Uh oh. "Uh, Sharon gave me a key to his place." It wasn't really a lie. I had found the key, and she had said I could try it. "Let's go take a look at that car," I said a little too quickly.
Kent apparently wasn't in the mood to dig for answers, because he didn't say anything more. I took the file with me as the two of us walked outside. I decided to follow Kent in my own car so he wouldn't have to bring me back.
The Porsche was parked in an end slot, with nothing else next to it. It was like even the police didn't want the doors dinged on a car like that. From the outside, there was no sign of violent death about the car. It was shiny red, a gorgeous creature.
"What will happen to the car?" I asked.
"Well, I guess if it was paid for it belongs to Ruiz's estate. If not, then some finance company has a beautiful car with a couple of minor flaws."
The finance company wouldn't come out very good on this one. David had paid almost nothing toward the principle of the loan, so by the time they replaced the blood-soaked front seat and the door panel with the bullet hole, they'd have more in it than it was worth. Unless the company prez decided to keep it for his own, they'd probably end up moving it out through a wholesaler at a hell of a discount.
Kent opened the driver's side door for me. Immediately, I was assailed by the horrible stench of death. My stomach lurched, and I motioned him to close it again. I had to take a couple of breaths of fresh air to clear my lungs. I decided I could do my investigating through the glass.
Seeing the car for real didn't tell me a whole lot more than the photos had. I tried to commit the details to memory before Kent began to get too impatient. I left the lot not knowing much more than when I got there.
Chapter 14
I wanted to get my paycheck deposited, and discovered there was a branch office of my bank nearby. I decided it would be just as convenient here as to try and catch the branch near home before closing time.
It was a perfect spring day, as only Albuquerque can have them. The sky was solid deep blue, bright enough to almost be painful to look at. Mimosa and ash trees grew out of dirt squares left periodically open in the sidewalks around the parking lot. The trees had leafed out within the past few weeks, and sparrows had already found perches in them. The sun was warm, possibly too warm if not for a tiny whiff of breeze meandering up the street.
I had filled out my deposit slip and joined the line waiting for the next available teller when I felt a small tap on my shoulder.
"Charlie?"
It was Michael Mann. He wore a dark power suit of summer wool, and looked as if he'd just stepped out of the barber shop. He smelled of Aramis and money. His dark eyes held mine for several seconds. I could see why he'd managed to make a name for himself in the real estate market.
"Any more progress in David's case?" he asked.
"A few clues here and there," I said noncommittally. "Nothing I can take to the bank yet." As soon as I said it I realized where we were standing, and we both had a little chuckle over it.
He glanced at the slim Piaget on his wrist. "Look," he said, "I've got to get going. I have to be in Cleveland this weekend, so I better get with it."
"Oh? Business or pleasure?" As soon as the words were out, I realized I was imitating his flirtatious manner.
"Business. This is the second weekend in a row, I'm afraid. I'd rather be with my family, but my wife hates business trips, so she and our little girl are staying home." He turned to leave, reaching out once more to touch my forearm. "If anything new comes up in the case, I'd like to hear from you."
I watched his back, as he walked with smooth confidence toward the door. The woman in line behind me nudged me to say it was my turn.
Ron was on the phone when I got back to the office. I could tell that the conversation concerned the cheating wife case, and I really wasn't interested in hearing the details. He glanced up at me as I passed his doorway, and our eyes met for a minute.
"You look nice," he mouthed, pushing the receiver aside for a second.
I wanted to throw something at him. Since when does dressing nicely for one day rate so much attention? I went across the hall to my own office. Rusty lay stretched out asleep in the corner.
"What do you think, pal? Maybe I need to class up my act more often."
He raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment.
That's when I noticed the bouquet on my desk. Anthuriums. Shades of red, from crimson to pale pink, fell in a cascade interrupted by a few touches of greenery. Hawaiian anthuriums. My heart tightened up as I reached for the card. The message made my eyes sting a little. Sally caught me holding the card to my chest and sniffing.
