A COMPETENT WOMAN SCORN
This is the response to a writing challenge by dear Livia of the Getty Girls. It was too tempting – so here goes. And to all readers: THIS IS A ONE OFF! THE STORY IS COMPLETED.
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The police addressed him in the restaurant. He had arrived there an hour early to do the prepping for the evening that lay ahead. They were two. The woman did the talking. The man seemed to be comfortable, lingering in her shadow.
"Giovanni Rossi?" she asked, raising her well shaped brows just a little.
He assured her she was chef Gio Rossi, indeed. He was in lead of this fine kitchen. He hoped this wouldn't take long. He had a full booked restaurant to cater for in only a few hours time.
"Well, let's talk then," said the beautiful woman and hooked a strand of the red hair behind an ear. She nodded to her companion and he dug up a notepad and a pen from the inside of his suit jacket.
"The sooner you answer our questions, chef Rossi, the sooner we'll be off. The sooner you can go back to your kitchen."
"Shoot!" Gio said and wondered if he should have asked them if they wanted some coffee. It would have been the polite thing to do. His mother would have served them coffee. Espresso made with care, taking the time it took to prepare good coffee. As if cops would sense the difference! They drank anything that resembled the drink. Well, he supposed they had to, to get through the day – seeing all the gory stuff they saw on a regular basis, wading knee deep in all sorts of human misery and ugliness.
"We are trying to find a woman you are said to know – well, Gio," the woman said lowering her voice. That actually sounded quite sexy, but Gio would have liked it better had she been in uniform. It was silly, but a woman in uniform – any uniform, still lifted more than his spirits. He was sure he'd grow out of it once he was – adult. He didn't feel that old yet.
"I don't think I know any criminals, ma'am – urm, Detective inspector," Gio smiled. He made eye contact with her. In any bar that would have been called flirting. This wasn't, however. He just tried to humanize the sitch. Situation. He had to start talking like a mature, and that equaled thinking like a mature man. He'd soon be a man of huge responsibilities – the hugest there were.
"Oh, you know her," the lady cop said, sounding like she knew a whole lot more about him and his life than he did.
"I don't think I asked you guys what this really is about," he said, a lot more cautious than only a minute earlier. "I mean, you're not the local cops – you're the serious guys. The murder squad?"
The man – silent as a marble statue, nodded a few times, still no real expression on his face.
"Oh, I can assure you that I know no one capable of murder," Gio assured and waved his hands before he let the right rest over his heart, just under the embroidered name in purple, Chef Gio Rossi.
"Betty Suarez?" the female investigator suggested.
"Betty Suarez?" he repeated, his brain working like mad. "Betty Suarez is your perpetrator? Betty is your murderer?"
"I take it you know said suspect," the woman concluded. "The way you use her first name only when referring to her. Have you seen Betty Suarez in say – the past few weeks?"
Gio stroked his skull with both hands. The buzz tickled his palms. There was a time when he would have told them he wasn't surprised, that Betty Suarez, said suspect, was capable of just anything. That she was a lunatic. But he was past that now. He was an older person, a bigger person. And fact was, he had difficulties seeing Betty as anything else but – Betty. Dear messed up Betty who wasn't able to follow the paths she chose.
"I know Betty Suarez," Gio said, picking his words with great care. "That is – I used to know Betty Suarez. We were engaged to be married," he added, giving the woman a sad little smile. "I am sure you know this. We lived together for almost a year in Australia. You know that as well, right?"
The woman said nothing.
"We've covered most of your past. Have you seen your former fiancée the past weeks, Mr. Rossi?" the male cop asked in a husky, harsh voice.
Good cop, bad cop, Gio thought. His father loved cop shows.
"Betty left me and Australia three years ago," Gio said. "Haven't seen her since. I'm not on her Christmas card list. And the way she made me feel, I wasn't adding her to mine. I don't even know where she is."
"You sure?" The woman again. "We have records of Betty Suarez dining here… in your restaurant… only a week ago. And we find it very strange you two didn't exchange a few words at that occasion. No matter how unpleasant your split up was. After all – it was three years ago… much water under the bridge…"
"Betty ate here? In my restaurant?" Gio couldn't believe his ears. "No way! I would have seen her! And as you suggest, I would have gone over to her table and talked a bit – no matter how busy we might be in my kitchen. That would be always. We are always busy. When, did you say, this was?"
"She didn't say," the male shadow said.
"Within the past few weeks?" Gio understood as much. "I would have seen her, you know. I notice all my guests. That's my thing. Only time she could have been here, is last Thursday. My sous chef ran the kitchen on that evening. I attended a private party." Gio smiled. He couldn't help smiling when the memory caressed him.
"You might not have spotted Miss Suarez that easily," the woman DI said, smiling back at him. His goofy expression obviously had fooled her to think he was softening. That she had him right where she wanted him. Gio for a split second imagined her handcuffing him to the bed. In his fantasy she was degraded to directing the traffic. Traffic constables wore uniforms.
