Primary Justice (Ben Kincaid series Book 1) (24 page)

Derek’s eyebrows arched. “What do you do, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Ben covered his eyes and held his breath.

“Well, I’m going to college now,” she said.

Ben exhaled quietly.

“At least I am at the start of the fall semester. Alvin’s treat.” She slid her arm around his waist and squeezed. “He’s my little sugar daddy.”

“Is that right?” Derek said loudly. He seemed to find this very amusing.

Suddenly, music began to swell from the chain of speakers built into the outside walls. A Fifties rock ’n’ roll tune was starting. “Sounds like it’s time to boogie,” Derek said eagerly. “Anybody here dance?”

“I dance all the time,” Candy said.

“
No
!” Ben and Alvin shouted simultaneously.

“I mean,” Alvin added, “her first dance should be with her fiancée.”

“Quite right,” Ben seconded. “Quite right.”

Alvin took Candy’s hand and led her to the area reserved for dancing. Derek and Sanguine walked the other way. “Hell of a woman,” Ben heard Derek say as they walked away. “Didn’t think Hager had it in him. Knockers out to here.”

Ben heard a new voice behind him. “And just as the music begins, who do I find but my all-time favorite dancing partner.”

Ben swirled. As if the nightmare wasn’t bad enough already, there, standing behind him, was Mona Raven, hanging on the arm of her illustrious husband.

“Mona!” Ben cried, and he really felt like crying. She was dressed in casual chic, a gold lame blouse flowing seamlessly into a tight leather skirt. Unlike Candy, the low lighting did her no favors.

“I believe we’ve met,” Raven said, in his creaky, tremulous voice.

“Yes, of course we have. It was a pleasure,” Ben said, shaking hands. He wondered which meeting the old man remembered.

“And
we’ve
had the pleasure of a dance, as I recall,” Raven said, turning his attention to Marianne. Apparently his memory functioned best in relation to pretty younger women. “That was a tradition I think we should revive.” He offered Marianne his arm. Marianne smiled and walked to the dance floor with Raven.

Mona placed her hand on Ben’s shoulder and pressed close. “I thought you were very manly at the Red Parrot the other evening. Almost heroic.”

“Kind of you to say so.” Ben looked out the corners of his eyes to see who was watching.

“I want seconds,” she said. She contorted her mouth in strange undulating ovals and growled.

“Forget it, Mona. It just isn’t going to happen.”

“If you don’t, I’m going to tell Joseph about some of the nasty skeletons in his new in-house counsel’s closet.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, “I’ve heard you and Sanguine have a few old bones rattling around, too.”

Mona drew back a step. “I don’t know what you’re implying.” Her smile faded. “I don’t think I like your new attitude, Benjy. I may have to have a little discussion with my husband. He always likes to know which associates are poking his wife.”

“Fine,” Ben said. He looked the woman straight in the eyes. She just didn’t scare him anymore. Somehow, he thought, after you’ve seen a woman in a faded jeans jacket hanging on the shoulder of a 250-pound biker, it’s hard to take her seriously. “You tell him what you want, and then I’ll tell him who I found slumming at the Red Parrot the other night.”

Mona laughed. “He’ll never believe you.”

“I have pictures.”

“You do not!”

“Don’t I, though? We undercover cops never leave home without our bow-tie cameras.”

Mona’s eyes fluttered. The energy seemed to drain out of her face. “It’s because I’m old, isn’t it?” Ben saw water forming into the wells of her eyes.

“No,” he said softly. He put his hand on her arm. “It’s not like that. It’s just not right for me.”

Before she had a chance to respond, a scream shot out from the area near the shallow end of the swimming pool.

“You’re a contagion! A goddamned bubonic plague!” It was Louise Derek, railing at her husband. What was she doing here? Her face looked tired and drawn, even worse than it had that morning in Judge Schmidt’s courtroom.

“I thought they split up,” Ben said staring at the feuding couple.

“They did,” Mona said as she watched the spectacle. “They got back together again. He begged her to let him come back. Think of the good times, think of the kids, all that rot. I told her not to go back, but …” Mona sighed. “After he tried to kill himself, she gave in.”

“
What
?”

“Ran a hose from the exhaust pipe on his Jaguar. Tried to asphyxiate himself. Had to be rushed to the hospital.”

