“Hey, Detective Skerritt,” one of the crime scene techs shouted from a ladder near the open duct. “We’ve got prints.”
“Run ’em as fast as possible.” I didn’t hold out much hope. Unless the kid had already been through the system, his prints wouldn’t be on file.
Fifteen minutes later, Alicia handed me a list of the missing items. I whistled in surprise at their value. “People pay that much for this stuff?”
“It’s an investment,” she explained. “Hang on to the right collectible and it appreciates faster than blue chip stocks.”
I considered the figure again. “But if the stolen items are fenced, they’ll bring only ten percent of their worth.”
Alicia shook her head. “Not if they sell them through an online auction house. They might make more than they’re worth.”
Once the techs had finished and Johnson returned from across the street with Lenkowski’s statement, we’d done all we could for the evening. The crime unit left, promising to run the prints as soon as possible, and Steve returned to patrol. Alicia Watkins locked her building and drove away.
Adler and I stood on the sidewalk in front of Al’s Attic. It was almost midnight.
“I’ll go back to the station and file the report,” I said.
“It’s late. You could wait until morning.”
“Shelton will be back.”
“Ah-hh.”
He didn’t have to say more. We both knew what Shelton’s reaction to another murder and burglary would be, and neither of us wanted to witness it firsthand.
I pulled off the wig and ran my fingers through my flattened hair. “I plan to be standing tall at Ted Trask’s office first thing tomorrow to find out the particulars of Vincent Lovelace’s will. We’re running out of leads. Maybe the will shows someone we’ve missed who stands to profit by Lovelace’s death.”
“Then you’ll see Shelton?”
I shook my head. “After Trask, I’ll interview the Lovelace daughters. With any luck, I won’t make it back to the station until after lunch.” I scratched at the hives on my arms and longed for an oatmeal soak in a tub of hot water.
“I’ll be tracking down Rankin first thing tomorrow,” Adler said, “and the vic’s other disgruntled employees from his secretary’s list. Might take me all day.”
“If you’re lucky. I’ll drop you off at home before I file my report.”
We climbed into my car.
“Maggie?”
“Yeah?”
“What you did tonight was outstanding.”
“This was just a routine call.”
He shook his head. “I’m talking about you and Bill playing Santa for the kids.”
“You can thank Malcolm for that. I was merely a reluctant accomplice.”
“Yeah, right.” Adler was grinning as if he knew a secret.
“What?”
“You’re a natural with kids.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut. But as I drove through the quiet streets, it wasn’t the children whose parents had brought them to see Santa who were on my mind. I was worrying about Tiffany Harlow and the children who’d been trained as rooftop burglars.
The offices of Trask, Farmingham and Lane were in the SunTrust building on the corner of Main Street, a block from the marina. I’d last visited Ted Trask there a month ago while investigating the weight-loss clinic murders. The second victim had lived next door to Trask on exclusive Pelican Point.
While the elevator carried me to the law offices two floors above the bank, I scratched the back of my right leg with the toe of my left foot. Not even an early-morning oatmeal bath had alleviated the torment of my hives. If Trask didn’t give me a significant lead, I’d have to schedule an appointment with a dermatologist.
The door slid open on the luxurious suite. I went straight to Trask’s secretary, who frowned when I asked to see him.
“Do you have an appointment?” the Mrs. Doubt-fire look-alike asked.
“Only this.” I showed her my shield.
“Might work,” she said.
“Hate to have to get a warrant.” It was an empty threat, but effective.
She reached hastily for the intercom and announced my presence. The door to Trask’s office flew open and a tall, trim man in an Italian suit motioned me inside.
“I thought I’d be seeing you when I heard about Vince,” Trask said. “What a tragedy. Eudora, bring us coffee, please, and Vincent Lovelace’s file.”
He closed the door. “Have a seat, Detective.”
Trask sat behind his desk, a slab of black marble on stainless-steel columns. Behind him, visible through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, stretched a panoramic view of the bayfront with the water sparkling in the early morning light.
“You’re handling Lovelace’s estate?” I asked.
Trask leaned back in his chair, formed a steeple with his fingers and peered at me over the tips. “Not much to handle, at this point.”
“I heard he was worth at least a billion.”
The attorney shook his head. “I meant, his estate’s not complicated. Everything’s in a trust, which became irrevocable upon his death.”
Eudora bustled in, coffee tray in her hands, a file tucked under her arm. She placed the tray on a side table and gave Trask the folder, then handed me a cup of coffee, complete with the cream and sugar I’d requested, and served her boss.
“Anything else, Mr. Trask?” she asked.
“That will be all, Eudora. Thank you.” He shook his head once she’d closed the door behind her. “Don’t know what I’ll do when she retires next month.”
I took a sip of the coffee that was almost as good as Dunkin’ Donuts’. “Who are the recipients of Lovelace’s trust?”
“Only one. Everything goes to Samantha, then to the girls upon their mother’s death.”
