Authors: Teri Riggs
“Christ.” Wilder waved the picture at Ed. “You want to tell us exactly how this got on your desk?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, it was just sitting here when I came in. I didn’t see anyone around my desk.”
“We’ll send someone over from the crime lab to have a look at your desk and dust for prints.” Wilder passed the photo to Kennedy.
“Sure, no problem.”
Kennedy fumed as Ed went to the supply closet behind him, unlocked the door, and grabbed a ream of paper. He relocked the door and sat down.
“Is this the first time you’ve been contacted by the killer in any way other than by mail?”
“This is a
fir
st
.
I found it minutes before you came in. I called Frankie and you were going to be my next call. But here you are in the flesh.” He sat back down and loaded his printer with the new paper.
“We’re going to want the original of the film you shot at the League of Women Voters dinner last night. We want to look a little closer at the part where Ms. Mixer argued with Nicolas Campenelli.”
“Have you got a court order?” Ed asked.
“Do we need a court order?” Kennedy’s eyes turned all cop.
“I guess not. I’ll go get the film. It’s back in the file room. Give me five minutes to dig it up.”
Wilder turned to Kennedy. “He locks his supply closet?” “Doesn’t like to share, I guess.”
“What an asshole. He really is the ultimate bottom feeder.”
“They don’t get any lower. I’d be willing to bet your left nut that there’s more to the film than Hershey would ever offer up. He’s too slimy for there not to be.”
Wilder looked down at his crotch. “That’s damn generous of you to bet one of my nuts.”
“Yeah, well I try.” Kennedy began nonchalantly shifting through the papers on Ed’s desk. “I wonder if the killer was at the dinner?”
“Right, and we’ll see him on film, maybe with a big sign that says ‘Killer’, and maybe our psycho killer will turn himself in, wrapped in a big red bow with a smile on his face.”
“Wilder, as you’re so fond of saying, ‘eat shit.’”
Wilder look shocked, well maybe it was a very bad attempt at looking shocked. “That’s not very nice.”
“What can I say? Cops aren’t nice people.” “Kenny, you’re a cop.”
“I know,” she quipped.
“Better watch out, I might think you’re beginning to have a sense of humor.”
She arched a brow but didn’t have time to say anything. Ed’s boss had arrived. Kennedy quit shuffling papers.
“You two didn’t waste any time getting here. Where’s Hersh? He asked me to come down. You’d think he’d stick around if he’s going to be dragging my ass down here.”
Kennedy filled the older man in. “Mr. Hershey is getting us the film from last night’s dinner with Nicolas Campenelli.”
“Have you got a court order, Detective O’Brien? I’d like to see it.” He held out a hand.
Before she could reply, Ed returned, empty-handed.
“Sorry, guys,” he shrugged. “The film seems to be missing. I tore the film storage room apart. It’s gone.”
“Is it locked in your creepy little closet here?” Wilder tapped lightly on the locked door.
Looking defiant, Ed stepped between Wilder and the door, crossing his arms across his
che
st
.
“No, but you’re more than welcome to look through it if you’ve got a warrant.”
Wilder growled in Ed’s face, “Find the film. We’ll give you until noon to come up with it. We will be bringing back a court order for it, and one for your DNA. I suggest you find the film quickly and in its original form. Our Electronic Crimes task force will check to see if the film has been altered in any way.”
Kennedy turned to follow Wilder out of the newsroom, and then turned back. “What is it you have against Mr. Campenelli? It seemed like you enjoyed trashing him a little bit too much last night. I didn’t hear you say anything good about him.”
“That’s because there is nothing good to say about him or, for that matter, any of the candidates. I just report the news.”
He looked her over, made her feel like a piece of meat. She straightened her back, but it seemed like he had more to say, so she waited.
“Don’t you find it rather odd that the woman Campenelli was arguing with turned up dead only hours later? Maybe you should be questioning him instead of me. I’m just doing my job.”
“Just doing your job, huh?” She narrowed her eyes as she sneered at him. “Have that film for us, Mr. Hershey, when we come back at noon.” Then to Frank, “Goodbye, Mr. Curtis.”
Ed hurried around the desk and grabbed her elbow. “Maybe we could finish this discussion over dinner tonight. You can pick my brain. I could pick yours. I might be able to help you sort some of this out.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hershey. That’s not possible. I’m in the middle of a murder investigation, and this discussion is already finished.”
Kennedy jerked her arm free of him at the same time Wilder turned and took a step toward them. She gave him a look that let him know she had things under control. Wilder backed off.
“You’re going to have to eat sometime. It might as well be with me. I’m sure we’d enjoy each other’s company.”
“That’s not going to happen. Goodbye.”
As she was leaving, Kennedy noticed Frank giving her body his own slow once over. It was as disgusting as Ed’s. She snarled at him and breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed between them.
“Shit, Wilder. What is this place? Pick Up Palace? You’d think they’d never seen a woman before.”
Wilder laughed. “Hershey has the hots for you, and Curtis was checking you out. The man’s got to be at least thirty years older than you.”
“Yeah, I noticed. I’d have loved to pull out my Sig and blow off his balls.”
Wilder laughed even louder. “What’re you saying? Don’t you want your very own sugar daddy?”
“That is beyond gross. Let’s get out of here before I change my mind and go back and blow his worthless gonads off after all. Make him a soprano.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
KENNEDY’S HEAD TILTED UPWARD AS WILDER, LOOKING UP AT THE TALL, SLEEK BUILDING WITH A MULTITUDE OF GOLD-PLATED WINDOWS, GAVE A LONG WHISTLE.
The building was an unadulterated vision of classy taste without any overblown pretentiousness.
“Campenelli definitely has an address worthy of a Batman Billionaire. We’re talking big bucks here.”
