Imperfect Contract (23 page)

35

In late afternoon, I pulled in front of my house with a load of groceries in the car.  As luck would have it, I locked the door to the Mini and set the alarm, then jerked at the trunk, thinking I'd opened it from the inside.  I jumped and gasped at the shrill alarm. 

It must have caused the same response for the would-be intruder in my house.  I caught a glimpse of a man with light hair jumping the fence to my east side neighbor's yard.  Astonished, I leaned against the Mini.  How many different people were trying to break into my house? 

The odd thing was, without getting a good look at him, my intuition told me this intruder was Craig Vanderbilt.

My shaking fingers hit Ray's speed dial number on my cellphone. 

"Stay where you are.  Do not go in until I get there."  He sounded emphatic and somewhat exasperated. 

"All right."  I said, agreeing, but with reservations.  The intruder, if he was one, wasn't in my house.  He ran away.  I was anxious about Sunshine.  Walking around the house and checking the backyard would save time and be safe enough until Ray arrived.

When I saw the man jump the fence, I noticed the closed gate on that side of the yard.  The latch on the west side was in place as well.  I found no tampering to the bedroom windows.  When I stepped around the rear of the house, just beyond the screened porch, I saw the means of entry was the bathroom window.  I remembered opening it to vent the steam from my morning shower.  Maybe I'd forgotten to close it.

The bent screen lay on the grass several feet from the window, and fine scrapes marred both the screen frame and the window's edge.  There was a possibility that the alarm installer created the damage.  And, if my most recent intruder entered through this window, why hadn't the alarm gone off?  I stood back, staring at the screen, trying to remember if I'd set the house alarm.  Logic suggested I had not.  Wouldn't the alarm have sounded if I'd set it?

The rest of the windows looked intact and the garage side door held secure.  I jerked the door handle, hoping to set off the burglar alarm, but nothing happened.  Not a good sign.  Ray would be frustrated and angry at my carelessness. 

I heard the roar of the S2000's engine as Ray cornered into the cul-de-sac, then the Honda entered the driveway.  He called my name before opening the car door. 

A wave of relief spread over Ray's face when I appeared from around the side of the house.  "You had me worried.  When I didn't see you, I thought you'd gone inside."

I hurried over to him and slipped into his arms, accepting his kiss, feeling safe and protected.  "No, I'm worried about Sunshine, so I decided to speed things up and check around the back."

"You could have been attacked again.  Did you think of that?"  He released me from his hug and pushed me away, glaring, waiting for an answer.

"I . . . well, no.  I didn't believe someone was still here."

He stuck out his hand.  "Give me the key, please?"

"Sure."  I handed it to him.  "I'm capable of opening the door."

"You are.  Too bad you didn't set the burglar alarm."  He stomped toward the house.  "I want to go in first."

"Why are you so sure about the alarm?"  I hurried after him, my shorter legs struggling to keep up with his long stride.

"Did you set it?"  He turned to me, waiting for an answer.

"No, probably not."  I shrugged my shoulders and scrunched my face.  "The bathroom window is open and the screen is off.  If the system was set, it would have worked."

"Alarms don't do any good if you don't set them."  The whiskers along the side of his goatee twitched, and the muscles in his cheeks twitched, too.  He was pissed.  He stuck the key in the lock and flung open the door.  "Stay here," he said, raising his arm to stop my following.

I stood in the open doorway and watched him check the rooms.  "Can I come in?"

"Yes.  There's no sign anyone has been here."  He stood in the middle of the Florida room with the dog in his arms.  "He's fine," he said, rubbing Sunshine's head.  "Look around and see if you notice anything amiss."

All the rooms, my closets, my jewelry box appeared intact.  Everything seemed fine until I opened the door to the garage.  Suitcases littered the floor, the top of the freezer swept clean.

Ray joined me in front of the open door.  "That's twice someone disturbed your luggage.  Strange, very strange."

"Unless someone is looking for the suitcase Van gave me to store."

He looked at me, eyebrows raised, eyes round.  "You're not making a lot of sense."

I pulled the door shut and faced him.  "The intruder might be Craig Vanderbilt."

"Why?"

"Maybe he realized I'm involved in Van's escape plan.  Her luggage is in my car.  I haven't bothered to bring it into the house."

"Do you think there is something in it he wants?"

"Wouldn't think so.  I took a blouse to cover myself the other day at the police station.  There was clothing and personal items, nothing else."

