Murder In the Past Tense (A Giorgio Salvatori Mystery Book 2) (8 page)

“By Monday, her disappearance was all over school. Everyone was hammering me, wondering what I’d done to her,” he said.

“They thought you’d harmed her?” Swan asked.

Martinelli sat behind his desk again.

“Not necessarily. A lot of my friends figured we’d gotten into a big fight, and she’d just run off. But we hadn’t fought. The police department was pretty small back then, and they didn’t even look into it until Monday night. By that time, it was clear that something had happened to her, and they opened an investigation. And of course, I was their primary suspect, and I didn’t have anyone to corroborate my story.”

Martinelli shrugged his broad shoulders again as if it was no big deal, but the tense muscles around his mouth said otherwise.

“What about Jimmy Finn?” Swan asked.

Martinelli’s eyes seemed to shrink back into his head at the name. “Jimmy had a crush on Lisa. Everyone knew it. He lived next door to her in a duplex up near the canyon. She was always nice to him, but that's as far as it went. As far as I knew, he’d never done anything inappropriate towards her -- she would have told me. I mean back then, white girls didn’t date black guys. Well, not many, anyway. So if he’d so much as suggested anything, Lisa would have said something.”

“So you don’t think he killed her?” Giorgio said.

“I don’t know. I don’t know why he would. But then I don’t know why anyone would…” He dropped his head again and clasped his hands. “She was just a really nice girl, Detective. She may not have been from a wealthy family, but she was smart and funny, and she wanted to be a teacher.” He paused and sighed deeply. “She would have made a great teacher,” he said, almost to himself.

“How do you think her belongings got into Jimmy’s locker?”

He glanced up, recognizing the edge to Giorgio’s voice.

“I didn’t put them there, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t know how they got there, and I would never have hurt Lisa.”

“How did Jimmy react when they found those things in his locker?” Swan inquired.

Martinelli thought back to that moment. “Two police officers came to the high school. We all went to PHS – Pasadena High School,” he clarified. “It was at the first lunch break, and they started going through lockers. We didn’t know why. We just saw the cops, so the kids all gathered around and watched. I remember Mr. Franken, the drama teacher, tried to get kids to break up and move on. We didn’t know what they were looking for, though, so it was better than watching a John Wayne movie. At least, until they opened Jimmy’s locker. They pulled out Lisa’s shoe…and her underwear.” He swallowed, as if his throat had tightened again. “And, my world kind of fell apart.”

“Was Jimmy watching with everyone else?” Swan prodded him.

“Yeah. He just stared at the officers. He was kind of slow, you know. One of the guys on the football team pushed him forward, and he kept staring at the underwear without saying anything. The cop asked him if it was his locker, and he said yes. But when they asked him how the shoe and underwear got there, he just kept shaking his head and saying, ‘no, no, no.’”

“What did you do?” Swan asked.

He sighed with remorse. “I lunged for him. I was pissed. I actually caught him by the shoulder and wrestled him to the ground. The cops had to pull me off.”

“So you thought he did it?” Giorgio asked.

“At the time I did. I mean, there was that evidence.”

“But not now?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. It just didn’t seem like him. But he got convicted, and then I heard Jimmy died in prison. So maybe we’ll never know.”

“What about Lisa’s step-father? Did you ever meet him?”

“No. Lisa never talked about him. I didn’t even know about the …you know, what he did to her, until the investigation. She was a very private person.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Giorgio asked. “Kids who didn’t like her? Other boys who might have bothered her? Girls who maybe were jealous of her relationship with you?”

He just shook his head. “No. I admit that I was probably a good catch back then. I was on the football team, and my dad was obviously wealthy. But kids were pretty cool about our relationship. And Lisa was well-liked. She was even on the drill team. That was a pretty elite group of girls.”

“Elite?” Swan asked.

“Yeah. The drill team was very competitive, and all the girls wanted to be on it. Lisa loved wearing that stupid red and white uniform,” he said, his face relaxing into a smile. “But she didn’t have the money to buy it, so I paid for it.” He looked uncomfortable for a moment. “I never told my parents, though.”

“Did your parents approve of your relationship?” Giorgio asked.

