“Just in time!”
She pointed a key fob at the Jag and the trunk popped open. A half dozen brown grocery bags peeked out of the trunk. “We can do this in one trip.” She loaded them each with two bags, chattering the whole time about her good fortune to have two such strong handsome men to help her. The gray blanket sky had just begun to mist.
She directed them to the kitchen, selected countertops and tabletops for each particular bag. Fresh produce was tucked into the massive stainless steel refrigerator, cans stacked in a pantry, and a package of cookies was left on the counter in easy reach. Somewhere in the bustle a coffeepot was primed and the smell of rich Colombian dark roast promised delicious reward for their labors.
“What impeccable timing,” she said, pouring each of the detectives a mug. “I was in a cooking mood and what should appear but two hearty appetites.” Tony looked to Ray for guidance.
“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call,” Ray confessed. Lakisha seemed not to hear him as tomatoes and onions and fat globes of garlic rolled across the counter.
“It is now.” She smiled at them. It was almost wicked, that taunting grin. “You,” she pointed at Tony. “With a name like de Luca you should know your way around a Bolognese sauce.”
Tony nodded. The pile of ripe Roma tomatoes called to him.
“Really. Lakisha, we can’t.” Ray protested. Tony listened hard for any enthusiasm in his partner’s denial and decided there was a chance.
He looked over the kitchen. The Viking range and double ovens said this was a kitchen designed for cooking, and with Sue Ellen under guard at the safe house Tony certainly had no better options.
“Why not?” Lakisha stood in front of Ray with her hands on her hips and a playful scowl on her face. She was wearing leggings and a skirt that seemed to be made from a large colorful scarf. A comfortable looking sweater hung down past her waist. The ensemble was casual and thrown together but it looked elegant to Tony. He wondered what Ray’s hesitation was.
“I…we’d hate to impose.” The scowl became a smile.
“You just want to ask some questions and leave, huh?” She pointed out the windows toward the sullen lake. “And it’s such a nice afternoon to be out. Rayford, slice the damn bread.” She hit him on the arm playfully with a fresh crusty baguette.
He took the loaf in hand and pointed it at her. “I still have some questions.”
Tony smiled. Lakisha and the tomatoes were winning.
“Let’s get the sauce working and then I’ll answer your questions.”
Tony sliced and peeled and crushed. Garlic and onion simmered in a copper bottom skillet. The smell of fresh oregano being finely chopped wafted in the steam rising from the stock pot bubbling with tomatoes. Ray helped, but it seemed he was always being crowded by Lakisha. She reached over and around him for a spice or a bowl. She clucked at him and took over making the bruschetta. They were having their own conversation but Tony didn’t mind. He did know his way around gravy and enjoyed watching them.
Finally the sauce was simmering, an antipasto salad was cooling in the refrigerator, and a bottle of Chianti had appeared. Ray took out the photo of Sean Stuckey and slid it across the table.
“Oh my,” she said softly before Ray asked a question. She looked up at him. “Who is this?”
The look on her face said she recognized him-that she’d seen Sean Stuckey before but didn’t know his name. Lakisha picked up the picture and studied it more closely, cocking her head to one side. There was a look of deep concern on her face.
Tony stayed silent. He didn’t know if Ray would say the name or if it would mean anything to Lakisha.
“You’ve seen this man before.” Ray said. It wasn’t a question. Lakisha took a sip of wine.
“In Los Angeles.” She nodded as she answered. “The last night we were there. Who is this? How did you get this picture?”
“I can’t tell you that.” She scowled at Ray as if to ask why the hell not? “Not yet anyway. You saw this man in Los Angeles the night you all went to the club. Where did you see him? At the club?”
All of the camaraderie and laughter was sucked from the room by the picture. Ray was the interrogator now and Lakisha the witness. Tony saw tension in their faces and their body language.
Lakisha took another sip of the Chianti. “Not at the club. It was at the bar afterward. I remember because…because I thought it was trouble coming.” She picked up her wine glass and walked over to the great windows overlooking the lawn and the lake. The mist had turned to a drizzle, the shoreline was barely visible in the gloom.
Ray moved next to her. Both of them looked out into the dusk. “Tell me about it,” he said.
“I was the last one left with Karen and Dee in the bar. We had a table. I noticed that Karen kept looking over at the bar. This boy…” she tapped the picture Ray was still holding. “He was at the bar…smiling at her.”
“At Karen Hewes?”
“Right.”
“Not at Deanna?”
Lakisha took a small sip of her Chianti. Tony noticed a small trembling from his post nearby. “At all of us at first, but he caught Karen’s eye and she kept looking back at him.”
“Did he approach you…at the table?”
“Not when I was there. I caught his eye once and gave him a hard look. I remember that. Like, leave us alone you little dipshit.”
“And he didn’t?”
Lakisha looked over at Ray. “No. He just sat there and smiled this goofy smile. I’m sure he was stoned. Not drunk-stoned. He had that look. His eyes were pinned.”
“But he never came over to the table.”
“Not while I was there. I told you that. I didn’t stick around long after that though. I was beat and a little drunk and tired and…oh, Rayford,” she paused for a beat and looked into his eyes. “Maybe I should have stayed with them.”
Ray patted her arm, trying to console her while at the same time trying to figure out what had her so distraught. It was Tony who asked the question.
“Why are you so upset, Lakisha?”
She turned to face Tony, her face set and determined now. “Because you have a picture of a man from Los Angeles that I recognize from the last night we were there. You didn’t get this picture from Los Angeles. You took it here, here in the Cities somewhere. You came across the man for some reason and it has a connection to Deanna’s murder. It has to or you wouldn’t have the picture.” Tony looked to Ray for guidance. How much could, or should, they share with her?
“There’s a connection,” Ray said evenly. “We still don’t know what it is, but you’ve just gotten us closer to figuring it out.”
“So who is he?” She walked to the stove to stir the simmering gravy.
Tony could see Ray fighting through the question. How much did they dare share with Lakisha Marland, and to what end? She had already described her encounter with Stuckey in some detail. What would be gained by identifying him by name or elaborating at this point? Did it matter that he was a porn actor? Did it matter that he was Scott Jr.’s roommate? If they told her would she run for the phone to gossip with the other ‘Go Girls’ and tell them the killer was in town? Tony reasoned that if all these questions were caroming around in his head they must be in Ray’s as well.
“I can’t tell you.” Ray looked down at the tabletop. “Not yet anyway.”
“Then get out. Both of you. Get out of my house right now!” Lakisha was pointing toward the front door. “I tell you everything I know and do everything I can to help you find Dee’s killer and you won’t tell me who this motherfucker is? He might be stalking us, Rayford. He might be planning to kill every one of us.” She was trembling in fear or anger or both. Ray stood, his head still down. Tony thought he looked sad.