by B R Snow
“It’s a very important one, Victor.”
I lowered my head, then glanced across the table at him and maintained eye contact.
“If you must know, we’re going through a rough patch at the moment,” Victor said. “But what does that have to do with who killed Melinda?”
We waited out a long silence as Victor kept glancing around the table. Then he sat back in his chair and laughed.
“Please don’t tell me you think I killed her,” he said. “That’s it, isn’t it? I don’t believe it. I’m having a deja vu moment back to the time when you guys thought I’d killed Middleton. I can’t believe you people. You think I killed her.”
“No, Victor, we don’t,” I whispered. “Wilma killed Melinda.”
“What? That’s ridiculous,” he said.
“Has Wilma been cheating on you?” I said.
Victor fell silent and stared off into the distance.
“She has been pretty distant and preoccupied lately,” he said. “And I’ve had my suspicions, but I’m not convinced she’s been sleeping around. And Wilma would never do anything to hurt her. She loved Melinda.”
“Melinda was very fond of both of you, right?” I said. “You said at the Christmas party that you and Wilma had made her believe that true love was possible.”
“Yeah, Melinda did like to say that,” Victor said.
“But not lately, right?”
“As a matter of fact, no,” he said, frowning.
“And Wilma mentioned at the party that she’d recently sold a house. You guys were fighting about it.”
“Yeah, she decided to unload the house her parents left her,” Victor said. “I thought she was crazy to sell it, but she said she was tired of maintaining it and that it had too many bad memories.”
“Do you know how much she sold it for?” I said.
“No, she wouldn’t tell me,” Victor said. “Wilma’s turned very secretive lately. Maybe she is having an affair.”
“This is going to sound like a very strange question,” I said, forcing a small smile.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you’d already started with the strange questions,” Victor said.
Bill and Shirley tried to laugh but ended up fighting off coughing fits.
“Go ahead,” Victor said, glaring at me.
“Does Wilma have any tattoos?”
“That’s your question?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you’re right about it being strange,” Victor said. “Yeah, she has a tattoo.”
“A giant snake on her back?” I said, reaching for my bag.
“She told you about it?” he said, thoroughly confused. “That’d odd. She usually doesn’t like to talk about it since she regrets ever getting it in the first place. What on earth is going on?”
I slid the set of photos of the tattooed woman wrapped around Jeremiah Walters across the table. Victor slowly flipped through them, then tapped the edges until they were in a neat stack and slid them back to me.
“I can’t believe she’s sleeping with that creep,” Victor said, exhaling loudly. “Okay, she’s having an affair. But that doesn’t mean she killed Melinda.”
I slid the photos back to him.
“Look closely at the photos, Victor, and tell me what you see,” I said.
“I don’t need to see them again, Suzy. It’s pretty clear what they’re doing.”
“No, take a look at them from the point of view of the person taking the photos,” I said, glancing up as our server approached.
The server did a quick U-turn when he saw Bill waving him away. Victor studied the photos then nodded.
“They were shot from Naylor’s loft, weren’t they?”
“Yes, they were,” I said.
“I can’t believe the crap that pervert does,” Victor said, glancing at Bill and Shirley. “Isn’t there some way you can arrest the guy for invading people’s privacy like that?”
“I’m sure we could,” Shirley said. “If he’d been the one who took the photos.”
“What are you talking about? If he didn’t take…Melinda? She took them?”
All three of us nodded in silence.
“But why would she do something like that?” Victor said.
“We’re pretty sure, at first, she was just trying to get some shots she could use in her book,” Shirley said.
“She mentioned something about wanting to do a book,” Victor said. “She was spying on people from Naylor’s place?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“But Naylor wasn’t involved?”
“No, he wasn’t,” I said. “The night before Melinda was killed, she had dinner at your place, didn’t she?”
Victor thought for a moment, then nodded.
“She did,” Victor said. “It was a strange night. Wilma and Melinda were both in a weird mood.”
“And Wilma ducked out for a while at some point during the evening,” I said.
“Yeah, she ran out to the store to pick something up,” Victor said. “How on earth did you know that?”
“Because that was when she somehow managed to get hold of Melinda’s access card to Naylor’s place,” I said. “And she went over there to put the poisoned powder in Naylor’s bedroom.”
“Why would she do that?” Victor said.
“Because she was convinced that it was Naylor who was trying to blackmail her,” Bill said.
“Blackmail?” Victor said.
“Yeah, I imagine that Wilma received a copy of those photos in the mail, figured out where they’d been taken and logically assumed Naylor was the one trying to squeeze her.”
“Melinda was blackmailing Wilma?” Victor said, devastated. “But why?”
“Because Wilma had disappointed her,” I said. “I imagine Melinda was crushed when she found out what Wilma was doing behind your back.”
“That’s nuts,” Victor said, shaking his head.
“To us, yeah, I guess it is,” Shirley said. “But to someone as fragile as Melinda was it probably didn’t seem that crazy at all. Intense anger and disappointment that turned into the need for revenge. We’ve seen stranger things.”
