All the Dirty Secrets Read online

  “Louie couldn’t say with the commissioner there, but Blake said she was murdered.”

  “We better get going. We’ll do this some other time,” Mia said, pushing off the bed. She’d started to adjust her clothes, then emptied the drawers, putting her clothes back in the suitcase.

  “Let me make a call to the rental agency.”

  Jake canceled the weekend and got stuck with the two-night minimum charge. They started the long drive home. He’d have to wait for Louie’s return call to learn the facts of the case.

  Jake pushed the speed limit when he hit I-91 south. Twenty-five minutes after getting on the highway in Vermont he approached exit 26 in Greenfield, Massachusetts. He put on his signal and veered off the highway. They’d have lunch here. When he’d have time for another meal, he didn’t know. Jake threw the shifter into park as his phone started vibrating in his pocket.

  “About damn time. What took you so long?”

  “I questioned Blake, but we need to do a more in-depth one-on-one when you arrive. Shamus interviewed him with me. Lord, he tiptoed around the questions. It took twice as long as it should’ve.”

  “What happened?”

  “The manager of the dive on Foundry Lane found her a little after two when he did his daily check of the rent-by-the-hour guests.”

  “Not Wilson’s Motel?”

  “Yep, the one and only. She was shot through the heart and one of her stockings was tied around her neck in a bow. The knuckles on her right hand were scraped. It tells me she fought back, trying to defend herself. Beside the body we found a picture of her in the arms of a man. His back was to the camera, but it was obvious it wasn’t the commissioner. Not a pretty sight. In another photo, she was alone wearing one of those sexy bustiers with a garter belt and nothing else…as in no underwear. And there are some nude photos of her alone.”

  “Was she the one who rented the room?”

  Jake couldn’t find a valid reason Callie Blake would go to a motel, not to mention the Wilson. He’d known the Blakes for a good many years, and Callie cheating didn’t add up. He’d have bet his house on her fidelity. What about her children? Did they know their mother had been murdered?

  “Yes, she paid cash for it. The manager said it wasn’t her first time there either.”

  “You sure he’s not lying? And did the clerk see who went in with her?”

  “Jake, I know how to do my job.”

  “Sorry, it’s hard not being there. Do you know why she was there?” He’d run his own background check on the clerk when he got home. He had to be lying.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. I’d say she’d been cheating on the commissioner, but he denies it. He insists she wouldn’t do that.”

  “Ah.” He understood what Louie wasn’t saying. “Does he understand that we’ll find the truth? No matter what he tries to hide, it will come out during the investigation.”

  How many times in his career had he been surprised by a friend caught in a bad situation—Too many to count, he thought. But with Callie Blake it really did seem unlikely.

  “He’s counting on it. And of course, the press is already here.”

  Jake groaned, rubbing his face. “We’re going to stop for lunch now, then I’ll be back on the road. I’m about an hour and a half out. Anything else I should know?” Damn, I knew this getaway was a mistake.

  “No, let me finish processing the scene. If anything turns up, I’ll call you back,” Louie said.

  Jake liked to assess the scene and the body himself, but by the time they got home, the body would be at the morgue.

  “Louie, do me a favor and leave it exactly how you found it until I get there. No crime techs, please. You know I like to walk the scene even without the body.”

  “I figured you’d want a run at it. I’ll keep a guard posted there until you arrive. In the meantime, I’ll send you the pictures of how she was found.”

  “Who’s posting?”

  “Doc Lang.”

  “Good, she got the best.”

  “Blake requested him.”

  He hung up with Louie and he and Mia went inside the restaurant. The slow service had him cranky. Jake ate a sandwich but he didn’t taste it, his mind already working the case. He took his ever-ready notepad from his pocket and started scribbling down his questions. His cell phone pinged. He opened up the attachment and studied the scene.

  “That’s disgusting, Jake. What a lovely lunch companion you make,” Mia said, leaning over to view the photos and almost losing her stomach contents. “I can’t wrap my mind around her death. It’s like there’s two sides to her,” she said, pointing to his phone.

