The Killer Sex Game (A Frank Boff Mystery) (18 page)

To find out more about Alicia, Boff called Daysi, the hostess at Giancarlo’s.

“How’s the restaurant’s staff dealing with Mantilla’s death?” he asked her.

Everybody’s really, really bummed out, Mr. Boff. Not just the staff. The regular customers, too. It was crowded today, but unusually quiet. It was like working in a funeral home.

“Daysi, I’m a private investigator. The death of Mr. Mantilla figures in with a case I’m working on. I’m wondering if we could speak after you get off your shift.”

I have an acting class right after work
, she said
. But we could meet later tonight. Say, around seven?

“Sounds good. Where?”

There’s a Starbucks four doors down from the restaurant. I may be a little late because my teacher sometimes holds me after class for private instruction. She feels I’m going to become a very good actress.

“I’m glad to hear that. Seven it is. See you later.”

At
six o’clock, Boff headed over to Giancarlo’s in the hope of seeing Judge Morant. After looking around the restaurant and not spotting him, he took a seat at the horseshoe bar and ordered a cola with lime. While sipping it, he realized he was just as pissed at himself as he was with the dirtbags who had tossed his apartment. Any way he spun it, he had broken his number one rule: never put your family at risk. In letting people know he had Marla’s address book, he had done just that.

He glanced up at the bartender. The guy had to be pushing seventy-five and had probably worked behind this bar forever. Meaning he knew everybody’s dirty little secrets. He quickly drained his soda and called out to the bartender, whose name tag identified him as Bingo.

“Another soda, sir?”

“Please.”

Boff pushed the glass forward. Moving as gracefully as a much younger man, Bingo set the empty near his sink, grabbed a fresh glass, poured another cola, added a lime, and came back to his customer.

“Bingo,” said Boff, “mind if I ask you a question?”

The bartender looked quickly around his bar, apparently to see if anybody was waiting for a drink. Then he replied, “Not at all, sir. Go ahead.”

“Do you know Judge Morant?”

“Sure do. Wild Turkey on the rocks. He usually comes in about this time for a few. Why?”

“I’m hoping to speak with him.”

Bingo leaned over the bar and lowered his voice. “If you are, I’d wait till after he’s had his first drink. The judge tends to be a bit ornery when he comes here from the courthouse. After a while, though, he mellows a bit. Not much. But enough to where you can carry on a semi-civil conversation with him.”

As predicted, about ten minutes later, the judge walked in alone and took a seat at the bar. Following Bingo’s advice, Boff waited until the judge had finished his first drink and was well into his second before he moved down the bar to an empty seat beside him.

Morant looked up, saw Boff, and frowned. “What the hell do you want?”

“I’d like to talk to you.”

“Get lost. I knew I’d heard your name somewhere. I asked around and found out you’re a private investigator with a big rep for crushing felony cases.”

Catching the disdain in the judge’s voice, Boff smiled back. Then he reached into his pants pocket and brought out both the address book and Cullen’s photo of Marla. He laid them down on the bar near Morant’s drink, and waited for a reaction. The judge took a quick look, seemed to wince, then looked away.

“That little book,” Boff said, “contains client addresses for a high-class call girl named Marla.” He nodded at the photo. “She was murdered recently. There’s someone listed in this book that I’m sure you know very, very well.”

Morant downed his bourbon and signaled to Bingo for another. “Let’s take a table,” he said in a tight voice.

Boff collected the address book and photo of Marla and put them away. After Bingo brought Morant a new drink, the judge got up and led Boff to a table far away from the other patrons. A waitress walked over, greeted the judge, then took his order of fried calamari. Boff didn’t want anything.

After taking a long tug on his bourbon, Morant put it down and glared at Boff. “Extortion is a crime.”

“Yes, it certainly is. But I’m not threatening you in any way or asking for money.”

“So what the hell is it you want?”

“Information. I don’t have any interest in exposing you and the other people in this book.” He noticed that Morant’s hand trembled a little now when he raised his glass, took a quick sip, and set it back down. “I want the name of the escort service’s owner or owners.”

“Why would I know?”

Boff said nothing.

“Even if I did,” Morant said, “I couldn’t possibly tell you.”

“And why’s that?”

“They’d kill me if they found out.”

“I doubt it. This isn’t a Third World country. It’s very risky business to kill a judge. Few people would take the chance.”

“Yeah, well,
these
people would. You haven’t the slightest idea who you’re dealing with.”

“So enlighten me.”

The judge turned away. “That’s all I have to say to you,” he muttered.

“Fine. But one last question. Then I’ll leave you to drown your sorrows in whisky.”

“I’m not answering—”

Boff cut him off. “Do you have a case on your docket involving a man named Silverstein?”

That caught Morant’s attention. He turned to Boff with a look of surprise before he regained his equilibrium. “I have so many cases pending,” he said, trying to sound casual, “that I don’t remember who’s involved in any particular one. Why are you interested in that case?”

Boff smiled. “I’m sure you know why. He brought out the address book again and held it up. “I have copies of this stored somewhere nobody will find them.
So you tell your friends that if I or my family are ever bothered again in
any way
, a copy of this book will be delivered to both the
News
and
Post
.
With
names attached to the addresses.”

Pocketing the book again, Boff stood up, strode across the restaurant, and walked out the door.

Daysi showed up for her meeting with Boff a half hour late and looking energized.

“I’m guessing you had a good class,” he said as she plopped down into a seat opposite him.

“It was awesome! I did a Roxie Hart monologue from
Chicago
. The teacher said I was every bit as good as Renee Zellweger!”

“Congratulations. Would you like some coffee?”

“Oh, I couldn’t. I’m already too buzzed from my class. But I’ll have a Poland Spring.”

