I Spy - Mark Kane Mysteries - Book Six: A Private Investigator Crime Series of Murder, Mystery, Suspense & Thriller Stories - A Murder Mystery & Suspense Thriller

by John Hemmings

“Why would she need to do that? If she was involved in the heist only she and her accomplice would know about it. If she ran wouldn’t it just draw attention to herself?”

  “Yes, it would. But if I worked it out then whomever that money or those drugs belonged to would have soon worked it out too. She needed to get out quick.”

  “If what you say is right then the pair of them could be far away by now.”

  “Well, the guy whose stuff was stolen will certainly be looking for her. But he may not know who was responsible for the actual theft. As far as the killer is concerned the best thing he can do is sit tight. Leaving town suddenly would draw attention to himself. This may be a big country but some of these drug dealers have a very long reach.”

  “But Trish is a real threat to the killer. If they get her, there’ll get him too.”

  “I think she’s between a rock and a very hard place. I don’t think she’ll survive long if I can’t find her. And it may already be too late. He might decide to betray her just like she betrayed Freddy. The two of them could be together and could be out of the state by now. Or she could be dead.”

  “Kane, don’t you think it’s time to bring the police into this?”

  “Right now nobody knows I’m looking for them, except Trish’s room-mate and she’s not going to blab about it. I think I have a better chance of finding them than the police. Mike Kingsley hired me to find out if someone had killed his son. His family wants the culprit brought to justice. I’m keeping it to myself for the time being.”

  “Okay, you’re the boss.”

  “Let’s go eat some lunch. I’m in a good mood so I’ll let you choose the place. Then we’ll go see Veronica.”

  “Who’s Veronica?”

  “Oh, that’s how I think of Miss Price,” I said. “She looks a lot like Veronica Lake, don’t you think?”

  “She looks no more like Veronica Lake than you look like Alan Ladd,” she said.

  “Well I think she does.”

  “Maybe it’s the hair,” Lucy said.

  Chapter Nine

  Ten Days

  Angela Price sat in my office, brushed her wavy blond hair away from her face with her fingers, and tossed her head. Lucy, sitting next to her, looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

  “We think we may have made a little progress with this investigation, Miss Price.” I said. “But before I tell you about that I’d like to ask you a question. Did Bob have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Not as far as I know,” she said.

  “He never mentioned a brother?” I said, looking her straight in the eyes and narrowing my own.

  “A brother?” she said slowly, almost to herself. “Yes, come to think of it he did mention that once.”

  “Can you tell us about it – what did he say?”

  “It was soon after we met, when we were still getting to know each other. I was telling him about my family and I told him I had two brothers; and he said, “I had a brother once.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well I can’t remember exactly what I said. Something like ‘Once?’ Anyway I queried it in some way, and he said, ‘Oh never mind’. We never spoke about that again. I remember thinking that perhaps his brother had died and I didn’t want to bring the subject up again.”

  Lucy and I looked at each other.

  “During the police investigation – at the scene and shortly after the bodies were found – the police interviewed a young girl,” I said. “She’s the daughter of Mrs. Alwin, the next-door-neighbor who called the police. We weren’t aware of that when we read the police report because there’s no mention of her interview there, but yesterday Lucy went to see Mrs. Alwin and she told her about her daughter’s interview, so last night we went to the house to speak with her. She claims that at about six o’clock in the evening before the bodies were discovered she saw Bob Hughes driving away from his house in a gray sedan.”

  “Why isn’t that in the report?”

  “Well I’m coming to that. According to the pathologist Mr. Hughes had been dead since at least four o’clock the previous afternoon, so they obviously concluded that the little girl had made a mistake. But, as I said, Lucy and I spoke to her last night and I don’t believe it was a mistake. Except that I don’t think it was Bob she saw. I think it may have been his brother.”

  Angela looked at me with her mouth slightly open, a mystified look on her face.

  “I think Bob may have had an identical twin brother,” I said. “We’re trying to follow up on this.”

  “You think Bob’s brother killed him? It’s incredible,” Angela said.

  “Well of course I’ve carefully considered whether Claudia – that’s the girl’s name – might have been mistaken; she’s only nine. But she was adamant and highly convincing. She and her family lived next door to Bob and Cynthia for six years and so it was an identification based on recognition. And the girl is very intelligent; I’m convinced she wasn’t mistaken, except to the limited extent I’ve mentioned.”

  “Can I talk to her – to Claudia?”

  “Well there’s nothing to stop you doing that if you want, but I think you can safely leave the matter in our hands to further investigate. You see the forensic report relies mainly on DNA found at the scene. If Bob had an identical twin then their DNA would be the same. So what appears to be Bob’s DNA – on the murder weapon for example – may not have been his.”

  “This is the most wonderful news; I knew there had to be a mistake.”

  “I’m afraid we’re still a long way from establishing that, Miss Price, but at least we now have something to focus on. It might explain the disappearance of the watch too.”

  “You think the brother took it?”

  “If it was as valuable as you say then it must have been a temptation. Or perhaps it was taken as some sort of trophy. I don’t know. But if we can locate the brother and the brother has the watch it would be very strong circumstantial evidence against him, together with Claudia’s testimony.”

