Shot Through Velvet (7 page)

A man approached the table. He was slightly built and wore a shirt and tie under his puffy purple parka, which was almost formal for Black Martin. His posture was overly erect, as if he were trying to be taller, and his serious glasses meant business. Lacey decided the young reporter looked like a congressional aide in training.

“So you’re Lacey Smithsonian.” He made it sound like an accusation.

“Not my fault. It’s the family name,” Lacey replied. “You must be Will Adler.” Lacey put out her hand to shake. He ignored it. She had gotten only a glimpse of him before, but she recognized the posture and the attitude. She’d had a similar one when she was a reporter in Sagebrush, Colorado. No local reporter wanted a big city reporter to ride in and snatch some juicy story away.

“Did you come to town just to sneer at my newspaper and steal my story?”

“Hey, I’m from
The Eye Street Observer
. I only sneer at
The Washington Post
.”

“I am Will Adler, reporter for the
Black Martin Daily Ledger
, and you are treading on my territory.”

“No, I’m not. I’m writing a fashion-related story on the factory closing. Because of the velvet. That’s not exactly your territory, is it, Will? Are you a fashion reporter?”

He looked like he was wondering if she was joking. “The factory closing is old news, and it’s not about fashion. I wouldn’t be covering a fashion—”

“See, we’re working completely different angles.” Lacey smiled. “Have a margarita.”

“You’re sure about that?” Adler suspected a big city reporter trap. “What about Rod Gibbs’s blue body? Who tipped you off?”

“I was touring the plant when they found him.”

“You were there? That doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Can’t help you with that one.”
Jealousy.
Lacey knew he was annoyed at missing all the action in his own town. She felt his pain. But Adler’s antagonism was beginning to remind her of the cops. He pulled up a chair and sat down. The former factory workers regarded him warily.

“Even if you were there,” Adler challenged her, “I’ve got good sources, and I’ll get more from them than you will with your eyewitness account.”

“Knock yourself out. Work your sources. That’s the way it works in a small town, right, Vic?” Lacey turned to Vic to help her out.

He nodded. “That’s the way it works.”

“Your little paper, Adler, is nothing but lies and more lies.” Hank turned on the local reporter. “I wouldn’t train a puppy on it.”

“Nice to see you too, Richards.” Adler didn’t look at Hank. He focused only on Lacey, his fellow reporter.
Rookie mistake
, Lacey thought to herself.
Follow the story, not the competition.
“So what do you think about Gibbs? Is this the work of a serial killer?” Adler asked.

“Gee, I haven’t heard of any similar murders,” Lacey said. “But if I hear anything else about victims being strung up and dyed all different colors, I’ll let you know.”

“It would be good not to mock me,” Adler said.

Lacey had to laugh. “Are you really a reporter? ’Cause I get mocked all the time. Part of the job. All I know is that Rod Gibbs apparently had a lot of enemies.”

“I understand this death had cultlike aspects,” Adler said. “It was ritualistic. Who dyes their victims blue? A cult?”

Inez spilled her drink. “You don’t mean like some kind of crazy witch thing? Like covens and black magic?”

“Yep, now we have a cult in Black Martin,” Hank grumbled. “What are you drinking, Adler? Crazy blue Kool-Aid?” Will Adler adjusted his glasses and tried to look knowing.

“Who have you been talking to?” Lacey said.

He puffed himself up. “I would never reveal my sources.”

Great
, Lacey thought. Cult murders would be exactly the kind of loose talk Damon Newhouse would gobble up with a spoon. She suspected that Adler was floating a trial balloon to see if anyone bit. Still, Rod Gibbs trussed up like a blue pig was unsettling. People wanted answers. They wanted to be reassured. They wanted to know that a crime like this didn’t really happen to good people. The only comfort Lacey could find so far was that Gibbs was not considered a good person.

“Hey, Will.” Sykes tapped on the reporter’s shoulder and pointed. “Tom Nicholson just walked into the bar. No, don’t look. I understand he’s got some inside info on the Blue Devil’s death. He might be a
source
, you know.”

“They’re calling Rod Gibbs the Blue Devil?” Adler’s eyes opened wide.

“You heard it here first,” Hank confided. “Old Tom knows all about it.”

