The Dark of Day

by Barbara Parker

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “Wear something sexy.”

  He hung up before she could say anything more. She put the car into gear. The transmission clunked, and the power steering groaned, but not loudly enough to drown out the chimes from her BlackBerry.

  It was Judy. C.J. put the car back in park. Judy told her that she had just found Kylie’s address, both the apartment and her work address, a shop called Shiva Sun on Washington Avenue.

  “Wait,” C.J. said. “Let me get my memo book. I’ll write it down. I’m going over to the Beach anyway later on. Maybe I’ll drop in and buy something.”

  “Kylie may not be there. She took the day off. Her boss isn’t happy about it. She suspects a party. That’s why most of her employees don’t last. They’re always skipping work to party. It’s South Beach, and you’re only young once.”

  C.J. wrote down the addresses and put the memo book away. “If they fired her, she might learn something.”

  “So, did you look at Milo’s car?”

  She described her search of the limousine. “Even you, Judy, wouldn’t have found so much as a hair. Alana wasn’t in that car. If Milo had wanted her out of the way, he would have simply paid her. She needed money to move to L.A., and she would have kept her mouth shut. Everyone said she was discreet.”

  “But she wouldn’t have left without getting her audition tapes,” Judy pointed out.

  “Milo had nothing to do with the tapes,” C.J. replied. “Milo had no motive at all.”

  “Well, Harold Vincent didn’t kill her.”

  “I’m not saying he did.” C.J. watched the German and American flags on top of the upholstery shop move in a sudden gust of wind, sink, and lift once more, curling around the poles. The clouds were ragged pieces of a sodden gray blanket.

  C.J. said, “Let me run something by you.” She angled the AC vent toward her face. “Alana told Kylie she had to meet someone, that she’d be right back. What if she was going to see Paul Shelby? They wouldn’t have met in the house. They could have gone next door. That house is vacant, and you just step around the wall and you’re there. I don’t think Shelby would have planned to kill her. It just happened. They argued, and he grabbed her. He shook her too hard, or she screamed, and he had to stop her. She was a small woman. Fragile.” C.J. paused. “Of course, I could be wrong.”

  There was some silence from Judy’s end before she said, “Hate to point this out, hon, but how did he get Alana, dead or alive, off the island? He took a taxi home.”

  “Yes, that’s what he told Rick he would do, but I remember something Jason Wright told me. Taxis are hard to get on Star Island that time of night. You can wait an hour. I’ve been to parties at Billy’s, and people complain about it all the time. So how did Shelby leave? I don’t think he used Milo’s car. He couldn’t catch a ride with a friend. They just wouldn’t have understood why he had a body over his shoulder. So what did he do? He had to call someone to rescue him. Who would do that? Who could he trust that far?”

  A quick intake of breath told her that Judy got it. “Noreen Finch. She saved his ass from an arrest for statutory rape in college.”

  “This is a very wild guess,” C.J. admitted.

  “Noreen could’ve been there in fifteen minutes.” Then Judy said, “You have no evidence. You can make all the guesses you like, and it won’t get you anywhere. They’re too wealthy, too connected. Who’s going to believe it?”

  C.J. laughed as Paul Shelby’s words came back to her: No one will believe you. “All you have to do, Judy, is drop a few suggestions into the right ears. You can’t make it all up, of course, but if it’s about people who matter in this world, or seem to, then you’ve suddenly got this ball rolling downhill, and you just get out of the way and let it roll. I do despise the tabloid media, but they can be useful sometimes. Even the mainstream media, like the story Rick is doing. He’s going to reveal that Paul Shelby is hot for little girls. It’s not a big jump to assume that Shelby strangled a girl who could play the part so very well.”

  The flags on the building were snapping toward the east. The afternoon sunlight had dimmed. It seemed much later than five o’clock.

  “Why don’t you go talk to Rick about this?” Judy asked.

  “Not yet. I’m going over to Billy’s house. I have to be there at eight o’clock.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t,” Judy said.

  “Not for that,” C.J. said. “You’ll be happy to know that Billy and I are sort of finished.”

  “Sort of?”

