by Jan Burke
“Aside from that, I wonder how much of it is true.”
“Most of it fits, doesn’t it? No one else saw Lucas any later — even his street friends hadn’t seen him since the night he was turned away from the shelter. And from what Carlos Hernandez has said, Lucas was dead when the ring was taken.”
“Any idea who this guardian angel might be?”
I shook my head.
“Well, I guess that’s it, then.” He put his notebook away, then said, “Oh, one more thing…”
“Move my car?”
He grimaced. “Do I look like a meter maid? No. What I was going to say is, next time you hear we’re looking for someone? And you see that someone? Don’t hesitate to call.”
I kept my mouth shut. I knew he had doubted my vague excuses about taking a while to calm down and losing track of time.
“Come on,” he said, “I owe it to your husband to make sure you get back inside the building safely.”
WHEN I GOT BACK to the newsroom, there were enough grim faces to let me know that the staff meeting was over and done with. I walked up to Lydia’s desk and said, “I think I know how to break Wrigley’s beeper habit.”
“I know a dozen people who’d love you if you did.”
“Anyone who wants to help should meet me at Banyon’s for a pint after work.”
I checked my messages again. I had a call from Steven Kincaid, a friend who was renting my old house. It had been a relief to find such a good tenant, since I am inexperienced as a landlady. I returned the call, afraid that this meant the plumbing had failed or the roof had leaked. Turned out he just wanted to invite Frank and me to his housewarming, to be held in a couple of weeks.
I was thanking him for the invitation when my purse started to rattle and hum, sounding as if I had somewhere received a hive of live bumblebees in lieu of change.
I told Steven I’d talk to Frank and call him back with an answer, said good-bye, and turned off the pager. This time the number was June Monroe’s.
“I’m glad you called me,” she said when I returned her call. “I almost came by that newspaper to talk to you, but decided I had probably made enough trouble for you for one day.”
“Not at all.”
“Well, I am just about as tired as a body can be right now, and you probably aren’t much better off. So I’ll make this quick. First, after I talked to you, I got to thinking about some things, and decided that I will bury Lucas in Las Piernas. You were right. He loved Las Piernas. His daddy is buried there, so Lucas will rest next to him.”
“I know that must have been a hard decision to make,” I said.
“Oh, not after I thought about it and prayed on it for a time. Lucas’s friends may be having hard times, but they were his friends. If I hold this funeral way out here in Riverside, nobody but Charles and me would be likely to attend.”
“I’m glad it will be here, but I would have come out there. Roberta, too, I think.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter, it will be right there in Las Piernas on Friday morning at eleven. That doesn’t give you much time to let his friends know about it, but I would appreciate anything you can do to spread the word.”
I told her I would do my best. She gave me the name of the funeral home and cemetery.
“After making all the arrangements,” she went on, “I came straight home and looked for that phone bill. I’ve got the number that Lucas called.”
“Edison, right?”
“Right.”
I wrote the number down. “Thanks for doing that, June. I know the last twenty-four hours have been exhausting for you.”
“You said you had a couple of questions?”
“Yes, but first, I wanted to let you know that the police have Lucas’s ring now.” I explained Two Toes as far as he could be explained.
“You don’t think he’s the one who killed Lucas?”
“No. I’m not sure I can tell you why, but I guess it’s just that I think he’d admit it if he did. He’d be saying God told him to do it.”
“Maybe so,” she said, sounding unconvinced.
“I think whoever killed Lucas wanted more than a school ring. That brings me to a question I had for you. I wondered if you knew what became of Lucas’s thesis — I mean, his copies of it? His raw data, his drafts, the final copy — any of it?”
“Well, it was here until recently. Had it in a box, one of those filing boxes. But he took it with him after his last visit. I asked him, did that mean he was going to try to get his degree? He just said that it was probably too late to worry about that, and besides, it wasn’t so important to him now.”
