Frank Zafiro: Some Degree of Murder

She cried softly again. I waited while she looked away and dabbed at her eyes.

“Mrs. Taylor, do you think it’s possible that any sort of inappropriate relationship may have existed between Fawn and her step-father?”

“What?!”

“It’s a question I have to ask, even if there weren’t a few signs.”

“Are you asking me if Steven was having sex with Fawn?” Her voice rose an octave.

I paused. “I’m asking if you think there was any sort of inappropriate — “

“I can’t believe this.”

“Mrs. Taylor, I have to explore every possibility, even if only to eliminate it.”

“Well, you can eliminate that!” she snapped. “Steven has been an excellent father. He would never do anything like that.”

“Okay.”

She shook her head. “Are you doing anything to actually solve this case?”

“I’m doing everything I-“

“Have you found my daughter’s killer?”

“No.”

“Please leave, detective.” She looked away, dismissing me.

“Mrs. Taylor-“

“Go.”

I rose and walked out of the room. When I reached the front door, I opened it and stepped onto the porch. The door was heavy and made a solid thunk when I shut it. I stood still for a moment, wondering if I was going to get a complaint out of this. Crawford would take it, that was for sure, but I decided it would never go anywhere.

Just like that interview.

I started down the steps toward my car when I heard the front door open. I turned to face Steve Taylor. I expected him to be angry, but he seemed strangely calm.

“I thought you wanted to talk to both of us, detective.”

“Your wife was upset at the questions I asked. She wanted me to leave.”

“What questions?”

I took a breath and sat down on the steps. I motioned to the steps next to me. He sat down, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Did you ever hear from Fawn after she ran away?”

He shook his head. “No. I think that was part of what has been hardest for my wife.”

“What do you mean?”

“No goodbye.”

“She seems a little better than even a few days ago,” I noted.

He shrugged and looked down at his toes.

“Mr. Taylor, if there’s something you want to tell me, now would be a good time.”

He shook his head slightly and then ran his fingers through his hair. “There’s nothing to tell. She’s coping. That’s all.”

“How close were you to Fawn?”

He turned to face me. “I loved her,” he said. “She was my daughter.”

“Your wife said that Fawn hated her. Do you think that’s true?”

Taylor sighed. “That’s her grief talking. Fawn didn’t hate her or me. She was just going through a phase. She was struggling.”

“Struggling with what?”

“Becoming a woman. Being wealthy. Living by the rules. The same things every kid goes through, I would say.”

“No special problems?”

“I don’t think so. She was just acting out and took it too far.”

“Usually,” I told him, “running away is a response to something. Either a single incident or sometimes just a build up over time. Can you think of anything like that in Fawn’s life?”

Taylor sat staring at the walkway below us. After a few moments, he shook his head. “I really can’t, detective. She just…rebelled.”

I watched him carefully. “Were you two close?”

“I was the only father she ever knew. I don’t think Andie ever told her otherwise.”

Steven Taylor met my gaze and I read his eyes. They were troubled, but without guilt. “I asked your wife was if she thought it possible that you and Fawn had an inappropriate relationship.”

His eyes registered confusion for a moment, then widened in surprise. “You mean sexually?”

I nodded and watched him.

A hint of anger flared in his eyes but it was gone immediately, replaced by sadness. “No, detective. Fawn was my daughter. I loved her. There was nothing…inappropriate.”

“Your wife was angry that I asked.”

“I’m not surprised. She’s very sensitive about the issue of Fawn’s fatherhood.”

“You’re not?”

He shrugged. “I realized there was nothing I could do about it. And I loved Fawn, so I adopted her.”

“Can you think of anything else that might help me in this investigation?” I asked.

He appeared lost in thought and my words roused him. “No. Nothing. But I’ll give it some serious thought.”

I handed him one of my business cards. “Call me if you think of anything. Or if your wife does.”

He took the card from my fingers and slipped it into his shirt pocket. “I will.”

VIRGIL

I wa smeeting her at Aphrodite’s Greek Restaurant for dinner. The restaurant was just around the corner from my hotel and came highly recommended by the front desk clerk, especially their wine bar. I got to the restaurant thirty minutes before we were supposed to meet and took a seat at the counter in the small bar. A number of tables were in the area for those who didn’t want to eat in the more formal dining room. Several groups occupied the tables.

The wine bar at Aphrodite’s was softly lit with music reminiscent of the fifties.

Behind the bar, a tall, slender blonde with piercing blue eyes and a bright smile walked over to me. “What can I get you?”

“Do you have any beer?”

She winked at me and her smile never faded. “Sure we do, although none of them are domestic. We’ve got Bridgeport’s Indian Pale, Weidmer’s Hefeweizen and Guinness.”

“Guinness.”

With a bounce to her step, she went into a nearby room and came out with a tall black can of Guinness and a chilled glass. She popped the top and a strong hiss escaped. With a long pour, she filled the glass completely and shook the can. From inside the can, a hard rattle could be heard.

“Did you know they put a nitrogen capsule in the cans to keep the beer fresh?”

I nodded and pulled the glass over to me. “What’s your name?”

She extended her hand. “I’m Catherine.”

“I’m Virgil,” I said and shook her hand. Her skin was cool on mine for a moment before she slipped away to help a table full of customers.

A small dark-skinned man stepped into the wine bar and his eyes scanned the tables. He wore a deep blue club shirt over khaki pants and a thick gold watch covered his wrist. By the way several of the patrons deferred to him, I made him for the owner of the place. He waved hello to a group of people before he turned and strolled back into the restaurant.

I grabbed my beer, took a sip and closed my eyes.

I opened them back up when I heard a familiar voice say, “Virgil?”

Her eyes were frantic as they moved around the bar, searching for anyone she might know.

“Relax, Andie,” I whispered to her.

“I can’t. Someone might recognize me and I told Steve I was shopping.”

“Listen,” I said, trying to get her mind away from her worry. “That’s Dean Martin singing right now.”

She focused her eyes back on me. “What?”

I pointed up to the speakers. “That’s Dean Martin. Just listen.”

We sat quiet for a moment and listened to Ain’t That a Kick in the Head.

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“No, I just wanted you to think about something else for a moment.”

She stared at me for a moment before a small smile creased her lips. Her manicured hand carefully picked up her glass and she sipped the Cabernet she had ordered. “You look different,” she finally said. “Your eyes are harder and your face is thinner than I remember.”