Tracy Hayes, P.I. and Proud (P.I. Tracy Hayes 2) Read online

  Travis looked over the footage twice. “You’re saying she would’ve had motive to kill Ms. Rinaldi? But how would she have found out where Ms. Rinaldi lived if you hadn’t told her yet?”

  Jackson and I exchanged looks. “How would she be able to hire and already pay us if she’s unemployed and lives in a project?” I countered.

  “Explain.”

  I gathered my thoughts. “I think there’s more to Hannah Williams than meets the eye. She has nothing but time on her hands and a husband who isn’t home all that much. I bet she’s been following him around for quite some time already. She knew he spent time at the racetrack—and lied about it to us—so maybe she followed him there and learned about Sheila. Then she followed her to learn where she lived.”

  “Then why hire you?”

  “We’re the diversion.”

  “While you were tracking her husband, she went and killed Ms. Rinaldi?”

  “Yes.”

  Jackson frowned. “She thought he only had one woman. She must have thought he would be with Ms. Rinaldi, so why go there at all?”

  “Maybe she wanted to pin the murder on him. We’d witness that he was there at the time of the crime. Or maybe she lied about not knowing.”

  “She was pretty badly shocked when she learned about the second woman.”

  I had to admit that. “I don’t trust her, is all I’m saying.”

  “Okay,” said Travis, “you show this to Trevor, I’ll talk with my client.”

  “Can we listen in?” I asked hopefully.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Travis looked so horrified I thought it best not to push. We exited the small room and went to look for my other brother.

  We found him on the second floor in a fairly large room filled back to back with desks. Nothing was new or in terribly good repair, but everything was functional, and that’s what mattered. Trevor’s desk was at the back, by the window, next to Detective Kelley’s. He was leaning back in his chair, studying something on his computer screen with a frown, but he smiled when he saw us.

  “Lunch date!” He got up and gave me a hug, causing the men and women around him to leer and whistle good-naturedly. “Back off, this is my baby sister.”

  “And you let her hang out with that one?” one of the men smirked. “He’s not even a real detective.”

  I felt offended for Jackson, but he just grinned. “I’m twice the detective you’ll ever be, Romes.”

  “We have something you need to see,” I told Trevor and Kelley, ignoring the banter. Jackson uploaded the footage on Trevor’s computer and we all gathered around to watch.

  “That’s Mrs. Larry Williams number one talking to Sheila Rinaldi last Thursday, in case you don’t recognize her.”

  “You’re saying they knew each other?” Kelley asked.

  “They knew of each other, at least.”

  “Fuck,” Trevor groaned. “Why couldn’t this just have been a simple case of a bigamist killing his extra wife?”

  “It may yet turn out to be that,” Jackson said dryly. “But in the meantime, no harm in checking on Hannah Williams. And I’d definitely check her finances.”

  “What do they have to do with anything?” my brother asked.

  Jackson shrugged. “I have no idea. But they don’t add up.”

  “Maybe she gambles?” I suggested, an idea forming in my head. Maybe we needed to look at this from another angle completely.

  “Gambling isn’t illegal,” Kelley said.

  “No, but it makes sense. She’s from Vegas, she has no income, yet she can afford to pay us, and it would explain why she’d be at the racetrack, since it’s the closest casino in these parts. She could have been onto her husband and Sheila for months, for all we know.”

  “Then why would she act like she had no idea in the footage?”

  “Maybe until that point she wasn’t sure, or she was in denial?” If someone had told me Scott was being unfaithful, I wouldn’t have believed either.

  “Okay, we’ll look into her finances,” Detective Kelley said. Her face didn’t promise I’d like the results.

  Trevor ran his fingers through his hair. “Let’s have lunch. I can’t think on an empty stomach.”

  “Okay, but not at Scott’s place.”

  We ended up at Scott’s place.

  After lunch—during which I managed not to see a glimpse of Scott, though the anticipation, or fear, of it almost made me lose my appetite—we went through the police reports about the crime scene, but the place had been clean. Too clean, Jackson noted.

