She finished up the library and made a mental note to call her friend who specialized in antique books. That was an area of antiques, similar to Pre-Columbian art and other specialty areas, that needed someone who was an expert in that field. Marty was a generalist, and although she was very comfortable appraising furniture, glassware, fine art, silver, and ceramics, she knew she’d be doing a disservice to Jack if she attempted to appraise the books in the library.
Taffy knocked lightly on the door. “Taffy, please, come in. I was just getting ready to go into the dining room.”
“I thought you could use a little sugar. Here’s a couple of the peanut butter cookies I made. Mr. Rutledge came into the kitchen and seemed very happy I’d baked them. He even smiled for the first time in the last couple of days. I’m glad I took the time to make them. Here’s a little sack with some cookies in it for your husband. Would you give them to him?”
Marty took a bite of one of the cookies. “This is hands down the best peanut butter cookie I’ve ever had. If Jeff hadn’t seen you making them, I could probably get away with eating all of them myself, but yes, I promise I’ll give the sack to him. I’ll probably give the other people I live with a taste of the cookies, and I’ll bet my friend the chef will ask me if you’ll give me the recipe for them. He might have to start a ‘From Taffy’ section on his menu,” she said laughing.
Marty continued, “I should be able to finish the dining room today. I looked in there a few minutes ago, and while everything is just as good as what’s in this room, there aren’t as many decorative items. It’s mainly the table and chairs as well as the china and silver along with a couple of paintings. It shouldn’t take me more than an hour and a half. I’ll let myself out when I’m finished, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“If your husband finds out anything about that newspaper clipping, would you tell me? It gives me the creeps.”
“Of course, Taffy, and I agree. That was really creepy. I didn’t even like handling it.”
“Me neither. See you tomorrow,” she said as she walked out of the room.
Marty finished the items in the dining room and looked at her watch. It was five-thirty. She thought about stopping by to see Earl Mathers, her friend the book appraiser, but decided to give him a call when she got home instead. It had been a long day, and she was ready to take a break. She packed up her appraisal equipment and walked to her car, looking forward to some quiet time during the thirty-minute drive to the compound.
*****
As usual, when she got to the compound Duke was waiting for her at the gate, and the other members of the compound, minus Jeff, were sharing the day’s events over a glass of wine at the large table in the courtyard.
She walked over to them and said, “I think you’ll like the peanut butter cookies in this sack,” as she placed them on the table, “but you have to save two for Jeff. John, I’m pretty sure I can get the recipe for these if you like them, but since it’s another one from Taffy, if you decide to serve them at The Pony, I think she should have a little spot on your menu mentioning her by name. I’m taking Duke out for a walk, and then I need to make a call. Back in a few minutes.”
When she returned from walking Duke she called Earl, and he told her he could appraise the antique books the following afternoon. Marty was glad he could, because she was anxious to finish up the appraisal of the household items, so she could get to the art glass segment.
“Here you go, Marty,” John said handing her a glass of wine. “Figure you could use this after today. We’re all anxious to hear if there’s anything new on the murder case, but we can wait until Jeff gets here. Any idea when that will be?”
“I saw him this afternoon, and he said he’d see me at home tonight, so I think he should be here pretty soon.”
“Marty, how’s the art glass portion of the appraisal doing?” Laura asked. “Dick’s a little nervous having a binder on a collection for such a large amount when it’s never been previously appraised. He knows you’re a very good appraiser, but if something happened to that collection, there’s no back-up information as to why it’s worth that much. He’s concerned his head might be on the chopping block if a claim was filed. Alliance Property and Casualty Company wouldn’t be very happy if there was a loss, and they didn’t have an appraisal for a collection worth that amount.”
“Actually there is, Laura. Tell Dick he doesn’t need to worry. I have extensive photographs of every piece in the collection with close-ups of marks and conditions. Even if something happened to the whole collection, I have enough back-up information that it would stand up to any challenge. Anyone who knows anything about art glass would almost certainly agree with me that the collection is worth that amount.”