  “Definitely finished. I have a hard time saying it. A hard time believing it. Billy Medina was habit-forming.”

  “Then why are you going over there?”

  “To ask him how Paul Shelby left the party. It wasn’t in a taxi. Did someone pick him up? What did Shelby say about it, if anything? You don’t leave a party without thanking the host, especially if he’s one of your biggest campaign donors. I need to ask Billy about it. He’s leaving for Antigua tomorrow, and he won’t be back for two weeks.”

  “Be careful. Old habits die hard.”

  “Not to worry. Do me a favor: don’t tell Rick where I am. He doesn’t like Billy, and it would be hard to explain.”

  “Hon, if you want to lie to him, do it yourself,” Judy said.

  “You’re right. He isn’t Billy. I was never completely truthful with Billy, and . . . and I think I could be with Rick. He’s that kind of man. So if he asks about me, tell him—you know, in an offhand way—that it’s over with me and Billy. And that he really ought to overlook what happened last night. Tell him I’m a lot more down-to-earth than I seem. That isn’t a lie, is it?”

  chapter THIRTY- FOUR

  rick sat in a corner of the booth, Carlos across from him. It was the same Cuban diner that he’d taken C.J. to that first day. Rick wasn’t hungry, but Carlos ordered a media noche to hold him until dinner. They talked about this and that and had some espresso, and finally Judy Mazzio came in about a quarter to six. Carlos scooted over and made room for her.

  After Carlos signed the original and two copies of his statement, Judy signed as notary and stamped the papers with her seal. Carlos looked at his watch and said he had to get home. Rick stood up and gave him a quick hug. “Thanks, man. I’ll let you know if it works.”

  Judy Mazzio was about to leave too, but Rick said, “Can you stay a few minutes? I’d like to ask you something.”

  “I need to get this faxed to the Beach . . . sure, I have time. Fuentes will be there a while.” She sat back down, watching him. Her black hair was held in place on top of her head with a purple ribbon.

  He asked her, “How’s C.J.? I haven’t heard from her.”

  “She’s fine. We took her car to the shop and had lunch.”

  “Maybe I’ll go over later and check on her.”

  Like a lot of older women, the ones who knew what was what, Judy had eyes that could look farther into you than the front of your face. She said, “C.J. is a good person. She might have some issues, but she’s my best friend. If you mess her up, I will come after you.”

  He might have smiled, but the brown eyes were pinning him. “I’m not going to mess her up. I hope not to.”

  Judy Mazzio studied him for a minute before she crossed her arms and sat back against the booth. “Don’t go over there now. She’s getting ready to go out. Call her mobile at eight-fifteen. She’ll be at Billy Medina’s house at eight o’clock to ask him some questions about your case. I think it would be neat if Billy knew you were on the phone.” Judy made a smile he couldn’t read. “It’s over between her and Billy.”

  Rick looked at her a while longer. “Good.”

  Judy had apparently decided she liked Rick Slater well enough to say, “He’s cheating on her. That’s not why she called it off. She called it off because, basically, he’s an asshole. I haven’t told her yet about the other women, but I will. I just found out a couple of days ago from Harold Vincent. He was telling me about it.”
r />   “The pornographer.”

  “Well . . . yeah. And he was complaining about Billy Medina. A funny world, huh? C.J. met Billy in AA, and he’s the reason she stopped going. After he quit, she quit. He was never any good for her.”

  Rick was folding a napkin into a tight square. He’d heard that no matter how thin the paper, it wouldn’t fold in half more than eight times. “Has he ever hit her?”

  Judy showed some surprise. “No. If he had, I’d have known, trust me. Why are you asking me that?”

  “No reason.”

  “I’ll tell you about Billy. He has a hotel and casino on Antigua, him and a couple of other guys. He wants to get into online gaming, that’s why he hooked up with Harold, so he could learn about it, but after Harold taught him everything he knew, Billy would have nothing more to do with him. I mean, an upstanding citizen like Guillermo Medina does not associate with pornographers, does he? C.J. wanted Billy to ask Harold about Alana, and he wouldn’t do it. He’s afraid the other investors of The Aquarius would find out he knows people like Harold Vincent, and they’d kick him off the team. They probably would. Billy wants to open a casino in The Aquarius when it’s legal, and he thinks someday it will be. That’s why he invested in it and threw money at Paul Shelby’s campaign. Asshole.”

