“Chase, I want $200. Give it to me.”
He shimmied and shuddered in his seat.
Pepper didn’t understand, and she raised her hands.
“I saw you take money out of the vault the night MacKenzie was killed. I want $200.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t have any money.”
“I know about you and MacKenzie, always talking, up in his room. Give me the money or I’ll let O’Hara know.”
“Please, I don’t have any money.”
A click drew her attention to a switchblade in Pablo’s right hand. It flashed like a mirror under the long florescent light above, which blinked unrhythmically.
Josh entered the room.
“What the hell are you doing here? You s’posed to be carrying bags, you stupid shit.”
Josh answered meekly, “Pepper said I could take my dinner break.”
“Get outta here, faggot,” Pablo yelled in a hoarse voice.
“Josh, go back to the lobby. I can take care of this.”
“Do what she says, cocksucker.” Suddenly, Pablo stood up, knocking his chair backward, and lunged at Pepper, and, with the full weight of his body, he pressed her up against the counter and laid the knife on her neck. “Don’t move, or I’ll kill you.”
She felt powerless, bent backward, the small of her back lodged against the counter’s edge. She smelled his pungent scent, felt the cold blade, and didn’t dare speak for fear it would cut. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Josh trying hard to look as if he was going to do something, mouth open and cheeks looking as gaunt as a man on his death bed.
Pablo let go and dove at Josh. Another blue chair flipped over. Josh grabbed the door handle. She saw the door hit Josh’s foot and rattle. Pablo’s hand struck the door and pushed it back against the wall. The knife lay on the floor.
Pablo yanked Josh forward, tossed him to the right, and, with one hand, forced the door shut.
Pepper hoped someone heard the door slam and would come running. She looked straight ahead and heard Josh’s head hit the wall. Pablo’s hand was on top, and Josh’s forehead made a chafing sound as it scraped the wall, the movement sending her eyes downward to the knife, which was inches from Pablo’s foot.
She screamed.
Pablo turned Josh around, so they were facing each other, reached behind and pulled his hair. She gasped when Josh’s cross popped out from under his t-shirt. Pablo moved and blocked her view, but she heard air escaping from Josh’s mouth.
Pablo looked back at Pepper. She noticed droplets dotting his forehead like the white string of beads that had burst out of his uniform. Josh came into view again, and his white cross matched the beads.
He turned back to Josh, pulled harder, and in a low voice grumbled, “What’re you hanging around her for, faggot?”
Josh’s words were garbled, distorted by the extreme angle of his neck and by the cross, which had flipped up into his mouth.
“Josh, please let me take care of it,” Pepper begged. She could see his slender white fingers extended, stiff from the pressure of Pablo’s hold.
She smelled cigarette smoke and onions.
“That’s it, tell him.” He held tightly, and Josh’s neck was fully exposed.
Pablo let go. “Aight. I’ll kill you, fag, if you try something.”
Josh stepped over the knife.
Pablo picked up the knife and pointed it at him.
The cross dangled over Josh’s uniform. He quickly buried it inside.
“Okay, okay, but, but I’m going to stay outside the door.” Josh opened the door and started to back out.
“I saw you in the Castro. What if I spread the news around the hotel, huh, then what?” Pablo raised his voice. “How’d you feel, everyone knowing you’re a faggot?”
“I’ll tell Mr. O’Hara and my uncle you pulled a knife on us.”
“You do that, and I’ll kill you.”
Josh opened the door and began walking out.
With the side of his shoe, Pablo kicked the door, which bounced against the wall and shuttered. He stood back, looking stunned, turned his head around, and yelled at Pepper, “Bitch. Go back to the front desk with him. I’ll see you later. Forget you saw me, or I’ll fix your little boy here.”
The switchblade retracted, and the blade was swallowed.
Pepper slunk past the hand holding it. He grabbed Pepper, held her still, and put his mouth against hers. “If you say anything, you’ll see me again. Understand?” Pablo bit into his upper lip and swiped his tongue lewdly across her lips. He pocketed the knife, nudged Josh out of the way, and casually walked out.
