Dead Cold Mystery Box Set 1 Read online

  I looked at her like she was an idiot, held her eye, and said, “Stop worrying, Dehan. I am not getting emotionally involved with this woman. Satisfied?”

  She watched me a moment, then said, “No. Let’s get some lunch.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Peter Gunthersen was brought in at six p.m. We signed for him, and Sergeant Henderson took him to interview room three, upstairs. Dehan and I gathered our notes and went up to talk to him. He was perspiring and didn’t look pleased to see us. As we sat opposite him, he said, “Am I under arrest?”

  I shook my head. “No, you’re being held as a material witness. But I can tell you, in light of recent developments in the case, that it is in your best interest to cooperate fully with us.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “No, but it’s your right to have one if you want one. I am not planning on charging you with anything, Peter. I just want to ask you some questions.”

  He stared at Dehan a moment, then said, “Okay.”

  I scratched my chin, organizing my thoughts.

  “You want to tell me again about your relationship with Tamara, and when you last saw her?”

  He closed his eyes, puffed out his cheeks, and blew.

  “I just got so damn sick of her.” He opened his eyes and stared at me, as though he had given me some kind of cogent explanation. “She was—” He took a moment, looking around the room to find words that could express his feelings. “Heavenly. You know what I mean? She was like no woman I ever met, and she made me happy like no other woman. But when she changed, at first I couldn’t handle it and I didn’t want to let her go. So I refused to give her a divorce, like I told you.”

  Dehan said, “But…?”

  He sighed and shook his head and looked sad, really regretful. “In the end, she was so full of shit, I agreed. I met Sally—I fell in love with a real woman, who was loyal and true and wasn’t playing fucking games all the time—and I agreed to give Tammy a divorce. But she turns around now and says no.”

  “When was this?”

  “About the time she disappeared. About the time she got that crazy gig she was going on about, that was going to change her life.”

  I glanced at Dehan to see if she was going to ask. She was watching me. I said, “So did she put any kind of condition on giving you your divorce?”

  He nodded. “I guess you know she did. The condition was that I give her my revolver. I told her I would not, and I asked the crazy bitch what she wanted it for. She said she was in the Bronx in New York; it was a dangerous place to be alone, and she wanted protection.”

  Dehan frowned. “She said she was alone?”

  “That’s what she said. I asked her if she wasn’t with Steve, and she said things weren’t working out like she’d hoped. She was alone and scared and just needed the revolver for protection. She told me if I would just bring it to her, she would grant me the divorce and bring it back to me when she returned to San Francisco.”

  “So that’s what you did.”

  “You know I did, or I wouldn’t be here.”

  I said, “Where did you meet? Did you go to her place?”

  “She had an apartment on…” He paused to think. “Intervale Avenue, opposite the church there. I gave her the gun and begged her not to do anything stupid. And that was it.”

  Dehan gave him a “not really” smile. “You booked your return for three days.”

  He gave a snort. “To be honest, I was hoping I could convince her to come back to San Francisco with me. I gave myself an extra day hoping we could meet and talk and maybe I could persuade her to stop being such a crazy bitch. But I never had a hope in hell. I spent most of my time in Central Park feeding the ducks. Then I went home. I’ve been waiting ever since for the divorce papers. Is she dead? Was she killed with my gun? Is that why I’m here?”

  He had gone a pale gray color.

  Dehan shook her head. “No, Peter, we are no longer convinced that Tammy is dead. We don’t know what has happened to her. Does the name Danny Schultz mean anything to you?”

  “No. Should it?”

  “How about Ernesto Sanchez?”

  He squinted at her like she was crazy. “No. Why?”

  I leaned forward. “Peter, while you were in New York, did you at any time go and see Stephen Springfellow?”

  He looked genuinely astonished. “Are you kidding me? Why would I want to go and see that son of a bitch?”

  I pulled a face. “Maybe to shoot and kill him?”

  “What?”

  “Stephen’s body was found two years back, while you were still in New York. He had been shot with your gun.”

  He went white and slumped back in his chair, shaking his head. “Oh, no, no! No, I did not! I would not! No, no way, man…”

  Dehan cut across him. “Can you think of any reason why Tammy would want to kill Stephen?”

  He did a double take. “What? No! Of course not!”

  Dehan pressed on. “Would it surprise you to know that Tammy was also engaged to be married to Hugh Duffy?”

  He gaped at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. He stared from Dehan to me and then back again. “What? Are you trying to drive me crazy? Is this some new kind of interrogation technique? Make me lose my sense of reality?”

  We both watched him without smiling.

  He stopped laughing and became serious. “You mean it? Hugh Duffy? The Hugh Duffy…?”

  I nodded. “Yes. That was the gig.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me, like he was struggling to understand. “Who the hell was I married to, Detective Stone?”

  I sucked my teeth and nodded. “That is what we would like to know, Peter. One last question…” I glanced at Dehan. “Unless…?” She shook her head, so I went on. “There is a woman we are interested in talking to. She is best described as a southern belle type. Alabama, Louisiana, strong accent. Black hair, probably cut short. Green eyes. A lot of class and elegance. Very attractive. Ring any bells?”

