Nun Too Soon (A Giulia Driscoll Mystery Book 1) (7 page)

Eleven

Giulia heaved the delivery box onto her desk and extracted a gray folder labeled “Fitch/Gil correspondence” and the case number.

“Let’s move onto the emails you and Ms. Gil exchanged at work.”

Fitch dropped into her client chair exactly like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

“You’re a woman. Tell me what it is with you women and drama.”

Giulia’s back stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

“You know. The angry texts. The weepy voicemails. Emails like these. Did you read them?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know what I’m talking about.” He pulled the folder toward him and opened it. “I mean, come on. ‘
Mi querido
, I wept into my pillow half the night after you left. Why do you say such cruel words to me, who you have called the queen of your heart?’”

Giulia tried and failed to imagine Roger Fitch saying those words to anyone. “What did you say to Ms. Gil to cause her to send you such a personal email on the work server?”

Fitch grumbled. “I don’t remember. I probably saw a babe in a short skirt and said she looked better in it than Lori would. If anything could set her off, comparing her to a hot blonde cheerleader was number one.” He wagged his eyebrows. “Nothing beats a pair of long legs in a short skirt.”

All he needed was a cigar and a greasepaint mustache and he’d be Groucho Marx.

“If Ms. Gil disliked hearing such remarks, why didn’t you keep them to yourself?”

“Seriously? Jeez, women are insecure. Guys don’t give a crap about being compared to other guys, not if they’re confident in their own prowess. Lori was gorgeous, sexy, and had
cojones
. She should’ve known I wouldn’t dump her for some blonde bimbo.”

“That’s why you replied—” Giulia retrieved the folder and checked the time stamp on the next sheet— “four minutes later, also on the company server?”

“Ah, company email use is flexible. The VP of Research runs two outside football pools on his, plus the office one. So yeah I answered Lori right back. Upper management loved us. I wasn’t worried.”

Giulia skipped the next two pages. “Not even when, two replies later, you described in detail your plans for your makeup evening?”

He spread his palms out. “What? I said I’d take her dancing at her favorite club.”

“Mr. Fitch, please don’t sham disingenuous. I’m referring to the paragraph after that, in which you detail what she should wear under her miniskirt and spandex top and how you planned to end the evening.”

One side of Fitch’s mouth curled in a salacious half-grin.  The ruler in Giulia’s desk was begging her to use it to rap his knuckles.

“Yeah, well, Lori’d get into this ‘I’m not white and blonde and perfect’ funk. I knew how to snap her out of it.” He flicked the open folder. “Management likes happy employees. Happy employees perform better. I made Lori happy, which made me happy, which made me a better salesman. Simple.”

Giulia flipped to the last page. “Then this rebuke from management to both of you meant nothing?”

“Pfft. A speed bump. Nah not even that. A pebble. You check my sales figures for that month. I guarantee they were up.”

Giulia squeezed her forehead with her thumb and index finger. “Nevertheless, these emails are an indication your relationship was volatile.”

Fitch stood and walked away from the desk. “Oh, come on. Everybody fights. The cops tried to make me admit that Lori and I were unstable and, yeah, volatile. Stupid word. We kept our relationship interesting.” He swept his arms wide, encompassing the room. “We were nothing like this room, all pale and boring. We were bright colors and loud music and excitement.”

“That’s quite poetic. I’ll keep it in mind as I gather information about your case.” She clicked a blank page in the spreadsheet. “As part of going over the same ground as the police, I’d like to talk to some of the people they interviewed, if that’s all right.”

Fitch resumed his circuits of the office. “If it’ll get me closer to freedom, I’m all for it.”

“Thank you for being so cooperative.”

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I? Most of my dirty laundry is going to get paraded in front of a jury in two weeks. You’re only one person. I can handle you knowing my sordid side.”

He dictated names, addresses, and phone numbers for Loriela’s mother, the bartender Loriela dated, the co-worker who told him about the video, three of their neighbors, and Loriela’s former co-worker who got passed over for promotion.

The clock in her icon tray read 11:10. Giulia stood. “Mr. Fitch, that’s plenty for me to work on for the next day or two. You’ve been suspended from your job for the time being, correct?”

