Die Smiling (30 page)

Carlos Vasquez was not a pretty sight. The surgeon had sutured his lips, but they were swollen and purple and sickening to look at. But he was breathing. That's more than Hilde could say. He was half conscious and heavily drugged, but the doctor said he could understand me if I talked to him. He told me to have Vasquez nod or shake his head instead of talking. I leaned down close to his face and could smell the antiseptic and his foul breath. His sutured mouth was covered with some kind of shiny Vaseline-type ointment.

“Carlos? Can you hear me?”

Vasquez opened his eyes and stared blearily up at my face. I could tell he was in terrible pain.

“Nod if you can hear me, Carlos.”

He gave a little nod, and Ortega and I looked at each other. We just might get lucky right here, right now.

“Do you know who I am?”

Again, he nodded.

“Can you tell me who did this to you?”

He didn't move, shut his eyes.

“Was it a Rangos hit, Carlos?”

He shook his head and I breathed a sigh of relief. Black had been right, thank God for that much.

“Did you see who did it?”

He shook his head and tried to talk, managed thick, slurred speech. “Jumped me…dark…”

“How do you know it wasn't Rangos?”

“Voice…the voice…”

Ortega said, “Give us his name, Vasquez. We'll go get him.”

Vasquez shook his head slightly. Tried to lick his bruised, engorged lips. Big black stitches were visible, and he ran his tongue over them as if they were foreign objects he didn't recognize. I glanced at the heart monitor. His pulse rate was rising fast, and the doctor was reading the monitor and frowning. He wasn't going to give us much time. I had to get more out of Vasquez.

“Try to tell us whose voice it was. You don't know his name? How do you know him then?”

“Hilde…” he breathed out.

“It was a man? A friend of hers?”

He nodded, and then his lips moved again. “He…scared her…he…”

“Is he an ex-boyfriend?”

His eyes were closed but he shrugged a little.

“Did he say anything? Talk to you when he did this?”

Carlos jerked a little, nodded some, but seemed more agitated and fearful. The doctor put his hand on my shoulder and tried to urge me away.

“Detective, you need to go now. You're endangering his recovery.”

“Please, Doctor, just a couple more minutes. It's important.”

The doctor didn't like it but he nodded. “Hurry it up, he needs to calm down.”

I leaned in close again. “What'd he say, Carlos? Please, try to tell me. We wanna get this guy for what he did to you.”

Carlos's tongue was licking at his butchered mouth again, but his glazed eyes were latched on my face. His words came out hoarse and ragged. “Said…I'd…die…smiling…”

Then he began to cry, tears leaking out his swollen eyes and rolling down between the stitches. The doctor pushed us both away from the bed, and we walked out into the corridor, both of us pretty shaken up.

“Well, we know it's a male and a friend of Hilde's for sure,” I said. “That's better than nothing. I'd call that a lead, wouldn't you?

“Why do you think this guy went after Carlos?”

I shook my head. “I don't know. Could be he was jealous of him, or thought Carlos knew something on him, could finger him for something incriminating. His voice must be distinctive if Carlos recognized it. Man, this is bad, and getting worse.”

“I gotta have some coffee. Want some?”

“Yeah. Make mine black.”

While Ortega headed for the vending machines at the far end of the corridor, I pulled out my cell phone and poked in Bud's cell. He picked up quickly, but his voice was groggy. Wonder why? It was just two forty-five a.m. his time. He said, “Claire? You back yet?”

“No, but soon. You still tailing Costin?”

“Yeah, but he's walking the straight and narrow. Goes to work, then back home in the morning to sleep, then drives down to Springfield in the p.m. for classes. I came home to get some sleep. I'll pick him up again when he heads back to Missouri State for classes.”

“You think he made you?”

“Are you kiddin'? I'm the best. He doesn't know I'm anywhere around.”

I smiled. Now he sounded more like my Bud. “Anything else going on since I've been gone?”

“No, it's pretty quiet. Bri's still all weirded out, sayin' she's gotta go away for a while. Try to come to terms with everything that's happened.”

Maybe I'm pessimistic, but that sounded a lot like a breakup in the works to me. I waited for him to confirm that, but he remained silent. “What about you and her?”

“She said she loves me, but maybe she needs a little time to think things through, now that Hilde's gone. She said alone time might help her cope.”

Uh-oh, not good. “Well, if it makes you feel better, Black and I just went down the same road.”

