“Shit, no. Mau Tim’s.”
“It won’t.”
“Okay.” Puriefoy shifted his feet on the floor. “Mau Tim’s shacking with me about three weeks, I’m sitting here. Right in this chair, setting up some shots, and the door there opens. I got my back to it, and I didn’t hear no knock. So I turn around, and there’s this little cheech standing there.”
“Cheech?”
“Italian greaser. Eth-nic ster-eo-type, you know? We called that kind of dude a ‘cheech’ down in New York.”
“So this guy comes to see you.”
“Yeah. And he says to me, ‘We’d consider it a good thing for you to stop seeing Tina Danucci.’ Said it just like that, real polite.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I didn’t know no Tina Danucci, but the last name stayed in my head, like it was a name from somewhere.”
“Did your visitor point that out?”
“He said, ‘Well, maybe you know her by Tina Dani or Mau Tim,’ and the cheech, he really stretched it out, like ‘Mau Tim’ was fifty letters long. Then he said, ‘Don’t matter what her name is, she ain’t for you.’ ”
“What did you say?”
“I told him to get the fuck out of my studio.”
“And did he?”
A little shiver. “What he does, he pulls up his sleeves, he’s wearing this long leather coat and suit, and he like shoves everything, jacket, shirt, up to here,” Puriefoy pointed to the middle of his forearm, “and then the guy says, ‘Let me state the message a little clearer.’ And then he says, ‘Hands off or hands off’—and the guy goes like this.” Puriefoy chopped with each hand at the other wrist, then another little shiver. “I got the message.”
“You see Mau Tim after that?”
“I told her, I was having some problems, she had to move out and I couldn’t see her no more.”
“Why didn’t you tell her the truth?”
“Man, I believed the little cheech. I didn’t want it getting back to her family that I was even talking a lot with the girl.”
“How did she take it?”
“Didn’t seem to bother her. And like right after that, she moved into the place in the South End.”
“Did you see Mau Tim much after she moved?”
“Not at her place, but you’re in the business, you’re going to see each other. Plus she was Sinead’s friend, lived in the same building. I talked to her some at Sinead’s apartment, drinks over to the Pour House, Caiobella, like that.”
“She was underage.”
Puriefoy shook his head. “Mau was eighteen and change.”
“For drinking, I mean.”
“Aw, man, she could look any age she wanted to, most of them can, but Mau never pushed the booze thing in public. What I mean is, she’d take a drink at a party now and then, but she didn’t hit the shit when she’d go out. Too many empty calories, you know?”
“What’d you talk with her about?”
“I don’t know. The usual shit. Which ad agency is hot, which account just went where.”
“Anything about her agency?”
“You mean like her agents?”
“Yes.”
“Just the same thing I told her when I found her. ‘Babe, you are the real article. You need some seasoning up here, but then you got to go to the bigs.’ ”
“The big leagues?”
“The Big Apple.”
“Mau Tim couldn’t go to the top outside New York?”
“Uh-unh. Oh, she could do okay. This dude from Dorchester, Thom McDonough? He went over to Paris, and he’s doing just fine. But with her looks, Mau was like born for the City That Never Sleeps.”
“Would that have meant changing her agents?”
“Yeah. Well, wouldn’t have to, but that’d be the smart thing to do.”
“You know whether she decided to take your advice?”
“No.”
“Which way was she leaning?”
“Aw, man, I don’t know.”
“If she did leave, would you have gone with her?”
Puriefoy shifted the feet some more. “What’re you saying?”
“You gave me the impression that you were from New York originally.”
“So?”
“So maybe you could help her down there like you helped her up here.”
“Un-unh. Mau, she was big enough now, she didn’t need me no more. Besides, I believed the little cheech that came to see me, you know?”
Puriefoy made the chopping motion at his wrists again.
“Okay. You visit Sinead much over at her apartment?”
“The fuck do you care about that?”
“I was wondering about the party that night.”
“The night Mau Tim got killed?”
“Right.”
