Painted Beauty (2019 Edition) Page 3

  “No wonder it took so long for the area to develop,” the valet shot back.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Rand said. “I was on the phone fighting with the local FBI office. They wanted to send in someone to take over the case. And get this,” he said, sitting down, “they wanted to send in some chick.” He motioned a quick glance toward Sin, and continued, “I had the peckerwood all straightened out and was ready to leave when I received a call from Washington. Can you believe that shit—Washington? Some jackass who said he was the Director of the Bureau. I told the lying son of a bitch that the director of the FBI would never make the call himself, and then I told him to kiss my ass and hung up.”

  He waved over a server. “Sweetie, a glass of iced tea, extra lemon.” Rand leaned over the table. “Get this, the bastard had the balls to call me back and said that his agent would be in touch. I laughed at him and hung up again.” His tea arrived, and he drank it down in one swallow. “Keep them coming, honey,” he snapped, “and make sure the refills are free.” The server gave him a dirty look, a fake smile, and tugged the empty glass from his hand.

  Rand’s attention finally honed in on Sin. He gazed at her with a slow burn and smug expression. Troy began to make the introduction, but Rand cut him off. “Listen, babe, I’m not sure why you’re here, but unless it’s to take my order or wipe down the table, scram.”

  Sin was about to fire back when Troy reached under the table and squeezed her thigh.

  “Captain Jonathan Rand let me introduce you to Special Agent Sinclair O’Malley—of the FBI.”

  Rand’s posture deflated when he heard Troy’s words.

  “You’re looking a little pale, Jonathan,” Quincy chuckled.

  Rand shot him a look. “Not now, Mel.” He turned and faced Sin, shaking his head. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said.

  Sin could almost see him put two and two together. She sat silently as she witnessed the light bulb moment in Rand’s eyes.

  Rand dropped his head into his hands, and moaned, “You’re telling me that really was the Director of the FBI I told to kiss my ass?”

  “Yes, it was,” Sin answered. “He called me right after you hung up on him—for the second time—and he was pissed.” Sin took out her ID, showed it to Rand, and repocketed it. The left corner of her full lips rose in a one-sided smile.

  Rand lifted his head and saw her smirk. “What’s that all about?”

  Sin’s smile broadened. “I’m just picturing Frank Graham’s face when you swore at him and then had the balls to hang up on him—twice.”

  Rand dropped his head again, and mumbled, “There goes my pension.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Sin slapped him on the back. “Frank is used to working with me. He knows the bullshit that goes along with it. I’ll talk to him. You’ll be all right.”

  Quincy watched the give-and-take between his old friend and Sin. “This is going to be fun to watch.” Turning toward Troy, he said, “Are you sure you want to miss this?”

  “Good question,” Sin said, catching the server’s attention.

  Troy decided silence was the better choice of responses.

  “Hi, Jinny,” Sin said with a warm smile, reading the waitress’s name tag, “we’re ready to order, and we’re kind of in a rush, so you can bring the bill when it’s ready.”

  Orders placed, their conversation continued.

  “Why was the FBI called so soon?” Troy asked.

  Captain Rand spotted an ally and sat up straight. “Hell of a question, Stubbs. What does the FBI have to do with this case, Sin?”

  “Like you, Captain, I’m a public servant and I do what I’m told. If you don’t like it, take it up with the proper authorities. And by the way, my name is Agent O’Malley.”

  “Proper authorities, hah! And who would they be, Agent O’Malley?”

  “They would be me, Captain,” a baritone voice answered.

  Everyone at the table turned to see the big man standing behind their table.

  Sin noticed the newcomer was not dressed for the heat or casual atmosphere of South Beach. He was wearing tan khaki pants, a white, open-collared shirt, and a blue blazer.

  Rand stood up and stuck out his hand to greet their guest. “Mayor Sanchez, what brings you here?”

