Nun Too Soon (A Giulia Driscoll Mystery Book 1) (15 page)

Twenty-Four

He led them through an open door into a bedroom that still showed traces of a feminine decorating scheme. The bedspread, a forest green shadow-stripe, layered a seafoam dust ruffle under an actual ruffle. The duvets matched the dust ruffle, and that was it for anything feminine. Sales and software books filled the headboard book niches. The room was just narrow enough with the king-sized bed to allow no space for nightstands. A 36-inch TV took up the top of the chest of drawers on the left side of the bed. If there had ever been a dresser for Loriela on the outside wall, a gas fireplace now filled a third of that space, with seascape watercolors on both sides. Good ones, too—Giulia’s friend Sister Bart had taught Giulia what a talented painter’s work should look like.

On the other side of the TV, the glass balcony door offered a view of the solid brick wall of a refurbished 1940s cinema across thirty feet of bushes and grass studded with patches of old snow.

“Lori slept on the side near the balcony. Her dresser used to be against that wall. I put in the fireplace last September. That night, when we got home from the bar, we finished celebrating my birthday and passed out more than fell asleep. You know how it is when you’ve had a few too many.”

“Once or twice,” Giulia said, figuring he’d accept this even from the prude he’d said she was. She was also prepared to step on Zane’s foot, but Zane picked up her cue.

“I don’t know why she woke up. The way I pieced it together when I was sitting in jail for the two days after, the guy—or girl—made some kind of noise that got through to Lori right about the time she woke up to pee. Something like that, where she’d be coming out of how heavy we were both sleeping.”

Giulia walked over to what had been Loriela’s side of the bed. “The balcony door has a deadbolt? Yes, I see it does.”

“We used it because we both grew up in crime-filled neighborhoods, but we never expected somebody to climb up that way. Everyplace nowadays is covered by security cameras.” He opened the door and pointed to the left of the balcony. “The one that took all the pictures in Colby’s trial exhibit is up there, a foot above my head.”

Giulia passed him and stepped out onto the pressure-treated wood, weathered to a natural gray. Beads of melted snow lurked in the shaded corner, so it had at least been waterproofed. But Loriela had been strangled, not stabbed, so there’d been no reason to re-treat for bloodstains.

She eyeballed the eight-by-six space fenced in by wrought-iron railings in a simple twist pattern. “Mr. Fitch, did you have to step over Ms. Gil’s body to see if she was still breathing?”

“Yeah. When the phone woke me up and I saw the rain coming in the open door, I sobered up fast. Didn’t see that my tie was missing, but I’d yanked them off her wrists and she untied her ankles after we finished, like always.” He glanced at Giulia, then at Zane. “Well, not always. I don’t want you to think we indulged on a regular basis. We’d made up after a big fight and she wanted to—”

“Mr. Fitch,” Giulia turned her back to him and leaned over the railing to study the landscaping, “I’m interested only in that evening as it pertains to Ms. Gil’s murder. The tie was on the footboard and available to the killer. Your intimate relationship details are not my concern.”

“Yeah. Okay. So there was a little round hole in the door and wet shoe prints on the rug leading out to the kitchen. Lots of rain had soaked into the room from the open door. That’s when I called 9-1-1. Then I found Lori. He’d left her right where you’re standing. I dragged her inside and untied the tie from her neck and tried CPR. I don’t know CPR, but you see it all the time on cop shows, and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I see.” She came into the bedroom again. “Where exactly did the wet prints lead?”

“Out here, to the kitchen.” He led them, walking in a shorter stride than usual. “The guy—yeah, I know, or woman—sneaked past me. Grabbed my wallet from the top of my dresser and Lori’s from her purse on the kitchen counter.” He pointed to it. “We didn’t use our computers in the kitchen, so he kept going into the den.”

He stopped at the doorway. “Then he—she—grabbed the laptops as the lightest things to carry, I guess, and went out the same way.” He shook his head. “Bastard jumped poor Lori’s body like a hurdle and took off.”

Giulia walked the killer’s path again, opening the closet door, reaching for a phantom wallet in a nonexistent purse, placing each foot in measured steps along the bed’s footboard and back onto the balcony. The floor plan of the apartment could have been made for thieves as much as for tenants who wanted the illusion of as much space as possible.

“Thank you,” she said to Fitch as she came inside, closing the glass door behind her. “This has been quite helpful.”

“Anything for my cause.” Fitch glanced at Zane again.

Giulia braced herself. “Now, about my interview with Cassandra Gil.”

Twenty-Five

The entrance buzzer sounded.

Fitch glanced at the clock-radio on the headboard. “Damn. Time flies when you’re being interrogated.” He loped into the hall and pressed his own buzzer to unlock the main door.

“Sorry,” he said to Giulia and Zane when they came into the kitchen. “Thought we had more time before lunch. Got a friend coming over.”

Giulia gave him her best customer-service smile. “We only have one last interview to discuss.”

He looked at the door, then back at her. “Yeah, but the company won’t be right for it.”

“Mr, Fitch, you requested this meeting. As you pointed out to me earlier, your trial for murder is ten days away.”

