Body on Pine

by DeMarco, Joseph R. G.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I can wait just so long…”

  “I know, Anton,” I said. “I’ve seen how Jean-Claude looks at you. He adores you but he’s too diplomatic to say anything to me. Or, maybe he’s afraid.”

  “Let’s not make this about him. He’s a nice person. He’s attentive and sweet.”

  “Whereas, I’m just…”

  “No comparisons. That’s not what I’m saying. Jean-Claude is a good guy…”

  “Is he what you…”

  “He likes me. He’s actually interested in me. What I do, what I think.”

  “I can see the way he—”

  “He’s also been very considerate of you.” Anton said.

  “I can’t fault him for being under your spell. You’re—”

  “I’m not casting spells, Marco. I’m just trying to make a life for myself. Is there any reason I shouldn’t see where this goes with Jean-Claude?”

  That was the opening I should have been waiting for. Should have been prepared for. Instead I felt immobile, unable to respond. What could I say to Anton? What difference would it have made anyway? No matter how I felt about Anton, I wasn’t sure I could ever give him everything he wanted. I knew he wasn’t interested in half measures.

  I opened my mouth to say something but I couldn’t find the words he wanted to hear. Anton looked at me expectantly. He stared into my eyes and I felt the warmth of what we’d had over the years envelope me, try to pull me close. But I couldn’t speak.

  “That’s it then?” Anton asked.

  I wanted to tell him he was wrong about me. That he should give me another chance. Something about that haunted me. I wondered if asking that was like Eddie and Max asking their victims for another chance. Given another chance, they always did what they always did. I couldn’t ask for another chance unless I knew I could make an honest effort to give Anton what he needed. Making a commitment I wasn’t sure I could keep wasn’t the way to win back his trust.

  Anton looked down at the floor and turned away. For a moment he stood there, back to me, silent. Waiting for something that even he knew wouldn’t come. Then he left the room shutting the door behind him.

  ***

  It proved to be a long night. I went through the motions, feeling emptier than I’d ever felt before. Anton avoided eye contact with me and made himself busy with something whenever I approached. He never entered my office when I was there and he left the bar without a word to me.

  My chest felt as if my ribs were barbed wire but I decided to stay until the guys cleaned up the bar and closed the doors. I left and still didn’t want the night to end, as if I’d find some way to change things if I could get the day to last longer. Out on the sidewalk, music and laughter floated through the air from Café Bubbles and snagged my attention. Instead of turning for home, I walked toward the café but when I reached the glass doors, the twinkling lights and tinny laughter were suddenly annoying. It brought up feelings I’d been trying to smother.

  Turning around, I headed home. Every step of the way was punctuated by sharp pains in my ribs. With nothing else to distract me, the pain was more cutting. I stopped when I reached Broad. A familiar figure stood on the corner looking lost. As lost as I felt.

  “Nolan,” I called out and the handsome politico turned around.

  “Fontana! I thought only political operatives and vampires crawled the streets at this hour. What’re you doing here?”

  “Just getting off my other job at the strip club,” I said, purposely ambiguous. Nolan was as good as any other distraction to stop me feeling sorry for myself.

  “You’re a… you’re… you do…,” he stuttered and looked at me, eyes wide with disbelief. “No… nah… you’re pulling my leg.”

  “I own a strip group,” I said. “Why so shocked? Don’t I look like I can take it off for an audience?”

  “I… I’m no j-judge of these things…,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Fontana.”

  “Not offended. Just disappointed.” I smiled.

  “I didn’t have a chance to set you up with the Senator yet,” Nolan said, his expression serious now. “But I did want to talk to you.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “Not here.” He looked around as if people could hear, though no one was within earshot.

  “Let’s see.” I pulled out my cell phone and looked at the time. “It’s after three. There are a couple of all night diners or you could come up to my place.”

  “Your… your place?”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t jump your bones. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I’m not in any shape for bone jumping.”

  “O-okay.” He peered at me. “Yeah, what the hell happened to you?”

  “Never mind that now. Why do you need to talk in private?”

  Chapter 27

  Grace, on the late shift as usual, watched with a strange look on her face, as I walked through the lobby with Nolan by my side. She reminded me of a very serious pug, given instructions to observe and make mental notes. Like all pugs, she couldn’t help commenting on what she saw, with the set of her face or the flick of an eyebrow.

  I tossed her a wink, and she nodded in return.

  When we arrived at my door, I unlocked it, holding it open so Nolan could enter before me. He hesitated.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve disabled all the man-traps. Shame though, they do a nice job of capture and hold.”

  Nolan haltingly stepped over the threshold and into my condo.

  One of the first things you see when you enter is the view from the balcony. It dominates the place and immediately catches the eye. It was no surprise when he stopped in the doorway and whistled his admiration for the cityscape.

  “Wow! The only thing my Harrisburg apartment overlooks is the courtyard behind my building. I spend too much time away from Philly. I forget how nice it looks.” He walked toward the glass sliding doors leading to the balcony.

  “Yeah, the view always catches me, too.” I followed him in and shut the door. “No matter how long I’ve lived here.”

