Booty Call (Episode Seven: The NIghtshade Cases) Read online

  Heard about ex. Simone’s crisp response was an order that didn’t require her voice to activate the controls she had over Cici. Can’t have the dear doctor fly apart. Stay close.

  Cici’s teeth squeaked as they ground together. Her hands shook so badly she could barely type, had to correct most of her text for typos before hitting send.

  Yes, Mistress.

  Her whole body well dull, numb, anger washing away as she slid her phone back into her purse and pulled free the key she’d taken from Ray's bag before letting herself back into the apartment.

  Cici stood over the sleeping woman a long time, watching, heart hurting.

  ***

  INT. – PATTERSON MANSION – AFTERNOON

  Gerri hated the next of kin visits most of all, but always volunteered to handle them personally. Part of her flinched from the experience, but the cop in her needed to see how the loved ones took the news of their departed’s death. Her gut wouldn’t let her do otherwise.

  Belinda Patterson’s house was a bit of a shocker, not because it was in Burnstile, the rich part of town, but because Gerri wasn’t expecting the sprawling, modern mansion or the bodyguards at the door. Her phone buzzed, Jackson’s text telling her about five seconds before the weeping housekeeper led her into a vast office she wasn’t dealing with just any grieving husband.

  Daryl Patterson stood from behind his desk, thinning blond hair carefully and artfully styled, soft tan doing its best to hide his middling forties, though the lines around his blue eyes gave away his age and the stress of managing a Fortune 500 company for the last ten years. As owner, creator and CEO of Pattercorp, one of the largest money management firms in the U.S., Daryl Patterson could have bought and sold his wife’s death a hundred times over without breaking a sweat.

  From the glare she observed on the tall, heavyset man with the shining bald head watching from the right of the desk, Patterson wouldn’t have to go far looking for volunteers. The CEO shook Gerri’s hand while her instincts sniffed softly around him—the bheast, she sighed to herself, wondering privately if Kinsey would be proud to know she admitted it.

  “Detective Meyers.” He knew her name already. Interesting. Her green gaze flickered to his guest and back again while Daryl Patterson turned and gestured to the scowling suit. “My corporate chief of security, Ivan Bruts.” Bruts didn’t bother to fake a nod. Patterson ignored the cold, silent exchange between her and his employee, turning instead to comfort the small, Mexican woman who wept into her hands. The housekeeper clutched at him a moment before gasping a breath. “It’s going to be all right,” he said in the gentlest voice Gerri had ever heard, her gut sighing, but not yet willing to accept he might be innocent. Blue eyes met hers. “You have to forgive Maria,” he said. “She and Belinda were very close.”

  The small, round woman bobbed her head to her boss before turning and fleeing the room. Gerri let her go, though just for now. She had questions for the housekeeper.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Gerri said, hooking her thumbs into her belt to keep herself from fidgeting. Not that Patterson made her nervous, but she was used to breaking the news, not having her suspects gain the upper hand.

  “Thank you, Detective.” He turned toward his desk, retrieved an expensive-looking mug. His hands shook. Coffee sloshed over the edge, forcing him to set it down again. “I have friends in the department,” he said, voice soft again. “They were kind enough to tell me you were coming.”

  She’d be finding out who those friends were in short order. “Do you have any reason to believe someone would want to harm your wife, Mr. Patterson?”

  Daryl shook his head, but didn’t get to answer, not when the door to his office crashed open. Maria wailed as a tall woman with close-cropped, blonde hair burst inside. Gerri smelled the rage and hurt. Gerri's hand settled on the hilt of her gun out of sheer reaction to the surge of emotion coming off the stranger. But this newcomer had no interest in the detective, blazing gray eyes locked on Daryl.

  “You bastard,” she growled. “Why did you kill her?”

  Ivan Bruts reacted before Gerri did, lunging for the intruder. But the detective stepped between him and his target, one hand up to hold him off. “Don’t even think about it.”