Pepper collapsed.
Josh rushed to her side.
She feared Pablo would return. “Don’t worry about me.” In between sobs, she comforted Josh. “I’m okay. He’s just angry. I don’t know what he was talking about. Can you get me up?”
“Sure.” He fumbled trying to lift her up.
“Here, put your arms under mine.”
Now Josh was face-to-face with her and blushed.
She stopped sobbing.
“I must look a fright. Help me over to the table.” She sat down and asked for water.
Josh lifted the upturned chair, rearranged a few magazines, and said, “I can’t forget seeing the knife.”
“Some water.”
He snatched a paper cup from the wall holder and turned on the faucet. Water overran the cup. With his left hand, he passed the cup, and with his dry hand, he felt for the crucifix under his uniform.
“Thank you so much, Josh. You’re my hero.”
“But...he threatened you. Aren’t you going to tell?”
“No, Josh, I just want the whole thing to go away.”
“Why? He’s a total gangbanger!”
“I know, but we’re at work, and I need my job. I can’t have any more problems.”
“What are you talking about?” Josh asked. “My uncle is a police inspector. I can tell him what happened.”
“No. Absolutely not.” She stamped her foot. “Go back to work, Josh. I’ll be back at the front desk in a few minutes. Please don’t say anything. Please?”
“All right, but I don’t get it. If you see Pablo, just stay out of his way. I will, that’s for sure.” Josh headed for the door with a slight limp and a shoulder drooping to one side. He looked down the hall in both directions and said, “He’s gone.”
Waiting customers packed the lobby, and a large bus blocked a view of the street. Tiny wheels landing on top of baggage trolleys punctuated the racket.
Pepper got behind the desk.
Josh helped customers despite his pain.
Pablo acted as if nothing had happened.
Pepper grabbed her hair with both hands and tugged it to fit into a hairclip.
Except for yes’s and no’s, the threesome exchanged no words for the next few hours.
“Doris, can you handle the counter for the next couple of minutes?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I left something behind in the break room.”
“Cufflinks?”
“How did you know?”
“I have them right here.”
“Who brought them to you?”
“Mr. Fletcher. He said they belonged to Mr. MacKenzie and wanted to know how they got there.”
“I don’t know. Put them in Lost & Found. I don’t want to see them ever again.”
“Why?”
“They’re...they’re ugly.”
“Gold, ugly?”
Pepper couldn’t answer.
She was worried.
Chapter 11
Monday, July 8
On his way to Cornelius’ funeral, Larry picked up a call at quarter after eight.
“Inspector Leahy, this is Sergeant Mulligan. Inspector Varton asked me to give you information about the Cornelius Mackenzie autopsy, and we have the ballistics test.”
“What did the medical examiner say?”
“
He listed the death as a homicide.”
“And the ballistics test?”
“The gun found next to the body and the bullet found in Mr. MacKenzie’s body are not a match.”
“That means the gun that killed MacKenzie is missing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fingerprints?”
“No fingerprints were lifted from the gun next to the body, but even if there were fingerprints, the gun is not the murder weapon.”
“But fingerprint evidence would have helped us identify who was in the room.”
“Sorry, Inspector, that’s all we have for now.”
“Thanks.”
No closer to solving this crime.
A great crowd crammed the pews for Cornelius MacKenzie’s eight thirty funeral Mass at St. Ignatius. In the left pews were family and friends, and USF professors and members of the Board of Supervisors occupied the right side.
Larry took his place in the seventh pew on the left.
Minutes later, in walked James and Clare O’Hara. They sat in front of Larry. Clare wore a charcoal, double-breasted trench coat, belted in the middle, black stockings, and black shoes.
After kneeling and sitting, she turned around and said. “So glad to see you, Larry. It’s been too long. It’s an unfortunate event that brings us together.”
“Yes...Cornelius was a wonderful man.”
