Chapter 2
Ten of Wands foretells burdens and the stress of carrying too much.
DANNY
Iease my car into the garage of my Buckhead condo and turn off the ignition. Technically it’s my ex-wife’s condo. Or rather, my soon to be ex-wife. Charlotte won’t sign the divorce papers. We are arguing about everything from alimony to our art collection, to who pays for the cat’s psychiatrist. I wish I were kidding. Although the cat does need a psychiatrist. He has a mean streak. The little psychopath pees in my shoes and once scratched me so deeply I needed stitches.
As far as I’m concerned, she can have everything she wants. The condo, the artwork, the furnishings. And, please God, the cat. The only thing not on the table is my cabin. She won’t sign the divorce papers until that’s hers, too.
Several years ago, I bought a property in a little-known area called Mountain Park. I go there on weekends to fish, lay in the hammock and nap, and chew the fat with the old timers down at the single coffee shop and convenience store.
Charlotte had never once been to the cabin. She said it was too “provincial.” Yet now that we are getting divorced, it is “adorably quaint and authentically rustic.”
I microwave a burrito for dinner but don’t have much of an appetite. The image of the leopard print stiletto heel stuck in that guy’s eye made me queasy. For all I know the guy deserved it, but still, that’s a tough way to go.
When the phone rang early the next morning, I almost didn’t answer it. I’m due for a weekend off and I planned to go to Mountain Park.
I roll over and check the caller ID. “What the hell, Biz? I’m on Mountain Park time.”
“And a jolly buenos dias to you, too, Danno.”
Biz’s voice turned serious. “You know I wouldn’t bother you without a good reason. Another tip came in. Good thing since Irina Davis has been in Russia for a month visiting her grandmother. You jumped the gun on that arrest warrant, partner.”
“Just letting Ivan know who’s in charge. If Danovich is involved, a fancy lawyer won’t get him off this time. Let’s make sure we cross all our Ts and dot the Is. Paul Davis’s name came up in the last investigation so I’m digging deeper into his real estate dealings. I’ll contact my informant today.”
“Then we’ve got two solid leads. Listen to this—there is some real bad blood between Davis and one of his ex-wives. A “Caroline Cassidy.” She is a professor at Peachtree College. La-ti-dah.”
With one eye closed I squint at the clock. 6:05 a.m. It was still dark outside. I sighed loud enough to make certain Biz heard it.
“I’m pre-coffee. Just give me the details.”
“This Cassidy and Davis owned some property together. Davis bought her out for pennies and then sold it for 16 million. The second tipster says he overheard Cassidy say two days ago that she wanted to murder Paul Davis. Sounds like she’s got 16 million reasons to want him dead.”
“Who heard the threat?”
A rustle of paper indicates Biz is paging through her notes. “Rolf Eisenstat. Also a professor at Peachtree College. I’m interviewing him this morning.”
“Alright, you check out Eisenstat. I’ll check out the ex-wife. We’ll both take a deep dive into Davis’s real estate business and compare notes later tonight.”
“Crap.” My peaceful weekend in Mountain Park just circled the drain.
Sleep was no longer an option. I made coffee, thinking about the possibility of a new suspect. This murder was not random; it was very personal. Suspect One is a Russian gangster who is known to eliminate anyone who gets in his way. Ivan Danovich would have had Paul Davis killed if he suspected betrayal of any kind. Maybe the guy swindled him in a real estate deal.
Suspect Two is an angry jilted ex-wife. A very small percentage of murders, about 4 percent, are committed by women against their partners. It’s rare, but it happens. I would have to get a statement from Professor Cassidy before I could determine if she was capable of this kind of violence.
Biz said Cassidy was lecturing at Peachtree College this morning. As I pull into the parking lot there are arrows pointing to the Auditorium. A signboard outside announces today’s lecture, by Caroline Cassidy, MD, PhD., is entitled, “Jung, The Shadow, and Archetypes: Revealing Our Greatest Potential.”
I have no idea what that means.
The primary interview of a suspect is my strong suit. I have a strong sense within the first 15 minutes if a suspect is guilty. Biz calls it my “Spidey Sense.” The other detectives take bets on my hunches. Ninety-seven percent of the time I’m right.
Dr. Cassidy’s books are on display and as I peruse them, I realize I have read one of them. Biz had thrown a copy of Love Hungry at me a few months after Charlotte asked for a divorce and said, “Read this or else. I’m tired of your moping around and feeling sorry for yourself.”
Just because this doctor had written a book that I found helpful didn’t mean she was not capable of murder. If anything, my scrutiny of her would be more intense, not less. I don’t get emotional about suspects. This woman might have poisoned her ex-husband and shoved a stiletto heel into his eyeball and brain, but she wouldn’t have the juice to fool me.