Not Dead Enough Page 17
“Damn you all,” I muttered.
I heard footsteps behind me.
I quickly crossed to the median, between the two streams of traffic, then glanced back.
A waiter heading for home.
He passed and the night was silent and still, the air thick, as if waiting for a storm to clear it.
I turned the corner to my house.
The street remained empty. I marked my passing with sweat, leaving fat drops on the pavement. An ephemeral passing. The rain or the sun would take them away.
I walked slowly the last block, looking for snakes, both human and reptile. But the street was empty, not even a cockroach scudding by the garbage cans.
Then I was home, with no answers save to sleep on it and hope tomorrow had some. Or at least to find a few more steps to take in the right direction.
Chapter Thirteen
As I poured my morning coffee, the sun slipped away, clouds gathering, heralding an approaching storm. The weather report agreed, warning of a front moving through with possible severe thunderstorms, a line of rain almost over us.
I sighed, emptied my coffee out of the cup and into a travel mug. I wanted to be in my office before it was pouring down.
The first drizzle greeted me as I left the house, with fat raindrops just starting as I parked outside my office—no black SUVs hogging the space this time. I dashed in and managed to remain drier than I had been with sweat the day before.
Thunder boomed as I opened my office door.
Seconds later rain splashed against the window.
I drank my coffee as I did my usual morning routines, checking voice messages, checking email, checking the news and the weather. No messages, the usual heartbreaking news of the world, and the weather promised rain all day, enough to flood streets.
I drank more coffee, then again read over all the case notes, from the first ones when Aimee Smyth stepped into my office.
A split in the Brande family, one side trying to get money/power from those who currently had it. A woman dead in the morgue, likely Andrea Brande, who supposedly had decided to take a vacation from her family but hadn’t returned, and no one had heard from her. Karen as a real estate agent and me as a private eye, pulled into it. We had a part in the scheme to get the money from Ellis and the other Brandes in power.
After the third read-through, I sat staring at the last page. What was I not seeing?
Or maybe there was nothing to see. Too many puzzle pieces still missing.
The homeless woman said it was two women who had dumped the body. Aimee and the other woman in the bar? Were they doing it for the men? Or even men dressed like women?
Damn it, all I had was speculation and that was dangerous, possible to weave the story I wanted, and not the one that was real.
If it was two women, it was more likely Aimee and Madame X. Since it was Andrea Brande rebelling and presumably dying for it, it was most likely something to do with the Brande family.
Aimee Smyth and Mad X killed Andrea Brande, and they involved both me and Karen.
Why?
Part of a plot to steal from the family. But what was the plot? Why hire a private eye to search for a most likely fictional sister? Why put money down on an expensive house and then disappear?
Aimee wanted to hide her trail. If she stole from them, she’d want to leave as little to track her by as possible. Maybe hiring me was a test to see if Sally Brand, or someone with a name close to that, could be found. So far I’d discovered nothing. If she was real, could she be that well hidden? Or maybe Aimee wanted the Brandes to think the dead woman was her—that would explain the jewelry and how it went from Aimee to being on the dead woman. Karen and I both knew that a woman who looked like the women we’d seen was now in the morgue. If the Main Brandes—Rebel Brandes vs. Main Brandes—were meant to know about the body in the morgue, that might explain why they somehow knew about us. Junior Boy talks to M. Knight. M. Knight tells of a woman in her office who is now dead. Or they find Karen, same thing.
The rebel is dead; the money she stole hidden and gone. The Brandes give up looking for her.
If it was that simple, all Karen and I needed to do was play our part, point them to the woman in the morgue. If they claimed the body, they might know it wasn’t Aimee, but were they likely to do that? The Main Brandes might think they had their answer and be more than happy to have as little to do with a dead body as possible. If Anmar was right, they had little reverence for the women in the family. One who had scammed them could go to an unmarked grave.
All speculation. And even if it was right, I’d already mucked up their plot. I’d been to Atlanta and knew more about the Brandes than I was supposed to. I’d given Joanne the name of the woman in the morgue, and once she was officially identified, it would be game over for Rebel Brande and her merry band of women. Or men.
Maybe it would have been better if I hadn’t tried to interfere.
Except that Andrea Brande would go to a pauper’s grave, her killers would get away with it, and Anna-Marie would think her sister abandoned her. The innocent—as innocent as anyone in this mess—would be the ones who lost the most.
“I will outsmart you,” I vowed out loud.
My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number or area code.
“M. Knight detective agency,” I answered.
“I’d like to speak to M. Knight,” the raspy voice of an old man.
“Speaking.”
Silence. Then, “You’re a woman?”
I’d heard the voice before. “Who is this?”
“Were you in Atlanta last week? Spying on us?”
Shit. Ellis Brande, hiding his location by using a number that wasn’t from the Atlanta area.
“Who is this?” I repeated.
“It doesn’t matter. I need information from you.”
“It matters to me,” I retorted. “I don’t give information to people who won’t even tell me their name.”
“I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse,” he said, his voice confident, dismissing me.
