Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Jason Blacker

  TWENTY

  Chapter 20

  THE walk through the park put things in perspective. Murder Inc. was at an all time low in the city. That still put about one point one five New Yorkers dead every day. A guy in my line of work could make a killing in this city. Not that I was thinking of moving. LA had more than enough to keep me busy. Less in real number but more as percentages.

  Still it always got me to thinking about why people kill each other. Not for good reasons. The good murders, if I can call them that, are rare. I'm talking about saving your own life or the life of someone you love. No, I'm talking about the everyday murders. The ones I get tied up in. The ones for no good reasons, or no reason at all.

  Like this one. No reason at all to kill Klee. Really, I think a spoiled brat like that would have given up the key to the locker with just a slap on the cheek. Instead they send Niklas, probably a psychopath to do a bully's job. Hell, he almost killed me if it wasn't for Sven.

  I scrub away at the edges of this social mold, but it still spreads, staining enough lives everyday to make a good man weary.

  But I was getting maudlin and that's not how I wanted to remember my last days in the Big Apple. People were out in the park, playing and watching over kids. Some were on their way home from a day's grind. I was hoping to catch someone before they got off work. I was gonna call in that favor I figured I was owed.

  I walked up West 65th Street against the traffic. I found the administration building I had first visited at Lincoln Center and I took the flights to get to Moody's office. I walked into the reception area. Christina Tedder was there behind her desk shuffling some papers. She looked up and smiled at me.

  It was a smile could make you forget what you knew. But I wasn't in the forgetting kind of mood. I smiled back.

  "Mr. Carrick, nice to see you again," she said.

  "Likewise."

  "Frank's not in at the moment," she said. "You can probably find him in the hall."

  "It's not Frank I'm here to see," I said, still smiling.

  "Then who is it?"

  "You."

  She frowned and put her right hand to her chest.

  "Me? Really?"

  "Really."

  She seemed a little more nervous than she should be if she had nothing to hide.

  "Then how can I help?" she said trying to recover her composure.

  "You know I was brought in to investigate Klee going missing. Then it turned into a homicide."

  "I know, terrible that happened."

  "Some wouldn't think so."

  She furrowed her brow some more. It was cute. But cute had long before been put to bed.

  "There were a lot of folks around who had a lot of reasons to do an unkindness to Klee, maybe even kill him."

  Christina's mouth got hard and sharp like a mouth carved from marble.

  "I hope you're not suggesting I killed him," she said.

  I waved my hand in front of me as if that was the silliest idea I'd ever heard in my life.

  "Good heavens no," I said. "Though I think you're quite capable of that sort of thing."

  More squinting and furrowing. I was planting bushelfuls of the seeds of doubt. I figured they'd start yielding a bountiful crop any minute now.

  "As I said, how can I help you?"

  "You want to get down to brass tacks. I like that. Where's the violin?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  That wasn't the response I thought I'd get from someone who knew nothing about the violin. An appropriate response might have been to inquire over which violin.

  "The violin you took from The Glovebox," I said. "The Blount violin that belonged to Klee."

  "Didn't belong to him," she said.

  That's what I was looking for.

  "I know," I said. "In fact, I'm glad it'll get back to the family that should have it."

  She looked up at me and searched for a while. Feeling for any tell tale signs of lies. She wouldn't find any, because there were none.

  "I still don't know how I can help you."

  "I'll get to that. Christina Tedder isn't your real name, is it?"

  A blank stare. I smiled at her.

  "Okay," I said. "I'll make this easy. I think we're on the same side. I don't care about the violin, but I'd like some closure on this case for those who did care about Klee, even though many, and I'd include you in it, didn't. The way I see it is you haven't shipped that violin off. No, you're gonna personally deliver it back to Israel and the family it belongs to. It's valuable and that's what it deserves. Now here's what I can do. I can be an asshole when I want to be. Everybody knows that, it's just in my nature. You help me and I won't tell NYPD that you've got the violin. They'll put unis on you and tail you. Heck I might even swear to an affidavit that I saw you personally take it. That'll get them a warrant…"

  "Okay, Mr. Carrick," she said, "I get what you're saying."

  "It's Anthony, friends and business associates call me Anthony. We're doing business here."

  "What do you want, Anthony?" she asked.

  It was an accent I could get used to waking up next to every morning. But it wasn't gonna happen. Like they say. If wishes were kisses everybody would get laid.

  "I'd like to see some justice for my client. I had a run in with those Germans you've been working against. You can see the rouge and other makeup they applied to my face. Niklas Austerlitz would've killed me if it wasn't for his colleague and the maintenance guy coming back into the apartment. I figure there's no love lost between the three of you."

  "I know who they are," she said.

  "And I figure you're probably with Mossad, right?"

  Christina nodded.

  "Good. I thought as much. That means you have ways of getting things done. Subtle ways. I'd like to see Niklas and Sven get their just desserts. In return you get my everlasting gratitude and silence."

  Christina had stood up and was standing across the counter from me. She looked at me steadily with trained eyes that tried to bore into my soul. It wasn't working, I'd been round the block too many times.

