The Red Hot Fix (20 page)

Mort put one hand on Micki’s shoulder and the other on Jimmy’s. “I’ll square it with the
chief. Let him decide whether or not to clue in the mayor. But this stays with us.”

“So we let Trixie get good and mad someone’s stealing her spotlight?” Micki asked.

Mort nodded. “She’s been successful because she’s been calculating. Let’s see what happens when emotions cloud her judgment. She may slip enough for us to catch her.” He turned to Jimmy. “And you said it yourself, buddy. Look at this place. This penthouse is on top of the world. Even the maid has to sign in, and she’s got a key. Whoever did this was invited in by Vogel himself.”

Mort watched the dawn of awareness brighten Jimmy’s eyes.

“And if they think we’re buying Trixie’s to blame here …” Jimmy smiled.

“Then they might let their guard down long enough for us to nab them, too.”

“You’re working two murder fronts?” Robbie shoveled in the last bite of hash browns. “Damn, your life is one party after another, isn’t it, Dad?”

“More like a music hall and I’m doing all the tap-dancing.” Mort carried his dish to the sink and rinsed off the remainder of his breakfast. His eyes burned after ninety minutes of restless sleep. “The chief’s meeting with the mayor this morning. Says he’ll make the decision in the moment whether or not to tell her we’re looking at two different killers.” He wiped his hands on Edie’s favorite red plaid dish towel and cursed the frayed corners. He reached for his badge and keys. “The press will be so far up the mayor’s butt she’ll think she gargled with hair spray. What’s your plan?”

“I’m meeting that Nancy woman at ten. She’s taking me around to some of the families from CLIP.” Robbie leaned his chair back on two legs and chugged his orange juice. “It’ll make great background for the book.”

“I get the feeling Nancy’s more interested in telling her own story than sharing you with CLIP members.”

“I know the type. We hookin’ up later?”

“I’m with Jimmy and Micki at seven,” Mort said. “See what they’ve been able to get from the coroner and the lab. You okay flying solo?”

“You bet. If I find some time after the CLIP interviews, I may head back to Esme’s bridal shop.”

“Just don’t go playing cowboy. Leave the detective work to the guys with the shields.”

“Vogel died from blunt-force trauma.” Jimmy tossed the coroner’s initial findings on Mort’s desk as he and Bruiser entered his office at 6:55.

Mort reached for the report.

Micki came in behind Jimmy with her own copy. “Doc says the blood pools and tissue necrosis on Vogel’s wrists and ankles indicate he’d been dead over an hour before he was trussed up.”

Mort’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “So whoever killed Vogel stayed with him a while, probably trying to figure his next move.”

“Then it dawns on him,” Jimmy said. “Grab some rope, tie a few granny knots, and it’s a Trixie murder. Wiseass probably figures we’re so dumb we’ll just roll Reinhart into the heap and close this case when we catch her. If Trixie denies doing Reinhart, no one will pay attention.”

Micki reached down to scratch Bruiser’s head. “Tox screen won’t be back for a while. But I doubt we’ll find Rohypnol in Vogel’s bloodstream.”

Mort scanned the report. “So we’ve built a solid case that Trixie didn’t kill Vogel. We got anything that might point us in the direction of who did?”

“Nada,” Jimmy answered. “I’m heading back to Vogel’s penthouse to oversee interviews with staff and neighbors.”

Mort nodded. “I’m on the widow.” As Jimmy and Bruiser left, he turned to Micki. “Push the coroner on that tox screen. Even if it’s just a rule-out.”

Micki agreed but didn’t move.

“Something on your mind, Detective Petty?”

Micki closed the door. She pointed to the coatrack mounted on Mort’s wall. “That scarf. I noticed it yesterday. It’s new?”

Mort turned to see Charlotte’s brightly colored loop hanging from the peg next to his jacket. He liked the memory of her draping it around his neck. “The person who made it would be pleased you called it a scarf.”

“Who gave it to you?”

Mort’s defensive reflex kicked in. “Why do you ask?”

Micki crossed over and ran the threads through her hands. “I’ve been researching fibers from Trixie’s case for nine months. When I first saw this, I pegged it for a Loywood Mills manufacture. Same bright color, same weight, same mohair and silk blend.” She tugged on one of a dozen loose ends and freed a length of yarn. “I pulled one out and ran it through the lab.”

His stomach lurched. “Without my permission?”

Micki leveled her stare to meet his. “It’s the same yarn used by Trixie.”

Mort’s breath stopped. Bile rose in the back of his throat and a clammy sweat covered his neck. He steadied a hand on his desk. “You said a couple of shops in King County carry their stuff.”

“Two shops. But we’re not talking coincidence. This isn’t the same
type
of yarn Trixie used. I compared what I pulled from your scarf to fibers taken at the scenes. It’s from the same
skein
used to knit the rope that strangled Tony Wagner, Trixie’s seventh victim.”

“You’re sure?” Mort’s voice was low.

Micki nodded again. “Electron microscopes don’t lie. Who gave it to you?”

