Blow Out
Page 54
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“I hope you rot and die! I hope your dick falls off!”
The guy looked at the four strangers, arched an eyebrow, gave them a cocky grin as he rolled his eyes back toward Elaine LaFleurette, and continued on his way to a dark green Jaguar parked in front of the house. He tossed his car keys in the air, caught them, and opened the door with the remote.
Savich flipped out his I.D. to the young woman standing in the doorway. “Agents Savich and Sherlock, Detectives Raven and Markham. Are you Elaine LaFleurette?”
“Yes. Look, I’ve already talked to you guys. I don’t know anything. What now?”
Sherlock simply walked right up to her, pressing her back. “May we come in? It’s sort of cold out here.”
Fleurette stepped back automatically. She was still flushed, her breath still hot with anger.
Sherlock pointed back to the man who was revving up the Jag. “I agree with you, he’s a jerk,” she said. “We couldn’t help but overhear. You want me to go punch out his lights?”
Fleurette stared at the lovely woman with her curly red hair who stood a good four inches shorter than she was, and laughed. “Nah, he’s not worth you breaking a fingernail. But you’re right about him. He just dumped me because Justice Califano is dead, and so I can’t help him now, not that I would have in any case. Thank God I didn’t sleep with him.
“Callie? What are you doing with them? Oh God, I’m so sorry about your stepfather.”
Callie said, “Thank you, Fleurette. I’m with them because I’m trying to help. About that jerk, you’re lucky to be rid of him so quickly. Why’d you hook up with him in the first place?”
“Well, he is cute. And smart. But thank God it hadn’t gotten serious.”
Savich and Ben followed the two women into the living room, saying nothing at all. It was a gorgeous place, with highly buffed floors and an occasional Persian carpet. The living room was filled with high-quality Early American antiques, giving the living room a cozy feel. A fire blazed in the fireplace.
Fleurette obviously hadn’t been expecting company. She was wearing old gray sweats, with only socks on her feet, and no makeup. Her blond hair was in a ponytail. Her features were sharp, her green eyes full of intelligence.
“The guy just showed up to kiss you off?” Sherlock asked.
“Yeah, you’d think he’d at least call first, give me a chance to do my face, but here he is, standing on my doorstep, wanting to tell me he’s seeing another woman now. I wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t Sonya McGivens, Justice Wallace’s clerk.” Sonya McGivens, Savich thought, unable to recall any specifics on her. But he would find out as soon as they got back to MAX and he opened his data port.
Sherlock said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Miss LaFleurette—”
“Oh please, Agent Sherlock, you’ve heard me screaming at my former boyfriend, seen what a mess I am, please call me Fleurette, everyone does.”
“Okay, Fleurette. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Daniel O’Malley was murdered, very likely by the same man who murdered Justice Califano.”
Fleurette froze like a deer in the headlights. She stood there, staring at Sherlock, uncomprehending, her eyes blank, her face slack. Finally, she moistened her dry lips. “Danny—our Danny— is dead?”
“Yes, within the past twenty-four hours. Now, you’re a smart person, Fleurette, you must see immediately that Justice Califano’s murder and Danny’s are somehow connected.”
“But how?”
“We have to consider that Danny may have known something, maybe even tried to blackmail the murderer. We very much need your help, and we need it right now to find out who killed him.”
“Why would you think Danny would do such a thing?”
Sherlock said, “His apartment was torn apart, Fleurette. Someone had been looking for something.”
“And you think this something was some damning document that Danny had on the murderer?”
Sherlock shrugged. “Very possibly.”
Fleurette looked over at Savich, who was standing leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, then at Detective Raven and Callie. She said, “I—I don’t understand this. What could Danny possibly know about Justice Califano’s killer?”
“Sit down, Fleurette. Let’s talk about Friday.”
Fleurette sat, took several deep breaths, and nodded. “I remember Danny going into Justice Califano’s office. I remember he shut the door when he went in. None of us ever did that. If the door was cracked open, it stayed cracked open, but Danny closed it. Yes, that’s what he did.”