  “Maybe the murderer cleaned up afterwards?” I suggested, but Jackson looked doubtful.

  “After such a violent crime of passion? I doubt they’d have been coherent enough.”

  “Well, someone did.”

  “Maybe it was Larry Williams? He comes ‘home,’ finds the place upturned, immediately suspects wife number one and doesn’t want her to go to jail, so he cleans up.”

  “And forgets the blood-soaked rug?” I asked, doubtful.

  “By that time the police have showed up and he goes outside to see what the action is about. Realizing Sheila’s been found, he bolts.”

  “If he’s protecting Hannah, it would explain why he hasn’t talked yet.” He’d been very close-lipped with Travis too, insisting that he’d been with Carol Marr the whole night. Problem was, the police couldn’t find her to ask her about it.

  The rest of the day we interviewed Sheila Rinaldi’s neighbors, but no one had seen or heard anything. However, when shown Larry’s photo, they recognized him as her husband and said that he was a very nice man. Everyone seemed to like him.

  I was exhausted by the time I dragged myself home that evening. The murder investigation was emotionally more tasking than I’d expected, on top of which I’d risen extra early to run. My body had begun to ache all over during the afternoon and my walking was stiff.

  I placed the takeout I’d bought on my way home on the kitchen table and slumped on the chair. Then I contemplated the paper bags for eternity, wondering if I was actually hungry enough to reach out and open them. I was saved by Jarod, who ambled out of his room and did it for me.

  I blinked at him, bleary-eyed, and then straightened in shock, my exhaustion forgotten. “What happened to your face?”

  Chapter Twelve

  I studied Jarod’s face in horror. The right side was black and blue from his temple to his cheekbone. He frowned and winced when the gesture caused him pain.

  “I didn’t survive the encounter with Kathy’s new boyfriend,” he confessed, trying to keep his face as immobile as possible when he spoke, which made his speech sound a bit odd.

  I inhaled in shock. “You went to see him? That was stupid of you. Brave, but stupid.” Though I was kind of impressed that he’d done it. He wasn’t exactly one to take initiative like that.

  “Yeah.” He looked bewildered for his feat.

  I got up and took ice cubes from the freezer and put them in a plastic bag. Then I wrapped the bag in a towel and gave it to him. He pressed it against his face, wincing again. It was probably too late with the ice, but I had to do something.

  “Have you shown your face to a doctor?”

  “Nah. This’ll be enough,” he said, waving the ice pack. I wasn’t convinced, but decided to let the matter be.

  “What happened?”

  “I spotted him in the hallway and thought to just walk past. The guy’s, like, three times bigger than me, and it’s all muscle. And then he kissed this girl who wasn’t Kathy, and I—I don’t know—got angry or something.”

  “Must have been a new experience for you,” I said dryly. The past couple of weeks that he’d lived here, I hadn’t witnessed him lose his temper once.

  “Yeah. So I went up to him and said he shouldn’t be kissing her, because he was with Kathy, and one thing led to another and before I knew what was going on, he shoved me.”

  “In the face?”

  “No, I hit it against a
bookcase when I fell.”

  I grimaced in sympathy. “So what are you gonna do now?”

  “I think I have to, like, tell Kathy. Surely she’d like to know that the guy’s not being faithful?”

  “I don’t think she’d believe you,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Why not?”

  “She would think you’re just being jealous. And then she’d get angry with you.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Yeah.”

  My own anger was rising, for Jarod, not for his ex-girlfriend. I wasn’t usually an eye for an eye kind of girl, but Jarod was such a nice guy. No one got to punch—or shove—him without punishment.

  “You’ll have to make her see with her own eyes that he’s fooling around behind her back.” I knew from my experience that it really worked.

  “How?”

  “The way only you can. With technology.”

  He blinked his brown puppy eyes at me. “Good thing, then, that I stole his phone.” He pulled the phone out of his back pocket and I started laughing.

