Devil take me down, p.10
Devil Take Me Down, page 10
part #2 of Clementine Toledano Mystery Series
"Quick study," she said. "Now tell me what it means."
"Angela was the first victim," he said in awe.
Q nodded and smirked, "Who says you're just a pretty face?"
"Your father," he retorted, unable to keep the aggravation out of his voice. Henry Toledano was not yet convinced that a man who owned a nightclub was an ideal match for his little girl.
"Whatever," she said, dismissively. "You see, Ernst had always ruled out Angela as being one of this guy's victims because all the killings were in February. But the key to finding a serial killer is to find the first victim. The first killing, by and large, is someone they know much better than the others. It can give you much more information about the psychopath you’re hunting. Criminology 101. So, if Angela was the first victim, the victim the fucker knew best, then all the others made more sense, even the timing."
Ben drained his glass and filled it back up, halfway this time. "Why? What happens in February? Mardi Gras? Valentine's? What does that have to do with Angie?"
"Baby, you tell me. What else happens in February?" she asked, looking at him to see if the gears clicked into place.
"I don't know. Gracie's birthday and...." his mouth fell open again.
"Exactly. This was always about Angie. She broke it off with you in February, too. A few days after her birthday, right? Ernst figures he starts picking his new victim around the anniversary of her murder and kills them near her birthday or, maybe around the date she solidified his possession of her by ending things with you," Q said.
Ben looked at her list again. "Beth, too?"
"And now we're finally at the eye of the shitstorm,” she said. “So Ernst figures all this out and he hands it all off to Sanger, figuring Sanger can pick it back up and maybe catch the fucker if and when he strikes again in February. But the guy doesn't strike in February this year, he strikes in September. Sanger picked up the pattern right away and goes to his lieutenant because he's got a serial killer on the loose. A serial killer who just broke his pattern for the first time in a dozen years. When a serial killer does something out of character like that, it's bad news all around."
Q paused and stretched before swallowing a large sip. She fished out an ice cube and started to suck on it. "Any guesses as to who Sanger's lieutenant is?"
"Shithead pre-teen rapist," Ben said.
"Bingo,” she said, tapping her index finger on the tip of her nose for emphasis. “So, he gets a look at the file and Sanger's notes about his interviews with us and sees a few interesting things...."
Ben interrupted her, "Let me guess: Your name, my lack of a super solid alibi on Friday night, and me being suspect number one for the first killing."
"Top of the class," she smiled sadly.
"I still don't get it, though. It still seems like a weak case. Is this just all about revenge for this guy?" he asked.
“Fuck no. This is all about getting his name in the papers as the cop that caught a serial killer no one even knew existed, including the detective assigned to all those cases. Who, incidentally, is now complicit in two false convictions.” She leaned on the bar.
Ben exhaled slowly, “Ernst.”
“Three for three. Gabrielli gets to be the hero and maybe gets himself a big fat promotion. Getting a little payback on Ernst and the Toledano’s is just the cherry on top because, oh by the way, Henry Toledano’s baby girl has been sleeping right next to a serial killer for nearly three years,” Q raised her glass at the irony.
“What are we going to do?” he asked.
“You’re going to put Lucy Hadron’s number in your phone and lawyer up the minute Gabrielli calls you in for questioning. Lucy’s good, really good, and a good family friend, besides. I’m calling her tomorrow and getting her on retainer so she can get out in front of this,” Q said pointedly.
Ben shook his head. “No. No way. I’m not a murderer and I won’t act like one.”
She took his hand between hers. “Ben, baby, this isn’t about guilt or innocence. It’s about perception.”
He pulled his hand away. “That’s exactly my point, Clementine. Innocent men don’t ask for a lawyer just because the police want to ask them some questions.”
Q stood up and started pacing. “Don’t you get it? The police already think you did it!”
He sat back, stubborn. “Sanger doesn’t. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gone to Ernst.”