  “But there wouldn’t be any forensic proof if his DNA is the same as Bob’s.”

  “Their fingerprints would be different. If we can establish that the twin exists then we can ask the police to re-examine the scene. I will need to talk to Malone. He may think our theory is wide of the mark, but I need to get him to preserve the scene for further investigation. At the moment it’s still taped off.”

  “Oh please do that as soon as possible.”

  “Okay. I think at this stage I’ll simply tell him that something’s come up but without specifying what that something is. They’re already skeptical about both the watch and Claudia’s observation so I think it would be best to deal with it that way.”

  “How do you intend to find out about the twin? Is there a way to do that?”

  “There are ways to investigate that, but it may take a while. You say that Bob said he had a brother once. If that meant that his brother was adopted then it does add complications – his family name will be different for a start. Of course we don’t know whether he was adopted; there could be some other explanation for their apparent estrangement. If Claudia’s sighting was reliable then he’s obviously not dead, and now we have your evidence that Bob himself claimed to have had a brother it’s a big step forward.”

  “Bob’s mother is still alive,” Lucy said. “I’m afraid we haven’t been able to talk to her though. She’s not willing to see any visitors. All we know is that she told the police she didn’t have any other children. The principal at the nursing home told me that’s their understanding too.”

  “How strange. I wonder why Bob would have told me he had a brother.”

  “Probably because he did. Perhaps his brother was adopted and Mrs. Hughes no longer thinks of him as her own son. That wouldn’t be so surprising, especially if the adoption took place soon after birth.”

  Angela thought about this for a minute. “That could be the answer. Bob told me that his
parents split up soon after he was born. He never knew his father.”

  “But if Mrs. Hughes won’t see us there’s no way of finding that out,” Lucy said.

  “Suppose I went to see her?” Angela said.

  “Like Lucy said, she’s not taking any visitors.”

  “But she might see me. I know her you see. Bob was very fond of his mother and he took me to see her several times. She likes me. It’s rather embarrassing for me to say this, and I don’t mean any disrespect to Cynthia, but Muriel told me she thought I was more suitable for Bob. If she’s grieving for him she might actually welcome a visit from me. And I have another advantage, because of what Bob told me. If I ask her about it directly I don’t think she’ll lie to me.”

  “I think you may well be right,” I said.

  “And she’s more likely to open up to Angela about her past than she would be to us, don’t you think Kane?” Lucy said.

  “Let’s give it a try. We’ll need to give some consideration to how to approach it though. I think we have to avoid telling her that her other son maybe a murderer. Another shock to her system might finish her off,” I said.

  “Well I must say, all this is something of a shock to me too, but I’m willing to do anything that might be helpful to exonerate Bob. We weren’t in love, you know, Bob and me. It wasn’t quite like that; but of course we cared about each other.”

  “Well you’re being a good friend to him now,” I said. “This is an unusual case because it’s not as if we’re trying to save a man from the gallows. Bob’s dead and nothing’s going to bring him back. But I quite understand why you’d want to set the record straight. The problem we’re up against here is time. If there’s anything in that house that might implicate the brother then we need to preserve the scene intact until we find him.”

  “But why on earth would his brother want to kill him?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not in a position to even speculate about that at the moment,” I said.

  *

  Sam Malone leaned back in his chair and half-closed his eyes. He looked like a good night’s sleep wouldn’t do him any harm. He puffed out his cheeks and blew the air out slowly. He studied me wearily.

  “You want to tell me a bit more about the something that’s come up?” he said, opening his eyes.

  “Not right now; I’m still working on it. All I’m asking is for you to make sure the crime scene is preserved for the time being.”

  “Bob Hughes’s DNA was on the murder weapon, Kane.”

  “That means zilch as you well know,” I said. “Bob Hughes probably used that tire iron hundreds of times.”

  “His DNA was found mixed with his wife’s blood in a palm-print on the edge of the sink.”

  “So what? His DNA had every right to be on the edge of the sink; he lived there after all. So then some guy leaves a print on the sink with Cynthia’s blood on it and the two get mixed up together. I’ve got a forensic scientist who could tear that evidence to pieces.”

  “Nobody’s going to be tearing evidence to pieces, Kane; there’s not going to be a trial. The guy’s dead.” He sighed exaggeratedly. “Look, you’re a good guy Kane and I trust you, but I’ve an idea you’re just playing a hunch. It’s about the watch I suppose. Okay, I’ll give you a week to come up with something concrete. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Give me two.”

  “Ten days,” he said.

  Chapter Ten

  A Low Profile

  After what Benny had told me about the modus operandi of the Costa brothers I decided I needed to pay them a visit. It seemed a good bet that Freddy may have been obtaining his own drugs from Al Costa and he may have been working for their father when he was killed. Anyway, no other names had come up and I had nothing to lose. I made the call.

  “Where can I find the Costas, Benny?”

  “In a clam bar in Dorchester, around nine at night usually. It’s called Testaloni’s. Their old man owns the joint.”

  He gave me the address.