A real mobster had taken mobster lessons from fictional mobsters.
“Tell me who this is or I’m hanging up. You’re sounding more and more like a stupid prank call.” I could be dismissive as well.
“Do not hang up; you will regret it. We know your name, we know where you work, we know what you look like, and we know where you live.”
“Do you know the name of the Rottweiler sitting at my feet?”
“Don’t bore me. I’m a busy man.”
“And I’m a busy woman and you’re boring me,” I shot back.
Ellis Brande did not seem to know how to deal with a woman who wasn’t subservient—or at least willing to play the part for him.
“I’ve been told you took on a case for a woman who is trying to cheat our family out of a significant amount of money. I need to know where she is.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about, and even if I did, my clients are confidential.”
“I have a check that was made out to you. It came from my account. You cashed it.”
Well, more information, and not welcome information. Aimee had given them my info—and presumably Karen’s—via checking account. Stupid? Or intentional?
“Fine, send me a copy of the check and then we can talk.”
“That is not how I do thing—”
“It’s how I do things,” I cut him off. “Send the copy.”
“Your life is in danger,” he said.
“Is that a threat?”
“Yes, both from me and the woman who hired you. You get to choose who you take on. You should know I’m far more powerful and the one you don’t want as an enemy.”
“At least according to you.” But I was tired of this, so I added, “So what is this offer I putatively can’t refuse?”
“You tell me everything you know about this woman, including where she is, and we will leave you alone.”
“Wow
, what a generous offer,” I said, bold sarcasm font.
“Do not mock me,” he snapped.
“Okay, who should I mock? Your suck-up pal Uncle Donnie? The little junior goon you sent around here yesterday who got scared away by a transwoman? Oh, did he tell you I beat the shit out of him after he tried to grab me? Or was he too ashamed to admit an old lady kicked him in the balls and left him moaning on the ground? You think you know everything about me? I know everything about you. You’re a second-rate crime family out of the backwoods of Georgia and so derivative you take your cues from made-up movies.” I doubted he read the book.
“How dare you!”
“It’s easy, Ellis Brande. You and your goons were too lazy and stupid to research me enough to know I am a woman. You’ve underestimated me every step of the way. If there are going to be regrets, they’re going to be on your side.”
“You fucking bitch!”
Yep, old Ellis lost his temper, which was what I’d been pushing for.
“You goddamned bitch! You will do as I say. You were hired by either Andrea Brande, Salve Smyth, Sabrina Jordon, or Hannah Foster. I know it was a woman. She’s not as smart as she thinks she is. She’s been seen. I need to know which one and I need to know it now, if you want to live to see the sun rise tomorrow.”
“I’m not going to see the sun rise tomorrow,” I said. “Not that much of a morning person. Your threat is as empty as Junior Goon Boy’s head.” I laughed.
“You do not mess with the Brande family! We are the most powerful crime family in the South! My people are everywhere! We could be outside your door even now!”
“Everywhere, right? But which are on your side and which are willing to exploit this to take your money and run? You can give the orders, but who knows if they’ll be obeyed.”
I could almost feel the anger coming out of the phone. I’d kicked him in the metaphorical groin—he was no longer the powerful man he desperately needed to be, and his family was willing to stab him in the back.
“No one dares disobey me!” he roared. “Especially the women! I control everything! All the money comes through me. If they want any of it, they have to come to me and beg.”
“Guess someone got tired of begging. How’d they get control of your account long enough to write me a check?”
There might be a heart attack on his side any time now.
I added, “Maybe Uncle Donnie helped them. He’s the type who would do anything a pretty young woman asked. Or maybe he’s tired of always asking. Or begging. Is Junior Boy really that stupid, or is he screwing up on purpose? You have no clue, do you?”
“They would never betray me!” Protesting too much. Ellis knew someone betrayed him, and now everyone would be suspect. Maybe letch Donnie was loyal, but he was an evil bastard, and I was fine with two evil bastards going after each other. “It was a mistake, no one can really get to the accounts.”
“Ah, of course. A mistake that someone got into one of your accounts and wrote me a big check and put money down on a much nicer house than you have. Mistakes like that happen all the time.”
He was too enraged to notice my sarcasm.
“It was a mistake for someone to try to cross me. I will make an example of them! Anyone who helped will regret it. No one crosses Ellis Brande! Especially a woman. The accounts are safe now, no one can get to them. Soon they’ll be where no one except me can find them.”
“So if you croak, the family has nothing?”
“They deserve nothing without me! I built it all, little help from my father, but everything everybody has is because of me, and if I want to take it away, I can! No one will know where the accounts are! No one!”
“Clearly they need to be in a safer place than they are now,” I cheerfully agreed.
“Enough of this! Tell me what I want to know.”
“Sure,” I said. “The woman who hired me lied through her teeth, gave a false name and fake phone numbers, and I haven’t been able to contact her. As to her whereabouts, someone who looks a lot like her is now in the Orleans Parish morgue.”
A gasp from his end. “Do not lie to me!”
