Double Eagle

by Keith Miles

  I perched on the edge of the bed and brought my hands up to my throbbing temples. Salgado rose to a throwaway sympathy.

  ‘Headache?’

  ‘Fifteen at the last count.’

  ‘We’ll move this along, then,’ he decided. ‘You ever used narcotics on a regular basis?’

  ‘Narcotics?’ My surprise was unfeigned.

  ‘Uppers, downers, smack, anything. Illegal substances.’

  ‘Never, Lieutenant. That’s not my scene.’

  ‘Everybody tries a little speed now and then,’ he said.

  ‘Everybody but me,’ I replied firmly. ‘I don’t need to get my highs out of a bottle or a needle.’

  ‘I thought all you top sports guys had something to turn you on. Give your performance that extra edge.’

  ‘What turns me on is golf itself. Pure and simple.’

  Salgado flicked a glance at Nelms, who took over.

  ‘And Zuke Everett?’ he said, casually.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Did he use anything?’

  ‘Zuke on drugs?’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because I knew the man for years. He just wasn’t the type. Zuke had enough electricity coursing through his veins as it was. He didn’t need to inject any more.’

  Nelms was sceptical. ‘That so?’

  ‘Sergeant,’ I explained, ‘I stayed with him and his first wife a number of times. We became good friends. I’d have noticed if anything like that had been going on.’

  ‘You’d have recognised the signs, huh?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘And this time? Staying with his second wife?’

  ‘I saw nothing.’

  ‘Then you must’ve been blind,’ interjected Salgado. ‘We got the preliminary lab report on the deceased. Your old buddy had been snorting coke like he was in some sorta race.’

  The shock silenced me. Nelms confirmed the facts. ‘Another coupla months, he’d have wanted a nose job. Know what that is, don’t you? It’s when you sniff so much coke it burns through the membrane between your nostrils. You gotta have surgery. There’s guys in LA who do that surgery all the time. It pays better than abortions and there’s no mess to clean up afterwards.’

  ‘Yeah,’ continued Salgado, ‘some dick-heads think that operation is a kinda status symbol. You have a nose job, you’re a real junkie.’

  I was finding it hard to comprehend.

  ‘Are you certain that Zuke was on cocaine?’ I asked.

  Salgado nodded. ‘Half this crazy fucking city is doped up to the eyeballs so it don’t surprise me that Everett was into glow snow. I did a two-year trick in Narcotics. I seen it all. Lemme give you ten easy ways to spot a guy who’s been snorting. One—his eyes…’

  As the Lieutenant rattled through his list, I realised that Zuke had exhibited all ten symptoms on the night he was murdered. What I’d taken for a golfer’s over-excitement after a superlative round was also a drug-induced euphoria. Out of loyalty to a friend, I’d simply refused to recognise the signs for what they were.

  The trouble was that there were two Zuke Everetts.

  One was the dynamic, talented, gregarious man with a lovely wife, a luxury home in Malibu and an accepted role as the clown prince of the US circuit. The other was a tense, hyperactive, self-willed person who’d dragged me out of bed on my first night there to watch a blue movie in his den.

  Zuke Everett was his own best double.

  Salgado got up from the chair and scrutinised me.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘You’re right,’ I conceded.

  ‘We usually are,’ he asserted. ‘Know something? For a cop’s kid, you’re none too smart.’

  ‘It’s hereditary.’

  ‘Let’s cut the wisecracks. Tell me about Mrs. Everett.’

  ‘Which one? Valmai or Helen?’

  ‘Number two. Now that you learned to pick ’em out, think she might have been on coke as well?’

  ‘No,’ I said with assurance.

  ‘You don’t figure they coulda done it together?’

  ‘Together?’

  ‘Sure. Jazz up their sex life. My experience, a lotta couples like to sniff then screw.’ He gave a lewd chuckle. ‘Do it myself. Except it’s not coke I sniff. It’s pussy perfume.’

