The Disappearance of Penny

by Robert J. Randisi

  “You’ve helped enough, Po,” he told me. “My daughter’s dead, thanks to you.”

  I couldn’t believe him, couldn’t comprehend just how the hell his mind worked.

  “Me? My fault?” I asked him incredulously. “First it was Lassiter’s fault, then mine. Who’s next, Hopkins?”

  I advanced on him and stopped only when I bumped into the desk. Then I leaned across it and asked, “When is it going to be your fault? When will you accept some blame for this?”

  “How dare you — ”

  I stood up straight and threw him a took of pure scorn.

  “C’mon, Hopkins, there’s nobody here but you and me. There’s no point in putting on an act. Don’t get righteous with me, you hypocrite. You’re so upset over the death of your daughter, right? Bullshit!” All semblance of respect went right out the window at that point.

  “You never loved that girl, did you Hopkins. She was just another piece of meat for you and Lassiter to fight over. She loved the both of you and neither one of you are worth the dirt under her nails.”

  “Stop it!” Hopkins screamed, and I admit to being startled by his reaction. I thought he was going to have a coronary. His face turned a deep shade of red and his eyes bulged until I thought they’d fly from his head.

  “What do you know about love?” he demanded. “Could you love a child who caused your wife’s death? That’s right, my wife died giving birth to Penny, and you expect me to love her?”

  “How can you blame an infant for — ”

  “Who else do I blame?”

  “Again,” I shouted, banging my palms down on his desk, “again you’re looking for someone else to blame. How about yourself, Hopkins? You’re the one who got your wife pregnant, how about that for some blame?”

  He reacted as if I had branded him with a hot poker. I expected another explosion, but suddenly his face went slack and he sat heavily in his chair.

  “Get out of here, Po, get out of here and leave me alone. Don’t make me call Howard Biel — ”

  “Howard Biel has asked me to work with the police, Hopkins. So if that’s what you want to do, then go ahead and call him.” I refused to feel sorry for him. Penny was the one I still felt sorry for.

  Before I left I had a parting shot.

  “There’s one more thing I’m curious about, Hopkins. Just what the hell are you doing with a copy of the Donero transcript?”

  He looked up quickly, eyes wide with something like shock. He took a moment to decide that it wasn’t worth it to berate me for going through his desk.

  “There’s nothing sinister in that, Po. I have a friend who’s attending the trial. He’s taking notes — actually, he has total recall and he’s typing it up for me word for word at the end of each day. Donero’s mentioning anybody who’s anybody. I just want to keep an eye on things, that’s all. Now, please get out of here.” He lowered his head into his hands and I left him that way. I guess it was a valid enough explanation.

  I didn’t seem to be getting all that much information out of anyone today.

  I stepped outside and, if Richards had been taller or I had been shorter, his ambush might have come off. As it was, his fist glanced off the side of my head and instead of cold-cocking me the way he’d intended to do, he did no more than knock me slightly off balance. I let myself go in the direction of the blow and regained my balance. Then I turned to face him, ready to smash my fist into his face.

  I stopped myself and we eyed each other. His fists were balled at his sides and he was ready to fight. He was loyal to Hopkins, which made me feel sorry for him, too.

  “I’m not going to fight you, Richards. You’d better go on inside and see to your boss.”

  I turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  When I walked into the security office, the girl behind the desk knew why I was there.

  “We’re going to start charging you,” she said, smiling as she moved the phone to the edge of her desk.

  “How do you want me to pay?” I asked her, kidding. She wasn’t pretty, but she was young enough to blush at the innocent bit of flirting.

  I called Shukey, got her service and left her a message to call me at home that evening.

  My next visit was to be off-track.

  I dialed Lassiter’s home phone and when his wife answered said, “Hello, Lisa.”

  “Hello, yourself, and who is this?” she asked, unsure about who it was, but friendly nevertheless.

  “How soon we forget. I’ll bet I was just another ride into the city to you.”

  “Henry, love, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, just fine. I was wondering if you could do with a little visit today?”

  “Well, surprise, surprise.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Well, I’m pretty good at reading men, Henry, and I never thought you would call.”

  “You underestimate yourself, Lisa. May I come over?”

  “Now?”

  “The sooner, the better,” I told her.

  “Anxious little devil, aren’t you? All right, lover, come ahead,” she said, obviously pleased with herself.

  I wondered how pleased she’d be when she discovered the real reason for my visit.

  “I’m on my way.”

  Even though my visit wasn’t for romance Lisa Lassiter was a beautiful woman, so I got a hold of one of the security guys and asked him to loan me a bottle of cologne from his locker. I went into the men’s room, dusted off my clothes, which had suffered from the scuffle with Lassiter, combed my hair and made liberal use of the cologne.

  Thus armed I went to see the lovely Lisa Lassiter.

  I can’t explain it, I can only theorize as to why I did end up in bed with her when I had no intentions of going to bed with her. Maybe it was exciting because a short time before, I had knocked her husband on his butt. Maybe it was also because I was afraid I was starting to like Brandy Sommers a little too much. There could have been a lot of reasons, not the least of which was the way Lisa looked when she admitted me to Paul Lassiter’s home that afternoon.

