It wasn’t that he was shy, but women flirting with him made him feel awkward. They were so...obvious. He’d been absent from the dating scene for a long time, ever since he’d been with Megan, and starting over wasn’t something that was at all appealing to him. Nor was it a priority. When he wasn’t working, sleeping or eating, he was either running or at the gym. The odd time he did venture out socially, it was usually with Briana, who he’d grown close to after he was involved in rescuing her when she’d been kidnapped following Megan’s death.
He gulped down his cappuccino and breakfast, conscious of the time. He was also trying to push thoughts of Briana out of his mind. He’d found her recently occupying a place in his head that made him feel guilty out of loyalty to Megan. It was something he couldn’t ignore forever, it was just that trying to process his feelings for Briana when he was still grieving for Megan was too much for him to deal with. Burying himself in work was a much easier proposition.
He was able to walk to the Waterfront Palace from where he lived, and after a quick stop at his apartment he made his way there to meet Al.
“You must be Mr. Robertson,” the doorman said when he arrived. “Mr. De Duco’s associate?”
“That’s right,” Luke said. “Is he here yet?”
George shook his head. “No, sir, but Mr. Carlucci’s expecting you both. If you’d like to go up to the fifteenth floor, there’s been a police officer in attendance overnight. My name is George, and if there’s anything you need, please let me or the concierge know.”
“I will. Thank you, George.” Luke walked over to the elevator, his footsteps echoing off the marble floor of the high-ceilinged hallway. His first impression of the Waterfront Palace was that it was very fancy, with its white marble floor and the striking artwork hanging on the walls. It was also eerily quiet. Granted, it was still early on a Sunday morning, but there was no sign of any other people around. Briana had told him only a few of the units were occupied, which was probably the reason for the empty feeling in the building.
Upstairs, it was obvious which condo had been Maureen’s from the police presence outside it. A police officer was slumped, dozing, in a chair in the corridor. Luke cleared his throat as he approached, and the officer quickly sat up. When he saw Luke, he jumped to his feet.
Luke’s face broke into a smile. “Officer Patrick Deeny,” he said, greeting him with a handshake. “Good to see you, my friend. How’s things?”
Patrick grinned. “Seattle P.D. hasn’t changed one bit since you left, Luke. I’m sorry about...you know.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
There was an awkward silence. Luke appreciated it when people offered their condolences about Megan. It still happened a lot, when he bumped into people who had heard what had happened, but he hadn’t seen since she died. He found it was worse when others didn’t mention anything about his loss, in case it might upset him, although he didn’t hold it against them.
Luke nodded towards the condo door. “I’m working with the private investigation firm hired by Mr. Carlucci. Is it all right if I go in? I take it the forensics are done?”
Patrick nodded. “Sure. Mr. Carlucci already let us know you guys would be coming. You know the drill. It’s still a crime scene, so don’t do anything the Chief wouldn’t like. The place has been dusted for prints and samples taken for the forensic tests at the lab. But we have the usual problem. There’s just not enough staff on the weekends. They’re coming back to finish the search tomorrow.”
“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”
Patrick opened the door, and Luke stepped inside. There was a tape outline on the floor where Maureen’s body had been found, several feet from the threshold. Traces of dried blood remained in the space between the doorway and the taped area, indicating to Luke that Maureen had moved, or been moved, across that area after the fatal shots had been fired.
He wandered around the condo, trying to get a feel for what kind of a woman Maureen Knight might have been. He took a pair of the plastic gloves that he always carried from his pocket and put them on before he touched anything.
He started in the kitchen, taking notes and photos as he went.
The contents of Maureen’s refrigerator told Luke she didn’t do much cooking. There was plenty of wine, vodka, and soda in there, as well as a bottle of champagne. As far as food was concerned, unless Maureen lived on cheese, he concluded she ate out a lot.
There were the usual female toiletries in the bathroom. Luke peered at the cosmetics and skincare items which were all department store brand names. No sign of drug use, he wrote in his notepad. No medication in the cabinet, not even an aspirin. No evidence of male inhabitant.
