All the Deadly Lies Page 14

  “Would Lola have contacted her mother instead of you?” Jake asked.

  “Yeah, she would. They have a love-hate relationship, those two, because they’re alike.” Jerry shuddered. “I couldn’t live with either of them—a pair of tough broads, one tougher than the other. They were always harping on my ass. I pity the guy who winds up with her.”

  “Jerry, do you know who she would have visited if not you or her mother?”

  “She might’ve contacted her ex-husband. They go way back. She started dating him in high school. As for friends, she didn’t have a lot of them.”

  “One more question, Jerry. Where were you on April sixteenth?”

  He grabbed his calendar off the cluttered coffee table and looked up the date. “I attended the Tim McGraw concert at Mohegan Sun. They comped me the tickets.”

  “Thanks for your time, Jerry. If we have any other questions, we’ll contact you,” Jake said as he stood. Louie and Jerry stood. Jerry extended his hand. He had no excuse not to shake it, nor did Louie.

  Outside Louie said, “I hope you have some antibacterial lotion in the car.”

  “I don’t leave home without it. My God, how does someone live in such filth?”

  “I couldn’t, but I now understand his ex-wife and pity her,” Louie said, opening his laptop to search for Nick Pilarski’s address.

  “What’s the address for Lola’s ex-husband?” Jake poured a generous amount of antibacterial lotion into his hand and passed the bottle to Louie.

  “It’s 345 Marion Avenue, second floor,” Louie said, as he scrubbed his hands.

  “Did she or didn’t she contact her mother? What’s your opinion?” Jake wiped his hands on a paper towel to get the excess antibacterial gel off before driving away from the curb.

  “They might not be close, but mothers and daughters always seem to have a bond we men can’t explain,” Louie said.

  * * * *

  Nick Pilarski lived over a deli on the Southington/Wilkesbury town line. The aroma helped to wash out the stench from Jerry Gromme’s apartment. It also kicked in their appetites.

  “Let’s grab a sandwich downstairs when we’re through here.” Jake knocked on the door.

  Pilarski answered the door in a Hard Rock T-shirt and boxers. Scratching his belly, he yawned in their faces.

  “What do you want? You woke me up.” Nick complained.

  “Are you Nick Pilarski?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “That would be us, Nick,” Jake said as he displayed his shield.

  “I’ll ask again, who’s asking?”

  Jake braced, watching Nick lose his patience. The guy’s got a short fuse. Something he could use if needed.

  “I’m Lieutenant Carrington and this is Detective Romanelli of the Wilkesbury Police Department.”

  “Listen, I work nights, and sleep days. Can you say want you want to say and leave so I can get back to sleep?”

  “We’re here to question you about a recent murder. Can we come in?” Jake asked.

  “Who got dead?” Nick said, opening the door wider to let them in.

  “The murder victim is Chelsea Adams, the first wife of Jeffrey Adams, who is now married to your ex-wife, Lola,” Louie said, taking a deep breath.

  “What’s it got to do with me? Shit—no way, man. I never met the woman. What are ya, crazy?” Nick looked around, found a cigarette, lit it, then took a deep drag before blowing the smoke in their faces. “You guys want one?” Nick offered.

  “No thanks, we don’t smoke.” Jake swiped a hand in front of his face to dissipate the smoke. He wondered how much secondhand smoke he’d inhaled today. He hoped the cleaners would be able to get the smell out of his clothes.

  “Did you see your ex-wife on April sixteenth?” Louie asked.

  “No, she lives in Florida.”

  “On the sixteenth, she was here in Connecticut. You’re sure she didn’t contact you?” Jake questioned.

  “I’m sure. Why would she?”

  “Where were you on the sixteenth, Mr. Pilarski?” Jake asked.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Nick said, incredulous.

  “No, we’re not kidding. Where, Nick?”

  He pulled his calendar from the table next to an old gray floral wing chair, while they continued to question him.

  “What’s your cell number, Mr. Pilarski?” Louie asked.

