Elegy in Scarlet Read online

  “As much as any of us knows. He called my cellphone while I was in traffic to tell me the arraignment isn’t until Monday. Bail is looking like a no-go.”

  “Hope I can be there. Will you?”

  Drayco rubbed his forehead. “Probably not a great idea under the circumstances. You and Benny can be my stand-ins.”

  She glanced at the painting again and shook her head. At his response or the painting? He didn’t have a chance to ask before she continued, “What struck me is how nearly impossible it would be for your mother to stab the victim hard enough to kill and not get any blood on her. Not even her shoes.”

  “Unless she changed clothes.”

  “They didn’t find any. And then to wait there meekly for the police to pick her up? She’s either a patsy or a criminal genius.”

  Two equal possibilities, and the latter, in particular, he couldn’t ignore. Was this all a calculated plan to use an insanity defense? Was she counting on Brock or her son to rush to her aid as pawns in some elaborate scheme?

  He deserved answers. And tomorrow he’d begin nailing them down one by one, starting with the victim’s estranged daughter and brother. The faster he could get a chance to interview some of the actors involved, the better. For Maura’s sake, Benny’s, and Sarg’s—before Halabi pulled out his leash.

  Nelia stood. “I should go. To deal with some of that coursework you mentioned.”

  He popped up to join her. “It’s a five-hour drive to Cape Unity.”

  “But only a five-minute drive to the room I’m renting near campus. One of Tim’s friends is cutting me a break on the price.”

  “Five minutes?”

  “Um hmm.” She walked to the front of the room and grabbed her coat from the radiator. “I have a roommate. Gary.”

  “Gary?” Drayco folded arms across his chest.

  “He’s nice. Quiet. Studious. Handsome, too.”

  She smiled at him as she opened the front door. Before disappearing, she added, “He’s gay.” And then she left.

  Chapter 10

  Nelia opened the door to her third-floor apartment and then slammed it behind her. She eased onto the marigold chenille sofa and stared at a bare patch on the armrest. Had that always been there? Oh, well. Beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to furnished apartments.

  She moaned and put her head in her hands. It was a lot harder to see Drayco than she’d thought it would be. Perhaps her reasons for avoiding him the past four months weren’t all that clear anymore. Perhaps it mattered and perhaps it didn’t or maybe she was going to hell for all those thoughts she was having and knew she shouldn’t.

  When she’d told her roommate Gary earlier she was going over to see Drayco, Gary looked him up on the computer and uncovered some newspaper articles of Drayco from his previous cases. “Hubba hubba,” was his sole reaction.

  And when she’d told Gary about the late Andrew Gilbow and the shooting and fire at the warehouse, he’d taken Drayco’s side. “The turd deserved to die. If you ask me, he didn’t even deserve a mercy killing. He should have died in fiery flames here on earth and roasted in the fires of hell for all eternity.”

  With a sigh, she took her head out of her hands and fell back against the sofa.

  A garbled male voice wafted out of the bathroom, and she glanced up to see Gary brushing his teeth as he asked, “That good a day?” Or at least, that’s what she thought he’d asked. It sounded more like “Sat gouda hay?”

  “Tell me again why I’m not insane to think I can do this. Law school’s bad enough on its own. And I had to go and think I can combine it with a job. Make that two jobs.”

  Gary strolled to the kitchen sink and spat out the toothpaste. “I never said you weren’t insane. As a matter of fact, I think you are certifiable.”

  “Thanks for that. I feel so much better.”

  Gary grabbed some bottled water from the counter and brought her one, too. “I also didn’t say being insane wasn’t a good thing. Hell, Mendel, the father of genetics was called insane. So was Semmelweis, the guy who discovered the link between germs and disease. One of Thomas Edison’s teachers called him mentally ill, and everybody thought Tesla was cuckoo.”

  “You’re saying I’m in good company?”

  “Guess it depends on how you define ‘good.’ Semmelweis was eventually committed to an asylum because nobody believed him, and Tesla was a bit of a nut case, scared of germs and pearls. Of course, Tesla also believed women would become the dominant gender and rule over mankind like queen bees. So, buzz buzz, darling.”