I couldn’t tell her how disappointed those words made me feel. If he wasn’t interested in getting his degree, was he more interested in blackmail? “I wonder what he did with them. The papers weren’t among Lucas’s things at the shelter.”
“No,” she said. “Maybe he just threw them out.”
“When he left, did he walk to the bus station from your house?”
“No, I gave him a ride. Even waited with him at the station.”
“Did he have the box with him when he got on the bus?”
“Yes. Yes, he did. Hmmhmm. That was the last time I saw him alive, waving to him as that bus pulled out. He was smiling.” She paused, then said, “Well, what else did you need to know?”
“I just wondered if you could tell me a little more about what happened to Lucas after he was denied his master’s degree. Did he just give up after that?”
“No, not then. I never did finish telling you that story, did I? Sorry, I’ve been a little rattled. I meant to tell you about this Nadine. She was dating that professor, right? Old Andre Selman kept that real quiet, only his closest friends knew, and I guess they just sort of turned a blind eye to it. Lucas told me about this, and I said, ‘Lucas, you always tell me that this man can’t hang on to a woman. He just loves them and leaves them. So you just wait until he leaves this one, ’cause a woman scorned is something to behold.’ Sure enough, not long after this study is finished, so is Nadine — Selman drops her.”
“And Lucas talked with her?”
“Yes. He was smart, he gave her a little time, then he went and talked to her. And she admitted to him how she had done him dirty. She told Lucas that Selman had her substitute the pages of the thesis, that Selman was afraid Lucas would ruin the project, would cause the school to lose all that grant money. But by the time Lucas talked to her, I think she realized what harm she had done to him. She was sorry all over.”
“He must have wanted to kill her.”
“No, no. He knew she was the only chance he had of ever getting that mess straightened out. So he gets her to agree to testify on his behalf at a hearing at the college.”
“A hearing?”
“Yes. Lucas went to the department chair. That man liked Lucas, and he’d been suspicious of Selman, so he set up a hearing. First time, it was just going to be the department chair, that Dr. Warren that had stirred things up in the first place, and someone from the foundation that gets the grant — strange name, I can’t remember it though. Just remember thinking it was a funny kind of name.”
“Booter? Booter Hodges?”
“That’s it! You know him?”
“I’ve talked to him a few times.”
“Lucas didn’t like him at all. Anyway, two days before the hearing, this Nadine is acting like she’s got cold feet. Says she doesn’t want any hard feelings with Selman, doesn’t want to sneak around behind his back. She’s going to talk to him. Lucas begs her to just wait until after the hearing, but she won’t have any of it. The night before the hearing, Lucas gets a call from Selman’s best friend, saying that Nadine is back together with Selman. So Lucas went to talk to her, find out if it’s true. She’s all smiles. Tells him Selman admits he’s wrong, and he’s going to come with her to the hearing. He’s going to face the music. Lucas didn’t believe it for a minute, but what can he do?”
“And she never showed up
?”
“No Nadine, no Selman, just one more round of humiliation with this Warren turkey. And that Booter says something like, ‘We should have expected this.’ Lucas couldn’t even find Nadine after that.”
“What happened to Lucas after the hearing?”
“Well, he couldn’t get into other colleges, and he couldn’t find a job anything like what he wanted. He was able to find work, but he wasn’t happy. He started drinking then, but not real bad. But pretty soon it started to be a problem. He’d get a job somewhere, be doing fine, and somehow the story from the school would catch up to him.”
“You think someone was making sure it caught up to him?”
“I don’t know, I guess maybe I do. Even if the employer didn’t pay any attention to the story, it embarrassed Lucas. That pride of his would suffer. He was all the time bitter and angry. He’d go drinking. Next thing you know, he’s missing work and so on. It all just went from bad to worse. After a time, it was easier for him to sit around drinking than to try to keep a job, I guess. I’m not trying to excuse it. The drinking was his problem. Wasn’t anybody who made him sit down and become an alcoholic. I told you before, it’s an illness, that’s all. Who knows? — maybe he would have ended up drinking even if he got a degree and teaching job at some university.”
