Goodnight, Irene ik-1

by Jan Burke

  She listened for a moment. “Yes,” she said, looking over at me, “I know. A message for Miss Kelly? Well, certainly, let him in. Tell Detective Baird to meet us on the side patio.”

  She pressed the receiver down and then pressed a couple of buttons on the phone. “Mary? Would it be possible for you to get a couple of sandwiches and a thermos of coffee together without sending Henri into a fit? Thank you, my dear, I know you’re taking your life into your hands on my behalf.”

  She hung up. “Shall we go downstairs? Mr. Baird has told my guard that he would like to speak to you.”

  “I’m sorry to cause you all of this trouble.”

  “You must learn to stop apologizing to me, my dear. It’s unbecoming. Besides, I never do anything I don’t want to do.” She smiled, and moved to the stairway.

  We made our way down the stairs in silence. I couldn’t figure out what Pete was up to. If this was his idea of a way to keep tabs on me for Frank’s sake, I was going to be pissed.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Elinor said, “I suppose we should put our shoes back on. Detective Baird may wonder why we are running around in our stocking feet.” I reluctantly got back into my heels. When I’ve gone a few months without wearing high heels, the next time I get into them I look like someone who’s on ice skates for the first time. She beckoned me to follow her through a different door from the one we had entered by and I wobbled out after her.

  The door opened onto a short hallway that ran between the kitchen and the stairs to the basement. I peered down into the basement while we waited there a moment. From what I could see, it was a small room that housed some gardening equipment, old newspapers, and a couple of spare propane tanks of the kind used for barbecues.

  A stout, elderly lady in a blue housecoat opened a door opposite the one to the basement. Behind her, I caught a glimpse of the enormous kitchen, a hive of activity in which tonight’s banquet was being prepared. She closed the door behind her and winked at Elinor as she stepped into the hall. “There you are, Miss Elinor,” she said, handing over a thermos and two large wrapped sandwiches. “And don’t you worry about Henri. He knows better than to fuss at me.”

  “You’re a wonder, Mary. This is Irene Kelly. Irene, this is Mary O’Brien, who has been with our family for many years.”

  “Kelly,” said Mary, “that’s a good name.”

  “O’Brien’s not half bad either,” I said, and we smiled and shook hands.

  Elinor thanked her and we stepped outside onto a small lighted patio. The patio held two large gas barbecues and some white patio furniture. It was surrounded by a low hedge. Pete was standing to one side, pulling nervously at his collar. I shot him a “this-had-better-be-good” look.

  “Elinor Sheffield Hollingsworth, this is Detective Pete Baird.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Baird. I’ve brought you some sandwiches and coffee. It’s not quite the fare Miss Kelly will be dining on this evening, but I supposed it would be better than waiting for her on an empty stomach.”

  “That’s very kind of you, ma’am. I know you’re very busy here tonight and I appreciate your letting me speak with Miss Kelly.”

  “Think nothing of it. Do you wish this to be a private conversation?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am. It’s nothing like that.” He turned to me. “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t need to worry about Hawkeyes anymore. I got a call on my radio a little while ago. He’s dead.”

  34

  “WHO ON EARTH is Hawkeyes?” asked Elinor. “A man who seems to have followed us from Las Piernas to Phoenix. We think he killed two women there,” I explained. Again, that image of Elaine Tannehill came haunting me.

  “Oh, yes, the story in today’s paper. What happened to him, Mr. Baird?”

  “Department got a tip he was holed up in a little hotel down on Fifty-sixth. When they checked it out, he was dead. I don’t have any details yet. We might need for you to come in later and identify him as the guy you saw leaving the Tannehill place, Irene. But mainly, I just wanted you to know. Figured you’d be a little relieved.”

  “A little.” In truth, I was wondering who was so thoroughly cleaning up after himself. “Thanks for telling me, Pete. I guess I’ll feel better when we know who’s really behind all of this.” I looked at him, standing there with his thermos and sandwiches. I never saw anyone look so out of place. “Aren’t you off duty?”