  “I’ve got a picture of the O’Connor woman now. I want to get it to you as soon as possible. You need to get on this right away – I need to find her.”

  “Okay, what time?”

  “Give me half an hour.”

  Will Bryan had faxed me Trish’s mugshot but had drawn a blank on the guy in the photograph I sent him. Benny knew all the dealers, and Trish was a user, so her photograph ought to make it a piece of cake to find out more about her and maybe even where she was.

  “She’s probably hiding out somewhere,” I said to Benny over coffee and donuts. “But she’ll still need her hits so somebody’ll know where she is. She moved out of her apartment after Freddy got killed. I’ve a hunch that Freddy may have been working for Al Costa when he died, so I intend to sound out the brothers about that – unless you’ve come up with anything new?”

  “I’m working it. You gotta remember it’s not just finding someone who knows – it’s finding someone who knows and is willing to talk.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m upping the ante on Trish.” I handed him a thousand dollars in hundreds. “That ought to loosen a few tongues,” I said.

  I decided to stay downtown for the afternoon. If anything came up about Trish’s whereabouts I wanted to be able to get on it right away; and I needed to be in the city to find the Costa brothers later. I drove over to the public library in Cambridge Street to kill some time there.

  It was six o’clock when I left the library and I still had several hours to kill before I went looking for the Costas, so I found a sports bar on Bromfield Street and settled in the corner with ‘The Quiet American’, a Graham Greene novel I’d borrowed from the library; and there I sat and I drank and I read, periodically looking at my cell phone and willing it to ring with some news; but it just sat there on the table in front of me, silently.

  The fact that neither my ears on the street nor Will Bryan had come up with anything yet about the guy in the photograph suggested to me that he either wasn’t local or he wasn’t a player in the drugs game. That was going to make him a lot more difficult to find and all the more reason for me to locate Trish as quickly as possible. But the guy in the picture must have some kind of connection with the drug trade to have known about Freddy’s rendezvous, or he knew Trish – or both.

  I looked at my watch again. It was nearly eight o’clock. And then my phone rang; it was Benny.

  “I got what you want Mr. Kane; I know where Trish is holed up – the notes did the trick.”

  “Benny I’m in the Space sports bar on Bromfield, do you know where it is?”

  “Sure, you want me to come there?”

  “And fast,” I said.

  The Costa brothers would have to wait. Benny arrived in less than twenty minutes and sidled into the booth beside me.

  “Where’d you say she was living before?” he said. I told him.

  “Well she’s not far away from there. A couple of blocks down around the corner. Single room and she’s there alone. I found her fixer – he says she don’t want to go out so she calls him and he delivers the stuff to her there. It’s up a couple of flights of stairs. Bit creepy the guy said.”

  I tossed what was left of my drink down my throat and headed for the door. “Keep looking for the other guy,” I said.

  I drove back to Roxbury and parked nearby her old place, then walked a couple of blocks to the new one. She was trying to keep a low profile and I didn’t want to spoil that for her. The street was empty and so was the lobby in the apartment block. I climbed the stairs, knocked on apartment 2c and held my breath. I was ready to bust in there if I had to. Nobody answered my knock. No sound came from inside. I knocked again. I looked at the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. It seemed there was no light inside. Maybe I was too late again; maybe she’d moved on. After a couple more minutes I decided to take a look. I didn’t have to do much more than lean on the door to open it. It was dar
k inside and I felt for the light switch.

  I’d been right − I was too late; too late to save her. Her wrists were secured to the arms of the chair in which she was sitting by wire. She’d cut her wrists trying to free them, and blood had run down the back of her hands. Her head lolled against her blood-soaked chest. I walked closer. Her throat had been cut, but there were other injuries too. She hadn’t died quickly.

  I took out my cell phone and took several pictures of her from different angles. Rigor hadn’t started yet, so I tried to close her eyes, but the angle at which her head was hanging made it impossible. I switched off the light and left. I found the nearest bar and downed two whiskies in rapid succession. Then I walked back to the Chevy, climbed in and wound down the window. I didn’t know if I was angry, disappointed, frustrated or what. I felt nauseous. I breathed a few deep breaths then got out of the car and walked straight up to the apartment I’d visited earlier in the day. I knocked on the door. This time the door opened on the latch and the same wan face peered at me through the crack.

  “Open the goddam door or I’m going to bust it down,” I said. I didn’t shout. I said it in a low voice through gritted teeth which the woman could tell meant business. She opened the door and I walked in and closed it behind me.

  She turned her back to me, sauntered over to a mattress on the floor and sat down. “I told you before, I don’t know where she is. You wanna search the place?”

  She was alone. Her voice sounded nonchalant, unconcerned. She was high as a kite.

  “What’s your name?” I said.

  She looked up at me and sneered. “Doris Day,” she said.

  “I haven’t come here to find Trish,” I said. “I found her already.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Take a look,” I said, leaning down and putting my cell phone in front of her face. She looked, then sprang up and ran into the bathroom. I could hear her vomiting in there. She came back in the room. She was white-faced, sweating. She started to cry.

  “Please don’t, please…”