Corpses Say the Darndest Things: A Nod Blake Mystery

by Doug Lamoreux

  My appearance was god-awful but my timing couldn't have been better. Gina was in the lot, just climbing from her car, when I arrived back-firing in a cloud of smoke. The initial look on her face was one of mixed shock and amusement but she moved quickly to hide that behind the patented Delp Ministries' smile. She returned to her task, the better not to witness my stuttering halt, and opened her back door. I abandoned Willie's ship of fools before it caught fire, fell apart, or exploded, and started toward her, carrying a new photo envelope with a different set of pictures. These promised to be less shocking but, I hoped, more revealing. Gina was bent over retrieving cardboard boxes from her back seat and – let's just say I'm a pig and leave it. I should have been ashamed of myself (but wasn't). Gina rose with her burden of boxes and turned as the smoke cloud from Willie's folly reached us. She coughed and tried unsuccessfully to fan the smoke away. “The detective business a little slow, is it?”

  “I'll say,” I agreed, stifling a cough myself. “I've been trying to return it to the rightful owner for several days without much luck. Let me give you a hand.” Taking care not to bend my envelope, I took a share of her boxes (office supplies, it looked like) and together we started down the stone path for the church. “I saw you on television.”

  “You did? You don't strike me as someone who watches religious programming.”

  “Oh, I'm full of surprises.”

  “I'll just bet you are.”

  Had it not been for the glint in my eye, I would have sworn I saw one in hers.

  We rounded the Rock of the Agony, she on the path to the right, me to the left (what can I say, it's my nature to be different) and met on the other side approaching the doors. She was laughing but, again, tried to hide it. “Any luck finding Nicholas?”

  “No.” It wasn't really a lie. I'd seen Nick, yes, but I hadn't actually spoken with him. “Not yet. But he's out there somewhere.”

  With a sympathetic smile, she balanced her boxes atop mine, used her keys, and unsealed the Holy of Holies. (Sorry if my cynicism is showing.) Inside, Gina relocked it, reclaimed her share of the load, and led us to her office. She placed her boxes on her desk and directed me to a clear spot atop a file cabinet where mine stacked nicely. She thanked me politely, then frowned. “I'm sorry,” she said, “I can't get used to just calling you Blake. Please, what is your first name?”

  I frowned. Oh well, it was still true, my parents were not her fault. “It's Nod.”

  She squinted, apparently trying to see it. “Nod? You mean…”

  “Nod. My name is Nod, as in a slight affirmative movement of the head. Wynken and Blynken's little brother. Before you ask, no, I neither own nor have I ever sailed the stars in a wooden shoe. And there's no middle name or initial to fall back on. Just Nod Blake.” I smiled my special smile, the one with the clamped lips.

  Gina's were clamped as well so I couldn't actually see her biting her tongue. “You had fun in school, didn't you?”

  “Now you know why I don't use it.”

  “Well… Blake,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can answer a few questions. The first of which is, why was I originally hired?”

  Her eyes took on a weary, then a wary, look. “Your secretary and I went over that in detail.”

  “Yes. But it's in the details that I have a problem, Gina. What exactly did Reverend Delp tell you when he asked you to hire me?”

  “He didn't tell me anything.” She was searching for words and looked it. “What I mean is Reverend Delp didn't ask me to hire you. Reggie Riaz did.”

  I didn't yell `Aha!' like some demented road-company performer doing Sherlock Holmes, but I wanted to. Instead, I merely smiled and asked, “Who is Reggie Riaz?”

  “He doesn't have a title so much. He's Reverend Delp's right hand man, I guess you'd say.”

  “I was told I was hired by the reverend. My secretary was led to believe I was being hired by the reverend.”

  “Well, I certainly didn't mean to mislead. Reggie told me to hire you. So I hired you.”

  “To watch Delp's wife?”

  “Are you asking if I lied?” To my surprise, she seemed genuinely hurt. To my greater surprise, I noticed. I made a mental note to cut it out then returned my attention to Gina who, though wounded, was putting up a solid front. “I wouldn't do that, Blake. I wouldn't lie to you or anyone. Reggie handles all of Reverend Delp's affairs. Everything he does here, Reggie, I mean, is done in the Reverend's name. He said Reverend Delp wanted you to watch his wife and that's what I told you.”

