Sleight of Hand: A Novel of Suspense (Dana Cutler) (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Stephanie Robb came in late because Lily had been acting out in class and she had to meet with her teacher. Robb had read a few books about the effects of divorce on children. She had even spoken to a counselor her attorney had recommended. But she was still upset because her bastard husband had not read these books or talked to a counselor and was using their daughter as a football in the divorce proceedings.

Robb was still steamed when she walked into the detective division in time to see Frank Santoro hang up the phone.

“We have an ID on the John Doe who was found in that field by the river,” Santoro said.

“Who is he?”

“Ernest Brodsky. He has a shop in the River View Mall, and a daughter, Sarah Gelfand. That was Kline. He broke the news to her. She’s coming to the morgue in an hour to make a formal
identification
. We’ll meet her there and see if we can learn anything.”

Bob Gelfand put his arm around his wife and tried to comfort her. The couple was sitting on a bench outside the room in the morgue where Sarah had just identified her father’s body. Her shoulders convulsed with each sob, and Frank Santoro and Stephanie Robb waited patiently until Sarah was calm enough to answer their questions.

“I’ll try to make this fast, Mrs. Gelfand,” Santoro said. “I know you want to get out of here and back to your children. But I want to catch the person who did this, and right now we don’t have any leads. Any help you can give us will be greatly appreciated.”

Sarah raised her tearstained face toward the detective. “I don’t know how I can help. Dad didn’t have an enemy in the world.”

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful but I have to ask. Did your father have any vices? A gambling problem? Drugs? Was he a drinker? Any problems with women?”

Bob Gelfand laughed. “No one who knew Ernie would ask a question like that. He was a sweet guy. Ernie is . . . was seventy-two, and totally devoted to his grandkids. He was married to the same woman for forty-three years. Martha died two years ago and he was very depressed but he didn’t drink or take antidepressants or anything like that. And as for gambling, not a chance.”

“What about debts? Had he borrowed money from someone, or does he owe money?” the detective asked.

Sarah dabbed at her eyes. “He was having trouble paying the rent on his store. The manager of the mall said he was behind in his rent. The store was locked and he couldn’t get in touch with Dad. That’s why I went over to his apartment.”

“I’m way out in left field with this, but could he have gone to a loan shark for the rent?”

“No way,” Bob said. “Ernie would have gone to a bank. If that didn’t work out, I make a good living. He knows we would have helped him.”

“What about his neighbors? Did he have a beef with any of them?”

“No,” Sarah answered. “I’ve met some of them. They liked Dad, and he never mentioned anything like that.”

Santoro sighed. “I’m going to let you go. I’m real sorry about your dad. He sounds like a great guy.”

“He was,” Bob assured Santoro.

Santoro and Robb walked the couple to the front door.

“What do you think?” Robb asked her partner when they were alone.

“If Brodsky was as saintly as they pictured him, this case is going to grow cold fast,” Santoro said. “With the missing wallet it looks like a robbery.”

“Yeah, probably,” Robb agreed. “The only thing that bothers me is where we found the body. A mugger is going to grab the wallet and take off. That field was a long way from the River View Mall and Brodsky’s apartment. He wasn’t killed there, so the killer had to drive him to the spot, then risk being seen while he was dumping the body.”

“That’s a good point. Let’s head for the mall and see if we can learn anything.”

The River View Mall, an open-air complex of shops and restaurants, was a twenty-minute drive from the morgue. Stuart Lang, who managed the mall, was short, balding, and overweight. He was pacing in front of Mr. Brodsky’s store and glancing at his watch when Robb and Santoro drove up.

“This is terrible,” Lang said as soon as the introductions were completed. “We’ve never had a tenant murdered.”

“Can you think of anyone who might have done this or any reason for Mr. Brodsky meeting with violence?” Santoro asked.

“No. He was a real gentleman, a very nice guy.”

“I understand he was having trouble paying his rent,” Robb said.

“That’s true. I felt bad about it. I bent over backward to accommodate him because he’s been a tenant for so long. The mall is owned by a Chicago company, and he was here when they took over, long before I started as manager.”

