Beneath the Silk (23 page)

“Grace Tandi disappeared and was never found. If Vito sent his wife to the bottom of Lake Michigan for adultery and got away with it, then a jealous fiancée with a father who’s part of the organization and owns the biggest salvage yard in the city, could certainly make someone an ink spot under two tons of iron.”

“Jeez, Jacky.” Joey jerked to his feet. “I can’t think that happened.”

Jackson could see he had upset Joe more than he’d meant to, but facts were facts. “So Stud’s been keeping this place just waiting for his ex-wife to come home. Somehow that doesn’t fit.”

“So she’s dead?”

“Maybe, bro.” He glanced around, saw a woman’s pair of strapped white sandals tucked half under the couch. Frowning, he asked, “You know if those are
Rhea’s shoes?”

Joey glanced at the shoes Jackson had pointed to.
“They look like hers.”

Thinking that was just as strange as Stud paying on a second house when he already owned one on Ashland, Jackson got to his feet and walked down the hall to the bedroom. Peeking his head inside, he said, “Joe…”

As he stepped into what obviously had been Rhea Williams’s bedroom, Joe appeared in the doorway. “What the hell is this?”

“It looks like someone’s living here.”

“And wearing Rhea’s clothes?”

“So they’re hers?”

“Yes.”

Jackson studied the clothes laid out on the bed. Then turned to assess the underwear displayed on the dresser. “Not wearing,” he said, “just looking.”

“What?”

“A man obsessed with his ex-wife would want to stay close to her things. If you can’t have the real thing, you settle. Substitute. Right?”

Joey released a string of obscenities.

“Let’s have a look around. You take the other bedroom, I’ll take the bathroom.”

When they met back in the living room, Jackson said, “When we came through the kitchen I thought I saw a door. Closet?”

“Basement.”

Jackson moved back into the kitchen and opened the door to the basement. Joe came up behind him and flipped on a light switch in the kitchen that lit up the stairwell and beyond. Following Jackson down the narrow stairs, he said, “There isn’t much down here. Just storage for—”

There were no words to describe the sight that confronted them as Jackson and Joey came off the last step. Both men simply stared for several minutes.

Finally, Joey shouldered his way past Jackson to stare at the four walls that outlined the basement. Walls that were peppered with pictures and newspaper clippings.

Jackson gazed at the collection of memorabilia—traits of a psychotic madman. “Look.” He pointed to a number of pictures of Rhea Williams with Tom Mallory. There were a half-dozen of the two of them. The two of them out to dinner, leaving the movie theater. Tom bringing her home. Tom leaving the house. The picture that got Jackson’s attention was of
Rhea crying
at
Tom’s funeral. The picture had been
placed in a square box outlined in black ink, with the words Justice Served written along the top.

He stared at the picture for a long time, knew what it meant. Finally he said. “Stud killed Tom.”

“It looks that way, bro.”

Jackson’s heart started to hammer inside his chest. He scanned the next wall, this one dedicated entirely to Rhea Williams and her life with Stud—shared birthdays, a boat ride on the river, picnics in the backyard. But in all the pictures Rhea Williams was never smiling.

The next wall was devoted to Milo Tandi, Elizabeth Carpenter and Sunni. Clearly telling Jackson that—though he didn’t understand Stud’s motivation—he was certain he had killed Milo, as well as Elizabeth Carpenter.

There were no
pictures of Rhea with Milo as there had been with Tom. Instead there were newspaper clippings of Milo’s death. Sunni leaving Masado
Towers, getting into a cab. Milo with Elizabeth Carpenter entering the Crown Plaza. Nothing, however, was old. All the pictures and newspaper articles were fairly recent—a month old at
the most.

The next wall took Jackson by surprise. It was devoted to him. He didn’t hear Joey come up behind him until his friend swore viciously. The next thing out of his mouth was “You’re next,
mio fratello.
The son of a bitch wants you dead next.”

Then to prove it was true, Joey pointed to an empty square box outlined in black ink with the words Justice Served above it.

* * *

He loved her.
Sunni had replayed the words over and over again in her mind all afternoon. With Jackson gone to pick up Mac, it was the perfect chance to get a grip and fortify the lie she’d told him that morning. But every time she started to think about pushing Jack further away, his heavy voice claiming that he loved her drowned out everything else.

She knew the lie she’d told was for his own good. She couldn’t … no,
wouldn’t,
saddle him with a woman who someday might need him to brush her teeth.

When the knock came to the back door, she stood
and peeked out the side window. Detective Williams had called an hour ago and she’d told him that Jackson wouldn’t be back until after six. Seeing him now surprised her, but she swung the door open, anyway,
and took a step back to let him enter the small
kitchen. “Jack’s not here,” she offered.

“I know. I figured he wouldn’t be back yet, but I thought I’d drop off the report on Libby… Ah, Elizabeth Carpenter. I’ve got a busy night planned, and…” He glanced around. “You alone?”

“Yes.”

“Good idea, Jackson sneaking you out of the hospital like that.” He glanced at the coffeepot. “Coffee sure smells good. Can you spare a quick cup?”

Sunni glanced at the folder. She was curious about the report. “Sure. Sit down.”

He pulled a chair out at the table. Sunni noticed him wince as his left arm bumped the table. Like always, he was dressed in a sports jacket over a white shirt and tie. But today he was wearing jeans instead of dress slacks, and boots instead of loafers. He really did fit the typical detective, she thought, glancing at the notepad that stuck out of his jacket pocket as she brought him his coffee. “Sugar or cream?”

“Sugar, please.”

“So—” Sunni placed a number of sugar packets on the table with a spoon, then sat “—can you tell me anything about Elizabeth?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt now that I’m convinced the case has taken a turn and you’re no longer a suspect.” He smiled, took a sip of the coffee. “She was definitely murdered. Jackson was right. Libby … Elizabeth Carpenter had drugs in her system, but that’s not what killed her. She drowned.”

