Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery Read online

  Angela rushes down the stairs. “Caro’s parents. Who’s going to call them?”

  Greene takes a quick step back. “Hey, what happened to you?” “Surgery.”

  He hands her his card. “I’m Detective Benjamin Greene. That’s Greene with an ‘e.’”

  Angela takes it and says, “You’re not going to put yellow tape all over the outside are you? I’d like to keep this as quiet as possible. After all, I have to live here.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. We don’t like to advertise either.”

  We linger in the entry until a group in CSI jackets arrives. Greene motions us toward the living room. “Have a seat. This won’t take long.”

  We settle together on the couch and watch as Greene gives orders.

  When he turns away, Angela jabs me and murmurs, “Okay, okay. Who does he look like?”

  I can’t believe she’s playing that dumb game at a crucial time like this. My sister has been a movie star nut ever since she could read and religiously pores over People and Us. She’s positive I have the exact same facial features as the woman who once starred in television’s Law & Order though she sees not one ounce of the star in herself.

  I give her a withering stare. “I haven’t the faintest.”

  “Oh, c’mon now. You know who I mean. He’s Jamaican. Well known for his Calypso songs. You know. ‘Day-O’?”

  “I get it, I get it. But not now. Give it a rest.” She crosses her arms, sniffs and turns away.

  Once the CSI disappears up the stairs, Greene turns to Angela. “Any sign of forced entry?”

  When she shrugs, I say, “I called here night before last. Caro answered. She was with someone. From the bit of conversation I overheard, I’d say she knew that someone pretty well.”

  The detective jots a few lines. “So you’re saying the perp left through the front entrance?”

  “Possibly. Maybe he had a duplicate key.”

  He turns back to Angela. “Your roommate travel a lot?” “More than I did. Her phone rang off the hook.”

  “Her phone?”

  “We live on separate floors and have different telephone numbers. Mine has an extension in the kitchen.”

  Greene makes a note, then calls out, “The phone on the second floor is a separate line.” He pockets the pad. “Better pack a few things. This place is now officially off-limits to anyone except the NYPD.”

  Angela jumps up. “Leave? No way. It’s almost four and I’ve just had major surgery.”

  Delighted I won’t have to sleep in the roach-infested maid’s room off the kitchen, I say, “No problem. Give us a few minutes and we’ll be out of your way.”

  I am amazed at Angela’s ability to exude so much venom through those two tiny eyeholes. “We’re not leaving unless your people pay for the room.”

  I shove her toward the stairs. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  She blocks me. “I will not be evicted like a common criminal.”

  Greene gives her a weary look. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you, but we’re trying to solve a murder. I’m guessing this woman was your friend. Don’t you want to know who did this?”

  “Of course I do. But I didn’t kill Caro. Can’t you see I’ve just had surgery?”

  Greene yanks out the notepad. “Thanks for the reminder. I need your surgeon’s name and telephone number.” “You must be joking.”

  I poke her in the ribs. “Give it to him.”

  “Okay. Okay. It’s Doctor Frederick Severeid.” Greene’s pen is still poised. “His number?”

  Angela sniffs, then murmurs, “Five-five-five, six thousand.”

  He scribbles the number, then points to his card still clutched in my hand. “Let me know where I can contact you.”

  ————

  The sun is high when I awake to see Angela on her back, arms folded across her chest. All she needs is a coffin and a crucifix. This is the way she sleeps. It used to freak me out when we were kids.

  I reach for the phone and call the number on Greene’s card. “This is Alice Armington. We’re in seven twenty-two at Hotel Wells.”

  After a too-long pause on his end, a dim alarm sounds somewhere in the back of my head as Greene says, “There seems to be a problem.”

  Background noises filter through the receiver. Printers print. Phones ring. Low conversations twist in and out of range.

  The detective clears his throat. “I spoke with Doctor Severeid’s nurse, uh—uh, a Miss Hopkins. She says your sister made a consultation appointment for Friday last week but never showed.”

