Dark Justice

by Kristi Belcamino

  I immediately called Dante and told him about Rosenbloom’s murder.

  “Apparently, I’m a suspect,” I said.

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Then I told him what James had said. A witness had seen me.

  Just then I got a text from James.

  “Hold on,” I told Dante and pulled it up.

  It was a still shot from video surveillance.

  Holy shit. It was a woman talking to Rosenbloom. The image was from behind.

  And she looked like me. As much as a woman who dressed in leather pants, a hoodie, and dark sunglasses could look like me. The photo was grainy, but even I thought it looked like me. Even the handbag was the same as the one I had on a chair in the corner—a not-easy-to-find charcoal gray suede Balenciaga bag.

  Someone was fucking with me. And hard.

  “Dante,” I said. “I’m sending you a picture James just sent me.”

  I waited until he looked at it.

  “Gia, that’s you, right? Talking to Carl Rosenbloom?”

  “Nope. When that picture was taken, I was having phone sex with Ryder.”

  “Spare me the details.”

  “You asked.”

  “Not really.”

  “The point is, someone is fucking dressing up like me and killing people.”

  There; I said it.

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said, turning to look at my ass in the mirror. It was still shapely even though I’d slacked on my workouts. It was fine, though.

  “What are you doing?” Dante asked.

  “Why?”

  “You seem distracted and not very upset that someone is trying to pin two murders on you.”

  “Two?”

  He sighed. “I didn’t want to say anything, but James called me earlier and asked what day and time you got into town. I didn’t realize why until just now.”

  “That bastard,” I said.

  “He’s just doing his job.”

  “I was kidding.”

  “What I don’t get is how she could get that particular Balenciaga bag that quickly? Those aren’t easy to find, and whoever it is must’ve seen yours at the board meeting.”

  Of course, Dante would notice that detail.

  “So, let’s narrow it down to the women who were there,” I said. “Easy, right?”

  “It could be a man who saw you and decided to make you the fall guy,” Dante said. “A woman probably wouldn’t have been able to take down Rosenbloom and beat him like he was beaten. No offense.”

  “None taken. But I could’ve done that and I’m a woman.”

  “Gia! If you’re phone is tapped, you just basically said you could’ve killed him.”

  “Not exactly. Plus, my phone isn’t tapped.”

  “Listen, my attorney is calling. I’m going to fill him in, and he’s going to give you a call. I think you need a lawyer.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Don’t argue.”

  And then he hung up.

  Fuck. If Dante thought I needed an attorney, that worried me, even though part of me doubted anyone could pin a murder on me. They could make me a suspect, but there was no way they’d be able to plant enough evidence for an arrest.

  Or could they?

  Seventeen

  James shook his head.

  It wasn’t possible.

  Gia wasn’t an angel, but she sure as hell wasn’t a serial killer, either.

  But that photo?

  The only connection between the two murders was that the victims both served on the gala fundraising committee.

  “What’s the motive?” he asked the chief.

  “That’s your job to find out.”

  “We can’t place her at Glass’s death.”

  The chief shrugged. “But you said yourself she’d just arrived in town that morning.”

  James bit his lip. “True.”

  “Figure it out. That’s why you get the big bucks around here, Commander. Put your best detectives on it.”

  “There’s something you should know,” James said, exhaling loudly.

  “I think I know what you’re going to say.”

  “You do?”

  “Tish spilled the beans earlier. The suspect is your ex.”

  “Jesus,” James said. “This place is like a coffee klatch.”

  The chief picked up the folders and stood. “After all these years here, and you act surprised?”

  “She didn’t do it, Chief.”

  He turned and raised an eyebrow above his wire-rimmed eyeglasses. “Are you going to be able to be objective on this one? The only reason I’m not yanking you off this case is because I’m hoping you might be able to get her to turn herself in if she’s really the killer. I trust you, James.”

  This was bad. He watched the video again. The camera was across the street and down the block some. It showed only a brief glimpse of the two talking. The woman walked up to the man. They spoke for a few seconds and then moved off camera.

  The footage was grainy. You couldn’t see her face or profile, but it sure as hell looked like Gia. If only there was a better video—something closer.

  James knew it was useless to ask if any other cameras were in the area. The chief was nothing if not thorough.

  The chief had also said something about a witness.

  James picked up his phone.

  “Who was the wit?”

  “A homeless guy. Said he knew Gia personally and this was her.”

  James swore. Gia had always made a point to become friends with the homeless people in the city. This was bad.

  “We have a name?”

  He heard the rustling of papers. “Warren. We brought him in and showed him some mugs. He picked Gia out. We gave him a ride to the Rustic Diner. Smith gave him some money for breakfast.”

  James looked at his watch. “How long ago?”

  “Twenty?”

  James hung up and grabbed his blazer and the keys to his modified Crown Victoria.

