by BV Lawson
If Faust Marchand made a deal with the devil, he should ask for his money back. He was already half-way to his eventual skeletal form, and everything else about him seemed designed to match, from his pencil-thin yellowing silver mustache to the bone-white shirt and jacket. When Nelia stood next to him, he barely reached her nose.
“May I help you?” Marchand’s voice, on the other hand, was deep enough to reach down into the fires of hell.
Nelia looked around the gallery. “We were hoping to find Asian pieces for our dining room walls. I’m leaning toward Japanese, but my husband has his heart set on Chinese. Maybe some calligraphy. Isn’t that right, dear?”
Drayco slipped his arm around her shoulders. “I know how you love Japanese landscapes, honey bun, but I think a calligraphy would set off our china better.” He leaned over toward Marchand and added, “It’s china that’s really from China. We can’t afford anything from the Song Dynasty, but we’ve budgeted seventy-five thousand for it.”
Marchand tented his fingertips together. “Let me show you what I have,” and he proceeded to walk them through a room filled with Asian ceramics and wall hangings.
Drayco and Nelia made a show of conferring over a few of the items in Marchand’s collection, but Drayco finally shook his head. “I hoped you’d have something dramatic, fairly large.” And he proceeded to describe Gogo’s painting.
“I did have something similar to that. A man brought it to me a few months ago, and I ended up selling it and a few others to another art dealer. Unfortunately, Mr. Nardello has since passed away and his business with him.”
Drayco didn’t have to pretend to look disappointed. “The man who sold it to you in the first place, can we talk to him? He might have other paintings to sell.”
Marchand’s stiff posture indicated how affronted he was at the idea. “I have strict privacy policies at my shop, Mister ...”
“Brock. Name’s Brock.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Brock, but unless it’s the police who do the asking, all transactions remain anonymous. Even then, they’d better come armed with a search warrant. I’m sure you would appreciate the same courtesy.” He tried to rescue a sale. “Perhaps there’s something else I can interest you in today?”
Drayco turned to Nelia, who shook her head, and the two left Marchand the way they’d seen him when they arrived, obsessively straightening his paintings.
Nelia waited until they were out of earshot. “Honey bun?”
He shrugged. “I’m hungry.” To his surprise, he really was.
“Starved for information, maybe. Sorry to come away empty-handed.”
“Maybe not. We have the name of the other broker, Nardello. And although we can’t prove it was Jerold who sold Gogo’s painting, it was brought in by a man at around the right time.”
Nelia looked back at the white brick building. “Jerold’s actions before his death reek of desperation. Stealing from his future son-in-law, gambling debts, the mystery fraud scheme.”
“Desperate men get careless.”
“And leave trails.”
Drayco’s cellphone rang with another unfamiliar number, but it wasn’t Brisbane this time. It was Ashley Zamorra, who’d kept the business card he gave her. She was working at the shelter again and wanted to see him as soon as possible. Remembering his unwelcome male presence last time, he turned to Nelia, “You up for one more, Tyler?”
“Absolutely, sugar pie.”
Chapter 31
The woman who’d poked her head in to check on Ashley and Drayco when he was here three days ago was the person who greeted them at the door. She wore the same faded jeans and too-large red sweater, although her hair was swept back this time.
The woman bristled upon seeing Drayco but relaxed a bit when she noticed Nelia, making him doubly glad Nelia had agreed to join him. Drayco saw Nelia glance at the fading purple bruises on the woman’s face.
Drayco had explained the whole situation to Nelia on the way over, and she initiated the conversation. “We’re looking for Ashley Zamorra. Can you take us to her, please?”
The woman led them to the same room as his last visit. Before turning to leave them, she looked up and seemed to realize how tall Drayco was. She took a step back and a look of panic washed over her face before she scurried off.
Ashley, who’d just walked in, noticed the exchange and explained. “Her boyfriend is tall, like you.” Ashley sighed. “This is the third time she’s been here. Always ends up going back to that jerk.”
