“Was she close to her sister?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “They talked on the phone almost every day. No one was closer to her.”
I finished the last bitter dregs of my coffee and tossed the cup in the garbage.
Then I had a vision. Tall, thin, blond. Lying on the floor with unseeing eyes and mouth open.
“What did she look like, Gene?”
He glanced at his partner with a pained look, then back at me. “One slug through the back of the head. No struggle. Her apartment was ripped apart though.”
“Forced entry?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“What was the time of death?”
“That’s enough, Rogan,” the seamstress cut in. “We’re not here to answer your fucking questions. Now you tell me what kinda gun you carry.”
“Glock seventeen. But I don’t carry it all the time, my friend. It’s at home.”
He squinted at me. “Have no fear. We’ll check it out.”
CHAPTER III
There were just a few peanuts left. Dave Tanner rooted around absentmindedly in the bottom of the bowl. I signaled the waitress for another round of Budweisers and held up the bowl for her to see.
Tanner stared across the tables as the girl sashayed away from us. He’d thickened some since our days of humping through Thua Thien province, but he still played a mean game of pickup basketball. And he still sported a crewcut.
Only now he was an institutional bond salesman with a white-shoe Wall Street firm, one of those venerable second-tier outfits you see in the middle of the tombstone ads.
“Too broad abeam?” he asked.
“What?”
“Her ass.”
I shook my head. “She’s a good kid. Studying to be a lawyer.”
We were sitting underneath an oversized red umbrella in the outdoor patio of Cafe Centro on East Forty-fifth, surrounded by a barricade of shrubbery. It was a hazy late afternoon with just a faint breeze stirring. All around us office workers were scurrying home or out to an evening rendezvous. Men in dark suits with stress lines creasing their faces. Women in flowered dresses carrying shopping bags filled with credit card purchases. A couple at the next table were hunched together, deep in conversation. They’d had a few drinks already and, from the snatches of conversation I could hear, the guy was laying a full-court press on the girl to convince her to take him back to her apartment. Their faces weren’t more than a foot apart. They clutched each other’s hands and the intensity of his gaze would have been enough to scald her on the spot.
I brought the subject up first. “About Alicia…,” I said.
“What do you wanna know, old buddy?”
“Tell me what you know about what she was doing.”
He shrugged. “Cops came to see me too. Not too much I could tell them about her. I just saw her once or twice a year. At parties, mutual friends, that kind of thing, you know.”
He stopped talking and stared at the waitress’ breasts as she came to the table. Her body was fleshy but her waist was trim, so she carried some extra inches around her bust and hips. Her breasts were well-rounded and they swung forward as she bent over to pour our beers. She was wearing one of those barely-visible bras, more for support than for coverage. Her thin white cotton blouse didn’t hide very much.
She finished pouring and straightened up, flashing a bright smile, first at Tanner and then at me.
“Care for some more peanuts?” she asked.
“You sure are one hell of a waitress,” Tanner said.
She tossed her head and ran her fingers through her spun-copper hair. “I’m not really a waitress. I’m studying law at Fordham. Next year this time, I’ll be a lawyer.”
Tanner and I exchanged glances. He scratched his head and said, “Not a waitress. Well, I’ll bet you’ll be a hell of a lawyer. Give me your number. I’m going to need a good lawyer sooner rather than later.”
She laughed and tossed her hair again. She wasn’t pretty but she had the kind of submissive air a lot of men like.
“I won’t have the same number when I start to practice law. I’m going back home to Boston.”
“Shame it is,” Tanner said as she walked away, his eyes studying her backside.
“About Alicia,” I prodded him.
He considered for a minute. “I don’t know too much about her life now. It consisted mostly of her job from what I could see. You know how she was. She always put herself into her work, body and soul. She didn’t have time for too much else.”
I took a swallow of beer. It felt good and cold going down. “How was her work going?”
He shrugged and said, “I dunno. Hard to tell-difficult to say. She never told me anything about it.”
Then I asked the sixty-four dollar question. “Did she have a boyfriend?”
He polished off his beer and swiveled his head around searching for an instant refill. “Yup,” he nodded, “if it’s the same one I knew. A guy named Chisolm.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s chairman of a company called Insignia Biotech in Norwalk. A solid, substantial citizen.”
I knew what he was referring to. “How long had they been going out?”
“Maybe a year, I think.”
“Did she ever talk about him?”
“She once told me he satisfied her needs.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I said.
“She didn’t go into any details,” Tanner said. “You knew her. She was a gal who didn’t like to talk a lot-to open up, you know.”
I nodded.
I remembered.
CHAPTER IV
The morning of her funeral was clear. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. The sun was so bright it reminded you of the way the sky looks on a summertime afternoon in Spain. Colors so vivid and whites like titanium dioxide whitewash on a canvas.
