Charles Willeford - New Hope For The Dead

by Unknown

  Hoke grinned. "I thought as much. I also suspect that you knew she was dead because you didn't pull the plug on her air conditioner the last couple of days. But it makes no difference to me, Eddie. Mrs. Feistinger had a long life."

  "She was eighty-four, she told me once. But she probably took off a few years. Either that, or she added on a few. Sometimes the old ladies like to add on a few so you'll say they don't look that old."

  "You've seen your share come and go, Eddie."

  "I've seen a few all right. I'll type up a little notice and put it on the bulletin board tomorrow."

  "Cheers, Eddie. For Mrs. Feistinger."

  "For Mrs. Feistinger."

  Hoke went into the manager's office and typed his report for Mr. Bennett, adding that he had told Mr. Kaplan to keep the old lady's ring for the funeral expenses. There were two or three deaths a month at the retirement hotel, and Mr. Bennett and Kaplan always took care of the paperwork. Deaths weren't Hoke's responsibility, but he kept a carbon of his report to cover himself.

  It was after 3 A.M. before Hoke could fall asleep. On the other hand, he had thought, when he first went to bed, that he wouldn't be able to sleep at all.

  20

  Hoke awoke groggily at 6 A.M., heated water on the hot plate for instant coffee, put his teeth in, and shaved in the bathroom. He had learned already that if he didn't get to the bathroom first in the morning, the girls spent an unconscionable length of time in there. They also managed, somehow, to use every dry towel, and they consumed an unfathomable amount of toilet paper.

  When Hoke was dressed, he filled two cups with strong instant coffee and walked down the corridor to Ellita's room. He banged the door twice with his knee and called out to her. Ellita, wearing her nightgown and a pink quilted robe, opened the door. She had on her large silver circle earrings; she actually does sleep in them, he thought.

  "Sorry to wake you so early, but I wanted to talk to you."

  "I was awake, but I didn't want to get out of bed yet." She lifted the cup in a toast. "This is exactly what I needed. Come on in."

  Hoke sat in the straight chair, and Ellita sat on the edge of her unmade bed. She had turned off the air conditioner, and the odor of her Shalimar and musk was strong in the small room, but not unpleasantly so; maybe he was getting used to it.

  "No use dragging it out," Hoke said, "so I'll get right to the point. We've both got a problem, but I think we can work it out together. I've been through some of this before, and you haven't, but in the next few months some strange things will happen to you. You'll start getting sick in the mornings, and later on, when the baby starts growing inside you, it'll take over your entire body. You'll get these periods of extreme lassitude, and your ti--your breasts, I mean, will hurt. You'll still be able to work okay, right up until the eighth month, but there'll be days when you'll have to force yourself to do anything. You'll also have to see a doctor at least twice a month. You'll have to give up spicy foods, and coffee, too. Then, when the baby comes, you'll either have to take an extended leave without pay, or else have someone take care of it when you go back to work."

  "I know all this, Hoke. And I'm sure that my mother will--"

  "Your mother'll help some, yes. But with your father's attitude, her help will be limited at best. So let me finish. What I thought was this: When I get a house in Miami, it'll be easier to get a three-bedroom than a two-bedroom, so why don't you move in with me and the girls?"

  "I still have to pay the rent for my parents' house, Hoke--"

  "I know. You told me that already. But money won't be a problem, or not so big a problem as it is now. I'll have my entire pay, now that I don't have to pay half of it for child support. And what I'm gonna do, I'm going to go to one of these credit places where they consolidate all your debts and then you pay it off at so much a month with just one payment. In a few months, we'll be in good shape financially. Sue Ellen'll be working, and you can just pay a small portion of the expenses if you want--say half the Florida Power bill, or something like that."

  "I've got quite a bit of money saved, Hoke."

  "You won't have to touch your savings. You'll need your money for the baby. We can drive to work together, and if we need another car during the day, we'll get one from the motor pool."

  "It takes an hour to get a pool car, sometimes longer than that."

