Karen’s mouth was open. She shook her head and took a long swig of her drink. “This is too weird,” she said, her words getting a little slushy. “Why’d he think you needed his help? And if he was so damn concerned about you, why didn’t he come to us with his story?”
“Excellent question,” Kyle said as he raised his glass in salute. “You should consider a career in law enforcement. And the answer is, he has no idea why, and neither do I.”
“That’s it? He didn’t talk to Gloria?”
Kyle shook his head. “They don’t get along so well, remember?”
“And neither of them told any of the cops that interviewed them, huh?”
“Nope.”
She looked at Kyle with slightly unfocused eyes, and leaned forward reaching for his hand. “I’m going to find out what’s going on. This case is ugly from every angle, except the one I’m looking at right now.
“You know I shouldn’t be here,” she sighed. “It’s against every rule in the book, and if this were to get out, I’d be through in the Department. I told you that already, though, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did.” He gripped her hand and put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him.
She snuggled deep into him and softly kissed his neck. He sighed, and in his own vodka haze, put his lips to hers.
Her mouth opened for the kiss and he felt her with every raw nerve in his body. He knew she’d had a crush on him all those years ago, and wondered if any feeling remained. He was having trouble getting past the thought that she was playing him, but he couldn’t stop.
Kyle kissed each of her eyes and rested his lips on her temple. He whispered, “I want you,” and then he reached under her shirt and touched the breasts he had known were bare. The two explored the inside of one another’s mouths while the temperature in the room rose.
Kyle lifted her shirt over her head and pulled it free. The sight of her swollen nipples made his knees go weak. She moaned softly and he realized that whatever the consequences, he had to have her. He stood, lifting her from the sofa and carried her straight to his bedroom.
“I can’t believe I’m here with you. I dreamt about this so many times when I was younger,” she whispered as they reached his bed.
“I’m glad I could finally oblige.” he responded as he laid her down on his bed.
Karen woke during the night. Kyle was wrapped around her—still asleep. They were both naked and she had no desire to leave his bed. She was surprised to realize that she had no regrets about what had happened. It had been far too long since a man had taken her to the places she had gone with him.
He told her he loved her body, that it was perfect. Lies, she thought, although she had told him the same about his, and meant it. Though he was considered old for football, his body bested most of the men she had known. She would have awakened him and asked for more, but doubt gnawed at her. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? She was afraid it had been only a night of too much vodka for him. Or did he want something she could not give?
Kyle stirred. His eyes opened and Karen held her breath. He drew her to him and kissed her one of those hot, deep hungry kisses that she hadn’t been able to get enough of earlier. She could feel him against her, hard and ready.
“More,” he whispered in her ear.
“Me, too,” she gasped.
The next morning, they showered together and sat across from one another in his kitchen over bowls of Grape Nuts.
“I have to get to practice early. Coach Raymond wants this win almost as much as I do. Take your time getting out of here, okay? If you need anything, including my toothbrush, help yourself. And I don’t say that to all the girls,” he smiled.
“Thanks. I’ll be out of here pretty quickly, though. I have to get home and change for work, but I need to make a couple of phone calls before I leave.”
“Yeah. Phone calls. I almost forgot. The lady is a cop.”
“True, but I wear the blindfold of justice, even when I’m naked.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He stood and put the milk in the refrigerator, the box of cereal in the pantry and after rinsing his bowl, put it in the dishwasher.
Karen watched, waiting for his good bye. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
“When can I see you again?” Kyle asked.
“I don’t know for sure. Let’s see how things go today. This... us seeing each other, outside of the case, that is, will not be easy.
“Easy isn’t worth fighting for.” His eyes searched hers. “Right?” he asked.
The words ran through her mind and into her body. She had hoped he would give her some kind of assurance, and he now he had. “Right,” she nodded, wondering if anything would ever be right again.
When Karen finished with her dishes, she went into the living room to call into work. She was put right through to Will.