  I opened the envelope I'd brought with and withdrew a series of pictures, blow-ups of frozen frames from the crusade, or whatever it was, I'd watched and video-taped the night before. (I'm telling you the new technology was better than melted butter on stove-toasted bread; Betamax, a miracle.) I shuffled the photos, found one I was searching for, and held it up. It was a picture of the auditorium platform upon which all of the event stars went about their work; Delp, Gina, the announcer, the colorfully-robed choir, and the Latin couple I'd noticed at the dog and pony show the previous night. I pointed the last (sour-looking?) pair out, then specifically the young man, applauding from their seats behind Delp. “Is that Reggie?”

  Gina looked at the photo, smiled, and nodded. “Yes. Where did you get these?”

  “Made them,” I said simply, stifling the urge to gush about my video equipment. “Eh about Reggie. I'd like to speak to him.”

  “Reggie Riaz? Oh I'm sorry, you can't. His sabbatical started today.”

  “Sabbatical?”

  “Yes, he's taking some time off. He and his wife both. Taking time away from his work in the church. Sort of a physical restorative.”

  “They did look a bit out of sorts last night,” I said. “Did Reggie ask for time off?”

  She hesitated. “Yes, of course. Well, actually, I think it was at Reverend Delp's suggestion.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  She offered an out of sorts look of her own. “I don't want to talk out of turn…”

  “Gina, I've been hired, twice, by your organization. If I'm to do the job for which I'm hired, I need your cooperation.”

  “I'm trying to cooperate.” She sighed and, I swear, I could see the toys turning in her luscious head. She took a deep breath and, apparently decided, said, “Reggie and Rocio were upset last night at the service.”

  “Rocio?”

  “Mrs. Riaz; Reggie's wife.” She pointed at the other half of the couple in the picture. “This one. Something was bothering Reggie and his being upset was bothering his wife. I mean, they were trying to hide it, trying to soldier on, but it showed. Reverend Delp is sensitive to these things. He met with Reggie, here, early this morning. They spoke alone in the Reverend's office. I don't know what was said, but it got a little…”

  “Heated?”

  She frowned. “I don't want to say that.”

  “I'm sure you don't,” I said. “But is that what it was?”

  “It was emotional,” she said, forcing the frown away. “Understandably emotional. We're like a family here, Blake. Reggie left without speaking to me but, after, Reverend Delp said he and Rocio would be on sabbatical starting immediately. I think it was generous of the Reverend to consider their needs with all he's going through.”

  “What kind of person is Reggie Riaz?”

  “It's hurtful if you're implying something evil.”

  “I was simply asking a question.”

  “Reggie Riaz and his wife are warm, friendly people. They're lovely; neither would harm a fly. I haven't any idea at all what Reggie or the Reverend talked about this morning. But there was no fight, as you seem to want to imply, and there is nothing sinister about the Riazs' taking time off. It's just as likely this sabbatical was already scheduled. I'm certainly not told everything.”

  “I would like to speak to them,” I told her. “Reggie and his wife, as soon as possible.”

  “All right,” she said, though I c
ould still hear the hesitation in her voice.

  “At your request,” I reminded her, “I'm trying to get somewhere before the police do.”

  “I'll get in touch with Reggie immediately. I'm sure he and Rocio will both be happy to cooperate. That said, you're aware, I'm also sure, that even providing they haven't already arranged a departure, the soonest they could meet with you would be tomorrow. You do know, Blake, we're burying Katherine Delp this afternoon?”

  *

  I didn't know where Katherine Delp's soul was but, that afternoon, her mortal remains were on an impressive, aggravating last ride. Supertramp made it worse, annoying me from my radio with Take the Long Way Home while, from behind the wheel in the middle of it all, I could see neither the end nor the beginning of the line of traffic down Irving Park Road. The cars stretched for several miles at least, all the way to hell and back, and finally slowly undulated like some weirdly jointed multicolored snake into and through Graceland Cemetery. I thought of the hundreds (maybe thousands) that had been in that crush for over an hour, wondering how many were actually mourning, how many were merely members of the flock dutifully seeing their fallen shepherdess off, and how many were just licking their lips in anticipation of the free chicken salad.