There were maybe thirty people at the cemetery-mostly expensively-dressed, well-coifed professionals wearing Swiss watches and English shoes. People like herself. They were probably her friends and co-workers.
I recognized three or four of her family members. They didn’t exactly roll out the red carpet for me. As a matter of fact, they studiously ignored me, preferring instead to inspect the groundskeeper’s craftsmanship. Tanner was there. He flashed a silent salute when he saw me.
Why was I there?
I owed it to her. For sure, I damn well owed it to her. If I had said yes to her plea, would she still be alive? If I had helped her, would they be putting her in the ground right now? Goddamned if I knew. But one thing was as certain as night follows day-I was going to do everything I could, and then a hell of a lot more, to find the answer. And when I did, I was going to tear off the head of the bastard who killed her. She was only thirty-six. Too young to bring down the curtain.
As the hydraulic lift soundlessly lowered her coffin, I thought back to a trip we’d taken to Spain. There had been a small hotel in Barcelona, just off the Ramblas. We’d strolled down the broad boulevard with all the brightly-colored flower stalls and the locals had stopped and stared at her because she was so tall and so blond. At the hotel, the concierge had told me that she was so beautiful I couldn’t deny her anything.
And now they were covering her with clods of earth.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls.
It tolls for thee.
And it tolls for me.
After the gravediggers had finished and gone, the mourners stood around and spoke in muted tones. Some birds were chirping from a nearby stand of trees. The cemetery had become very quiet. The scent of newly-mown grass mixed with the smell of freshly-dug earth. Somebody put a hand on my arm. I turned to look. It was her sister, Laura.
“Hello, Ed,” she said in a whisper. “I was hoping you would come.” Her eyes were red and she sniffled into a tissue she had wadded up in her hand.
“I wanted to see you,” I said.
She nodded and sniffled again. Then sh
e burst out sobbing and put her arms around me. I held her and felt her body quivering. Where Alicia had been muscular and sinewy, her sister was soft and vulnerable. Two sides of the same coin.
She continued crying against my chest for a couple of minutes. Her perfume smelled like spring flowers and her hair was soft against my cheek. She was wearing a black dress with long sleeves, too warm for the day. She wasn’t as tall as Alicia but she was prettier. I suspected she wasn’t as smart.
Finally she nodded to herself and dabbed her eyes dry. She nodded again and pulled away from me.
“I’m sorry, Ed,” she managed. “Please forgive me.”
She didn’t have to ask me to forgive her.
She was four years younger than Alicia and a lot more feminine. Alicia had a hard edge about her that could turn off a man, but Laura was the wife you wanted waiting at home for you at the end of a rough day.
After she’d had a chance to regain her composure, I said, “Laura, I want you to introduce me to some of the people here.”
“Why?” she asked.
“You can figure out why.”
She pursed her lips and thought for a minute. A tiny frown line appeared on her forehead. “Do you think someone here knows something about Alicia’s death?” She obviously believed the possibility was remote, from the way she said it.
I didn’t answer her question. “Do you have the key to her apartment?”
“Yes, but why?”
“I want to take a look around.”
Her eyes widened. “But, Ed…the police have already been all over the place. What do you think you can find that they can’t?”
I snorted. If only this little innocent knew.
“I look for things in a different way.”
She shrugged. “All right, but the keys are at home. I’ll have to get them over to you.
“Never mind that. I’ll drive you home and pick up the keys. Now tell me who’s here.”
She surveyed the gathering. “Do you see that tall good-looking man in the gray suit?” She spoke in a conspiratorial tone to my shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“That’s Michael Chisolm.”
“Her boyfriend?”
She nodded.
“Who else is here?”
“That creepy-looking fellow-the one with the thinning hair.”
She indicated a man with gelled hair who stood in a hunched posture. His mother had evidently never told him to stand up straight. At first, I’d thought he was one of the undertakers.
“That’s Alicia’s boss-Stallings. He’s president of the brokerage house where she works…” She stopped and corrected herself. “Worked…”
“Introduce them to me,” I said.
She took my arm and we angled over to where Chisolm stood with two men in dark suits who looked like his subordinates.
“Michael,” Laura said. “I’d like you to meet Ed Rogan. He was…”
Chisolm cut her off. “I know who he is, Laura.”
We shook hands. His grip was firm but his skin was too smooth.
“Mr. Rogan. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He smiled without warmth. “Alicia spoke about you from time to time.”
He looked to be in his mid-fifties. He had flowing gray hair at the temples and he wore an expensively-cut Italian silk suit, probably Armani, with a red silk pocket handkerchief. His shoes were hand-made from alligator or snake or lizard or some kind of reptile that had once crawled on its belly over the face of the earth.
“Chisolm,” I said. “I need to talk to you.”
“All right,” he said with a barely-perceptible hesitation. “I was just leaving. Why don’t you walk with me back to my car?” He motioned to his men and jerked his thumb in the direction of the parking lot. “Let’s head back to the cars.”
