The Slowest Death Page 6

  “Do you think the kids took the gun?” Tunney asked.

  “I turned the boy upside down and shook him till his teeth fell out,” Jack said, and Tunney chuckled.

  “I’ll just bet you did. Is there a connection between the kids and the victim? Was he married?” Tunney asked.

  Liddell said, “No. A live-in girlfriend.”

  Jack said, “I haven’t really had a chance to talk to them. That’s a good question though. You’re always good for an idea or two, Frank.”

  “You know I normally advise on cases that have gone cold, but if you need my help I’ll be here. I’ve got a couple more classes scheduled for tomorrow.” He gave Jack a business card. “Here’s my cell number in case you lost it. I’m in room 45. Or I’ll be in the casino spending my per diem.”

  Jack put the card in his pocket. “I’m glad to know my tax money is going to such a worthy cause,” Jack said. “Thanks, Frank.”

  “Hey, I hear you’re back with Katie,” Tunney said. “Why don’t you join me for dinner tonight.” To Liddell he said, “Bring Marcie. I hear she’s eating for two now.”

  Jack grinned. “Bigfoot’s eating for two. Or three.”

  An officer got Tunney’s attention and he excused himself.

  “How does he know all this stuff?” Jack asked as they left the classroom. They walked up the back stairs and Jack stopped Liddell before they exited onto the main floor. “I’m going to call the captain before we leave.”

  He got Captain Franklin on the phone. “Captain, I think I may need some help on this.”

  “What do you need, Jack?”

  “Two detectives on each shift for the neighborhood checks around the scene and Royal Food Market. Also see if there’s any video in either area. Businesses, drug houses. Some of the houses around there have personal security cameras.”

  “Will do,” Franklin said.

  Jack thanked the captain, hung up and asked Liddell, “What do you know about the case, Bigfoot?”

  Liddell told him, and apparently Channel 6’s Claudine Setera had more information than had leaked inside the police department. He caught Liddell up on the scene, the kids, the money, and the investigation and let him chew on it as they left headquarters.

  Chapter 8

  “I’ll drive, Bigfoot. According to dispatch, Sonny lives out by my cabin.” Jack headed southeast to Riverside Drive, east to Waterworks Road, past Two Jakes Restaurant and Marina, and turned onto a private drive marked with a metal sign tacked to a tree: NO TRESPASSING. A hundred yards down the drive sat half a dozen locking mailboxes. No names. No house numbers. Only a number stenciled on them. Past that was an eight-foot-high iron gate with a massive stone entrance. A bronze plate set into the stone read, RIVER POINTE ESTATES.

  “I’ve passed this drive hundreds of times,” Jack said. “You can see some of the houses from the river, but I’ve never come back here.” Jack’s cabin was a mile or two east of Sonny’s.

  Jack pulled forward to an intercom box with a camera that swiveled to face the car. There were six buttons on the intercom with names and no numbers. Jack was impressed. It was a decent security setup. He pressed the button marked for Caparelli and waited.

  A woman’s slurred voice came over the intercom. “Come on in. I’m at the end.” The gate automatically opened.

  Jack pulled through the gate. “Have you met Sonny’s girlfriend, Bigfoot?”

  Liddell said, “Me and Marcie ran into her and Sonny at The Log Inn once. They said hello, we said hello. She seemed nice.”

  They continued down the drive, past expensive homes with spacious yards landscaped with hedges and small decorative trees and nameplates for each house, with names like River Castle and River View, all river-something except for one that read Casa Thatcher.

  “What do you want to bet that place belongs to our illustrious mayor?” Jack said pointing to Casa Thatcher.

  “I’m not a gambler, pod’na.”

  “Probably five-acre lots,” Jack said. “The three on the left have a riverfront view. This is not a cheap place to live.”

  “Rich people always name their houses,” Liddell explained.

  The road continued straight and disappeared around a bend. They came to another gate, this one open. Ornate but serious-looking spikes topped the double gates and fence to discourage trespassing. There was another camera and intercom.

  At least an acre of the property inside the gate was dotted with low trees, the branches of which swept to the ground and were full of pinkish-white blossoms.