“I’m not impressed, Wilder. This building is too damned tall for my taste.” Her stomach was already doing somersaults.
He held the lobby door opened. “Anything with an elevator is too tall for your taste.”
Kennedy was afraid of elevators. Her mind refused to fathom the fine mechanics of a few small cables hauling a gazillion pound box full of humans up and down an elevator shaft at warp speed.
“Come on, let’s get this ride over with.”
Kennedy followed him into the elevator car and felt the palms of her hands begin to perspire. She was ninety-nine percent sure her face lost all color. When they reached the Penthouse floor, she stumbled out of the flying death trap and was still trying to calm her breathing when Wilder rang the doorbell to Campenelli’s suite.
“Christ, Kenny, you’re awfully pale. You look like you’ve been soaking in a tub of bleach. Hell, you look like Officer Green did the other night. You remember, the rookie first on scene behind Trixy’s Toy Box.”
“Of course I remember. And your compliments are real touching.” “I’m just saying you look a little... well... sick. You okay now?”
“I’m fine. I just don’t happen to like elevators.” She swiped at the little beads of sweat forming above her lip.
“No shit. I’da thought you got over that. You live in fucking Las Vegas, high-rise buildings are everywhere.”
“No big deal. I just don’t particularly care for them.” She smoothed out the sleeves of her linen jacket.
“I forgot. You’re not afraid of anything. You’re a tough...”
The door opened before he could finish. A tall, lanky man with his nose tilted up in the air stood in the opening.
The expensive black suit he wore was pressed to perfection as was his crispy white shirt. The man’s hair was balding on top and his eyebrows were bushy enough to easily house a small family of field mice. He reminded Kennedy of a scarecrow. The mice, no doubt, used the stick that held him up to crawl up into the old guy’s eyebrow housing project. She bit back a smile.
Jeeves the Scarecrow asked them in a very stately voice, “May I help you?”
“Yes, thank you.” Kennedy could sound proper too. “I’m Detective O’Brien and this is my partner, Detective James, Metro homicide. We’d like to speak with Mr. Campenelli.” They showed their shields.
“To what, may I tell Mr. Campenelli, is this in reference?”
“You can’t, Jeeves. Its official business and we won’t be including you in our conversation.” So much for proper.
Without waiting for an invitation, Kennedy and Wilder stepped inside the foyer, forcing the scarecrow to step back. Jeeves promptly left, presumably to inform his employer of the visitors.
“Wow. Look at that chandelier. It probably cost more than my house. Hell, it probably cost more than my house and car combined.”
Wilder was whispering. The place was that kind of awesome, Kennedy noted as she looked around. The floor of the penthouse’s entrance foyer was made of gleaming marble. The crystals from the chandelier produced a magnificent, twinkling light show as they danced, making brilliant colors bounce off the shiny floor.
In the center of the massive foyer sat a huge round cherry wood table with a large crystal vase full of flowers. There were at least four dozen flowers wedged in the vase. The perfumed smell of the flowers overwhelmed her, a far cry from the smells of death she was used to.
Kennedy’s nose twitched. “This place smells kind of flowery, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. Flowery.” Wilder mocked her as he threw back his head and inhaled deeply. She elbowed him in the gut.
“Christ Jesus, Kenny. I’m just giving you an answer to your question. Take it easy on my old-man body.”
“Then don’t piss me off.”
“All right, already. Just keep those bony little elbows to yourself.”
The rest of the penthouse they could see looked as elegant as the foyer. The huge living room had the same marble flooring as the foyer. An oversized couch and chairs looked as soft as marshmallows, the kind you sat on and sank all the way down to China. Nothing like her worn out, second-hand couch.
Obviously expensive rugs—a far cry from Kennedy’s Goodwill finds—hugged the marble floors. They, along with the glow from well-placed Tiffany style lamps, gave the museum-sized room a warm, homey look.
Art work decorated the walls. Kennedy didn’t know much about art, but she’d guess the pieces hanging in this room were expensive. A crystal vase with intricate etchings sat on its own lighted pedestal. It was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful pieces Kennedy had ever seen. Several smaller vases were filled with flowers and spread around the room. They were nice, but not even in the same league as the lighted vase.
“What a place, definitely as striking as the man who lives here.” Oops. Kennedy felt a curl of heat flushing over her face. Her voice sounded sheepish even to her. “Shit, did I say that out loud?”
“You sure did. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that about anyone. Not even my own striking self!”
“Damn it, cut me a break here. No smart ass remarks, okay?” She raised a brow. “If you push me, I’ll sic Jeeves the Scarecrow on you.”
“My lips are sealed. This place is spectacular, all right. A bit too small for me. Personally, I like a little more elbow room to stretch out after a long day at the office. I prefer more space between me and my butler. This would never do. How about you, would you give up your spectacular apartment at the Windsor Arms for a place like this?”
“I swear you’re a fucking Rodney Dangerfield-wanna-be lately.”
Kennedy heard the low rumbling of someone clearing his throat, then a voice, strong and clear. “I’m Nick Campenelli. How may I help you?”
Kennedy was caught off guard, wondering how much of their conversation Campenelli’d overheard. Her mouth went dry and she was sure she’d swallowed the foot she’d just stuck in her mouth.
Wilder
smiled, surprised to see his partner embarrassed, even more surprised to see her speechless. A day of surprises. Showing Nick his badge, he made the introductions. “This is my partner, Detective O’Brien. I’m Detective James. Thank you for taking the time to visit with us.”
The man studied Wilder’s shield for a moment. “What can I help you with?”
“We’re here in regard to a Ms. Phoebe Mixer. We understand you and Ms. Mixer had quite a heated discussion last night.”
Wilder took a small notebook and an ink pen out of his jacket pocket; the soft click of the pen echoed through the large room.