Authors: Cybele Loening
Dead Lies (31 page)
A
NNA’S CELL PHONE RANG AND SHE REACHED INTO THE CAR AND RETRIEVED
it from the cup holder. “Jerry! How’s Miami?” she said, her heart racing, her breaths coming fast.
“It’s 80 degrees and sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and I’m sitting here by the pool having lunch with my daughters. Life is good.” The detective paused. “Did I… catch you in the middle of something?”
She leaned against her car and felt the slow, deep stretch in her right calf. “No, I just finished a run.”
“Oh. You at the Duck Pond?”
“Yeah. My mom is over in the playground with Max, pushing him on the swing. I can see them from here, although, to be honest, I can’t actually be sure that’s really Max I’m looking at.” She chuckled. “There’s hardly an inch of skin showing under that snowsuit I made him wear.” She wiped the sweat off her brow with her jacket and tilted her face toward the sun, absorbing its warmth. “You know, life is pretty good here too, Jerry.”
“I’m glad to hear you talking that way, Anna. So, you decided not to go to the office today?”
“I was going to…”
“It wasn’t a criticism,” Kreeger interjected quickly. “I just wanted to find out if we ever got the call details for Malik’s phones. Jane says she sent them over.”
Anna frowned. “I was at the office yesterday and didn’t see anything. But I’ll look again. As I was saying, I was planning to go in later this afternoon. Should I call you when I get there?”
“Yeah, please.”
“Is something going on, Jerry? You’re making it sound like this is urgent.”
“It’s not exactly urgent, but, yeah, something’s up. Sorry, I should have started with this, but I heard back from the lab. The hair we found on Malik was female.”
Anna had been pacing to keep warm, but she stopped in her tracks.
“And there’s no evidence Ivan was at the scene at all,” Kreeger continued. “The prints we lifted off the knife probably belong to the woman, but there’s no trace of her in the system.”
Anna began pacing again. She’d told Web that the killer could be a woman, but she hadn’t really believed it at the time. Her mind raced through the possibilities. “You think… McGrower’s wife killed Malik?” she asked Kreeger.
“That’s what I thought, but it turns out she was in L.A. the night Malik was stabbed.” The detective told her about his conversation with Melinda, adding, “I just called The Beverly Hills Hotel to confirm it.”
“I’m not surprised. Now that I think about it, the woman in the surveillance photo is too short to be a model. Melanie Fox must be almost six feet tall.”
“Good point, Anna. That hadn’t occurred to me.”
She waited a moment before speaking again. “Is there any chance Malik’s death could be unrelated to the original crime? Could it have been a coincidence, or the result of some other nasty business he was into?”
“I considered that, too, but my instinct tells me otherwise.”
Anna’s gut was telling her the exact same thing. “Who
is
this woman?” she said, thinking aloud. “Did McGrower hire her?” She answered her own question. “No. Why would he need to hire someone when he had Ivan to do his dirty work?”
“I’ve been wondering about McGrower myself,” said Kreeger. “Maybe we were wrong about him.”
Anna felt a chill and realized it had nothing to do with the sweat drying on her skin.
“We can’t convict him without proof,” Kreeger was saying. “That’s why I want to see those phone records. Maybe the link is there.”
“Gimme half an hour,” said Anna. “I’ll drop Mom and Max at home then go right to the office. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
W
HEN SHE’D ARRIVED IN HACKENSACK THREE HOURS EARLIER, ANNA
had immediately gone through Kreeger’s mailbox in search of the call details. They weren’t there. And the desk sergeant knew nothing about them. So Anna had reluctantly given Jane Carmichael a call.
“Hi, Jane, it’s Anna Valentine,” she’d said. Her greeting was met with silence. “You know, Jerry’s partner on the Vance case?” she added. “I met you at the crime scene…”
“I know who you are,” the woman said coolly. “How can I help you?”
“I’m trying to find the call details for Lester Malik’s phones. Jerry said you sent them over to us. But they’re not here.”
Carmichael made a sound of annoyance. “I sent my assistant down personally. They must be there. Did you talk to the desk sergeant?”
“Yes. He doesn’t know anything about them.”
“Did you check the metal basket by the filing cabinets? Maybe someone put them in with the regular mail.”
“Yes.” It was the second place Anna had checked.
“Did you check Jerry’s desk?”
“Yes, of course,” she said with a flash of impatience. “I’ve looked everywhere.”
“Well, then somebody over there misplaced them. “Why don’t you call my office first thing Tuesday.”
“Do you have copies?” Anna interrupted.
There was a pause on the other end of the line and then a blustery, “Yes, of course I do, but what…”
“Is there any way I can get into your office?” Anna interrupted. The prosecutor’s office was housed in the same building, on the floor above. “I went up tried the door, but it was locked.”
“Yes, well, it would be given that it’s Sunday and New Year’s Eve to boot.”