  Graceland, the famous Cemetery of Architects, a sprawling 119 acre Victorian park decorated with, of course, architectural masterpieces, was one of the most beautiful places in Chicago, if you could get over the fact it was a graveyard. Its permanent residents included Chicago's elite, public figures, baseball and boxing greats (from an era when those were the great sports), merchants, inventors, and more renowned architects than you could shake a blueprint at. Like the fabled elephants’ graveyard, this was where Chicago's rich and famous came for their final rest. Tens of thousands of on-lookers had followed the body of Carter Harrison (Chicago's most popular mayor) there after his fifth term assassination (you can't be popular with everyone) at the Columbian Exposition in 1893. I wasn't sure how today's numbers compared but, trust me, there was a crowd.

  As the cars parked and the throng gathered, I found a discreet distant position from which to watch. A talented girl in a long black gown beautifully played a violin at graveside. It was creepy. I occupied myself by considering what music might have been more appropriate. Billy Joel's My Life? The Doobie Brothers' What a Fool Believes? I was leaning toward The Knack with a lyrics change; Good Girls Don't, But I Did when the strings stopped and the burial ritual began. The service was conducted by a big-wig evangelist flown in from California. I'd seen him and his pomp of white hair on television but didn't know his name and, frankly, didn't care. He stood at the foot of the grave and, around him and the burial plot, the heavy hitters were in attendance; the governor, the police commissioner, the police chief, the fire chief, and all the other chiefs that kept the reservation running. All wore stately black like the powerful back row of a chess board, city officials, representatives of the arts, ministers of every stripe. They were all there. Conspicuous by her absence was our recently elected, highly esteemed fiftieth (and first female) mayor. Who knew, perhaps she was busy attacking the Second Amendment or glad-handing at Cabrini-Green? Maybe Delp hadn't voted for her? Her deputy was there instead looking officially grim. Gina was there, of course, making the color black look like fireworks. Beside her stood the real reason I'd come. I was getting my first look at the Reverend Conrad Delp in the flesh.

  Oddly, what I didn't see was either Reggie Riaz or his wife Rocio. They were a no show.

  Chapter Ten

  “I appreciate your coming down,” I said and gestured to the empty chair on the other side of my desk. It was the following morning; the third day of the murder case. “Have a seat.”

  Reggie Riaz looked thinner in the flesh than on television. I guess the claim the camera adds twenty pounds was true. Otherwise he looked like what he was; a handsome Mexican in his late-twenties, three inches shorter than me with black wavy hair, a thin black mustache, and dark copper skin. He wore a button down shirt, jeans, and an expression that said he'd rather have been anywhere else on earth. My invitation to sit didn't alter that. He stared at the chair as if it were the hot squat; which was silly, Illinois hadn't burned a guy since the early sixties. And, in this town, where you could get a lethal injection standing on the wrong street corner, why worry? Despite his hesitation, with no excuse to leave and no other way out, what could the poor guy do but sit? He finally did, uneasily.

  “I was hoping you'd bring Mrs. Riaz. I'd like to speak to both of you.”

  “She's not feeling well.” He had a hint of an accent but there was nothing wrong with his English.

  “I'm sorry,” I told him. “Is that why you folks missed Mrs. Delp's funeral?”

  I didn't know what it meant or why, but I'd struck a vein with the first swing of the pick. Reggie looked as if I'd slapped him. He studied the wood grain on the front of my desk while he recovered control of his face then, and only then, nodded in answer to the question.

  “I hope she feels better soon.”

  Reggie nodded again, then looked away like a wall-flower trying to avoid a dance. He might have thought he was going to skate through this interview like the debutante hiding her thick ankles but I didn't have time for it. I needed answers from His Royal Shyness, so I got the cha-cha started. “I understand,” I said, “that you're Reverend Delp's go to guy?”

  “We've…” He cleared his throat. “We've been together a long time. I help where I can.”