“Do you have any proof?” Victor said.
“We could probably make a case,” Shirley said. “But we’d like to have something more tangible.”
“And that’s why I called and invited you to lunch,” I said. “We need your help.”
“Doing what?”
“You need to lend Wilma some money,” I said.
“Can I ask why?”
“Because she’s going to get a phone call later today from somebody demanding another payment.”
“How much am I supposed to lend her?”
“Five hundred thousand,” I said, again reaching into my bag.
“What?” he said, frowning. “Why five hundred grand?”
I slid a copy of Melinda’s Life in Moments poem across the table.
“Because Melinda decided that the first five hundred notes weren’t enough,” I said.
Victor read then reread the poem. Eventually, he slid it back across the table.
“The reference to the five hundred notes not being enough means that Wilma’s already paid half a million?” Victor said, rereading the poem.
“Yes, we’re pretty sure that’s what it means,” Shirley said, then coughed and blew her nose again.
“She used the proceeds from the sale of her house,” Victor said.
“We’re also pretty sure about that,” Shirley said.
“No wonder she was in such a hurry to unload it. My girlfriend is a murderer?” Victor said, staring down at the table. “And she ended up killing Melinda by mistake. No wonder Wilma’s been off the planet since she died. Wilma still thinks Naylor is the blackmailer, doesn’t she?” Victor said.
“I’m sure she does,” I said. “That’s why we need your help before she decides to take another run at him.”
“Wow,” he said after a long silence. “I sure know
how to pick ‘em.” He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I probably could have eventually gotten past an affair. But murder is something else altogether. Okay, I’ll play. I’ll go to the bank right after lunch.” He glanced at the detectives. “Withdrawing five hundred grand in cash is going to raise a lot of questions.”
“We’ll come with you and explain it to the bank manager,” Shirley said.
“Okay,” Victor said, resigned. “Is that it?”
“There’s just one more thing,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“Do you know if Wilma has a safe deposit box there?”
“As a matter of fact, she does.”
“Then would you mind taking the key along when you go to the bank?” I said.
“Why?”
“Because I think you might have my phone.”
Chapter 25
I arrived at John Naylor’s loft around six-thirty the next evening carrying two plastic bags filled with Greek takeout. Just because we were about to confront Wilma didn’t mean we had to do it on an empty stomach. I hung my coat on a hook and handed the bags to Naylor who headed for the kitchen then organized the boxes in a row on the counter. Bill and Shirley both stared at the contents of the boxes with interest.
“It looks like you’ve got your appetite back,” I said, watching Bill fill his plate.
“It’s nice to feel human again,” he said, biting a Dolmades in half. “What did Wilma say when you called back to confirm the meeting?”
“She said she had the money and would be here at seven,” Naylor said, his nervousness apparent to all of us.
“Good job,” Bill said, reaching for another stuffed grape leaf.
“You’re sure this is the best place to do it?” Naylor said, wringing his hands as he glanced around the loft.
“Yeah,” Shirley said. “Once she’s up here, we’ll be bringing in a dozen cops to keep an eye on the elevators and all the exits. She’s not going anywhere.” Shirley said. “Besides, it’s too freaking cold to do the exchange outside.”
Bill snorted and shook his head, then focused on his Pastitsio, a Greek lasagna with a béchamel sauce and minced lamb filling.
“Too cold?” John Naylor said to Shirley. “You’re a Canadian cop. And it’s November. What do you do in February?”
“Usually pray that I die in a warm bed,” Shirley said, reaching for a Dolmades. “Just because I live with winter doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“She’s such a baby,” Bill said, laughing as he popped an olive into his mouth.
“How can you guys be so casual about all this?” Naylor said, glancing back and forth at them.
“We’ve had lots of practice,” Bill said, shrugging.
“There’s a woman about to show up here who thinks I’m blackmailing her,” Naylor said, his voice rising a notch. “Not to mention the fact that she’s already tried to kill me.”
“Just stick to the script we’ve worked out, and you’ll be fine,” Bill said, wiping his mouth. “And we’ll be right here with you.”
“In my office, right?” I said.
“Yeah,” Bill said. “It’s close to the living room, and we’ll be able to hear a lot better.”
“What if she’s carrying a gun?” Naylor said.
“I doubt if she’ll have a gun,” Bill said.
“Gee, thanks, Detective. That makes me feel so much better.”
“I suppose you could frisk her when she comes in,” Shirley said. “That’s probably something she might expect you to do.”
“I’ve never frisked anybody before,” Naylor said.
“It’s easy,” Shirley said. “Come here. I’ll show you. Suzy, if you wouldn’t mind?”
“Mind what?” I said, frowning through a mouthful of Pastitsio.
“Getting frisked,” Shirley said, laughing.
“I’d rather wait until I get back to Max’s place if it’s all right with you,” I said.
“Who’s being a baby now?” Bill said, grinning.
Naylor walked over next to me and waited for instructions.
