“Did she have a family?” she asked.
“She’s divorced. And she’s got a couple of college-age kids. We’ll have to interview them and her ex-husband. Probably by phone. None of them live in Chattanooga.”
“There’s blood all along here. He dragged her down this hall.”
“Yeah. My guess is he clubbed her at the door with something. Looks like she put up a fight. She was the type who would. Once she was subdued, he dragged her up the steps and down the hall; thus the blood trail.”
The bedroom they sought was at the end of the hall. Double white doors stood open. They stopped at the threshold and observed the scene. Gloria Varranzo apparently had liked shades of blue. Her entire bedroom was done in pale blue and white: the soft plush carpet was cream, the bedspread and flowing canopy panels were blue damask, and the floor-to-ceiling drapes, now wafting in the breeze, were sheer and white. The techs in their white jumpsuits looked up, acknowledged them, and then went back to work.
Peter Tipton stood out on the balcony. He shook his head when he saw them. “Man, this’s sickening. I hope this is the last time anybody has to die like this.”
“Is it Mrs. Varranzo?” Julia asked.
“Yes. Actually, I knew her a little bit. She and my wife were on the Arts and Education Council together.”
“Did your wife like her?”
“No, not at all. But nobody deserves to end up like this, not even detestable people.”
Will was walking around on the small porch and looking at all the crimson stains. The word
THREE
was written in Gloria’s blood on the white-tiled floor. More blood spattered the iron banister and the white fabric of the drapes. “She must’ve come to and fought for her life,” he said, turning to look at Julia.
Pete Tipton said, “She was clubbed over the head with something. I’d guess some kind of weighted sap. Maybe a hammer.”
“Or a heavy pair of pliers.” Julia moved over beside the photographer and looked down. Gloria Varranzo dangled there for all to see, her beautifully highlighted blond hair ruffling in precise layers in the gentle wind. Her arms dangled at her sides, her beautiful robe blood-soaked. One sleeve, the right one, was ripped at the shoulder, showing her tanning-bed bronzed skin.
“There’s got to be forensic evidence somewhere in this house,” she said to the tech from TBI. She had gotten to know Tim Neely during the case. He was a tall, blond-haired man, thin almost to gauntness, with a reddish-blond mustache and neat appearance. Will had told her that he was one of the best in the state and trained at Quantico. She was glad he was on the job. If there was anything to find, he’d find it.
Tim stood up, towering over her, almost as tall as Will. He had a pricey camera hanging around his neck. The TBI supplied their guys with the best.
“I think so, too,” Tim agreed. “This lady must’ve fought him tooth and nail. But one thing’s different: the other scenes weren’t nearly as contaminated as this one. We’ll find something, you can count on that. My bet’s on DNA. If she fought him hard enough, we might even get a drop of his sweat.”
“Great, Tim. Call us as soon as you get anything. You know, I’d call this a copycat, but the scales and dimes haven’t hit the broadcasts yet. It’s the same exact scale. I’ve done a million Internet searches. Next, I’m going to start checking the pawn shops and flea markets in Hamilton County. The scale’s just too unusual for people not to remember. I keep thinking I’ve seen one similar to it somewhere, but can’t place where it was.”
“Ever tried hypnotism?”
Julia smiled at Tim’s suggestion. “Not lately.”
“There is another difference. He left the scales outside on the grass.”
“It was still under the body.”
“He hung the body up here. Why put the scales down there on the lawn?”
“Maybe it’s another message to us,” Will said, entering their conversation.
“But what? It’s the same scale, just in a different place,” Julia said.
Will said, “Unless he left something else, too, and somebody took it. Or a dog dragged it off?”
Julia thought about that a moment. “That’s a good question for the guys you assigned to canvass the neighborhood.”
“If there was anything left behind, our guys will find it,” Tim told them.
“Who discovered the body?”
“Actually, it was a security guard on a drive-through,” Will answered. “There have been some break-ins on this street during the last few months.”