  He frowned, staring at me like he thought I was setting a trap for him. After a moment, he said, “No. I don’t know anybody like that.”

  I nodded. “We’ll keep you overnight, Peter, but unless something comes up, I am pretty sure we can send you home tomorrow.”

  I called the sergeant, and she led him away down to the holding cells. Dehan stood and walked around the room, staring at the walls, like there were invisible pictures there only she could see. “You were right.” She said it to the wall. “He was delivering the gun.”

  “It made sense. It was the most likely explanation.”

  She turned to face me. “So who are all these other women? And how do they tie in with Geronimo dos Santos? What has he got, some kind of female league of assassins?”

  I laughed. “Maybe. I plan to find out tonight.”

  “Your hot date.”

  I stood, feeling oddly irritated. The heat was becoming suffocation. “Strictly work, Dehan.”

  “You think she’ll call?”

  “Yeah, she’ll call. If my hunch is right, she has a direct link to Tammy.”

  “So you think Tammy is still alive?”

  “Not necessarily, no. She might be. It’s anybody’s guess. But my hunch is, whether she is dead or alive, Emma is the link back to whatever it was Tammy was doing two years ago, and our mysterious southern belle.”

  “And dos Santos?”

  “My bet is he is looking for her, too. He is Baxter’s client, and Baxter is onto Emma.”

  “So we are back to the eternal question. Dos Santos employed Tammy to do a job. She screwed him somehow and made off to see Steve. Now dos Santos wants restitution or revenge or both.”

  “It should be theft.”

  “You mean he employed her to steal something from Duffy?” She thought about it a moment. “This dame of yours is married to an antiques dealer.”

  I made a ‘that’s my point’ face, but then added, “Only Duffy swears she took nothing.” I glanced at my
watch. “I’d better get going.”

  She followed me down to my car. Hers was parked a little farther down, but she hadn’t brought her jacket or her keys. Evening was closing in and making long shadows among the russet light. The heat was turning from muggy to sultry. She stood with her hands in her pockets, watching me open the car door and throw my stuff in the back.

  “Stone. I’m sorry I got mad at you.”

  “No. You were right. I should have kept you in the loop.”

  “You’re kind of maddening sometimes, in a nice way.”

  I smiled. “You’re not. In a nice way.”

  She gave a feeble smile back. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “That should give me a fair bit of scope, then, huh?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  EIGHTEEN

  When I got home, I made myself a steak sandwich and poured a generous glass of Irish. Then I sat at the computer and put in a couple of hours’ research. There was something nagging at my mind, and I wanted to confirm it. As I ate and drank, and worked my way through the endless pages my searches dredged up, it all slowly began to make sense. One after another, the missing pieces began to slot into place. All except one.

  Her call came at eleven p.m., pretty much when I expected it.

  “Detective Stone… John, it’s Emma.”

  “I know.”

  “I need…” A sigh, loud enough for me to hear, and then she started again. “You were right. I do need you. How did you know? How could you have known? We need to talk. Can I come over?”

  “Where are you? It’s late.”

  “At home, on Madison Avenue.”

  “This isn’t Madison Avenue, baby. This is the Bronx.”

  “You make it sound so…”

  “It is. Get a taxi. You have my address.”

  I hung up before she could answer.

  It was almost midnight when I heard the distinctive sound of a yellow cab outside. The door slammed like a gunshot in the dark, quiet street. Heels tapped at a half run, and my doorbell rang. I counted slowly to thirty before I got up and went to answer it. I stood blocking the way, looking down at her.

  “I thought you weren’t coming. I was going to bed.”

  “My husband… Look, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

  I stood aside and let her in.

  She stood, uncertain, in the middle of the floor. I watched her a moment, then reached out my hand. “Give me your coat.”

  She slipped it off and handed it to me. She was wearing a short, tight black dress that showed off all her curves. They were all the right size and in the right places. She was to celibacy what bacon is to vegetarianism. She said, “Thank you,” like it was a meek apology.

  I checked the pockets and the lining of her coat. She watched me do it, frowning. I threw the coat on the sofa and went and stood really close to her. “I have to be sure you’re not wearing a wire…”

  I put my hands around her waist and ran then slowly up her sides and over her back and ass. Her breath shuddered. I smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea, babe. I am just being careful. You want a drink?”

  She nodded. I fixed her a martini, extra dry, and poured myself another Irish. She sat on the sofa. I handed her her glass and sat in my armchair. She sipped and looked at me reproachfully.

  “You’re not being very friendly.”

  “I want you to be clear, I am not a sap that you can play like your husband. You’re as hot as a Carolina reaper, and I’d like nothing better than to take what you’re offering, Emma, whether you’re offering it or not. But before we get close and cozy, you are going to understand. I don’t need you. You didn’t get to me. And I will walk away from you the moment you stop being useful.”

  Her cheeks flushed with anger. I didn’t think she could look any more desirable, and right then it was all I could do to keep up my façade of cool indifference. Her voice came as a hiss. “You bastard…”

  “You’re beginning to get the idea.”

  “I came to you for help!”