“Yes. Maybe, we can talk afterwards.”
James turned around and asked, “Where’s Lauren?”
Larry saw Clare give James a “not the right moment” look and said, “She wasn’t feeling well.”
With a simple, unassuming smile, Clare said, “Tell her I said hello.”
Larry looked around and saw Mark and Joan genuflect at the pew directly behind his.
He could have come alone.
Larry started to count the number of people in attendance until numbers turned blue. He had been diagnosed at age eleven as having the neurological condition of synesthesia. For him, it was seeing numbers in color. The numbers mattered less than the solemnity of the occasion.
Maureen Daley and her daughter, Megan, passed by the gray and white marble communion rail and followed the dark red carpet down the middle aisle. They took their seats behind Mark and Lauren. Larry looked forward. Clare never turned her head, and James was looking down at the wooden floor beneath the kneelers.
Larry gazed at the Fourteenth Station of the Cross, Christ’s Body Is Laid in the Tomb, and couldn’t stop thinking about Cornelius until the second reading began:
“My sons, do not disdain the discipline of the Lord, nor lose heart when he reproves you; For whom the Lord loves, he disciplines; he scourges every son he received.” Hebrews, 12, 5.
When Father Ralph raised the chalice, Larry felt the pain of his son’s defiance.
Doesn’t Mark know I must correct him?
Before Mass and before the call from the Situation Investigation Team, Larry had rung up Josh to be sure he would be at the funeral. He didn’t sound like himself, but he showed up early, proving that Father Ralph’s rigorous training was working, and their mutual respect was lasting.
Larry left by the side door and stood with a small crowd out on the expansive lawn. He saw James and Clare walking quickly to the back of the church. Larry wanted to say hello to Josh but seeing James and knowing that Father Ralph blamed Larry for failing to protect Cornelius caused him to change his mind.
He saw Mark’s and Maureen’s lips flapping, a stark contrast to the tranquility of Joan’s crescent-shaped lips.
Time for me to leave.
During the drive to Central, he caressed a jumping leg muscle, and damp, gray streets added to his dismay over Mark’s choices. No employees from the Greenwich came to the funeral, and Joe and Hieu didn’t make an appearance.
•••
Joe sat behind his desk.
“Busy?” Larry asked
“Yes, I am,” he said.
Larry stood squarely in front of Joe and said, “I heard the results of the autopsy and the ballistics test.”
“Interesting results, aren’t they?” he said, with a gleam in his eye that matched the stone in his Marine ring. “The gun that killed Cornelius is missing. We have to figure out who took it from the Greenwich Security office.”
Fresh air from Joe’s open window chilled Larry’s ears. “How do you know it was the other Security office gun?”
Joe said, “I’m working on that assumption.”
“I spoke to Gerald Smith.”
“You did what?” Joe’s voice shook.
“I interviewed Mr. Smith at his apartment. I took notes.” He handed Joe the notes and said, “You can add them to the file.”
Joe snatched the notes. Admiral-blue eyes glared over glasses resting on the tip of his nose. He pounded the desk, and the notes flew out of his hands and dispersed in every direction. “Why did you do that? Smith is scheduled for an interview. You may have compromised it. All the key employees of the Greenwich have appointments! All you’ve done is...pick up bits and pieces with paper tongs!” His glasses fell off and hung on the black cord against his white shirt. Procedures not followed caused his ruddy facial lines to contort.
The hotter Joe’s temper got, the more citrus body splash Larry smelled.
“I can explain. I wanted to catch him off guard. I’m helping you out. It’s all there in my notes. I didn’t compromise anything.”
As he stormed out, he heard Joe say, “Captain Dempsey will be informed.”
Larry steamed down the hall to his office. He flung the black jacket past Hieu. “Dammit. Dammit.” Larry paced, picked the jacket off the floor, and sat down, every inch of his body hot to the touch.
Hieu was silent.