  ‘Twice as sweet,’ grunted Nelms.

  ‘Helen Everett was not on drugs,’ I insisted.

  ‘How d’you know? You share a bedroom with her?’

  ‘No, I didn’t, Lieutenant,’ I retorted. ‘What’s more, her husband didn’t seem to either. There was friction between them from the moment I arrived. They had no real togetherness. I’m beginning to think that the only reason I was invited to stay was so that I could act as a buffer between them.’

  The words came involuntarily but they rang true. My companions obviously thought so as well. Salgado shot his colleague a meaningful look, then heaved a sigh.

  ‘You see what I got here, maybe?’

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘Narcotics-related crime. That widens the scope.’

  He walked to the window and drew back the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room and I closed my eyes against its dazzle. Nelms stepped in closer and took over the questioning.

  ‘Was Zuke Everett a rich man?’

  ‘You’ve seen the house, Sergeant.’

  ‘Mortgage as big as the Empire State. I checked.’

  ‘Then look at Zuke’s life style. He had to be wealthy to keep that up. I’d say he was very rich.’

  ‘And where did it come from?’ he pursued. ‘He had a lousy year on the golf course. Finished well down the money list.’

  ‘He had an income apart from his tournament winnings.’

  ‘Sponsorship? Endorsements?’

  ‘Zuke was a genuine star,’ I reminded. ‘They all wanted to buy that famous grin. I know he had a lean time last year but there were plenty of big pay days on the tour in the past. He must have salted some of it away.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he agreed. ‘But there’s the minus factor.’

  ‘Minus factor?’

  ‘His divorce.’

  ‘You ever been divorced?’ probed Salgado.

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘As a matter of fact, I have.’

  ‘Expensive?’

  ‘I wouldn’t care to go through it again, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Nor me,’ he confided bitterly. ‘Slow fucking torture. We got these barracudas over here called divorce lawyers. They get you in a courtroom, they nibble off every bit of you that moves. When I split up with my wife, it cost me an arm, a leg and most of my dick. Divorce? It’s legal fucking mutilation!’

  ‘We figure it mighta been the same for Zuke Everett,’ said Nelms. ‘His first wife coulda cut one helluva slice out of him.’

  ‘Yeah,’ moaned Salgado. ‘Like mine did to me!’

  ‘That how it looked to you, Mr. Saxon?’

  But I was not thinking about Valmai Everett. Still less about Mrs. Salgado. Rosmary had just come striding back into my mind. I saw her in that olive green suit she’d bought especially for the court appearance. I flinched from that accusing smile of hers.

  It wasn’t really our divorce: it was Rosemary’s. I went along as an interested party and she ended up with everything she wanted.

  Our house, our child, a regular pound of my flesh.

  She escaped from me and somehow turned me into her prisoner.

  ‘Did Everett say anything to you?’ asked Salgado.

  I tried to shake her out of my mind but Rosemary owned part of that as well. In perpetuity. She went everywhere with me.

  ‘Did he mention the divorce? Talk abou
t money?’

  ‘No, Lieutenant.’

  ‘There musta been some kind of hint.’

  ‘If there was, I missed it.’

  ‘You holding out on us again?’ he challenged.

  ‘I haven’t got the strength.’

  ‘Okay, here’s the way we see it,’ he explained. ‘Everett is a guy with an expensive habit he couldn’t afford. Might be the reason he was having trouble getting into his bedroom. He needs the merchandise but he can’t come through with the payments. Gets into deep shit. So they send someone to collect. With a stiletto.’

  ‘It all turns on the state of his finances,’ said Nelms.

  Salgado was bitter. He had his own Rosemary.

  ‘After a divorce, you got no fucking finances!’

  ‘Do you need to bother me with all this?’ I complained. ‘If you want to know about Zuke’s income, ask Howie Danzig.’

  ‘We tried him,’ replied Salgado. ‘No dice. He’s not answering any questions just now.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he was rushed to hospital yesterday. Heart attack.’