  Was Mia correct? Did Callie Blake have a secret life?

  Chapter 2

  Melinda scanned the crowd from the right side of the reception area. She searched out an opportunity for the most-drunken-guest photo of shame. Sunday afternoon weddings were usually more sedate than evening ones. She hadn’t had much luck in the first hour of the reception. She needed someone to bump into her hard to explain away the black eye once she removed the makeup. Melinda couldn’t concentrate on the wedding, and her camera and light meter weighed on her. She wouldn’t be in this situation if she hadn’t been desperate for money. Why the hell had she listened to Sal in the first place? Last night’s gig at the gala had worn her out. The mother of the bride beckoned her over again, directing Melinda to take this one or that one’s picture, like she didn’t know how to do her damn job.

  “I’d like a family picture of me and my brothers. Then one with our spouses in it.”

  “Why don’t you all come outside and we’ll do it by the trellises?”

  She lined up the siblings, set the speed and exposure on her camera, and almost swore out loud when she brought the camera up to her eye. The area around the left eye hurt like a bitch and had her wondering how Sal’s job had gone today. It’d been hard to believe that skinny stick of a woman had it in her, until her fist landed in my face. Well, anyway, she’d covered it up with some makeup. Today, she’d be alibied up the ying-yang. Melinda inhaled and wished she’d never met Sal. This was all his fault. Yes, she needed money. Her husband, Tony, had left her deep in debt to the tune of five hundred thousand dollars when he died in the car accident. But there had to be a better way.

  “Okay, everyone, big smiles—that’s it.” She clicked the button. “One more, then the spouses will line up, wives in the front, husbands in the back.”

  When she snapped the last shot, she decided this would be a good time for a quick break. She turned off the camera on the tripod and checked the smaller ones draped around her neck.

  “Don’t go anywhere, Melinda. Mom, I want a picture with all of you.” The bride cocked her finger at her. Melinda wanted to bite it off. What a waste. Weddings like this were all show and money—the price tag on this one had to cost the parents well over forty grand. It would’ve made a nice down payment on a house. Yet, they’d fought her tooth and nail on her prices. A long time ago she’d learned not to cave in to the pressure. It’d taken her many long hours and functions to prove she was the best, and for that they had to pay her price or they could get someone else.

  After she finished with them, Melinda went outside for some fresh air and to check her phone. The freaking thing had been buzzing nonstop in her pocket. It was distracting.

  Eight calls from Sal had her worried. What was that about? Melinda reached for the callback button, but her finger never connected. Her break was over before it even began. Another guest wanted a picture with the bride. She’d call him back after the reception.

  She put her phone on silent and continued to work the wedding. Three hours in she found her drunken target. Oh yeah! He’ll make the perfect patsy. Melinda snapped pictures as she made her way around the room. She knelt, snapped, stood, snapped, and then spun around with her camera up around her face, and right on cue the drunken groomsman lost his balance and mowed into her, jamming her camera into her face. If anyone asked tomorrow, this would explain away her black eye, and she’d not have to wear makeup to hide it.

  “Ouch!” Melinda said as she swooned. It hurt more than she had anticipated.

  The bride and some of her guests rushed over to Melinda. She even let a couple women usher her into the ladies’ room. She sat on the velvet chair. A waitress brought in a baggie with some ice in it for her eye.

  “Here, sweetie, it’s starting to bruise,” the waitress said. “Oh no, there’s a little scratch on your cheek too.

  It dawned on Melinda the concealer might’ve worn thin.

  After twenty minutes, she decided she was good. “Thank you so much for your help, ladies. I’m fine now. I’m going to use the restroom before I rejoin the party.”

  When she was certain all the helpful guests had left and she was alone in the bathroom, Melinda wet a paper towel and lightly rubbed the area around her eye to remove some more of the makeup to reveal more of the bruising.

  Melinda rejoined the wedding and continued taking pictures of the guests as they danced or posed, and every once in a while she’d go to the ladies’ room and wash off some more makeup. By the end of the night she sported a full black eye and had gained everyone’s sympathy.

