Authors: Cybele Loening
Dead Lies (29 page)
After a few seconds of muffled choking, Danny seemed to regain control. “I’m sorry, Web. I didn’t mean to worry you. Things have been… kind of crazy over here, but we’ve been… trying to work things out.”
Web paused while he tried to decide how far he could press his friend—or if he even wanted to discuss this at all. He’d been through so much in the last week, and he didn’t know how much energy he had left to deal with someone else’s mess. He wanted the drama to end.
“Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, just know that I’m here for you,” he said finally.
“Thanks, Web.” He heard Danny clear his throat. “Look, I realize I haven’t been in touch in the last couple of days, and that I should have been a better friend, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
A better friend? What was Danny talking about? He felt a chill. He heard a stir on the other end and a female voice in the background.
“Uh, hold on a minute, Web,” Danny said. “Tanya wants to tell me something.”
Danny must have put his hand over the phone because Web couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could make out a few muffled words. “Game… make lasagna… everything’s normal…” There was a somewhat heated exchange that went on for almost a minute, but finally Danny came back on the line sounding a bit more like his old self again. “Web, why don’t you come over tomorrow as planned? Tanya’s going to make dinner.”
Web hesitated. He wasn’t convinced Danny was totally on board with the plan. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Come around 3:30. I’ll call Tim and tell him, too.”
Danny sounded more definitive now, and Web was relieved. He didn’t understand what his friend was going through right now, but he knew he’d confide in him when he was good and ready.
“Thanks, Danny. Tell Tanya thanks, too. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He hung up the phone and sipped the rest of his coffee. By the time he was finished he’d made an important decision. It was time for him to get out of here. He needed to get back to his life. He’d drive back to the city on Monday and go to work on Tuesday. Mounds of work awaited him there, and the idea of burying himself inside it for a while appealed to him.
That was exactly what Serena would want him to do—start living his life again. She wouldn’t want him to wallow in grief and regret. She’d want him to move forward, live well, and be happy.
He picked up his phone again and made another call, picturing the person he hoped would pick up. He knew that Serena would approve.
He heard a click and a voice.
Anna.
A
NNA KNEW SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE ACCEPTED WEB’S INVITATION TO DINNER,
but she did it anyway, rationalizing there was no longer any conflict of interest now that the case was wrapping up. Besides, Kreeger would never know anything about it since he wouldn’t be back from Florida before Tuesday.
She was looking forward to their date. Web was handsome, smart and ambitious. He was also utterly guileless about showing how much he liked her, and she appreciated that. It meant there’d be no games.
She’d re-canvassed Malik’s apartment building that morning but had come up with nothing. Then she’d swung by the Avondale precinct. Neither Paul nor the Chief were in, so she spent the better part of the afternoon at her desk, returning e-mails and starting to type her case notes into a report file.
Now she looked at her watch and was surprised to see it was almost 5:00 already. It was definitely time to call it a day.
She logged off her computer and pushed away from her desk. She slipped on her jacket and swung by Brenda’s desk to say goodbye. Earlier she’d enthusiastically told Brenda all about what she’d been up to over the past few days, and the older woman had remarked how her face had lit up when she talked about the case. “The detective’s lifestyle seems to suit you,” she’d said.
Anna had been pleased to hear someone else voice what she was feeling, and it had gotten her thinking about formally requesting a transfer to Homicide when the investigation was over. She didn’t know if she had a shot, or if there was even room for her in the division, but it gave her something to look forward to.
“I’m taking off now Brenda,” Anna said. “I’ll see you next week. Happy New Year.”
“Thanks, Anna. You, too. And remember to get some rest this weekend. You look tired.”
Anna touched her face self-consciously. Actually, she’d been feeling just the opposite. Ironically, in spite of all the death around her, she felt more alive than ever. Brenda was right. The detective’s lifestyle
did
suit her. She couldn’t remember feeling so light, so content. In fact, she hadn’t plucked a single hair since the investigation started.
“Do I really look that bad?” Anna teased.
