“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, Detective. So what if I went by myself?”
I said, “Then what were you doing at Clam Pass at that time of night?”
“Couldn’t sleep, went for a walk.”
I said, “You should try keeping your story straight. It doesn’t look good when you keep changing things.”
Vargas said, “I know, a walk helps me to sleep. So, you were at Clam Pass that night going for a walk?”
Stewart nodded and took a deep hit off his inhaler.
Vargas said, “Mr. Stewart, could you please speak your answer.”
“I was there, but big deal. You’re gonna need more than that to pin Phil’s murder on me.”
“Funny you should say that, isn’t it, Mary Ann?”
Vargas said, “I don’t know how funny Mr. Stewart will find it, but you want to tell him, or shall I?”
I hated to give up a kill shot, but she’d done a masterful job setting him up. I said, “Be my guest.”
Vargas steepled her hands and drummed them for a full twenty seconds. Stewart’s shoulders sunk with each repetition. I had to clear my throat to get her moving.
Vargas said, “What we do have, Mr. Stewart, is solid forensic evidence that Philip Gabelli was in your Nissan Cube.”
Stewart bolted upright. “You guys are geniuses, you know that?” He smiled. “Of course, there’s some of Phil’s DNA, or whatever, in my car. You forget, we were best friends. He’s been in my car dozens of times, and hey, for the record, I’ve been in his car a lot too.”
I said, “Detective Vargas is smarter than me, but it doesn’t take a genius to catch a killer. Just old-fashioned police work and a dash of the sciences.”
Stewart’s eyes blinked rapidly as he wet his lips.
Vargas said, “Can you explain how Philip Gabelli’s urine and blood were found in your car?”
“The guy pissed in my car?”
I said, “Upon his death, Mr. Gabelli released a small amount of urine that was found on your passenger seat.”
“That’s crazy. Phil could’ve leaked some anytime, like when we stopped on the way to the casino.”
“And the blood found in the passenger foot well?”
“I don’t know, a bloody nose?”
“Very good. Terbutaline dramatically raises the blood pressure, resulting in nosebleeds. The capillary hemorrhages found in Mr. Gabelli’s nasal cavity are consistent with a nosebleed.”
“You’re grasping at straws.”
Vargas said, “I afraid you’re wrong, Mr. Stewart. Did you know that the discharge of fluids from a dead person is chemically different from that of a living person?”
Stewart stiffened.
What did she just say? I had to replay it. I was impressed by the crafty way Vargas put it. I said, “You’re done, Stewart.” I turned to my partner. “You know what, Vargas? I still can’t figure out why Robin would even take one roll in the sack with this guy. What do you think?”
Stewart shook his head. “You don’t know her like I do. You don’t know nothing about her, or me.”
I said, “I know Robin’s a pretty highbrow girl. An uptowner, we used to call them, up in Jersey. You two have nothing in common.”
“We’re more alike than you think. She deserved more than Phil gave her. Man, he treated her like dirt. How could he do that to her? She has it all.”
I said, “Robin’s a smart, accomplished woman. A professional, earning the big wood. If you two even had something at one time, and I doubt it, it would never have lasted. You’re Single-A, Stewart, Double-A at best. She’s in the majors.”
Stewart smiled. “You’re clueless. Robin told me we were soul mates, that nobody understood her like I did. We had a special connection.”
I said, “Only when she needed you. Don’t you get it? Robin used you. She was feeling lonely. You were her teddy bear for one night. That was the extent of it.”
Stewart sucked greedily on his inhaler and I continued.
“You know what she told us, Dom? Robin said she immediately regretted having a one-time thing with you.”
“No way she said that.”
Vargas said, “It’s true. I was there when she said it.”
“That’s not what she told me after we were together. She said it was special.”
“She was lying to you, Dom. She despised you, hated the way you shadowed her every move. Right, Mary Ann?”
Vargas said, “The way Robin put it was that you were suffocating her.”
