Murder and Mayhem (22 page)

“I’m not under arrest, am I?” She laid her hands on the table, ignoring the water. “Because if I am, I’d like a lawyer.”

“You’re not under arrest, but you’re welcome to representation at any time, Ms. Pridgeon.” Dante found the paper he’d been looking for. “Your alibi for the murder’s a strong one. We’ve confirmed you were in Chicago for the past two weeks, but according to the airline, you’d landed in Los Angeles two hours before your house’s exploding. Want to tell me where you were? I’m guessing you came home and found Jane already dead. Why didn’t you call the cops?”

“I certainly didn’t kill her. I hired her to take care of my cat.” Pigeon sniffed, and her eyes moistened. “And yes, I came home and found Jane. As for the police, I needed a moment first. So I took a walk. Nothing nefarious, and it wasn’t as if Mr. McGee would chew on her while I was gone. He’s a very picky eater. I just couldn’t… I’m a practical person, Detective Montoya, but it does take one aback when someone I knew and cared for is stiff and blue in my foyer after I come home from a long trip.”

“I am sorry for your loss. I gather Jane was a friend.” Dante got a packet of tissues out of his jacket pocket, then slid them over to Pigeon. “And people do odd things when they find a dead person. While we’d preferred you’d called us immediately, I’m more interested in talking about Jane Pierson. When was the last time you spoke to Jane? Did she stay over or just drop by?”

“She was staying there. Mr. McGee doesn’t do well in boarding. He doesn’t like leaving the house. I don’t know how long it’s going to take before he settles down enough to eat now that the house’s been blown up.” She pursed her lips. “Of course, poor Jane. Who’d want to murder her? She is—was—a very dear girl. No one deserves to be killed, but really, Jane? She was such an innocent soul.”

“Most innocent souls don’t rack up seven counts of grand theft, ten counts of fraud, and five counts of racketeering.” Dante looked up to find Pigeon’s smile still plastered unwaveringly on her face. “I have her arrest record right here. Your friend Jane is fairly well known down in Vice.”

“She had a few issues. Jane was hoping to break from that lifestyle. Which was why I hired her to care for Mr. McGee. She needed a place to stay for a few weeks, and since I was going to be in Chicago, it worked out for both of us.”

“Until she got killed,” Dante pointed out in a soft voice. “Was she fighting with someone? Perhaps her partner—the other Betty? They ran in pairs, didn’t they? When they worked for you… or do they still work for you? Did you think Jane was in danger at any time? You made good time between arriving at LAX and getting home, even with that little walk you took.”

“I took a walk because I needed time to think. Jane was troubled, but she was cleaning herself up. I don’t know anyone who’d want to kill her. Even Madge—Jane’s partner—should have been pissed off at her for leaving the business, but she understood. Sometimes it’s just time to hang up the life and be
normal
.” Pigeon’s demeanor didn’t change. Her smile remained plastered on her face and her shoulders were relaxed, but Dante caught a glimpse of steel in the woman’s gaze as she cleared her throat. “Just like Rook did. To be as normal as any of us get.”

“Rook….” Dante trailed off. “Explain.”

“Detective, I know Rook sent you. He left me a message on my cell phone. Boy knew I wouldn’t give you the time of day if you’d just shown up. I may have gone straight, but I didn’t get stupid in the process.” Pigeon picked up the water bottle, then cracked it open with a neat twist. “I went straight home from the airport because he said you’d wanted to speak to me. He’s a good friend, and he promised you just wanted to talk. I owed him that much. Actually, I owe him more, but that’s all he’s ever asked of me.”

“Let me clarify that for the record. You’re referring to Rook Stevens, correct?”

“Yes, Stevens.” She took a sip of water, then set the bottle down. “Beanie’s boy. Tall, too pretty sometimes, and he’s got those weird eyes. Just like his mother.”

Dante tucked away that bit of information, then continued on. “How long have you known Mr. Stevens, and where did you meet him?”

“Rook? God, since he was about five.” Pigeon eyed him. “Little bastard picked my wallet right out of my jacket pocket. He gave it right back to me. It was a game to him. He and his mom were at Rose’s then. She was supposed to be a magician’s assistant at the time, but all I think she did was play hide the rabbit with the guy and let her little boy run loose on the thoroughfare. He’s a good kid, though. Smart.”

“Who teaches a five-year-old kid to pick pockets?”