  Nelia laughed. “Now I really do feel better.”

  Her renewed good mood lasted all of five minutes until her cellphone rang, and she saw her husband’s number. Should she ignore it? Yeah, that would go over well. “Hi, Tim. Hope your day hasn’t been too bad.”

  “That new home assistant we hired to make meals for me is terrible. She actually tried to feed me mussels. Doesn’t she know I have a shellfish allergy?”

  “Well, I—”

  “And then she practically cold-conked me with the vacuum cleaner. It’s not as if she can’t see a guy in a big honking wheelchair. And when she was cleaning up, she put my meds in a different drawer. Took me an hour to find them thanks to the tremors. I know she’s not a doctor, but it doesn’t take a genius to know you have to take MS meds on a set schedule.”

  Nelia bit back a retort she’d probably regret later and instead replied, “Would you like me to find someone else?”

  “Then I’ll have to train someone new. No, I just want this person to do her goddamned job the way she’s supposed to.”

  “Maybe we can get Barbara back.” That was wishful thinking. Barbara had been a saint and tolerated Tim as well as anyone until he barked at her one too many times. Nelia doubted they had half the amount of money it would take to lure Barbara to return.

  Tim growled at her, “If you were here more, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “This isn’t a new situation for us, Tim. We’ve had this commuter marriage thing for the past few years. You couldn’t move to Cape Unity, and I couldn’t get a job in Salisbury. And that’s just the way it is. Besides, Sheriff Sailor’s been amazingly supportive about everything. Not too many bosses would be.”

  “Yeah, well, now I’ll hardly ever see you, will I? Unless that’s your plan all along with this latest scheme of yours.”

  “That wasn’t my plan at all. You know I’ve always dreamed of being an attorney—”

  “Or maybe your plan is to get closer to Scott Drayco. Is that it? Because if it is, I have news for you. I’ve got spies up there in D.C., so if you do anything, I’ll know.”

  Whether it was from the constant tip-toeing around her husband or her shitty week, she couldn’t stop herself. “You’re one to talk. Remember Rachel Masters? Somehow I don’t think she left her monogrammed bras in our car as souvenirs.”

  “Are you accusing me of having an affair?”

  “Years ago, yes. Before the MS got bad.”

  “Oh, now I’m so much of a cripple, I can’t even have an affair, is that what you’re implying?”

  “God, Tim. You can be a real bastard, you know that? I’m the one who’s always defended you to others, who makes excuses for your shitty attitude and cleans up the personal messes you leave in your wake. When I said for richer or poorer and in sickness and in health, I meant it. Did you?”

  His tone softened. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Guess it was just missing my meds.”

  She could tell by the slight slur in his voice that wasn’t the only reason. She’d have to talk with Lisa about hiding the booze from now on. “You need a good night’s sleep, that’s all. I’ll make sure Lisa knows your meds have to stay in the same location at all times. And I’ll get one of those low-riding vacuum cleaners instead. And a feather duster.”

  He chuckled and rang off. When she pressed the end-call button on her phone, Gary said, “Tim drinking again?”

  “Sounded more like a gin
call than a vodka call.”

  “Most people in your situation would be talking divorce. I think it’s admirable you want to stick together.”

  She stared at him. “You do?”

  “My parents were divorced. I know how hard it was on them and me. And sometimes I wonder if they didn’t regret their decision. Wouldn’t want you to make a mistake by being too hasty.”

  She forced a smile. “Can’t say I ever liked hasty pudding.”

  “You actually ate some of that disgusting stuff?”

  “My grandmother made it once. Cornmeal mush with maple syrup.”

  Gary made a face. “You almost put me off my appetite. I say almost because I happen to have stopped by DreaMed and picked up kabobs and falafel. Before you say you’re not hungry, let me remind you that you’ll need fortification before your night class.”

  He was right. She did the best she could in deference to his generosity, but it didn’t get the bad taste of Tim’s words out of her mouth. Even the ambrosia of the gods wouldn’t be enough to do that.

