THE CARBON STEEL CARESS Read online

  “Gotta be careful with her. Bitch turns on with head games.”

  Capers smiled, nodding his head slightly. “So do I,” he said softly, near whispering. And then silently, to himself --oh yes, so do I.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Hilton Head Island

  late spring through

  early summer

  The day after arriving at the beach house Capers was sitting alone on a deck overlooking the ocean. A red-tailed hawk, perhaps the same one he had seen on his way onto the island, rode thermals. Breakers crashed the beach.

  The woman came out onto the deck. “Bored?”

  He ignored her.

  She spoke again. “I can cure boredom.”

  “Can you,” he said, not bothering to shift his gaze from the azure sky and the circling hawk.

  “Try me.”

  She walked away.

  Capers shrugged. He pushed up from the chair, stretched, and followed her. For several hours he had been fighting off the threatening head pain. Black Jack and Percodan hadn't helped. Maybe this dark haired, dark eyed slit could do the job. He fingered his Stepfather’s bone handled razor that he carried in his pocket.

  She led him to a Harley Sportster that was parked deep in the darkness of a live oak copse. Capers mounted the saddle behind her and she punched the starter.

  Five foot three inches tall, Capers guessed her weight at about a hundred pounds. Damn fine looking woman. She drove expertly; her small stature no impediment to her handling of the bike. Capers was reluctantly intrigued.

  They rode for several miles, then stopped and parked the bike in the rutted oyster shell driveway of a small, rough cypress cottage. Followed by Capers the woman approached the building that was almost hidden by an overgrowth of brush. Shuttered windows on either side of the blackened wood door added to cottage's desolate appearance.

  Pushing open the door, the woman said, “I told you I could cure boredom.”

  Capers impression of her weakened. “You think a fucking bike ride to an abandoned cottage will do it?” He looked around, eyes surveying the cottage's rudimentary furnishings. “What’s the deal?”

  “It’s not sex. A mile from here is a beach villa with a fortune in diamonds. I'm going for them. You can help.”

  Capers leaned against the door jamb and raised an eyebrow. “I'm going to steal diamonds and I brought you along for help,” he mimicked. “Bullshit.” His fingertips caressed the straight razor.

  “Help me and we'll split the proceeds.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because I need help and you need a challenge. You scare hell out of your friends, you know.”

  He shrugged.

  “I've asked around and I've learned things about you.”

  “Like?”

  “Like, you like action.”

  “That made you think I'd be willing to work with you?”

  “No. I'm a good judge of men and I could see you were ready for me.”

  Capers emitted a monosyllabic laugh. “You're a delusional cunt.”

  The woman, eyes steady on Capers, ignored the comment.

  Capers said, “Okay, I'm in. It’ll beat sitting around Wolfe's place listening to assholes.”

  Twenty minutes later they climbed a serpentine foot path to the villa. “You sure it’s empty?” Capers asked.

  “The owner is over at Wolfe's place trying to get the panties off the blond twat. He'll be busy for a while.”

  Capers chuckled.

  The woman moved to a gate that bisected the walled entrance yard and whistled softly. A German Shepherd approached, snarling. She snapped a command to the dog and the animal relaxed, the snarls ceased, and the beast sat on its haunches. “Good boy,” she said, speaking gently. “Good dog.” Reaching through the bars of the gate, she brain-shot the Shepherd with a silenced nine-millimeter automatic. The dog's body folded to the ground with a soft rustle.

  Inside the stuccoed wall, Capers dragged the dog’s body away from the gate into thick bushes. He then followed the woman to the sea side of the building. They climbed to a second story balcony where the woman placed a cloth over a window pane of the French doors and cracked it sharply with the butt of her automatic. Glass imploded soundlessly onto the carpet and she reached through and pulled back the locking bolt.

  Followed by Capers the woman slipped inside and led the way to the master bedroom on the third level. She crossed to an antique pine armoire and jimmied open a heavy door. Sliding out a drawer, she took a suede sack from it. “All right, let’s go.”

