Finders Keepers Losers Die (8 page)

"I walked into a closed door," he said.

"What are you, blind?"

"It was glass."

"Were you drunk?"

"Not enough to dull the pain."

I cringed. I'm not good with pain, even
someone else's.

"So what did she want?" he asked.

"I thought you weren't interested. We don’t
do domestics, remember?"

"That hasn’t stopped you from taking on her
case."

"Exactly.
I’ve
taken it on, not
Knight Investigations." Although that didn’t preclude me from using
the company's resources.

"Will won’t be happy," he sang
childishly.

"Will won’t find out," I sang back.

He looked at me like I was stupid. "He’ll
find out. He always finds out in the end."

"The end is fine. It won’t matter then. Look
how long it took him to catch Tanya's embezzling."

He shook his head, dismayed. "I can’t
believe she’d do something like that to Will. And they were dating
at the time!" He shook his head again. "He took it surprisingly
well though. I would have been calling the police on her."

"I think he feels sorry for her. Or maybe
he's still in love with her."

Carl snorted. "Nope, he's definitely not in
love with her anymore. You should have seen him when he spotted her
getting out of her car yesterday. He couldn't get to his office
fast enough and told me to tell her he wasn’t in. It’s only because
she insisted on checking that he got found out."

"He’s a coward."

"She’s a bitch."

Good call.

"So are you going to share
your
case
with me, Cat?"

I was dying to tell somebody and since Carl
might be able to help, I blurted it all out. "Roberta’s husband is
dead."

"Dead? Damn, now she'll never get her
jewelry back." Spoken like a true PI.

"He was murdered."

His mouth dropped open and his baby blues
bugged out of his head. "She didn't do it, did she?"

"Nope. She doesn't know who killed him or
why."

"He was an ex-con, wasn’t he? Maybe he was
being too friendly with his old buddies. Or not friendly
enough."

"That was my theory. I saw him hanging out
with—"

"You followed him? You followed Lou
Scarletti?"

"Ye-es, I needed to learn his patterns, his
associates. Isn't that what you'd do?"

"Yeah, but…Jeez, Cat, you’re lucky he didn’t
spot you."

Enlightening him wouldn’t do my ego any
good.

"So what now?" he asked.

"Roberta wants me to keep looking for the
jewelry."

He sat down at my desk with purpose. "Good
idea. He might have taken their location to his grave but on the
other hand, it’s safer for you now with Scarletti out of the
picture." He picked up my phone and started dialing. "He wouldn't
have told her where they were when he was alive anyway."

"Who’re you calling?"

He held up a hand as he listened to the
person on the other end. "Daryl Miller," he said. There was another
pause and then Daryl Miller must have picked up because Carl spoke
to him like they were old buddies. I’d heard Carl and Will mention
Miller’s name before. He was a cop pal of Will's from his stint in
the force some ten plus years ago. They often called him if they
needed information from the police database.

A few minutes later, Carl hung up. He tore
off the top yellow sticky note from the pad and handed it to me.
"Stankovic is the detective in charge. Miller says there’s no leads
as yet but they want to speak to Scarletti's associates."

I gave him my sweetest smile. "Thanks, Carl,
you’re a gem."

"He also said Stankovic is still at the
crime scene. Lou's apartment." He winked and gave me a lopsided
grin.

I think that meant I should go round and
talk to the cops. "What about Will? Is he due in soon?"

Carl’s face turned a shade paler. "Uh,
yeah."

The front door opened and I swung round.
Will strolled in, shoulders slumped, hair messier than usual and
eyes looking like a road map. He acknowledged Carl with a nod and
gave me half a frazzled smile. "Feeling better?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Better than you look anyway.
Did you sleep last night?" As soon as I said it I wanted to take it
back. What if he’d made up with Tanya after their fight? Make-up
sex can get pretty intense and I didn't want to hear the
details.

"I was thinking about this damn Waterstone
contract all night. He’s becoming a pain in the ass."

"Get rid of him."

"We can’t afford to, Cat." He said it like I
was stupid for not understanding.