  “Isn’t that beautiful,” Liddell said. “Not many trees bloom in this cold. I wonder what they are. Marcie would love it.”

  The gate swung shut behind the car. In the side mirror Jack saw the camera swivel, following their progress.

  “Big Brother’s watching,” Jack said.

  “Maybe Bill Gates lives here,” Liddell said. “Get it? Gates? Oh, never mind.”

  The driveway was lined with more blossoming trees. The road continued to climb gently and turned toward the river before opening into a landscaped lawn. At the back of this was a monstrous sprawling ranch with a gabled roof and a four-car attached garage. One of the bay doors was open. A black four-door Mercedes was backed in.

  “She’s got company,” Jack remarked and parked in front of the house.

  Liddell let out a low whistle. “Wow! This place makes my house a shack. And speaking of shacks, how does it feel to live in a real home again?” Liddell was referring to Jack recently moving his things from his river cabin back into the house he shared with his ex-wife, Katie. “How many trips did it take you to move all of the Scotch?”

  “You’re implying my cabin is a shack and I’m an alcoholic. Is that what you’re saying, Bigfoot?”

  “Well…yeah.”

  “Well. Bite me,” Jack said.

  They walked up to the front door and Jack pushed the doorbell.

  The door was opened immediately by a cadaverous man in a three-piece suit. He was nearly as tall as Liddell and had a prominent nose. It was like a doorknob with varicose veins. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

  Jack pegged the guy at forty-five to fifty, not into exercise, vegetarian, and the too-tight dark green suit said car salesman or butler or personal injury attorney—or a reanimated cadaver.

  Jack and Liddell showed the man their police credentials. Jack said, “We’re here to see Miss Middleton.”

  The man didn’t offer to introduce himself or ask why they wanted to talk to Miss Middleton. He frowned and said, “This way, please.”

  Jack and Liddell followed the man down a hallway. Double doors on the right looked into a book-lined study with a wet bar in one corner and a stone fireplace with several tall brass candlesticks on its mantelpiece. The room was decorated with expensive leather furniture.

  “Mr. Green in the library with the candlestick,” Liddell whispered.

  The man slowed and fixed Liddell with a glare. “What did you say?”

  “I said this is a great house,” Liddell answered. “By the way, it’s kind of you to lead us around. We could get lost in this place.” He smiled. The man did not.

  “This way.” The man turned down an intersecting hallway.

  “Liddell in the hallway with the lead pipe?” Jack said.

  “Hey,” Liddell said to the man. “You’re going to show us the way out when we’re done, right? I mean, I forgot to bring a pocketful of bread crumbs or M&Ms.”

  The man ignored the remark. They came to the end of the hallway. The man opened a set of pocket doors and motioned them inside.

  They entered a spacious great room that was over-decorated for Jack’s taste. But then, a bed, a chair and a box for a wardrobe were fine with him. Leather furniture was strewn around the room like the aftermath of a bar fight. No doubt an interior designer was paid handsomely
for this reckless placement. Thick rugs were scattered strategically. Two full suits of armor stood on either side of a wood-burning fireplace. The fireplace was large enough for a man to walk into without ducking. Several hutches were placed around the room, displaying odd collections consisting of music boxes, ceramic figurines of children, dogs, frogs, and other detritus Jack would have thrown on a burn pile. In one hutch were a number of carved figurines of monkeys in various poses and states of activity. Some were sitting, some were hanging from a branch attached to an imaginary tree, their mouths peeled back as if screeching, and some were just being monkeys. It reminded Jack of a congressional hearing in progress.

  One entire wall of the room was made of glass, giving a view of the ice-covered lawn and white-blossoming trees. At the far end of the room, French doors opened onto a brick patio with an in-ground Olympic-sized pool that was covered for the winter. Beside the pool was a cabana with a tiki bar and a stone outdoor fireplace. Throw a little sand on the ground, set up a chair, a bottle of Scotch—instant Bahamas.

  “So, this is how the other one-half of one-half percent live,” Liddell quipped.

