Dead Cold Mystery Box Set 2

by Blake Banner

“Keep your wits about you, Stone. Don’t get suckered.”

  I smiled. “I’ve been around a bit, Dehan. I won’t get suckered.”

  She sighed. “Guys…even smart ones like you, can be real stupid when it comes to women.”

  “Okay, I’ll bear it in mind.” I jerked my head at the door. “Come on, I have some reading to do before I go home and change. You want a lift?”

  “Yeah… No… I don’t know.”

  SEVEN

  I took her to a nice Italian restaurant I knew on Court Street in Brooklyn. The food and the wine were good, the table cloths and the napkins were crisp linen, but you didn’t have to book a month in advance to get a table.

  She looked a little surprised when she saw we were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, and when I pulled up outside Queen, she raised an eyebrow at me and said, “You live in staggering distance of Brooklyn Heights?”

  I smiled, climbed out, and went around to open the door for her. It was warm and pleasantly busy inside. Vincenzo greeted me like an old friend and led us to a table for two. He handed us a couple of menus and I ordered two martinis while we had a look at them.

  When he’d brought them and departed I said, running my eyes over the daily specials, “Until this investigation is over, Shelly, I am afraid we won’t be staggering anywhere together.”

  She raised her eyes to look at me and there was a flash of anger in them. “Boy, you really know how to woo a girl, don’t you?”

  I made a face like an apology. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t really even be having dinner with you.”

  She snapped, “You want to leave? You want me to get a cab home?”

  I wondered briefly why women were so hard to talk to sometimes. “No, and no. I would like to stay and enjoy the meal and I would like you to stay and enjoy it with me.” I sipped my martini, and as I put my glass down I said, “Your paper has a reputation for coming down hard on bent cops and abuse of power. I’m the same, and I tend to do things by the book. Otherwise, I am no better than the people I go after.” I gave her my most charming, lopsided grin and added, “After all, you could be a suspect.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Me?”

  “Not really, but technically you could be. If I got too close to you, I could not be involved in the case.”

  She raised an eyebrow and looked back at the menu. “How close is too close?”

  “Anything under six inches.”

  She laughed.

  I smiled at her. “Staggering home together would certainly be too close.” I gave it a second and then added, “But I’ll take a rain check.”

  She made a doubtful noise, but I could tell she was smiling. “We’ll see how you behave for the rest of the evening.”

  I ordered clams oreganata and she had homemade mozzarella on grilled oyster mushrooms. For the main course, she ordered saltimbocca alla Romana and I had vitello alla Marsala, and we had a bottle of Barolo, which for my money is the only Italian wine worth drinking. But I’m controversial that way.

  When the waiter had left with our orders, she drained her martini, and as she set the glass down she said, “So, you’re a real do it by the book man, huh?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No, I just had you down as a bit of a rule breaker. Your own man.”

  “Well, I guess that all depends on what book you’re using, doesn’t it? I do it by the book, but my book says that sometimes you have to break the rules.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.”

  “But you can’t break the rule about getting close?”

  “Nope.”

  She was grinning. It was a mischievous grin and it was attractive. “And why not?”

  “Because you might break my heart and turn out to be a diabolical, evil genius who murders dangerous reporters that know too much.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “You know how dime thrillers always end. It was always the sexy femme fatale who did it.”

  She raised her eyebrow. “Is that what I am?”

  I smiled. “A sexy femme fatale?” I signaled the waiter for two more drinks. “Sure. I think so.”

  She sat back in her chair and sighed, still smiling. “OK, Stone, you’re a charmer. Now tell me why you brought me here.”

  “To this restaurant?”

  “No, not to this restaurant. Why did you take me out at all?”

  “It was part of our deal, remember?”

  She watched me, waiting.

  “You are a very attractive, intelligent woman.”

  “And the real reason?”

  I frowned. “Don’t be too quick to judge, Shelly. Everything I said to you was true. I am investigating a murder, and you were close to the victim.”

  “So…?”

  I spread my hands. “Okay, what can you tell me about Carol Hennessy?”

  “Ah…” She nodded several times. The waiter arrived with two more martinis. She took a sip and sighed. “Didn’t take you long, did it?”

  I thought about Dehan. “A little longer than it should have.”

  “She’s a driven woman, very ambitious, and very firmly rooted in the ideals of the late ’60s and ’70s. She upsets a lot of men.”

  I frowned. It was a different angle to the one I’d read online. “A lot of men seem to have upset her, too. And a lot of them wound up dead.”

  She gave a laugh that was not quite patronizing, “Listen, I specialize in credible conspiracy theories. I was raised on Kennedy and Watergate. There are two things you need to remember. Back in the ’60s and ’70s this country was a very different place. The Feds, the CIA—even the cops…” She gestured at me with an open hand, like I represented all cops. “They had a free hand back then. They were practically unaccountable to anybody. They quite literally got away with murder, for a long time, and they thought it would go on forever. But it really isn’t like that anymore.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. For a start, they are aware that the press is all over them all the time. Communication is global and instant. Trump sneezes and within thirty seconds the whole world has been alerted, via Twitter, Facebook, a billion blogs…” She made circular motions with her hand, indicating ‘on and on’. “If Hennessy and her husband were involved in all the shady deals and murders that she is accused of, it would have come out by now.”