  He continued to glare, clearly his favorite expression—if not his only—but backed off a step, rigid and ready for action. Gerri didn’t need to examine the bulge in his jacket to know he was packing or that his gun was likely bigger than hers.

  Not that size mattered.

  The woman seemed to only notice Gerri in that moment, hesitating. “You’re a cop?”

  “Detective Geraldine Meyers.” She waited for the woman to reciprocate with a pointed stare.

  “Gaylene Striker.” The once forceful, overwhelming rush of emotion now backed off, cooling and retreating as Gaylene took a step away, rubbing one arm with her hand. She reminded Gerri of a runway model, all arms and legs and collarbones. A jutting, angular face. European but accent all American. “Belinda and I were lovers.”

  “I’ve already told you, Miss Striker,” Daryl’s good nature and grief were long gone as he snarled at the woman before him, “my wife had no interest in you beyond what you’d already convinced her to give. And I warned you last time you showed up here I’d be calling my lawyer.”

  How did she make it past security? Gerri caught Maria watching from around the corner of the door and put things together. Maria was close to Belinda. And trusted Gaylene enough to let her in.

  Said way more about their relationship than Daryl Patterson’s denials.

  Gaylene’s power seemed to return in the face of his challenge. “She was leaving you,” she said, voice quiet but shaking with emotion, “for me. You couldn’t stand it.” Her gray gaze turned to Gerri. “He killed her—or had that gorilla of his do it,” Ivan shifted behind Gerri, restless, threatening, “so she wouldn’t leave him.”

  Gerri wasn’t a fan of soap operas, but this bunch was telling her more than enough just by losing their cool in front of her. Until Daryl Patterson laughed. Bitter, harsh, but laughter, enough to diffuse Gaylene’s strength and send her sagging again.

  “This woman is a stalker,” he said. “Check her record, Detective. For now, I’m going to ask you to remove her from my property.” His blue eyes snapped anger. “Or I’ll have my people do it for me.”

  Bruts shifted again, enough even Gerri felt threatened. Rather than give Patterson what he wanted, however, knowing in that moment how important her tenuous authority was, she gestured to the door, eyes locked with Gaylene.

  “Miss Striker,” she said, calm and even. “I’d like to have a word with you outside. In a moment.”

  Gaylene wavered, hesitated, but nodded at last, turning and striding from the room as Gerri spun back in a slow half circle to face Patterson. He observed her with his own level calm, while her instincts prickled and doubted his previous act.

  “A formality, you understand,” she said, her tone assuring him her next question was anything but, “I need to know where you were last night at 10:30pm, Mr. Patterson.”

  Ivan Bruts twitched, but Patterson shrugged. “At my downtown office,” he said. “In a meeting.” He nodded to his security chief. “With Ivan.”

  Naturally. The two were each other’s alibis. No alibis at all.

  Daryl must have put together what she was thinking, because his face crumbled slightly, enough her gut clenched against believing he was guilty.

  “I knew about my wife’s trysts, Detective,” he said, sitting on the edge of his desk, face pale. The confrontation with Gaylene Striker seemed to have taken more out of him than he’d wanted her to see. “We both had certain… desires neither of us were able to achieve together.” Even more interesting. A jilted lover of his, perhaps, guilty of taking out Belinda? “But I loved her, I swear it. And I would never hurt her.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Gerri said, soft prod in her words, just enough disbelief to force him to respond.

&nbs
p; Daryl stood, circled his desk. “If you’ll give me your email address,” he said, “I’ll supply you with all the correspondence Belinda shared with me. Including videos of her adventures.” His blue eyes didn’t apologize for her behavior.

  “And yours?” Depending on how many lovers they’d had, her suspect pool had just grown exponentially.

  Bruts growled, but Daryl just sighed and nodded. “And mine.” Crinkles of lines deepened around his eyes and mouth. He was an attractive man, no doubt about it, the body of an athlete. But there was a hopelessness to him that turned Gerri off. “I can trust your discretion, Detective?”

  “As long as that’s not a threat, Mr. Patterson.” Just try and cause trouble for her in the department. She’d squash him like a bug.

