Butterfly Page 6

Ben straightened, his expression cold and angry. “And the first place we’re going is to Chaz Finelli’s apartment. Maybe there’s something there that will give us a place to start.”

  ***

  Bobby Lee strode into the dining room and smiled at the maid who was pouring coffee into his cup.

  “Morning, Delia. Tell cook I’d like my eggs scrambled this morning, and bring me some biscuits and sausage gravy, too. I’m a hungry man.”

  “Yes, sir, Senator. Will your mother be joining you this morning?”

  Before Bobby Lee could answer, Mona strolled into the room and answered for herself.

  “I’m already here,” she drawled. “I’ll have fresh strawberries and toast, and bring me some of that herbal tea I like.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Delia said, and hurried out of the room before the fireworks started. And they would start, of that she was certain, because, although Mona Wakefield was wearing a long, silk robe, it was obvious as all get-out that she didn’t have a stitch on under it.

  Bobby Lee’s eyes narrowed angrily as he watched his mother take her seat. As she leaned forward to adjust the hem of her robe, the top gaped open, revealing a goodly portion of voluptuous breast. Bobby rolled his eyes heavenward.

  “For the Lord’s sake, Mother, tie that robe a little better or put something on under it first. Have you no shame?”

  Mona glanced down at herself and shrugged as she readjusted the robe.

  “You are such a prude, Bobby Lee. If I didn’t remember the pain of birthing you, I would swear you are not my son.”

  “If only that were so,” he muttered beneath his breath and resumed reading the front page section of the Dallas Morning News.

  “I heard that,” Mona said. “And may I please have some of the paper?”

  Bobby Lee took a couple of sections from the back and handed them to her.

  “The classifieds?” she drawled.

  He cursed beneath his breath and handed her another section.

  Their banter was so commonplace that neither one of them took much of it to heart. Silence reigned in the dining room for all of five minutes until Delia returned with their food. A few more insults were traded between passing the butter and sugar. After that, they continued to eat while reading between bites. Mona was taking her last swallow of tea when her gaze fell on a small column of news.

  “Well, now, just listen to this, Bobby Lee.”

  He dropped his paper in his lap and looked up with a sigh. “Mother, you know I don’t like to be read to.”

  She wasn’t paying him any mind, which didn’t surprise him. When had she ever?

  Mona cleared her throat and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, then began to read aloud, hitting only the highlights of the story.

  “‘Shooting down in Oakcliff… two killed… no witnesses… police at a loss…’”

  Bobby Lee interrupted. “The police are always at a loss,” he muttered.

  “That’s not so,” Mona said. “You’re just mad because you got pulled over last month and ticketed for speeding.”

  Bobby Lee’s eyes narrowed angrily. “The boy didn’t know his place.”

  Mona grinned. “Why, I believe he did. Just because you’re a senator, that doesn’t make you God.” Her grin widened. “That comes afterward… when you’re elected president of these United States. Then you can be God.”

  A grudging smile centered on Bobby Lee’s handsome face. “You are a witch,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Mona arched an eyebrow. “I know nothing of the sort. Now, let me finish,” she said, and ran her finger down the page until she found her place. “Oh yes, here’s what I was trying to tell you. The man who was killed. It was Chaz Finelli.” She made a face. “I never did like that man.”

  Bobby Lee’s mouth dropped. The man’s sleazeball reputation for taking scandalous photos of Dallas’s rich and famous was well-known. The fact that his mother spoke personally of him made him nervous.

  “You know Finelli?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m all out of tea. Where’s Delia gone off to, anyway?”

  Bobby Lee grabbed his mother by the wrist. “Mother, I asked you a question.”

  “And I heard you,” she snapped.

  His grip tightened. “Then answer me,” he growled. “Goddamn it, I just announced my candidacy for president. I don’t need any surprises coming out of the woodwork. Exactly how do you know Chaz Finelli?”

  “Why would it matter now? He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  Bobby Lee stood, and in that moment Mona was almost afraid of her son. His voice was shaking with fury as he loomed over her chair.