“That’s it? No other bequests or parting gifts?” That wasn’t what I wanted to hear, since it left me at a dead end. The tip of my nose was aflame and I resisted the urge to scratch.
Trask flipped through the pages from the file, scanned each sheet and shook his head. “Vince Lovelace was only thirty-eight and in the peak of health. He obviously wasn’t expecting to die so soon.”
“Comes as a surprise to most of us.” I set my cup aside and stood. “Thanks for your help.”
My beeper sounded as I was riding down in the elevator. I stopped in the bank lobby, asked to use a courtesy phone and dialed Adler’s cell.
“Rankin’s clean,” he said. “Had fifteen guests Thanksgiving Day who can vouch that he never left his house and his boat never left its slip.”
“No luck at the attorney’s, either. Vince left everything to his wife, so no other leads with a motive. Any luck with the employees?”
“I’m on them now. According to Rankin, they both took jobs at another network and moved out of state. Neither of them had the guts, in his words, to hurt anybody. So where does that leave us?”
“Up the proverbial creek. I’m on my way to the beach. I’ll meet you back at the station after lunch.”
“You think Shelton will have chilled by then?”
“Has hell frozen over?”
“Good point. And good luck.”
CHAPTER 12
But my luck wasn’t good. Isabelle met me at the door of the Lovelace home with blood in her eye.
“You should be ashamed, Margaret Skerritt, tormenting this poor family after all that’s happened.”
“I’m just doing my job. If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else. Your son-in-law was murdered. Don’t you want his killer found?”
“You’re not accusing my Samantha?”
“Everyone’s a suspect until the killer is identified. And until we find out who killed Vince and why, Samantha and the girls might be in danger. I don’t want to see them hurt, do you?”
“Are you trying to frighten me?”
I shook my head. “Someone had reason to knock Vince into the pool an
d hold him under until he drowned. At this point, we don’t know who or why. It may be a long shot, but it is conceivable that whoever killed Vince might also want to harm Samantha and your granddaughters. But I won’t know for sure until the killer’s caught. And I can’t catch the murderer without the cooperation of Samantha and her girls.”
Isabelle pressed her lips together as if biting back words and ushered me into the living room. The Lovelace daughters sat on either side of their mother on the sofa. In spite of my intentions to remain objective, I felt a rush of pity. Without the usual makeup and veneer of sophistication most girls their age affected, they looked like lost children. Their eyes were swollen from crying, and each clasped one of her mother’s hands. The scene was a vignette of sadness in the midst of the room’s bright and cheerful colors.
“Margaret,” Samantha said with a nod of acknowledgment. “Can we get this over with quickly?”
“Emily, Dana,” I said, “I’m sorry for your loss, and I’m sorry to bother you at a time like this with questions. But my job is to find who killed your father, and I need your help.”
“How can we help?” Emily, the older teen, asked. “We weren’t even here.”
“I know. Your mother’s explained that. But I want you to think back to the days and weeks before Thanksgiving. Did you notice anyone suspicious in the neighborhood? Strangers you hadn’t seen before?”
“Nobody gets on the street past the gate.” Dana wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “But there’s always strangers on the beach. Even though the property’s posted, they stroll by all the time.”
“Did any of them seem particularly interested in this house?”
Samantha heaved an exasperated sigh. “Of course they did, Margaret. It’s an architectural masterpiece. People are always gawking at the place.”
“Wait,” Emily said. “There was one guy.”
“On the beach?” I asked.
She shook her head. “In a boat. He was anchored off the beach the past few weekends.”
Samantha shook her head. “Still nothing unusual about that. Fishermen do it all the time.”
“Yeah, but this guy wasn’t fishing,” Dana said. “I remember him, too. Gave me the creeps, ’cause he was studying the house through binoculars. I saw him from my bedroom window a couple times.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Samantha asked.
Dana shrugged and avoided her mother’s gaze. “You’ve been…distracted lately. And Dad was never home.”
“Tell me about this man and his boat,” I said. “What do you remember?”
“He stayed offshore,” Emily said, “so I couldn’t get a good look at him.”
“Young? Old? Tall? Fat? Help me out, girls.”
“He was tall,” Dana said, “and he looked young, at least from a distance.”
“What color hair?”
“He wore a ball cap,” Emily said. “And sunglasses.”
“And you’re sure he was watching the house?”
Dana nodded. “But when Dad would come out for his swim, the guy would weigh anchor and leave.”
“I thought you said your dad was never home.”
“The guy always showed up in the late afternoon,” Emily explained, “right before Dad had his swim.”
“So why didn’t you tell your father about him?” Samantha demanded.
“Because after his swim, Dad always went to his office and didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Describe the boat,” I said.
“A cigarette boat,” Dana replied.
Bingo. “Did you see the registration number?”
The girls shook their heads. “It was too far out,” Emily said, “but I read the name on the stern.”
“Me, too,” Dana said. “It was Jackpot.”
I looked to Samantha. “Know anyone with a cigarette boat named Jackpot?”
She shook her head. “Our family’s never been into boating.”