“Sanger is a fucking pussy who’s afraid of pissing off his lieutenant!” she exclaimed. “He’s connected to our family through Ernst. He’s going to be pulled off the case, if he hasn’t been already. This is Gabrielli’s baby now and he thinks he has at least enough to go on a fishing expedition, maybe even enough to charge you.”
“What does he have? Angie? Beth? I didn’t kill anyone!” his gravelly voice boomed in frustration, resonating through the empty club.
Q paused and said determinedly, “Ernst says there's another, and it's not Angie.... And I know that you knew her.”
"Who?" he asked, obviously not wanting to know the answer.
"Strickland Aster. I know you dated her, Ben. She was with you the night we first met,” she said.
"No," he said in horror. "There has to be some sort of mistake. Strickland moved to Biloxi a few months after we called it quits. No, that can't be right. She ended it with me after I...." he stopped himself short, gathering his thoughts.
"After you what, baby?" Q asked.
"After I kept running my mouth about you," he answered, not wanting to talk about his own poor behavior. "I would have heard something. Danny or Emmy would have heard something; they were really good friends. Someone would have mentioned it.”
Q leaned against the pool table and folder her arms. “I knew her, too, baby, and I didn't know she was dead," she said, sadly. "Ernst said that Strickland was killed about two months after she moved into her new place. One of her employees said she told him that she’d left New Orleans to get away from a crazy ex who wouldn’t leave her be.”
He looked at her annoyed, recovering his bewilderment. “But that wasn’t me. I was stalking you by then, if you’ll recall.”
She laughed, momentarily relieved to be talking about anything besides the topic at hand. Ben reached out his hand and she gratefully took it. He pulled her to him and held her for several silent minutes. “I didn’t know, Q, you have to believe me.”
“Of course, I believe you, baby. This whole thing is a nightmare,” she replied. “Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way.”
“What do you mean, darlin’?” He reached for the jar of olives and reached in to pluck one out.
“We’re running defense. Which is stupid, because we know you’re not the killer. Someone else did this. If we assume that Ernst is right and it is the same guy that killed Angela. We just need to figure that out and we’re good.” She shrugged and sipped her drink.
“Oh, is that all," he replied ruefully. "Easy as pie, why didn't you just say so in the first place?"
She nodded in agreement and thought for a few minutes. "Let’s leave that be for now and try to figure out what they might have on you for Strickland, besides you dating her. That’s coincidental, at best. How long before Strickland moved did y'all break up?"
"I don't know. She moved around Christmastime. We broke up the night of your first show at the Cove, so that would have been April. What is that, like, seven, eight months?" he asked.
"Why did you break up?" she asked.
"You know that story, I've told you," he said.
"I know you have, but the police are going to ask, so I want you to tell me, beginning to end, just like you'd tell them, so it's clear in your mind when they ask you." As a child, Q had watched her father prepare more than a few witnesses for trial while she colored or read quietly at his desk. She knew the prosecutorial tone could frazzle even the most confident witness. She also knew that the police used the same techniques to break alibis all the time.
"I started dating Strickland on New Year's Eve 2011. My older sister and her wife brought her with them to the Cove's New Year's party. We'd met before, when I'd commissioned her to make a necklace for Angie's birthday, but it had been a few years since I'd seen her. Anyway, when 2012 came rolling in at midnight, she kissed me," he said.
"Are you sure you weren't the one doing the kissing?" Q asked.
"Now is not the time to start getting jealous, Clementine," he chided.
Q giggled, finally feeling the alcohol’s effects relieve the overwhelming strain that her body had been holding onto. "I'm not jealous. It's important. Answer the question."
Ben shrugged, "I don't know, we'd both had some drinks. Who knows after all this time? Anyway, the point is that we kissed each other and I liked her. She was sophisticated and witty and beautiful. Better?" he teased.
"No, but continue," Q grinned.
"So we started dating, getting serious..."
Q interjected, "By serious, you mean sex?"
Ben gave her an exasperated look. "Yes, detective, by 'serious' I mean sex."