  Halfway down the stairs they heard the scratch of a key being inserted in the front door.

  “Son of a bitch, he’s back,” the woman whispered. “Blondie must have blown him off.”

  “Upstairs,” Capers said. “Now.”

  “The dog, he'll have missed it and be alert for trouble. He'll come straight to the bedroom to check the diamonds,” she said.

  Concealed in the dressing alcove they watched as a man, outlined by light from the hall, stepped into the bedroom and moved to the armoire.

  Capers, in three strides, was behind the man. He locked an arm around the man’s throat. Tightening his grip Capers turned the man toward the center of the room.

  The woman stepped forward, a slim blade stiletto in her hand. She pushed the knife's blade between the man's ribs.

  Capers brushed the woman’s hand aside and pulled the stiletto free. He slashed the victim's throat.

  They were back at the cypress cottage. Capers hung his jacket on a wall peg; the razor, forgotten now, was in the jacket’s pocket.

  The woman removed her Levi's, her blouse, her brassiere. A wispy thong matched the lace of the bra. She peeled the tiny garment downward.

  Capers steered the woman to a low, crude bed that was pushed against the rough cypress wall. They coupled, flesh and blood facsimiles of incubus and succubus reveling in mutual corruption.

  Later, watching blue-grey smoke from his cigarette curl toward the ceiling, Capers asked, “Exactly what the hell are you?”

  The woman sat up, dark hair cascading over naked shoulders, touching stiffened nipples. “Sam didn’t tell you? I'm a lawyer. I practice in Moultrie Bay.”

  “No shit.” He reached for her, thinking, she was a bundle of surprises, might be an antidote to his ennui.

  After two weeks with the woman Capers realized that the void in his life from losing his SLED connection was gone. She made the difference. The woman, Joan Wiley, daughter of influential Lowcountry parents, successful in her own right, told him she enjoyed the thrill of burglary. She had confided to him that as a teen age girl she had spent a year in a mental hospital. That during her college years she started her career as a thief and her parents bought off school authorities and the law. She told him her parents floundering reactions to her behavior had been amusing. Except for their arranging her stay in the nut ward. That was not funny. For that year in the psychiatric hospital they would never be forgiven.

  Her vacation over it was time for Joan Wiley to get back to the law firm. “Why not come back and stay a while in Moultrie Bay,” she asked. “I have space.”

  Women had never done much for Capers who considered them diversions, throwaways. This one was different. Kinky. Unlike any other. She fascinated Capers. Schizoid. Whacked, like Wolfe had said, but addicting. She was better than Wolfe could ever imagine.

  Capers had figured on going to Hawaii to look up Pete Hammil, but Hammil would keep. He decided that he'd take Joan up on her offer. He’d board up his rundown plantation house on Saint Catherine’s island. Live with Joan for a bit, it’d be kicks.

  In this woman Capers recognized a counter part of himself, calculating and ruthless, callously indifferent to the suffering of others. He had believed these qualities were reserved for a rare minority of men. Finding them in a woman was novel. A complete surprise.

  For the first time since childhood Capers wasn’t alone. For the first time he wasn’t lonely.

  CHAPTE
R SEVEN

  Charleston, SC

  July 27

  Joan stood in the receiving line on the race deck of the Charleston yacht club, her virginal white wedding dress exquisite. Micah Capers, Joan’s Mother, Agnes, and her Father, John Bertram Wiley III, were at her side greeting guests. A tall silver maned man approached, his carriage erect, his piercing blue eyes taking in the entire reception hall, particularly the location of the bar.

  Agnes, beamed a greeting.

  The silver haired man looked past the newlyweds to address Agnes. “Your little lady has grown to become a beautiful bride,” he said. And Micah is a fine figure of a man.”

  “Why thank you General, “ Agnes said. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Matthewson couldn’t be with us today.”

