He slid a woman’s wallet across the table to Livingston who opened it and stared at the licence behind the plastic window.
‘Je-sus Chee-rist,’ Livingston said softly.
‘I’ve never seen her before, but I’ll bet you have.’
Livingston looked at the photograph on the driver’s licence and nodded.
‘Tiffany Pans,’ he said.
‘Scardi hit the wrong woman, Arch.’
‘Maybe. Or maybe he was after Tiffany all the time.’
‘It’s possible, except for one thing. Scardi’d been snooping around here for a couple of days. It took him a while to luck into the Jackowitz set-up. So unless Tiffany made her plans several days ago to spend Friday night here, he wouldn’t have known she was going to be here. And if he didn’t know she was going to be here, he was after Domino.’
Livingston jumped up and began pacing the room. ‘Sure, it makes sense that way. Domino left here yesterday morning. Then Scardi went into the Jackowitz place and started watching the apartment. When Tiffany came in, he came across and cut down on her the minute she opened the door. She was backlit. And she and Domino are about the same height.’
‘And the same colouring.’
‘And if Scardi hit the wrong woman, he’ll be back when he finds out. He’s gonna finish it up right. I mean, his kind don’t fuck up a job and walk away from it.’
‘Remember the ears in the box be gave Luciano?’
What we gotta do, we gotta find the lady and stash her someplace safe, someplace they can’t find her. Then stake this apartment out and hope be comes back again.’
‘Or track him down first.’
They both heard the sound at the same time, a grating of metal on metal. Someone was putting a key in the lock. Sharky vaulted out of his seat, pulling his automatic from under his arm, rushing from the kitchen towards the door. Livingston was right behind him, clawing for his .38. Sharky was six feet from the door when it swung open. He stopped, dropped into a crouch, and aimed the gun with both hands.
The door opened and be was face to face with Domino Brittain.
She looked at him, down at the gun, back at his flattened nose, and she raised an eyebrow.
‘Something wrong with my elevator?’ she said.
Sharky lowered his gun and sighed with relief. She did not move. She stared back and forth at the two detectives until Sharky took out his wallet and held it towards her, letting it flop open to his shield and ID.
She looked at it, then leaned forward for a better look and stared over the top of it at him.
‘A cop?’ she said.
Sharky nodded.
‘You’re a cop?’
Sharky nodded again.
‘A real. . . live. . . cop.’
‘Detective,’ he said, somewhat embarrassed.
‘Detective.’
‘Uh huh.’
She looked at Livingston.
‘Him too?’
‘That’s Arch Livingston, my partner.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Livingston said, but she had already turned her gaze back to Sharky. She shook her head.
Livingston sidled up to Sharky.
‘You two know each other?’ he said with more than a little surprise in his tone.
‘We met.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘We’ll talk about it later.’
‘You better believe we will.’
Domino stepped inside the room, but she could not see the wall, the open door blocked it. ‘Would one of you gentlemen like to get my bag?’ she said, pointing to the Gucci sitting in the hall, ‘And then maybe we can talk about what you’re doing in my apartment playing cops and robbers.’
Livingston took the bag and leaning close to Sharky, said, ‘She’s a cool one, buddy. But I guess you knew that already, right?’
‘I said later,’ Sharky muttered out of the side of his mouth.
Domino was standing very close to Sharky, and she looked at him and said, ‘Now what was this about working on the elevators?’
‘Sorry about that.’
‘It’s a pretty good act.’
He wanted to keep up the banter. He liked it and he liked her and he was grateful that she was still alive, grateful to be close to her again. He knew too that she was smart enough to sense it. But he had to change the subject and he dreaded what was coming.
‘Domino,’ he said seriously, ‘who stayed here last night?’
‘Are you grilling me? — is that what they call it?’ She was still trying to keep the conversation light and Sharky was having difficulty making the transition. She looked past him, at the open door, and began to sense that something bad had happened here and then he stepped back and pushed the door shut and she saw it, the splattered blood stains, the pockmarks on the wall, and it began to register, first in her widened eyes, then her strangled cry. ‘Oh, my God!’
Was it Tiffany Paris who stayed here last night?’ Livingston said.
‘I-I-I-I . . .‘ she stammered.
‘Easy,’ Sharky said.
She thrust her fist against her teeth and turned away from the ghastly wall. The blood drained from her face and for a moment Sharky thought she was going to faint. He put his arm around her and as he did she began nodding very slowly.
‘Arch,’ Sharky said, ‘there’s some brandy in the dining room.’
‘Right.’
‘I’m sorry. I should have warned you but. . . I, uh... didn’t know what to say. Tiffany was here last night, right?’
‘Y-y-y-yes.’ She looked up at him and her face began to go, first at the corners of her mouth, then the tears welling in her eyes. She started to ask a question, but the words caught in her throat and she choked. Livingston brought a pony of Courvoisier and handed it to her, but she did not take it, she kept searching Sharky’s face, hoping her fears were wrong.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sharky said, ‘she’s dead.’
The tears came and she began to sag, weak-kneed, against him and he led her to the couch and sat down beside her. She covered her face with her hands, her fingers pressing against her eyelids, trying to control her feelings. Finally she broke down and began to sob.
‘H-h-h-ow. . . d..d-did . . .?‘ she said and then stopped speaking. Sharky handed her the brandy. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘try this.’
She took a sip and gagged.
‘I h-h-hate brandy,’ she said.
‘Look,’ Sharky said, ‘I know how you must feel right now, but this is very important. When did Tiffany first know she was going to be staying here?’
Watery, bloodshot eyes peered over her trembling hands.
‘I.. . decided on the spur of the moment to go to Savannah and see some friends so I.. . told her she could
stay here for the night.’
‘When was this?’
‘Yesterday morning.’
‘What time?’
‘I had an early hair appointment at Raymond’s on Piedmont Road and I called her after I was through. I guess it was about. . . ten-thirty. We met at Houlihan’s for lunch and I gave her the key. Then I had to leave to catch my plane.’
‘So she had no idea you were leaving town until ten-thirty yesterday morning?’
‘That’s right.’
‘That does it,’ Livingston said. ‘We gotta get her outa here and fast. I’m gonna make a phone call.’ He went into the bedroom.
‘What’s he talking about?’ Domino asked.
‘Are you okay now?’
‘I guess. I don’t know. Why... what happened to Tiff?’
‘She was shot. About eight o’clock last night.’
Domino stared back toward the door, the full horror of what had happened working on her features. ‘What happened? Was it a hold-up?’
‘No, it wasn’t a bold-up and it ‘wasn’t an accident. But we think the killer made a mistake.’
The horror in her face turned to shock. ‘Mistake?’
‘We think.. . we’re almost positive. . . that he was after you.’
‘Mel’
‘She was shot by an ex-Mafia assassin named Scardi. Angelo Scardi. Does that name mean anything to you?’