Whiskey Rebellion Part 14

Sunday Bang, Bang, Bang.

I groaned as I heard the pounding on the front door and rolled over to look at the clock. It was just past seven in the morning, and I knew if I was awake I'd have to break down and go to church. I wouldn't be able to use the "I overslept" excuse.

I pulled the pillow over my head and hoped whoever it was would go away.

Bang, Bang, Bang.

I heard the sc.r.a.pe of the lock and sat up in bed. The only person who had a key to my apartment was my mother.

"Rise and s.h.i.+ne, sleeping beauty," a familiar voice bellowed out. "We've got things to do."

Before I could pull the sheets up to hide the fact that I didn't sleep in pajamas-mostly because I didn't have air conditioning-Nick opened the door to my bedroom and shut it behind him.

"Well, well," he said, his gaze so heated I was lucky my sheets didn't catch on fire. "It looks like the early bird catches the worms after all."

"Do you know what time it is?" I asked him, pulling the sheet higher. "How did you get into my apartment?"

"I picked the lock."

"I a.s.sume you have a reason for breaking and entering at this hour. Or maybe I just need to call the cops and have you arrested for trespa.s.sing. You're probably not on the sheriff's list of favorite people right now."

Nick groaned and backed off. "You'd probably do it too," he said with his hands up in a sign of defeat. "I came by to check up on you and noticed someone left you a gift under your door last night."

Nick held up a plain brown envelope sealed with enough packing tape that it could have survived a swim in the Atlantic Ocean.

I pulled the sheet loose from my bed and tied it around me sarong style. "Let me see that," I said, holding out my hand.

"Unh-uh. Make yourself decent, and we'll take a look." He pushed me back and shut the bedroom door in my face.

I threw on a pair of black shorts and a white halter-top and was back out in the living room before he had time to get a pot of coffee going. I'd had it with whoever was leaving me these little gifts. I was p.i.s.sed and ready to kick a.s.s. I made a mental note to check into taking karate the same time I checked into getting my P.I. license.

I sat at the little table in my kitchen and waited until Nick brought me a cup of coffee and sat down across from me before holding out my hand for the envelope.

"Why does this keep happening?"

"I had officers scheduled to drive by your apartment every hour last night, so someone dropped these off sometime after I followed you home and in between drive-bys. As to why it keeps happening, I have no idea, but I'm getting close. I can feel it."

I went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the drawer and worked at the top flap, but my hands were shaking so badly from anger and fear that Nick carefully took the knife from me.

"Let me do it," he said gently.

He slit the envelope open, dumped a short stack of photos onto the table and then put the envelope in a freezer size Zip-Loc baggie.

"Great, more pictures," I said. "Why do I feel like this is something bigger than an old high school rivalry? Surely Veronica doesn't hate me this much."

"You never know what's going on inside of other people or how they've been affected by the events in their lives. But don't be nave in thinking Veronica should be the only suspect on your list. Surely you've managed to p.i.s.s off more than one person in your life," he said with a quick grin.

"I'll have you know I'm a perfectly nice person. Most of the time," I mumbled under my breath.

"I want you to look at each photo carefully," he said, pulling a small notebook and pen out of his jacket pocket. "Are they recent?"

I picked up the first picture and tried to look at my image dispa.s.sionately. I was having dinner with Kate at the Good Luck Cafe. We'd been in a booth next to a window, and the picture had been taken from outside a good distance away. "We have dinner like this a couple of times a month," I said, shaking my head. "This could have been taken last year or in the last two weeks."

"Look closely, Addison. Look at your hairstyle and the kind of clothes your wearing. Do you think it's possible it was last year?"

I did as he asked and tried to focus on the details. My hair looked the same as it did now, which meant it was a recent photograph. At this time last year I'd had blond highlights in my hair and it had been several inches shorter. "Okay," I said, exhaling in relief that I hadn't been stalked and clueless for more than a year. "This is recent. Within the last couple of months I'd say."

I grabbed the rest of the photos and looked at them all. Me at the dry cleaners. Me at a high school basketball game. Me at the park with my mother. All recent. I was sure of it. "These are, too," I said.

"Were they all taken before or after you found Bernard Butler's body?" Nick asked. I started to open my mouth and ask why, but he interrupted. "Think about it carefully," he said.

"Before," I finally said. "Why is that important?"

My question went unanswered. Nick was in full cop mode, and there was nothing I could do to get him to share his thoughts with me.

"I can't believe someone would do this," I said.

"Not just someone, Addison, but more than likely the murderer."

"I keep thinking about Robbie Butler and his reaction to me during his brother's funeral. There's no way I misread those looks he was giving me. He hates me for some reason, and he certainly knows his way around the church."

