Wicked Obsessions

by Marilyn Campbell

  "What now, Detective?"

  "I'll let you know the M.E.'s findings or anything of importance that comes back from forensics after they scour the apartment where he was found. In the meantime, as soon as you're up to it, I'd like you to come into the station and look at some pictures. It's time to look for your thug."

  * * *

  "Since when do we take people into the autopsy room to view a mutilated corpse of a family member? Damn it, Kidder, you know that's not the procedure in a case like this! It was completely unnecessary to put the wife through that."

  Kidder bowed his head while his captain vented his spleen. It was best to let the man get it all out of his system before defending himself. As precarious as his current position was, he didn't need to cause any more waves by being argumentative.

  For a terrifying moment when he had first returned to the station from the morgue and was told Captain Hart wanted him in his office pronto, he had thought his transfer had come through. A little verbal reprimand was nothing compared to that.

  He had no problem with a set-down from this man. Although Hart looked years younger than Kidder—he still had all his hair, and frequent exercise kept his large body in shape—they were almost the same age. It was only when the young pups started flexing their muscles that he regretted never having had the ambition to move up the police ladder as Hart had.

  "Kidder!" Hart exclaimed.

  His head popped up.

  "Put that damned thing in your ear so you can hear me. I don't have time to waste talking to myself!"

  He quickly affixed the aid to his ear and leaned forward, assuming a position of complete attention.

  "Did you hear any of that?"

  "Yes, sir. And I can explain. I warned Mrs. Gambini how it would be. I tried my damnedest to talk her out of going down there, that it wasn't necessary, but she was very insistent. Threatened to sue the city if I didn't cooperate. Under the circumstances—"

  "All right, all right. It's over with now. How did it go?"

  "She confirmed that it was Rico Gambini. All things considered, she held up unbelievably well."

  "Meaning she didn't faint or get sick?"

  "Or have hysterics. Not even a tear."

  "You know, that's not so unusual. She's had days to deal with his possible death. I've gone over the report she filed. Have you had any luck tracking down the man who threatened her?"

  "Mrs. Gambini will be in tomorrow to look at some pictures. But I don't expect her to find him."

  "Hold it right there. Are you telling me she hasn't looked through the mug shots yet?"

  "No. It really wasn't necessary before."

  Captain Hart slapped his big hand on his desk. "Christ! You had two witnesses to a threat that clearly tied in the mob and you didn't follow it up? What were you waiting for? The guy to walk in the front door and confess? He's probably so far underground now, we'll never find him."

  Kidder felt the heat rise in his face. Hart had no right to question his tactics with the excellent arrest record he had. "There was no victim before today. If there really was a threat, I didn't want to scare the guy into hiding by asking a lot of questions, when I had nothing serious to hold him on."

  "You said if. Why?"

  Kidder proudly related his theories about Mrs. Gambini and her lover.

  Hart's frown grew as he listened. "Forget it. You have no evidence to support that line of thinking. We can't arrest people because of the way they look at each other."

  "But I saw them kiss! They're definitely lovers. I haven't had time to disprove their claim that they met just two weeks ago. But I will. I just need a little time. And Teri Gambini's soft. A little more pressure after what she saw today and she's going to crack wide open."

  Hart shook his head. "You haven't got more time. And the department doesn't have time for its detectives to be chasing smoke when there's a mountain of evidence pointing to this being a mob hit. I usually go along with your instincts, but in this case, I'm afraid you're letting personal problems influence your judgment."

  Kidder wanted to know precisely what he needed to deny. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  Hart sighed and sat forward. "Look, Bill, it's just the two of us in here. We've known each other more years than two of our rookies' ages added together. Ever since Lydia left you—"

  "Lydia's dead," Kidder interrupted in a flat tone.

  "No, Bill. She left you. I'm not your shrink or your bartender, and I have no intention of playing either part now. I've heard you refer to her as your 'late wife' and I didn't correct you. I didn't think you needed anyone butting into your private life and making things more difficult for you. Maybe I should have, because it looks like your private life is now affecting your professional one."

