All the Dirty Secrets, page 8
“She said the man you offered to pose with her was your boyfriend. What’s his name?”
“I don’t use family or friends in my business. Talk about a can of worms.”
Jake tapped his pencil on the notebook as he stared her down. He locked down his frustration and remembered how Melinda had always loved to grandstand.
“A woman was killed, and the pictures left with her body are pictures you took, whether they’re printed on your photo paper or not. I need a little help. What’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“He’s not my boyfriend. We only dated a few times, and I never had him pose with Callie Blake or anyone else. He must’ve stolen them off my computer. In digital photography it’s easy to manipulate an image. Am I in danger?” Melinda wrung her hands.
Jake placed his over hers. She pulled back.
“I’m not sure. Give me his name and address. If it’s warranted I’ll assign a uniform for your protection. How would a person add someone to a shot after the session is done?” Jake asked.
“Digital allows you to smooth out lines, fix color, and cut and paste an item or person into an image. But if you aren’t meticulous, you’ll see where they were added. Like anything else, Jake, it’s an art.”
He wondered if she knew she’d thrown herself under the bus with her statement. Even in their teens she was a cagey woman.
“His name’s Sal Gallucci. I need to hunt up his exact address. But he lives in one of the condos on Oronoke Avenue, called Oronoke Ridge.”
Jake wrote it down, raised his eyes to meet hers. “I’ll check it out. You lie again, Melinda, and you’ll give me no choice but to arrest you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.”
“Good. The police commissioner’s wife has been murdered. The whole town is on edge. If you think of anything else, here’s my card. Give me a call.”
* * * *
Darcy had thrown yesterday’s mail on the table by the door, along with the package. She had to get back to work to prepare for her afternoon meeting, but she couldn’t concentrate on her work. She decided to comb through the mail, a distraction she sorely needed to take her mind off her upcoming appointment with the police artist. When the postman rang the doorbell yesterday, Darcy thought Jake had forgotten something. She’d opened the door, surprised to see the mailman instead of Jake.
“Good morning, Mrs. McGuire. It was terrible about the commissioner’s wife, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Darcy said. She wasn’t going to talk about her friend’s murder now or ever.
“I have a package that needs to be signed for.”
She scribbled her name on the receipt without verifying the sender. “Thank you,” she said to cut off any further conversation on her friend’s death.
It surprised her that Shamus hadn’t sorted through the mail last night. It wasn’t like him to leave things around. It relaxed her to do something normal, a simple chore to even out the hell she’d been through. Bills, advertisements, and a plain white envelope with no return address. She ignored the package from her favorite online store. Darcy ripped into the letter, her heart skipping a beat. It wasn’t signed.
Her hands quivered as the pictures spilled and fanned out at her feet. Dear God, this will destroy us. The slimy bastard—I never posed with the creep.
Darcy trudged into the living room and sat in the first beige chair she came to. She read and reread the letter. Shamus had told her the blackmailer had demanded twenty-five thousand from Callie. Her letter asked for one hundred thousand. There was a vague reference to Callie’s murder, with a line saying the same could happen to her if she didn’t pay up.
Why me? And why Callie? It doesn’t make sense. They have to know our husbands will hunt them down to the ends of the earth. Or is it because not many people in Wilkesbury have family money? Either way, when I get my hands on the blackmailer, he’s a dead man.
The embarrassment faded to anger. Her ears burned with fury as she thought about what she’d do to the bastard for what he’d done to Callie.
The irony of it all hadn’t gotten by her. Yesterday Jake had passed the mailman on his way out. She’d have to call him back and hand over the pictures of herself half naked. But first, she had to tell her husband, something best done in person.
She packed up her briefcase, placed it by the door with her purse, the pictures inside, and slid into her coat. She’d be a half hour early for her appointment with the artist, but it gave her plenty of time to discuss the letter with Shamus. Though not too much time to argue. She set the alarm and left the house. A prayer on her lips, Darcy backed out of the driveway.
Chapter 8
Melinda sat at her desk in her sparsely furnished home office and fingered the card Jake had given her. How convenient. It had his cell phone number on it. She opened the spreadsheet she’d made with the loan balances she owed and added up the money she’d spent on interest, the balance never seeming to go down. One windfall and she’d be out from under it all.
Sal’s insight into not going home had paid off for him, but what about her? It was stupid of her to go into business with Sal, especially when hers had only started to show a profit and she’d gotten name recognition.
Oh, don’t act all high and mighty. It all came down to money. It always comes down to money. I had a weak “poor me” moment when I agreed to this deal.
After writing last month’s checks to the bank, she hardly had any money left over for food. Sal had told her cops had more to hide than the criminals they locked up. Damn it, and I bought into his bullshit.
Melinda didn’t have time to dally today. One of the state’s richest women had an appointment today to get her portrait taken. Edwina Dunstan, or Edy, as she liked to be called, had contacted her last week to request a sitting. At the gala Saturday she’d noted Edy’s coloring, height, weight, and style, and matched the background setting to the woman. If Edy used her photos for public appearances or articles, she’d have to give Melinda credit for the photos.