I ignored his attitude while I tried to
think of an excuse to leave. Will beat me to it by heading up to
his office and shutting the door.

"Go," Carl whispered. "I’ll tell him your
grandmother died or something."

I thanked him and left. Twenty minutes
later, I parked behind a police car outside Lou’s apartment. There
were cops everywhere. As with any good tragedy, the neighbors had
come out for a look. A young, gangly officer standing near the
front door kept them back, shooing them away like he was herding
sheep.

I went straight up and gave him a mega-watt
Hollywood smile. "Hi. I’m Cat Sinclair from Knight Investigations.
I’d like to speak to Detective Stankovic."

The officer was all arms and legs as if he
hadn't grown into his body yet. He stared down his nose at me but
couldn't quite pull off the air of authority he was probably hoping
for. "Why?"

"I have some information regarding Lou
Scarletti’s murder." I chewed the inside of my cheek as he radioed
up to Stankovic.

I waited fifteen minutes before a man in
worse physical shape than Lou had been when he was alive came down
the stairs. Sweat trickled from his hairline and damp circles
spread under his armpits. He took out a handkerchief from his
inside jacket pocket, unfolded it, wiped his forehead, and
re-folded it before tucking it away.

"I’m Stankovic," he puffed. "What do you
want?"

I looked him in the eye and lied my ass off.
"Cat Sinclair, Knight Investigations. Roberta Scarletti, the
deceased's wife, has retained our services." At least it was sort
of the truth.

Stankovic’s straight eyebrows forked.
"Really? And what has she employed your services for?"

"Surveillance."

Stankovic nodded. He probably assumed
Roberta wanted to find out if Lou was seeing someone else. I wasn’t
going to enlighten him about the jewelry. No need to complicate
things until absolutely necessary.

"And you wanted to see me because…"

"The transmitter under the coffee table is
mine."

His brows spiked again before flat lining.
"Now it's mine."

"But—"

"You’re wasting my time." He turned and went
back inside.

I tried frantically to think of something
else that would get me into his confidence. "Wait!" He stopped and
cast a glance back, impatience printed all over his moon face. "I
saw him with his associates. I can identify them for you."

His eyes flickered to mine. "You’ve just
become useful."

He escorted me upstairs to Lou’s apartment.
A layer of fingerprint dust sprinkled the surfaces and crime scene
investigators crawled around with tweezers and plastic bags. I
wondered if any of my epithelials had become evidence along with
the transmitter.

"Hey, Gina," said a voice behind me. "Or is
it Sylvia?"

I spun round and froze. Standing in Lou’s
kitchenette, his hands behind him and flanked by two uniformed
cops, was Scarface.

CHAPTER 5

"You!" I said.

"The one and only." Scarface's voice sounded
richer, deeper, away from the noise of The Grotto, but he looked
just as creepy in the daytime. And it wasn't only from the scar. It
was the way he held himself, with a sort of forced casualness as if
trying to contain an abundance of energy. I wondered what would
happen if his self-control snapped. Would the cops be able to
control him?

"You know this woman?" Stankovic looked at
me then at Scarface.

"Yes."

"Not really," I said at the same time.

Scarface smiled knowingly. "Come on now,
we're on first name basis. Not the
right
first name…"

He was making fun of me. "We met briefly in
a bar once," I said to Stankovic. "No big deal. I didn't want
anything to do with him so I left—" I cut myself off because my
mouth was getting ahead of my brain and from past experience I knew
that could lead to big trouble.

"Very wise," Stankovic said. "The less you
have to do with him the better."

"Hey," Scarface said, "is that any way to
talk to your colleague?"

Colleague? My acting skills let me down. I
stared ga-ga at Scarface as he moved toward me. His hands swung
freely at his sides. No handcuffs. And on second look, the cops
weren't guarding him, they were just relaxing against the kitchen
bench.

Jeez, I sucked at the P.I. game. Will or
Carl would have known Scarface was a cop.

Still, he didn't
look
like a cop. He
wore black jeans that hugged a nice behind and a tight black
T-shirt that showed off a lean frame with impressive bulges in all
the right places. His black hair stuck out at angles from his head
and the stubble on his chin was way past five o'clock.