  "We're partners, and we'll be together anyway. So we'll still be able to use one car most of the time. The point is, I need you as much as you need me. The girls like you, and you can help me out with them. I know you've never lived alone before, and you shouldn't be all alone while you're pregnant. And certainly not after the baby's born. The girls can watch the baby, and it'll be good for them to learn what it's like."

  "It doesn't seem right to move in on you, Hoke. I love the girls, but--"

  "They love you, too, Ellita. You're a role model for them. We're scheduled to go to the range next month, and I thought maybe we'd take the girls along and you could teach 'em how to shoot a pistol. I'm too impatient to teach 'em, I know."

  "I don't have to move in on you to teach them how to shoot--"

  "Don't say move in -on-, Ellita, say move in -with- us. We'll be like a kind of family. You can have the big bedroom, the master bedroom, all to yourself. We'll get your bedroom furniture, and that way there'll plenty of room for you and the baby when it comes."

  "When -he- comes." Ellita smiled.

  Hoke grinned. "He or she, it doesn't make any difference. Girls are all right, too. My girls have been spoiled rotten by their mother, but they'll get straightened around gradually. Right now, they're still confused about things. But once they start working, they'll change their attitudes in a hurry."

  "The girls are fine now, Hoke." Ellita finished her coffee. "I'm touched, Hoke, I really am. And I guess you can see how half-hearted my protests are. Last night I was just sitting here in this crummy little room, and it got to me. I kept thinking, this is the way it's gonna be from now on. Alone every night, and on long weekends, too. I'm pretty tough, you know that by now, but I'm not ready to live by myself. Not yet, anyway, even if I had a nice furnished apartment. So I don't have to think about it, Hoke. I'm ready to move when you are." Ellita got up, and Hoke hugged her awkwardly. He kissed her on the cheek, then took her cup.

  "I'm glad, Ellita. We move on Friday. The girls will stay in the hotel today, and I'll give 'em lunch money. After you're dressed, come down for more coffee. There're still a few bagels left, too."

  Hoke opened the door. "I'll let you tell the girls you're going to live with us. They'll be as pleased as I am."

  Hoke, Bill and Ellita read their files and took notes with very little small talk until nine-thirty. Hoke was called to the phone by the duty officer. There were six cardboard boxes to be picked up at the Greyhound baggage office.

  "How late are you open?" Hoke asked the clerk.

  "Till six."

  These boxes were the things Patsy had shipped to the girls from Vero Beach. Hoke had forgotten all about them, but he was glad they had arrived at the station. Now he had a legitimate excuse to get out of the office. Of course, he didn't need to have a reason to come and go as he pleased (after all, he was in charge), but Henderson would rather do almost anything than paperwork and usually wanted to come along.

  When Hoke returned to the interrogation room, Armando Quevedo was talking to Henderson and Ellita. Quevedo had shaved off his beard and was in a light-gray polyester suit, a white shirt, and a dark-blue necktie imprinted with silver pistols. He hadn't cut his long hair, but he had tamed it with some kind of hair oil. He reminded Hoke of an M.C. at a wet T-shirt contest. For a moment, Hoke hardly recognized his fellow detective.

  Quevedo flashed his teeth in a smile. "I gotta go to court today, Hoke. That's why I'm in disguise. I was just telling Sergeant Henderson here that the lead you guys gave us on Wetzel didn't pan out. As it turned out, we couldn't hold him for anything. We had to let the bastard go, and he was the only suspect w
e had on the torchings and the Descanso Hotel fire. He was picked up downtown by a patrolman right after the hotel fire because he was carrying a can of kerosene. But you can't charge a man with anything just because he's got a can of kerosene. Wetzel stuck to his dumb story, and he wouldn't change it."

  "Did he live at the Descanso?" Hoke asked.

  "No. He usually lives under a tree in Bayfront Park. Wetzel claimed he bought the can of kerosene to fill his Zippo lighter. He had a Zippo filled with kerosene, so we were stuck with his story and so was he."

  "But what about Buford? Did Wetzel say anything about that?"

  "When Buford was killed three years ago, Wetzel was in jail in Detroit. That checked out, so we released him. But then we drove him up to Fort Lauderdale and dumped him in Broward Country. I think we managed to scare him enough to keep him out of Dade County, anyway. But on the hotel fire and the other torchings, we're back to square one."

