The man had wrapped his hands around the bars of the fence that surrounded the white crypt, and was crying. She managed to get within a few yards of him before he turned and saw her. Carlotta froze. Recognition dawned on his face. He took off at a gallop.
“Wait!” she yelled. “I just want to talk to you!”
She’d worn sneakers this time—Liz Claiborne—but the cast slowed her down because she couldn’t swing her arm. He also did not subscribe to her superstition about stepping on graves. She tried to keep up with him, yelling for him to stop. When he did, though, it wasn’t by choice. Hannah took him down with a flying leap. It must have knocked the wind out of him because he lay in the grass even after Hannah rolled off him and started puking her guts out.
By the time Carlotta ran up, her friend waved her off. “I’m fine. Stay with Opie.”
The man was sitting up, holding his chest. “I ought to call the police and have you two arrested for assault,” he said, wheezing.
Carlotta stood over him, hands on her hips. “Go ahead. When they get here, we’ll ask them about the penalty for stealing a body. It’s a felony, you know.”
He frowned, rubbing his breastbone. “I wasn’t going to steal Kiki’s body when I came to the morgue. I just wanted to see her, to see what he did to her.”
“See what who did to her? The coroner?”
“No. That a-hole Matt Pearson. He murdered her.”
Carlotta felt her eyes bulge. “You saw Matt Pearson kill Kiki Deerling?”
“Yes…no. I saw him slowly killing her, getting her hooked on heroin when they were together. After she broke it off, Kiki was staying clean, but then he showed up for her party.” The man started crying. “I know he killed her, I just know it.”
Carlotta sighed and squatted down at eye level with him. “What’s your name?”
He sniffed. “Wayne Barber.”
“And how are you connected to Kiki? I’ve seen you in the background in pictures of her.”
“I’m…her friend.”
Hannah had recovered and wiped her mouth, streaking her black lipstick. “Her stalker friend?”
He looked angry. “I didn’t stalk Kiki. I…followed her. And looked out for her. I’m president of her fan club.”
Hannah rolled her eyes.
From her pocket, Carlotta pulled the clipped magazine pictures with him in them. “You look pretty angry in these.”
“I wasn’t angry with Kiki. Matt was with her all those times. I hate him. I know he killed her, the bastard. Gave her too much heroin, and took away the world’s most beautiful flower.” He started sobbing.
Hannah made the universal “cuckoo” sign, circling her finger next to her ear.
“There were two other men at the morgue trying to claim the body,” Carlotta said. “Do you know anything about that?”
“No, I swear.”
“Were you following Kiki the night she died?”
He nodded. “I snuck into the party, pretended I was a waiter. It was heaven.”
Well, that was hard to condemn, since Carlotta had done it herself a time or two. “Do you remember if she was wearing a necklace that night?”
The man jammed his fingers in his hair, leaving it at all angles. “Yeah, she was wearing a circle of diamonds. She wore it a lot lately. I thought maybe it was her talisman for staying sober.” He heaved a mournful sigh. “Today’s her birthday, you know. She would’ve been twenty-one.”
His lost expression tugged on Carlotta’s heart. “I know.” She used her good arm to help him up and dust off the grass. “Where are you from, Wayne?”
“Here in Atlanta. Kiki and I went to grade school together. I knew back then she was something special.”
“You got your own special thing going there, Wayne,” Hannah said. “Can we give you a lift somewhere?”
“No, my car is through those trees.” He looked at Carlotta. “Who are you? Why do you care about Kiki?”
“My name is Carlotta Wren. I didn’t know Kiki. I helped to transport her body back to Atlanta.”
“Did you see her body? Was she at peace?”
The bleak look in his eyes showed the depth of his obsession with Kiki, how much he had worshiped her. Carlotta felt compelled to give him some measure of comfort. “Yes, she was at peace.”
The man smiled through his tears, as if a great burden had been relieved. “Thank you.”