Ron Martinelli grimaced. “No. They tolerated it. My mother, just barely.”

“And they were both home the night she disappeared?” he asked.

Martinelli stiffened at the question. “Mother was, yes. My father was out of town.”

Giorgio perked up. “But you just said you went to church the next day with your parents – plural.”

“Yes…um…we did,” he stuttered. “My father came home late that night. He wasn’t supposed to be home for several more days, but…uh, he was there when I got home.”

Giorgio regarded him quietly and then stood up. “Well, if you think of anything else, please let us know.”

He handed over his card and moved to the door. Martinelli followed, stepped in front of him and opened the door.

“So, you’re opening a new investigation?” Martinelli asked. “You don’t think Jimmy did it?”

“I think Lisa Farmer deserved a better investigation,” Giorgio said.

As they stepped into the reception area, another man was standing at the front desk. He was taller than Ron Martinelli, and had dark, heavy features. Ron saw him, paused, and then moved forward.

“Detectives, this is my cousin, Fritz Martinelli. He runs the real estate half of the business.”

The other man was dressed in crisp slacks and a polo shirt. A gold chain glittered around his neck. He was about the same age as Ron, tan and physically fit. He regarded the two police officers with caution.

“Police? What’s going on?” he asked.

“They think they’ve found Lisa’s body,” Ron said. “After all these years. Up at the monastery.”

Fritz Martinelli’s thick eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “Really? Well, we all
thought
she was dead,” he said unsympathetically. “Took a long time to find her, though.”

“Yes,” Giorgio said, thinking this guy could use some sensitivity training. He glanced at Ron. “We’ll be in touch.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Giorgio and Swan returned to their car, and Giorgio pulled out his cell phone to call McCready.

“Hey, I need the current address for Ron Martinelli’s mother,” he said.

He waited while McCready found what he was looking for. A moment later, the young cop came back on the line with the information.

“By the way, I found the company that did the construction up at the monastery back in 1967,” McCready said. “They’re still in business over in Monrovia.”

“What’s the name?

“Aladdin Construction.”

“Okay, why don’t you head over there and talk to them. Find out if they still have records from when the patio was constructed and if anyone knew about the well. Also, we need to know if Lisa Farmer’s step-father is still alive. And see if the duplex the Farmers lived in still exists.”

“Will do,” McCready said.

When Giorgio hung up, Swan glanced at him. “Where to now?”

“Let’s go see the Ice Queen,” he said with a smirk.

Claire Martinelli still lived in her big Craftsman-style home in Pasadena, off Colorado Boulevard. The home was set back from the road, with sweeping lawns and a long, circular drive that ended in a large parking area in front of the veranda. The property was protected by a walled perimeter and heavy iron gates.

They had called in advance and were buzzed in when they announced themselves at the gate. A young Latino woman wearing a crisp uniform met them at the front door and showed them into a swank living room, with a big picture window overlooking the front gardens. A tastefully decorated Christmas tree stood in one corner, while a grand piano stood in the other. The piano was accented with green garland, red bows and a display of family photos.

Giorgio took a moment to survey the photos. He ID’d younger versions of both Ron and Fritz Martinelli, and two older men who looked enough alike to be brothers. One was probably Royce Martinelli, and the other was his brother, Fritz Martinelli’s father. According to the file, his name was Edmond.

“Detectives,” a strong voice said behind them.

They turned to find a woman in her eighties sitting in a motorized wheelchair. Wheelchairs often diminished an individual’s presence, but not so with Claire Martinelli. She appeared to be a tall woman and sat straight as a rod. Her gray hair was pulled back from an angular face, exposing high cheekbones and sharp brown eyes. She was dressed in an expensive gray pants suit, with a silk blouse and a string of heavy pearls at her neckline. Large pearl and diamond earrings graced her earlobes. There was nothing frail about this woman, other than her inability to walk. There was nothing casual about her, either. This was a woman who still commanded attention and wanted them to know it.

“Please,” she said, gesturing toward the sofa. “Sit down. I’ll have Rita bring us something to drink.”

She turned to the girl who hovered in the background and flicked her wrist. The girl disappeared down the hallway.

