Killing Streak Read online

  His wife depended on him. He was the one she turned to in a crisis. Except that clearly wasn’t true anymore.

  She tolerated his arm around her shoulders, though, and within his awkward embrace he felt her trembling. “How was it?” he asked. “The police,” he added pointlessly, then led her away from the RV out of earshot of the officers.

  Had they treated her like a suspect? Maybe that’s what was bothering her. Evan was desperate to know what they’d asked her. Did Corie suspect him?

  That thought unsettled him most of all and Evan found himself babbling, off-balance around Corie of all people. “The detective spoke with me already. You probably know that. You’re smart enough to realize they wouldn’t let us see each other until we’d each given our statements individually. Are you sure you’re all right? You’re very quiet. Have you eaten anything today? Do you feel ill? You’re shivering. Do you need to sit down?”

  He couldn’t seem to shut up. She kept her unfocused stare toward the street. Then a car door slammed and Corie stiffened. He looked to see what—or who—had finally gotten a reaction out of her and saw his mother-in-law, Violet, emerge from a dark red BMW at the curb. Was it possible to get out of a car indignantly?

  “What on God’s green earth is going on here?” Vi’s shrill voice carried clearly.

  Corie spoke her first words: “Shit. I can’t deal with this right now.”

  Evan kissed Corie on the cheek and gave her shoulders a little squeeze. “I’ll take care of her. Don’t worry.” Why was he putting on a show? And for whom?

  Vi, dressed stylishly in dark wash, slim-fitting jeans, teetered a little in her spike-heeled boots. Her cream-colored silk blouse had flared sleeves and an elaborate flounce down the front. Chunky gold jewelry adorned her neck, ears, and wrists. Her hair was bleached blond with expensive highlights and cut short in a faux windswept style.

  Evan intercepted her halfway up the long driveway.

  “What the hell is happening here?” Vi’s face contorted into an outraged grimace. “Why are police cars blocking the drive? Where’s Corie going?”

  Her voice set Evan’s teeth on edge. “Violet. I am afraid something awful has happened.”

  “What? Is something wrong with Corie?”

  “I need you to stay calm. There has been a shooting. Brice is dead.”

  She planted her manicured hands on her hips. “I told you having that man stay here was bad news.”

  That was the first thing that popped into the unsympathetic bitch’s head?

  Vi looked smug. “What was it? Some drug deal? Maybe a quarrel with one of his gay lovers?”

  “Violet.” Evan grasped her roughly by the arms. Too bad there were so many cops around. His hands itched to smack her. “They don’t know what happened yet. Brice is dead and Corie found him. She’s a mess.”

  “She found him? Dead?”

  “That’s what I said.” Evan let go of her arms.

  Some of the wind went out of Vi’s malicious sails. “How?”

  “Don’t know yet.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “Don’t know that either. The police have been here all day. CSIs, detectives. It’s been quite the circus. Corie’s devastated. What are you doing here anyway?”

  “You invited me for dinner. I came early to help.”

  Belatedly, Evan noticed Vi was holding a shiny paper bag, the right size and shape for a bottle of wine. “Crap. I completely forgot. I’m sorry you wasted a trip.”

  “It’s all right.” Vi looked toward the RV. “How is she?”

  “The detectives spent quite a bit of time with us today taking our statements.”

  “They did?” Vi’s voice rose to a high-pitched, excited whisper. “What did they ask you?”

  Evan shook his head, half in wonder, half in dismissal. “They’ll probably need to talk to you as well.” He added that last bit spitefully but her eyes glowed with a feral excitement.

  “Were you here when . . .” Vi licked her lips. “When it happened? When Corie found the body?”

  “I’m afraid not. I had a busy day meeting with clients.”

  “Corie was on her own? Why didn’t she call me?”

  The answer seemed so patently obvious. Vi never gave Corie anything but grief. “She’s been rather busy with the police.”

  “Poor Corie.”