“It doesn’t matter. If someone cheated him out of his degree, he was cheated.”
“Not just his degree,” June said. “Like I keep telling you. They labeled him the cheater. They made him the liar. All along, he was none of those things, but he was called those names. Being called a drunk, being poor, that’s not the same. He was a good man. He deserves to go to his grave being known as one.”
26
I CALLED THE NUMBER June had given me. A man answered on the second ring.
“Hello, is Edison in?”
“This is Edison. What can I do for you?”
“This is Irene Kelly. I’m a reporter with the Las Piernas News-Express. I’m calling you regarding—”
“Lucas Monroe!” he interrupted. “Lucas told me you might be calling me.”
“He did?”
“Sure. I’m retired now, but I can give you references if you need them.”
“References?”
“As a document examiner. Would you need to see my references before I go over his case with you? I won’t be insulted in the least. He said you would be cautious.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
There was a long silence. “Lucas told you about me?”
“No, not really. Mr. — Sorry, I don’t even know your last name.”
“Burrows.”
“Mr. Burrows, I’m afraid I have some sad news. Lucas died a few days ago.”
“Died? But — but how is that possible?”
“Apparently, he had a heart attack.”
I didn’t give him any other details. He was clearly shocked to learn of Lucas’s death, and the next few moments were largely spent convincing him that I was sure Lucas was dead.
“I really liked him,” he said. “And I suppose I kept hoping my son would follow his example.”
“Your son?”
There was a slight hesitation before he said, “Lucas met my son on the streets. Unfortunately, my son is still drinking heavily. But I guess my son told Lucas what I used to do for a living, because Lucas sought my help not long after he began fighting his own addiction.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what does document examination have to do with alcohol addiction?”
“Oh, not with addiction. I’m sorry, I forgot — he didn’t have a chance to tell you. Oh, wait- — there was the note — but you said it was a heart attack?”
“It’s being investigated. There are some questions about his death. What note?”
“Oh, well, I wonder if…” He paused. “Perhaps we could meet. I know he wanted me to show you the work I’ve done for him. And then there is another matter, although I’m not sure… well, this should be taken care of as soon as possible. Could we meet this afternoon? It would be easier than trying to explain over the phone.”
He completed this argument with himself by inviting me to his home, and not wanting him to argue himself out of it, I agreed to meet him there in an hour.
I THOUGHT ABOUT my previous plans, which would now have to be canceled. I wasn’t going to spoil everybody’s fun, though, so I took out a sheet of paper and wrote Wrigley’s pager number on it about thirty times. Then I went over to the copier and made ten copies of that page, and finally made use of a paper cutter in the design department. I glanced at a clock and saw I only had about ten minutes to spare, so I hurried over to Lydia. “Can someone else cover the city desk for about two minutes?”
Stuart Angert agreed to catch the phones, and I could tell from his grin that Lydia had already mentioned Banyon’s to him. Lydia followed me into the women’s room. I checked the stalls to make sure we were alone and then said, “I have a huge favor to ask of you.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Lydia, this is not that bad, I promise.”
“Famous last words. Whenever you say ‘huge favor’ and ‘not that bad,’ trouble is coming at me downhill on roller skates.”
“Listen, I don’t have time to twist your arm, so if you don’t want to do this, just say so. I can’t make it to Banyon’s.”
“What! I just told everyone—”
“Something’s come up.” I told her about Edison Burrows. “I’ve got to meet him, but I can’t do that and be at Banyon’s. So I need you to explain my plan for the beepers.”
“I knew I wasn’t going to like this.”
I ignored that. I’ve been tempting Lydia to misbehave for about three decades, so by now I know what to expect in the way of protest.