"How long after you met did you have intercourse," Q frowned and tried to play bad cop.
"A week, maybe two? We hit it off on New Year’s and saw each other almost every day after. It wasn't long before we became lovers," he said, playing along.
"I love it when you say 'lovers'," she sighed and gave him a lazy smile, resting her head on her hand. She shook off the pull of intoxication. Clearing her throat, she put back on her bad cop face. "Were you monogamous?"
"I was. She said she was and I believed her. We had a really good couple of months together."
"What happened?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
Ben took another sip before replying, "You know full well what happened, Clementine. You happened."
"People don't 'happen', tell the story," she insisted.
"Strickland had a friend, named Michelle Vidrine. We went to her birthday party and there was this stunning woman there playing piano and singing and I couldn't keep my eyes off of her," he said, his gaze softening at the memory.
Q realized that she wasn't the only one feeling the narcotic effects of good alcohol in the middle of a Monday afternoon.
"And then what happened?" she asked, biting her lower lip.
"So I ask Strickland, all casual like, 'who's the pianist?'. And Strickland tells me about QT and the Beasts. I think I'm playing it all cool, playing it off like I want to book this unbelievably beautiful woman to play at the Cove and that was all, but Strickland didn't buy it. Like I said, she was brilliant," he finished.
"You said 'witty,'" she corrected.
Ben ignored her and continued, "So I man up and go talk to this woman during her break. I give her my card and tell her how I'd like to book her at the Cove. Strickland found me flirting with her and was understandably pissed."
"And the woman?" she asked.
"She had my number good. She turned to Strickland and said 'is he seriously trying to pick me up when he's here with you?' So, I had to go away with my tail between my legs. But I call up the gorgeous singer the next day and apologize. Explain that I really did want her to play the Cove. She tells me she's booked until April and we line up a show," he finished.
Q took another drink and asked, "So how did it end? I really don't know that part."
Ben shrugged, "Strickland forgave me for being an asshole at that party. But at your show here, she watched us together. She saw something there. At the end of the night, while I was in my office, she came in and told me that she wanted a man to look at her the way I was looking at you. Told me that after what happened with Angie, I deserved to be with someone who looked at me the way you did. Said you, and this I do remember, because I'd never heard someone say something like this before or since, she said 'I've known Q for years. There's a light inside of her that only turns on when she's playing music, but you make her light from within just by saying her name.'"
Q suddenly felt very sober and very close to tears, guilt pooled in the pit of her stomach. "She said that?"
Ben nodded. "It's something I'll never forget as long as I live. She was a really special person, that way."
Ben paused and sipped his whiskey for a moment before continuing, "Anyway, after that, I made excuses to book you at the club as much as possible. Come see you play, anything to try to get to know you and get you to trust me after that stupid birthday party." He paused and looked at Q to make sure she was really listening. "Strickland really liked you, darlin'. She wanted you to shine from within. She cared about me and wanted me to be happy, too. She knew that you could do that for me better than she could."
"Did you see her after she ended it?" Q asked.
"A few times out and about. And at her going away party. She didn't mention anything about a crazy ex, though, but maybe she didn't want me to worry. She did ask me about you." He laughed at the memory.
"What?" she asked.
"She said something like, 'Ben Bordelon, if you are not dating, fucking, and/or marrying Clementine Toledano by the next time I see you, I am pulling your masculinity card and giving it to someone who deserves it. Man the fuck up.'"
"So, it's safe to say we have her blessing," she said, blinking away the tears that started to fall unbidden.
Ben cupped her face in his hand and wiped her tears away with his thumb. He picked up his glass, "To Strickland Aster, who knew what true love looked like."
Q smiled and raised her glass. "To Strickland, G-d keep you wherever you are."
Ben held her face, staring at her. "Thank you for marrying me."
She smiled. "Thanks for asking."
He pulled her into an embrace and Q collapsed into him, sighing, “I'm sorry, baby, but I am too drunk to talk about this anymore. Can we just go home?"