“I heard he had an acute asthma attack.”

Mona looked at him and smiled. “My, you really
are
young, aren’t you?” She turned back to watch the Dereks. “I suppose she hasn’t made his life a picnic these past few years. It would be easy to feel sorry for him if he weren’t a totally selfish, unfaithful, egomaniacal son of a bitch.”

“You’re the Typhoid Mary of infidelity!” Louise screamed, easily loud enough for everyone at the party to hear. Her voice was a strange amalgam of shrieking and sobbing.

“Come on, honey,” Derek said. “You’re making a scene. Don’t get upset.” He reached out toward her.

“Don’t tell me not to get upset!” she said, slapping his hands away. “I have every right to get upset!” She took a giant step backward, which brought her to the edge of the shallow end of the pool.

“Get her away from the pool,” Ben said, not loudly enough. “Someone needs to get her away from the pool, before this tragedy turns to farce.”

“I want you out of the house!” Louise continued screaming. “I want you, and all your belongings, and every filthy microbe of your being out of my house!”

“Honey, be reasonable.” Again Derek reached out to her.

She swung wildly at his arms, missed, and slipped. She waved her arms in desperate circles, trying to regain her balance, but it was too late. With a loud shriek, she plummeted into the shallow end of the pool.

Ben hoped Derek would at least have the decorum not to laugh. He was seriously overestimating Derek’s powers of self-control. Derek virtually exploded with glee. “It’s too rich!” he said, between drunken laughs. “Too perfect.”

“Well, that’s the limit,” Mona muttered. She threw down her purse, stomped over to the swimming pool, and, with a single shove, pushed Derek into the pool. He screamed, then started splashing wildly.

Ben noticed several people looking anxiously toward the front gate. The show was over, he supposed, all but the mopping up of the blood. He decided it would be a good time to join the exodus.

As he headed toward his car, he saw a shadowy figure standing in the street, pacing back and forth beside the curb.

“Ben?” the figure asked. It was Brancusci.

“What are you doing here?” Ben asked.

“Looking for you. Your office told me where you were. Eventually. What a snotty secretary you have.” He stepped into the beam of the streetlight. “I’ve got all the papers you wanted together. They’re at my apartment now.”

Ben sighed. It had been an exhausting day. He couldn’t possibly focus on financial reports tonight. “I think tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”

Brancusci’s brow creased. “I thought you said you were in a hurry? Besides, it isn’t just the financials. I figured out who—” He froze in the middle of the sentence.

“What? What is it?”

“My God,” Brancusci said, almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t know
he’d
be here.”

Ben turned and saw Mona walking out with a tall, good-looking fellow with a mustache. He realized it was Marianne’s date, the notorious C. Kevin. Poor Marianne—evidently, he wasn’t as professional as she thought. Or maybe he was.

“Did he see me?” Brancusci whispered. He ducked behind one of the cars parked on the street.

“Did
who
see you?” Ben asked. “C. Kevin?”

More people were coming through the gate. Brancusci began skittering away.

“Call me tomorrow,” Brancusci whispered. He disappeared into the darkness.

The guests were dispersing. After a few moments, Derek and his wife emerged from the front of the house. Ben ducked into his Honda.

Derek had both arms around his wife’s shoulders. He was patting her dry with a bath towel. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Ben heard him say, in a soft, purring tone. “I’ll try to be better. Let’s get you to the hospital and see about that nasty bump on your head.” He opened the passenger door of the Jaguar parked in the driveway, and she stepped inside. Derek crawled behind the wheel and drove the car down the street.

What an incredible night, Ben thought, driving away. His headlights flashed on the front porch, and Ben saw someone standing in a dark corner beside the door. He looked in his rearview mirror. He couldn’t see anyone. A trick of the light? If not, how long had the person been there? Is that who Brancusci saw?

He turned his car around and flashed his brights on the front of the house. There was no one there, now.

Ben made a U-turn and headed home. He rolled up the car window, trying to shake off a distinct chill.

“S
UCCESS!” CHRISTINA ANNOUNCED. SHE
held her yellow legal pad over her head triumphantly. “We’re lucky the entry on that ledger was for such an odd amount. If it had been an even four or five hundred, I’d have a thousand possible locations for you. As it is, I have one.”