  ‘A bad one,’ confirmed Nelms. ‘Doctors are not hopeful.’

  I felt an uprush of sympathy for Howie. Before the tournament, he was cynical and depressed. After the third round, he was happier than I’d ever seen him and revelled in the celebrations. Then he’d been robbed of his finest player and best asset. Now he was seriously ill in a hospital bed. Howie Danzig would not remember the Kallgren Tournament of Champions with any fondness.

  ‘Have you got anything else to tell us?’ demanded Salgado.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like stuff we oughta know. Facts, information, theories.’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said through a yawn. ‘My only concern right now is how soon I can close those curtains, switch out the light and crawl back between the sheets.’

  ‘How long d’you plan on staying here?’

  ‘I’ve told them to give me a call in a fortnight’s time.’

  ‘You check out, we want to know about it. Comprendo?’

  ‘Oh, I won’t be moving just yet,’ I promised. ‘I’ll be here until the whole matter is cleared up.’

  ‘That could take time,’ he warned. ‘This is real police work, not something out of a crap TV series. We don’t solve a murder in a one-hour episode. So don’t expect Hill Street Blues.’

  ‘I never watch the programme, Lieutenant. The only crime series I can bear is Cagney & Lacey—and it’s not because they work in a police department. I’d watch those two if they had a window-cleaning round.’ I suppressed the next yawn. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘We’ll be back, Saxon.’

  ‘I’ll try to look more photogenic by then.’

  ‘You think of anything else, get in touch.’

  ‘I will,’ I said without conviction.

  They paused at the door. Nelms sounded a grudging note.

  ‘You played well yesterday.’

  ‘Thanks. Did you see the highlights on telly?’

  ‘No. I was at the course. Looking around.’ He seemed peeved. ‘You shoulda taken up baseball. With a swing like you got, Mr. Saxon, you mighta made a fortune.’

  ‘Now he tells me!’ I joked.

  They went out and shut the door firmly behind them.

  Fighting off the urge to collapse on the bed, I crossed to the bathroom, stripped off, steeled myself, then took a cold shower. A shave did wonders for my morale and appearance. After making myself a coffee from one of the sachets provided, I was ready for the first important task of the day.

  I rang Clive Phelps at his hotel. My call woke him up.

  ‘I’m not in yet,’ he mumbled at the other end of the line.

  ‘It’s me, Clive.’

  ‘Who’s me?’ he growled.

  ‘Alan.’

  ‘Oh, hi!’ he said with evident pleasure.

  Then he slammed the receiver down.

  I dialled the number again and waited a long time before he consented to answer. His voice sounded marginally less hostile and I could hear him drinking something.

  ‘How did you get on yesterday?’ I asked.

  ‘Fine. She left an hour ago.’

  I was astonished. ‘Miss California?’

  ‘No,’ he groaned. ‘She went off with that Egyptian turd. I had to settle for someone a little more down-market. She works here at the hotel. Not so much Miss California as Miss Rosario.’

  ‘Miss where?’

  ‘Rosario. It’s in Argentina.’ He became defensive. ‘I know what you’re going to say, Alan, but the Falklands crisis is all over. We’ve got to build bridges.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ I agreed. ‘And before you took her to your room to build bridges, did you find anything out?’

  ‘She has a sister who works in a café nearby. Interested?’

  ‘The only thing I’m interested in is that information I asked you to track down for me. Have you got it yet?’

  ‘Of course.’ There was an ominous pause. ‘What information?’

  ‘You know damn well!’

  ‘Don’t shout,’ he implored. ‘I’m in a delicate condition. It was a very long night. Rosario is a big city.’

  ‘Three things, Clive,’ I prompted.

  ‘I remember, I remember. That $10,000 bet. Helen Everett’s real name. Valmai’s address. Am I right?’

  ‘About the questions, yes. But I want the answers.’

