“Where was it found?” Brenda asked.
“In the basement,” Winters said. “At least, we think it was the basement. Because the first floor collapsed, it made it difficult to tell.”
Deciding to go over the list with greater scrutiny later, Brenda spread all the evidence out on the floor and started snapping pictures. When she was finished, she helped the evidence clerk place it back in the proper sacks and containers.
She motioned to Stella and they left, stepping past the detective without speaking. “Why were you so curious about those pieces of metal?” Stella asked. They were standing on the front steps of the building now and the summer sun was as intense as an oven. “They were so small, how could they be important?”
Brenda popped the roll of film out of her camera, placing it in her pocket to drop off for developing later. “Sometimes it’s the little things,” she told her, smiling. “You heard a metallic sound that night, right?”
“Right,” Stella said. “And the stuff we saw back there was metal.”
“Exactly,” she said. “Now all we have to do is put Humpty-Dumpty back together again.”
They headed off in separate directions, agreeing they would meet for dinner at the TGIF restaurant not far from Mario’s apartment. It was one of her brother’s favorite haunts, and Stella was hoping they might find him there.
By seven o’clock that evening, Stella’s concerns for Mario had reached the breaking point. She called the hotel, and asked Brenda to check the computer and see if her brother had been arrested. “No problem,” she told her, asking Stella for his date of birth while she went online and entered the Houston system. “Whoops,” she said a few moments later.
“Damn,” Stella said, grimacing, “I knew it. He’s in jail, right?”
“No,” Brenda said, “hold on, I have to pull up another file. He isn’t in jail now, but he was arrested six weeks ago for possession of a controlled substance. According to this, the drug was cocaine. The arrest shows on his rap sheet, but there’s no disposition listed.”
“That means the case is still pending?” Stella said, a hand over her chest. “He’ll go to jail if he’s convicted.” She could see her problems multiplying right before her eyes. She didn’t have enough money to hire an attorney to represent herself, let alone hire one for Mario.
“Either that,” Brenda said, “or the D.A.‘s office didn’t follow through and file the case.
They could have dumped it for some reason. You know, maybe the stuff he had on him was tested and determined to be something other than cocaine. That happens now and then.”
“We need to find out who handled it at the D.A.‘s office,” Stella said, not willing to tell her what she had found in Mario’s darkroom. “Can you get in touch with your friend? You know, your contact down there?”
“If I hurry,” she said, “I might still catch him at the office.”
“Do it,” Stella said. “I have to know what’s going on with my brother. You may not think this is related to Randall’s death, Brenda, but there’s a possibility that it is.”
“Just meet me at the restaurant,” Brenda told her. “I’ll get on the phone right now.”
Clem Cataloni’s footsteps were heavy as he made his way down the corridor at the Houston Police Department. Dressed in a plaid shirt and tan slacks, his skin was burnished from the sun, but underneath, it had a sickly yellowish cast. Holding his hands out in front of him, he saw his fingers trembling and quickly dropped his hands back to his side. “Hey, Captain,” a uniformed officer said, coming up behind him, “did you get the invitation to Smitty’s birthday party?”
“Uh, yes,” Cataloni said, although he couldn’t recall. He spent a few minutes playing with the man’s name, trying to place him. Smitty Barnes, maybe, he told himself. Between his contacts in the Knights of Columbus and his friends at the P.D, hardly a week went by without some sort of invitation. At the moment, though, parties were the last thing on his mind. “Got to check my schedule first.”
“Gonna be a good one, Captain,” the man said, smiling. “Rogers hired a stripper. I know it would mean a lot to him if you could come.”
‘Til let you know,” he responded, continuing down the hall to Carl Winters’s office. Before he reached the door, another man interceded.
Dressed in a dark suit, a withered white shirt, and a red-and-black-striped tie, Chief Earl Gladstone stopped and pumped Cataloni’s hand. “I was just going to my office to call you.”
