by Copper Smith
“You okay, Ginger?”
“I’m fine!” she yelled. Then she sniffed again and stabbed away a tear.
Legato bowed to her face and asked, “Did you know the girl?”
She tossed the book against the wall and jumped to her feet. “Don’t call her ‘the girl.’ And don’t call her ‘the stabbing victim’! She had a name! She was Gayle Shiffman! She was a person, God damn it! She had kids and a cat and a favorite song! She was my friend!”
He reached for a hug.
“Don’t touch me!”
He said nothing as Ginger paced across the break room. “I’m scared Legato. My friends are dying and I’m trying to make a living in the world that killed them. I don’t do scared very well.”
“Maybe you should take some time off.”
“Yes, and also take time off from paying my pills. No, I have to deal with this. I’m seeing somebody tonight – a client – and I’m going to deal with this.”
“Look, maybe you could use a little… security tonight. I’m thinking maybe two-hundred and fifty dollar’s worth. Then we could go to a coffee shop and talk, look over some papers.”
Ginger’s face melted into something close to a smile. “Sure.”
***
Apart from the engine’s rattle, the ride in Legato’s Mazda was uneasily quiet. As the downtown hotel approached, he made a clumsy stab at small talk. “What’s your name, Ginger? Your real name.”
“My name is Ginger Alicia Jamison. I don’t do fake names, honey. Never needed to hide behind one.”
He patted her on the knee.
“But maybe I should think about it. Now that Cassandra’s gone. And Gayle’s gone. Maybe hiding isn’t such a bad idea.”
“You going to Gayle’s funeral?”
She shook her head, eyes tightly holding back tears. “A bunch of us called to ask about it and her family freaked out. They don’t want us there.”
“Us meaning…?”
“Prostitutes. So we said, fuck them. We’ll do our own thing. We’re having a thing Friday night, memorial service, I guess. Pizza, swapping war stories, a pajama party for hookers. Gayle would have loved it. Cassandra would have hated it. But my soul aches for them both right now.”
They’d reached the hotel parking lot. Legato’s Mazda slipped between minivans behind the nondescript brick building. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked.
“Honey, I’m never sure I’m ready for this. But that’s just part of the job description.”
He put a calming hand over hers. “Look, maybe I can scrape together enough cash to make up for what you’d miss if you cancelled tonight –“
Ginger swallowed hard and said. “No, we’re going to do this. And here’s how: You’re going to take me to the room, introduce yourself to the client, then disappear soon as we see this man is not dangerous. Easiest hour you’ve ever worked.”
They shared a nod, then stepped into the hotel lobby, hand-in-hand like prom dates. At the front desk, he noticed her hand still hadn’t stopped trembling.
Once checked in, they went to the room and waited. Only ten minutes late, a business-suited guy with a forgettable face introduced himself as ‘Jonathan,’ and asked immediately why Legato was there.
“He’s my muscle for the night, here to make sure you act like a gentleman.”
“I don’t recall that as part of the deal,” he answered. “But whatever.”
Then Ginger went to the bathroom and it was time for Legato to leave. But the guy seemed creepy, too unhappy about the unscheduled guest. And he didn’t like being under the hired muscle’s scrutiny. “Jesus, what am I a convict! I have to prove I’m not some kind of sicko before we can be alone!”
“It’s a dangerous job, buddy. She’ s just being safe.”
“She wants safe, she should have learned to wait tables! Swear to God, I should cancel out. How do I know you’re not here to assault me and take my money?”
“It’s the risk you take, pal. And cancelling is still an option.”
“If that’s the way you feel, I will!” He started to the door, but Legato pinned his thin body against the wall.
“Cancellation fee’s five-hundred bucks.”
“What?”
“That’s right.” Legato snatched Jonathan’s wallet from his back pocket, took out his driver’s license. “A tip would be nice if you don’t want Mrs. Stansfield to know anything.”
