by L. A. Fiore
Warmth moved into his gaze. So distracted with him, I didn’t realize we were back on the street. His car was waiting. “Can I give you a ride?” he asked.
With how I was feeling, I wasn’t sure being in close quarters with him was wise. “Thanks, but I’m going to walk. Enjoy the weather.”
He nodded, turned to get into his car but stopped, looked back and said, “Thank you for lunch.”
“Anytime, Kade.”
Silence settled as the air practically zapped between us. His voice was a rough whisper when he said, “Noted.”
I didn’t move, wasn’t sure my legs were up to the task of walking just yet, so I watched as his car mingled with the midday traffic, before getting lost in it.
It was Friday; I dragged my feet through the halls of the hotel where the fundraiser was being held. Entering the banquet hall, it was like a wall of blue. I was in my dress blues, surprised they still fit me because it had been awhile.
I recognized a few politicians, Brian Gaines being one of them, talking to the captain and the commissioner. I saw Rothschild with his man, Joshua, and spotted Carmine DeLuca talking to a tall gentleman who I recognized, Gregory Enzi, the son. It was a who’s who; both sides of that line in the sand that represented law and order were in attendance. My focus shifted to the buffet and bar. Alcohol seemed like a good idea.
“I hate this shit.”
My attention turned to Zac and then I took a step back and checked him out from head to toe. “Damn, Zac. You look good.”
He pulled at his collar. “I’m not staying long.”
“I hear that.”
“I’m getting a drink. You want one?”
“Yeah, wine, red.”
I watched Zac beeline to the bar, then looked for a dark corner we could hang out in, and it was while scanning the crowd that I saw Kade Wakefield. He was talking to a few circuit court judges, but his eyes were on me. In the next breath, he was crossing the room. I didn’t hide that I was checking him out because no one should look that good. He was in a tux, and wore it so naturally. And the way he moved, controlled and deliberate, damn, he was sexy as sin.
“Detective.”
And that voice. “Kade.”
His lips tipped up, as his gaze drifted down my body. “That’s a good look on you.”
My blood wasn’t just racing, it was heating up.
“I was thinking the same about you.”
Those eyes went stormy before he said, “You’ve created a monster.”
I wasn’t sure where that was going, but I loved the note of humor I heard in his voice. “How so?”
“I’ve had hot dogs for lunch for the last two days.”
“They’re good, right?” I said, and then took the risk and added, “Besides my gyro connection, there are a few other choice places I’ll share with you, so you can switch it up a bit.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “I look forward to it.”
Oh my god. I had the green light. He could just be saying that, but I suspected, Kade Wakefield only said what he meant, which meant he wanted to see me again, too. I almost pinched myself because this couldn’t be happening.
Someone called his name; he glanced over, before his focus shifted back to me. “Enjoy your evening, Molly.”
“You, too, Kade.”
Zac returned. “Were you just talking to Kade Wakefield?” he asked, handing me my drink.
“Just saying hi.”
“Hmm, he doesn’t just say hi to me.”
I glanced at Zac and grinned. “Jealous?”
“Of his bank accounts? Hell, yeah.”
“Alright, let’s finish these drinks and then I say we ditch this and go for pizza,” I suggested.
“Right on, partner.”
Five
Frank pushed his glasses up on his nose and flipped through his notebook, his fingers tapping on his keyboard. His heart was pumping, his pulse racing, because he cracked it. He loved journalism; he loved putting the pieces together. He loved how pulling on a string could lead to the story of a lifetime. He knew there was more to what happened to Katrina Dent. He knew no one believed him. They thought he was a crackpot, a man so desperate for a story, he was willing to create one, but now, he had the proof.
His fingers flew over the keyboard, as he transcribed his shorthand, trying to get the story on paper. Katrina Dent’s death had been just the tip of the iceberg. Never in a million years would he have thought the story he was working on, the one he’d spent the better part of a decade researching, would be so juicy. He smiled, as sweat rolled down his back. He’d get the Peabody Award for this story; fuck, he might even get the Pulitzer.
It wasn’t just murder, but conspiracy, blackmail…he was practically salivating with the juice he’d dug up.
He didn’t hear the lock to his apartment turning. Didn’t see the figure in black slip soundlessly into the room. He saw the shadow too late, feeling the cold steel pressed against his neck; he didn’t even have time to scream before he died.
The killer left the knife, but took the hard drive and notebook, before he doused the room with lighter fluid and lit it up. He made one other stop in the building before he left by the backstairs. In the alley, he saw the smoke bellowing out of the window. He was two blocks away when he heard the sirens.
Six
Molly
“They didn’t care if they took out the whole fucking building,” Zac hissed, as we looked at what remained of Frank Harris’ apartment. Luckily, the firefighters had been able to put it out fairly quickly, before it caused devastating damage.
“Throat was slit. I’ll know more when I get him on the table,” Julia said.
“Hard drive is gone,” I observed, looking around at the boxes that were all charred now. “If he was working on his computer, probably a notebook was taken, too.”