Adler abruptly stood up. “Thanks for the tip.” Adler stalked off, a reporter in search of his story. And a clue. The rest of the crew at Lacey’s table laughed at how easy it was to play with cub reporters. Sykes started chuckling. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Was that nice?” Lacey asked, laughing too. She wondered how many times she had jumped when someone was leading her astray. Probably way too many.

“That boy’s got no sense of humor,” Blythe said. “We’re just having some fun.”

“Got him out of our hair for a while and into someone else’s,” Sykes added.

“Tell me, Blythe, everybody, why I am so lucky to have your attention?” Lacey asked, glancing from one to another.

“Because you’re a friend of Damon’s. Like us. And we’re thinking about trusting you.”

So Blythe Harrington thought she was a friend of Damon’s? Blythe felt like she
knew
Damon because she read his Web site every day? Well, Lacey thought, it was time Damon Newhouse returned the favor and opened a few doors for her, instead of the other way around.

“I’m sure Damon would appreciate that,” Lacey said. “You know, Damon’s such an interesting character. I know him better than almost
anyone
. Why, the stories I could tell you . . .”

Chapter 6

“Dyed blue and hung out to dry. Who do you all think disposed of Rod Gibbs in such a cruel and unusual manner?” Vic turned the conversation back to the victim. “I might as well ask. That’s what everyone wants to know, isn’t it?”

Faces turned toward Vic. He looked deceptively casual, but Lacey knew he felt bad that someone had died on his watch.
Almost
his watch.

Blythe’s expression lit up, as if Vic had introduced a party game. “It’s got to be someone who knows the factory. That’s obvious.”

“How many people are we talking about?”

“Just a handful now, we’re the very last. But there have been hundreds over the years,” Kira said. “It’s a lot of suspects.”

Lacey and Vic exchanged a look. “Gibbs couldn’t have made everyone hate him,” Lacey said. “That’s not possible.”

“You don’t know Rod Gibbs like we know him,” Sykes said. “The killer was some knight-errant, a stranger who rode into town last night on his stallion, or his Harley, and did us all a big favor. Like one of those comic book superheroes.”

“A stranger on a stallion?” Lacey said.

“More than a stranger. An avenger! That’s right, a Velvet Avenger who decided to right a wrong, and that wrong was Rod Gibbs. It’s perfect that way.” Sykes lifted his glass in a toast to their anonymous savior. “To the Velvet Avenger. Long may he
avenge
.”

“Sounds good to me,” Hank cracked. “To the Avenger.” He clinked glasses with Sykes.

“I’m serious, Hank. Not about the horse or the bike,” Sykes said. “But I’m thinking someone targeted Rod for death to do the world some good.”

“Like one of those stories on DeadFed,” Blythe said.

“That’s right,” Inez said. “I mean, Rod had such a reputation, it could have been anyone. Someone we don’t even know.”

“Maybe we should ask Damon Newhouse if he’s heard about anything like this,” Blythe said. “Post a question on his blog at DeadFed or something.”

It’s the margaritas talking,
Lacey thought. At least, she thought it was the margaritas.
Margaritas calling Damon Newhouse, in the Galaxy of Grand Illusions!

“Come on,” Lacey said. “Let’s get real here. Who could really do this?” But the workers didn’t want real, they wanted a no-fault, mythical avenger to take the credit and the heat. That way no one would have to pay for Rod Gibbs’s murder.

“See,” Blythe lectured Lacey, “this is why Damon gets the good stories. He has the imagination to see how all these conspiracies work together. He’ll get to the bottom of this case, I betcha.” She sipped her margarita happily.

Vic tried to steer the conversation back to the dead man. “Tell me about Rod Gibbs then. Why would this altruistic avenger go after him?”

“A million reasons,” Sykes said. “Gibbs just had a genius for gnawing on your last nerve. Like the day he cut our benefits, and the next day he showed up driving that new fancy-ass car of his.”

“What kind of car?” Vic, Lacey knew, had theories about cars and their owners. Like Lacey had with clothes and their wearers.

“Blue Corvette.”

Vic whistled. Lacey knew what he was thinking. The Corvette was what Vic called “an asshole car,” but that didn’t stop people like Rod Gibbs from loving it.

“It sure was a thing of beauty,” Sykes said.

“Until someone keyed it in the parking lot. Damn shame,” Hank said, a hint of a smile on his face. “He didn’t drive it to work much after that.”

“Hell, any one of us might want to kill him,” Sykes said. “Even our little sparrow, Kira, here.” He lifted his margarita glass to her.

