When the Wolf Prowls: A Cimarron/Melbourne Thriller - Book Three

by Vanessa Prelatte

  On their way out the door to interview April, Dawn and Rafe heard a voice calling, “Young man!” They kept walking. Then they heard, “Sergeant Melbourne!” They stopped this time and looked around. Lucky’s mother was hurrying toward them.

  When she had caught up with them, Mrs. Wakely planted her feet, placed her arms akimbo, and looked at them with fire glaring out of her eyes. “Why is my son still in custody?” she said. “Why hasn’t he been released? I want my baby back home with me. You need to see to it. You need to see to it immediately!”

  Rafe exchanged a glance with Dawn. He’d had about enough of Lucky’s family, so he said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wakely, but you and your husband indicated that you did not want to talk to us without your attorney present. If you will go and get him, we’ll be happy to talk with you when we get back.”

  They turned and swiftly exited the building, leaving a flabbergasted Mrs. Wakely behind.

  As they were getting into the car, Rafe commented, “He’s thirty years old, and she still calls him baby. In public, no less. And he didn’t even object to it. Unbelievable.” Rafe shook his head.

  As he settled himself into the passenger seat, he said to Dawn, “What do you think the odds are that Lucky’s married girlfriend will alibi him?”

  “I’m not taking any bets on this one,” Dawn responded. “But whatever happens, I don’t think it will turn out well for Lucky – or for Miss April.”

  Chapter 8

  April Vanadian lived in a Chateau-style house surrounded by lush landscaping. Dawn counted six chimneys, which meant six fireplaces. To one side of the house was a garden; on the other side was an Olympic-sized pool, with fountains and statuary dotted around it. Neither Dawn nor Rafe were overly impressed, however. It took a lot to impress anyone who was a regular guest at Sloan Lewellen’s estate.

  They walked up to the front door, which opened before they’d even had a chance to ring the bell. April Vanadian stood there, an unwelcoming scowl upon her face.

  Sleek, Dawn decided. From her glossy black, carefully coiffed hair to her expensive designer shoes, April was sleek. She stood in the doorway, barring their entrance. A fur coat was draped casually over her shoulders. The dress she was wearing beneath it was a bold slash of crimson. Diamonds glittered from her earlobes, and a pair of expensive sunglasses masked her eyes.

  After introducing himself and Dawn, Rafe asked politely, “May we come in?”

  “No. Like I told you on the phone, I’m on my way out. And besides that, I don’t want to talk to you. Leave me out of this. I don’t want to get involved at all.”

  “I’m afraid that we can’t leave you out of this, Mrs. Vanadian. You became involved the minute Lucky Wakely mentioned your name. He’s suspected of some pretty serious crimes, and you’re his alibi.”

  “I can’t believe that he actually gave you my name. And I don’t admit to anything.”

  “Are you saying that Lucky is lying, that he did not spend the last twenty-four hours in your company?”

  “I’m saying that I don’t want to talk to you. You have any questions, you can call my attorney. I’ll give you his name.”

  “If that’s the way you want to play it, we’ll call your attorney and arrange for him to be present when we interview you. We can do that downtown at headquarters. Of course, there are reporters staked out all over headquarters. This is a big case. The minute they see you and understand that we are questioning you, your face will be plastered all over the media. Is that what you really want?”

  April hesitated for a second or two. “If I talk to you now, you’ll keep me out of it?”

  “We can’t guarantee anything, but you have a lot better chance of keeping clear of the media if you talk to us now, in the privacy of your own home,” Rafe responded.

  April Vanadian took a few seconds to think the situation over. Then she said, “You might as well come in, I guess. Let’s get this over with.”

