The Watcher (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 4)

by Linsey Lanier

She marched over to the man. “Pretty early for a cold one, isn’t it, Inspector?”

  Wearing another silk Italian suit and a gray checkered tie, Gaspar turned to her with a thin smile. “I thought you two might show up here.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Miranda took a deep breath and slipped onto a barstool to steady herself. “You knew we were heading here?” Hard to believe since she hadn’t known it herself and she was sure Parker hadn’t mentioned it to the cop.

  Gaspar took a sip of his drink, made a face and put it back down. “This is just for show. I’m a teetotaler.”

  “Answer my question.”

  He raised a hefty shoulder. “This is the only lead we have and this is the only public house with boarding in the little town.”

  “Have you located Nelito Alves then?” Parker asked, his irritation over not being informed showing under his cool exterior. At least to Miranda’s eyes.

  Gaspar turned in his seat to eye him. “In fact, I have just finished questioning the garçom over there.” He waved a hand toward the man with the rag. “He told me some interesting things.”

  Miranda leaned toward the Inspector and lowered her voice. “Such as?”

  He took a moment to pat his thin, styled hair. “Such as a young man matching Nelito’s description took a room here a month ago.”

  Miranda glanced at Parker.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “The young man was a student. Would sit in the pub in the evenings sketching on a pad.”

  Miranda frowned. “Nelito was supposed to be a performing arts student.”

  “He claimed he was going to change his major if he ever went back to school. In the daytime, he would hike around the area, so he told the locals.”

  Miranda felt her skin prickle. That sounded like their killer.

  “Anything else?” Parker asked.

  “A good bit. Apparently after staying here about a week, the young man disappeared—neglecting to pay the tab he had run up.”

  “Interesting.”

  “The owner assumed he would never see the student again, but he turned up last night.”

  “Here?”

  Gaspar nodded smugly. “Paid his bill in full, cash. Then he got drunk and went upstairs to his old room to sleep it off. According to the garçom he is there now.”

  Miranda looked at Parker and saw the same waryness she felt. Had to be something wrong. This was too easy.

  But apparently he was tired of wasting time. “What are you doing down here?” he asked.

  “Waiting for my backup. But you two will do, if you’re willing to help.”

  Miranda slid off the stool. “Of course, we’re willing. What’s your plan?”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The Inspector’s plan wasn’t complicated. Get the pub owner, show him the warrant, go knock on Nelito’s door.

  Okay.

  Miranda followed behind Gaspar’s bulky frame and the owner’s thin one up an old creaky staircase to a long narrow hall. She moved to the opposite end to stand guard while Parker remained at the stairs, in case the suspect bolted and got past the Inspector.

  She didn’t think that would happen but she braced herself for a tackle just in case as the two men reached a door midway down the hall.

  The owner rapped on the old wood frame and barked out something in Portuguese. Probably the equivalent of “Open up.”

  No answer.

  He rapped a second time and repeated the words, now adding the familiar “polícia.”

  Still nothing.

  Gaspar gave the owner a nod and the man removed a key from his pocket and used it to open the door.

  There was a shout, a wild cry, more Portuguese, and the two men disappeared inside.

  Miranda ran toward the room, expecting to have to wrestle an adrenaline-fueled Nelito to the ground, since Gaspar might not want to spoil his suit. But when she got to the doorway all she saw was a tiny room with an unmade bed and a window.

  The shutters on the window had been thrown open and two long, jeans-clad legs dangled out of the opening.

  Before the Inspector could react, the legs disappeared. This guy was nimble.

  She rushed to the window and peered out. Nelito sat balanced on the clay bricks of the roof, wearing only his jeans and a look of terror. She noticed he’d cut his hair to length in the surveillance photo.

  The two men still jabbering in Portuguese behind her, Miranda hoisted a leg up and climbed through the opening. “Hey,” she called to the student. “Whatcha doin’ out here?”

  His head snapped back in her direction and he turned over on his hands and knees, attempting to crawl away. “Get away!” he warned. “Or I will jump.”

  “No, don’t do that.” She turned and settled her butt onto the clay tiles, being careful not to slip. She remembered working with these Mission Barrel things years ago when she was in the southwest. She’d hated them then, she hated them now.

  “Go away,” the young man said again.

  The shutters on the window banged against the walls behind her. She ignored them, kept her cool. “Can’t a girl get a breath of fresh air? What’s wrong? What are you afraid of?”

  “The police are coming for me,” he replied in a thick accent, his voice quaking. “I ran up a debt. I paid it but perhaps it was not enough. They will put me in jail.”

  He was worried about a debt? What about murder? But she kept her voice light and casual. “If you’re innocent you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “You do not understand. My father will disown me if I get in trouble.” Nelito rolled over, trying to crawl on his hands and knees.

  Beneath them the steep clay bricks promised a steep, painful drop to the sidewalk yawning below.

  “Hey, be careful there. You might fall.”

  “I would rather face death than my father’s wrath.”

  “Oh, come on now. It can’t be that bad.”

  “You do not know my father. I went to see him in Italy. I told him I needed money. I was broke. He was so very angry. He gave me the money but made me promise to go back to school or he will cut me off.”

