CHAPTER TWELVE

 

 

 

 

“Abracadabra,” my dad said from his wheelchair, using his favorite childhood nickname for me. He was in the hallway behind my mom who had opened the door for us. After giving my mom a hug and my dad a kiss on the cheek, we were welcomed into the living room until dinner was ready. Suspiciously, though, there was no wafting aroma of freshly cooked food coming from the kitchen. My stomach rumbled in consternation.

It was comforting being back in my childhood home. I perused the familiar old family photos on the mantle above the fireplace, as always, horrified by my senior picture. I noticed an older family photo taken before my dad had his debilitating injury. He was standing tall and proud behind me, with one hand on my shoulder and another around my mom’s waist, as if memorializing the fact that he was always there for us, and would always protect us.

My dad had been shot in the back by a fleeing fugitive, fracturing his spine, causing him to leave the force early and spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. The man who’d shot my father was never caught, and every time I thought of the cold case, I knew that eventually, no matter where this man ended up, I would find him and bring him to justice. I breathed in to calm myself.

Dad had his recliner in front of the television, still littered with police magazines and reading glasses, and mom had one entire bookshelf dedicated to her myriad of art projects and published children’s novels. Mom brought out some lemon water and my dad fidgeted nervously in his chair.

“Not this again, Maureen,” he said.

“Hush, Jeffrey. It’s good for you. Marco, don’t you listen to him.”

Marco lifted his glass, and his eyebrows, as we both noticed the ever so tiny red swirl in his ice cold lemon water.

I lifted my glass to the lamp light and asked. “What is it?”

“It’s lemon water,” she said emphatically, but watched carefully as I raised the glass to my lips. “with tabasco sauce.”

“Ugh, no.” I insisted. “No thank you.”

“It gets the metabolism running and helps burn calories, even as you eat,” mom claimed. “Try a sip before you say no.”

I looked at Marco, and then at my dad as we all watched the red swirl dissipate inside our glasses. Marco took the first sip. I followed and let the liquid reside momentarily inside my closed jaw before swallowing. “Oh my God.” My throat began to spasm involuntarily. “How much tabasco sauce did you use?”

Marco puckered his lips and set the glass down. “It’s…an interesting combo.”

“Well, it’s my own recipe,” she answered. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. I drink it every morning.”

Mom returned to the kitchen and dad just smiled and shook his head. “She really does.”

We chatted for a bit, catching up on our lives and then I steered the conversation toward the murder investigation. Before we really had a chance to dive in, mom called us into the kitchen. After settling around the table, my stomach now churning, Mom brought out a big glass bowl and set it down in front of us.

“Dinner is served,” she said proudly.

“Salad is not dinner,” my dad retorted to which she simply waved him away.

“We need to be in tip top shape for our cruise,” she reminded. “This is a hearty salad, Jeffery. We will all be plenty satiated by the end of the meal.”

I had to laugh as Marco turned to me first, then to my mom with an incorrigible smile. “It looks delicious, Maureen.”

As we crunched away at our hearty salads, we filled my parents in on the entire investigation, not only ours, but Detective Arno’s as well.

My dad ladled more dressing onto his second helping of salad before going back over the key elements of our case. “You have three suspects in my opinion, including Mr. Rafferty,” he said. “I’m just wondering why he was so adamant about getting those cruise tickets back.”

“For a refund, I’m assuming,” I replied. “They would have been on the same boat as us.”

My mom put a hand to her heart. “So sad,” she whispered.

“You’d think there would be more pressing concerns than a refund on cruise tickets,” he continued. “But I don’t know the man.”

“If Arno’s cleared him then we can safely assume he had no other option,” Marco added. “He was pushing hard for Slade’s conviction. That’s why Reilly’s in this mess.”

“It’s a damn shame,” Dad said. “I’ve worked with Reilly since he was a kid. Nineteen, I think, when he and Arno joined the force.”