Kira hesitated before speaking. She seemed startled by being the center of attention. “I can’t say I’m sorry Rod is dead. He was slime. Everyone knows how I feel.” She started to play with a tortilla chip, breaking it into little pieces but not eating it.

“Rod was a pig,” Inez said, “always saying dirty things, letting his hands brush against you.” She waved her margarita for emphasis. “This one time, I had to knee him in the balls to get him to stop.” She laughed loudly. “I swore it was an accident, but Rod tried to have me suspended.”

“Were you suspended?” Vic asked.

“No, but he put a letter of complaint in my file, said he’d see me fired if it was the last thing he did. Guess he didn’t have time. Damn shame.” Inez howled with laughter.

Lacey turned toward Kira. “Why did you hate him?”

“All the same reasons. Like Inez, but I’m not that brave.” Kira’s large brown eyes started to moisten. “I filed a sexual harassment complaint against him last year.”

“That’s old news,” said Hank. “Rod got a lot of those. Pass the chips, please.”

“Did the complaint stop him?” Lacey asked Kira.

“Made him worse. Rod would come by and put his arms on my shoulders and his hands all over me. He only did it when no one else was around. He’d whisper things like how he owned me and that he could fire me in an instant. Or I could make it easier on myself, and I know exactly what he meant. He’d walk away and laugh and say someday I’d give in.” Kira slumped back in her chair and lowered her eyes. “I was living in fear. Still am.”

“It’ll just take a while,” Inez said. “But you’re safe with us.”

“We tried to make sure Kira was never alone much with Rod,” Sykes said as he grabbed the pitcher and topped off their glasses.

“Why didn’t you quit?” Lacey tried to put herself in Kira’s place. She knew it took a lot of courage to leave a bad situation.

“Jobs don’t exactly grow on trees down here, if you hadn’t noticed. I got a kid to support.” Kira sipped her wine spritzer. She’d declined the margaritas. “And I figured Dominion was going to close soon. We’d been hearing that on the grapevine for some time.” She shared a look with Hank. “Anyway, yes, I hated Rod, more than anybody I ever met. But I never would of thought of killing him. Dyeing him like a piece of velvet.”

Inez glared at Lacey. “We can’t all be reporters with a cushy job in Washington, D.C., at our Claudia Darnell’s little paper.”

It was Lacey’s turn on the hot seat. The factory workers would be lining up at the unemployment office in the morning, Lacey thought. These days nobody’s job was safe.
It might only be a matter of weeks before I join them.

Vic gave her a smile and squeezed her hand under the table.

“It’s not as cushy as you might think.” Lacey looked around for the waitress. “I’ve got a job today, but it doesn’t guarantee I’ll have it this time next year. Or next month. Newspapers are in trouble. Major newspapers are folding. One of my hometown papers is gone.
The Rocky Mountain News
had been there for a hundred and fifty years. Ad revenues are way down, and even
The Washington Post
has been laying off people.”

“What about
The Eye Street Observer
?” Inez demanded.

“There are rumblings about cutbacks. Layoffs.” It was something Lacey didn’t really want to think about.

“You mean Claudia Darnell is going to destroy her paper like she ruined the factory? She’s killing more jobs?” Hank leaned forward into Lacey’s face. Sykes too. Lacey felt a little cornered and she moved closer to Vic.

“I didn’t say that. We have our own version of Rod Gibbs. If anyone’s going to destroy
The Eye
, it’s our Walt Pojack.” Or as Lacey thought of him, Pojack the Destroyer. He’d spent some time as a PR flack for politicians, lobbyists, and developers before landing at
The Eye
. He had been an inadequate managing editor with no discernable skills for management, so he was shoved upstairs and somehow landed a spot on the newspaper’s board of directors. His title was chief of operations.

“Who’s that?” Blythe asked.

“Paper’s resident snake. No one important.”
I hope.
“Anyway, let me point out, Claudia Darnell didn’t close the factory single-handedly. Did she?”

“No, she had partners in crime.” Sykes knocked back the rest of his margarita. “The first one is dead.”

Lacey and Vic’s tablemates were several margaritas ahead of them, and tongues were loosening. What they said could be useful, or it could dissolve into useless barroom bluster. They might regret their words in the morning, and Lacey tried to remember that. But her ear was still cocked for a good quote.