Head to Head (10 page)

“Dadgummit, can anything worse happen?”

I didn’t answer Charlie’s question. I wasn’t sure if it was rhetorical, but I treated it as such. Things seemed to be proceeding down a really rocky road, and who was I to say there weren’t more potholes for us to plunge headfirst into? Bud must’ve felt the same, because he just chewed on his Juicy Fruit and volunteered nothing.

“The head just fell off, just like that, right in the middle of the autopsy?” Charlie said as if he were incredulous. Of course, he was incredulous. I was incredulous.

“Luckily, Buckeye caught it.”

“Yeah, Bud. Lucky Buck.” Charlie was not above sarcasm, either. “Okay, Claire, where do we go from here?”

I wasn’t expecting the question, but I was prepared. “I think I oughta interview Black again, maybe show him the autopsy pictures and see his reaction. They’re awful enough that he shouldn’t be able to fake it if he’s guilty. He said he’d be available any time. If he’s innocent, I’d like to rule him out.”

Charlie looked at Bud. “What about you?”

“I think I oughta fly up to New York and interview Black’s ex-wife.”

“The model?”

“Yeah. It’s a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.”

“You’re really funny, aren’t you, Davis?” said Charlie. “What do you say about that, Claire?”

Charlie looked at me, and behind him, Bud put his hands together in prayer mode and mouthed “please.” The truth was that it was necessary to see if the woman could tell them when and if she’d seen Black on the night of the murder and how he’d acted. “Yes, I think her statement could be helpful in clearing Black. And somebody needs to interview the cast of Sylvie’s soap. They might know something about a stalker or obsessed fan. And I think I should go to New Orleans for Sylvie Border’s funeral. I want permission to put in a request for the NOPD to videotape the service and see if we can catch the killer admiring his handiwork. Seems to me he’s the type. I also want to interview her family and friends, especially Gil Serna, if he shows up.”

Charlie shook his head. “There goes a year’s budget worth of travel expenses.” He considered their game plans, filling his black pipe with some kind of tobacco that didn’t smell too horrible. The smokeless premises did not apply to the sheriff. Nobody even mentioned it; they just took their cigarettes outside and did the sidewalk thing. “Okay, but don’t be puttin’ yourself up at the Ritz. And fly coach, dammit.”

The minute they gained the hall outside Charlie’s office, Bud said, “I’m a travelin’ man, goin’ to NYC. Gonna see a pretty woman and pick myself up a couple of tailored suits.”

“You better pick up enough clues to clear Black, or Charlie’s going to lose his biggest campaign contributor.”

“Maybe I can catch a show on Broadway while I’m there.”

“From what I hear, there’s a lot you can catch on Broadway.”

Bud laughed as we braced ourselves for the reporters camped outside the front door. He said, “Same goes for some of those dives down in the French Quarter. I wouldn’t drink the water.”

Sylvie Border’s family had to wait until the body was released before the funeral could be scheduled, and that wouldn’t come until after Buckeye had all the blood and tissue samples he needed for testing purposes. I wanted to get a hair and saliva sample from Black, too, just in case, before he lawyered up and refused to cooperate. It was nearly seven, but I didn’t want to wait to confront Black.

My Explorer was parked in front of the sheriff’s office, and the reporters yelled at me en masse as I got in. I waved to Bud as he took off to pack his clothes for the trip to New York. He gave me the victory sign, but I wasn’t feeling nearly so good about what I had to do as I pulled my cell phone out of my bag. The white linen business card with Black’s personal cell phone number was still sticking in my visor. I dialed the number and waited, curious if he really was available at that number at any time, day or night.

“Yes.” His voice was deep enough and distinctive enough for me to recognize it right off.

“Doctor Black, this is Detective Morgan from the sheriff’s office.”

“Hello, Detective. What can I do for you?”

I hesitated. “I need to talk with you. It’s urgent. Are you available this evening?”

“It can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“No, I prefer to meet with you tonight. It won’t take long.”

“Okay. Go to my office, and I’ll have Miki direct you to me.”

I closed the phone, found myself dreading the coming interview. I put the autopsy file on the seat beside me. I needed to see him look at the gruesome pictures, but I wasn’t monster enough to like it.

