A Cold Day in Hell Page 11

  Joe knew she was watching him as he came back over with the box. He was seething. She wants to see me angry, he thought. If that’s what she gets off on, I can provide a private showing, just for her.

  30

  “You were right. A magnetic GPS system, available at any security store or online outlet. No fingerprints, of course, because of the constant exposure to the elements, but I’ve requested copies of the State Police’s entire evidence report.”

  “Was there ever any doubt I was right?” Two weeks after their big discovery, Lauren and Violanti were sitting on a patio in a waterfront bar sipping spiked iced tea. Their truce was holding up, but still shaky. David was set to be indicted and they were killing time, waiting for evening visiting hours at the jail to explain things to him. David’s mom was in the midst of a total breakdown since bail was denied. Violanti’s wife had managed to get her in to see a doctor, who had prescribed medication for her. It helped a little, but he said they were still getting hysterical phone calls at all hours of the night. The strain was already starting to show on Violanti’s face, even if his tone was optimistic.

  “No. Not after what you found out about the way she was living. She was being tracked, which means her husband knew exactly where she was. And now I have the reasonable doubt–raising questions of ‘Why didn’t Anthony Vine report his wife missing when she didn’t come home that night?’ Or, ‘Why didn’t he use his little tracker and go and find her body?’ And, ‘Why wasn’t she found until morning?’ I love it.”

  “Can I have another ten grand?”

  “I don’t love it that much.” He raised his glass to her and polished it off.

  The waiter brought them two more drinks. As Lauren was about to take a sip, something caught her eye two tables over.

  Mark Hathaway and his wife Amanda were being seated by the hostess. They were with another couple Lauren didn’t know. Amanda put her designer bag down next to her as Mark pushed his wife’s seat in. He looked up and locked eyes with Lauren. Mark bent down with a smile, whispered something in Amanda’s ear, and excused himself. Amanda almost broke her neck whipping around in her seat to watch Mark walk away.

  “Lauren, it’s so nice to see you,” he said in his best lawyer voice. He turned to Violanti, hand already offered. “Mark Hathaway.”

  He stood and they shook. “I think we worked together in the Adams case,” Violanti said.

  Mark’s face lit up with recognition. “Yes. I knew it. Of course, Frank Violanti. You’re representing David Spencer in the Vine case. I saw you on the news.”

  “That’s me. I’ve retained Lauren to assist me. I wasn’t aware you two knew each other.”

  “For quite some time.” His smile was wide, toothy. The smile, Lauren knew, he used when he was putting on a show. “Enjoy your drinks. It was nice to run into you both.”

  He wasn’t even back at his table yet when Violanti turned to Lauren. “You’re sleeping with Mark Hathaway?”

  “What?” She snorted, trying to stall. “He came over to say hello. I’d hardly call that basis for such an assumption. And rude too, you jerk off.”

  “You didn’t say hello. You didn’t say anything. You kept one eye on him and the other on his wife. I may be a jerk off, but I know how to read people.”

  A peel of laughter rang out from Mark’s party two tables away.

  “I was briefly married to Mark Hathaway, okay? A decade ago. He’s my ex-husband.”

  Violanti sat back in his chair and folded his arms smugly. “So you’re banging your ex-husband.”

  “If you say that word again, I’m going home, so drop it. Isn’t it time we got going? I’m on the clock here.”

  He paid the bill and they made their way outside to the parking lot. They decided to take one vehicle, so Lauren left her Ford behind and jumped into Violanti’s car.

  He didn’t even bother with a polite silence. “You and Mark Hathaway. Well, that explains the inside information you had. How did I not know you were married to one of the wealthiest men in the city?”

  “I said drop it. It’s none of your business.”

  “You were engaged to Joe Wheeler too?”

  “Before I was married to Mark.” Her face was getting red.

  “But that’s not the husband who fathered your girls?”

  “No.”

  “And now you’re sleeping with Mark again?”

  She spun to face Violanti in his seat. “If you say another word, I’m going to stab you in the ear with your own pen.”

  “I got it. I got it,” he laughed and made the turn out of the parking lot. Lauren sulked in the passenger seat the whole way to the holding center.

  The line of people waiting to see their loved ones stretched out the door, down the steps, and around the block. It was Monday evening visiting and everyone who had been too busy having fun on the weekend now showed up to see their incarcerated brethren. Violanti and Lauren got to cut ahead to the attorney’s line, which no one else was in. Most of the lawyers had already seen their clients during the day and gone back to their glorious new homes in the suburbs.

  They signed in and waited for the deputy to take them to the attorney conference room.

  David was already waiting for them. Lauren had set up this visit well in advance. Sometimes it took forty-five minutes to get people down off the blocks. Calling ahead made things easier.

  He looked good. With nothing else to do, David had decided to concentrate on working out. The lines of his jaw were more angular, had lost some of the boyishness over the last month. He looked older now and less scared. More like a man.

  “How are you, David?” Violanti asked as they sat across from him.

  He rubbed the shadow of stubble across his chin. “I can’t get a good shave in here.”

  “Other than that.”

