up.”
“Can’t you wait on telling the chief? If I’ve valuable information about that old case, maybe I can trade it to Moran for a break on my charges.”
“Sorry, can’t hold it back. He knows about the shooting last night and it ties into the old beach case. It’s evidence. Remember, he’s watching both of us. I’ll hold off until tomorrow. You’ll still be able to trade the info. Although he might not consider any of it valuable enough to drop your charge.
“I’m going to study up on the case this afternoon and tomorrow I’m going down to Jensen Beach and see Congressman Kidde.”
“Freddy Kidde? What’s he got to do with this?”
“Maybe nothing. I believe he’s part of a triangle. Abby has ten grand and Toby’s mother has an expensive TV. You can bet they didn’t suddenly have all that cash honestly. There must be serious money involved if Abby tried to kill Toby last week to get him out of the deal. Where’d they get it? In the middle of all this, Kevin follows Abby and she goes down to see rich guy Kidde who lives on a completely different planet than the rest of us.”
“You’re thinking the money’s coming from him.”
“Maybe they’re doing some dirty work for Kidde, maybe he got himself involved sexually with Abby, or they’re blackmailing him over something. Now we find out Toby was on that beach that night. That is a very big deal. Think about it. Blackmailer Toby there with the body on Privado Beach and he didn’t take her there.”
“You might be on to something, but let the police take it from here. You’re going to his home? He’ll never see you.”
“He’ll see me. I always get in to see everybody. I’ll go in the morning. He’ll be shook when he hears about Toby’s murder and that I know Abby paid him a visit. Maybe I can bluff him into blurting something out. I’m pretty good at that.”
“I doubt it with this man. Politicians are experts at evasion. Ask them one question and they’ll answer a different one. And there’s a much more serious reason for you not to go. Suppose they both were on the beach, and some kind of foul play went down. Only Toby knows that Kidde was there. I think that gives Congressman Kidde an excellent motive for shooting Toby last night. I don’t think it’d be wise for you to go down there.”
“Or, he shoots Toby to eliminate a blackmailer and scare off Abby. Not bad. Well, I’m going in spite of your objections. He’s not going to murder me in his house. I need to get ready for seeing him. Can I get a copy of the Police Report on the Privado Beach affair and the M.E. report?”
“Police Report, no problem. The forensic autopsy report isn’t available yet.”
“Not available? It’s been months. What’s the holdup?”
“There’s info in there we don’t want the media to publicize.”
“You mean kinky, prurient interest stuff?”
“Not really. Just info on what we did and didn’t find.”
“Triney already told me there’s no trace evidence, no usable DNA.”
“Apparently he doesn’t hesitate to confide in you.”
“So tell me, what’s the big secret to be found in the medical examiner’s report?”
“No biggie. The M.E. was going to guess the victim was some kind of dancer or showgirl except she had waxed away her pubic hair.”
“Triney didn’t mention the bikini wax job. But dancers and showgirls do that as well,” she offered.
“I mean completely, not trimmed, not merely around and about. Brazilian waxing he called it. Smooth as a porcelain plate. We never release that type of detail to the media because it’s nobody’s business. Invasion of privacy and all that, not that she had any left. Also, it’s a detail only the perp would know, so that little fact might be used later to validate a suspect.”
“Some ordinary women do it. Not that unusual, salons and spas routinely do it. Brazilian waxing.”
“Sure, it might not have anything to do with her occupation.”
“Any trace of tanning chemicals?”
“Tanning chemicals?”
“Performers use spray tans to get beautiful looking skin. It’s a whole industry. Also, I heard that strippers generally have boob jobs. Was that checked out?”
“I don’t know about the tanning thing. But I can tell you this woman didn’t need any boob enhancement. With the shaving, the physique, and the theatrical makeup the M.E. went with stripper. Didn’t make any difference to us. We were going for an occupation simply for ID and to lead to a suspect.”
“So the wax job is why I can’t have the M.E. report.”
“Look, any M.E. report is thick with insignificant details about hair coloring, fingernail polish, mouth and teeth details, blood details...on and on.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you when I get back from seeing the congressman. I need to go online now and read everything the media ever put out about the beach body affair. Get that Police Report for me today, okay?”
“I know that look. Something else is churning in that brain of yours, isn’t it?”
“You didn’t tell me it was you who found her body.”
“I didn’t find her body. Where’d you hear that? Some citizen reported it. I was merely the first police to respond.”
“You just told me the woman didn’t need a boob job. How did you know she didn’t already have one? How did you know they were real?”
“You’re getting crazy. I’ve no idea whether they were real. It was just a dumb comment that she didn’t need any enhancement, meaning they were adequate. I didn’t touch her breasts, if that’s what you’re asking. I checked for a pulse. After that, all my attention went to preserving the crime scene. That’s all. End of story. Anyway, no mention of breast enhancement was in the M.E. report.”
“You mean the one I can’t see.”
He walked to the door shaking his head. Before he closed the door he said, “Watch yourself with Congressman Kidde. That’s big time stuff. In the meantime, get a grip on yourself.”
She stood and thought about running after him. Damn her suspicious nature. What was her problem? Why was she so on edge? She was personally involved in too much. It was stressful. She was worried about Jamie, who had confided in her.
Too much stress. That was her excuse for making those silly statements to Chip. Connecting the dots is what made her effective. But too much connecting is an excellent way of alienating your significant other.
Chapter Eighteen
It would be a good day; Sandy tried to keep that in her mind. The morning was cold and damp. The wind had clocked around and now blew cold air down from Canada. A front was moving through and gray clouds were interrupting Florida’s endless summer. What else? Chip was no doubt annoyed with her, she hadn’t slept well, and was presently irritated because with the foul weather her convertible top must stay up. She told herself again it would be a good day. A good day for the boring drive down U.S. 1 to Jensen Beach. A good day to confront a stuffed-shirt politician and have him say he’d never heard of Abby Olin, and would she please see herself out. She stopped for coffee. That helped. She told herself the day wouldn’t be so bad after all and almost believed it.
Eventually, her GPS told her to turn off U.S. 1. After several turns toward the ocean, she wound around on a ribbon of spotless asphalt under a canopy of palm trees among the large houses and beachfront condominiums of an upscale neighborhood. Landscaped gardens and manicured grass flowed around the posh residences like a never-ending golf green. Where there wasn’t green, there were impressive vistas of water. She stopped between two brass lantern-topped pillars at the foot of a long driveway.
The house of Congressman Frederick J. Kidde, up a slight hill and hidden behind shrubbery and oak trees, was grand and spacious and sat far back from an oversized sloping lawn. Not quite a mansion, yet large and impressive. Of course it’s all grand and glorious, she remembered; there are people who live that way. She swung her Miata convertible up into the circular driveway and parked unobtrusively away from the portico entry. She reconsidered.