“Good. He thinks he’s in the beginning stages of getting an ulcer, so that will be one less thing he has to worry about.” She looked around, hearing footsteps on the gravel path outside the gate. “Hi, Jeff, we’ve been waiting for you. Hurry up and change clothes, because we all want to know what’s new.”
Jeff returned a few minutes later and gratefully accepted the glass of wine John had poured for him. He took a sip and said, “Nectar of the gods! Thanks.” He looked at Marty and said, “Did you tell them what happened today?”
She shook her head indicating no.
“Marty, have you been holding out on us? We’ve been sitting here eagerly waiting for Jeff to tell us what happened, and you knew something and didn’t even bother to tell us?” Laura said.
“I didn’t feel it was my place to say anything. It’s Jeff’s case.”
Max, John, Laura, and Les turned to Jeff with expectant looks on their faces. “Well, Jeff?” Laura said.
“Taffy, the cook at the Rutledge Polo House, happened to go into the servant’s room to see if there was another can of the special type of coffee that Jack likes to drink in the morning. Evidently the room is also used as a second pantry, although Taffy said she rarely goes in there. She said Lupe keeps her purse in there and other personal things she might need. Anyway, when Taffy opened the cabinet which was used for the extra kitchen items she noticed that the door to the cabinet next to it, where Lupe kept her personal items, was partially open.
“She started to close it and saw that a newspaper clipping had been pinned to the inside of the cabinet door. It was an article about Jack and his soon-to-be-wife, Pia, on the society page of the Desert Sun. The article had been cut out of the paper in a large L shape, and the bottom part of the L was a photograph of Pia. Here’s the disturbing part. There was a red circle around Pia’s face with a red diagonal slash mark drawn through it. It was similar to the kind of ‘Do Note Enter’ signs you see on the road.”
“What happened then?” John asked as all of them leaned forward in anticipation of what Jeff was going to tell them.
“It really disturbed Taffy, so she unpinned it and took it with her. Marty noticed how tense she seemed and commented on it. Taffy showed Marty what she’d found, and Marty brought it to me at the police station. I had the crime lab run tests this afternoon to see if there were any fingerprints on it besides Marty’s and Taffy’s.”
“What were the results, Jeff?” Marty asked.
“The good news is they picked up some fingerprints, however, the bad news is they weren’t in the system. When the technician finished, I asked him to see if the fingerprints they found on the newspaper matched the fingerprints on the cigarette we found next to Pia’s body.” He took another sip of wine.
“And?” Les asked.
“The technician said it was a positive match. Now the problem I have is to figure out whose prints those are.”
“So, based on what you told us last night, the person whose fingerprints are on both the newspaper clipping and the cigarette is not someone, as I think you called it, ‘in the system,’ right?” Les asked.
“Yes, and that’s what makes this case so difficult. Let me tell you some other things I found out today. I think I mentioned I attended the po
lice academy many years ago and met a man who became a good friend. I think I also told you he was going to see what he could find out about Pia’s ex-husband, Frank Marshall.”
“He’s the one who jes’ got outta prison, right?” Max asked. “Not tellin’ ya’ yer’ business, like I could anyway, but he’d sure be the one I’d go fer.”
“Max, I agree with you,” Jeff said. “He has what many would consider a motive in that his wife divorced him. Plus, hate to say it, but when a man has been convicted of a crime in the past, statistically he’s far more likely to commit another crime than someone who’s never been convicted.”
“Hold everything for a minute,” Marty said. “I want to get a pad of paper and make some notes. Seems like there’s more and more people and evidence. Don’t say anything until I get back.” She returned a moment later and sat down at the table, pen and pad of paper in front of her.
“Jeff, you can go on now. I’m just going to write a couple of things down.”
“Max, back to Frank Marshall. Even though he’d seem to be a prime suspect, his fingerprints are in the system, and they don’t match the ones on the cigarette or on that piece of newspaper. That’s a major problem.”
