Makeovers Can Be Murder (11 page)

Trust a vampire to stay calm.

What calmed
me
was the timely arrival of the platter of hamburger sliders.

″Back when Anaïs was killed during the robbery, what did the police say about it?″ I asked Celia, popping a slider into my mouth.

″Not very much,″ Celia said. ″They talked to everyone in the Newbodies at the time. I don′t know if they talked to Jana, though, because she was in Miami.″

After a pause she added, ″Actually, I kind of got the sense that I was being questioned a bit about Anaïs′s murder. Did you get that sense, Monique?″

Monique looked stricken. ″You mean, like as a
suspect
? Not at all,″ she said. ″They just asked who′d been at Anaïs′s house around the time of the murder. And of course we′d all been there for the Newbodies meeting. That′s all.″

With a shrug Celia said, ″Well, they needed to know exactly where I was when the robbery took place. I remember they said Anaïs was killed at ten p.m. But maybe they only did me that way. I′ve never gotten along with cops—they′re
always
writing me tickets.″

Monique checked in with her watch.

″Oh, darn,″ she said, reaching for her purse. ″I forgot I told my roommate I′d walk her stupid dog tonight. He′s probably peed all over the place by now. Will twenty cover my drink?″

″It′ll more than cover it,″ I said. ″Hang on, Monique; I′ll give you your—″

But Monique had already left the building.

 

Early Friday morning, I drove directly to Durham police headquarters. I wanted to talk to Luke some more about Jana′s murder, but from the way he′d freaked out at me at the hospital, I knew I′d better have a good strategy.

The operator at the Durham Police Department told me that Luke was in an ″official meeting. ″ That was squad jargon that detectives used when they didn′t want to be hassled by the phone, Jonathan had once told me. So I decided to walk into his office unannounced.

On the way over, I picked up a latte and a bagel with cream cheese at a deli. Not exactly what you′d call a healthy start to the day, but I gave myself brownie points for rejecting the apple fritter, which had a thick layer of glaze and must′ve packed a gazillion calories.

The silhouette of the Durham police headquarters squatted beneath a sky the color of cin derblocks. Inside the main lobby, Tanya, the desk sergeant, nodded to me through the ancient Plexiglas divider.

″Working on something here today, Kate?″

″Yeah, Tanya, I′m here to do a little research in ballistics. Okay if I just wander around a bit?″

″Sure thing.″

I′m the only reporter Tanya lets roam the hallways of headquarters without an escort. She and I had forged an early bond after we discovered that we were both avid shoppers of plus-sized clothing. Sergeant Tanya′s got ″back″ as the saying goes. She jokes that her butt pushes her police trousers far beyond the call of duty. We′ve been buddies ever since I told her about Sassy D′s, an online treasure trove for women who have more to love. The other reporters never could figure out why I have such pull with Tanya. I call it the Sisterhood of the Plus-Sized Pants.

″You should check out that sale at Sassy′s this week,″ Tanya whispered after buzzing me through the door. ″I just bought their last pair of fence-net hose in a size double-X.″

″
Fence
-net hose?″

″Yeah,″ she said with a smile that showed a slight gap between her front teeth. ″It helps me fence in my boyfriend, Hugo.″

″I could use some fencing right now when it comes to my love life,″ I said, signing the registry sheet. ″My boyfriend seems to have kicked down the corral posts.″

Oops. I hadn′t meant to refer to Jonathan at his place of work. My bad.

Inside the detective′s bureau room I shot an involuntary glance at Jonathan′s empty desk. Its surface was neat and organized—amazingly clean, as if he′d sprayed it with disinfectant before leaving. Not a single personal picture was on the surface, including none of me, I noted. His desk looked like it belonged to someone who might not be coming back.

Luke′s desk, on the other hand, was strewn with personal tokens and other artifacts—family pictures, file folders in various colors, plus an ancient, crumpled brown bag.

Luke looked up from his reports. He gave me a flinty-eyed cop stare.

″I′ve got to tell Tanya to start doing her job better and swat away fruit flies like you at the door,″ he said.

″Catch,″ he said, tossing me a tangerine.

I caught it one-handed. ″Thanks.″

I wasn′t hungry after my bagel. But I knew better than to reject Luke′s peace offering.

