Death of the Family Recipe (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 3) (12 page)

Zelda frowned. "If you hate this case so much, tell Joe you don’t want to do it."

"I did."

Zelda glanced at me. "He won’t let you off it?"

Imitating Joe I said, "We take what we get missy. Them’s the rules."

Zelda grunted. "Yeah, he can be stubborn old goat."

I looked out the window and frowned. "Yeah. But thank God, he’s our stubborn old goat."

<<>>

I got home around three, washed the pie stink off me and changed into a pair of sweats. There was no time like the present so, I went into the back room to start unpacking. One look at the boxes and I closed the door. "Later."

I was still irritated with Daniels about the force for good cracks — probably because down deep I agreed with him. And that only made me more irritated at having to watch the interview. I checked the time —Ted wouldn’t be home for three hours. If I got right to it, I could get through most of the interview before he got home. I took the DVD into my office and fired up the laptop. The first few minutes were the usual — reiterating Atkinson’s rights, his name, date of birth, the detective’s names, date and start time of the interview.

Both the cops who interviewed Atkinson were women; Detective Joyce Reznick and Detective Rosalind Delphino. Reznick, I’d met before when she worked out of the Foothill station house. She was a petite redhead in her thirties — pretty but with an edge. Her partner, Delphino, was older, wore a shapeless blue suit and had close-cropped gray hair. They struck me as a sort of mother-daughter team and I wondered if that was intentional. A suspect could go into an interview with them, believing they’d go easy on them and let their guard down.

Atkinson had a boyish face with pouty lips, thinning blond hair and the stooped posture of someone who works at computers all day. He wore jeans, sneakers and a Burbank PD sweatshirt — probably because his shirt was collected as evidence. He looked tired and had the jittery energy of the sleep-deprived. He slumped in his chair, arms loose and immobile at his sides but his leg wagged like he had to pee. I paused the video and studied his body language. He wasn’t guarded, no crossed arms or legs, and no fisted hands. But he wasn’t open either. He was uncomfortable.

Reznick took the lead in the interview and went at Atkinson from the start. "You killed her, right Spence? She cheated on you and you finally blew. And once you got your hands around her neck, it felt good to squeeze. To show her who was in charge, right?" She smirked, "But strangling somebody is hard work isn't it? What happened, your hands got tired and you finished her off with the scarf?" She winked, "Pretty smart actually. You're a smart guy, aren't you?"

Atkinson shook his head. "No! I would never do that." He addressed Delphino with his answers as though she was more sympathetic. "I did not hurt her."

Reznick gave him a disgusted look. "But that wasn’t good enough, right? You had to get rid of baby too. The proof of her betrayal. So, you took that butcher knife and sliced open her belly. How’d it feel? Did you get off on it?"

Atkinson threw out pleading arms. "No! No! I’m telling you — we had a fight. Tina got the knife. She threatened me." He shoved up the sleeve of his sweatshirt, exposing a bandaged arm. "She cut me."

Reznick continued as though Atkinson hadn’t said a word. "Then you pulled that baby out of her."

Atkinson looked to Delphino, pale eyes pleading. "I did not do that."

Delphino remained mute and still as a statue.

Reznick glared and leaned over the table. "What’d you do with the baby, Spence? Where is she? Did you strangle her too? Would've been easy to do to such a tiny, innocent child. Squeeze the life out it."

Atkinson winced. "How do you know it’s a girl?"

Reznick leapt on that. "I know it’s a girl because of the DNA tests that proved you weren’t her father. How do you know it’s a girl? Is it because you saw that when you pulled her out of her dead mother?"

"What the hell is that?" Ted growled behind me.

I closed the laptop and swiveled toward him. He glared at me from the doorway. "What are you doing home so early?"

He jabbed a finger at the laptop. "You brought that here?"

I got out of my chair and blocked his view of the laptop. "It’s my job, Ted." I held up my hands. "Can we please not do this?"

He grunted. "Damn it, Scotti!"