“I know, I know. Who knows it better than me?”

The doorbell rang.

Fitch cursed under his breath and opened the door. A spectacular blonde stood on the threshold: Clingy sweater, pencil skirt, four-inch heels, bright red lipstick, dark blue mascara. Her sparkling blue nails curled around two Styrofoam takeout containers.

“Come on in, Angie.” Fitch took the containers.

“Hey, baby,” Angie said. “I thought it was going to be just the two of us.”

“It is. They were my morning appointment. We’re just finishing up.” He beckoned to Giulia and Zane. “Come into the den. Angie, give me five minutes. You want to grab a couple of beers from the fridge?”

“I’ll expect repayment for my services.” She winked at Fitch.

“You know you’ll get it, baby.” Fitch closed Giulia and Zane into the den with him. “Summarize, okay? Angie isn’t long on patience.”

Giulia drew on her own deep reserves of patience and began with Cassandra’s version of the Christmas week fights that led to the botched restraining order.

“Come on, you didn’t swallow all that after all this time?” Fitch knocked the back of his head against the door. “Everything she says means only one thing: ‘I hate Roger Fitch.’”

A delicate knock at the door. “Roger, the buzzer went off. I pressed it because I know you never bother to ask who it is.”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else,” he said in a low voice. Then louder, “Thanks, Angie. Be out in a second.”

Giulia said, “It goes without saying that I weigh each interview against the others and against the official documentation.”

“Good. Good.” Fitch shook himself. “We’d better finish this tomorrow. Wait, tomorrow’s Sunday. You go to church or anything like that? What time is good for you?”

The doorbell rang. Fitch opened the door to the den.

“Hey, Roger,” a different female voice said.

“Who are you?” Angie’s voice.

“Oh, shit,” Roger muttered.

“Who are you?” The new voice.

Giulia and Zane slipped into the hall behind Roger.

“Tammy. Hey, doll, what’s up?” Roger’s charm was all but visible in the restaurant-like air. A tall redhead in skintight jeans, spike-heeled boots, and a leather top with the center zipper open to her cleavage stood in the doorway. The aroma of orange-spiced beef rose from the casserole dish in her hands. The spicy scent of General Tso’s chicken wafted from Angie’s unpacked takeout containers on the table.

“Who’s the Barbie doll?” the redhead said.

“Uh, Angie, this is Tammy. Tammy, meet Angie.” Fitch’s smile faltered. “You said you’d be in Philadelphia ’til Monday, Tams.”

“The client canceled. I thought I’d surprise you with homemade Chinese for lunch.” She walked around Fitch and used her casserole to push aside the takeout containers on the table.

The front door buzzer sounded a third time.

The redhead stalked over to the small, square speaker and held the “open door” button down with her thumb. Then she turned to glare at Giulia. “How many more women are you entertaining today?”

“It’s not like that. This is Giulia Driscoll and her assistant, from Driscoll Investigations. They’re working to prove my innocence before the trial starts.”

The redhead defrosted a few degrees. “Nice to meet you. Hope you’re doing a better job than the cops did. I’d like to keep this guy around for several years.”

“Wait a minute, honey.” Angie slipped her arm through Fitch’s. “Where do you get off thinking you have rights to Roger?”

Tammy planted herself in front of Fitch. “Roger, you want to tell blondie here who can’t cook to take a hike?”

Angie blew a kiss at Tammy. “I feel for anyone who has to buy affection with food.”

Tammy inspected her manicure. “Guess you have to buy affection with some other talent.”

Angie’s smile gave her a feral air. “Roger, if you don’t tell this bottled redhead to take a hike, I’ll make her leave minus a few chunks of that henna’d hair.”

The redhead laughed in the blonde’s face. “Please. What are you good for besides hanging on a guy’s arm? Roger appreciates multi-talented women.”

Roger sent one pleading glace at Giulia. Giulia pretended to be in a conversation with Zane.

Roger made a conciliatory gesture.

“Tammy, it’s like this...”

The redhead dropped her superior pose. The blonde clung tighter to Fitch’s arm.

“Tammy, the reason I asked Angie over here when you were going to be out of town is because I wanted to break it to her easy.”

The blonde un-clung. “What?”

The redhead, all superiority again, picked the blonde’s fingers off Fitch’s arm. As though that small physical contact was a starter’s pistol, the blonde shoved the redhead backwards.

The redhead backpedaled one step, pivoted, and slapped the blonde’s face. “Cow.”

“Tams, Angie, come on.” Fitch’s plea lacked sincerity.

“Pig!” The blonde grabbed the redhead’s shoulder and yanked her away from Fitch.

The redhead’s shirt zipper popped a few teeth. The redhead got a handful of the blonde’s sweater. It stretched off her shoulders, revealing black lace bra straps.

“Bitch!” The blonde stepped into the hold and aimed her pointed blue nails at the redhead’s face.

The redhead ducked. The blonde stumbled past her and caught herself on the table edge. They both blistered the paint with their next set of insults.

