Before She Dies (5 page)
“He arrived an hour before closing and the cab picked him up about twelve thirty.”
“Where’s his car?”
“Parked on the street, I guess. Judging by the keys it’s a Toyota.”
Rokov made a note. If they found the car, they couldn’t search it without a warrant, but they certainly could have a look inside from the sidewalk. “See anything across the street in the old restaurant?”
“The Wharf? That’s been closed for a decade. The city owns it now. No one goes there.”
“Someone did last night,” Rokov said.
Duke shrugged. “Sometimes I see homeless people hanging around. The city keeps the place locked up pretty tight, but sometimes someone gets inside. Someone overdose?”
“No overdose, but we had trouble in the building.”
Duke stared at Rokov expectantly, waiting for more of an explanation, but when none came, he said, “Like I said, I didn’t see anything. Way too slammed. But this Lowery guy might have a word or two for you. I put him outside around midnight to cool off and sober up while he waited for the cab. There was a mix-up on my end and my waitress didn’t call the cab, so Mr. Lowery sat outside for almost an hour. He might have seen something if he didn’t pass out.”
“How drunk was he?” Rokov said.
“Stinking drunk. Too drunk to stand. Even if he had his keys, he wouldn’t have been able to get back to his car. I doubt he’ll be much of a witness.”
Eyewitness testimony was sketchy even under the best of circumstances. “What about waitresses or waiters?”
“Can’t help you with that. If anyone saw anything, they didn’t tell me. Come back this evening and ask them if you like. We’ll have the same crew on for tonight.”
“Right,” Rokov said. “What other stores would have been open last night after midnight?”
Duke’s gaze narrowed. “What happened across the street?”
Rokov pushed out a breath. It would be all over the news soon enough. “A woman’s body was found in the building.”
“I’m judging by your expression that it wasn’t drugs.”
“It was not.”
Duke pushed long fingers through dark shoulder-length hair. “Damn. You got an ID on the woman?”
“No. Not yet. She was wearing a red jacket with the word
Magic
on the back. See anything like that?”
Magic
on the back. See anything like that?”
Duke shook his head. “No. Can’t say. But who the hell knows? Like I said, last night I was slammed.” He rested his hands on his hips. “Check with Just Java across the street. They’re open to midnight. Stella runs that place at night and she keeps an eye on all.”
Rokov glanced through the front window to the little coffee shop in the town house building painted a bright yellow. “Thanks.” He pulled out a card and handed it to Duke. “Call me if you think of anything.”
“Yeah, sure. Will do.”
They moved toward the door and Rokov opened it for Sinclair.
“Do you think it’ll take long to solve this one?” Duke asked.
“We’ll try,” Rokov said.
“News is going to be all over it,” Duke said.
“That they will.”
Duke shook his head. “Shit, first it’s the economy and now a body. Karma does not like this place.”
Rokov let the door close behind him. The sun had risen high in the sky, prompting him to pull Ray-Ban sunglasses from his breast pocket. “Let’s check out coffee lady. See what she knows.”
“I hate the door-to-door knocking, the endless questions and the endless vague answers. It’s amazing how much crap we have to wade through to get a few nuggets of gold.”
He shook his head. “Beats sitting in court and having an attorney railing on my ass.”
“Ah, let’s face it, Rokov, you want Ms. Wellington to rail on you.”
They paused as a minicooper buzzed past and then crossed to the coffee shop. “You’re like a dog with a bone, Sinclair. What set you off today?”
“The new suit for court. Super fancy, even for you.”
“Dad made the suit for me for my birthday.”
“Your birthday was in February.”
“So, maybe it was just time to dust it off.”
“Right.”
“Get it through your head, Sinclair. The suit ain’t about Charlotte Wellington.”
As Rokov opened the coffee shop door, the rich scents of coffee and pastries greeted them. Three customers waited at the register as a kid working behind the counter looking frazzled hustled to fill drink orders. They held back.
“And just for the record,” Sinclair said, “if Samantha White’s husband really beat her as the witnesses during the trial testified, I can’t say I’m against her. Wellington wins points in my book for taking the case on pro bono.”
He pulled off his sunglasses. “I’m sure the good attorney will be relieved to know you approve.”
