Claire’s chin jerked up. She stared at the detective. “How did you know Travis was a dealer?”
Wilson looked at the ceiling, as if beseeching God for patience. “Why do you think they called me in? Your meddling upset a delicate drug interdiction operation. We had almost collected enough evidence to arrest him.”
When he glared at her, Claire shrank back.
“Imagine how our officers felt to have a dealer watch them haul off a society dame. He stood there in his silk boxers smirking at them the whole time, because they didn’t have enough on him and couldn’t search the place.”
Claire wanted to crawl into a hole and die quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Wilson rubbed his forehead. “He’ll have a field day with the story, bragging to every street hustler willing to listen about how he put one over on us. And what’s worse, we can’t go after him for a while, because his lawyer will claim whatever new evidence we have was acquired illegally during your arrest.”
Horrified, Claire realized the broad repercussions of her headstrong actions. “I didn’t think—”
“Damn right you didn’t think. I’ve spent the last hour trying to placate people on both sides.”
“What do you mean, both sides?”
“Don’t ask.” With his last outburst, Wilson seemed to have blown off enough steam and sat fuming.
Claire wrapped her arms around her chest. Morose, self-chiding thoughts swirled in her head. She could never explain herself to Detective Wilson. “As soon as I can get hold of Dave Kessler, I’ll be out of your hair.”
Wilson chuckled.
Claire stared. Why is he laughing?
Wilson cracked a wry smile as the laugh subsided. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “That’s what’s so ironic. You’re already out of my hair. For now, anyway. For some mysterious reason, Miss Martinez and Mr. Smith decided not to press charges. You’re free to go, Mrs. Hanover.”
Smith must be Travis’s last name. Or a not very original alias. “Why would they do that?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? But I suggest you don’t ask them. You should avoid any and all contact with them whatsoever.” He peered at her, as if waiting for agreement.
“Don’t worry.” Claire shuddered. “I don’t intend to see either of them again. But I discovered some things in the apartment. A photo—”
“Stop.” Wilson held up a hand. “I can’t use anything you found while snooping in their apartment. In fact, I don’t even want to know. It could taint the investigation.”
“But—”
“No.”
Claire slumped in her chair. What good was it to find out stuff if he refused to listen? At least she could tell Dave Kessler. Maybe he could use the information in Roger’s defense.
Wilson stood. “I said you were free to go. Usually a cab or two is loitering outside, even this late. If you don’t see one, you can call a cab from the pay phone in the lobby. The guard will take you to get your personal effects.”
He opened the door and faced Claire. “I plan to go home and go back to sleep. I suggest you do the same, Mrs. Hanover, and I hope I never see you or hear from you again.” He walked out and let the door swing shut behind him with a loud thump.
Claire buried her head in her hands, too worn out to cry.
The door creaked open. The guard stood waiting.
With a sigh, Claire eased out of the chair and followed the guard. He led her to a desk where she retrieved her car keys, burgling tools, and flashlight. She remembered her car still sat parked at the Faith Redeemer Baptist Church. She wondered if it, and her purse inside, was still there. If it wasn’t, she couldn’t pay the cab driver. But that was the least of her worries.
Like an automaton, she plodded after the guard to the lobby. Before she knew it, she stood alone at the front entrance. Heeding Detective Wilson’s advice, she stepped outside to look for a cab.
The street was quiet, with no car or foot traffic. Slick patches of melted snow refrozen into ice reflected the stark glare of a streetlight on the corner. Dark storm clouds raced overhead, blocking out starlight.
The somber scene echoed Claire’s gloomy mood. Clutching her coat tight against her, she walked down the station steps to the street. She looked to her left for a cab.
Nothing.
As she turned right, two pairs of rough hands grabbed her, and a gloved hand clamped over her mouth.
“Don’t make no trouble now. The man needs to talk to you.” The speaker and his companion lifted her off her feet and carried her down the street, away from the police station.
