The pale eyes narrowed. “You’re a rat runner?”
“Guilty as charged.”
Manville sat straighter in the wrought iron chair. “Miss Stone, you are not what you seem.”
“Really, Porter. Who is?” Sky made her first move, pawn to d4.
Manville countered, pawn to d5. “Beauty and brains,” he said. “Irresistible.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Porter. So many men feel threatened by an intelligent woman.” Sky moved her knight to c3 and stroked the sleeping dog. “Do you know Mr. Viper?”
“No.” He made his move, knight to f6, no sign on his face that he recognized the name. “But you’re talking about another man. Should I be jealous?”
“Maybe.” Sky slipped her second knight to f3 and looked around.
They’d been alone, at first. Now, others wandered around the bidding tables, chattering about this item and that. All of them were masked. Sky wondered about the man in the black coat, the one she’d seen ducking into the garage. Was he here, in this room? Was he watching her now?
Manville studied the board briefly and moved a pawn to e6. “Where did you take your doctorate?”
“Northeastern.” Sky slipped her bishop diagonally to f4. “Grandmother was heartbroken when I didn’t go to Harvard.”
“Isabel Winthrop.” Manville poured a second glass of champagne. “You must be very proud. As a member of Boston’s oldest family, I mean.” He moved his bishop to b4.
“I couldn’t be prouder,” Sky enthused.
A small gallery had gravitated to the table. They silently watched the game, three men in tuxedoes and a matron in a purple sheath with a peacock feather poking from her gray head. All wore masks.
Sky prattled on. “I’ve had the best of everything, really. I just hope I can add something to the wonderful list of Winthrop accomplishments. In my tiny way.”
She moved her knight from c3 to d5 and captured Manville’s pawn.
“Are you sure you want to make that move?” Manville tilted his head at Sky and gave her a patronizing smile, but his tone was meant for the watching gallery. He was a bit of a showman.
“Um hmm.” Sky offered him a coy smile and set the captured pawn at the base of her champagne flute.
“You’re absolutely sure? Very well.” Manville moved his bishop from b4 to e1 and took Sky’s queen.
“Oops! I lost her.” Sky put a hand to her cheek in feigned surprise. Then she moved her bishop from f4 to c7 and captured Manville’s pawn. “Check,” she said.
Manville quickly moved his king to d7.
Sky watched his face as he realized, too late, the position of her knights and bishop.
Nowhere to go.
She moved in for the kill, knight f3 to e5. “Checkmate,” she said.
Sky watched for evidence of damage. Because she knew, from experience, how limp a man could go after losing a game of chess to a woman.
She also knew that the distractions – the unusual chess set, the rambling conversation, the strapless Balenciaga gown – all had worked to her advantage. The chess move had been something of a trick, one that Whip had taught her early on. ‘You sacrifice your queen, honey, it distracts your opponent. He takes his eye off the king.’
Manville sat very still, his gaze fixed on Sky. It was a curious look, at once accommodating and alienated. The firm set to his mouth suggested anger, even defiance.
But the pale eyes registered raw desire.
“You got me,” he admitted. The muscles of the chiseled jaw worked. “And now, I’ll have to get you.”
Sky smiled at the aptness of the remark. The double entendre was pitch perfect, and prompted one of the masked tuxedoes in the gallery to chuckle. “I say, old man, if you have to be beaten, best to be beaten by beauty, eh?”
“Porter! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, I have people I want you to meet.” The voice boomed from across the room, a man rushed up to the card table and pulled his green mask down.
It was the mayor of Newton.
“Doctor Stone, this is a surprise.” The mayor looked from Manville to Sky. “You and Porter know one another?” His tone turned solemn. “So pleased to see you back, Doctor. Chief Moriarty assures me you’re making progress on the case.”
“What case?” Manville asked.
“The Heartbreak Hill murder. What planet have you been on, Porter?” The matron in the purple shealth gave Manville’s shoulder a familiar pat, but her touch made Manville bristle.
He glared at Sky. “I thought you were a biologist.”
“Psychologist,” she corrected him.
The mayor broke in. “Forensic psychologist, Porter. Doctor Stone is part of our homicide team. We’re lucky to have her.”
