White Offerings (22 page)

Andre glanced at Molly. “I take it you’re rather close to Mr. Rondo?”

She smirked at the term and her eyelashes fluttered. “I’m his other half. I know he lives with Jennifer and the kids, but we’ve been together for twelve years, longer than that little Yale snob.”

Molly instantly pieced the story together. John Rondo had married an upstanding woman who would give him credibility in the community while he continued to bed his girlfriend on the side. “Does Mrs. Rondo know about you?”

“Oh, please,” Sandra said with a wave. “She counts on me to keep John happy. All she wants is the money and the kids. She’s got the perfect life, and she can see whoever she wants.”

“Is she having an affair, too?” Andre asked.

She smiled slyly. “In a sense. John’s aware of her other life, and he’s fine with it. There’s no competition.”

Molly shook her head. “What do you mean?” Sandra continued to stare at her, as if she should understand—and then she did. “So she likes women?”

Sandra’s smile widened. “Very much, detective. Jennifer discovered her lesbianism in college, but she knew her wealthy East Coast family would disown her if she came out. Then she met John, who gave her the freedom to be who she was and the respectability to keep her family happy. All she had to do along the way was pop out a couple kids.”

Molly sensed Sandra felt a level of appreciation for Jennifer Rondo amid the disdain. “Have you ever been with her?” Molly asked.

Sandra looked away and recrossed her legs. “Jennifer and I experimented together a few times while John watched, but it never turned into anything. She’s got her life and I’ve got mine.”

Andre stood and went to a bookshelf. A few photos of Rondo and Sandra were prominently displayed. “Did he set you up here? Is this your life?” He gestured to the enormous office, disgust in his voice.

“There’s nothing wrong with this life, if that’s what you’re implying,” she said defensively. “I’ve got everything I need.”

“Except the guy,” Molly interjected. “You know he’ll never leave his wife. You’ll always be the other woman. That’s got to bother you some of the time, doesn’t it, knowing that he’s out at a fundraiser or on vacation with the family when he could be with you?” She watched Sandra’s foot bop up and down nervously while she fumed silently. “And Jennifer Rondo certainly can’t complain. Talk about a woman who hasn’t had to make a single sacrifice.”

Her gaze snapped toward Molly. “What do you mean?”

“She gets it all. Family goes on vacation. Nanny takes care of the kids. They both meet someone in the bar afterhours and have a great romp in the sack before dawn. Then it’s back to the perfect picture.”

“John doesn’t cheat on me,” Sandra said evenly.

Molly leaned forward. “You’re kidding, right?” She almost felt bad about what she did next, but it didn’t stop her from reaching into her jacket pocket and withdrawing the surveillance photos the FBI had taken during the past week. She dropped them on the coffee table in front of Sandra and sat back in the lush leather couch.

Sandra stared at the picture closest to her, one of Rondo and a young blonde about to climb into a limousine. Curiosity forced her to pick up the pile and stare at her lover’s other life. The second photo showed him at an outdoor café, engaged in a romantic conversation with a long-haired brunette. His arm was wrapped around her bare shoulder and she touched his cheek. Molly watched Sandra set the stack down, not bothering to flip through the rest of the photos, including one that depicted Rondo surreptitiously stroking the breast of a dancer at a competing strip club. She leaned back in the chair, her eyes downcast. When she looked up at Molly again, it was with resolve.

“What do you want to know?” she asked evenly.

“Tell us about his business dealings. Have you met many of his associates?”

“I’ve met lots of his associates, especially the ones from out of town. He brings them here for a good time.”

“Have you ever met Vince Carnotti?”

Her face showed no sign of recognition. “Maybe. They’re all Italian or have stupid nicknames, and they look like goons.”

“Does he ever talk to you about what he does?”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t talk about it, and I try to stay out of it.”

