SISTER (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 4) (15 page)

“What did you say?”

“I said the detective seemed ….”

I cut him off. None of the cops I’d spoken to had mentioned any contact with Principato. As far as I knew, I was the only person who knew about him, unless Carole MacQuaid checked the 702 number, which I doubted.

“He told you she was the victim of a serial killer?”

“That’s right. 

“Right after she was killed, you said earlier.”

“I think it was the next day. I remember thinking it was good police work to track me down that quickly.”

I took a deep breath. I had a sick feeling.

“Which detective called you, Broderson or Huntley?”

I wanted it to be Huntley. I liked Broderson a lot more.

“I don’t think it was either of them. They don’t sound familiar. I’d have to check. Is it important?”

“Please check.”

“Hold on. I’ll ask my secretary. I know I put it in the file” While we waited, he went on. “I remember he was a sharp cookie. I’m not really sure he bought into the serial killer thing. He thought like you. Wanted to know if anyone else was in line for Harry Frost’s money.”

“And you told him about her aunt.”

“Sure.” There was silence. “Oh, Jesus.”

Principato had just realized he’d probably signed Aunt Betsy’s death warrant.

“Not your fault, counselor.”

“Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.”

“I need a name.”

I heard some noise in the background.

“Thank you, Darlene,” he said. His voice was shaky. “OK, Rhode. I was right. It wasn’t one of those guys you mentioned. It was a Detective John Tyrone, Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department.”

CHAPTER 24 - RETIREMENT, SORT OF

I flew out the next morning. At this rate, I’d be better off if someone did steal my Amex card.

When I got to the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Office, there was a small, but loud, party going on in the squad room. Bowls of chips and peanuts sat on several desks. Cops were mingling with cups filled with ice and liquor. Some desks had shifted slightly to allow for an aluminum table in the center aisle. On one end of the table was a large cake. On the other was a makeshift bar where one of the cops was chopping up some ice in a small cooler. I walked over asked him what was going on.

“Retirement party for one of our detectives.”

I moved down to the cake. It was inscribed:
GOOD LUCK, JOHN.

I went back to the ice chopper.

“Tyrone?”

“Yeah.”

I looked around. I didn’t see him, or Noyce.

“Where’s Noyce?

The cop laughed.

“Probably working on her speech” He laughed. “She hates giving them.”

I thanked him and walked to Noyce’s office. She looked up from her desk, where she was writing something on a card.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Where’s Tyrone?”

“In his office doing some last minute packing. He’s leaving. If you have something on Salazar, Detective Mackie is handling it now.”

“I heard you hate making speeches.”

She looked at me.

“This is your lucky day,” I said, closing the door behind me. “Or, maybe not.”

***

Tyrone was packing some things into a box on his desk. Noyce walked in first.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he said. “Tell them to save me some booze.”

Then he saw me.

“What the hell do you want?”

“Everybody keeps saying that. Aren’t you glad to see me, Matt.”

His eyes widened.

“Is it true, John?” Noyce asked. “Are you really Matthew Frost. The brother of that nun murdered in Worcester?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. What has this asshole been telling you?”

“Well, in a nutshell,” I said, “I told her you killed your sister. And three other people to make it look like it was a serial killer, starting right here in Sonoma County with Father Salazar.”

“Are you insane?” He looked at his boss. “Noyce, I know you got your job because you’re black, but you can’t take this guy seriously.”

“I just ran a quick check of your vacation time, John,” Noyce said. “You were at a convention in Boston when the nun was murdered. I also checked your other convention trips. They match up with the dates and cities of the other killings.”

“Pretty clever, Matt,’ I said. “Covering up your murders by timing them around law enforcement conferences. Using your own vacation time to make it seem you were just a dedicated cop. Did you scout out your victims before you left, or once you got to those cities? I guess there’s nothing you can’t find on the Internet nowadays. I bet when they check your computer here or at home, they’ll find some interesting searches. Even if you used a hotel computer, they’ll find out how you targeted Lefebvre and Variale. Noyce tells me she let you expense some stuff. You shouldn’t be such a greedy bastard. You were hoping to get $5 million. You should have gone into your own pocket. You left a nice little paper trail.”