  “You talk to me… now!”

  Mona shrugged. “It didn’t amount to a hill of beans,” she said. “I just got a little drunk at the mayor’s birthday party last year.”

  Bobby Lee’s mind was racing. He remembered the incident well. He’d pulled in a lot of favors to keep it out of the press.

  “And…”

  “Oh, hell, Bobby Lee. A woman has needs, too, you know. John Woodley and I were out in the greenhouse when a bunch of flashes went off. We thought they were part of the fireworks for the party until about a week later. John said he got some pictures in the mail.”

  She gave Bobby Lee a nervous glance. She’d never seen him so quiet—or so angry.

  “What were you and John doing in those pictures?”

  She grinned. “Well, we weren’t counting daisies, Bobby Lee. What the hell do you think we were doing?”

  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You will be the death of me yet.”

  “Oh, calm down. John paid him off and got the negatives, too.”

  “No blackmailer worth his salt ever gets rid of all the evidence. Somewhere, I can guarantee, there’s a copy of those pictures, and they will show up just when it matters most.”

  Mona hated being wrong, and like her son, when faced with a problem, dealt with it in anger. She shoved her chair back with a thump and threw her napkin in his face.

  “How? By ghost express? He’s dead, Bobby Lee. Dead men tell no tales.”

  Bobby Lee paled. “I’ve got to call Ainsley.” Resisting the urge to put his fist in her face, he pointed at her instead. “You don’t leave this house today, do you hear me? If you’re ever connected to his murder, then all of this is over… for both of us!”

  Bobby Lee stormed out of the dining room. Mona strode to the window overlooking the snow-covered gardens. Icicles hung from the edges of the roof like long crystal spears. A pair of cardinals darted from bush to bush in search of food—as obvious to the human eye as blood on snow. Mona watched their futile search for food without any emotion. When they finally gave up and flew away, she abandoned the view. It was a hard world out there, and in her opinion, it didn’t matter how beautiful the birds were. If they didn’t have what it took to survive, then they didn’t deserve to live.

  ***

  A thin layer of dust covered the furnishings in Finelli’s apartment, as well as three empty pizza boxes stacked on the table with a mummified piece of pepperoni pizza lying on top. There was a small plastic bowl on the kitchen floor with a handful of dried cat food, and another bowl beside it, obviously a water dish that had long ago evaporated. One could only hope that the cat it had been meant for was long gone from the premises. Either that or the stench that they were smelling was the cat. Ben and Red were hesitant to find out.

  “Shoot a mile,” Red muttered. “Something sure stinks. I hope it’s not that cat. Where do you want to start?”

  Ben pulled a pair of rubber gloves from his coat pocket and put them on.

  “I’ll go in the bedroom and work my way forward. You start in the kitchen, okay?”

  “What are we looking for?” Red asked.

  “Anything that might get a man killed.”

  “Okay,” Red said, and then hesitated. “You got another pair of gloves? I left mine in the car.”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Ben
said, and dug through the inside pocket of his coat. “Here you go. Knock yourself out.”

  With that, both men went their separate ways, looking for answers to a crime that, so far, made no sense.

  Time passed as the men moved from room to room. Red refused to set foot in the bathroom, so it was Ben who got left with the job. As he walked through the doorway, the stench they’d been smelling hit him full force. After a quick search of the cabinets and drawers, he decided that it was the sink that was harboring the smell.

  It was streaked with grime and hair, and something that looked suspiciously like chemicals. He supposed they were the kind used in developing, but to be on the safe side, he scraped a sample off the sink. Maybe it was residue from a drug lab. If it was, manufacturing amphetamines would go a long way toward explaining why someone had wanted Finelli dead.

  There was an assortment of bottles, mostly chemicals, in the cabinet beside the sink, and Ben was beginning to believe this had been Finelli’s darkroom. He moved them around, reading each one label by label, but could find nothing that looked out of place. Yet when he set one of them down, the sound seemed hollow. He shoved several bottles aside and tapped on the bottom of the shelf once more. Again the thumps seemed to echo.

