Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 02 - Murder Takes the Cake (23 page)

Anger flashed across Sandler
‘s face. He fought for control, but was only marginally successful. He resorted to his default position. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“
Did Martha tip off the U.S. Attorney of the Southern district about your past? Did she forward her old files about Theresa Crager’s disappearance?”

The ex-Congressman made no more efforts to hide his feelings.
“The bitch was on a crusade to destroy me. She made it her purpose in life to destroy mine. She had to be stopped. Rest in peace? Bullshit! Let her roast in the fiery pits of hell–and that would still be too good for her.”

Sandler pushed past Mac. He stalked into his office and slammed the door. The interview was over.

***

Mac Sullivan, private eye, stepped out of the 1999 Ford lifted monster show truck. According to Larry Earl, the guy who maintained Jeff
‘s fleet of vehicles, this baby had 44-inch super swamper boggers and a powerful Triton 5.4 Liter V8 engine with a 5 speed manual transmission with overdrive and a hydraulic clutch. Yeah, like he understood a word or cared. Not exactly city fare, but on the other hand, he noticed nobody got in his way as he drove up Georgia Avenue, and it beat paying for cabs. Parking could be a problem though. He imagined the gas mileage was in the low single digits. He really needed to talk to Jeff about what he was willing to take in trade for caskets.

Mac pushed open the glass door to the motel lobby. He squinted from the harsh fluorescent lighting accenting the scratched wood veneer of the lobby counter. A young man, wearing a burnt orange Sikh turban, stood at attention, anxious to help a prospective guest.

“Welcome to Motel Lafayette. How may I help you?”

Mac leaned on the counter and gave his friendliest smile.
“I’m supposed to pick up a package from an old friend. He said he would leave it for me at the desk. My name is Mac Sullivan.”

The desk clerk looked behind the counter, then shook his head.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t see anything here with your name.”

“
Are you sure? My friend is staying with you. His name is Scott Merrell.”

The clerk checked his computer for the name, then visibly stiffened.
“I’m sorry. Mr. Merrell is…isn’t with us any longer.”

Mac changed up his facial expression to one featuring a sincere, but concerned smile.
“When did he check out?”

He could see the clerk struggle with how much information to give.
“Mr. Merrell…left two days ago.”

Mac persisted.
“But did he leave a package for me? When I last spoke to him, he was waiting for an envelope that had the material I need. Do you know if he picked it up before he left?”

He leaned in to share a confidence with the clerk.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but that envelope has the contract papers for a deal my boss has been working on for three months. I don’t want to deal with the explosion from corporate if….” He slid a $20 bill across the counter.

The desk clerk looked nervous, but quickly slipped the bill in his pocket.
“The manager has stepped out, but I’ll check in the back.”

Mac murmured his thanks. While he waiting for the clerk to return, he thought about how many euphemisms the young man had used to avoid saying that Merrell had died.
“Isn’t with us, checked out, left.” Mac thought it might have been easier just to say Scott Merrell had been blown away by a hail of bullets, but maybe that wasn’t enough of a euphemism.

The clerk returned empty-handed.
“There’s nothing back there with your name. I asked Maya, the other desk clerk, and she said she didn’t remember Mr. Merrell picking up an envelope, but his companion, Ms. Silver, did.”

Mac perked up.
“Did Selena leave a forwarding address?”

The clerk frowned.
“Why? She hasn’t checked out.”

Mac was surprised. He was sure Selena would have been back in Beantown as soon as the cops finished questioning her. Maybe they had asked her to stick around for a day or two.

“Is she still in room 12?”

The clerk checked his computer.
“I’m sorry, sir, she moved to room 24, on the second level. I saw her go up about an hour ago”

Mac nodded.
“Thanks. I’ll get the envelope from Selena. My boss will be relieved.”

Mac walked back outside and around the back of the building. He glanced at the parking lot where the hit had gone down. The yellow crime scene tape attached to the fence fluttered in the breeze. The motel had an outside staircase that led to a balcony off which was a row of rooms. He quickly located Room 24.

The drapes had been drawn, but he could see a sliver of light under the doorway. He knocked.

After a moment, he knocked again. Still no answer.

Mac took out a handkerchief and tried the door. It opened. He stepped into the dim room. The light in the bathroom spilled out into the bedroom area.

Selena Silver lay sprawled, seemingly unconscious, across the bed. A residue of white powder, a razor blade, and a rolled up fifty were on the nightstand.

Mac moved quickly. He checked Selena’s pulse. Thready and weak. He flipped open his cell phone and dialed 911, to report an apparent drug overdose.

Before moving out of the room to wait for the ambulance, Mac scanned the room. He didn
‘t have to look far. On the bureau, next to the television, lay a large manila envelope. A quick glance showed it was addressed to Merrell from Brian Crager. The postmark was the day before Crager’s body was discovered.

Mac could hear the sirens growing closer. He used his handkerchief to lift the envelope, but he needn
‘t have bothered. The envelope was empty.

***

Fat Eddie hadn’t lost any weight, and judging from the stains on his shirt, still preferred marinara sauce on his pasta. The pudgy cop smelled of cheap cigars. “You keep showing up at crime scenes, makes me wonder what kind of business you’re in.”

“
This isn’t a crime scene.” Mac winced. He knew better. Of course it was a crime scene. Cocaine was illegal.

“
Yeah, and that’s face powder on the table.” Eddie Gorden was never one to miss the opportunity to state the obvious.

“
Detective business not working out for you?” Fat Eddie pushed into Mac’s personal space. “Maybe you’ve moved into a more lucrative work?”