“Suffocating her? That’s bullshit. I don’t know why she turned on me. Robin and me were perfect together. Phil was nothing but a drain on her. He sucked the life out of her and pissed away her money to boot. I’d never do that to her. I’d take care of her, protect her. We wouldn’t need anything from anybody. We’d have it all. Look at her house, man, what a place to live, and you know what? I almost made it. My plan was good.”
I said, “Tell us about the plan, Dom.”
Vargas said, “You know, we did a lot of investigating, and there’s no doubt Phil Gabelli was a terrible husband.”
Stewart said, “Tell me about it. First, I tried to get Phil to leave. I tried reasoning with him, but he was stubborn. And Robin, I don’t know why the hell she didn’t walk away. She was being made a fool of. Over and over again.”
I said, “Even the people she worked with knew he was running after every skirt. It was embarrassing for her.”
Stewart said, “It was sickening. She should have begged me to get him out of the way.”
Vargas said, “Maybe if she knew it was you who got her cheating husband out of the way, she would’ve seen things differently.”
“You think so?”
Vargas said, “Absolutely. I’m a woman, and I know how Robin thinks.”
Stewart shoulders slumped. “I never thought about telling her, but it was still a good plan.”
I said, “It was a brilliant plan. We just about gave up on catching you.”
Vargas said, “Why don’t you tell us about it?”
Stewart revealed that he began crafting his plan after Phil embarrassed him in front of a woman he was making headway with. Plan finalized, Stewart decided to implement it after a night in a pool hall when Phil disappeared with a floozy into a bathroom. After the sexual encounter, Phil further infuriated Stewart by bad-mouthing Robin to a bunch of guys in a billiards tournament. The combo compelled Stewart to hatch the plan.
The deadly plot wasn’t exactly like we thought, but we were close. Stewart invited Gabelli over to watch a hockey playoff game, and in preparation had crushed a handful of pills that morning. He then dissolved some of the powder into each of the two vodka and cranberry drinks Gabelli had. His heart racing, Gabelli panicked, and Stewart said he’d take him to the hospital.
They got in Stewart’s Cube, which was in the garage. Stewart had two hypodermic needles loaded with terbutaline in the car and sank both of them into Gabelli’s thigh at the same time. Gabelli never knew what hit him and quickly succumbed to cardiac arrest.
Gabelli dead, Stewart reclined the seat and slipped plastic around the body. Then he dumped Gabelli’s car in Lehigh Acres and waited a couple of hours before dumping the body into Outer Clam Bay.
We clarified a couple of points to be sure we had him cold before wrapping things up.
***
After Stewart was shown to his cell, Vargas and I met with the district attorney, handing over the confession and evidence we’d collected. It was supposed to feel good getting a psycho like Stewart off the street, but it left me unsettled. If you weren’t safe with a lifelong friend, where could you be safe?
There’s a Gulf of Mexico difference between remorse and regret. Stewart showed zero signs of remorse, just regret that his scheme was rejected by Robin. I knew this nut would shift into a bargaining position to plea his way to a shorter sentence, but he’d get no help from this detective.
I looked forward to a walk on the beach. It a
lways helped to process things after a case like this but before hitting the sand, there were two things I had to do. One, I looked forward to, the other had me rattled. Kayla had said she was free next weekend, which was perfect, as it was Vargas's turn to be on call. I'd love to take a day off and make it a Thursday to Sunday trip but would that be pushing things too fast? We hadn't seen each other since the night at Baleen's when I passed out. And that was our first date.
Realizing my mind had moved things further than they really were, I limited the search for flights and a hotel to the weekend. After checking, it took me longer than expected to compose a text to Kayla before booking anything.
Nervous she'd disappoint me, I headed up the stairs to see Sheriff Liberi, who'd been diagnosed with lymphoma. Liberi and I respected each other and had developed a good relationship. He handled the responsibilities of the office flawlessly and had gone out of his way to help me adjust when I joined the department. It was disappointing to learn he was thinking of retiring to confront his illness.
