Deadline for Lenny Stern: A Michael Russo Mystery

by Peter Marabell

  “It’s essential to remember that this is a true story, with real people living corrupt, dangerous lives.” Lenny was off and running, revealing gruesome details and taking us along for the ride.

  “So you can just imagine, can you not,” he said, “the reaction of the citizenry when two bodies washed up on a pristine beach at Grand Haven, Michigan.”

  The way Lenny told it, I was sure the rapt audience pictured every sordid detail.

  Occasionally someone got out of a chair and walked past Henri toward the restrooms. My eyes followed when that happened. I’d glance at Henri, and he’d watch, too.

  “So that’s my tale of crime in the city of Chicago,” Lenny said, and the crowd broke into a loud and sustained applause. He smiled and nodded. After a few moments he raised an arm, quieting them down.

  “It’s time for questions,” he said, and several hands shot into the air.

  “Yes, ma-am,” Lenny said.

  A head of fluffy gray hair rose in the front row. She was short enough so that’s about all I saw, but I had no trouble hearing her.

  “Mr. Stern,” the woman said. “I lived in the Windy City for thirty-five years before I retired. I remember reading you in the Tribune, the trouble you got yourself into …” Lenny laughed at that one. “Aren’t you frightened, writing a book like this, you know, with names … accusing politicians and mobsters of murder?”

  There it was. The perfect start for the Q&A. There wasn’t a sound in the room. They waited for Lenny’s answer. Even I wanted to hear it.

  “I made a decision,” he said, “that some things are too important …”

  Lenny spent almost thirty-five of his allotted fifteen minutes taking question after question, until Andrea McHale moved to the podium and politely drew this portion of the evening’s event to a close.

  “Give us a few minutes,” she said, “to rearrange the room, and Mr. Stern will be delighted to sign copies of his book.”

  Staff people, who’d obviously done this before, took over. Most of the chairs went out, replaced by two tables and several cartons of books. A few people approached Lenny at the podium. Henri had already moved forward to be closer.

  “Michael,” AJ said when she came over, “did you know Lenny was that good?”

  I shook my head. “Not a clue.”

  “I’m as surprised as you.”

  Maury Weston and Charles Bigelow were standing close to Lenny’s table.

  “Have you seen Tina or Kate?” I said.

  “They told me they’d be right back.” AJ chuckled.

  “What?”

  “I’m sure I heard the word ‘cabernet’ as they walked away.”

  Over the next hour, a steady stream of people came through the doors and stood in line at the table.

  Two teenagers, one male and one female, both white, wearing jeans and T-shirts, entered through the side door, walking right past Henri. He caught my eye as he moved in behind them while they approached Lenny.

  We’d been caught off guard by teens before, so I eased in closer.

  The two huddled off to one side of the table, talking quietly. When they decided to get in line, Henri moved around behind Lenny to get a better look.

  As the pair approached the table, Henri caught my eye and waved me off with a slight shake of his head. I nodded, returning to my spot next to AJ on the sidewall.

  The teenagers turned from the table with their very own signed copy of Corruption on Trial and left by the side door, clutching each other and the book with equal vigor.

  Frank Marshall and Wardcliff Griswold left the table, each with a book, and walked toward us. Frank stopped, but Griswold kept right on going, never glancing our way.

  “Well, it was good to see both of you,” Marshall said.

  “You like Lenny’s talk?” AJ said.

  “Very much. I’m eager to read his book.” Marshall glanced over his shoulder. “I have to catch up,” he said, pointing at the front door.

  With less than thirty minutes left, Henri and I remained in our positions, relieved that our services were unneeded. We were waiting to wrap up as Tina Lawson and Kate Hubbell entered the rotunda and went past Henri. They laughed quietly and found two unused chairs.

  “You may have been right about going for wine,” I said to AJ.

  Andrea McHale edged her way over. “As soon as those folks leave, we’ll be finished, and I’ll lock the doors.” She gave a casual wave to her people stationed at the doors.

  “Well,” AJ said, “it looks as if the tour’s off to a quiet start.”

  I nodded. “Be nice if it stayed quiet.”

  With the visitors gone, the library staff removed the last reminders of the evening’s event. Lenny came over to us to get out of their way.

  “You can be quite the charmer,” AJ said, smiling. “The audience loved you.”

  Lenny came as close as I’d ever seen him to an “ah, shucks” look on his face. But he rescued himself with a shrug.

  “Told you I liked doing this,” he said.

  “Mr. Stern,” Charles Bigelow said in a booming voice, and we turned as he walked up with Maury, Tina and Kate pulling up the rear.

  “You were superb,” Bigelow said. “I’ve seen plenty of book talks in my day. You were right up there with the best of them.”

  “Thank you,” Lenny said.

  “I can’t wait for the wrap-up in Chicago,” Bigelow said. “A real VIP group, that’ll be. They’ll be mightily impressed with Gloucester’s newest star. Don’t you think so, Maury?”

  “Sure thing,” Maury said. “Gloucester’s newest star.”

  “All right,” Bigelow said, with a loud clap of the hands. “It’s time to mark the occasion. I have a table waiting at Chandler’s. Food, drinks, whatever you want. Shall we go?”