They watched him walk away, and Hannah made a rueful noise. “Now why can’t I find a man who’ll idolize me like that?”
Carlotta smiled. “Maybe you will someday.” She pulled out her cell phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“Coop. Want to talk to him?”
“No,” Hannah said primly. “I’m officially playing hard to get.”
Carlotta shook her head while the phone rang.
“Coop here.”
“Coop, it’s Carlotta. Did you find out if the necklace was in Kiki Deerling’s personal affects?”
“Hello to you, too.”
“Sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“The M.E. said there was no necklace in her belongings. But it could’ve come off in all the commotion, either at the club, in the ambulance or at the hospital. Or someone could’ve stolen it.”
“Yeah, like the person who murdered her.”
He sighed. “You promised me you’d let this go.”
“I just talked to our redheaded priest. He’s convinced that Matt Pearson killed her by giving her a heroin overdose.”
“Who is this guy?”
“A very devoted fan.”
“A fan? You can’t be serious.”
“Come on, Coop. I suspect you noticed discrepancies about the body that you aren’t sharing. Between what you know and what I found out, don’t you think we should at least talk to Jack? Maybe the police know something we don’t. They might have tracked down that green van already. Maybe Matt Pearson hired those goons to steal the body to cover up what he did to her.”
Carlotta took Coop’s silence as a good sign, that he was, in fact, more suspicious about the cause of death than he’d disclosed.
“What could it hurt?” she prodded. “Hannah will drop me off at the police station. I’ll meet you there.”
He groaned. “I can’t wait until you go back to work at Neiman’s.”
27
“Hi, Brooklyn,” Carlotta said to the woman behind the Plexiglass cage in the police station.
She smiled. “How you doing, Carlotta?”
“Great, thanks. Hey, were you able to use that Neiman’s clearance coupon I gave you?”
“Girl, take a look.” The woman held up her arm to reveal a dazzling diamond tennis bracelet.
Carlotta nodded. “Nice.” She gestured to Coop. “This is my friend Dr. Craft. We’re here to see Jack. Is he available?”
“Let me check to make sure he’s not back there getting a manicure.” Brooklyn chuckled, then picked up the phone.
Carlotta smothered a smile and waited while Brook had a terse exchange with Jack. She set down the receiver. “He said to come on back. You know the way. I’ll buzz you in.”
“Thank you.” Carlotta turned to Coop. “Follow me.”
He looked uncertain. “Jack isn’t going to like this.”
“Probably not,” she agreed.
They walked through a secured door, then wound their way back to Jack’s cubicle. Carlotta remembered well making this trip the day Jack had arrested Wesley for hacking into the city’s computer system. Jack had recognized their last name, and immediately figured they were Randolph Wren’s kids.
It had not been a stellar beginning.
Jack was standing, minus jacket and tie, his sleeves rolled up, waiting for them. “What’s this all about?”
“Kiki Deerling,” Carlotta said without preamble. “We have some new evidence in her case.”
Jack’s eyebrows climbed. “What case?” He looked at Coop. “What has she talked you into?”
Coop pulled on his chin. “Maybe we should all sit.”
Jack frowned, but relented. “Let’s go to an interview room.”
Once they were seated at a table in a small room, Jack gazed at Coop. “I’m listening.”
Coop looked toward the door as if he might change his mind, then leaned forward, his forearms on the table. “There were some discrepancies between the body and the M.E.’s report, Jack.”
“The M.E. said she died of an asthma attack, right?”
“Yes. And she did have a history of asthma.” Coop glanced at Carlotta, then pressed his lips together. “But…there were other injuries that were inconsistent with an attack.”
“Such as?”
“Bruising on the neck, broken blood vessels in the eyes, an absence of the kind of mucus one would expect to find in the nasal cavity and throat, and her chest cavity didn’t appear to be swollen.”
“Why would it be swollen?”
“During a severe asthma attack, the lungs hyperextend.”
“Can that be explained away?”