“Just give out these slips of paper. See? My handwriting. It’s the number for Wrigley’s personal pager. I think it should be dialed. A lot.”
She took the slips, her look of trepidation now replaced with a mischievous smile. That’s my pal.
“How did you ever get this number?”
“The old boy thought I was going to set him up with Claire Watterson.”
“He must be out of his mind.”
“He will be, when we get done with him. Now, I’ve got to get out of here.” I started to walk out, then stopped and turned back to her. “Lydia? Tell them to be creative about the call-back numbers. The pound and the sanitation department are already spoken for.”
I hurried back to my desk and checked my voice-mail messages. One from Frank, one from Roberta. Frank had called me before I left my “beeper” message for him; he was letting me know he’d actually be home for dinner, so I didn’t have to call him back. Roberta just left her number. I debated for a second or two, but there had been an anxiousness in her voice, so I decided to go ahead and call her now. I could always call Burrows and tell him I’d be late. But when I called, I reached her secretary.
“She’s with a client,” the secretary said, “and she has a meeting across town this afternoon. I’m about to leave for the day, but can I leave a message for her? I know she’s anxious to talk to you.”
I gave her my pager number and my home number. I gathered up Ben’s calendars and left the office.
My curiosity was raging. Edison Burrows mentioned a note. Did Lucas leave a note about his activities? I was so preoccupied with trying to untangle my conversation with Burrows, I stood bewildered in the parking lot for a second before I remembered that I was still parked in the alley — or hoped I was. I rounded the corner of the building, greatly cheered to see the Karmann Ghia — until I saw the broken glass on the driver’s side. A brick lay on the ground near the door.
“Shit!” I slowed my steps, trying to brace myself for finding the ignition popped or the interior vandalized. This thief might have been frustrated to find the radio gone — long gone, thanks to the work of one of his predecessors, a knife-wielding asshole who had ripped his way through the ragtop. At least the g
lass wouldn’t be so expensive to replace. It would come out of my own pocket; the Karmann Ghia was too old to make comprehensive insurance worthwhile.
As I crunched my way closer to the car door, I noticed the hood of the trunk wasn’t fully latched. I peered into the car. No other apparent damage. I brushed beads of glass off the seat, hit the release for the trunk, and went to the front of the car to see if anything had been taken from there. But my earthquake kit, flares, beach blanket, and flashlight were still there. Even my gym bag, which had a set of running clothes and shoes in it, hadn’t been taken. On second thought, maybe my running shoes weren’t such a prize.
I shut the trunk and got into the car, shaking loose another spray of glass beads. I started the car, relieved that nothing seemed amiss with the engine, and drove toward Edison Burrows’s home.
At the first stoplight, I found myself inventing punishments for the vandal. I had a brief moment of mentally asking “What did I ever do to you?” to the unknown, would-be thief. Useless. As the wind came in through the shattered window, I clenched my teeth and told myself that I should be grateful the car was still there.
Should be.
Beyond contributing my input to local crime statistics, I knew there was no point in calling the police. Auto theft and vandalism in southern California is so rampant, those cities which don’t just take reports over the phone send officers out mostly as a public relations effort, not because there is any likelihood of finding the car — let alone the thief.
I haven’t owned many things as long as I’ve owned my Karmann Ghia, and have a sentimental attachment to even fewer. I’m not a car-worshiper by any means, but I’ve spent a lot of time in this one, and the broken window seemed like an injury to an old friend. But with the exception of allowing myself to engage in some rather unrealistic vigilante fantasies during the drive to Burrows’s house, I knew it was best to try to shrug it off.
EDISON BURROWS LIVED in a quiet neighborhood where the branches of big oak trees were beginning to fill in their canopy above the streets with soft, bright green leaves. His house was typical of those built in the mid-1920s in Las Piernas, a small Spanish-style home with white stucco walls, a red tile roof, and arching windows. I parked on the street, got out with the calendars in hand, and caught myself just before I locked the car door.