"You don't look like a cop," I said
lamely.

He stood right in front of me, an amused
gleam in his one green eye. "That's why I'm good."

"He's undercover," Stankovic said.
"Detective Harrison Forde."

I burst out laughing. "You look different on
the big screen."

"Don't start with me," said Scarface,
er…Harrison Forde.

I sucked my lips together, trying to stop
smiling. Forde grunted. Guess he didn't have a sense of humor about
his name. Something to remember for later.

"I've told you mine now you tell me yours,"
he said in that seductive voice that made my insides squirm.

"Cat Sinclair."

"Miao."

Like I hadn't heard that one a million
times.

"What are you doing here anyway?" he asked.
"What's going on with you and Lou?"

"Me and Lou?" I screwed up my nose. "I hope
you're not thinking what I think you're thinking. I'm not his
girlfriend. Not even if he was the last of the male species and I
was wasted on a cocktail of drugs and alcohol—"

"Okay, okay, I get the picture."

"She's from Knight Investigations," said
Stankovic. "Heard of them?"

"Will Knight? Yeah, I know the bastard. We
worked together in the early days before he went soft and left the
force."

"Will's not soft." Why did I insist on
defending him?

"Did you say Cat
Sinclair
? Any
relation to Graham Sinclair, Will's partner?"

"Late partner. And yes, I'm his daughter.
Did you know him?"

"Only by reputation. He was the detective
that put Scarletti away," he said to Stankovic. "A few years before
you transferred here."

Stankovic looked at me again, a hint of
respect in his nod. First time Dad had ever done me a favor.

"I thought Knight only did corporate these
days," said Scarface. "What's he got to do with the likes of
Scarletti?"

"Roberta Scarletti employed me to do
surveillance on her husband. I followed him to his hang outs and
placed a listening device under the coffee table."

"That clears that little mystery up."

"Were you listening last night?" Stankovic
asked.

"Uh, no. What time did he die?"

"It was late," Scarface said, "around four
this morning."

"I was listening earlier in the evening. He
went out, I followed him, but he— I lost him."

Stankovic drew a notebook from his inside
jacket pocket and flipped it open. "He was stopped for reckless
driving at nine forty-five. He went to his girlfriend's place,
stayed there until two-thirty, and presumably returned straight
here."

"Any suspects?" I asked.

Stankovic and Forde both looked at me but
said nothing.
Guess that's a no then
. Or maybe they weren't
telling. Damn cops. Always keeping the good stuff to themselves but
expect everyone else to impart their hard-earned knowledge. Well,
relationships are a two way street. Give
and
take.

Stankovic moved off when a young cop
beckoned. I was left alone with Forde. "So," I said, "you've been
investigating Scarletti?"

"Yep."

"And you were looking for something here the
other day when you broke in. What?"

"I didn't break in. The door was unlocked.
Somebody
left it open." He crossed his arms, stretching his
T-shirt to tearing point over his big biceps.

I tore my gaze away, only to look up at his
wry grin. "Stop avoiding the question," I said.

He leaned down so our faces were level.
"Sweetheart, you know I can't answer that."

I humphed and tried to think of what to do
next. Asking straight out if I could look around probably wouldn't
work.

"So what are you doing here anyway?" he
asked, straightening. "If I were an egotistical kind of guy, I'd
think you were following me."

"She says she knows who his associates are,"
Stankovic said, rejoining us. He had his handkerchief out again. It
was as wet as his shirt and probably not much use anymore. Lou's
apartment was stifling hot. No one had turned on the air
conditioning or opened a window. My makeup had probably slipped and
I didn't want to know what my hair looked like. Heat plus humidity
equals bad hair day every time.

"Nothing new there, Sweetheart," Forde said
with a shrug. "I already know who his associates are. She met them
at The Grotto two nights ago," he said to Stankovic. "How did that
go by the way?"

The man was teasing me again, and although I
got flirting vibes off him, he was beginning to annoy the shit out
of me. "Lots of fun," I said. "But I suck at poker."