"Oh, I would recognize Betty," he assured her. "I lived with that woman, remember?"
The DI snapped her fingers, and the male detective produced a photo from inside his jacket. Gio was impressed by this magic. On the other hand, the jacket was fitted so poorly that the fellow could easily have hid a scud rocket and the British crown jewels inside, making no bulges. Detectives only wore Armani in cop shows. The woman pushed the photo over the table for Gio to see.
A pretty blonde in a deep cut top showing a whole lot of cleavage smiled at him. He blinked and looked again. His jaw dropped a few inches. Betty, now blonde, no braces, no glasses, a bit more than subtle make-up, dressed totally out of character – showing that tanned skin and all the rest she had hid under those buttoned to the jaw line blouses years back, wearing a pale pink top under a white suit jacket, low cut jeans clinging to those curved hips, bare feet in heels. Betty.
"I might have missed her," he agreed after studying the photograph for another few minutes. She was a pretty picture, and he wondered what lay behind this transformation. Maybe he was reading too much into the picture – but he sensed there was an unfamiliar harshness over her that hadn't been there when he knew her. A bitter glance in those big, brown eyes.
"And you are sure you didn't see her on that Thursday you were away?"
Gio folded his hands over his belly and leaned back in the chair.
"Positive!" he offered with a large grin. "My significant other would have killed me – sorry! – well, she would have killed me had I brought my ex-girlfriend to our engagement party. Big family event. Her parents. My parents. My siblings. My uncles and aunts and nieces and nephews. My neighbors. My parents' neighbors. I would have preferred to host the party here, but my parents are Italian, right? My mother would have – erhm – killed me too, had I not allowed her to cook and hold the party at her place. She is a brilliant cook too. I'll give you some fifty phone numbers if you just ask the question. They will all swear I was less than three steps away from la mamma all eve. I couldn't have disappeared into the night and accompanied Betty in robbery, mugging, arson, con game, smuggling drugs or embezzlement – even if I had wanted to. Which I didn't. I don't. I say, I would have chatted with her if I met her – exchanged a few niceties. But I have no urge to seek her – I haven't wanted to since she left me. It wasn't what they call amicable. We didn't part as friends…"
"So you say, Mr. Rossi," the man said, sounding a bit too nice for the bad cop he was supposed to be. "So you say…"
"And I sure as hell wouldn't help her committing murder," Gio said, showing a little of his temper. "Who is the victim, anyway? Who is she supposed to have killed?"
"Her former boss."
"No way Betty would have killed Daniel!" Gio was sure they were barking up the wrong tree. "Betty and Daniel were like sister and brother. She'd rather chop off her right arm than harm Daniel."
"Her former boss and boyfriend, Matt Hartley," the DI continued.
Gio didn't know who the woman was talking about. "Never heard of him," he said. "Never met him. Betty wasn't in publishing anymore? She didn't work for Mode? For the Meade's?"
"Hartley bought into Meade," the woman offered. "Later they squeezed out the entire Meade family."
Gio nodded. He hadn't known this. Betty was protective of Daniel. And vice versa. She couldn't have killed Daniel – but he could imagine circumstances when she would have been able to kill for Daniel.
"I didn't know," he said low voiced. "As I said – we haven't been in touch since she left Australia. She realized writing wasn't really for her – and it had been that huge dream all her life – she missed her family, she didn't make friends easily, I worked long hours – she said I didn't chose her as my number one, my job was my number one – and at that time it was. Had to be. I was young and new to the business. I was learning. You can't sulk when you want to achieve something. Betty didn't understand my passion for my job. She always wanted something else, something more, something I couldn't give her --- I don't really know what. She talked for hours, but she never really expressed what she needed. She had no plan – no idea of how she could improve her life. So she did her thing and ran back home. Home to papi, I thought. Home to Daniel, I thought."
"Well, he employed her," the lady cop said. "They got engaged. They lived together. Rumors have it he slept around…"
"So why didn't she just leave?" Gio didn't understand. "That's what Betty does. Give her harsh times, and she walks away from the problems. Tap tap tap from those heels. She doesn't need to kill the guy. I still don't believe she did it. You sure it wasn't an accident?"
"Matt Hartley was stabbed multiple times," the pretty DI said dryly. "It was hardly an accident. He was stabbed with a Japanese kitchen knife. Do you have Japanese knives in your kitchen, chef Rossi?" Her voice was like velvet.
"Of course I have! They're the bloody best! You must be wrong. Betty can't stab anyone. She could have sent this guy anthrax in the mail, but she couldn't stab him face to face. Not Betty."
"Oh, she did." Serious eyes.
Gio didn't smile.
"And I'd like to get access to your kitchen, chef Rossi. I'd like to see if there are any knives missing."
"None of my knives are missing," Gio said. "Knives are very personal tools, ma'am. All my cooks have their own sets."