  “Hey, Red!” he yelled. “Got a minute?”

  Red appeared at the door.

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “You got your flashlight on you?”

  Red pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket. “Like the Boy Scouts, I’m always prepared.”

  Grinning, Ben took it from his partner and flipped the switch. He leaned closer to the cabinet, aiming the beam of light at the cabinet floor. Almost immediately, he could tell that it had been altered from its original design. Quickly he took all the bottles out of the cabinet and set them in the sink, then took out his pocket knife and stuck the point at one end of a crack.

  “Whatcha got there?” Red asked.

  “Don’t know,” Ben said. “Maybe nothing.” But he continued to dig. Within seconds, something popped, and all of a sudden the floor of the cabinet was in his hands.

  “Would you look at that?” Red said, and leaned closer, peering over Ben’s shoulder. “Is something in it?”

  Ben aimed the flashlight into the opening. “Son of a…”

  “What?” Red asked. “What’s in there?”

  Ben began pulling out photos, along with a couple of manila envelopes, and he’d only skimmed the surface of the stash.

  Red’s eyes widened. “Oh, man. Would you look at these? Hey, isn’t that Sonny Harold of the Dallas Lone Stars with the needle in his hand? I thought he was on probation.”

  “He is,” Ben said.

  Red held up another. “And this one… the naked woman riding that mechanical bull. She looks familiar, but I just can’t…”

  “The mayor’s wife,” Ben muttered. “And I must say, I’ve seen her looking better.”

  “Jesus!” Red said. “Where do you suppose he got these?”

  “With that famous little camera he was never without. You know… the one that’s missing. Without doubt, I’d say we’ve got, at the least, a good hundred or so reasons for murdering Finelli. The question remains, which one of these creeps did the deed?”

  Five

  Aaron Floyd slapped his desk with the flat of his hand and tossed the list he’d been handed back to Ben and Red.

  “Jesus Christ! Do you two have any idea what a mess this is going to make?”

  Anger was thick in Ben’s voice as he answered his captain.

  “Yes, and ask me if I care. Those people in the photographs caused their own set of problems. Finelli exacerbated them and it got him killed. We’re just trying to find some justice for the stupid bastard, not that I’m sure he deserves it, but China Brown damn sure does.”

  Aaron Floyd wiped a hand across his face, then ran it through his hair, giving himself time to calm down. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his demeanor was apologetic.

  “I didn’t mean that the way it came out,” he muttered. “Hell, yes, I want the shooter caught, and if he’s on this list, then we’ll find out.” He glanced back at the list and then shook his head. “The mayor’s wife? Larry Dee Jackson? Ariel Simmons?” He rolled his eyes as he repeated her name. “Ariel Simmons is one of those TV preachers, for Pete’s sake. For now, keep your questioning discreet until we find out who’s got an alibi and who doesn’t. If this gets out, we’ll have the Dallas city government, the Country Music Association and even God on our ass if this gets mishandled. I don’t want to set the police department up for a lawsuit, do you hear me?”

  “Fine. We’ll make sure we don’t step on too many toes or ruffle any more feathers than we have to,” Ben snapped. “But I think it needs to be remembered that we’ve got a victim who’s hanging on to her life by a thread, a woman who has yet to hear the words, your baby is dead. When she wakes up—and she will wake up—do you want to be the one to tell her that we still don’t know who killed her child because we were afraid to make somebody mad?”

  Before Aaron Floyd could answer, Ben picked up the list of suspects and strode out of the office. Red shrugged apologetically.

  “This one just got to him, Captain. He’ll be all right.”

  “See that he is, or I’ll put someone else on the case.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Red said, and left quickly before he unloaded what was on his mind, too. He was as ticked off as Ben. The way he looked at it, if the stupid fools hadn’t gotten themselves into these messes, then there wouldn’t be any incriminating pictures to worry about. His mama always said if you lay down with dogs, you were bound to get fleas, and after looking at the pictures they’d pulled out of Finelli’s stash, it would take more than flea baths to solve their itches.