“Were you going to evict him?” Robb asked.

Lang shook his head sadly. The concern seemed genuine. “I was very close to asking him to leave. We were trying to work things out, but his business was very slow. Ernie’s wife died a few years ago and he closed the shop for a while. I guess some of his good customers went elsewhere and he was never able to get the business back on track.”

“Can you let us in?” Robb asked. “There might be something inside that will help us.”

Santoro handed Lang a copy of the search warrant they had procured earlier in the day. It also asked for surveillance tapes of the area around the shop.

“I’ve got the tapes in my office,” Lang said as he unlocked the door. “You can pick them up before you leave.”

“Thanks,” Santoro said.

“There’s one other thing,” Lang said. “Mr. Brodsky’s car was towed from the lot a few days ago. The security guard noticed it on his rounds on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday after Mr. Brodsky disappeared. He’s supposed to run the plate and try to notify the owner when a car is abandoned, but the guard is new and he was confused about the procedure. I called Mrs. Gelfand to give her my condolences after you called to tell me that the body had been identified and she mentioned that her father’s car was missing. She wanted to know if it was in the lot. I checked with our security office and eventually figured out what happened.”

“So he never drove away from the mall on Tuesday night?”

“Apparently not.”

Lang returned to his office. Robb and Santoro spent an hour going through Brodsky’s books and papers, but they came up blank.

“That was a waste of time,” Robb said.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky with the tapes,” Santoro answered.

“We’re going to need a break to solve this case,” Robb said. “It has random robbery written all over it.”

“You’re probably right. What possible motive other than robbery could someone have for killing an elderly locksmith?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

At four-thirty, the receptionist buzzed Stephanie Robb to tell her that a man was calling with information about the Blair missing-person case. Robb sighed. She’d been fielding calls about Carrie Blair since the story broke, and none of the tips had gone anywhere. Still, there was always an outside chance that the caller really knew something that could move the investigation forward, so she had the call put through.

“This is Detective Robb speaking.”

“I know what happen to Mrs. Blair.”

Robb was certain that the caller was a man, but his voice was muffled.”

“To whom am I speaking?” Robb said.

“No is important who I am. What I know is important.”

Robb guessed the caller was Hispanic, or someone trying to sound Hispanic.

“And just what do you know?”

“I see him do it.”

“Do what?”

“Put her in the trunk.”

“You saw someone put Mrs. Blair in the trunk of a car? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Sí.”

“Who did you see putting her body in the trunk?”

“Mr. Blair. He no think anyone see him, but I see him.”

Robb knew the make of all of Blair’s vehicles. “What kind of car did he put the body in?” she asked.

“A fancy car, black. He take it to work sometimes.”

Blair owned a black Bentley.

“When did you see Mr. Blair put the body in the black car?”

“Monday, late. Maybe it was Tuesday, after midnight. I no have a watch.”

“Where did this happen?”

“Are you doing a track on me?” the man asked, suddenly
panicky
.

“No, sir. But I would like to meet with you.”

“No.”

“Can you tell me your name?” Robb asked, but the line was already dead.

The detective sat back and thought about the conversation. Did the caller really see Horace Blair put his wife’s body in the trunk of a car? If he did see him, where did he see him? Robb remembered her visit to Blair’s estate. The grounds were beautiful and very well tended. It would take an army of gardeners to keep a place like that looking good, and a lot of gardeners were Hispanic. Some of those Hispanics might be in the country illegally and wouldn’t want to meet with an officer of the law.

Robb would love to look inside the trunk of Blair’s Bentley, but there was no way she could get a search warrant with an affidavit supported only by the word of an informant who refused to give his name.

“Hey, Frank.”

Santoro was writing a report. He held up a hand, finished a sentence, then swiveled his chair in Robb’s direction. When she had his full attention she told him about the call.

“You think there’s anything to it?” Santoro asked.

“I have no idea, but the guy sounded scared. He didn’t sound like a crank.”

“No judge is going to give us a warrant.”

“I figured that out already. So what do we do?”