Coop shifted in his chair. “Yes. If CPR was performed for an extended period of time, the lungs might have deflated.”
“And the mucus—wasn’t her body cleaned before you picked it up at the morgue?”
“Yes.”
“So it could’ve been there and been washed away?”
“It’s possible.”
“As for the broken blood vessels, I had an aunt blow a blood vessel in her eye once from coughing.”
“That could happen,” Coop admitted.
“What about the bruising on the neck? Could she have done it to herself during an attack?”
“It’s not likely.”
“Is there another explanation?”
“It’s possible the EMTs could have caused the bruises when they were trying to treat her.”
Jack lifted his hands. “So you’ve got nothing.”
“There was an imprint on her collarbone,” Carlotta interjected. “A small circle that matches a diamond pendant she was wearing on the day she died. And the pendant wasn’t in her personal effects.”
“So?”
“So, someone could have pressed it into her neck when they strangled her, then stolen the necklace afterward.”
Jack’s head jutted forward. “That’s it? You’ve conjured up some half-baked theory that she was strangled based on a piece of jewelry someone said the girl might have been wearing?”
Carlotta frowned. “I located one of the men who showed up at the morgue trying to see the body. He thinks Matt Pearson killed Kiki by giving her heroin.”
“Was he in the room when this allegedly happened?”
“No, but he was at the party where she died. And he seems to know a lot about her, um, habits. Maybe you could at least bring him in for questioning.”
“What’s the guy’s name?”
She told him, and gave a description. Jack picked up the phone.
“It’s Terry. Run a background check on a Wayne Barber of Atlanta. Caucasian, red hair, blue eyes, age approximately twenty-one. Ring me back in interview three.” He hung up the phone, then asked Carlotta, “Did this Barber fellow happen to know anything about the other two kooks trying to steal the body?”
“He said he didn’t. Were you able to locate the green van?”
“We’re still running a couple of leads, but there’s nothing concrete.” He looked at Coop. “I assume the body was interred without incident?”
“Yeah, but security was tight.”
Jack shook his head. “It’s sad that she died, but I don’t understand the uproar over this girl. Jesus, I must be getting old.” The phone rang and he picked it up. “Any hits?” He listened, pursing his mouth and murmuring “uh-huh” occasionally, then said, “Thanks,” and banged down the receiver.
He turned his head toward Carlotta. “Your source is a nut job. He’s had numerous run-ins with the law, mostly disorderly conduct and trespassing. He also spent six months in a mental facility for unknown illnesses. Kiki Deerling issued a restraining order against him two months ago.”
Carlotta swallowed hard. “Just because he’s crazy doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”
Jack looked at Coop. “I expect this kind of cockamamie stuff from her, but not from you.”
“Carlotta’s just trying to help,” Coop said. “She has some valid points.”
Jack frowned. “Stop humoring her.”
“Hey,” Carlotta said, waving her arms, “I’m in the room.”
Coop’s jaw moved as if he were chewing on his thoughts. “Jack, there do seem to be some lingering questions about this woman’s death.”
“Not in my mind,” the detective stated. “There’s still no motive. Why would someone want to kill this girl? She seemed to be making everyone a hell of a lot of money.”
“Maybe it wasn’t premeditated,” Coop said. “There was something else on the body—track marks.”
Jack pursed his mouth. “Could you tell if they were new?”
“No.”
“Did you bring them to the attention of the Boca M.E.?”
“No. I didn’t see them until I was helping to prepare the body for viewing.”
“I thought models snorted heroin these days to avoid track marks.”
“Smoking or snorting is dangerous for an asthmatic,” Coop said.
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m confused. Do you think she was strangled, or do you think she was given an overdose of heroin?”
Coop sat back in his chair. “That could only be determined with a full autopsy.”
“Didn’t the M.E. at least do a tox screen?”
“No.”
“What about the hospital where she was taken for treatment? Did they do a tox screen?”
