by Parnell Hall
“Find something?”
“I’ll say. Our boy Leon was fond of pornography. This is his party drawer. Porn mags, a bottle of booze, and what looks like a half ounce of grass.”
“Any rolling papers?”
“Stephanie, the sixties are behind us.”
“Speak for yourself. I still run a tapestry shop on Bleecker Street.”
“You run a high-end fabric store.”
“Potato, potato,” Stephanie said, pronouncing them differently. “Any files in the party drawer?”
“Yes, there are. And here’s one full of photos. Featuring various men and women out on the town.”
“Anyone you recognize?”
“Not offhand. Though some look vaguely familiar. Like I’d seen ’em on television for some reason or another.”
“Any of them look like a psychotic killer who bumps off gossip columnists in saunas of the rich and famous?”
“The photos aren’t labeled.”
“Damn. That would be such a good clue.”
“Don’t say clue. If we come up with a crossword puzzle, I’m going to lose it.”
The phone rang and Cora jumped a mile.
It was Stephanie’s cell phone. She tugged it out, clicked it on. “Yeah?”
It was Sergeant Crowley. “You seen Cora?”
“Cora? No, why?”
“Her lawyer’s trying to catch her. You know, Becky Baldwin.”
“And she called you?”
“Relax. She’s calling everyone. Cora doesn’t have a cell phone. Becky’s putting out the word.”
“What’s up?”
“Matt Greystone’s wife’s been arrested.”
“I thought she’d already been arrested.”
“She was taken in for questioning. This time she’s being charged.”
“They’ve got some new evidence?”
“Apparently they do. Becky can’t find out what. That’s why she needs Cora.”
“If she calls me, I’ll pass along the message. But she’s more apt to call you.”
“Where are you, anyway?”
“You passed out, so I went home.”
“I didn’t pass out.”
“Sorry. I mean you went to sleep totally independent of the three shots of bourbon you drank. If you hadn’t gotten a phone call, you’d be sleeping still. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Stephanie clicked the phone off.
“Wow, there’s a long-term relationship,” Cora said. “A lot of men wouldn’t stand for that.”
“Hey, what are men good for if you can’t beat ’em up now and then?”
“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“Becky’s looking for you. Wanna use my phone and call her?”
“Wouldn’t Crowley be able to tell I did?”
“You have a suspicious mind. Correct that, you have a devious mind that suspects men of having suspicious minds.”
“Most of my men did. Of course I never had a cell phone. And few of them had the resources to access phone records. Though Melvin used to go over the monthly bills. A cop, on the other hand…”
“Crowley doesn’t check my phone calls. We have an open relationship.”
“Did you know about me before you met me?”
“Not for a while. Of course that was during an off-again period.”
“Like when he was married?”
“That wasn’t as off-again as it might have been,” Stephanie said. “You got another file for me?”
“Anything in that one?”
“A lot of men and women. Whaddya wanna bet they aren’t married to each other?”
“No takers.”
“It would appear our boy Leon wasn’t above a little blackmail.”
“He wasn’t above much,” Cora said.
They leafed through the rest of the folders in the drawer without finding anything. Cora unsnapped the next one.
“Anything there?” Stephanie asked.
“We’re back to straight files.”
“Gimme.”
Cora handed Stephanie a thick file folder.
Stephanie leafed through it and whistled.
“What is it?” Cora said.
“Yet another vice. On top of his other accomplishments, Leon was a bookie.”
“You’re kidding.”
“He’s got the betting line on all the baseball games, plus who bet on ’em, how much, and whether they won or lost.”
“Please tell me the name Matt Greystone isn’t there.”
“It’s not.”
“Thank goodness for small favors.”
“Hey, this is good news,” Stephanie said. “The motives for killing this guy are piling up.”
“Yeah,” Cora said. “Pete Rose, eager to get into the Hall of Fame, bumps off a bookie to hide his gambling habit.”
“There you are,” Stephanie said. “Reasonable doubt. Give me another file.”
“Here you go.”
Stephanie took the new file. She handed a stack of files to Cora. “Let’s put these back, so I have room.”
“Where were they from?”
“The first drawer.”
Cora pulled the drawer open, but it jammed. “Hmm. Stuck on something.”
“It opened before.”
“Yeah, but then I opened the other drawers in a not quite kosher way. I may have shifted stuff around.” Cora stuck her hand in. “Here we go. Something jammed in here.”
“Can you get it free?”
“I’m trying, I’m trying.”
Cora maneuvered the drawer in and out to the point of the jam. “Okay, I think we’re almost there. And … ta-da!”
Cora pulled the offending item out of the drawer. It was a manila envelope. It wasn’t sealed, but it was held closed with a metal clasp, the type with two prongs you stick through a hole and bend over. Cora undid the clasp. There was something stiff inside. She reached in, pulled it out.
It was a sheet of backing cardboard, the type you stick in an envelope to keep from crushing something.
Cora reached into the envelope to see what it had been protecting. It felt like a glossy photograph. She pulled it out.