She chuckled. “She doesn’t give a crap about what anyone thinks about her. She is pure ice.”
Charlotte had been cool and reserved when they’d first met at a cancer fund-raiser a month ago. Her law associate, Angie Carlson, who was married to homicide detective Malcolm Kier, had hosted the event. Rokov had gone as a show of support to a fellow cop’s wife and the cause. Charlotte Wellington was there to support Angie as well. They’d been fish out of water at the festive event and had struck up a casual conversation. At the event she’d been reserved and cool. He’d suggested coffee and somewhere along the way they’d ended up naked in a motel room.
“So you gonna see her again?” Sinclair said.
“There can’t be an again if there wasn’t a first.”
Sinclair nudged him with her elbow. “Come clean.”
“Buzz off.”
The morning crowd at Just Java had cleared, and Rokov reached in his pocket for his badge. He flashed it as the kid looked up at them. “Five-O. What’s the deal?”
“Stella here?”
“Yeah, just a second.” The kid vanished in the back and seconds later returned with an older woman in tow.
She tucked stray strands of gray curly hair behind her ear. “Figured when I saw the cops down the road earlier there was trouble. Kids using drugs this time or vandals? We’ve had trouble with both since that building was abandoned.”
“A woman was found murdered,” Sinclair said. “Her body was left in the building.”
“And you are?” Rokov said.
“Stella Morris. I own the place.”
“Were you here last night?”
“Normally I have Monday nights off but I got a call from the kid who was working the last shift. He was sick and had to go home, so I came in to work the last couple of hours and close up.”
“You see anything? Odd customers? Trouble. A car that didn’t belong?”
Stella rested her hands on her hips. “A few buzzed guys from O’Malley’s wandered in before midnight. And there was a homeless guy who stops by when he can scrap together enough coins.” She raised a finger. “I was closing up around twelve thirty, and I did hear someone shouting.”
“Shouting what?”
“Couldn’t make out the words, but it kinda sounded like howling. Like a wild animal. I figured it was a drunk.”
“What direction was the sound coming from?” Sinclair said.
“By The Wharf. That’s why I thought to mention it.”
“And that was about twelve thirty?” Rokov said.
“Twelve thirty-six as a matter of fact. The sound kind of spooked me. Sent chills up and down my spine and I glanced at my watch because I wanted to remember the time.”
“See anything?”
“Nope. Saw nothing.”
Rokov pulled out his card and handed it to her. “Ever seen a woman around here with a red leather jacket that says
Magic
?”
Magic
?”
“That sounds like Diane.”
“Diane?”
“I don’t know her last name. She used to come in here a lot but I haven’t seen much of her the last six months. She does something with computers.”
“She ever use a credit card?”
“Sure, I guess, but it’s been a while since she’s been here. I’m gonna have to dig.”
“Would you do that?” Rokov said.
“Yeah, sure. Why not.” She flicked the edge of the card. “I’ll call you.”
They thanked the woman and moved back down the street toward the car. “Let’s stroll down the street and see if we can find Lowery’s car.”
“The Toyota?”
“Sure.” Sinclair took the north side of the street and Rokov the south side. They walked a block and a half when Rokov spotted the silver Camry. Sinclair crossed the street. “This the car?”
“Could be.” On the front seat was a briefcase. The cup holders between the seats held two empty cups. “He’s lucky no one smashed the window to get the briefcase.”
“Maybe he was in a hurry to get to the bar.”
“Let’s pay him a quick visit.”
“Will do.”
The detectives walked back to their car and for an instant Rokov nearly cut to Sinclair’s door.
“If you go for my door, Danny-boy, I’m breaking your fingers,” Sinclair said.
Rokov held up his hands. “I learned my lesson.” When the two had first started working together, Rokov had opened Sinclair’s car door. She’d demanded to know which medieval century he’d just returned from. He’d laughed, blaming the door-opening habit on his parents’ old country manners. They’d settled on a compromise. He’d not open the car doors, but she’d allow the occasional shop door.
Sinclair slid into the passenger side seat and Rokov behind the driver’s wheel. As he fired up the engine, the first television news van pulled up outside the crime scene. “The media is going to love this one.”
“I’m afraid you’re right.”