“I don’t like to think about that, man.”
“Force yourself, we’ll get through it quicker.”
“I already told the cops everything I know. Go talk to them.”
“You were there, they weren’t.”
Puriefoy shook his head again, sounded tired. “Okay, okay. Shit, get on with it.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Sinead, she’s fixing a little party for Mau, then we’re going out dancing after that, probably over to Citi—by Fenway Park?”
“Go on.”
“So, I get there, and Sinead—girl’s got no mind, you know?—she says she forgot to buy the wine, and can I go out and get some.”
“She’s under twenty-one, too, right?”
Puriefoy looked puzzled.
“How could she have bought the wine in the first place?”
“Oh, man, she puts on some makeup. Like I said, they all could pass for thirty, they wanted to.”
“Okay. Back up a little. You first get to the building on Falmouth Street. You have a key to the front door?”
“Shit, no, man. I don’t want any more to do with that building than I have to. I just ring the bell for Sinead from outside on the stoop, and she lets me in.”
I said, “So the night Mau Tim was killed, you get inside Sinead’s apartment …”
“And she says, can I go out and get some wine before Larry Shin comes by.”
“Larry Shinkawa.”
“Yeah. Larry Shin, he’s supposed to be there already, but he’s late. Sinead, she says Mau Tim’s in the shower, she can hear the water coming down the pipes in the kitchen, ‘Go on out and get the wine, willya?’ ”
“So you do?”
“Right. Takes me a while, I don’t know the neighborhood, but I find a shitbox liquor store with something decent in it, buy a couple bottles, come back.”
“And?”
“And I go in and I’m in the kitchen working the corkscrew when Larry comes in.”
“He rings the doorbell?”
“Right, right. So Sinead, she goes over, buzzes him in.”
“Go on.”
“Larry, he says, ‘Mau Tim’s not down yet?’ And Sinead, she says, ‘No, but she’s out of the shower.’ And then Larry, he says, ‘Well, why don’t we go up to surprise her, the birthday girl in her birthday suit.’ ”
“And then what?”
“Then I say to Larry, ‘You go ahead, you want to. I’ll open the wine.’ ”
“How come you didn’t want to go up with him?”
“Aw, man. A dozen reasons. First thing, he’s hosing her now, not me. Second thing, I don’t like her family knowing I’m in the same building with her, let alone me seeing her buck naked after a shower.”
I said, “Why didn’t Sinead go up with him?”
“She thought it was shitty, busting in on her like that.”
“Shinkawa had a key to get into Mau Tim’s apartment?”
“I don’t know.” Puriefoy thought for a minute. “No, he didn’t have a key, account of Larry, he come down the stairs a couple minutes later, saying he can’t get in and can’t get her to answer the door.”
�
�You remember his exact words?”
“Larry Shin’s?”
“Yes.”
“Larry, he said something like, ‘I knocked and knocked and yelled to her, but she ain’t answering.’ ”
“So he didn’t say anything about a key.”
“No, not like that. You just got me thinking about keys, all the questions you’re asking about them.”
“Sorry. Go ahead.”
“So then Sinead, she says, ‘Christ, I hope nothing’s weird up there. I got a key.’ ”
“Sinead had a key to Mau Tim’s apartment?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why. Water her plants, maybe.”
“Couldn’t the super do that?”
“Cousin Ooch? I’ll tell you, I’m not sure Ooch could go to the store for bread and come back with a whole loaf.”
“Go ahead.”
“Where was I now?”
“Sinead said, ‘I have a key.’ ”
“Oh, right. Right, Sinead, she says, ‘I got a key, let’s check, see if Mau’s okay.’ So she gets it from her pocketbook and we all go up there. Larry Shin hammers on the door some more, and Sinead gets the key in and turns it and the door opens, but not all the way account of the chain’s on it from the inside.”
“Mau Tim usually use the chain?”
Puriefoy looked at me. “How would I know, man? I stopped seeing her before she moved in there.”
“Go on.”