  Moving aside, she waved them into the house. They passed through the bronze-framed glass door into a entry hall. A circular staircase swept upward to the right. April led them past the staircase and through a formal living room. A short corridor beyond led them to an office with wooden paneling, stained glass windows, and a full-wall bookcase. A beautiful carved oak desk sat in an alcove to the right. April led the way past the desk to a group of chairs placed around a fireplace at the far end of the room. She waved Dawn and Rafe into a couple of the chairs, then seated herself. As she settled herself, she pulled her sunglasses off and tossed them onto an end table. Dawn, who had suspected that her eyes would be as dark as her hair, was surprised to see that they were a light, pale blue, and curiously intense.

  “Okay,” April said. “The ball’s in your court. What do you want to … hey – wait a minute.” She stared hard at Dawn. “I know you. You’re Sloan Lewellen’s daughter-in-law. We were introduced at some event last year.”

  “It’s possible. But we really need to focus on the here and now,” Dawn replied. “Specifically on the last twenty-four hours.”

  “Where do you want me to begin?”

  “Well, for starters, when and where did you meet Lucky yesterday?”

  April sighed and leaned back in her chair. “We met at a little French restaurant just outside of town. We had dinner. Then we came back here. Do I have to give you the play-by-play about what happened next?”

  “Just a broad picture will do for now.”

  “We had a drink or two and fooled around a little bit down here for a while. Then we went upstairs to the bedroom.”

  “You were intimate?”

  “That’s a nice way to put it. We had sex. Several times, as a matter of fact.”

  “And after that?”

  “What do you think we did after that? We went to sleep.”

  “So Lucky spent the night with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he get up and leave at any point during the night?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very sure. I’m a light sleeper. If he’d gotten out of bed, it would have woken me up. We both slept the night through. In the morning, we had sex again. Then we took a shower together, got dressed and had breakfast.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Which activity? The sex, the shower, or the breakfast?”

  “How about all three? Approximately, of course.”

  “We had breakfast at about nine o’clock. Working backward from there, I’d say we woke up little after eight. The sex, shower, and dressing part would have taken place between eight and nine.”

  “What did you have for breakfast?”

  “What did we have for … seriously? You really want to know?”

  “Yes, please,” Dawn said patiently.

  “I suppose you want to check to see if my account matches with Lucky’s. Figures.” April closed her eyes for a minute before resuming her account. “Let’s see. I had a bagel with cream cheese and some coffee. Lucky made himself some eggs and toast. He had orange juice, and then some coffee.”

  “He made the eggs himself? You didn’t prepare them for him?”

  “You better believe he made them for himself. I’m not anybody’s chef.”

  Looking her over, Dawn could believe that. “If you don’t cook, who normally prepares the meals around here?”

  “We have a cook/housekeeper, Mrs. Haynes.”

  “Is she a live-in?”

  “No, she normally comes in at seven o’clock in the morning. She leaves at about six, most days.”

  “But she wasn’t here yesterday?”

  “No, and she isn’t here today, either. I told her she could take a few days off while my husband was out of town.”

  “So nobody can verify your story?”

  “Not a soul. I didn’t realize I’d need a witness when I planned everything, you know?” April’s eyes narrowed and she abandoned her flippant tone as she made her next statement. “Look, I don’t want any of thi
s to get back to my husband, okay?”

  “As we told you before, we’ll try to keep discreet about this,” Dawn said. “Meanwhile, what time did Lucky leave this morning?”

  “A little after eleven, I think.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  “No. I wasn’t exactly watching the clock. Why should I?”

  Dawn glanced at Rafe, who shrugged. Turning back to April, Dawn said, “I guess we’ve got all we need for right now.”

  Rising from their chairs, Dawn and Rafe prepared to leave. April escorted them to the door and shut it behind them. As they were getting back into the car, Rafe commented, “Amazing. She entertains her lover in her own house, and she expects to keep everything from her husband? Good luck with that. He’ll figure everything out soon enough.”

  Dawn glanced in the rear-view mirror and started up the car before she responded to Rafe’s comment. As she pulled out of the driveway and turned back onto the street, she said, “The husband plays around as well, from what I’ve heard. But at least he’s discreet about it. Hotel rooms in other cities – that’s where he confines his cheating to.”