Eyes now dancing with panic, Jonathan scooped out a wad of cash, tossed it away and scampered out the door.
Counting the money put a grin on Legato’s face, especially when he reached six hundred. Awfully generous of him.
Ginger emerged from the bathroom stunned. “The hell was all that yelling about? And where’s Jonathan?”
He tucked the stack of cash in her hand. “Jonathan got a little shy on us. But before leaving, he gave you a paid one-night vacation. I say we take it at the coffee shop in the lobby.”
“What did you do to him?”
“You coming with me or not?”
She followed him down the hallway, grabbing his hand before they reached the elevator. “Whatever it was you did to that guy, I kind of needed it tonight. Thank you.”
***
They started with small talk, Legato not wanting to leap directly into pictures of mutilated bodies and annoying questions about what the pictures meant. “Need any help for your memorial service?”
With a naughty grin, she said. “We could use a stripper.”
“My thong’s at the cleaners. Anything else?”
“Just having you there would be cool. It’s nice to know folks outside of the circle care.“ She scribbled the address on a napkin along with the time, 7PM. “And some food would be nice. Andy’s helping us out, but God knows what he could scrape together.”
“I’m sure it’ll be lovely.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’ll turn into an ugly catfight. But it’ll be something. My friends deserve something. Now you can stop pretending we’re here for a friendly chit-chat and give me that folder.”
He slid the folder across the table and waited, not sure what to expect.
After nearly an hour of silence, Ginger emerged from the stack of papers, saying, “Help me out, Legato. What is it you want from me?”
“I have no idea. I was hoping something would leap out at you and point a finger at somebody. But I guess not.”
“Reminds me of a standard anatomy class. Lacerations across the throat, the chest. Honey, if you think I’m going to be able to tell you something the police couldn’t, you’ve been watching too many cop shows. Nothing really stands out here. Just typical stab wounds. A little on the precise side, but nothing unusual.”
“Do you think it could have been done by a dull knife?”
“Absolutely not. Somebody had a sharp knife and a lot of skill.” But then Ginger stared at one of the photos a little too long and had to set it on the table.
“Kind of hard to look at, isn’t it?”
Ginger nodded, breathing in slowly, then out. “Two years of medical school makes it easier, but not when you’re looking at somebody whose kids you used to babysit.”
“I’m sorry I put you through this.”
“You didn’t put me through anything. The sicko with the knife owes the apology.”
Legato took a trip to the counter for a final coffee refill. He came back to find Ginger staring at the pictures again, holding them both close to her eyes. He asked her, “You ready to take off?”
She grunted in the affirmative without lifting her eyes away. “The cutting is weird, kind of similar. Like he was following a pattern or something. She laid the photos on the table and pointed to both chest lacerations. “Look how he stops right here – right at the lungs.”
“Why would he stop there?”
“No idea. He must have had a reason. Maybe he didn’t want to expose the lungs.”
“What would exposing the lungs do?”
“Ordinari
ly nothing. Unless, I don’t know, they were inflamed or something.”
“How do lungs get inflamed?”
“Lots of ways it can happen, honey. But poisoning comes to mind.” She shook her head like an art appraiser admiring a masterpiece. “The lack of splatter also seems weird. You’d expect more from a stabbing victim.”
Legato brought his eyes closer to the pictures, but without Ginger’s aid, there was nothing to see.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if this guy’s covering something up. Like the knife wounds are meant to conceal something, maybe concealing the real cause of death.”
“Why would they want to conceal the real cause of death?”
She shrugged. “So they could set somebody up.” Then she sent him a worried mother’s glance. “Maybe you.”
He took the pictures back, loaded them into the folder. “Let me know if anything else comes to mind.”
“What are you going to do, Legato?”
“Not sure. Going to the cops with what I know would be a smart move. Problem is I don’t know much. And we’re running out of time.”