Sunni couldn’t imagine a more horrible death. “Poor Elizabeth.”

Detective Williams added a bit more sugar to his coffee, stirred. “She was already out of it before she died. She didn’t feel anything.”

“How can you be sure? Is that what the report says?”

“Not exactly. But she’d snorted a lot of white lightning that night. She passed out before she went swimming. I guarantee it.”

“If she drowned, how can you tell it was murder?”

“It’s murder when someone deliberately feeds an addict too much candy for the sole purpose of killing them once they’ve passed out.”

Sunni stood and walked to the sink to get a drink of water. “But you can’t know that’s what happened without…” As she ran water in the glass, she glanced out the window and realized that the detectives in the unmarked cruiser were no longer out front. She was about to mention it when she heard the scraping of the detective’s chair on the tile floor. She turned and found Stud standing in the middle of the room pointing a gun at her.

“I know that’s what happened, Miss Blais, because I was the one who fed her the white lightning.” He grinned, seemingly pleased with the effect his confession had on her.

Sunni gripped the counter to stay on her feet, unable to believe what she was hearing. “You? You killed Elizabeth?”

“You don’t look like you’d be very strong.” He rubbed his shoulder. “‘Course, the paperweight was crystal, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, God!”

He shook his head. “God isn’t going to be able to help you, Miss Blais. And neither will Jackson or that hairy partner of his. No, it looks like I’m the only one
on the job today.”

His
gaze traveled to the window. “The boys
were
anxious to take a break. They went for some coffee and
smokes.
I told them not to rush back, that I’d watch over you until they got back. Only we’re not going to be here when they get back.”

“I don’t understand. You’re Jackson’s friend. Why are you doing this?”

“Friend … ex-partner.” He
shrugged. “They’re a dime a dozen to Jackson. He’s had more partners than any cop alive.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“This has nothing to do with wanting to hurt you, Miss Blais. I’ve been seeking justice for an old unsolved crime for three years. A month ago I uncovered evidence that reopened the case. I always believed that there were two men involved in the deception. I just couldn’t prove it. Milo and Libby, and yes, you, were all invaluable in bringing this case to a close. I learned you were Clide Blais’s daughter by accident, but what a gem that piece of information was. It was so easy after that. Libby stealing your scarves. Killing Milo at the Crown Plaza and making it look like you’d done it. Without you becoming a suspect, Jackson wouldn’t have been sent back to Chicago. ‘Course, I made sure he’d come. But you really were the key.”

“What does Jackson have to do with this?”

“He’s the second man, Miss Blais. A criminal.”

“You’re mistaken. Jack would never—”

“Shut up! It was an ingenious plan setting you up
so
he’d come back. I executed everything perfectly. Every detail was cross-examined again and again. A good detective pays attention to details.”

Sunni glanced at the clock. Jack wouldn’t be back for at least a half hour. He wasn’t going to be able to save her—Detective Williams was right about that.
“Why Elizabeth?”

“The lovely Libby was the perfect accomplice. She was very loyal to her habit, and to me since I was the one feeding it. But weaknesses can be a deadly business, as I’m sure you know, Miss Blais. Last night yours nearly cost you your life. I look
at it
as having
done Libby a favor, really. She was supporting a demanding habit … a weakness. One that would have eventually killed her … same as you. This way she went quietly and quite peacefully. And since I have no malice toward you, your death will be just as painless. You’ll just slip away.”

He was going to kill her. Sunni responded without
thinking. “You’re a monster,” Sunni screamed, then sent the half-full glass of water flying through the air.

The shot that rang out seconds later shattered the window above the sink. Still screaming, Sunni tried to reach the door but he caught her around the waist and dragged her to the floor. She went down kicking and swinging her arms, but she was no match for a madman who had been a cop for ten years.

Stud’s fist punch sent Sunni clutching her stomach and gasping for air. The second rendered her unconscious.

* * *

While Jackson stood staring at
the proof he needed to put Stud Williams in a cold, dark cell, his phone
rang. He pulled the phone from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. “Ward here.”

“Detective Ward?”

“That’s me, who’s this?”

“Fletcher. You know. Me and Guthrie are staking
out
the Mallory house.
Only Miss
Blais must have
left the house, sir. She must’ve taken a ride somewhere.”

“A ride?”

“Yeah, with Detective Williams. He’s not here, either, like he said he’d be.”

Jackson felt dizzy, as if his lungs had collapsed and no air was reaching his brain. Or maybe he’d just been knifed in the back. Either way, he couldn’t breathe, could barely think. He heard himself say, “He took her … but you don’t know where or when?”

“We went for coffee, sir. Detective Williams suggested it. He said he’d watch her until we got back. But when we got back—”

“Keep trying his cell phone. I’ll give you the number.” As he recited the digits, Jackson turned to look at Joe, who was back staring at the many pictures of Rhea Williams. “Let me know if you raise him.”

He disconnected, then phoned Sunni at the house just to make sure Fletcher was on the level. When she didn’t answer, he called her apartment. When the answering machine clicked on, he swore, jammed the phone into his pocket and said, “Stud just made his move. He’s got Sunni. Let’s go.”

They took separate cars. Both men, breaking all the speed limits, arrived back at Tom Mallory’s house twenty minutes later. As they pulled up Fletcher and Guthrie were in the front yard arguing.

Jackson jumped from the car. “Know anything more?” he hollered on his way to the house. When the two men continued to argue, he stopped, pulled his .38 out from inside his jacket and fired it into the air. When the shot rang out, both detectives hit the ground and went fumbling for their weapons. “I asked a question, you sons of bitches! Any news?”