  Chapter 4

  ONCE WE’RE SEATED in his tiny cubicle on the second floor of Nineteenth Precinct headquarters, Detective Greene turns to Angela. “Maybe you did have laser surgery. And maybe after the wire transfer was deposited in your account, you went home, popped some meds and were so zonked you didn’t hear your roommate being murdered.

  “But things just don’t add up. Your current bank balance is three thousand and change. Worse still, there’s no record that a wire transfer was made to your account from anybody.”

  Angela’s starting to cave, so I leap in. “I don’t care what it looks like. She’s telling the truth. I personally made the transfer two days ago.”

  “Three thousand and change. That’s all.”

  “But if it’s not in Angela’s account, where in hell is it, Detective?”

  Greene pulls air through his teeth in a tuneless whistle, then says, “When I get through with this, I’ll tell you what I think, and you’re not gonna be happy.”

  He turns to Angela. “Okay. Let’s run through this again. The limousine picked you up.”

  She rolls her eyes. “There was a man sitting in the back seat. He asked for the money. When I said I didn’t have it, he said he would ruin my face if I didn’t pay up.”

  He jots a few sentences. “And after you got to the bank?”

  “A nice lady showed us to a private office.” Angela turns to me. “I’ve already gone over the details once. Is he brain-dead?”

  When my sister first told me about this not an hour before, I was stunned. How could she be so stupid? She got into a car with a man she didn’t know. Accompanied him to her bank, then let him take her to her townhouse where she wrote him a check for $20,000. I bite back my bitterness and urge, “Keep talking. It’s routine.”

  Angela turns toward Greene. “I didn’t have my checkbook with me and I’m not good at memorizing numbers, so the nice lady looked my account up on the computer.”

  “I’ll just bet she did,” Greene mutters and searches the ceiling. I’m sure he wants to strangle her. I know I do, but I’m too numb to confront what’s staring me in the face, too numb to vent my growing frustration. Not only is Angela the prime suspect in Caro Montoya’s murder, but if my hunch is correct, she’s—no, make that we—have been had.

  “And after the transfer was made?”

  “It’s bad enough that my ex-DA sister grilled me about this, but I told you everything not five minutes ago. Give me a break, will ya?”

  Greene shoots me an appraising look. “DA?”

  I feel my cheeks heat. “Ex assistant.” “Interesting.”

  The detective turns back to Angela. “So that’s all?” “Oh, I forgot. He gave me a bottle of pain pills.” “What time was this?”

  “I don’t know exactly. It was getting dark.” “And your roommate wasn’t home?”

  “I remember going up to Caro’s door. It was closed. Not unusual these days. I was starting to feel punk, so I got a bottle of Evian out of the fridge, went up to my room, popped a couple of pills and crashed.”

  “Never heard a thing?”

  I rush to her defense. “Angela sleeps like the dead. Hardly moves a muscle.”

  Greene fishes a file from a stack on the side of his desk, opens it and turns the black-and-white photograph of a man in her direction. “Is this your Doctor Severeid?”

  Angela squeals and shoves the picture at me. “I t
old you. That’s him. That’s Severeid.”

  I peer into the face of a handsome, graying man. His expression is confident and caring. His eyes radiate trustworthiness.

  Greene punches the photo with his index finger. “Wrong. That man is Haley Granger, who, with his wife and several accomplices, is running a very profitable scam. Someone tells a woman she’s looking a little droopy, then recommends this terrific laser surgeon.”

  Angela pales. “Oh, my God, that’s exactly what happened to Caro. And she was so pleased, she recommended him to me. But, but it wasn’t a scam. I mean, he did the work.”

  Greene looks at me. “After hours they ‘borrow’ the offices of established plastic surgeons. Usually talk the patient into immediate surgery. Dope them up for a few days, then demand cash, or, as in this case, have a nice lady direct a wire transfer to a dummy account.”