While I peeled the tangerine, an awkward silence fell between us. Normally one of us would have filled the gap with a mention of Jonathan. The fact that we didn′t meant that something strange was going on. Jonathan had become an unmentionable elephant in the room.

To break the pall I said, ″So what happened after I left the hospital? With Jana′s husband, I mean?″

When Luke hesitated, I rolled my eyes. ″And I know I don′t have to mention that we′re off the record right now.″

″Right,″ he said. ″But seeing how you′re a reporter, I know I′ve got to watch my ass around you. If anything off the record goes on the air, you′re shit on my shoe—you got that? I′m only talking to you at all because you′re a friend of Jana′s. And because you′re
my
friend, kind of. When I′m not having to scrape you off my heel, that is.″

″Consider me scraped.″

Luke spread open the red file folder in front of him.

Red files, I knew, were used for open homicides; cold cases went into blue folders; closed cases were sent to the archives.

″We interviewed Jana′s husband,″ Luke said. He′s got a solid-sounding alibi. ″There′s nothing at all to implicate the guy in her murder. Nothing at all.″

″What about the fact that he had his hand down his girlfriend′s blouse in the hospital′s parking garage? And the fact that Jana was divorcing him and that he gets nada much unless she′s dead? That′s not solid enough to implicate him for you?″

″We′re considering all of that. I′m just saying that so far, Jana Miller′s death has gone by the numbers.″

He peered down at his notes in the file and made an exasperated gargling noise in the back of his throat.

″Strip!″ he projected in a booming voice. ″Does the—″

″Jesus Christ, Luke.″

Detective Stripling′s head rose above the other side of a filing cabinet. He had one fist wrapped around the unwrapped portion of an energy bar. Stripling nodded at me, then used the bar to make a rude gesture at Luke.

″I′m right over here eating a snack where I always am,″ he said. ″How many times do I have to tell you that you don′t have to scream?″

″Sure I do,″ Luke replied. ″Normal people can′t tell when you′ve got those damned music plugs in your ears. Is Jana Miller′s family insisting on doing a private autopsy?″

″I couldn′t talk ′em out of it. I told her brother and their lawyer that it would be a waste of their ample money. They wouldn′t listen.″

When Stripling′s head vanished behind the filing cabinet again, Luke looked at me.

″′Waste of time′ is right. Our medical examiner′s office is the best in the state. And the cause of death is straightforward in Jana′s case. Two gunshots to the head. But we′ll give them the corpse if they insist.

″Sorry,″ he added, after I flinched at the term ″corpse″ in reference to my friend.

″What will be they be looking for specifically, do you know?″ I asked him.

″They′ll be looking for anything that proves we don′t know how to do our jobs or that we screwed up,″ Luke said with a shrug. ″Rich people. What are you gonna do? They think only the private sector knows how to do anything right.″

″Have you gotten a confession from your suspect? ″

″Nah. That scumbag lawyered up real fast. He hired himself a pretty good one, too. That was actually kind of surprising. Usually these ass-holes can only afford public defenders.″

″Maybe someone else is paying for the lawyer, ″ I suggested. ″Maybe the person who is really behind Jana′s murder is footing the tab.″

″Well, aren′t you a regular little CSI. Were you thinking it was someone like Gavin Spellmore, Jana′s husband?″

When I gave a quick nod, Luke leaned back in his chair. ″Jesus Christ, Kate, would you give it a rest? Jonathan told me you lock onto a point like a pit bull and don′t let go, but I′m telling you that you′re probably wrong in this case. Okay?″

Like a
pit bull
? Yee-ouch.

My cheeks burst into flame. ″Certainly I could be wrong,″ I said. ″But you haven′t convinced me yet.″

″Well, you′re not the friggin′ district attorney that I have to convince, now, are you?″

Slapping the file shut, he continued, ″Anyway, Shaina has already ID′d our suspect—Antoine Hurley. She picked him out of a photo lineup after you left the hospital.″

″Shaina identified Antoine Hurley as the car jacker?″

″Isn′t that what I just said? I believe I did.″

″Yes, but what about the shooting? Shaina didn′t see a gun, she told me. And besides—even if Antoine shot Jana, he might have been hired by someone else. By Jana′s husband, Gavin, for example. Have you considered that?″