Edy Dunstan could be my money-making machine in referrals. Why couldn’t I have met her before we set Sal’s stupid plan in motion?
Noting the time, she popped up from the table and rushed into her bedroom to dress. She couldn’t afford to be late for Edy Dunstan’s sitting.
* * * *
Jake wrote down his impressions and added them to the facts before pulling out of Melinda’s driveway. He tucked his notepad into his jacket’s breast pocket. Hunger pains kicked in, but a quick check of his watch had him driving to the station instead of to lunch.
With one hand on the wheel he hit the speed-dial button. Shamus picked up immediately.
“Where am I meeting Darcy?” Jake asked.
“She’s here in my office.”
“I’m on my way.” Jake disconnected his phone and tossed it on the seat.
Jake rolled Melinda’s statement over in his head while he drove. There’d been no evidence of a cut-and-paste job on the compromising photo of Callie, but he hadn’t been looking for one. When he finished up with Darcy, he’d blow up the picture. If his untrained eye wasn’t able to detect a fudge, he’d ask Joel Bennett to view it. Damn, did he need permission from Shamus or Todd before he showed it to Bennett? It was hard working with his hands tied.
Todd was a suspect who had no business offering advice or approving anything within the investigation. And Shamus…did he belong on the suspect list with his wife now involved? Did Callie and Shamus have an affair? Or did Todd and Darcy? No, it didn’t play out for him.
My answer with any other suspect would be a resounding yes, Jake thought as he sat in his car in the precinct’s underground garage. I’d’ve dug deep into their backgrounds, gathering the dirt, until their lives were turned upside down. He’d been tiptoeing around with his captain and the commissioner.
Jake rode the elevator to the third floor. When he reached Shamus’s office, he knocked and took the empty seat in front of his desk. Darcy had perched herself at Shamus’s office window, her arms folded across her chest. “We’re early, but I’m sure Joel will take us. I don’t want to keep you waiting, Darcy,” Jake said.
If Darcy’s nervous, she doesn’t show it outwardly, he thought. He couldn’t read Shamus’s thoughts either.
“We need to show you something first.” Shamus handed him a letter. Jake’s stomach dropped. Damn, damn, damn. He’d been expecting this, but had hoped against it.
Jake opened the letter, reading it first before he viewed the pictures. “Is this the photographer’s boyfriend, Darcy?”
“Yes. As you can see, his face is not exposed. What I’d like to do, and Shamus agrees, is to copy the photo for Joel Bennett, with me cut out of it,” Darcy said. She took the seat to his left and pointed to the man in the photo.
“That’ll work. When the session’s done, I’m going to escort you directly to your car to avoid running into anyone. Is that satisfactory?”
“Thank you, Jake. I understand you’re interrupting your investigation to make this easier for me, and I appreciate it,” Darcy said, not making eye contact with him.
Jake reached over and draped an arm around her shoulders, waiting for her to raise her eyes to him. “Darcy, this isn’t your fault or Callie’s. I promise I’m going to get this bastard with as little publicity as possible.”
“I’ll see you at home when you finish up,” Shamus told Darcy. “Jake, I’d like to thank you too. It’s not easy working around the commissioner, and now me.”
A slight movement of his head acknowledged Shamus and his words. Jake didn’t want to prolong this. He stood and offered Darcy his hand to help her from the chair.
“Darcy, before we head up, I want you to understand, Joel is not a freelance artist. He’s a cop who specializes in sketching forensic renditions.”
He hoped she got what he wasn’t saying. Joel still answered to her husband, who was a captain in the department. Cops gossip. If she didn’t want anything repeated, she’d need to keep it to herself.
“I’ll answer the questions that pertain to the man in the picture, nothing more.”
“Yes, the why isn’t important—you got a glimpse of the suspect, period.”
“Let’s get it done,” Darcy said and marched toward the door.
* * * *
By two o’clock Melinda had her studio set up for Edy’s sitting. Per Edy’s instructions, she wanted a formal picture to replace the five-year-old one she used for publicity. Edy rushed in the front door fifteen minutes late for her appointment.
“I’m running a bit behind, sorry,” Edy said. A bundle of energy in her five-six frame, her blonde hair flying behind her.
“No problem, I’m ready when you are. Did you bring a couple of outfits to change into?” Melinda asked, evaluating Edy.
“I did. I also brought the gown from Saturday night.”
“Where are they?”
“I need to run to the car for the outfits. I’ll be right back.”
Edy went back out to her car. When she reentered, Melinda showed her the studio first, then the dressing rooms.
She’d approved of how Edy wore her long blonde hair down. At the gala, with her updo, she had appeared unapproachable and snobbish. With it down, she looked younger.
God, she hated to photograph women wearing pantsuits. They crinkled in all the wrong places. She took a few shots in the pale blue one Edy wore before she suggested Edy change into a dress or the gown.
“I’ll wear the gown next,” Edy said.
Melinda adjusted her camera and lights to compliment the gold hue of Edy’s gown. The bell over the front door rang out, announcing a visitor. Oh freak, I forgot to put up the closed sign.
“I’ll be right back, Mrs. Dunstan, as soon as I get rid of whoever’s out front. I’m sorry for the interruption.”
