Wicked Obsessions

by Marilyn Campbell

  "Do you think this means Rico paid them off?"

  "I'd bet my boots on it. If he hadn't, there would have been some kind of follow-up tonight. Those kind don't make empty threats. However, I'd be happy to stay—"

  "Stay?" Teri's eyes widened.

  "Since I'm such a gentleman, I'm goin' to pretend I didn't notice how you misconstrued my perfectly gallant meanin' and go on. If you'd like me to stay in the studio tonight, while you're in the house, I'd be glad to."

  "Oh my, no, that wouldn't be a good idea. I mean, what if someone—"

  "Sh-sh-sh. 'Nuff said. But call me if you need anything. Even if it's just to talk to someone... besides Selena. If you don't call me, I'll give you a call tomorrow. For my own peace of mind."

  "All right. Do you need to use the dark room any more this week?"

  He slapped his forehead. "Ah, dang! I almost forgot to ask—I landed a really great opportunity but I need a studio for an hour or two. I'd be more than happy to pay you rent—"

  "When do you need it?" she asked, cutting him off with a wave of her hand.

  "Friday afternoon. But it's a shoot with two models. I know it's a huge imposition but I haven't been able to arrange anything else yet."

  "Not a problem. No matter what I'm doing at that time, you can use the studio." She didn't even want to consider what she might be doing at that time. She just wanted to enjoy the fact that her studio was still intact.

  * * *

  "Fool!" Drew said aloud to the empty apartment. He was ten kinds of fool. The one thing the psychiatrist warned him not to do—right after no more booze and no more drugs—was no more co-dependent relationships.

  "Be aware," the clinic doctor had stated, "besides being an addict, you have a caretaker personality. You're very vulnerable to people who need help."

  In other words, he was a sucker for a hard-luck story or a damsel in distress. He had married Brenda believing she needed rescuing. But the only rescuing she had needed was from her own insecurities and helplessness. When he finally quit trying to help, she thrived. He ended up nearly killing himself and four hundred other innocents along with him. Hardly justifiable.

  "Vulnerable" seemed to summarize a lot of things he was feeling. Perhaps he would have been vulnerable to any damsel at this point, distressed or otherwise. Ten months had passed since the divorce, a large portion of it spent in the rehab clinic. Before that... he couldn't be sure when the last time was that he and Brenda had made love. No, that wasn't right. He wasn't sure when the last time was that they had sex. They hadn't made love in a decade. Until spending time with Teri, he had thought his sex drive had retired from the active world.

  Vulnerable or not, he couldn't simply turn away from Teri, could he? Or remain indifferent to her problems, knowing she might be in serious danger?

  In defense of his vulnerability, he told himself Teri wasn't anything like Brenda. Teri was bright and creative and seemed to be entirely self-sufficient. If anything, it sounded like she was the caretaker in her relationship. Drew thought it was a shame he'd had to meet her when her defenses were so depleted that she was grateful for any morsel of comfort dangled before her. If they'd waited a few months, until after she'd recovered from... whatever happened with her husband, they might have been able to make a go of it together.

  Thoughts of her husband made him angry all over again. What an asshole her husband must have been! How could he have used her that way? Hadn't he known what a prize he had, right in his own bed? Drew realized he already thought of Rico Gambini in the past tense, but then, so had the police.

  No matter whose fault it was, however, Teri was now another damsel in distress and, even though her distress was much more genuine than his wife's had ever been, he couldn't be sure if that wasn't the primary feature that had attracted him. For Teri, he might be little more than the security blanket of a child lying awake in her darkened bedroom. Though the situation was scary, she'd probably get through it fine without his assistance.

  Nevertheless, he couldn't turn away. He did decide it would be in their best interest however, if he found a less intimate way of comforting her in the future. Holding her in his arms had practically undone him and all his good intentions.

  * * *

  Despite how worn out she was, and the fact that her studio had not been burned to the ground after all, Teri could only doze for short periods at a time. She felt like her nerves were stretched so taut her ears were ringing, but that didn't stop her from pouring her third cup of coffee the next morning.

  One nightmare after another had jolted her awake over and over again. The thug and his dark wraparound glasses played a key role, as did Rico. But at one point, she remembered dreaming of Detective Kidder. The intense concentration he had directed at her in the police station became a suspicious glare in her brief dream. Had he really looked at her like that, or were her fears blowing everything out of proportion?

  Perhaps she should have asked Drew to stay after all. Having someone nearby might have given her enough security to allow her some rest. But the final dream before she got up had proven what a serious mistake that could have been. When she had refused his offer, she had been considering how it would look to the neighbors, or worse, how Rico would react if he did happen to wander home. But those possibilities took a back seat to her greater concern.

  She couldn't trust herself.

  If Drew had been in the studio last night, she would have gone to him—maybe for reassuring conversation, perhaps for another comforting hug. But alone, in the middle of the night, she might have asked for more.

  As she did in her dream.

  The chime of the doorbell caused her heart to trip. She set down the coffee mug and took a deep breath. Whoever it was, she needed to calm down.

