQuaid ch
ecked the 702 number, which I doubted.
“He told you she was the victim of a serial killer?”
“That’s right.
“Right after she was killed, you said earlier.”
“I think it was the next day. I remember thinking it was good police work to track me down that quickly.”
I took a deep breath. I had a sick feeling.
“Which detective called you, Broderson or Huntley?”
I wanted it to be Huntley. I liked Broderson a lot more.
“I don’t think it was either of them. They don’t sound familiar. I’d have to check. Is it important?”
“Please check.”
“Hold on. I’ll ask my secretary. I know I put it in the file” While we waited, he went on. “I remember he was a sharp cookie. I’m not really sure he bought into the serial killer thing. He thought like you. Wanted to know if anyone else was in line for Harry Frost’s money.”
“And you told him about her aunt.”
“Sure.” There was silence. “Oh, Jesus.”
Principato had just realized he’d probably signed Aunt Betsy’s death warrant.
“Not your fault, counselor.”
“Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.”
“I need a name.”
I heard some noise in the background.
“Thank you, Darlene,” he said. His voice was shaky. “OK, Rhode. I was right. It wasn’t one of those guys you mentioned. It was a Detective John Tyrone, Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department.”
CHAPTER 24 - RETIREMENT, SORT OF
I flew out the next morning. At this rate, I’d be better off if someone did steal my Amex card.
When I got to the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Office, there was a small, but loud, party going on in the squad room. Bowls of chips and peanuts sat on several desks. Cops were mingling with cups filled with ice and liquor. Some desks had shifted slightly to allow for an aluminum table in the center aisle. On one end of the table was a large cake. On the other was a makeshift bar where one of the cops was chopping up some ice in a small cooler. I walked over asked him what was going on.
“Retirement party for one of our detectives.”
I moved down to the cake. It was inscribed: GOOD LUCK, JOHN.
I went back to the ice chopper.
“Tyrone?”
“Yeah.”
I looked around. I didn’t see him, or Noyce.
“Where’s Noyce?
The cop laughed.
“Probably working on her speech” He laughed. “She hates giving them.”
I thanked him and walked to Noyce’s office. She looked up from her desk, where she was writing something on a card.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Where’s Tyrone?”
“In his office doing some last minute packing. He’s leaving. If you have something on Salazar, Detective Mackie is handling it now.”
“I heard you hate making speeches.”
She looked at me.
“This is your lucky day,” I said, closing the door behind me. “Or, maybe not.”
***
Tyrone was packing some things into a box on his desk. Noyce walked in first.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” he said. “Tell them to save me some booze.”
Then he saw me.
“What the hell do you want?”
“Everybody keeps saying that. Aren’t you glad to see me, Matt.”
His eyes widened.
“Is it true, John?” Noyce asked. “Are you really Matthew Frost. The brother of that nun murdered in Worcester?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. What has this asshole been telling you?”
“Well, in a nutshell,” I said, “I told her you killed your sister. And three other people to make it look like it was a serial killer, starting right here in Sonoma County with Father Salazar.”
“Are you insane?” He looked at his boss. “Noyce, I know you got your job because you’re black, but you can’t take this guy seriously.”
“I just ran a quick check of your vacation time, John,” Noyce said. “You were at a convention in Boston when the nun was murdered. I also checked your other convention trips. They match up with the dates and cities of the other killings.”
“Pretty clever, Matt,’ I said. “Covering up your murders by timing them around law enforcement conferences. Using your own vacation time to make it seem you were just a dedicated cop. Did you scout out your victims before you left, or once you got to those cities? I guess there’s nothing you can’t find on the Internet nowadays. I bet when they check your computer here or at home, they’ll find some interesting searches. Even if you used a hotel computer, they’ll find out how you targeted Lefebvre and Variale. Noyce tells me she let you expense some stuff. You shouldn’t be such a greedy bastard. You were hoping to get $5 million. You should have gone into your own pocket. You left a nice little paper trail.”
Tyrone ran his hand along his jaw. Left hand. I kept my eye on that hand. His Glock was on his left hip. It hadn’t meant much to me the first time I saw him. But it meant everything now. The strap over his Glock was snapped shut. I wondered how fast he could undo it and draw.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. All you have is a bunch of coincidences. This is insulting, Noyce. Is that what they taught you in the affirmative action classes at the police academy? I’m getting out of here. You can shove your fucking retirement party.”