  I sipped my drink and set it down carefully on the table, frowning at it. I was trying to work out what Shelly Pearce was all about. I said, “And isn’t that exactly what happened?”

  She shook her head, with a mouthful of martini. “Mm-mm!” She swallowed. “No. What happened was that America was ready for a black president, but not for a female one. Do you know what proportion of the electorate is black or Latino?”

  “No.”

  “Thirty percent. That’s enough to carry an election. Do you know what proportion is female?”

  “Half?”

  “Slightly over. But where blacks and Latinos are politically aware, and will vote to protect their interests, the vast majority of women still have this conditioning that says we’ll be better off with a man at the helm. Carol tried to fight that…” She paused, studying my face. “And you’re right, there was a conspiracy. But the conspiracy was against her. It was a systematic character assassination, perpetrated by the right-wing media, to preserve the top office for that small, male elite.”

  Vincenzo came with our starters and we ate for a while in silence. After a bit, I sat back and watched her for a moment. After a moment, she looked up and I said, “There is a list of over forty-eight men who crossed swords with Carol Hennessy or her husband, and they are all dead, and from the looks of it, most of them died in unusual circumstances.”

  She sighed and took another mouthful of mushroom and mozzarella. She spoke around it. “Have you any idea how many people have crossed swords with the Bush family? With Obama, with Trump? Or in their day, the Kennedy clan, Nixon or the Peanut King?”

  “I don’t know, but I can i
magine.”

  “Hundreds, Stone. Many hundreds. And do you know how many are dead?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “Well, I can tell you that if I looked into any one of their pasts, I could find twenty, thirty, or forty dead people who had at some time crossed them and were now dead, and with a bit of clever writing I could make it sound as though they died in ‘suspicious circumstances’. Not a single one of those deaths was what you could call a ‘hit’.”

  I laid down my knife and fork and narrowed my eyes at her. “David Thorndike was exactly that.”

  Just for a moment she froze, then carried on eating. “There were other people who had good reason to want Dave dead.”

  “Of the forty people who died after crossing Hennessy, six were mugged in the street and five were the victims of home invasions…”

  “Burglaries where property was stolen.”

  “Ten were hit and runs, twelve were automobile accidents, three were climbing accidents, and six died of heart attacks, though they had perfectly healthy hearts.”

  “I see you do your homework.”

  “Is Carol Hennessy a friend of yours?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I ate my last clam slowly while watching her, then drained the last of my martini. “It isn’t supposed to mean anything. Is she a friend of yours?”

  She shrugged. “I wouldn’t say a friend. More like an acquaintance.” She ate her last mushroom and sat back, chewing. “Are we fighting?”

  I smiled. “I hope not. I’m asking questions, you’re giving me your opinion.” I gave my head a little twitch. “I don’t have to agree with everything you say, right? Even if it is the New Millennium.”

  She shook her head, still smiling. “It’s men like you…”

  “My last captain thought I was a dinosaur.”

  “He was right.”

  “She was also a bent cop.”

  “Was…?”

  “Who is Lee?”

  “Boy! This is fun. Do you do all your interrogations in restaurants, or just the ones you hope to get laid by after the case is finished?”

  She was still smiling, but the smile was looking strained. A waitress took our plates away, Vincenzo brought the main course and poured me a small amount of wine. I tasted it and gave him the nod. He poured and left. I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Are you going to hit me now or will you wait till after dessert? They do a Coppa Antica of homemade vanilla bean ice-cream, pecan nougat, and Amarena cherries that you could kill for.”

  “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

  “No. I’m just hoping you have enough of the ’60s and ’70s left in you to make room for a dinosaur in your busy schedule. I didn’t have you down as the kind of woman who expects everybody to conform to a preordained standard. Or are we swapping the tyranny of the testicle for the tyranny of the ovary?”

  She burst out laughing and a few people glanced at her. We ate in silence for a bit. Her smile looked a little less strained. After a bit, she said, “I confess you are kind of refreshing. Intolerable, but refreshingly so.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll wait till after the Coppa Antica to hit you with my handbag and walk out.”

  “Good to know. You never answered my question, by the way.”

  She chewed and studied my face for a moment. “What question was that?”

  “Who is Lee?”

  She concentrated on her food and gave a small shrug. “Lee? It’s not a lot to go on.”

  “How many Lees did David know? This one was about as close to him as anybody ever got, he’s an attorney and he is Korean.”

  “Oh, Jackson. Jackson Lee, his attorney. Why didn’t you say so?”

  I put a smile on the left side of my face, where it looks less humorous and more ironic. “I wanted to see if you would avoid answering.”

  Her smile faded. “You bastard.”

  I kept eating and smiling. She kept eating and looking hurt. I said, “I can play nice, too.”

  She didn’t look up. “Yeah?”

  “Sure. Can you?”

