Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [readnow TXT] 📗

“Oh, okay.”

We left.

Twelve

I leaned my head on the car and she stood staring down the long, ugly road in the late afternoon sun, like she was looking at the view. After a bit, she said, “Okay, I am willing to bet that there is a fifty-fifty chance that if we search El Chato’s house, we will find a bowie knife, or something similar. But what we are not going to find is any Oscars, or even any awards for junior drama. I grew up with these guys, Stone, and he is exactly what he seems to be. He has an IQ between ninety-eight and one hundred and two. He is bog standard average. There is no way this guy is going to make up that story, thinking on his feet.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Let me tell you the problem I’m having. I can think of one person, and only one person, who fits the bill. He’s big enough to knock Simon down, strong enough to stab him through the sternum, close enough to Sylvie to be in her house, obsessed enough with her to go violently to her aid if he thought she needed protecting, and simple enough not to realize that stabbing her husband in the heart was way out of proportion to the telling off he was giving his wife.”

“I know.”

“And, maybe most important of all, it might explain why she is concealing his identity.”

I looked down at my shoes. “We agree that Humberto is possibly Paul’s son.”

“I would lay money on it.”

“We need to confirm it.”

“I am thinking Humberto makes a habit of slinking around hiding in the bushes and peering through Sylvie’s window. He has got a childish crush on her, which to him it is like she is the center of the universe. And we know that there is easy access from the church to the house via the back gardens.

“I am thinking, on that Sunday, Ahmed finishes his work and Humberto sees him leave. He sneaks into the garden and finds the back door open. He goes in. Just then, Simon arrives.”

She paused, thinking.

I said, “We know that she hadn’t put the lights on and she wasn’t at the door to greet him.”

Dehan nodded. “Maybe that made Simon the Patriarch mad. Maybe he was having a go at her, threatening fire and brimstone for being a Jezebel, or whatever. Who knows? Thing is, Humberto comes to her aid.”

“Meanwhile, Paul is making hay with Elizabeth. But after the cops have gone, he phones and they talk for almost an hour. She is shaken, but not totally unhappy with the result. She is now financially secure, and free of her husband. They agree to keep Humberto’s name out of it.” I chewed my lip for a bit. “But where the hell did Humberto get a bowie knife?”

Dehan stared at me a moment. “Wasn’t Daddy an intrepid explorer on the Amazon?”

I stood and opened the car. “We need to confirm that. We need to know what their relationship is.” I hesitated and looked at my watch. “You need to be somewhere…”

She looked uncomfortable, stood on her toes, and shook her head. “Yeah…no, I can get a cab. Where are you going?”

“I’m going to go and scare the bejaysus out of Elizabeth.”

She nodded. “That makes sense. Find out what really happened in Brazil.”

“I can drop you somewhere.”

“Nah, it’s not on your way.”

“Where is he picking you up, at the precinct?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come on, I will drop you there.”

She sighed and climbed in. As she slammed the door, she said, “I really should bring my own car.”

I fired up the engine. “For tomorrow, you can bring your own car. Today I can give you a lift.”

“…I didn’t mean that.”

We didn’t talk again till we got to the 43rd. I pulled up at the corner and looked through the window. Outside, the afternoon was turning to dusk. There was a convertible Mercedes sports car parked in the lot. A good-looking guy in his early thirties was sitting against the trunk. Dehan sat staring at the dash.

“We are here.”

“I know. Will you pick me up tomorrow?”

“Sure, if you want me to.”

She looked at me with intense, black eyes. “Yes, please.”

She got out and I watched her walk toward the guy with the sick car. He smiled at her and stood, bent to kiss her. She gave him her cheek and they climbed in the car. I pulled away and headed for Eastchester Bay.

By the time I got to Elizabeth Cavendish’s, house it was getting dark. The street lamps were glowing amber and the cars were made invisible by the glare of their dull headlamps. I pulled into her drive and rang the bell. After a moment, she opened the door and stood looking at me. I could smell the gin on her breath and she was a little unsteady on her feet. I could hear the music and sporadic chatter of a movie coming from her living room.

“This I didn’t expect. Where is your cute partner? Is this a social call?”

“No, Mrs. Cavendish. I have some questions for you. I would really appreciate five minutes of your time.”

She gave a nicotine-stained grunt. “How disappointing.” Then, she turned and walked away. I took that as an invitation and stepped inside, closing the door behind me.

In the living room, she picked up the remote and turned off the TV.

“Will you have a drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Less and less fun.”

She dropped onto her sofa and pointed to a chair. I sat.

“Mrs. Cavendish, do you understand that if you cover for somebody who is guilty of murder, you are committing a very serious crime?”

She went very serious but did not answer.

I pressed on. “More to