A Case of You

by Rick Blechta

  “Christ, I’m sorry. I just got worried with what Harry told us last night. We can’t afford to lose this gig. I can’t afford it.”

  “What about Olivia? Aren’t we responsible for her? You may have just put her out on a big limb and handed somebody a saw. I only hope I can reach Shannon in time.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I thought she was out in California, but apparently she’s en route to New York City again. Something must be up.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, Dom,” I said quietly. “You’ve done enough already.”

  ***

  If she’d had her gun, Shannon would have been tempted to pull it and demand to be let off the plane ahead of everyone else.

  She’d had to endure two late and very rough flights, plus a two-hour stopover in Denver that was scheduled to be only one.

  In Denver, she’d dialed the answering service, since it was past the time when Janet would have headed home.

  “Janet has left three messages, Ms O’Brien. She wants you to call her at home before you do anything. She stressed the ‘anything’.”

  Janet never wanted to be bothered at home unless the shit had really hit the fan.

  Ten minutes later, Shannon put the cell down on her lap and rubbed the bridge of her nose. A whole herd of cows had done their thing in front of the fan, and the results were covering everybody, but mostly her. Why the hell did this have to happen now?

  Janet had told her about Andy Curran’s call and Palmer’s men showing up at the office looking for her. She knew she needed to speak to Andy next, but not before calming down. It’s never good to yell at clients – even when they’ve managed to screw things up completely.

  The smartest thing to do would be to get on the next plane to Toronto and try to patch things up with Palmer. When he was angry – and it sure sounded like he was now – he tended to think even less than normal, and that could be dangerous to everybody. If he wanted to, he could have her licence for this – at the very least. Obstruction of justice charges were probably already underway.

  But Shannon’s instincts told her she needed to stay after Taggart. She spent the Denver/New York leg of her trip trying to figure a way out of this awful mess. By the time she got to the cab stand at Kennedy, it was nearly midnight, and she felt as if she’d been thrown down a flight of stairs. During the stopover in Denver, she’d managed to book a hotel room in Brooklyn that wasn’t far from the last known address of Jack Taggart. All she could think about was getting there and collapsing into bed.

  Hopping into the first cab in the line, she gave the name and address of her hotel and sank back into the seat, closing her eyes.

  “Hey, lady, we’re here,” the cab driver said, rapping sharply on the plastic screen behind the front seat.

  She opened her eyes with a groan. It had been such a nice dream: just Michael and her on a rug in front of a fireplace. The cabby could have driven her to Timbuktu and back while she’d been asleep, but the fare didn’t look too out of line, so she paid it without grumbling.

  Once she’d checked in, Shannon plugged her cell in to recharge. The hot shower that beckoned would have to wait a little longer. Business first. Even though the hour was late, she called Andy to get filled in on the extent of the bad news. Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day.

  ***

  Because the weather had been the same as the day before, the hoped-for fog rolled down the hillside towards Sunnyvale right on schedule. Jackie had dozed for a few hours after returning to her room but had been too much on edge to fall asleep completely. Time dragged. Whenever she allowed herself to look at the clock, only five or ten minutes had passed.

  As she again climbed out the window of her room, the fog wasn’t as dense as she had hoped. Knowing that this trip might be longer than the previous one, she decided not to wait until it was thicker. For all she knew, a wind might come up and blow it all away. Better to move now.

  Since she knew where she was going, Jackie made better time and arrived quickly at Olivia’s window.

  “I didn’t think you were going to come,” Olivia said, seemingly right next to her. Jackie nearly jumped out of her skin, even though she’d been expecting to hear the girl.

  “Where are you?” she asked, staring through the screen into the room.

  Olivia stepped into view. “Who are you?”

  “I’m a friend.”

  “I don’t have many friends.”

  “I know, and that’s why I’m here.”

  Olivia pulled up a chair and sat with her chin resting on her arms, which she’d crossed on the sill.

  “Is it nice out there tonight?”

  Jackie moved closer to the screen until her lips were almost touching it. Sound carried on the still night air, so she needed to keep her voice low.

  “It’s very nice. Quiet. Lonely. A bit chilly. Do you know if the guards walk around much?”

  “Yes, but they don’t like to come out on nights like this. They’re lazy. You should be okay.”

  “I enjoyed your song tonight.”

  “I shouldn’t have done it,” she said quietly, but her anguish was plain. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do that ever again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it made a friend of mine die.”

  This revelation caught Jackie completely by surprise. How the hell did Olivia know about that? “Do you mean Maggie?”

  The girl caught her breath and pressed her face against the reinforced screen. “Did you know her?”

  “Is it Maggie you’re talking about?” Jackie persisted.

  The answer came out more like a hiss. “Yes.”

  “And do you know who killed her?”

  “Why are you asking me this? I don’t want to think about it.”

  Jackie leaned forward until only the thickness of the screen separated her lips from Olivia’s ear. “Listen to me. I’m here to help you, Olivia. I came from Toronto—”

  “Did Andy send you?”

