by Mia Dymond
He had her, soft and pliant, like pulled taffy. It would’ve only taken a whispered nudge and they could’ve been behind closed doors, both of them more than satisfied by night’s end. So, what stopped him?
He watched the valet open the driver’s door of a sleek, black, two-door Cadillac XLR and she disappeared behind the smoked windows. Sweet ride. The bright street lights bounced off the flashy sports car as she left the hotel and rounded the corner. He shook his head and answered his own question. Two things had stopped him from taking her in the hallway: security cameras and her family.
He glanced between his legs. Down, boy. She’d paid him to help her. That made her a client and sleeping with her would border on unethical. Or would it? He hadn’t deposited her money; there was no need after the wired deposit was posted to his account. He started the engine and adjusted the heater.
Technically, she didn’t hire him, he was hired by her family. An icy chill blew past the heat from the vents. Although that realization cleared a path to Allison, he wasn’t quite sure it made him all that secure.
That kiss had unexpectedly sucker-punched him. Hell, he hadn’t even planned to kiss her. Actually, it was her fault. If she hadn’t been so smug about starting his own stakeout before he even got there, he wouldn’t have been so intent on setting her straight. But when she gave him that I-want-you look in the dark corner, he didn’t really care who got there first.
He dragged his hand across his hair and put those thoughts on the back burner. He needed more information on the case. He shifted the truck into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. He’d visit one of his own sources tomorrow.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ben wadded the forensic report into a ball and threw it across his office. Sonuvabitch. Just when he’d begun to feel confident enough to rule out Lucy and Allison as suspects, the black and white truth of Lucy’s fingerprints on the handcuffs that bound the dead doctor’s wrists provided enough doubt to complicate things.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Something about this whole case just wasn’t right. Determined to make sense of it all, he rolled the basic facts through his brain.
Smallwood was a popular cosmetic surgeon with a kinky sexual fetish murdered by Botox. God, what a mess, and to top it all off, his prime suspects were mob-connected. Ben snorted. Makes perfect sense.
The worn-out chair squeaked as he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk. Maybe Owens had found something. As if fate had kissed his ass, Ben glanced out his office window and saw the man of the hour strut in his direction.
Before Owens could even speak, Ben pulled him into the office and closed the door. “Just the man I needed to see.” He gestured for Owens to sit in front of the desk and returned to his own chair. “Are you here on another case?”
“Yeah, but I think I’ve got some evidence you need to see in Smallwood’s murder.”
Ben raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah?”
Owens pushed a pile of photographs across the desk with a cocky grin.
Ben thumbed through them and then paused. “How’d you get these?”
Owens grinned smugly. “Confidential information.”
Ben studied Owens silently for a minute and envied his gumption. Owens made his own rules and did things the way he wanted. That’s why he didn’t last long at the Maplewood Police Department. In fact, had it not been for Owens’ decision to buck authority on a daily basis, they’d still be partners.
He fingered another photo. Partners. He could use some help and Owens could gain access to information without a warrant. They’d just have to keep the reason behind their association quiet.
Ben re-stacked the photos and slid them into his shirt pocket. “C’mon.” He stood and slung his jacket over his shoulder. “I’m hungry.”
***
Frosty’s bustled when they arrived, packed with noontime customers who knew where to find the ultimate hamburger. Luke’s stomach rumbled at the eye-watering scents of sliced onions and salty, greasy French fries as he greeted a waitress with a kiss on the cheek before she motioned them to a table in the back.
“I see you still have Annie in your little black book,” Ben said as they sat.
Owens twisted his lips. “I’m her favorite customer.”
As soon as Annie took their orders, Ben steepled his fingers against his chin. “So, are you going to tell me how you got the photos?”
“No. Any suspects?”
“Just Lucy and Allison.”
“I don’t think they murdered him.”
Ben leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “I don’t either. Besides, I won’t arrest Scarletti’s niece until I can put the weapon in her hands.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I value my neck.”
Ben withdrew the pictures from his pocket and flipped through them again. “Who’s the guy at the bar?”
“Frank Winslow.”
“You have information on him?”
“Not much.”
Ramsey released a long breath. “I could really use your help on this, if you’re game.”
Luke paused, surprised Ramsey had given in so easily. “I’m game. The whole thing’s got me running in circles. Maybe if we pool our resources, we can come up with a theory.”
“We just have to be careful, Owens, the captain has his eye on me. And what about Lucy and Allison?”
“What about them?
“Do you think they’ll agree to our association?”
“Absolutely not. We have to keep it quiet.”
Ramsey nodded. “Agreed.”
“What do you have so far?”
“I’m positive neither one of the girls did Smallwood in. Allison’s way too connected and Lucy wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
“Affirmative. The only two other suspects I can come up with are Francine Smallwood and Winslow.”
Luke chuckled. “I’ve tailed Winslow once and so far, all I’ve come up with is that he is one kinky individual.”
“Worse than the pictures?”
“I stopped outside the hotel room door. Have you questioned him?”