  “Why?” He got up, started pacing around the dark, tiny apartment with the calendar in his hand.

  “We need to check it against Lola’s bill to be sure she didn’t contact you.” Jake observed him, finding no telltale signs Nick lied as he answered his questions. Nick handed Jake his calendar and pointed out his work schedule.

  “I worked that night. You can check with the company. They’ll verify it. You think she killed the woman?” Pilarski asked.

  “At this time, we’re questioning everyone who knew the victim, Mr. Pilarski,” Louie said.

  “Lola’s a crazy woman, but she wouldn’t kill anyone. I would know if I were—had been—married to a killer,” he said with conviction.

  “Sometimes people hide their true selves,” Jake said.

  “No, not Lola, she’s a money-hungry bitch, not a killer.”

  “You still have feelings for her?” Louie asked.

  “She’s hard to get over. A great lay, but out of bed, she’s a tiger with real sharp claws.” He shrugged his shoulders. “We fought all the time. Christ, we were together since high school. No matter what I gave her, she wanted more. She’s a tough woman who comes from hard stock. Have you met her parents yet?”

  “Yes. I still need your cell phone number, Mr. Pilarski. Don’t make us get a subpoena, because then we’ll have access to everyone you called.” Jake stared at Nick with no sympathy.

  Pilarski got up, grabbed a pad, and wrote down a number, handing it to Jake. “I don’t care if you look at all my calls, I don’t have anything to hide.”

  “We like people who cooperate, Nick, it gets us out of their lives faster,” Jake said. “Do you know who else Lola might have visited on her recent trip here?”

  “Did you check with her best friend, Katy?”

  “No, what’s her full name, address, and phone number, if you have it?” Louie asked.

  “It’s Katy Bonita. Wait, I have to look up the number.” He searched through his cell phone, wrote down the information, handed it to Jake. “Katy only has a cell phone.”

  “You keep in touch with her friends, Nick?” Jake quirked his brow.

  “Friend. Yeah, after the divorce, I dated Katy a couple of times but there weren’t any sparks. We remained friends though. You got a problem with that?” Jake braced as Nick went on the defensive.

  “Nope. Anyone else we should look at, Nick?” Nothing here, Jake thought, but he had to go through the routine.

  “Lola’s not close to a lot of people. There’s no one else she’d bother to get in contact with.”

  “Here’s my card. Give me a call if someone else comes to mind. Sorry to interrupt your sleep.” Jake handed over his card.

  Chapter 13

  A look at the bedside clock had her swearing. Mia jumped out of bed half an hour later than usual. Her luck continued to run downhill when traffic came to a standstill around Farmington, making her late for her first appointment. She needed to reevaluate her job. Work interfered with her writing. When she’d started, it had been a part-time job, three days a week as a way of giving back to society. Something her parents had stressed. Now she worked five days a week, with part-time benefits. Leave it to the state to get around giving benefits, though she didn’t need them. Mia wanted to earn her own way in life. All the benefits she could ever ask for, as well as a high-paying salary, she got as an officer of her father’s company. A writer-contributor slash vice president, she worked
hard producing articles for each magazine every month. If seeing her name on a book was all that mattered to her, she could’ve easily published her mystery with their company ages ago. But she’d inherited her father’s stubborn streak. It was important to her to make it on her own. It’s why she used a pseudonym when she submitted. Logan Andrews didn’t understand, never did, never would—and it caused constant friction between her and her father.

  It was also the main reason she’d moved out of New York City. After the last argument, the idea to move out of state popped into her head. It took two days for the realtor to rent out her penthouse to a nice couple for a year. After she had the moving truck loaded with what she’d need for the year, she stopped by her parents, dropped the bomb, and didn’t look back. The move to rural Connecticut was the best thing she’d done for herself in years. Like an omen, she had found the condo the first week at the right price. The owner had wanted a quick sale. She’d paid cash and moved right in. It gave her more time to write, plus it meant less bickering with her father. It wasn’t time for her to take her rightful position at the company. Her dreams were hers and no one else’s. She loved the seclusion and setting she had found in Connecticut. Now, three years later, she had a life here. One she wouldn’t give up without a fight.

