The Heart of a Man: 6
~The heart of a man that is eagerly trusting,
Feels the scorpion sting, and still expects mercy
The heart of a man is blind. . .~
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
"Please follow me," said the dignified gentlemen dressed in black as he escorted Peter and Jody into the Crawford mansion. He preceded them into a large room lined with books and leather chairs. It reminded Peter of something out of Sherlock Holmes.
At the far end of the room a gray-haired man stood near open French doors that overlooked a lighted garden. The scent of something soft and exotic wafted into the room, mingling with the smell of books, leather and old money.
"Mr. Thomas Crawford?" Peter asked. Despite the richness of the surroundings, he sensed a heaviness about the man, a weariness that seemed to weigh on the very atmosphere.
"Yes," the man spoke, then half-turned, revealing lined, but distinguished features. He gestured out the doors. "This was my wife's pride and joy. She loved exquisite things, especially flowers. The garden is one of the few things I have left of her." He looked thoughtfully out into the night. Then he turned and approached the two detectives.
"But we are not here to discuss those things. You must be Detective Powell," he nodded toward Jody. "And you're Detective Peter Caine."
"Yes, Sir," Peter said. "We apologize for disturbing you at this hour, but there were some questions that we needed to ask in relation to our investigation."
Crawford raised a hand, brushing aside Peter's apology. "I'll answer your questions. But first, Detective, I am in your debt. I must thank you for what you have done on behalf of my family."
Peter frowned. "We're investigating the robbery that took place at your jewelry store in Chinatown Mall. Your property hasn't been recovered."
Crawford blinked, and then the light of understanding shone in his eyes. "The vases were and are very precious to me, Detective. I desperately hope that you can recover them. It was only at the suggestion of my daughter-in-law that I consented to show them as a part of the display. But, what I am thanking your for, now, is saving the life of my granddaughter, Johanna. And at peril to your own life. I could never repay you for that."
Crawford reached a hand toward a side table and extended a framed photograph in Peter's direction. Peter numbly accepted the picture, unable to do little more than stare in shock at the smiling faces of Jenine and her daughter Johanna. "That's my daughter-in-law, Jenine Smith-Crawford. I'm sure you must have seen her at the store."
Peter heard a soft sound from Jody. He shot her a quick silencing look. "They're beautiful," he managed as he handed the photograph back to the older man. "You must be very proud."
Peter only half listened as the man continued to speak lovingly about Jenine and her daughter. No wonder Jenine had said that he didn't have what she needed. The sort of dollar signs that came with the Crawford name would never be attached to the name Caine.
Peter slipped behind the wheel of his car with a sigh. The ride back from Trinity Park to the mall had been a difficult one. He settled his aching head into his hands as the scene replayed itself in his mind. . .
~"A married woman, Peter?" Jody's words dripped with disapproval.
"Her husband's dead," Peter replied shortly.
"Well that's a relief. But you're still being mighty touchy, Partner. Are you sure you didn't know this Jenine Smith. . . Crawford, or whatever the hell her name is, before?"
"I knew her, okay? You happy?"
"No," Jody replied, counting off on her fingers. "She lied about who she was, even to you. She convinced Crawford to have the vases sent there. She was in charge of the exhibit. I don't know about you, but I'm getting a little suspicious."
"She's not a suspect," Peter stated, though he had suspicions of his own, and those were the ones that worried him the most. "Everything we have is circumstantial."
"Maybe," Jody replied, "But she just looks like she's hiding something." ~
Peter's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a call coming over his police radio. There was a disturbance in the vicinity of Stephanos Import & Consignment. A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he grabbed up the radio. "This is Baker One-Nine, responding. ETA seven minutes."
In a shower of gravel he spun his Stealth out of the parking lot and onto the street.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
When Peter arrived at Steph's shop, three patrol cars were already at the scene. The police lights reflected eerily off the nearby darkened storefronts. He flashed his badge at the two patrolmen who were warding off onlookers.
"What happened?" he asked Aaron Jacobsen, the uniformed officer who met him at the door.
"Robbery turned homicide," Jacobsen said. "I know he was one of your informants, Pete. So, I need to warn you: it isn't pretty."
Peter took a step back and ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to prepare himself. "How'd it go down?"
Jacobsen gestured toward a frantic looking middle-aged woman who was speaking with another officer. "She owns the shop next door and came over to say goodnight after she closed up. Says she saw a woman , blonde, slim, medium height, leaving in a big hurry about ten minutes earlier. Didn't see her face, though." He gestured toward the doorway that led to the back of the store. "She found him over there."
Peter turned and saw a pool of blood extending from the edge of the door frame, marking a grotesque path up the bottom edge of the sky blue curtain that had once covered the opening.
"One shot," Jacobsen demonstrated by pointing a finger in the center of his forehead. "Right between the eyes. Whoever it was got real close. But the woman recognized him by the tattoo on his arm."
Peter scrubbed a hand across his face, and nodded his thanks to Jacobsen before stepping closer to what was left of Nicholai Stephanos. Moving carefully around the large fragments of broken pottery that littered the outer shop area, he pushed around the blue curtain.
"Damn." He winced at the sight before him. Stooping he placed a hand above the man's barrel chest. His guess was that Steph could not have been dead for much more than an hour.
"I could have prevented this," he murmured, pushing himself to his feet. "Dammit, I could have prevented this." Aside from the killer, he thought, I'm probably the last one to see him alive. Maybe if I had tried a little harder to get him to talk. Maybe. . . .
A memory tickled in the back of his mind, and he turned quickly toward the outer shop area, his eyes focusing on the broken pottery fragments that littered much of the floor. Grabbing a pair of gloves from Jacobsen, he sorted through and picked up one of the larger shards. The intricate design clicked in his mind, reminding him vividly of the photographs of the vases that Thomas Crawford had been more than willing to offer. Peter also noticed the small, intricately inserted NS near what looked like a piece of the base of the vase.
"You always did say that your forgery would get you killed," Peter murmured. Pushing himself to his feet, he placed the shard in an evidence bag and headed toward the phone. It was time to see what the last outgoing call had been. If he was lucky, redial might lead him to Steph's contact, maybe even his murderer.
Pressing the button, he turned from the room and waited to see who would pick up the line. After the fourth ring, the answering machine kicked in. His blood ran cold when he heard the name of the answering machine's owner.
"So what was the last number he dialed? Does it reveal his contact?" Jody's voice sounded from behind him.
Peter started and almost dropped the phone, attracting the attention of Jacobsen who was greeting the night-shift coroner. The uniformed man smiled knowingly before directing the balding man toward the back of the store. Peter returned his attention reluctantly back to Jody who was waiting for an answer.
"You got here quick," he hedged, hanging up the phone.
"Obviously not quick enough," Jody shot back. "Sandra Mason is outside. You sure she doesn't have a tracer or something on you?"
"I wouldn't be surprised." Peter shrugged as he pulled off his gloves and tossed them into the trash bin. "Might oughtta put Blake on it."
"Yeah, maybe. So, you gonna tell me what the last number called from this phone was or am I going to have to arm wrestle you for it?"
"I'm sure this isn't as bad as it looks. I--" .
"Wait, let me guess," Jody cut him off. "~Mizz~ Jenine Smith-Crawford?"
Peter nodded shortly and headed out of the door. This time Jody didn't have to ask where they were going.