Boff fetched one from the counter and returned. “You know, Daysi, I wanted to be an actor when I was in high school. I saw myself playing roles in westerns. Like Clint Eastwood.”

“Did you take classes?”

He shook his head. “I never got that far. The first part I played was Sky Masterson in my high school production of
Guys and Dolls
.”

“How’d you do?”

“My mother thought I was great. She couldn’t understand why the audience was laughing during my dialogue and my songs. Needless to say, I gave up any thought of acting and concentrated on basketball and goofing off.”

Daysi laughed.

“Anyway,” he said, “the reason I wanted to see you is that when I was with Mr. Mantilla, a very attractive woman named Alicia came in. She was really angry with him and pretty nasty to me, too.”

Daysi made a face. “Alicia was his girlfriend. Although he never came right out and said it, but you could just tell.” She shook her head. “I never could understand what a nice man like Mr. Mantilla saw in a bitch like her. Pardon my language.”

“Do you know her last name?”

“Yes, of course. Alicia Celina.”

“Spell that last name for me.”

After he wrote it down on a pad, he asked, “Why do you call her a bitch?”

“You saw why. She’s like that all the time with me. One minute she’s civil, the next she goes off and attacks me over the smallest thing. She makes me nervous.”

“Why’s that?”

“When she’s angry, she clenches her fists. I’m worried she might punch me in the face. Then I’d have to miss an audition.”

“Did you ever see her hit anybody?”

“No. But she got very upset with the cook a couple times and chased him around the kitchen with a butcher knife.”

“I see. You should keep your distance from her.”

“I try to. But with my job, it’s difficult.”

“Well, maybe now that her boyfriend is dead, she won’t come around anymore.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Boff. She’ll be there. Every. Single. Day.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“The person who signs my paycheck is named Alicia Celina.”

Boff called Wright while he was walking to his car.

“Any progress, Billy?”

I’m still working on the escort service. This is a toughie. Somebody knew what they were doing when they put this baby together. But I’ll crack it. After that, I’ll tackle Benvenuti’s son.

“One more favor?”

Do I get overtime? You really have me hopping.

“The exercise will be good for you.”

What is it?

“I’d like you to check out a gal named Alicia Celina.” He spelled the name. “Wallachi told me the restaurant is owned by a shell corporation. I was given information today that Alicia Celina signs paychecks there. That might help you get a handle on her.”

Although he was sure he’d arrive too late to have dinner with his family, when Boff got home, he saw the table was still set and nobody had eaten. Hearing him come into the apartment, Jenny and Steven came out of the kitchen.

“Honey, you didn’t have to wait for me.”

“It was only an hour
,” she said.

“A long hour for me,” Steven said. “I’m starving!”

Jenny had made a roast loin of pork with apple sauce, fresh string beans almandine, and pan-sautéed potatoes with onions. At one point during dinner, Steven called Boff Dad again, but Jenny didn’t say anything about this until their son had finished eating and left the table.

“When did he start calling you Dad?”

“At the hospital. We had a long overdue man-to-man talk.”

She reached out and squeezed her husband’s hand. “I’m glad for you, Frank. Now you’ll have to work on
Sharon.”

Boff laughed at that. “Lots of luck!
Sharon’s as stubborn as they come.”

“A trait she inherited from you.”

“Probably. On the positive side, she’s got your looks, thank God.”

They hit the sack early that night. Within a few minutes, she was out like a light, but sleep was harder to come by for him. The case was weighing heavily on his mind. Slipping out of bed as quietly as possible, he went into the kitchen, poured a glass of Almaden Chablis from the box, and sat on the couch in the living room with his feet up on the coffee table.

As he sipped the chilled wine, he tried to put the pieces of his case together. Rafael had likely been killed for beating the escort service’s highest earner. Marla’s fate was probably sealed the moment she asked Morant’s clerk to let her see his docket. If the clerk had later mentioned this to the judge and described the beautiful young woman, it wouldn’t have been hard for Morant to figure out that Marla was the hooker he was with when he took the call about Silverstein. In all likelihood, he concluded, that’s what set her murder in motion. As for Mantilla, his gut feeling was that Alicia had arranged for his death.

As he was running down the details, he suddenly recalled Kate telling him that Gina had been crying about a friend who had been killed. He glanced at a wall clock. It was only ten-thirty. Figuring she might still be up, he called McAlary.

“I hope it isn’t too late to be calling.”

If it has to do with Rafael, it’s not.

“It does. Can I speak with Kate? She might be able to help me on something.”

Hang on.

Boff sipped some more wine while he waited for the trainer to get his wife.

What is it, Boff?
Kate asked.

“I was wondering if Gina said anything further to you about the death of her friend.”

As a matter of fact she did. I was going to call you tomorrow. She came to me a couple hours ago and said she wanted to talk to me about it.

“What’d she say?”

That her friend’s name was Alberto Mantilla. In case you didn’t know, Mantilla helped Rafael defect.

“I did know that. I also know that Gina felt Rafael was cheating on her, so she apparently did a lot of crying on Mantilla’s shoulder.”

There was a pause on the line.
Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that. Gina confessed to me she was having an affair with Mantilla in order to get back at Rafael. Now I’ve got to go check on my daughter.

While refilling his wine glass, Boff fit this latest piece into the puzzle. It was his experience that the majority of cheaters eventually get caught, so if Alicia discovered Mantilla was sleeping with Gina, then his gut feeling about why he was killed looked right on the mark. The only question was if she did have him murdered, why use a bomb instead of a gun? Then he remembered what Alicia had said during her angry confrontation with Mantilla in the restaurant:
If I find out you’ve been screwing around on me, I’ll wipe you off the face of the earth.
Short of sending him into orbit on a spacecraft, a bomb would do that job quite nicely.