I was also thinking about the first photograph I'd received. The one my princ.i.p.al had taken of me on stage at The Foxy Lady. Could Robbie Butler have killed his own brother? I looked out the window and noticed the sun was s.h.i.+ning for once, but it didn't make me feel better.

"You've read my mind," Nick said. "Robbie Butler is definitely a person of interest in this investigation. But you need to let me handle this. I want you to go stay with Kate."

For the first time since we'd opened the package I noticed the fine tremors of anger radiating from Nick's body. There was nothing in the world that would make me miss Nick confronting Robbie Butler.

"I don't think so," I said and grabbed my bag.

"Fine, but let me do the talking."

I wasn't going to argue. I was more than happy to let someone more competent than I was be in charge.

Robbie Butler lived in a town home just south of the historic district in downtown Savannah. Each building housed two units. Red geraniums were planted along the sidewalk that led to Robbie's front door and huge elm trees lined the street. Nick parked his truck at the curb and I hopped out with all the enthusiasm of Marie Antoinette heading towards the guillotine.

"Nice place," I said, knowing the rent in this area was astronomical.

"Yeah, the youngest Butler is an investment banker. The other unit in his building was occupied by his oldest brother."

"Mr. Butler lived here? My princ.i.p.al?" I asked, surprised. "Maybe I need to check into becoming a princ.i.p.al."

The curtains in the front room fluttered and I knew we'd been spotted. Nick rang the doorbell and rapped on the door twice, and when Robbie Butler answered the door I had a hard time connecting the image I'd seen at the funeral to the one standing in front of me. He was dressed in torn jeans and a t-s.h.i.+rt that looked like he'd been sleeping in it. Days old stains littered the front of his s.h.i.+rt-ketchup, whole grain mustard, pickle relish and grape jelly. It must have been a h.e.l.l of a sandwich. My lip curled involuntarily at the yellow stains under his armpits, and my eyes watered at the stench emanating off his body. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face gaunt, and he hadn't seen a razor since the funeral. The only thing that was recognizable was the belligerent hostility etched on his face.

"Robbie Butler?" Nick asked.

"Yeah. What do you want?" He addressed his question to me, and it was obvious he still thought of me as the woman who caused his brother to die.

"I'm Detective Dempsey with the Savannah PD. I've been investigating your brother's death."

"His murder, you mean," Robbie interjected.

"Yes. I need to ask you a few questions."

"I've already talked to the police. The person you need to question is standing right beside you, but it's pretty obvious she's wormed her way into your bed too."

I could feel myself turning red. What was it that made people think that Nick and I were already sleeping together?

"We can do this here or I can take you down to the station," Nick said. "It's up to you."

We waited patiently while Robbie made up his mind. He finally stepped back. "Fine, but make it quick. I've got things to do today."

He left us standing in the entryway while he sat down in his recliner and flipped on the T.V. Nick walked around, past crumpled beer cans and empty pizza boxes, looking at family photographs and other things lying around. I'd never been in an investment banker's home, but I couldn't imagine that most of them looked like this one on the inside. I stayed back at the door out of Robbie's sight in hopes it would make him a little more cooperative.

"Can you tell me your whereabouts for yesterday morning between ten and eleven o'clock in the morning?" Nick finally asked.

"I was here," Robbie said, his eyes never leaving the T.V. "I haven't been out of the house since the funeral."

"Huh, that's strange because someone has been leaving photographs of Ms. Holmes here taped to her door and she's been getting some threatening phone calls. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"Nope. I don't know what you're talking about."

He was either a really good poker player or he was telling the truth. Then I noticed his white knuckled grip on the T.V. remote.

"So it's just a coincidence that one of her neighbors saw you in the building late at night twice this past week."

This was the first I'd heard of this. I guess Nick had meant it when he said he'd take care of things.

Robbie finally turned his head and looked at Nick. "If she's getting photographs and phone calls it's probably because she deserves them. It wasn't me. Do I need to call my lawyer?"

"Only if you think you need to," Nick answered. "You see, Robbie, I have enough on suspicion to bring you in for formal questioning. We have neighbors who can describe you, and you don't have an alibi during the time of a murder. It all seems pretty suspicious to me."

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?" Robbie asked. "What murder?" He finally turned off the television and gave Nick his full attention.