  “Yeah, ain’t it somethin’,” came a breathy voice from somewhere off to their left.

  Draped on a white suede sofa was a thirty-something-year-old woman, wrapped in a filmy, leopard-patterned robe. Behind her was another hutch, this one filled with Santa dolls of all sizes, wearing clothing from around the world, some in costumes of golfers, baseball players, ninjas, even a scene of samurai warriors battling with katanas, Japanese swords.

  On the coffee table in front of the woman were a dozen or more ceramic miniatures of Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus in various poses, some of them sexually explicit. Sorry, Santa. A silver cigarette case sat open next to an overflowing ashtray, next to an empty magnum-size bottle of wine. She held a burning cigarette in one hand. In the other hand was a Big Joe wineglass filled to the rim. She took a drag off the cigarette, followed instantly by a sip of wine. A sip, in her case, was half the glass. Jack had seen gutter drunks with more manners. He was glad she was sloshed. It would save her time after they gave her the news.

  “Hello, Miss Middleton,” Liddell said. “I’m Liddell Blanchard.”

  “I met you and your wife. Right?” Mindy said, cocking one eye at him.

  “At The Log Inn a while back,” Liddell said.

  She said, “Yeah. I remember. Marilyn, right?”

  “Marcie,” Liddell corrected. “This is Detective Jack Murphy.”

  Mindy unsteadily lifted herself from the sofa. She extended a hand that was heavy with jewelry. Her face might be called pretty if she wasn’t toasted. Bottle-blond hair with dark roots was piled on top of her head. She removed a clip and shook it down around her shoulders. Jack took a hand that was cold despite the heat from the blazing fire.

  “Mindy. That’s short for Miranda, ya’ know? You gonna read me my rights, officer?” She held her wrists out, Big Joe glass in hand, almost sloshing wine onto the sofa. She tried to avert the spill and dropped her cigarette. Reaching for the cigarette, she spilled wine onto the white fur rug, and the white suede sofa.

  “Oh, shit,” she said, and sat down again, sloshing more red wine on the sofa and into her lap. “You must think I’m a terrible person.”

  Jack said, “I would never.”

  She smiled and affected a pose that was meant to radiate sexiness, but came off as what she was—drunk, going on very drunk. “Aren’t you the gentleman,” she said. Keeping her eyes on Jack’s she took another sip from the remains of the glass and emptied it.

  “My last name is Middleton,” she said. “You know.” She seemed to expect some type of reaction, but seeing none she said, “Kate Middleton.”

  Jack couldn’t see a resemblance except that they were both female. “Oh,” he managed to say.

  “Oh my God! The princess. She’s English royalty, ya know?”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mindy Middleton,” Jack said.

  She said, “My Sonny talked about you. You’re that cop that saved those people on the riverboat. He said you’re a real hero. He said you shot a lot of people.”

  Jack hadn’t saved everyone. A lot of good people had died on that riverboat. Some attorneys, too.

  Liddell said, “Mindy, we have bad news. Sonny has been…”

  She cut him off with a waggle of her hand. “I already know. Sonny’s dead.” She headed for the wet bar in one corner of the room. “Sully told me this morning.”

  Sully made no attempt to introduce himself or explain how he already knew Sonny was dead. Jack wasn’t aware the news media had reported anything yet.

  Mindy was barefoot and the robe just barely concealed what was underneath. She took another bottle of wine from behind the wet bar, leaning over the top and allowing her robe to part.

  “They was a present from Sonny,” she said, seeing where everyone’s attention was drawn.

  Her accent was East Coast—Jersey or Massachusetts or New York. Jack said, “Miss Middleton, would you care to sit down, please? We need to ask you some questions.”

  Her eyes went to the man she’d called Sully.

  “Don’t say anything else, Mindy,” Sully advised.

  Her eyes went from Sully to Jack to Liddell. “It’s okay, Sully. They’re cops. I was just going to tell them that my Sonny got me this place, too. I always wanted a house like this and Sonny got it for me.” Her smile turned quickly into a frown, like a switch was thrown. “Too bad my ma’ didn’t live to see it.”

  “That’s enough, Mindy,” Sully said.

