“I’m s-so sorry, Lynne,” he stuttered. “It was an accident.”
“What’s the problem?” I asked, bending down to help him.
“This cretin crashed right into me. That’s what we get for hiring the handicapped,” Lynne muttered to no one in particular, as I’m sure I was included in her assessment of the hired help.
Technically I did not push her down. I just sort’ve accidentally bumped into her when I stood up and in a blink she was on her ass. “Ooh, sorry, Lynne. You okay?”
“You did that on purpose,” she screamed, struggling to right herself.
“Prove it.” I scooped up the rest of the papers and helped Craig to his feet.
Craig looked up gratefully. There were deep circles under his eyes. It was like looking in a mirror. “I have to get this script over to the set,” he said. “I’m late. They’re waiting for me.”
I put a protective arm around his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll walk you.”
Something was bothering Craig and it wasn’t just the run-in with Lynne. I knew it by the way he kept sneaking looks in my direction, like he was expecting me to implode at any minute. An uneasy feeling settled over me. If he had something to say I wished he’d just come out and say it.
As if he could read my mind, Craig turned to me, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I know you’re trying to find out who killed Tamra, but you have to stop. I—I don’t want you to get hurt.”
My nerves went on red alert. “Craig, do you know something? Because if you do—”
Craig gave his head an emphatic shake. “I don’t know anything,” he said, grabbing the script pages out of my hand. “I have to go.”
“No, wait,” I said. But he’d already disappeared through the set door.
I stood there, dumbfounded. Obviously, Craig was worried about me. But was it out of general concern for my safety, the way you’d warn someone not to play in traffic? Or did he have specific information that my health was about to be severely compromised?
I thought back on the events of the past few days; the misspelled note warning me not to interfere in Harmon’s execution, the white Corolla parked across the street from my house. Craig looked about ready to keel over from exhaustion. Could it possibly be from one too many late nights parked outside my door? I was about to find out.
It was lunch time, and in an effort to soothe Lynne’s wounded pride, Eric was springing for hoagies. Seems Lynne was still pissed about me pushing her down. Well tough. She’d been beggin’ for it.
Eric sent Craig to pick up lunch. I waited as he entered the elevator and punched the button for Lower Level parking and then I took off running down the stairs. When I got to the bottom I hung back until Craig emerged from the elevator. He dragged his feet slowly, as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I trailed him while he worked his way through the parking structure. After a few minutes he finally reached his car. A white Toyota Corolla. Big surprise.
What the hell was Craig doing stalking me? Oh my God. Could he be in cahoots with Zach Meyers? What if it’s Craig’s finger that’s sitting in the ice tray in Nick’s mini fridge? I shut my eyes and tried to envision Craig bending down, picking up the script pages. Nope, all digits were present and accounted for. That was a relief. Anyway, in my heart I couldn’t imagine Craig purposely setting out to hurt anyone.
I knew I should call Bobby and let him in on this latest development, but I just couldn’t bring myself to rat Craig out. He was scared, and in his own weird way I believed he was trying to protect me. But from who?
I stayed hidden until Craig pulled out of the lot and then I went back upstairs. I nabbed Eric in the hallway. “Hey, Eric, what’s the name of the work placement program Craig came to us through?” I asked.
“Helping Hands. Why?”
“I thought I’d give them a call and let them know what a great job he’s doing.”
The truth is I didn’t trust my own instincts anymore. Was Craig the innocent soul I believed he was or some diabolical monster who was faking mild retardation in order to gain the trust of the people around him?
I typed in Helping Hands on my computer. According to their website, the organization had been in existence since 1994 and had been honored last year by the mayor at his annual Humanitarian Awards dinner. There was a lengthy article accompanied by a picture of their Board of Directors. The board was comprised of about twenty people who were virtual strangers to me along with one very recent acquaintance. Dr. Ethan Girard. Well, what do you know.
