Murder In the Past Tense (A Giorgio Salvatori Mystery Book 2) (13 page)

“Which might make you careless,” Abrams said.

They turned and walked to the dumpsters, which sat some twenty yards back into the lot, up against the exterior wall of the building. They moved to the far side, where they were protected from view.

“So this is where they must’ve found him.” Abrams looked around. “Pretty private. It’s probably where he was killed, too.”

The two men surveyed the ground around the dumpster, but all they found were empty candy wrappers and cigarette butts. Giorgio opened the dumpster.

“When your guys get here, they should probably go through this, just in case,” he said to the tall officer.

“I’ll have them check around Montgomery’s bed, too,” he said. “In fact, I’ll check with Mrs. Felton and get a hold of all his personal belongings.”

“Let’s go see if we can find those glasses,” Giorgio said, heading back towards where the van had parked. “Hopefully, someone didn’t drive over them with their car.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The sun had set by the time they were finished. The forensics team had combed the parking lot, the dumpster and Montgomery’s room, but found nothing of consequence.

Giorgio did find the killer's cheap glasses under the tire of a car, but they’d been pretty much smashed to smithereens. Abrams still had them bagged and tagged, just in case. The registration book had revealed that the killer had signed in as one Trent Wagner. A quick check of public records showed that Trent Wagner had died in Afghanistan in 2013.

“Well, we’re hitting a dead end here,” Abrams said, stretching his arms above his head.

“What time does your flight leave?”

They were standing at Abrams’ car and were ready to leave.

“It’s an open ticket,” Giorgio answered.

“Good. Let’s get something to eat.”

They stopped at a local Applebee’s. While they waited for their orders, the two detectives got to know each other.

“So I decided it was time to move to a smaller town,” Giorgio said, finishing the story in which his partner had been killed in New York. “I thought maybe my wife wouldn’t have to worry so much. Then there were three murders up at this monastery in town, and now, I’m following up on yet one more murder that took place decades ago. All in a town where murders are supposed to be rare.”

“Well, at least the weather is better in Southern California,” Abrams said with a smile. “I’ve been thinking of doing the same thing. Switching to a small town, I mean.”

“Why?” Giorgio asked.

The big man shrugged. “I got divorced about a year ago. My wife…” he paused, tapping his fingers on the table. “Let’s just say I haven’t been too easy to live with at the department. I’ve burned some bridges.”

“You should think about Southern California,” Giorgio said.

Abrams laughed. “Naw, too many actors down there. If I collared one, I wouldn’t be able to tell if he was acting or telling the truth.”

“Some actors are okay,” Giorgio said with mock insult.

“Is your brother an actor or something? Am I offending a family member?”

“No,” Giorgio said with a grin. “Just me.”

Giorgio paused, allowing the remark to register. Abrams eyes grew wide.

“Really? No shit?”

Giorgio shrugged. “I did a lot of acting in high school and found I was pretty good at it. It’s relaxing, if you can believe it. Kind of keeps me sane.”

The waitress brought their meals. As Giorgio cut his patty melt in half, he said, “How long do you think it will take to get the drug screens back?”

Abrams shrugged. “Couple of days at least. So…anyone in this case of yours named Freddie that you know of?”

Giorgio shook his head. “No. But you can bet we’ll be checking on that.”

“So, what’s your
next move?” Abrams asked.

Giorgio sat back and wiped his chin. “We started out just confirming information from the original investigation. But two suspicious deaths in two days changes everything. Someone out there doesn’t want us to find the truth and is willing to kill again to keep it secret.”

Abrams reached for his drink. “Cold case, meet current case. But the kid who killed Montgomery certainly didn’t murder your vic way back in 1967.”

“No,” Giorgio said. “But he must be connected somehow.  And it tells me that the kid they actually convicted back in 1967 was probably innocent.”

“He was set up,” Abrams agreed.

“Yeah. And Montgomery knew enough about that set-up to get him killed.”

“But why wait to off him forty years later? Why didn’t they just do it back then?”

Giorgio pushed a fry into a glob of ketchup on his plate. “I don’t know. My guess is that whoever asked Montgomery to plant that evidence had an unusual hold over him. They had to be pretty confident all these years that he wouldn’t spill the beans.”

“But why would they lose confidence in him now?”

Giorgio looked over at the detective. “It could be because the players have changed over the years. Some of them may have died. Perhaps whatever influence they had over these two has softened. Plus we have better forensics today. Or maybe it’s just as simple as the killer being afraid that since both of these guys were old, one of them might want to clear his conscience before he died.”