Twenty minutes later, Miki and I walked down the Cedar Bend dock that led out to the helipad. The yacht that had been custom made for the mighty Black was my destination, but it was anchored somewhere out on the lake, so there was a fancy-shmancy Cobalt 360 cruiser to ferry visitors, with a young, good-looking hunk in a tan-and-black uniform idling the motor.

“Nick’s hosting a dinner party on the yacht tonight. They left around four, but Tyler’ll take you out there in the launch.” Miki was all business today. Not even a supercilious look to make me feel inferior. She turned and clicked away on her high heels, and I watched to see if she got one of her stilettos stuck in the cracks of the dock. She didn’t, of course—that would be gauche—and I wondered how she avoided that.

Jumping down into the bobbing cruiser, I said as much to Tyler. He laughed. “I don’t know how any of you ladies walk in those things.”

Sticking out one of my black high-tops, I drew another laugh. The witty detective making friends with the hunk. As he expertly maneuvered the cruiser out of the slip and hit the open water, I moved up under the canopy with him. He smiled at me, all blowing black hair and big brown eyes. A very pleasant boy. I liked him.

“What’s all this stuff?” I asked over the roar of the motor, pointing at the big green radar screens with lots of blips on them.

“That’s our satellite tracking system. Every boat at Cedar Bend has a device embedded in the hull that sends out a signal. They’re all equipped with these screens, too, so we’ll know where each boat is at any given time. Some of our guests get lost out on the lake, and Doctor Black wants to make sure we can find them if they get in trouble. All the boats are numbered. See this blip here, number one?” Tyler said, pointing at a moving green dot. “That’s us. We’re headed out to the
Maltese Falcon
. That’s the big guy.”

“I take it Black’s a Hammett fan.”

“Yeah, he’s a fan of everything back then. Have you seen his forties memorabilia yet?”

“No, can’t say I have.”

“He keeps it at his ranch out in L.A. You ought to ask him about it. It’ll make his day. He digs that stuff big time.”

Yeah, what I was going to show him was not going to make his day. I watched all the little dots moving around the radar screen and wondered if there were ever any flaws in Cedar Bend operations. Other than a famous actress being beheaded, the doctor seemed to run a very tight ship, so to speak.

The yacht loomed up after about twenty minutes, anchored out in the middle of the lake. Red, white, and blue lights were strung all over it like Christmas at the mall. It had a festive air, and as we tied up alongside and cut the engine, I remembered that the big Fourth of July fireworks display was tonight. No wonder Black was busy. There was music playing on board. “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” which was damned appropriate under the circumstances. Tyler helped me off on a boarding ramp at the side of the yacht. I thanked him, and as he roared off toward the resort again, I made my way toward a white-uniformed sailor type waiting at the top of the steps. His black nameplate said Geoffrey.

“Detective Morgan, I’ve been asked to take you to Doctor Black’s office.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling like James Bond being escorted into Goldfinger’s lair, or was that Doctor No, the guy with the big boat, that dragged 007 and a built Bond girl over some sharp coral reefs? But, hey, better get my feet back on the ground. I’m a small-town detective with no knives in my shoe, no rockets in my car’s exhaust pipes, just a real nasty autopsy file in my hand. I followed Geoffrey the sailor man along the deck, beside a gleaming rail. In fact, everything was gleaming. We passed some big, gleaming plate-glass windows, and I saw Black having dinner inside the salon with four or five guests. Gee, all candlelight and soft music and orchids. He was leaning toward a pretty woman with red hair and glittering diamonds at her throat and large breasts spilling out of her golden gown. But what else would Mr. Suave be doing? He looked more interested in Buxom Red than in the fact that his dear friend got murdered on his property. I guess fat cats take things in stride.

“Please wait here, and I’ll tell the doctor you’ve arrived. May I get you something while you wait?”

“Nope. I’m fine.”

Geoffrey bowed, all crisp white fabric, tanned skin, and shiny brass buttons. Good-looking appeared to be a prerequisite for employment at Cedar Bend. I moved around the stateroom. It was supposed to be the aft quarters, but it was also an office. Large windows wrapped around the end of the stateroom and revealed a night sky with about a million stars and a long line of sparkling lights stretched out over the horizon like Buxom Red’s diamond necklace. I wasn’t sure exactly where I was, but that would be night owl traffic crossing one of the bridges. An open door revealed a good-sized stateroom for a boat, bigger than my living room. Same windows and same view and a bed big enough for King Kong and Babe the Blue Ox to get it on in. I had a feeling the red-head might hang her tiara on that bedpost overnight and really heat up those black satin sheets with the good doctor.