  His face hardened. “Just a courtesy request.”

  Gerri shrugged. “I’ll need video surveillance from your office last night, time stamped. And the information you offered.” Okay, the dude just lost his wife, sure. But his waffling from CEO to busted human being was giving her a rash. “And unless I find anything to the contrary, the Silver City Police Department will see no reason to share anything we consider evidence outside necessary eyes and ears.”

  That seemed to appease him. She handed over her card which he accepted before gesturing at the door. Bruts crowded her instantly, though Daryl didn’t seem to notice.

  “Thank you, Detective,” the CEO said as she faced down his bully with a growl of her own. “Please, find out who did this to Belinda.”

  Gerri stood toe-to-toe for one last moment, making sure Bruts knew she wasn’t leaving on his insistence, before turning and striding from the room.

  ***

  ***

  INT. – 9TH PRECINCT INTERROGATION – AFTERNOON

  Gerri stared through the glass into the interrogation room, a thin folder in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She’d immediately been assaulted—figuratively, if not literally—when she emerged from Patterson’s office by the demanding and shaking Gaylene Striker.

  “He killed her,” she said as she stormed up to Gerri. “I know it.”

  It didn’t take much to convince the woman to come downtown, just shortly after a quick interrogation of Maria, the housekeeper, turned up very little. Either the woman was faking her inability to speak English or she really couldn’t understand. Gerri’s discomfort with Gaylene translating what small information the older woman was willing to give cut that situation short. Cursing herself for not taking Spanish in college, Gerri put a call in to the 9th to have one of the bilingual detectives have a chat with Maria while she dealt with Gaylene.

  Once at the precinct, Gerri left her cooling her jets in interrogation room one while she checked her file. And was slightly disappointed to discover Patterson was right.

  Sighing to herself over the stupidity of people when it came to love and lust, she set her mug aside and left the observation room, almost colliding with Jackson on the way out. He swiped at the front of his jacket as though the near contact contaminated him somehow, just making Gerri’s day all the brighter with his presence.

  “Jilted lover, huh?” He reminded her of a jackal or a hyena, circling a dying creature, waiting for it to expire so he could pick the carcass clean. As long as he kept his grubby paws to himself from now on.

  “The hotel surveillance?” He might be a grade A jackass, but he was a good investigator. Jackson’s eyes tightened.

  “I’m still reviewing it.”

  And that was all he was telling her, huh? He’d see how far playing his cards close got him with Gerri. After she beat the crap out of him and left him in a blubbering puddle on the floor—

  She really needed that session with Cici. Damned temper.

  “Just get it done.” Gerri brushed past him while Jackson glowered.

  “You’re welcome,” he shot at her, tossing a sheet of paper her way. She had to scramble to pick it up, gritting her teeth as he spun and stalked off before glancing down at it. And pausing, anger gone.

  Daryl Patterson’s alibi panned out according to the logs at his office.

  Damn it.

  Gerri stuffed the sheet into the file folder and pushed her way into the interrogation room. Gaylene stood up, frown pulling her thin, wide lips downward, pale face peaked with pink at her cheekbones, dark circles just starting to shadow under her eyes.

  “Sit down, Miss Striker.” Gerri wasn’t in the mood to be gentle. Not now her first suspect—the one she wanted to be guilty, damn him—seemed to be in the clear. The fact he was right about Gaylene didn't make things any better.

  The tall woman hesitated, crumpling slightly as she had in Patterson’s presence. Problems with authority? She finally sank into the chair, long, slim legs crossing, short skirt riding up to expose the paleness of her flesh.

  Gerri slammed the file down on the table and crossed her arms over her chest. “You might want to explain to me why it is you have a restraining order against you, Miss Striker. And a recorded charge of stalking.”

  “You should be looking at Daryl for Belinda’s murder.” Gaylene’s bitterness was a living thing, heavy in the air.