“Over the weekend I visited Gerald Smith.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“It was an oversight. I gave Joe my notes on Smith, and Joe exploded. Is that for me?” Larry asked, looking at a bottled water on his desk.
“Thought you might need it. I ran to my office and back when I heard Joe.”
Larry took a swig. His face cooled. “Maybe Joe is right, but investigations are like seeing through dark glass. You see people on the other side, but you don’t know who.” The phone rang. “Yes, sir, I’ll be right in.”
“You had better come along. You’ll see me flagellated and turned upside down until I’m emptied of every drop of blood but chock it up to a ‘learning’ experience.”
Varton sat in one of three chairs lined up opposite Dempsey’s desk. The office occupied a corner of the building and looked out over more roofs and alleys. Through open blinds Larry could see clothes drying on a fire escape and a small, half-closed window.
Floor disinfectant rose in the heat.
Larry thought about his father’s warning long ago, “Why make excuses?”
“Sit down, Leahy. Good morning, Inspector Trang.” Larry gripped the smooth arms of the chair next to Varton’s and looked straight ahead. Hieu took the chair on the other side of Larry, and all three faced Dempsey.
“You interviewed Smith at home. What is the damn problem, Leahy?”
Say as little as possible.
“Mea culpa. I should have informed Inspector Varton beforehand.”
“I appreciate the apology. I’m not going to take disciplinary action, but you can bet your ass I will next time. You are too good and too experienced to let this happen again. Is there anything else to report?”
Larry’s grip didn’t loosen. “Yes. I also interviewed Maureen Daley at her home.”
The only sound in the room came from outside when a neighbor slammed a window shut.
“I want Leahy taken off the case.” Varton’s complexion hadn’t changed over the past several minutes, but now it was the color of fruit punch.
Dempsey ran his hands through black hair that reminded Larry of Father Ralph’s. His seat sprang forward when he got up and walked to the window.
“I’ll retire if taken o
ff the case. Before I do, may I add one thing?”
Dempsey looked at the three inspectors and said, “I want this case solved in five days. What do you want to say, Leahy?”
“We should consider Smith a suspect, but he appeared to be telling me the truth. He wasn’t lying. He told me he did go to Cornelius’ apartment on the night in question but didn’t go in. He ducked into a hiding spot when he heard someone else in the hall. Smith didn’t see who it was, and the formal interview can pick up there.” It had taken one breath to say what he had to say. Larry’s vocal chords were taut when he wheezed out, “As you know better than any of us, Captain, interviewing a suspect at home has some advantages. When I accused Smith of killing Cornelius, he got agitated but gave reasonable answers to my questions.”
Dempsey’s blank look allowed Larry to state his case. “All I ask is I be allowed on as the second investigator in the case.”
“Absolutely not,” Varton interjected. “Leahy has already violated procedures. I object to any further involvement from him.” Varton’s neck then turned a deeper shade of punch, and Larry felt his own face heating up.
Dempsey sat back in his chair, which creaked in the silence. He leaned forward and placed both hands squarely on the desk. “You two have presented me with a tough choice. I can’t let things remain as they are. There is too much ill will in the room.”
“Fine, I’ll retire. You can have the case to yourself, Joe.”
Larry let go of the arms of the chair and walked out.
In his office, he gathered up what remained of the case, which wasn’t much.
Hieu walked in. “Larry, what did you do that for?” His voice was filled with shock and disappointment.
“Sit down, Hieu. I have something to tell you.”
Larry began to tell him the story of his dad.
“And Joe wants you as his trainee.” Larry pushed his chair back and rolled it past Hieu toward the open window. He reached up, shut it, and left the chair where it was. Standing over his desk he handed Hieu the thin MacKenzie file and said, “I’m taking the rest of the day off.” He grabbed his black jacket and walked out.
Larry drove to the AT&T Park box office and asked for two afternoon tickets. He splurged on the last two tickets in Row F, Section 107, six rows behind the Giants’ dugout. It didn’t matter who the opposing team was.
Pretty City Murder Page 17