Claire glanced right and left, and her eyes grew wide. She recognized Leon’s driver and bodyguard. She struggled, but she was trapped firmly in the grip of the large men flanking her. She tried to scream, but the hand over her mouth muffled the sound.
Where are the police when you need them, especially outside their own damn station?
She remembered what Leon had said when he spoke to her on the phone—“Don’t talk to Travis or Condoleza again”—and the implied threat.
Claire’s scalp and arms tingled as her hair rose to full alert.
They rounded the corner. With its engine running, the black limousine waited at the end of the block.
Oh, God. Furiously, she fought her captors again, but Leon’s thugs easily overpowered her.
The driver’s companion opened a back door of the limousine, and the two shoved her inside.
Howling, “Let me go! You can’t do this to me,” she landed on all fours on the car floor. The door slammed shut behind her, whacking her on her rump and heel. Sharp pains zinged up the nerves from both sites.
The door lock clicked.
Another loud click sounded from the back seat of the limo.
Her head whipped up. A wicked switchblade gleamed, reflecting rays from the streetlight overhead. She bit her lip to still the trembling.
Leon’s large, black visage grinned at her from behind the weapon. “They not only can do this to you, Mrs. Hanover, they just did.”
The two henchmen climbed in front, and the driver gunned the engine. The car shot forward.
The acceleration threw Claire against Leon’s legs. Anxious to put distance between herself and the knife, she clambered onto her knees on the rear-facing seat, hands pressed against the side and ceiling of the car.
Deliberately, Leon turned the blade, scraped it under one of his fingernails, then wiped it on his pants leg. He waved the knife. “Sit down.”
Staring at the blade, Claire slowly slid down until she was sitting in the corner farthest from Leon.
“Now put on your seat belt like a good girl. We wouldn’t want you to get hurt if we make any sudden stops.” Leon chuckled.
Claire didn’t like the sound of that chuckle. Fingers trembling, she pulled the seat belt across her lap. She wondered what Leon planned to do. It took two tries to fasten the buckle.
He lowered the switchblade but kept it in his hand, tapping the side of the blade against his other palm.
Claire had no doubt he could use the knife with speed and deadly accuracy. She licked her dry lips.
Leon shook his head and clucked his tongue. “What are we gonna do with you?”
Claire had a suggestion—let her go—but she doubted he wanted to hear it. She glanced out the window, but she didn’t recognize any landmarks in the dark. Where were they taking her?
A lighter flashed, and Leon held it to the end of his cigarette. He blew a large smoke ring.
The acrid smoke stung Claire’s nose. She coughed.
“Bad habit, I know. But I ain’t had a chance to break it yet.” He took another drag. “Or a desire to.”
After two more quick drags, Leon stubbed out the cigarette. “And I never do anything I don’t have a desire to do.”
Claire screwed up her courage to speak. “I hope you don’t have a desire to kill me, Mr. . . .” She realized she didn’t know his last name. “Leon.”
He laughed. “Maybe, mayb
e not. But as I told you before, I don’t ‘desire’ for you to mess in my business, either.” He gave her a stern look.
“You said not to talk to Condoleza or Travis. I didn’t plan to.”
Leon rolled his eyes, but she plowed on. “I meant to be out of the apartment long before they returned. They never should have known I was there, but they came home early.”
“I know.”
“So one of them told you. That’s why you were waiting for me.” Another realization hit her. “You knew Travis dropped the charges. That’s how you knew when I’d be leaving the jail.”
Leon fisted his hand and studied his fingernails. “I told him to drop the charges.”
This admission jolted Claire. “Why?”
Leon waved his hand dismissively. “The last thing I need is Travis on a witness stand under oath.”
He laughed again. “Travis didn’t like it, no sir. He was enjoying his little game with the cops. Have to admit turning you in was a smart idea. The cops’ll have to stay away from him for a while, and they were getting too close for my comfort.”