“Anything violent?” Julia asked.
“Burglaries for the most part. No one hurt. No one caught. Security says it’s probably some teenagers out for the thrill.”
“We’ll have to check all of that out.”
“I’ve already assigned it. Tim, if you’re finished here, let’s get this body down and laid out so Pete can release it to the morgue.”
Will Brannock was dead tired. He hadn’t slept much, and he’d gotten the Varranzo call just before dawn. He and Julia had been working the scene for going on six hours, helping forensics and questioning Varranzo’s staff and neighbors. Will had been the one who had notified the ex-husband, a prime suspect until they learned that Austin Varranzo, a world-renowned architect, lived in London and had been at a play where he sat in a theater box with eleven other people. Any one of them could verify his presence there around the time of Gloria’s death. Austin wanted to notify their two children himself, a son in college at Harvard; a daughter at USC. Will was only too glad to let him break that bad news.
Stooping to look again at the pattern of blood soaked into the thick, white bedroom carpet, he watched Julia Cass for a moment. She was tireless when working a crime scene. All the forensic technicians liked her already, admired her, and hell, so did he. In lots of ways. He had pushed it too far last night, had done it again this morning in the truck. She just wasn’t ready, and she was right. He wasn’t going to force the issue again. But she had enjoyed that intimacy on the riverbank as much as he had. She had opened her lips under his and welcomed him inside her mouth, and into her life. Across the room, Julia suddenly looked up at him, as if she sensed he was watching. She raised a quizzical dark brow when she found his eyes riveted on her.
His phone rang, and he was glad for a distraction. He pulled it out, touching the screen. It was the TBI Chattanooga office.
“Yeah, Special Agent Brannock.”
“Will, you’ve got a call from the Las Vegas Police Department. Wanna take it now?”
Will’s heart stood still for a second. “Yeah, patch it through.”
“Special Agent Will Brannock?” said a deep voice on the other end.
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“We just picked up a woman by the name of Maria Bota. You put a BOLO out on her, right?”
For the first time that day, Will smiled, a sense of relief running through him. “Great news. Is she still in custody?”
“Yes. We’ve got her at central booking.”
“We’ve got to interview her for a multiple-murder investigation. One victim’s a federal judge. Hold her until we get there.”
“Then get here quick. We can’t hold her forever without cause.”
“We’ll leave here ASAP. Can we get access to her later today or tonight?”
“Yeah, I’ll pave the way at booking. They’ll probably keep her down there overnight.”
He pocketed his phone and headed straight for Julia.
“Pack a bag. They’ve picked up Maria Bota in Vegas. We’re flying out there as soon as you can get ready.”
“Why? If she’s out of state, she can’t be the perp.”
“No, but she ran from us. That makes me think she knows more than she’s telling us. My gut tells me she’s hiding something.”
“Okay. Take me to my car, and I’ll meet you at the airport in an hour.”
Will handed her his keys. “Take my truck, and pick me up back here. Make that thirty minutes.”
“What about your clothes?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not exactly worried about it, Brannock.”
“I keep a change of clothes in my truck.”
Will felt like squirming under the accusatory look in her eyes. He knew what she was thinking, but she was dead wrong. This wasn’t the time to talk about it. He wanted to interrogate Maria Bota and bring her back to Tennessee, if need be. Julia walked off without another word. Will moved a few steps away and punched in another number on his phone. He smiled when he heard the voice at the other end, very pleased to hear it. It had been way too long.
“How do you feel about me using the jet to come out there?”
He listened a moment. “Great. Can you get me the suite? I sure would appreciate it.”
After a brief conversation, he hung up and went back to work. He wasn’t in the mood for a crowded passenger jet or for waiting around for two available seats. He needed a quiet atmosphere where he could think things through and plan for the interrogation. Maria Bota was hiding something, perhaps even a key that would help them crack this case. His inner voice kept telling him that, and one thing he’d learned throughout his years in law enforcement was to listen to his instincts.