“You know art’s my thing,” Les said, “not crime, but isn’t there a chance that the piece of newspaper and the cigarette are unrelated to the crime. I know it looks like they’re part of it, and the cigarette had Pia’s DNA on it, but what if someone picked the cigarette up intending to smoke it since very little of it was gone? What if the newspaper clipping was from someone who was just doodling on it, not specifically targeting Pia by drawing a red circle around her photograph? In that case, couldn’t it have been Frank?”
Jeff was quiet for a long time and then he answered Les. “Theoretically, yes, those things could have happened, and Frank could be the murderer. That would fall into the area of nothing more than coincidences, and I’m not a big fan of coincidences. Here’s something else.
“My friend went to Frank’s apartment and talked to him this afternoon. He told Frank he was helping the Palm Springs Police Department with a murder case regarding his ex-wife. He said Frank’s eyes were red, and it looked like he’d been crying ever since he’d found out Pia was dead. He told my friend he knew the police would turn up sooner or later and that he’d be a suspect because of his past.”
“I don’t know,” John said. “Even if he denied it, and since you haven’t mentioned he was arrested, I’d still think he was the murderer.”
“Hear me out, John. Frank told my friend he’d thought about going to Palm Springs to see the man his ex-wife was going to marry, but he couldn’t find a car to borrow and he doesn’t have enough money to buy one. He said he could prove he was in Los Angeles the evening Pia was murdered, because he’d bought cigarettes at a convenience store not far from his apartment, and he was sure the clerk would remember him. Evidently the clerk’s wife was in the store with their baby, and the couple and Frank talked for a long time about how Frank was sorry he’d never had children.”
“Get out the violin, Jeff. My heartstrings are bleeding,” John said.
“Well, they might be, but not only did the clerk corroborate Frank’s story and the time he’d been in the store, but he gave my friend a copy of the security video that recorded each person who came into the store as well as the date and time they entered and left. The video clearly shows Frank was in the store from 8:05 until 8:12 on the night Pia was murdered. Frank was definitely in Los Angeles when Pia was killed. We know she was murdered between 7:30 and 8:30 that night. I talked to her just before 7:30 when she went outside to smoke a cigarette, and her body was discovered just before 8:30. That’s all solid.”
“Sure would make it easier if it hadda been him. The less ex-felons we got roamin’ the streets, the better off we’d all be,” Max said, the redneck in him being fully aroused.
“All right, Jeff. I’ve got Frank written down, and I can cross a line through his name, because according to what your friend found out, there’s no way he could be the murderer,” Marty said
“That’s true, Marty. John, if you don’t mind, how about putting a little more wine in my glass, would you? Thanks. All this talking makes me thirsty,” he said grinning.
Jeff held out his glass to John and resumed talking. “If you remember, last night I mentioned a man by the name of Luigi Marco and his tie to a presumed Mafia man by the name of Roberto Battisto. My friend was able to trace Luigi to a restaurant that’s owned by Roberto Battisto. It caters to the entertainment industry. Evidently Luigi is someone who does whatever Battisto needs doing. My friend was able to talk to him.”
“I don’t quite understand what a Mafia man has to do with Pia Marshall. I must be missing something,” Marty said.
“Stay with me. I’ll get there,” Jeff said. “Luigi has been in jail a couple of times for some misdemeanors. He had a good lawyer and was always able to beat the rap on other more serious charges. That means his prints are in the system, and they don’t match the ones on the cigarette or the newspaper clipping. Here’s what’s interesting. He said he’d attended the cocktail party on behalf of Roberto Battisto because Battisto was thinking about possibly investing in Jack’s polo team.”
“Are you thinking money laundering?” Les asked. “I’ve read that Mafia people often do that.”