  The diner was packed. He double-parked in front of the diner and put on the strobe lights so nobody would tow it. After a quick glance inside the restaurant, James headed down the sidewalk as quickly as he could in his wheelchair. Warren would probably be heading back to his neighborhood. Sure enough, two blocks away James saw him, carrying a white Styrofoam container.

  James wheeled over to him.

  “Warren, my man,” he said and gave a huge grin.

  The homeless man clutched the container close.

  “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but I had a quick question for you.”

  The man frowned, his grizzly, stubbly face scrunching up. “Heh?”

  “You know Gia Santella, right?”

  The man grinned. “I’ve known that girl for ages.”

  “So you saw her last night?”

  His face wrinkled. “I think. I was a little tired.”

  “Yeah?” James asked, making his wheelchair keep up with the man.

  “She walk past you or something?”

  “Yeah. I was sitting there and she walked right past.”

  “Didn’t say hi?”

  Warren worked his lip a little. “Nah.”

  “That’s not really like Gia, is it?”

  He shook his head. “It’s been a long time. Maybe she didn’t recognize me or something.”

  “Does Gia only say hi to the guys on the streets she knows?”

  “Old Gia said hi to everyone but, you know, we all getting old. Maybe she tired of saying hi all the time.”

  “Huh,” James said. He stopped and was about to leave.

  “Hey, man I’m heading back to the TL Want a ride?”

  Warren looked at him sideways and shook his head. “I’m good. I’m good.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks for your time.”

  James was about to leave when Warren cleared his throat. “The cops had me in this morning, and I said I
saw Gia. Do you think I got her in trouble? They seemed real happy when I pointed to her picture, you know.”

  “I think you just need to make sure you are absolutely 100 percent sure you saw her. That’s all. You 100 percent sure?”

  Warren shook his head. “I dunno. Maybe? I mean it was dark. I’d just had some of my bedtime medicine if you know what I mean?”

  He’d been drunk.

  “It sure looked like her. I mean, how many broads walk around in a leather pants, sunglasses at night, and high heels.”

  “High heels?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I was sitting on the ground, and they were some tall-ass heels, you know. The kind I don’t know how girls walk in.”

  “Have you seen Gia in heels before?”

  He shrugged.

  “Did the cops tell you to come back?”

  “They gave me a card,” he patted his jacket.

  “It’s good. I don’t need to see it.”

  “They tole me I might hafta come back and tell someone I saw her.”

  “Okay,” James said. “You sure you don’t want a ride.”

  “I’m good, man. I’m good.”

  James left, wheeling back to his car.

  He was glad he’d tracked Warren down. Dude had been drunk the night before and hadn’t seen Gia for years. When the detectives hauled him in and showed him pictures, of course he would point to the one of Gia. She was the only one he knew.

  James was pretty sure that, as a witness, Warren would be tossed out of court on his ass.

  But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the video surveillance.

  The heels were interesting, though. Gia was street-smart. She wouldn’t show up in a shitty neighborhood to kill someone wearing high heels. It didn’t fit.

  The call asking Rosenbloom to meet at that corner meant it wasn’t a spur of the moment, crime-of-passion, either. It was premeditated.

  As far as he was concerned, Gia wasn’t a viable suspect.

  But even so, the evidence was mounting. It didn’t look good.

  Eighteen

  Sitting in the dark with the blue light from the open laptop illuminating his face, Charles glanced over at the closed door.

  There wasn’t a sound.

  He’d snuck out of bed and into the kitchen. Only when he knew he hadn’t been detected did he open his laptop.

  The email he’d been waiting for was at the top of his inbox.

  He clicked on it, and as he read, his heart began to race.

  He heard a sound from the other room and quickly slammed the laptop shut. But then he realized it was just the old house creaking.

  Opening the computer back up, he stuck in his earbuds and opened the email attachments.

  There was Gia Fucking Santella. Ten photos and three videos.

  The guy on the dark web had been able to find the pictures and videos.

  He clicked on the photos first, saving the best for last.

  They were just what his man needed: close ups, full-body shots, candid pictures, and professional headshots. Then he clicked on the videos. Perfect. Seated. Speaking. Walking. From the front and behind. Bingo.

  They were perfect.

  Obviously, she wasn’t concerned with the surveillance cameras outside the hotel or on the streets or even in the meeting rooms. Up until then, she’d had no reason to be.

  Big fucking mistake. A fatal mistake for sure.

  She had been so careful about everything else.

  Information on her was scarce. She’d done a good job concealing her movements and her background.

  But not careful enough.

  He opened the background report and was astonished. Mother fucker. It was incredible. He just couldn’t lose. Everything he touched turned to gold. Her history and background made his plan rock solid.

  Nicoletta was right. Gia was a stone-cold killer.

  It could not have worked out better.

  She’d killed people.

  And gotten away with it, but still.

  His heart raced.

  It wouldn’t be long.

  Everything was falling into place beautifully.

  Soon he would be with Nicoletta forever and they would be wealthy beyond their wildest dreams.

