"I hadn't thought of it like that. Besides, I don't do their hiring."
"Speaking of which, is Martin still around?"
"You're suggesting that he's involved?"
"I'm just asking a question," I said.
"I don't see how. I think it's just coincidental. Anyway, like I told you, Paul took his violin out of this safe a few weeks back. Why would Martin stick around if that's all he was interested in?"
"To make it not look obvious," I offered. "But instead of arguing with you I'd prefer if you just answered my question."
"Yes, Martin's still around. I saw him yesterday. Though you won't find him today or tomorrow, he doesn't work the weekends."
I nodded.
"We'll see if he shows up on Monday."
"I don't see why he wouldn't."
"One last thing. Who benefits the most from Paul's death, here in the orchestra?"
"Probably Milo Ellis," said Frank, looking over at the orchestral musicians. Milo was being interviewed by Simms. "You don't think he'd have something to do with it?"
Frank looked at me with a genuinely questioning face.
"It's too early to say."
Personally, I didn't like Milo for it. There was something insipid and uninspiring about him. But I liked to keep my options open, and when gathering intel on a case it's best to let others keep their minds open too.
"I think that'll be all, Frank. How can I get a hold of you tomorrow if I need to?"
"I'll be here. We all will. There's a matinee and an evening performance."
I nodded, and walked off the stage towards Terry. He got up and met me in the aisle. Terry wore his black chauffeur's suit better than Frank did. Though to me he looked more like an undertaker, and that was appropriate.
TEN
Chapter 10
TERRY drove very sedately away from Lincoln Center. Terry got onto W 58th and headed south. I knew that from the street signs. I was making note of my whereabouts. We passed behind the Ritz where I was staying and then onto Madison Avenue where he headed north to E 61st. New York, it seemed to me, had more one way streets than the path to hell.
I was starting to get dizzy by the time Terry turned left again onto Fifth. He dropped me off across from the park and right outside the main doors of what looked like a hotel. I saw the name on the awning. It said "The Royce", and it looked like the Rolls Royce of hotels.
"Just let the concierge know you're here for Mrs. Varnier and he'll escort you up."
I thanked Terry and got out of the car carrying my hat. I walked into the opulence that is The Royce. The foyer was outrageous. It consisted of marble flooring that sparkled as if it were winking at me a shared joke. The ceilings were huge and a large waterfall splashed in the middle. An abstract Zen suggestion of a water fall. It must have been twenty feet high. The ceiling was painted like the Sistine Chapel, but it didn't look religious in motif. I found the concierge desk and walked up to the older man who wore a dark blue suit with matching blue gloves that you might have mistaken for skin except his face was the polished brown of walnut.
He smiled at me as if I was an old friend. His teeth were large and white and his nostrils flared out like a race horse. His hair was short and reminded me of salt dusted peppercorns. He was a couple of inches taller than me and thicker around the chest and waist.
"Good evening, sir," he said.
He had a relaxed almost grandfatherly warmth to him.
"Hello," I said. "I'm here for Sonia Varnier."
"Of course, can I get your name please, sir?"
He was polite and warm. His smile seemed almost permanently carved into his face. I told him my name and he asked for ID. He was very gracious about it, explained how they'd had some ne'er-do-wells recently. And well, you know, precautions being how they are. I nodded all the while, sizing this fellow up. When he was satisfied he handed me back my driver's license and asked me to follow him. I did, and I watched him walk towards one of the far elevators. His blue gloved hands hung like swinging hammers. He moved softly and quickly on his feet without much effort. I'd put money on him having been a boxer. He had the graceful movement of one.
We got into the elevator together. He pulled out a key from his pocket and put it into the control panel. Then he pushed the button that had V on it. There were only three buttons on this elevator. M, 1 and V. I figured this was Sonia's private elevator. Jeremiah, as he had introduced himself to me, and as his name tag indicated, didn't say a word to me. He stood the whole journey with his hands clasped loosely in front of him and facing forward, though I could feel him watching me the whole time.