  My cards should read “I’ll do anything for my craft,” she thought, and laughed.

  * * * *

  The noise and questions from the shouting press filled the car when Shamus climbed in to join Todd Blake. Todd sat in the passenger’s seat, his posture ramrod straight. He ignored Shamus, who was racking his brain for the right words.

  “I don’t believe you killed her, Todd, but you have to
understand why you couldn’t stay on the scene. Please don’t take it out on Louie for doing his job.”

  “Whatever happened to trust or a little courtesy? That’s my wife in there, Shamus,” Todd said, still staring straight ahead.

  “I’ll take you home. The kids need to know what happened. I’ll be happy to speak to them for you.” He wasn’t going to restate the obvious. Investigations had to be clean to get a conviction. Once Todd settled down, he’d understand. At least Shamus hoped Todd would.

  “No, I’ll tell them. They should hear it from their father. God, I hope the media hasn’t broadcasted her name yet. Hurry,” Todd said, an urgency to his tone.

  Shamus pulled out of the motel parking lot and maneuvered around patrol cars, the meat wagon, the media vans, and wires. He’d never given a thought to the media. Lord, what if Darcy has already heard? He extracted his cell phone from the inside pocket of this jacket. Eight missed calls from her. I should’ve called her right away. He’d hear about it when he got home, but Todd had been his only concern once he’d been notified of the death. He and Todd had been meeting to figure out how to trap the blackmailer when the call had come in.

  Fifteen minutes later, Shamus clicked on his right turn-signal and drove onto Blake’s street. The block was lined with media vans and TV personnel invading the quiet of Todd’s ritzy neighborhood. Shit, what is wrong with me today? The front door opened as he drove into the Blakes’ driveway. The Blakes’ oldest son, Todd Jr., rushed to the car.

  Todd jumped out of the passenger’s side, ran to him and closed his arms around Todd Jr., rushing him back into the house before the young man could say a word. The agility with which Todd handled his son impressed Shamus. At least one of us is thinking. Squaring his shoulders, Shamus strode to the curb and addressed the press.

  “There’ll be no statements at this time. I ask that you give the family some privacy.” He turned to walk away and then turned back. “I hope you’re all proud of yourselves for broadcasting the victim’s name before the family, especially her children, could be notified. I don’t know how you live with yourselves.”

  He shouldn’t have said anything. It’s wrong to engage the press, but a quiet fell over the media. Shamus marched toward the Blakes’ house.

  * * * *

  At 4:39 Jake stood in the doorway of room 142 at the Wilson Motel. He couldn’t picture the commissioner’s wife resting her body on that dirty bed. The motel rented by the hour or week. Most customers used the place for drugs or hooking or both. What the hell was Callie Blake doing down here?

  The STD environment scuzzed Jake out as he and Louie cast black lights over the bed, walls, rugs, and furniture. How the hell did a person get bodily fluids on the curtains?

  He’d known her for years. Callie Blake had been a lady in every sense of the word. She was a devoted mother and wife, yet all the evidence pointed to her being an adulteress. A word he’d never have associated with her. Not once in all the time he’d known her had there been a hint of a scandal. Goes to show we don’t know people as well as we think we do. Still…

  “Something’s off,” Jake said.

  “Yeah, I got the same vibe,” Louie agreed.

  “I can’t put my finger on it. There’s no forced entry. She had to have let her killer in.”

  “Exactly. What I wanted to ask the commissioner, but couldn’t in front of his kids, was did he and his wife do romantic weekends or role play.”

  “You think this is a role-play situation?”

  “I don’t know. The whole scene seemed staged. You’ll see what I’m talking about when you view the crime scene photos.”

  “We’ll get him alone and ask.” Jake dropped an evidence marker by a cigarette butt and another one by a syringe. “Is Lang doing a blood workup?”

  “Yes.” Louie crossed the room and marked a blackened butter knife. Jake leaned over his shoulder.

  “Have the lab rush the blood work. I want to check for drugs. Lang give you any idea what caliber gun was used?”

  “No, he said the prelim would be ready by six tonight.”