  ‘Ah, well, I didn’t score so highly there,’ he confessed. ‘I did try though, Alan. Honestly. I asked around the press tent. Made a few discreet enquiries elsewhere. Searched high and low.’

  ‘But you’ve come up with nothing.’

  ‘Except Valmai’s phone number.’

  ‘That’s a start,’ I congratulated. ‘Give it to me.’

  ‘I will when I can find it. Hold on.’ I heard him searching wildly, then he burst into laughter and grabbed the receiver again. ‘You’ll never guess what Miss Rosario left behind in the bed!’

  ‘Tell me another time.’

  ‘But it’s so funny, Alan.’

  ‘Just find that number, please.’

  ‘Oh, all right. If that’s your attitude…’

  He put the receiver down and began to search once more. I was kept waiting for several minutes before he was able to read out the number for me. I jotted it down on a slip of paper.

  ‘While we’re talking phone numbers, Clive,’ I said, ‘make a note of mine, will you?’

  ‘I’ve got it. Zuke’s new house.’

  ‘Not any longer. I had to move out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Why?’ he repeated.

  ‘Helen wanted to be alone. I was in the way.’

  ‘That’s not the real reason, Saxon.’

  ‘It’s the only one you’re getting.’

  ‘So where are you now?’

  ‘A motel in Santa Monica.’

  He sniggered. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Can’t you think of anything else but that?’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Clive,’ I emphasised, ‘I happen to be on my own.’

  ‘Expect me to believe that? Nobody stays at a motel alone. It’s like going to a brothel and asking for a single room.’

  ‘I bow to your superior knowledge.’

  ‘Where did you meet her?’

  ‘Listen!’ I threatened. ‘Are you going to take down this number or shall I come over there and tattoo it on your skull?’

  He found writing materials and did as I asked.

  ‘I still think there’s someone with you,’ he persisted.

  ‘Two of t
hem, actually,’ I boasted. ‘They worked on a shift system all night and they’re both sleeping it off now.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Get me the rest of that information,’ I ordered. ‘Ring it through as soon as you possibly can.’

  ‘But I’m flying to Phoenix tomorrow,’ he protested.

  ‘So? That gives you the whole of today.’

  ‘And what if I can’t rustle up the answers today?’

  ‘Miss the plane. Stay here. Stick at it.’

  ‘Since when have you been my editor?’

  ‘Since Zuke Everett was murdered in cold blood.’

  Another pause. ‘Okay. You’ll get your information.’

  ‘Thanks, Clive. It’s vital.’

  ‘Have I ever let you down?’

  ‘Frequently, but I’m prepared to overlook it just this once.’

  ‘Cheeky bugger!’ he snorted, then he gave me a verbal nudge in the ribs. ‘Hey, sure you don’t want me to fix you up with her sister?’

  ‘Whose sister’

  ‘Miss Rosario. Try a bit of Argie hospitality.’

  ‘Another time.’

  ‘She was a right little raver,’ he recalled with a laugh. ‘And you know what they say about sisters!’

  ‘I do have other priorities at the moment,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Let some love into your life, man,’ he urged.

  ‘Cheerio, Clive.’

  ‘It’ll do you good.’

  ‘I’ll wait to hear from you.’

  I put the receiver down and looked around the room properly for the first time. He was right. It was designed for a couple. The double bed was king-sized and positioned alongside a huge wall mirror. A large sofa provided an alternative venue and the generous bath would easily accommodate two bodies. Everything about the place spoke of illicit sex and I wanted a certain person very much.

  Katie Billings. The blaze of glory girl.

  Reaching for the telephone again, I dialled the number that Clive had given me and braced myself for the inevitable embarrassment. Marriage break-ups of all kinds are traumatic, but it’s especially painful if you’re the one who is left. I knew that from experience.

  Valmai Everett knew it from experience as well. She’d been left high and dry and was entitled to feel bitter about it. Zuke’s death would have had a profound effect on her. I just hoped that I could find the right words to say.