“One what?” Ben asked, looking up from the brief he was writing.

“One apartment. Well, two floors of an apartment complex, to be exact. The Malador Apartments, the tall round building just south of downtown. They have three sizes of apartments—efficiencies, one-bedrooms, and two-bedrooms. And the monthly rent for a one-bedroom apartment is—yes, you guessed it—
exactly
four hundred and seventeen dollars and forty-six cents, tax and bills included.”

“Incredible!” Ben said. “You’re a gem and a half, Christina.”

“Well, yes,” she said, fluttering her eyelids.

“I suppose we can’t be certain the payment was for an apartment rental. Even if Brancusci is right about it being some kind of real estate payment, it might be for a private home or even undeveloped real estate.”

“I don’t think so. If Sanguine was setting up some kind of pied-à-terre on the sly, he’d want as much anonymity as possible. An apartment complex would be ideal. He could send one of his many minions over to rent the place, then just drop the rent check in the mail once a month. But the
pièce de résistance
is the amount of the monthly rental, Ben. It’s an exact match.”

“That’s got to be it,” Ben said. “At any rate, it’s definitely our best lead. Let’s go.”

Ben and Christina sat in the front seat of Ben’s Honda, parked halfway down the street from the Malador apartment building. On the way, they had stopped at Christina’s apartment so she could change into less eye-catching clothes. An ordinary blue jeans skirt and a white blouse. No leotards.

Ben filled her in on everything he had learned during his last visit to Sanguine. She particularly enjoyed the news about the new double-duty locks on the front doors of the office building. Once Christina was up-to-date, they began to plan their strategic assault on the Malador Apartments.

“Why
me
?” Christina exclaimed. “I thought we were a team.”

“We are a team, but it’s your turn to run with the ball. It will seem more credible coming from a woman. And besides, I have to stay free for the follow-up. I can’t do that if they’ve already seen me claiming to be a pollster.” He ran through his mental checklist to see if he could come up with any more excuses. “And what if I got caught? I could be disbarred. Legal assistants can’t be disbarred.”

“No, but we can be fired, imprisoned, ridiculed, and impoverished.” She took the clipboard from the backseat. “Yes, I can see it now. It is better that I go.”

Ben smiled.

Christina brushed her golden-red hair away from her face. “Maybe I should change clothes again.”

“Stop stalling. You look fine. Very professional. Just tell them you’re with the city of Tulsa. You’re taking a survey of apartment dwellers on behalf of the Chamber of Commerce in order to formulate plans for a large-scale downtown renovation project lah-dee-dah-dee-dah.” He paused. “And Christina. Lay off the French.”

“Got it,” she said. She pushed open the car door, then stopped. “Shouldn’t I have a badge or ID?”

“Will you get out of here already?” Ben shoved her out of the car. “Don’t worry, you’ll be great.”

“Great,” she muttered, closing the car door. “You’d better be damned appreciative when this is over.”

“I will be. Honest.”

“Hmmmph.” Christina rearranged her clothes, placed the clipboard under her arm, and began marching down the street.

“Why do I agree to do these things?” Christina muttered to herself as she rode the elevator to the seventh floor. I’m a thirtysomething adult divorcée, not a stupid college kid. I’m too old and too smart to be playing cops and robbers. As if breaking and entering and nearly being caught wasn’t enough. As if I didn’t do him any favors in that sleazoid bar where we both could’ve been killed.

The elevator doors parted. Christina canceled her interior monologue and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. She stared at the door to apartment 701. Well, she thought, I suppose this beats doing document productions in Shreveport.

Almost immediately after she knocked, the door swung open. A short, wide man in a white T-shirt bearing the logo of a domestic beer company stood beyond the portal. He shamelessly surveyed Christina from top to bottom.

“Yeah?” he grunted.

Christina felt a flush of heat rush through her body. “Hello, sir. My name is Christina Crockett and I’m with the City of Commerce taking a survey for the Chamber of Horrors. I mean—” Christina’s hand passed across her forehead. “Oh, God, let me try that again.”

The man in the doorway stared at her. He took one hand off the doorjamb and rubbed his stubbled chin.

“You know it’s always harder to pick up again after lunch,” Christina said. “I’ve got to stop eating Mexican.” She laughed self-consciously. God, what a nightmare.