  Jake took his own pictures of the scene. He was ready to start talking to people. “Call in the techs. Let’s drop your car off. I want a go at the commissioner.”

  “You’re not looking at him for this, are you?”

  “Not yet. Knowing the guy, I’d say he didn’t kill his wife.”

  Did he really know the guy? What he didn’t want to say aloud was that he could see Todd killing anyone who touched his family. But would Todd Blake kill a cheating wife? For the time being, Jake decided to hold that one close to the vest.

  * * * *

  Louie dropped off his car at the police garage and climbed into Jake’s police-issued sedan. “How’d Mia take it when you told her you needed to come back early?”

  “Well, you called at the most inopportune moment. And remind me that I owe you one for that.”

  Louie studied Jake’s irritated profile, and then it clicked. He started laughing. “You had to have just arrived, for God’s sake.”

  “Is nothing exciting happening in your own life? Leave it be, Louie. She understood why we had to come home.”

  Louie noted the annoyance in Jake’s voice as he continued, “I like it unexciting, especially after the last case.”

  Louie understood Jake was shutting down.

  * * * *

  Jake parked in front of Blake’s house and together they studied the large structure.

  “I’ll let you question the commissioner. I’ve had my pass at him,” Louie said before Jake opened the driver’s door.

  “You think he’s holding back?” Jake asked.

  “Yep, the place where Callie was found didn’t seem to surprise him. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. He was cryptic in a few of his answers. I suggested the kids leave the room, but he wouldn’t let them.”

  Louie jumped out of the passenger side of the car. “How’re you going to handle him?” he asked as he and Jake made their way to the front door.

  “Like any other suspect.”

  Louie turned, studied the large, rambling colonial house. The first time here his nerves wreaked havoc, forcing him to concentrate on the miserable task at hand. Now he estimated the square-footage before he knocked. He liked to know what he was dealing with and how many exits, if it played into a search. Not that he thought Blake would try to run from him.

  Louie’s fist had barely touched the door when it opened. The commissioner focused his gaze on Jake first, then him. It didn’t get past Louie that Blake seemed ten years older since he’d seen him at the motel. A gray pallor emphasized his devastated eyes. Grief hung on Blake in ways Louie understood for the first time in his life. When he’d almost lost Sophia…he wasn’t going there. He cleared his throat.

  “Jake, Louie, come in,” Blake said. “Jake, are you going to be okay coming back this soon from sick leave?”

  “I’m ready, Todd. Don’t worry about me,” Jake said.

  “Are Todd Jr. and Mary still here, sir?” Louie asked.

  “No, I sent the children to Callie’s sister. I knew you’d be back when Jake arrived. You guys want anything to drink?”

  “No, sir,” Jake answered. “We don’t want to bother you for long. I have a couple of questions.”

  Louie took a seat on the red and yellow floral couch. Jake took the solid blue armchair. Todd Blake sank into the other armchair. When the commissioner nodded, Jake continued. “Was this a role-playing game gone wrong?”

  Blake’s eyebrows shot into his thinning hairline. A sad smile jerked at the corner of his lip. “Where the hell did that come from?”

  “It needed to be asked.”

  “Did you know about the pictures?” Louie asked.

  “You’re both quite good.” Blake examined his hands. “Yes, Callie showed them to me last night, along with the nude ones and the blackmail letter demanding twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  “Why didn’t you have the department intervene on your behalf?” Jake said.

  “I confided in Shamus last night. And this morning we were meeting to discuss how to handle it. If it was your wife, Jake, would you take anyone but Louie into your confidence?” Todd pushed up off the chair and paced the room. “No, you wouldn’t. Callie and I both knew not to pay. It would never end. She told me that she didn’t cheat, and I believe her. For our anniversary she went to a professional photographer and had what’s called boudoir pictures taken for me. She explained the photographer had a male model there to spice up the pictures. You have to understand Callie is, I mean was, a very trusting woman. The photographer told her only the back of the man would show. And for God’s sake, I don’t understand why she’d think that would turn me on. I thought it was disrespectful, her standing around in her underwear with a stranger.”