A very nice lady named Mrs. Wyland answered the phone. Yes, she knew Craig quite well. He’d been a part of the program since he was sixteen. She was pleased to hear he was doing so well at the station.
“I was looking over your website and I noticed my friend’s obstetrician is on your board of directors. Dr. Girard?”
"Oh, yes. He is such a nice man. He’s been very active in our fund raising efforts.”
“Boy, that sounds just like him,” I chuckled. “How active is he in the daily operations of Helping Hands?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, well, for instance… is he involved in matching up your clients with local businesses?” I found it entirely too coincidental that Dr. Girard, who considered Tamra to be public enemy number one, was a board member for the same organization that placed Craig at WINN. What if Girard planted Craig there in order to spy on Tamra?
“Generally speaking there's not a lot of contact between our clients and the board," Mrs. Wyland informed me. “Primarily, the board raises money so that we can keep our doors open. Oh, but we did have a wonderful event about three months ago—an old fashioned pancake breakfast, and our clients got a chance to meet their benefactors. You should check out our photo gallery. It's on the website.”
I took Mrs. Wyland up on her suggestion and clicked on the photo gallery. There were dozens of shots of the event but only one that held my interest. It was a picture of Dr. Girard seated at a banquet table, his plate piled high with pancakes. He was smiling into the camera. And smiling right alongside him was Craig.
I called personnel to see how long Craig had been working at the station. Turns out he’d been there a little over a year. Granted, it would be a stretch to think that Girard planted Craig at the station a year ago, on the off chance that he would some day need an informant. But the connection was too strong to be coincidental.
The pancake breakfast was three months ago, which was around the same time that Tamra began her investigation. Maybe Girard and Craig met at the breakfast and during the course of polite conversation he found out that Craig worked at WINN. A month later Tamra visits Laura’s dad and upsets him so much he has a major stroke. At which point Girard contacts Craig and somehow convinces him to help exact revenge on Tamra.
I wandered down the hall to run my theory by Eric.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “Your prime suspect in Tamra’s death is a philanthropic obstetrician, and your only proof is a picture of him yucking it up with Craig over some flapjacks?”
It didn’t sound stupid when I was hashing it out in my mind. Maybe the jelly doughnuts were clouding my thinking. “I’ll get back to you,” I said and wandered back to my office.
I decided it would be a wasted effort to question Craig at this point. The guy was obviously freaked and I needed to figure out how to approach him about his connection to Girard without scaring him off.
As I pondered this my phone rang. It was Bobby. “The DNA results on Tamra’s baby are in,” he said without preamble.
“And?”
Bobby blew out a soft breath of air. “And your instincts were right. Rhineholt wasn’t the father.”
Oh boy.
Chapter Thirteen
“It’s not enough to build an entire case around, but it’s looking more and more like Rhineholt killed his wife because she was having an affair,” Bobby told me.
Something didn’t sit right. “Bobby, how did the cops get Jeff to
agree to a DNA test in the first place? I mean if he thought Tamra was cheating on him, he had to figure there’d be a chance the baby wouldn’t be his. Especially if Jeff was using condoms. And if it turned out that it wasn’t his kid, it would just serve as another motive for killing her.”
“I don’t know,” Bobby said. “Maybe he felt like he didn’t have a choice so he went along with it and hoped for the best. They’ve got someone watching his house in case he gets an idea to bolt.”
My “call waiting” began to beep. “Hang on a sec.” I checked Caller I.D. but didn’t recognize the number. “I’ve gotta get this,” I told Bobby. “I’ll call you back.”
I clicked over to the other line. “Brandy Alexander,” I said.
The voice on the other end sounded nervous. “Uh, hi. This is Danny Lang. Joe Allen over at Dante’s Garden said you wanted to talk to me.”
It took me a second for my brain to kick in. The “no sleep” thing was starting to affect my recall. “Oh, hi, Danny,” I said, reaching for a pen and paper. “Thanks for getting in touch with me. I assume Joe filled you in on what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“He said something about that girl, Laura, who was murdered around four years ago.”