“Yeah. What else could they do? They can’t fire me because it’ll be bad for their image when you and Colby prove I didn’t do it. But they’re—quote—giving me this time off to prepare my defense—unquote. With pay, since it’s a small risk for them.”

“You’re cynical.”

“I’m realistic. For the past year I’ve been working exactly as hard as I did before all this started. This way they don’t have the aggravation of training a new employee. When I’m cleared, they welcome me back all smug and self-righteous. They’re also thinking that just in case I’m guilty, they come out of it pure as the driven snow and all that crap because they kept faith with their employee no matter what.”

Giulia opened her door onto the main office. “I wish I could find an argument against all that.”

Zane said into the phone, “Certainly we won’t contact you via email if you prefer we call your cell number.”

Sidney pounded her index finger on her keyboard. “I said add a page number
and
a header, you ridiculous machine!”

Giulia walked Fitch to the main door. “Expect to hear from me late tomorrow. It could be very late, so don’t be concerned if I don’t call you by five o’clock.”

Roger Fitch, suspected murderer, possible embezzler, violent yet ego-driven charmer, turned his charming smile on Giulia.

“If you’ll forgive a cliché, my life is in your hands.”

Giulia turned Bambi eyes on him. “No, I really can’t forgive anything as obvious as that. I’m sure a top salesman like you would never resort to canned phrases.”

He laughed. “You win that round. I’ll stop playing the ‘poor me’ card. All business from here on.”

Twelve

Giulia closed the door behind Fitch and sagged against it.

Zane covered his phone. “Ms. Driscoll? Are you okay?”

Giulia waved at him to continue the conversation.

Sidney’s fingers didn’t miss a key. “Let me start a list: Number one, his ego. Number two, his ego. Number three, his ego. Want me to lure him out to the farm so Belle can spit on him?”

Laughter burst from Giulia’s mouth. Zane huddled over his phone. Giulia tiptoed over to Sidney’s desk and sank into her client chair.

“I do not like that man.”

Sidney giggled. “I don’t think he realizes it. I bet he thinks he’s bamboozled you into believing everything he says, even though I can tell you were grilling him in there. Olivier could write an article for
Psychology Today
about him. He’s been published in smaller journals, but he’s still trying to get past
PT’s
form rejections.”

“Olivier is welcome to him after the trial, when he’s fair game.”

“Cool. I’ll tell him tonight.” Sidney grunted and shifted in her chair. “Mini-Sidney is not Zen today at all.”

Giulia moaned under her breath. “Sidney, if you need to leave...”

Sidney got herself resettled. “Huh? It’s not even noon. I don’t have much room for lunch these days anyway.”

“No. I mean if you need to start your maternity leave today, you should do it. I don’t want to guilt you into staying if it’s not good for both of you.”

Sidney patted Giulia’s hand. “You’ll never get a reputation as a cold, evil boss if you keep being all concerned and kind like this.” She leaned closer. “I’m fine, honest. My doctor says I’m in great shape.”

“If that changes, you tell me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sidney giggled, but regained her serious expression a moment later. “You haven’t really fallen for that guy’s act, have you?”

“Give me credit for functioning brain cells. He ought to have one of those red bisected-circle ‘NO’ signs tattooed on his forehead.” Giulia stretched the small of her back. “Fortunately for him, I don’t have to like or trust him to make sure I do everything in my power to discover his guilt or innocence.”

Sidney’s phone rang. “Now who’s talking in clichés?”

“Ick. You’re right. I’m going out to clear my head.”

Giulia parked the Nunmobile in Precinct Nine’s side lot. Two patrol cars passed her, the drivers giving her a quick wave. A chunk of cement was missing from the second step leading to the front door and some shiny new scrapes decorated the railing. A screaming male voice hit her like a rock as soon as she turned the door handle.

“I’ll sue you for false arrest! My lawyer’ll ram that bullshit warrant down your throat, you dirty bastards!” Clanking metal and high-pitched rasping noises accompanied the voice.