“Well, I’ll have my guys canvass all the rental car agencies looking for either a gray or blue van. Plus we’ll check all the flights coming into SeaTac from LAX.”

"Or Burbank,” Giorgio added. “Sierra Madre is close enough that they could have used either airport. But maybe the kid drove.”

“Pretty long drive,” Abrams said skeptically.

“Yes, but we don’t know if he was alone. And a flight would have been easier to trace.”

“Except if they drove, they’d have out-of-state plates, which stand out,” Abrams suggested.

“True. But that’s easily remedied. If the kid had a fake ID, he could have used fake plates. I think we should also consider that whoever did this could have hired someone up here to do the job.”

Abrams shrugged his broad shoulders. “Maybe. But unless this is organized crime, most people can’t just call up a bunch of thugs in another city and pay them to do a job. It’s not like they’re in the phone book.”

“Good point,” Giorgio shrugged.

There was a moment of silence between them while Abrams twirled the ice in his drink.

Finally, he said, “You know, I have a friend who might be able to help.”

“Who’s that?”

The tall officer paused, looking uncomfortable for the first time that afternoon. Giorgio didn’t

think this guy suffered a lack of confidence .

“You might think I’m crazy, but she’s a psychic,” Abrams said quickly and then shut up.

Giorgio stopped and gave him a curious glance. “Seriously? You believe in that sort of

thing?”

The big cop pursed his lips and shrugged again. “I don’t know if I believe it or not. I met her in a class over in Ballard a while back. She’s helped me in a peripheral way on a couple of cases.”

“What would she do?” Giorgio asked, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“She’s really good at finding connections between people. Especially if there’s been something traumatic between them.”

Giorgio swallowed. “Traumatic – like a killer and his victim?”

“Exactly like that,” Abrams responded.

“So, you’re thinking that maybe she could find a connection between Montgomery and the girl we found?”

“Couldn’t hurt to try,” the big cop said.

“I’m all for trying,” Giorgio nodded, knowing full well that he had enough paranormal things going on in his life that he couldn’t very well scoff at the idea of using a psychic. “I’ll fax you a picture.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

After the trip to Seattle, Giorgio got to the office early the next day, anxious to get back into the investigation. He got a pot of coffee going before Rocky sauntered in.

“The Captain said to bunk with you temporarily,” Rocky said, a personnel file clasped in his hands.

“Sounds good. Swan’ll be back next Monday, and we can figure things out then.”

“I heard you went to Seattle yesterday. What was that all about?”

Giorgio leaned back in his chair, clicking a retractable pencil as Rocky rolled Swan’s chair out and sat down.

“Let me grab a cup of coffee and I’ll bring you up to speed. It’s a long story. Want one?”

“Sure,” Rocky said.

Giorgio filled two mugs and put one on the desk in front of his brother.

“Seriously?” his brother quipped. “I’m gone only three weeks and you forget that I take it with half a pound of sugar?”

Giorgio flinched. “Sorry. I’m used to giving it to Swan, who takes it black and no sugar.”

He went back to the small table that held the coffee pot and grabbed the sugar canister and slid it across the desk to Rocky.

“Been to see a dentist lately?” he said with a sneer.

“You know damn well I have the only straight teeth in the family,” Rocky said, pouring a generous amount of sugar into his mug.

Giorgio returned to his desk. “Yeah, but it’s what’s under the hood that counts,” he said. “If they’re rotting out from the inside, you’ll look like Gumby before you know it.”

“By the way, when did you get into the holiday spirit?” Rocky said, nodding towards the Santa sitting on the corner of Giorgio’s desk.

“Oh, Swan gave that to me. It was my Christmas present,” he said with a sardonic smile. “Speaking of which, I need to get some time to do some Christmas shopping. Tony wants a pair of those night vision goggles. Know where I could get them?”

“Probably any toy store,” his brother said, taking a sip of his coffee. “What’d you get Angie?”

Giorgio sat back and put his feet up on his desk. “We decided the new washer and dryer were our presents to each other. And now, as it turns out, we didn’t even need to buy them.”

He allowed a little puff of air to escape his lips in a sign of displeasure.

“What do you mean?” Rocky said, blowing on his mug of coffee.

“The whole day care idea is off. The consortium’s attorney says that what with guns on the property and a psychologically impaired dog, we’d never get the license.”

“Jeez, Joe, I’m sorry,” his brother said. “How’s Angie taking it?”

“Probably better than me,” Giorgio said.

“That’s not surprising,” Rocky said with a shrug. “She always accepts things better than you. In fact, most people I
know
accept things better than you.”