  And she didn’t need to work. The generous trust fund her grandmother had left her, and the income she drew from the various holdings and stocks the family owned, could support ten families. She wondered how Jake would handle it when he found out how rich she was. Would the depth of her portfolio bother him? Would he be man enough to handle it? She’d tell him in time. Where the relationship led would be anyone’s guess. Too many men wanted her for her money. Jake seemed different from the others she had dated. Yet, he had a dark side to him, one she needed to explore more thoroughly. Whose baggage was larger, his or hers? When he’d spoken of his sister’s death on Sunday, she realized he still carried a lot of survivor guilt around deep inside. Even with her degree in psychology she didn’t think she could help him, or if she even wanted to begin a relationship with someone as damaged as Jake.

  While waiting for her second appointment of the day, Mia wondered how tonight would go. She didn’t need one of Jake’s ex-girlfriends following her around. Did Jake bring it on himself? Would it be fair to blame him for a crazy woman’s actions? It was rare she met a man she wanted to date. Would Jake Carrington be worth taking a chance on? Maybe she’d find out tonight.

  Her cell phone rang. Looking at the readout, she almost moaned out loud when she saw Piper’s name. Of all days, she didn’t have the time or the patience to speak with her friend. Her husband, Darryl, had cheated on her and Piper wanted Mia to tell her what to do. Letting the call go to voicemail, Mia promised herself she’d call Piper back on her way to Jake’s house tonight.

  Her next appointment walked in with a big attitude and a foul mouth—a mean-spirited, boisterous thirteen-year-old girl who caused fights with the other students. The school had asked her to dig out the answer. Mia could tell them why before she even counseled her. Tessa threw herself into one of the chairs in front of Mia’s desk and stared her down. Saying nothing, Mia waited her out.

  Tessa said, “Hi, Doctor Andrews.”

  “Hello, Tessa. How are you today?”

  “Why do I have to come here? It’s a waste of my time.”

  “Well, consider it as a vacation from class,” Mia said, with a smile.

  “I don’t need no vacation. I don’t want to come, I don’t come. Nobody cares one way or the other if I do or don’t,” she answered, an edge creeping into her voice as she tried to incite an argument.

  “Don’t need any vacation,” Mia corrected.

  “Whatever.” Tessa waved her hand around.

  Tessa picked up items from Mia’s desk. The girl did it to irritate her. “Tessa, we spoke about you touching my things before. Put them down.” Not giving an inch, Mia hardened her voice. She’d taken this job because she thought she could help kids. No matter how much she tried, she didn’t see much progress. The job had started to depress her.

  “Boy, you’re grouchy today,” Tessa said, dropping the crystal statue back on Mia’s desk.

  Mia cringed. “Would you like me to go through your handbag…touch your possessions?”

  “You do, I’ll kill you.” Tessa jumped up.

  Mia stared her down until she sat again.

  “Are you ready for your session?”

  “Why? It don’t help.”

  “Tessa, in the last session you promised to explain why you’re angry.” Mia gave Tessa a gentle push.

  “Fine. I ain’t no white bitch who has everything. Or it could be I live in a hole where no one cares about me or what I do. Is that what you want me to say?” Tessa asked.

  “I want you to be honest with me. I can help if you let me.”

  “Why should I?”

  “To work toward your future to ensure you have a good life in front of you,” Mia said.

  “I hate my parents.”

  “You can’t change who your parents are. If they’re abusing you, we can address those issues.”

  “I hate them. They don’t abuse me or anything.” It was rare, but Mia couldn’t read the kid.