"He's pretty special, huh?" she said.
Embarrassed, I tossed the card on the desk and busied myself setting the flowers aside. Sally remained firmly in the doorway, one eyebrow raised. She knows me too well.
"Yeah," I admitted, "pretty special." What was I feeling here? Getting mushy all of a sudden? I grinned at her, but my mouth felt tight and funny. "Now get back to work!"
She wiggled her eyebrows at me twice as she turned.
I re-read the card and stared at the flowers for a couple more minutes. Placed a call to Hawaii, although I knew he’d be at work, and left a thank-you message on his machine.
Back to business.
I stuck the Ruiz file in my lower desk drawer, and began work on some correspondence that I'd been putting off. Somehow, I manage to get letters written more efficiently when I wait until I have lots. Pressure stimulates action, I suppose. I had finished three and started on the fourth when Ron stuck his head in my doorway.
"Busy?"
I typed two more lines to let him know that I was. "What's up, Ron?"
"Nothing much. I just wanted to let you know that Vicky and I enjoyed your company last night."
One of them probably did; the other I wasn't so sure about.
"That's quite a place she has, isn't it?" he said.
"She must be quite a successful decorator. I was hoping I'd get to see the rest of the place. Is it just as nice as the living room?"
He looked faintly embarrassed. "Actually, I've never seen beyond the living room either," he said.
The phone across the hall in his office signaled. He ran for it, effectively ducking any further questions. My fingers lay inert on the keyboard. What a strange relationship these two had. I couldn't imagine becoming intimate with someone who wouldn't let you see beyond their living room. Vicky apparently had something to hide. I thought of the man I'd seen kissing her in the Ruiz's kitchen. Another boyfriend? A husband? And what about the dark-haired child with the stuffed rabbit? There could be any number of explanations, but my mind only gravitated toward one.
My letters finished, I was putting stamps on the envelopes by the time Ron got off the phone.
"Vicky and I are going down to the lake this weekend," he said. "You and Rusty want to come?"
New Mexico is not exactly known for its abundance of water recreation areas, and the few places we have are always jammed to the max on holiday weekends. Not my idea of fun. Half the population of Albuquerque leaves town on Memorial Day weekend, so I figure the quiet deserted city is the place to be. Besides, no matter how badly Ron wanted it, an easy friendship between Vicky and me was highly unlikely.
"No thanks," was all I said.
"We're going to get an early start, so if you change your mind before noon tomorrow, you're still welcome."
I'd rather schedule myself for dental surgery.
Sally had gone for the day, leaving outgoing mail beside her stapler. I gathered her envelopes and mine, and told Ron I'd drop them at the post office on my way out. I had decided to make one more trip across town to visit the Porsche dealer again.
The persistent blond salesman was nowhere in evidence when I arrived at the dealership, for which I was thankful. This trip required less daydreaming and more hard research. A few pieces had begun to click into place after my visit to the police garage, and I w
anted to test the theory. I parked my Jeep at the side of the car showroom, hopefully out of direct line of sight of the hungry sales people's desks. Besides, it was a shady spot, where Rusty would be more comfortable while I experimented.
I walked over to the car I had sat in the other day, and slid into the driver's seat. The .357 Kent Taylor had showed me had about a six inch long barrel. I raised my left hand to my temple, aiming my index finger plus a few inches to approximate the length of the gun barrel. As I had suspected, with the car door closed and the window rolled up, I had to lean way to the right to make the "gun" fit. If David had leaned over as far as I did, the bullet would have ended up embedded in the passenger seat, not near the base of the passenger window, as it did. If David had tried to remain sitting upright, tucking his left elbow close to his side, the barrel would have been aimed sharply upward, causing the bullet to end up in the roof of the car.
My findings could mean only one thing: David was murdered.
Chapter 15
I felt I should see Kent Taylor right away. He wasn't going to take kindly to the news that his department hadn't done a thorough job, but that's life. On the other hand, if I kept what I knew to myself for just a few more days, I might be able to not only come up with the how, but the who. A macho-sounding little voice inside me urged me to go for it. My good-girl little voice warned me that withholding evidence means big trouble.