When we got to floor V, which I figured was somewhere really high up, he insisted that I get out first. I did. His insistence was patient but forceful. I had the suspicion we'd head back down if I didn't do as he asked.
There was only one way to go and that was straight down a short hallway to two large solid wood, intricately carved doors along a soft but intricately woven carpet. I stopped at the doors and Jeremiah came up to my right. He pushed the button and I heard a song hummed inside somewhere far away.
A short while later I heard high heels clicking towards the door. A short, slim woman opened the door. I put her in her seventies. She wore it well. Her hair was short and curly and brown. Not her natural color. She wore a navy suit with a white blouse underneath. Her bosoms were ample and surprisingly firm. She wasn't stunning, rather quite plain, and she didn't wear much makeup, but she still had a charm. I figured in her youth she would have been a lot of fun.
She smiled at Jeremiah, and then at me. She held out her hand and I shook it delicately like I was holding a baby kitten.
"You must be Mr. Carrick?" she said, "I'm Sonia Varnier."
"Please call me Anthony, Sonia," I replied.
Sonia looked over at Jeremiah and nodded at him.
"Thank you, Jeremiah."
He nodded at her and walked back down the hall towards the lift. Sonia opened the door wider and invited me in. I stepped into a foyer that seemed as large and as opulent as the main foyer many floors down.
"Nice place you have," I said, trying to start the conversation with the kindling of small talk.
"Thank you, Anthony," she said. "My husband bought this place only a few years after we were married."
"It's a nice apartment."
"It is, though I meant to say he bought the building at the time. The apartment was convenient for us to move into."
"I take it that's how you made your money?"
Sonia smiled at me and invited me further into her home towards a bank of couches and chairs. I figured it was the living room but it went on for years so I couldn't be sure.
"That's how my late husband made our money. I don't have much involvement in the business anymore. My son, Garrett, runs the company now, I just have an honorary chair on the board."
I nodded at her and followed her as she walked over to the first couch and chair. She took a well padded lounge chair and offered me the couch in front of her. I sat down in it and felt lost in its expanse and softness. It was more comfortable than my bed. In front of us was a wooden table with small sculptures on it of the female form. They were as realistic as Barbie dolls, but nevertheless tempting to look at.
A butler walked up to me, dressed in a tuxedo and white gloves. He was in his fifties with black hair and roundness around his midsection that suggested he was paid well to wait on guests.
"Can I offer you a drink, sir?" he asked, leaning forward towards me.
"I'll have a Scotch if you've got it."
"Blended or single?"
"Single."
The butler bowed himself away towards the far end of the room where he got my drink ready.
"Alfred has been with me for twenty-five years now," she said, looking at him as he prepared my drink.
He hadn't offered her one, and I could see why. She was sipping on a glass of red wine.
"My late husband hired Alfred just before he passed
."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said.
Sonia smiled kindly at me.
"Not at all, that's been almost twenty-five years ago now."
"He must have been a young man," I said.
Sonia nodded and took a sip of her wine.
"Yes, he was only fifty-five. It was a sudden heart attack. Took me by surprise, he was very fit."
I nodded. There wasn't much more I could say. I was talking to a stranger about her late husband who meant nothing to me, and she likely had more money than she knew what to do with, and most likely didn't need my fake sympathy. Not that I wasn't sympathetic in a small way. I was, but better people are cut down in the prime of their lives all the time.
Alfred came back carrying a silver tray, that from the dull shine of it was probably made from real silver. It had an intricately formed lip. On it was a bottle of Scotch and a tumbler and another glass full of ice. The bottle of Scotch was Macallan 1949. It was two thirds full of its golden liquor.
"Will this do, sir?" asked Alfred, leaning down towards me.
"Looks fine," I said, "thanks. No ice."
Alfred poured me a generous three fingers and placed the glass down on a coaster in front of me. He looked at Sonia and she nodded at him. He bowed himself away and moved just out of earshot but still attentive.