Molly didn’t believe her. She was too smart, and she’d been around Rondo too long. “You mean to tell me that after having a decade-long affair with the man that you’ve never overheard a phone conversation you weren’t supposed to hear, or found him carrying a gun—”

“Or had him arrive at your place with blood on his hands?” Andre interjected.

Sandra looked away, her discomfort evident. Molly watched her struggle between the affection and the anger that were no doubt surging through her system. She picked up the pictures again, flipped through them and stopped suddenly. Molly glanced at the photo in her hand and saw that it was the one of the stripper. Sandra stared at it for a long time before asking, “May I keep this?”

Molly nodded. “Take whatever you want.”

“This is all I need,” she said slowly. She stood and went to her desk. She opened the drawer, dropped the photo inside and withdrew a key. “Yeah, there have been a few times when it’s been obvious that John’s been doing something he shouldn’t.”

She chose her words carefully, but she delivered the facts in a nonchalant tone, and Molly pictured her sitting in front of a grand jury. The woman could probably put Rondo away for the rest of his life. She walked to her filing cabinet and popped the lock. She searched for a file, smiled when she found it and took it to Molly. She was undoubtedly giving away something she’d been saving for a long time. The file was thick and filled with random scraps of paper and photos. A microcassette tape dropped in her lap.

“That’s a conversation between John and some other guy about a hit in Florida. I accidentally recorded it when he picked up the phone one day after the answering machine already started. I decided to keep it for insurance.”

Sandra’s choice of words reminded Molly of Itchy, a man who always had an insurance policy. Sandra moved behind the bar and poured bourbon. Molly started flipping through the folder, amazed at the amount of notes she had compiled.

“Anyone care to join me?” she offered, holding up her highball glass.

They declined and watched her down one drink and pour another. She said nothing and only stared into the glass. Molly guessed she was reevaluating her whole life.

Andre continued to peruse the bookshelves. He picked up a framed photo and asked, “Do you know anyone named Itchy Moon? He was an informant that Rondo probably knew.”

“Did he kill him?” she asked.

“Possibly. There was a meeting scheduled at Cactus Airpark not long ago. The informant never made it.”

She froze with her drink almost to her lips and peered over the top of the glass. “Was he a young guy?”

“Sort of. Late twenties.”

She shook her head. “No, the guy I’m thinking of is really young, like a teenager.”

Molly and Andre exchanged glances. “Did he wear a hat?” Molly asked.

“Yeah, it’s weird. I’ve never seen a kid in a fedora.”

Molly scribbled in her notebook. “When did you meet this kid?”

Sandra brought her drink to the chair and sat down. She took her time with her answer, swirling the brown liquid in the glass. “I’ve seen him with John—never in the club,” she added quickly. “Always outside. He always says hello to me.” She chuckled. “He won’t stop staring at my tits.”

“Is he working for Rondo?” Molly asked, rather sure she knew the answer.

“I have no idea, and I don’t want to know. I don’t take drugs, and I stay as far away from John’s business ventures as I possibly can. I’m operating a legitimate business here. I
own
this place. What’s between John and me is personal.”

Molly laughed. “C’mon, Sandra. You’re in deep.” She held up the folder. “You’re a conspirator, and you’ve withheld evidence from law enforcement. You could go to prison.”

Sandra continued to stare at the floor. Molly imagined she wouldn’t fare well in a penitentiary and would become a rape target almost immediately because of her large breasts and comely figure. A silence ensued, except for the muffled strains of the dance music from the main hall.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked, finally making eye contact with Molly.

“We need you to make a statement,” Molly explained. “We need you to testify against Rondo.”

Her face crumbled as she recognized the ramifications of testifying against the mob. She most likely would be put into a witness protection program and forced to start a new life.

Andre approached Sandra with a photo in his hand. “When was this taken?”

“Um, about a year ago. John and I went to Paris for New Year’s Eve.”