  "What did you think of our boy Ray Vince?" Henderson said, broadening his metal-studded smile.

  "That sonofabitch is scary, isn't he? He probably heard something, or he wouldn't've come up with Buford's name. But when those guys get high on bang-bang, they're liable to say anything. A lot of squeals come out of the stockade, but this one didn't pan out, that's all."

  "What exactly is bang-bang?" Ellita asked.

  "It's a drink the inmates make in the stockade under the barracks. They save potato peelings from the kitchen, the syrup from canned pineapple, raisins from the canteen, and then they get some yeast and brew it up in any kind of container they can get. When it ferments there's a high alcoholic content, but I wouldn't drink it for a million bucks. You can go blind from drinking shit like that. Pardon me, Ellita."

  "-Claro-, Armando! I wouldn't drink shit like that either." She smiled at Quevedo.

  "Maybe you and I can go out for a drink sometime--"

  Ellita shook her head. "I'll take a raincheck, Armando. I've got to lose some weight."

  "I thought you said you had to go to court," Hoke said.

  "You're right." Quevedo looked at his watch. "I gotta get to court."

  After Quevedo left, Hoke told them that he had to pick up his daughters' baggage at the bus station and see a realestate woman about a house.

  "You want me to help you with the stuff, Hoke?" Bill said, getting up from his chair.

  "No, it's just a few cardboard boxes. You'd better stay here and take a look at the distribution. By tomorrow sometime, I'd like to have a short list of cases we can get started on--even if it's only one case we can all agree on."

  "I'm ready to start on Bill's pile now," Ellita said.

  "Okay. Bill can start on yours when he's finished. I'll just have to get back to mine later."

  Hoke put on his jacket and left. He drove to the Fina station a block away from the police department where he always traded and used the phone in the office while the manager filled his tank and checked under the hood. Hoke called the morgue and asked for Doc Evans.

  "What made you think the Hickey kid had piles, Hoke?" Doc Evans said when he answered the phone.

  "The lab report. There were some tinfoil balls in the ashtray by his bed, and they checked out as Nembutal suppositories. Nembutal can kill a man, can't it?"

  "If you take enough of it, yes. But Hickey only had one, or maybe two, gobs up his ass. There was enough to put him to sleep, but it didn't kill him. He died from too much heroin, Hoke."

  "Did he have piles?"

  "No. He had diverticulitis, but no piles. He was a little young to have diverticulitis already, but it wasn't bad enough to bother him. About forty percent of us over forty have got diverticulitis, but most of us don't even know it. I've got it myself, but it doesn't bother me because I don't eat tomatoes, cucumbers, or anything with little seeds. You avoid little seeds, you won't have a problem."

  "If Hickey didn't have piles, why would he use Nembutal suppositories?"

  Doc Evans laughed. "Maybe he wanted to get high and have a good night's sleep at the same time. Nobody knows how a junkie's mind works, Hoke, but they'll try damned near anything. I can remember, a few years back, when they were all smoking banana skins. They'd bake the skins in the oven, scrape off the inside, and roll cigarettes. There was no dope in the bananas at all, but they got high anyway."

  "I remember that."

  "If you want a nice sleepy high, Hoke, mix paregoric with some pot. Then when it dries, you've got a smoke that'll make you high and sleepy at the same time. It's a lot cheaper than heroin and Nembutal. I don't know what else to tell you, Hoke. Do you need the autopsy report right away?"

  "No. Not right away."

  "In that case, you'll have to wait three or four days before we can get it typed. We're a little swamped over here right now."

  "That's okay. I can wait."

  "Fine. Why don't we have lunch?"

  "I can't today, but I'll call you. In the meantime I just have one more question, Doe. My daughter's got a strip of gold glued to her bottom teeth. The orthodonist put it on too tight, and I can't get it off. Is there some kind of solvent I can get to remove it?"

  "Jesus Christ, Hoke! A solvent strong enough to dissolve gold would burn holes in her gums. When we have lunch, just bring your daughter by the morgue, and I'll take it off for you. After twenty years in pathology, I could make a fortune by repairing the iatrogenic work done here in Miami."