It was.
The photograph was obviously an enlargement of a picture taken by one of Leon Bratz’s spy cams. It was a picture of a young couple cozying up to each other in a singles bar.
It was Jackie Greystone and Don Upton.
Chapter
40
“You were having an affair with Don Upton?”
“Sure.”
Cora choked on her tea. “What do you mean, ‘sure’? That’s the kind of brazen admission I used to make. And no one was happy about it. Least of all my current husband. A gossip columnist gets killed. The police are looking for a motive for you to do it. And here you are, the wife of a famous athlete, having an affair. ‘Never mind the closing arguments, Your Honor, let’s just march the defendant into the gas chamber.’”
“Do they have gas chambers in Connecticut?”
“How can you joke about this? Don’t you realize the trouble you’re in?”
“Shouldn’t I be talking to my lawyer?”
“You should. But when you do, I don’t want her to have a stroke. Becky gets rather upset when clients insist on sticking their necks in the noose.”
“Now you’re hanging me? A minute ago you had me in the gas chamber.”
Cora and Jackie were having tea on the veranda. By the time Cora got back to Bakerhaven, Jackie had been arraigned and Becky had bailed her out. Despite clawing and kicking, Becky had been unable to ascertain what new evidence the prosecution had on her client.
Becky was in no mood for another jolt. Cora had left her hanging, and gone to see Jackie.
“Did Matt know you were having an affair with Don Upton?”
“Well, I should think so. He stole me away from him.”
Cora frowned. “What?”
“I was going out with Don. Who was technically married at the time.” She waggled
her hand. “You know how it is.”
“Actually, I do,” Cora said. “Wait a minute now. This was when Matt was in the minor leagues?”
“They were on the same team. Roommates, actually. Matt didn’t know me. I was going out with Don. I met Matt and something clicked.”
“I hate it when that happens,” Cora said.
Jackie frowned. “Why?”
“In my case, it used to click too often. Never mind. You met Matt, something clicked, and Don graciously stepped aside and said, ‘Take her, she’s yours.’”
“It wasn’t quite like that.”
“No kidding. What was it like?”
“Don was very upset. To make matters worse, Matt went on a winning streak just then, and Don went on a losing one. They had a falling out, switched roommates, weren’t talking to each other. Which is tough on a team. But they were starting pitchers, worked different days.”
“Did you try to mend fences?”
“Oh, no. Worst thing I could have done, really. If I talked to Don, Matt would have flipped out. And if I talked to Matt about Don, that was worse.”
“How come they’re friends again?”
“Matt got traded. Then they were on opposite teams. Before the call-up. They got away from each other, but they had to interact. They wound up pitching against each other. I’ve never seen such a battle. They went nine innings, came out of the game tied zero-zero. Matt gave up three singles. Don gave up two. It got a lot of coverage for a minor league game. It was one of the reasons Matt got called up.”
“Did that make for more resentment?”
“You’d think so, but it was just the opposite. It wasn’t just a minor league tour anymore. Matt’s with the big boys, out of town for the West Coast swing, gone for days at a time. He couldn’t take me with him, but I didn’t want to be left behind, and he didn’t want to leave me. He had an apartment in New York. I could hang out and wait for him to get back, but that made him uneasy. The long and the short of it is we got married.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Not the most romantic of reasons, but we really cared for each other. Matt wasn’t a star yet. Anyway, Don shows up at the wedding. At first I thought he was going to get drunk and make a scene, but he walks up to Matt and he grins, and he says, ‘Boy, the lengths you will go to make a point.’ And just like that, they were friends again.”
“So, what you’re saying is if Leon Bratz had a photo of you and Don together it would only be a scandal if the thing had a date stamp.”
“If he did, it was Photoshopped, because Don and I haven’t been out together since way back when.”
“Did Leon Bratz ever try to extort you with a photo?”
“Hell, no. It wouldn’t have worked if he did.”
Cora sighed. “Well, that all sounds wonderful. You might try explaining it to your lawyer.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll try to find you another lawyer. Do you have any idea what the police have on you?”
“No.”
“Yesterday they didn’t have enough to charge you. Today they do. What could that be?”
“You’d have to ask them.”
“Your lawyer’s been doing nothing else. She’s been getting no answer. Because they’re on the other side. You’re on her side. That’s why I’m asking you.”
“And I tell you I don’t know.”
“Did you do anything stupid between yesterday and today?”
“Like what?”
“Like whatever you did. If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking. This is not a game. The disaster you’ve been bracing for is here. You need to take evasive action. There are various ways to do it, but holding out on your lawyer is not one of them. Where’s Don?”
“He’s been staying at the house.”
“You didn’t ask me about the crossword puzzle.”
“Oh, did you solve it?”
“I didn’t have to solve it. It’s the same one you got before. Only with the title filled in.”
Jackie said nothing.
“You didn’t know that?”
“Well, it looked like it.”