  I lean forward, heart pounding. “But what about my money?” Greene gives me a rueful look. “I doubt your insurance covers scams.”

  ————

  After a two-hour wait in the ER, it’s our turn. A doctor, Angela and I are crowded behind a drawn curtain while Greene stands just outside whistling an annoying, one-note tune.

  My sister has my hand in a stranglehold that tightens with each snip of the scissors. The last bandage falls away. No swelling. No bruises. No scars. Poor Angela. What do I mean poor Angela? She’s fine, beautiful as ever. Poor me, still plain and now broke.

  The doctor draws back the curtain. “No surgery has been performed on this subject. No sign of any subcutaneous structural changes, nor is there evidence of laser work.”

  Angela gently touches her face. “But I did have surgery. Doctor Severeid’s on the cutting edge of this new painless technique. Caro said he was the best.”

  I touch her arm. “The man you saw is named Granger. Remember?”

  I push around the doctor and grab Greene’s arm. “My sister can’t be a suspect. Just because she didn’t have the surgery she thinks she did is no reason to—”

  “Maybe, maybe not. After fifteen years on the force, I’ve seen just about everything.”

  Greene hustles us out of the ER and back up the street to the precinct house.

  Once we’re again settled in his office, he turns to Angela. “Look, Miss Armington, as far as I’m concerned, the only crime you’ve committed is being a dupe for a con man, but—”

  I wave my hand. “Don’t stop with the ‘but,’ Detective. There has to be a helluva lot more to this than you’re telling, and I need to know exactly what it is.”

  He hunches between his shoulders and studies his notes for a few seconds. When he looks up, his eyes aren’t as friendly as they have been. “I really don’t have to tell you anything other than your sister is part of a murder investigation and she better not leave the city.”

  Big whoops. Went too far. Demanding like a DA instead of asking like a concerned party. I backtrack as adeptly as I can. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get in your face. My curiosity got the better of me.”

  The room is silent. Angela, for once, is keeping her mouth shut.

  Greene takes out his pad and goes through several pages, then says, “FYI, Miss Montoya wasn’t the first woman who bought it that way—tied up, sexually assaulted, then garroted.”

  He makes a tiny mark with his pen next to some words. “There are a couple of very curious details. Number one: No DNA. The perp must use surgical gloves as well as a condom. And that final wipe-down with the pine-scented disinfectant is the finishing touch. We haven’t been able to turn up so much as a partial fingerprint in any of these cases.”

  He slides a photograph from another folder in my direction. “But the signature X tells us it’s the same guy.”

  I look at a woman’s breast. Above the aureole is a small, precise X.

  “Every one of the victims has a small X on the left breast in exactly the same location. Didn’t you notice the X on Montoya?”

  I shudder and look away. “I didn’t get that close. The minute I realized she was dead, we were out of there.”

  Greene puts the photo back in the folder. “We’ve been compiling bits and pieces of evidence over the last ten months; there were similar killings in January, March and May, and now this. And another interesting fact: all the women except Montoya were prostitutes from the same stable.”

  “What about forced penetration?”

  Greene glances around him, then leans forward. “Why do you ask?”

  “You mentioned sexual assault.”

  “There was evidence of bruising on the victim’s genitalia. I’d say Miss Montoya was an unwilling participant.”

  We each stare the other down. If Greene thinks he’s going to beat me on this, he’s dead wrong. Without moving my eyes, I focus on his forehead. It’s a trick I learned in law school.

  When he breaks first and looks down at his notes, I give myself a small pat on the back. Small victories are the very best.

  “What about my sister? You inferred she might be off the hook?”

  He slowly closes the spiral notepad, places it in his jacket pocket and gives me a cautious smile. “I’d say it looks good. But I’m willing to bet your sister knows a lot more than she’s telling. Since you were an Assistant DA, you should remember the drill. If you find out anything, give me a call.”

  Chapter 5

  I HEAR ANGELA STIR. The bathroom door quietly snaps shut, and a red glow brightens the room. It’s the light on the phone between our beds. Why is Angela making a call at three in the morning? And from the bathroom?