"Evidence?" said the macho voice. "The police have already closed the case."
"You know damn well what evidence," said the sometimes dirty-mouthed good girl. "And you know damn well that they'll re-open the case when they hear about this. And, you know that chasing down a murderer on your own could get you damn well killed!"
Okay, okay, I agreed grudgingly, you win.
Rusty's head was hanging out the window, his tongue lolling, as I approached the Jeep. I turned the air conditioning on for him, and backed out of the parking space. There was a pay phone at the gas station next door to the car dealership, and I swung in their driveway to use it.
Kent Taylor was off-duty, his office informed me. No, they would not give me his home number; I could leave a message if it was urgent. I decided to use my own resources instead. It was after six, with plenty of daylight left, as I headed back across town. I was pretty sure I'd seen Kent's home number in Ron's Rolodex at the office, so I made that my destination.
Rusty was happy to have the run of the back yard while I went inside to make my call. The back and sides of the property are fenced, separating us from the neighbors, and Rusty's pretty good about hanging around without wandering off. Besides, he hadn't had his dinner yet, so I knew he'd soon be ready to go home.
I switched on a minimum number of lights as I walked through the dim offices. Ron's desk top was a mess, as usual, so I carried the Rolodex to my own. Kent's number was listed, but it took me awhile to reason out Ron's system and figure out that it would be under P for Police.
An inquisitive kid answered the phone, and after questioning what exactly I wanted, held the mouthpiece about two inches from his mouth and screamed, "Daddy!" Thankfully, I have always been quick with my hands, and managed to jerk the receiver away from my ear just before I was deafened.
"Yyelllo." Kent's voice sounded weary. I could picture him getting up from the dinner table to take the call.
"Hi, Kent. Charlie Parker. I hope I didn't interrupt your dinner."
"That's okay, Charlie. What's up?" His words were polite, but his tone said I'd better get this over with quick.
"I've got some new findings in the Ruiz case. It wasn't a suicide, Kent. David Ruiz was murdered."
I could hear him sigh at the other end of the line. "I'm on duty again at seven in the morning. Can it wait until then?"
"I don't know, Kent. Should it?"
The noise level in the background was steadily rising. From the shrieks and laughter, it sounded like a kindergarten in the midst of a bloody coup. I heard Kent put the receiver to his shoulder and yell at them to knock it off.
"Tonight isn't good for me, Charlie," he said. "Betty's off at some PTA meeting, and you can hear what it's like around here. I've got one in bed with the chickenpox, and the other two about to tear the walls down. No way I can get away."
"I could come up there," I volunteered tentatively.
"No, tomorrow at the station would be better," he said.
Well, I've done my civic duty, I thought as we hung up. Truthfully, I was glad he'd turned down my offer. I didn't really want to search out his house which, judging by the phone prefix, must be way up in the northeast heights somewhere. And I wasn't wild about walking into the madhouse I'd heard in the background. It had been a long day, and I was ready for a glass of wine and a hot bath.
Switching off my light, I walked across the hall to Ron's office and returned his Rolodex to roughly the spot where I'd found it. The sun had set, and his room was almost black in the deepening gloom. I heard a car door slam nearby, and went to the front window to check it out.
The neighborhood is one of those stuck in transition for years, composed of a combination of residences and small businesses. Except for the discreet shingle allowed next to the front doors of some, anyone driving through the neighborhood might assume it was entirely residential. It isn't unusual to hear cars coming and going near the dinner hour, and I wasn't sure why I even looked now. Both Ron's office and mine face the street; a glance in that direction assured me that no one was there.
The natural light in the stairwell had dimmed to blackness by now, but I knew it so well I didn't bother with lights. The polished wood handrail guided me down toward the kitchen, where I could see outlines of gray at the windows. I was feeling around in the bottom of my shoulder bag for my keys when the arms encircled me.