Tyrone ran his hand along his jaw. Left hand. I kept my eye on that hand. His Glock was on his left hip. It hadn’t meant much to me the first time I saw him. But it meant everything now. The strap over his Glock was snapped shut. I wondered how fast he could undo it and draw.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. All you have is a bunch of coincidences. This is insulting, Noyce. Is that what they taught you in the affirmative action classes at the police academy? I’m getting out of here. You can shove your fucking retirement party.”

“Already shoved,” I said. It had become very quiet. For the first time, I think Tyrone/Frost noticed that the noise from his party had subsided. “Come on, Matt. You’re a cop. You know how cops hate even one coincidence, let alone a whole bunch, including the fact that you and ‘Matthew Frost’ are both left-handed, like the ‘Ice Pick Killer’. They’ll be all over you like a duck on a June bug.” I always wanted to say that to someone. “Don’t you want to hear about your two colossal mistakes?”

“Oh, yeah, hotshot. What were they supposed to be?”

“You called a lawyer named Principato in Las Vegas,” I said, “and told him that Sister Veronica had been the victim of a serial killer targeting the clergy.”

The first real doubt crept into his face. But he gave it another shot.

“Why wouldn’t I? It was all part of my investigation. I thought he might know something.”

“Sounds reasonable,” I said. “Just one problem. You called him the day after she was murdered.”

“So?”

“So, that was long before anyone thought any of the murders were connected. There was no way you should have even known she was dead and that Principato was handling your father’s estate. Somehow you found out that Harry had died ….” I stopped short. “You son of a bitch, you killed him, too.”

“I don’t get it,” Noyce said.

“I didn’t either, until just now. Why kill his sister and the others if he didn’t know when his old man would kick the bucket?”

All of a sudden, it fell into place. I remembered Noyce telling me that Tyrone liked to go to Vegas to play in poker tournaments.

“My guess is that he ran into his father at one of the poker tournaments they both frequented in Vegas. Found out he was sitting on a pile of money and took it from there. How was your reunion with dear old dad?”

I could tell from Tyrone’s expression that I was right.

“What was my second alleged mistake, genius?”

“You killed a helpless old lady on Staten Island. Broke her neck to make it look like she fell down the stairs. Except she couldn’t climb those stairs. The Staten Island cops have now classified it as a homicide, another one you will answer for. I’m pretty sure they’ll be able to place you on a plane to New York at the time.”

Noyce had remained quiet, content to absorb everything Frost said. Or maybe she didn’t want to set him off. He looked like he was about to blow.

“Think you got it all figured out, hotshot, don’t you? Why would I kill that old bag?”

“Because without Ronnie, with ‘Matthew Frost’ still missing, Aunt Betsy was next in line for the money. You couldn’t take the chance it would be disbursed before you made your miraculous reappearance. I wonder if you were relieved when Principato told you she was the only family left. I bet you had mixed feelings. You’re such a sick bastard you probably were disappointed there weren’t more relatives to kill.”

“That would make me one devious son of a bitch.”

“Leave your mother out of it. She was a decent lady. It must have broken her heart to know she gave birth to such a twisted son.”

Tyrone’s cheek twitched. I kept an eye on his left hand.

“You couldn’t show up in Principato’s office too soon after Harry and his daughter’s death. He might have been suspicious. That’s why you had to make sure he thought a serial killer was involved from the start. You were gambling that the Worcester cops wouldn’t get around to Principato for a while, and by that time everyone would be looking for Jack the Ripper. Meanwhile, with the aunt dead, you knew you had three years before the money reverted to the state of Nevada. Plenty of time to ditch the Tyrone persona and become Matt Frost again.”

I shook my head in mock sympathy.

“You’re going to need a very expensive lawyer, Matt. Too bad you won’t be able to use Harry’s millions. He was a scumbag like you. Stole it all. I’m arranging for it to be returned to the clients he bilked. You won’t see a cent of it. Another byproduct of killing Aunt Betsy.”

Frost looked at us with an almost reptilian intensity. Then he concentrated his gaze on me.

“I should have killed you the first day I saw you.”