Just tennis, I thought, but for the sake of her daughters, held my tongue.
Determined to postpone facing Shelton’s hissy fit, I stopped by the Pelican Bay Marina instead of returning to the station. Bill was dismantling the Ten-Ninety-Eight’s Christmas display. Portable drill in hand, he greeted me with a wave and a smile. Having someone glad to see me was a pleasant change.
I pointed to the flamingos stacked on the dock. “What will you do with them?”
“Fernandez says I can store them in his garage for next year.”
Now there was a happy thought. Next year I’d get to play Mrs. Claus all over again. “Sorry I had to take off last night.”
“Another burglary?”
I nodded. “A witness saw a kid on a bike fleeing the scene.”
“Did the kid have a name?”
“No, but he left prints. If he’s in the system, I’ll have him by this afternoon.”
Bill added another pink plywood carcass to the stack. “Can you stay for lunch?”
“Why are you always trying to feed me?”
He grinned. “It works on stray dogs.”
“What?”
“Feed ’em and they keep coming back.”
“You’re saying I remind you of a stray dog?”
“I’m saying I want you always to come back.” He landed a kiss on my mouth as he stepped past to board.
“Like a boomerang.” His words shook me more than I cared to admit.
“Or a rubber ball. You’ll come bouncing back to me.”
“Now you’re showing your age. That line’s from an old Simon and Garfunkel tune, isn’t it?”
He opened the sliders to the cabin. “The good old days.”
I followed him inside. “This conversation is making me feel ancient.”
“You know what they say.” He moved into the galley and I sat on the love seat in the lounge. “Inside every older lady is a much younger woman.”
“Yeah, and the one in me is screaming, ‘What the hell happened?’”
“You were terrific last night, Margaret.”
“I’d take that as a compliment, but I wasn’t here last night.”
“At the boat parade and in the park. You made a great Mrs. Claus.”
I propped my feet on the coffee table and clawed the hives on the back of my hands. “Guess I’m destined for mature roles from here on out.”
“Cut it out!” The sharpness in his voice surprised me. “You’re only forty-eight. You’re in great shape and you look fantastic.”
Compliments made me uncomfortable. “I hope you can say the same after Shelton’s through with me today.”
“Maybe the chief will be reasonable for a change.”
“Reasonable? Don’t you know the old adage that claims if a kid wets the bed and tortures animals, he’ll grow up to be either a serial killer or chief of police?”
“Or to work in Internal Affairs,” Bill added with a straight face. He had assembled the ingredients for sandwiches on the counter and began construction. “Any luck on the Lovelace case?”
“As a matter of fact, I might have my first real lead.” I explained what the girls had told me about the cigarette boat. “Now all I have to do is find the damn thing.”
“Let me.”
“Why would you want to?”
“To save your skin.” He pointed to the backs of my hands, inflamed from hives and scratching. “Besides, I like hanging around boats and marinas. This would give me an excuse.”
“What if this cigarette boat is docked at one of thousands of private slips in the bay area?”
“Cigarette boats are a specialty. Not too many mechanics work on them. If it’s not moored in a public marina, I can track it down through dealers, mechanics or paint distributors.”
He placed the top slice of bread on each sandwich, cut them into halves with a chef’s knife and passed one to me. “If you plan to go several rounds with the chief this afternoon, you’ll need your strength. Eat up.”
I stared at the six-inch-high monster
he’d concocted.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“The sandwich is fine. I was just thinking about Shelton.”
“And?”
“Things are going to get a lot worse before they get worse.”
With a sense of fatalism, I took a bite.
I got out of my car at the station and noted that Shelton’s parking space was empty. Restraining myself from a happy dance, I hurried into the building to meet Adler, hoping we could compare notes before Shelton returned from his lunch break.
Adler was at his desk, polishing off a large pizza with onions, pepperoni and anchovies. The kid was always eating and never gained a pound, further proof that life was not fair.
“There’s one slice left, Maggie. You want it?”
“I already ate. Don’t you ever get indigestion?”
“Nope.” He bit into the last slice.
“Then you have something to look forward to when you get older.”
“Bad morning?”
“Good, actually.” I told him about Jackpot and Bill’s offer to track the boat.
He wiped tomato sauce from his hands with a paper napkin. “Maybe the new lead will keep Shelton off our backs.”
“And maybe the Devil Rays will win the series. What did you find out?”
“We can scratch Rankin and the last two employees from our list. All had alibis.”
“So our mystery man on the cigarette boat is our only viable lead.”
“Lovelace’s girls didn’t know him?”
I shook my head. “But that doesn’t mean Vince didn’t. Bill says he’ll start his search at the yacht club, then expand from there.”
I stared at the grid of suspects on my desk. All had been eliminated except the question mark at the bottom of the list. “If he’s our guy, he apparently cased the house for weeks before moving in for the kill.”
“Maybe he’s a sicko who looks for opportunity, then murders for the thrill.”
“If that’s the case, then we can expect another murder. Soon.”
Holidays Are Murder Page 12