“Can you tell us why they don’t get along?” I asked. “Reilly won’t tell us and it’s driving me crazy.”

My dad sat back and placed his hands on the arms of his wheelchair, assuming his normal storytelling pose. “It was my first year as Sergeant when they joined the force. Arno was the hotshot, always needing to prove himself, and Reilly was the tall, gawky boy scout. They were good officers, balanced each other out, good cop, bad cop, all that.

“But you have to understand something about those two. They were best friends before they joined, then they became partners. I never saw the two men apart. We worked for years as a solid team. I watched them move up the ranks quickly, eventually being promoted to detective, and that’s when things took a turn. I believe it was their first missing persons investigation.”

My dad closed his eyes and shook his head. “A young girl, Beverly Polite, walking home from school, and just like that she was gone.” He snapped his fingers and opened his eyes, looking at me. “We all knew who did it. His name was Jacob Barnes. He had a substantial criminal history, same MO, same everything. They found her school bag just one block from the Barnes’ home, found her bloodied school uniform in a dumpster nearby, but never found the body.

“Barnes had a weak alibi, but all of the evidence was circumstantial. Not a single witness came forward. With no body and no witnesses, Arno couldn’t get the DA to convene a grand jury and the case went cold. Poor guy, he was hung up on that case for years. I’ve seen the same thing happen to a lot of good detectives. Some guys spend the rest of their lives chasing that one cold case.”

“Something bad must have happened between Arno and Reilly,” I said.

“Yeah, well, two years later we get a new lead and it puts Jacob Barnes just within reach. It was him. This guy did it and everyone knew it, but there just wasn’t enough evidence to convince the DA.

“Then Reilly came to me one night saying that Arno had left the evidence room with Beverly’s school bag. We stopped Arno a few blocks from the Barnes’ house. He was caught with one of her school books in the passenger seat. We knew what he was up to, planting evidence, but we didn’t file charges against him. Looking back, I think maybe that was a mistake.”

“What happened with the case?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Dad answered. “Still cold. Barnes is a free man and Arno never forgave us for it. I know it must have crushed Reilly to rat on his partner, but hey, the man was doing his job. He’s an honest cop.”

“But Dutch is a dirty cop and now he’s going after us,” I began. “He’s taking us to court with a whole list of charges.”

“Abby, I know I’ve told you this before, but I need you to listen this time,” my dad said firmly. “I want you to back off this case, and I want you to make it a point to tell Detective Arno that you’re stepping away. If you and Marco get caught up in a court battle with him, it won’t end well. I know a few people who might be able to help you out. I can make some calls, but once this battle starts, there’s no stopping it. Do you hear me?”

“I do, Dad. I hear you.” But my heart burned inside my chest setting off a chain reaction inside my body. My muscles tensed and my eyes started to tear up. “But I can’t stop now. I was so close to preventing this murder. She would be alive if hadn’t been late for that delivery.”

My dad reached over and held my hand. “What happened is not your fault. You are the bravest young woman I have ever met, and I’m not just saying that because you’re my daughter.”

“Abigail,” mom said. “Listen to your father.”

“But bravery and justice have a limit,” he concluded. “Don’t let this case take you to a place you can’t come back from. That’s what happened to Arno, and I won’t watch it happen to you. Reilly may be hurting right now, but he’ll come out of this just fine. You’ve done all you can.”

 

After dinner, Marco and I sat inside my cherished 1960 yellow Corvette convertible with my key hanging from the ignition. We had driven to my parent’s house with the top down, enjoying the warm spring evening, but as we sat there in the driveway, the sun hanging low on the horizon, my spirits crushed, I couldn’t bring myself to even start the engine.

Marco held my hand. “Your dad has a point.”

“But justice shouldn’t have a limit,” I shot back. “We can’t just walk away from something we know isn’t right.”

I knew what Marco was going to say. He was the cool-headed, responsible partner in this team. And I knew that my dad was right. What good would solving this case do if Marco and I both wound up in court, or worse, in jail? We could lose everything. Arno seemingly had the whole justice system on his side. How could we fight against that? I looked over at my husband and waited for his response.