  “Yes.” He took in the rare, albeit brief, display of empathy. “So you’ll understand that she’s not in any shape to make dinner. We don’t even know when they’ll let us back in the house.”

  “The house? Is that where it happened?”

  “No. But the entire property is a crime scene right now. We’ll have to reschedule.”

  “Of course. But I want to go check on Corie.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?” Indignant again.

  “Violet, you and Corie don’t get along under the best of circumstances. She doesn’t need anything else to upset her.”

  “I’m still her mother, Evan.”

  Evan glanced over his shoulder to see who was nearby, then leaned in close to her. Usually he played the good son-in-law but he figured the circumstances gave him an excuse. “I know the kind of petty, vindictive shit that comes out of your mouth and, I swear to God, Violet, if you say one nasty word . . .”

  “I won’t. What on earth is wrong with you?”

  “Seriously, Violet. Not one word. She’s been through hell.”

  “A hell of her own making.”

  “Like that right there. If I hear you make one comment like that in front of Corie, I promise I will throw you out on your saggy ass.”

  Chapter 6

  “Jack Fariel. Who would have thought you’d wind up on the right side of the law?” Vi’s conversation was paced and littered with pauses, as if she was taking a drag even when she didn’t have a cigarette in her hand. Perhaps she thought it lent itself to better drama.

  Jack found it annoying. “Mrs. Farantino. Please, have a seat.”

  “It’s Bellenger now.” Vi extended her left hand. The nails were pink and white acrylic, meant to look like a French manicure.

  Jack’s eyes found the giant diamond on the fourth finger, as the gesture intended. Like mother, like daughter. “How about I call you Violet? It’s been a rough day for everyone.”

  “All right.” Vi’s smoker voice sifted through gravel. She told him she’d never thought it was a good idea to let Brice live there. “I love my daughter. But she’s too trusting.”

  “Did you express your concerns?”

  “Naturally.”

  “What were they, specifically?”

  “I had a feeling. Third wheel and all that. Bad dynamic.” Vi casually examined one of those manicured nails. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

  Jack seethed inwardly. “How upset were you about Brice renting the guesthouse?”

  She laughed. “You think I killed him? Not a bad idea. Too bad I didn’t think of it.”

  “Violet, do I need to point out how serious this is? If you have any specific knowledge of a threat toward Brice, you need to tell me.”

  “No, I don’t specifically know of one.”

  “He has no record. From all appearances he was law abiding, quiet, and a friend to your daughter.” Sometimes it felt like Jack was the only one who ever stood up for his victims. “You know they were in grad school together?”

  Vi grunted. “Huh. School.”

  “You don’t sound happy about that.”

  “Nothing to be happy about. Yes, I knew they were in a couple of classes together. Pretty strange stuff, too, if you ask me.”

  “Strange how?”

  “Specifically?” She arched two carefully penciled brows. “I didn’t understand why Corie was dabbling in psychology, of all things, when she had a successful business to run. She’s too young for a midlife crisis and I didn’t understand why she was wasting her time. I figured there had to be a man involved.”
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  Like mother, like daughter again? “Was there? Other than Brice?”

  “I said ‘a man,’ honey. He wasn’t interested in my daughter.”

  “Were there any other men Corie was involved with?”

  Vi stared at him and Jack was afraid for a moment of what she was going to say. But all she said was, “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Where were you after midnight last night, Violet?”

  “At home.”

  “Can your husband corroborate that?”

  “I was alone.”

  “I see.”

  “I talked to Corie about ten and then went to bed. I was in the office this morning by eight. Some of the other realtors could corroborate. I have a new listing I’m marketing and I had some work to do in the MLS. Anything else?”

  “Do you own a gun?”

  It turned out that she owned a Walther PPK/S. What a well-armed family. “Can I see one of your shoes, please?”

  Vi stared at him for a moment. “Oh, come on. You’re serious? I don’t suppose you have a warrant?”

  Her tone was confrontational but Jack smiled. “What I’d like to do, with your permission, is take an impression from one of your shoes so we can eliminate any you’ve left when you visited. Since you and Corie are close I’m sure you’re here quite often.”