  The mayor didn’t answer, but shook Rand’s hand as a courtesy. He walked over to where Sin was sitting, stuck out his hand, and smiled. “Agent O’Malley, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. Since no one else has,” he glanced at Rand, “allow me to introduce myself. I’m Miami Beach Mayor, Raul Sanchez.”

  Raul Sanchez, Sin thought. Why does that name ring a bell?

  Sin stood and shook his hand. “Sinclair O’Malley,” she said, “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Mayor Sanchez grinned. “The feeling is mutual. I, for one,” his eyes shifted toward Rand and back, “am glad to have you in charge of this case.”

  “Someone want to fill me in on what’s going on, because I’m a little lost?” Rand sounded more angry than confused.

  “Captain Rand, I made some calls after the body was found this morning and luckily for us, the Bureau was able to send one of their best agents.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Rand responded. “Begging your pardon, Mayor, but that still doesn’t answer my question. Why is she here? Why is the FBI involved?”

  “What month is it, Captain?”

  “September, why?”

  “What happens at the end of September, and the beginning of October?”

  Rand picked up his glass—stalling for time—but when he went to take a sip, he found it empty. His attention turned immediately to the waitress walking by. “Hey, sweetheart, fill my glass, will ya?”

  “You seem to be preoccupied with more important things, so I will refresh your memory,” the mayor said. “It’s the beginning of tourist season. I can’t risk having an unsolved, high-profile murder investigation going on during our peak season. So to answer your question, I called and asked for the FBI’s help in solving this crime. Furthermore, I specifically asked for Special Agent O’Malley. If you took the time to check, you would find that her record is exemplary and her results speak for themselves.”

  Jinny was back with Rand’s drink. She went to place it on the table, but Rand swung his arms in frustration, causing her to spill some on both the table and his sleeve.

  “I’m so sorry,” she squealed.

  “So much for your tip,” Rand grumbled, swiping a napkin off her tray to dry his arm.

  He then turned his attention to Raul Sanchez. “We have a great department. Top-notch agents and staff. We don’t need the feds coming in and stealing our thunder.”

  “You do have a great group of agents and staff,” the mayor agreed, “but we’re short staffed and as of tomorrow, you’ll be down one more agent.” He nodded in Troy’s direction. “You will be too thin to run this case effectively, and my decision is for Agent O’Malley to take the reins. The Miami-Dade office of the FDLE will provide the support the agent requests. Is that understood?”

  Rand threw his napkin on the table and stood up. “This is bullshit,” he mumbled.

  Jinny came back with the bill and placed it in front of him.

  “Give it to her,” he grumbled, “she’s in charge.”

  Mayor Sanchez sat down and waited quietly until he was sure Rand was in his car and pulling away. “Excuse the Captain,” he said. “We have had our differences, but he is a good cop. He’s just a little hotheaded.”

  “I’ve worked with worse,” Sin said. “Why don’t you tell me exactly who you called to get me on this case?”

  The mayor ignored the question, pulled a card out of his pocket, and handed it to Sin. “My cell number is written on the back. Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”

  Sin went to take the card, but he didn’t let go. “I’m counting on you to catch this killer.”

  “I will do my best,” Sin said.

  Re
leasing the card, he smiled wide. “That’s all I can ask for.”

  5

  When lunch was over, Sin arranged to meet Quincy back at the M.E.’s office.

  “We need to talk, Sin,” Troy said, walking her to her bike.

  “I don’t have much to say right now,” she replied. Straddling the bike, she reached into her saddlebag, pulled out a rubber band, and tied her hair back. “I have a body to look at and I need to check in at the Bureau’s Miami office. I promised Frank I’d play nice, so I’m going to try to play by the book.”

  Troy stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded. “Are you staying on that old houseboat on Collins?”

  “Yeah, it’s low maintenance and it’s free.”

  “Dinner?”

  “Pick me up at seven.”

  Troy leaned over and kissed Sin hard on the lips.