“Then they torched the rest,” Zac said, then added, “Just strolled into his apartment, slit his throat, and lit the place up.” He turned to me. We were thinking the same thing. “He meets with Samantha. She ends up dead, and now, he’s dead. That’s not a coincidence.”
“No,” I agreed. “Shifts the investigation. Maybe he really was onto something with Katrina Dent.”
“My thoughts, too,” Zac said. “How the hell does an old suicide case of a Hollywood starlet fit into this?”
“We’ve got another body,” a uniform said from the door.
Julia moved, and we followed her. Zac caught my eye. Apartment ten was Emily Duncan’s apartment, Frank’s friend.
Her apartment was across the hall from his, so it had some fire damage, definitely would have gotten smoke. Her body was face down in the living room. It looked like the smoke got to her.
As soon as Julia looked up at us, we knew. “Her neck was broken.”
Shit. There was no longer any question that the deaths now were related to Katrina Dent.
There was one person on our list who had known Katrina. We needed to talk to him. Looking at Zac, I knew he was thinking what I was. “We need to pay Milton Teller a visit.”
Later that afternoon, we were pulling into the Chadds Ford police station. It was a courtesy, since we weren’t on our turf. Captain Jamison was waiting for us.
“How was the drive?” he asked.
“Long,” Zac said.
That earned a chuckle from the captain, but then he sobered. “You’ve got three bodies.”
“Yeah, and, somehow, one of Milton’s former client’s death is related.”
Captain Jamison didn’t hide his interest, and on purely an investigative standpoint, the case was fascinating. “I’m curious how this plays out.”
“We’ll keep you posted,” Zac offered.
“Did some recon. Milton is at his winery.” Jamison handed Zac a post-it. “That’s the address. If he’s not there,
call me. We’ll find him,” Jamison offered. “He’s a good guy. Decent. A little scattered, but he makes a hell of a Cabernet, well, at least according to my wife.”
The drive to the vineyard was beautiful, lots of open land and stone farmhouses. The entrance to the vineyard was understated, two stone columns and Teller Vineyard over it in metal. The driveway was long and then opened to grapevines, for as far as the eye could see. There was a huge stone house to the right and a large building for the winery to the left. We parked and climbed from the car.
Zac looked around. “Nice place.”
He wasn’t wrong. Two golden retrievers greeted us when we entered the winery. I’d never been to a winery before. There was a long bar and some tables, the tasting center, based on the woman who was pouring wine into little cups and talking to a few guests. Her attention turned to us, when the guests started sampling the pale, wheat colored wine she’d just poured.
“Can I help you?”
“We’re looking for Milton Teller,” Zac said.
“Is he expecting you?” she asked.
We flashed our badges. “It won’t take long.”
Her eyes went wide before she glanced at the guests. My guess, she didn’t want to bring any more attention to us when she disappeared in the back, returning a few minutes later. “This is Eddie. He’ll take you to Milton.”
We nodded then followed Eddie. I was fascinated. I liked wine but never saw how it was made. There were large stainless-steel canisters, rows of them, and tucked off to the side were stone rooms filled with barrels. We found Milton there, sampling wine right from a barrel. He glanced over at us. He knew who we were by the look in his eyes. He had just lost an employee. It wasn’t a leap that he’d be getting a visit.
“I’m Detective Ashton, and this is my partner, Detective Donahue. We have some questions.”
He handed his glass to Eddie. “Let’s walk,” he offered.
We stepped outside; the dogs joined us, as we strolled through the vines. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. Honestly, I was processing the news of Samantha’s death. I’ve…” He looked down and took a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten news like that. Have you found her killer?”
“Not yet.”
“When will you release her body?”
“Not sure, but her parents are in the city.”
“Poor Tom and Grace. No parent should ever have to get such news. Anything I can do, please let me know.”
“Thank you. What can you tell us about Katrina Dent?” Zac asked.
Surprise moved over his expression. “Why do you want to know about Katrina?”
“We have reason to believe the cases are somehow linked,” I offered.
He looked how we felt. Incredulous. “Seems unlikely. Katrina died so long ago.”
“What do you remember about her death?” Zac asked.
“It was the first and only time I had a client die.” Milton’s focus shifted to the line of grapevines as he remembered. “I won’t lie. I was surprised by her suicide because Katrina had just gotten the role of a lifetime, one that screamed Academy Award.” Zac glanced my way, as Milton continued, “But Katrina did have mental health issues. She’d suffered her whole life, and back then, doctors weren’t as good with identifying mental illness. A new role that brought with it added pressure and anxiety, not to mention her pending marriage, I guess it was just too much for her.”
Zac jumped on that tidbit. “What was the name of her fiancé?”
“Jason Benjamin.” Milton’s face twisted a bit. “Don’t know what happened to him. After Katrina died, he kind of fell off the face of the earth.”
My cop senses perked up with that bit of knowledge. “What did Jason do?” I asked.
“He was very involved with Katrina’s career, but before that, I don’t know.”
“And they lived in LA?” Zac asked.
“Katrina was from Brooklyn, but when she hit fame, they moved to LA.”