Manville gaped at Sky. “You’ve been lying to me.”
“Everything I’ve told you is true,” she said. “I have nothing to hide.” Such a relief, she thought, to be done with all that smiling and giggling.
“The awards ceremony will be starting any minute,” the mayor urged, “in the ballroom.”
Manville waved him away, his eyes locked on Sky. “I’ll catch up with you, John. I’d like a moment alone with Doctor Stone.”
The mayor checked his watch. “Don’t be too long, Porter. They’re about to announce the Humanitarian of the Year Award. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” He waited a few seconds for a reaction from Manville. When none came, he hurried out of the room. The matron waved a reluctant good-bye, the gallery dispersed.
They were alone again.
“Homicide,” Manville said. “Fascinating.”
“It’s a job.” Sky pulled the bidding sheet from beneath the chess board and picked up the cloisonné pen.
“Must be frustrating when you don’t catch your killer.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve solved all my cases.” Sky studied the gold signet on Manville’s finger. The ring was heavy, deeply engraved, a male lion on hind legs, claws unsheathed in an attitude of attack.
Why always a male lion, Sky wondered, when it was the female that hunted?
She clicked the pen and scribbled a bid on the sheet.
Manville’s pale eyes registered the absurd amount. “You must want this chess set very badly.”
“I saw you earlier today.” Sky set the pen down. “This morning, actually.”
“I don’t recall seeing you. I would certainly remember that.”
“It was in Professor Fisk’s lab.” Sky saw Kyle walk through the door. He was heading straight for their table.
Manville’s face was expressionless.
“You were looking for something in the computer room,” Sky said. “You came into the wet lab with a hunting knife.”
“I was hoping to catch Fisk’s research fellow. We were talking hunting a few weeks ago. I wanted to show him my bowie knife.”
“Really? I thought you might be looking for these.” Sky pulled the data sheets from her evening bag and flashed them at Manville. She didn’t know if there was a connection, but why not give it a shot?
Manville’s eyes darted to the copied figures but he said nothing.
“When did you last see Nicolette Mercer?” Sky said.
“Is this an interrogation?”
Sky stuffed the data back into her purse and stood up just as Kyle reached the table.
“Detective O’Toole,” Sky said. “Meet Porter Manville.”
Kyle ignored Manville’s outstretched hand.
Sky slipped the pink windflower evening bag on her arm and held Tiffany close. “Take me home,” she said to the detective. “I’m sick of this place.”
Kyle didn’t ask any questions, just put a hand on her shoulder. “Sure thing, darling.”
They were walking out of the Winthrop Room when Sky remembered the drawing. “Wait.” She ran back to the card table.
Manville sat in the wrought iron chair watching her, his lips twisted in a grim smile.
The sketch rested on the chess board, among th
e copper pawns.
Sky reached for the scroll when Manville’s arm shot out. He grabbed her hand and squeezed, his voice a rasping whisper. “I’m already dreaming about your tattoo.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Porter Manville strangled Nicolette Mercer at Bullough’s Pond. Then he sliced off her caiman tattoo with his bowie knife.” Sky sat in the back booth of Kildare’s Pub talking to Tiffany while Kyle got nightcaps at the bar. The Shih Tzu was nestled deep in the Barguzin next to Sky, snoring loudly.
Three locals, construction workers, sat on bar stools arguing baseball with the bartender and stealing furtive glances toward the booth. Otherwise, Kildare’s was empty. Wednesday was a work night, in the Lake.
Sky looked through the pub window to the deserted intersection. Snowing, and it wasn’t letting up. “But why did he kill her?” She pulled the lab pages from the windflower purse. “This data means something to Manville, I saw it in his eyes.”
“Darling, I see you chatting up that beast but you haven’t said a word to me since we left the Four Seasons.” Kyle slid into the booth with a bottle of Sam Adams and a glass of the house burgundy. His mood was jovial, he was a bit drunk. “You spent half the night with that asshole but I didn’t get one goddamn dance.” He pulled a pack of Marlboros from his tux pocket. “So share, already.”