I followed him out to the kitchen and closed the office door. Ted pulled out a stool, then slumped at the butcher-block rubbing his forehead. I pulled up a stool next to him and stroked his back. "What’s the matter, are you sick?"

He gave me his dark and angry eyes. "Didn’t we just agree that you weren’t working on this case?"

I shook my head slowly. "No, I agreed not to meet with the man. I didn’t agree to quit the case." I threw up my hands. "All I’m doing is reviewing some material for Dan." Ted blew out a breath, and his jaw tightened. I stroked his back. "Look, I get that you don’t like it. And I understand why. But I agreed to give Dan my feedback and I’m not going back on my word because it makes you uncomfortable." I nudged him gently. "Come on honey, we don’t really have to make a big deal out of this, do we? When I’m finished with my review, I’ll give Dan my notes and that will probably be that."

Ted scowled. "Probably?"

I shrugged. "I don’t know. I think this is it, but there might be other documents or testimony they want me to review." I pulled his arm around me and kissed his cheek. "I’m not defying you. And if I knew you’d be home so early, I wouldn’t have started it."

He sneered. "Because it’s a secret?"

"No, because it upsets you and I don’t want to upset you." I held his face with my hands and quietly said, "This is what I do, honey. It’s the job. But I’m not keeping secrets from you. I promise."

He bussed my lips with his. "I still don’t like it. I hate it."

I kissed his face. "I know."

He pulled me close and sighed into my hair. We held each other for moment then I stood back and felt his forehead. "Why are you home so early? Are you sick?"

He shook his head. "Just taking a break. I have to go back in a couple hours." He pursed his lips. "Might be an all-nighter."

I tried to take the news without scowling. "The new dispatcher called in sick again?"

Ted stretched out his arms and lay his head down on them. "Didn’t call at all."

I sighed. "Anything I can do to help?"

Ted raised his head. "Cupcakes. I need lots of cupcakes."

After Ted went back to work, I watched the rest of the interview, but beyond seeing what a badass Reznick was, it gave me little insight. I regretted giving back the data file because I wanted to review it again. I made notes, password protected the document and shut down the computer. Then locked the DVD in my desk drawer. Ted wouldn’t be home until late and being alone in the big house put me on edge. Watching the video was probably a stupid idea because all I could think about were dead mothers and babies.

I forced down a tuna sandwich and a cup of chamomile tea, then ventured into the back room, ready to face the boxes. The repetitive task of unpacking helped me relax and took my mind off the Atkinson case. And it wasn’t such a bad way to spend the evening. I found the box containing my office stuff and happily put away pens, paper, notepads, journals, printer cartridges, and desktop items. I found a framed photo of me and Zee taken at Manny the Cuban’s — a restaurant where we’d worked for many years — and put that on my desk.

I got into a rhythm, blew through a few more boxes and put away linens, dishes, and winter clothes. And it started to feel a little more like home to me. After a couple of hours, I went back to the kitchen and made another cup of chamomile tea. I was sweaty and needed another shower, but it felt good to have little pieces of me scattered around the house. I stretched and rolled my neck — eight more boxes left to unpack, but I was done for the night.

I sipped my tea and was considering breaking out the cupcakes when headlights flashed through the kitchen door window. I smiled because Ted was home, and I wouldn’t have to go to bed alone. Maybe he’d get in the shower with me and wash my back. I waited, but he didn’t bound through the back door. I cocked an ear toward the front. "What’s he doing?"

I hopped off my stool and checked the front but Ted wasn’t there either. Peering through the side window, I saw the drive was empty. Disappointed, I shrugged figuring it was the next door neighbor’s headlights I’d seen and checked the alarm panel. Ted hadn’t set it before he left. I turned on the alarm and checked the front door — all secure. "And he thinks I’m an airhead."