“You could never look bad, dear. It’s just that I think a woman your age…”—she hesitated before finishing—“…shouldn’t be so serious all the time. You put way too much pressure on yourself. I’d like to see you get out and have more fun. You’re so young. You should enjoy yourself.”
Anna studied Brenda’s face, which had more wrinkles than she could count. Yet they looked less like signs of aging than marks of a life well lived.
She grinned at Brenda. “I plan to do exactly that. I have a date tonight, and I’ll tell you all about it Tuesday.”
Brenda clapped her hands together, and her eyes sparkled with delight. “Good for you. I can’t wait to hear about it!”
Anna drove home and found her mother on the couch in the living room reading a magazine. Scarlet was curled up on the couch next to her, purring like an idling truck, her orange and white paw resting on her mother’s thigh. Her mom was reading
People
, Anna noted. She was a true gourmet when it came to devouring gossip and fashion magazines, while Anna could only stomach
The New Yorker
and maybe an occasional
Vanity Fair
if the cover-lines were good. Although their brown hair and blue eyes marked them unmistakably as mother and daughter, their preferred reading material demonstrated their many differences.
In the typical exuberant abandon of childhood, Max had laid out his new wooden train tracks over the entire living room floor. Anna stepped over them gingerly as she entered from the kitchen. Max saw her and called out “Mommy’s home!” He jumped up and ran to her, and she melted. She picked him up and hugged him close, carrying him to the couch and sitting down next to her mother.
“How was your day, Mom?”
“Max and I took a walk to the playground,” her mother said. “Then we came back, had lunch, and made brownies.”
Anna looked into her son’s face and saw a small dark smudge near his ear. She licked her finger and wiped it away. Max squirmed. “So that’s what’s on your face. Did Grandma let you lick the bowl?”
“Yes, I cleaned the bowl and Grandma cleaned the floor.”
Anna’s mother winked at her.
“Mom, Grandma knows how to make brownies from a box!” said Max.
The chef in Anna recoiled. “Oh, Mom.”
Her mother waved her hand dismissively. “If you got out of the kitchen more, maybe you could meet someone.”
Anna held Max close for the ten additional seconds her four-year-old would allow until he struggled to get away. She set him back down on the floor, and he resumed playing.
“Since you brought it up, Mom,” she said, “would you mind watching Max again tonight?”
Her mother removed her reading glasses and set her magazine aside. “Why, do you have a date?”
Anna’s cheeks flamed under her mother’s gaze. “How’d you know?”
“You’ve been grinning like a cat since the moment you walked in here.”
“I like him, Mom.”
“I can see that, Sweetheart. Now, tell me who he is.”
“His name is Web Marino. He grew up in Avondale.”
Her mother perked up visibly. “Avondale? How
fancy
. Where does he live now?”
“In New York.”
“Manhattan?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“The West Village.”
Her mom wrinkled her nose. “He’s not some starving artist, is he? You don’t need another one of those.”
Anna ignored the comment. “He’s a music producer and agent. He owns his own company.”
Her mother beamed. “How did you meet him?”
Anna hesitated. She didn’t need to get into that with her mom. “Through work. He’s kind of a”—she pictured Serena Vance on the bank video—“friend of a friend. He’s in town because he’s spending the holidays with his family.”
“Where’s he taking you?”
“To Luigi’s. It’s an Italian place in Ho-Ho-Kus,” she said, referring to a neighboring town.
Her mother was nodding in such a way that said
I approve.
“Sounds romantic,” her mom said. “What time?”
“I’m meeting him there at eight.”
“He’s not picking you up?”
“He offered, but I said no.”
“Well, you’ve always liked to do things your own way.”
Anna smiled. “Thanks, Mom. And thanks for watching Max. You’ve been a big help to me the past couple of days, and I appreciate it.” She rose from the couch. “I’ll make you and Max something to eat before I go.”
Her mother jumped up. “Oh, no you don’t. I’ll take care of dinner. You go upstairs and relax. Have a soak or a nap. You’ll want to look your best tonight.”
Anna sighed inwardly.