The Sheriff was shaken by the diagnosis and who could blame him? If anyone could emphasize, it was me. I felt a duty to try and settle him down but the idea of talking about things I hadn't yet put to bed, made me skittish. As I exited the stairwell, the fear I wouldn't be up to the task began to creep into my head.
Ducking into the men's room, I began rehearsing a couple of lines I'd tell Liberi when my phone chimed. It was a text from Kayla. I opened the text and exhaled, the weekend was on. The news heartened me, providing the courage to comfort and support a friend. I sent a smiley to Kayla and went to see the Sheriff.
The Serenity Murder
A Luca Mystery Book 3
Chapter 1
Gideon Brighthouse
I heard the yacht reverse engines as it maneuvered into the dock and got off my lounge chair. Walking to the end of the wraparound deck, I wanted to be sure it was Marilyn. Sure enough, she stepped on the dock, trailed by two white-uniformed deckhands laden down with the day’s bounty. Her shopping addiction was the only thing that hadn’t changed since the day we met.
Knowing her temporary high would ebb once things were put away, I bathed in the beauty of Keewaydin Island for a minute longer before heading to the main house. Padding down the stone path, I surveyed my slice of paradise; it was the only place I felt at peace since the panic attacks started. I didn’t mind spending days alone here; in fact, I relished it. During the days I’d listen to music on the deck, peruse art books, and alternate dips in the pool with swims in the shimmering gulf. The days would melt away, and when the sun began to ease into the horizon, I’d have dinner on the deck before heading to hang out in the art building.
It was a fulfilling existence, and the fact was, I’d never had a panic attack on Keewaydin in all the years I’d lived there, even after my heart attack. However, once I was off the island, all bets were off. I prayed the streak would stay intact today with the stress of confronting Marilyn.
The main home, dubbed Serenity House, was a light blue, two-story building in the Key West style. It was capped with a silver-gray metal roof and sported generous porches on each level. Over the past five years I’d spent less and less time in Serenity House. Eventually I traded sleeping there for the guesthouse by the pool when things with Marilyn deteriorated about two years ago.
Reflecting on our relationship, I honestly could say I don’t know how we went from happily in love to hating each other. It wasn’t me, at least at first, who’d upended things. My career as a senior advisor to Senator White was peaking when Marilyn and I met. It had taken me a while to find something satisfying to do outside the art world. Though politics and art are universes apart, I was able to use my creativity during the campaign and quickly rose through the ranks.
The combination of power and access was a drug that energized our relationship. While we both relished the endless stream of events, parties, and White House state dinners, I didn’t realize at the time that it was central to our marriage. When Senator White stumbled into a scandal during his bid for reelection, Marilyn distanced herself from me. I initially misread it, believing she was disappointed and that it would pass. However, as polls showed White trailing the upstart challenger, she became increasingly testy and changed into an ice queen before the last ballots were counted. We never really recovered.
I climbed the stairs to the porch where, shaded and aided by a steady gulf breeze, it was twenty degrees cooler. Despite the Boggs family’s formality and wealth, the home had a welcoming, relaxed feel. It was that vibe that had me convincing Marilyn to move from Port Royal to the island. She initially resisted, but later agreed, saying it was to please me, but I knew what ultimately swayed her was the fact that no one else lived on their own private island. She used the isolation card to justify spending fifteen million on a Gulf Shore Boulevard penthouse and added a Fifth Avenue apartment that checked in at three million. It was excessive and sickening at times, but there was no doubt it was convenient and fun as all hell for a little while.
Marilyn was in the kitchen giving instruction to Shell, a housekeeper. It was a Tuesday. The household staff were off Wednesdays, as Marilyn wanted the house empty for her midweek interludes. I stopped and admired the Jasper Johns piece that hung over the white limestone fireplace. The painting, known as Map, was a vibrant, richly worked expression that defined Johns’ move from abstract to things more concrete. It was one of the first pieces I recommended buying, and it had risen in value like all the others, providing me with a tiny sword to defend my so-called laziness.