  Rick folded the napkin six, then seven times. “C.J. told me that Billy introduced Alana to Harold Vincent. Is that right?”

  Judy nodded. “Billy told her. There’s a lot about Billy Medina that doesn’t show on the surface. C.J. is finally starting to get it.”

  The paper wouldn’t go into a ninth fold. The muscles in Rick’s forearms stood out. Giving up, he twisted the paper apart and tossed the pieces into his empty coffee cup. “What’s she going to talk to Billy about? You said my case. What does that mean?” When Judy only looked back at him, he said, “I’m the client. You work for me, too, technically.”

  She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, waiting for someone to walk by. “C.J. believes that Paul Shelby did it. You know. Alana went there to meet someone, right? C.J. thinks it was him, and they argued or she said she wanted money, whatever. C.J. told me how you can get to the property next door, and she thinks it happened there. Except how did Shelby leave afterward? Not in a taxi, because you have to wait too long that time of night. She thinks he called someone. His mother. They put Alana in the car and took off. What C.J. wants to ask Billy is, did he see Shelby leave? Or did Shelby just split and not say anything? You can tell a lot from a person’s actions.”

  “Alana was taken out in the back of Milo’s limousine,” Rick said.

  Judy shook her head. “C.J. doesn’t think so.”

  Even after listening to Judy Mazzio explain it, Rick wasn’t convinced. No bloodstains in the backseat or the trunk. No hairs. Someone could have cleaned it. After she’d left, heading for the Beach with the statements, Rick got into his car and called Carlos Moreno.

  Inez answered, and he got the frosty treatment for a minute before she relented and asked if he wanted to come over for dinner. “Gee, Inez, I’d love to but I have to go somewhere. Could you put Carlos on?” While he waited, he heard a TV in the background, sounded like a weatherman showing where the band of thunderstorms would come through. Carlos picked up.

  “Carlos, I need you to go into my files and get a phone number for me.”

  Julio Sandoval had been Milo Cahill’s masseur for five years. He was a wiry man with blue-tinted glasses and a narrow black beard. Rick had first talked to Julio about six weeks ago, getting a general sense of what it was like, working for Milo Cahill. Julio was quick to roll his eyes and dish the dirt. He couldn’t be too picky about his clients, though. He and his wife were expecting a baby and needed the cash.

  Julio had said, “I’ve been in this business for fifteen years, and I am very, very good. I am the only one who can work the knots out of Milo Cahill’s back. He wants me over there almost every freaking day. I bring my table, but half the time Milo is never on it. Oh, Julio, would you run over to Epicure and pick up some steaks? I am a licensed massage therapist, and I have to put up with this shit? Julio, would you fix me some tea? Would you give Princess a bath? That dog. I’ve never hated an animal so much in my life.”

  Rick got in touch with Julio and asked if he could come by. Julio said sure, but he didn’t have much time. They were going out to a movie with some friends. “I’ll come down to the lobby, okay?”

  “You’re lucky I’m here at all,” Julio said as he directed Rick to a corner away from the entrance. They sat on a bench done in turquoise vinyl. “I was supposed to be at Milo’s tonight, but he cancelled. He has a business meeting, that hideous resort he’s designing. He gave everyone the night off. He does that, cancels at the last minute, which is fine with me because he has to pay for it anyway.”

  Rick said he wanted to ask Julio about the weekend that Alana Martin had disappeared. Had he been at Milo’s house that Sunday and the few days after that? If so, had Milo asked him to clean the interior of the limousine? Had Julio seen anyone else do it? Maybe even Milo?

  “I wasn’t there on Sunday. I stayed home. I’d been out so late the night before, taking Milo to the party, I said fuck it, I am not coming over there today, and he said fine, don’t.”

  “You drove him to Medina’s house?”