Clem Cataloni scowled. Had something happened in the case against his niece? Was this the reason Winters had called and asked him to come down? Stella appearing on his doorstep had unnerved him. After her stint in jail, he had expected a broken and terrified woman. Stella would never break down, he now realized. She was a Cataloni in every sense of the word.
Seeing his niece had brought back many painful memories: his childhood in Sicily, his older brother looking out for him, riding their bicycles down the cobblestone path to town each day. For years after his brother’s death, Cataloni had been plagued by nightmares. The dreams were always the same. He was standing on his brother’s front porch, begging him to forgive him. Just when his brother smiled and reached out to him, his body erupted in flames. It had been years since he had last experienced the dream, but last night it had returned. He had awakened in a cold sweat, certain his brother was standing by the bed.
“Are you okay, Clem?” the chief asked, sensing something was amiss. “I guess this thing with your niece has been difficult.”
Removing a handkerchief, Cataloni wiped his face and neck. “It’s the blasted heat,” he said. Forcing a laugh, he added, “Are you trying to cut corners by cutting back on the air-conditioning. Earl? It must be eighty degrees in here.”
The chief ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, an impish expression on his face. “Maybe you can give me a hand on the new budget proposal,” he said. “You used to be a wizard at this stuff. I thought—”
“Call me next week,” Cataloni said, stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket. “I’ve got some things to take care of right now.”
“No problem,” the chief said. “How’s Tuesday?”
“Fine,” Cataloni said.
Seeing the door to Winters’s office, Cataloni stepped inside. The detective had his Stetson off, and his legs were propped up on his desk. For a few moments, Cataloni was taken back. He seldom saw the detective without his hat. Other than a few sickly fringes that circled the lower half of his skull, Winters was completely bald. Without the hat, the detective looked tired and worn. Before long the old brigade would be gone, Clem thought. Who would right the wrongs? The kids they hired today didn’t know what it meant to be a cop. To them, it was only a job. He found it sad. “You called,” he said.
“Yeah,” Winters said. “I stumbled across something interesting.” Opening a drawer and removing a small paper bag, he dumped the contents out on his desk. “The investigator from Dallas spotted these metal pieces when she was going through the evidence. I thought we had checked them out years ago, but I guess I must have been mistaken. They’re not mentioned in any of the original reports.”
“Tell me about this investigator,” Cataloni said, anger coursing behind his eyes. Stella was not the average murder suspect, which complicated matters considerably. Not only was she a crackerjack attorney, she was respected enough by her agency that they had even provided her with her own investigator.
“Name’s Brenda Anderson,” Winters advised, adjusting his body in his chair. “If you want to keep your eye on anyone, this is the gal to watch. She’s sharp, Captain. She could blow this case apart.”
Cataloni opened his hand to pick up one of the pieces. When he saw his fingers trembling again, he closed his hand into a fist. “You took these out of the evidence room?”
“Well,” Winters chuckled, “let’s just say I borrowed them.”
“You fucking moron,” he shouted. “Now that we finally have the situation i
n hand, you’re going to compromise the entire case. Get this stuff back in the evidence room. Does anyone know you took it?”
“Don’t you even want to look at them?” Winters said. He started arranging the metal pieces into some type of order. “See,” he said, “they spell something, but I haven’t been able to figure out what it is yet. If Anderson’s hot for them, though, they must be important.” He stopped fiddling with the pieces and looked up. Maybe this is the key, you know.”
“The key to what?” Cataloni said, standing stiffly in front of Winters’s desk.
“The key to identifying the killer.”
Cataloni leaned forward and swiped his forearm across Winters’s desk, knocking the chips onto the floor.
“Aw, shit,” Winters said. “Now I’ll have to pick them all up. Why’d you do that, Captain? If you give me enough time, I should be able to figure out the writing.”