  Before anyone could answer, Bigelow made his way toward the back door of the Carnegie. We said our good-byes to Andrea McHale on the way out.

  “I’m walking,” Bigelow said in the parking lot behind the Arts Center. “You all know where Chandler’s is?” He looked around. “You’ve been there, right, Tina?”

  “Sure, Charles,” Tina said. “But …”

  “But what?”

  “Kate and I thought we’d go back to City Park Grill,” Tina said.

  Kate gave a thumbs-up. “We have a couple of barstools all warmed up.”

  “Go, go,” Bigelow said. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

  The two women took off before Bigelow changed his mind.

  “Where’s your car?” I said to AJ.

  “At the office,” she said. “I’ll get it later.” She put her arm through mine. “Or maybe I’ll say to hell with it and walk home with you.”

  “I vote for that.”

  15

  “That was a wonderful idea, darling.”

  “Which one?” AJ said.

  “Which one? To come back here last night.”

  “You’re just saying that because I grabbed your ass as soon as we closed the door.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s probably it.”

  We sat at the small table in my kitchen. It was early, the sun just up, the coffee hot and strong. AJ had put on jeans and a paint-stained sweatshirt that lived on a hook in my bedroom closet.

  “I assume you have time to go home and get ready for work.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t have to hurry. Maury will be busy with Bigelow all morning. Besides, those two had a few drinks last night.”

  I laughed. “After a couple of martinis, Charles Bigelow’s a pretty funny guy.”

  “He actually smiled a few times.”

  “Was that before or after the martinis?” I said as I refilled our mugs with hot coffee.

  “Both,” she said. “I assume you’re headed out to run? Unless those
shorts and Spartan T-shirt count as private eye undercover this morning.”

  “Be a more relaxing run than yesterday. The Carnegie’s done, Andrea McHale was excited about the packed house …”

  “And Lenny’s safe.”

  “He is indeed. So Bigelow and Hubbell go back to Chicago today, right?”

  AJ nodded. “The rest of the tour belongs to Lenny.”

  “Don’t forget me.”

  “I’d never forget you, darling,” AJ said, “not as long as you wear those cute running shorts.”

  A phone buzzed. “That’s mine,” AJ said, looking around.

  “It’s next to the coffeemaker.”

  She picked it up and tapped the screen. “Little early, isn’t it, Maury?”

  She paused.

  “Where am I? At Michael’s. You don’t ask me where I spend my nights, Maury. What’s going on?”

  She listened for a moment.

  “I need to go home and take a shower first … okay … okay … he’s right here. Yeah … tell me what …”

  As AJ listened her shoulders sagged, her face looking strained.

  “Dear god,” she said. “We’re on our way.”

  AJ ended the call and looked up. There were tears at the corners of her eyes.

  “What?” I said.

  “Kate Hubbell’s dead. Police found her body a few hours ago.”

  “What happened?”

  AJ shook her head. “Don’t know. Maury wants us at the office right now.”

  “What about Lenny?”

  “He’s okay. Maury called Henri first.”

  I put the mugs in the sink, switched off the coffeemaker, and grabbed a pair of wind pants. We took my car. It was barely a five-minute trip without traffic. There were two patrol SUVs out in front of the Post Dispatch offices. I left the car at the curb, parked behind a familiar-looking unmarked sedan.

  We went through the front door and up the stairs to Maury’s office. His door was open.

  “Come on in,” Maury said when he saw us. He was talking with Charles Bigelow, who was perched on the corner of Maury’s desk. Bigelow didn’t acknowledge our arrival. Tina Lawson sat in a client chair, her head down, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

  AJ sat in the chair next to Tina and took her hand. Tina looked up.

  “Who …” she started to cry. “Who would ‘murder’ … kill her?”

  AJ put her arms around Tina’s shoulders.

  Henri stood alone, leaning next to the tall windows at the side of the office. His face was without expression. I glanced his way, and he offered a subtle nod.

  At one end of the rectangular conference table Lenny Stern sat talking with Martin Fleener, Captain of Detectives with the Michigan State Police. An experienced homicide detective, a legendary interrogator, Fleener was six feet tall with angular good looks and classy taste in clothes. He was the department’s most experienced cop.

  Fleener came over and shook hands.

  “Marty,” I said. “What do you know?”

  “I want to hear what you have to say first, Russo.” The captain, ever the professional, was seasoned enough to know that occasional humor or sarcasm eased the rigors of his job. But not this morning. Murder didn’t happen very often in Petoskey, but when it did, Fleener and Emmet County prosecutor Donald Hendricks got testy because their jobs got harder. Murder disrupted a pleasant, quiet community. The City Council pointed fingers, the Chamber of Commerce worried tourists would stay away. Worse still, on this occasion, a woman we knew was dead.

  “Have you interviewed everybody?” I said.

  “Between Detective Javier and me, yeah. Except you and LaCroix over there.”

  “Then let’s talk,” I said.

  “We’ve been using the conference room at the end of the hall,” Fleener said, turning away. “You too, LaCroix. Let’s go,” he added without looking back.