  "What sort of justice are thinking of?" she asked.

  "The biblical kind, emphasis on the Old Testament. An eye for an eye sort of thing."

  "This might not be easy," she said. "Those two have diplomatic immunity, but more than that, I'm not sure they're going to be around much longer having messed this task up."

  "I have every faith in you," I said.

  She rested her chin between her thumb and forefinger and thought for a moment.

  "I'll see what I can do," she said. "Are you only concerned about justice for your client?"

  I grinned at her.

  "Not really. I like to see the world in balance. But seeing how friendly we're being, even if you can't do anything for me, there's justice to be had by returning what rightfully belongs to Mueller's family."

  Christina nodded and smiled at me.

  "I assume you've located the relatives?"

  She nodded.

  "Anke has a granddaughter who'll get the violin. She's married with a family, but she's the oldest living descendant."

  "Good," I said. "Tell me something. I know how you came to learn about the violin, from Stampley. But how did the Germans find out?"

  "There's a secretive branch in the German government that is combing through old records from the war and looking to hijack any items they believe belong to the German people. Anke was a German citizen at the time of her death. I think some in the German government think that the violin belongs to Germany then."

  I nodded and tipped my hat.

  "Good work, Christina, or whatever your name is." I grinned at her. "Better you than them."

  Christina extended her hand out to me and we shook. She had a strong firm grip and she looked straight in the eye. I liked that.

  "Chava Kaplan, Anthony, that's my name," she said, smiling from once more, full soft lips.

  "Chava, I like it. It's unusual." />
  "It means life. Israel appreciates your discretion."

  "To hell with Israel," I said smiling, "what about you?"

  "Me too."

  I turned and walked out of the office and back down onto the street. Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor. And sometimes valor is its own reward.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Chapter 21

  I'D left Lincoln Center just before five. It had been a full day to be sure. Things were falling into place. It was only Tuesday and the week lay ahead of me like a naked concubine upon satin sheets. I thought I might stay the week in Modern Gomorrah and enjoy her company. See some sights, eat some apples and maybe take in a show.

  But this day, this Tuesday, the fourth day here was still needed to wrap up loose ends. I needed to collect my paycheck and deliver the mixed news about this case. I wasn't sure Sonia was going to like the ungainliness of it all. It was an awkward teenage stepchild of a murder. The kind that just won't tuck its loose frayed ends away.

  I got back to the Ritz and made a phone call. Sonia picked up and I told her that my job here was done. She sounded cautiously optimistic. I told her I'd like to see her at her earliest convenience to explain my findings in person. She sounded fine with that. I always prefer to deliver my messages in person. She told me that Terry would come around at seven. She wanted to have me over for dinner.

  She asked what I might like to eat. I told her steak, a big one, would be right up my alley. That was it. I showered and shaved and made myself presentable. I watched the news for a while which just depressed me so I flipped over to a crime drama. In the first five minutes I already knew who'd done it. If only it was that easy in real life.

  With a few minutes left before seven, and after the drama had confirmed my suspicion about the identity of the killer I went downstairs to wait for my ride. The lobby was mostly empty. Some guests coming back from dinner. Others heading out for a show. All dressed impeccably, making me look like a schlump in just slacks and a shirt with a windbreaker over top.

  I didn't have to feel awkward for long. Terry was nothing if he wasn't punctual. At exactly seven he pulled up outside the front doors. If I didn't know any better I might be forgiven for thinking I was in Switzerland.

  I walked out as he was getting out of the driver's side. He opened my door and I stepped into the luxury I had become accustomed to. But not too accustomed.

  We made idle chit chat on the leisurely drive to Sonia's opulent mansion. Terry was nothing if not discreet. Not once did he ask me about the case, but I had a feeling that he was itching to find out. So I teased him with it. Told him I was meeting with his employer to wrap up the case. He politely said how delighted Ms. Varnier would be.

  I nodded and smiled to myself. Perhaps not as delighted as he might think. He said all the right things. How awful it was for such a young talent to be snatched in the prime of his life. I nodded and we commiserated. We knitted polite yarns the rest of the way.

  Terry let me out of the car and tipped his hat to me. I did the same at him. I walked into Varnier's apartment building and introduced myself to Jeremiah like I had the first time. His enthusiasm was just as grand as the first time he had met me. He seemed genuinely pleased to see me again. He even said so. Told me that Ms. Varnier was looking forward to seeing me again.

  I followed him all the way to her front door, just like I had done a few days before. Sonia opened it up and thanked Jeremiah. He headed back from where he had come. Sonia smiled at me and opened the door wider. I walked in, but the place still didn't feel like home. Maybe because it was too big, or maybe because it wasn't home. But mostly because it felt to me clinical and without heart.

  I followed Sonia into the large open living room as we had done the first time. She sat in her chair and I sat down on the couch again. Alfred was all over me like a swarm of flies on a filet mignon. I asked for the Scotch again. He smiled knowingly and moved away quietly. Sonia had in her hand another glass of wine. Red. I had the feeling of déjà vu.

  We didn't say anything as I waited for my drink. After Alfred had delivered it and Sonia had nodded him away, and I'd had a drink we started chatting.