“We know who the killer is,” Cataloni said, slamming his fist down on the desk. “A few fragments of metal won’t exonerate Stella, but if they catch us tampering with evidence—”
Winters was hurt. He puffed out his cheeks, then slowly exhaled. After his wife had passed away, the detective had turned to alcohol to ease the pain. One rainy night he was called out on a homicide after a night of heavy drinking. He’d driven through a red light and broadsided a car in the intersection, injuring several people. Clem Cataloni had stood beside him when everyone else in the department had turned away. The captain had appeared in front of the police review board, getting them to agree to a week’s suspension and supervised treatment in lieu of Winters’s dismissal. Week after week, Cataloni had shown up on Winters’s doorstep to drive him to the mandatory AA meetings. A long time had passed, and for all he knew, Cataloni had forgotten about those days. But Carl Winters wasn’t one to forget. If he could hand his friend his brother’s killer, he would be able to settle the score. “I just thought—”
“You don’t have the brains to think,” Cataloni said, still seething. At the door, he paused, letting the anger go. “Just do your job, Carl,” he said softly. “I appreciate your efforts, but we can’t step out of line here.”
Not only was the popular restaurant packed with people, but the noise level was deafening. Everyone seemed to be talking at one time: dishes clattered, glasses tinged, music blasted. Stella looked up and grimaced at the crowded bar, located on a raised platform overlooking the dining area. She hated places like this, but her brother frequented them on a regular basis. He’d told her more than once that this restaurant was the perfect place to pick up girls.
Pushing her way to the bar, Stella ordered a gin and tonic from the female bartender, a tall brunette with broad features and arms laced with sinewy muscles. The restaurant had a carnival feel to it, with the employees wearing referee-style shirts, suspenders with dozens of buttons pinned on them, shorts, and knee socks.
“Hey, you’re that district attorney,” the bartender said loudly. “I saw your picture in the paper just this morning. Aren’t you in a lot of trouble or something?”
“Yes,” Stella said, wishing she could sink through the floor and disappear. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a man staring at her, as if he too had recognized her.
Once Stella got her drink, she plucked some bills out of her wallet, placed them down on the bar, and quickly got lost in the crowd. She had learned her lesson, she decided. After tonight, there would be no more dinners in restaurants. Mario wasn’t here, and as soon as Brenda showed up, Stella was going to suggest they pick up something and eat it at the apartment. Either that, or order room service at Brenda’s hotel.
She looked around for an open table. No seating was provided in the bar area, only high tables for customers to set their drinks on. Stella had already asked the hostess to seat her in the dining room section, but the girl had refused. The management evidently had a rule that all members of a party had to be present before anyone would be seated. Deciding there was no such thing as an open table, Stella nudged her way to the very back of the bar, taking a spot near the railing where she could keep her eye on the front door.
Thirty minutes passed, and still Brenda had not appeared. Stella’s drink was gone and she wasn’t about to order another one. Sandwiched in between two men in business suits, she was wearing a long flowered skirt and a lightweight knit top. She never went to bars by herself. She felt self-conscious and silly. Why would anyone want to come to a place like this? Just for the privilege of standing around elbow to elbow like a bunch of sardines?
“How are you fellows doing?” Holly said, slipping in between Stella and the two men and slapping her beer bottle down on the table. “You already met my friend over here?” she said, tilting her head toward Stella.
Stella was flabbergasted. “What are you doing here?”
“This is my town,” Holly said flatly. “Guess I could ask you the same thing.”
Stella tried to make her way through the people, but Holly pulled her back to the table. “Come on, Stella,” she said, “don’t run off. Hang around awhile. Let’s talk, you know. If you want to settle this, I might be able to approach Minor and work something out. Why put yourself through a trial?”
“Let me go,” Stella said abruptly. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Holly said, taking a slug of her beer. “Don’t you have some unanswered questions about your brother’s illegal activities? I thought you were interested in Mario’s court case.”
Stella was instantly wary. “What are you trying to say?”
Holly said, “What do you want to know?”