The drive to Lowery’s took minutes and soon the two were standing on the doorstep of his town house. Painted white with black shutters, the town house was modern but fashioned to look colonial. A planter on the front porch sported drooping marigolds and several cigarette butts.
Rokov rang the bell once. After a pause he hit it again, and when that didn’t produce results, he banged with his fist. Finally, they heard shouts and the stumble of footsteps. The door snapped open.
A man wincing against the sunlight greeted them with an angry glare. Dressed in suit pants and V-neck T-shirt, he had greasy dark hair that stuck up in the back and a dark beard shadowing his lantern jaw. A thick cross hung from a thick gold chain around his neck. “What the hell do you want?”
Rokov held up his badge. “You Matt Lowery?”
“Yeah.”
“You at O’Malley’s last night?”
“Sure. And if you’re here to ask, I didn’t drive home drunk. I took a cab.”
“So we hear,” said Sinclair. She glanced beyond him to a foyer warmed with Oriental rugs and a landscape on the wall.
“The bartender tells us he parked you outside on a bench last night.”
He rubbed a bloodshot eye with his knuckle. “Damn near froze my nuts off while I was waiting.”
“You see anything?” Rokov said.
“I was pretty hammered.”
“Unusual people? Odd sounds,” Sinclair prompted.
Lowery shoved out a sigh as if pushing through the fog of his hangover. “I thought I saw someone at the old restaurant across the street.”
Rokov tensed. “What did you see?”
“Shit, I don’t know. It was late and dark, and like I said, I was hammered. I just figured it was a couple getting busy.”
“A couple.”
“Saw a man with a woman at his side on the top floor. They went in and a light came on.”
“You see the guy or the woman?”
“No. Just their outlines. He was holding her close and kissing her like he couldn’t wait to get her alone.” He sniffed. “So what’s their deal?”
“She’s dead. And we think he killed her.”
Chapter 3
Tuesday, October 19, 9 a.m.
Charlotte Wellington’s heels clicked against the sidewalk as she turned on her BlackBerry and checked her messages. Two clients. Her realtor. Clerk of the court. The apartment manager of the Seminary Towers. And a number she did not recognize.
As she walked the block toward her office, she called the clerk first. His message had been in response to a call from her. No verdict in the Samantha White case yet.
“Good,” she muttered. “They have questions and are thinking.”
She dialed her realtor and two rings later heard a perky, “Hello, Charlotte! How are you?”
“Great, Robert, as long as you have not had other problems with my condo sale.”
“It’s nothing huge this time. The man buying your condo called to say the home inspector has two issues. He says there is a leaky faucet in the second bathroom and the lock on the exterior storage closet rattles. He wants you to fix them both. He also wants to move the closing date up to the thirtieth.”
“Robert, I’ve made enough price concessions to this guy. I agreed to be out the middle of next month and now he wants two weeks and two minor issues fixed? He is officially a pain in the ass. The place is stunning, one of a kind. He should be grateful the place came on the market.”
“Five years ago, I’d have agreed. These days, just be grateful you got asking price. Besides, Charlotte, these are minor changes. You could hire a handyman to take care of both issues in an hour. And the new move-out day is only fifteen days earlier.”
“Fifteen days is a lifetime for me this year.” Given a different set of financial circumstances, this last request would have been the final straw. She’d have pulled the condo from the market and told the buyer to buzz off.
But she needed the money from the condo sale more than extra time to arrange the move. The law practice had hit a dry spell that she fully expected to ride out in the long run. But short term, cash flow was strangling her. “I don’t have the time to track down a handyman. And I haven’t even called a mover.”
“I’ll call the handyman and a mover that I trust. My guy can have the minor repairs made today, and my other guy can have you safely moved out in fifteen days.”
She tightened her grip on her briefcase handle. “I don’t like being pushed like this.”
“This is a huge sale, Charlotte. It would be a shame for you to lose out. And I know you really want this.”
People chose Robert because he was aggressive and had a reputation for quick, high-dollar sales. His customers either needed cash or a quick move. Seeing as she wasn’t leaving Alexandria, it didn’t take a huge leap for him to figure that money drove this sale.
Life had backed her into a corner before, and she’d learned that survival depended on adaptability. “Fine. Get your man in to fix the problems and find me a mover. One way or the other, I’ll be ready to move out by the new date.”