“Possibly, but I don’t think that’s why Luigi was sent there by Battisto. It turns out Battisto was dating Pia Marshall up until she met Jack. From what my friend found out Battisto liked her a lot. I don’t know how much you know about the Mafia, but having one of their members spurned by a woman is not looked on kindly by the Family. My friend had a hunch Luigi was sent by Battisto to check out Jack. He also wondered if Luigi had been sent by Battisto to take care of Pia, so Battisto wouldn’t look like a fool when she married Jack.”
“Seems like a stretch, Jeff. I’ve read a lot about the Mafia, but quite frankly, I always thought the things that were written about them were more about selling books and newspapers than the truth,” Marty said.
“I wish you were right, Sweetheart, but unfortunately you’re not. There is a code they live by and unless a Mafia member wants to be killed, he has to uphold that code. One of the things in the unwritten code is that a Mafia man is never made to look like a fool by a woman.”
“Wait a minute, Jeff. Do you really think Battisto might have sent Luigi to kill Pia?” Les asked.
“I’m saying that might have been why he was sent to Jack’s cocktail party by Battisto, but we’ll never know. My friend got Luigi to admit he’d stepped outside the barn for a cigarette and saw Pia lying on the ground. He was pretty sure she’d been murdered and decided he better get out of there before he became a suspect, because he knew with his record he’d definitely be a suspect.”
“I thought you interviewed everyone who was at the cocktail party the night of the murder,” Marty said.
“Correction. We interviewed everyone who was still at the cocktail party the night of the murder. Luigi was not interviewed, because he wasn’t there. He left early. There is absolutely nothing to link him to the murder. There’s no match on fingerprints, no witness, nothing. I think he was probably telling the truth.”
“Well, what about Battisto’s involvement? Can ya’ do somethin’ about him? Like maybe he was behind it,” Max said.
“No, I don’t think there’s anything that can be done. Battisto may have sent him there to murder Pia, but without some type of evidence, proof, or whatever you want to call it, Luigi has to pretty much be taken at his word. Anyway, if he were prosecuted because of our Mafia theory and Battisto was also prosecuted, any good attorney would make sure that the case was thrown out of court. And believe me, he’d be represented by the best attorney the Mafia could buy.”
“Jeff, once again I’m fascinated by this stuff,” John said. “Tell you what, Max and I had a late afternoon catering job at a large accounting firm in the Springs. We made a ton of sandwiches, an
d I decided to make some extras for dinner tonight. Why don’t Max and I get them and some potato salad, and then we’ll continue the conversation?”
“Sounds good. We could probably all use a break. Marty, I see you crossed Luigi off your list. We’ll continue after dinner,” Jeff said.
CHAPTER 22
“That hit the spot, John,” Laura said. “Sometimes there’s nothing more satisfying than a good old-fashioned sandwich with potato salad. Jeff, we had a bite of the peanut butter cookies Marty brought home for you, but I’m wondering if you’d care to share the rest of them with us. A little sweet would finish the meal off perfectly for me!” Before Jeff could respond Marty grabbed the sack of cookies and passed it over to Laura, ignoring the glaring look Jeff was giving her.
“Okay, Jeff, what’s next? Did you ever check on Jack’s fingerprints?” Les asked.
“Yes. When he was getting ready to open up the polo club, he was fingerprinted. It’s part of the California Horse Racing Commission’s rules. There was no match for his fingerprints, so that’s another dead end, and I have to say, I’m not surprised. Marty, put his name down and then put a line through it,” he said laughing.
“You haven’t mentioned Kevin Sanders tonight,” Marty said. “Find out anything about him?”
“He’s another one you can put on your list and cross off, pretty much for the same reason as Jack. Years ago he was fingerprinted because of his polo involvement, and there’s no match. He was there the night of the murder, but we have nothing linking him to it. I suppose if we were to speculate, we could say he wanted to get back at Jack by killing Pia, but there isn’t one shred of evidence linking him to the murder. What we pretty much have is a lot of people with motives, but not one of them has a direct link to the murder. In other words, plenty of speculation, and not a shred of evidence.”
Murder at the Polo Club Page 10