  “Ben, wait up,” Red said, as he grabbed his coat and followed his partner out the door.

  Ben spun, his face tight with anger. “Politics suck. If you know the right people, or have enough money, you can buy your way out of just about anything.”

  “The captain said if you don’t pull it together, he’s going to put someone else on the case.”

  “He’ll play hell trying,” Ben said. “You driving, or am I?”

  “Me.”

  Ben tossed him the car keys and strode out the door. Red shook his head and followed.

  ***

  Twenty-four hours later, they’d eliminated fifteen of the forty-five names on the list. Some of the people had been out of town when the incident occurred, others had unshakable alibis. But they had all been appalled to learn that there were still existing pictures of their indiscretions.

  At the moment, the man they were interrogating was less than happy to see the picture of himself and the teenage hitchhiker he’d picked up, having sex in the back seat of his car, as naked as they day they were born.

  “Sombitch!” Jody Franklin had roared. “I paid that little weasel good money to get these back. He assured me I had them all, including the negatives.”

  “Obviously, he lied,” Red said. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Finelli?”

  Jody grabbed a cigar from a box on his desk, bit the end of it off with his teeth and spat, sending the bit of tobacco flying.

  Ben watched without speaking. Jody was so furious, he half expected the man’s cigar to light on its own. That kind of anger could easily escalate into something more—something deadly.

  “Mr. Franklin?”

  Jody Franklin glared at Red. “I heard you the first time,” he snapped. “I’m thinkin’.” He lit his cigar, taking several long puffs until the end of the cigar was glowing; then he circled his desk and sat down with a grunt and buzzed his secretary to come in. “Eileen, bring me last year’s calendar.”

  A few moments later, a short, well-dressed woman entered the room, eyeing the detectives with curiosity.

  “Any particular date you want me to look up for you, sir?”

  “Yeah. When did I go to the
Fort Worth livestock show? It was sometime last spring, but I don’t remember the exact date.”

  Eileen ruffled through the months, running her finger down the dates on individual pages until she found what she was looking for.

  “Here it is. May 12 through 15. You stayed at the Hilton.”

  “Thank you, Eileen. That will be all.”

  The secretary exited. As soon as the door had closed behind her, Franklin strode to the window, a wreath of smoke following him as he walked.

  “It was May 15, my last night in Fort Worth. The little bastard showed up at my hotel, handed me a copy of that picture you have there and said if I didn’t give him ten thousand dollars, he was going to mail copies to my wife, my daughters and my mother.” He spun, his face dark with anger. “My mother, for God’s sake! She’s eighty-four years old. The shock alone would have killed her.”

  “Did you pay?”

  Franklin shrugged. “Hell, yes, of course I did. Money wasn’t the issue. I would have given him double without thinking twice. I got the negatives and all the prints.” His eyes narrowed as he glanced back at the picture lying on his desk. “At least I thought I did.”

  “And you haven’t seen him since?” Ben asked.

  Franklin took a long puff of his cigar, then blew a couple of smoke rings before answering.

  “We don’t run in the same social circles, Detective.”

  “Where were you last Friday?”

  Franklin took another long, thoughtful puff. “Oh, yeah,” he muttered. “Squiring my wife and youngest daughter to see The Nutcracker ballet.” He grimaced. “Damn boring, dancing around on your toes and all, but you know how it is… sometimes you do what you have to do.”

  “We’ll have to verify that,” Ben said.

  For the first time since they had walked into his office, Jody Franklin looked scared.

  “Check with the box office, they can verify we were there. Call Mayor Devlin. We sat next to him and his wife. Just don’t call Mary Sue. I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “Should have thought of that before you screwed a kid young enough to be your daughter,” Ben snapped.

  “Hell,” Franklin muttered. “Give me a break, Detective. I’m not gonna lie and say I didn’t wish the little bastard dead a hundred times, but I swear to God I didn’t have anything to do with his death.”