He turned the picture toward Molly. At first she couldn’t understand his interest. It was obviously taken at dinner and showed both Sandra and Rondo holding up Champagne flutes in a pose for the camera. She scanned the photo and settled on Rondo’s chunky fingers wrapped around the delicate stem of the glass, a huge emerald ring adorning his right hand.

She turned the photo so Sandra Payton could see it and pointed to the emerald. “Does he always wear that ring?”

“You know, it’s funny you should mention that. I asked him about it a few days ago, and he blew me off. Said he lost it. I was really surprised because that was his dead brother’s college ring. It meant a lot to John.”

Molly thought of the square impression on Itchy’s bruised face and imagined Rondo’s ring slamming against his cheek.

Thursday, October 19th

7:18 PM

“I can’t believe you slept with Courtney Belmont,” Ari said. She passed Jane the catsup and watched her pour a perfect circle over her hamburger. While she carefully cut her meal into fourths, Ari chomped down on her sandwich and noticed their waitress eyeing Jane from the bar. They rarely stopped at Burger Betty’s, Jane unwilling to dine at any restaurant without proper napkins and table settings after six o’clock.

Lost in her thoughts, Jane gazed across the restaurant. “Well, I think it was her. The face was the same, but the hair was different. It was lighter and longer.” She paused and took a bite. “You know, the more I think about it, the more I remember that night. I really wasn’t looking for a pickup.” Ari raised an eyebrow and Jane feigned surprise. “Honest. I was tired, and it had been a long week. I’d had three closings and two difficult clients. On top of that, I think I’d already had a few dates with different people. I wasn’t looking for action, just a quiet drink and a chance to watch the crowd. This blonde drops onto the stool next to me, buys me a few drinks, and pretty soon we’re having a good time. It was really bizarre because I don’t usually get drunk on kamikazies, but by my third, I was having trouble forming sentences and she was practically sitting in my lap. Vicky yelled at us to get a room, and the woman—Courtney, I guess—led me outside to her car. Everything’s a blur after that. We went to her place, and all I remember is waking up in the middle of the night with a pounding headache. She was asleep next to me, and I tiptoed out. She never woke up.”

“She didn’t hear you?”

Jane grinned and winked. “Ari, honey, they never do. I’m the expert at the silent exit.”

Ari rolled her eyes. It was no wonder Jane was being stalked. “What kind of car did she drive?”

Jane furrowed her brow and shook her head. “I can’t see it. I was too far gone.”

She thought about Jane’s encounter with Courtney Belmont as they drove back to her condo. Jane was prattling away about her birthday party, certain that there would be photographers and reporters present from the
Echo
, Phoenix’s local gay and lesbian magazine.

There was something about Jane’s tryst with Courtney that wasn’t right. Despite her tiny stature, Jane could hold her liquor, and Ari had upon occasion watched her guzzle five shots and remain sober. If three kamikazies sent her into a drunken stupor, there was more in the glass than triple sec and vodka. Ari wondered if Courtney hadn’t slipped a drug into Jane’s drink.

“Jane, did you ever get up to go to the bathroom when you were with Courtney?”

“Well, from what I remember, my friend Elise came by the bar and asked me to go over to her table to meet her new girlfriend. I wasn’t gone for more than five minutes.”

“Did Courtney go with you?”

“No, she said she’d save my stool. I’d already had a few drinks at that point, and I felt stone sober. I’m not sure what happened.”

“I think she drugged you. How many times have I told you not to walk away from your drink? I’ll bet that while you were gone, Courtney spiked your kamikazie with Rohypnol or a copycat drug.”

Jane’s face showed genuine disbelief. “Honey, I really doubt she felt she needed the date rape drug to get me to bed. I’m a sure thing. Everybody knows that.”

“That’s not the point.” Ari took a deep breath, trying to control her anger. Jane didn’t recognize the consequences of her lifestyle. “Date rape is about power, not how easy you are.”

She looked stunned. “I’ve never thought of myself as being raped.” Neither of them commented further, and Ari hoped she’d made her point.