  At the sound of the lock clicking he quickly turned to face me. He looked perplexed, like he had no idea what to expect.

  “Want a beer?” I moved toward the kitchen.

  “S-sure,” he said.

  “Go on out on the balcony. Have a seat. We can talk out there.”

  As I dipped into the fridge for the beers, I heard him fumble with the lock on the glass doors, then slide them open. The city sounds, even at this hour, came flooding in and it took a moment to let the noise become background static.

  I stepped onto the darkened balcony. Light filtering up from the streets and surrounding buildings provided just enough illumination. I noticed he’d removed his jacket and loosened his tie.

  “This is relaxing,” he said as I plunked two beers on the table.

  I sat and took a long drink from my bottle. He did the same looking as if he’d never stop. He drained the bottle and placed it on the table.

  “There’s more in the fridge. Help yourself,” I said. “But there’s a price…”

  His body tensed and he looked at me as if to say he suspected as much.

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” I laughed. “The price is, you tell me what you hinted at out on the street.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Oh… right.” He sounded relieved and I noticed his shoulders relax as he sat back into the chair. “Yeah. This view is so nice and sitting here is so peaceful, I almost forgot.”

  “This related to the case?”

  The look of concern returned to his face, and I knew he had something big on his mind. “It’s the Senator.”

  “What’s the problem? Other than the fact he’s sinking in the polls.”

  “The polls? No. It’s something else. You reminded me of it earlier. Something I saw, something that happened that never happens. It’s been bothering me ever since.”

  “You certainly have ‘cryptic’ down pat. Wha
t’s this ‘something’ you’re talking about? ‘Cause right now, I’m kinda in the dark.”

  “It doesn’t feel right, talking about him. It’s probably all just coincidence.”

  “Lemme clue you in, Nolan. There’s no such thing as coincidence. Santa Claus, maybe. Coincidence, no.”

  “I saw the reports on the murders and I recognized one of the victims.”

  “Who?”

  “The older man, Smithson Wheeler.”

  “That’s no surprise. He moved in a lot of circles. How’d you know him?”

  “He’s been a contributor a long time. Occasionally visits the Senator’s office downtown. When Bob, the Senator I mean, is in Philadelphia, he works out of an office on Market Street.”

  “That where you saw Wheeler?”

  “One morning I saw the Senator sitting in his office with Wheeler and a man named Berwick who’s been a pain in the ass for us.”

  “How’d you see them all?”

  “The Senator’s office is a large corner room and the walls are totally glass. So, I can always see what’s going on. If he needs something we’ve worked out signals.”

  “What’s so unusual about meeting with people like Wheeler and Berwick? I assumed politicians always meet with business people. Especially if they want those contributions to keep rolling in.”

  “All true. This meeting seemed contentious, though. I couldn’t hear anything but I saw them waving their arms and appearing to shout. They all appeared to be angry. After a while Wheeler stormed out. He didn’t look happy.”

  “Your boss didn’t follow him? Didn’t try to make peace?”

  “No, he continued talking with Berwick. Eventually he walked Berwick out. Both of them smiling.”

  That could all mean exactly nothing but it was interesting and I filed it away.

  “Why’d that bother you so much?”

  “I guess because I wasn’t allowed into the meeting.”

  “That unusual?”

  “Highly. I have access to everything. Always have. But the receptionist said the Senator left explicit instructions that no one was allowed in. Including me.”

  “So, me being a suspicious type,” I said. “Maybe I’m thinking you’re just dumping all this on me because you’re a disgruntled staffer.”

  “No!” He sat straight up in his chair. “No. I’m just worried that—”

  “That the Senator was involved in the murder somehow? That’s kind of a stretch. Just because there was a meeting in his office. Even an angry meeting. Senators probably have more creative ways to take care of people they argue with than shooting them.”

  “I’m not worried about him being involved in the murder. That’s crazy.”

  “He did come running in late that night at Bubbles. He might’ve had the opportunity to—”

  “He was with me the whole night. I arrived at Bubbles a little before he did because he was talking with a big contributor at Knock, I think. That and he didn’t want to be seen arriving at the same time as Kelley. They really don’t like one another.”

  “I gathered. So what’s got you worried?”

  “Just the appearance of something incriminating. That’s all they need, you know? A hint or a rumor. The press eats it up. Word gets out about him arguing with Wheeler on the same day the man is murdered and the fact that Wheeler stomped out… If the media finds out about it, we won’t have a temporary dip in the polls. It’ll be over.”

  “They haven’t found out yet.” I downed the rest of my beer.

  “No. Not yet.”

  “You never did tell me what’s with you and Shuster.”

  “It’s personal. Nothing regarding this—”

  “In a murder investigation, it’s all personal.”

  We sat there a while longer soaking up the night and the view. Nolan hardly said another thing. It didn’t matter, I enjoyed sitting with him in the semi-darkness. His presence made me feel settled, made all the static of the day melt away. He was strong but vulnerable and he obviously cared deeply about things. Gave me the impression he was a decent human being, too. It reminded me of evenings I’d spent with Anton sitting next to me, both of us connected in the silence, not having to say a thing. We enjoyed the friendship we had and the time we gave one another. I didn’t want to lose that.