Santoro looked at the ceiling and spaced out. When he returned to Earth he said, “Why don’t we drive to Blair’s office and ask him if we can look in the trunk? See how he deals with that.”

Horace Blair looked up expectantly when the two detectives entered his office.

“Do you have news about Carrie?” he asked.

“No, sir,” Robb answered, “but we may have a lead.”

“I’m Frank Santoro, Detective Robb’s partner, and we have an odd request for you.”

“Yes?” Horace said.

“You own a Bentley, right?”

“Yes?” Horace answered, slightly confused by the question.

“Where is it?”

“In the parking garage. I drove it to work today.”

“Great!” Santoro answered. “Can we look in the trunk?”

“The trunk of the Bentley?” Horace repeated, not certain he’d heard the detective correctly.

“If it’s no trouble.”

“Why do you want to look in the trunk? I don’t understand.”

“We had a confidential tip, Mr. Blair,” Robb answered. “I’m sorry, but we can’t reveal the content. You understand.”

“I understand why you can’t reveal the content of a tip, but I don’t understand how the trunk of my car can possibly be connected to Carrie’s disappearance.”

“If you open it for us, we may be able to clear up your confusion,” Santoro said.

Horace hesitated for a moment. Then he stood up. “Come with me.”

No one said a word during the elevator ride down to the parking garage. Blair led the detectives to his car. The detectives slipped on latex gloves while Horace used his key to open the trunk. Robb angled the beam of a flashlight around the interior. The light reflected off the irons in a bag of golf clubs. A baseball cap and a pair of golf shoes had been shoved in a corner. Robb had almost decided that she and Santoro were on a wild-goose chase when she played the beam along the edge of the trunk and saw a brown smear. She looked up at Frank, who was leaning over her shoulder.

“Is that blood, Mr. Blair?” Frank asked.

Blair bent over and examined the area illuminated by the flashlight.

“I don’t know.”

“Can you think of any reason why there would be a bloodstain in the trunk of your car?”

“No.”

Blair sounded genuinely puzzled, but Santoro had dealt with criminals who were great liars, so he drew no conclusions.

“Frank,” Robb said. She had shifted the flashlight beam and it now shone on two blond hairs. Frank focused on them.

“Your wife is blond, isn’t she?” Robb asked.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Blair, I’d like to have someone from our crime lab examine the trunk. It could help us find your wife. Would that be okay with you?”

Blair looked confused. He hesitated and the detectives waited.

“You think this will help you find Carrie?” he asked.

“It might.”

“Then I guess it’s okay.”

“Thank you,” Robb said.

While Santoro stepped away and punched in the number of the crime lab on his cell, Robb took another look in the trunk. She leaned in and moved the golf bag to see if there was anything under it. This dislodged the golf shoes, which had been leaning against the bag. Robb tensed. Her back was to Blair, and what she saw in the beam of the flashlight set off alarms.

Robb stood up casually as if she were through with the search. Then she turned away from Blair to shield her gun from him. When she turned back, she was pointing her service revolver at the millionaire.

“Mr. Blair, please raise your hands and take a step back.”

Blair stared at the gun. “What the hell’s going on here?”

Santoro looked at his partner as if she were crazy. “What are you doing, Steph?”

“Raise your hands, now!” Robb commanded.

Blair raised his hands. He looked confused and frightened.

“There’s a gun hidden behind the golf shoes,” Robb told
Santoro
.

Santoro leaned into the trunk and saw the gun. He picked it up by the trigger guard and dropped it in an evidence bag. Then he held up the bag so Blair could see what was in it.

“Is this your gun?” Santoro asked Blair.

Blair started to answer. Then it dawned on him that a homicide detective was holding a gun on him and a gun he’d never seen before had just been removed from the trunk of his car where bloodstains had also been found.

“I think I should confer with an attorney before this goes any further,” he said.

“That’s your right, Mr. Blair, but this is very suspicious. It would help if you explained what this gun was doing in your car,” Santoro said.

“I want to speak to a lawyer before I answer any more questions,” Blair said firmly.

“And I think we should continue this discussion at police headquarters,” Robb said.