  “Officially, yes. But I told Frank I’d keep an eye on you, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

  “I’m fine. Why don’t you go home and relax?”

  “You’ll find out I can be just as hardheaded as you are. Go on and enjoy your party. Thanks for the sandwiches, Mrs. Hollingsworth. Sorry to disturb you.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Baird. Good evening.”

  He walked off across the gravel parking area. Elinor and I watched him in silence.

  “What an amusing man,” she said after a moment. “I don’t think he came up here to tell you about this Hawkeyes fellow at all. I believe he was simply concerned about your safety.”

  “I doubt that he worried I was in any danger in this crowd. He may have been checking up on me for other reasons — it’s a long story. Anyway, I suppose we should rejoin the others? Guy is probably wondering what happened to me, and I’m sure you want to spend some time with your other guests.”

  “Yes,” she sighed, “I suppose so. But I’ve enjoyed myself. You must come out here sometime when there isn’t such a crowd.”

  “I’d like that.”

  We went back to the veranda. The others were just starting to move toward the hall, where dinner was about to be served. Elinor walked me over to Guy, who was talking with a local businessman.

  “Thank you for loaning Miss Kelly to me, Guy, I’ve enjoyed her company.”

  “I won’t say I haven’t missed her, but I’m sure the two of you got along famously.”

  She left to go to her husband’s side and we moved to our table, which was shared by four other couples, all of them business leaders in Las Piernas. As I half-listened to their chatter about the effects of redevelopment on our downtown business district, I wondered at the net worth of the table (a fantastic sum, I’m sure), about what drew these people to these events (in a nutshell, power and influence) and if they really enjoyed them (highly doubtful).

  Guy and I chatted amiably through dinner. I told him of my tour through the house. He remarked that Elinor showed very few people more than this modernized area, and that such a tour was a sign that she’d taken a great liking to me. One of the guests at our table said, “You’re Kenny O’Connor’s sister-in-law, aren’t you? I thought he mentioned his sister-in-law worked with his dad on the paper.”

  Rather than going through the business about ex–sister-in-law and on-and-off reporter, I simply said yes, I was.

  “Kind of surprised he’s not here tonight,” the man said. “He’s a regular booster of Hollingsworth.”

  “He’s had an accident, I’m afraid. He may be out of commission for a while.”

  Coos of sympathy all around while I tried to count how many lies I had just told. I hadn’t figured Kenny for having any political interest. He had a construction business, so maybe he needed to grease some wheels at City Hall. But I couldn’t figure out what a district attorney could do for him.

  Dessert and coffee were served, then Andrew Hollingsworth rose and made a brief speech of thanks to his guests. As he spoke, I thought of how easy it must be for him to win over a jury. He had a way of mixing enthusiasm and forceful persuasion that made you feel as if he must be right about whatever he had to say. Perhaps only later would you realize that, unlike the warning on cereal boxes, the package had been sold by volume, not by weight.

  The party gradually wound down. We took our leave, and I thanked Elinor again for the special treatment. Her husband and the mayor broke off a tête-à-tête when we approached to say our good-byes, and seemed quite happy that we didn’t linger.

  As w
e walked out to Guy’s car he said, “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I tried calling Ann Marchenko. I’m not sure what’s happened to her. Her phone is disconnected and she seems to have gone out of town. I’m afraid it may be quite difficult to get in touch with her anytime soon.”

  “Nuts,” I said. “She knows something, and now I may never find out what it is.”

  “Yes, it’s all very strange, isn’t it?” he said. He paused as we got into the car. He started the engine and we drove out of the parking area and past the guardhouse. Pete had turned his car around and was waiting for us. I looked in the rearview mirror; sure enough, he was following us.

  “I see we still have our shadow, eh?” said Guy. “Anyway, as I was saying, I thought there was something very strange about what had happened with Mrs. Marchenko. As I’m sure you know, bank employees who quit suddenly and then disappear from view raise our suspicions, so I did a little investigating of my own.”