  The identity of the visitor made that feat impossible. Through the peephole Teri recognized Detective Kidder, and anxiety squeezed her heart. There was only one reason she could think of to explain why he would be at her house at eight o'clock in the morning. He had news of Rico.

  On the other hand, the fact that he was dressed in a casual short-sleeved shirt instead of a jacket and tie, as he had been yesterday, suggested he was off duty. The dream image of him ran through her mind, increasing her fear of what he had to tell her. With great effort, she forced herself to unlock the door and partially open it.

  Detective Kidder's gaze scanned her and the room beyond before he greeted her. "Good morning, Mrs. Gambini. Glad I didn't wake you. We met yesterday."

  Teri nodded but failed to make the rest of her body move. She wondered if police had always had the ability to strike terror in her heart, or if it was only a result of the circumstances. It took every ounce of courage she could muster to make her vocal chords function. "Yes. I remember." Her voice cracked on the last syllable and she cleared her throat. "Detective Kidder, wasn't it?"

  "Right," he said, not smiling. "Could I come in for a few minutes?"

  She finally regained some control over her arms and legs and opened the door wider. "Of course. Please." Stepping back, she waved him into the living room. "Have you tracked down Rico?" she asked as soon as she closed the door behind him.

  He didn't answer. Instead, he walked further into the room, moving his head as a camera would pan a scene. She was close to screaming at him for an answer when he turned around. Her expression must have been readable, because he immediately looked contrite.

  "Sorry, I didn't realize you were speaking." He took something out of his shirt pocket and affixed it to his ear. "I forgot about this."

  She stared at the hearing aid and wondered why she hadn't noticed it yesterday. He answered her, as if he had clearly heard her thoughts.

  "Vanity. I hate needing this thing—especially around the youngsters at the station. They think the old man ought to be put out to pasture as it is." He made an adjustment to the aid then gave her a brief, close-mouthed smile.

  It didn't go far to relax her. "Detective—" When he turned his head slight
ly, she raised her voice a bit. "Do you have news about my husband?"

  "I guess that would depend on your definition of news. Is that coffee I smell? I hate to ask, but I left my house so early this morning..."

  Why was he being so evasive? Although she felt like shaking him until his teeth rattled, she decided she'd better let him tell her what he had to say in his own way. "It's a fresh pot. How do you take it?"

  "Light and sweet. Please," he added as an afterthought, followed by another tight-lipped smile.

  A minute later, Teri was back with a mug of steaming coffee, but Kidder was nowhere in sight. Assuming he needed to use the bathroom, she set down the cup and paced impatiently. When another minute passed without the expected sound of running water, she headed down the hallway.

  At the same time as she noticed the vacant guest bathroom, Kidder stepped out of her bedroom at the end of the hall. "Were you looking for something, Detective?" He didn't look nearly as guilty as Teri thought someone should look when caught snooping.

  "Nice house. My late wife liked Oriental things, but I always thought it was too fancy. Wish she'd seen this—kind of southwest desert and American Indian. Did your husband help pick it all out?"

  She'd completely lost her patience by the time they returned to the living room. "No. He didn't care one way or another. Please, Detective, tell me what's going on."

  "Have a seat, Mrs. Gambini," he firmly suggested, as if they were in his office instead of her home. She complied only so that he'd get to the point.

  "First, I wanted to personally make sure you and your property were unharmed. You had said the man had threatened violence if the money wasn't repaid by last night."

  "That's right. And since nothing happened, I want to believe it means Rico used the money I gave him to clear his debt and I don't have to worry about that at least."

  "You're probably correct, but I'll keep the watch order on the house in place just in case. Secondly, we haven't located your husband. As I mentioned, for the police to begin a search, usually someone would need to file a missing person's report. But after hearing your story, I decided it required looking into without a report."

  Teri angled her head. "You're a homicide detective, right?" He nodded. "So does that mean—"

  "Let's just say I have a reasonable suspicion that warrants my checking a few facts."

  "His car was still in the post office's employee lot this morning so we've impounded it, just in case it turns out to be needed for evidence. I got a copy of his regular route and approximate time table from his supervisor, Mr. Kelly. Yesterday I spoke with several merchants at the Village Shopping Plaza, one of the places your husband delivers mail. He definitely delivered there Saturday morning. And the managers of the two apartment complexes on his route also confirmed that he'd been there. On the other hand, most of the mail left behind in his truck was destined for the end of his route, all single-family homes. Mr. Kelly is working to figure out exactly where the last piece was delivered."

  "You said you didn't see or hear from him after he left here Friday, around four o'clock, with the money you gave him. Is that correct?"

  "That's right."

  "Was that the usual time he'd get home from work?"

  Teri didn't care for his use of the past tense. It seemed... final. "Usual, as in about half the time, yes. He didn't always come directly home after work. That was another problem we had."

  "Hmmm, yes. That would agree with something a co-worker said about him. Would you mind answering some personal questions for me, Mrs. Gambini? You never know what little detail is going to help."

  "Of course. What would you like to know?"

  For the next half hour, Teri answered seemingly irrelevant questions about Rico's background and habits. But when Kidder started probing into their marital relationship, she grew defensive.