“Not that you asked my advice, but I’d stay away from this. If somebody is setting you up, the last thing you want is to be involved. If I were you I’d get out of Dodge, far away. Any more bodies surface and you’ve got the alibi of not being anywhere near the scene. Maybe come back later, after thing’s have cooled out.”
“And give this guy time to find another victim to slice apart?”
Ginger didn’t have an answer for him. And the words ‘another victim to slice apart’ made her shiver. “We ready to go?”
***
It was late when Legato dropped Ginger off, close to four am. But sleep was not an option with so many crazy thoughts echoing in his head. He wondered if it made sense to head to Tolliver’s home, no plan of action, nothing but a creepy notion eating at him since Ginger brought up the possibility of a set up. For all his frat-boy goofiness, Tolliver had the brains to pull something like that off. And maybe the incentive too. The knife, the finance with the mysterious history, the desire for secrecy. Shit was adding up too quickly for him to ignore. So he made the half-hour journey to Tolliver’s house in just under ten minutes.
He’d gambled that a party hound like Tolliver would still be up – if not necessarily sober – past four. Pulling up the house, he figured he’d guessed correctly. Lights still on, music loud as ever. But a knock at the door yielded nothing. He held still for a second, thinking he’d heard a rustle inside. So he stayed put until tentative footsteps made it to the door.
When it swung up open, a black dude was there – not Lavon this time. “The hell you need?” he asked, wiping white powder from his nose and angry about having his fun interrupted.
“I need Tolliver.”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Gone to somewhere else.” He tried to slam the door shut, but couldn’t with Legato wedging his thigh inside it. Then he tossed the guy to the ground.
“We can make this easy or difficult,” Legato said, his knee on the guy’s neck. “It’s up to you.”
An elbow stabbed into Legato’s spine, sending him to the carpet, face down and winded. As the other guy sprang to his feet and held him down, Legato turned and saw Tolliver’s grimacing face bending to meet his. “I vote we make it easy, Legato. And here’s how: leave me alone.” He said to the other guy, “Jenk, grab that blade on the counter in case our friend isn’t in a cooperative mood today.”
Jenk held an old-school straight razor to Legato’s neck as Tolliver’s face reddened. “You really are getting to be a pain in the ass. I did not kill my fiancé! I’ve talked to the police and answered their questions.”
“You’ll forgive me but you’re not exactly acting like somebody with nothing to hide,” Legato said.
Tolliver wanted to pounce. He got into Legato’s face and growled,” I’m going to say this for the last time: I have nothing to hide! But if you keep sniffing around, you’re going to give me a reason to hide, my friend.” He nodded to Jenk, then the two men grabbed him, carried him to the back door. After fumbling with the handle, they opened it and carried him down the dark alley until they reached a secluded pocket.
Legato saw the hard concrete below him slamming into his face too quickly. Then everything went black and silent.
Chapter Seven
It was morning when Legato eyelids slowly fluttered open. Patiently waiting for the world to stop spinning, he climbed to his unsteady feet. In the distance an elderly lady snapped photos of him, then ducked into the bushes when he saw her.
The lady chirped into a cell phone. “He’s got thirty seconds before I call the police, Gladys!”
This might have been a good time to scamper away, but there was nowhere to run – and too many questions to be answered. Instead Legato figured he could use the lady to learn more about her misbehaving neighbor. He whipped out his cell phone, circled around her garbage can and spoke in a commanding bravado. “Yes, we’ve got plenty of violations here, guys – I see several instances of seven-thirty-eight and a textbook case of nine-nineteen.”
In seconds the lady emerged from the bushes, taking cautious steps to the fence, making sure her cloth robe was fully fastened. “Is there a problem here, sir?”
“Is there ever! I see multiple violations of various trash codes, including three-seventeen, zero-eight eleven and, wait is that a plastic bag in an aluminum can – dear God! I might have to call in the van for this one.” Cell phone cupped to his ear, he said, “Yes, Chuck? We got a huge one here…”
“Pardon me, sir, but you don’t look like a policeman to me.”