  “And she knows about it?”

  “Probably. She’ll want to keep her own cheating quiet, though, just to be in a better position when it’s time for the divorce. She’ll have hotel records and witnesses of his infidelity. He’ll have a harder time of it, getting something on her. Meanwhile, I just realized that I’m starving. How about we stop off someplace and grab a couple of sandwiches?”

  “Sounds good, but make it soup for me.”

  “What kind?”

  “Nothing too spicy.”

  Dawn shot Rafe a quick look before training her eyes back on the road, but she refrained from saying anything to him. Spying a diner a few miles down the road, she pulled into the parking lot and parked the car.

  “Back in a few,” she said before exiting the car and vanishing inside the diner. Rafe waited until she was out of sight, before leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes, his lips pressed tightly together.

  As she had predicted, Dawn was back in under five minutes with a sandwich for herself and a bowl of soup for her partner.

  Rafe took a couple of bites of the soup, then winced. Placing his hand on his abdomen, he began rubbing it gingerly.

  Noticing the gesture, Dawn said, “Rafe? Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “It’s nothing,” Rafe insisted. “Just this cramp in my stomach. I must have eaten something that disagreed with me.”

  “How long have you been having this pain?”

  “A couple of days, off and on. It’s probably some type of stomach virus. No big deal.”

  “If you say so. But promise me something?”

  “What?”

  “If you don’t feel better by tomorrow, you’ll go to the doctor.”

  “I hate doctors.”

  “I know. Would you at least think about it?”

  “Okay. I’ll think about it. But hey – what’s up with you? It’s not like you to nag me about health stuff.”

  “I haven’t nagged anybody in a while. I need to keep in practice,” Dawn retorted.

  “Yeah, well practice on somebody else,” Rafe shot back.

  After just a few spoonfuls of the soup, he put it back inside the carry-out box. Reaching for his tablet, Rafe said, “I’m going to do a little research on Amethyst Gascoyne on the way back to headquarters. See what I can turn up on our potential poisoner.”

  Silence reigned in the car as Rafe pulled up some records on his tablet and Dawn wove her way through traffic. Presently, Rafe said, “Okay, for starters, Amethyst lived at the same address for the first eighteen years of her life.”

  “Family?” Dawn inquired.

  “Mother, father, younger sister. Parents divorced ten years ago. The mother moved to California , but the father stayed on in the same house. Apparently, Amethyst stayed with the father, while the younger sister went to California with the mother.”

  “Are the parents still alive?”

  “The mother is. The father died a few years ago.” Keeping his tablet open, Rafe reached for his cell phone. “I’m going to look up the numbers of the neighbors who live on either side of and across the street from the house where Amethyst grew up,” he said. “See if I can luck out and find one who likes to gossip.”

  Dawn concentrated on her driving while Rafe made the calls. Just before they reached headquarters, he put his phone away and turned to Dawn, a frown of concentration on his face.

  “From your end of the conversation and the look on your face, this detective is going to deduce that you didn’t like what you heard from the neighbors,” Dawn commented.

  “Most were hesitant at first to give information over the phone,” Rafe said. “However, one told me a disturbing story involving a rival of Amethyst’s from grade school who came down with a mysterious illness. It was serious, and the girl nearly died. The woman I spoke to implied that everyone in the neighborhood thought Amethyst had something to do with what happened to the other girl. She also mentioned that I might want to talk to a former neighbor of theirs. This neighbor’s daughter was apparently Amethyst’s best friend for years. I’ll look up her current contact information and maybe give her a call when I get a chance. For right now, though, finding the man who killed our unknown victim and shot Jordan gets top priority. Digging up more dirt on our Lucrezia Borgia wannabe is going to have to wait.”

