The Alibi Man

Chapter 36

“Do you know why you’re in here?”

Landry didn’t bite.

Weiss smirked. “Are we getting a commendation?”

Lt. William Dugan stared at him. Tall, tan, gray-haired, he cut a figure of authority. The boss of Robbery/Homicide stood behind his desk with his hands jammed at his waist, his shoulders set.

Weiss glanced at Landry. “I guess not.”

“So far this morning,” Dugan went on, “I’ve had the sheriff and half the politicos of Palm Beach County crawling up my ass. Plus the state’s attorney and half a dozen designer-suit defense attorneys, not the least of which are Bert Shapiro and Edward Estes.”

“Estes?” Weiss cocked a brow at Landry.

“Shut up, Weiss,” Landry growled.

“What the hell are you doing out there?” Dugan asked. “Why are you messing around with these people?”

“They’re suspects,” Landry said. “What are we supposed to do? Send them engraved invitations to come down here and talk to us?

Maybe we could make finger sandwiches and have tea. Maybe if we ask pretty please one of them will make a confession.“

“I’ll tell you what you can’t do,” Dugan said. “You can’t barge into a private club and demand these people give you DNA samples. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Demand?” Landry asked. He glanced at Weiss. “Did you demand anything from those pricks last night?”

“Not me. Did you?”

Landry looked at his lieutenant. “Stop beating around the fucking bush. Who exactly are we talking about here? Bennett Walker?”

“Among others.”

“‘Cause I’ll tell you right now, he’s a punk,” Landry said. “He’s a spoiled rich-boy prick, who thinks he can do any goddamn thing he wants to, including beating and raping women.”

“He walked on those charges,” Dugan said.

Landry rolled his eyes. “Oh, well, he must be innocent, then, ”cause Christ knows the justice system never fucks up.“

“Can the sarcasm,” Dugan snapped.

“This is bullshit,” Landry said. “You’re going to tell us to tiptoe around these assholes because they have money to buy big-prick lawyers? That’s bullshit.”

“Do you know what those big-prick lawyers can do to your case?” Dugan asked. “If Bennett Walker had given you a DNA sample last night and it matched DNA in the victim, you could kiss that evidence good-bye. Edward Estes is going to get that thrown out of court so fast it’ll give you whiplash.”

“Well, what do you want us to do?” Weiss asked. “Call central casting and ask for a fresh crop of suspects? Maybe some drug dealers?”

“Are you looking beyond these men?”

“I followed up on a lead on a guy named Brad Garland,” Weiss said. “He saw the vie that night, she rejected him, he was pissed off.”

“And?”

“And he wrapped his car around a light pole on his way from one club to another. He was in the ER for eight hours and admitted for observation with a head injury.”

“Irina Markova spent the last hours anyone admits to seeing her with Jim Brody and Bennett Walker and that pack of dogs,” Landry said. “It’s a waste of time to look elsewhere. You want to make it look like we’re going through those motions, assign someone else to do that. We’ve got real leads.”

Dugan frowned. “You’re serious about Walker?”

“Dead,” Landry said. “In private these guys call themselves the Alibi Club. They think they can get away with anything.”

“Murder is a stretch,” Dugan said.

“Why? A sociopath is a sociopath. It doesn’t matter how big his bank account is.”

“And they all cover for a killer?”

Landry shrugged. “Maybe they all had a hand in it. We know she had oral sex with multiple partners. Maybe that’s why no one rats out anyone-because they’re all guilty.”

“Jesus,” Dugan muttered. “This is going to be a media freak show. Just the idea something like that could be going on…”

He turned and looked out his window, as if expecting to see reporters and news vans crowding the parking lot.

“Nobody hears it from you,” he ordered. “One thing leaks from this office, you’re both out. You’ll be working security at Wal-Mart.”

“My dream job,” Weiss cracked.

“I’m serious. Not one word. Have you talked about this Alibi Club with anyone else? Where did you hear it?”

“Lisbeth Perkins,” Landry said, resurrecting the lie he’d told Weiss the night before. “She’s a groom at Brody’s place-and one of the sweet young things running with that crowd. She was best friends with the dead girl. I doubt she’s the only one who knows about it. Gossip is a full-contact sport with the money crowd. It’s only a matter of time before that shit hits the fan.”

“So far you can’t put the dead girl with any of these guys once they left Players?”

Landry shook his head. “I went to talk to one of the valets last night, but the kid split before I got there. Maybe he can put her in a car with somebody. Weiss is tracking him down today.”

“This is going to be one hell of a shitstorm,” Dugan said.

Weiss’s cell phone rang. Dugan waved him out of the office.

Landry turned to go.

“Tell me about Alexi Kulak being here last night.”

Landry shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell. Irina Markova was his niece, or so he says. He came to see the body, find out about making arrangements.”

“In the dead of night?”

“If you were Alexi Kulak, would you come strolling into the sheriff’s office at high noon?”

“Is he a suspect?” Dugan asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Alexi Kulak has someone clipped, he goes out for borscht or whatever the hell Russians eat,” Landry said. “He doesn’t go see them in the morgue. He doesn’t fall down on his knees, break down sobbing, and vow revenge.”

“Weiss told me Elena Estes found the girl’s body.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So you neglected to mention that to me.”

“It’s in my report.”

“Which I have yet to see.”

“I’ve been a little busy,” Landry snapped. “Besides, it’s not relevant,” he said. “She was minding her own business and she happened to find a corpse.”

“And the vie worked where she lives,” Dugan pressed.

“You want me to pin it on her?” Landry cracked. “That’d make some juicy tabloid headlines. We could make it out to be a lesbian thing. Or we could spin it that she killed the girl to frame her ex-fiance, to make him pay for the rape he got away with back when. And then her father represents the asshole in the trial again. All we need is Bat Boy and a nine-hundred-sixteen-pound man and we’ve got a complete edition of the Weekly World News.”

Dugan rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “That’s right. Elena Estes is Edward Estes’s daughter.”

“Yep.”

“I need some Advil.”

“You might as well drink,” Landry suggested, as his cell phone began to ring.

“Is she digging around in this case?” Dugan asked. “I can’t have that. Especially because of her father. There’s no way it doesn’t bite his in the ass one way or another.”

He checked the caller ID. Elena.

“I recommend vodka,” Landry said, backing out the door. “It goes with everything.”