A grip like iron pinned my arms to my sides, while some kind of cloth was pressed over my nose and mouth. I struggled and tried to kick, but the person already had the advantage of surprise. The cloth smelled sickly, and I realized it had been saturated with something—probably chloroform. I held my breath and forced my struggling to become weaker and weaker before making myself go limp. I hoped it was a reasonable facsimile of how a drugged person might really act. About the time I thought my lungs would burst, my attacker dropped me to the floor.
My head bounced on the hardwood floor with teeth-jarring agony, and it took a few seconds for the mist to clear. I heard heavy footsteps thunder across the room, and the back door crashed open against the bentwood coat rack behind it. I raised my aching head just in time to see a dark figure silhouetted against the open doorway. It vanished in less than a second.
I pulled myself up, my feet in motion well before my eyes could adjust to the swimming action before them. I stumbled down the back steps and veered to my left, assuming that the person would have headed down the driveway. A low-slung car without lights squealed on the concrete, bouncing as one back tire hopped the curb. I ran toward it, but it was hopeless. The car was more than a block away by the time my wobbly legs got me to the street. I sunk down on the curb, letting my head droop between my knees, sucking air to clear my brain.
When I felt like I could stand again, I turned back toward the house. How had the man gotten inside without Rusty raising some kind of fuss? Granted, he is one of the friendliest mutts around, but he wouldn't let a stranger enter the house, especially after dark, without all hell breaking loose. My eyes searched the back yard, as I called to him.
That's when I began to realize that Rusty was missing.
Chapter 16
A rush of raw adrenaline can clear your head quicker than any amount of rest. The thought that something might have happened to Rusty sent a jolt of fear through me stronger than any I'd felt while it was my own hide in danger. I reached inside the kitchen door, switching on all the lights. Floods at the corners of the building and on the carriage house lit the back yard with clarity.
I called out to him, and circled the perimeter without luck. Back inside, I walked
through every room and searched every closet and storeroom. Nothing. In the bathroom mirror I happened to catch a glimpse of my own face. My reddish hair had come out of its ponytail and my bangs were sticking up at odd angles. There was a smear of blood across my cheek.
My first concern right now, however, was Rusty. I retrieved my shoulder bag from the kitchen floor, pulled out my keys, and headed for the Jeep. I rolled all the windows down, and drove slowly down the street, calling out to him as I went. There was no sign of him on our block, and I felt a sense of dread as I continued into the next. If my attacker had taken Rusty with him, he could be anywhere in the city by now. Tears dimmed my eyes as my mind skipped over the possibilities, including one unbidden view of the doggie morgue at the city pound. I couldn't let myself think about it.
At the intersection with Central Avenue, I pulled to the side. I didn't want to believe Rusty had gotten this far away. Something inside me held to the hope that he was still within the relatively safe confines of our quiet neighborhood. Crossing a major street meant crossing into the unlimited vastness of the city, including all those other possibilities.
I turned the Jeep around, planning to scout out all the side streets before taking that next major step. Two blocks from where I'd started, I spotted a dark form, lying inert in the gutter. My heart stopped.
He was unconscious, but still breathing. Bending close to his face, I caught a faint whiff of the same stuff that had been used on me. Somehow, the attacker had gotten close enough to Rusty to sedate him, although I couldn't imagine how. Given the dog's body weight, as compared to a grown person though, it probably hadn't taken much. The attacker must have put Rusty into his car. That probably explained the nearby door slam I'd heard from Ron's office. But, for what purpose?
I needed to get Rusty on his feet; lifting him would have been difficult even if I wasn't still dizzy from the bump to my own head. I wondered if you can give a dog mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I wondered if you'd want to. A notebook-sized sheet of cardboard that I found in the back seat worked pretty well as a fan, and I sent as much fresh air toward his nostrils as I could. I stroked his neck and talked gently to him, and gradually he began to stir.
Partnerships Can Kill: The Third Charlie Parker Mystery Page 9