Before I could fully absorb a whimsical flower painting by Murakami, Ruby, another housekeeper in black uniform and crepe-soled shoes, came down the stairs. Knowing our greeting would alert Marilyn to my presence, I walked into the kitchen. Mid-sentence, Shell nodded and left.
Her back to me, Marilyn was outfitted in deep blue athletic wear that clung to her thin frame. The silence was broken when she turned on her latest obsession, a fancy juicer. It bought me thirty seconds to reconsider, and I had to inch forward to prevent myself from leaving.
Produce duly liquefied, she turned and said, “My, my, what─the air conditioning’s broken in the pool house?”
“We have to talk.”
“About what?”
“Us.”
She stuck a straw in the green soup and took a sip before saying, “Now is not a good time. I’ve got a yoga class with Gerard in a few minutes.”
“Come on, Marilyn, we both know it’s not working.”
Green eyes glaring, she said, “Perhaps if you engaged in a useful activity instead of moping around the property like a lunatic, things might be better.”
“That’s not fair. You know how hard it is for me to leave Keewaydin.”
She muttered, “How convenient and pitiful.”
I wanted to shove the drink down her throat. “You think so? Well, did you ever consider the attacks I suffer started right after the first time you cheated on me?”
“So, it’s my fault you’re dysfunctional?”
“Please, I don’t want to argue.”
“Fine by me.”
Marilyn took a long sip, set the drink down and walked out, saying, “I got to go.”
I trailed after her. “Come on, Marilyn. Can’t we talk this over?”
“I don’t like this arrangement any more than you do, Gideon.”
She threw the door open to a mirror-walled studio and headed to a rack filled with colorful mats. She grabbed a red one and unrolled it as I said, “Okay, okay. Why don’t we negotiate a divorce settlement?”
Putting her hands on her hips, she said, “What do you want in a so-called settlement, Gideon?”
I couldn’t look her in the eye and peered over her head at the endless mirror images of the two of us. A tightness grew in my chest.
Smiling, she said, “Tell me, I’m so interested to understand what it is that my beloved Gideon desires. It’s certainly not sex, is it now?”
She w
as right. I’d found myself sufficiently revolted by her that we hadn’t had sex in three years.
“I don’t know why you always have to be so, so . . . cruel.” I couldn’t get enough air in. “Just forget it.”
“Don’t run away now, Gideon. You started this, so let’s finish it.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I said, “I don’t want anything but the right to live here, and some of my art.”
“Your art? You mean the pieces the trust paid for?” She laughed. “I don’t think so. And as far as the island goes, that’s completely out of the question.”
My mouth was bone-dry. “So, you’d rather go on living this way?”
“I’ll take the hit and agree to a divorce, but you’ll only get what the prenuptial provides. That’s all you're entitled to, and I’m not giving up a dollar more, especially to you.”
Her old man, Martin Boggs, founded America’s third-largest mutual fund company and had built a multibillion-dollar fortune that was protected better than the nuclear code. The six-billion-dollar trust currently benefited Marilyn and her two brothers and contained clauses that allowed the old man to control his kids from the grave. He rightly knew that bad marriages ruined lives—and fortunes—and had a clause inserted that carried a ten percent penalty for divorcing and a crippling fifty percent reduction if the required prenuptial agreement was violated.
Scaling Mount Kilimanjaro barefoot with a giraffe on my back would be easier than getting Marilyn to move off the mark.
“I . . . I guess we’ll just keep things like they are.”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to file for divorce, Gideon. It’s what we both want, and you’ll have to leave the island.”
Throat closing, I reached for the counter as Marilyn’s voice began to fade. My mind scrambling amid the rising panic, I tried to recall the instructions my coach had told me. What was it? A doll, yes, make like a ragdoll, a limp ragdoll.
I slumped my head forward, sagged my shoulders and sucked in a deep abdominal breath. I held it for a count of five, releasing it slowly through my nose. As I began repeating the process, Marilyn’s voice came into focus and I heard her say, “You’re pathetic, you know that?”
Luca Mystery Series Box Set Page 40