  Now she looked at me. “Again, Stone, what is that supposed to mean? Why are you giving me a hard time? When I suggested dinner, I didn’t have this in mind, exactly.”

  I said softly, “Come on, Shelly. You’ve been keeping information from me from the start in order to protect Carol Hennessy. You suggested dinner so you could find out what direction my investigation was taking. The only question I have is, are you doing this to protect a woman you admire or because she has you on her payroll? And you can drop the injured girl act. You don’t get to be the senior editor of the New York Telegraph by being sensitive and easily offended.”

  She drained her glass and refilled it. “Boy, Stone, you know how to make a girl feel special. You’re some piece of work.”

  “You hadn’t picked that up when we came to see you earlier today?”

  She sighed and started eating again. “Fair enough, you got me. It’s true.” She chewed, sipped, watched me. “But I also liked you. Is that permissible? And I’m not on anybody’s payroll, except the paper’s.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I like you, too. You know where I can reach Lee?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Hold me. I’m going to blush. I can’t handle this dinosaur flattery. No, I see him in passing sometimes, but we haven’t spoken for years.”

  “You think he has the laptop?”

  She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. That doesn’t make sense. Because the only person he would give it to would be Bob. Bob hasn’t got it, so it was stolen by whoever killed him.”

  I frowned like she was contradicting herself. “If you’re right, that points to Hennessy.”

  “No. You’re assuming the article implicated Hennessy. But what if it exonerated her? What if it pointed at somebody else?”

  “Like who?”

  “I don’t know. I just know that Carol Hennessy is not a killer or a criminal. She is a woman driven by her ideals.”

  I grunted and we finished our main course and the wine. The conversation drifted to more general subjects. She was good to talk to. She was intelligent and well informed. Most of the time we disagreed, but she was good to disagree with. Over the Coppa Antica she went quiet for a bit. As she was finishing, she said, “So how long have you and Detective Dehan been partners?”

  I was surprised by the question. “Better part of a year, why?”

  She shrugged. “She’s a looker.”

  I thought about it and smiled. “She is that. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to know it.”

  “And she’s smart, too.”

  “Yeah, what are you getting at?”

  She laughed and called over the waiter. “Bring me a Courvoisier, and a black coffee.” He went away with her order. “You’re driving. No spirits for you, Mr. Dinosaur.” She stopped, watching me, a little sad. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  “I’m not sure whether to tell you or leave you in your primeval darkness of blissful dinosaur ignorance.”

  “Cut it out. Stop playing games. What are you talking about?”

  “John, that girl is hopelessly in love with you!”

  I laughed out loud. “Don’t be absurd! Dehan? That’s ridiculous!”

  She smiled. “Is it?”

  “We’re partners, pals, we’ve been through a lot together. We’re solid. She’s the best partner I’ve had. We have a good rapport…”

  I was vaguely aware of talking too much and let the words trail away. She was watching me with one eyebrow raised high.

  “Ridiculous. About as ridiculous as you being in love with her.”

  I made a face that said she was being stupid. “Come on, Shelly. That’s crazy. Cut it out.”

  “You already said that.”

  “Like Batman and Robin, we are just good friends.”

  After that, the conversation
kind of petered out and I called for the check and drove her home to her apartment in Manhattanville. When I pulled up outside her block, the rain had stopped and the blacktop had a silver sheen to it. I went to get out but she put her hand on my arm to stop me.

  “You want to come up for that cognac?”

  “You know I can’t, Shelly.”

  “I know. I thought I’d ask anyhow.” She kissed me on the cheek. “See you around, Stone.”

  I watched her cross the sidewalk and let herself into the lobby. She didn’t look back.

  On the way home, I drove past Dehan’s block on Simpson Street. My watch said it was twelve midnight. She’d probably still be awake, and I could tell her about Jackson Lee, and Shelly’s view of Hennessy. I slowed for a moment, then for some reason I couldn’t define, I dismissed the idea and headed home.

  EIGHT

  The rain returned overnight, heavy and steady. I picked Dehan up outside her apartment at eight. She had her absurd Australian hat and long coat on again, and I tried not to think about what Shelly had said the night before, as I watched her dodge through the cars to get to the passenger side and climb in the car. As she pulled the door closed, I said, “G’day, Sheila.”

  She took off her hat, set it on her knees and tied her hair up behind her head. “Yeah? What’s good about it?”

  “It could be worse. That’s good.”

  “How was your date?”

  “It wasn’t a date, Dehan.”

  “How was your whatever-it-was?”

  “Odd. We have much to discuss.”

  “Like?”

  “Like, Jackson Lee, David Thorndike’s attorney. Like Shelly Pearce’s admiration for Carol Hennessy.”

  “Seriously?”

  I nodded. “I detected a pretty strong political affiliation there. So much so, Dehan, that I think the whole reason for getting me to take her out was to see if Hennessy was a suspect.”

  “Wow. So she wasn’t after your body? That’s hard to believe.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere. But yes, that is the way it looks.”

  “Tough break.”

  “Not really, Dehan.” Then I added, without really knowing why, “She’s not my type.”

  “Oh.”