“Lady, those of us on the garbage squad dress this way to keep a low profile and I’m afraid being a smart aleck is not going to get you much sympathy from the boys in the van –“
She gasped. “I’m so sorry! I really don’t understand why I’m in trouble when my trash looks like all the others in the neighborhood.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, we’ll be back for others on this block too – especially our friends in twenty-four-seventeen over there.” He nodded toward Tolliver’s house.
A light in the lady’s eyes snapped on, telling Legato he’d stumbled across the neighborhood busy-body.
“Oh, I could tell you some stories about what goes on there!” she said.
He smiled like a jungle cat lead to his prey. “We’ve been after that fellow for a while. Any info you have on twenty-four-seventeen would be most appreciated, ma’am.”
“Really? My name’s Lillian. Would you like to come in for a while?”
Once inside Lillian’s warmly adorned home, Legato took a seat, nursing a sore back and trying to blink away the his fuzzy vision.
“I was just about to have some tea and roasted salmon,” she said.
“Sound wonderful. I should warn you that we’ll have to get very thorough, detailing everything you know about the goings-on in that yard and house. It could take a while. Are you comfortable with that, ma’am?”
With a grin she grabbed a thick scrapbook from her pantry and placed it on the breakfast table. “That salmon will take about an hour. By then we’ll be ready for book two.”
***
Lillian spent an hour displaying numerous photographs taken of Tolliver’s trash and yard, while providing uninterrupted commentary. To one picture, she added, “This was a night he and his friends got really loud – Halloween of a few years ago. I don’t know exactly what was happening in there, but I could smell some kind of smoke and I could tell it wasn’t a bonfire if you know what I mean.” To another she said, “These fellas he has in there usually come and go. The whole thing seems a little shady to me.” A few glimpses inside his home could also be spotted. But Legato didn’t learn much he didn’t already know.
One recurring image was a blue two-door Buick that looked familiar. Legato asked, “Does this car belong to one of the guys who come and go?”
“
Oh, no! That belongs to a nice lady. She’s very understanding and willing to help clean up any troubles that take place there – especially when the police get called.”
Legato’s head tilted. Something sounded odd. “What lady?”
“Well, I never did catch her name. But every time I’ve had a complaint about the noise at twenty-five-seventeen, she’d be right over, offering to talk to the man who lives there. She even offered me some money in case I had any troubles as a result of the loud noise or anything. She’s a real sweetheart – well, she was anyway. She hasn’t been around much for the last week or so”
“And you don’t know who this woman was?”
“I suppose she was employed by him in some capacity. I’d see her drive up some young girls to his house and drop them out. They looked so pretty, all dressed up nice and fancy.”
He stared at the photo longer, hoping the image would jar something loose. But it remained stubbornly lodged. “Lillian, how did you used to contact this nice lady if you ever had a problem with things that happened.”
Lillian dug through a pile of books, finally coming across an address book and fingering through it. “Let’s see here… it was somewhere in here…”
Legato scanned through the names. When he saw Corrine Strickland, several pieces slipped into place. But he still needed to figure some things out. So he said, “Lillian, I’m afraid this lady must be contacted. You see, by offering you a cash inducement, she was interfering with official Garbage Patrol business.”
“Oh, no!”
“That’s right. And for a variety of reasons too complicated to share, we will now have to run a sting operation on her – with assistance from you.”
“Ooh, sounds exciting!”
“Lillian, this is not some Hollywood movie. It’s a serious Garbage Patrol matter.” He leaned in closer and whispered. “What I need from you is to call Mrs. Strickland, tell you her need to see her about something very important. Can you do this?”
“I’ll do the best I can.”
“That’s all we can ask. We need you to give her call and ask her over here sometime in the next few hours. Tell her it is regarding her behavior in the vicinity of twenty-five-seventeen Chandelier lane.” He gave Lillian’s arm a gentle stroke to help soothe her nerves. Then came the call.