Chapter 18
“What’s this? Donald Trump joining us on the flight?” Julia asked Will as they walked out across the tarmac to the sleek maroon-and-tan private jet waiting for them.
“This is our ride.”
Will strode on, but Julia stopped in midstride. “Wait a minute, are you serious? We’re taking a private jet to Las Vegas?”
“That’s right. C’mon.”
Julia caught up with him. “Man alive, you special agents do like to travel in style. The rest of us peons fly tourist.”
When they reached the jet, Will started manually checking the outside of the plane and doing all kinds of other pilotlike things.
Julia trailed along. “I hope you don’t break any of this stuff.”
Without comment, Will kept doing what he was doing. Julia frowned until he finished, stood back, and allowed her to precede him up the steps. “Just to be clear, this isn’t the Bureau’s. It belongs to a friend of mine. I can get access to it whenever I need to get somewhere fast.”
“Wish I had friends like that.”
Will gave her that splendid smile of his. Aha, he was loosening up about last night. “Maybe I’ll introduce you someday.”
“You? Introduce me to a personal friend? I think not. Trust me, I’m not going to hold my breath until that happens. You’ll probably make him wear a mask and cloak.”
“Don’t forget the dagger.”
Julia had to laugh. She’d never been on a private jet and had to admit it was pretty cool and überluxurious. The interior sported maroon and tan decor. The walls were tan with a maroon stripe at midwall. The carpet was maroon, and both couches and the six leather swivel chairs were tan. There was also what looked like a fully equipped galley in the rear, and even better, a wet bar with lots of bottles lined up behind secured glass doors. All very snob-o-licious and privileged. She felt mightily out of place. Then, of course, there was that good-looking, coppery-haired private hostess who hastily made her way out to Will’s side. They air-kissed on each cheek, European-style. Yuck.
“Hello, Will. It’s so good to see you again. How have you been?” Very heavy accent. Scandinavian, perhaps?
“Good. Everything okay with you?”
“Oh yes, I’m looking forward to my day off tomorrow.”
“Well, you just got today off, too. Grab your things. We’ve got to get this baby off the ground.”
Belatedly, he remembered to introduce them.
Tsk-tsk, Brannock, where are your manners?
“Julia Cass, this is Barbie Johanssen. Barbie, this is Julia.”
Of course her name would be Barbie. What else would it be? Julia watched Norwegian Barbie twist her hips back down to the galley. She did indeed look like a Barbie doll: large breasts; long legs; tiny, waspish waist; and short black skirt.
“Wow. I’d say this friend of yours knows how to spell luxury. He also seems to know what kind of flight attendants you prefer. Redheads must really ring your bell, Brannock.” She was kidding, sort of, and he looked annoyed, sort of. Yes, maybe his irk was rising back to the just-above-mild level.
“You’re never going to let that rest, are you?”
“Probably not, if it gets this kind of rise out of you. But hey, I’m just kidding. Don’t be so sensitive.”
The pilot was next to appear. He exited the cockpit door and strode toward them, rolling a small black suitcase with one hand. He was an older man, probably in his sixties. He was deeply tanned, had a trim build, and was not much taller than Julia. He and Will shook hands and seemed to know each other very well.
“Julia, this is Jim Cooper. Coop, this is Julia Cass.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, a little concerned when Barbie showed up with her own rolling bag and the two of them headed for the exit door.
“I thought we were in a hurry,” she said, slightly alarmed when Will pressed a button that started the door closing behind them. “Whoa, wait a cotton-picking minute. Where are they going?”
Will didn’t answer at first, just listened for the pneumatic hiss of the vacuum, then twisted the lever. He headed off toward the cockpit.
“Will? Wait a minute here. I’m not liking the looks of this at all.” She followed Brannock and found him calmly strapping himself into the pilot’s seat.