  Not exactly the confession she was expecting. She bit her lip as Nelito crept closer to the roof’s edge.

  “Look out now. Watch where you’re going.”

  She glanced back and saw Inspector Gaspar watching her through the window, not daring to say a word. Where the heck was Parker?

  “My father does not understand me. Does not understand my art. My need to explore life.” He moved again. He was almost to the edge.

  “Why don’t we go back inside and you can tell me all about it?”

  He shook his head.

  “I know some people. I know how you can get money. Maybe even an acting job.” Boy, that was a whopper, but she had to get him off this roof.

  It wasn’t working. “The police are after me. I might as well end it now.” He inched closer to the edge, steadied his hands and pushed up. He was going to jump.

  “No! Don’t!”

  Too late. He went over. There was a yelp. Then silence. Then the sound of crying.

  “Be still now.” That was Parker’s voice.

  “What happened?” Gaspar shouted.

  “I don’t know. He must be hurt.” Miranda scrambled down to the edge of the roof as fast as she could go on her butt. She peeked over the tiles.

  Beside the building lay a narrow alleyway guarded with an iron gate with a row of sharp, teethlike points across its top. Across the street was a tree lined lane and another road beyond with a row of houses sitting at a lower level.

  And just below her stood a second story porch fenced by a pale pink wall. And on the concrete floor of the porch Parker stood holding the weeping young man in his arms.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  They hauled Nelito off to the Campos do Flores police station for questioning but all he did in the interrogation room was howl and cry. There was no Cielo card on him, though it seemed likely
the large cash withdrawal in Rio a few weeks ago was to cover the expenses he’d run up at the pub in Árvores.

  Probably didn’t wnat to use the credit card at the place he was living. Too easy for them to figure out the card wasn’t his. But the young student did look a lot like Rico Dominguez. A younger version of him anyway. A search of his room turned up nothing incriminating. Gaspar speculated Nelito might have a safe deposit box somewhere and sent Agent Franco to look into his financials.

  “I think we have our man,” Gaspar said to Parker and Miranda as he escorted them down the hall to the exit. “Tia is free to live her life again.”

  “That’s a relief,” Miranda said, but she felt uneasy. “Is there enough to convict him?”

  “I will make sure there is. I am in contact with Inspetor Keith in Rio and Forensics in São Paulo. We will find everything there is to be found. I have been close to Tia and her children for many years. I will see her husband gets justice and she never again has to fear.”

  “All we can ask,” Parker said and shook the Inspector’s hand.

  But as they made their way out to the street where the new rental was parked, Miranda had to ask, “Do you really think we have the right man?”

  Parker opened the door of the minivan his face hard. “I’m not sure.”

  ###

  The first place they went was Tia’s house to announce that Gaspar had Nelio Alves in custody. Tia’s tears of relief were gratifying to see.

  The memorial for her deceased husband could go on tomorrow as planned. And Pipia would not have to miss her concert. But as a precaution, Tia would ride with Valdinho and Holloway in the VW while Wesson escorted the girls in Didi’s Hyundai. Parker and Miranda would meet them there and sit behind them in the opera house during the performance, keeping an eye on things.

  It might be overkill at this point, but nobody was taking any chances.

  Miranda returned to the cottage with Parker, had a light dinner and got ready for the concert.

  But when she stepped out of the bathroom, Miranda slapped a hand to her forehead and groaned out loud. She hadn’t even thought about clothes. “This shindig’s formal, isn’t it? Will a dark suit be okay?”

  Parker stepped to the closet, dug around in one of their garment bags and pulled out a hanger.

  On it hung a sparkly silver knee-length dress with straps across the back and a neckline high enough to cover the scars on her chest she always kept hidden. There were even matching silver bangles for her neck and earlobes. In his other hand was a pair of silver heels.

  Smiling, she shook her head. “I might have known you’d pack something like that for me.”

  “I always do.”

  He was right.

  Feeling girlier than when she was at the modeling agency with Wesson, she slipped into the dress. It was a fitted thing with beads and sequins everywhere, and she wasn’t sure she had everything in place.

  “Do I look all right?” she said to Parker, who’d been watching her.

  “More beautiful than you know.” The tenderness in his eyes made her melt.

  Since they had a few minutes before they had to leave, while Parker pulled on a dark coat, Miranda sat down at his laptop and began fiddling with some research.

  After getting his silk tie just right, he strolled across the room and planted a kiss on her neck. “What are you doing?”

  She smiled at the sensation of his lips, but it didn’t completely break her concentration. “Whoever was impersonating Rico Dominguez had to bear a resemblance to him in appearance and in voice.”

  “Thus the nature of impersonation.”

  “Yeah, smartie. Well, I was thinking. Who would bear more resemblance to a person than his siblings? In this case, his brothers.”

  “And?”

  She lifted her bare shoulder. “I don’t know. Everything about this case says the killer is flat out nuts.”

  “I would agree.”

  “Neltio is eccentric, but is he crazy?”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. We don’t know much about him yet. Gaspar will no doubt run a psychological profile.” He took her hand and pulled her up out of the chair. It was time to go.