  “How do you think? I’m sitting here rotting in a cell all by myself. I’m supposed to be starting college in the fall. I guess that’s off.” He gave a hard laugh. “I’m pissed off. How would you feel?”

  Violanti ignored that little outburst. “Well, we got some good news for your defense. Katherine Vine was being monitored by her husband. Did you see any other vehicles in the parking lot that night?”

  He sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Her car was the only one in the back lot. There were lots of cars where mine was parked up in the front. I don’t remember any other car specifically.”

  “The district attorney is going to indict you on Wednesday. As your lawyer, I have to tell you it’s your right to testify before the grand jury, but I don’t recommend it.”

  “I didn’t do it. What if I told them? What if they believed me?”

  “They won’t, and the prosecution will have a field day, and you’ll be indicted and have hurt your defense.”

  “None of this makes any sense,” he said and looked at Lauren. “How can that be right?”

  “It is. You shouldn’t testify. Trust me on this. Your uncle has to tell you it’s your option by law, but if you did, all you would do is give the DA a chance to question you before the trial and tighten up their strategy.”

  “This is such a game. It’s a joke,” David spat out.

  “You need to be calm, David, and put that anger away. If a jury sees you angry, we’re cooked. You have to look innocent and young and sympathetic.”

  “This is all a load of crap.”

  “You got that right; however, it’s crap we have to wade through if you ever want to get out of here before you look like Santa Claus.” Violanti pushed a bunch of papers toward David. “Now read these and sign them.”

  Lauren absently leafed through some of the crime scene photos in her file as David read his grand jury waiver. A piece of blond hair had escaped from her tight ponytail and fell along her cheek. She tried to tuck it behind her ear without looking up from the pictures.
It came loose again and straggled back.

  Gently, David reached over and tucked it away, his finger trailing down and over her lip. “Your mouth looks much better,” he said softly.

  When she looked up, his eyes were locked on hers.

  Lauren pushed up and back from the table as if snake had just bitten her.

  “What the hell was that?” Violanti demanded, grabbing David’s arm.

  David jerked away. “What? What?”

  Lauren hit the buzzer to get out, while Violanti went off on David. She didn’t stop until she was down the stairs, out the holding center doors, and halfway down the street.

  “Lauren!” Violanti called from behind. He was running up Court Street clutching all the folders they’d brought in, trying to catch up with her.

  A hand came down on her shoulder and she spun around. “What just happened in there? Can you tell me? What was that?”

  “I don’t know, Lauren. He’s a kid. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “No? No kid I know ever touched me like that.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, okay? I know. He’s not a predator. Maybe you just have some kind of weird mojo that drives men wild—”

  “Oh, that’s rich. Blame the victim. Maybe Katherine Vine was asking for it.”

  “Keep your voice down!” he shushed urgently. “Let’s not make more of this than it is. He’s a kid and he feels like you’re trying to help him. Maybe he has some kind of crush on you. That doesn’t make him a killer.”

  “Get me out of here. I want to go home and rethink this.”

  31

  Violanti tried reasoning with her all the way back to her car. She jumped out of his sedan without a word, got into her car, and peeled out of the restaurant parking lot where they’d left her Ford. As she headed toward home, she fished her cell out of her purse with one hand and glanced at the screen. Three missed messages from Mark. She threw the phone onto the seat. They could stay missed for all she cared. Having to see Mark laughing and drinking with his wife as if she never existed, then being hit on by a possibly homicidal—and definitely hormonal—prisoner was too much. She needed a whiskey sour.

  When she was safely at home, she called her best friend, Dayla. Dayla lived halfway down the block and had been a stay-at-home mom who loved drama in any form. Now that her kids were grown and out of the house, she found Lauren’s life more exciting than primetime television. Five minutes after getting the call, she was on Lauren’s front steps with a bottle of whiskey and a bag of potato chips.

  “How do I get myself into these messes?” Lauren asked, dumping a handful of ice into two rocks glasses in her kitchen.

  Leaning a hip against the granite countertop Dayla asked, “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  “No.” She handed Dayla her whiskey minus the sour. “You drink your drink.”

  “Thank you.” Dayla whisked her dark curls off to the side as she sipped her whiskey. They used to drink red wine together, but it seemed too Real Housewives to Dayla, so she switched to Jameson. In her mind, detectives and their sidekicks drink whiskey, Lauren thought with a crooked smile. I have a middle-aged cougar for a Watson to my Holmes.

  They sat down at the kitchen table together. “I just don’t get it,” Lauren went on. “My gut says this kid is not guilty.”

  “So, you were wrong. Give back the rest of the ten grand, cut your losses, and forget about it.”

  “I don’t think I am, though.” Lauren slugged down some of her drink. “I really don’t think the kid did it. He had sex with her, but I don’t think he killed her. There’s more going on.”

  “Then maybe you should concentrate on who you think did kill her.” Dayla shook up the ice in her glass.

  “Genius. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Keep the money. Solve the case. Get me another drink.”