Stella looked over her head, and saw Brenda Anderson moving through the crowd of people. Without taking her eyes off the men, Holly leaned closer and whispered in Stella’s ear, “The short one isn’t bad-looking. What do you think? Think I should make a move on him?”
Stella recoiled just as Brenda appeared at the table. “She’s the D.A,” the investigator said, pointing at Holly. “Don’t you know what they’re doing, Stella? They’re holding the charges over your brother’s head, trying to get him to turn state’s evidence and testify against you in the death of your parents. The cops arrested him for simple possession, but he had enough coke on him to classify it as possession for sale. Your brother’s facing a prison sentence, not a jail sentence.”
“Not if he cooperates,” Holly said, running her tongue over her lower lip. “What do you think he’ll choose, Stella? His own neck or yours?” Leaving the question hanging in the air, she disappeared into the crowd.
Stella stood there in shock, trying to sort through what she had heard. “I’m sorry it went down this way,” Brenda said. “I guess it’s my fault. My contact is a bastard. Maybe it’s why I never gave in and slept with him.”
“Did you tell him you were meeting me here?”
“Yeah,” Brenda said, jerking her head to the side. “I didn’t think he’d run straight to Oppenheimer, though. Evidently, I’m not such a good judge of character.” She looked over at Stella. “I feel terrible. I made a wrong turn on the way over, or I would have been here sooner.”
“What am I going to do?” Stella said, a dazed look in her eyes. “Holly knew about this all along, didn’t she? Mario was her ace in the hole.”
“Looks that way,” Brenda said. “Your name’s fairly distinctive, Stella. Once the D.A. decided to file against you, someone in their office must have brought Mario’s case to Holly’s attention.
She then decided to prosecute it herself, knowing it could give her leverage. Pretty shrewd.”
Stella was livid. “She told me she ran into Mario at the gym several weeks back. I guess that was a lie. She probably had him come down to the courthouse so she could coerce him into testifying against me.” She paused, not wanting to place the blame on Mario. “When Mario knew her, Brenda, Holly wasn’t the same as she is now. He met her at a birthday party for Growman that we threw at the office, back when Holly and Growman were still
on good terms.”
“Holly knew your brother from Dallas?” Brenda asked, a fluttering of concern in her stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me they knew each other?”
“I never thought my brother’s future would fall into the hands of the person prosecuting me for murder,” Stella said. She saw something that caught her attention on the first level of the restaurant. For a second, she was certain it was Mario, but when the man turned and faced her, she realized she was mistaken. She dropped her head and tried to regain her composure through silence.
“You need to talk to your brother, girl.” Brenda popped an ice cube in her mouth, then crunched it loudly with her teeth. “I mean, a serious talk. I don’t like the way things are shaping up. If your brother cuts a deal—” She stopped speaking and looked around for the waitress. “This place is a zoo. Wait here, and I’ll go get our drinks at the bar.”
“I don’t want to stay here,” Stella said.
“We’ll go somewhere else,” Brenda answered, “but let’s have a drink first. I think we both need it.”
Stella stepped back closer to the railing. It seemed as if Brenda was gone forever. She was tempted to find her and tell her to forget the drinks when suddenly she felt something stinging her calves. The next moment, the distinctive odor of smoke rose to her nostrils. “Help me!” she shrieked, her hands clawing frantically at her thighs. “My skirt’s on fire.”
Stella’s eyes were wide with fright. Trapped between the table and the open railing, she shoved the table hard, causing it to tumble forward and strike the two men in the back. “I’m on fire,” Stella screamed. “God, help me. I’m on fire!”
“Shit,” Brenda shouted, seeing the commotion and Stella trying to leap over the table. Smoke was billowing out all around her, and the hem of her skirt was engulfed in flames. Unable to think of anything else, Brenda raced over and tossed her drink in the direction of Stella’s skirt. “What the—” Then she realized the material was still burning. All of the other drinks had spilled when Stella knocked over the table. Brenda had to find something else to put out the fire.
Trial by Fire Page 16