“Yeah. It looked like it because it was. I’m wondering if you knew that when you gave it to me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I recall you being awfully eager for me to look at it right then and there. You were disappointed when I stuck it in my purse. Like you’d already noticed it was the same puzzle, but didn’t want to admit it.”
“Why would I do that?”
“That’s what I was wondering.”
“The point is, what do the cops think they have on me?”
“How about the fact you were having an affair with Don Upton?”
“That wouldn’t bother me.”
“You suppose they know that?”
“I don’t know what they think. It could be the reason. I hope it is.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a silly reason, and it isn’t so.”
“You said it was so.”
“It’s not a motive. It’s not what the cops have on me. I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to cover it up. I couldn’t have cared less.”
“So,” Cora said, “what do the cops have on you?”
Jackie shrugged. “That’s your job.”
Chapter
41
“What have you got on Jackie Greystone?”
“An arrest warrant. Which I duly served.”
“I know that. On the basis of what evidence?”
“She was discovered at the scene of the crime, presumably the last person to see the victim alive.”
“You had all that, you let her go. Suddenly you changed your mind.”
“Don’t look at me. Henry Firth thought he could make a case.”
“You’re sparring with me, Chief.”
“No fun, is it?”
“Not a good time to teach me a lesson, Chief. Becky’s less than happy with the situation.”
“Really? A multimillion-dollar client? Sounds like a lawyer’s dream.”
“Becky’s not the type to pad her billable hours. She likes to get results.”
“So do I.”
“Then help me out. Help me to help you. You don’t want to prosecute an innocent woman.”
“Again, that would be Henry Firth’s territory.”
“You’re on the prosecutor’s team. So, if Ratface is so convinced she’s guilty, you can let Don go.”
“Huh?”
“Don Upton. He’s not supposed to leave town. Now he can.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, you didn’t. And isn’t that interesting? Could it be that Henry Firth’s proceeding against both of them, but seeing as how this is a high-profile case, he’s releasing the facts in dribs and drabs? I mean, why jam two arrests into one twenty-four-hour news cycle when you can stretch it out to two?”
Harper said nothing.
“Are you planning on arresting Don Upton?”
“I have no current plans.”
“Would you tell me if you were?”
“I don’t believe that’s in my job description.”
“Why in the world would Don Upton and Jackie Greystone team up to kill a penny-ante gossip columnist?”
“You tell me.”
“I can’t even begin to.”
“Did you know they used to be an item?” Harper said.
“What makes you say that?”
“I figure you already found out by now. Particularly from the tenor of your questions.”
“The tenor of my questions? Next you’ll be interpreting my body language.”
“Suppose he had something on them.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Leon Bratz had something on everyone.”
“Suppose he could put them together.”
“I’d be shocked if he couldn’t. They used to date before she married Matt.”
“Suppose he could put them together more recently than that.”<
br />
Cora cocked her head. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
“I’m not trying to tell you something. I’m on the side of the prosecution. I’m trying to help the prosecutor build a case. I’m just saying hypothetically, for the sake of argument, suppose Leon Bratz could put them together more recently than that.”
“Then I would want to know when.”
“You have an inquiring mind.”
“That’s what Melvin said. Just before the divorce. It was one of the things that endeared me to him.”
“He divorced you anyway.”
“Oh, not that divorce. He said that when I was divorcing one of my other husbands. I divorced Melvin eventually, but we weren’t even married then.”
The phone rang.
Harper scooped it up. “Yeah?… Hell, be right there.”
Harper slammed down the phone and lunged to his feet.
“What is it, Chief?”
“Shots fired at Matt Greystone’s house.”
Chapter
42
Harper actually used his siren. Cora couldn’t remember the last time he had. He screeched to a stop and leapt out of the car. As Cora followed, there came the sound of shots from out back.
Harper raced around the side of the house, drawing his gun as he went.
Cora lost a step getting hers out of her drawstring purse. She flew around the corner and slammed into the chief, who had stopped short. He was lucky his gun didn’t go off.
Matt Greystone and Don Upton were lounging by the pool in deck chairs. A dozen empty beer bottles were scattered around. They appeared to be working their way through a case. Each had a bottle of beer in one hand and a gun in the other. Don had an automatic. Matt had a revolver. They were shooting at a weathervane on the top of the sauna. It was an old-fashioned metal affair, a rooster on top of an arrow. The rooster had been nicked a few times, most likely several beers ago. As Cora watched, Don shot and missed it by a good six feet.
For Chief Harper it was a ticklish situation. Telling a drunk with a gun to put it down was an iffy proposition at best. The odds between complying with the request and shooting the requester were about equal.
Cora temporized with a hearty, “Hi, boys, got a beer?”
Matt looked up, recognized her, waved her over with his gun hand. “Come on, come on, join the party. Ah, good, you brought your gun. Come on over here. We’re shooting up the vane.” He broke off, frowned. “That sounds bad. Shooting up the vane. I don’t mean we’re intravenous drug users. We’re shooting up the weathervane. Hit the rooster, win a beer.”