"My husband was a Scotch drinker too," said Sonia. "He loved his single malt. It's not often I've been able to offer some of his single malts to guests. Seems that Scotch is an acquired taste that not many young men seem to take to anymore. That's a shame."
"A crying one," I said.
I put my hand out for the Scotch and took a sip. It was smooth and warm and I tasted hints of burnt mango smoked over oak. That wasn't really so. I wasn't a snob about my whisky. It just tasted like more so I had another sip. Yeah, it was good. I'm sure it cost a few bucks.
"Do you like it?" asked Sonia.
"Very smooth," I said.
"A bottle like that sells for almost twenty thousand dollars nowadays," she said.
"I'll try not to spill any then."
I smiled at her.
"You're not very impressed by wealth, are you, Anthony?"
"Not particularly," I said.
"What does impress you?" she asked.
"Sleeping babies, honest, hard-working men with leathery faces and scuffed hands. Women with short skirts and ample breasts. The curve at the bottom of her calf like a knowing smile when she wears high heeled shoes."
Sonia smiled at me.
"Are you always this facetious?"
"You asked what impressed me, those are some of the things that impress me. I'll tell you another thing that impresses. Men who can live good lives when all around them temptation comes calling. The same goes for women."
"I have the feeling that's a pointed remark in my direction," said Sonia.
"You never remarried?"
"No, I never found the right man."
"Or were you grabbing at the fragile, fraying edges of youth."
"You're a quick study," said Sonia. "I admit to having had a weakness for youthful vigor, though I gave up on that a few years ago."
"You gave up on it, or he did?"
"Does it matter?"
"I suppose not."
I leaned back into the couch and swirled the Scotch in my glass. The light in the room was soft and warm, and my belly was feeling light and happy. I was hungry, and Sonia wasn't in the kitchen cooking. Not that I expected she would have been. I figured that Frank telling me she was making me dinner was a figure of speech not a literal telling of what was happening. Seeing the butler, I wouldn't have been surprised if she had an Iron Chef in her kitchen right now.
"Do you have any dietary restrictions?" asked Sonia, sipping her wine.
"I'm not fussy."
"Then I hope you'll enjoy what my chef has prepared."
"I'm sure I will, so long as it isn't poisoned."
I smiled at her and took a sip of Scotch. I was thinking I could get used to a place like this. I could huddle deep within these walls, drinking Scotch, eating steak and getting soft, and being as depressed as the best of them.
A Hispanic woman in a black French maid's uniform came up and spoke to Sonia. She told her that dinner was ready anytime we were.
"Are you hungry?" asked Sonia.
"I could eat."
"Then why don't we go to the dining room."
Sonia got up and led the way to a dining room that was bigger than my apartment. At least that's what it looked like. There was a dark brown table spread out along its length. Around it were the same dark brown wooden chairs with soft cushions on the seat and backrests with arm rests that weren't covered with cushions. I counted ten of them. At the head of the table was a setting and to the right was another setting.
Alfred pulled out the chair at the head of the table for Sonia and tucked her in when she sat down. I now knew which seat was mine. I went to sit down and Alfred tucked me in too. I didn't like that, but I didn't complain.
We were served weeds that looked like they had been plucked from the cracks in New York city's sidewalks. It was a small bowl and got me wondering how vegetarians survive. It wasn't bad. I tasted a mustardy flavor to the dressing. Next up was a serving that looked like some sort of fungus you might find in a wood. I was certain it wasn't edible but Sonia assured me it was. It must have been the look on my face. She told me it was black winter truffle with scallions and tamari. It tasted good if I were to be honest.
The next dish to be served was the one I thought was going to be dinner. The places I go to are usually a one plate meal. I like the simple things in life. Having eaten two meals already I was wondering how long this meal was going to last.
The chef served us this course, which I figured was the main course. He served Sonia first, and explained how it was a duck confit with fork crushed fingerling potatoes, pickled pearl onions, fines herbes and au jus. I had no idea what it meant, but Sonia nodded with twinkling eyes and a big smile. I guess it was to her satisfaction.