The Bond Girl wannabe at the reception desk rolled her multi-shaded eyes at Giulia.

“You know what I love about this job? It’s so peaceful.” She pointed a turquoise nail toward the noise. “You take karate lessons, right? Detective Driscoll might want to borrow you.”

Giulia walked into the central office space. Two of the six desks were shoved against each other and one computer monitor lay on the floor surrounded by its shattered frame. A scarecrow in camouflage jerked against the handcuffs locking his hands and feet to the legs of one of the desks. His long, greasy hair kept getting caught in his mouth as he cursed everyone in the room. Giulia walked around the perimeter, as far as possible from the prisoner’s stinks of body odor and stale weed.

She spotted her husband typing on a keyboard at a desk not his own. His charcoal gray suit and dark blue shirt were unrumpled, his short ginger hair looked as startled as it always did. Only the jagged rip in his striped tie marred his appearance.

His partner’s suit...ouch. One sleeve ripped at the shoulder, tie shoved into his flapping pants pocket, a bruise forming on his left cheekbone, and an open cut on his forehead.

Giulia made her way to her husband’s temporary desk. The curses from the handcuffed prisoner got more colorful when he caught sight of her.

Frank looked up from the keyboard, took in Giulia, then took in the prisoner’s line of sight. “Hey, Weed Boy! Shut up before I stuff a dishtowel in your mouth.”

“Come over here and try, pig!” More invective followed.

Three different detectives yelled into their phones over the shouts. One uniformed officer pounded a keyboard at the unbroken monitor next to the desk housing the prisoner. The cop’s nose wrinkled every time the prisoner opened his mouth.

Captain Reilly came to the doorway of his own small office. “I knew I should’ve taken today off—Giulia!” He snatched her off the floor and embraced her. “I apologize for the idiot over there. If you come work for me, I promise nothing like that will ever happen again.”

“Jimmy, what did the nuns teach you about where liars go when they die?” Giulia said when he let her down. “Your Saturday confessions must be very interesting.”

The prisoner scraped the desk across the linoleum. Everyone winced.

“Think of the good influence you’d bring to this godforsaken place.”

“Jimmy, stop tempting my wife,” Frank said. “She owns her own business now. Why in God’s name would she chuck it all to work here?” He saved the document and pulled Giulia over to his desk. “Hey, honey. What’s up?” And he kissed her.

Giulia ignored the “ooohs” and whistles. When they separated, she said, “You look good.”

“So do you. I like the way you fill out that sweater.”

More “ooohs.”

Giulia made a face at him. “Thank you, darling. Who’s the sweetheart on the floor and can we bill him for a new tie?”

“We could sell a tenth of his hydroponic basement garden and outfit everybody in the room.” Frank jerked his head toward his partner. “VanHorne here really does want to thank him for the injuries.”

“What? Why?”

Frank winked. “He’s got a date tonight. Chicks dig scars.”

“Screw you, Driscoll,” his partner said. “Apologies, Giulia.”

“No worries, Nash. Are you still seeing the pharmaceutical sales rep from Christmas?”

“Yeah.” His roughed-up face reddened a little. “We had a pregnancy scare last month. You know how it is: The one time we don’t use a condom, and sure enough, she’s late. Turned out to be only a scare, but it got me thinking that we would’ve had to get married.” He broke off and yelled over to the prisoner, “Close your mouth, druggie. Your breath is stinking up the place.” He smiled at Giulia. “Then it got me thinking that marrying her wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

Giulia grinned. “Does she have the same idea?”

“I think so.” His smile became shy.

Frank still typing, said, “Go on. Show her the ring.”

The younger detective took out his wallet and removed a folded white handkerchief. He draped the corners of it over his open hand and revealed a plain gold band set with a square-cut sea-green stone.

“It’s lovely,” Giulia said. “That’s not an emerald, right?”

“I knew you’d pick up on that. None of the Neanderthals in this joint did.”

A chorus of grunts and cartoon caveman noises came from the other desks.

Nash ignored them. “It’s a green sapphire. She’s into greens—the color looks good with her blonde hair. She’s got nothing like this, though.”

