Lisa Scottoline - Lady Killer

Mary blinked, surprised. There had to be at least ten maps squeezed in there, which was nine more than most people from the neighborhood had, and ten more than most women, especially from the neighborhood. She herself had one map of Pennsylvania in her car, which her father had given her and she’d never used. She pulled out the maps, wondering if the gun was hidden behind them. It wasn’t, but sitting in the glove box was a slim clothbound book, also black.

Mary reached for it and opened it up. The first page read, Patricia Maria Gambone, and it was written in ballpoint in perfect Palmer method, with detached capital letters. She opened the book near the front and read the page:

I know he’ll just love it and I can’t wait to see his face when he opens it! I never thought I’d be this happy in my life!

The diary! In a car? Mary considered it, and it made sense. Trish couldn’t leave her diary in the house, where it could be found. Her car would be the second-best place, both secure and private. She flipped ahead, scanning the entries. Evidently, Trish didn’t write in it every day, only from time to time. God knows what we’ll do for Valentine’s Day. He’s drinking again, and when I called him out, he blew up. He started screaming that I was a lying whore and that he was going to kill me with his bare hands. Mary turned the page and a Polaroid picture fell out, and she picked it up.

It was a horrifying photo of Trish, and it looked as if it had been taken in the bathroom. A hideous red bruise, just beginning to go purple and black, covered her upper arm. The edge of the photo caught her profile, and she had obviously been crying. Mary’s mouth went dry. She replaced the photos and read ahead a few pages, picking up words here and there. Terrified. Scared. Screaming. Punched. Hurt. Bruised. Cut. Gun. There were more photos. Red bruises to a taut stomach, and one that made a cut near her navel. It sickened Mary, and she put them back with care. It was the perfect set of proofs for a lawsuit that would never go to trial. She felt disgusted and bitter at the law, at justice, and most of all, at herself.

She skipped to the most recent entry, praying it could provide a clue about where Trish had been taken. She turned to the last page, and her cheeks flushed hot: I went to see Mary but she didn’t do anything. Now I don’t know what to do. If you’re reading this now, whoever you are, I’m already dead. But at least this can prove he did it.

“Hey, Mare, yo!” somebody shouted, and Mary slapped the diary closed with the photos inside and looked through the windshield.

“MARE!” It was Giulia, hollering from down the street, because South Philly was a neighborhood without volume controls.

Mary waved to Giulia through the windshield, shoved the diary in her purse, and slipped the maps back in the glove box. She gave the car one last look around, got out, and chirped it locked, while the Mean Girls clack-clacked down the sidewalk like a tiny black locomotive, puffing smoke.

And it looked as if they’d picked up a passenger.

G iulia, Yolanda, and Missy stood beaming in Trish’s living room, surrounding an older Asian man who had a lined face and a delighted, if slightly bewildered, expression. He wore baggy black pants and a thin plaid shirt buttoned up to his neck wattle, and his hair was thin, steel gray, and slicked back. He was very short and never took his eyes from Giulia’s face. Okay, chest.

“Mare, look.” Giulia looped her arm around the tiny man and squeezed him close. “This is Fung Lee. He’s Oriental.”

“Chinese,” the man corrected good-naturedly, in thickly accented English.

“We went up and down the street like you said, and nobody saw nothin’ except Fung.”

“Good work, ladies.” Mary introduced herself and shook Fung’s hand, though his attention remained glued to Giulia. He nestled next to her body, fitting neatly beside her breasts, obviously enjoying his new best friends.

Giulia smiled down at the man. “Fung goes to the corner store the same time each night to buy a lottery ticket. He always goes at six thirty, right before they announce the winner, because he thinks that’s good luck.”

Fung nodded, ensconced.

“So I showed him the photo, and he recognized T because he sees her all the time, goin’ in and out of the house. He lives around the corner with his daughter and her husband.”

“Got it.” Mary held up a hand. “Let’s let him say what he saw, in his own words, okay?”

“Sure, Mare.” Giulia bristled, but Mary didn’t want words put in Fung’s mouth.

“Fung, what did you see last night?” she asked. “Can you tell me?”

But Fung only smiled up at Giulia, his free arm encircling her waist.

“Fung?” Mary repeated.

“Talk louder, Mare,” Giulia said, snuggling him, but Mary suspected his hearing wasn’t the problem, unless a breast blocked his ear. She raised her voice before he reached orgasm.

“Fung! What did you see? Did you see something at the house last night?”

“Tell her what you told us, doll,” Giulia said, gesturing at Mary. “It’s okay. She’s a lawyer. She can’t help being mean.”

Fung answered, “I see woman. Woman from picture.”

Giulia interjected, “I showed him Trish’s picture.”

Fung continued, “Woman very pretty. She with man. Leave with man and go in car.”

“What kind of car, do you know?”

“Black.”

“Was anyone else with them?”

“No. Woman and man only.” Fung looked up at Giulia.

“Did they seem happy or unhappy?”

“Not happy. Man very angry. Door close. Bang!”

Mary felt her gut tense. “Did the man yell? Shout?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“Wo bu zhi dao. Don’t know.” Fung pointed to his ear, and Mary understood he didn’t hear that well.

“What was the woman doing?”

Fung shook his head.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Was she crying?”

“No.”

“Did she call to you, or anybody?”

“No.”

Mary got a bad feeling. “What time was this, about?”

“Six thirty exact. I go store.”

Giulia interjected, “I told you, he goes to the store at six thirty because the luck is better.”

Mary asked, “Did the woman have a purse?” She held up her purse. “Purse?”

Fung thought a minute. “Yes.”

“Did they have a suitcase?”

Fung frowned, not understanding.

“A suitcase is like a big purse.” Mary wanted to double-check and played charades for a second. “Like for a trip, for vacation.”

Fung frowned, not understanding.

Giulia held up her huge purse. “Suitcase.”

Fung shook his head, with a smile for her. “No.”

Good. “And they drove away?”

“Yes.”

“Which way?”

Fung pointed north.

It told Mary nothing. She didn’t know why she’d even asked. “Did the woman see you, do you think?”

“Don’t know. I go corner. She go car.”

“Did she try to signal you? Show you a sign?”

“No.”

“Were other people on the street?”

“Yes. Family. Baby.”

Mary looked at Giulia. “I thought you said nobody saw anything.”

“Like I said, you wanna be the one who IDs him?”

Good point. Mary paused. “Fung, is there anything else you can remember about what you saw?”

“No.”

“Okay, thank you.” Mary stuck a hand in her purse and extracted her wallet, then slipped out a business card and handed it to him. “This has my phone number. Please feel free to call if you remember anything else.”

Fung took the card, then looked up at Giulia. “You have?”

“Awww,” Giulia said, and kissed him on the cheek.