“Already shoved,” I said. It had become very quiet. For the first time, I think Tyrone/Frost noticed that the noise from his party had subsided. “Come on, Matt. You’re a cop. You know how cops hate even one coincidence, let alone a whole bunch, including the fact that you and ‘Matthew Frost’ are both left-handed, like the ‘Ice Pick Killer’. They’ll be all over you like a duck on a June bug.” I always wanted to say that to someone. “Don’t you want to hear about your two colossal mistakes?”
“Oh, yeah, hotshot. What were they supposed to be?”
“You called a lawyer named Principato in Las Vegas,” I said, “and told him that Sister Veronica had been the victim of a serial killer targeting the clergy.”
The first real doubt crept into his face. But he gave it another shot.
“Why wouldn’t I? It was all part of my investigation. I thought he might know something.”
“Sounds reasonable,” I said. “Just one problem. You called him the day after she was murdered.”
“So?”
“So, that was long before anyone thought any of the murders were connected. There was no way you should have even known she was dead and that Principato was handling your father’s estate. Somehow you found out that Harry had died ….” I stopped short. “You son of a bitch, you killed him, too.”
“I don’t get it,” Noyce said.
“I didn’t either, until just now. Why kill his sister and the others if he didn’t know when his old man would kick the bucket?”
All of a sudden, it fell into place. I remembered Noyce telling me that Tyrone liked to go to Vegas to play in poker tournaments.
“My guess is that he ran into his father at one of the poker tournaments they both frequented in Vegas. Found out he was sitting on a pile of money and took it from there. How was your reunion with dear old dad?”
I could tell from Tyrone’s expression that I was right.
“What was my second alleged mistake, genius?”
“You killed a helpless old lady on Staten Island. Broke her neck to make it look like she fell down the stairs. Except she couldn’t climb those stairs. The Staten Island cops have now classified it as a homicide, another one you will answer for. I’m pretty sure they’ll be able to place you on a plane to New York at the time.”
Noyce had remained quiet, content to absorb everything Frost said. Or maybe she didn’t want to set him off. He looked like he was about to blow.
“Think you got it all figured out, hotshot, don’t you? Why would I kill that old bag?”
“Because without Ronnie, with ‘Matthew Frost’ still missing, Aunt Betsy was next in line for the money. You couldn’t take the chance it would be disbursed before you made your miraculous reappearance. I wonder if you were relieved when Principato told you she was the only family left. I bet you had mixed feelings. You’re such a sick bastard you probably were disappointed there weren’t more relatives to kill.”
“That would make me one devious son of a bitch.”
“Leave your mother out of it. She was a decent lady. It must have broken her heart to know she gave birth to such a twisted son.”
Tyrone’s cheek twitched. I kept an eye on his left hand.
“You couldn’t show up in Principato’s office too soon after Harry and his daughter’s death. He might have been suspicious. That’s why you had to make sure he thought a serial killer was involved from the start. You were gambling that the Worcester cops wouldn’t get around to Principato for a while, and by that time everyone would be looking for Jack the Ripper. Meanwhile, with the aunt dead, you knew you had three years before the money reverted to the state of Nevada. Plenty of time to ditch the Tyrone persona and become Matt Frost again.”
I shook my head in mock sympathy.
“You’re going to need a very expensive lawyer, Matt. Too bad you won’t be able to use Harry’s millions. He was a scumbag like you. Stole it all. I’m arranging for it to be returned to the clients he bilked. You won’t see a cent of it. Another byproduct of killing Aunt Betsy.”
Frost looked at us with an almost reptilian intensity. Then he concentrated his gaze on me.
“I should have killed you the first day I saw you.”
“John, or Matthew, or whatever your damn name is,” Noyce said, “you have the right to remain silent, you …”
“Shut up, bitch” Matthew Frost said. “You’re one of the reasons I decided to go for my old man’s money. Not only did you get the job that should be mine, but I knew you were too incompetent to ever catch me. Hell, I bought an ice pick in every city I visited and just chucked them in the nearest river. But I didn’t want to buy one here where people might remember, so I borrowed one from our kitchen. Cleaned it up real good after Salazar, of course, and just put it back. I mean, who’s gonna look for a murder weapon in a police station? Right under your black nose. It’s been used at every office party since. I saw O’Hara using it a little while ago. For my own going-away party. I got a kick out of that.”
SISTER (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 4) Page 15