“He killed Nicolette.”
“Fabulous.” Kyle extracted a cigarette, rolling it gently between thumb and fingers as though it were a fine cigar. “Anything we can take to a grand jury?”
“Not yet.” Sky fished her cell phone from the evening bag and scrolled through her contact list for Teddy Felson’s number. Teddy was a private investigator – an ex-cop – she sometimes hired him for delicate tasks, tasks she preferred to keep hidden from the homicide team. Teddy was a Lake native, but last Sky heard, he was living in Boston, near Mt. Vernon Square. She typed a message: meet me - my office in 1 hr?
Sky hit the send button and said, “Kyle, someone is following me.”
She told him about taking Tiffany into the public garden, about seeing a figure in black, ducking into the Four Seasons parking garage.
“Who do you think it was?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re seeing things, darling.” Kyle opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated and took a swig of beer instead.
“What?” Sky pushed.
“I’m worried.”
“About this case?”
“About you, darling. You see strangers lurking everywhere. You fell apart on me back there at the Four Seasons. And those pills you’re taking …” His eyes went to the sleeping dog. “This Manville character makes me a little nervous, too. The guy has that urge to merge, if you catch my drift.”
Kyle pulled off his wire rims and started cleaning a lens with the handkerchief from his tux pocket. “Let’s say he is the killer, for argument’s sake. That makes him very dangerous. If he isn’t, why waste your energy?” He wiped the second lens. “Either way, its time for you to get the hell out of Dodge.”
Sky ignored him. “Why would someone be following me?”
“Hey! Are you listening to me?” The detective hooked the glasses over his ears. “Manville is connected, darling. I watched him for a while before I even knew who he was.” Kyle made a gesture to suggest a long chin. “Couldn’t take my eyes off that freakazoid Skelator mask.”
“A bauta,” Sky corrected him. “Very popular in medieval Venice.”
“Whatever. I’m telling you, that asshole knows everybody.”
The detective had a point. Manville knew the mayor. And Magnus. “He knows my cousin Forbes,” she said. “Apparently he’s pledged quite a chunk to Forbes’s gubernatorial campaign.” Sky ran her hand over the sleeping dog’s swollen belly. “And Manville won the Diamond Humanitarian Award. He has allies.”
“I rest my case. Friends in high places.” Kyle stuck the unlit cigarette in his mouth. “No doubt he has a flank of fucking lawyers a mile wide.”
“So what?”
“If he’s guilty, we’ll get him. Forgive me for feeling protective, but you’ve barely been back three days. You’re my muse, darling. I don’t want anything happening to you.” Kyle rubbed his bony forehead. “Please play this one by the book.”
Sky’s phone vibrated and she read Teddy’s response: see u 1 hr
She smiled in spite of herself. Teddy kept gambler’s hours.
Kyle turned pessimistic. “That crime scene was so goddamn clean.” He poked absently at the sheets of data on the table. “Maybe CSI will give us something. We’re still waiting for footprint results. The killer had to be wearing shoes, right?”
“Don’t count on it.” Sky massaged her right hand, where Manville had squeezed. “He choreographed this murder, Kyle.” She told the detective about Manville’s Harvard BA and the seven years spent learning the pharmaceutical business. “He’s a meticulous planner. And there’s something else.”
“Yeah?” Kyle stopped poking the data.
Sky searched for the right words. “Manville knows.”
“Knows what?”
“He knows that I know. That he strangled Nicolette. It turns him on. I can feel it.” The touch of Manville’s fingertip on her shoulder blade lingered, where he’d traced the outline of her fairy tattoo. “He’ll make a mistake.” Sky folded the rat data and stuffed it back in the evening bag. “I’m the chink in his armor.”
“You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re joking.” Kyle’s mouth hung open and the unlit cigarette fell to the table just as Detective Axelrod appeared at the booth.
“Axelrod?” Kyle squinted in surprise. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s way past your bedtime.”
“I’ve got news. Hey, Doctor S.” The rookie detective brushed snow from each shoulder of his navy pea coat. The sight of Sky in the strapless gown seemed to make him uncomfortable and he gave his blonde cowlick a nervous pat. “Ellery Templeton was in Boston Sunday night. I just spoke with the drummer. At Genuine John’s.”