“No way. You broke it off with the guru?”

“Sort of. I don't know. It was our first fight, so I don't know if he meant it or not, but let's talk about that later. Know that guy Hilde lived with down here?”

“Carlos Vasquez? You find him?”

“Oh, yeah, and not all in one piece, either. Somebody showed up at his place tonight, cut off his lips, and left him for dead, just like Hilde, but without the strangulation and posed crime scene. He was damn lucky a detective outta the MPD found him before he bled to death.”

Bud gave a low whistle. “So you didn't get to interview him?”

“Yeah, earlier tonight. His alibi held up, big-time, so I cut him loose. Apparently, when he got home, the guy was waiting for him, scissors in hand.”

“Did he know who cut him?”

“Not by name, but he got out that it was some friend of Hilde's, a man. He recognized his voice.”

“He give you a name?”

“Nope. He's still pretty groggy. Just talked about the voice. That trigger anything for you?”

“Costin?”

“Yep. Darth Vader himself.”

“But Carlos didn't get a look at him?”

“Uh-uh. Said it was too dark, but hey, a lead's a lead. We'll have to check out her prior boyfriends and if Vasquez makes it, and they think he will, maybe he can identify his assailant. At least that'll give us an idea who to investigate. We ought to be able to get a recording of Costin's voice for him to listen to, identify him that way.”

“Yeah. When you coming back?”

“In the morning, probably. I'm still at the hospital, but Black's waiting for me at the hotel. I left my car at Cedar Bend, so that's where I'll go first.”

“I'll meet you there before I pick up the tail on Costin again.”

“See you later.”

We hung up, and I checked with the doctors one last time before Ortega and I took off. They said Vasquez was sedated and holding his own at the moment. They seemed pretty sure he was going to survive. At the hotel, Ortega said he'd continue to investigate the attempted murder and keep me posted, that maybe Vasquez would remember something else once some of the anesthesia wore off.

Upstairs in the penthouse suite, Black was sitting in the living room, waiting. He was fully dressed and by the frown he greeted me with, he was still hot under the collar. I wasn't used to seeing him so un-glad to see me. Didn't like it much, either.

He said, “You ready to go now?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Then pack up. I'll call for the limo.”

I packed up. He called for the limo. We rode in abject silence to the airport. We flew in abject silence to Missouri. Fun, fun, and more fun. Man, alive. In other words, the whole world sucks.

After that day, the older one concentrated on making a new life for herself and forgetting the boy and Sissy and all the others. The only one she ever missed was Bubby, and sometimes, she did break down and call him on the phone. He always said he was okay and that everybody was treating him all right, but she sometimes wondered if the boy was still playing the game and making the others do his evil bidding.

The boy himself called often and left messages, and Sissy called once and said she was sorry and that the boy had made her his slave and that she had to do what he said and then she cried very hard and pitiably, but the older one was not moved and did not believe her. She wanted nothing to do with them, not even when the boy moved down to Florida for college and came to see her.

By then, her real daddy had returned home to Europe with his wife and son, but she had already started college and didn't want to go live with them again until after she graduated. She stayed behind in their house and began to compete in beauty pageants again and was doing very well. She was happy and content and had met a transfer student at the university that she liked a lot. He was handsome and sexy and they dated for a long time before she asked him to move into her place.

Then one day the boy showed up when her new boyfriend was in class and told her how sorry he was, how much he still loved her, and she told him that it was over and had been for a very long time. She told him that she was happy in her new life and to leave her alone.

“Don't say that,” the boy said and pulled out a big sharp knife.

“I'm not afraid of you,” she said to him.

“You should be,” he said to her.

“Go ahead, kill me then,” she said, because she knew he couldn't do it, that he loved her too much.

Then he laughed and it was an evil laugh, one she remembered from the night they ran down the girl in the stolen car. “Oh, I'll never hurt you, darlin', and you know that, don't you? I'll hurt that guy you're living with, and I've still got all my little minions to help me. Or maybe, I'll just cut up Bubby a little bit. Maybe I'll cut off his nose, or better yet, his lips and send them to you, all gift wrapped up, nice and pretty.”

The older one's blood ran cold because she knew he would do it, that there was nothing she could do to stop him. “I'll call the police. I'll tell them everything I know about you. You'll never get away with it.”

“Go ahead. And I'll show them the video I have of you and Sissy and Bubby killing your daddy. Poor things, you'll all go to jail forever.”