"We'd better bring it in.  Maybe he wants to snatch it to make sure she can't take off again?"

"That would be just like him."  Ray used my key to open the patio door.

"Stay here and don't be touching everything.  I'd like to get the place dusted for prints again.  We need to stop whoever's doing this."

I stood in the middle of the hall, feeling out of place and helpless, while Ray went into the backyard with the dog.  He was rechecking what I already checked, and it made me mad.  I was a competent adult, after all. 

About a minute later, he appeared with a vinyl glove hooked over a pen.  "We seem to be establishing a pattern here." 

I handed him a brown-paper lunch bag.

He secured the glove, then retrieved my keys from his shirt pocket.  "You said Vanessa's suitcase is
in your trunk."

"Along with my groceries and ice cream."  I stuck out my tongue.  "Give me my keys."

"Stay here."  He strode out the front door. 

I ran after him, opening the door as Craig Vanderbilt took a swing at Ray.  The trunk gaped on my Mini, and the suitcase sat open on the ground, the contents scattered.  It appeared Craig opened it, and Ray caught him in the act.

Ray ducked as a right hook sailed over his head.  He came up and planted a punch into Craig's abdomen. 

Craig bent over. 

Ray threw a jab, connecting to his jaw. 

Craig stiffened and fell back a step, carried by the force of the strike, but he maintained his footing. 

Ray evaded Craig's counterpunch, blocking with his forearm and throwing a strike of his own.

Ray was muscular and fought like a boxer, though he had some martial arts training.  His blows were calculated and quick, relying more on offense than defense. 

Craig appeared more interested in beating defenseless women than big, strong homicide detectives, but he was fast on his feet.  He yelled something indecipherable.  Ray stood back a step expecting, I imagine, that the incident was over.

With a split second's leeway, Craig bolted across the neighbor's yard, turning on the speed of an Olympic sprinter. 

Ray stayed with him for about twenty-five feet.  He's strong, not fast.

 I ran into the yard in time to see Craig round the corner of the neighbor's house with Ray in hot pursuit, the distance between them increasing, then I hurried into the house and called 9-1-1.  It was possible Craig was armed. 

I returned to the yard and waited with the late afternoon sun baking into my back.  Ray reappeared in a couple of minutes without Craig in tow. 

36

Ray and I sat next to each other on my kitchen stools.  Ray looked flushed and short of breath from his pursuit of Craig Vanderbilt.  I gave him a tall glass of ice water. 

"Thanks for calling it in."  He wiped his brow.  "I need to do more running with my workouts.  Makes me feel like I'm out of shape."

"Craig's a sprinter.  Vanessa told me about medals he won in college.  At one time, he aspired to the Olympics, before he morphed into a scumbag."  I rubbed Ray's leg.  "Besides, you said you chased him for almost eight blocks before losing him.  That's good considering he's so quick."

"I need to find out if the uniforms caught him," Ray said.  He tapped a number into his cell phone.  While he waited, he said, "We can't prove he burglarized the house, and I only caught him rifling through the suitcase, but there are laws against attacking a cop.  We can pick him up on that.  What I'd really like to know is what he was looking for and if he found it.  It couldn't have been the whole suitcase he was after.  He'd have just grabbed it and taken off."

I waited while he talked to Lewis, who had followed the patrol cars into the area. 

He said, "Vanderbilt's gone.  He's probably two cities south by now."

"Damn.  Do you think Craig is behind the last break-in?"

"Same M.O., and Jamel Hutchinson has an alibi."

I nodded.

"Hutchinson also has one for when you were hit on the head."

"Maybe it was Craig then, too.  Vanessa gave me the suitcase before that.  Seems logical."

"I want to see what's in that suitcase besides personal items.  You don't stop a woman from leaving you by stealing her clothes."  He shook his head.  "He's a wife beater and a stalker, but I don't think he's stupid."

"He's not."

Ray hefted the huge suitcase and set it on my dining room table.  He flipped open the locks and laid the top across the table as I rushed to remove the centerpiece.  I watched as he unfolded the first piece of clothing, shook it gently, then felt the seams and hems.  He handed it to me.

Piece by piece we went through the suitcase.  I refolded the items in Vanessa's manner, or as close as I could.  "Let's stop a minute and look at those photographs."

"Where?" 

I pointed to the pocket on the side of the suitcase.  "They were between the blouses when I borrowed one the other day."  I picked up the envelope and opened it.  "I stuck it here on the side so they wouldn't get lost."  After glancing at the first few, I handed them to Ray.  "These are from the day Van signed her real estate contract." 