  "Great views you have," I said, starting off nice and slow.

  "Thank you," she said.

  "I just came back from seeing the detectives in charge of this case."

  It was a lie, but a harmless one.

  "That's what you said you wanted to talk to me about. Klee was buried today," she said.

  She looked away from me as her eyes misted over.

  "You should have told me. I would have been there."

  "That's kind of you, but I wanted you to focus on finding out who did this. I'm assuming you know who it was."

  "Who being plural in this case," I said.

  Sonia nodded just a small nod of understanding.

  "You might not be happy with the resolution."

  I looked at her to get a read. She looked at me for a while and then smiled the unhappiest smile I'd seen in New York, and I'd seen a lot of them. She nodded her head again too.

  "I don't see how. You did say you know who did it."

  "Yes, but you're not going to get the justice that I think you were hoping for."

  "I see."

  She looked down at her wine glass and swirled it around a bit. Then she took a sip. I drank some Scotch. After a while she looked at me and held her gaze steady.

  "You might as well tell me about it then. I hate all of this beating around the bush."

  I nodded.

  "It's easy to tell. Two attachés from the German Consulate killed Klee. I should say only one of them did, but they conspired together."

  Sonia's gaze started to falter. Her eyes watered up. She looked down again but that didn't help. The tears dripped out of each eye like shards of glass. Alfred was there with a tissue as if by magic. She took one and dabbed at her eyes. She looked at him with a small, brave smile. He left the tissues on a side table by her chair. She looked back at me.

  "You say it with such coldness," she said.

  I couldn't figure out if that was a barb or just her interpretation of the facts.

  "Didn't mean to," I said. "Those are just the facts. I work in facts mostly. That's what you hired me to do. I try not to get emotionally involved in my cases. It doesn't help."

  She nodded and dabbed at her eyes again. Then she tucked the tissue up into her cardigan sleeve.

  "He was shot twice in the chest," I said. "That's usually a sign of a pro hit. He wouldn't have suffered."

  I was trying to layer a blanket of kindness over this ugly business. I didn't know for a fact that getting shot twice in the chest was painless, I'd never had the misfortune. Maybe as painless as death can be I guess. But people like to hear that. They like to hear that the riverboat over Styx is a quiet smooth ride. Maybe it is. Maybe Klee didn't have time to think about the pain. Maybe the brain was dead before the neurons had a chance to fire. Maybe these are questions that don't need asking.

  Sonia looked up at me and smiled again. The smiles were getting warmer.

  "Is that what made you realize who did it?" she asked.

  I shook my head.

  "Not really," I said. "It's not uncommon for people to shoot more than once in the heat of anger. It could have easily been one of the husbands of the women he was sleeping with. What started to put it all together were these two mystery men I kept hearing about who had been following him. At first it was easy to dismiss, but having met a couple of people who actually saw them was the first clue. Then learning about the value of the violin and the way it was obtained helped me narrow in."

  "What happened to the violin?" she asked. "Have the police found it?"

  I shook my head again.

  "No. But I have."

  "Where is it?"

  "I can't say. It is going back to the rightful owners."

  "And who do you believe to be the rightful owners?"

  I didn't know if that was a pointed
question at me or if Sonia was really asking for my opinion. Sometimes I like to think the best of people, so I gave her my opinion.

  "The relatives of Anke Mueller who was killed in Mittelsteine. They'll get it."

  Sonia nodded and sipped her wine.

  "That seems fair," she said. "I like to think that Paul never knew how the violin was obtained by his grandfather."

  And I like to think that most people aren't that idiotic. But I bit my tongue and instead drank my Scotch. Maybe Paul didn't know for most of his life. But Stampley told him all about it. And then he knew. People just like to disbelieve. Disbelief is as dangerous as belief sometimes. Like the disbelieving wife who doesn't think her husband is diddling the kids. But that's another story.

  I looked at Sonia as she looked down pensively, swirling her wine. She had a small smile on her face, and when she looked up at me she smiled bigger.

  "He was a good man," she said. "Even for all his faults he was good and kind."

  She bracketed her comment with a smile and then looked down. I drank more Scotch, and I didn't say anything. People are always good when they're dead. Hell, we're all saints once we're gone. The Klee I never met was a womanizer, pedant and entitled son of a bitch. But now, he's Saint Klee to those who knew him. Maybe we just like to think better of people than they sometimes are. Loss always turns the blind eye.

  Sonia looked back up at me and her face had hardened. It had taken the color and texture of stone.

  "Why won't there be any justice?" she asked.

  "Because they have diplomatic immunity. But more than that, the cops won't even be able to get as far as gathering the evidence they need."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, for one thing, they'll never give up their guns for ballistic testing. And by now the gunshot residue is long gone."

  "That's not what they make you believe on television."

  She wasn't smiling.

  "TV makes everything look so easy," I said. "Fact is, most times you'll have no chance of finding GSR after about six hours. Even less if the shooter washes his hands and changes his clothes."

  Sonia frowned at me. She didn't like them apples. I didn't either, but that's the barrel we'd been given.