“And so will you.”

“Maybe, or maybe not. I never said a word the entire time I was filming you smothering the poor guy. I'll tell them I found the tape hidden in Bubby's room.”

The older one knew he was telling the truth, and she knew he'd do it and enjoy it, too. And he was so smart, he'd figure out a fail-safe way to put all of them into jail without serving time himself.

“We were children. They won't charge us because he was abusing us.”

“You can take that chance, if you want, but all of you will wind up in jail, trust me.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to kick that bastard the fuck out of this house, and then you're moving in with me. And then it's gonna be just like it used to be before you decided I wasn't good enough for you anymore. So, we got that straight? Now get your clothes off. I'm gonna fuck you raw, and then you're gonna beg me to do it again. You're mine now, just like you used to be, but now you're gonna be my sex slave like Sissy and you're gonna like it, or Bubby's gonna pay the price. Remember my favorite quote, ‘Smile, and smile, and be a villain'?” Any of you ever betray me, you'll smile and smile, all right. You'll die smiling 'cause I'll cut off your lips and stuff them down your throats. And you know I'll do it, don't you, darlin'?”

The older one stared at him because she knew he
would
do it. He was capable of that and a lot worse. He came toward her with the big knife. He smiled as he stuck it down between her breasts and jerked it hard through her blouse. He ripped it off then cut off her bra and flung it away. Tears rolled down her cheeks when he pushed her down on the bed and began to unfasten his belt. He smiled. “Don't worry, things are going to be just like they used to be between us. You'll see.”

He knelt on the bed beside her, the knife pressed against her upper lip. “What's a matter, baby, you're not smiling any more? You know how much I love that smile of yours. Maybe I ought to cut off your lips right now and make that smile permanent. How does that sound, huh? Just remember that nobody betrays me and gets away with it, nobody. Especially you. You damn well better remember that, too.”

As the point of the knife pierced the skin above her mouth just enough to draw blood, she forced her trembling lips into the smile he said he loved and lay unresisting as he raped her.

As promised, Bud was waiting for me on the marina dock when we landed at the Cedar Bend heliport the next day. We'd gotten some sleep on the plane, but not much. We showered and put on clean clothes but not together this time. Neither of us were in a particularly chipper mood, and that was putting it mildly. I was glad to see Bud, glad to get away from Black's cold, controlled anger for a while. It appeared Black shared the sentiment. He nodded stiffly to Bud, then walked off ahead of us at a fast clip and headed toward the private elevator to his apartment.

“Black doesn't look so happy. What the hell happened?”

“Don't ask.”

“Hey, before you take off, I want you to talk to Brianna, and then Charlie said he wants us both down at the station, pronto.”

“What's he want?”

“Didn't say. Just said to get the fudge down there.”

Bud grinned, and I had to smile, too, despite my horrible mood. “Why'd you want me to talk to Brianna?”

Bud shook his head. “I can't get through to her. Maybe you can.”

Me? I don't think so. “Well, it's understandable she's screwed up, Bud. My God, she's been through a lot.”

“Just do me a favor, okay? Come inside and talk to her. She's in the ballroom.”

We started walking toward the hotel proper. “Why's she out here?”

“That's what I'm talkin' about. Now she's decided she's gonna take Hilde's place in the competition. And the director, that Cardamon lady, said she could.”

“No way. Why?”

“Says Hilde would've wanted her to. I'm telling you she's messed up in the head. Acts like a different person. I hardly know her anymore.”

When we got to the ballroom, it was readily apparent that Bud was right on the money with his take on said girlfriend. The dress rehearsal was going on, and Brianna was the next contestant to make her way down the stroll. When she walked through the curtain, she wore a 1,000-watt smile and a tiny black bikini that would probably fit comfortably into a demitasse cup. She waved cheerfully when she saw me and Bud.

Bud said, “See what I'm talkin' about? It's like she's forgotten all about burying her sister a few days ago.”

“Yeah. Maybe Black ought to be the one to have a sit-down with her. He's the shrink, not me.”

“You think he would?”

I nodded but I wasn't sure what Black would do anymore, especially for friends of mine. We stood silently as Brianna exited the stage and headed straight for us. The hotel busboys setting up tables and chairs stopped working and watched with dropped jaws as she sauntered past them, a regular Girl from Ipanema. I suddenly wished I had a terry cloth robe to throw over her exposed flesh.