“Sit down,” he said. “You get to be my copilot.”
“Oh no. No way. I’m not going anywhere without a real pilot.”
“I’m a real pilot. In fact, I’ve got more hours in the air than Coop does. You’re safe with me.” He looked up at her, amusement glinting in his brown eyes. “Trust me. You’re in good hands. I promise.”
Forcing down a swallow, Julia still hesitated. She watched him flip all kinds of switches and press some buttons, and then settle his headphones over his ears. She could feel her heart beating fast inside her breast, but she sat down in the seat and fastened the seat belt. Will Brannock was just full of surprises.
After a moment of clearing takeoff with the air traffic control tower, Will pulled off the headset and looked at her. “Don’t be nervous. I know what I’m doing. I’ve flown planes since I was eighteen. Trust me.”
“Jets this size?”
“Well, this kind, just since I was twenty-three. Relax, enjoy the flight.”
“I do trust you, but maybe not so much at thirty thousand feet.”
“Put on your headphones. Take a nap. We’ll be there in three or four hours.”
“Yeah, right. Believe me, I’m going to sit here and watch every move you make. I’m nervous flying anyway, so you’d better not be lying to me.”
“Yeah, sorry, but I’m lying. I’ve never been in a cockpit before. I decided to try it out and see if it’s as complicated as they say.”
“Ooh, sarcasm is alive and well in Special Agent Brannock.”
“You’re going to owe me the biggest apology you’ve ever given, once we land safely at McCarran International.”
“You act almost excited about this trip.”
“I am. I love to fly, and don’t get to do it very often. On top of that, my gut tells me that Maria’s going to tell us something we need to know.”
Julia tried to relax as they taxied out to the runway and awaited their turn for takeoff. He seemed to know what he was doing, and Will wasn’t a moron. Surely, he wouldn’t take the controls if he didn’t know what he was doing. Still, she’d be glad when they got to Nevada. She might even kiss the ground like the Pope did.
“C’mon, Cass, relax. All that hand-wringing is making me nervous.”
“Me, making you nervous. That’s a laugh.”
When they got the okay, Will maneuvered the jet out on the tarmac and slowly increased speed until they smoothly lifted off and gained elevation. Julia was gripping the arms of her seat as he banked in a long turn and headed west. He knew what he was doing, she knew that; he was displaying that, but still, it was only the two of them. What if he had a heart attack?
“What if you have a heart attack?”
“I’m going to, if you don’t quit dissing my piloting skills. If it’ll ease your mind, I’ve got some parachutes stashed in the back.”
Julia narrowed her eyes. “Do you really?”
“Hell no. We’re not going to need parachutes. Now go to sleep and give me a break.”
“You’re tired, too. What if you fall asleep?”
“I’ll wake up when the plane goes into a nosedive.”
“Ha-ha, very funny.”
But it was funny, and she had to laugh, be it a shaky one.
“Ah, that’s more like it.” Will glanced over at her. “Relax. You look like a Macy’s window mannequin. Take a nap, figure out if you’re going to let me kiss you again tonight.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“You never get tired of breaking my heart, do you?”
“You’ll get over it soon enough. I’m sure you know more Barbies in Las Vegas.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I know at least fifty, or it might be up to sixty by now, but some of them are Barbs. A few more are Barbaras.”
Smiling, Julia leaned her head back against the seat, a lot more comfortable than she thought she’d be. He handled the controls with ease and skill, and she trusted him to get them across the country in one piece. Sometimes he made her laugh, even when she didn’t want to. A sudden vision of Gloria Varranzo’s body sobered her, and she ran the case in her mind. It wasn’t long before she took Will’s advice and closed her eyes. And that’s pretty much all she remembered about the flight to Las Vegas.