“That’s more like it.” Kyle’s relief was palpable. “That’s news we can use. Something concrete.” He shrugged at Sky. “Jilted lover. Templeton’s got motive. What’s your CEO got, besides a hard-on?” Kyle picked up the ruby-colored tote that Agnes Pickman had given Sky at the Four Seasons. “Here, Axelrod. As your reward, I bestow upon you this lovely purse.”
The rookie ignored the insult and began going through the tote. “Hey, this is cool.” He slipped the gold David mask over his face and kept looking. “And this,” he held up a gold key ring.
“Is that a real diamond?” Kyle snatched the key ring and studied it. “Diamond Ball. Golden Anniversary,” he read. “All yours, Axelrod,” he tossed it back.
The conversation woke Tiffany. The tiny dog tried to stand, but the sable made it difficult to gain purchase. She teetered in the fur, growling at Axelrod.
“What’s that?” The rookie peered in the direction of the Shih Tzu but the dog’s brindle coat virtually disappeared into the pile of mahogany fur.
“M’lady’s companion,” Kyle said. “Careful, Axelrod. She bites.”
Axelrod reached across Sky to pet the dog, but Tiffany’s growl escalated to a snarl and the rookie jerked his hand back.
Kyle shook his head with a resigned air. “You give me great pain, Grasshopper.”
A needle of doubt pricked Sky. Did Ellery lie to her? She took a gulp of the burgundy and tried to remember the musician’s exact words, but Axelrod had grabbed a chair and was sitting at the end of the booth staring at her. Which made it difficult to concentrate.
“Yes?” she said. “Can I help you?”
“It’s just that you look so … Your eyes are … And your lips …” His voice trailed off.
“Gorgeous is the word.” Kyle finished his Sam Adams and slammed the bottle down. “I feel your pain, Axelrod. I’ve been looking at her all night.”
A construction worker in a red plaid shirt hopped off his bar sto
ol and walked unsteadily across the room to the ancient Seeburg jukebox. Soon the smooth strains of a Motown classic filled the pub, Back Stabbers by the O’Jays.
Kyle’s face brightened. “Hey, it’s not too late for that dance.” He stood up and came around to the other side of the booth. “Let’s go,” he pulled on Sky’s bare arm. “They’re playing my song.”
Kyle’s claim to the tune traced to his first failed marriage, the alleged theft of his youthful bride by a fellow police officer. ‘Never bring a cop home to meet your wife,’ Kyle was fond of saying. And the detective was as good as his word, no one in the department had laid eyes on any of Kyle’s subsequent spouses.
Kildare’s dance floor was basically the space in front of the juke box, enough room for maybe two couples if they didn’t move much. Kyle held Sky in a tipsy embrace and swayed as he sang to the music. Something about buddies who looked shady, with knives aimed at his back.
Sky closed her eyes and let Kyle lead.
She tried to focus on the interview with Ellery but thoughts of Manville kept intruding. Drawing him had given her an opportunity to study his face at close range, and what she’d seen was disturbing. The wide mouth personified avarice, but what sort? Sky couldn’t say. Men who lusted after women and power, that was nothing new. Men who lusted after money, an old story. But Manville’s greed had a different feel. And his pale eyes, with pinpoint pupils, not quite right. An image of the crocodiles in the animal facility at BU popped into her head, the topaz, reptilian eyes.
Cold-blooded. That was the word for Manville. Something not quite human.
“Darling,” Kyle whispered. “Couldn’t help but notice the amount you wrote on that bidding sheet back at the hotel. Fifty thousand dollars? For a lousy chess set?”
Sky ignored the unspoken accusation in Kyle’s voice, she’d heard variations of it her whole life: the rich were so frivolous. The truth was, Sky felt hopeful when it came to the bid, maybe she could rescue a little piece of her grandfather. The hours spent with Whip playing chess on that set were some of the happiest of her childhood. How like Izzy, to toss it out like so much garbage.
The Profiler's Daughter (Sky Stone Thriller Series) Page 21