“Hi, Claire. I'm glad you're back. I didn't want you to miss the pageant. Did Bud tell you I'm going to take Hilde's place?”

She beamed, the wattage still turned to high, and I checked her pupils to see how dilated they were. They looked abnormal, all right, not to mention that crazy little light in them. If she wasn't high on her meds, she needed to be.

I smiled back, but remained wary. “Are you sure that's a good idea, Bri?”

“Of course, I am. Hilde would've wanted me to do this. The idea just came to me yesterday when I was trying to sleep and I realized what a fitting memorial this would be to her, especially if I win. I'm so excited I could just die.”

I cringed inside. Bud looked aghast. Brianna's insensitive remark, however, obviously went right over her drugged-up head. I decided then and there Black had better find time for a get-down-and-serious, heart-to-heart session with this woman, and quick, too.

My cell rang and I walked a few steps away and saw on Caller ID that it was Charlie. I wasn't ready for the onslaught, but I didn't have the guts not to pick up.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where the devil are you?”

“Cedar Bend Lodge. We just landed a few minutes ago.”

“Get the hell down here right now. I already told Bud to report in and to bring you with him. I don't know where the hell he is.”

“Yes, sir, he's here, too, but…”

Click
. And that was that. Charlie wasn't always the most polite of chatterers.

“Let's go, Bud. Charlie wants us downtown, and I mean, yesterday.”

We left in a big hurry, and I rode with Bud in his Bronco. He was coming back later to get Brianna and I'd pick up my Explorer then, too. I filled him in on the details of what had gone down in Florida, even the part about Rangos and his merry band of henchmen.

“Not good, Claire. Charlie will flay you alive if he finds out you went into the Rangos compound to interrogate Vasquez.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“That what's wrong between you and Black, I take it?”

“Yep.”

We rode in silence after that, and once we arrived in the office, it didn't take us long to find out what was the matter. Charlie looked ready to blow a trunk full of gaskets.

“Sit down and look at this.”

We sat down and looked at the dark TV screen while he shoved a videocassette tape in and hit play. Static. And then a picture of a semidark room and two people going at it in a big way. In other words, having wild and uninhibited sex. I made sure it wasn't me and Black, then sat back and waited for the punch line. After a few minutes of some impressive huffing and puffing and orgiastic groaning on screen, I said, “Sheriff, uh…”

“Just wait a minute, damn it.”

Bud and I shifted uneasily in our chairs, never having watched porn together before, and I hoped to the devil that Mrs. Ramsay didn't show up with Charlie's preacher man again. No wonder Charlie had locked the door and drawn the shades.

About that time a loud knock occurred in the delightful skin flick that was making all of our faces tomato-red and warm to the touch, and on the tape was frightened whispering and a scrambling and frantic grabbing of clothes.

“Who's there?” the man of the hour cried in a gravelly, disturbed voice, jerking his shirt over his head. He turned to look back at the woman and put a finger to his lips to keep her quiet, but I'd recognized him the minute he'd opened his mouth. It was Walter Costin, the negligent night watchman at Lohman's Funeral Home and now primary suspect in the attack on Vasquez.

I froze when I heard the next voice. It said clearly and distinguishably. “It's Johnny. Let me in, and hurry it up.”

Bud said, “Oh, shit.”

Charlie said, “Both of you, shut up and listen.”

We watched Walter Costin move out of the room into the hallway and open an outside door. He remained in view as Shaggy Becker came in, glanced in the room where the girl was hiding offscreen, briefly, but long enough for us to see his face. Then the two of them moved off camera and had some kind of inaudible but heated argument. After about ten minutes, Costin appeared in the doorway again and said softly, “It's okay, Pam, he didn't see you.” Then he walked across the room to the camera and shut it off.

Charlie clicked off the television set and glared at us.

I said, “I interviewed Shaggy about this, sheriff, and he swore he wasn't there that night.”

“Yeah? Well, guess what, he lied. That's why the two of you are going to interrogate him again, and you're going to do it right this time.”

Crap. I could not believe this was happening. Why would Shaggy want to lie to me? I said, “Yes sir. You want us to pick him up and bring him in now?”

“He's already here. Interview Room Two. So is Walter Costin. He's in one. They haven't talked to each other, and they're not going to. Get down there and find out what the hell is going on. Buck's mad as hell and Shaggy's already offered to hand in his resignation. And guess what? Costin said he's already released this tape to the local press. It's gonna air at six o'clock on Channel 7. He's also sent a tape to Steve Grant at KY3 in Springfield. He says it's the only way to convince the police he was telling the truth because we were protecting one of our own in the coroner's office.”

