Shallow Graves - Jeremiah Healy

by Jeremiah Healy

  "Help you with something?"

  The voice really was sonorous, like a Shakespearean actor. His complexion ran to medium brown. Puriefoy was mostly bald, with a beard that seemed to ride up and over his ears into the fringe of hair remaining on his head. He wore hiking khakis with button pockets on the thighs and an old chamois shirt, stained down the front like a mechanic's overalls.

  I said, "My name's John Cuddy. I'm a private investigator."

  Puriefoy made a face as he stood up, rising to about six feet.

  "You got some ID?"

  Taking out my leather folder, I walked over to him.

  He examined it, shook his head, and handed it back to me.

  "I can't help you."

  "You haven't heard what I'm here for."

  "Don't matter." He turned back to the train set. "I don't know anything about it."

  "I'm looking into the death of Mau Tim Dani, and I'm guessing Sinead Fagan already told you I spoke to her about it."

  His head came up as he stopped and turned to me again.

  "She said you were working for some insurance outfit"

  "That's right."

  "Why?"

  "Why insurance, you mean?"

  "Yeah. Her family, they own the building. Who's getting sued?"

  "Nobody yet. Everybody helps me, maybe nobody will."

  A cynical scowl. "Yeah. Right."

  "I understand you were the one who scouted her."

  Puriefoy looked like he was trying to decide which would be less trouble, to throw me out or talk with me and get it over with. Then he said, "How long you gonna be?"

  I dropped my head toward the train. "Tell your models to take their lunch break."

  A laugh. "I'll tell you, man, these here be a lot easier to work with than the prima dormas in this trade."

  "How so?"

  "Aw, these girls, they hook up with an agency, they figure they're movie stars. They get to wear hot clothes, go to big parties, everybody coming on to them. Then they find out modeling's just standing around for an hour, hour and a half, same leg set, same perfume or wine or whatever the fuck product in their hand. They cop an attitude, you know?"

  "Was Mau Tim like that?"

  A more cautious look. "They're all like that. This strictly product work, like I'm doing here? This is easy money. You do good work, it shows. How your work looks don't depend on some model's got a hair across her ass, you know?"

  "How did you discover her?"

  Puriefoy took a deep breath, went over to a chair, and slumped into it. "You want to sit?"

  "Thanks, no."

  Puriefoy rolled his shoulders, then crossed his arms, feet flat on the floor. "Mau Tim — she was calling herself 'Tina' then, by the way — Mau Tim I spotted in a café over in Copley Place. She had this bag from Neiman's next to her, and she was checking it, maybe figuring somebody'd try and walk with it. I watch her, eating this croissant. She takes a little nibble, like a rabbit, you know? Then she sends out her tongue after the little bits around her lips. Man, I watch her for like a minute, I know she's a natural. You know about scouting, you know what a natural is?"

  "Naturally photogenic?"

  "Yeah, but more than that. See, Mau Tim, she was perfect being herself. Like they used to say about that actor dude, Spencer Tracy. I mean, you don't have to pose a girl like that, you don't have to like direct her, you just tell her the theme for the shoot, and she does it and you click away at her. They say somebody with grace, it shows when they move? With Mau Tim, it showed even when she didn't move. It showed through the lens and on the paper. I printed a galley sheet for her test shots, I couldn't decide which ones ought to go in her mini-book, they were all that good."

  I thought the rnini-book decision was up to the agents. "You sent her over to Lindqvist/Yulin?"

  The photographer pulled back a little. "Yeah. Why?"

  "Just checking something. Why that agency?"

  A shrug. "They were a little hungry. They did okay by a sister I sent them, got her good fashion bits, even a couple of runways for the lah-di-dah boutiques. See, Mau Tim was exotic, man. She needed a little bringing along before she hit the big time, and I figured Erica could do that."

  "But not George?"

  "George? Man, George is like a booker, not a creative guy. Erica's got the vision, George's got the rolodex, you know?"

  "According to Yulin's rolodex, you and Mau Tim were pretty good friends"

  Puriefoy pulled back a little more. "You could say that."

  "Lovers?"

  "The fuck difference does it make?"

  "I have to follow through on anything that might help me find out who killed her."

  "Who killed her? The fuck you talking about? I was there, man. Some burglar done it."

  "Back up a step, all right? Mau Tim lived with you for a while?"

  Puriefoy waited a moment before answering. "Yeah. She was overage, man, her decision to check out on the family. Only I didn't know about . . . her family, you know?"

  "She didn't tell you she was connected?"

  "Shit, no. I walk over to her — at that café with the croissant? — and I say, 'Hey, lovely lady, you a model?' And she says, 'No,' but not like 'Get-the-fuck-lost' no, just kind of a 'not yet.' And I like her more as a natural, and she tells me her name is Tina and we go around on that for a while, and pretty soon we're back at my place for a little sweetness in the dark."

  "Where's your place?"

  "Apartment, over in JP."

  Jamaica Plain, the farthest west of the Boston neighborhoods. "How soon after that did she move in with you?"

  "Like a week, maybe two. Didn't tell me her last name that first time. But when she did, she said it was 'Dani,' and I should start calling her 'Mau Tim,' on account of that was her name in Vietnamese, only not exactly."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, it wasn't her name, translated like. It was more a description." Puriefoy closed his eyes. "It meant like, 'purple flower,' or something. For her eyes. She was always doing that."

  "Doing what?"

  "Making up names for things. She was at my place one night, and we're watching one of the Star Wars videos, I forget which one. But when that Darth Vader comes on the screen, she — you know whose voice they used for him?"

  "James Earl Jones."

  Puriefoy looked disappointed, like I'd spoiled a punch line. "Yeah, old James Earl with that voice comes up from his high tops somewhere. Well, we're watching the screen, and in walks the guy all dressed in that black outfit, and Mau Tim jumps on me and says 'Your voice is just like his, and you're a big brute, too. I'll call you Grute Vader from now on.' "

  "Why 'Grute' Vader?"

  "Account of it rhymed with 'brute,' maybe. But it could have meant something in Vietnamese, too. Mau, she was into that kind of thing."

  "What kind of thing?"

  "People's backgrounds."

  "How do you mean?"

  "Well, like she really enjoyed Sinead on account of Sinead had a real ethnic name. Irish."

  "Right."

  Puriefoy looked a little sheepish. "Right. And she was always asking me about my roots."

  "Your family, you mean?"

  "Yeah, like that genealogy shit. I read that out to Chicago, man, it is a thriving business, black folks trying hard to trace themselves back just a couple generations to Mississippi, and from there all the way to the slave times. I told Mau Tim I wasn't so interested in my past as my future."

  "A future that didn't include her?"

  "Shit happens."

  "And now you're involved with her girlfriend?"

  "The fuck difference does that make?"

  "I'm just wondering who broke it off, you or Mau Tim?"

  No response.

  "Was it because she moved on to other photographers?"

  Puriefoy's molars worked inside his mouth. "This part have to go outside this room?"

  "Probably not."

  "That ain't good enough."

&nb
sp; "Al1 right. Between you and me."

  "I just don't want it getting back to her family."

  "Sinead's?"

  "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 tum 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 line. 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 1 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?"