Ronald Tierney - Good To The Last Kiss - Crimes of the Depraved Mind Series

‘The mark?’ Gratelli offered.

‘The rose?’

‘Yes. What do you make of it?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not the right person for this kind of thing. I’m flattered that you asked. I’ve not done any serial killers. Usually there’s something. A mark is not uncommon. A trophy is not uncommon, but you haven’t found any, right?’

‘Not yet. How much do you know about the cases?’

‘Why do I get this feeling you’re not here in search of my prosecutorial wisdom and vast knowledge of the criminal mind?’ He smiled warmly.

‘I don’t know,’ Gratelli said. ‘You mind if I use the bathroom?’

‘One through there,’ Seidman said. ‘Can I fix you a drink, while you’re freshening up?’

‘Sure,’ Gratelli said. ‘Any old whiskey will do. Scotch. Irish. Italian.’

‘Italian whiskey taste anything like Italian beer?’ Seidman asked. ‘Is there such a thing as Italian whiskey?’

The bathroom yielded no bottles of anything. This was the guest bathroom. If Seidman had colognes and aftershave, they would be in the upstairs bath or dressing room or bedroom, whatever.

Seidman’s home was nice. Expensive. Anyone who owned a single family dwelling had to have some money in this city. Having a house slightly larger than modest in a neighborhood slightly more than the usual still meant that the wealthy David Seidman wasn’t showing off his wealth. His clothing was probably off the rack too. Nice stuff. But off the rack. Would he invest in an expensive, custom-made perfume?

‘So,’ Seidman said, giving Gratelli a glass a quarter filled with caramel-colored liquid. ‘I’m still a suspect.’ Seidman smiled. ‘Jilted boyfriend? That it?’

‘Listen, this isn’t formal…’

‘I know, they want this case closed and all the bodies attributed to a crazy dead criminal. Good for the force. And they need this one, don’t they? They have other bodies in embarrassing places.’

‘Yes.’

‘This is good for you too. City cop, first on the scene. What’s eating you?’

‘This one doesn’t fit,’ Gratelli said.

‘This is the only one that does fit, Inspector. The others are speculation. I mean we’ve got a classic return to the scene of the crime.’

‘You followed this closely?’

‘Sure, after the attack on Julia, I sure did.’

‘Why did you call it a “rose”?’

‘That was what it was, wasn’t it?’

‘But why did you call it that? Did you see it?’

‘No. Somebody told me.’

‘Who?’ Gratelli asked.

‘I don’t know. Paul Chang, maybe.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘No, I remember. It was your partner.’

‘Mickey?’

‘Yes.’

‘He told you?’ Gratelli was puzzled. ‘When?’

‘I stopped in Homicide. He was at the desk. Why?’

‘Why?’ Gratelli asked.

‘I wanted to know. Wouldn’t you? It was Julia. And I promised Paul I’d make sure the case didn’t get lost.’

‘Your friend, Paul?’

‘I know what I’ve said about him. Sometimes I’m an ass. I know he cares about her and I didn’t want him playing amateur detective in a murder. Anyway, your partner said something about it being a rose. He’d just talked to the medical examiner. He asked me some questions. Wanted to know about her habits. I told him. I think he was checking me out too. Actually, I think the case got to him.’

‘He didn’t tell me that. Didn’t write it down.’

‘I can’t help you there.’

‘Did he tell you how the girls died?’

‘Strangled, right?’

‘That’s what he told you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t understand why you two met. He didn’t tell me,’ Gratelli said more to himself than to Seidman.

‘I don’t know what to tell you about that,’ Seidman said. ‘You’re pretty good at the questions. The girls weren’t strangled, were they? And obliquely, what you’re telling me is that the mark isn’t a rose. Am I right?’ There was a pause. ‘Inspector, I’m not an idiot when it comes to cross-examination. How did they die?’

‘Do you happen to have an aspirin, Mr Seidman? This must be Italian whiskey.’

‘Sure, I’ve got some upstairs.’

Gratelli followed him up, but was passed by the terrier. The three went into the bathroom.

‘Nice house,’ Gratelli said, watching as Seidman opened the wooden cabinet. There were bottles, but Gratelli – during his brief glance – was unable to confirm anything that looked like a cologne bottle or anything exotic.

‘It’s private. It’s quiet. No cars.’

‘Keep you in shape, being in the middle of this hill.’

‘Yep. I work out a bit too. Otherwise I’d never make it. You see some of these older women up and down these steps every day. At least once. It’s good for them. They’ll live to ripe old ages. Here, some Excedrin. Good for headaches. Advil?’

‘Excedrin,’ Gratelli said. The bath was pretty ordinary as baths go. The upstairs was small. Two bedrooms up. A dressing room wasn’t likely.

‘You live pretty modestly, Mr Seidman. A bachelor. I understand you’re wealthy. You’d think you’d have Jacuzzis, walk-in closets, one hundred pair of shoes and one hundred and twenty dollar an ounce cologne.’

‘You’ve got me confused with…’

‘With who?’

Seidman smiled. ‘With your caricature of the rich. Then again, nothing innocent comes out of your mouth, does it? You seem interested in my medicine cabinet at the moment. Why don’t you just tell me what you’re looking for, Inspector. It’d be easier.’

‘I thought you’d never ask. Cologne, Mr Seidman.’

‘Some here,’ Seidman said, opening the cabinet again. ‘Some by the shower.’

Gratelli investigated.

‘I’m not much for scents,’ Seidman continued, bringing a gold and silver container that bore the name Armani. ‘Most of the time I go without. I use this when I feel a little insecure.’ He smiled. ‘It was a gift.’

Gratelli sniffed. The case held some Farenheit aftershave in a spray bottle. The inspector found nothing similar to butter or leather in either one. Then again, he wasn’t an expert.

‘So that’s what they mean when they say the “police are sniffing around”?’

‘Yes. But it’s only recently I learned to sniff properly.’

‘Listen. Tell me what you’re on to, here, Inspector. I’ll help. Tell me how I can help. If there’s a killer out there, I want him as badly as you do.’

‘You knew she went up there when she did, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I did. I wanted to go up with her. I was worried. I practically begged. She took it as my just wanting to mend the relationship. Probably was. What can I say? I loved her. Still do. Why would I kill someone I love?’

‘A lot of that going around though, isn’t there?’ Gratelli asked.

‘Yes. There is. I keep forgetting I’m talking to a policeman.’

‘You haven’t forgotten that for one minute, have you?’

‘No,’ David Seidman said. ‘Not for a minute. If you are waiting around for me to confess, it’s not going to happen. I’m serious. Let’s work together. I can put some people on it. You’re probably officially off the case, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. You knew that too.’

‘True. Word gets around.’

‘You probably knew it before I did.’

‘Don’t fight me. Use me,’ Seidman said.

Gratelli didn’t have a chance to use Seidman. In less than a week, the task force judged Earl Falwell to be the sole killer of eight of the girls and Julia Bateman’s attacker and everybody who had to buy into it bought into it. Julia Bateman’s file was closed along with the others.

The serial killer had become old news. The police chief was becoming big news because of the high society, big-time political connections to the body found in the car in St Francis Woods. The body and the case were still in the deep freeze waiting justice or, at the least, disposition.