They Never Die Quietly

by D. M. Annechino

  To date, four, possibly five, women had been murdered by the same man. What did she know about the perpetrator? He was a Caucasian with blue eyes and light brown hair, well over six feet tall, athletic build, drove a dark Supercab pickup, liked expensive footwear, and surely was a religious fanatic. That’s it. Not a shred of substantial evidence. What was she trying to prove? Perhaps her reckless behavior suggested a repressed desire to self-destruct. She had not only placed herself in a potentially precarious situation, but her partner, Al, was also at risk. Other detectives were involved in the investigation. In fact, the last count was eight. But by lobbying with Captain Davison to reverse his decision, allowing Al and her to continue heading the investigation, placed the onus on her. The captain had made it clear that Sami’s hide was on the line, not her fellow detectives’. And to complicate the situation further, if Sami didn’t make an arrest by Friday at midnight, Captain Davison’s professional integrity would be compromised.

  Sami peeled the covers off her sweaty body and switched on the lamp. She moved to the edge of the mattress and sat for a moment, squinting, letting her eyes adjust to the light. She reached for the lavender envelope, removed the sympathy card, and read it for the third time since finding it on her desk.

  Simon.

  Now more than ever, the circumstantial evidence pointing to Simon seemed more concrete. Perhaps this was because Sami had nowhere else to turn. No viable leads. No other suspects. Or possibly Sami’s usually reliable instincts had kicked into gear. Whatever the case, Sami was ready to break all the rules—anything to crack this case.

  Extraordinary circumstances sometimes called for extraordinary measures. And once in a while, a smart cop is forced to do something not so smart.

  FIFTEEN

  Ignoring vehement protests from her mother, a lengthy tirade that Sami would completely disrupt her morning, she left Angelina with Grandma Rizzo an hour earlier than usual and walked into the precinct well before eight a.m. Neither Al nor Captain Davison had arrived yet, which was exactly what Sami wanted. At her desk she opened the folder that contained all the documents associated with the serial murders. Page by page Sami examined every word, every photograph, and studied transcripts of the sworn testimonies taken from the victims’ husbands and children. There had to be something she’d overlooked. At eight-oh-five, Al tapped her on the shoulder. So rapt was she with the file, he startled her. When she swiveled in the chair, she saw him standing next to her desk holding a cup of Starbucks coffee in one hand and the last bite of a jelly donut in the other.

  “How’d you sleep last night?” Al asked.

  “Remarkably well. It’s amazing what an effective sedative mental exhaustion can be.”

  Al popped the last piece of donut in his mouth and slurped his coffee. “So what’s on the agenda today?”

  “I think we should contact the victims’ spouses and ask permission to speak with the children again.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe in retrospect one of the kids might remember a minor detail that will point us in the right direction.”

  “Really think so, huh?”

  “Got a better plan?”

  Al sat on the corner of Sami’s desk and gulped the coffee. “The fathers are going to give us a hard time.”

  “I expect them to be completely uncooperative.” Sami leafed through the folder and handed Al two sheets of paper. “You contact Connelly and Singer. I’ll call McDonald and Cassidy.”

  “Sure you can handle Mr. McDonald?”

  “We’ll soon find out.”

  Al studied the papers.

  “I owe you an apology, partner,” Sami said.

  “Don’t mention it. I didn’t really expect you to save me any donuts.”

  Sami smiled. “I was unprofessional and inconsiderate grandstanding Davison without first speaking to you. I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, partner, I want to collar this asshole as much as you. No need to apologize.”

  “We’re going to be in a hell of a pickle if—”

  “There is no if. By midnight Friday we’ll be celebrating.”

  Al’s eyes betrayed him. Sami knew him too well. His words lacked the thrust to convince her that he believed what he proclaimed.

  Wanting privacy, all but impossible anywhere in the bustling precinct, Sami went into one of the interrogation rooms, closed the door, and sat on the rickety chair in front of the beat-up wooden table. She’d been in this room many times, grilling perps, playing good cop–bad cop. Many a cocksure suspect sat in this twelve-by-twelve room while Al and Sami systematically reduced them to sniveling wimps. Sami searched through her purse until she found the mutilated business card. She flipped open her cell phone and thumbed in the number.

  “Bayshore Hospital, how may I direct your call?” The woman’s voice sounded jaunty.

  “May I please speak to Simon, in physical therapy.”

  “One moment.”

  While on hold, listening to “Songbird” by Kenny G, Sami seriously questioned her mental stability.

  “This is Simon.”

  “Are you still speaking to me?”

  “Sami? I’m so glad you called.” He cleared his throat. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you for the card. It was very thoughtful. How did you know that Tommy DiSalvo was—”

  “The article in the newspaper mentioned that he was survived by his daughter, Angelina Rizzo.”

  “I appreciate your kindness.”

  “It must be difficult for Angelina.”

  “She’s too young to really understand. I guess it’s a blessing. For now anyway.”

  “How’s that ornery back of yours?”

  “Knock on wood, it’s been fine.”

  “So you’re not in need of my professional services?”