Giulia stepped away from the wall. “Mr. Fitch,” she raised her voice over the screeching women, “since you’re otherwise entertained, I’ll call you when I’m ready to give you my next update. Let’s go, Zane.”

“Giulia—Ms. Driscoll—wait, please.” Fitch threw out a hand toward her.

The doorbell rang.

The redhead swatted Fitch’s hand down. “How many women are you stringing along, Roger?”

“I’m not—Tammy, listen to me—”

The blonde hip-checked Roger into the table. “You bastard!”

Giulia opened the door. A spotlight blinded her. An unseen hand shoved a microphone in her face.

“Ken Kanning here with
The Scoop
at The Silk Tie Killer’s apartment. Miss, are you Roger Fitch’s new girlfriend? Don’t you worry that one of his ties will end up around your neck?”

Every syllable of that theatrical voice grated on Giulia’s nerves.

“Please move and let me by.” She didn’t trust herself to say anything else.

Behind her, one of the women screeched something unintelligible. The spotlight swerved to Giulia’s left. Giulia glanced over her shoulder.

The blonde picked up the redhead’s casserole and heaved it. The redhead ducked. The casserole dish shattered against the wall. Beef, broccoli, rice, and sticky orange sauce splashed the wall, the rug, and Fitch. A shard of milky glass bounced off a picture frame and impaled Giulia’s purse.

Ken Kanning shoved Giulia out of his way and ran into the apartment, the cameraman a step behind him.

“More violence, Scoopers! Accused murderer Roger Fitch has two women tearing up his apartment. What kind of man revels in this behavior? What kind of woman—”

Giulia shoved open the stairwell door and cut off that voice. She didn’t stop or look around until she and Zane were safe in the Nunmobile.

“Holy crap,” Zane said in an awed voice.

Giulia managed a weak laugh. “Still prefer working for a private investigator to a nice, safe desk job with sales commissions?”

“You bet. The only exciting stuff in my life used to be beating my gang on gaming night.” He whistled. “Wait ’til I tell the guys about this.”

Giulia rested her forehead on the steering wheel. “Tell them to watch
The Scoop
Monday at three-thirty. We might be on it.”

“Holy crap.”

Giulia raised her head. “It’s not exactly the TV debut I’d have picked.”

“Oh, no, Ms. Driscoll. This is awesome. I’ll tell my girlfriend to DVR it but I won’t tell her why.”

“We’ll watch it Monday at work. I might need to do damage control with the Diocese.” She started to toss her purse in the backseat. A glint of light stopped her mid-throw. “At least the sliver of casserole impaled my purse instead of me.” She pinched it out with her fingernails. “Zane, could you grab a tissue from the pocket on the door?”

Zane held one out and she set the piece of milky glass in its center.

“Ash tray, please.” This time her purse made it into the backseat. She started the car and pulled into Saturday afternoon traffic.

“Ms. Driscoll, did you want me to write up a report about that visit?”

Giulia hit the brakes at the next intersection as a black pickup ran a stop sign.  “Learn how to drive!” She looked twice in each direction before turning left. “Sorry. I don’t usually lose my temper on the roads. I blame the Roger Fitch circus.” After another block, she said, “Did you ask me a question?”

“Um, I wanted to know if I should write a report about today.”

“Yes, please. All your impressions of the apartment, all your thoughts about Fitch’s story, everything.” She caught three green lights in a row. “That man will give me an ulcer.”

“I meant to tell you. You know when he was telling us about using his neckties as part of sex with his girlfriend? When you weren’t looking, he winked at me. Twice.” Zane shivered. “It creeped me out that he thinks I’m one of the guys who are into that.”

“That’s good.” She squeaked through a yellow light. “Sorry. Not that he thinks you’re like him. If he’s manufactured camaraderie between you then he’ll be more willing to trust us.” She stopped at the next yellow because of heavier traffic. “His starring episode of
The Scoop
today truncated my report before he got everything he wanted to know. That gives us the advantage. I’d like to see him suck up to us for a change.”

“I’ve never seen you this angry, Ms. Driscoll.”

Giulia turned left again onto Zane’s street and laughed a little. “It takes a lot to make me angry. Everything about Roger Fitch falls under that heading.” She pulled into Zane’s driveway. “Thank you for backing me up in there. I’ve got a mental note to add two hours’ overtime to your next paycheck.”

“Anytime, Ms. Driscoll. I have to say I’m better with gaming violence than real-life crazies.” He opened the car door.

“Wait,” Giulia said. “I seem to remember you were going to tell me about the embezzlement case.”

“Oh, yeah. Man, that seems like forever ago.” He stared out the windshield. “It’ll keep ’til Monday. I want to write down what happened today before I lose it.”

“So do I. Monday morning, then.”

Giulia drove straight home, found Frank in the garage building storage shelves, took the hammer and nails out of his hands, and kissed him.

“What did I do?” he asked when she allowed him a breath.

“You are not a possible murderer and embezzler who doesn’t know the proper use for a silk tie and who’s stringing along two women at once, both of whom choose to scream and throw things.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I’m awesome.”