I shuffled back to the kitchen to raid the cupcake stash since there’s no comfort for loneliness like cupcakes. As I carried my cup to the sink, a scraping noise outside startled me, and I dropped it. "Damn it!" Barefoot, I tip toed around the broken china and looked out the kitchen window. I saw nothing but the faint outline of patio furniture and the glimmer of the pool in the dim moonlight. A thud came from the front of the house and I walked toward it. "Ted?" The dining room was empty. And as I headed for the living room the alarm beeped from the entryway. "Honey?" My pulse quickened. "Babe, is that you?"

Then the alarm stopped beeping and I froze. I whispered hoarsely, "Ted?" No answer just soft footsteps. The fireplace tools on the hearth a few feet away caught my eye. With adrenaline pumping, I grabbed a poker and raised it over my head, then charged out to the entryway. And there she stood, amber eyes wide, mouth forming a perfect oh. "What in God’s name are you doing in my house, Ingrid?"

She stood motionless for a moment, and then her million dollar smile made an appearance. "Oh. Hi. Is Ted home?"

I couldn't believe the nerve of this woman. Pointing to the door I said, "Get out!"

Ingrid bristled and put a hand on her hip. "Are you always this rude to people who drop by?"

I shook my head, not quite believing I was having the conversation. "People who drop by, ring the bell or knock on the door. They don’t break in."

Ingrid’s eyes skittered away from me. "I would never break into someone’s home. I have the keys." She held up a key chain. "The one for the front door still works." She chuckled. "Guess he never changed the code for the alarm, huh?" She winked. "But then he didn’t know that I knew the code."

Still clutching the poker, I went toward her. "You think this is funny? You broke into my house. I don’t care that you used the keys to do it." I waved the poker at her. "If you don’t leave now I’m calling the police."

She smirked and wagged a finger at me. "You’re an uptight little thing, aren’t you?" She grinned. "You should see how red and blotchy your face is — not pretty, honey."

I stomped to the door and threw it open. "Get out!"

Ingrid shrugged and tossed back her gleaming locks. "Fine." She pulled a pocket photo album from her bag and held it out to me. "Tell Teddy I came by to give him this. Well? Aren’t you going to take it?"

I snorted. "I’m not giving him anything except that key in your hand."

Ingrid giggled like it was all a game. She set the pocket album on the entry table and placed the key on top of it. "Okay, all better now?"

I waved the poker at her. "I swear to God, if you don’t get your bony ass out of my house, I’m going to kneecap you with this thing."

Stunned, Ingrid stepped back. "You’ve got quite a temper. Does Teddy know about your anger issues?"

I was done with the subtle approach and grabbed her skinny arm. "His name is Ted. He’s not five. He’s a grown man. And, he’s
my
man." I shoved her out the door then slammed it.

Proud of myself, I felt like quite the badass until I noticed the photo album sitting on the table. Seething, I grabbed it and opened the door. Ingrid stood on the sidewalk, and smiled. "Change your mind?"

I threw the album at her with everything I had. Unfortunately, she ducked as it flew past her face and landed on the ground at her feet. "Don’t you ever show your face here again. Do you hear me? You stay away from us!"

Ingrid glared and picked up her photo book. She jammed it into her bag and stared at me for a moment — as though she could hurt me with a look. I shook the fire poker at her. She turned away and hurried to her tacky sports car. Before she got into her car, she glared at me. "This isn’t over."

I waved the poker again. "It’s over. It’s more than over." I pulled out my cell and speed dialed Ted. "You have no clue how over it is."

Ingrid jumped into her car and pulled away from the curb. I never took my eyes off the bitch, not for a second.

"Scotti? Scotti? Are you there?"

"I’m here."

Ingrid peeled down the street, tires screaming against the pavement.

"Scotti?"

"When are you coming home?"

"Soon. Why, what happened?"

"Come home now." I hung up.

I slammed the door and threw the poker to the floor, screaming. Then I locked up everything tight and called Zelda. "I’m on my way."

"No, she’s gone now."

"I’m bringing Eric and Boomer. And my gun."

The lock turned in the front door and I inched toward the entry way. The door opened and Ted walked through. He turned off the alarm and his eyes were both worried and confused. "I have to go. Ted’s home."