McCarran International was a busy place. Desert winds were buffeting palm trees, newlyweds were excitedly boarding hotel shuttles, and last-minute gamblers were trying their luck with the airport slot machines. Without much ado, Will and Julia got into the new black Lexus left for them by Will’s mysterious friend and headed off to the Las Vegas city jail on Stewart Avenue. The LVPD booking center was a busy place, too, and as they arrived, several police cars were discharging drunken, mouthy prisoners who seemed to have been enjoying the Las Vegas nightlife a tad too much. Yeah, what happened in Vegas stayed in jail in Vegas.
Julia said, “Well now, this is a jumping hot spot tonight. Almost as much as the casinos, I’d say.”
“You ever been out here in Sin City before?”
“Nope, but it’s quite glittery and well lit, I must say.”
“The lights never go out.”
“That’s not very energy efficient.”
“This place has its own kind of energy.” Will shoved the gearshift into park and opened his door. “Let’s go. We’re looking for Sergeant York.”
Julia got out but questioned him over the top of the car. “You’re kidding me. Like the World War One hero, Sergeant York. You know, that movie with Gary Cooper.”
“I guess so. First name’s Archie.”
“I wonder if Archie’s as good a shot. Sergeant York’s my sharpshooting hero. I idolized him when I was nine.”
Inside, they introduced themselves, showed their law enforcement badges, and asked for Archie York. He showed up a moment later and led them to the elevators. Several floors up, they passed some newly booked prisoners shuffling around in orange shirts and pants and flip-flops. Most of them were solemn, hangdog, and behaving themselves, but a few were yelling and screaming cop brutality behind heavy white steel doors. A few were beating their heads against the window. Their jailors didn’t like that much. Four officers rushed a man going berserk in his cell and strapped him into a restraint chair.
As they passed by that commotion, Archie York looked at Julia. “We try to let them detox before we process them. Makes it easier.”
“Yeah, so do we.” Sergeant York was from Texas, she’d bet on it. The cowpoke accent was a dead giveaway. So were the tattoos on his arms. The first one read
Remember the Alamo
in fancy curlicues, and the other one was a very good rendition of the Texas state flag. All he needed was a portrait of Davy Crockett to lock up the deal.
“So what’s this little Bota gal done back in Tennessee?”
“Nothing criminal,” Will answered. “Not yet.”
“She’s been cooperative but acts scared spitless.”
“Where did you pick her up?”
“On the Strip. In Circus Circus. A security guard recognized her.”
Julia said, “Did she have a little boy with her?”
“No, and she wasn’t registered at that hotel. We ran a check and couldn’t find her name registered anywhere on the Strip. No room keys on her, either. Of course, she could’ve been using an alias when she registered.”
“Did she tell you anything?”
“No, she clammed up once we got her in here.”
York stopped in front of one of the quiet cells. A heavy, green plastic curtain covered the outside of the small window on the door.
“Take a look-see. See if it’s your gal.”
Will lifted the flap and took a peek. “That’s her, all right. Can we talk to her inside?”
“Sure. But we’ve got interrogation rooms that you can use if you want.”
“The cell’s fine,” Julia said. “As long as you don’t forget to let us out.”
Her quip was answered with a low guffaw. Yep, he was a Texan, no question about it. “Where are you from, Sergeant? San Antonio?”
“No, Amarillo. How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
York grinned at her.
“Okay, York, quit flirting with the detective and open it up.” That was Brannock, displaying a bit of his testy side. Then again, he hadn’t taken the airborne four-hour nap that Julia had.
Maria Bota sat up on the built-in white iron bench, and the terrified expression on her face indicated that she was not exactly overjoyed to see them. She scooted back into the corner as far as she could get, as if she thought they were going to drag her out by the long, black braid hanging down her back. She had on a pale green knit tank top with gold sequins around the neckline, denim skinny jeans, and a pair of tan low-heeled sandals adorned with plastic sunflowers. Her toenails were painted baby-girl pink. She looked cold. Julia leaned one shoulder against the wall and let Will do the talking. He obliged, and with gusto, at that.