Ricochet (34 page)

As they entered Savich’s office, he smiled from behind his desk and politely motioned them to sit in the matching chairs facing him. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Why’s that?” Duncan asked.

“Because whenever you’ve got a murder without a suspect, you come to me. I’m flattered, Detective Hatcher. Truly I am. But being your fall guy on a regular basis is testing my patience.”

“What do you know about Elise Laird?”

His startling blue eyes shifted to DeeDee, who’d posed the question without preamble. “In what context?”

“In the context that she’s been missing for a week.”

“Well, in that context, I know nothing except what I’ve read in the newspaper or heard on television.” Dismissing DeeDee, he returned his unblinking gaze to Duncan. “Did Kenny offer you some refreshment?”

“Just days before she went missing, you met with Elise Laird in a topless bar called White Tie and Tails.”

Savich formed a steeple with his fingers and mused aloud, “Do you think the name of that club has racial implications?”

“The meeting, Savich.”

Duncan’s impatience made him grin. “Someone’s pulling your leg, Detective Hatcher.”

“Detective Bowen and I are very busy these days. Please don’t waste our time. Tell us the purpose of your tête-à-tête in that dark booth with Elise Laird.”

“There was no such tête-à-tête.”

“Someone told us otherwise.”

Savich remained unruffled. “Let me guess. That ‘someone’ is after the fifty-thousand-dollar reward her husband has offered.”

“That someone is a reliable source,” DeeDee said.

Gordie Ballew was about as reliable as a snake oil salesman’s verbal guarantee, but Duncan nodded his agreement to DeeDee’s lie.

Savich said, “He’s lying.”

“I didn’t say it was a he.”

Savich gave a negligent wave of his hand. “He, she, whatever. Your snitch is lying.”

“I’d put my money on you being the liar,” DeeDee said. “We have the time and the place of the meeting, plus a witness willing to testify to it. Now, think real hard, Savich. Concentrate. Are you sure you didn’t have a meeting last week with Elise Laird?”

Savich assessed her while idly drumming his fingers on the polished surface of his desk. After several moments, he said, “I bet you eat pussy, don’t you?”

She would have lunged from her chair if Duncan hadn’t clothes-lined her across the chest to keep her in her seat. Her angry reaction was exactly what Savich was after. Duncan had learned that lesson the hard way and had spent two days in jail as a consequence.

Before they arrived, he’d reminded DeeDee to beware of Savich’s manipulations and warned her against reacting to them. Savich would push whatever buttons he could to distract them.

Duncan gave DeeDee a warning look, then went back to Savich. “You’re lying about that meeting. We know it took place. So, why not just give it up sooner rather than later and tell us what you know about Elise Laird.”

“I know that she’s a lovely girl,” he said. “Or was the last time I saw her.”

“When was that?”

“Hmm, it’s been a long time. Certainly before she got married, and how long has that been?” Focused on Duncan now, he said silkily, “But she’s not a woman you easily forget, is she? I met her while she was working at the White Tie and Tails. I remember the first time she… entertained me. I was captivated by her.”

He laughed out loud. “Ah, I see by your expression that you’re not immune to her charms, Detective Hatcher. How reassuring. It’s nice to know that you have the same base appetites as the rest of us mere mortals.”

Duncan was seething inside but kept his expression schooled.

Savich snickered, then continued. “As alluring as Elise was, I suggested it would further her career if she got breast implants. She didn’t embrace the idea. Actually, that’s an understatement. She was quite opposed to it.”

He opened a silver box on his desk and took a long, black cigarette from it. “Either of you care for one?” When neither deigned to answer, he fit the cigarette into an ivory filter and lit it with a gold lighter, snapping the lid closed with a decisive click that snuffed out the flame. He inhaled deeply and directed a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.

“In retrospect,” he said, “I believe Elise was right to reject my suggestion. Her breasts are very soft and sexy in their natural state.”

Duncan wanted to yank the cigarette from Savich’s smiling lips, grind it out against his eyeball, and then push the smooth-talking son of a bitch through the plate glass window behind his desk.

Stiffly, he asked Savich if he’d known Meyer Napoli.

“I knew who he was, of course.”