  I looked toward him. He had a grin of self-satisfaction.

  “And?” I said.

  “And I am convinced that she herself is not guilty of embezzlement or anything of that nature. But I think she saw something. As you know, she worked in our safe-deposit area. Do you know much about safe-deposit boxes?”

  “I’ve never had much of anything worth keeping in one.”

  “Then I’ll tell you something about how it works. The bank has one key; the customer has another. The customer must sign in, and the signature is compared to a signature card. The customer and a bank official walk into the vault, and the customer hands over his or her key to the bank official only long enough to open the small door behind which the box is kept. The two keys are inserted, and the box removed and handed to the customer; the customer’s key is returned. Usually, the customer is shown to a private viewing area. Under no circumstances are we allowed to see what the customer has in the deposit box, or to watch as he or she opens it.”

  “That doesn’t sound so great when you stop and think about it. The bank has no idea what people are storing in its vault?”

  “That is the policy of every bank I have ever worked for. They do not want to have liability for what is in the boxes. There are certain laws, though, which make us pay attention to patterns of use of safe-deposit boxes — laws which concern money laundering.”

  I perked up, remembering the computer notes. LDY?$VS$. “Maybe that was what O’Connor had been referring to in his notes — something about money laundering.”

  “Really? That’s very interesting.” He was quiet for a moment, as if thinking over what I had told him, then he went on. “Let me try to explain how a safe-deposit box might be used for money laundering. Drug dealing and other illegal activities often produce large amounts of cash. There are federal reporting laws which require us to have a customer fill out a form whenever more than ten thousand dollars in cash is deposited.”

  “What if they just launder it in slightly smaller amounts?”

  “The law also requires that the bank report what are known as ‘suspicious transactions.’ Say someone always deposits $9999, staying just under the limit — the bank is required to report these transactions to the IRS. We must file a Currency Transaction Report.

  “And so anyone who has some reason to hide cash or movements of cash must find ways to do it without attracting the bank’s attention.”

  “But someone attracted Ann Marchenko’s attention?”

  “Exactly. Safe-deposit boxes can be used in a number of ways to launder money. One method is to put two people on the signature card, and use the safe-deposit box itself as a way of transferring funds. Person X goes into the vault and deposits a certain sum in the safe-deposit box. Person Y shows up sometime later and takes the cash out. Who will know?”

  “Do you think Ann Marchenko suspected something like that?”

  “Until you came by asking for her, I really had no idea. But I did a little snooping around and found that she has a very close friend at the bank, another employee that she often went to lunch with. I talked to this woman, and she told me, after a time, that Ann had noticed something suspicious in the safe-deposit area. She had reported it to her supervisor, Ramona Ralston. Apparently Miss Ralston told Ann not to mention it to anyone else, and said she would take care of it. This was some weeks ago. As far as I can tell, Miss Ralston never mentioned it to any other person in bank management. I am one of the people who should have heard of this.”

  “Any idea what she learned?”

  “No, but at least we have something to go on. I will be going over our records of movements in and out of the safe-deposit area to see if I can discover anything, find any patterns.”

  “Guy, this is great. Please let me know if you find out anything more.”

  “Certainly. I’ve sort of enjoyed being an amateur detective,” he said.

  We arrived at my house. He pulled over to the curb and shut off the engine. He turned toward me. I was a little uncomfortable. Pete had pulled over some distance behind us and discreetly turned out his lights. But more than that, I was afraid of what Guy’s expectations might be at this point.

  “Irene, I am concerned about your staying here tonight.”

  “I have a confession to make, Guy. I haven’t been staying here for a few days. I trust you, but I owe it to the person who took me in not to publicize where I am staying now. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, not at all. I understand. It is wise, really. We should not have met here, though.”

  “In hindsight, I think you’re right.”

  “And now, as an amateur detective, may I make another observation?”