Here we go.
“It’s just dinner, Mom. And besides, Web’s already seen me without makeup. In fact, he’s never even seen me out of uniform.”
Her mother nodded knowingly. “That’s exactly the problem, Sweetheart. He knows you as a police officer, but he needs to see you as a
woman
.”
Anna decided not to argue. There was no point. And to be honest, she had to admit it would be fun to get herself all gussied up for her date. She hadn’t done that in a long time, and she realized she’d missed it—the anticipation for the evening ahead, the awkward pauses in conversation, the wondering about whether the guy was going to kiss her at the end of the night, everything.
Yes, dating could be fun.
Web.
She couldn’t wait to see him.
W
EB WAS WAITING FOR HER WHEN SHE ENTERED LUIGI’S AT FIVE MINUTES
past 8:00. Handing her coat to the maitre d’ she self-consciously smoothed her black wrap dress and headed toward the table, hoping that the low V-cut and pair of dangly earrings would distract Web from looking down at her feet. Even in an unobtrusive pair of low black heels—purchased from an online company specializing in hard-to-find sizes—her bunions felt like large balloons covered in cloth. At least from the ankles up, she felt sexy.
Web’s eyes didn’t stray from her face, however. He rose and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. Then he looked at her dress admiringly. “You look amazing,” he said, pulling out a chair for her.
She flushed with pleasure. “You do, too. I see the bruises are almost gone.”
“Yes, but not the scars,” he said lightly.
She let the comment pass and sat down. It was a table for four, and she liked how Web chose to sit next to her rather than opposite. It was more like a chat and less like an interview, which was how she’d always thought about dates.
“Lovely place,” she said, noting how the votive candles topping each table cast warm shadows in the dark room and the decorative faience plates hanging on the walls. “But it actually looks more French than Italian.”
“The menu is Italian because the Chef—Luigi—is from Italy, but his wife is French. She decorated the place. My family has been coming here for years.”
“The food is that good then?”
“The best,” said Web. “Thank you for coming, Anna. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.” She smiled.
A waitress appeared and asked if they’d like to order cocktails.
Anna shook her head. “I’ll have wine with dinner.”
“Should I order a bottle?” Web asked. She nodded, and he added, “Do you like red or white?”
“I prefer red.”
“How about a pinot noir?”
“Sounds good.”
“We have a terrific bottle from Oregon’s Willamette Valley,” the waitress piped in. “It’s a 2002.”
“We’ll try that. Thanks, Grace.”
“So you know a lot about wine?” Anna asked when the waitress left.
Web laughed. “Not really. But Grace does,” he said modestly. “How about you? Are you into wine?”
“Somewhat. I was a chef before I became a cop, and knowing about wine comes with the territory.”
He looked surprised. “You were a chef?”
“For ten years.”
“What kind?”
“French. I trained at The French Culinary Institute.” She could hear the pride in her own voice.
He let out a low whistle. “I’m impressed. But let’s not tell Luigi about your skills in the kitchen, shall we? He has a fragile ego, and he might be intimidated.”
“I won’t breathe a word.”
“So, Anna, why’d you trade a spatula for a gun?”
“The hours were long, and I wanted to spend more time with my”—she hesitated for just a second—“sons.” She rushed to continue. “And the work was
hard
.”
He looked skeptical. “Harder than being a cop?”
“In a way. Long hours aside, cooking is all about pleasing the client. And clients can be difficult. It’s subjective. As a cop, my role is clear. I put away the bad guys. There aren’t many people who could argue with that.”
“Except the bad guys,” Web quipped. He added, “Do you have any regrets?”
“What, about becoming a cop?”
“No, about giving up, er, chef-ing.”
She laughed. “Not at all. I still love to cook. I just don’t get paid to do it anymore.”
The waitress returned with the bottle of wine, and the cork came out with a light pop. She poured a small amount of cherry-colored liquid into Web’s glass, and he picked it up and tasted it. “Nice.”
The waitress poured wine for Anna then topped off Web’s glass. “I’ll be right back with the menus,” she said before turning away.
