Skinny Dip - Страница 21

Driving back to his apartment, Rolvaag recalled his own failed marriage and found it impossible to imagine a scenario under which murder would have been an option. In this exercise the detective felt handicapped by his heritage-Norwegians were natural brooders, not given to the sort of volcanic emotions associated with domestic homicides. But then, Rolvaag hadn't understood the majority of criminals he had sent off to prison, regardless of their crimes. Shooting an icecream vendor for thirty-four bucks and change was no more comprehensible to him than launching one's attractive (and, by all accounts, faithful) spouse over the side of a cruise liner.

Why had Perrone done it? Not for money, as there was no insurance payoff, no inheritance, no jackpot whatsoever. And not for love, either-if Chaz had wanted to dump his wife and run off with one of his girlfriends, divorce would have been relatively easy and painless. Florida was a no-fault jurisdiction that dealt perfunctorily with short, childless marriages. Moreover, Mrs. Perrone's substantial personal wealth made her an unlikely candidate for alimony.

Gallo's right, Rolvaag thought. I've got zilch for a motive.

When he arrived home he saw that a newspaper clipping had been slipped under his door. It was the story of a man in St. Louis who had been strangled and then nearly devoured by an enormous pet python, which he had foolishly neglected to feed for several months. The snake's gruesome repast had been interrupted by a concerned neighbor, who scampered for help. Paramedics skilled with the Jaws of Life arrived and retrieved the victim's grossly elongated body, dispatching the sated reptile in the process. Above the headline, in violet ink, was a familiar spidery scrawl: "This should happen to you!"

Rolvaag chuckled, thinking: That makes two people who'll be happy to see me go-Chaz Perrone and Nellie Shulman.

The detective's own two snakes were coiled together in a large glass tank in the corner of the living room. They were not pure white in the way of some albinos, but rather a creamy hue with exotic tangerine saddle marks. In the urban outdoors their unnatural brightness could have been a fatal trait, but the pythons were safe in Rolvaag's apartment. They displayed no gratitude whatsoever, and seldom moved a muscle except to eat or re-position themselves in a shaft of sunlight. Still, Rolvaag enjoyed observing them. That a twerp like Perrone would purposely kill something so primal and perfect angered the detective in a way that surprised him.

He shoved a frozen lasagna into the oven and picked through the papers in his briefcase until he found the scrap he was looking for. He dialed the Hertz office in Boca Raton and identified himself to an assistant night manager, who was exceptionally cooperative. By the time Rolvaag hung up, he had obtained the name of the hirsute thug in the minivan staking out the Perrone residence, and also the name of the company that was paying for the rental.

Red's Tomato Exchange, whatever that was.

Joey Perrone shook Stranahan awake. "Mick, I just thought of something!"

He sat up on the couch and rubbed his eyes. "Time?"

"Five-forty-five."

"This better be good." He reached for the lamp, but she grabbed his arm.

"I'm not dressed," she said.

Even without lights the house wasn't that dark. Joey was wearing a white cutoff T-shirt and bikini-style panties, the sight of which mitigated Stranahan's grumpiness.

"Tell me what you remembered," he said.

"A fight that Chaz and I had about two months ago. I was supposed to fly to L.A. for a wedding but the weather at the airport was horrible, so I turned around and drove home. I won't get on a plane if there's a cloud in the sky."

Joey said she'd walked in and found her husband at the dining room table, entering numbers on a chart. "I was looking over his shoulder and all I said was, 'How do you remember them all?' Because he wasn't using any notes, just jotting down the figures one after another. So it was like, 'Wow, how can you remember them all?' Completely innocent and friendly-and he nearly jumped out of his chair. Went absolutely batshit."

"That's all you said to him?"

"It was the craziest thing. He started screaming, stomping around, waving his arms. Told me to quit spying on him and mind my own damn business," Joey said. "It was just like the day I asked about the new Hummer-only this time he called me the c word. That's when I decked him."

"Excellent."

"A right cross to the chops. Chaz isn't exactly tough as nails."

"But you seeing those charts set him off. Do you know what the numbers meant?"

"He never told me. But part of his job is measuring stuff in the water out there, some type of pollution," Joey said. "I'm guessing it had something to do with that."

"You really slugged him?" Stranahan asked.

