We went in Cal’s suburban van, listening to a Beach Boys tape on Cal’s stereo. Pet Sounds. The man has taste. It gave the outing a feeling of adventure and fun, and took the grimness out of our mission. It was also a bit surreal.
Cal pulled into the little lot and parked. I put my hand on his arm when he went to remove the keys.
“Please,” I said. “Just wait here. Weill bring him right out. I promise.”
He switched the ignition on again without saying a word, turned up the sound, leaned back against the headrest, and closed his eyes as music filled the car. The Beach Boys were singing “I just wasn’t made for these times.”
“Be careful,” Cal said. “And if you’re not back in ten minutes, I’m coming in.”
“Okay, John Wayne, you got yourself a deal,” Esther said. We jumped out of the van and crossed the parking lot. Motorcycles and pickup trucks again, but this time there were more of them.
Inside it was like a scene from a movie of the week about folks on the wrong side of town. The lighting was perfect, in smoky pools and shadows around the pool tables. The people were from central casting: tattooed bikers with beards and big bellies, mean black dudes in funny hats, acne-scarred women in tight pants and tank tops, scrawny middle-aged white guys with squints. The music came from the jukebox. It wasn’t the Beach Boys, and it drowned out the television, which was showing L.A. Law. Anne Kelsey was in earnest conversation with Stewart Markowitz. No one in the bar but me seemed to care about their marital problems.
Cecil was in his usual spot at the bar, helped out at this hour by a tired-looking woman, perhaps his wife, who exchanged wisecracks with the customers.
Cecil saw us coming, and walked over to the empty end of the bar. We joined him, aware of the many eyes staring at us.
“Is Hank around?” I asked. Cecil couldn’t hear me.
“Hank Cartwright,” I shouted. “Have you seen him?”
Cecil pointed to a dark corner near the men’s room. I could just make out Hank’s slumped form in the gloom. He sat alone at a table, his back to the wall.
“Is he paid up?” I yelled. “We’re taking him out of here.”
“No problem,” said Cecil.
“Thanks,” I shouted. We crossed the room. The pool players, male and female, made a point of not getting out of our way, forcing us to brush past them, while they grinned like wolves. It didn’t faze me. I had been through the same gauntlet in several visiting locker rooms. I looked at Esther. She had “don’t mess with me” written all over her. There were no worries there.
We got to Hank’s table. He was out of it, oblivious. I touched him on the shoulder. He started and glared at me. It took a moment for him to recognize me. When he did, tears filled his eyes. He spoke. I leaned closer.
“I killed her,” he said. “I killed my little girl.”
Chapter 35
“If you say so, Hank,” I said loudly, directly into his left ear. “Why don’t you come with us and tell us about it?”
We helped him from his chair, then led him out of the room. He stumbled a few times, but was steadier than I had feared he would be.
When we got to the car and opened the door, he saw Cal, and began to cry harder. He slumped in the passenger seat, sobbing.
“Cal, my old friend. My baby’s gone,” he said. “I killed my baby.”
So much for the theory that he knew about Lucy’s paternity. I looked at Cal. He was staring at Hank, astonished. So was Esther, who hadn’t heard what Hank said to me in the bar. I shook my head at them.
“Cal, I think we should take Hank home and hear him out,” I said. “Do you know where he lives?”
“You still behind Rita and Tom, Hank? Over on Cypress?”
Cartwright nodded his head. Esther and I jumped into the back. We rode through the empty streets, past block after block of tidy bungalows, lights all out, before turning right on Alternate Highway 19, the old shore road. The only sound was Hank Cartwright, snuffling and muttering. A mile or so farther, we turned up a street that quickly became a dirt road, past ramshackle houses and an auto body shop. There wasn’t a cypress to be seen.
“Which house is it?” Cal asked. Hank indicated a driveway to the left, next to a house with the lights on and the sound of music and voices arguing inside. We got out. A dog barked.
“Shut up,” Hank shouted, heading towards an old trailer up on blocks at the very back of the large untended yard.
We followed him, picking our way through weeds and garbage to the cinder blocks that served as his doorstep. Hank fished the key out from under a flower pot filled with dead plants, opened the door, and turned on the lights.
The place was surprisingly neat, if under-furnished. The fake wood-panelled walls were bare, and the floor was of shabby brown and white marble-patterned linoleum, worn through in spots. There was a two-seat booth with a table in it in the kitchen area, and a day bed and rocking chair in the living room, which also had a stand with a small black and white television set on it, and brick-and-board bookshelves filling one wall. Half held books, the other half records and tapes. The stereo system ran along the top ledge. A hall led to what was probably the bedroom and bathroom area. I could see more bookcases through an open door.
Hank headed for the rocking chair, obviously his favourite place. There was a standing lamp beside it, and a shelf close to hand, with an ashtray, matches, and rolling papers.
Cal went to the day bed and sat down. Esther went to the sink and filled a kettle.
“See what you can find in the way of coffee or tea,” she told me. I looked through various canisters and found old cookies, baggies of drugs, and, finally, some ancient-looking tea bags of assorted sizes.