  “You need to tell more than that if we are going to root out and fix the cause of your feelings. Remember, you’re the one who needs to take charge, implement the changes we spoke about in the last session to see change in your life. You have to want to change before I can help you. Dig deep, find the reasons why you hate your parents. Once you find the answer, work to resolve the issues. I can’t help you until you tell me what they are.” Mia made a decision and went with the personal touch. “I have problems with my father. I wish things could be different. I understand I’m not going to change him. I’ve accepted it and moved on in my life. I live it my way.”

  “What’s his problem?”

  Mia almost answered. Smiled at how easily Tessa could draw her in. “It doesn’t matter. What matters most, Tessa, is you. You can work to be a better student, daughter or a successful businesswoman. Show the world you have what it takes to succeed, even against great odds.”

  “You make it sound easy.” The girl slumped back in the chair.

  “It’s not. It’s a lot of hard work. Anything worthwhile is.”

  “Why do you care? What do you get out of doing this?” Tessa spread her arms wide. “Does it make feel better about yourself?” A good manipulator, Tessa tried again to turn the session back on her. Mia wasn’t allowing it.

  “No, I like to help people. I see great potential in you. It would be a shame to waste it. Don’t let them beat you down. You want power, Tessa? Real power is knowledge. Street smarts are good, but you need book smarts to accompany it to succeed. You’re at a crossroads in your life—you need to make a choice. Are you going to be a troublemaker all your life and end up in jail? Or do you want to work hard to make something of yourself? It’s your decision. What do you want?”

  She pushed hard today. For Tessa, they were running out of options. Mia liked the girl. Even with all her sessions, she had never discovered the reason for Tessa’s anger. A long time ago Mia accepted some kids couldn’t be helped, though it killed her with this one, because Tessa had potential. A brainy girl with guts, Tessa could go far in life if she let herself.

  “I’ll have to get back to you with my answer.”

  “I’ll see you next week at the same time. And dig deep to find your answer, Tessa.” Mia dismissed her. Staring out her window, she didn’t want to give up on Tessa but was she a lost cause? It annoyed her how much she wanted to sit there and cry. Cry for Tessa, cry for herself, and cry for the broken system that let these children fall through the cracks. Her work accomplished nothing. Mia understood that she was at the burnout point. It was a hazard of the profession.

  Outside the window something odd regi
stered in her brain—she recognized the red car parked next to hers as the Wagner woman’s Jake had spoken about. Or was she projecting? Since their talk she’d spotted a dozen red cars at the grocery store, the bank, and on her way to work. No, this time she was positive it was her. Pissed, she hit number one on her speed dial.

  “You’re not canceling, are you?” Jake asked.

  “No, the Wagner woman’s sitting in my parking lot here at school, in Hartford. What should I do?” She paced as she spoke.

  “Notify the resource officer there, but I want you to also call the police and explain you’re dating a cop. Tell them about the other incident. No, never mind, I’ll call a friend of mine at the Hartford Police Department and get him out there right away. Stay in your office.”

  She hung up, without a good-bye.

  It took Sergeant Monahan and his partner Detective Perez five minutes to get there. Monahan knocked on Mia’s door.

  “Mia Andrews?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Sergeant Monahan.” He walked over to Mia’s window and stared down at the lot. “Which car is it?”

  Mia joined him, looking down into the parking lot—gone. “The blue car’s mine. The empty spot to the right is where she was parked.” She pushed a hand through her hair.

  “A red Honda, driven by a brunette woman, pulled out of the lot just as we drove in. What color car does the Wagner woman drive?” Monahan asked.

  “It’s a red Honda.” Mia sat down. Monahan came over to her desk, pulled a chair around, and sat beside her and took her right hand in his.

  “Miss Andrews…”

  “It’s Mia.”

  “Okay, Mia, most stalkers don’t do anything. It’s a form of intimidation to scare someone. They’re cowards. I’m going to advise you to put in a complaint so it’s on the record. This way if she continues to escalate you’ll have enough for a restraining order. The next time take a picture of the car and driver with your cell phone.”

  “I did.”

  “Excellent, can you forward it to me. Maybe I’ll be able to pull up the license number.”