“Great. Great. This will be worth the effort.”
“It needs to be.” She said her good-byes and hung up. As she walked, she called one client and left a voice mail. She was dialing the second when her phone rang. Her realtor. “Robert.”
“You’re good to go. I’ve taken care of everything.”
“Great.”
“Plan to close in fifteen days.”
“Okay.”
“It’s going to be fine.” The soft edge in his voice suggested unwelcome pity.
“It’s going to be better than fine, Robert.” She hung up, moving down the tree-lined brick sidewalk past the historic town houses.
When Charlotte arrived at the office, she unlocked the front door, which always remained secured. She’d never fretted over security and enjoyed an open-door policy until a man had waltzed into her law offices three years ago and shot her.
She’d returned to her office one week after the surgery to inspect the installation of her office’s new security system. She’d insisted that she was recovering nicely and had no lingering issues after the shooting, but the truth was worry stalked her constantly. Her world became smaller and smaller, and she’d begun to feel quite alone in it.
Perhaps it was that self-imposed isolation that had driven her to Rokov and why being with him was exhilarating and addictive. If she still saw her analyst, he’d have had quite a field day with her choice to finally break a four-year dry spell with a cop—a protector.
She found her receptionist grinning like a little girl. Iris was a fifty-plus, silver-haired woman who dressed in pinks and madras. Generally stoic, she was efficient and had the office organized down to the last paper clip.
“Hey, boss.” Iris was grinning when she offered Charlotte her standard morning greeting.
Charlotte paused, taken back by the unexpected grin. “Whose birthday did I forget?” She didn’t celebrate holidays and often forgot her own birthday. Consequently, she wasn’t good about remembering most milestone events that were so important to others.
Iris grinned. “No birthday.”
“There is something. What did I miss?”
“You didn’t miss anything. Angie decided to surprise us.” Iris handed her a half-dozen pink message slips.
She wasn’t fond of surprises. “Why?”
“Relax, surprises can be good, Charlotte.”
She flipped through the messages. “So you keep telling me. So what is the good surprise?”
“Angie has brought in a cake and we’re having a minicelebration.”
“The celebration is for?”
“Her fund-raiser for the American Cancer Society. She just received several pledges late yesterday that are going to put her near the million-dollar mark.”
Angie, a cancer survivor, had suggested a fall Halloween fund-raiser for the children’s cancer ward at Alexandria Hospital. To make the event happen, she’d twisted arms, including Charlotte’s, and called in favors. She’d transformed a once sleepy event into a big costumed Halloween party that was going to be not only a moneymaker but The Event of the year.
“So we eat cake.”
“We do. Now put down your bag and get into the conference room. And don’t tell me you have work. You always have work.”
Charlotte rarely took time to celebrate milestones like this. So consumed with success that the instant she reached one hurdle, she set her sights on the next. Angie was teaching her to slow down if only a little, every so often.
She slipped into her office, set down her briefcase, and touched up her lipstick. She found her staff in the conference room. Angie Carlson Kier stood at the head of the table wielding a knife over a large pumpkin-shaped cake. Beside her was Zoe Morgan, their new paralegal. Tall, lean, with black hair that grazed her shoulders, she had been a dancer in her teens but had suffered an injury that had ended her career. She’d worked for several nonprofits but had accepted a job here five months ago. So far, she was turning into a real asset.
Charlotte smiled and tried not to calculate the billable hours idling in this room.
Angie’s smooth blond hair hovered around her jaw line. She wore a simple cream-colored suit and a white blouse. Since Angie had adopted her son, David, she’d cut back her hours to forty a week, part-time for a lawyer. Angie had declined partnership on the heels of Charlotte losing her original partner, Sienna James, to a lover in Texas. Sienna’s buyout, Angie’s inability to buy into the firm, and the lost billable hours to the White case had created the crippling cash flow crunch.
“I can hear the wheels turning in your brain, Charlotte,” Angie said. “We will take just a few moments to have this minicelebration and then it’s back to work.”
Charlotte relaxed her shoulders and eased the tension from her face. “No rush.”
Everyone laughed.
“I don’t see the humor,” Charlotte said.
Angie grinned. “You not rushing is funny. And by the way, you did a stunning job with summations yesterday. You’ve the makings of a great criminal attorney.”