“Really, detective?” Pigeon laughed. “You know that crowd. Word is you were up to your armpits in them for a couple of years. That boy was picking pockets before he was out of diapers. Probably the only reason that loser mother of his kept him around. Besides, that boy’s got great hands. Best I’ve ever seen.”

Dante tried not to think about Rook’s hands and where’d they been on him, pushing forward with the interview. “You kept in touch with a five-year-old?”

“Hard not to know about the boy. His mother dragged him around the circuit. Hell, he’s done more carnie time than most people I know. Think she started off with Hutchinson’s, but I know he rode with Rose, then Bryar, and I think back to Hutchinson again when he was about sixteen. By then he’d… well, he’d gone on to bigger things.”

“While you worked the Betties?”

“While I provided a dating service for women looking for security and love,” Pigeon corrected quickly. “I’ve since left that business. Actually, Rook helped me. He went… well, he made a life change. Then I had a small… problem with a client. I contacted him to see if he could help me a bit. The boy’s gone far beyond help. I have a bookstore and coffee shop opening soon. Good place for it in West Hollywood. He gave me backing.”

“Out of the kindness of his heart?” The cynicism in his own voice was painful for Dante to hear, but he couldn’t stop it from creeping in. “The Rook Stevens I know doesn’t jibe with that image, somehow.”

“That’s ’cause you’re a cop. He’s been on the run from the likes of you since he was born. To the rest of us, he’s someone you can count on unless you screw him over. Then you’re dead to him. That was the mistake my sister made. It’s like killing the goose that lays the golden egg.” Pigeon’s mouth turned down, and she dabbed a tissue at her eyes. “My sister and I had our differences. One of them was what she’d done to Rook.”

“What exactly was that?” Dante leaned forward, his notes forgotten as Pigeon wiped at her eyes.

“She helped a cop try to frame him for something he didn’t do.” The tears were gone, replaced with a deep sniffle. “I told her not to. But she did it anyway. You know what happened then. Cops tried to nail Rook for a job, and they couldn’t touch him. Timing really, because Dani’s good at what she does… did. Any other time, he’d have been in trouble.”

Dante’s spine grew cold, and his stomach twisted in shock. “What cop? What did she do?”

“Some Italian guy. He was working a case against Rook and a couple of the others. We all knew about it. You can’t help but notice when people get dragged in over and over but then let go. So she transferred Rook’s prints onto a bracelet or something and gave it to this cop.”

Dante tried to speak, but he stumbled, trying to wrap his head around Vince’s duplicity and Rook’s seemingly impossible good luck. “Why would she do that? If he helped you all out?”

“Because Dani was… jealous? Greedy? She’d already blown through everything she’d made on a job she’d done with Rook.”

Pigeon looked up suddenly, and Dante knew he’d get nothing more on that subject than what she’d given him.

“Anyway, she wanted more… pay, but they’d all agreed on what was fair beforehand. For what she did, I think she got a lot more than she deserved, but Dani didn’t think so. She wanted more, and she knew Rook still… well, he was holding on to his pay. Let’s just call it that.”

“So why was Dani in Rook’s shop, then? Did she talk to you about that? Was there anyone who’d want to kill her that you know about?”

“She was probably in Rook’s shop because she was going to rip him off,” Pigeon stated baldly. “She had to have taken someone with her, because my sister sure as shit didn’t have the skills to open a place up, not if Rook Stevens owned it.” She nodded. “That boy is sneaky. He’d hide things in plain sight when the cops came over, but you still wouldn’t be able to get your hands on it. I was serious when I said he’s the best I’ve ever seen. Cunning. Thank God every time I talk to him that he wasn’t made mean, or we’d be in a world of hurt.”

“And Dani wanted… revenge?”

“To hear her, it was justice, but that’s a lie. She just wanted what Rook has… or had. Last time I spoke to her, she said she was going to have a big job, one she could retire on.” Pigeon sniffed again, her tears returning to bead on her pale lashes. “I just didn’t know it was going to be Rook.”

“One last question, then we can talk about the Betties. I’ll need you to fill in as much as you can about Jane’s partner,” Dante said, scribbling as quickly as he could on the back of an old arrest record.

“Truthfully, I don’t know much about Madge. She was Jane’s friend, but, well, she’s not one to listen to me.” Pigeon sniffed. “I worked with Jane for setup on things. I don’t think I even spoke to Madge more than three or four times. She was just teaming up with Jane as I was backing out.”