“Did you ever retain his services?” DeeDee asked.

“What an absurd notion, even for you, Detective Bowen.”

“Why absurd?”

“Why would I hire a private investigator with limited resources and skills?”

“When you have people on your payroll who do that kind of dirty work for you.”

Savich said nothing.

DeeDee said, “We can question everyone who was in the club that afternoon. Someone will remember that meeting between you and the judge’s wife.”

Savich smiled at her veiled threat. Balancing his cigarette in a crystal ashtray, he opened his lap drawer and withdrew a business card, then slid it across the desk toward her. “There was no such meeting. Your snitch is lying. However, if you insist on wasting everyone’s time, I can guarantee the full cooperation of the manager of the White Tie and Tails.

“That’s his card with his phone number, fax number, and e-mail address. Kenny also has his private cell phone number. You can ask for it on your way out.” Having called her bluff, he stood up. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me. I’m late for a business meeting.”

Neither of the detectives moved. Finally DeeDee turned her head. “Duncan?”

He was engaged in a staring duel with the criminal. “Meet me outside.”

She stood up, but hesitated. “Are you—”

“I’ll be right there.”

She hesitated a moment longer, then reluctantly walked out. Kenny said something to her; she responded, matching his bitchy tone.

Duncan didn’t break eye contact with Savich. “I’ll find out, you know. What that meeting with Elise Laird was about. I’ll find out.”

Savich’s eyes glittered as coldly as the diamond in his earlobe. They didn’t change, not even when his lips slowly formed a wide smile. “You seem to have a real fire in your belly for this case, Detective. Even more so than usual. I wonder why that is. Could it be…”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Do I detect a crack in your armor of righteousness? Could a mere woman have caused that breach? Is snatch your weakness, Detective Sergeant Hatcher?” He made a tsking sound. “How disappointingly ordinary. And how very sad for you that the object of your affection is feared dead.”

He laughed long and loud at Duncan’s expense. Then, leaning across his desk, he whispered, “Happy hunting.”

Later that afternoon the detectives went to the Chatham County Detention Center and were granted twenty minutes with Gordie Ballew. While his court-appointed attorney stood by, Duncan, feeling the aftereffects of his infuriating meeting with Savich, hammered him with questions about what he’d seen at the topless bar.

Duncan had to learn what business Elise had with Savich. It was important to their investigation, certainly. It was possibly even more important to him.

He bore down on Gordie Ballew. “What were they doing?”

“Talking.”

“Just the two of them?”

“Yeah. Private.” The more nervous Gordie got, the more noticeable his speech impediment became. “In a booth. Like I told you. Like I’ve told you a hunnerd times already.”

He claimed not to have known the blond woman’s identity or realized the significance of her meeting with Savich until he saw Elise Laird’s picture on the front page of the newspaper. “I recognized her right off.”

“Why didn’t you notify us immediately?”

“Took five days to get his sorry ass over here to see me!” Gordie exclaimed, casting a disparaging glance toward the lawyer, who yawned in response.

“You know how bad I want Savich for Freddy Morris and others,” Duncan said.

“Yeah. So?”

“So I think you reconsidered the offer you turned down last week. You made up this bullshit story so you’d have something juicy to bargain with.”

Gordie looked wildly at DeeDee and the lawyer, neither of whom offered him an escape hatch. Coming back to Duncan, he said, “It ain’t like that.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“I saw her with Savich,” the small man insisted, his nasal voice rising in pitch.

“That’s not the club where you were arrested later that night for assault.”

“Right. I left the White Tie and went to that other place.”

“Savich see you at the White Tie?”

That possibility made him visibly fearful. He squirmed in his seat. “He wasn’t paying no attention to me. I was on the other side of the club, watching the show, one of them girls getting it on with a brass pole.”

“You were skulking in a dark strip joint—”

“What’s skulking?”

“Were you drunk?”

“No.”

“Gor-dee,” Duncan said.

“Okay, okay, I was getting there, but I wasn’t drunk yet.”

“High?”

His eyes darted about evasively, but then he said, “I may have had something. I don’t remember.”

“But you remember the blonde Savich was in conversation with.”

“Yeah.”

