I returned Josie’s call and said I would get out to White Bear Lake in the early afternoon. While I was on the blower with my client, I contemplated my shoes. I found a small smudge on the white toe of one of my red Keds. The ones with white soles. So I went to my closet and pulled out a new, clean pair. I’d take the others home and wash them.
Wisnewski answered his phone in the midst of the second ring.”Wisnewski,” he said.
“Sean,” I responded.
“First or last?” he said.
“Your choice. What’s up?”
“I think I told you the pictures are copied and in the mail. The new information is that the crime scene people here have now been over everything they can find connected to Mr. Lewis. There’s not much to say. Except for what isn’t here.”
“Meaning what?” I asked.
“It appears somebody removed a quantity of material from a file cabinet Lewis kept in his bedroom.”
“Did he have an office?”
“Not in his apartment and not anywhere else, unless he was super careful about keeping it separate from the rest of his life so nobody’s located it yet.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Exactly. Of course, something might turn up, like a landlord seeing Lewis’s picture or obit in the paper and remembering a tenant. Or maybe a lease runs out and the cops are called. But that’s a real long shot. And, as I say, there’s zero evidence he had a separate place of any sort.”
“So, a dead end.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid so, except for the gap in his files. Ol’ Steve was a meticulous guy, so the gap in the folders is pretty obvious.”
“Any hope of finding what might be missing?”
“Prob’ly not except for what we can glean from the gap. There’s no “B” file folder and no “W.”
“Huh,” I said. “B as in bomber group and W as in maybe war or world war. I suppose somebody snooped in P as for Pacific, or even Y?”
“Correct. Those files are accounted for. From the spaces left, it looks like there was enough there to fill a small briefcase.”
“Okay. Thanks. Send me your bill. I think we’re done unless something turns up here or in Winona.”
I dialed the Winona PD and connected to the detective in charge of Stan Lewis’s murder investigation. When I related my conversation with Wisnewski, he already had the info, but I could tell he was pleased I’d promptly called him. “There was no briefcase. No other kind of carrying case, either. So if he had those files with him, the killer copped ’em. I have to tell you, Sean, this is shaping up for the cold case cupboard.”
“What’s going to be the disposition of his body?”
“He’s a vet. Arrangements are being made to bury him at Fort Snelling, since he has no ties to St. Louis anymore. It’s the closest veterans cemetery.”
“Have somebody let me know when, will you?”
We severed the connection. I had an itchy feeling I might talk only once more to that detective, and it wouldn’t be about the solution to his murder case. It’d be at a funeral.
I tied the laces on my new tennis shoes and went to lunch. I had just enough time to eat and get myself out to White Bear Lake. Maybe I’d get lucky and be able to interview Alvin and his sexpot wife, Maxine, after I talked with Josie.
* * * *
My medium-rare steak sandwich with a side of au gratin potatoes and a crisp salad had set me up for another long day of doing what I did best, interviewing folks to try to entice from them relevant and truthful information. The day was hot and the air conditioner in the Taurus had all it could do to keep me from melting into a puddle like the Wicked Witch of the West.
The heat and humidity eased somewhat out in the suburb, but a thermometer tacked to a fence post beside the Bartelmes’ garage registered in the low nineties. Josie came to the door. She was wearing green flip-flops and a wrap over what I guessed was a bathing suit. She looked as if she’d been in the sun. I could detect the aroma of some kind of sunscreen on her.
“I apologize for the casual way I’m dressed. My girlfriends, the other Js, dropped over. We’ve been swimming and just hanging out.”
“’S’all right. I think I’d like to meet your buddies, anyway.” Tod had mentioned to me Josie had two close friends from college, both with first names starting with the letter J. “How’s Cal doing?”
Josie wrinkled her forehead briefly. “Fine, I guess. His mother took him away after he was released from the hospital, you know. I haven’t really talked with him since then.”
“I have an impression you think his mother blames you a little for his wounding.”
She nodded. “I think so. She was never very supportive of our trips to Yap. She thinks there’s a connection. Why don’t we go out on the deck? I have a pitcher of sangria, and you can meet my friends.” Josie led me through the kitchen and slid open the sliding door that led to the lakeside deck, smaller than the more protected deck where I’d first met her family. A burst of feminine laughter was quickly suppressed as we came into view.
The women seated at the small, oblong, plastic deck table were dressed in similar fashion to Josie, and bright two-piece swimsuits showed their glistening bodies to good advantage. One was dark, with clean tan lines that appeared on her bosom when she raised one hand as we approached. Her other hand grasped a tall, sweating glass of the same-colored liquid visible in a large pitcher and the other glass on the table. Sangria, I presumed.
“Oh, here’s our intrepid investigator, I bet.” This woman’s voice carried normal Minnesota accents and tonality. She had good teeth and a nice smile. Her short dark hair gave off red highlights when she moved. “I’m Julie. Julie Walcott. This is Jennifer Alstock.”