“Kaufman, Homicide.”
“Hey. It’s me.”
“Where the hell are you? We got work to do, lady.”
“Something break?”
“Burglary.”
“And that affects us, how?”
“It was the Demons’ doctor’s office.”
“Ouch. Fraga?”
“That’s him. His gun went missing.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
F our intense detectives sat around a table at Roasters ‘n Toasters on 41st Street on Miami Beach discussing the burglary and ransacking of Joe Fraga’s office. The doctor had gone psycho on the Robbery team and the detectives were still shaking their heads over his bizarre behavior.
“Goddamn, you’d think a doctor would be able to handle something like this, huh? I thought we were gonna have to call the paramedics for him,” chuckled Manny Pedrosa, one of the guys from Robbery.
His partner, Cassie Whitney nodded in agreement. “I’ll be sure not to call him next time I have to have my knee scoped. That man is a lunatic.”
“Makes you think that it maybe wasn’t just about burglary, you know what I mean? What with the Benson murder and him being team doctor, a little too much coincidence maybe. And I don’t believe in coincidence,” Karen added.
“All that mess and nothing’s gone missing but his gun? Something’s weird. Looked like whoever did it was looking for something specific and the gun was just a bonus.” Pedrosa looked to Will
Will brushed patches of crumbs from his corned beef sandwich off his shirt and took a sip of coffee. He shook his head and said, “Oh, that’s some good stuff. Yessirree. Good stuff.” Then he wiped his mouth with his napkin and continued. “Maybe there’s shit gone that he isn’t so anxious to tell us about that’d account for him being such a jerk about this.”
“Like what kind of shit?” Pedrosa asked.
“Think about it. He’s a doctor working for a football team. Hellloooo! What might he have that someone would want besides his fucking gun? The creep’s not gonna share with us if his drugs have been cleaned out. Who knows what that guy’s peddling?”
“Nah, that doesn’t make sense,” Whitney said. “He told us about the gun, so why wouldn’t he cop to the drugs? Like you said, he’s a doctor. He treats painful injuries. It’s only logical that he’d have narcotics and shit on board.”
“C’mon Cassie, think about it. A gun could come back and bite him in the ass—you know how easy it is to trace a gunshot back to the gun—so of course he’s gonna squawk about it. But drugs… There are plenty of them that he might overlook mentioning. Not necessarily the prescription kind, you know?
The waitress came by with their check, asking if they wanted anything else. It had been relatively quiet when they got there, but now the lunch crowd was closing in on them. Steve Rosen, “The Delilamma,” was standing by the waitress looking impatient.
“Everything okay today, folks?” he asked.
The quartet nodded in unison. “Your pickles are the best,” Cassie added.
“Of course,�
� he replied. “That’s why they cost so much. You know, we bid for these things. People don’t realize that.”
Karen smiled. “New one on me, Steve. Kind of like the futures markets, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess, kind of. Just enjoy.” He said, as he took off toward the other end of the deli where Senator Dan Gelber had just arrived with a group of dignitaries.
Cassie, crunching loudly on her pickle, spoke up, “Meanwhile, back at the lab…maybe when we get the prints back from Fraga’s office they’ll give us some clue to what’s going on over there.”
Karen started to say something, but her cell phone went off, and she excused herself to go take the call. She got back just as everyone was leaving.
“We may have caught a break, Will.”
“On the Sands case?” he asked.
“No, in the case, asshole.”
Yeah, yeah, so you say. What’s going on?”
“That page was Feyzi, the trainer. He wants me to come to his place. Said he needs to talk to me ‘bad.’ He lives on North Bay Road in the Fifties.” The guy must give a helluva workout to afford that address. Even in the guest house, which is where he stays, those things rent out for what, fifteen hundred, two grand a month?”
“Great, I’m happy for him. Let’s roll,” Will said.