  I tiptoe over and press my ear against it.

  “Cliff? It’s Angela. There’s been some trouble. No, I can’t speak up. Allie’s in the next room.”

  The hole in my stomach grows with each word I hear.

  “Caro’s dead. Raped, beaten, strangled.” Her voice breaks. “Oh, God, Cliff, what are we going to do?”

  Cliff Danes. Damn. I had met him only once and instantly disliked him. Patrician and pushing fifty, he was a third-generation heir with, according to Angela, hardly any money left. Still, he was a major player in the Upper East Side Crowd besides being well connected in the modeling world.

  Angela once lived and breathed Cliff ’s every word. I wasn’t surprised when she confided he was her lover. Everything was peachy-keen until her modeling gigs dried up and the bastard dumped her.

  When she creeps out of the bathroom, I say, “What’s Cliff Danes got to do with this? I thought you were through with him?”

  Angela flicks on the lamp between our beds. “I was going to tell you everything in the morning, but looks like neither one of us is going to get any more sleep tonight.”

  She sighs and scrunches into her pillow. “I should have told you sooner about the parties—the parties in New Jersey. I think that’s how Caro got into trouble.”

  I perk up. “Parties? You never mentioned parties.”

  “That’s because I only went to one. But Caro was a regular.”

  “And that’s what got her in trouble?”

  Angela gives me one of her “are-you-too-stupid-to-comprehend” looks and goes into instruction mode. “These weekly parties—they’re billed as Stag Poker Nights, but they’re anything but. Each man is required to bring a date. There’s dancing and drinking and I guess some carrying on, but at the end of the evening the man has to trade her for another woman. After the trade it’s anybody’s guess.”

  The attorney in me snaps to attention. “Is there money involved?”

  “Not that I know of. As I said, I only went once.” She gives me a half-smile. “I have to admit the place is pretty cool. It’s a waterfront estate in Jersey near Sandy Hook Bay, but everybody calls it ‘The Castle’ because it looks just like the ones you see in fairy tale books.

  “Cliff ’s been trying to join this group ever since he heard about it. All the members are financially successful, have inherited wealth or are descended from the Four Hundred.”

  “And
so you went to New Jersey with Cliff last week?”

  She nods. “But Cliff asked Caro to be his date when he was initiated in February.”

  “Caro? Your Caro? How did he meet her?”

  “Through me.” Tears well. “When I introduced them, he took one look at her, and I knew it would never be the same between us. They were inseparable.”

  I start at that. After he so callously dumped Angela, it’s hard for me to believe the Cliff Danes I remember could become besotted over anybody other than himself.

  “But you were over Cliff by then, weren’t you?”

  “I thought I was. When Caro moved in, we spent a lot of late nights sharing our hopes and dreams. I told her everything about Cliff and me. How he discovered me at the Lampasas County Beauty Pageant and signed me on the spot. How he persuaded me to freelance with him instead of joining a reputable agency, saying I’d make more money. How in the beginning he got me on all the major fashion covers, but when the offers began drying up he lost interest.”

  She sighs. “You know, I actually thought we might get married someday.”

  I want to tell her how happy I am it didn’t work out, but I see the anguish in her face and bite my tongue.

  “I can’t blame Caro. She went out of her way to make it easy on me by going to his place. Then in May, things changed. Caro started seeing someone else on the sly. I never found out who, but she would tell me when he was coming by so I could disappear.

  “That’s about the time she started doing drugs. When I called her on it, she laughed. Said they were just doing a few recreational hits out at The Castle and that she could handle it. Then she told me I should loosen up.”

  Angela’s eyes fill. “If only I could have stopped her.”

  I wait until she calms. “You said Cliff took you to the last party.”

  “Some date. He kept looking around for Caro. When I called him on it, he got all funny. Said he didn’t care what she did. But I could tell he was really bothered.”