"Anyone complaining about missing a knife?"
Gio shook his head – but he remembered that trainee he had to sack two months ago. He had lost his entire set of knives. Sloppy kid, that one. Not dedicated – but he had thought he had seen himself as a young man in the boy. He had taken him in and even let him live in his flat for a couple of weeks. He had bought him the knives – same brand as his own – but not quite as many. And the kid went and lost the knives. His sous chef had suggested he'd sold them to buy drugs. Gio had replaced the knives with a cheaper brand. The kid didn't last much longer after that. He got bored in the kitchen and fooled around instead of doing what he was told. Gio sacked him. The kid stole his laptop and iPod plus docking station when he left.
He didn't tell the police this. They asked about the past few weeks. This was months ago. And Betty couldn't know that kid he had picked up from the street. She couldn't.
But she could have stolen the knives. Or bought them.
She could be behind the kid. She could have his laptop now, for all he knew. If she did – she knew too much about him. Too much about Anna, his wife to be.
If so, Betty had become a raving lunatic. If so, she had prepared killing that Matt-guy, and that wasn't the Betty he knew. Gio looked at the photograph of the platinum blonde Betty. This wasn't the Betty Suarez he knew.
"Matt Hartley treated Miss Suarez in a way she didn't much like," the woman said so slowly she was sure he took in every word. "She stabbed him to death. You, Mr. Rossi also were a disappointment to her. We fear she might come for you as well. We advise you to be very cautious. Betty Suarez is a very angry woman…"
"You're joking, right? Betty should come after me? After all these years? I bet she doesn't even think of me these days!"
The woman lifted one brow. Indicated that he was insanely naïve.
"Can we have a look in the kitchen now?"
Gio let them. They had no warrant, but he had nothing to hide. They only slowed them down about an hour. They found all knives that should be there. No one remembered the missing set from months back. A restaurant kitchen was a hectic work place. People easily forgot details from one day to the other. They remembered how to cook. That was all they should remember.
"What was all that?" Gio's sous chef asked as the duo left the restaurant. "Have you committed some serious crime since you left here tonight?"
"Not me," Gio smiled. "I'm a totally innocent suspect in a murder case. New experience. Can't brew on that though – we have a kitchen to run, right? We have hungry hordes to feed when the doors open."
"Suspect? Murder? Anyone you know?" The sous chef wasn't willing to let this go.
"Nope," Gio said. "But they think an ex of mine killed her ex. It's complicated. They think she'll try to kill me as well, so you better watch my back tonight, huh?" Gio laughed and winked an eye. "All strangers in the kitchen will be thrown out, right? And if she still manages to off me, I want you to keep this restaurant open – you don't mourn me by closing it down for as much as an hour!"
"Don't be morbid!"
Gio laughed and hugged his friend warmly. "There is no threat!" he smiled. "I think the cops are following a wrong lead. Betty liked ducklings and puppets and rainbows. Women like her don't go stabbing people!"
He convinced his friend.
He thought no more of it. He didn't even tell Anna about it. No need to spook her. No huger drama in the kitchen than some undercooked wellingtons. Of course he yelled a bit, but he was meant to. He was the temperamental Italian gourmet cook.
But Gio looked closer at his guests the next few evenings. No petite, brown eyed, curvy blonde with skin the color of honey. The real life cops were obviously as incompetent as the cop show cops.
He was lowering his guard. She had watched him for more than a week. Followed him. He suspected nothing. He studied every blonde he met. He obviously knew about her transformation. Too late. She no longer was a blonde. She had auburn hair. She wore it in a business like Wilhelmina style. Gio might cast a glance at her if they met in the streets, but he wouldn't realize he looked at her. The Gucci and Armani and whole collection of European good clothes Matt had bought her after she slimmed down three sizes could fool anyone to believe she was a successful lawyer or editor or just anyone but Betty Suarez.
She had broken the clothes' code.
She had moved on every time.
She had allowed people to use her as a door mat.
The new Betty wasn't as naïve. The new Betty got her revenge. Matt hadn't seen it coming. Well, he knew why and who when she plunged that knife into his chest. He had given her Chlamydia. The doctor had said that was the root to the evil. She had gone untreated. Now she couldn't have children.
She had sought up Henry. She knew where he lived his happy life with his many children. She would get to Henry. She would get to him in time.
Gio was next. Gio who had no time to start a family when she asked him – he wanted children, but not just then. It was too early. That had been her chance. She returned to America and met Matt.
Gio was a success. Gio had just proposed to that slutty Swedish ex-model gone glaciologist. Betty had seen her. Anna was pregnant. She had that radiant glow.
The knife set consisted of enough knives to punish them all. She carried one in her briefcase, she had one in her purse. She had a plan. She finally had understood the necessity of having a plan. Control made her strong.
She was patient. She was a competent woman.
Gio was next.