“John, or Matthew, or whatever your damn name is,” Noyce said, “you have the right to remain silent, you …”

“Shut up, bitch” Matthew Frost said. “You’re one of the reasons I decided to go for my old man’s money. Not only did you get the job that should be mine, but I knew you were too incompetent to ever catch me. Hell, I bought an ice pick in every city I visited and just chucked them in the nearest river. But I didn’t want to buy one here where people might remember, so I borrowed one from our kitchen. Cleaned it up real good after Salazar, of course, and just put it back. I mean, who’s gonna look for a murder weapon in a police station? Right under your black nose. It’s been used at every office party since. I saw O’Hara using it a little while ago. For my own going-away party. I got a kick out of that.”

I thought of the cop in the squad room who was chopping ice when I arrived. 

“Well,” I said. “You are going away.”

“Fucking New York hotshot.”

“Sticks and stones may hurt my bones.”

“You couldn’t leave it alone. My sister must have been some lay. She was always so high and mighty. Turned out she was like every other gash.”

He was angry, but still not quite yet where I wanted.

“Who was John Tyrone? Somebody else you murdered?”

He moved the box on the desk to the side. His hands momentarily were out of sight behind it. I tensed and heard Noyce suck in her breath. My shoulders ached from strain and a trickle of sweat ran down my back. I glanced at his holster. The snap holding the gun was now undone. Smooth. I wondered if Noyce noticed. I couldn’t worry about her. It was my play. I didn’t even want to shrug my shoulders to relieve the tension. It wouldn’t be long.

“Tyrone? Can’t lay that one on me. He died before I was born.”

“How did you steal his identity?”

“Piece of cake. I was an M.P. sergeant in Iraq. They arrested me because I had a little fun with some towel heads. If you ask me, they all should get a stick shoved up their ass.”

“Jesus,” Noyce whispered.

“Army pussies didn’t see it that way. Took my stripes and sent me back to the states. While I was awaiting my court martial they put me to work reconstructing the files of some dead soldiers from the Korean War. There had been a big fire at some records building in Kansas City. I came across Tyrone. He was killed when the Chinks came in. His body was never found. Orphan. No family. But he had an active Social Security number. I got six months and a Dishonorable Discharge that I knew would follow me around forever. So after I got out, I sent away for a duplicate of Tyrone’s Social Security card. Then I dummied up some discharge papers and a fake service record to fit the years I was in. You can dummy up anything, from a Medal of Honor citation on down. Veterans get a lot of breaks from cops. Once I got on one shit-heel police force, none of the others even checked. And here I am.”

“But I’m sure you still have your old Social Security card and other I.D.,” I said, “to convince the lawyer in Vegas you are entitled to your father’s money. You’d show up, maybe cry some crocodile tears about your father and your sister, and waltz off into the sunset with $5 million. It was a great set-up. I’m almost sorry I ruined it.”

His right cheek twitched again. I was getting close.

“You were right, hotshot. I ran into my father in a casino. Man, I was surprised he was even alive. The son of a bitch didn’t even want to talk to me. His own son. The great Harry Frost. Still acting like a big shot. Still pickling his liver. Told me to get lost. I hated the old bastard. I asked around about him. Found out he was loaded. So I sucked it up and told him I wanted to reconcile. He laughed in my face. Said he knew what I really wanted but I’d never get a cent of his money. That’s when I decided to kill him.”

“What I don’t get,” I said, “was why you killed him before Ronnie. It would make more sense if she were dead before anyone could contact her.”

“You think I’m dumb? I planned to kill her before the old man. But then I found out he was going on this gambling trip around the world for almost a year. Screwed up my schedule. I had to get to him before he left. I told myself it didn’t really matter if the lawyer in Vegas could still be convinced she was just a victim of a serial killer. That’s why I called him. I didn’t count on you finding out about him.”

“It’s amazing that a twisted psychopath like you got past the Army psychiatrists to begin with. When they put the straight jacket on you in the loony bin they’ll be doing case studies for years. Matthew Frost. Killer of helpless cats and nuns.”

Some spittle appeared at the side of his mouth.

“I think he’s rabid, too,” I said.

“Shut up, Rhode,” Noyce said, nervously.

“Nobody is putting me away, you motherfucker.”    

“Don’t be a fool,” Noyce said, sensing what was going to come next. “I have officers at every exit.”

“I’m sorry I spoiled your retirement party, Matt,” I said. “But I’ll send some cake to you in the psych ward. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave the ice pick out of it, though. Your days of handling sharp objects are over. What am I talking about? They’ll have you in a rubber room in a straitjacket, sucking baby food through a straw.”