In the bedroom, the bed was turned down. It hadn’t been slept in. A black sequin dress was draped over the back of a chair, a pair of high heeled shoes lying on the floor. It looked like Maureen had gotten undressed and then answered the door before she’d gotten into bed.
He searched through Maureen’s drawers and didn’t find anything suspicious. There was underwear, pantyhose, and a small photo album containing family photos. No weapons, Luke scribbled.
The sound of voices in the hallway caused him to break out in a smile. There was no mistaking the arrival of Al. Luke could hear him kidding around with Patrick.
He had just opened the drawer of Maureen’s nightstand and pulled out a long, thin, black notebook, when Al walked into the bedroom.
“Hey, Luke. Got anythin’?” Al’s voice boomed.
Luke turned to Al and raised a finger to his mouth, indicating Al should be quiet, since he didn’t want Patrick to overhear their conversation. He held up the book to show Al. It was a standard looking appointment book. Luke flicked through the pages, seeing names, phone numbers, and appointments, written in a neat spidery script. A piece of paper fell out and fluttered to the floor.
Al bent down to pick it up.
“No,” Luke whispered, pointing to his gloves. “Don’t touch it. Let me do it.”
Luke stood beside Al and unfolded the note. The handwriting was barely legible.
“What the heck?” Al squinted at the page. “I ain’t got my glasses. Yer’ eyes are better than mine. What does it say?”
Luke spoke quietly. “It looks like... ‘If M goes ahead with his plans he’ll regret it. Tell him to stop or someone close to him will get hurt. You have been warned.’”
“Who’s M?”
Luke shook his head. “It’s not just an M—it’s M followed by a squiggle. Someone’s name, but I can’t make it out.”
“Here, gimme’ that.” Al started to grab the paper, but Luke held it out of his reach.
“No, you can’t get prints on it. I wonder if the handwriting guy could do something with it.”
“Good thinkin’. Stick it in yer pocket.”
Luke set the paper down on the bed and zoomed in to take a picture of it with his phone. “We can’t remove evidence from a crime scene, but there’s nothing to say we can’t take photos.”
He leafed through the appointment book and began clicking shots of the pages with his phone. “This should tell us pretty much everything Maureen did and who she spent time with leading up to her death.” He raised his eyebrows. “There’s quite a few gentlemen’s names listed in here. I wonder if her death was a crime of passion?”
Al leaned over to take a closer look. “Holy macaroni. It sure looks like it mighta been. Seems like Maureen was quite the busy little lady. Keep goin’ and get all the info ya’ can. Ima gonna’ head upstairs and speak to Mario.”
CHAPTER 12
Al phoned ahead to let Mario know he was on his way up to the penthouse.
“Can we talk in private?” he asked Mario, who was waiting in the hallway when the elevator doors opened. “Ima guessin’ if Kitten’s around, it’s probably best if she don’t hear any of our discussions about Maureen and who mighta wanted her on ice. For now, at least. It might upset her.”
“She’s still sleeping,”
Mario said. “Whatever the doc gave her was strong stuff. I’m dreading when she wakes up. She still has to go through the police interview process, since she was the one who found Maureen’s body. I’m not sure she can take it.”
Al observed Mario, who was unshaven and had the makings of a day-old beard. His linen shirt and pants were creased and there were sweat stains under his armpits.
He followed Mario into the great room. “Yer’ gonna’ have to keep it together yerself’, Mario. I know yer’ worried about Kitten, but someone’s gotta’ be strong around here. Why don’tcha get freshened up, and I’ll make us some strong coffee. Ya’ look like ya’ could use it. And ya’ might wanna try sleepin’ in a bed tonight, instead of fully dressed on the sofa.” He motioned to the blanket lying on the floor, and the crumpled sofa pillows.
Mario rubbed his stubbled chin. “I know. I didn’t want to disturb Kitten.”
“It’s not like ya’ ain’t got plenty of other bedrooms,” Al said, shaking his head. If he ever fell asleep on the sofa, Cassie would have something to say about his smelly feet on the couch. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t guilty of it now and again.