  “Yes. He’s—”

  “You have to tell him to stop. They said they’d kill him. You must go away! ”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I can’t tell you!”

  Jackie decided to push her even more. “Did they also kill Maggie?”

  “I can’t tell you,” she repeated with a sob.

  “Why not? We can help you, if you’ll let us.”

  “No, you can’t. No one can help me.”

  “Let us help you.”

  “No!” she practically shouted, and both women froze. Then she whispered, “You have to go.”

  “Will you be here tomorrow?”

  “No.”

  “I’m going to come anyway. Are you happy they killed your friend?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then I want you to think about helping us. We can get them. Get them for Maggie. Get them for you.”

  “I’m scared.”

  Olivia had turned her head to the side, still pressed against the screen. Jackie whispered directly into her ear, “So am I,” then slipped off into the shadows.

  The fog wasn’t the only thing swirling as Jackie made her way back to her building.

  What Olivia had told her was nothing short of explosive. If she did indeed know who killed Maggie, the situation had suddenly become very dangerous for both of them. Jackie was under no illusion that people who have committed one murder wouldn’t hesitate to commit another to save themselves.

  She had to tell this Marvell character immediately what Olivia had said, so he could pass it on to Shannon. Maybe it was time to get herself and Olivia out of there.

  As the fog thickened, Jackie sprinted for the back of her building. The moment she slipped back safely through the window of her room, she was scrambling to get the transmitter out of its hiding place in the back of the chair. She’d be the first to admit she was worried.

  Chapter 21

  By the time Shannon got off the phone
with Andy Curran, she was about as depressed as she’d ever been. Even though a hot shower would have felt great, she lacked the energy to do anything about it.

  A few minutes later, her cell chirruped happily, not reflecting its owner’s state of mind.

  It was Michael. “How’s my globetrotter?” he asked.

  “Today I trotted about a mile up shit creek.”

  “That bad? Or are you just tired?”

  “I’m worried and tired, goddammit!” she said with more heat than she’d intended.

  “Tell me about it, luv,” he answered soothingly.

  She did, leaving nothing out and giving herself a good verbal buttkicking for not stressing to Curran before she left town to keep his mouth shut.

  Michael, as he often did, saw right to the heart of the matter. “What will get the coppers off your back?”

  “Bringing in whoever killed this Maggie woman.”

  “Do you have any idea who it was?”

  “Sort of, but I’ve got enough on my hands. I can’t do Palmer’s job, too.”

  “I didn’t say you should, but couldn’t you get someone else to do it for you?”

  The image of a very large black man floated into Shannon’s mind. “You just might be on to something.”

  “In any event, you can’t return now. If you do, this Palmer bloke will very likely keep you here. That won’t do at all, will it?”

  “No.”

  “Right. Then just proceed as if nothing is wrong back here. Put it out of your mind and get on with the job.” His voice changed. “Now, is there anything else I can do?”

  She finally grinned. “Don’t leave for the UK until I can give you a proper send-off.”

  “You’ve got until Saturday then. My plane leaves at five o’clock.”

  “I’ll try really hard to be there, Quinn.”

  “I’m counting on it, O’Brien.”

  When she hung up, it was well after one, too late to do any work on Taggart. Shannon picked up the phone to make two last calls: one to Roy and one to his employee, Marvell. At least she didn’t have anything to worry about with Jackie. She appeared to have the situation at Sunnyvale well in hand.

  Talking to Roy on the phone did a lot to settle Shannon down. He just sounded so confident as he took down the information he needed. “I should be able to get you something on this by tomorrow afternoon. Is that okay?”

  “Perfect, Roy. How are you going to handle them? From what I heard from my contact at the Toronto airport, these charter companies don’t like to give out information.”

  “Hey, babe, give your man some credit here. I just have to put the fear of God in them. Believe me, the last thing they want is to be dragged into a murder investigation. I can make them spill the information. Trust ole Roy. Tomorrow I’ll have the names and addresses of those two bastards for you.”

  “What about Marvell? I couldn’t get him on the phone just now.”

  “He’s probably out checking your trapline. You worry too much.”

  “Sometimes I think I don’t worry enough,” she said.

  “Get some rest. You’ll feel better tomorrow if you do. Just put everything out of your mind.”

  Shannon stared at the cell phone in her hand after the call ended, considering Roy’s words.“Easy for you to say,” she said disgustedly as she headed for the shower.

  Next morning, Shannon was on her way by eight thirty. This time she had her eye on the cabby to make sure he didn’t take the out-of-towner by any circuitous route.

  Sleep had come more easily than she’d expected, and even though she’d slept in, there hadn’t been enough of it to do the job. She was left feeling groggy and out of sorts, a bad thing when she really needed to be at the peak of her game.

  “This is it, lady,” the cab driver told her as he pulled up in front of a three-storey brick apartment building that clearly had seen better days. “Want me to wait?”

  “No. I may be awhile. Thanks for the lift.”

  The money and receipt had barely changed hands before the cabby was doing a tire-screeching U-turn in search of his next fare.