I smiled and nodded. Josie, Julie, and Jennifer. Three Js. “And I’m Sean Sean. Happy to meet you both.” Jennifer Alstock was blonde, slender to the point of anorexia and looked a little nervous. Her perfunctory smile flickered on and off like a light in a bad socket and as soon as I released her fingers, she crossed her arms over her small bosom and looked away.
Josie poured me a glass of the sangria and sat down. “Sean asked to meet anybody close to us,” she said, “and you guys are closer than my sister.” Both women nodded.
I took a sip of sangria. It was strong. I felt the sweat beginning to form on my brow and in my crotch. Even in the shade of the umbrella overhead.
“Are we suspects?” asked Julie.
“No,” I responded, “but I understand you two have been there all the while this project has developed.”
“Yes,” said Jennifer in a soft voice. “From the beginning.”
“Since that’s true, I want to get your impressions. Anything you can remember may be helpful.” I turned to Josie, who recalled the first few conversations they’d all had about her granduncle and sort of set the stage.
“I’m interested in anything, everything you two can recall, particularly whatever you remember about the initial responses or concerns from the people Josie and Tod were talking to. Anything, however insignificant it may seem.”
“I don’t feel comfortable accusing anybody,” Jennifer whispered.
“I don’t expect or want you to say anything against anybody. I’m more interested in your perceptions of the interest or lack thereof as the project developed. And let me assure you this conversation is private. I would never reveal any of this to anyone else.”
We talked for about an hour. Gradually Jennifer relaxed and participated more. She turned out to be the more perceptive of the two Js in her observations. She told us she thought Josie’s dad was really against the thing from the beginning and even now, although he had financed a good portion of the expenses, his was a reluctant contribution.
“You really think Dad doesn’t want us to keep on?” Josie asked.
“It’s my impression, but I don’t really know, hon. I haven’t talked with your dad about this in months, but at first it was obvious he thought it was a bad idea.”
“Gary Anderson, the lawyer?” interjected Julie. He talked to John, my husband, and me and tried to talk us out of contributing.”
John? Great, another J.
“You never mentioned that,” Josie said.
“Well, we figured he was talking for your dad, and I didn’t want to get between you two.” She shrugged.
“What about Alvin and Maxine?” I asked.
A moment of silence ensued. The Js looked at each other. Simultaneously all three got the giggles, helped no doubt by the constant flow of sangria. At some point, Josie went to the kitchen to fetch another big pitcher of the stuff. I was taking it easy, knowing I had to drive home. Plus I needed to keep my memory functioning so my notes of this session would be as complete as possible. I knew the little recorder running silently in my pocket wouldn’t provide a real clear recording. I wasn’t writing down any notes either. I was afraid either the recorder or scribbling might spook the two Js.
“Well, Alvin and Maxine.” Julie took a big swallow and produced a small belch, causing Jennifer to smile. “Maxine is really okay. She just tries too hard. I mean, nice body, great jugs and all that, but she acts so predatory. She’s no dummy.”
Josie nodded. “That’s right, but she didn’t want Alvin to contribute much on our trip. She was supportive, thought it was an exciting idea at first. But when Tod started talking about money, Alvin offered a pretty large contribution right away, but Maxine was more cautious. She wanted a lot of specific details. I think Alvin would’ve put up a lot more money but she held him back.”
“What about the lawyer,” I asked. “You said he called you?” I was addressing Julie, who was giving me serious stress vibes.
She nodded. “Yeah, he talked to John, like I said, but I was in the room. It was pretty obvious he wanted us to stay out of it. I don’t think he understood the dynamics of our relationship. He kept saying we didn’t have a chance of ever getting our money back, no matter what was found.
“John kept saying he knew that, but that his wife, that would be me, and Josie, were close and of course he’d support me.” She grinned at me. “He always does.”
I nodded my understanding. I thought she was getting a little high. “What about Hillier? He doesn’t seem to fit in anywhere.”
All three women nodded. “Creepy,” Julie contributed. “I never understood why your dad puts up with him.”
Josie frowned at us.
“Wait a moment,” I interposed. “I was under the impression Mr. Hillier just worked for Pederson. Is that wrong?”
Josie shook her head. “That’s true, he does. But the relationship is more complicated than that. It’s—I don’t know. It’s hard to explain, and I guess I don’t understand all of it.”
“He’s a real letch, you know.” Julie’s voice was low and slurred just a little. She looked away, out toward the lake shimmering quietly in the sun. There was silence on the deck for several minutes, broken only by the restless, random sounds of small flying insects chittering on the edges of the deck and occasionally dive bombing us. A narrow-bodied bluish thing sometimes called a darning needle whined through the silence, diverted around the edge of the umbrella, paused a microsecond, and then darted off.
Julie opened her lips as if to say something, then stopped. She sipped her drink and hesitated again. I glanced at the other women, who seemed to have drawn together in a psychic barrier as if to protect each other.
Then Julie went on in a quiet, reflective tone, “I admit I was drinking more than I should have that night. Remember, Josie? John was gone somewhere and I was here alone. I kind of crashed your party.”
Josie leaned forward and took her friend’s limp fingers. “Hey, c’mon, sweetie, you don’t have to do this. It has nothing to do with our troubles.”