“Uh, wait a second,” Karen called. She hesitated, and then said “Don’t get pissed, okay? He kind of asked me to come alone. I seem to be a more sympathetic figure. Guess you shook him up pretty well at Crunch the other day. Let me just pay him a visit and if he gives me anything worth following up on, I’ll buzz you. No sense in ruffling his feathers any further. At this point a lead is a lead.”
“Kid’s a scumbag. Well, that’s fine with me. I got plenty to do without getting jerked around by a pretty boy that’s just yanking your chain, probably trying to sign you up for some of his titty-twister classes. Anyways, I gotta see someone on another matter. Maybe you wanna catch a ride back to the station with Cassie and Manny to pick up your car? We can hook up again some time later today.”
Karen turned to Pedrosa and said, “Fine. That okay with you guys?”
“Not a problem, c’mon.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
N orth Bay Road was always quiet, always elegant. Landscaping costs alone were astronomical, and with taxes only Republicans could afford. Fairy tale mansions were cordoned off by high walls and extravagant, locked gates. They nestled up on the wide water of Biscayne Bay, where luxurious yachts, fully crewed, floated next to private docks, waiting to be set into service at the whim of the owner. Many well-known celebrities owned homes on this secluded street.
A black Jaguar sat in the huge circular driveway at the address Feyzi had given Karen. The ornate wrought iron gate was wide open, like an invitation. She cautiously pulled through and parked behind the Jag but remained sitting in her car for another minute.
Only two days had passed since they had first questioned Feyzi Batan. Although he was obviously shaken by their visit, today when she got his call, he sounded like a desperate man. His exact words were he was ‘sick at heart’ since the interview and needed to ‘cleanse his soul’ to rid himself of the bad karma. Whatever, Karen thought. So long as you give up a piece of this puzzle. She got out of her car, quickly surveyed the grounds and headed toward the guest house, which she assumed was somewhere behind the main residence.
The backyard was a tropical haven. Mango and citrus trees dotted the lawn and multi-colored bougainvilleas lined the gate walls. Banana plants with heavy hanging arms, the hands of which sported full fingers of ripe, yellow fruit were scattered throughout the property, and a twenty yard square was cordoned off with a carefully tended vegetable garden.
Slabs of peach and russet slate led down to a wooden dock. A yacht Karen figured to be about a sixty-footer was docked there and quietly bobbed with the ripples of the teal bay. Eden, Karen thought. Just stay away from those nasty old apples and you never need to leave the estate.
Feyzi’s so-called cottage was a replica of the main house and sat very close to the dock. She rang the bell and could hear chimes inside. A minute or so passed with no answer so she rang again and called out his name. Still no response.
Something wasn’t right. He had been too anxious to meet with her not to be around. She banged on the door a couple of times, and then, suspicious, she tried the handle. It was locked. She stepped through a hedge of plumbago to get to his front windows and peered inside. Nothing. She blew out a stream of air in disgust and turned to leave. It looked like another lead was slipping through her fingers.
When she was almost to her car, she thought to check the main residence to see if perhaps he was waiting for her there. She muttered to herself that she should have checked the big house in the first place. Yes, he had probably decided to wait for her there and that was why the gate had been open.
The wooden door was huge, very impressive, as was everything on the estate. She leaned on the bell and again heard chimes sounding very much like parents to the ones in the back cottage.
In less than a minute the door cracked open a notch. A woman with short, spiky blonde hair and a cigarette dangling from her mouth looked out at her. She was clearly on the other side of fifty, looking a bit annoyed and rather curious.
“Something you need?” she asked in a raspy, smokeburnt voice.
Karen flashed her badge and said “Detective Brandt, police, m’am.”
The woman’s brows lowered, and she said “Police? Sorry honey, you got the wrong house,” then she started to close the door.
“Wait!” Karen snapped. I don’t have the wrong anything. I need to speak with your tenant, Feyzi Batan, Is he here?”
