David Handler - The Blood Red Indian Summer

“Um, okay, this is scary on so many different levels,” Des said.

“What do you mean by that?” Toni wondered, filing, filing.

“Oh, nothing. I used to be the one who counseled him. You saying that makes me feel old, that’s all.”

“He really admires you. Thinks you’re the smartest person he ever worked with.” Toni glanced at Yolie and said, “You he’s just plain afraid of.”

Yolie watched Toni file her nails. “Do you have to do that right now?”

“It helps me think.”

“It’s driving me crazy.”

Toni made a face. “Whatever. I’m going outside for a shmoke. Feel free to talk about me behind my back.” She got up and marched out of the cafeteria.

Yolie heaved a sigh. “I fantasized for years about making lieutenant. I finally make it. And what do they do? They give me a Tedone with ta-tas.”

“Yeah, I noticed them. Couldn’t help it.”

“They call her Toni the Tiger at the headmaster’s house. I’m supposed to be seasoning her.”

“She’s not a complete idiot.”

“Not a slacker either,” Yolie had to admit. “She does the donkey work and then some. What, you think I should go easier on her?”

“No, no. Do what you have to do. Although you could talk to her about that blouse.”

Yolie let out a laugh. “You hate the Brass City mob even more than I do. Are you getting soft on me?”

“Not a chance. But I know what it’s like to be a woman on this job.”

“And I don’t?”

“She’s one of us, Yolie.”

“She’s not one of us. She’s a Tedone.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

Yolie sipped her coffee in brooding silence for a moment. “ Something has been happening to that little cutie upstairs. That doesn’t mean we can build a case out of it. But I’m with you. I’ll chalk it up as a teaching tool if my captain reams me. Who else should we be looking at?”

“Tyrone likes Stewart Plotka for it.”

“The cat who’s suing him for that Dave amp; Buster’s beat down?”

Des nodded. “Plotka claims that Tyrone raped his girlfriend, Katie. Could be that raping Kinitra is his idea of payback. He is a sniveling creep. And he’s been grabbing pub outside the Grantham place lately. And we found a hole in Tyrone’s brand new fence. Plotka could have snuck in last night and attacked her. It does play. You’ll want to establish his whereabouts down to the minute. He and his high-priced lawyer have rooms at the Saybrook Point Inn.”

“Who else?”

“Tyrone has had problems with his next door neighbor, Justy Bond.”

“As in ‘Just Ask Justy?’”

“That’s him. He has been nothing but pissed off ever since Tyrone moved in. Hates his fence, his dock, his boat, his music…”

“Let me guess-his pigment, too?”

Des smiled at her. “There’s definite animosity there. I’m also hearing that Justy beats up on his women. His son, June, keeps a sailboat tied up at Justy’s dock. Sleeps out on the thing. Maybe June heard something down there last night. I can sound him out. Or stay out of it. Whatever you want.”

“Girl, I’m partnered with a rug rat. What do you think I want?”

Des also told her about the beating that Clarence had given Winston Lash for biting Asia’s booty. And how it was Winston who’d tipped off Mitch to the hole in the fence.

“Let’s hear more about this Winston. Could he be our attacker?”

“He’s a seventy-two-year-old dementia patient. Kinitra’s on the small side but she’s still a strong, healthy girl. She could have handled him.”

“You sure about that?”

“I’m not sure about anything,” Des replied. “Except that Toni isn’t wrong. Tyrone himself has to be considered the prime suspect. It fits his profile.”

Yolie studied Des across the table. “You like him for it or not?”

“That all depends on which him you’re talking about. He told me he’s trying to change his badass ways. And he’s plenty persuasive-right up until he loses his temper. Once that happens anything’s possible.”

“Who else lives there with him?”

“Rondell, his kid brother. He takes care of the man’s financial affairs. Also worships the ground Kinitra walks on.”

“Maybe he’s been doing more than worship it. He have a sheet, too?”

“No, Rondell’s a real straight arrow. Has an MBA from Wharton. Plus he’s on the twerpy side. The boys’ mother, Chantal, lives there, too. She’s a former working girl and crackhead. Heavily into the Lord now. Or doing a pretty fair imitation of it. A slow girl named Monique helps her around the place. That’s everybody.”

Toni returned to their table now, reeking of cigarette smoke.

Yolie glanced up at her. “Ready to get some honest work done now, Sergeant?”

“You bet, Loo.”

“Then let’s ride. Oh, and, sergeant?…”

“Yeah, Loo?”

“Button your damned blouse up, will you? This is the Major Crime Squad, not Hooters.”

Mitch had already devoured his fourth biscotti by the time he turned off Old Shore Road and started his way through the Nature Preserve. Pressured. He was feeling unusually pressured. He absolutely had to send his Halloween Scare-a-Palooza column off to Lacy this afternoon. And clean his house from top to bottom for tonight’s quasi-monumental dinner party. And go for a three-mile run so as to work off the truly alarming number of calories he’d been mainlining over the past seventy-two hours. And try on every single pair of pants he owned so as to determine if any of them were creeping northward toward his armpits. Plus he felt an overwhelming urge to take a long, hot shower after his little chat with Stewart Plotka and Andrea Halperin. He was positive that Plotka had spit shrimp salad on him. Andrea? She’d just made him feel soiled.

As Mitch neared the barricade to the Big Sister causeway, he came upon a gleaming blue Porsche Carrera convertible parked there with its top down. Rondell Grantham stood leaning against it, neatly dressed in a white button-down shirt and tan slacks. He was a very serious, professional-looking little guy-aside from the half-empty fifth of Grey Goose vodka he was chug-a-lugging. He seemed to have been weeping. His eyes were red and swollen behind his gold-framed spectacles.

“Can I help you?” Mitch asked him through the Studey’s open window.

“Yes, sir, you can,” he answered thickly. Wasted. Rondell was totally wasted. “Are you… Mr. Berger?”

“I am.”

“I am sorry to bother you but my family has suffered a terrible experience. My brother’s wife… Her sister washed up on your beach.”

“I know. I’m the one who found her. And I know you, Rondell. We met last night at the party. I was with Resident Trooper Mitry. I escorted Mr. Lash home, remember?”

Rondell peered at him, his gaze unfocused. “Of course. Please forgive me. I’m a little… upset.” He took a big gulp of the vodka, holding the bottle out to Mitch. “Care for some?”

“No, thanks. It’s a little early for me.”

“I hardly ever drink. Maybe a glass of champagne at New Year’s.”

“Rondell, was that bottle full when you started in on it?”

“Yes, I believe it was. I opened it. Needed a drink.” He took another gulp, wavering as he stood there. “Has Resident Trooper Mitry… told you anything?”

“I know Kinitra’s pregnant, if that’s what you mean.”

Rondell let out a grief-stricken sob. “Who would do such a thing to her?”

“Rondell, would you like to come out for a cup of coffee?”

“Actually, I was wondering… I would very much like to see the spot where you found her.”

“What for?”

“Because I almost lost her. Want to see where she was found. That make any sense?”