Claire Martinelli pressed a button on the arm of her chair and wheeled into the room. Giorgio and Swan sat at opposite ends of a pristine Queen Anne sofa.

“I understand you’re here to ask some questions about Lisa Farmer. I heard on the news that someone finally found her body after all these years. I’m afraid I won’t have much to say. As I told the police back in 1967, I was asleep the night she went missing.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Giorgio began. “But we’d like to hear it for ourselves.”

Her eyebrows arched. “I think you just did.”

Giorgio paused. Claire Martinelli was clearly used to controlling her environment, and he had just invaded her space. She didn’t like it. He would have to tread lightly.

“Let me be more clear,” he said with an apologetic nod. “Can you tell us what you did earlier that night?”

“I thought the man who was responsible was put in jail years ago. Why are you bothering to ask questions now?” she retorted.

“From what we can tell, there wasn’t much of a case against him. No direct evidence.”

She laughed derisively, her upper lip curling. “I beg to differ. They found her underwear in his locker. What do you call that?”

“That’s circumstantial evidence. Someone else could have found a way to put those things in there.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, why would anyone do that?”

Rita interrupted them by returning with a tray of glasses, ice and a pitcher of lemonade. She set it down on the coffee table and quickly poured a glass for her employer. Mrs. Martinelli took it and then flicked her fingers again. Rita poured glasses for her guests. When the girl was finished, she quietly left the room.

Swan picked up his glass and took a drink, while Giorgio continued.

“Mrs. Martinelli, just a moment ago you said they had arrested the
man
who was responsible for Lisa Farmer’s disappearance.”

She flinched. “Did I? Well, he’d be a man by now, wouldn’t he?”

“Actually, we understand that Jimmy Finn is dead,” Giorgio said. “He died in prison.”

She paused again, as if she hadn’t known that. She recovered quickly.

“So much the better,” she said, with a flip of her head. “I’ve always thought we spend far too much money on our prison system.”

Giorgio wasn’t sure if her callous attitude was real or manufactured. But he was more curious about what it was meant to convey.

“If you could just tell us what you did the night Lisa Farmer disappeared,” he said, knowing that he was pushing her.

She took a sip of lemonade and placed the glass on a coaster on a side table. “I hardly remember every detail about a single night over forty years ago, Detective.”

“I understand. But please, if you would, try. We know your son left around six o’clock to pick Lisa up for the prom. Did you see him leave that night?”

“Of course. I took some pictures of him dressed up in his tuxedo.”

“Do you still have one of those photos?”

She lifted her eyes to meet his. “Yes, I believe I have one in one of our photo books.”

She reached over and grasped a small bell and rang it. Rita appeared so quickly, it was as if she had been waiting down the hall. Mrs. Martinelli asked her to find the big green photo album in the family room.

“Did you approve of Lisa, Mrs. Martinelli?” Giorgio asked after the girl had left.

Her eyes flashed momentarily. “Neither my husband nor I approved of his dating that girl. She was from up in the canyon, and her mother was a drunk. But Royce said Ron was just sowing wild oats, and so we allowed it.”

“Had you ever met Lisa?”

“No. Of course not. My son wasn’t allowed to bring her to the house. What would our neighbors have thought?”

“You lived in what’s known as the Pinney House back then, is that right? On Lima Street?”

“Yes. It was a beautiful old Victorian. I believe it’s a bed and breakfast now.”

Rita returned with a large, faded photo album and handed it to her mistress. Mrs. Martinelli flipped open the pages until she came to the page she wanted. She extracted an old color photo of her son and held it out for Giorgio. The picture showed a young Ron Martinelli standing in the hallway in front of a room with a desk and a tall bookcase in the background. Giorgio studied the photo for a moment and then handed it to Swan.

“May we hold onto this temporarily? I’ll see that you get it back.”

“If you must,” she said, stiffly.

“So, Ron left to go pick up Lisa. What did you do that evening?” he continued.

“My husband was out of town. As I recall, I had dinner and watched some TV. I was getting ready for bed when Ron came home,” she said, placing the photo album on the side table.

“So you
did
hear him come in?”