  Kidder bolted out of his chair. "I don't have to listen to this. I thought we were pals."

  "Sit back down, Detective Kidder. Right now I'm not your pal, I'm your Captain, and that's an order." He waited for Kidder to obey, then went on. "You've handled four male homicides since your wife left you for another man. And in every case you were convinced the dead man's wife and a lover were the perpetrators. In one case you were half right. The wife did kill him, but it was self-defense and there was no lover, only a violently abusive husband. The other three cases had nothing to do with wives and lovers.

  "You've lost your objectivity where wives are concerned. Because you eventually got to the correct solution in spite of your bias, I let it go in the past. But not this time. I want you to leave that woman alone and spend the next two weeks looking for more evidence to tie this one to the mob. It would be quite a feather in our cap if we could bring in one of their soldiers. There's no telling who else that could net."

  Kidder heard nothing past the words "two weeks," but he wasn't about to ask what that meant. Nor was he about to toss out his theories on the Gambini case. The captain was all wrong. Detective William F. Kidder was as unbiased today as he ever was before his bitch of a wife started fucking her dry cleaner.

  Teri Gambini and Drew Marshall had committed a premeditated murder. He was certain of it and more determined than ever to prove it. Now he not only had to justify that he wasn't too far over the hill to be a good detective, he had to show his captain that his instincts were still on target. When he realized Hart had stopped talking about the mob and was looking through a stack of papers, he held his breath. He knew what the man was taking out of the pile even before he saw it.

  "I know you're not happy about this, Bill, but there's nothing more I can do." Hart's expression was contrite as he passed the official administrative form across the desk. "This is your transfer notice. You report to the Property Room in two weeks."

  Even with his bad hearing, Detective William F. Kidder could hear the clock of time running out.

  Chapter 10

  As soon as they were back in Selena's car, she asked, "Why didn't you tell me you'd given Rico the money he owed?"

  Teri tilted her head but didn't meet Selena's eyes. "I didn't? I thought I had. It's been such an insane week for me, I don't remember what I've said to whom." She could tell Selena wasn't happy about that answer, but she was too drained to make it up to her today.

  "I suppose you had no choice," Selena conceded. "It's just a shame you had to use your hard-earned money."

  Teri rubbed at the headache behind her eyes and murmured, "They killed him anyway." She purposely changed the subject. "That Vicks hanky of yours helped. What made you think of bringing them?"

  Selena shrugged. "I told you, I've read lots of true crime novels."

  "Didn't that upset you at all?"

  "Not much. I've got a strong stomach, but also, I kept thinking about what a louse he was to you."

  "Well, I know that, but I never... I mean, I wanted him out of my life, but I wouldn't wish that kind of death on anyone."

  Selena raised one brow, then shrugged. "Next time you make a wish, I guess you'd better be more specific."

  Teri tried to
adopt a little of Selena's blasé attitude to calm herself down. "Like the old saying, be careful what you wish for—"

  "You might just get it," Selena finished with a laugh.

  When they reached Teri's house, Selena started to get out of the car but Teri stopped her. "I hope you don't mind, but my head is killing me. I just want to take some aspirin and close my eyes."

  Selena patted Teri's hand. "I understand. But I could run a nice steamy bubble bath for you before I go."

  "Oh, no. Thanks for the idea, though. I might try it if the aspirin doesn't do the trick." She could see she had managed to hurt Selena's feelings again.

  "Okay," she said with a pout. "But if you need anything at all, I want you to call me. Anytime. Promise?"

  "Promise."

  * * *

  "I promise you, baby, nobody will ever hurt you again."

  Selena hugged her mommy's neck. "And I promise nobody will ever hurt you again, either." With her finger she wiped a tear from her mother's cheek. "Why are you still crying? The funeral's over. We don't have to pretend we're sad anymore, do we?"