  “Not at this time.” She sensed an undertone, as if he were asking, “If your back’s okay, why’d you call?”

  His voice tightened. “Then I should assume that this is a social call?”

  She decided to abort her plan. “I just wanted to thank you for the sympathy card.”

  “I was hoping you wanted to cash in that dinner rain check.”

  He caught her off guard. “Um, well…”

  “Are you adventurous, Sami?”

  “I haven’t been to this point in my life.”

  “Would I be acting inappropriately if I invited you to my home for dinner?”

  His home?

  “I hate to brag, but my lobster thermidor is divine. Do you like seafood?”

  The last seafood she choked down was Mrs. Paul’s fish sticks, Angelina’s favorite. “I love seafood.”

  “How about Thursday evening?”

  Her thoughts were racing. For any woman in her right mind to accept such an invitation was insane. Particularly from a man who could very well be a cold-blooded killer. But Detective Sami Rizzo wasn’t any woman. She had a hunch and had to follow her instincts, even if she placed herself at risk. That he invited her to his home could prove to be a windfall. A wellspring of evidence might be waiting for her in Simon’s home. She felt sudden panic at the thought of accepting Simon’s invitation. But sometimes Sami was required to be a cop first and prudent woman second. Such was the case with this situation. Besides, she could take care of herself. “Thursday’s fine.”

  “How about I pick you up?”

  “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  “Sami, it would be my pleasure. You can keep Samson company while I prepare dinner.”

  “Samson?”

  “My Labrador retriever. You’ll get along famously.”

  “What time do you get out of work?”

  “Around four, but I usually go to the gym for a couple of hours. I can pick you up at six-thirtyish.”

  Sami had no intention of giving Simon her home address. She was bold but not crazy. “Tell you what. I’ve got a lot of running round to do. How about I meet you in the hospital parking lot at six-thirty.”
>
  “Um, yeah, I guess that would be okay.”

  “Great. Then we’ve got a date?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Anything you’d like me to bring?” Other than my Smith & Wesson.

  “Not a thing.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you, Simon.”

  “Me too.”

  At precisely four p.m., Simon left work and fought the snarled traffic on Freeway 5. When he reached the on-ramp for Freeway 8 east, traffic was at a standstill.

  You are a smart boy, my son.

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  Dinner with the detective. Very clever.

  “I thought you’d approve.”

  There’s one little detail you’ve forgotten, dear boy.

  “Oh?”

  What if she makes the connection when she sees your truck?

  He hadn’t thought of that.

  Through the slow-moving traffic, Simon inched his way to the right lane and exited the freeway at Taylor Street. He turned into the vacant Presidio Park parking lot and maneuvered his truck into the farthest corner of the dirt lot. He reached under the seat and removed a set of license plates, grabbed a Phillips-head screwdriver from the center console compartment and proceeded to replace the stolen plates with the valid ones. When finished, he tossed the plates in the aluminum trash can.

  Back on the freeway now, Simon crawled with heavy traffic for another thirty minutes, until finally Freeway 8 began to move. He exited at Auto Circle and passed one car dealer after another until he found Benson Ford. He pulled his truck into the driveway and found a spot in the designated customer parking area. When he walked into the dealership, a salesman approached him almost immediately.

  “Welcome to Benson Ford.” The ungainly young blond offered his hand. “My name is Jason.”

  Simon pointed to his truck. “I’d like to trade my 2004 for a new model.”

  “Interested in making a deal today?”

  “I’m not here for practice, Jason. Cut me a fair deal and I’ll drive it off the lot.”

  Feeling as though fifty-pound bags of sand were strapped to their backs, Sami and Al lumbered into the precinct late Wednesday afternoon, defeated and dejected. Two of the four victims’ husbands had agreed—reluctantly—to subject their motherless children to further interrogation, but neither offered new information.

  “So much for my brilliant theory,” Sami said. She sat at her desk and crossed her legs. “Any last-minute requests before Captain Davison puts us in front of a firing squad?”

  “How about a one-way plane ticket to Bora Bora.”

  “How about two.”

  Al toyed with his week-old mustache. Since Sami first met Al, he’d attempted to grow one several times, but it never survived more than two weeks.

  “Again you’re growing that fur on your upper lip?”

  “Don’t like it?”

  Sami shook her head and giggled. “Get yourself a horse and sombrero, and you can change your name to Pancho Villa.”

  “Are you mocking my heritage?”

  “Blatantly.”

  “There are harsh penalties for ethnic harassment.”

  “I’ll remember that the next time you call me ‘greaseball.’”

  Al stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. “Are we on for tomorrow evening?”

  Every Thursday for the last three years, Al picked up pizza and chicken wings, arrived at Sami’s house around seven-thirty, and they spent the evening munching finger food, gulping a few beers—nonalcoholic beer for Al—and watching their favorite sitcoms on NBC.

  “I’m afraid I have other plans.”

  Al gave Sami a peculiar look.

  She wasn’t sure whether or not to tell him about her covert operation. That pesky little voice in the back of her mind told her not to. “Remember the dinner date that never happened? I’m collecting the rain check Thursday.”