  “Sure.” Uh-oh, I thought, here it comes.

  “You are not really interested in — well, shall we say, seeing me again?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Guy,” I said, flustered at his directness. “This is such a mixed up time for me — I don’t know.”

  How lame can you get, I chided myself — why don’t you be as direct as he is? “The truth is,” I went on, “I’ve recently met up again with someone that I knew a long time ago. There has always been some spark between us. We probably don’t have a prayer of ever making it work out — he’s a cop, and that creates some problems in itself — but the spark is there. I guess I’d like to see what happens. I should probably have my head examined for not forgetting the whole thing. And for disappointing someone like you — you’re an attractive and interesting man. And I enjoy your company.”

  “Oh, Irene, stop. Next you’ll tell me I’m a nice guy, and every man hates to hear a woman say that.” He laughed. “Well, do you have any sisters? Any more like you at home?”

  This brought on an idea. “I wouldn’t dare introduce you to my sister — as I said, I like you, Guy. But there are more at home, you might say. Let me think about it. I may have a friend you would like. In fact, I think you would like her very much.”

  “Well, Irene, if your old flame turns out to have burned out after all, then keep me in mind. And I’m game to meet your friend. But I hope you will let me continue to help on this story you are working on?”

  “More than that, Guy. I really need your help — and I would hope we could be friends.” I paused, looking at him and thinking I really was crazy. “I appreciate your being so understanding,” I said. “I feel kind of bad about not being able to respond the way you would have liked me to.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself over it, chère. I’m always glad to have a friend. When I was twenty, this would have been a disaster. But at this point in life, friends are very important to me. Now, go home, and get a good night’s sleep. I’ll call you when I’ve learned more about whatever it was that frightened Mrs. Marchenko away from the bank.”

  “Goodnight, Guy.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek. He smiled and said goodnight, and I got out of the car. I waited until he drove away, then waved to Pete, got in my own car, and drove off to Lydia’s, Pete right behind me.

  When I got to Lydia’s, he got out of his car an
d came over to me. He looked at his watch. “Well, it’s midnight. How does it feel to have had a day when nobody tried to kill you?” he asked.

  “Pretty good, really. The business at the house scared me, but I’ve learned my lesson there.”

  “Yeah, well, I hope so.”

  “You finally going home now, or am I going to see your car parked out front all night?”

  “Going home. You take care, Irene.”

  “You too, Pete.”

  I crept into the house, only to find Lydia and Cody watching television together. At least, Cody was giving the impression of watching it.

  “Well, hello there,” she called.

  “Hi. How are you doing?”

  “Fine, but I’m worried that you’re mad at me.”

  “For calling Frank? No, I guess I should thank you for that. You were right — I was being stupid.”

  “I don’t know, Irene. Later I thought about it and I figured you were just getting sick of having all of us hovering over you all the time.”

  “The jury is still out on that one. Anyway — change of subject — how would you like to meet someone tall, dark, and handsome?”

  “This, I take it, is a rhetorical question?”

  “Let’s have lunch together on Monday. I’d like to have you meet somebody.”

  “Gonna make me wait until Monday, huh? Okay, you’re on.”

  “Well, I’m turning in. I’ll let you sleep with that whore of a cat of mine.”

  “He is sort of like a living teddy bear, isn’t he?”

  “At nineteen pounds, he could be mistaken for a bear.”

  Cody gave me a look that said he understood perfectly well what I was saying, and didn’t appreciate it much. He snorted. We laughed. That really made him mad, and he jumped off her lap and trotted off to the kitchen to sniff at his food bowl.

  “Well, I guess he’s going to stop sleeping with me for good now,” I said. “Goodnight.”

  “‘Night.”

  I was in bed with the lights out when I remembered that I’d told Frank I’d call him. It was after midnight. I decided he would be more upset if I didn’t call than if I did and woke him up. I reached over and picked up the phone by the bed. It had one of those light-up dials, so I called him in the dark. He answered on the second ring.