There were also prints of the front of the realty office, the townhouse Vanessa contracted to buy, and Vanessa herself. 

"Same stuff."  I gave the remainder of the pile to him.

Ray flipped through the prints.  Most of them were doubles.  Then he stopped short and held up a print of Barry for me to see.

"That's a good snapshot of him, though I never saw him healthy," I said.

The photograph showed Barry Hutchinson standing next to his desk looking fit and trim.  He wore a dapper three-piece suit, bright red and blue tie, and a crisp white shirt.   Looking at the image of him in the glow of health, I understood better why he never had trouble getting women.

"It's also the picture we found in Michael O'Ryan's car.  We knew there was a picture because Jones mentioned it.  But we missed it during the first search.  He stuck it under the lining in the glove compartment."

"Michael O'Ryan?   As in one of the shooters?"  I was incredulous. 

"You have the characters right."

I dropped into one of my dining room chairs.  I couldn't believe it.  "It all fits.  But I can't believe Vanessa would be capable of murder.  My God.  I thought I knew her."

"Let's not get carried away.  It could have been Craig all along and not Vanessa."

I shrugged.  "Van's been so hateful about Barry Hutchinson, insistent that Amelia was the killer, giving us all those details about their fighting.  She went on and on."  I shook my head, trying to make sense of what I was thinking.

"Don't jump to conclusions.  There are many possible explanations.  We need to step away and look at the whole scenario."

"For example?"

Ray began.  "Let's keep in mind Vanessa had cause to be angry with the Hutchinsons.  From what you've told me and she confirmed, they jerked her around with her contract and took advantage of her situation."

"Right.  Just because she was angry with them doesn't mean she's guilty of murder."

"Now, her husband
—
what could his motives have been?" he asked.

"Trying to prevent Vanessa from getting her home.  Seems far-fetched."

"Or maybe jealousy about the Hutchinsons' connection with her."

"Protectiveness."  I held up a finger.  "Maybe he thought he was the only one with the right to abuse
his
woman.  Or maybe he was trying to retrieve the pictures for her.  Doing her a favor."

"That has a ring to it."  Ray flipped through the photographs for the third time.  He removed the negatives from the envelope, held them by the edges, raised them to the light, angling them so I could see.  "All of the prints came from the same camera and were shot in sequence."  He tapped the stack of prints on the counter.  "Vanessa is in some of them.  I wonder who took the pictures."

"Connie went along.  She told me Vanessa was so delighted she wanted to commemorate the contract."

"Where was Craig at the time?" he asked.

"I had the notion he was still out of town.  Now, I'm really not sure.  Vanessa may have been involved with him for some time.  She wouldn't have told us.  She knew we wouldn't approve."

Ray slipped the cell phone off his belt.  "I'm going to turn the heat up a bit on Vanderbilt."

"Vanessa?"

"No, Craig.  Then we'll go to the hospital and have a talk with Vanessa."

"I'll call the hospital and make sure she's there."  I went to use the kitchen phone as I heard Ray ask for Detective Lewis.  I dialed the number for the direct line to Five Northeast.  The unit secretary told me Vanessa left the hospital with Craig a few minutes earlier.  Another surprise.

"Did she look like she was leaving with him willingly?"  I asked the secretary.

"She looked troubled.  He had his hand on her elbow and was pushing her along."

"Did you overhear anything?"

"Just him saying something like, 'How could you give those to her?'" 

I ended the call.  The photographs, I thought.  I tapped Ray on the shoulder.  "Vanessa's gone with Craig."

He broadened the subject of the search to include Vanessa.

Ray slipped the picture envelope into his shirt pocket and headed into my bedroom.  "I'm going to recheck the locks in this place, then I'm going to work.  You stay here and keep everything locked tight, and set the damned alarm."

"I'm going along.  She's my friend, and I'm the one that's being harassed."  I stood in front of him, glaring into his eyes, the stubborn Irish portion of my blood boiling.  "You're not leaving me here."

"Okay,
Sophi
."  He raised a hand in surrender.  "No use arguing with you."

He finished checking the locks, and I returned Sunshine to his crate, giving him his treat. 

"I'm ready."  I called from the front door.  "I think we should check Vanessa's apartment first.  I even have the keys so we can get in without breaking and entering."  I held them up, jingling them.