Drayco was beginning to think he needed a haircut or contact lenses or something if he reminded so many women of former abusers.
Nelia didn’t take a seat right away and stood looking through the doorway. She shook her head, then shut the door softly. “There’s a shelter like this on the Eastern Shore. I’ve been there many times. Since I was the sole female deputy until recently, they always sent me.”
Ashley said, “You’re a deputy? You don’t look like one.”
Nelia smiled briefly. “A friend of mine ended up in a shelter like this years ago. One of the reasons I decided to go into law enforcement.”
“What happened to her, your friend?”
“Her boyfriend ignored the restraining order, found her, and choked her to death. I couldn’t believe she allowed him back into her home. But she did.”
Ashley nodded, as one who’d seen it all first-hand. Then she picked up something that looked like an answering machine from a counter and placed it on the table in front of Drayco. “I use this old thing at home as a backup, but it broke down several weeks ago. Just now got the thing fixed. When I turned it on, there was a message on it—must have come around the time the damned thing went haywire. Thought it was a wrong number. Well, I guess it is. It’s for my father.”
She plugged in the cord and played it for them. It was someone identifying himself as Dr. Mark White who said it was about that “urgent matter” they’d discussed and it would cost more than he’d initially thought. And he needed an answer by February twenty-first. “That’s why I called you. I mean, since he mentioned today’s date and all. Don’t know if it’s important.”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
“That Halabi guy bothers me. He’s rude. He’s the one who didn’t take my concerns seriously. You know, about Dad killing Mom.”
Drayco wrote down Dr. Mark White’s phone number from the machine. “Ashley, were you aware of your father’s gambling habit?”
“Gambling? He wasn’t just a bad stock picker? Guess that would explain him losing all his money.”
“Did you notice any of your belongings go missing? Items he might have sold?” He hadn’t promised Gogo not to tell Ashley about the painting but now wasn’t the best time. Nor was he the best message delivery boy.
“Seriously? I’ll have to go through my things and check. Good God, how irresponsible he was.” She wrapped her arms around her in a self-hug, staring at the answering machine as if it would explode.
Then she looked at Drayco and sighed. “When I told you I inherited my father’s bad-money-sense gene, guess I was right. I mean, that’s why you’re here, right? You checked my bank account and want to know if the money I took out is for gambling, too.”
Drayco and Nelia exchanged glances but didn’t say anything. Ashley didn’t notice and continued, “With me, it’s scratch-off tickets. Sounds silly, I know. It was just a few dollars a day, then ten, then fifty. And now I have all this money coming to me in the Will.”
Her voice tapered off. “I read this news story. A woman embezzled a couple million bucks so she could play the lottery and hang out at casinos. That got me scared. So, I joined Gamblers Anonymous a couple months ago.”
Her eyes were pleading. “Please don’t tell Gogo. I can get it under control.”
Drayco could taste the blood from where he’d bit his tongue. Every day was an exercise in control of some kind for most people who only wound up conning themselves. Lauralee was definitely right. Exe
rcise, eating habits, booze, sex, drugs, running red lights, stealing from the office pool. Everyone flunked at least one test, maybe more.
“I won’t tell Gogo. But you will. If he loves you, he’ll understand.”
She nodded and looked like she was going to add something else, but the red-sweater assistant called her out for some minor crisis. Drayco and Nelia headed back to the car, and as Drayco punched Dr. White’s number into his phone, Nelia asked, “You really believe what you told her? That Gogo will understand?”
“They should stop lying to each other. He didn’t tell her about the painting, and she didn’t tell him about her gambling habit.”
He stopped talking when a voice answered his call, “Sunshine Animal Hospital.”
Drayco frowned. “Is this the number for Dr. Mark White?”
“Yes, it is. He’s one of our veterinarians.”
“Could I speak with him?”
“When he gets back. He just left for a ten-day vacation to San Juan and won’t be reachable until then.”
“You say he just left. Perhaps I can still call him at home?”