  Sin winked and gave him a sultry grin. “Don’t be late.” She flipped the kickstart arm open, jumped up, and came down with all her weight on the lever, starting her Harley. A quick twist of her wrist and she was a block away in a matter of seconds.

  Sin stopped off at the houseboat, took a fast shower, changed her clothes, and headed off to meet Quincy.

  At the ME’s she asked to see the body, and took her time inspecting the autopsy. Her comments were professional and concise.

  “You seem to know your way around a morgue,” Quincy said. “Have you seen a lot of autopsies?”

  “Yeah, too many,” Sin replied, taking off her gloves and walking out of the autopsy room.

  “I don’t mean any disrespect, Agent O’Malley, but you appear quite young to have witnessed many.”

  Sin followed Quincy back to his office and took a seat before responding. Grateful for a hot cup of coffee, she sat across from the doc and took a sip of the much-needed caffeine. “Unfortunately,” she began, “age doesn’t seem to be a prerequisite for dealing with death. I have been in almost every fucked up place on this planet, and I’ve seen most of the horrific things that man can do to man. So don’t let my age fool you.”

  “Fair enough,” Quincy said with a greater degree of respect in his tone. “So tell me what you think of our victim.”

  “It’s not what I think of our victim that’s important,” Sin replied. “It’s what our vic can tell us about our killer.”

  That got Quincy’s attention. He sat up straighter in his city-issued, high-backed leather chair and placed his cup on his desk. “You’ve piqued my interest. Please don’t stop there.”

  “I don’t know any more than you do at this time,” Sin said, “but you have to admit the MO is rather unique. In my experience, I don’t remember a killer who painted their victims.” Sin paused and sipped her coffee. “If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that our killer wants to be noticed and is looking for publicity,” she pointed a finger at Quincy, “and that’s exactly what we are not going to give him.” Moving forward on her seat, Sin rested her elbows on the desk. “Now let me pick your brain.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Tell me everything you know about embalming.”

  Quincy began to explain the embalming process when Sin’s phone rang.

  “Excuse me for a moment, Doc.”

  After saying ‘hello,’ she didn’t say another word until, ‘goodbye.’

  “I’m afraid the lesson is going to have to wait,” she said. “That thing I mentioned a few minutes ago, about not giving this creep publicity . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “It just went to shit. That was my boss letting me know that Captain Rand is holding a news conference in fifteen minutes in front of Miami Beach City Hall.”

  Quincy look confused. “Why? He’s not even in charge of the case?”

  Sin stood and stretched. “Damn good question,” she said. “I guess we’ll just have to listen to what he has to say.”

  6

  “We interrupt our broadcast to take you to City Hall where a press conference is about to take place.”

  Ash watched in anticipation as the screen switched from the anchor desk to a reporter who was standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to City Hall. “That’s right, Jim. Captain Jonathan Rand of the Florida Department of Law Enforcement has called a news conference concerning the horrific discovery on Mid Beach early this morning. I was on the scene earlier, and I have to tell you, I’ve never seen anything like what you are about to hear.”

  “Listen to that squeaky-voiced little twit,” the gravel-etched voice behind Ash spewed. “What is she? Twelve?” Ash ignored the voice and waited in silence, but the voice continued mocking the reporter. “It’s doubtful she has any idea what she just said, but look at her, she sure is proud of herself.”

  While the pert, mid-twentyish reporter posed for the camera like a prom queen who had just changed careers, Ash could see movement and commotion over her shoulder.

  The reporter glanced behind her before continuing, “It seems Captain Rand is ready for the briefing. I will send the broadcast back to you, Jim.

  “Tiffany “Tiff” Swenson reporting.”

  “Tiff,” the voice grated, “even the name is enough to give you diabetes. I wonder who she blew to get that job.”

  Ash leaned toward the television set. He didn’t want to miss anything the captain had to say.