  Jack held a hand out to Sully. “Detective Jack Murphy. And you are…?”

  “Vincent Sullis,” the man said, ignoring the proffered hand. “Okay, Detective Murphy, you’ve notified Miss Middleton of Sonny’s death. You can see she’s in no condition to answer questions.” He made a gesture toward the door.

  Mindy was drunk but she didn’t seem to be eager for them to leave.

  Jack said, “Mr. Sullis, we have police business with Miss Middleton. We take the death of a policeman very seriously. I hope you won’t take this wrong, but unless you’re family, would you please be quiet and take a seat. We’ll get to you.”

  Sully smirked and said, “I’m Miss Middleton’s friend, but I’m also her attorney. I insist you stop questioning Miss Middleton and leave her house. We will get to you.”

  Jack turned his attention to Mindy and asked, “Is that what you want, Mindy? Do you want us to leave?”

  Mindy’s eyes went to the floor.

  Sully answered for her. “Miss Middleton has retained me to represent her. You’ve done your duty, detectives. Miss Middleton doesn’t wish to speak to you at this time. Any further questions can go through me. I’m going to have to insist you leave my client to grieve.” More forcefully he said, “I’ll see you out.”

  “Mr. Sullis,” Liddell said, leaning into the attorney’s face, “This is Mindy’s house and we’re not here to charge her with anything. You’re not representing her regarding our investigation. In fact, you’re interfering.”

  Jack had seldom seen his partner get angry. If Vincent Sullis were a smart attorney, he wouldn’t go poking a Bigfoot. But Sullis stood his ground and traded glares with Liddell. The guy had balls.

  “Charge me?” Mindy said. “What do you mean? Charge me with what?” Her eyes widened and her complexion paled.

  “Don’t say anything else, Mindy,” Sully said.

  Mindy’s expression said she was caught between a shark and a bigger shark. “I don’t care if they stay, Sully. I’m okay. I want to know what he means. Charge me with what? My Sonny’s dead. What are you gettin’ at anyway?”

  “Sonny was murdered,” Jack said.

  “Murdered! Sully told me he was killed but he didn’t say nothin’ about murder.”

  “Mr. Sullis,” Jack said, “how did
you hear that Sonny was killed?” Neither he nor Bigfoot had mentioned that Sonny was killed, just that he had died.

  Sully said, “I’m sorry, Mindy. You don’t have to be here for this. These men have no right—”

  Jack interrupted him. “We have every right, counselor.”

  “What exactly did Mr. Sullis tell you about Sonny’s death?” Jack asked.

  “He told me Sonny was killed, you know, dead, but I didn’t know he’d been murdered.” Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down one cheek.

  Jack couldn’t see a distinction between killed and murdered, but he’d give her the benefit of the doubt. Jack asked Sully, “Who told you Sonny was murdered?”

  “I don’t have to answer that, Detective Murphy. Am I a suspect?”

  “No, counselor. Not at this point. But I’m sure you know the meaning of investigative detention. That gives me the right to detain you for questioning to determine if you’re involved. I can take you downtown until I verify who you are. Would you rather do this here or at the station?”

  Sully smiled. “You know full well you can’t take anyone anywhere without some type of probable cause. Which you don’t have, by the way. But since Sonny was a personal friend, go ahead and ask your questions, Detective Murphy. You’re on notice that anything you learn from me, or Mindy, is under my objections and may be in violation of our constitutional rights. You do remember what those are?”

  “Quit wasting my time. Who told you Sonny was murdered?”

  Sully said, “I got a call from my secretary. I don’t know who told her. I can give you her phone number. You can ask her.”

  “When did you get that call?” Jack asked.

  “Am I a suspect now?” Sully asked. “If so, read me my rights and I’ll tell you to arrest me or let me go.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Sully,” Mindy said. “Someone called a little while ago. I heard him on the phone. He said Sonny was killed. Sully wouldn’t hurt Sonny. Besides, he was here all night.”

  Jack hadn’t told them when Sonny was murdered.

  “Mindy. When was the last time you saw Sonny?” Jack asked.