“Okay, but really, anything you might remember will help.” Dante added question marks next to Madge’s name. “Getting back to the break-in at Rook’s, the alarm system was turned off after being armed when Rook’s assistant closed up the store. If what you say about your sister is true, and she couldn’t have broken in by herself, did she bring the other two Betties in? Hank showed you their pictures, right?”

“Yes. They’re Chris and Christine—those are the two you found in the bin. They didn’t work with me. Copycats. Bad ones,” Pigeon replied. “They’d have been able to help her shake the place down. They work… worked fast. They could strip a whole house in half an hour, or so I’ve heard. But getting through the door, no. They’d need a key. No patience for locks and alarms.”

“So not even a whisper? Think, Pigeon.” Dante pressed harder. “If she brought someone in besides the other two, then that’s the person who probably killed her… killed them. I need a name. Or even someone who might know something.”

“I
really
don’t know. You don’t… you just don’t double-cross someone like Rook. Not that he’d retaliate, but he’s done a hell of a lot for a bunch of people when they’re hurting. You rip him off, and there’d be hell to pay. Most people who could do the job would never pull it off because it’s Rook’s place.” Pigeon shook her head, sorrow chasing away her smile. “People respect Rook. He doesn’t give anyone shit—well, more shit than usual—even when he does stupid things like take in that bubbleheaded blonde he’s got working for him. That porny-looking one. Dumber than a bag of rocks, but he gives her a job and takes care of her. Just like he’s done me. So if I knew anything, Detective Montoya, I’d have told you, or I’d have killed them myself, because I owe that boy everything. Every damned thing I own.”

Shaking Manny had been easy, far easier than Rook would have liked to admit. An overheard phone call and a reluctant refusal to join friends at a dinner gave Rook the groundwork to lay Manny a path straight out of the hotel room door.

Five minutes later, Rook was out the door himself.

“I’m not lying. I’m staying put.” Muttering to himself on the elevator got a few strange looks, especially from a silver-haired man dressed in a red tracksuit and cradling a small shivering dog of uncertain origins. He tucked himself deeper into the hoodie Dante’d left behind, covering most of the cut on his cheek. “I’m not leaving the hotel. Just that damned room. Not like I’m going to be up there wearing a metal bikini and waiting for sex.”

The dog and his human bolted as soon as the elevator hit the main floor. Rook’s last image of the pair was the canine’s ears flapping up and down as it peered back at him, its pointy muzzle smearing drool across the man’s shoulder.

“People,” Rook grumbled, walking toward the lobby.

He hadn’t been paying much attention to the hotel when they’d come in. Too tired to do anything more than lean against Dante and dig out the cards he had in his wallet, the only impression Rook had gotten of the main lobby was a huge space made up of glass, wood, and a hint of water. Seeing it again with a bit more of his senses about him, not much changed.

The hint of water turned out to be a three-story waterfall spilling down into a reflection pool, and he hadn’t recalled the scatterings of couches and chairs set up as conversation nooks throughout the long space. Waist-high black river stone curves carved the floor into smaller sections, long stands of orchids and bright green grasses providing a colorful break to the honey wood and pearl-painted walls.

And in true Los Angeles ennui, no one said a damned thing about him walking around in oversized sweats and black Converse sneakers.

After snagging an apple and a bottle of fizzy water from the concierge’s guest bar, he walked out of the hotel’s front entrance and straight into a wall of meat.

It was a familiar wall and not one Rook particularly cared for.

Big didn’t describe the man. Enormous came close, but Rook usually settled for gargantuan bordering on Godzilla.

And as usual, his temper was just as foul.

Standing a hair under seven feet, Stanley loomed over Rook, a bald block of suntanned muscle and snarl in sunglasses and a diamond earring winking from his right earlobe. As he reached for Rook, his hands blocked out what little Los Angeles sun could get around his mass. Then his fingers closed in on Rook’s arms, digging into his stitched-up wound. He gasped when his fingers went numb, and the apple went flying, hitting the stone-paved driveway in a wet splat. A second later, the bottle he’d tucked under his arm followed, bursting on the edge of a curb.

“Mr. Martin wants to see you,” the monster said, his voice pitched high, asqueaking tone at odds with his bulk. One of the valets stepped toward them, then pedaled back when the man’s snarl was turned on him. “You! Mind your own goddamn business.”