On the other side of the table, Jennifer Alcott stared at her friend, the glass of sangria held halfway between her mouth and the table. It was apparent whatever had happened between Julie and Hillier was news to her as well.
Julie swiveled her head toward me. I thought I saw tears in her eyes. “This what you want, to shame us? Wade around in our little improprieties? So I was a little tipsy. So maybe I flirted with ’im a little. It was harmless. I thought. Sort of. But he, he . . .” she hiccupped and stopped.
Josie grimaced, looked at me then back at Julie. “It was a big party. We had a lot of people, and they were all over the place. I couldn’t keep track of everybody.”
“Were you supposed to?” I asked. Seemed like a reasonable question. I could see she was taking some of the responsibility for what had happened, whatever it was.
“I was in the kitchen. I heard raised voices, a shout or something. Tod was down by the lake. There was a small crowd around the door to the bedroom behind the dining room. I went in and found Hillier and Julie. They both looked . . . I don’t know, distraught. Disheveled. Julie was on her knees on the floor, and there was a big red mark on Hillier’s cheek. Where she’d slapped him. There was an overturned chair beside the desk. I guess she fell off it, or something.
“I took Julie upstairs and put her to bed in the guest room. When I got back downstairs, Hillier was gone, and everybody else was on to other things. The next morning Julie told me he put his hands on her and got angry when she tried to get him to stop.”
Josie looked uncomfortable and seemed ready to go on, however reluctantly. I noticed Jennifer seemed to have withdrawn from the conversation and had found things off the deck to look at.
I held up my hand. “I get the picture. You don’t have to say any more.”
A few minutes later Jennifer took Julie into the house, and I took my leave. At the door Josie said, “We’ve never talked about it. It was two years ago. I never even told Tod. I guess I didn’t see the point.”
“If you want some advice, don’t tell him now. It probably has nothing to do with present events. But you might try getting Julie into a program.”
I walked through the late afternoon sun to my car thinking about this conversation and about Richard Hillier. Talking with the three Js had evolved into a kind of rhythmic piece, like a dance or a fencing match. Thrust, parry, lunge, withdraw. There was more there than had been revealed. There were more dimensions to Mr. Hillier I hadn’t yet probed. How, exactly, he fit still wasn’t clear, but I calculated that, one way or another, I’d figure it out.
Chapter 15
The next morning I still hadn’t figured everything out except it was clearer to me that two of the three Js and Mr. Hillier had some connection at least partially hidden. Maybe he’d come on to Jennifer as well as to Julie, only she wouldn’t talk about it at all, even after a few drinks. Maybe not. Whatever it was, I had to set it aside for the nonce.
Next on my agenda was the kingpin of the group, Preston Pederson. He’d contributed the most money to the risky enterprise his only daughter was heavily involved with. It stood to reason he was the most important of the investors both from a financial as well as a familial perspective. So it was also interesting he seemed to be the most insubstantial presence so far. The discussions about the development of the Yap project seemed not to include Preston’s opinions. Why not? I would prepare more thoroughly than usual.
What I learned from Internet and private sources was frustrating. There seemed to be gaps. Preston’s father, Derek, had been a small contractor in St. Paul in the 1930s. He never had any major projects, but he was frequently a subcontractor. My research told me Pederson’s father had build garages and additions to homes such as porches, driveways, things like that.
When he retired sometime in the 1960s, his son stepped in, having already been working for Dad. He began a rapid expansion of the business. It was apparently
a heady, go-go time in construction. Preston Pederson soon became a player. He expanded into investment banking. Okay, so the old man must have done something right. If Preston was clean, what about his father?
It took me a couple days of intensive research. I was at the library a lot. I talked with some old-timers I met one night in a place on Payne Avenue. It had been called the Payne Reliever back in the day. Why was I in the Payne Reliever? Well, I knew some people who knew some other people and they had allowed while I was kicking around a different case that people at the PR pretty much knew about things on the East Side.
These two old guys, Abe and Tommy, had worked for Preston’s dad as kids. They were over the hill, but they got away from the nursing home in the next block every couple of weeks in the summer to sidle on down to the old PR for a brew or two.
The bar wasn’t crowded and of course it wasn’t smoky, not since the state passed the ban on smoking in enclosed public places. Good for everybody’s health, especially the people who worked in those bars, but it sure depressed the atmosphere you sometimes read about in Chandler or in those Black Mask detective stories. Never mind. Tommy and Abe were comfortably ensconced at one end of the long bar when I swung through the door at the other end of the room.
They wore overalls and were both seriously overweight. I suspected their livers were probably on their last legs from battling the effects of too many beers, too few antioxidants and, lately, too much sedentary existence.
“Can I buy you fellows a beer?” I inquired, sliding onto a stool next to them.
“You that Sean fella?” Abe looked me up and down, probably to satisfy himself. What he saw was my slender, well-shaven self in jeans and a short-sleeved, checkered cotton shirt, and red Keds with clean white soles.
The Case of the Yellow Diamond Page 9