The guy looked at the four strangers, arched an eyebrow, gave them a cocky grin as he rolled his eyes back toward Elaine LaFleurette, and continued on his way to a dark green Jaguar parked in front of the house. He tossed his car keys in the air, caught them, and opened the door with the remote.
Savich flipped out his I.D. to the young woman standing in the doorway. “Agents Savich and Sherlock, Detectives Raven and Markham. Are you Elaine LaFleurette?”
“Yes. Look, I’ve already talked to you guys. I don’t know anything. What now?”
Sherlock simply walked right up to her, pressing her back. “May we come in? It’s sort of cold out here.”
Fleurette stepped back automatically. She was still flushed, her breath still hot with anger.
Sherlock pointed back to the man who was revving up the Jag. “I agree with you, he’s a jerk,” she said. “We couldn’t help but overhear. You want me to go punch out his lights?”
Fleurette stared at the lovely woman with her curly red hair who stood a good four inches shorter than she was, and laughed. “Nah, he’s not worth you breaking a fingernail. But you’re right about him. He just dumped me because Justice Califano is dead, and so I can’t help him now, not that I would have in any case. Thank God I didn’t sleep with him.
“Callie? What are you doing with them? Oh God, I’m so sorry about your stepfather.”
Callie said, “Thank you, Fleurette. I’m with them because I’m trying to help. About that jerk, you’re lucky to be rid of him so quickly. Why’d you hook up with him in the first place?”
“Well, he is cute. And smart. But thank God it hadn’t gotten serious.”
Savich and Ben followed the two women into the living room, saying nothing at all. It was a gorgeous place, with highly buffed floors and an occasional Persian carpet. The living room was filled with high-quality Early American antiques, giving the living room a cozy feel. A fire blazed in the fireplace.
Fleurette obviously hadn’t been expecting company. She was wearing old gray sweats, with only socks on her feet, and no makeup. Her blond hair was in a ponytail. Her features were sharp, her green eyes full of intelligence.
“The guy just showed up to kiss you off?” Sherlock asked.
“Yeah, you’d think he’d at least call first, give me a chance to do my face, but here he is, standing on my doorstep, wanting to tell me he’s seeing another woman now. I wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t Sonya McGivens, Justice Wallace’s clerk.” Sonya McGivens, Savich thought, unable to recall any specifics on her. But he would find out as soon as they got back to MAX and he opened his data port.
Sherlock said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Miss LaFleurette—”
“Oh please, Agent Sherlock, you’ve heard me screaming at my former boyfriend, seen what a mess I am, please call me Fleurette, everyone does.”
“Okay, Fleurette. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Daniel O’Malley was murdered, very likely by the same man who murdered Justice Califano.”
Fleurette froze like a deer in the headlights. She stood there, staring at Sherlock, uncomprehending, her eyes blank, her face slack. Finally, she moistened her dry lips. “Danny—our Danny— is dead?”
“Yes, within the past twenty-four hours. Now, you’re a smart person, Fleurette, you must see immediately that Justice Califano’s murder and Danny’s are somehow connected.”
“But how?”
“We have to consider that Danny may have known something, maybe even tried to blackmail the murderer. We very much need your help, and we need it right now to find out who killed him.”
“Why would you think Danny would do such a thing?”
Sherlock said, “His apartment was torn apart, Fleurette. Someone had been looking for something.”
“And you think this something was some damning document that Danny had on the murderer?”
Sherlock shrugged. “Very possibly.”
Fleurette looked over at Savich, who was standing leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, then at Detective Raven and Callie. She said, “I—I don’t understand this. What could Danny possibly know about Justice Califano’s killer?”
“Sit down, Fleurette. Let’s talk about Friday.”
Fleurette sat, took several deep breaths, and nodded. “I remember Danny going into Justice Califano’s office. I remember he shut the door when he went in. None of us ever did that. If the door was cracked open, it stayed cracked open, but Danny closed it. Yes, that’s what he did.”