Anna suppressed an urge to make a sarcastic retort. But she needed those call details and knew she wouldn’t get them if she was rude. She took a deep breath. “Is there any chance you could swing by the office and let me in?” she asked politely. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I promise to be quick.” Hearing the stirrings of protest on the other end of the line, she added, “Jerry called me from Miami. He wants to see them.”
Those were the magic words. “Jerry needs them?” the woman purred. “All right. Give me some time to get dressed. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks, Jane. I appreciate it.”
The woman hung up and Anna settled in for the wait.
Two hours later Jane finally showed up. Anna was steamed, but she didn’t let on. One day she hoped to move into the homicide division, and she knew it wasn’t a good idea to make enemies—especially with the woman who was dating her partner.
Carmichael unlocked her office, Anna made the copies, and the whole operation took less than ten minutes. The two women exchanged polite goodbyes at the door, and Anna went back to Kreeger’s desk with her booty.
Now she had the call details laid out in front of her. She turned her attention first to the one for the stolen cell phone, figuring it was the phone Malik was most likely to have used for criminal purposes, and right away she saw something that sounded the warning bells in her head. A single number had been dialed several times in the days surrounding Serena and Bill’s murder, including one call that had been made half an hour after the crime.
Since call details don’t list the names of the callers or recipients—individual subpoenas would be required to get that information—she used a simple trick to get around it. She booted up Kreeger’s laptop, clicked on Internet Explorer and logged onto an online directory that performed reverse lookups. She typed the phone number in and waited for the search to be completed. A few seconds later, a message came up saying, “No Results Found.” She sighed with disappointment, even though she’d known that was a possibility. She assumed the number belonged to a cell phone—amazingly there was still no national directory for mobile phones.
She tapped her fingers with impatience, thinking how long a subpoena was going to take. It would be at least 24 hours and probably more since it was a holiday weekend. Then another idea hit her. Why couldn’t she just dial it? She picked up Kreeger’s phone and punched in the number, feeling her heart beating faster. Of course it was a long shot that somebody would actually answer. Not only would the killer have used an untraceable, throwaway cell phone to communicate with the hitman, but surely he would have disposed of it by now.
So she was shocked when the call went through and she heard a male voice say, “Yeah?” Was this the killer?
“Uh, is this Benetto’s Pizza?” she improvised, borrowing an old cop’s trick: Pretend you’ve dialed the wrong number. She would pretend to be confused; hopefully the person on the other end would try to help. The brief exchange would buy her time to figure out what was going on.
“No, you got the wrong number,” the man said, sounding annoyed. But his tone toggled something at the back of her mind.
Anna opened her mouth to say she was sorry then froze in her seat. A chill washed over her when she realized she recognized the voice. She sucked in her breath and released it, hoping the person on the other end of the phone hadn’t recognized her voice too. She recovered her composure enough to utter a muffled, “Sorry,” and then clicked off. She remained in her seat for a full moment, looking at the phone in disbelief.
The killer wasn’t McGrower, after all.
Oh, shit.
Poor Web.
W
EB PULLED UP IN FRONT OF DANNY’S HOUSE AS TIM WAS GETTING OUT OF
his car. This morning Web had called Tim and told him about being adopted, and it had taken Web ten minutes to convince Tim he wasn’t playing a joke on him. “I’ll be damned. I never would have guessed it,” Tim had said finally. “You guys are…are…such Marinos through and through.” Web hadn’t needed an explanation of that statement, because he knew exactly what Tim meant. Web and Serena hadn’t officially been born into the Marino family, but they’d certainly been meant for it.
Then Tim had asked the same question Anna had asked last night, the one he’d brushed off. “So are you going to look for your biological family?” Web hadn’t been able to give his friend an answer. He wasn’t sure yet what he was going to do.
Web hadn’t had time to call Danny so he still didn’t know. Web was planning to fill him in tonight.
Web and Tim met in the middle of the sidewalk, at the end of Danny’s front walk. “Go Jets!” Web said to his friend by way of greeting. Kickoff for the Jets vs. Patriots game was starting in a half hour, and Web was hoping the game wouldn’t turn out to be a repeat of 2012. He needed a win tonight, something good to mark the passing of a horrible year.
“Take it easy, buddy,” said Tim as they made their way up the icy flagstone walk. “You know what kind of history your team is up against.”
Tim didn’t need to explain. The Jets had been on an almost forty-year losing streak. The last time they’d made it to the Super Bowl was 1969; they’d only reached the playoffs a handful of times since then.
“Don’t be so quick to bury us,” Web said. “We’ve got the best defense in the league, and all of our players are healthy.”
“And where’s that gonna getcha? You know the drill. Whenever the Jets are expected to win they lose. Or
choke
, to be more specific.”
Web clutched his chest in pretend pain as Danny appeared at the front door. “You sound like a Giants fan,” Danny said to Tim, holding the door open.
Tim laughed and stepped past him. “Yeah? Well, it’s hard to root for a team whose last minute of glory came when I was too young to enjoy it.”