  “Okay, okay. But what if he comes out clean?”

  Parker raised a skeptical brow. “What are you saying?”

  She trotted over to the end of the bed and slipped on her silver shoes. “I don’t know. Grasping at straws, I guess.”

  She turned back to pick up her handbag from the desk and noticed the run she’d started was done. That was fast. Got a hit right away.

  She glanced at the screen. It was a summary on Rico’s younger brother, Sebastian. As a boy he had undergone pyschological testing for episodes of pyromania. Later the diagnosis was amended to bipolar disorder. He’d been hospitalized since he was sixteen, shortly after his mother died.

  “That’s interesing.”

  Parker strolled over to scan the data and his face went dark. “We’ll have to look into that when we get back.”

  Wondering if what she’d found meant anything, Miranda headed for the door. Before she reached it someone knocked.

  Being a little overprotective Parker moved ahead of her and opened it.

  It was Carlota from the resort’s restaurant.

  She stood on the stoop, looking the same as she had the other day. Plain black dress, apron, dark hair worn in a bun. But her dark eyes were wide with what seemed like fear. “Desculpe. Excuse me, senhor, senhorita.”

  “We were just on our way out, Carlota,” Parker said gently.

  She nodded. “I know. Pipia’s concert. I have just come from the big house, Senhora Portia’s home. We were making the final plans for food for the memorial tomorrow. It is not the custom for funerals but Senhora Portia says this is different, and—.” She put her hand to her face and shook her head. “Oh, meu querido.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I spoke to Senhorita Didi while I was there tonight. She told me of the troubles. She told me about the coffee in your basket from the kitchen. That you could have been killed.”

  Parker put a reasurring hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Carlota. I’m fine now.”

  “I am so glad. But I must beg your forgiveness. The coffee was all my fault.”

  Miranda felt the muscles in her neck tense. “What do you mean?”

  “That morning I made the coffee for your basket myself. Good, strong coffee, just as you had ordered. I was in the kitchen alone when...” She stared off into the forest.

  “What?”

  “I did not tell Senhora Portia. She has too much on her mind already.”

  “What didn’t you tell her?” Miranda said.

  “Senhor Rico came to see me.” She put a hand to her face. “But he could not have been Senhor Rico. He was already...”

  “What are you saying, Calotta?”

  “The man, he said he was Senhor Rico. He looked so much like him. He asked about your basket. I told him it was for friends of Senhora Portia’s and I should treat them well. I told them I would. Then he asked for one of my Fuba cakes. I turned my back to get one out of the oven and when I turned around again, he was standing near the counter where the basket was. He must have put something in the thermos but I did not notice it. I did not think...”

  Miranda’s knees felt weak. Dear Lord. The crazy student had come that close to them?

  Parker took the high road. “Please don’t feel resonsible, Carlota. It wasn’t your fault. In fact Inspector Gaspar has the man in custody who poisoned the coffee.”

  “Does he?”

  “I’m sorry to tell you it was Nelito Alves. The student you told us about. You were very helpful to the investigation.”

  She frowned and began shaking her round face back and forth. “Oh, no, senhor. It was not Nelito who came to see me. This man was older than Nelito.”

  A sharp pang pierced Miranda’s stomach. She grabbed onto Parker’s arm.

  “It’s a
ll right. We’re still in control.”

  “Are we? What about that concert tonight? We can’t let them go.”

  Carlota put her hands to her face. “Oh, senhorita. I am so sorry. The family has already left.”

  “Get inside and stay safe,” Parker told the woman.

  Then he and Miranda ran for the mini-van.

  Chapter Fifty

  On the way to the opera house, Parker dialed Gaspar. It took some convincing, but at last the Inspector listened to him.

  “Gaspar says Carlota’s eyesight is starting to fail,” Parker told Miranda after he’d hung up. “He thinks she saw what Nelito wanted her to see.”

  “That could be true.”

  “Or not.” Parker turned onto the main street on the north side of town.

  The sun had set but Miranda could see the rectangular building on the side of the hill, bathed in lamp lights. People were already gathering outside. “Are we going to find Tia and make her go home?”

  Parker’s mouth went hard. “I’m afraid she won’t do that.”

  “Looks like there will be a nice crowd of people. Safety in numbers?”

  “True.”

  “And she’ll have four private investigators keeping an eye out for trouble.”

  “Gaspar is sending officers to Esquecer to search the grounds and a few more to patrol the opera house during the performance.”

  “Would be pretty hard to pull anything off.” Especially if you were the sneaky type.

  “You’re right. We’ll get everyone home after the performance. And Tia will probably have to cancel the memorial tomorrow.”

  “Good enough.”

  They would be okay. There were four members of the Parker Agency and a bunch of cops on the alert. More protection than Tia had had during the entire investigation. She’d be safe. They’d all be safe.

  If they could just get through this night.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Parker pulled into the crowded lot and found a space on the far end. They got out and hiked across the pavement and around the building. Miranda noticed the walkway that wound around the back was dark. Recalling the railing and the steep drop back there to the rocky waterfall below, she was glad the performance was indoors.