I began to get that little sick sensation in the pit of my belly that never boded well for me, and by the look on Bud's face, he needed to fizz a couple of Alka-Seltzers himself. We decided to take on Costin first. We entered and found him sitting at the table, legs crossed, arms crossed, and I hoped his fingers weren't crossed, too.

“Hello, Mr. Costin,” I said politely.

“Hello, Detectives.” He smiled. I frowned because I noticed his gravelly voice and how distinctive it was. Carlos's attacker had a distinctive voice. That could not be a coincidence. Bud sat down at the table. I leaned against the wall and dug out the small tape recorder I carried in my leather bag. I set it atop the table. I could play it over the phone to Carlos. Maybe he could identify it. It was a long shot, but one worth taking.

“You don't mind if we tape your interview, do you, Costin?”

“Well, actually, I do. Just don't trust those things. You know, tapes can be doctored to make people look guilty when they're as innocent as driven snow.”

“Driven snow, huh?” That was Bud. “Or maybe if they are guilty as hell.”

“No, sir. I am not guilty, but that's why I brought a copy of that video down here to Sheriff Ramsay. I heard that Johnny Becker was telling you he wasn't there that night, and I knew I could prove different. I'm not taking the rap for messing with that lady's body, not with visual proof in my hands.”

“What were you and Shaggy arguing about when he got there that night?”

“What'd you think? I was having sex with my girlfriend. He disturbed us.”

Bud said, “Rocked the coffin, huh?”

I said, “We might want to come to your place and check out your sewing kit for needles and thread, maybe a sharp pair of manicure scissors. You wouldn't mind that, would you?”

“Sure, but you won't find anything. I'm not into needlework. I'm a history buff.”

“Oh, yeah, now I remember, ancient Troy and all those cool swastikas you like to wear.”

Bud said, “Where'd you say you lived?”

“I didn't yet, but you oughta know. You've been following me all week.”

Bud looked pissed that he'd been made, but I decided Costin was no fool. Something about his calm demeanor and those still, still eyes. He was just a little bit too smooth for a funeral parlor's night watchman. My hunch was that he was just chock-full of secrets.

“Look, I haven't done a damn thing and you're treating me like some kind of hatchet murderer.”

Bud and I looked at each other. We'd had some experience with hatchets and cleavers, especially me. Wasn't a good memory, either. I wondered if Costin knew about it and that's why he brought it up.

Costin went on. “I have nothing to hide. You guys ought to bring in your good buddy, ol' Shaggy, and interrogate him. If I didn't bother that girl's body, and I didn't, he's the only one left who could've done it. Guess you'd rather sweat me than put a friend of yours under the microscope.”

“You accusing us of collusion, Costin?” Bud asked.

Costin shrugged. “I think you two are the ones doing the accusing, not me. I'm just trying to prove to you that I'm innocent and had nothing to do with messing with that body. I'd never do that. Working there gave me the creeps anyway. It was hard enough just to know there were dead bodies in those coffins.”

“Not a fan of Stephen King, I take it.”

“I only read history books.”

Bud said, “That sounds boring as hell.”

“Not as boring as this,” said Costin.

The two exchanged death glares. But hey, Costin was grating on my nerves, too.

I said, “So you're okay with us coming out to look around.”

“Not at all, but I don't have much choice, do I? Just don't expect me to bake a cake.”

“Ha ha,” said Bud.

More glares, but Costin didn't seem overly averse to our home visit. And he was right. We didn't want to interview Shaggy. We wanted Costin to just admit he did it so Shaggy'd be off the hook. Who could blame us? Shaggy was a cool guy. Costin was a creep.

Bud said, “Why'd you think it necessary to give the tape to the media, Costin? That's just gonna cause a big shitstorm that'll complicate this case.”

“Not for me, it won't. It's gonna show everybody exactly what I was doing that night and with whom, and it sure as hell wasn't attaching some lips to a dead broad.”

Bud said, “Yeah, you showed what you did that night, all right, in a triple X-rated porno. I'm surprised they can even show it on TV.”

I said, “Dead broad? That's real respectful. Mr. Lohman must be proud to call you an employee.”

“I'm not going back there. Suddenly living around here doesn't appeal to me. Almost seems hazardous to my health.”