“Turning me in wasn’t his idea. It was Condoleza’s.”
“Really? In addition to being hot, the gal’s got brains.” Leon stroked his chin. “Well, well, well.”
Claire put her own brain to work. “Since the outcome was positive for Travis, and for your business, maybe you can find it in your heart to let me go.”
Leon dropped his hand and peered at her. “Did you tell the cops about the coke you found?”
“No.” Claire’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute. How did you know I found cocaine?”
“I didn’t.”
Damn. Her naiveté had gotten her in trouble again. Maybe she could use it for her benefit. “I didn’t tell them Travis was a dealer, either. They already knew that.”
“I know. Once this blows over, I’ll probably have to work a deal to save his sorry ass again.”
“You bribe the police?”
Leon shook his head.
Claire thought for a moment. Besides money, what else could Leon trade for the young man’s hide? “Information. You must—”
Putting a finger to his lips, Leon smiled. “A smart businessman’s got to find some way to eliminate the competition.”
Claire realized he might be involved in the delicate drug interdiction operation Detective Wilson had mentioned. That would explain a lot. The notion also gave her some hope she could get out of this situation alive. “I won’t tell a soul.”
“No, you won’t.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
Leon scowled. “Besides, it gives me satisfaction to get scumbags who hook kids on meth off the streets.”
“But don’t you do the same thing?”
“Hell, no. Cocaine’s an expensive drug. We sell only to adults with dough. Got no kids working for me, neither. You gotta be seventeen to work for Leon. I run a high-class business.”
Amazed, Claire just stared at him. A drug pusher with ethics?
His face clouded over, as if reliving an ugly memory. “Meth’s some nasty shit. Real nasty shit. Even nastier to make than take.”
He shook off the reverie and refocused on her. “I admire your persistence, Mrs. Hanover, and the idea of hurting you doesn’t give me great pleasure.” He sighed and picked at another fingernail with his knife. “So I’m gonna tell you something to convince you to stop snooping around my business. But you gotta keep this in the strictest confidence.”
“I will.”
Leon pointed at her with the knife. “Swear it.”
A cold trickle of sweat inched down Claire’s back. “I swear I will not tell anyone what you are going to tell me. That’s a promise.”
“Good. Now, here’s the shit. I know for a fact neither Condoleza nor Travis killed Enrique. That’s ’cause Condoleza was with me.” Leon shifted in his seat and tilted his head toward the front of the car. “And Travis was with my two men up there during the time Enrique got shot.”
“Then you and Condoleza were . . . involved, too?”
Leon nodded. “Enrique understood the relationship between Condoleza and me. The lady and me go way back. But Travis is different, new to my operation. Condoleza hadn’t told him yet. I was being kind, giving him a little time to get used to the idea. So those two up front played pool with him while Condoleza and I had our . . . talk.” Leon grinned. “I told you she’s one hot little number.”
Claire stared at Leon. He had no reason to invent this story for her benefit. And she had no reason to doubt him. The realization hit in the pit of her stomach. Her top two suspects had just been cleared. She’d been wasting her own, and Roger’s, precious time. Tears threatened.
Leon watched her. Then, obviously coming to a decision, he closed the switchblade and tucked it in a pocket of his black denim vest. He leaned forward and tapped on the pane separating them from the two men up front. When the pane slid open, he said, “The church.”
The driver nodded and slid the pane closed again.
Claire sniffed back her tears. “What church?”
“Faith Redeemer, where you left your car.”
“You know everything, don’t you?”
“It’s my ’hood. People tell me what’s going on, especially strange, fancy cars left in parking lots.”
He pulled a bag of peeled baby carrots out of his pocket and popped one in his mouth. He held the bag out to her. “Carrot?”
Claire stared at the bag, then him.
He patted his paunch. “Doc says I have to lower my cholesterol. And my weight.” He offered the bag again.
This time she took a carrot.
He took a couple more for himself then returned the bag to his pocket. “I’ve got a man watching your car. Otherwise, it would be gone by now.”