“No reason to. They were operating under the impression that she’d had an asthma attack.”
“Can asthma kill a person that quickly?”
Coop nodded. “If death occurs from an attack, it’s usually within thirty minutes of the onset.”
Jack pulled his hand over his mouth, then shook his head. “Sorry, it’s not enough. The D.A. will never order an autopsy based on bits of circumstantial evidence. You haven’t told me anything that makes me believe she died any way other than exactly how the M.E. reported.” He pushed himself to his feet. “If that’s all, I need to get back to work.”
Carlotta looked at Coop, pleading with him with her eyes. He shrugged, as if to say “we tried.” As they left the interview room, he had his hand on her waist, which Jack seemed to zone in on.
“Carlotta,” Jack said. “A word?”
She indicated to Coop that she’d meet him outside, then turned back. “Yes?”
He made sure Coop was out of earshot, then scowled. “Pec implants?”
She scowled back. “You told me the tap had been removed from my phone.”
He leaned in. “It was supposed to be, but when we got the news that your father’s fingerprints were found in Daytona, the decision was made to keep it.”
“Made by whom?”
“Me,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Asshole,” she muttered.
“And trash talk me all you want, but leave Liz out of it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Liz is lucky I haven’t kicked her scrawny ass for seducing my brother.”
“Wesley’s a full-grown man, Carlotta. He can screw whoever he wants.”
“Too bad the both of you have the same taste in women.”
Jack arched an eyebrow. “When you question my taste, you’re throwing yourself under the bus.”
“That was a one-time occurrence,” she snapped.
“Coop keeping you warm now, is he?”
“Keep Coop out of this. He’s a good man.”
“Liz isn’t a bad person, either, Carlotta. At least I know what to expect from her.” Jack gave her a pointed look. “That’s probably why your brother likes her, too.”
Her mouth fel
l open, then clamped shut with indignation. “Are you going to stop listening in to my phone calls?”
“Probably not.”
“I agreed to the tap as part of a deal with the D.A., which he reneged on, by the way.”
“This phone tap is based on a separate incident.”
“I don’t appreciate being spied on without reason.”
“You’re acting as if you and your family have something to hide.”
Unbidden moisture sprang to her eyes. “What’s left to hide, Jack? My family’s dirty laundry has been a public spectacle from the beginning.” She pivoted on her heel to walk away.
“Hey.”
Carlotta swung around, waiting.
His shoulders sagged. “Give me a break. I have to do my job.”
“And tormenting me is just a bonus?”
“No, I…” He stopped and squinted. “Wait a minute. How did you know the tap was still on the phone?”
She turned her back on him and kept walking.
28
Wesley opened the lid on the aquarium that housed Einstein, his adult male, black-and-gray axanthic python, and dropped a live white mouse inside. As was his quiet way, Einstein didn’t appear to notice, and the mouse didn’t seem to know it was in imminent danger of becoming dinner, because it set about exploring the aquarium, its whiskers twitching.
The mouse was probably relaxed because this was its third trip into the aquarium and Einstein had yet to move a muscle. The snake was finicky that way, seeming to eat only when it had to. Wesley spent more money feeding the mice to keep them alive until his snake worked up an appetite, than he did on the mice themselves.
Settling back on his bed, he reached beneath the mattress and withdrew his father’s file that he’d taken from Liz’s cabinet. It was crammed with lots of forms and legal motions that didn’t mean much to him, but he did find the trial number and dates that he needed to search the courthouse databases. What fascinated Wesley most were the handwritten messages his father had scribbled on yellow sticky notes and letterhead from Mashburn, Tully & Wren.
Liz, what can you do about this?
Liz, what do you think?
Liz, check into this.
It was fascinating to see his father’s handwriting, to imagine him sitting at his desk, jotting down notes to his attorney. It made the man seem more real, and his concern more immediate, more palpable, as the notes became more abbreviated and the tone more grave.
Body Movers: 3 Men and a Body Page 18