  By the time Nolan left, it was nearly four-thirty in the morning. He’d given me things to think about. I knew for certain I had to quiz Terrabito. If he’d been meeting with Wheeler and Berwick, I needed to know what went on.

  When I hit the bedroom, I was dragging. It’d been nice sitting on the balcony in the dark, talking with someone without all the sexual interplay and veiled possibilities. Nolan was a straight arrow, which was a real shame, but he was also an honest guy.

  I knew there’d be nothing more than talk. Talk without the possibility of more than friendship. No sex, no disappointments, no hard feelings.

  Saturday loomed ahead and with it another late night at Bubbles. There were a ton of people I needed to talk with before that, but I was so tired I couldn’t think what had to be done. I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  ***

  Olga called and woke me.

  “Boss is coming in to working?”

  “Y-yeah, Olga? Are… are you at the office?” I floated up from somewhere far away. My mind slowly snapped back to the present moment.

  “Is not where I am supposing to be?”

  “It’s Saturday, Olga.”

  “Boss is giving assignment. I am having results.” Her uncharacteristically cheery tone was enough to get me out of bed.

  “Give me a few to get ready.” I sat up, a sharp pain in my ribs stopping me cold. Less than the day before but still thrumming.

  “You can be taking time. Boss pays extra for Saturday working.”

  Ignoring the pain, I got myself showered, dressed, and fed in record time. Waiting for the elevator I thought about Nolan sitting with me on the balcony and how oddly secure it had made me feel. I’d never thought feeling secure or settled was that important.

  I brushed off those feelings as I rode down in the elevator. The Cell Phone Sheriff entered the car next and I spent the rest of the ride watching her seethe just waiting for me to try and use my phone. Disappointed, she stalked off before me when we arrived.

  The lobby buzzed with people. As I hustled through to the automatic doors I overheard Nosey Rosey saying, “…and they never found his wife. Now he lives here on the fourteenth floor with another woman.”

  Poor guy, I thought, he’ll be the talk of the lobby for weeks.

  The streets were relatively empty and the fresh air helped pull me back together again. Between the beating and the late nights, I needed more than just a good night’s sleep. But that wasn’t happening any time soon.

  When I got to the office, Olga was seated at her desk her eyes focused on her monitor.

  “Results are on desk. And treats for Boss who is looking like drugged cat,” she said barely looking up.

  “Like what the cat dragged in, you mean.”

  “If you are saying so.”

  Hot coffee waited in the electric maker and my desk was piled with more of Olga’s confections. Getting beaten had its advantages. Pouring myself some coffee I sat and didn’t even try resisting the pastry. The aroma filled my nostrils and I snatched one off the plate. As I munched on the kartoshka, I flipped through the newest file Olga had compiled.

  She’d found lists of government contracts related to development projects in the Philadelphia region and the legislation supporting the contracts. More important than that, she’d listed the names of the politicians who’d sponsored the legislation and pushed to award contracts to the companies involved. It was a hop, skip, and a jump from that information to the owners of the companies that received contracts.

  Reading through the names, I realized that all of the legislators and developers were as familiar as yesterday’s news. Berwick and Wheeler were listed but but other well-known deve
lopers appeared on the list: The Chuffe Group, Dome Inc. and a few more. Nussbaum, Kelley, Clarke, and Terrabito headed up the political posse.

  What I had before me was an intricate web connecting developers and legislators. Linked through contracts and the legislation awarding those contracts, they were also tied together through political contributions. It was a huge unethical orgy. But a connection to the murders wasn’t leaping out at me.

  After hitting dead ends on every lead so far, like Brad’s ex, or the wannabe stalker, or even a closeted client like Sorba, the only thing left was the story Vega’s photographer hinted at: the jury tampering piece.

  Without Vega’s notes, the trial transcript was the only thing to go on. There was no way to know how far he’d gotten on his investigation. The only thing I knew, because of Brad’s appointment book, was that Vega was supposed to have been at the spa the night of the murders along with Wheeler and Brad.

  It seemed like it should make sense. Wheeler and Brad were connected to Branko’s trial. Vega was investigating that same trial for alleged jury tampering. Before Vega has a chance to go public, all three of them are murdered.

  That’s too much coincidence even for somebody who believes in coincidence. The trial and the jury tampering story had to be connected to the murders.

  Seems plausible until you come to the Big Roadblock: Branko had been convicted. Usually you tamper with a jury so you don’t get sent to jail. Not the other way around. Maybe the story was nothing. Just the lunatic fantasies of a paranoid journalist. Either that or something had gone wrong with the tampering plan.

  Pieces were missing, pieces that would show Vega was on to something or was crazy. I felt I had some of those pieces in the documents I held. I couldn’t yet make sense of them. I felt like I was at a crossroads with too many directions to choose from.

  Staring at the names while eating more of Olga’s pastry and swilling more caffeine, I scoured the contracts and the development projects, but I didn’t see any connection between the legislation, the contracts, and the trial. Political corruption? Sure. Murder? Not so much.

  The answer was in there laughing at me because I couldn’t see it. Some fact that would make this file leap from corruption to murder was missing.