Marco looked back at me with his kind, loving eyes and his warm smile and said, “You have a point, too, Sunshine. Let’s go solve this case.”

Was I hearing him right? My back straightened slightly and I felt his grip strengthen around my hand. “Really?” I asked.

“We haven’t lost a case yet, and I’ll be damned if Dutch is the one who takes us down.”

My spirits lifted immediately and I twisted that key and revved the engine. “I love you.”

 

Darlene hadn’t arrived home from work by the time we parked in front of her house, so Marco and I took the opportunity to jaunt across the street to pay Mr. Rafferty a quick visit. The once beautiful, brightly lit mansion was now dark and gloomy. We walked up the path and noticed a maroon sedan parked in the driveway. Before we had a chance to ring the doorbell, a man exited the car and approached us on the darkened porch.

Marco let out a long, quiet sigh and whispered, “Let me handle this one.”

The short, stubby man came into view and stepped up to greet us. “Ah, Marco Sal-Avare.”

“It’s Salvare,” Marco responded.

“I know, it’s just so hard to pronounce.”

“Not that hard,” Marco said.

“This must be Mrs. Sal-Varay.” He stuck out his pudgy hand and his dimples protruded through doughy cheeks. “Vincent Wong,” he said cordially as I shook his hand. His jet black hair was parted in the middle and his stubby black tie stopped well above the belt. He then held out a billfold in front of his face. “Private Eye.”

“Let me guess,” Marco started. “Mr. Rafferty hired you to find Paige’s killer.”

Vince stuck out his thumb at Marco and laughed in my direction. “Can’t pull anything over on this guy. No wonder I’m always the second choice.”

Before Marco could respond, Vince continued, “No, no. It’s okay. I’m happy picking up the breadcrumbs. It pays the bills, and hey, no better way to follow a trail than with breadcrumbs. Am I right?”

His innocent cheeriness was met with solemn disdain as Marco hurried the conversation along. “Is Mr. Rafferty at home?”

Vince made a show of checking for clues around the front door. “What do you think, Sherlock?” His sarcasm was equally matched with innocuous charm.

“We just have a few questions,” Marco said. “Why did Arno release him as a suspect?”

“Not to toot my own horn, but I did a little digging around the site where Rafferty was supposedly meeting this mysterious Mr. Smith and found multiple traffic cams confirming his alibi.” He finished with a tooting motion and smiled proudly.

“Do you know anything about that coffee cup Mr. Rafferty threw against the Cutler’s front door?” I asked, still haunted by the very first clue I had noticed at the crime scene.

“Yes, and I may be responsible for that,” he smiled and blushed as though he were the one who threw it. “That was a different mug. Mr. Rafferty and I were conducting a recreation of the scene inside his home, but instead of coffee, my client was imbibing a different type of liquid, if you know what I mean. Things got a little out of hand. I shouldn’t have left him alone.”

“Any idea what happened to the original mug?” I asked.

“I’m sure forensics has it. They did a thorough sweep of the house, left it quite a mess from what I saw.”

“That’s all we needed to know,” Marco said. “Thanks.”

As we walked away Vince continued, “You’ll also be happy to know that the diamonds found in the street behind Rafferty’s house were actually fake, most likely from the cell phone cover he had purchased for his wife. Still no phone, though.”

“That’s great, Vince,” Marco said without turning around. “Good work.”

“Thanks, Marco, and one of these days,” he added. “I’m going to get that last name right.”

As soon as we were out of Vince’s earshot I said, “What was that about, grumpy?”

“He’s a good guy, just a little—” Marco stopped himself.

“What?” I gave him a playful jab. “He’s sweet.”

“He’s annoying.”

I looped my arm through his as we walked across the street. “Aw, Marco’s arch nemesis, the annoying Vincent Wong, private eye.”