“It’s probably herbal,” I said, handing her the can.
“That’s okay, as long as it’s not alcoholic.”
I sat next to Cal on the day bed.
“Let’s talk, Hank,” I said. “Why do you say you killed Lucy? I don’t think you pulled the trigger.”
He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
“I might as well have,” he said.
“You got her the gun she gave Dommy. Domingo Avila,” I guessed. “Is that what you mean?”
“I didn’t know he was going to use it on her,” he shouted. “I didn’t know he was going to kill her!”
“He didn’t, Hank,” I said, gently. “Believe me, it had nothing to do with that gun.”
Esther brought him a cup of tea. He looked at her for the first time.
“Who are you?”
“Esther Hirsch,” she said. “I’m a lawyer.”
I interrupted before she could tell him who her client was.
“She’s a friend, Hank. You can trust her.”
He put the mug down on the ledge next to him.
“Anyone got a cigarette?” he asked.
I handed him one. He tore the filter off. I lit it.
“She’s right, Hank,” Cal said. “We think that it was another gun that killed Lucy. Her killer just planted it in Avila’s apartment.”
“Where did you get the gun, Hank?” I asked. He shrugged.
“Off a guy.”
“The guy have a name?” Cal asked.
“Sonny, down at Cecil’s place. Big guy. Beard.”
“Where did he get it?” Esther asked.
“Didn’t ask him,” Hank said, sipping on his tea. He made a face and put it back down. “Stole it, probably. I heard him talking about it. Lucy asked if I knew where to get one, so I bought it off him.”
“With whose money?” I asked.
“Lucy gave me a couple hundred bucks. That guy’s money, I guess. Avila.”
“What kind of a gun was it?”
“Police Special.”
“Did it have a serial number?” I asked.
“N
o. It was filed off.”
“When did you give it to Lucy?” Cal asked.
“Last time I saw her,” he said. “The night before she got killed.”
He mopped his eyes with his sleeve, then looked at Cal. His cigarette was burning down between his fingers.
“What am I going to do?”
“I’ll take care of you, buddy,” Cal said, getting up and taking the cigarette away before it hurt him. “Right now, you’d better try to get to sleep.”
He led him into the bedroom. Esther and I sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the murmur of their conversation. Hank sounded querulous, Cal reassuring.
“I’m tired,” I said.
“Me too.”
“It’s not even that late,” I said, looking at my watch. “It’s only nine-thirty.”
“It feels like midnight.”
“I’ve been thinking,” I began.
“Lucky you. That must mean your brain is still working.” she said. “Mine has shut down, fresh out of solutions.”
“I think I’ve figured it out, believe it or not. A lot of things are starting to make sense. But I’ve got couple of things to check at the players’ condo. I can phone Gloves.”
“What have you got?” Esther asked, excited. “Come on! We’re in this together, right?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I’ve been thinking about a crying baby and spare keys.”
“Huh?”
Cal came out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
“He’s out for the night,” he said. “I’ll just stop and speak to Rita on the way and see if she’ll check in on him in the morning. I feel kind of guilty leaving him this way.”
“I imagine this is a pretty normal night for old Hank,” I said. “Come the morning he will probably have forgotten everything.”
“Maybe, but I’ll still check in on him,” Cal said. “Are you two ready to go? I should get home pretty soon.”
We turned off the light and left the trailer. Cal went to the house while we got in the car. The dog barked.
“I’ve got to get to a phone,” I said.
“Let’s go back to my place,” Esther said.
Cal got into the car and started it up.
“Where to?”
“Esther’s,” I said. “For now.”
“I think Kate has a theory,” Esther explained, “but she isn’t letting us in on it except by telling me riddles.”
“I need to ask a few more questions, first. I have to use her phone.”
“Let’s go to my place, then. It’s closer, and I’d like to see if Beth is okay.”
“Good idea,” Esther said.
“If you don’t think she’ll mind,” I said. “I’m not sure she needs to have a stranger around right now, though.”
“No, really, she’s fine,” Cal said.
Cal’s place was only five minutes away from Hank’s trailer, but it might as well have been on another planet. It was a big, rambling house with screened verandas on a large, treed lot. It looked welcoming, with a light burning on the front porch.
Inside, it was my kind of place, cluttered and cozy, full of stuff. Books and magazines were piled on the coffee table, there were paintings and posters on the wall, and curious objects filled all available surfaces. One cabinet was full of old windup toys; a chest held a collection of boxes of various types; straw, carved wood, ceramic, and lacquer; there was a jumble of beautiful baskets in a bay window. The floors were gleaming wood in wide planks, covered here and there with different kinds of rugs, some of them skewed by the excitement of a large dog of no apparent pedigree, who was trying to knock Cal over in welcome. A fat orange-and-white cat sat in the most comfortable-looking armchair and watched us all with feline disdain.
“This is beautiful,” I said. “Can I move in tomorrow?”
Cal laughed.
