“Yeah, sure, but I don’t think he’s going to tell us.”
“No, he won’t. At least not voluntarily, but we might be able to find out from him anyway. I was thinking there might be something in his papers. It could be as simple as tax evasion. Hell, that’s how they got Al Capone. Plus Harry was always a fanatic about his records. He was always getting after Anna about keeping better files. He’s the kind who never throws anything out.”
“It’s a bit of a long shot.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jude admitted. “But it’s the only thing I can think of to do.”
“Okay. So how are we going to get at his papers?”
Jude coughed. “Well,” he said, “I’ve got this friend who’s good at locks, and he owes me a favor.”
38
IT TOOK JUDE two days to track down his old friend Thumbs. He was living with his mother in an apartment not too far from the halfway house. Jude arranged to meet him. When Jude arrived, Thumbs was waiting out on the sidewalk in front of his building, rubbing his hands and jumping up and down to keep warm. “My ma doesn’t like visitors too much,” he explained.
“I’ll take you out for a whiskey,” Jude said, and the man’s eyes lit up.
It turned out to be several whiskeys. Jude explained what he wanted Thumbs to do. “You just let us in, and you can take off,” Jude finished.
“But I’ve gone straight. I’ve got a job now. A pretty good one,” Thumbs protested.
Jude convinced him in the end. Then he only had to work up his own courage for the next step—a trip to his mother’s new house. The one she shared with Harry.
HE AND DAVIS made plans to drive down with Thumbs to scout the house, but Jude knew he needed to be alone on the first visit.
He took the bus as close as he could get and walked the rest of the way. The house was set back from the road, with a decorative iron fence along the border of the property. It would be easy to climb, but first Jude strolled past, keeping an eye out for guards or dogs. When he saw neither, he doubled back and climbed over the fence.
Jude kept to the bushes as he circled nearer the house; he approached just near enough so he could see into the lit rooms. He saw the living room and library, and circling around the side, he discovered a window into the kitchen.
That’s when he saw her. He took a step back into the shrubs, glad there was no one with him to observe his reactions.
She was sitting at the counter in the kitchen with a newspaper spread out on the table in front of her and a bag of potato chips open beside it. It was the first time Jude had seen his mother in five years.
He stayed for a quarter of an hour, watching her read. She didn’t even look up when she reached for the chips. He was waiting for her to raise her head so he could see her face, but when she finally glanced up from the paper, she didn’t look toward the window, but away from it. She swiveled abruptly, as if something had startled her.
Jude looked as well and saw what had captured her attention.
Harry walked in, crossed to the counter, and dropped a kiss on her cheek. Jude could see her face now. She was smiling and saying something. She held up the paper. Harry nodded, started rubbing her shoulders while she talked.
The kitchen looked bright and warm, and suddenly Jude was aware of the residue from an earlier rain clinging to the leaves of the bush he was using for cover and the numbness of his fingers and the tip of his nose. Just then Harry laughed at something she said. Jude could see him tilt his head back and open his mouth, and he could hear the faint echo of his laugh as it traveled through the glass and across the lawn to where Jude hid in the shadows.
It seemed as if Harry were laughing at him.
And Jude knew that what he had done to Benito hadn’t been just a fluke. The old anger was back, and he was afraid.
39
THROUGH HIS JOB at the paper Davis found out about a fund-raiser at which the mayor was scheduled to speak. He made a few calls and discovered that Harry was on the guest list as well. He and Jude put that together with the discovery that Anna had no live-in help, and the night was set.
Davis picked Jude up in his car—he had taken to calling it the getaway car—and they were on their way to pick up Thumbs when Davis said, “So how good is this guy?”
Jude glanced at him, hearing the underlying note of anxiety in his voice. “Pretty good.”
“How good is pretty good?”
“Pretty good,” Jude repeated. “He did end up in jail, after all. The best don’t get caught.”
“Great, I guess there goes my career,” Davis tried to laugh.
“You don’t have to do this,” Jude said reasonably. “Why don’t you wait out in the car?”
“No way. I’m always playing it safe. Lizzie says so, and Lizzie is always right about those kinds of things.”
“Oh?” Jude said. Then he had to tell Davis where to turn, and when they rounded the corner they both spotted the lone figure standing in the glow of a streetlight.
Davis pulled up alongside and Thumbs got in the backseat.
“Fucking cold,” he said. “Point those vents back here.”
“Thumbs, this is Davis,” Jude said.
Thumbs grunted.
“So, you feeling good?” Davis asked over his shoulder as he drove.
“Feel like shit,” Thumbs grumbled.
“You want something? I have aspirin in the glove compartment.”
“Yeah, I want something, but it ain’t aspirin. Pull up over here,” Thumbs commanded.
Davis pulled over and Thumbs hopped out. He crossed in front of the headlights and disappeared into a store across the street.
“Jude, he’s gone into the liquor store,” Davis hissed. “When he gets back in, don’t you think that you should tell him not to drink before? After, sure, but not before.”
“I can’t tell him how to do his job,” Jude said.
“Maybe he just wants it for after,” Davis consoled himself. “For a little celebration.”