  Nicoletta had been perfect.

  The handbag was the final touch.

  “Just dumb lucky, honey,” she told him.

  “You don’t have to kill him,” he’d told her. “Just talk to him and touch his arm. Then walk with him over to the lot. I’ll handle the rest.”

  He, of course, hadn’t gotten his hands dirty. He’d paid for the beating and then when Rosenbloom was down on the ground, he’d stood over him and pulled the trigger. Marshall had tapped into the cameras on the street, and they’d determined that no camera angles reached the lot. They were safe that way.

  He sent the photos and video to Marshall.

  Marshall immediately replied. “These will work.”

  He wrote back. “How long?”

  “Give me a few days.”

  And now that he had video footage of Gia, they could not go wrong.

  He figured after one or two more murders at the most, the stage would be set for the final, most important murder.

  He stared at the photo of Gia and smiled.

  “Hope you like prison, baby.”

  It was time for the next murder, which would hopefully seal the deal.

  Marshall told him what to do.

  He dialed Nicoletta.

  “You ready for your next performance?”

  Nineteen

  James couldn’t sleep

  This was normal when he had a murder to solve. Especially when a serial killer was on the loose. But with Gia as the main suspect? He was more motivated than ever.

  He’d spent most of the night going over the details from the crime scenes, looking for similarities. Data on the ballistics and whether it was the same gun used in both shootings was still being analyzed, but it appeared that the manner of death was the same: both men had been shot dead through the forehead at close range.

  So, it had to be someone they knew. Like a beautiful woman.

  If he could prove that the same person killed both men, it might also clear Gia. The chances that she arrived in town and then immediately went and murdered Glass would be unlikely. Possible, but unlikely. And then to kill Rosenbloom? It didn’t make any sense at all. There was zero motive.

  He texted Gia even though it was two in the morning.

  “Where did you go when you got to town?”

  She didn’t reply.

  He waited a while and then texted Dante.

  “Do you know what Gia did when she first got to town? Where she went?”

  No response.

  If he could nail this down, it might clear her name.

  He printed out an enlarged picture of Gia at the crime scene and stuck it on the wall by his computer.

  Although he couldn’t prove it, he knew it wasn’t Gia.

  But so far, all the evidence, and this picture, pointed toward her.

  It looked like her. If you didn’t know her.

  He knew that body nearly as well as he knew his own. Those thighs, tightly encased in black leather, were not the thighs he’d caressed. The shape was wrong. The ass? No way. It was not the shapely one he had fondled.

  But how the fuck was that going to prove her innocence?

  “Excuse me, Chief, but I know that ass and those thighs, and that is not Gia Santella.”

  Fucking ridiculous.

  Because other than that, it could be Gia. It really could.

  Sure, it could also be any other woman in the city, but it was a really tough argument when video footage at the hotel an hour earlier had shown Gia leaving the hotel in that exact get up: leather pants, black hoodie, dark sunglasses. But the camera hadn’t caught her feet.

  He would swear that Gia would never wear high heels with that outfit. She wore her fair share of heels but never with leather pant
s and a hoodie. He knew her style. He knew her taste.

  But again, how was that going to prove her innocence? The chief would laugh at him.

  He texted Dante again.

  “Stupid question, but would Gia ever wear high heels with her leather pants and a hoodie.”

  To his surprise, the little bubbles on his phone appeared.

  “Tacky. No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “If you have any more questions about Gia you are going to need to speak to our lawyer.”

  Damn.

  “Believe it or not, I’m on your side,” he wrote.

  The next text he received was a shared contact for Dante’s attorney.

  James shook his head. Didn’t Dante know he wanted to prove Gia’s innocence more than anything in the world.

  Even as he thought that, he had the smallest glimmer of doubt.

  What if she had changed? What if something had happened to her during all the years they were apart that had turned her into a stone-cold killer without remorse? It was possible. Unlikely, but possible.

  It had been a hell of a long time since they’d been together. She’d been through a lot. He suspected there had been a lot more murders on her part. After all, she’d been married to one of the most notorious drugs lords in the world.

  Nico Morales had a reputation that lived long past his death.

  He had killed hundreds before Gia had come into his life.

  Then he supposedly stopped. Supposedly.

  But who knew for sure.

  James was tired and frustrated.

  His phone dinged. It was Nicoletta. She sent a picture of her in a coral-colored nightie. She was in bed, leaning forward so her cleavage showed.

  “Are you busy? I can’t sleep. Can’t you come over? I’ve been tossing and turning all night. I watched the Real Housewives entire season and am still wide awake.”

  He laughed. “It’s three in the morning.”

  “I know. Please. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Imagining her soft body and warm bed was tempting.

  “I think I could make it over.”

  Her place was closer to the station anyway. And there was no way he was going to sleep tonight. He’d power through. Maybe doze a little in her arms and then head to work.

  “See you soon,” she wrote.