Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #4: Books 13-16 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [story read aloud .txt] 📗

I turned it over and around in my head a few times, then asked Rafa, “Anything else?”

He thought for a moment, with his arms crossed, then said: “Basically, Stone, the way I see it, you have three or four options, depending how you look at it. One, like I just said, Cyril planned this murder for at least two months, but left the actual killing to chance; two, and maybe three, Giorgio and/or Fernando killed her and framed Cyril; three, or four, it was opportunistic. Some guy passing saw her go in, saw she was drunk, rang at the door and pushed his way in.”

Dehan drained her glass and tried and failed to repress a belch. “That is in many ways the most likely scenario, but the big drawback is that an opportunist who manages to rape and kill a woman without upsetting any furniture is statistically very likely to have a rap sheet. And this guy did not show up on any database.”

Rafa shrugged again. “Which leaves you back with Giorgio or Fernando. Motive would not be impossible to find. By the looks of it, they were into her, but she was not into them. MO? What your partner said. A frame up.”

I gave something like a reluctant nod. “Food for thought.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.” With a hint of irony, he added, “If I could’a been, I would probably have solved it myself.”

I laughed. “Sure. I hear you.”

We stood and shook hands, thanked him for his time and stepped out into the freezing dusk, where the street lamps and shop fronts were already beginning to light up, and the clouded sky above was turning dark.

“So what now, Sensei?”

I leaned on the roof of the Jag and shuddered. “Now, you get on the phone and request Cyril Browne’s financials from the end of August 2006. While you do that, I’m going to phone Frank. Then we go and visit Fernando. We’ll see if he’s as much of a pain in the ass as his friend Giorgo.”

We climbed in the car out of the cold and slammed the doors.

Four

Frank’s phone rang twice and he answered. I said:

“I am going to frame you for rape and murder.”

“You’re not normal, Stone. That is not a normal way to start a conversation on the telephone.”

I ignored him and pressed on. “So, I am going to lure you into a room with three prostitutes.”

“Three, no less, I am flattered.”

“They will gather your semen in a condom.”

“I see. Are you going to stop soon? I hope you are going to stop soon.”

“And I will take that condom to a nearby house, where I will strangle a woman and then introduce the semen into her, making it seem that you raped her.”

“I am assuming, John, that this is not a gratuitous threat, but your inimitable way of asking me if such a thing is possible.”

“No, Frank, I am threatening you.”

“Very amusing, this roughhouse humor. The answer is, it depends. A very astute Medical Examiner might spot it, but it could just as easily go undetected.”

“How would you detect it?”

He sighed and was quiet for a moment. “In the coital, orgasmic spasm, the man tends to stop thrusting and withdrawing, which is the normal build up to orgasm, and becomes rigid, pumping, as it were, his semen as deep within the woman as he possibly can.”

“You say such pretty things.”

“This is nature’s way of ensuring that the sperm has the best possible chance of fertilizing the egg. Therefore, if the body has remained immobile since being raped, the bulk of the sperm will have tended to settle mainly in one location, deep within the vagina, leaving only traces elsewhere. However, in the scenario you have described, the sperm would tend to be smeared mainly around the labia, upon insertion, and then along the walls of the vagina. Does that make sense?”

“Indeed it does, Frank.”

“What’s the case?”

“Sue Benedict, Halloween, 2006.”

I heard him scribbling something, then he said, “Would you like me to have a look? It’s a long shot, but if it wasn’t mentioned in the ME’s official report, there may have been some notes or observations on file here.”

“Please, Frank. I’d be grateful.”

I hung up. Dehan was watching me. I smiled and said, “The big question is, was it pooled at the end or smeared all over? Most MEs would miss it, but our Frank is smarter than most, so he’s going to have a look at the notes and see.”

“Graphic, but I get the idea. OK, shall we go see Fernando?”

“Let’s do that. After that, I think we have an appointment with a moussaka. This cold is getting to me.”

We proceeded through the early dusk, with the headlamps and streetlamps shining hazy through sleet that was gaining confidence and turning steadily to snow, back toward Soundview. Fernando’s apartment was above a liquor store beside the public library. Access was via a narrow door to the side of the shop. There were four bells. The top one had his name by it and we rang.

“Quien?”

Dehan said, “NYPD. We’d like to ask you some questions, sir.”

There was an audible sigh. Then the door buzzed and we pushed inside. There was no elevator, so we climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. He was standing with the door open, waiting for us. He was about fifty-something and looked as though he worked out at the gym. His hair was thick and curly, and a little too black. He had on a denim shirt over a black vest and he was clean shaven.

“What’s the problem, detectives?”

We showed him our badges and I said, “There is no problem, Mr. Martinez. We just need to ask you some questions about Sue Benedict.”

“Susana?”