  Chapter 11

  Saturday, February 16

  With yesterday’s protest over and the traffic along with it, Sarg picked Drayco up on the dot of nine in Sarg’s newly waxed Range Rover, giving Drayco time to fill him in on an earlier call from Benny. “Jerold Zamorra’s brother, Edwin, has a beef with his brother’s former employer. Filed a lawsuit requesting an injunction to prevent the TSA from touching private areas without reasonable suspicion.”

  Sarg zigzagged around some construction cones, cursing under his breath as they almost got sideswiped by a truck. “Think I could get in on that lawsuit of his and make it a class action dealie?”

  “You and millions of other people. Jerold’s daughter Ashley wasn’t listed as a party, so that’s not the reason behind her estrangement.”

  Sarg grunted. “What a lovely litigious triangle, those Zamorras. Rena against Jerold while they worked at the TSA, Edwin against the TSA.”

  They pulled up to a typical middle-class Alexandria home, meaning somewhere between half a million and a million dollars. That chunk of change bought Edwin fifteen hundred square feet of a half-brick, half-vinyl-siding colonial with a postage stamp yard. The interior was a bachelor-chic mix of varying hues of beige and brown.

  It was the mantel that drew Drayco’s attention. It wasn’t every day he saw a witch doctor’s mask made of wood, bone, and feathers. Hanging next to it was an antique apothecary box sporting vintage bottles bearing names like Foley’s Kidney Pills.

  Ashley Zamorra and Edwin Zamorra greeted them with identical frowns. When Drayco arranged the meeting, he’d said he was acting on “behalf” of law enforcement to uncover the truth behind Jerold’s murder. Well, he was a crime consultant, and Sarg’s FBI creds were impeccable. As far as Halabi was concerned, ask questions now and apologize later.

  In addition to her frown, Ashley wore a tricolor headband of silver, copper, and gold crowning her shoulder-length dark hair. Her metal hoop earrings contained symbols he couldn’t identify without staring, and he didn’t want to make her feel anymore ill at ease than she already was. The sprinkle of freckles across her nose made her look even younger than her thirty years, especially combined with red lipstick the same color little girls use when playing dress-up.

  Edwin, on the other hand, looked every bit his age. His close-cropped gray beard formed a ring under his chin like a soap-bubble beard, forming a point at the end. He was vaping away on an e-cigarette that smelled a little like green apples.

  Neither of the Zamorras offered Drayco or Sarg a drink or a seat. Sarg took the latter, but Drayco stood to make it easier to prowl around the room. He spied a framed photo of Ashley standing with her arm around a woman who shared Ashley’s high cheekbones and rail-thin frame. He picked it up and looked at Ashley. “Is this Ophelia, your mother?”

  She nodded. “My father killed her a year ago.”

  She ignored Edwin’s attempt to interrupt, adding, “The police don’t say that. They arrested two teenage boys. My father was having an affair, and I guess he just got tired of Mom. Murdered her to be with his mistress.”

  “Do you know the identity of the woman he was having an affair with?”

  “That woman they arrested, probably. I’ll bet she’s his mistress and killed him when he cheated on her, too.”

  What could Drayco say? It might well be true. “Your parents were divorced for a year before your mother was murdered. Why would your father wait until then to kill her?”

  Ashley grabbed a pillow from the couch and hugged it so tightly, Drayco was surprised the stuffing didn’t explode. “To get his hands on her money. She’d made a lot from her decorating business. And she had life insurance. After my parents divorced, she kept putting off changing her Will. Made us both beneficiaries, three-quarters to my father, one to me.”

  “How much did three-quarters amount to?”

  “Several hundred thousand. My father squandered it away on bad investments. Lost almost everything.”

  Ashley blinked back tears as Edwin patted her on the shoulder. “I miss my mother every day. And I regret all the times we argued because we both had a temper.”

  She choked out a laugh. “Mom kept cheap dishes around for times she felt like exploding. She’d throw them at the back fence, her version of skeet shooting. I adored her.”