  “Stay here till I get back,” Henri told Lenny.

  The grizzled crime reporter nodded. He was clearly shaken.

  Henri and I followed Fleener down the hall. I felt as though I’d spent more time lately in the Post Dispatch conference room than in my own office.

  Fleener closed the door, and we took chairs at one end of the table.

  “I heard you two were in charge of security,” Fleener said, glaring at each of us. “How’s that going?”

  There was no good answer to that question, so I said, “What happened to Kate?”

  “No, no,” Fleener said. “You first, Russo. From the top.”

  I reprised the basics of our assignment, starting with the email threats and Charles Bigelow. I knew Fleener well enough. He’d interrupt if he had a question or thought I’d left something out, intentionally or otherwise.

  “You have anything to add?” Fleener said to Henri.

  Henri shook his head, slowly.

  “So what happened?” I said.

  “One shot, back of the head. Small caliber, probably a .22, but we’ll wait for the report.”

  “Assassinated?” I said. “A book editor?”

  “I assume it’s tied to the Stern threats.”

  “I would, too,” I said. “But she just arrived, so who would know she was here?”

  “And that she was connected to Lenny and Gloucester Publishing.”

  “Someone’s watching Stern,” Fleener said. “In walks Kate Hubbell.”

  “Then you have to wonder, why kill her and not Lenny?”

  “Who found her?” Henri said.

  “Sheriff’s deputies. Routine patrol, called it in.”

  “Then you got a call,” I said.

  “Usually the way it happens.”

  “Where was she found?” Henri said.

  “West Conway Road. Behind a small warehouse.” The area was a small industrial park just off US 31, north of town.

  “Was she killed at the warehouse?” I said.

  “Too early to tell,” Fleener said. “But we didn’t find a car at the scene.”

  “Somebody took her off the street?” I said. “After she and Tina Lawson split up?”

  “Apparently,” Fleener said. “Lawson left her at her car and walked back to the Perry. We checked, found the car parked at a meter on Lake Street. Had it towed in. We’ll look it over.”

  “Okay if we talk to the others?”

  Fleener nodded. “Be my guest.”

  “Was Tina Lawson the last one to see Kate alive?”

  “As far as we know right now,” Fleener said. “We’re still working the area.”

  “Not much to go on.”

  “One more thing,” Fleener said.

  “What?”

  “A four-foot length of line was tied around her neck.”

  “Strangled?” Henri said.

  “That’s just it,” Fleener said. “No marks. It was tied loosely.”

  “If a bullet did the job, why the rope?” Henri said.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time the mob sent a message,” I said.

  “Yeah, but what’s the message here?” Fleener said.

  “The eyes see, the mouth talks,” I said.

  “That might fit if she was actually strangled,” Fleener said.

  I shook my head. “Makes no sense, Marty.”

  “Got to be a connection,” Henri said. “Has to mean something, or why bother?”

  “Could be the killer’s trying to throw us off,” I said.

  “The mob’s an in-your-face bunch,” Fleener said. “It doesn’t waste time on clever.”

  “Yeah, I get that. But Henri’s right, Marty, it has to mean something.”

  “We’ll have to think on it,” Fleener said. “I’ll put it in the system, see if it hits a match.”

  “Anything with the rope?” Henri said.
r />   “It’s a section of line, like they use on boats.”

  “Could have come from a dozen places around here.”

  “We’ll check anyway,” Fleener said.

  “Any suspects?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” Fleener said. “We’ll start with the threats to Stern. So who do you think’s been threatening northern Michigan’s favorite reporter?”

  “You know about his book?”

  “I do now,” Fleener said.

  “Chicago, murder, and the mob,” I said. “The Baldini crime family’s in the middle of the action. And we know who runs the family.”

  Fleener took in some air and let it out slowly. “Guess we start with Joey DeMio.”

  “He’d be my first choice,” I said.

  Fleener looked at his phone, swiped the screen.

  “Have to get back to the office. What’s the next stop on the book tour?”

  “Harbor Springs, two days,” I said.

  “Okay,” Fleener said. “Anything else?”

  I shook my head.

  “You’ll give me a heads up, you think of anything, right?” Fleener said.

  “You’ll be the first to know,” I said as the captain left the conference room.

  “You held out on a couple of details,” Henri said.

  “That bother you?”

  “Of course not,” Henri said. “I figured you had your reasons.”

  “What would we have told him? Some teenager with a tattoo tried to scare us? He’d laugh. Let’s find something solid before we take it to Fleener.”

  16

  “What’s next?” Henri said.

  “Lenny and Tina. Let’s talk to them first.”

  We returned to Maury’s office. He sat at the small conference table with Lenny. No Bigelow, no AJ, no Tina.

  “Where’re the others?” I said.

  “Charles went to pack,” Maury said. “Tina and AJ went out front.”

  “You taking Bigelow to the airport?”

  Maury shook his head. “Two of our people will do it in the company van.”

  I glanced at Lenny, who seemed to be staring off somewhere.

  “You okay, Lenny?” I said.

  He shrugged, but his face looked tired and drawn. Absent was the mischievous grin of the street-hardened veteran crime reporter.