  Rand was dressed in a navy blue suit with a white shirt and a yellow ‘90s power tie. The collar of his shirt was already streaked with sweat as he took his place behind the bank of microphones.

  “I have a prepared statement to read,” he said, “and there will be no questions at this time.”

  A rumbling rose from the crowd like smoke billowing from a clogged fireplace. Rand reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Slapping the center mic with the palm of his hand, he immediately quieted the murmurings.

  “At approximately six-thirty this morning, a body was found on the portion of Miami Beach known as Mid Beach or Condo Canyon. Miami Beach Police Department and the FDLE have been on top of this situation and are working to apprehend the perpetrator of this crime. We have asked for and have received assistance from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and it is the FBI who will be handling this case with the cooperation of city and state agencies. We are asking the citizens of this great city to aid us in this endeavor by reporting any unusual or suspicious activity directly to the FBI hotline. The number is at the bottom of your screen. I’m sure the Bureau will be holding its own news conference in the next few days, and at that time you may ask your questions. Thank you.”

  The reporters immediately started yelling, wanting to know every detail in regards to the name of the person who was placed in charge of the investigation. Rand tucked the folded sheet of paper back in his jacket pocket, turned, and made his way back through the front doors of City Hall. Three armed officers made sure that no reporters followed.

  “Did you hear him?”

  Ash’s shoulders twitched upward in a defensive posture trying to keep out the offensive noise. He didn’t want to hear what else she would say, but as always there was no relief.

  “He didn’t even mention your art. He totally ignored your work. That,” she shrilled, “is worse than negative publicity!

  “Not to worry,” her voice suddenly softened, “by the time we’re through, they will never forget us.”

  Us, Ash thought, what does she mean by—

  He was cut off by her mantra. By the words he had been hearing since childhood, but whereas they were usually cursed at him, now they sounded almost like a lullaby. “Cruelty has a human heart,” she sang, “and jealousy a human face; terror the human form divine and secrecy the human dress.”

  Ash dropped his head into his hands, thankful she stopped when she did, but dreading what he knew was coming.

  “Good or bad, publicity is publicity. Nothing said or written is nothing.”

  Ash brought his hands to his head and grabbed a fist full of hair with each. Pulling at the r
oots dulled his throbbing headache. Don’t say it, he thought. Please, don’t say it.

  “You need to find another canvas. Maybe this time, your work will merit people’s comments.”

  7

  As soon as the news conference was over, Sin was on the phone to the director of the Bureau.

  “Did you hear that pompous ass?” Sin yelled. Pacing back and forth in front of the ME’s office, she squeezed her cell as if strangling Rand’s neck. “I want him barred from having anything to do with this case from here on out. He put my goddamn cell phone number on the television. If he pulls another stunt like that, I want his badge!”

  “Normally,” Frank said in a calm voice, “I would ask what you did to prompt his actions, but since I had the displeasure of speaking to him, I realize it might be his sparkling personality that’s at the core of the problem, and not you…for once.”

  Sin stopped pacing. “Well,” she said, “do I have your permission to kick his ass and his department off the case?”

  She could hear Frank sigh. “Yes and no.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means that I will email the requisite paperwork to have Captain Rand pulled off the case, but you still need support. As large as the Miami field office is, it’s over its head right now on other matters.”

  “What other matters?” Sin paused, pulled a half-smoked cigarette out of her pack, and lit it. “Wait, are you talking about the drugs found near the Miami River?”

  “Yes, the operation is much bigger than we first suspected. The office pooled a lot of resources and agents to work that case, and most of the other agents are busy with their own cases. Those are a couple of the reasons why I agreed to have you brought in.”

  “That reminds me,” Sin said, “why does the name Raul Sanchez sound so familiar?”

  Sin could hear Frank talking to someone else in his office.

  “Sin, I need to go to a meeting. For now, I will allow you to diplomatically remove Rand from the case. But if you do, don’t expect cooperation from his department. You will need back up.”