  "No, baby. We don't have to pretend about anything anymore. And we don't have to be afraid anymore, either. I just need a little time to adjust. It'll be you and me from now on. You'll see. We'll go places together and have such fun!"

  Little Selena liked the sound of that a lot, but she'd seen too many promises broken in her life to count on her mother's words. She decided she'd wait and see if this promise could be kept any better than the others.

  * * *

  Teri heard the doorbell and groaned. When the aspirin hadn't worked, she had poured herself a large goblet of wine and filled the tub up with hot water and a handful of strawberry-scented bath crystals. She had hoped the fruity aroma would get rid of the disgusting one that lingered in her nostrils. With the radio tuned to soothing music, she had been determined to unwind.

  Now her glass was empty. The water had cooled, the bubbles disintegrated. The doorbell chimed again. Feeling fairly mellow, she could have ignored it, except for one possible consequence—if it was Detective Kidder and she didn't answer, he might think she had gone out. Without understanding why, she was certain he wouldn't approve of that. Imagining how her lack of response might make him suspicious, she climbed out of the tub, opened the bathroom door and shouted, "Wait a minute!"

  Pushing herself to move faster than her relaxed muscles wanted to, she wrapped her damp body in her full-length pink terrycloth robe, stuck her feet into the matching slippers, and shuffled to the front door to peek out. Expecting to see Detective Kidder through the peephole, she was relieved to see Drew instead.

  He was not as pleased to see her, however. As soon as she opened the door he berated her. "Why didn't you answer the phone? Or at least call me back? I've been worried sick over the message you left me."

  She blinked at him, trying to clear the wine-induced fog and the Drew-induced bewilderment. "When did you call?"

  "All afternoon. I left messages on both your cell and the house phone."

  The fog cleared a little. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I turned the ringer off on my cell while I was at the morgue and I forgot to check the voice mail here when I got in. My head was pounding. Then I was in the tub, and—" She spun away, leaving him standing in the doorway.

  "Teri! The morgue?"

  She froze in her tracks and swiveled toward him again.

  "I drove like a crazy man to get here. May I at least come in?"

  Closing her eyes, she pressed her fingers to her temples, partly because her head was spinning and partly because she realized how silly she must seem to him. The wet strands of hair flopping over her hands reminded her she didn't look her best.

  He didn't wait for an invitation. He crossed the threshold, closed the door and, in three strides, he wrapped his arms around her. The next instant he was sorry he hadn't waited longer. She was warm and soft and smelled like strawberries. And when she instinctively burrowed more comfortably into his embrace, the knotted tie of her belt scraped his lower regions, making him think things he'd sworn he wouldn't. But holding her felt too good. He couldn't push her away. "Your message said it was urgent. What happened? Why were you at the morgue?"

  "You didn't really drive here like a crazy man, did you?" she murmured into his shirt.

  "Yes, I did. I'm so sorry I missed your calls. I had a shoot outdoors this morning and left my phone in the car. When you didn't pick up the last time, I couldn't wait any longer."

  She sighed aloud. "They found Rico today."

  Without thinking, his arms tightened their hold.

  She lifted her head to look at him as she explained. "I called you to go with me to identify the body. I called Selena when I didn't reach you and she came up. I didn't want to do it alone."

  The bunched muscles in his arms relaxed. "He's dead, then." She nodded. "And you had to identify the body?" Her head slowly raised and lowered once and she swallowed hard. "Bad, huh?"

  "Oh, Drew. You can't imagine what he looked like. Detective Kidder told me I didn't have to do it, but I couldn't stand waiting any longer to find out for sure. Now I wish I hadn't. I think the image and smell will haunt me the rest of my life."

  He drew her over to the couch and sat down beside her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  She hadn't thought she'd ever want to talk about it, yet once she started, she told him everything—about everything Kidder had told her, how the body looked, and how Selena helped her through it all, in spite of her peculiar moments.

  Throughout the telling Drew restricted himself to holding her hand. Somehow anything more seemed improper while she spoke of her murdered husband. "Have you eaten today?" he asked after she'd caught him up.