“Not yet. I’ve dropped by twice but he’s been in surgery. Lucy said he took over Smallwood’s caseload.”
“Unusual?”
“No. He and Smallwood are the only two cosmetic surgeons in town. Apparently, he’s been knee-deep since Smallwood’s death.”
“Besides the pictures, what else have we got?”
Ben exhaled hard. “Just the obvious. We found Smallwood bound and gagged, naked as a jaybird, with a syringe sticking out of his jugular vein.”
“What killed him?”
“Botox. There was an ample supply of syringes and serum in Smallwood’s clinic.”
Luke raised an eyebrow. Allison was a registered nurse and knew how to administer the drug.
“The victim wore handcuffs,” Ramsey continued.
Luke mentally filled in the blanks. Lucy handcuffed Smallwood. He frowned. “Handcuffed? Smallwood was a large man. Any prints?”
“Forensics sent me the report this morning. Lucy’s.”
Luke buried his dread. Damn. “You still think she’s innocent?”
“Possibly.”
“Why don’t you arrest her?”
“Her prints were on the cuffs, but not the rope.”
Luke leaned back in his chair and buckled his hands behind his head. “Why would she take time to cover up fingerprints from the rope?”
“I don’t believe she’s the one who bound him.”
Neither did Luke. “How’d she get him out of the clinic without being spotted? He probably weighed close to 300 pounds. Whoever transported him had to be strong. Lucy can’t lift that much weight by herself. Hell, Lucy and Allison couldn’t lift it together. And, if he’d already been injected, he would’ve been even heavier.”
Ramsey shrugged. “There’s always the possibility Allison called for help.”
“No. This wasn’t a professional hit. Allison’s people w
ould never have allowed him to be found.”
“I agree.”
Luke dropped his hands and reached for the discarded straw wrapper. “He was naked.”
“Yeah.”
“So, were her fingerprints on the body?”
“No.”
“Do you think they have motive?”
“I can’t find one.”
“That’s another mystery.” Luke paused and gave Annie a flirty wink as she placed their burgers in front of them. She returned his wink and left the table.
“Did you pay your respects at the funeral?”
“No. You?”
“Yeah, Winslow gave the eulogy and mentioned Smallwood was his business partner.”
Ramsey lifted his burger. “I’ve got a meeting with Francine Smallwood this afternoon. Wanna tag along?”
Luke almost gave fate a high five. “You bet.”
An hour later, Luke rode with Ramsey through the iron gates of the Smallwood Estate, amazed at what sculpting body parts had done for Smallwood.
“Business was good,” he mumbled as Ramsey parked in the driveway behind a sleek, black Mercedes.
“Damn good,” Ramsey agreed. “How do you want to do this?”
Luke grinned. “Do you always need a plan?”
“Yes.”
“How about good cop, bad cop?”
Ramsey gave him a pointed look. “There’s only one problem with that plan.”
“What?”
“I’m the only cop here.”
“Bite me. She’ll talk to me easier.”
His prediction, although cocky, proved accurate. Women loved him, he loved them back, and then let them down so smoothly, they still loved him. Yeah, Francine Smallwood would talk to him.
“Just remember she’s a grieving widow,” Ramsey reminded him as he rang the doorbell.
Ramsey stood with this hands clasped in front of him while a smile spread Luke’s lips when a shapely blonde greeted them.
“Good afternoon, Gentlemen,” she said in a syrupy voice. “Please come in.”
Her man-made cleavage winked a personal hello as she stepped to close the door. Luke bit his bottom lip. Grieving widow, my ass.
“Mrs. Smallwood?”
“Yes. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she offered.
Ramsey cleared his throat. Luke managed to peel his eyes from her rack.
“No thank you. We won’t take up much of your time.”
“Call me Francie, please.”
Luke took his cue and sat down next to her. “We have some pictures we’d like you to see,” he began gently. “Maybe you can tell us something we don’t know.”
“Of course.”
He laid the pictures on the coffee table face down, then took her hand between his. “We know this may be hard for you, Francie, but we need your help.”
Francine nodded with a glint of confusion in the depths of her eyes. He carefully flipped each photo upright to expose Smallwood’s compromising positions. Francine burst out laughing.
Luke managed to hide his surprise. “Francie?”
“Please excuse my outburst. Jeffrey finally managed to get his sneaky ass in a sling, didn’t he?”
“This doesn’t surprise you?”
Francine walked across the room, opened a desk drawer, and returned with an envelope. “Not in the least.” She scattered the contents from the envelope across the table. Pictures of Smallwood with several different women and men laced the polished surface.
“Holy hell,” Ramsey mumbled.
Luke cocked his head to the side and frowned. “So you were aware of his infidelity?”
“Well aware. Six more weeks and he would’ve known just how aware.”
Warning bells sounded in Luke’s head. “You planned revenge?”
“Not revenge, divorce. These just cemented my outrageous settlement.”
Ramsey jumped in. “Where were you on Monday evening, Mrs. Smallwood?”