Mort pinched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to block the screaming tracers launching from the base of his skull. He glanced at Micki’s briefcase. “You got an evidence bag
in there?”

Micki’s face was the picture of regret. “I do.”

Mort looked over to the first gift Charlotte had given him. “Tag it.” He blew out a long breath and reached for his keys. “Follow me, Mick. We’ve got a stop to make before you visit the coroner.”

Charlotte looked up and smiled when Mort and Micki walked into CLIP headquarters. She sat at a table with five women while at least fifteen other people scurried in and out of the large sunny space. Mort was surprised at the level of activity. It was just past eight a.m. He forced a weary smile and was pleased Micki followed his act by doing the same.

“Charlotte Conklin, meet Micki Petty.”

Charlotte rose and offered a gracious greeting.

“We’re dead tired.” Mort let his shoulders sag. “I suppose you’ve heard about Reinhart Vogel.”

“It’s all over the morning news,” Charlotte said.

“We were at the game when we caught the case.” Micki’s voice was the epitome of fatigue. “Been up all night. I told Mort if he didn’t get me some caffeine he’d have another dead body to deal with.”

“There’s no way we’re going back to the station,” Mort said. “Press is everywhere. And the last place I want to be is some restaurant filled with good citizens clicking their tongues about Seattle’s not-so-finest. I was hoping we could hit you up for some of your wonderful coffee and maybe a quiet place to sit for a few minutes.”

Charlotte looked around her bustling office and Mort sensed her hesitation. “We’re finishing up a grant-writing project. Give me a minute.” She called a young man over from the opposite side of the room and spoke quiet instructions to him.

“There now,” she told them. “Brian will take over for a bit.” She placed a gentle hand on Micki’s arm and led her away, urging Mort to follow. “Let’s see what we can do to refuel you two.”

Mort and Micki settled into plastic chairs clustered around a glass-top table in a break room. Charlotte busied herself pouring coffee into foam cups and piling cookies onto a paper plate.

“How do you take it?” she asked.

“Black’s fine,” Mort and Micki answered in unison.

“I’ll make sure no one disturbs you,” Charlotte said. “Take as much time as you need.”

Mort let his smile grow wide. “Join us, please.” He pulled the vacant chair next to him in invitation and nodded toward the coffee urn. “Pour yourself a cup. I could use some friendly company.”

Charlotte paused and glanced toward the door. Mort saw Micki shift her feet under the table, ready to move if Charlotte made a run.

“I could take a few minutes.” Charlotte nodded. “Brian knows what to do.” She poured herself a half cup of coffee and took the seat beside Mort.

“It would be nice if murderers took numbers like at the bakery, wouldn’t it?” She reached for a cookie. “I suppose they want you to prioritize Reinhart Vogel’s death. He’s the big important man, after all. Does his case put Trixie on the back burner?”

Mort looked down into his cup and saw his reflection ripple across the dark liquid. He’d played games with suspects hundreds of times and never felt one minute of discomfort. But he hated playing with Charlotte. “Nothing’s on the back burner. Trixie did Reinhart.”

Charlotte stopped mid-sip. She looked at Mort, then Micki, then back to Mort. “You’re not serious.”

Before either of them could answer, Nancy Mader entered the break room, waving a file folder in each hand. She stopped short when she saw Mort and Micki.

“Charlotte, I need you to look at these budgets.” Nancy handed her the files and turned toward Mort. “Been watching the news. You don’t have any trouble with job security, do you? Your boy going to write a book about this Vogel character, too?” She poured herself a cup of coffee and joined them. “He’s coming here this morning. Your boy, I mean. Picking me up at ten. Wants to know all about me and my family. I told him I’d introduce him to other CLIP folks, too. Don’t worry, Charlotte. That budget’s my last piece for the grant.” She turned back to Mort. “So what brings you by?”

“Trixie got a big one last night,” Micki said.

“Nancy, they’ve come looking for a little rest in their busy morning.” Charlotte blotted a napkin against her lips. “And I think we could do them an enormous favor by giving them some peace.”

Nancy ignored Charlotte’s hint. “You mean Vogel?” She tapped her paper cup against the table glass.

Mort threw a beseeching look to Charlotte. She nodded, gathered the file folders, and stood.

“Nancy, I have a few questions about these numbers.” Charlotte pulled on the back of Nancy’s chair. “Let’s go to my office. I have some spreadsheets I think will help.”

Charlotte herded Nancy toward the door. She looked back over her shoulder and Mort
gave a wave while he mouthed, “Thank you.” She closed the break room door behind her.

Mort and Micki exhaled in tandem. Mort nodded his authorization and Micki pulled an evidence bag from her briefcase. She snapped on latex gloves, picked up Charlotte’s empty coffee cup, and slid it into the plastic bag she’d marked with Charlotte’s initials, the day’s date, and the address of CLIP’s office. She put the napkin Charlotte had used in a second bag.

Mort couldn’t watch. He walked over to the window and focused on the rain while Micki finished her job.