  "No. And I don't want to. I can't."

  "Then how about a drink?"

  She cocked her head at him.

  "Not for me. For you." His eyes harrowed a little. "Don't worry. I don't foam at the mouth when I see someone else drinkin' what I can't have."

  With a cluck of her tongue, she returned his frown. "I didn't—"

  His finger pressed against her lips before she could say another word. "No, that's right. You didn't. I'm too sensitive and you're easy pickins tonight. Some wine, maybe?"

  "That's fine." She started to rise and he waved her back down.

  "Let me."

  "The wine's in the fridge, and I had a glass in the bathroom."

  He winked at her and headed down the hall. The smell of strawberries led him to the empty goblet. Seeing the tub full of cloudy water made him fully aware of the fact that she had been in it when he arrived. The bulky robe and slippers she wore left nothing exposed except her head and hands. He hadn't let himself consider what was underneath until that moment. And there wasn't a blamed thing he could do about it right now.

  He lifted the drain stop to let the water out, then carried the glass to the kitchen. The size of the goblet explained why she already seemed more than a little tipsy but it didn't stop him from refilling it to the brim. Like her guardian angel, he sat beside her while she sipped her wine. And he listened sympathetically whenever she needed to repeat something she'd already told him. When her glass was almost empty and her eyes began to droop, he tucked her robe securely around her legs and picked her up.

  "What're we doin' now?" she slurred, trying to focus on his face.

  "I'm just goin' to tuck you in, ma'am. And you're goin' to take a long nap."

  "I can walk." Rather than struggle to be let down, however, she snuggled closer.

  "I know you can," he whispered as he laid her down on her unmade bed, took off her slippers, and pulled the sheet over her. He thought she'd probably be more comfortable without the robe, but he wasn't strong enough to remove it for her. Fighting the temptation to lie down beside her, he kissed her forehead and tiptoed to the door.

  "Drew?"

  He moved back to the side of the bed and looked down at her worried face. "What is it, darlin'?"

  "Ple
ase stay."

  Oh, darlin', he thought, how I wish you knew what you were sayin'.

  She opened her eyes a fraction to look at him. "I don' care what the neighbors think tonight. I'm scared an' I don' wanna wake up all alone again. Please."

  His heart came up into his throat and he gulped it down again. With a stroke on her velvety cheek, he tried to sound reassuring. "All right. I'll sleep up in the studio."

  "No! Not the studio. Too far!"

  "Okay, okay," he said quickly to chase away her fears. "I'll be out on the couch if you need me."

  "Guest room."

  "Fine. Now go to sleep," he ordered gently, and started to leave again.

  "Drew?"

  He took a deep breath. Maybe he should have poured her another glass of wine. "Yes?"

  "May I have 'nother g'night kiss?"

  He rolled his eyes heavenward, but gave her another peck on her forehead anyway. Her drunken glare told him that it had not pleased her, and he lowered his mouth to hers, giving her the kind of kiss she had wanted in the first place. Right or wrong, he held his damsel until she fell asleep, with a perfectly contented smile on her pretty face.

  * * *

  In his car Kidder smiled gleefully as the numbers on the digital clock marked midnight and the last light in the Gambini house was turned off. Drew Marshall's car was still parked in the driveway. Talk about not waiting to bury the body! These two must think they'd gotten away with murder, to flaunt their affair so soon! He laughed aloud at his own play on words.

  Too bad he couldn't tell Hart about this. But he'd promised the captain he'd back off Teri Gambini and concentrate on the mob angle for his last two weeks as a detective. He would present only a completed investigation with all the evidence he'd accrued against the couple. Then he would prove without a doubt that his transfer was a mistake and that Hart's opinion about his being biased was completely crazy.

  Kidder played with the idea of hanging around until dawn to pay a surprise visit to the confident pair, but he decided it was too soon to tip his hand. He had no doubt there'd be plenty of other opportunities to catch them in the act.