  Drayco studied the smiling woman in the picture frame. Unlike Maura McCune, this woman had years of emotions etched into her face, mostly crinkled laugh lines around her eyes. But those eyes—they didn’t match her smile. It was as if someone copied and pasted the eyes and mouths from two different women.

  He replaced the photo in its original spot. Other frames nearby held additional pictures of Ashley and her mother, including a couple of Edwin with one or both women. None with the victim, Ashley’s father, Jerold.

  Edwin coughed, then cleared his throat. “The police showed me a photo of that woman they arrested. I saw her with my brother once before. Knew she was trouble then. You can always tell with the Jezebels. Not like Ophelia, whose only fault was she was a clutter-bug.”

  Drayco asked, “Where did you see Maura—that is, the suspect—and your brother together? And when was this?”

  “Three weeks, a month, I’d say. I stopped by his apartment as they were leaving and just missed them. But I saw them drive off together.”

  “Was that the only time?”

  Edwin pursed his lips, releasing a little vapor cloud. “I think so. At least, that’s what I told the police.”

  “You didn’t see them together before Ophelia’s death?”

  “I’m not sure why that would matter, but no.”

  Sarg piped up from the couch. “What about Ophelia’s other family members, Miss Zamorra? They also believe Jerold killed her?”

  Ashley replied, “My grandparents are dead. One passed away before Mom, the other died right after, of a heart attack. Mom was an only child.”

  Drayco moved to a spot with a direct sight line to both Zamorras. “And your father’s family, other than your Uncle Edwin here?”

  “I’m not close to my dad’s parents anymore. Uncle Edwin’s spoken with them, but I’m not sure I want them at the funeral. Of course, they believe he didn’t do it, didn’t kill my Mom.”

  Sarg glanced from one Zamorra to the other. “When was the last time either one of you saw Jerold?”

  Edwin answered first. “Two weeks. He seemed fine.”

  Ashley added, “I dropped off a box of stuff at Dad’s condo. The last of the items he had at Mom’s place. She left the house to me, thank God.”

  Drayco asked, “When did you drop off that box?”

  She hesitated. “The day he died. If you think it’s related to his murder, I don’t see how. Old notebooks, ledgers of some kind. And a few odds and ends. I gave the police a list. I’m surprised they didn’t tell you.”

  Sarg turned to Edwin. “The lawsuit you filed against the TSA. What’d your brother thin
k about that, sir? Can’t imagine he was ready to dance a jig.”

  Edwin straightened up. “It had nothing to do with Jerold. He didn’t make the policy.”

  “Surely it could drive a wedge between you.”

  “We didn’t always see eye to eye, but my brother was a good man. I regret our falling out.”

  “Do you work for the government too, sir?”

  “I own an independent compounding pharmacy. More control, less red tape. Hate corporate bureaucratic idiocy, bean counters always looking over your shoulder.” Edwin checked his watch. “I took a quick break to meet you and Ashley here, but I need to get back. Saturday’s one of my busiest days.”

  “We understand, sir. Do you mind if we take a look at Jerold’s condo? We have full police approval.”

  Edwin rubbed his forehead. “If you think it’s necessary.”

  “Just trying to make sure the right person goes to jail for your brother’s murder, that’s all.”

  “I suppose it would be okay. Do you have a key?”

  “We were hoping you do, sir.”

  Edwin disappeared into a side room, then returned and handed Sarg a key. “Very good, sir, much appreciated.”

  Drayco handed both Ashley and Edwin one of his cards. “In case you think of something else. Anything at all.”

  Back at the Range Rover, Sarg rubbed a tiny smudge off the finish. “Hate to say it. All that business about Jerold having an affair with your mother seems to be a godsend for the prosecution.”

  “I admit I don’t know my mother, but when she talked about Jerold, she didn’t exhibit the air of a woman in love who killed in a crime of passion. If she’s guilty, it was some other reason.”

  Drayco slid into the passenger seat. “Did you notice all the photos of Ophelia and Ashley? One of the Ophelia photos seemed to be taken a long time ago. She was much younger, and there wasn’t a ring on her finger. She and Edwin were standing unusually close to each other.”

  “You’re thinking the other man, instead of the other woman?”