“No, but if she woke up and came out of the bedroom she’d see me here instead of panicking and thinking she was alone,” Mario said.
“Jes’ get outta’ here.” Al stalked off in the direction of the kitchen. “And come back when you don’t stink.”
“I see you’re still as charming as ever,” Mario said as he left the room, but Al noticed the traces of a smile on his cracked lips.
Al fixed a pot of coffee. After opening and closing the various cabinet doors, he finally found the coffee cups and creamer. Al helped himself to a handful of cookies from a jar he found in the pantry and set everything on a tray. By the time Mario returned, washed and freshly shaven in clean clothes, Al was sitting outside the great room on the balcony enjoying the sunshine with a mug of coffee, cookies, and Mario’s copy of The Seattle Times spread out on the table.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” Mario said sarcastically, sitting across from Al and pouring himself some coffee. He raised his cup before taking a sip. “I never realized you were so handy in the kitchen. Thanks, Al.”
“Fer the coffee? Fuhgeddaboudit.”
“Not just for the coffee, for helping me out like this. Helping us, I should say, me and Kitten. That’s big of you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a big sorta’ guy,” Al said with a chuckle. He adjusted his sunglasses, and he and Mario sat quietly for several minutes. It was a companionable silence, apart from the sound of Al munching his way through the pile of cookies.
“Who woulda’ thought,” Al said, leaning back in his seat and stretching out his legs, “you an’ me woulda’ ever been sittin’ here quite so civil. Times change, huh?”
Mario nodded. “I know. Carlucci and De Duco, on friendly terms. I can hardly believe it myself.”
“Huh, don’t get ahead of yerself’, Mario.” Al’s face straightened. “We ain’t huggin’ it out jes’ yet. ‘Bout time we got down to business, I think.”
“Absolutely.” Mario straightened up. “Where do you want to start?”
“Me and my assistant, Luke Robertson, have jes’ been downstairs takin’ a look around Maureen’s place. I’ve asked him to join us when he’s done.”
Al’s notebook was sitting on the table. He opened it and took a pen from his pocket. “In the meantime, do ya’ know anythin’ about Maureen’s love life? From what I understand, she was divorced a coupla’ years ago and has been lettin’ her hair down ever since.”
Mario’s eyes widened. “That’s one way of putting it. It’s true Maureen had been going out a lot. I guess you could say she was a bit of a good time girl. She often partied with Kitten, and I think she dated quite a bit, although I don’t have all the details. I remember Kitten mentioning a guy she nicknamed Kansas Jack that liked Maureen a lot, but I don’t know if the feeling was mutual.”
Kansas Jack, Al wrote in his notepad. Get Rob on it.
Al looked up at Mario. “A lil’ birdie gone an’ tol’ me Maureen was seein’ Chef Chastain as well. Any truth to it?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Mario said. He thought for a moment. “In fact, now that you mention it, you’re right. They met when Kitten and I were dining at Canlis and Maureen had joined us. I heard the chef sent her roses the next day and took her out. Heard he was pretty taken with her. I’m not sure how long that one lasted.”
Under Kansas Jack’s name, Al scrawled Chef Chastain. What Mario just said corroborated what Cassie had overheard at the party.
Al tipped his head to the side and rested a hand under his chin. “Was it a regular thing with Maureen, that she dated guys then dumped ‘em?”
Mario sighed. He looked around, and even though all the windows and doors were closed, and they were on a balcony twenty-five stories high, he lowered his voice. “I don’t think she never got over her husband, Mac Jeffrey. When he called her, she jumped. They were on friendly terms after the split, even though he left her for someone else. I think she was hoping to get back together with him. Did you know she left the party with him, the night she died? He was the last person to see her alive.”
“Except fer her killer. Unless Mac killed her, of course.”
“I had the unfortunate task of telling Mac that Maureen was dead,” Mario said. His expression was grave. “I hope you never have to break news like that to anyone.”
Al frowned. “I’ve done it many a time, and it ain’t no walk in the park, that’s fer sure.”