“I’m afraid not. As we speak, he’s on Metro heading to the airport to catch his plane. And he said he was turning off his cellphone. You know, that whole get-away-from-it-all thing.”
Drayco thanked her and hung up to check the airline schedules, figuring he could make it. Barely. “Change of plans,” he told a bemused Nelia and began to sing, “Our mystery doctor is leaving on a jet plane, and I don’t know when he’ll be back again.”
She glared at him.
§ § §
What Drayco hadn’t counted on as he and Nelia hopped into the car to make a mad dash to the airport was a frantic call from Benny Baskin. “Where are you, boy-o?”
“Heading to DCA. Why?”
“Hope you’re not skipping town. Because you’d better be at your evidentiary hearing that starts in a half hour or you might as well change careers right now. Become an airline pilot, why not, since you’re la-ti-da-ing to the airport.”
Benny’s voice was even louder and more pointed than usual, making it easy for Nelia to overhear his end of the conversation. She had a stricken look on her face. She’d forgotten the date, too.
“I’ll see what I can do, Benny.”
Neither he nor Nelia exchanged a word as Drayco headed to the courthouse. He pulled in front where Benny Baskin happened to be standing, looking at his watch. Drayco turned to Nelia. “Stall him, stall the board. I just need a few extra minutes.”
She gave him a you-owe-me slow burn. Right before she closed the door and Drayco pulled away, he heard Benny yell, “Where the hell is he going?”
Strains of Chopin’s “Revolutionary” Etude played in his head at an even faster clip than he usually performed it. By the time he made it to the airport, his mental turntable had flipped through the Minute Waltz and a few other agitated pieces.
Still in speed mode, he nabbed an hourly parking spot, ran to the terminal, and homed in on the gate he’d matched to the flight number. He pulled out his cellphone and checked the veterinary hospital’s website, which had a photo of Dr. White.
A group of people poured out of the corridor that led into the cavernous lobby with its soaring ceilings and high-window views of planes waiting for passengers. Such a group might just have exited the Metro. Sure enough, he spied a man who matched the website photo and quickly cornered him.
“Dr. Mark White?”
The man blinked several times. “Do I know you?”
“I’m investigating Jerold Zamorra’s death. His daughter, Ashley, said you’d left a message on her answering machine, a message intended for her father, by mistake. The message said you needed an answer to an important question by today. It may have something to do with the case, it may not, but do you mind telling me what this urgent matter was?”
White was still blinking. “I heard about his death, and I’m truly sorry. But I don’t see how they could be connected. You see, Jerold had his eye on an expensive pedigreed dog owned by a friend of mine. The bitch was to have her puppies about now, and the owner had several buyers already lined up. I told Jerold I’d need his answer by today.”
Drayco tried not to show his disappointment. “How much is this puppy worth?”
“Ordinarily German Shepherd puppies go for between one and twenty-four thousand, but this one’s from guard dog stock. Those can fetch up to fifty grand.”
“Why was Jerold not able to give you his answer sooner?”
“Said he was going to be coming into more money soon.” The vet smiled. “Guess he was planning on winning the lottery.”
Dr. White sneezed six times in a row and sniffled his apology. “Damned allergy meds aren’t working like they should.” He took a bottle out of his pocket and popped another one into his mouth, swallowing it dry. “Often wonder how you know you’re getting what it says on the bottle. What with Chinese fakes these days.”
White sneezed one more time. “Hell, I almost mixed up meds for one of my patients recently, myself. You think medications cost a fortune—try a lawsuit.”
White looked over at the line forming through the snaking gates at the TSA security checkpoint. “It’s been nice talking to you, Mister—”
Drayco handed him one of his cards, and White took it. “Dr. Drayco. Jerold Zamorra was a good customer. I took care of his snakes, you know. Look, if you have any more questions, call me in a couple of weeks. Or leave a message with my receptionist.”