“It might be my friend Linden. If it is, bring him back.”
Linden? Isn’t her husband’s name Cedric? It’s none of my business. As Melinda walked into the store she spotted the six-foot-tall man scrutinizing her work.
“Your work is exquisite.”
“Ah, a man of distinguished taste. How can I help you?”
“Edy, I mean Edwina Dunstan, asked that I meet her here. I’m Linden Smith.”
“I’m Melinda, follow me.”
She normally didn’t allow visitors while she worked, but Edy had money and could bring more to her if she played along.
“Oh, darling, you made it.” Edy swept aside her gown and extended her cheek for a kiss.
Melinda bit back the smirk as Linden obliged Edy. He bent over and kissed her cheek. Smith had to be at least ten years younger than Dunstan and a foot taller.
“Did you bring your tux?” Edy asked.
“I did, but I don’t understand why.”
“Linden, Melinda is my photographer. We’re going to get our pictures taken.” Edy’s voice, Melinda observed, had taken on the tone of an adult speaking to a child.
“Do you think it’s wise?” Linden asked.
“Yes. Now go change while I still have the gown on.”
Melinda worked with them for an hour. Around the halfway mark, Linden loosened up. For their last pose, Melinda made sure to put Linden in the same position Sal had posed in, in Callie’s pictures. If she could pull this off the payday would be huge. It could be her ticket out of there for good and keep her away from Sal.
“Thanks, Melinda. I’ll be right out to review the pictures.”
Melinda hesitated but then decided to go for it. She pulled Edy aside. “I do boudoir photos, if that would interest you. And with Linden here…” She left it hanging.
“No, I’m good with what we have. But I’ll keep it in mind for the future.”
Edy picked out the ones she liked. Melinda gave her an eight-by-eleven to take with her. She set Saturday’s date for the delivery of the rest of the photos.
“Can you make it Friday? I have a showing in mind for them this weekend,” Edy said in a hushed voice, out of Linden’s earshot.
“Sure. I’ll have them delivered to your home.”
“Excellent, only give them to me—or Benita, my maid. Understand? If neither of us are available, call me at this number.” Edy slipped a card from her pocket.
“Yes.” And she did understand. Edy didn’t want her husband to know about them. It was none of her business what her customers did with the pictures after she processed them. Or in this case, who they did, Melinda thought with a smile.
* * * *
Jake stayed in the background and roamed Joel’s spacious office as Joel worked with Darcy. Sketches of people and buildings, which Jake assumed Joel had created, lined the walls. Tonka trucks from the early eighties or older sat on his credenza. With half an ear he heard Joel ask general questions to begin the session, and every now and then he slipped one in asking what the guy he was drawing might’ve done. He had to give it to Darcy. She made diverting Joel and his questions an art. Darcy took her time when she answered, closing her eyes at times to visualize the person. Jake couldn’t’ve asked for a better witness.
“Joel, can I use the computer over here?” Jake asked.
“Sure.”
Jake signed onto the WPD database and entered Sal Gallucci’s name. He got a hit immediately. A petty crook out of New Jersey, Sal hadn’t done heavy time except for community service in his teens. In both instances Sal had pleaded down. Jake studied the guy’s picture, then walked over to Joel and looked over his shoulder.
Pretty close, he thought, but he’d let Darcy finish it out before he showed her Sal’s mugshot. He wiped his search and shut down the computer, but not before sending it to his office printer.
Jake left the room to call Louie’s cell. “Hey, I just printed something to my office printer. Don’t let anyone else see it when you take it off the printer. I’ll explain when I get back. Lock it up for me.”
“You got my curiosity up. When will you be back?” Louie asked.
“It’ll be another hour until Joel finishes his sketch. Put out feelers for the person in the printout. I want to know when he hit town, who he hung with, and who he dated. Thanks.”
Jake returned to the room and sat down next to Darcy. Forty minutes later, Joel dismissed them in order to perfect the sketch after Darcy was satisfied he’d captured the guy. It was a match to the one Jake had printed out. Excitement built as a viable suspect came into focus. If he made Gallucci the number-one suspect, he’d be able to remove the commissioner from the list.
He escorted Darcy to her car and showed her the mug shot. “That’s him,” Darcy said.
“I’ll follow you home.”
“Jake, I’m a big girl. I’m sure Shamus is there waiting for me.”
“Are you positive you don’t want me to follow you?”
“Yes.”
He waited until Darcy had pulled out of the garage before he rode the elevator up to two. His cell phone rang when the door opened on his floor.
“Carrington.”
“Jake, it’s Mayor D’Angelo.”
“Good afternoon, Mayor. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like an update on the Blake case. The media’s hounding me. When can you and Louie come to my office?”
“I’m in the middle of chasing down some leads. Can we do this tomorrow?”
“I wanted an update today,” D’Angelo said.
“It’s early in the investigation, Mayor. We have a handle on a couple of things that need further investigation before I update you.”
“I was told it was an open-and-shut case. The commissioner killed his wife.”
Whoa! Where the hell did that come from? “Mayor, no case is open-and-shut. The evidence does not point to the commissioner at this point. If it does, he’ll be arrested.”