Mac angrily shoved the fat cop out of his way and walked to where the paramedics were still working on Selena Silver.

“Did you find the patient?”

Mac turned.
“Yeah, I found her.” He reluctantly tore his eyes away from the unconscious Selena to face the younger of the two EMT’s who had responded to the scene. An Asian-American, with a small gold hoop in his left ear, black pants, and a blue shirt with the fire department insignia, the young man was holding a clipboard and looking for answers.

“
Do you know her name? Next of kin? Do you know if she had any allergies?”

“
Her name is Selena Silver. Don’t know anything other than she’s from Boston and her sister’s name is Sally.”

The EMT carefully printed the info in the little boxes on the call sheet.

“Do you know if she’s an addict? What’s she been on?”

Fat Eddie once again moved into Mac
‘s space. The cigar smell and body odor were trying what little patience Mac had. He snapped. “Yeah, so when I said I didn’t know her, I meant I didn’t know her. What the hell do you think happened here?”

The EMT stepped back from the verbal assault.

Mac continued, “Check out the nightstand. My guess is it’s some of Colombia’s finest candy cane.”

Fat Eddie edged forward and poked Mac
‘s chest. “Sullivan, didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

“
Didn’t yours teach you any personal hygiene?”

The EMT
‘s loaded Selena onto a gurney, grabbed her pocketbook for identification purposes, and wheeled her out of the motel room.

Mac started to follow, but Eddie grabbed his sleeve.
“Not so fast, Sullivan. We’ve got some questions.”

Mac shook off the offending hand.
“I’ve got nothing to tell you.”

“
Hey, Mac.”

In the doorway stood Tom Atwood. The young African-American detective was the quiet, thoughtful partner of Eddie Gorden.

Mac cracked a smile. “Hey Tom, we’ve got to stop meeting like this. People will start to talk.”

“
They already are,” Eddie snapped. “Like how come Mac Sullivan is hanging around dives like this with people who are dead or soon-to-be dead.”

Mac ignored Gorden.
“This place still known for tricks and drug deals?” He glanced around the room. The furniture seemed new. “Looks like they’ve been trying to clean the place up.”

Tom nodded.
“Yeah. New owners came in. Re-did the place. Kicked out the pimps and dealers. Been getting a lot of families of soldiers at Walter Reed.”

Mac figured he
‘d cut to the chase. “Why are you here? Not your precinct. Not your kind of crime.”

Tom laughed.
“Hey, you’re hurting my feelings, acting like you don’t want to see me.”

Mac chuckled.

Tom turned to Gorden who was still hovering on the edge of the conversation, looking for an excuse to cuff Mac. “Eddie. Could you check with the front desk and see if the victim had any visitors?”

Reluctantly, the older cop left the room. Tom turned back to Mac.

“Greeley ordered us. Headquarters has assigned him to a task force to clean up this whole area because of Walter Reed. This is the second incident in three days. If there’s trouble brewing, he wants it nipped in the bud. Sent us instead of the regular precinct guys.”

Mac offered up some silent thanks for his old boss
‘s consideration.

“
Come on, Mac. What do you know?”

He sighed, frustrated he didn
‘t know much more than he did when Merrell had been killed. “I’m not sure. Like I told the cops after the shooting, Merrell was in some deep shit in Boston. His wife asked me to find him. I did and the next thing I knew, bullets were flying.”

“
So what brought you back here today?” Tom pushed.

Mac considered how much to reveal. Better he put the spin on it, than Tom or even worse, Fat Eddie, started investigating.
“Merrell told me, before he died, he was expecting an envelope. Maybe it was something his wife would want or need. I came back to see if the front desk was holding it. Turns out Selena had picked it up. Long story short, I came to see her, but she had already found something to ease her pain.” He nodded towards the nightstand.

“
She a regular user?”

Mac considered it.
“Maybe. She had the bloodshot eyes, dilated pupils, and runny nose. I figured she used, but I don’t know how much or how often.”

Atwood narrowed his eyes.
“What happened to the package? Did you take it?”

Mac shook his head and pointed to the empty envelope next to the television.
“Nope. It was empty when I got here. And yes, I looked, but didn’t touch. Maybe it was cash and Selena used it for the coke. Or maybe it was information and she sold it to the highest bidder.”

Tom slipped on some latex gloves and picked up the envelope. It was empty. He put it down.
“I don’t think I’ll need this. I think this is just an overdose, but here’s a helpful suggestion.”

“
What’s that?”

Tom laughed.
“Stay the hell out of our crime scenes. I can’t protect you from Eddie’s love much longer.”

***

“So, no bugs?” Edgar chewed a couple of antacids and picked up another slice of pizza from the open box on JJ’s desk.

“
The office was clean. If there were listening devices, they’re gone now.” JJ repositioned the straw in her diet soda and took another drink. They had spent the morning tying up loose ends. An interview with Martha Martinelli’s family had revealed a heart attack had felled the radio talk show host. Two years ago Martha had undergone heart surgery to put in a stent. One sister had hinted that prescription drugs might have been a factor. JJ wasn’t sure if the sister was just jealous of her sibling’s professional success or if she knew something no one else did. No autopsy was performed.

“
Did you call that restaurant? Jimmy’s?” Edgar asked. “The one where Martha was supposed to meet some Lasky for dinner the day before she died?”

“
Yes. She was there with a man.” JJ picked up a slice of the pizza. She removed the peppers the old man had insisted on. “They remember her, but nothing specific about the guy.”

“
Who made the reservation?”