“Right. Joe mentioned she was a regular at Dante’s Garden and that she was a big fan of yours. I was hoping you might remember something about her that the police may have overlooked.”
Danny breathed softly into the phone. It was quick and shallow. “I don’t know what I can tell you,” he said finally. “I mean it’s not like I really knew her all that well. It was a long time ago and whenever we got together we didn’t do all that much talking.” He emitted an embarrassed laugh. “Hell, she never even told me her real name. She always wanted me to call her by some cutesy nickname.”
“Look,” I told him, “This girl’s murder case is about to be reopened,” which was a slight exaggeration (okay, a big fat lie, but I needed some leverage here). “Now, if you tell me what you know, maybe we can avoid the cops getting involved.”
“Jesus! The cops know about me and Laura?” His voice took on a slightly hysterical note. “Oh man, they don’t suspect me of killing her, do they?”
Drawing on my ability to quote entire scenes from old episodes of Law and Order, I managed to bullshit Lang into thinking I was the only thing standing between him and death by lethal injection.
His panic was palpable. “I think I should call my lawyer.”
Oh crap. I may have gone a tad too far. “No, no. That’s not necessary. Look, to tell you the truth, your name hasn’t even come up. Danny, I just need an hour of your time. I promise you, anything you say will be off the record.”
Lang agreed to meet me at DiVinci’s for a late lunch, which was good, seeing as somebody had eaten my hoagie. Nobody fessed up, but Art said he was sure it was an honest mistake—whoever it was.
DiVinci’s was packed, so we sat at the bar and waited for a booth to open up. I ordered a coke and sprung for a Newcastle for Danny. Judging by his former occupation, I’d half-expected Richard Gere from American Gigolo to walk through the door, but Danny turned out to be a nice guy. He looked vaguely familiar although I was sure we’d never met. I would have remembered someone who takes his clothes off for a living.
“I started working at Dante’s Garden because I needed money for college,” Danny confided, settling in with his beer. “The tips were great and the work was easy. That is until Laura started coming around.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, taking a sip of my coke.
“Well, when I first began to notice her at the club, I thought she was just a cute college kid out for a good time. I did think it was kind of weird that she always showed up alone. You know, with places like that the women usually come in packs to celebrate birthdays or bachelorette parties. Anyway, Joe told me he thought she was hot for me and I’ve got to admit it made me feel good. I even thought about asking her out. She was a little young for me, but I figured she was old enough. I mean she wasn’t underage or anything.”
“So what changed your mind?”
He looked over at me. “You don’t have any recording devices or anything on you, do you? I mean you did say this is all off the record.”
I made the sign of the cross on my chest. “I give you my word, Danny. I’m not here to make trouble for you. I’m just trying to piece together what really happened to this girl.”
Danny took a long slug of beer. “It’s funny. I’ve never told anyone this shit. But for some reason I want to tell you.” After he was through, I almost wished he hadn’t.
According to Lang, Laura came up to him one night after the club closed and asked him if he wanted to take her home. He was more than happy to accommodate her and they ended up in bed. “Everything was fine at first, but then things got weird.”
“In what way?” I had to choke out the words because truthfully, I didn’t want to know. I’m not comfortable with my own sexual exploits, let alone someone else’s.
“That girl was hardcore. I mean like borderline S&M. To tell you the truth, I was freaked out by some of the things she wanted me to do to her.” He paused, lost in thought. “Look, I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it, but afterwards I always felt kind of disgusted with myself.”
“Well, if she made you feel that way, why did you keep seeing her?”
“She paid me to,” he mumbled.
“Oh,” I said, as non-judgmentally as possible, but it still came out as “eeeww.”
“Look,” he said, and his voice got really quiet. “If I had to do it over again I wouldn’t. I was really sorry to hear about what happened to her, but honestly, I wasn’t surprised. The last time we—uh—you know—she went nuts and I finally stopped seeing her.”
“Why? What did she do?”
“She tried to kill me.”