  Sizing up the building and offering a silent prayer, Shannon started up the front walk with as positive an outlook on the day’s prospects as she could muster. Yesterday’s in the past, she told herself firmly. How come she didn’t believe it?

  The super wasn’t home, but she spoke with his wife, a plump Hispanic whose accent made her speech nearly indecipherable. Even so, after a few minutes it was clear the woman didn’t know anything about Jack Taggart.

  “How long have you been here?”

  The woman thought for a minute. “Cinco años.”

  Not good enough. Taggart hadn’t been around for over six years, as far as she’d been able to discover.

  “Is there someone who has been living here longer than that?”

  A look of puzzlement crossed the woman’s face, then she turned on her heel and stomped off down the hall, throwing some rapid-fire Spanish back over her shoulder. It had the sound of something like “Wait here,” so Shannon stayed put.

  A few minutes later, the super’s wife was back with a grey-haired woman in tow. Thankfully, her English was perfect, though heavily shaded by her obvious Brooklyn heritage.

  “I’m Nancy Morris,” she said as she came to a halt. “Maria tells me you have some questions she can’t answer.”

  “Shannon O’Brien. How long have you lived here?”

  “Nearly twenty years now. I used to teach Spanish, so Maria comes to me when she needs help.”

  “I’m looking for information on a man named Jack Taggart. Does that name ring a bell?”

  She pursed her lips in concentration, then shook her head. “Do you have a description of him?”

  Shannon shook her head. “Sorry, no. He was an artist, you know, paintings and the like. He would have lived here about six years ago.”

  “I think I remember him. Big man. Full of himself.”

  “Do you remember the last time you saw him?”

  “Search me.” The woman must have seen Shannon’s shoulders sag a bit, because she reached forward and patted her arm. “But I do know someone who can help you. She’s been here even longer than me and had the apartment next door to the man you’re looking for.”

  Sadie Parker lived in a third-floor apartment filled to overflowing with plants, mostly orchids. She was a tiny woman whose entire body seemed to be one giant mass of wrinkles. Although hard of hearing, her bright eyes showed that her brain was still completely in gear.

  “Sadie,” Mrs. Morris shouted, “this woman is asking about the artist who lived next to you several years ago. Remember him?”

  “Jack Taggart? Of course I remember him!” Shannon held out a business card, which the woman carried over to her living room window to look at in better light.

  “So you’re a private investigator – from Toronto, too. Why in the world would you be interested in Jack?”

  “It’s part of a missing person case I’m working on.”

  Sadie offered Shannon tea but pointedly didn’t offer any to her neighbour.“Thank you for bringing this young lady up, Mrs. Morris. I’m sure you have any number of things to take care of.” Once the door was shut, Sadie smiled. “She’s a very nice lady, but the worst gossip in the world. I’m sure you don’t want all of Flatbush knowing your business.”

  Tea was served with butter cookies. They sat at a small table near the window.

  “I haven’t thought about Jack Taggart in years,” the old woman said as she picked up a cookie.

  “When did he move out?”

  “Move out? He never moved out. He just suddenly left the country.”

  Shannon had found if she leaned forward and spoke close to the old woman’s ear, she could make herself understood without having to shout. “When was that?”

  “Let’s see. It was just before my Sam passed away, that’s over six years ago now.”

  “It’s important that I nail down
the exact date.”

  “Just a minute.” Sadie left the room and came back with a photo album. “My daughter visited from England the week before. That’s the last time she saw her father alive. Let’s see...” She thumbed through several pages. “Yes, here it is. This is Sam and my grandson Nate. Jack Taggart took that photo.”

  The photo was a good one. Taken in black and white, it perfectly caught the merriment in the departed Sam’s eyes as he looked at his grandson. The granddad looked gaunt and ill, though. Shannon knew all too well what that meant. She’d seen it in her own father as cancer had sucked his life away.

  “It’s a nice photo,” she said with a forced smile. “And do you remember the date?”

  “The date is on the back, I believe. Jack was supposed to do up a large print of this for me, but then he just took off.”

  “The date?”

  “Let’s see.” She lifted the clear plastic sheet covering the page and turned over the photo. “January third.”

  That date fit right in with Shannon’s timetable. Olivia’s brother had been murdered nine days earlier.

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “Jack tended to brag. He told us he was about to come into some money and was going to travel, go to Europe and just paint.”

  “Did he say where the money was coming from?”

  Sadie shrugged. “He said he was getting it because he knew ‘how to play the game’. That’s the way Jack talked. He was nice enough, but a bit conceited. Told Sam he wasn’t going to have to teach any more.”

  “So he had a lot of students.”

  The old woman laughed.“To hear him talk, you’d think so, but I only knew of one: a spoiled rich kid in Manhattan. Jack bragged about how much he was charging her parents for lessons. Sam, God rest his soul, was impressed by things like that.”

  “Do you know anything about Jack Taggart being mixed up with illegal drugs?”

  Silence descended on the apartment, and Shannon became aware of all the noise of a huge metropolis like New York that had been going on just outside the window.