  Major General Harley Matthewson, USMC retired, currently SC Representative from the tenth district which encompassed Moultrie County, Jasper County, and the Hilton Head portion of Beaufort County, mumbled an inaudible reply and moved on ignoring the newlyweds, bee-lining for the bar and a snort.

  Agnes leaned toward her daughter and said, “He’s very influential and he supports your father’s bid for the Industrial Commissioner slot. I’m so sorry his lovely wife couldn’t be here. You and she would have so much in common.”

  Another guest approached interrupting Agnes.

  Hours later the newlyweds, having greeted all the guests and cut the traditional cake, left the reception in a shower of rice and headed for Moultrie Bay.

  Capers slipped his new 800 series BMW through Charleston traffic. “The ceremony and reception were a hoot,” he said.

  “Mother was pleased. She always wanted a lovely southern wedding for her virginal daughter. And, she adores you. I think she prefers you to me.”

  “She should.”

  “Oh?”

  “Sure. I’m a Southern gentleman, I’m financially solid. I’m charming. Could a mother-in-law want more?”

  Joan punched his arm.

  They drove across the Ashley River bridge and started south on U.S. seventeen. About an hour later Caper’s wheeled the car to the curb on Moultrie Bay's Front street, a wide, live oak lined thoroughfare with the bay to the west side and, across, to the east, pristine antebellum mansions. He cut the engine.

  “Which house?”

  “The Georgian. You can’t see it from here, but it’s only a couple of hundred yards.”

  “Problems getting in or out?”

  “No, none. I know the place.”

  “The husband show you around?”

  Joan feigned a pathetic, helpless woman gesture. “I had to treat him with respect. He was one of the firm's wealthier clients. I handled all his legal business.”

  “Treat the old goat to a little extracurricular activity as well?”

  “He was attracted to me,” Joan shrugged, the gesture hiding pain inflicted by Capers's scathing words.

  They had lived together and murdered together but still, when the blond man had one day offhandedly suggested that they marry, Joan was completely taken by surprise. She was essentially unable to believe that he was serious but upon probing found that he was. She could scarcely conceal her elation. She hadn't questioned his motives, accepting his proposal, determined to hold him.

  “What made him show the stones to you?”

  “A mixture of arrogance and insecurity. He had a fortune in diamonds and a need to show off.”

  “His wife doesn't know about the diamonds?”

  “He wasn't the type to tell his wife anything he didn't want her to know.”

  “Where are they?”

  “In the wine cellar. There's an interesting collection of wines in a locked rack. The stones are behind the wine. The lock is a toy.”

  “No alarm?”

  “Not at the rack. The house alarm won’t matter. We’ll be greeted at the door.”

  “The widow expects us?”

  “Yes. I called from the reception. And told her I had papers for her signature.”

  “What happened to the husband?”

  “Stroke. He died about six weeks ago. I’m handling probate.”

  “The widow. An old bag?”

  “Oh no my love. Anything but. You'll appreciate just how lovely she is in a moment.”

  “She knows I’ll be with you?”

  “Of course. She wants to meet the Groom.”

  “She may have told someone she was expecting us.”

  “Not likely. She told me she’d be home alone. After all, she’s in mourning.

  “Her brother was at the reception,” the woman added.

  “Who?”

  “Tony Androlini. You met him this afternoon.”

  “I met a couple of hundred people.”

  “Androlini is an old guy with a weak voice and a palsied hand. He’s a big time developer. Resort hotels all over the world. He told me he was going on from the reception to Charleston to catch a connecting flight to Atlanta and then to Peru. He was yammering something about a big deal down there.”

  “So.”

  “So nothing. I was amused talking with him and thinking about his sister, the poor widow. He was so full of concern.” She glanced at the dashboard clock. “Time. Let’s go.”

  Capers banged the leonine brass knocker.

  The door was opened by a stylish woman in her early thirties. “Come in. Please.”