“Stand behind her, John,” Shirley said. “Now, when Wilma gets here, have her take her coat off, put the money on the floor, and tell her to raise her hands.” Shirley demonstrated, and I followed along. “Great. Just keep them in the air. John, start the frisk from the shoulders and work your way down to her waist patting her along the way.”
“How hard do I pat her?” Naylor said.
“Just hard enough to make sure she isn’t hiding anything on her body. You’ll know,” Shirley said.
Naylor began to work his way down my shoulders then he stopped.
“How do I handle her breasts?” Naylor said, embarrassed.
“You don’t, John,” I said, glaring at Shirley. “Wipe that smirk off your face.”
“Sorry,” Shirley said, doing her best not to laugh. “Just stay on the outside of them and keep working your way down until you reach her waist.”
“Thank you,” I said, nodding.
“We’ll deal with the breasts when you do the front,” Shirley deadpanned.
“Like hell, you will,” I snapped.
“I’m joking,” Shirley said as she watched Naylor continue. “Good job. Now, kneel down and start working up from her feet. There you go.”
I grimaced as I felt Naylor’s hands work their way up my legs. When he reached my upper thigh, I flinched and glanced over my shoulder.
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you really think I’d be able to hide a weapon there?”
“Uh, no, probably not,” he said, removing his hands.
Bill and Shirley both laughed and I shot them a dirty look.
“Sorry,” Naylor said.
“Forget it,” I said.
“That’s probably not going to happen, but I’ll give it a shot,” Naylor said, stifling a laugh of his own.
“Okay, let’s do the front,” Shirley said, clapping her hands together.
“I think he’s got it figured out,” I said, lowering my arms.
“Is all this really necessary?” Naylor said to the detectives. “Can’t you just arrest her when she shows up with the money?”
“We could,” Bill said. “But we’d rather get her on tape confessing. Without that, she could just say that you’ve been blackmailing her, and she was scared about what might happen if she didn’t pay up. You know, since you’d already killed Melinda.”
“I didn’t kill Melinda,” Naylor said, scowling at him.
“We know that,” Shirley said. “But she was killed here, and you spent a lot of time together. With the right lawyer, a jury might be convinced that you were the one behind both the blackmail and the murder.”
“And you have to admit that your public reputation wouldn’t help your case,” Shirley said.
Naylor thought about what they’d said, then nodded and sat down at the counter.
“Okay, I guess you’re right,” he said. “But as soon as you get what you need on tape, you’ll get out here, right?”
“Absolutely,” Shirley said. “What time is it?”
“Five to seven,” I said.
“We should probably head to the office,” she said. “And let’s get these dinner plates out of the way.”
“Hang on,” Bill said, reaching for the Dolmades. “Let me grab a couple more of these. They’re fantastic.”
“Good luck,” I said, squeezing Naylor’s hand.
Bill and Shirley headed for the office, but I walked to the wall of windows and peeked through the closed blinds.
“What are you doing?” Naylor said, walking toward me.
“Just checking on the peanut gallery,” I said, looking across the street into Jennifer’s window.
Josie and Chef Claire, along with Max and Jennifer, were sitting in the living room staring out the window.
“What are they doing?” Naylor said.
“It looks like they’re eating popcorn,” I
said.
“Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head.
“Sadly, it’s not,” I said, closing the gap in the blinds just as Naylor’s intercom buzzed. “Okay, it’s showtime.”
I headed for the office where Bill and Shirley were standing between two of the Japanese screens in dim light. I stood next to them and cocked my head and listened closely as the door opened then closed. I heard a muffled exchange, then both voices became clear as they entered the living room.
“Where did you put the microphone?” I whispered.
“In the table lamp next to where they’ll be sitting,” Bill said.
“Good call.”
“Shhh,” Shirley whispered.
“So, John, you decided you needed another five hundred thousand,” Wilma said, her voice sounding surprisingly confident.
“Well, Wilma, what can I say?” Naylor said, going for casual and just missing. “Times are tough. And you did try to kill me.”
“I must say it’s warmer in here than the place where you made me drop off the first payment.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Naylor said. “I wasn’t quite ready to reveal myself at the time.”
“Am I the only one you’re going after, or do you have compromising photos of the others?”
“What others?” Naylor said.
“Well played,” I whispered. “Get her talking.”
“Shhh,” Shirley said, glancing over her shoulder at me.
“I have your camera and computer, remember?”
“What do you think of them?”
“The pictures?” Wilma said. “To tell you the truth, the only ones I found on your camera were a bunch of dog photos. Those are the ones Wags is going to use for their marketing campaign, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I have to say they turned out great. Good looking bunch of dogs,” Wilma said.
“She’s right,” I whispered with a grin. “They looked adorable.”
“Shhh,” Shirley said.
“I haven’t had time to go through your computer,” Wilma said. “But I will. I can’t way to see your wonderful collection of blackmail photos.”
“You didn’t go through my computer?” Naylor said.
“I just told you, I haven’t had time,” Wilma said. “And I had to get all your stuff out of our loft before Victor stumbled onto it. But don’t worry, it’s all resting comfortably in my safe deposit box.”