“From across a dark nightclub. While you were high and drunk. And days later you conveniently recognized her as Elise Laird.”

Gordie bobbed his head emphatically. “That’s right. What you just said, Hatcher. That’s it in a nutshell.”

Duncan stood up and shoved his chair beneath the table. “You’re full of crap.”

“No! I swear I’m not! Not this time.”

“Why should this time be any different? Oh, wait.” Duncan snapped his fingers. “The reward. That’s the difference.”

“That fifty grand’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Do I look like I was born yesterday?” Duncan shouted. “You heard about the fifty-thousand-dollar reward. You know I want Savich. Bingo. You’ve made up this story and wasted my time, which I have precious little of these days. I have even less patience with lying, sniveling lumps of maggot shit like you, Gordie.”

“Okay, Hatcher, maybe I have lied to you a few times before,” he said, his voice cracking. “But not this time. I swear it, I… Where are you going?” he squealed in panic as Duncan headed for the door.

“We’ll get back to you,” Duncan said over his shoulder as he and DeeDee walked out.

Worley was waiting for them on the other side of the door. “What do you think?”

Duncan expelled a long breath as he thoughtfully watched through the small window as Gordie was escorted from the room by guards. “He’s a habitual liar. But either he’s gotten exceptionally good at it, or he’s telling the truth this time. He’s stuck to his story without changing a word. Let’s give him overnight to fret about it, then come at him again. In the meantime, let’s take this to the judge. See what—”

“Ixnay.” Worley poked a fresh toothpick into his mouth. “No can do, Dunk. Orders from above.”

“What the hell?”

“I knew you’d be pissed. That’s why I put off telling you until after you’d had a crack at Savich and Gordie here, but Captain Gerard said we’re not to confront the judge about his wife’s alleged meeting with Savich.”

DeeDee sputtered, “Are you serious?”

“As death and taxes,” Worley said. “Gerard bounced Gordie’s story off the chief, who practically bounced Gerard out of his office. Through this whole ordeal, they’ve managed to keep a lid on Mrs. Laird’s history as a topless dancer. You can imagine the field day the media would have with that. But an association with Savich would make her G-string days look like Sunday school.”

DeeDee said, “If memory serves, it was Chief Taylor himself who ordered us to use every resource available to solve the mystery of Mrs. Laird’s disappearance, right?”

“I’m only telling you what Gerard told me,” Worley said. “Gerard said that Chief Taylor said that this business about her and Savich was a story from a con trying to create a better bargaining position for himself, and that the judge didn’t need to be made aware of it until we had indisputable proof. He asked what were the chances of Mrs. Laird having anything to do with a criminal like Robert Savich.”

“What were the chances of her having anything to do with Meyer Napoli?” DeeDee really didn’t expect an answer and none was forthcoming. She divided a look between Worley and Duncan, landing on Duncan. “Well? Our hands having been tied, what do we do from here?”

We find Elise so I can demand to know what the fuck she was doing with Savich
. That’s what Duncan was thinking, but that’s not what he said. “We keep looking for her.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a loud clap of thunder rattled the windows.

The thunder preceded the rain that began that afternoon and fell relentlessly over the next forty-eight hours. It made the recovery mission more problematic, and literally dampened the spirits of everyone involved, so that by the third consecutive day of rain without any sign of letup, the mood in the VCU was funereal.

Even though it was Saturday, no one was taking a weekend off. The detectives were gathered in Duncan’s office, going over what they knew, speculating on what they didn’t. The ballistics report was back on the bullet the ME had removed from Napoli — no match for it on any of the national crime databases. Dead end there.

Worley gnawed his toothpick. “If she went into the river, whether she was pushed or jumped, how come she hasn’t popped up yet? Usually doesn’t take this long. Ten days?”

“Maybe she was never in the river,” Duncan said.

“Maybe she was never on the bridge.” The men turned to DeeDee, who expanded her thought. “Napoli was driving back into the city. He could’ve dumped her body in South Carolina somewhere. Miles of marsh, forests. Lots of places to hide remains.”

“What about her sandals?” Worley asked.

“He realized he had them, stopped on the bridge to get rid of them—”