“On purpose?” Okay, that sounded really lame. “What I meant was maybe she just got caught up in the throes of passion and—”
Danny cut me off, shaking his head. “No. This was too calculated. She knew exactly what she was doing that night. Laura liked to play fantasy games,” he explained. “Usually she’d set it up so that I’d start out being the aggressor and then she’d turn the tables on me. I’d go along with it because the money was good and I guess it was kind of exciting. But this particular night was different. She tied me spread eagle to her bedpost and she came after me with a butcher knife. It wasn’t the first time she played out this little scenario, but it was the first time she used a real knife. I’m telling you, I thought that was it.”
“Wow. So what happened?”
“I managed to untie myself before she did any major damage. But I swear she would’ve cut off my balls if I hadn’t gotten out of there.”
“Jesus, Danny,” I said. “Who knows how many guys she’s done this to, or how far she’d actually take it. Why didn’t you tell the police?”
Danny blushed. “I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. I’m only telling you now because of what you told me about that Harmon dude. I’d just always figured he was guilty.”
A deep and abiding chill came over me. What kind of torment must this girl have endured to end up such a psychotic wreck?
A booth opened up and we grabbed it. I guess all that sadomasochistic sex talk really revved up the old appetite. I ordered a large pizza with everything on it. I’m sure a shrink would say I was suppressing my anxiety with food, but I had to suppress it with something, so why not pepperoni and extra cheese?
Just as our pizza arrived, the door opened and in walked Tina Delvechione and her “girls,” as she used to refer to the twin peaks sticking out from under her shirt. She was laughing and hanging on to some guy’s leather jacketed arm. I thought I’d be friendly and wave hello when I realized the guy she was hanging onto was DiCarlo.
“Quick, slide over!” I instructed Danny. I got up and scooted in next to him in the booth. “Pretend you like me!”
Danny shot me a quizzical look. �
��Pretend I what?”
I glanced over at Bobby and Tina. They were headed our way.
“Shh. Never mind, just follow my lead.”
“Uh, it’s kind of hard to eat with you sitting on top of me like this,” Danny said.
“Oh. Sorry.” Reluctantly I returned to my side of the booth.
By the time Bobby and Tina reached our table, I had worked myself into a righteous snit. Tina was leaning against him like a cat in heat, brushing her boobs along the side of his arm. Well of all the nerve! The bitch is practically dry humping him in front of me!
Not to be one upped, I cast Danny a flirty little smile and stretched my arm out across the table to hold his hand. Then Danny stretched out his arm too, only he slid past mine and grabbed a slice of pizza instead. So then I had to make like I was only reaching for the pizza too, which is why I should never try to act sexy. I just can’t pull it off.
“Yo,” Bobby said, a smile playing on his lips. Nothing gets by that guy. Damn it.
“Sorry to interrupt your meal, but could I see you outside for a minute?”
I excused myself from the table, which wasn’t really necessary seeing as Danny didn’t even notice I’d gotten up. He was too busy offering Tina my lunch.
The wind had picked up, causing the temperature to drop about ten degrees. I should have grabbed my coat. I was freezing. “So when did you and Delvechione become an item?” I asked through chattering teeth.
Bobby flashed me a smug grin. I wanted to smack it right off his stupid face. “Jealous?” he asked, unzipping his jacket and handing it to me. I slipped it on, wrapping myself in the lingering warmth of his body heat.
“Dream on, DiCarlo. I just never thought you’d go for the airhead type, that’s all.”
“You sure you want to call her an airhead?” he asked me.
Alright, so Tina had a 4.0 average all through college and graduated with honors, but that doesn’t prove anything. “Look, I’m in the middle of… something with that guy in there, so what did you want to talk to me about?”
Bobby sighed, his tone growing serious. “The police picked up Meyers for questioning this morning, but it doesn’t look like they’re going to be able to hold him.”
No Such Thing as a Free Lunch (No Such Thing As...: A Brandy Alexander Mystery) Page 18