  “Mr. Patterson has an alibi,” Gerri said, leaning forward, long, red hair hanging over one shoulder as she pressed her fists against the table, into Gaylene’s space. The woman sank back away from her, turning her head as though to avoid any possibility of physical contact. Definite issues with authority. “Do you?”

  That spun her head around. Gray eyes widened, breath caught, lips parted. And Gerri’s gut whispered, Innocent, even as the woman began to cry.

  “Belinda wasn’t just my lover,” she whispered. “Daryl didn’t care about that as much as he did her betrayal of his business.” Gaylene rubbed at her upper arms with her slim hands. “No one knows yet. Belinda was keeping it quiet. But she had evidence against him, that he was defrauding the company. She was going to turn state’s evidence against him for securities fraud.”

  Would explain the hot-cold reaction he had to Gerri, the way Bruts seemed so overly protective. Or could be just an excuse, a red herring for the detective to chase down.

  “You have evidence?” He might not have been guilty of his wife’s murder, but if he had anything to do with it, Gerri would bring him down.

  But Gaylene shook her head, wiped her nose delicately with one pale hand. “Ask the DA,” she said. “Belinda gave them what she had.”

  Gerri stood back, observing the shiver of nerves, the jerking intake and outbursts of breath. Yes, Gaylene was innocent of Belinda’s murder. But how much could Gerri believe of her story?

  “And the stalking case?” She watched as Gaylene’s eyes tightened, anger coming back.

  “A misunderstanding.” True, Gerri’s gut whispered. At least, the woman believed so. “But you’re going to stir it all up and check into it anyway, aren’t you?” She looked away, huffing in anger even as her anxiety returned, hovered around her. “Thank you for ruining my life.”

  Like she had any choice. Gerri gathered up the file, went to the door. Gestured to Mills and Purcell who waited on the other side. When they entered the room, Gaylene glared at the detective.

  “Like it or not,” Gerri said, “I have to find out what happened. And the only way to uncover who killed Belinda Patterson is to investigate everyone. Including you.”

  Gaylene nodded once. “I need to call my lawyer.”

  Gerri turned and left the room with one last parting shot, already sick of this case. “Good idea.”

  ***

  INT. – 9TH PRECINCT BULLPEN – AFTERNOON

  Gerri dropped the file on her desk, ignoring Mills and her partner as they hustled Gaylene Striker out of the bullpen and toward the elevator. They’d take her to booking where she’d get a chance to call her lawyer. Probably be out on the street again in a matter of an hour. That was, if Daryl Patterson’s friends in the department didn’t interfere. Gerri doubted he considered Gaylene much of a threat. But if he did step in, that would
tell the detective how close she was to the truth.

  Sometimes the game made her tired.

  Gerri pulled out her chair, glanced up as the elevator opened and a small, jeans clad blonde hurried out and toward her. She hadn’t expected to see Kinsey here, not since Jackson’s asshole move made it technically illegal for the anthropologist to work on cases with her. Not that it stopped them entirely, but…

  She still had to find a suitable way to thank him for being such a prick.

  Kinsey’s distress set off fireworks of concern in Gerri and she had to draw and hold a breath as her friend came to a halt in front of her, cheeks pink, eyes wide and worried.

  “We have to talk,” Kinsey said. Clearly an understatement.

  Gerri opened her mouth to agree, heart pounding against the fear it had to do with something weird and not sure she was ready to jump in so soon after their recent conversation. The door to the elevator slid open for the second time and Ray emerged, hurrying their way, the expression on her face telling the detective two things. One, Kinsey was here, not about weird paranormal stuff, but about the doctor. Ray looked rumpled, not her normal self, as if she’d just woken from a nap, face flushed, faint lines on her cheek. Made sense to Gerri. She’d been through a loss, likely took something and slept it off. But, her creased and unusually unkempt appearance just added to Gerri’s discomfort.

  Because two? She wasn’t going to like what either woman had to say.

  Ray didn’t even look at Kinsey who tucked her head down, blonde ponytail hiding one cheek. Was that guilt on the anthropologist’s face? Gerri felt her mind stutter as Ray spoke, voice shaking.