  “Hello, Henry,” she greeted.

  She was gorgeous: tall, regal, her chestnut hair was gleaming, evidence that she had probably washed it during the time it had taken me to get there. In fact, it was quite obvious that she had showered, she smelled clean and fresh, but not from any perfume. I felt grimy just looking at her.

  She was wearing a one-piece, hooded, terry cloth robe of deep burgundy.

  “What happened to your head?” she asked with concern, stepping back to allow me to enter.

  In the living room I turned and told her, “I fell. It’s nothing serious. Lisa, I want to tell you something. I’m not here for the reason you think — ”

  “Really, Henry?” she asked. She moved very close to me. Through the fabric of the robe I could see her nipples, tensed. The next thing I knew, those nipples were pressed against my chest and her mouth was alive on mine, tongue probing. Her right hand was between my legs.

  Suddenly she stepped back and pulled the robe up over her head, then dropping it. Beneath it she was naked. Her nipples were very large and brown, her pubic hair was the same color as the hair on her head. Smiling, she stepped close to me again and we kissed. Her hands went to work on my clothes and soon I was as naked as she was. Her mouth roamed all over my body as she fell to her knees. Then, suddenly, she stood and led me to the bedroom.

  The sex was fantastic. She was energetic and inventive in bed and gave herself up fully to the sensations. She was in no way inhibited, and nothing was taboo. It was one of the most satisfying sessions of my life, and afterward I felt rotten, guilty for several reasons. Most of all for deceiving her.

  “I didn’t come here for this, Lisa,” I told her afterward. We were still lying in her bed — her husband’s bed and she turned to me and started drawing ever widening circles on my belly.

  “You said that, Henry. Did you enjoy it?”

  I laughe
d. “Lady. That would be an understatement.”

  “So, what does it matter why you came?”

  “I came to ask you about Penny Hopkins. You know she was found shot to death?”

  She stopped making circles and lay back on her pillow.

  “Paul told me. That’s a terrible thing to have happen to anyone, Henry, but I still didn’t know the girl, and I certainly wasn’t jealous of her, and I didn’t have anything to do with killing her.” She turned to me again and put her hand on me, making a fist with little old me inside.

  “This must have proven to you I’m not the jealous type.”

  I tried to ignore the sensations she was causing.

  “Last time you said you’d never met her, now you’re saying you didn’t know her. Which is it?”

  She stopped what she was doing with her thumb and then let go of me completely. She sat up in bed, leaning over so that her breasts swayed.

  “All right, so I met her once, a year ago.” She smiled and added, “She was stacked even then. She was very nice to me, as if I were her mother’s age or something. I didn’t like her then, Henry, I admit it.”

  “And you haven’t had any contact with her since?”

  She shook her head, and I watched the chestnut tresses bounce on the white skin of her back. “No, … not directly.”

  “Now, what does that mean?”

  “The phone, I spoke to her on the phone a couple of times. She called for Paul, but he put a quick stop to it. Other than that, no, no contact.”

  I ran my finger down the center of her back and she shivered and said, “That’s the truth, Henry.”

  I was going to believe her, but then I looked around and realized that she had me right where she wanted me. She was calling the tune and I was dancing her dance.

  She was some lady, but she could also be some liar.

  “I did lie about something, though,” she admitted. “Well, not a lie really. I insinuated that my husband was something of a stud.”

  I laughed.

  “He alluded to it, also. He said he let Penny hang around because she was adequate in bed.”

  She looked over her shoulder at me and said, “If she was, she was a hundred percent better than him. You see, for the past two years my husband has been impotent.”

  “What?”

  “He doesn’t sleep with women, Henry. He beats them up.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Up until two years ago, Lisa Lassiter told me, she had been a completely faithful wife, even though her husband had been something less than a faithful husband. However, with the advent of her husband’s impotency, she began to look for her sex elsewhere.

  “Because I didn’t like getting beat up. I don’t really regret having to do it, either. I never realized how much I truly enjoyed sex until I started having a variety of partners. It’s worked out quite well for me.”

  Or maybe she was just making the best of a bad situation.

  “What’s this about beating you and other women up?”

  “Well, in the beginning, we’d try to have sex and when he couldn’t perform he’d get violent.”

  “Did he ever hurt you badly?”

  She held up one finger. “One trip to the hospital. He cracked a couple of my ribs. He was contrite for a while, but then it started all over again and that’s when I stopped trying.” She pulled the sheet up over her as if she was cold.

  “So now he picks up women, or pays for them, and when he can’t perform he beats them up.”

  “It’s never been reported to the police?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, but he’s never been questioned or arrested, that I know of. I guess he’s never killed one — ” and she stopped short.

  I knew that what she was going to say was that he had never killed one “before.”

  “Lisa, do you think he killed Penny?”

  Her first instinct was to say no, but she shrugged and said, “I don’t know, Henry I really don’t know.”

  Was all of this true, or was she trying to divert suspicion away from herself?

  “I have to go, Lisa, “I said, sliding off the bed and starting to get dressed.

  “Will you come back?” she asked.