  "Did you and your husband fight on a regular basis? About his gambling, running around or anything else?"

  "Doesn't every couple have their share of arguments?"

  "But you stayed married in spite of his... weaknesses."

  He made her feel like she was under an interrogation lamp, like an incorrect answer could automatically convict her of murdering Rico herself. "I told you we were getting divorced. There are a number of reasons it took me so long to force the issue. One was that our religion forbids it."

  It was the first thing she had said that caused his deadpan expression to alter with interest. "I see. Do you work outside the home, Mrs. Gambini?"

  "I'm an artist. My studio is above the garage, so I guess the answer to your question is yes and no."

  "An artist! How I envy creative people. I have absolutely no talent myself, but I sure can appreciate it. Would you let me take a look at some of your work? It would be great to go back and tell the boys we had a real artist in our station yesterday."

  Teri would have preferred that he just go back to the station right now, but at least a tour of her studio would get him out of her house, and maybe on his way.

  After she escorted him up to her work area, however, he seemed only slightly interested in the paintings themselves.

  Pointing to the closed darkroom door, he asked, "What's in here?" and then opened it to look inside before she could answer.

  When he finally left, she took another look at her studio, trying to imagine it from his viewpoint. What had he been looking for? His gaze had scanned every inch—the table, her work station, the props, the day bed... She went back downstairs and walked through the house asking the same question.

  In her bedroom, she grimaced at the unmade bed, the open closet door, and the clothes and shoes she had dropped on the floor last night. Then she remembered his comment about Rico's car being impounded. Could he suspect that Rico was not really missing, but hiding right here in his own house? What reason would she have for trying to mislead the police that way?

  She played with the idea of a fraudulent insurance claim. That might make sense if they were planning to use the money to pay off a big gambling debt of Rico's or to run away to South America, which she would never do. But didn't the insurance company require a dead body before they paid any benefits?

  The other possibility that came to mind was that she and Rico could be using the police to convince the bad guys of his disappearance so they would get off his back. The problem there was that it now appeared that Rico had paid them off. Unless that wasn't his only outstanding debt...

  A third and more frightening alternative was that Kidder suspected she personally had something to do with Rico's disappearance and was looking for evidence of some kind. He had asked a lot of questions about their marriage. But she had told him about Rico signing the settlement agreement and agreeing to an uncontested divorce. There didn't seem to be any rationale behind her doing Rico harm. He had gotten out of her life exactly as she had told him to.

  So, what was Kidder looking for?

  * * *

  Kidder turned on the hand-held tape recorder as he drove away from the Gambini house. He had discovered long ago that people talked more freely when they didn't think he was taking notes. Thus he had begun verbally recording his impressions immediately after an interview ended. Fortunately his memory hadn't gone the way of his hearing.

  He shook off his initial disappointment about the way this interview had gone and instead considered the challenge that lay ahead. It would have been all too easy if the morning had turned out the way he'd expected.

  His early morning, impromptu visit had served only to unnerve Teri Gambini a little. He hadn't found Drew Marshall breakfasting in the kitchen or lounging in her bed. There was no pair of champagne glasses in the sink signifying a private celebration. Nothing anywhere in the house or the studio supported his instinct in this case. He could be wrong, though he seldom was. Time would tell, of course.

  His nose said she hadn't been completely honest with him. On the other hand, she had told him things that a woman guilty of knocking off her husband normally woul
dn't reveal. That might make sense if it hadn't been her hand that had done the dirty deed, but her lover's.

  Even though this wasn't technically a homicide case yet, he had a long list of ideas and questions to be investigated. He would begin by following up on Rico Gambini's undelivered mail in order to nail down the time of his disappearance then compare where wifey was at that time. After that, he would start searching for motives among every possible suspect. Although his nose pointed him toward her, he couldn't ignore the fact that the vic was a gambler and womanizer. Those two characteristics made a lot of potential enemies, one of which could be a murderer.

  He would work around the clock. Sooner or later the corpus delicti would turn up. And Detective William F. Kidder would be way ahead of everyone else.

  But it had to be soon. He desperately needed to crack a big case fast. That would show those administrative rocket scientists that the old man still had what it took to be a homicide detective.

  A desk job in the property room! He hadn't received the official transfer notice yet, but that was where rumor said he was being shipped. They might as well exile him to Siberia. He would be cooped up in that stuffy, windowless room all day long, then go home to his silent house, all cluttered with the gewgaws his wife had loved and he hadn't had the heart to throw out. The mere thought of that kind of existence had him considering how the wrong end of his gun would taste.

  Once that fatal notice reached his hands, he would have two weeks to report to his new assignment, two weeks to solve a crime that might normally take months or even years. But that was exactly the kind of grandstand play he needed to convince admin to postpone his transfer.

  If a body was never found, there could be no murder charge. And if the mob was behind Gambini's disappearance, it might never be discovered. A really lazy detective, one who didn't have his job on the line, might put the file aside and chalk it up as an unsolvable disappearance.

  But not Detective William F. Kidder. He didn't take things at face value, especially when his job was on the line.