  They parted ways when they reached headquarters. Rafe went up to Homicide to give Lt. Westbrooke an update, while Dawn went down to the lab. There, the head lab tech, Ramon Ouray, greeted her with a groan.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he intoned. “You want me to give your murder case priority and do a rush job, right?”

  “Got it in one, Ray. What have you got for me?”

  “Well, to start with, there were prints all over the car. Not the least attempt to wipe them down. Once you bring in a suspect, we’ll be able to do a match right away. No problem.”

  “What about the hair and fiber analysis. Did you find anything interesting?”

  “Yeah, tons of stuff. Hair from what looks like at least five different people. Lots of fibers as well. You got anything for me to match them with?”

  “I’ll have to get back to you on that. Some of the prints and hair and fibers could have come from our perp. But I’ll bet that most of them can be traced to the owners of the car. And it’s looking more and more as if they had nothing to do with the crime.”

  “We’ll need to get samples from them anyway, just to rule them out.”

  “Rafe and I will get to work on that. Thanks, Ray.”

  Back in the Homicide bullpen, Dawn greeted the rest of the team and exchanged information with them while she waited for Rafe, who was still conferring with Lt. Westbrooke in her office.

  Detectives Prentiss and Noritaki were working with the Pueblo police, gathering more information on the stolen car, while Sokoto and Vettakor were attempting to identify the women who had been found in the trunk of the car. Neither team was making any significant progress, however.

  When Rafe emerged from Lt. Westbrooke’s office, Dawn proceeded to update him regarding what she had learned from Ramon Ouray in the lab.

  After he had heard Dawn out, Rafe commented, “Getting Lucky’s prints so that we can match them with those found in the car will be no problem. But we’ll have to get consent from him and his parents before we can take hair samples. Either that or get a warrant, which will take more time. Since time is a commodity we’re short on, let’s see if we can get them to cooperate voluntarily.”

  “After the way they behaved this morning, good luck with that,” Dawn said. “We’re probably going to have to get warrants. And, like you just pointed out, that could take some time.”

  “Maybe not. Let’s hunt down their lawyer, see if we can deal with him.”

  They sat down with the lawyer and Lucky’s parents and began negotiating.

&n
bsp; “My client and his parents are outraged,” Lucky’s attorney began. “They aren’t inclined to help you. You should know that they are considering encouraging their son to file a lawsuit against the Mountpelier Police Department for false arrest.”

  Rafe looked at the parents. “Suit yourselves,” he drawled. “But you should know that as the case stands right now, based on the evidence we have, a lawsuit for false arrest doesn’t have a prayer of helping your son evade the charges against him. He is in deep trouble. In fact, he’s probably going to end up doing some jail time.”

  Jane Wakely gave a gasp, and her husband looked stunned. The lawyer, however, was not fazed.

  “You think so?” he asked, seeming bored.

  “Sure. Let’s start with the reckless driving charges. We looked at his record. When it comes to reckless driving, this isn’t his first offense. He was convicted on similar charges two years ago. You know the law. In this state, a person who is convicted of reckless driving twice has to serve a minimum of ten days in jail, over and above any fines the judge cares to impose. It’s mandatory. No way out of it.”

  Jane Wakely shot an alarmed glance at the attorney. “Is that true?” she said. When he nodded, she said, “No! My son is not going to jail. You have to fix this, Howard!”

  “Even if we can come to some agreement on the reckless driving charges, there’s the more serious charge of assaulting a police officer,” Rafe interrupted before the attorney could reply. “That’s considered second degree assault, which is a Class 4 felony.”

  Withdrawing his gaze from the attorney and fixing it upon the alarmed parents, Rafe informed them, “In Colorado, second degree assault is what is known as a ‘crime of violence’ which again includes mandatory jail time. Prison terms can range anywhere from two to six years.”

  Lucky’s mother began to cry quietly. “This can’t be happening!” she sobbed.

  Her husband put his hand over hers and squeezed gently. “Suppose we agree to drop any plans for a lawsuit and provide you with the fullest cooperation possible?” he asked.