“That’s not true!” Giorgio complained. “I take things in stride.”

“Oh, pleeez,” his brother retorted. “What about that summer we were supposed to go to Sleepy Hollow Lake for a few days and got rained out? You moaned and groaned about it all weekend because you wanted to use the sword you’d made out of wood to kill the headless horseman…who, by the way, doesn’t even exist!”

Giorgio lifted his chin in disdain. “Who’s to say he doesn’t exist?”

“I do,” Rocky said in finality. “And that toothpick of a sword wouldn’t have left a scratch on him anyway.”

“So, do you want to solve real crimes or not?” Giorgio snapped. “Or do you want to reminisce about childhood memories all day?”

Rocky chuckled. “No, let’s solve the real ones. At least for those you’ve moved up to using a real weapon.”

“Funny,” Giorgio said with a sneer. “Get your notepad out.”

Rocky grabbed a legal pad, still brandishing a smile. Then, Giorgio took the next few minutes to fill him in on how Springer and Montgomery had died. When he was finished, Rocky sat back thoughtfully, the notepad and a cooling cup of coffee sitting in front of him.

“Well, there’s not much to go on,” Rocky said. “I mean, technically nothing points to anyone else but Jimmy Finn, at least in the case of Lisa Farmer. But…that could have been Ron Martinelli’s car that Finn saw in the alley that night. Maybe he and Lisa got into an argument right there in the backyard. He killed her, dumped her in his trunk and drove away.”

“Jimmy Finn was positive that wasn’t Ron’s car in the alley.”

“But didn’t you say that Ron said he borrowed his dad’s car that night?”

Giorgio shrugged. “Yeah, you’re right. But how would Ron have known there was a well at the monastery?” Giorgio countered.

This time, Rocky shrugged. “He could have hung out up there as a kid. You and I used to climb the fence all the time at that big old power plant near the house.”

“Maybe,” Giorgio said. “But Ron Martinelli didn’t seem to be faking his reaction when we told him how Lisa died. It was instantaneous. I’m not sure he could manufacture that so quickly, especially after forty years. That kind of acting takes practice.”

“You should know,” Rocky grinned at him.

“I
do
know,” Giorgio said. “The biggest part of making acting believable is to make the line you read sound as if you just thought of it. I don’t think Martinelli was acting. And now we know that Jimmy Finn had a girlfriend named Cheryl. And we know that Cheryl’s brother didn’t like Lisa.”

McCready appeared in the doorway and interrupted them.

“Welcome,” he said to Rocky and then turned to Giorgio. “I tried to locate Lisa Farmer’s step-dad. Turns out he died a couple of years ago. And the Farmer’s duplex is also long gone. There’s a new housing tract up there. Apparently, they’ve even reconfigured some of the streets. But I have an address on Leroy Lincoln,” he said to Giorgio.

Giorgio’s eyes lit up, making him pause with the coffee mug halfway to his lips. “Let’s take a trip,” he said to Rocky, putting the mug back down.

÷

Leroy Lincoln lived in a rundown single-wide mobile home next to the 210 Freeway. There was a small fenced yard that hadn’t seen water or fertilizer in years and a beat-up old Chevy pickup parked under an awning by the back door.

The brothers opened the squeaky front gate and climbed the well-worn steps to a front porch littered with dead plants, cigarette butts and empty beer cans. A broken screen door hung off one hinge, and the sound of heavy metal music from inside actually vibrated the porch floor under their feet.

Rocky reached out and rang the doorbell. Thirty seconds passed before the door opened. An older overweight black man wearing nothing but red boxer shorts poked his head around the door.

“Yeah?” he grunted.

Both detectives held up their badges. The man’s eyes opened wide.

“Shit!” he yelled and slammed the door shut, disappearing inside.

“Go around the back!” Giorgio shouted to his brother.

Rocky jumped off the porch and ran out the gate. Giorgio threw open the screen door and burst inside, weapon drawn.

Leroy Lincoln had just disappeared out the back door as Giorgio came through the living room. He followed him out the door and down another set of steps into the driveway, but Rocky was already hot on Lincoln’s heels.

By the time Giorgio got to the back of the trailer, Rocky was pulling Lincoln off the fence that led to the freeway. Between the two of them, they quickly got the man’s wrists into zip ties and flipped him around.

“What the fuck?” Lincoln said. “I ain’t done nothin’.”

He fumbled with his wrists, trying to get his hands loose.