  “Yes. He asked me, and I said not unless you pay me two hundred dollars. And he did! I called my wife. We had plans to go out, but she said take the money, fool. Milo has a room full of costumes, I kid you not, and he made me wear a black suit and a cap. I drove him to the party in that ridiculous car, ten miles to the gallon. Someone should throw a match into the gas tank. We got there about eleven o’clock. I couldn’t just stop on the street and wait for Milo to get out, could I? No, I had to go around the circular driveway, under the portico, and jump out and open his door so he could properly greet his fans and admirers. He didn’t want me to go in, of course, his chauffeur. How would it look?”

  “You stayed with the car?”

  “I parked it down the street and listened to my iPod. Milo didn’t want the valets touching his precious vehicle. When Milo called me, I picked him up and took him home. He was whining that he needed his back massaged. He gave me another hundred bucks. I didn’t get home until two in the morning. There was no way I was going to run over there again on Sunday.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Elbows on his knees, Rick dropped his forehead into his hands.

  After a while Julio said, “Is that all? I need to get back upstairs.”

  Arching over downtown Miami on the Interstate, Rick had to turn on his windshield wipers in a light drizzle. As he turned more toward the west, he could see the thunderheads moving in, before the trees blotted out his view.

  Ten minutes later, he was parking alongside the wall outside Noreen and Donald Finch’s house in Coral Gables. He had a key to Paul Shelby’s office that Noreen had asked him to return. As an excuse, it wasn’t brilliant, but it would do.

  Donald Finch opened the door holding a rocks glass. His sandy blond hair was rumpled, and his eyes were bloodshot. “Rick! Come in.” In the living room Finch put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about everything. It wasn’t my decision to let you go. I hope you know that.”

  “Absolutely. No hard feelings. Is Mrs. Finch around? I’ll give her my regards. I have something to drop off.”

  “She’s upstairs. Do you want a drink?”

  “No, thanks, I’m on my way home.”

  Donald Finch walked to the bottom of the stairs and called up, “Noreen! Noreen, my sweet, you have company.” A muffled voice floated down. Finch said, “Richard Slater.”

  The living room had some French doors on the other side that opened onto a wide terrace under a roof and, beyond that, a pool on the right and, straight ahead, one of the canals in Coral Gables that led out to the bay. Rick walked over to the doors and looked through. Raindrops were dot-ting the surface of the pool, and he could see slashes of rain against the d
arker water of the canal. The boat was up on davits, about a twenty-four-footer, with a cover tied over it.

  Finch gestured with his drink. “They say it’s going to rain all weekend. Good for the flowers, bad for my golf game.”

  “I see you’ve got a boat back there. Do you fish?”

  “God, no. Never liked it.”

  “When was the last time you cranked the engine? You can’t let them sit.”

  “We don’t. Noreen takes it out sometimes, just putt-putting around with our friends. Good party boat, actually.”

  “She knows boats, does she?”

  “Noreen can do everything. She can rope a calf. I swear. I’ve seen her.” Donald Finch took a sip of his drink. “My wife.”

  “Mr. Finch, I’m curious about something. The night of the party at Guillermo Medina’s house, when that girl disappeared, I had Mr. Shelby’s Cadillac. How did he get home? I felt kind of bad leaving him there, but he said I could go.”

  “Well, I don’t know. Paul didn’t say anything about it to me.” He looked past Rick and said, “There she is, my lovely, calf-roping bride.”

  How long had she been standing there? Noreen Finch’s platinum hair was swept back on one side, and her lips were a slash of red. She wore a white silk top and blue jeans with sequins down the sides. They didn’t do much for her figure.

  “Mr. Slater, I said you could pick up your check on Monday. We don’t keep the checkbook here.”

  He held up the key. “I wanted to return this. It’s for the front door of Mr. Shelby’s office.”

  She didn’t blink. He had noticed that about her; she rarely blinked her eyes. She came over and held out her hand, and Rick dropped the key into it. He said, “I was just asking your husband how Mr. Shelby got home from the party. Do you know?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “I feel bad about stranding him.”

  “No, he got home all right, so don’t you worry about it. Donald, I’m going to walk Rick out. Fix me a drink, will you?” She took Rick’s arm and turned him toward the front door. “You’re such a mystery to me.”