Jude had smelled the alcohol on him when Thumbs first climbed in, but he didn’t mention that to Davis.
Thumbs reappeared with a bag, recrossed the street, climbed in the backseat, and slammed the door.
“Jesus,” Davis whispered under his breath, and pulled away from the curb.
They both heard the rustling from the backseat, and Davis shot Jude an agonized look.
“Hey,” Davis said when they both heard the sound of Thumbs taking a pull off the bottle. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Yes,” Thumbs said, and offered the bottle to Jude in the front seat. Jude took a slug without looking at the label. He, in turn, held it out to Davis. Davis grabbed it and took a huge gulp, then another, and handed it back.
“So you know all about alarm systems and stuff?” Davis asked a couple minutes later.
“No, what are those?” Thumbs said.
“A regular comedian,” Davis said, but he didn’t sound amused.
“Can you get this guy to shut up?” Thumbs demanded of Jude.
They didn’t speak again for the rest of the ride.
They parked the car in a spot they had chosen earlier in the week, and they walked the distance to the house slowly, in single file, as close to the trees as they could manage. They hopped over the fence, one at a time, and made their way to the house. It was lit up on both the first and second stories.
“Shit, they stayed home,” Davis whispered, and Jude and Thumbs said, “Shhh,” at the same time.
They circled, looking for movements in the rooms. They waited for fifteen minutes, then they made another circle.
“All you,” Jude said to Thumbs.
Thumbs stepped out of the bushes and walked up to the front door—looking for all the world as if he belonged there. He rang the bell and waited patiently to see if anyone would answer. When no one came, he reached into his pocket, took out his tools, and bent over the lock. He had it open in less than a minute and disappeared inside.
<
br /> Jude and Davis held their breath, waiting for Thumbs to come running out if he wasn’t able to disarm the system. Nothing happened. There was no wailing siren, and no police cars squealed into the driveway. Eventually the front door opened again and Thumbs beckoned to them.
They moved quickly, slipping inside and closing the door behind them. Jude led the way through the hall, checking rooms as they went. Davis was the one who found the study with the two tall filing cabinets against one wall.
“It could be Anna’s office,” Jude said.
But Davis discovered that the drawers of the desk contained Harry’s stationery.
“This is it,” Jude agreed, and crossed to the window to close the curtains.
The filing cabinet was locked, but that didn’t take Thumbs more than a few seconds.
“Desk too,” Jude said, and Thumbs tackled that as well, then retreated to a corner to wait.
Jude and Davis went to work. They had brought two handheld scanners that Davis had borrowed from the newspaper. The scanners could copy a page in seconds and they held more than three thousand pages of text.
Jude opened the first drawer and verified that it held Harry’s papers, and they went to work.
At first they took whatever came to hand, but as the first hour drew to a close, and Thumbs snored in the corner, Jude started being more selective. He had Davis working exclusively on taxes and bank statements, while he took the phone bills and credit cards.
Harry was insanely neat, and that made it easier to put things back exactly as he had found them. When the third hour was almost gone and Davis had nearly finished the financial files, Jude checked his watch.
“Time to go,” he said. “Can’t risk any longer.”
They gathered their things, woke Thumbs, and beat a retreat. Once they reached the road, Jude watched for a car to come down the road and turn into the gated drive. The urgency with which they had left gave the illusion that Anna and Harry were fast approaching, but the street remained dark and silent, and no one came.
Thumbs fell asleep again in the backseat on the way home. Jude had to wake him up when they reached his apartment building.
“’Night,” Jude said.
Thumbs grunted in answer and opened the door. They watched him trudge over to the dark doorway, drop his keys, and stoop slowly to retrieve them.
“So, are you going to give him some money? Do you need to borrow some?” Davis asked.
“He did it as a favor to me,” Jude said.
“Yeah, I know, but you’ll give him something, won’t you?”
“It was a favor,” Jude repeated.
“But he risked getting sent back to prison. He deserves to get something for that, don’t you think?”
“Is that the only reason you can think of for doing something? Do you expect me to offer you money?”
“No, of course not. I just thought that since he doesn’t seem to have much …”
“He has more than you know,” Jude replied.
“What, he’s got a cache stored away from some big job he did?” Davis joked.
Jude didn’t reply. He hadn’t been talking about money.
“Though, come to think of it,” Davis said, “it wasn’t so much of a favor as it could have been. If he’d really wanted to do something for you, he could have stayed sober, for one thing.”
Jude couldn’t let this slight go by without correcting it. “He was sober—for him. Usually by that time of night Thumbs can barely stand. I can’t even imagine the effort it took him to stay that sober, so I would bet that neither can you.”
“Okay, okay. I didn’t realize he was so very precious to you.”
“Well, now you know.” Jude answered the scathing remark seriously.
They drove in silence until Davis reached the Burger King.
“Um, when will I see you tomorrow?” Davis asked. The remark was a tentative peace offering, and Jude chided himself for snapping. He couldn’t expect Davis to understand.
“I can get out early,” Davis went on. “Should I pick you up when you get off work?”