  “You're being modest.” I smiled. “The way I hear it told he can't get along without you.”

  Reggie shrugged. “I guess not.”

  “So why is he?” He looked up in confusion and, for the first time, looked me in the face. I asked again. “Why is Reverend Delp getting along without you? Why the sabbatical?”

  “Rocio and I just needed some time away. That's all.”

  “You asked for time off? It was your idea?”

  “Yeah. It was.”

  “Strange time to abandon the boss, isn't it? Just after his wife died? You figure he'll be able to carry on without you?”

  “He knows how to get by.”

  If that had been meant as a testimonial, I couldn't help but notice it was a little weak. It was also worthy of more digging. “What about his crusades, Reggie? You're a big part of those aren't you?”

  “I organized them.”

  “Yeah, that's what I mean. The crusades, they're your babies. You got them up and running?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, what, now Gina Bridges handles them?”

  That bit him. “What's she got to do with it? She's the reverend's secretary. What's she got to do with the crusades?”

  “I'm not telling; I'm asking. That's what I want to know. You organized them but Reverend Delp can handle them without you, can't he?”

  That bit him harder. Reggie looked me in the eye. “No, he hasn't. I organized them; staged them. I was right there running the show. Reverend Delp was a… He is a great man but, as far as the revivals are concerned, he's more or less a guest speaker and his secretary…”

  “Just stage decoration?”

  “I didn't say that. I didn't say nothing like that. She's there for the reverend that's all. The point is… I'm just answering your question. No, I put the crusades up.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes, all…” He hesitated, dropped his head again, and finished in little more than a whisper. “All of them.”

  “Tell me. Why did you involve me?”

  “Huh?”

  “Try and hang on, Reggie, I'll come around again. The night that Mrs. Delp was killed. Why did you hire me?”

  I didn't know if he was searching his memory for the correct answer or was busy making one up but he'd stepped away from the microphone. When he came back, his voice had a tremor in it. “Reverend Delp was concerned about his wife. Worried about her. He needed someone he could trust. You came highly recommended.”

  Oh, my a
ching sides. He hadn't said it with as much conviction as Gina had but I couldn't blame him. She'd been prepared for it. “Yeah, so I've heard. I'm wondering by whom?”

  “I just meant you have a good reputation.”

  “Uh-huh. Take it from me, Reggie. My reputation isn't all that good.” I leaned forward intent on the young man across the desk and wanting him to feel it. “How about yours?”

  Busy studying the dirt in my carpet, he didn't answer. But I had all the time in the world. I waited patiently. When he couldn't stand it any longer, Reggie looked up. I pointed at the homemade tattoos, a common prison pass-time, decorating his knuckles. “How long were you in the can?”

  He pulled his hands off the desk and bunched them in his lap. “I did my time.”

  “Yeah, we just determined that. How about you fill in some of the details?”

  I kept up the stare until something, a fire, rose and gleamed behind his eyes. Finally, in a slow, sharp tone, Reggie said, “I did five years in the roundhouse.”

  “Stateville? That's maximum security. What was the charge?”

  He wet his lips. “Grand Theft Auto. I was dumb. There's nothing else to say. I was dumb and I was with someone who was dumber. He had a weapon I didn't know about and he used it.”

  “Did you usually work with someone else?”

  “What do you mean `usually work'?” he demanded coming forward in the chair. His feet slid under him as he readied himself to… what? “What's that supposed to mean? I just said I made a dumb mistake. I paid for it. What's that supposed to mean, `usually work'?”

  “I'm just tidying up the shop, Reggie. Keep your shirt on.” He eased himself back but he was not at ease. I had him where I wanted him. And, as the first rule of being a detective was: when you've got them, keep pressing, I kept pressing. “Do the Delps have any enemies?”

  I don't think Reggie got whiplash but the quick turns were making him miss the corners. He hesitated while his brain caught up. “No-o,” he stammered, “I-I don't know anyone who would take her. I-I mean, take her life.” I stared. Reggie squirmed. “I'm sorry,” he finally said. “I'm sorry I couldn't help you anymore.” He started to rise.