  “If I have more questions, yes. I’m sorry, Lisa, but I can’t — ”

  “You don’t have to explain, Henry. You’re a nice man and you don’t like bedding another man’s wife in his own bed.”

  Actually, that had been part of the kick, but I didn’t like the feeling so much now that it was over.

  “You’re a nice lady, too, Lisa. I like you, a lot. Another time, who knows?”

  She got up and I watched her pull her robe over her head again, holding tight to my resolve. Her arms in the air like that made her beautifully shaped breasts jut out toward me, but then the robe was on and they were gone.

  She walked me to the door.

  “Thanks for coming, Henry, don’t feel too bad. We both enjoyed ourselves. Is there really anything so wrong in that?” she asked.

  “No,” I answered, “I guess there isn’t.”

  Before opening the door she put her arms around my neck and kissed me good bye, a long, deep, sensuous, body rubbing, this-is-what-you’ll-be-missing, buster, kiss.

  Walking down the walk to my car, I knew what I would be missing.

  And I missed it already.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  When I got home my phone was ringing. It was Shukey.

  “I got your message, luv, and I’ve been trying to reach you. What’s up?”

  “I was out,” was all I told her.

  “What’s the story?” she asked again.

  “I need your special talents again,” I told her, trying to get the order of business straight in my mind again.

  “I’m going to start to get the feeling that you only look at me as some kind of sex object, luv,” she complained, kiddingly.

  “Let’s not get personal. Here’s what I want. Lassiter has clammed up on me,” I explained. “My own fault; I blew it.”

  “How?”

  “We got into a tussle.”

  “That’s not like you, Hank,” she scolded.

  “Don’t I know that?”

  “You want me to go to work on Lassiter?”

  “Yeah, find out what he knows about either Penny Hopkins or Eddie Mapes.”

  “How about a hot tip on a horse?”

  “I don’t bet horses or hot tips, you know that. Just do a number on him, okay?”

  “Okay, but don’t let this get to be a habit. I’m an investigator, remember, not a hooker?”

  “And you’re a good investigator, too.”

  “Why, thank you, Henry.”

  “You’re welcome. Listen, Shuke, be careful, huh?”

  “Why? What do you know that I don’t know?”

  “Well, Lassiter is not quite the ladies’ man he would like everyone to think he is. It seems he gets his kicks, uh, in a very different way than most men. He doesn’t — actually, he’s unable to have sex with the, so hem …”

  “He what, Henry?” she prodded, sounding very much like a lady who knows she’s been had.

  “He, uh, beats them up.”

  “Oh, thanks a lot, Henry, my love. Just what I needed.”

  “Keep in touch, Shuke — and be careful, huh?”

  “I will, Henry. You owe me for this one.”

  “I’ll pay, I’ll pay,” I promised.

  “Through the nose, chump,” she said, and hung up.

  No, Shuke, I thought, you’re not a hooker. I’m the one who used sex to get information out of Lisa Lassiter.

  Or was she the one who had used sex on me to get what she wanted?

  Well, whichever way it went, I didn’t feel good about it. It had been nice — in fact, it had been fabulous — but done for all the wrong reasons. As much as I disliked Paul Lassiter, no man should be cuckolded in his own home, in his own bed.

  I called the offices of Manhattan South Homicid
e and asked for Detective Diver or Stapleton.

  “I’m sorry,” the officer who answered told me, “they’ve both gone home for the day.”

  “Okay, I know you can’t give me their numbers, so would you have Diver call me back? My name’s Henry Po,” I told him, and gave him my number.

  Fifteen minutes later, as I was popping a frozen chicken dinner into the oven, Diver called.

  “I’ve be been trying to track you down all day,” he told me.

  “What for?”

  “Aiello’s been sprung. His lawyer showed up and we had to let him go.”

  “His lawyer? How did they find out where he was? Did you give him a call?”

  “No way. We were stalling, but his shyster showed up and we had to cut him loose. Besides, he was never really under arrest. We didn’t have to give him a phone call.”

  “Well, did you find out anything else from him?”

  “We didn’t have time. He stuck to his story for as long as we had him, then Perry Mason showed,” he said disgustedly. “Did you tell anyone we had him?”

  Damnit, I had.

  During the go-round with Lassiter I had shot my mouth off about the cops having Aiello.

  “Lassiter,” I said, contritely.

  “That wasn’t too smart,” he said, sounding very disappointed with me, but not belaboring the point. “Was he the only one?”

  “That’s it. It must’ve been him, which means he knows a lot more than he’s telling.”

  “Not necessarily, Henry Suppose the kid just rides for him and Lassiter went for the lawyer simply because of their track association. He could claim that and we wouldn’t be able to prove otherwise.”

  “Shit! We’ll never find Aiello now.”

  “Maybe not,” he disagreed again. “Why can’t he just go back to what he was doing, riding horses? We really don’t have anything on him but the admitted harassment of Eddie Mapes, who is dead and in no position to complain. Look, Henry, my old lady has dinner waiting. Keep in touch, okay?”

  “Okay, Jim. See ya.”

  Lassiter was beginning to look more and more involved. According to his wife, he was violent and now, apparently, he’d arranged for Aiello to be released from police custody.