Web followed his friend inside and saw that Tim was rolling his eyes. He pointed to Danny’s sweater, which was the same shade of hunter green as the Jet’s colors, and said, “I see you’ve got the same sort of cockeyed optimism as our friend here.”
Web removed his coat and watched Tim’s eyes widen in mock horror at his own green-and-white striped sweater.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Tim said.
Danny and Web laughed and high-fived each other. On cue they shouted, “Let’s go Jets!”
Tim shook his head sadly and made a show of pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. “Hello, Doctor?” he said into the device. “Yes, I know it’s New Year’s Eve, but I’m worried about my friends. They’ve got a couple of cases of Jets Delusion Syndrome…”
All three of them were grinning broadly as Danny hung their coats in the closet, and in that instant, standing there in the middle of the familiar hallway, Web felt some of his tension melt. It was exactly what he’d hoped when he’d asked Danny if he could come over tonight. Sure, they were all forcing their enthusiasm to some degree, but after everything that had happened, it felt good to act…normal for a night. Besides, he realized how much he needed the strength of his old friendships. There was no other way to put it. Danny and Tim were helping him get through.
The only thing that would have made the evening almost perfect was if Anna had agreed to come tonight. He’d invited her but she’d told him she needed to spend some time with her son. He’d handled the rejection graciously—but only after she’d agreed to have brunch with him tomorrow.
Yes, things were starting to look up.
Web heard a noise behind him and turned to see Tanya enter the hall from the dining room. She was wearing jeans and a tight red sweater with gold threads weaved throughout. “You guys make a louder entrance than the kids,” she joked.
“Hi Tanya. Nice sweater.” For Danny’s sake, Web always tried to be nice to Tanya, and one of the ways he stayed on her good side was by giving her compliments. If she saw through his act, she never let on.
“Thanks,” she said brightly. Then her expression grew serious. “So, how are you holding up?”
“I’m okay. Thanks for asking. And thanks for having us over today. I’m really glad to be here.” He breathed in deeply. “I smell your famous lasagna.”
“Well, I hope you’re hungry,” she said. “I made as much as I would for a tailgate for ten.”
Web patted his stomach. “Not a problem.”
“You guys want some drinks?” Danny said.
“I’ll take a beer,” said Tim.
“Me too,” said Web.
Danny and Tanya led everyone into the family room, and Danny moved to the island that separated the room from the kitchen. It was filled with bowls of chips, a large platter of cheese, and dips.
“Is anyone else coming?” Web said, his heart sinking. As much as he wanted company tonight he wasn’t up for a party.
“No,” Tanya responded, pulling some glasses down from the cabinet above the sink. “I just got a little carried away today at the supermarket. Besides, I’ve seen how much you guys eat.”
“Casey’s going to watch the game with us, though,” added Danny, removing the caps from a couple bottles of Sam Adams.
“Where are all the other kids?” asked Tim, looking around. Web knew his friend was hoping they weren’t home. Tim hated kids—or, those “annoying little fuckers,” as he called them.
“The girls are at a sleepover at their cousin’s,” Tanya said, referring to their ten- and eleven-year-old daughters, “and Taylor’s seeing a movie with friends. Casey’s upstairs.”
Web slapped his forehead with a loud smack. “I totally forgot.”
“What?” said Danny.
“Casey’s birthday gift.” His birthday was tomorrow and Web, his godfather, always bought him a special present. This year he’d outdone himself. At a recent United Way/NFL Charity Auction he’d purchased a football signed by Jets star Curtis Martin, Casey’s favorite player. He set his beer down on the counter with a clunk and stood up.
“Where are you going?” Danny protested. “You can give it to him tomorrow.”
Web shook his head. “I really want to give it to him tonight. He’s gonna freak when he sees it.” He glanced at his watch and saw that he still had almost fifteen minutes until kickoff. “I’m gonna run home and get it.”
A look of distress crossed Danny’s face, but Web barely registered it as he patted his pants pocket and remembered he’d left his keys in his jacket pocket. “I’ll be back in ten.”
Winding his way back to the front hall, Web imagined the look on Casey’s face when he opened his gift. Teenage surliness and possible drug use aside, Casey was still just a kid, and Web knew his eyes would be over the moon about the football. He couldn’t wait to give it to him.
He opened the closet and looked for his jacket, which was stuffed in among the usual suburban gear—ski jackets, rain slickers and dress coats. He spotted it and pulled it from the hanger, feeling a click of recognition as he did. He’d seen something familiar out of the corner of his eye, hanging a half a dozen spaces to the left.
A chill rolled over him, and his heart began to pound. His jacket fell from his hands. Sweat broke out on his forehead as blood rushed to his face. He felt shaky, sick. The object he’d seen was a shiny silver coat. It was just like the one in the photograph Anna had shown him the other night, the one he’d suggested might belong to a hooker
.
But it wasn’t a hooker’s coat. It was Tanya’s.
Web realized he was holding his breath, and he gasped as he released it.
Danny…Serena…A little red-headed girl.
He was starting to understand.