She’d been pleased with her closing comments yesterday. And judging by the jury’s body language, she’d planted real seeds of doubt. “So I hear you’ve reached a new high in fund-raising?”
“We’ve passed the million-dollar mark with our fund-raiser. We’ve shattered all expectations, and we’ve not even held the party and auction.”
Charlotte clapped, her smile genuine now. “You’ve a lot to be proud of, Angie.”
“Thanks.”
Pragmatic, even calculating to a fault, Charlotte recognized that this event benefited not only the community but also Wellington and James. She’d learned at an early age that those who weren’t always scraping for the next morsel went hungry.
Angie cut the cake and doled out pieces to everyone. Charlotte bit into the chocolate cake and savored the hidden flavors of espresso. Angie had been raised in an affluent home and knew all the best caterers and bakers in town. She also knew the best schools, the best dance studios, and the most prestigious social events. Not that Angie focused on such things. She didn’t. But it struck Charlotte that what came so naturally to Angie had required painstaking research for her. She built her list of The Best one name at a time. It was very important to her to cultivate the impression that she, too, had grown up in a world similar to Angie’s.
“So, how is the baby?” Zoe asked.
“David is great,” Angie said. “He’s walking and tearing up everything in his path. Malcolm has the day off so the two went to the park. Malcolm said it’s a male bonding kind of thing.”
“What does that mean?” Iris said.
“Who knows? Likely they take off their shirts, paint their faces, and run through the woods at the park hunting squirrels.”
Zoe’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
Angie laughed. “Yes, I’m kidding. Most likely it’s an ice cream at the carnival and a few games of chance there. Then the afternoon in front of the television watching the Dallas game that I taped for him while he was working.”
Zoe shook her head. “I’d read that the carnival opened last Friday, but I hadn’t thought to go.”
“For David and Malcolm, it will be great fun. For me, not so much. I was never a fan of carnivals. Too dirty.”
Charlotte glanced at her cake and poked it with her fork.
Too dirty.
Too dirty.
The front door buzzer sounded and Iris moved to answer it.
Charlotte raised her hand. “Sit. I’ll get it.” She set down her cake, almost untouched, and moved down the hallway. As much as she enjoyed her staff, she understood that there would always be distance between them because she was the boss.
She checked the security camera behind Iris’s desk and spotted a man, his face turned partway from the camera. The ends of his flannel shirt hung over the painfully narrow waist of faded jeans. He had gray hair and what looked like a scruffy beard. He finished the dregs of a cigarette and then crushed it out in a stone planter filled with white mums.
“Nice,” Charlotte muttered. She considered calling the cops just as the man turned and faced the camera. He grinned as if he sensed she was staring at him.
She jerked back and for a moment could barely breathe. Time had weathered the face and grayed the hair, but there was no mistaking the sharp gray eyes that had been a fixture in a childhood she’d worked hard to erase from her memory. She stepped back from the screen, her heart knocking against her chest.
“What the hell are you doing here, Grady Tate?” The carnival was in town, but she’d stayed away because she did not want to see him. He must have seen the news coverage of the trial yesterday.
As if she’d spoken directly to him, Grady rang the bell again and then again. His arrival was clearly no accident, and he was not going anywhere.
Iris appeared at reception. “Who is ringing the bell?”
Pure, sharp panic cut into Charlotte’s belly. “I’ll take care of it.”
Iris glanced at the monitor. “He looks like something the cat dragged in.”
“He has that effect on people.”
“Who is he?”
Charlotte smoothed hands over her black pencil skirt. “Nobody.”
Iris folded her arms. “Really? Well,
Nobody
has rattled your cage.”
Nobody
has rattled your cage.”
“He has not.”
“Your lips are blue.”
She moistened her lips and offered a smile too brittle to be amiable. “Just go back to the party and enjoy your cake.”
Iris tapped a manicured finger on her forearm. “I think I’ll stay right here and make sure
Nobody
isn’t a problem.”
Nobody
isn’t a problem.”
Charlotte did not want Iris to meet Grady. Past colliding with present promised disaster. But making an issue could require more explaining down the road. “Eat your cake, Iris. I’ll shout if I need you.”
Plucked brows knotted. “I don’t like it.”
“I know. Thanks. But go. Please.”
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