“So we can push the door open only so far, but Larry Shin, he like wedges his head in and says, ‘I can see her, she’s on the floor.’ ”
“Shinkawa did that, not Sinead.”
“Right. Then he says, ‘She’s not moving. We got to break it down.’ ”
“Break the chain?”
“Right. So he tries twice and can’t do it. Thought all those guys knew karate, you know? But he’s just not big enough to bust through it, so I hit the door with a shoulder and the chain goes and we’re in there.”
“And?”
Puriefoy’s voice dropped. “And Mau’s on the floor, all right. Laid out, eyes half-open, face blue. She’s dead, and Sinead starts screaming.”
“You remember anything else?”
“Larry Shin, he said he thought he heard somebody on the fire escape—the window to it in the bedroom was open, but I didn’t hear nothing. Anyway, he ran over to it, but he said he didn’t see nobody.”
“Did you look out the window, too?”
“Shit, no. Sinead, she’s screaming at me to do something, I tell her, ‘Call an ambulance,’ and she says, ‘How,’ and I say ‘Fucking shit you ever learn about anything?’ and tell her 911. And then I go to work on Mau, with Larry trying to help.”
“Go to work on her?”
“CPR. Took a course on it once.”
“What did you do?”
“Tried to breathe for her, work the chest, you know.”
“Anything?”
“No. I never done CPR outside that class, but she was gone. They say, sometimes you can bring them back, but I’m working on her, and I’m starting to see these bruises—more like little cuts around her neck—” Puriefoy stopped and shook his head. “Enough about that shit, okay?”
“Did you hear anything else?”
“No, man. Sinead was on the phone, screaming at whoever she got. Larry and I were working on Mau.”
I stopped and thought it through. Pretty consistent with Fagan’s version, as far as she went.
Puriefoy said, “Look, man, can I get back to work now?”
“Yeah. Just one more question.”
“What?”
“The guy who came to warn you off.”
“The cheech?”
“He have a toothpick in his mouth?”
Puriefoy didn’t answer right away. “The fuck did you know that?”
“Ethnic stereotype.”
Fifteen
THE BERRY/RYDER ADVERTISING AGENCY was located on lower Newbury Street. The bay window in the reception area provided a panorama of the Ritz Carlton Hotel and a pie slice of Public Garden. I was watching a giddy Hispanic couple walk hand-in-hand toward the Swan Pond when the stunning receptionist told me that Larry Shinkawa could see me now.
I was guided by her to an office that just missed a view of the Garden. The furnishing was stark, a lot of chrome and white interspersed with black surfaces in lacquer or leather. A portable cassette player took up most of the windowsill. The desk consisted of a thick Plexiglas sheet laid over double filing cabinets, a snake lamp with a long neck clamped to one end of it.
Shinkawa introduced himself by coming around the desk. He was about five seven in a tailored pin-striped shirt, flowered tie, and the slacks to an Armani suit. The hair was longish and combed sideways over the head, thick but graying in streaks. He had laughing eyes behind red-rimmed aviators and a pug nose over a yearbook smile. The smile was cranked up high, like he’d been eagerly anticipating my visit all morning.
I said, “I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Shinkawa.”
“Call me Larry, please. Or Larry Shin, if you’ll be here long enough.”
I must have looked at him oddly.
“You see, Mr. Cuddy—”
“John, please.”
“Thanks. You see, John, when I got here, there was already a guy named Larry—Larry Ryder, one of the founders of the agency. So people had to call me Larry Shinkawa, which got shortened over time to just Larry Shin. Sit, please.”
He returned to his desk. I took one of two chrome chairs with black leather slings as seat and back.
Shinkawa said, “What’s this about?”
“I’m investigating Mau Tim Dani’s death for an insurance company. Erica Lindqvist didn’t tell you that?”
The smile distorted for just a second, then broke into a wider grin. “Shouldn’t try to fool you, huh? Sure, Erica called, said a private eye might be by to see me.”
In other words, trust me now because I’m finished lying.