“Sure,” Jude agreed.
“I think it would be easiest to have everything printed out. I’ll do that at work tomorrow, but to go through the documents, we’ll need somewhere to spread out. We could do it at your place, or if you want, we could do it at my house. I never use the study—I’m always at the office. We could set up in there at the big table.”
As they certainly couldn’t work at the halfway house, Jude accepted gratefully.
“Tomorrow at three, then?” Davis said.
“Tomorrow at three.”
“I think we have something. I swear I have this feeling that we’ve got him.”
“We’ll see,” Jude replied cautiously. He wanted it too much to talk lightly about the possibility that the answer to his dreams lay in the backseat.
DAVIS MET JUDE in front of the diner at three, and he chattered away in excitement as they drove back to his house. “I didn’t realize how much stuff we got. I spent the entire day printing it out. I’ve got three cardboard boxes’ worth in the trunk.”
When they reached the house, they carried the boxes upstairs to the study and heaved them up on the table. They exchanged a look of barely repressed excitement, and, in concert, they each lifted a stack of paper out.
In the car they had agreed that the best course would be for them to sort all the papers before starting their search. Jude had thought this task would certainly take the afternoon, but he was pleasantly surprised to find it took less than two hours. It turned out that Harry was as scrupulous with his papers as he was with his other belongings. Everything had been divided into categories and filed by date. Not only that, but they were exhilarated to find that Harry had been a pack rat. He appeared to be one of those people who never threw anything away—he had records going back almost thirty years. Thirty years of bank statements. Thirty years of tax returns. Only twenty years of credit card bills. Twenty years of mortgage payments and phone bills.
They plunged in, with Davis expecting and Jude hoping to stumble across “it.” Whatever “it” was. But the only thing they discovered in the first few hours was that there would be no early dramatic discovery. It was their first taste of the reality of detective work—and they found it slow, monotonous, and dreary.
Lizzie found them there, arguing over whether one sheet of paper belonged in the tax folder or the correspondence folder. It was a letter to his accountant that referred to his taxes but had other information as well. They didn’t even notice her in the doorway until she said, “What on earth is all this?”
She stepped inside and picked up a sheet as if to read it, but Davis practically leaped out of his chair and snatched it from her.
“You can’t look at this stuff, Lizzie.”
“Okay, but what are you doing with this Wichowski’s phone bill—” She stopped abruptly as she put two and two together. They could see the connections firing: Harry to Anna to Jude.
“You can’t talk to anybody about this,” Davis commanded. “Not anybody.”
“What do you take me for? But how did you get—”
“And don’t ask us how we got them,” Davis cut her off.
“For God’s sake, Davis. What have you been doing?”
“It’s my fault,” Jude said.
“I wanted to,” Davis protested, as if Jude were stealing glory instead of taking the blame.
She sat down, propped her elbows on two piles, settled her chin in her hands, and said, “Sounds fascinating. Tell me all.”
“I can’t, sis. Not this time.”
“You know I can keep a secret. Better than you, certainly.”
“It’s not my secret to tell.”
She looked at Jude. “Oh. Right.” She recovered quickly. “Oh well. I’ll just have to suffer agonies of curiosity, I guess. Will you two come down and have some dinner if I make something?”
“Make something? What’s the special occasion?�
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“Well, what else would you eat?”
“Oh, we’d order pizza or something.”
“I think we can feed Jude something a little better than pizza,” she said. “I’ll call you when everything is ready. Don’t worry, nothing fancy tonight. I can’t very well anyway because I think all we have in the house is canned tuna and cheese.”
So they worked until Lizzie called them. They broke thankfully for dinner, then went back to work until eleven, when Davis said, “I can’t take any more. That’s it for me.”
“It’s late,” Jude agreed. “We both need to sleep.”
“More tomorrow?” Davis said, not quite as enthusiastically as the night before.
“Sure.”
“I can’t get off early again, but I’ll give you the key and you can come over after work if you want. I’ll be back around seven.”
THEY FELL INTO a pattern. Jude would come straight to the house when he finished at the diner and set to work. Davis joined him in the evening around seven. Lizzie usually got home between seven and seven thirty, and she took care of dinner. Jude could tell that she wanted to know what they were working on, but she had too much pride to ask. Instead she just said that she wanted to help, and if the only way she could do that was to make dinner, then that’s what she’d do. Davis and Jude would go back to work after dinner, and around eleven Jude would tuck a file or two into a bag so he could continue poring over the papers on the bus ride home.
One night, over dinner, Lizzie said to Davis, “Don’t you think it’s a little silly that Jude takes the bus to work, then out here, then back home again, and does it all over again in the morning, while we have three spare bedrooms sitting empty? I mean, he spends all his time here anyway. He can’t possibly do anything but go back and sleep. Doesn’t it make sense that he just sleep here instead? At least while you’re working so hard.”
There was only the slightest hesitation before Davis knocked his head with his palm and said, “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. My sister the genius. How about it, Jude?”
“I couldn’t.”
“And why couldn’t you?” Lizzie demanded.
Jude Page 22