"Let me tell you what I think, Robbie." Nick's voice was as soft and smooth as ever. It reminded me of the first time we'd met, when he'd questioned me in the same patient way. "I think you're fixated on Ms. Holmes. I don't know why and I don't care, but stalking can be a felony in the state of Georgia. I think you've been following her and photographing her, and yesterday you followed her to the Catholic church where your brother's funeral was held and took some pictures of Ms. Holmes doing some very private things in the crypt. Were you planning on blackmailing her?" Nick didn't give Robbie a chance to answer, but instead went in for the kill. "And then do you know what I think, Robbie? I think you stumbled across someone who caught you in the act, and you shot him in cold blood. How does that sound to you? Pretty accurate?"

Robbie whirled around and faced me, a look of absolute horror on his face. "You were having s.e.x in a church?" he asked.

"I was not having s.e.x!" I yelled. "Why doesn't anyone believe me? And besides, I wasn't in the church. I was in the crypt."

Robbie crossed himself. "I'll never understand what Bernie saw in you. He loved you, and you flaunted yourself in front of other men. It drove him crazy the way men always flocked to you."

"Are you sure you're talking about me?" I asked. "Because I think I'd remember if men were flocking. Usually the men in my life flock to other women. It seems to be a theme."

"It's not funny. He's dead because of you. You lured him to that place and someone killed him. Probably another of your jealous boyfriends." Robbie was openly crying now, and I felt a little sorry for him.

"I'm sorry. I don't know where you got the impression that Mr. Butler and I were anything more than acquaintances, but that's really all we were. It was as big a surprise to see him at The Foxy Lady as it was for him to see me."

"I don't believe you." Robbie crumpled to a heap in his chair and sobbed. "It was all in his diary. He had details of all the things you did s.e.xually. He had dozens and dozens of pictures of you. How could you say you weren't close? He was in love with you."

Nick took over at that point because I was trying to deal with the fact that my princ.i.p.al had been stalking me for months and I'd never caught on. How could I be that clueless?

"And so you found your brother's diary and the pictures of Ms. Holmes and you sent them to her because you blamed her for your brother's death."

"Yes," he said, barely audible. "I wanted her to see what she looked like through another's eyes. How she should be ashamed for the way she acts and dresses."

"And did you kill a man in cold blood because of your own obsession with Ms. Holmes?"

"No, no, I swear," Robbie said. He got up and paced the floor, agitated. "And I didn't make any phone calls either. I taped one photograph to her car window and I left a manila envelope full of pictures at her apartment a couple of times. Those were all of them. I don't have any more. And maybe I followed her around some, but it was just so I could prove that she really was responsible for Bernie's death. I'll take a lie detector or do whatever, but I swear I didn't kill anyone."

Nick looked at me, and I looked at the pitiful man that was back to sobbing in his recliner. I knew Nick was waiting for me to decide how I wanted to proceed. I didn't really want to press charges against someone who was obviously having a difficult time dealing with the death of a loved one.

"I won't press charges against you if you can promise that you'll leave me alone," I finally told him.

"I told you I already gave you all the pictures. As far as I'm concerned I never want to see you again."

"As far as the murder goes," Nick said. "I suggest you find someone who can verify you were at home yesterday. I don't suppose you still have your brother's diary, do you?

Robbie shook his head. "I burned it in the grill on my patio. I couldn't take the chance that anyone else would see it."

"Convenient," Nick said. "I don't suppose you'd mind if I took a look at your grill."

"I don't care. Just leave me alone," Robbie said.

"Mr. Butler," Nick said, his voice serious and expression grave. He waited until Robbie looked him in the eye before speaking. "It might be a good idea to contact that attorney after all."

Nick put his hand in the small of my back and led me out a set of French doors that opened onto a large deck in the back yard. The deck stretched across the length of both brothers' houses, combining the two properties. They also shared a large swimming pool and an enormous stainless steel grill.

Nick pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, slipped them on and lifted the grill lid. I stepped back as he pulled the grates out, one by one, and ash floated into the air.

"Is it in there?" I asked.

"There's something in here." He sifted through the ashes and held up a tiny piece of black leather inscribed with gold. "Bernard Ulysses Butler," Nick read. "This must be what's left of the famous diary."

"G.o.d, I hope so." I watched as Nick bagged the tiny piece of leather and a handful of ashes from the bottom of the grill. We left through the side gate, which was fine with me since I had no desire to ever run into Robbie Butler again.

"So what do you think?" I asked as we got back in his truck.

"I think he's probably telling the truth, but I'm going to put a couple of plainclothes officers on surveillance out here. I don't want him to leave town."

Nick called in and requested the police surveillance on his cell phone.

"Come on, Jezebel," Nick said. "I'll buy you lunch and then I'll help you out with that case you were having trouble with. I've got nothing better to do on my day off."

"Gee, thanks. As long as you realize this doesn't count as a date."