“Any time,” he said. “If you can stand the kids and animals. There’s a phone in the kitchen. I’ll just go check on Beth.”
He went up the stairs, softly calling her name. Esther showed me to the kitchen and sat at the table, while I stood at the counter and dialled Gloves’s number.
“Am I disturbing you? I know it’s late.”
“No, everyone’s still up,” he said.
“Is Axel Bonder around, too?”
“I saw him half an hour ago.”
“Good. I may have to come over in a bit to talk to him and some other people. Can I use your place?”
“Sure, why?”
“Put it this way,” I said. “If I’m right, Dommy should be in uniform by the weekend.”
“You’ve done it? That’s great!”
“Just answer me this,” I said. “Who lived in Alex and Dommy’s apartment last year?”
He told me.
“I’ll be right over,” I said, and told him who else to invite.
Cal came into the kitchen as I got off the phone. He was laughing.
“She was in bed,” he said. “Reading a book and eating apples and cheese. She isn’t worried or mad. She just sent Esther her love and told me to be careful.”
“I’ve just got one more call to make,” I said. “What’s the number at the police department?”
Chapter 36
Cal and Esther asked me questions all the way to Gloves’s place, but I wouldn’t tell them my theory until I had a few more answers. We waited outside the gate for Troy Barwell to arrive. I didn’t want to go in until the whole group was gathered and the police were on the scene. It would be awkward to answer questions beforehand. Besides, why spoil the drama?
“You think it’s Barwell?” Esther said. “I like him for it. But I don’t know what crying babies have to do with anything.”
“I like Bonder,” Cal said. “He was hanging around the place all weekend long. He’s got the keys. What’s to stop him from using them and making the switch?”
“Yeah, but he wouldn’t have had sex with her,” Esther said. “Come on.”
“Maybe the second guy didn’t have anything to do with it. Maybe it was the other player, what’s his name, the catcher she was after.”
The conversation stopped when the Sunland Police Department cruiser pulled up and the three of us got out of the van. Barwell had his sidekick, Sargent, with him, as I had requested.
“I’m here strictly under orders, Ms. Henry,” he said. “I don’t like civilians telling me what to do. But the chief told me to come, so I’m here. Let’s get this cockamamie thing over with so I can get back to doing my job.”
We went to the Gardiners’ door, which Karin opened. Her excitement was obvious.
“They’re here, Kate, like you asked.”
There were nine people waiting for us, all the ones I had told Gloves to invite. They were crowded into the living room, some on furniture that had been brought in from the patio. Gloves sat on the couch along the wall to my right as I came in the door. Karin and Esther went to join him there.
In the corner between the couch and the sliding glass patio doors sat Axel Bonder, looking ill at ease, wearing his coveralls. Alex Jones sat on the floor next to him, his back to the doors, looking relaxed and interested.
Stinger Swain and Tracy were side by side on a patio lounge chair, with Goober Grabowski slightly behind them on a dining-room chair. There were two more chairs free for Cal and Barwell, next to Eddie and Clarice Carter along the back wall beside the door. Sargent stood. I crossed to the kitchen entrance.
“I’m trying to refrain from saying that I’m sure you wonder why I asked you all here,” I said. Only Gloves and Cal smiled. This was a tough audience.
“Well, it’s because I think that the key to Lucy’s murder is right here in this room, and I have a few questions to ask.”
“Who do you think you are?” Stinger asked. “No one
told me we had to go through this shit.”
He started to get up. Tracy put her hand on his arm and looked at him sternly. He sat back down.
“This is horseshit,” he said.
“Maybe,” I replied. “But you might find it interesting. Stick around and see.”
I looked at Bonder, miserable in his corner.
“First of all, Mr. Bonder, I want to ask you a question about something that happened last Sunday afternoon. You were seen coming out of Alex Jones’s apartment. Is that correct?”
“Yes, he saw me. Avila.”
“Can I ask what you were doing there?”
“Doing my job,” he said, slightly belligerently. “I went by and saw the door open. I seen Jones here go out half an hour before, so I checked to make sure everything was all right.”
“And was it?”
“I don’t know. I called, and there was no answer, so I just closed the door and made sure it was locked. I don’t want no trouble.”
“Then Mr. Avila came and saw you there.”
“Yeah.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Asked what I was doing there, same as you,” he said.
“And you told him what you just told me?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you. Now, Detective Sergeant Barwell, did you come to the condo that day, Sunday, that is?”
“No, not until the next day.”
“To what purpose?”
“To search Domingo Avila’s apartment.”
“On what grounds?”
“We had information that he was in possession of a gun that could match the ballistics on the murdered girl. We also had learned he was involved with Lucy Cartwright and could have a motive for her murder.”
“Mr. Bonder, did Detective Sergeant Barwell come to you with the search warrant on Monday?”
“Yeah. I let him in.”
“Was he alone?”
“No. The other guy was with him,” he said.
“Detective Sargent?”
“I don’t know his name,” Bonder said.
“How long would you say they were there?”
Night Game Page 19