“So go get that cut looked at, Mister Romance. Who knows what germs are crawling around the Screaming Wonder’s skin.” Frank closed and sent the report.

“Yeah, yeah. I got a mother back in Cleveland, you know.”

Giulia folded the handkerchief back into place. “Ignore him. I could tell you a ton of stories about the adorable romantic surprises he’s cooked up for me.”

Jimmy guffawed. The detective at the desk behind Frank got a case of the coughs.

Frank raised two fists to the ceiling. “Woman, why do you emasculate me in front of my brethren in arms?”

Giulia winked at Nash.

Jimmy said, “See how you mother everyone in here? What can I do to bring you into our fold, Giulia? There must be a way to tempt you.”

The desk near the door screeched on the linoleum again. “Unlock these cuffs, you bastards, or I’ll sue you for police brutality!”

All four of them turned their heads to gaze toward the other side of the room.

Giulia made an expressive open-hand gesture and paired it with a rueful smile which clearly indicated “Not going to happen.”

Jimmy hung his head. “If it were legal, rest assured I’d take my desolation out on that idiot on the floor.”

“I could recommend a good lawyer,” Giulia said. “Speaking of lawyers, may I borrow my husband for a few minutes?”

Nash said, “Sure, go ahead. I’ll get Anderson to help me wrestle our guest into a holding cell.”

Frank escorted Giulia into one of the interrogation rooms.

“These cinderblock boxes give me the creeps.”

“Aha,” Frank said. “What guilty secret are you hiding, Mrs. Driscoll?”

“You wish. It’s just that they remind me of one of the less pleasant convents I lived in.” She shivered. “Can you really handcuff someone to a desk like that in the twenty-first century?”

Frank’s smile vanished. “We can when he is awake, not under the influence of any substance which would cause him to injure himself or choke on his own vomit, does not have any physical impairment which would cause him injury, and when the alternative is for one of us to take that computer monitor he busted and smash it over his head. Okay, I made that last one up. Nash and I had a hell of a time getting him from our car into the building, and he went berserk when he saw that the only other exit from our main room leads deeper into the building. Took four of us to get him on the floor and cuffed to the desk like that.” His smile reappeared. “Weed Boy in cuffs is the culmination of five months’ work. Idiot should’ve opened a legitimate hydroponic garden store instead. His setup was genius.” He flopped into the chair behind the small, square desk. “What’s up?”

“I’m going on an interview binge starting now and lasting through tomorrow night. You’re on leftovers for the duration. My goal is to snag seven of the Silk Tie case’s neighbors, co-workers, and ex-girlfriends.”

“I’d say you were wasting your time, but since you’re getting paid, good luck with it.”

Giulia poked his ribs. “You, sir, are the poster child for cynicism.”

“Nope. For realism. You don’t really think this guy is innocent, do you?”

Giulia considered her answer. “Honestly? I think the odds are six to one he’s guilty and three to two he’s an accessory and someone else really strangled the victim.”

Her husband stood, leaned his hands on the desk, and loomed over her. “And I’m stuck eating nuked sauce because of those lousy odds?”

Giulia gave him her most beatific smile. “We all have our crosses to bear.”

“Oh, God.” Frank reached over and shuffed the top of Giulia’s head. “Whew. Despite indications to the contrary, no invisible veil perches atop my wife’s hair.”

She laughed. “I apologize for freaking you out. Sometimes the old me peeks out before I can squash her.” She stood. “To distract you, I have a relevant work question. Did whoever was in charge of the Silk Tie investigation get surveillance footage from the apartment building?”

“I’m sure they did. It’s routine. That lawyer didn’t give it to you? He must have a copy.”

“No. He also withheld some information from me that Roger Fitch gave me on his own. Apparently the lawyer thought it’d prejudice me against my client.”

They looked across the little desk at each other.

“Really,” Frank said.

“Really. Before you ask: Yes, he’s now on my list of suspects. He’s not high on the list, but he made a rookie mistake, and he’s not a rookie.”

“A lawyer keeping secrets. What a shock.”

“Indeed. Now, sir, would you be so kind as to check on that footage while I make a few phone calls?”