Next he placed a filet mignon in front of me on a plain white plate. It had a hash brown potato patty next to it, which the chef called a hashed brown potato cake. My filet mignon was also wrapped in bacon which I figured was overkill. I usually like to eat just one kind of meat at a time. This the chef informed me was applewood smoked bacon. The whole thing had a brown gravy drizzled over the top of it. Only it wasn't gravy. The chef smiled at my description. He called it a Bordelaise sauce which he explained is made with butter, red wine, shallots, sauce demi-glace and bone marrow. The last bit had me losing my appetite. I nodded at him and tried to smile. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with just a plain old steak with a nice and classic mushroom or Béarnaise sauce.
The chef offered me red wine. I didn't pay attention to what kind it was, but he said it would go better with the meal than my Scotch. Who was I to argue with him. He topped up Sonia's glass as well. When he replaced the bottle I saw it was a Cabernet.
I peeled off my bacon and put it to one side, and started in on the filet mignon. It was damn good. Probably the best filet mignon I'd ever had in my life.
"Everything okay, Anthony?" asked Sonia, popping a piece of duck into her mouth.
"Very good, actually," I said, and I didn't even have to lie.
The chef grinned and removed himself from the dining room. We sat in silence for a little while, working our way through the meal and sipping red wine.
"Why did you want someone from LA instead of New York?" I asked Sonia, looking at her as she speared an onion with her fork. "There must be some good PIs here."
"I didn't just want anyone from LA, I specifically wanted you."
"That's very flattering," I said, "but why?"
Sonia took her time eating the onion and looking down the far end of the table at ghosts. Maybe she envisioned her husband down there. After she had finished chewing she looked at me and smiled.
"I have friends in Hollywood," s
he said. "They spoke highly of you. Not only of your abilities but of your discretion as well."
"The Max Ernst case," I said.
Sonia nodded.
"I also followed up by talking with Chief Burton."
"That surprises me," I said.
"Why?"
"That you'd still want to hire me after speaking with him."
I put more filet mignon in my mouth and chewed on it, watching Sonia.
"He acknowledged the two of you hadn't seen eye to eye, but he told me that you were the best homicide detective he'd ever known."
I guess water could wash away under a bridge. I smiled at Sonia and she smiled back.
"Besides, you're cheap."
"Is that so?"
Sonia nodded.
"I always thought I might be easy, but never cheap," I said, grinning at her.
"Half the price of most of the better PIs I inquired about here in New York," said Sonia.
"I see, perhaps next time I'll negotiate higher rates."
We ate in silence and I sipped my wine. I looked around at this massive room and the even bigger apartment which was at least two floors high if not three, and I got to thinking that this woman must be lonely in here all by herself. No wonder she took a shine to Paul.
"I'm sure by now you realize this case has turned into a homicide investigation," I said.
Sonia nodded, but she didn't look at me. She put a piece of potato in her mouth and chewed it slowly.
"Does that change your rates?" she asked.
"No."
Sonia looked at me and offered a weak smile. I'd seen more teeth from the local toothless bums in the park earlier. Sonia picked up her napkin and dabbed at her eyes. They filled with water but she held the flood back. She dabbed at them again.
"Sorry," she said. "I just heard a couple of hours ago. I'm still trying to understand it."
I looked at Sonia. She was as fragile as the last autumn leaf on a maple tree in winter's gusts. Money couldn't assuage the pain of loss, and as much as I had my opinions on her and Paul, it was apparent that she cared for him. Deeply.
"You were close to Paul, I understand?"
Sonia looked at me, blinked her eyes and nodded. Her face had turned soft and vulnerable like that of a puppy. She scrunched up the napkin in her lap and a tear rolled down her cheek. She dabbed at it. I felt like a Presbyterian minister at the Pope's funeral. So I tucked into my food and looked across at the empty chair.
Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 38