The door opened. The chunky lady stepped out and asked, “Feyzi? Is he in trouble?”
“That’s what I need to speak with you about.”
The woman beckoned Karen to follow her inside. She introduced herself as Mazie Rose. “I knew it. I just knew it! I told that boy he was going to get himself into a shitload of trouble. Too many women with husbands and boyfriends, and his workouts weren’t just aerobics. So, who’d he finally piss off?”
“I don’t know that he pissed anyone off, Ms. Rose. He’s a possible witness in a murder case. He called me about an hour and a half ago and said he needed to talk to me, but now that I’m here, he isn’t.”
“Hmmm. That’s curious, even for Feyzi. He’s pretty good about keeping appointments. Time is money, you know. How about some coffee. We’ll talk.”
“Thanks, no. But about Feyzi...”
“A Danish maybe? From Epicure, very fresh. Excellent.”
Karen shook her head and said she had just had a big lunch. Then she cleared her throat and asked, “Did he mention anything about what’s been going on?”
“Like what, honey? Are you sure he isn’t in any trouble?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. So, has he mentioned anything at all to you about the Jessica Benson murder? Or about anything at all that might be unusual, even for him?”
“Nah. I’ve been holed up here working on some paintings and haven’t seen much of him lately. Usually we visit two, three times a week. He cooks me up a little of that Turkish coffee he makes, and sometimes we munch some baklava. He even tries to get me in shape when he has some extra time, light exercises, you know? None of ’em are light enough for me, though. I get jazzed up and it aggravates my smoker’s cough.” She laughed, but it was broken up by a fit of phlegmy hacking.
“See. Just thinking about it aggravates the cough! I gotta get off these things.” She nodded her head toward the cigarette she was lighting. “My cousin the doctor says they’re bad for my health. But what isn’t bad for you today? Don’t eat red meat, too much fat. Stop the fish, too much mercury. Chicken? Hormones! I’m glad I’m closer to going out than coming in. Another couple of years and between the food, the air we breathe, and the terrorist attacks, what do we do? Stay duck-taped in our homes with canned crap to eat, and wa
tch government terror alerts change colors.”
Karen nodded, prompting her to continue.
Mazie looked down at her watch and said, “Look doll, I’m late for my nail appointment and that’s sacred. A bunch of us old broads have been meeting at Toy’s Place for over twenty years. It’s a religion. Saves a bundle on psychiatry bills.
“I’ll do you one quick favor, though. Come with me.” She gestured for Karen to follow her and headed toward the back of the house.
Karen’s eyes were big. Each room was more magnificent than the next. The ceilings must have been twenty-five feet high, but there was a coziness about the place. It was warm, inviting and saturated with class.
“You don’t live here alone?” she asked.
“Most of the time. My nephew’s away at school, but when he’s in town he stays with me. And my grandson—only eighteen months old and already a heartbreaker, poo poo poo— comes to me when my daughter’s miserable husband allows it. That’s usually when he wants to go out and they can’t find a sitter.
“The kid’s a genius. Not just because he’s mine, no one’s more objective than me. I’m telling you, the kid’s a genius!”
They entered a small sun room off the kitchen. It was an artist’s studio with canvasses in various stages of finish lining the walls. An easel stood in the middle of the room displaying a brightly colored modern piece.
“Your work is so Brito,” Karen said, referring to the popular South Beach artist.
“I guess that calls for a thank you. He certainly has inspired my style. C’mon, stay with me here.” She opened French doors to the outside and led Karen around to the side of the house.
“Ha. I thought so. His motorcycle is still here, so he has to be in his place. Feyzi doesn’t go anywhere without the bike. It’s his car.”
“I rang the bell and called to him,” Karen replied. “This is strange. Considering that he phoned me and was in such a hurry to speak with me. It took me longer than I thought to get over here, though, and maybe something better to do came along. I don’t know, I’m just not feeling good about this.”
The Mystery of Jessica Benson Page 12