  “I see.” Detective Diaz rocked from side to side.

  “You seem upset.”

  “Should I be?”

  She studied his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  Sami had never seen him act this way. “Al, you sound like my father.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Tell me about this guy.”

  “There’s not much to tell. I met him on Thanksgiving Day. We hit it off pretty well, talked on the telephone a few times, and he asked me to dinner.”

  “Where’s he taking you?”

  Under the circumstances and considering Al’s unusual behavior, Sami didn’t dare tell him that Simon was preparing dinner at his place, nor did she wish to share her suspicions with him. “I’m not sure.” She could always justify harmless little lies when designed to spare someone’s feelings.

  “Hope you have a grand ole time.” Al blazed a trail to his desk.

  Sami’s mouth hung half open. It occurred to her that Al’s friendship and companionship had been the closest thing to a relationship she’d had since divorcing Tommy. Partners enjoyed a special intimacy not easily defined. Al’s sudden possessiveness wasn’t unreasonable. But Sami sensed anger in his eyes, and this troubled her. It felt like she was cheating on him. In truth she was working, not really on a date, but she couldn’t yet reveal this to him. For one fleeting moment she thought about approaching Al and discussing it further, but when she spotted Captain Davison goose-stepping toward her desk, she knew the captain had a more important agenda.

  As he’d done so many times before prior to delivering a verbal thrashing, Captain Davison stared at Sami over his reading glasses. “What’s the good word, Rizzo?”

  “I’m working on a new lead.”

  “Indulge me.”

  “Not much to tell yet.”

  “In other words you’ve got squat, right?”

  “I’m piecing things together right now.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, detective.”

  “I’m going to break this case wide open, captain. I promise.” Her voice, lacking conviction, had no impact on the wary captain. Until this moment, she’d hoped that her suspicions about Simon were wrong, that the charming man she’d met at Katie’s Kitchen was everything he represented himself to be. Now desperate to solve this case, facing professional suicide, she could only follow her instincts and hope that tomorrow night would prove to be the break she’d been searching for.

  “Okay, Rizzo. I’m going to leave you on a long leash. Be careful not to hang yourself.”

  Thursday proved to be the most nonproductive day of the investigation. Sami hadn’t seen Al since their tense conversation Wednesday afternoon. All day he’d been working with the other six detectives assigned to the case. He hadn’t called her or even walked by her desk one time. That his demeanor could change so suddenly puzzled her. She expected this kind of treatment from the others, but not from Al. Working with the task force rather than with Sami was almost an act of treason. Never before had she felt like such an outsider. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, particularly because Al and she had been through so much together, but now he seemed like the rest of them. Without Al, she stood alone. Now more than ever, Sami had to crack this case. She knew how insane it was to pursue Simon without backup, but at this particular moment whom could she truly rely on?

  I’ll fix their chauvinistic little asses. I’m gonna nail this son of a bitch by myself.

  Not wanting to deal with the painstaking task of deciding what to wear, Sami chose the same outfit she’d worn to the dinner date that never happened: the black skirt with the naughty slit, a powder-blue silk blouse, dark panty hose, and a cleavage-enhancing Wonderbra. Although her objective tonight was detection rather than seduction, she still had to dress the part. Angelina and Sami arrived at her mother’s home a few minutes before five-thirty, allowing more than thirty minutes for Sami and Josephine Rizzo to engage in their usual mother-daughter joust before Sami had to leave for her rendezvous with Simon.

  “Hi, Ma.” Sami closed
the door behind her and Angelina hugged Grandma Rizzo’s knees.

  Josephine studied Sami’s ensemble with critical eyes. “Isn’t that the same outfit you wore the last time?”

  Sami set her purse on the sofa. “It is indeed.”

  “Why wouldn’t you wear something different?”

  “He never saw this outfit, Ma. Remember?”

  Josephine thought for a moment, then nodded. “You should button your blouse. He might get the wrong idea.”

  To appease her, and to avoid a lengthy exchange, Sami complied.

  Angelina tugged on Josephine’s apron. “When we eatin’ supper, Grandma?”

  “In a little while, honey.”

  “What are we eatin’?”

  “How about macaroni and cheese?”

  The two-year-old nodded furiously. “It’s yummy.”

  “Why don’t you go into the playroom, Angelina. Grandma will call you when dinner is on the table.”

  Angelina toddled to the spare bedroom where Grandma Rizzo kept an assortment of toys.

  “Where are you meeting him this time?” Josephine asked.

  Sami would not give her the satisfaction. “He’s picking me up in about thirty minutes at my place.”

  Josephine shook her head and sat on the sofa. “So he decided to be a gentleman?”

  “I guess so, Ma.”

  “Is he going to come to your door or blow the horn?”

  “Actually, Ma, he’s going to drive by slowly enough for me to dive through the open passenger window like Wonder Woman.”

  “Such a mouth on you.”

  Sami sat next to her mother and patted her hand. “You think that one of these days before I die you’ll stop treating me like a child?”

  “Is it wrong for a mother to care about her only daughter?”