  “I had no idea you were such a criminal.”

  “It was an accident, really,” he confessed, a bit bashful. “He dropped it when he shoved me and I sort of took it on reflex. He didn’t notice it was gone, and I was off before I came to my senses. And then I didn’t know how to give it back to him, so I just kept it.”

  “Let’s see what he’s up to, then.” We sat side by side and leaned over the phone.

  The guy’s name was Daryl Thompson, and we had access to his entire life through his phone, his messages, e-mails, calendar, and social media. Note to self: lock your phone with a password.

  He had a really active social life—I’d be amazed if he found time for studying. And it turned out Kathy wasn’t the only girlfriend he had. There were at least two more, and a score of others he merely flirted with. After a day spent on a case involving bigamy, I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it still annoyed me.

  “At least the guy’s good looking,” I muttered. The camera was full of pictures of him—and of his women, quite a few of them in the ‘not safe for work’ territory—yikes—and he posted an insane amount of his own pictures on social media too. The guy was in a serious Narcissus territory.

  “Thanks,” Jarod huffed, the first indication ever that looks mattered to him. He certainly didn’t pay attention to his, barely combing his hair before he left the apartment.

  I grinned. “It makes it easier to believe he can have this many women. Let’s see, he’s having a date tonight with Lisa at Tino’s Lounge, wherever that is.”

  “But it’s Monday.”

  “If you have three girlfriends to juggle, you have to make use of all the days of the week.”

  “So what do we do?”

  I didn’t have to think of it. “We send Kathy a message from him and invite her there too. That way she can witness it.” I began typing the message right away, trying to emulate the style Daryl used. I think I nailed it pretty well.

  “And then she’ll be sad and I can console her?” He gave me a hopeful look.

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Bummer. Is there any, like, scenario where she’ll take me back?”

  I gave it a thought. “Can you stop thinking of computers more than her?”

  He slumped. “I guess that’s it, then.”

  I patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure there’s a girl out there who won’t mind that you spend your days buried in computers. Now, let’s get dressed and head to Tino’s too, so we can witness everything.”

  “Won’t he recognize me?”

  “We’ll go there well in advance and find a table where he can’t see us. But if he does, you’ll be there with a hot chick and he’ll be envious.”

  “Who?”

  “Me, you moron.”

  “Oh, right.”

  With that encouragement, I disappeared into my room to prepare for the night. Tino’s was fancier than a pub, but not quite a club—I’d checked their webpage—so I went with my little black dress. It had been a while since I’d worn it—it was in fact a remnant of my brief stint as a cocktail waitress four years ago—and it had shrunk a bit—ahem—but I managed to pull the zipper up and even breathe afterwards. I gathered my shoulder-length hair into an artful mess, put on some makeup, and I was good to go.

  Jarod had put on clean jeans and a button-up shirt and combed his hair. A great improvement, even with the bruised face.

  “Don’t you look nice.”

  He glanced at his clothes, as if seeing them for the first time. “Mom bought this shirt.”

  “I didn’t doubt it for a minute.”

  Tino’s was near the college by the Flatbush Avenue, but slightly too far from my place to walk, especially in the heels I’d put on—and which my stiff muscles were already making me regret—so we took my car. It was an elegant place with low lighting and small tables placed discreetly far apart, with potted palms between them to offer privacy. Shelves behind the bar were well stocked and jazz flowed quietly from the loudspeakers. A freshman on a date with the captain of the college football team would be impressed out of her panties in no time.

  We ordered Shirley Temples, which appalled the bartender so badly I feared he’d refuse to serve us, and then found a nice table where we could observe unseen. We’d timed our arrival well, and our marks weren’t here yet, so I amused myself by studying the people present. Even though it was Monday, there were quite a few couples there, all probably on first dates, judging by the nervous body language.