Web was frowning when Anna looked back at him. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No, it’s fine. I… I know I asked you here on a date, but I have questions about what happened yesterday. Do you think we can talk about the case for a few minutes so we can get it out of the way?”
“Of course, Web. I expected you’d want to talk about it, and I’ll tell you as much as I can.”
The waitress returned and handed them menus. She pointed to a small chalkboard on the wall next to the bar. “The specials are listed up there. Let me know if you have any questions.”
When Grace disappeared again, Anna set her menu aside. “So, you want to know what happened after you left.”
“I take it McGrower didn’t confess?”
“No, but he did confirm that Serena believed Violet was her daughter.” She told him about the
Vanity Fair
article and watched his eyes widen in surprise.
“So that’s how this whole thing started,” he said wonderingly. After a moment he said, “Was I right? Did Serena go there to get Violet back?”
“Sort of. McGrower admitted only that Serena asked to
meet
her.”
“Of course he would say that. He’s not going to hand you a motive for murder.”
“Actually, he did that anyway. He told us that when he refused to give in to your sister’s demand, she threatened to go to the press. That kind of publicity could be very damaging to a man in his position.”
Web looked at her skeptically, but there was also a hint of anger behind his eyes. “Serena tried to blackmail McGrower? I have a hard time believing that.”
“It’s not really that hard to understand,” Anna answered gently. “You said it yourself. Serena was desperate to have a baby. Maybe she saw this as her last chance.”
Web didn’t respond. He picked up his glass and held it by its stem, swirling the wine. He took a sip and set the glass down again. “So, how are you going to be able to prove McGrower did this? I mean, he hired a hitman to do the dirty work so technically his hands are clean. And now that hitman is dead.”
“Don’t forget about Ivan Vasiliev. We hope the threat of another jail stint will persuade him to turn on his boss.”
“You say that like it’s something you plan to do in the future. Haven’t you talked to him?”
“No…”
Web looked understandably annoyed, and she could feel his frustration seeming to reach at her from across the table. “Why not?” he asked tightly.
“He’s in Russia.”
“Russia?”
“Yes. McGrower told us Ivan home to visit his sister.”
“And you believed him?” There was an unmistakable edge to his voice.
“Not at first,” Anna said patiently, reminding herself that if their positions were reversed, she’d be a hell of a lot less restrained than Web was being now. “But Detective Kreeger confirmed that yesterday morning Ivan got on a plane to Irkutsk, Siberia. We don’t know where he went after that—we’re not even sure he has a sister—but the Russian authorities are helping us locate him.”
“What are the chances of that actually happening?”
Anna took a sip of her wine and switched into semi-detached-cop mode, hoping to diffuse the tension that was building up around them. “I can’t imagine the Russians like the idea of having a known criminal in their midst,” she said. “I’m sure they’ll do their best to help us. Meanwhile, we’re working several other leads.”
“Like what?”
“We’re still waiting for the fingerprint results from the knife that killed Malik, and we’re hoping they’ll turn out to be Ivan’s. We also learned that Malik made a large cash deposit to his savings account the day after Christmas, and we suspect it was the money he received for the hit. The crime lab has the bills now, and we’re hoping they’re going to get some fingerprints off them.” She was about to tell Web that they had McGrower’s prints on file and might be able to make a match, but she paused. She could see that Web was no longer listening. She waited for the question she knew would come next.
“How much did Malik get for the hit?”
She hesitated. “Five thousand dollars.”
In the short time she’d known Web, Anna had seen the gamut of expressions run across his handsome face—from shock and disbelief to anger and hope. Now his eyes were filled with such abject pain it made her want to reach out and take it away. “So that’s how much Serena and Bill’s lives were worth?”
Anna touched his hand gently. He took her hand and squeezed it gratefully then let go.
“There’s something you can do for us,” Anna said after a moment, thinking she knew just what to do to pull the conversation out of the quicksand. She reached into her purse and retrieved the photographs the surveillance team had taken the night of Malik’s murder. She placed the stack on the table and handed the one on top to Web. It was the picture she believed showed Ivan Vasiliev on his way to kill Malik.