“Call the coroner’s office. Ask them to send a picture.”
“If you are lying, you will pay!”
“Nope, Girl Scout’s honor, all true. Call the morgue in Orleans Parish and ask about the unidentified woman there.”
Ellis was nowhere near as dumb as Junior Boy, but that didn’t mean he was a genius either. The last thing he wanted to do was call anyone in the legal system and ask about a dead body related to him. Crime family/dead body and the cops would be sniffing about with bloodhounds.
“Get me a picture of the woman and we will leave you alone,” he finally said.
“Excuse me? Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
“I need to know who the woman is, and not through official channels.”
“Oh? I don’t recall volunteering to be your errand girl.”
“I’ve already paid you good money.”
“No, I was hired to search for a fake person. I did that much longer than the money warranted. Nothing left in the bank for extra tasks. Even if I wanted to do them.”
“Don’t make this hard on yourself,” he threatened. “I need to know by the end of the day.”
“Or what? You’re going to send Junior Boy wannabe mobster around again to get run off by a transgender woman and all of us to laugh at him? Yeah, scary threat.”
There was silence from his end, except for raspy breathing. Should have given up those cigars a long time ago. Ellis had no backup when his threats didn’t work. Not a good criminal strategy—or even a legal one—just one tool in the toolbox.
More breathing, then, “I will pay you the same amount you were originally paid. Send me that photo by the end of the day.”
“Sorry, not interested. I don’t work for known criminals. Bad for the license. You can try Scotty Bradley—oh, wait, he doesn’t work for criminals either. And he’s still in Italy. Send Junior Boy.”
“Do it or you’ll regret it!” Back to threats. Boring.
“I have an idea. I have a lot of cop friends. I can tell one of them the woman is likely to be one of the Brande family women, and all they need to do is send to Atlanta for dental records of all the women in that age range. I keep my license and you get your ID.”
“Don’t you dare!”
Oops, too late. Not that I’d tell him that. He’d find out soon enough. Maybe I could be in Italy by then. “Then sorry, cannot help you.”
“You will regret this!” he thundered. Sound and fury, signifying nothing.
“Sorry, got to run, my next client, an assistant DA, is here. Good luck with your problems.” I hung up. Ellis was only going to repeat his threats, and I was bored with them. Plus I had no doubt that he wasn’t alone and was already giving orders to make me regret it. Maybe they would even be carried out. I needed to think and not just rely on their incompetence and stupidity. Guns make even stupid people dangerous.
Ellis had given me the real names of the women who were likely involved in this. They could still be working with some of the men, but clearly they had left the kitchen. But were they being used? Or were they getting free? He had let me know they’d used an actual Brande family account to lead the Main Brandes straight to me and Karen. It didn’t explain why we were the chosen ones, but it did explain how the Brandes knew who we were. It also meant we were in danger. The Main Brandes would come after us to find out who had betrayed them. Ellis knew only threats, and that meant he was likely to believe in breaking kneecaps—or worse—to get what he wanted.
Karen should go into hiding. Maybe I should as well, but I hated the idea. It would mean I could do nothing here, and it would also mean I’d have to put the rest of my business on hold. A week or two of not working meant a week or two of earning nothing. That would make for a very unhappy bank account.
I sighed. I needed to call Joanne again. I needed to warn Karen. Again.
I dialed Joanne.
And typed in the first name. Salve Smyth.
Voice mail. “Call me ASAP. More stuff on the case.”
I dialed Karen as the search results loaded.
Voice mail again. “You are in danger. The crime family is desperate to know who the woman in the morgue is. Desperate in a bad way. Might be a good idea for you to go far away for a long vacation.”
In a week or less Joanne should have the dental records and make an ID. That would screw both the Main Brandes and the Rebel Brandes in ways that should make both me and Karen irrelevant. We just had to survive until then.
Salve Smyth had once been Salve Brande until she married Harden Smyth. Harden was doing hard time for drugs, three strikes—he had five—and he was out. He’d be released when he was seventy-two if he was a model prisoner.
They had one child, a daughter. If it was Salve who had reinvented herself as Aimee, she might have good reason for running away from the Brande family. Good rationale and some bad choices. Whatever her reasons, one woman was dead, and she had put Karen and me in danger. For all her faults and cowardly choices, Anmar Brande only hurt herself.
I found a wedding picture in the newspaper, but it was close to twenty-five years old. Salve had been seventeen when she had married.
Salve was an identical twin, with her sister Sabrina.
Shit, how many fucking identical twins did this family have?
The wedding picture was enough to let me know that Salve was a generic Brande—dark hair, square chin. But in thirty years, she could be Anmar, or the woman in the morgue, or the woman in my office. Or someone else entirely, her almost name thrown in to add more confusion just in case I stumbled on it. The Brande women only seemed to get their pictures taken at marriage.
Eight months later, she had a child, a boy. Three months later, he died, tragic accident in the bathtub. At least, that’s what the newspaper reported. Another eight months and another kid. The girl. This one survived. Harden Smyth spent five years in jail just after she was born.