“Cool it,” Giorgio ordered. “We just want to talk. Let’s go back inside, or we may have to arrest you for indecent exposure.”

Giorgio glanced down. Lincoln followed his gaze. The fence had torn his shorts, leaving his manhood flopping out for all to see.

“Shit,” he said. “You owe me a pair of shorts.”

They pushed him toward the back steps and into the trailer. When they got him into a chair, Giorgio found an old blanket and tossed it into his lap.

“Here. Cover up. I just had breakfast” he said. “Anyone else here?” he asked, glancing around.

“No,” Lincoln grumbled.

Giorgio nodded for Rocky to look down the hallway. Rocky pulled his weapon and walked to the back of the trailer, while Giorgio waited.

Leroy Lincoln had a round head, with short cropped gray hair. Little squinty eyes peeked out from folds of flesh set close to a wide, flat nose. His stomach ballooned out like a beach ball, stretching his skin tight.

Giorgio eyes roamed the room while he waited for Rocky, taking in stacks of flat screen TVs, flat screen computer monitors, several laptops, and boom boxes along one wall of the shabby living room. A few iPads were stacked on the kitchen counter.

“Well, well, well. I guess I know why you ran. It looks like you’re running a little business here,” Giorgio said, walking over and lifting up an iPad.

“I got all that stuff legally,” Leroy said.

“Sure you did. But that’s not why we’re here,” Giorgio said, turning back to Lincoln. “We’re here about Lisa Farmer.”

Rocky returned and they both holstered their weapons.

The man just stared at Giorgio. “Lisa who?” he grunted.

“Lisa Farmer,” Giorgio repeated. “Jimmy Finn went to prison for her murder.”

The proverbial light bulb went off in his bowling ball head. “Oh, that chick. That was a hundred years ago.”

“We found her body,” Rocky said.

He glanced over at Rocky and then back at Giorgio.

“No shit?”

Giorgio feared this was quickly deteriorating into a wasted trip.

“Your sister used to date Jimmy, is that right?”

“Yeah,” he snarled. “So what? She didn’t have nothin’ to do with that chick’s death.”

“Did Jimmy?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Where were you the night she disappeared?” Giorgio asked.

“Fuck! That was a long time ago.”
“Think,” Giorgio encouraged him. “Her disappearance was a big deal. You must remember

where you were that night. A new pair of boxer shorts might depend on it.”

Lincoln shifted uncomfortably in the chair, forcing the blanket to slide precariously off one

leg.

“Jimmy and Cheryl didn’t go to the prom that night. So, I drove her over to his house so they

could hang out.”

“Did you pick her up later?”

He shook his big head. “She usually walked home.”

“What were
you
doing that night?” Rocky asked.

“Hell, I don’t know,” he snarled again. “I was twenty-one, and it was a Saturday night. I was probably out drinking.”

“So you weren’t anywhere near the house around midnight that night?” Giorgio asked.

“Why would I be?”

“What kind of car did you drive?” Rocky asked.

His eyes darted toward the younger detective. “Back then? Um…a beat-up old Ford.”

“Color?” Rocky asked again.

“White,” he said.

Rocky and Giorgio exchanged glances.

“Jimmy said you didn’t like Lisa,” Giorgio said.

“Jimmy’s still alive?” Lincoln asked with surprise. “I heard he died in prison.”

“He’s alive,” Giorgio confirmed. “So why didn’t you like Jimmy?”

Lincoln shrugged his massive shoulders. “He had a crush on that skinny little white bitch. But he was dating my sister. Cheryl wasn’t what you’d call popular, back then. She was a little slow herself. Her and Jimmy were made for each other. Then he got her pregnant.”

That was news. Giorgio felt the familiar increase in his heart rate.

“Your sister was pregnant?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“By Jimmy?” Giorgio wanted clarification.

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure?” Rocky said.

He looked over at Rocky. “Well I’m not positive,” he retorted. “She could’ve been handin it out to others, but that’s what she told me.”

“What did Cheryl think of Lisa?” Giorgio asked, thinking that maybe they were talking to the wrong Lincoln.

“Well, obviously, she didn’t like her. She thought Lisa flirted with Jimmy, leading him on. After all, Jimmy couldn’t date her – him being black and all. So she thought Lisa was just playing with him.”

“Was your sister jealous enough to do something about it?” Giorgio asked.

He snorted. “Cheryl? No. She was a ditz. Not too much between the ears, if you know what I mean.”

Giorgio snuck a glance at his brother. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean,” he said.

“Where’s Cheryl now?” Rocky asked.

“She lives in Florida. Married some trucker.”