“Why are you doing this for me?”
Leon reached over to pat her hand. “As I said before, I admire your loyalty to your husband. But I want you out of my hair for good this time.”
“For good this time.” Claire cracked a wry smile. “You know, Detective Wilson said pretty much the same thing.”
Leon threw back his head and laughed.
The limousine pulled into the church lot and parked next to Claire’s BMW. She saw the dark outline of a tall, thin man leaning against the back fence of the lot. When Leon’s driver cut the ignition, the man doffed his hat at the limousine and walked away.
The bodyguard got out and tapped on Leon’s window.
Leon rolled it down. “Let’s see, the passenger side mirror, I think.”
The bodyguard walked to Claire’s car. He carried a tire iron.
Claire gaped. “What?”
The man raised the tire iron and smashed the side mirror of her car. Glass tinkled on the ground. He hit the mirror again. It fell off the car with a clunk.
Claire turned to Leon, her mouth hanging open.
“More subtle than busting your kneecaps.”
“You wouldn’t—”
Leon smirked and patted her hand again. “Just giving you a little reminder not to mess with me again.”
Claire closed her mouth. Leon and his gang lived by a different set of rules from the ones her parents had taught her. She told herself to feel grateful they’d smashed her car mirror instead of some part of her body.
Leon leaned forward and touched her cheek, where Condoleza’s bed frame had scraped the skin. “Better get this cleaned up when you get home.”
Surprised he noticed or cared, Claire said, “I will. Thanks for your concern.”
“Before you go, let me give you some advice.”
Claire held up her hand. “Leon, I promise. I will not mess with you ever again.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m glad we understand each other so well, but that’s not the advice I’m offering.” He paused. “If I was you, I’d check out those gym ladies in Enrique’s class.”
FIFTEEN:
GYM LADIES
Thursday mo
rning an insistent ringing woke Claire from a troubled sleep. Groggy, she checked the clock. Seven-thirty, less than six hours’ sleep. She fumbled for the cordless phone she’d placed on the nightstand next to Judy’s bed. “Hello?”
“Claire?”
“Deb?”
“Sounds like I disturbed your beauty sleep. Sorry. I flew in from L.A. late last night, and I’m due in court at nine. I wanted to check on your progress before I got tied up.”
With a groan, Claire rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “Last night was a doozy. I was set upon by rats, spiders, a homeless beggar, and a drug dealer wielding a switchblade. Then I was arrested, thrown in jail, kidnapped, and scolded like a misbehaving child by both a police detective and a drug boss. With a switchblade.”
“Wow! A hot time in the old town.”
“All my leads have gone cold.” Frustration left a bitter taste in Claire’s mouth. For the first time since she’d vowed to help Roger, she felt true despair. “And time’s running out. Roger’s already severely depressed, and he expects his boss to tell him to take leave tomorrow, the first step to firing him.”
“Tell me everything. A fresh set of ears could help.”
Claire briefed Deb on all that had happened since their last talk, on Monday. When she finished, Deb let out a long, low whistle. “What an adventure. I’d like to meet this Leon. Sounds like a cool dude.”
Claire smiled, then winced. She touched the bandage on her cheek. Her scrape still stung. “Why in the world would you want to meet a drug boss?”
“He’d be interesting and a good contact in my business. Anyway, I agree with Leon. The women at the gym are your best bet.”
Closing her eyes, Claire allowed herself a moment of self-pity, as an inner voice berated her for incompetence, inadequacy, stupidity, and false hopes. “That means I have to start all over again on new suspects.”
“Tracing the relationships that existed between the gym ladies and Enrique Romero could lead to the one who killed him. One of those women may have fallen for him and flown into a rage when he dumped her.”
“But how would she know he was at my house?”
“C’mon, you may have thought you were being discreet, but anyone could’ve seen you two leave the gym together.”
A Real Basket Case Page 15