Mario stared at Al. “Of course you have, I forgot. I’m no detective, but I don’t think Mac’s a murderer. Plus, what would his motive be? He was completely distraught when I called to tell him. He came over here immediately and presented himself to the police for questioning. They took him away to the precinct to question him, but he wasn’t booked. He called me last night to let me know he’ll be taking care of the funeral arrangements when Maureen’s body is released.”
“I see. Ima gonna’ add him to my list anyway. We can rule him out later, if necessary.”
Al scratched Mac’s name onto the page where the other names were listed. Nice guys killed people all the time. He knew that from personal experience.
Al’s phone buzzed on the table and he picked it up. “Yo, Luke. Sure, if yer’ done down there come on up. And would ya’ call Rob on the way and ask him to get whatever he can on Mac Jeffrey, Maureen’s ex-husband? Seems like Mr. J mighta been two-timin’ his new squeeze with his ex-wife.”
Something else occurred to Al when he ended the call. Mario yawned, and Al spoke up. “We ain’t done yet, Mario. Can ya’ think of anyone who mighta’ had it in fer you or Kitten, say mighta’ wanted to get back at ya’ by hurtin’ Maureen?”
Mario stared at Al. “Yes, I can think of a person who never forgave me for something. It was one of those things that haunts us, know what I mean?”
Al recognized the flash of pain flickering across Mario’s eyes, and he felt it too. He knew exactly what Mario was talking about. It was the same elephant in the room, or on the balcony, that had caused the two of them to have a falling out many years before.
“Lola?” Al murmured. “Mario, I…”
Mario interrupted him. “Don’t say anything, Al. I know you’re sorry you were late for the pickup, the night she was killed in the pizza place. I held it against you all these years to mask my own pain. But Lola wasn’t mine in the first place. She was happily dating someone else when I broke them up by telling her he’d cheated on her. It wasn’t true. I lied to get her for myself. Karma, huh?”
“Jeez, Mario. Do ya’ mean who I think ya’ mean?” Al racked his brains trying to think of the name, and it came to him in a flash of inspiration.
Mario nodded.
“Angelo Conti,” they both said in unison.
There was a rolling sound of the sliding balcony door being opened from the great room, and Luke stepped outside a mo
ment later.
“Sit yerself’ down,” Al said, lifting up his pen once more, “and join the party. We got quite a list of suspects already.” He wrote down Angelo’s name and handed the list to Luke. “Let’s see if any of those names correspond to what’s in Maureen’s little black book.”
“Not the last one.” Mario stood up. “I know some people who can give me an update on Angelo’s location and what he’s up to these days. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go make some calls now.”
“No time like the present,” Al barked, and Mario left him and Luke alone outside.
When Mario was gone, Al turned to Luke. “Did ya’ speak to Rob?”
“Yes.” Luke brought him up to speed. “He’s still looking into Chef Chastain like you asked, and he’ll see what he can find on Mac Jeffrey. I sent him a copy of the note for the handwriting guy to decipher and analyze the handwriting, but he says there’s not a lot to go on for now without anything to compare it to. And he’s got the names and numbers of the people that Maureen had appointments with.”
“Good. Was there a Jack in there anywhere? We need to find out who this Kansas Jack feller is.”
Luke scrolled through the images on his phone, and grinned. “Got it. Jack Monroe. I’ll get Rob to focus on him.”
Mario appeared again and stared at them before saying anything.
“Y’alright, Mario? Ya’ look a bit shaky.”
“Angelo Conti is living in Seattle,” Mario said. “He left Chicago a while back. In fact, he might be closer than we thought.”
“How close?” Luke asked.
“Try the third floor of this building,” Mario said quietly.
Al thumped the table with his fist. “How the heck could he be livin’ in this very buildin’ without ya’ knowin’ about it?”
“My contact told me Angelo’s moved around a lot, but he’s been making investments in the name of Juana Ruiz-Camara for some time. He said if we were looking for Angelo there might be no trail, but Juana should be easier to track down. She’s his housekeeper.” Mario looked sheepish.
Murder at the Waterfront: A Northwest Cozy Mystery (Northwest Cozy Mystery Series Book 7) Page 8