"Maybe I shouldn't have. Maybe that's what did it, Mick."

"Did what? Make him decide to kill you?"

"Maybe it was too much for his ego."

Stranahan told her not to mistake arrogance for pride. "A guy like Chaz can revive his ego with the palm of his hand."

"Still, I never saw him freak like that before," Joey said.

"It's important. I'm glad you told me."

"Hey, are those genuine Fruit of the Looms?" She reached over and tweaked the waistband.

Stranahan slapped a pillow over his lap. Obviously Mrs. Perrone was overcoming her shyness.

She said, "The sun's almost up. How about a swim?"

"Ha-ha."

"Three laps around the island. Come on, I'm serious."

"I thought you were terrified of sharks," he said.

"Not if there's two of us in the water."

"And one of us is old and slow. I get the picture."

"Oh, don't be such a pussy," Joey said.

"Excuse me?"

But off she ran, barefoot in her underwear. Stranahan heard the bang of the screen door, followed by a splash. When he reached the dock, there was nothing to do but dive in and try to catch up. Strom watched quizzically but made no move to join them.

Halfway around the island, Joey said, "You're in pretty good shape for a geezer."

Stranahan stopped midstroke and treaded water.

"What's wrong?" she called out.

Ominously he pointed at the waves beyond her. Joey spotted the three gray dorsals cutting the surface and let out a shriek. She kicked backward, straight into Mick's arms.

"Don't slug me," he whispered after a few moments, "but those are just dolphins."

Slowly she exhaled, blinking the salt from her eyes. "So this is how you get your thrills," she said.

"I'm fairly harmless. You can ask around."

The dolphins rolled away, and Stranahan lost sight of them in the sun's glare. Joey kept her arms around his neck, which surprised him.

"That was pretty wild," she conceded. "Better than the Seaquarium."

"I see them playing out here all the time. You want to keep going?"

"You mean with the swimming, or the groping?"

"I'm not groping," Stranahan said, "I'm trying to keep us afloat."

"Your hand is on my ass."

"Technically that's a thigh, and it's the easiest place to get a grip."

"Oh, nice," she said. "How much do you think I weigh?"

"Not with a gun to my head would I answer that question." He ducked out of her grasp and pushed away.

"A hundred and thirty-one pounds," Joey announced, smoothing the water from her hair. "But I'm tall. Almost five ten."

"You look terrific," he said. "So shut up and let's swim. This was your brilliant idea, remember?"

Forty-five minutes later they were dry and dressed. He was fixing waffles and she was brewing coffee and the dog was baying at a boat full of snapper fishermen drifting past the island.

Joey said, "Tell me more about the blackmail plan."

"Oh, that reminds me." He left the kitchen for a minute and returned with the cell phone, which he handed to her. "Dial your house."

"Noway!"

"You don't have to talk to him. Just dial the number and give me the phone."

"He's got caller ID. He'll see your name," Joey said.

"Then do star sixty-seven to block it."

"Mick, what are you going to say to him?"

"Just do it, please."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Stranahan wedged the receiver under one ear as he tended to the waffles. He spoke in a stage voice that caused Joey to stifle a giggle.

"Is this Charles Perrone? Chaz, we don't know each other yet, but soon you'll be giving me a shockingly large sum of money… No, this isn't the cable company. This is the person who saw you push your lovely wife off the Sun Duchess last Friday night… That's correct. At eleven p.m. sharp, in a drizzling rain. You grabbed her by the ankles and chucked her overboard. Chaz, you still there? Oh, Cha-az?"

Joey applauded after Mick hung up. "That was Charlton Heston you were doing, right? Back in college we got stoned one night and watched The Ten Commandments and Planet of the Apes back-to-back."

Stranahan said, "I believe I've ruined your husband's morning."

"What'd he say?"

"At first he thought I was trying to sell him digital Pay-per-View. Then he accused me of being somebody named Rolvad or Rolvag, playing a sick trick on him. Toward the end it was more of a gurgle, really. Like he'd swallowed some bleach."

"What you just did, is that legal?" Joey asked.

"Possibly not. I'll run it by Father Rourke the next time I go to confession."

"You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself."

"Chaz deserved a hot little rocket up the ass."

"Well, I admire your style."

"Now, please tell me again," Stranahan said, "why you married a jerkoff like that."