“Now, that’s where the revenge comes in.” She gave a wicked smile. “I was in Philadelphia, with my naked body wrapped around a man half my age.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Of course.” She handed Luke a pink piece of paper. He read the fine print and then noticed a phone number scribbled on the top. “Michael will be most happy to tell you about our evening.”
Luke pocketed the receipt. “Did your husband have any business partners?”
“Heavens, no! Jeffrey insisted he run the clinic himself. However, he couldn’t have managed without Lucy and Allison.”
“How well do you know them?”
“I don’t know them too well personally, but professionally, they’re both indispensable.”
“Do you have any reason to believe they would be responsible for Dr. Smallwood’s murder?”
“Absolutely not. Surely you’re familiar with Allison’s family.”
A familiar sense of dread nudged Luke as he glanced at Ramsey. He felt somewhat comforted when the other man shifted uneasily. “Was Dr. Smallwood aware of Allison’s family ties?”
She shrugged. “Jeffrey and I didn’t discuss business. Either he didn’t know or he didn’t care. Selfish son-of-a-bitch.”
Ramsey cleared his throat. “What about investors?”
“None as far as I know. My father loaned him the money to get started and as soon as he repaid the loan, he never borrowed another penny.”
“What about debt?”
“According to my private investigator, the business was completely solvent.”
Ramsey pushed harder. “Did Dr. Smallwood keep his business records at the clinic?”
“I honestly have no idea, Detective. Lucy keeps the business records for his practice, but he did have a home office.”
Ramsey gave him a why-not? look and then gave it his best shot. “Would you mind if we search?”
“Not at all.”
Francine led them to the back of the house to a large room and opened the door. Luke bit back a threatened grin as he took in the outrageous decor. A large, black-leather-clad sofa occupied one wall, while two oversized recliners, also upholstered in black leather, sat nearby. A big flat screen television, he guessed at least fifty two inches, hung on another wall. He hissed under his breath. The walls themselves were padded with black leather, and quarter-sized, chrome studs adorned each section.
“Here we are, gentlemen.” Francine waved a hand at the furnishings. “The decorator will be here next week, so help yourself to whatever you need.”
Luke watched her turn and sway down the hallway before he glanced at Ramsey. “See a theme here?”
Ramsey shook his head. “Another playground.”
Luke sat at the oak executive desk and opened the drawers. Amazingly, the first held a wealth of information.
“Ramsey.” Luke lifted several boxes.
“What did you find?” Ramsey stepped behind him.
Luke popped the lid off the first box. “Check registers.” He scanned each entry until one in particular caught his attention. Frank Winslow. $30,000.
Ramsey whistled low under his breath. “A loan?”
Luke flipped through the next register. Another check had been written to Winslow for double the amount. “Possibly, but this month’s payment is more.”
Luke grabbed another box and shuffled through the papers inside. “Ramsey, there are more entries here too. All vary from 30,000 to 75,000 dollars.”
Ramsey narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t he keep these on a computer?”
“I don’t see a computer.”
“I don’t think this is a business account.”
Ramsey nodded at the box. “What else?”
“Entries for The Blue Peacock, Lilly’s House of Love, and Dominant Bondage.”
Ramsey raised an eyebrow. “Dominant Bondage?”
“Magazine subscription.”
“It’s possible he conducted business at The Blue Peacock.”
Luke snorted. “What kind of busin
ess?”
“That’s what we need to find out. I’m willing to bet Winslow’s a card-carrying member.”
“I’m good, Ramsey, but getting inside that place is damn near impossible without membership.”
“The Scarletti family holds the note.”
Confidence nudged Luke. Maybe he had a secret weapon. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I thought you lived on the edge.” Ramsey stood and led him out of the office.
Luke shrugged. “I’ll stay on Winslow and see what happens.” He closed the office door just as Mrs. Smallwood came down the hallway.
She gave him another sexy smile. “Find what you needed?”
Ramsey cleared his throat. “Mrs. Smallwood, did Dr. Smallwood have a home computer?”
“No, just a laptop.”
“Did you share a joint checking account?”
Her hand flew to her chest. “No! I’d be so embarrassed if anyone connected me to the smut Jeffrey bought! I prefer men, Detective Ramsey, only men. And no leather or chains.”
“You mentioned you hired a private investigator,” Luke prompted.
She nodded and gave him a flirty wink. “If I’d known about you, Mr. Owens, I would’ve called.”
“Did he provide a written report?”
“Of course, along with a video tape of several of Jeffrey’s exploits.”
“Nothing else?”
“I only wanted proof of infidelity. He did a cursory search of the assets and bank accounts, but nothing more.”
Luke took her hand, turned it over and placed a kiss on her third knuckle. “Thank you, Francie. We’ll call if we have any more questions.”
She gave him a thousand-watt smile and another wink. “You do that.”
The door closed softly behind them.
“What about the laptop?” Luke led the way to the car.
“I found it at the clinic. The only substantial evidence I found was porn, and that’s not really evidence.”