He kissed the top of her head. "Unfortunately, I'm too drunk to drive us there. Want to go take a nap in the studio and maybe order up a pizza?"
Q nodded against his chest. "Yes, please."
As they closed down their mini bar, she asked him, "Did you ever see Strickland after she moved? Talk to her on the phone? Email? Anything?"
He put the Macallan back on its high shelf and turned back to her, saying, "I thought you were too drunk to talk about this anymore."
"You're right. I'm just trying to think ahead."
Ben walked back around the bar and took her hand to walk out with her.
"Well, stop," he said, kissing her hand.
"But did you? See her?" she asked.
"Damn it, Josh," he muttered at the door.
"What?" Q asked.
He let go of her hand and headed down the hall to the right of the stage.
"It's nothing," he called. "Josh didn't make sure the backdoor was latched. We were here, so he probably didn't worry about it."
"Does he do that a lot?" she asked when he returned.
"Nah," he said. "Joe and Nadine do it more often. It doesn't matter. Can't set the alarm if it isn't shut, anyway. And, because I know you're not going to drop it: no, Clementine, I never saw her after she moved."
Ben set the alarm and they exited through the front door. The day had gone from hot and muggy to hotter and muggier. Q's t-shirt was stuck to her body within a few feet of the door. They were halfway across the parking lot when thunder broke the endless cicada rhythm. Within seconds, the air solidified around them and they were instantly soaked.
Q slicked back her hair and held her arms outstretched as she turned her face up to the sky, closing her eyes to let the cool water wash away the heat, drunkenness, and emotional fatigue. Steam rose up off the hot asphalt in a cloud around her. Ben pulled her to him and picked her up, covering her mouth with his. She wrapped her legs around him, feeling his hands slip under the back of her shirt.
The rain on her bare skin added to his caresses and she let him carry her the rest of the way across the empty lot. When they got to the door of the studio apartment he kept behind the Cove, he pushed her against the door and began kissing her neck.
He fumbled with the keys, trying to unlock the door without interrupting their kiss. Q quickly grew impatient and took them from him, twisting around to unlock the door, while Ben slipped both hands down to her hips to support her.
They entered the apartment and staggered inside, slamming the door behind them. Q pulled at Ben's shirt and he set her down on the linoleum to pull it all the way off. As it came free, Q stumbled backwards into the wall. She caught her breath, shaking off some of her intoxication.
"Ben, we should finish talking about this. Figure out what they might have on you for Strickland..." she said, clinging to his wet shirt.
He kicked off his wet shoes and undid his belt. "Later."
Q shook her head and he peeled off his jeans, leaving them in a dripping heap on the floor. "This is important; we can't just pretend like it's not happening."
Ben stood with his hands on his hips and the memory of the night she had first seen his tattoo flashed through her mind. It had been cold and raining. They'd been frantic to get one another out of each other’s clothes. When she'd pulled off his undershirt, she'd caught her breath in sudden awe. An angel stood with her arms outstretched, her face upturned to Ben's, the tips of her wings touching each collarbone. Her body covered the entirety of his chest, from the top of his pubic hair to his solar plexus.
He closed the distance between them in two easy steps and put his hands on either side of her, leaning against the wall. "Later."
She traced the outline of the angel's body from wing tip to wing tip and down to her feet. Ben shivered, his body hardening. She stroked his erection with the tip of one finger. He closed his eyes and moaned.
Q slipped beneath his arm and walked towards the bed, beckoning him to follow. She pulled off her clothes and turned to face him. When he joined her, she pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, guiding him inside her. She gasped as his body made contact with hers. His hands wrapped around her hips pulling her towards him then pushing her away. Swimming in intoxication and desire, the world around them vanished and Q's entire universe became Ben's body. She lost track of time and orgasms. The sound of the rain dancing across the tin roof above them merged with their sighs and moans, forming an encompassing soundscape until Ben's final cry broke through it.
