MASS MURDER (12 page)

Giorgio watched the tail
l
ights disappear and then glanced around, mentally calculating distances and angles.
From where he stood, the row of planters blocked any view from the banquet room windows only a few feet away.
To his right, bushes crowded the exterior wall, spilling onto the walkway as a path curved around the building.
A second path led up the slope to where an ivy-covered trellis opened onto a flower garden.
Giorgio was familiar with the garden because he’d attended a wedding there earlier in the summer.
It was protected by a low, trimmed hedge, with a circular patch of lawn
,
an
d a shrine set off to one side.

He turned and
scanned the
building behind him
.
The kitchen doorway stuck out about ten feet from the main building.
A metal ladder bol
ted to the wall extended up
to the
short,
flat roof.
Another ladder, perhaps a fire escape, extended from the roof
above the door
to the window at the end of the upstairs hallway.
Although this could provide a means of escape, it was doubtful anyone could climb out the window and down the ladders carrying a dead body.

H
e decided to follow the walkway around the northwest corner of the building
and
entered
a winding tunnel of low-hanging trees, old-growth bushes
,
and a series of buttresses that braced the exterior wall.
The outdoor lights
were practically useless
, making him realize that an
yone using the walkway
would be invisible above the knees.
A hundred yards farther on, he encountered a statue of the Virgin Mary flanked by two plain
,
cement benches.
Here, a second path disappeared up the hill into the dark.

The sound of a door opening from somewhere behind him
prompted him to
duck behind
the statue
. A
draped silhouette glide
d
silently up the hillside into a clump of bushes.
There was a scratching sound, followed by a glow that pierced the darkness.
One of the priests was having a cigarette.
Giorgio smiled, thinking even a man of the cloth has his vices.
This interested him less than the fact a rear door was
missing
a security light.
Somethi
ng he would check the next day.

Giorgio returned to the main lobby where he ran into Swan.

“I sent the janitor home,” he informed Swan.
“He left a thermos behind.
Let’s m
ake sure we secure it for him.”

Swan nodded just as the front door swung open.
A woman in her early thirties, wearing shoulder
-
length
,
bleached
blonde
hair and tight green slacks blew in with the wind.
A cashmere sweater and leather waistcoat accentuated her trim figure.
She approached Giorgio, her eyes focused on him as if he were the biggest lobster at a seafood restaurant.

“I’m Anya Peters.
I need to know what happened here.
Where’s Mr. Marsh?
Where are Father Damian and Ms. Levinsky?”
She only caught her breath at the end of her list of questions.

Giorgio noticed the heavy makeup used to cover pockmarked skin.
He produced his badge.

“I’m Detective Salvatori.
This is officer Swan.
You’re the Event Coordinator?”

“Yes.”
She seemed surprised he knew who sh
e was. “Tell me what happened.”

“Perhaps we could g
o into Father Damian’s office.”

Giorgio started for the office
,
but the woman remained where she was, her jaw locked in stubborn determination.
Caught in between the two of them, Swan shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“I don’t think you understand.
I need to know what happened
,
and then
I need to speak with Mr. Marsh”

Swan drifted in Giorgio’s direction.
Inwardly, Giorgio smiled, thinking how easily an angry woman can intimidate a man, even one the size of Swan.

“I understand, Ms. Peters.
However, we’re conducting an investigation here
,
and you may have information that could be helpful.
Now, if you don’t mind.”
He allowed his sentence to trail off as he gestured to the office door.

She looked at him and then at Swan, finally making a decision.
As she strode past
Giorgio
, he noticed the pearl earring that pulled at her ear lobe.
She stepped into the middle of Damian’s office
,
while Giorgio crossed behind her toward the red, upholstered se
ttee that sat against the wall.

“Why don’t we sit over here?
You’ll be more comfortable.”

“No!” she blurted, stopping Giorgio
halfway to a sitting position.

He faltered, feeling more than a little confused.
“Okay.
Why do
n’t we take these chairs then?”

He pulled a couple of straight-backed chairs away from a round table.
She plopped down and crossed her legs, exposing shapely ankles accented with a gold ankle bracelet.
Despite the blotchy skin, she was an attractive woman and seemed to know it as she slipped off the leather coat, exposing the firm fit of her sweater.
With a short flutter of lashes, she looked at him as if she suddenly had all the time in the world.

“You were saying, Detective?”

He opened his notepad by way of distraction.
When he looked up, he caught her glancing
in the direction of the settee.

“I understand you handle all booking arrangements and that you were here this evening?”

“I’m always here for the events, just to make sure things are running smoothly. Some of these events are complicated.
I want
my customers to be satisfied.”

She stretched her foot out, bringing attention to her ankles.

“What time was the banquet scheduled to begin?”

“Cocktails began at six.
We opened the doors for dinner at six forty-five.”

“And the bar was set up in the lobby?”

“Yes.”
Her answers were short, forcing Giorgio to ponder her defensive attitude.

“What time was the dinner scheduled to end?”

“Around eight-thirty.
It was only three courses.”

“And there was to be a program after that?”

“
I
t was some kind of game.
They asked for a microphone and podium at the head table.
I give them whatever they want.”

She smiled in the same way she might swallow good wine and then shifted in the chair so that her back arched, pressing her breasts against the confines of the sweater.
Giorgio wondered at the charade.

“Once the dinner began, your job was over for the evening?”

She stared at him before answering, her green eyes impassive.
“Yes.
I only stay to make sure there are no problems.
I think I said that.”

“So you left around seven o’clock?” Giorgio watched her reaction, noticing that she hesitated before answering.

“Around seven-thirty, I think.
I said goodnight to Mr. Marsh.
You can ask him.”
She stuck her chin out as if making a challenge.

“You’re not under any kind of suspicion at this point, Ms. Peters.
I’m only trying to get the facts.
After saying goodnight to Mr. Marsh, you left and went straight home, I presume.”

Again, she hesitated, pulling her purse into her lap.
“Yes.”

“And you remained there until Father Damian called you a little while ago.”

“Yes.”

“What time did he call you?”

“About eleven o’clock.
He was quite upset.”

“Did anyone else contact you during the evening?
Anyone from the monastery?”

“No.
Why do you ask?”

As the green eyes searched his face, he could’ve sworn the turned-up nose
twitched as if casting a spell.

“Just wondering,” he replied.
“Do you use the same catering company for every function?”

“Yes.
Food for Thought.
They’re very good.”

“And you’re familiar with the staff?”

“Many of them, yes.”

“Did you see anyone with them tonight that you didn’t recognize?”

She pondered the question, seeming to grasp the diversion with relish.
“I’m not sure. Let me see
. I
hadn’t seen one of the bartenders before.”

“What did he look like?”

“Medium height.
Muscular.
He had dark eyes
a
nd an earring.”

“Earring?”

“Yes.
I think in his left ear.”

She raised her hand to her own ear by way of clarification, but a brief expression of panic crossed her face as she noticed one of her own earrings was missing.
Her eyes darted in the direction of the settee again.
G
iorgio pretended not to notice.

“Had you met the deceased?”

“Actually, no one h
as told me yet who was killed.”

Her lower lip extended in a petulant expression as if she’d been left off the invitation list for a sorority party.

“It was a woman named Mallery Olsen.
She was a literary agent.”
He watched her closely and was more than a little curious t
o see her sigh, as if relieved.

“I really only know Mr. Marsh and Ms. Levinsky.”

“You didn’t happen to see anyone come to the dinner late?”

“I was back in my office getting ready to leave.”

“And where is your office, Ms. Peters?”