  Vi stared at him some more and then bent down, pulled up her right pant leg, and unzipped a high-heeled boot. “Fine. I didn’t kill him.” She glanced up at Jack. “Do you care if it’s the right or the left?”

  “Nope. Were you wearing these last night?”

  Vi started to say something sarcastic, then stopped. “You know, as a matter of fact I was. I met a friend of mine for drinks at a bar in Cherry Creek. I was wearing almost this same outfit. Different shirt. So yes, I was wearing these boots. Knock yourself out.”

  “Wait here, please.”

  Jack was gone for about thirty minutes. When he came back, Vi was drumming her synthetic nails on the table and the look on her face was murderous. “Took you long enough. I almost opened this.” She held up the wine. Then she snatched the boot from his hand and examined the bottom. “These are very expensive. You better not have damaged it doing whatever CSI voodoo you felt was so necessary.”

  “I appreciate your cooperation.”

  “I know your boss, you know.” Vi got up to leave.

  “Dani?”

  “No, Paul.”

  “Ah.” Even higher. “I’ll tell him you said hello.”

  Chapter 7

  Vangie Perez’s duplex was near the intersection of Broadway and I-25, not far south of downtown Denver. It was a small house with peeling white paint and a weedy front yard. There were bars on the windows and a minivan with Texas plates in the driveway. She wasn’t trying to hide; the house and the utilities were all in her name.

  The woman who answered the door for Jack was in her late twenties and Hispanic, with olive skin and dark hair. She wore a stretchy, low-cut, animal print top which displayed lots of cleavage, and a tight pencil skirt, along with heavy makeup and lots of jewelry. She carried maybe an extra fifteen pounds on her short frame, although her legs weren’t bad. She offered him a cup of coffee, which he declined.

  “This won’t take long.” Jack glanced at his phone. He might actually make his five o’clock radiation appointment, which was why he came to interview Vangie alone. He told Serena he wanted her to stay and supervise the crime scene. That way he could sneak off to the doctor without anyone knowing. What he really wanted was to bag the doctor, go to a baseball game, have a beer, and pretend everything was normal.

  In the living room Vangie sat down on a faded, brown couch. The tight skirt hiked up her legs and she tugged at it nervously. The small room felt crowded with the couch, a side chair, end table, and an assemble-your-own entertainment unit holding a flat screen TV.

  Jack sat in the chair and pulled out a photo of Evan.

  Vangie identified him and asked, “Is he in trouble?”

  “It would be really helpful if you could remember the last time you saw him.” Jack was all friendly and ingratiating.

  Vangie was a bundle of nervous energy. Her eyes darted around the room and she shifted in her seat. She wore enough jewelry to set off a metal detector—rings on multiple fingers, bracelets, heavy gold earrings. Her fingers worried the beads on one of several long necklaces, turning the golden baubles around and around.

  “I know about the shooting on his property. How awful.” Vangie finally sat on her hands to force herself to be still. “Evan told me to cooperate. Whatever you need. He called me a little while ago to let me know you were on your way.”

  She looked up at Jack wide-eyed and breathless. Apparently she didn’t realize how bad that sounded.

  “I need you to be as specific as possible about when you saw Evan,” Jack said.

  Vangie nodded eagerly. “Oh, of course. Evan came over last night around midnight. He was here the whole night.”

  “Does he often spend the night here?”

  “Sometimes.” A smile played across Vangie’s face which she tried—and failed—to suppress.

  Jack’s demeanor remained neutral but it was hard for him to reconcile how any sane man could have Corie and still want the woman sitting on the couch. “Is it possible he left sometime during the night, maybe when you were asleep?”

  “No. We have an alarm. It chimes when a door is opened. I would have heard it.”

  Nice use of the word “we.” “What time did Evan leave this morning?”

  “He left around six fifteen. He had a golf game with Roger D’Ambrose.” Vangie frowned, as if mad at herself for volunteering information.