Drayco watched him enter the security line, then glanced at the clock on the wall. He now had about ten minutes to get back to the courthouse in time. Then pray Nelia and Benny were successful in stalling for a few extra minutes.
As he sprinted back to his car, he dialed Benny’s number to give him an update. But his mind wasn’t on the hearing. He couldn’t stop thinking about Dr. White’s comments about his medications.
Chapter 32
Drayco traced a line around the rim of his glass, watching the beads of condensation drip down the sides. Drip, drip, drip, turning his paper napkin coaster into a transparent, pulpy mess. Fitting, that. He’d made it to his hearing in time, but almost wished he hadn’t. Three hours of grilling made him realize what a barbecued steak feels like.
He motioned for the bartender to fill up the glass, as a voice boomed over his shoulder, “That your second or third?”
Drayco glanced up at Sarg, “You stalking me?”
“Didn’t have to. How many batshit cases did we wrap up and ‘celebrate’ in pseudo-seedy dives like this one? I lost count. Figured this is the place you’d come after that board hearing farce today.”
Drayco raised his now-full glass in Sarg’s direction. “Thanks for speaking on my behalf. You and Gonzo made me sound like I deserve a halo. Spread it on a bit thick, didn’t you?”
“Both Detective Gonzalez and I know better than to crown you with a halo, junior. All of us burned our Boy Scout badges years ago. This kind of job’ll do that to a guy.”
Sarg had the bartender bring him a soda, and Drayco pointed to it. “No beer?”
“You took a taxi, I gather, or otherwise you wouldn’t be drinking. I didn’t.”
“Elaine’s not going to like you coming home this late. It’s what, ten?”
“Ten-thirty, but who’s counting. Had some work downtown after the hearing, anyway. I can go into the Bureau late tomorrow.”
Sarg raised his voice to be heard over both the growing bar crowd and the music as it cranked up a notch. “I think those two board members, Peggs and Scarpato, won over Saul Bobeck. Despite his shady ties to Mayor Kozell. Got a good feeling they’ll rule in your favor.”
Drayco shrugged and looked around at the sea of bar patrons, not uncommon in this part of Adams Morgan along 18th Street. Some of the bars were more frou-frou, not like the Black Heaven’s brick-and-steel decor and its fried fare in finger form. But rivers of alcohol plus uncaged cubicle tigers mingling with the hip-hop crowd made for
an electric atmosphere and frequent brawls.
Sarg swirled the soda around in his glass. “Used to wonder why you liked this place. You called it one of your ‘people watching’ spots. And something about the negatively charged energy attracting you.”
Drayco studied Sarg’s paper coaster. Still nice and dry. “Didn’t feel like going home, that’s all. Too quiet.”
“You’d usually pound the piano after something like that hearing mess.”
“Didn’t feel like that, either. Haven’t been near my piano in two days.”
Sarg squinted up at one of the nuclear-bright red lights behind the bar that was aimed right at his face. He looked like a zombie escapee from a horror film, and Drayco almost laughed.
As if reading Drayco’s mind, Sarg got up to move his bar stool. “Two days away from the piano. A lifetime for you. You usually take something like this sham hearing in stride.”
“Haven’t been sleeping much lately.”
Sarg nodded and guzzled some soda. “More nightmares?”
“Some.”
“You ever see a doc about that?”
Drayco shook his head.
A group of young men at the back of the bar erupted into loud cheers as a couple of young women got up on the tables and started dancing. Sarg raised his voice again. “You didn’t tell me much about your second meeting with your mother. Still not talking?”
“Said she’d trusted few people in her life. She trusted Jerold, then he double-crossed her with a new partner. She doesn’t know who.”
“That’s more than she’s said before. So, that’s why she set up the meeting with him the night he was murdered?”
“Allegedly. But being dead meant he’d robbed her of her chance to ‘get back’ at him.”
“And she stabs the corpse instead. Oh, brother. You believe any of that?”
“I don’t know.”
Sarg tugged on his ear. “Would help to know where she’s been all this time. Any luck tracking her?”