  “So tell me what you need, and I’ll tell you how much it’s going to cost you.”

  She put her drink down. “You really expect me to sit here and put up with this?”

  “Yeah, I do. And the sooner you realize I’m not going to be suckered into being your Sir Galahad, the better. Now, what’s the deal?”

  Tears sprang into her eyes, and she looked away. After a moment, she picked up her drink and took a hefty pull, then started to talk.

  “I was born in England…”

  “That’s not news, Emma.”

  “Just shut up, John! Just stop talking and try to stop being quite so vile, will you? I am telling you, so just shut up and listen!”

  She’d finished her drink. She thrust her glass at me, and while I went to refill it, she started talking again.

  “My parents weren’t rich, but we were comfortably off. We had a comfortable home in Chichester, in West Sussex. My father was a successful solicitor, what you would call an attorney, and my mother stayed at home to look after us…”

  “Us?”

  She was silent for a moment, staring into her drink. “Myself and my sister. We were happy. My father’s great passion was sailing. Most weekends we would take the yacht out and sail to the Isle of Wight, or down the coast towards Portsmouth.”

  She had become drawn and pale.

  I allowed some humanity into my voice and asked, “What happened?”

  “I was six, my sister was only five. The weather in England is very unpredictable. It was early September, and we had set out early in the morning. The sea was like a sheet of glass. There was a moderate breeze, and the sun was shining.” She smiled. “It was a glorious day, and we were all very happy. Mummy had packed a lovely luncheon, and Daddy was in good form, joking and laughing.

  “We were a few miles off the Isle of Wight, headed out into the open channel, when there was a severe weather warning over the radio. Very shortly after that, the weather began to change. We weren’t worried. We had been in storms before. Daddy was a very good seaman, and so was my mother, for that matter. My sister and I were packed below to play cards, and Daddy set a course back to the Chichester Channel. I remember they were talking about having a heartwarming pint at the pub in Dell Quay when we arrived.” She sipped her drink. “Only we never made it to Dell Quay. I don’t know what happened. I can only go by what I heard. We were tacking in towards the Chichester Harbor, and as we were coming about, one of the sheets got caught. My mother went to release it but failed to lash herself to the rail. We were struck by a large wave and she was swept overboard. It happened in a matter of seconds.”

  She stopped talking. She gave a small shrug. It was an eloquent gesture that said it just didn’t make any sense.

  “I heard my father scream. We saw him scramble past the hatch. We never heard him fall in. The noise of the storm was awful. That was it. We sat there as the storm battered the boat, knocking it sideways to the wind. We were lucky not to be capsized. It was a miracle really.

  “We were seen by another yacht also heading in for port. They radioed the lifeboat, and somehow they managed to tow us in to safety. Their bodies were never found.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  She spoke into her drink. Her voice was bitter. “Forgive me if I am boring you.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “My sister and I went into care and were put up for adoption. Very few families will take two children. I was adopted by a very loving couple in Surrey. I suppose I never did forgive them for not taking my sister. I think I cried more the day she and I were separated than when my parents died. For a while, they used to take me to visit her, but shortly after that, she was adopted too, by an American family.” She heaved a big sigh. “It’s a lot for a little six-year-old to take in, John. A lot of loss to assimilate when you are that small. I didn’t cry the day they took her a
way to the airport. I tried to stay strong for her. But something had died inside me.”

  I knew the answer, but I asked anyway. “Where did they take her?”

  “To San Francisco.”

  “Tamara Gunthersen was your sister?”

  “Tamara is my sister.”

  “She’s still alive?”

  She nodded.

  “Where?”

  She faced me and she looked haggard. Her sleek beauty had been replaced by drawn, gray despair. “John, I am desperate. I need help. I will do anything, just name it, anything you want. But for God’s sake, you have to help us.”

  “We’ll come to that. First, what is the trouble you’re in? And second, where is Tamara?”

  She stood and walked to the window. She parted the drapes a little and looked out at the black street.

  “She contacted me a couple of years ago. She was very excited. She said she’d been offered a job. She called it a gig. She was an actress, and I assumed it was a part in a play or something. I was used to her getting overexcited; she had been going off the rails a bit ever since our parents died. She was always too happy, too excited, too positive. As though she was trying to convince herself, make herself believe that life wasn’t really the black nightmare it had become, that she hadn’t really been robbed of every shred of love she had ever been given.”

  “What happened?”

  She turned back to face me. “She said she’d met some billionaire, Hugh Duffy. Old money.” She gave an ironic smile. “What you call old money over here. They were in love, and he had asked her to marry him. I was thrilled for her, obviously. But next thing, she phoned me and she was talking crazy. She seemed hyper, hysterical—she was going to New York because she had to square things with Steve.”

  “Her ex-boyfriend, the loser from the Bronx.”

  She nodded. “She was always fascinated by him.” She gave me a look that was hard to interpret. “This strange attraction bastards have for some women. I told her not to be stupid. She had struck it lucky. Not only did she really seem to love this Hugh character, but he was loaded and seemed to be a genuinely nice man. But she insisted she knew what she was doing, and she came to New York.”