  “You were awake when he left then?”

  Even with her dark olive skin he could see her flush. “Evan woke me before he left because he wanted to make love. He likes to do it in the morning. Well, he likes to do it all the time, but he really likes the morning. He says that—”

  Jack interrupted her. “What time was that?”

  “Five thirty.” Vangie knew that for sure because she’d looked at the clock. But Evan always set clocks ten minutes fast so maybe it was really 5:20.

  “Is it possible he’d gone out somewhere, maybe for a run or to work out?” Bad timing for Markham’s habitual early morning jog.

  “No.”

  “You sound sure.”

  “I told you because of the alarm.” Vangie’s fingers started worrying the beads again. “We were up late, if you know what I mean. But Evan doesn’t need a lot of sleep. Usually only around four hours.”

  “And you saw Evan again after his golf game?”

  “Uh-huh. He came back around nine. We had a lunch meeting scheduled and needed to prepare. Evan and I are teaming on a very important project. He came back here, took a shower, and then we got down to business.”

  I’ll bet you did. “Wouldn’t he have needed to go home and change?”

  “He keeps clothes here because he’s here a lot. And he really needed the shower, you know, after golf and after—well, you know.” Vangie gave Jack a meaningful look. “We got kind of sweaty if you get my drift. A couple of times.”

  For once Jack wanted a suspect to stop talking. “If I have this right, Evan was gone for almost three hours this morning?”

  “You make that sound bad. He was playing golf. Ask Mr. D’Ambrose if you don’t believe me.” She tossed her hair and sat up straight, further deforming the leopard print pattern straining across her chest.

  “Did Evan get any phone calls this morning?”

  “Of course. He gets lots of phone calls. Some of the calls were from you and his wife about the—about . . . you know.” Her legs had been crossed and now she uncrossed them, stretching one high-heeled foot out in front of her. She tugged at the skirt again.

  “Even after he found out about the murder, Evan stayed here working with you?” It was almost impossible for Jack to say “working” with a straight face.

  “No,
he left as soon as he found out. I was in the shower and he got in with me and told me he had to hurry because there was a problem at home.”

  An awful lot of showering going on. “That’s what he said? You’re sure of the exact words?”

  She thought about it for a moment and the strain formed a vertical crease between her heavily made-up eyes. “I said, ‘Is it your wife?’ and he said, ‘Yes, something’s come up and I have to go right away.’ I was nervous about the client lunch but he said I’d be fine.”

  “Did Evan say anything else about the problem at home?”

  “No. And I did take the meeting on my own. Does that surprise you, Detective?”

  “How’d it go?”

  “Very well, thank you. Evan trusts me. He has confidence in me. I’m his partner.” Vangie beamed.

  Jack stood. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

  “It’s through there.” Vangie pointed toward the back of the house.

  Jack saw three doors, all open. He walked through the first one which turned out to be a bedroom. The bed was unmade and leopard print ties of some kind were still attached to the bedposts. Fond of the animal prints, wasn’t she? Handcuffs sat out on the nightstand along with a variety of massage oils and some sex toys Jack didn’t recognize—and it wasn’t like he’d led a sheltered life.

  “Not that one, the one on the left,” Vangie called out sharply.

  “Sorry.” In the bathroom Jack turned on the exhaust fan and rummaged quickly through the medicine cabinet. Found quite the collection of painkillers and sedatives—Oxycontin, Vicodin, Atavan, Xanax. An expensive men’s electric razor was plugged in by the sink along with a bottle of Ted Lapidus aftershave. Apparently Evan liked to freshen up after his S&M sessions.

  “Are we done?” Vangie asked when he returned. “I hate to be rude, but I have someplace I need to be.”

  Jack favored her with another bright and friendly smile. “I only have a couple more questions. I know you don’t have to talk to me and I appreciate it. You said you and Evan were like partners. Did he promise you half of the business? Because that belongs to his wife, you know, community property and all that. Not to mention that she’s worked building the business for years.”