  Lauren took the bottle off the table and refilled their glasses. Black hair curly and loose around her face, Dayla’s eyebrows were pulled upward in a way that made her look like she was surprised all the time. Her husband was a plastic surgeon and Dayla, in her boredom, had had almost every procedure known to man done to her. Her boobs were fake, she had a chin implant, tummy tuck, eyelift, Botox—you name it. She’d gone from being a very attractive middle-aged black woman to an extremely attractive, plastic-looking, middle-aged black woman. Still, she was good people even if she did use a made up name to go with her fake appendages. Lauren thought her real name was possibly Darlene, but she wouldn’t answer to it.

  “Let’s forget all this stuff about crime and trials and murder. Let’s talk about the important things. Like who you’re sleeping with right now.”

  Lauren couldn’t help laughing. Dayla was always exactly what she needed. “It’s complicated.”

  Dayla waved her hand around in dismissal. “Complicated! Complicated, she says! It’s simple anatomy. You have girl parts and the boy has boy parts … ”

  “I get it, I get it. It’s just that no matter who I sleep with, it’s never the right guy, you know?”

  Dayla peered at her over her rocks glass, “That, my friend, is because you are an ice queen.”

  “I’m not an ice queen,” Lauren protested.

  “Ice queen … ” Dayla was singing into her whiskey now.

  “How am I an ice queen? Because I don’t take garbage from guys anymore? Because I refuse to settle?”

  “You have gone beyond refusing to settle to a straight-up block of ice. I get that both the girls leaving for college was hard on you. I get that you’ve been hurt by men. I truly get that. But you refuse to give anyone a chance. It’s like you want to spend the rest of your life alone in sexual happiness exile.”

  “Sexual happiness exile?” Lauren repeated. “Is that even a thing?”

  “Yes. Yes, it’s a thing in the world according to Dayla.” Now she pointed a thin manicured finger at her. “You have a ripe young partner just ready for the picking. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. Those rippling muscles, those heavenly green eyes …”

  “Sounds like you’ve thought about it.”

  “Who wouldn’t? Oh yeah, you. That’s who. Raining on my sexual fantasy parade.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” Lauren refilled both their glasses. They were using a lot more whiskey than ice. “He’s not my type. It would be like kissing my brother.”

  “He’s not my brother. Thank you very much.” They clinked their glasses together and Dayla offered a drunken, “Cheers!”

  “Reese is my partner and my friend. Besides, he’s too young for me.”

  “Yeah, well, one of these days, that hottie will be snatched up and you’ll be kicking yourself.”

  Dayla stayed until almost eleven o’clock and then stumbled her way home down the block. Lauren watched from her front porch until Dayla navigated her way inside, clutching the half-empty bag of potato chips she decided she had to take with her. She was feeling a little bombed herself, so Lauren crawled upstairs, pulled her clothes off, and fell into her spinning bed.

  The phone buzzed on the nightstand just as she was closing her eyes. She picked it up and squinted at the screen.

  Mark.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, turning her cell off. “No getting the milk for free tonight.”

  32

  It was hot. Even in her bedroom with the window wide open, her white sheet stuck to her body from the perspiration. Lauren felt a cool ribbon of air kiss her side as Mark slid in beside her. He must have let himself in with the key to the lock she never changed. He reached for her and she didn’t stop him. As her breasts pressed up against his bare chest she could sense the urgency in his kiss. He was on top of her, his muscular body holding her down. One hand pulled away her panties, roughly signaling that foreplay was going to be glanced over this evening.

  When he pushed himself
inside her, though, she knew something was wrong. He was too big. He was holding her down. She slammed her hands against his chest to break away from him, but he wouldn’t stop. His thrusts were too savage, almost primal. His penetration was deep and painful and fast. She could feel his breath on her face, coming in jagged grunts as he rutted into her over and over. He was hurting her.

  She opened her eyes. Instead of Mark’s face hovering over hers, it was David Spencer. He smiled.

  She woke up with a start. Sweat was pouring down her neck, soaking into her sheets. Just a bad dream, she told herself, trying to shake it off, just a nightmare.

  She rolled onto her side and looked at the moon. The sheer panels hung limply on either side of the window. Lauren closed her eyes. With a sick feeling in her stomach, she wondered if David Spencer was in his cell dreaming of her.

  33

  “Can we talk?” Violanti hadn’t taken the four unanswered text messages as a sign Lauren wasn’t in the mood to chitchat.

  “I’m at work. My regular job. I can’t talk now. I’ll call you later.”

  “When?”

  “Later. Goodbye.” She hung up on him and turned her cell phone off. She was doing that a lot lately.

  “Problems with your new boyfriend?” Reese asked. He was holding a black-and-white photograph up to the light, examining it with a real magnifying glass, making his left eye look enormous.

  “No, Sherlock Holmes. Problems with the annoying mini-counsel. Let’s scour the mug machine for the boyfriend in the Ortiz case, see if we can build that up and make ourselves useful.”

  Putting the picture back into the file, he tossed it on his desk. It looked like a hurricane had hit it from behind. He expressly forbade Lauren from touching his paperwork. If she needed something from a case of his, she would ask him and magically the exact piece of paper would be plucked out of the pile.