  The woman led them into a bookcase lined study. One wall was taken up by an Adams style fireplace, above which hung a gilt framed portrait. A huge mahogany desk and executive chair dominated the room. Massive burgundy leather arm chairs and a matching couch complemented the wood of the desk and the rooms other furnishings. “You really didn’t have to meet with me on your wedding day. The paperwork could have waited.”

  “I had all the work ready for signature Marie,” Joan said. “Our plane doesn’t leave Savannah for four more hours. There's plenty of time and it wasn't any trouble for us to stop by.”

  “Still, I think it's beyond the call of duty. But thank you. I appreciate everything that you're doing to finish probate. Can I get you something. Tea?”

  “Thank you, but no.”

  “No thank you. None for me,” Capers said.

  “I do hope that you can accept my apology for not attending your wedding. It’s just that,” the woman choked up.

  “We understand. It’s been a difficult time for you.”

  Marie Della Porta made an effort to conquer her emotions. “Joseph’s death,” she said. “It was sudden. I don’t quite believe he’s gone.”

  Ignoring the woman, Joan placed her attaché case on the desk and snapped open the latches. “Only two signatures and we can stop bothering you,” she said and handed a folder to Marie.

  “Where do I sign.”

  “At the X lines,” Joan said. She gestured with her pen.

  Capers rose and walked toward the fireplace, gazing for a moment at the portrait of a grey-haired man that hung above the carved pine and marble mantle. He hesitated then stepped behind Marie Della Porta, clamped his hands around her neck, and squeezed, forcing the tips of his fingers deep into her flesh.

  The woman’s eyes widened in shocked horror. She tried to scream but only a slight gurgle passed her lips.

  Capers continued applying pressure, his fingers cutting off the oxygen supply to Marie’s brain. Her struggles became feeble. He felt her slump into unconsciousness.

  Capers said. “No noise, good. The last one was annoying.”

  The newlyweds were propped against pillows in an antique Rice Planter’s bed when Marie Della Porta awaked. The room’s lights were dimmed, drapes were drawn. Marie looked down; her dark brown eyes filled with terror.

  “Are you with us,” Joan asked.

  Guttural sounds issued from Marie’s throat as she tried to speak past duct tape plastered over her mouth. She hung spread-eagled at the foot of the bed, wrists and ankles lashed securely with nylon stockings to the stout mahogany posts.

  Joan’s voice purred, “You
won't need to speak,” she said, observing the movement of the woman's bloodied lips beneath the tape. “Not now, my Dear, not ever.”

  Marie Della Porta slumped forward, near fainting.

  “Stay with us, Marie. We are so enjoying your company.”

  “Show her,” Capers said.

  Joan reached to the bedside table and picked up a box, opened it, and held it toward Marie Della Porta. “Beautiful diamonds, Marie. Perfect. A secret part of your dear departed husband's fortune. You didn't know about the diamonds, did you, Dear?”

  Marie Della Porta, eyes reflecting terrified confusion, looked from the box of diamonds in Joan’s outstretched hand to Capers’s face.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter that you didn't know. We thank you, Marie,” Joan said. “The diamonds are a lovely wedding gift.”

  Marie tensed her muscles and attempted to pull away as the blond man made the first cut across her abdomen with the straight razor. She twisted against the taut cords, crimson gushed as the razor's carbon steel blade slashed trails across her abdomen and breasts.

  The new bride witnessed. She smiled, grimaced, and relaxing smiled again. She lay back and touched vaginal tissue. She felt a tense release, almost a contradiction, but pleasurable, so very pleasurable.

  Capers leaned back against the pillows and together with his bride watched as the remnants of life drained from the suspended corpus of their victim.

  “Exquisite lover,” Joan said as she slipped naked from the silk negligee that she had “borrowed” from Marie’s closet. “Exquisite.”

  Before Marie’s sightless eyes the newlyweds consummated their marriage.

  Late that night Agnes said, “John Bertram, I believe we made an excellent impression. The General and the Governor were keen about your ideas for the Commission. I’m certain your appointment will be soon. After all when one thinks …