Those blue eyes darted away, and she busied herself reaching for her lemonade again. She took a drink before continuing. Giorgio loved watching people attempt to cover their lies.

“I’m not sure whether I heard him come in,” she said with hesitation. “I think perhaps that I was already
in
bed.”

“The police report says that you originally said you were sound asleep by ten o’clock. Ron says he didn’t get home until after midnight.”

“I misspoke just now, Detective,” she snapped. “After all, it’s been over forty years. You can’t expect me to remember every little detail.”

She lifted her chin as if to emphasize her point.

“I’m not accusing you of anything. Your husband also came home unexpectedly that night, is that right?”

Her expression tightened. “Yes. Why is that important?”

“Where had he been?” he pressed her.

Her demeanor became guarded. “Why does it matter?”

“It might not,” he said. “But it’s good to have all the information.”

She waited a moment, and then said, “He’d been on a ten-day fishing trip. But I think he said the fish weren’t biting.”

“I see. And so what did you do the next day?”

She took a deep breath, as if it took every ounce of her patience to put up with this intrusion.

“We went to early church service and then went out to breakfast.”

“Did Ron mention anything about the night before?”

She was clasping her hands in her lap, and he noticed the long, strong fingers of her left hand, along with her expensive wedding band set.

“I believe I asked him if he had had a good time,” she said.

“And?” Giorgio prodded her.

“He said yes.”

“Did he say what they did after the dance?”

“I beg your pardon,” she snapped, her eyebrows lifting.

Giorgio realized she thought he was referring to any intimacy between the couple, but he kept quiet to let things fall where they may. She seemed to make a decision.

“Ron didn’t discuss his girlfriends with us,” she said.

“Where were you when you heard about her disappearance?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she exclaimed, throwing a hand out to the side. “How should I remember that?”

“Was it Ron who told you that she’d gone missing, or your husband? Or perhaps you didn’t know until the police showed up on your doorstep.”

He imagined that the police had never showed up on their doorstep. Most likely Sierra Madre’s most influential couple had been
invited
to come down to the station.

“Really, Detective. This all seems superfluous. After all, this case was closed decades ago. You’re just wasting your time – and mine,” she said with emphasis.

“Mrs. Martinelli, your son was the primary suspect for a time. By his own account, he didn’t have anyone to back up his story that he dropped Lisa off at home.”

She stiffened. “His
story
? My son had nothing to do with her death,” she almost spit. “Don’t you dare try to sully his name.”

“I have no such intention,” he replied calmly. “But I need to know what you know. Was there anything about his behavior that raised your suspicions? Did he say or do anything out of the ordinary?”

“No,” she said with a raised voice. “I told you. My son didn’t do anything wrong.”

“What about his friends? Had any of them ever dated Lisa? Would they have been jealous of Ron?”

“Everyone was jealous of Ron,” she spat. “The kids in his class. The rest of the football team. Even the girls. But he never saw it. He coddled his friends. Thought they all had his best interests at heart. But they didn’t. Especially that Joshua Springer, who tried to get him expelled.”

“Expelled? What for?”

Giorgio’s interested was piqued. The Ice Queen was wound up. All Giorgio had to do was let her go.

“Joshua Springer was the second string quarterback. He barely got to play during his junior year and desperately wanted Ron’s position. So he talked a friend into getting Ron to give him some answers on a test at the beginning of the senior year. And then someone told the teacher and Ron was called into the principal’s office and suspended for three days.”

“How do you know Ron was set up?” Swan asked.

“Because Joshua’s girlfriend eventually told him that it was Joshua that set him up and then snitched on him. Fortunately, the school couldn’t afford to lose Ron on the team, so he was allowed to play.”

“Do you know if the police ever talked with this Joshua Springer?” Swan asked.

She snorted. “I have no idea. They arrested Jimmy Finn and things quieted down. That’s all I cared about,” she said. “It’s time to let that girl rest in peace, Detective.” She pushed a button and began to back the wheelchair towards the hallway. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Giorgio glanced over at Swan and they both stood up.

“Do you happen to know if Joshua Springer still lives in the area?” Giorgio asked.

“Last I heard he drank himself to death,” she spat. “Good riddance, I say. But his horrid father is still around.”