“How do you like the
Falcon
?” Out of nowhere.

“You make a habit out of sneaking up on people?” I was slightly annoyed that he’d pulled it off again. He was dressed in a tuxedo and looked damn good in it, too. Bond didn’t have much on him, no sirree. I had on jeans with a rip in both knees and a big blue-denim shirt over a black tank top to hide my shoulder holster. For some reason, I just didn’t fit this yachting lifestyle.

“Didn’t mean to startle you. Please, sit down,” he said, rounding the teak desk. There was an expensive Dell laptop to one side, the top closed. The spangled night sky was his backdrop, but his face was shadowed, the desk lamp with a black shade not fully illuminating him. I had a feeling that mood was everything with him. Then he got a load of my face. “Good God, what happened to you?”

“Ran into this criminal type who wasn’t glad to see me.”

He frowned, not finding me amusing. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Why don’t you let me take a look at it?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Like I said, it’s nothing.”

He sat down; so did I. Time to be nice. I could be professional, despite my clothes. “I appreciate your time. I didn’t realize you were entertaining guests.”

“It’s a business meeting, some colleagues from Moscow. I’m thinking of opening an office there. Would you care to join us?” He kept looking at my black eye.

“Sorry, not in the mood for parties.”

“Are you ever in the mood?”

“Not since we found Sylvie’s body, and you won’t be either in about ten seconds.”

His gaze dropped to the file on my lap; then his eyes met mine and glinted blue in the lamplight.

“Victim’s autopsy report,” I said as I slid it across the desk. “You told Sheriff Ramsay you wanted to see it. He gave his permission and asked me to bring it out here in person.”

When he picked it up, I braced myself. I’d put the picture of the severed head on top, and I felt about two inches tall. But I knew his reaction would tell me a lot. He took a moment, maybe bracing himself, too, then opened the folder. He came out of the swivel chair hard enough to send it banging against the windows behind him. I came to my feet, too, and he looked at me with complete and utter horror. I pretty much knew in that moment that he didn’t do it. I watched him stagger out of the room and a minute later heard water splashing. I could also hear the sounds he was making, muffled, choked up.

The heartless detective does her job. Feeling like a dirty dog, I sat down and waited for him to compose himself. It took about five minutes. His face was pale when he came back, and he shut the folder without looking at the picture again. When he put his eyes back on me, they were so cold and controlled that I felt like shivering.

“I guess you enjoyed that, Detective? I guess you’ll say, ‘It’s just part of my job,’ right?”

“I didn’t enjoy it, but it went a long way to make me eliminate you from my suspect list. You can’t manufacture a reaction like that.”

“God, you’re as cold as ice, aren’t you? What kind of person are you?”

“You don’t have to worry about that, Doctor. Do you want to hear what the autopsy showed, or do you need to go back to your party?” It was a well-aimed jab, and his jaw hardened, a flush running up under his skin.

“Let’s hear it.”

“What we know now is that she was beheaded before she was put in the water. It appears he used some sort of stick to attach the head to the body, a paint stirrer, in fact.”

He looked revolted, got up, and turned his back to me and stared out at the night. “Go on.”

“It appears to have been quick and clean with a long blade, like a sword or cleaver, or something like that. There were other wounds, bruises, and abrasions, especially on and around the face, and there was some damage done by marine deterioration.”

He kept his back to me. “Was she raped?”

“Yes. With an object. Buckeye thinks it might’ve been the paint stirrer.”

“Oh, God.” He rubbed his face with both hands, then brought his fingers back through his hair.

Sometimes I hate myself. I hated myself right now. His voice was tortured, and I found myself wanting to round the desk and comfort him. I didn’t move. That was a job for Buxom Red.

Black suddenly turned to me. “Something awful must have happened to you to make you this unfeeling.”

Boy, he hit that nail on the head, but I took a moment to roll up the protective window I used at times like this. “I’m sorry you think I’m unfeeling, Doctor Black. But you’re wrong. I feel very badly about Sylvie. I want to get the person who did this awful thing to her. If it’s you, I’ll get you. If it’s someone else, I’ll get them. I won’t stop until I do, I can promise you that.”