  "What kind of work?"

  "I'm busy, Hoke. Remind me, when we go to lunch, and I'll tell you more than you want to know. It's one of my pet peeves."

  "Thanks, Doc. I'll call you soon."

  "See that you do, or I'll call you." Doc Evans hung up.

  Hoke drove to the Greyhound station, identified himself, and picked up six cardboard boxes that he loaded into the back seat of his car. The boxes were sealed with gray plastic tape and were heavier than he had expected. Possessions. The six boxes containing his daughters' worldly possessions dissolved any lingering doubts, if he had ever had any, that their move was only temporary. There was no disputing it; Sue Ellen would be with him for two more years, and Aileen for four. At least when they were eighteen he could send them out into the world legally and get them off his hands. But in the next two and four years it was still his responsibility to prepare them in some way to earn their livings. He had never really thought about it before, but the responsibilities of fatherhood were mind-boggling or, to use the current term, seismic.

  When he got to Coral Gables, Hoke found an unmetered parking space on Murcia and walked to the International Bank of Coral Gables. He showed his shield to the uniformed bank guard, a frail, white-haired man who had a long-barreled.357 magnum in a low-slung leather holster. Hoke told the old man he would like to talk to the bank officer who handled old accounts and made loans.

  "That could be either Mr. Waterman or Mr. Llhosa-Garcia."

  "I think I'd rather talk to Llhosa-Garcia."

  "That's him back there." The guard pointed.

  "Thanks. If you got a lighter gun, old-timer, your kidneys wouldn't hurt you so much at night."

  "I know, I know!" The old man cackled and slapped his holster.

  There were several desks behind a mahogany rail in the back of the lofty, cavernous room. There were four desks in a column of twos in front of each officer's larger desk. Four busy young women occupied the desks in front of Mr. Llhosa-Garcia's, and the loan officer was talking into a beige telephone, the same color as the blotter in his leather desk pad. The banker had thick, curly gray hair surrounding a mottled bald spot, and a narrow, carefully trimmed black mustache. His round face was sallow, and there were dark half-circles beneath his brown eyes. He was wearing a vest over his shirt and tie, but when he noticed Hoke approaching his desk, he got to his feet, took the suit jacket from the back of his chair, and slipped into it with an easy practiced motion. He indicated the customer's seat with a courteous gesture and sat down again in his well-upholstered leather chair.

  "Yes, sir."

 
; Hoke placed his badge and ID case on the blotter. Llhosa-Garcia read the ID card first and then examined the badge.

  "Homicide? I've never seen one of these badges before. Is it solid gold?"

  "Gold-plated. Maybe at one time, when gold was thirtyfive bucks an ounce, they were solid gold, but if so it was a long time ago. I've never checked into it."

  The banker nodded. "How may I help you, Sergeant Moseley?" There was no trace of accent in his voice, which surprised Hoke a little. This guy, apparently, had been in the United States a long time.

  "I've got an irregular request. I want to get some information on one of your accounts." Hoke opened his wallet and took out the blank deposit slip he had removed from Loretta Hickey's checkbook. He smoothed it out and passed it across to the banker. Llhosa-Garcia read the name and address printed on the slip, frowned, and then placed the slip on the blotter so Hoke could easily pick it up again.

  "I'm afraid I don't understand..."

  "There's not much to understand. Mrs. Hickey has an account here. She's a businesswoman in the Gables, and she has been for several years. What I'm interested in are any and all transactions she's made during the past few days--say, the last week."

  Llhosa-Garcia shook his head and smiled. "We don't give out information like that about our clients."

  "You do if there's a court order. I'm conducting a homicide investigation, and this information may or may not prove to be important. But I need it anyway. Sometimes, to save taxpayers' money, and in the cause of justice, we cut a few corners to expedite matters. For example, you, as a banker, have to report all cash deposits of ten thousand dollars or more to the federal government. Isn't that right?"

  Llhosa-Garcia nodded. "In most cases, yes, although there are certain transfers and revolving accounts that--"

  "But you don't have to report any deposits of nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-nine. Isn't that also correct?"