Shinkawa toned back down to a smile. “I thought I’d just play along.”
“Sort of take things as they come?”
He acted like I found him engaging. “The only way. You ever hear of karoshi, John?”
“No.”
“It’s Japanese for ‘dying from overwork.’ A real problem in the old country. Guys in their forties, like me, dropping like flies. The ones who get enough money or corporate bennies to join a tennis club are in the worst shape. They got high blood pressure, stress enough to make the tennis court a minefield for their hearts. Me, I take things in stride, don’t let life get me down.”
I cut in before hearing that he bent with the breeze. “It would help if you could tell me about Mau Tim as you knew her.”
“Professionally or personally?”
“Start with professionally.”
“George—George Yulin—introduced us, I think. At one of their parties at the Cactus Club, a good way for a modeling agency to get its new girls seen by ad people. Well, I had this great concept for a furrier here. We’re a small agency, John, so we can put together some of the strongest print ads around for clients that haven’t got the bucks or the volume to benefit from television product. I pitched the campaign to the furrier. Most concepts get rejected by the client. This one said, ‘Go for it.’ ”
“What was the campaign?”
“A series of young models, instead of the older, ‘Martha, you’ve raised our children and you deserve a mink’ types. Only these were going to be exotic girls, not cheerleaders, follow?”
“And Mau Tim was exotic.”
“Oh, John, you have no idea. Honestly. One of the few girls who never took a bad photo. Every shot a piece of art. Anyway, I met her as we were executing that campaign. She was just breaking in, and I was able to give her career a boost.”
“And you started seeing her personally?”
The smile wavered a little this time. “Yes.”
<
br /> “How long did you see her?”
“Six, eight months I guess. It wasn’t the usual.”
“The usual?”
“Yeah. In this business, John, you get all sorts of opportunities. You look like you’re about my age?”
“Probably.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, the younger ones do keep you younger. But you get tired of them after a while. They don’t have any depth.”
“But Mau Tim did.”
“Some.” Shinkawa swayed back in his desk chair. “She was interested in the sixties, for example. Made me tell her all the expressions, like ‘too much’ and ‘far out.’ Remember?”
“Most of them.”
“Well, she’d change them to suit herself. Like in bed, she’d say things like ‘too, too much’ or ‘far, far out.’ Her way of showing that she understood me but could still personalize things for herself.”
“Adapting to a culture she never experienced.”
Shinkawa stopped for a second. “You know, that’s a nice turn of phrase, John. Very nice. She was like that about my being Japanese-American, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she was always asking me what it was like to grow up Asian in America. Maybe because she had a Vietnamese mother and I think an Italian—Italian-American, I mean—father.”
He thought. “You never met her family, then?”
“No. No, but she was always asking about mine. Japanese customs and relationships. I wasn’t born till forty-eight, but before World War II my parents lived in California. They were Nisei. Know what that means?”
“Born in this country of parents from Japan?”
Shinkawa gave me the “nice-turn-of-phrase” look. “Basically. My mom and dad met when they were being interned. You know about that, too?”
“Not much.”
“Well, let me tell you a little then. Right after Pearl Harbor, the authorities started rounding us up. By the time they were finished, over a hundred thousand men, women, and children of Japanese descent were herded into ‘relocation’ camps, John. Two thirds of us were American citizens, but that didn’t matter. No charges, no trials, no convictions. Everybody just lost their jobs and property and got locked away in the desert. You remember all the uproar over that Judge Bork being nominated for the Supreme Court?”
“Sure.”
“Well, they went after him because of his record on civil liberties, right? Let me tell you, when I was in college, I decided to do my senior thesis on the Nisei. In early 1942, one of the strongest voices calling for the internment testified before a Congressional committee that we Japanese immigrants and citizens had settled intentionally in strategic areas on the West Coast, that we were racially and psychologically tied to the Emperor, and that we were just awaiting the order from Tokyo to strike treacherously at the heart of the American defense industry. You know who that voice belonged to?”
Shallow Graves Page 14