“Do you recognize this man?” she asked him.
Web picked up the photograph and studied it closely. He frowned. “No, should I?”
“Are you sure?”
He looked at it again. “Yes, I’m sure.” His eyes found hers again. “Besides, I can’t even see his face. Who is he?”
Anna explained where the pictures had come from.
“You thought it might be Ivan,” Web said, nodding in understanding.
“Yes.”
He looked at the photo a third time. “Well, he’s the right height and build, but there’s no way I can say for sure it’s him.”
Anna nodded. “That’s what Melinda Madison said when we showed her the picture.”
Web handed the photo back and pointed to the remaining stack. “What are those?”
“Everyone who came in and out of the building while Malik was under surveillance,” she replied. “We’ve identified most of them as residents, friends or family.” She handed him two other photographs, which were sitting at the top of the pile. “This is the only other person we couldn’t identify.”
Web glanced at the images and looked up in surprise. “This is a woman.”
She nodded. “I know, but we can’t rule anyone out. Do you have any idea who she is?”
Web shook his head. “Her back is turned, and she’s even further away than the guy. Haven’t you guys ever heard of zoom lenses?”
“Tell that to the budget committee,” was what she wanted to say, but she held her tongue. Instead she said, “The officer couldn’t risk getting too close. He didn’t want to spook anyone.”
Web studied the photographs again, and she thought she saw a flash of something in his eyes. But when he looked up, he said, “Check out that shiny silver jacket. Did it occur to you this woman might be a hooker?”
Anna smiled. “Yes. And that would certainly explain why the person she was visiting wasn’t willing to identify her.”
Web smiled absently, but his eyes were still fixed on the photograph. “She’s looks to be average sized, but there’s little to distinguish her,” he said. “And the hat and scarf, they’re covering up what little skin might be showing…” He handed the photos back. “I’m sorry I wish I could be more help.”
They were both silent while Anna put them back in her purse.
“Well, that little exercise was a conversation killer, wasn’t it?” Web said.
Anna laughed in spite of herself. “Should we look at our menus?”
“Yes, let’s.”
Grace materialized a few minutes later. “You ready to order?”
“I think so,” said Web. “Anna?”
“I’m having trouble deciding,” Anna said to the waitress. “Could you recommend something?”
“Do you like veal?”
“Love it.”
“The tenderloin special is amazing.”
Anna nodded. It was one of the dishes she had her eye on. It was cooked with sweetbreads, braised winter greens, and morel mushrooms; and it was served with Marsala sauce, one of her favorites. She closed her menu. “That sounds perfect.”
“Anything to start?” Grace asked.
Anna looked at Web. “Want to share a plate of calamari?”
“Absolutely. Fried or grilled?”
“Fried,” she responded without hesitation. Tonight she was letting go.
“A woman after my own heart.” He added, “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Why don’t we get a bunch of appetizers and allow Luigi an opportunity to show off his culinary skill? I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
“Sounds great. Order away.”
Web smiled and turned back to the waitress. “In addition to the fried calamari, let’s have a tomato, tuna and bean salad, an order of the crespelles stuffed with spinach and ricotta, and the chicken liver crostini. And why don’t you throw in an order of the homemade ravioli in butter and sage sauce, too.”
“Easy slugger,” said Anna with a laugh. “Think we’re going to be able to eat all that?”
“Probably not, but I want you to taste all of my favorite dishes.” He rubbed his stomach, which, Anna noted, looked rippled and taut through his button-down shirt. She flashed to an image of Kreeger removing his jacket in the conference room the other day. He had a tight belly, too. She pushed the thought away.
“And for your main course?” the waitress was asking Web.
“I’ll have the veal special, too.”
Grace retrieved their menus and disappeared into the kitchen.
Web turned back to Anna, and his eyes were sparkling in the candlelight. “So, after everything thing that’s happened in the last week, you won’t believe what else I learned yesterday,” he said.