“And Jason?”
“I don’t know very much about him, which is unusual, considering I represented Katrina.”
“I wonder if the investigating officer knows more about Jason Benjamin?” I was thinking out loud.
“Well, he might, but he isn’t in law enforcement anymore,” Milton offered. “He’s a senator now. Still lives in LA, though.”
“I wonder if we can get his files on the case,” Zac said, pulling out his phone to have someone at the station make the request. Frank had them, so I didn’t see a reason for us not to.
“May I ask why you think what happened to Samantha is related to Katrina?”
Maybe Milton knew Frank. Frank had certainly been interested in Milton. “Do you know a man name Frank Harris?” I asked.
Milton thought on it before he said, “No.”
“Frank Harris was working on a story, Katrina Dent’s story. He was convinced she was murdered. He took Samantha to lunch to pepper her with questions because of her link to you.”
“Okay.”
“Frank Harris was murdered last night, as was his friend,” Zac stated.
Milton paled, but he was following the logic. “Which makes Katrina’s death of interest.”
“Yes.”
Shock shifted to anger. “So you’re thinking Samantha was murdered because she’d been out with this Harris fella?”
“We had no motive for her death. Frank showing up dead, his friend’s death—the only other person who could possibly have known about the story he was working on. Knowing that Frank met with Samantha, her death on the same day of that meeting. It’s weak, but it’s motive.”
“Poor Samantha,” Milton whispered. His voice grew stronger when he asked, “You will find who did this?”
“Yes.”
“Anything I can do,” he offered.
“Thank you,” Zac replied.
My feet were up on my desk. Tossing coins into a cup, as I rolled the facts around in my head.
“Samantha meets Frank for lunch. That night, she ends up dead. Frank Harris then shows up dead a couple of days later. Emily too. If Katrina Dent’s murder plays into this, why didn’t they take out Frank before he met up with Samantha?”
“That’s bothering you, too?” Zac asked.
I stood and started to pace. “Okay, so let’s say Katrina Dent was murdered. The killer got away with it for three decades.” I stopped pacing. “Samantha worked for Milton Teller, Katrina’s publicist. She comes to Manhattan and has lunch with Frank Harris.” I rustled through the case file. “Frank Harris’ cell records. Look up this number.” Zac got on his computer. I gave him the number. “New York Times.”
“And this one?”
“Huntington Post.”
We went through the last eight calls Frank made, and all of them were for news outlets. My gaze collided with Zac’s, just as he said, “He figured it out.”
“Yeah, he got his story,” I added.
“And someone is watching him closely. He goes to lunch with Samantha. They look into who she is and discover she works for Milton. The killer doesn’t think it’s a coincidence,” Zac says.
My heart dropped. “They thought she was Frank’s source.”
“Yeah. Take her out. Days later, Frank starts calling around, preparing for his story to hit. Confirmation to the killer they were right about Samantha. But they wait to see what he knows. If they were watching him, and you know they were, he was very hushed about his story. He clammed up on us. But maybe not the girl across the hall he watches movies with,” Zac reasoned.
“So the killer wasn’t worried the story would go any farther than Emily,” I added.
“Exactly. The only way that story was getting out was Frank’s article, one he wanted every outlet to pick up.”
“Killer discovers the phone calls to the
media, takes out Frank and Emily, takes the hard drive and torches the rest of the research and the secret of Katrina Dent’s death is, once again, buried.”
Zac and I had the same thought when I said, “There’s a chance that Milton could be in danger.” But Zac was already reaching for his phone.
“Jamison is going to put a car on him,” Zac said, as he disconnected the call.
I dropped down in my chair. “So, if Samantha, Frank and Emily were all murdered because of Katrina Dent, then was her death a suicide? And if not, who the hell killed her? Why did they kill her? And how is it still relevant thirty-one years later?”
“All good questions,” Zac said. “I think we need to take a trip.”
“Another one?”
“This all went down in LA. Seems like we need to start at the beginning.”
“Will the captain clear that?” I asked.
“We’ve got three deaths and the only thing that links them is an old case from LA. I don’t see how he can’t clear it, but let’s go ask.”
Donald Darling had been a semi-professional boxer, who took too many hits to the head, so he changed career paths to law enforcement. He worked his way up from beat cop. He was hard and he was fair and he had his officers’ backs…always.
He was on the phone when we reached his office. He waved us in. “Make it happen,” he said, before he hung up. “You read my mind,” he said, gesturing to the chairs in his office. “Talk to me about this case.”
The captain’s once brown hair was mostly gray, but his face looked younger than his age of sixty-one. He was tall, over six feet, and big in the shoulders and chest. It wasn’t hard to believe he’d once been a boxer. He had dark blue eyes that were sharp, intelligence burned behind them.
Zac gave the captain a rundown.
“So the only link is this old case?” Cap asked.
“Yeah. It’s thin, but it’s all we’ve got right now,” Zac replied.
“Katrina Dent’s case was ruled a suicide,” Cap confirmed.
“Yeah. The investigating detective was a Laurence Breen. He’s a senator now.”