  My brief stint as a cocktail waitress had been in a place similar to this, but instead of couples, singles had come there to mix, so the atmosphere had been different: loud, joyous, and at times even desperate. Quite a few of the male customers had thought the waitresses were free game too—a state of affairs I’d expressed my opinion on by pouring a drink over one gropy idiot’s head. I still thought it was unfair they’d fired me for it.

  A man sitting at the back caught my attention, mostly because he was the only single person here. He was hidden in shadows and I couldn’t see him clearly, studying the room like I was. He noticed me staring and I pulled back, embarrassed, but before I could turn my face he shifted so that the light fell on him and I recognized him.

  Jonny Moreira.

  “Shit.” I got up. “I’ll be right back.”

  Moreira got to his feet when I approached—a polite goon—and positively towered over me even though I was wearing heels. “Are you following me again?” I asked annoyed, but when he shook his head, amused, I was disappointed. It made me feel special to have him trail me.

  “No, I’m on a date.” I glanced at the empty chair before him and he smiled. “She’s not here yet.”

  “With Suzy?” The first time I’d met him he’d been going out with an ex-girlfriend of Trevor’s.

  “She broke my heart,” he said with mock sadness, and I huffed. It wasn’t like I didn’t believe his heart could be broken, but I had a better explanation.

  “More like you dumped her when she wasn’t the link to MacRath’s operations you’d hoped she would be.” Suzy’s ex-husband was doing time for working for the previous Brooklyn drug lord.

  He didn’t deny it and sat down again, and I took the vacant seat. “So who’s your date?” he asked, glancing at the direction of my table.

  “Jarod’s not my date.”

  “Yet you’re dressed to kill,” he observed with an appreciative smile that warmed my insides. It had been a long time since a man had given me that look.

  “Thanks. This is a disguise. Jarod’s my roommate and we’re here to spy on his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend on a date with another girl.”

  “Did the new boyfriend do his face?”

  I frowned, still angry about it. “Yes.”

  “So he’ll deserve whatever you have in store for him?”

  “We invited the ex-girlfriend here too.”

  Moreira laughed aloud. “That’ll end w
ell.”

  “I know.” I smiled back.

  “Is that him?” He nodded behind me and I turned to look as our mark walked in with his date.

  “Yes.”

  Daryl was exactly as large as Jarod had said—the photos hadn’t really done him justice—making the blonde with him tiny in comparison. She was utterly besotted with him, staring at his face as if the answer to the ultimate question were written on it, and they hadn’t even got their drinks yet.

  I made to return to my table, but Moreira halted me by placing his hand on my arm.

  “How’s the case going?”

  “You haven’t spied on police reports today?”

  “I’ve had a busy day.”

  I decided not to dwell on what that might involve. “Jackson and I are officially aiding Larry Williams’s defense.” His dark brows furrowed and I lifted my hands, appeasing. “It gives us access to the case we wouldn’t otherwise have.”

  “And what have you learned?”

  “Enough for the police to open another line of enquiry. What do you know about gambling?”

  “Is that another mafia quip?”

  “Touchy, are we? No, I simply need to know how one would hide winnings from authorities.”

  “Casinos are required to tell the IRS of all winnings larger than six hundred dollars.”

  That wasn’t much. “So you’d have to win small but often to make money on the side?”

  He nodded. “Is gambling a line of inquiry?”

  “Could be.”

  “Well, I’ve learned that Sheila hadn’t had a serious relationship in years, and the last one moved to Florida two years ago.”

  “Good to know.”

  Moreira glanced behind me and got up, so I followed suit. A tall woman in a red dress, all sleek curves like an Italian car, sashayed through the room. She had wavy chestnut hair that fell down her back, smoky eyes, red lips, and the attitude of someone who knew she was the hottest thing since fire.

  “Wow,” I said, unable to tear my eyes away from her—me and the rest of the room. Moreira flashed a smug smile, his attention on the woman.

  “I know.”

  I left hastily before things got awkward—okay, before close proximity to her made me lose all self-confidence. There was no way she would’ve seen me as a rival.