″Of course. And have
you
considered that having a lousy marriage and a girlfriend on the side doesn′t mean a guy had his wife killed?″

″It doesn′t mean he
didn′t
have her killed, either. ″

Luke was grinning now. He was having fun. ″You′d never make a real cop, you know,″ he said. ″You′re like one of those UFO conspiracy guys. You′d waste all the taxpayers′ money trying to disprove a theory that′s all in your head. Like did we
really
land on the moon? That′s for
The X Files
and nut jobs.″

″I′m not even going to dignify that,″ I replied with a sniff. ″Jana told me Gavin was stealing from her right before she died. To the tune of tens of thousands of dollars. And Fish told me—″

Luke lifted his palms in the air like a preacher beseeching the heavens. Then he pointed at me. ″I already told you, Kate—
former
Detective Fisher is a drunk and a psych case. So you can take all his information with a friggin′ dump-truck-load of salt. Okay?″

Glancing away, he added, ″As for Gavin Spellmore, well . . . look. Plenty of guys have something going on outside their marriage, or maybe they raid the family′s piggy bank. That′s just the way some men are.″

″Oh, shit, Luke. That′s just a rationalization, and you know it. How can you sit there and
defend
the guy when you know that he—″

″Look. I′m not defending this rat fucker,″ he said. ″But having an affair doesn′t make the guy a wife murderer. If that were true, we′d have to arrest half the male population in the United States. Hell, we′d have to arrest half the guys in this room. Why do you think it′s called the dick squad?″

″Shut up, Luke,″ a disembodied voice announced.

Someone chucked an apple core across the room. The pippin projectile sailed past my nose, headed for Luke.

While Luke ducked out of the way, I shot another glance at Jonathan′s desk. When Luke had talked about men having affairs, it felt as if he was talking about me and Jonathan directly. Plus, now I knew that Jonathan had called me a pit bull to his coworkers. It wasn′t exactly what you′d call a term of endearment. Would someone who loved you call you a pit bull to his coworkers? I don′t think so.

I wondered whether Luke or any of Jonathan′s friends in the United States knew about Gi. Probably not. Jonathan usually kept his personal matters close to the chest.

But maybe he′d kept Gi secret only from me. Maybe everyone else in town knew about her, and I was a laughingstock. The thought made the tangerine I′d just eaten start fizzing in my stomach.

Was I Jonathan′s ″something on the side″? Just a little something to be disposed of the minute his wife insinuated her size-zero butt back into the picture? Was that what I was when you broke it down? Jonathan′s naive, stupid fool. That′s exactly it.

I sat for a moment longer, trying to dismiss the distraction of having my head planted firmly up my ass. Then a new thought struck me.

″I forgot to tell you about something,″ I said to Luke. ″It′s about Jana′s purse.″

″What purse?″

″Jana′s Miu Miu bag. When Jana and I had lunch on Wednesday, she said she thought she′d left it at a friend′s house the night before. She was going to try to get it back.″

Luke reached for a notepad and pen from his desk and started making notes.

″Name of friend with Jana′s moo-moo . . . um, purse?″

″Trish Putnam. I don′t know whether Jana got it back before she was killed.″

″And what was Jana doing over at the Putnam home that night?″

″She was there for a support group. I was there, too. It′s a women′s group called the Newbodies. ″

″New
what
?″

″Newbodies. It′s a body-image support group. They—″

″I don′t give a shit what it is. Tell me about the purse.″

″It was a bronze metallic color. By the designer Miu Miu.″

Luke started leafing through Jana′s file. ″
Strip!
Check with Inventory to see if a brown purse was found in the Miller car. Had cows on it or some kind of shit like that.″

Strip′s voice said, ″There wasn′t a purse in the car. We assumed it was jacked during the attack on the women.″

″You
assumed
?″ Luke rolled his eyes. ″Well, right now it′s apparently sitting at some lady′s house. Not jacked. And you call yourself a detective? Cripes almighty.″

While Luke continued making notes, I said, ″Here′s something else interesting, Luke—the woman who founded the Newbodies group was killed last spring in a home-invasion robbery. Her name was Anaïs Loring. Evidently the detectives in that case talked to some of the members of the Newbodies group at the time. That′s an odd coincidence, huh? I heard her murder is unsolved, by the way.″