The men nodded in acquiescence. “Sure thing, Mr. Chisolm,” one of them said.
I left Laura standing where she was and Chisolm and I ambled over a gently-sloping rise and down a gravel path to where his car was parked. He obviously wanted to show me the car. It was a Hummer. But I wasn’t very impressed because I knew only fools drive Hummers. This knowledge was imparted to me by the Edmunds. com web site where they featured a listing of the Ten Cars That Fools Drive.
When we got to his car, Chisolm stopped and turned.
“Go ahead, Mr. Rogan,” he said. “What did you want to ask me?”
I shook my head. “Not here. Not now. And in private.”
“Certainly,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you also. Here’s my card. Why don’t you come up to my office? We won’t be disturbed and we can speak privately there.”
The odds were good he was married and didn’t want to talk at home.
“Sure. That’s fine.” I pocketed his card. “I’ll give you a call.”
I headed back to where Laura was standing on the grassy rise watching us talk. There was a strange expression on her face that I couldn’t decipher.
“What do you think of Chisolm?” I asked her.
She adjusted a clip that held her hair in place. For a moment it fell loose as she swung her head back and forth. Her hair was straight and honey brown and was cut so it just touched her shoulders.
“He’s stylish and he’s certainly rich enough, but he’s not my type. Somehow I never thought he was sincere. I don’t know if he really loved Alicia.”
“Is he married?”
She nodded and looked down. “Precariously so. His wife has oodles of money and he doesn’t want to take a chance on losing it.” She rubbed the toe of her shoe on the lawn that was so even it felt like Astroturf. She said softly, “He’s had other girlfriends.”
“Including you?”
She started to giggle, then remembered where she was and checked herself. “No,” she said with a vigorous shake of her head.
“Let’s talk to Stallings,” I said.
We walked over to the man who looked like an undertaker. He was standing alone staring at the grave, somewhere deep in his own thoughts.
“Mr. Stallings,” Laura said. “This is Edward Rogan. He was Alicia’s ex-husband.”
“How do you do, Mr. Rogan,” Stallings said. He was careful not to extend his hand. “It’s a terrible tragedy. Alicia was very well respected at the firm.”
I examined his face. He wore Ben Franklin glasses on the tip of his nose, which was finely-veined with a network of red capillaries. His eyes were a watery blue. They had deep shadows under them. His voice was soft and his diction was overly precise. He wore a dark blue suit, white oxford button-down shirt, blue repp stripe tie and black wing-tips. Matter of fact, he was wearing just what I was, but I don’t think he noticed.
“Yes,” I said. “It’s a tragedy. That’s why I’d like to talk to you.”
“Talk to me?” He seemed surprised. “Why? What for?”
“I want to ask you some questions.”
His eyes narrowed. “What about?”
“About Alicia…her work…her co-workers…about who might have had a reason to kill her.”
“I’ve already been interviewed extensively by the police.” He was speaking rapidly. “I don’t believe there’s any reason for me to talk to you as well. You don’t have any official capacity in this matter.”
“Listen, Stallings. I’m a private investigator. My job is to ask questions. Only this time the case is a little closer to home.” I tried to calm him down. “I’m not saying her killing had anything to do with her work. I’m just looking for information that can help me find her killer.”
“Help you? Listen to me, Mr. Rogan. That’s the work of the police. I have no interest in helping you.” He tried to straighten his posture but the effort didn’t help much. “You’re just a private citizen. You’ve no right to interrogate me.”
I wasn’t in a mood to argue with this turkey. “You’ll talk to me, Stallings. You can make book on it.”
I gave him my back and walked away.
CHAPTER V
I drove
Laura home from the cemetery. As we cruised along the Southern State, she didn’t say much, but neither did I. We both stared at the highway ahead and the neatly-trimmed grassy shoulders. Lost in the dim mists of our memories and our own private guilt.
The temperature gauge was starting to rise again. When you have a ten-year-old BMW, it’s one damn thing after another. I shut off the air-conditioning and opened all the windows. The wind felt good on my face.
The needle stayed on the hot side of the gauge, but at least it wasn’t rising any more.
There wasn’t much traffic heading back to the city at three in the afternoon, so we made good time. Laura and I hadn’t exchanged more than ten words the whole ride.
I drove her back to her apartment in a high-rise on Seventy-sixth between Third and Lex and waited in the car while she went up to get Alicia’s key.
It took her fifteen minutes to come back down. She gave me a quiet smile and said, “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.” She’d changed from the black dress she’d worn at the cemetery to a sleeveless one that was just as somber but not as dark. “I have Alicia’s key for you,” she said. She handed me a soft black leather Coach keycase.
I didn’t want to leave her alone just yet. “Let’s take a walk,” I said.
She nodded agreement. I could sense she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts.
We walked a few blocks without speaking. A few puffy clouds had appeared in the sky but the day was still sunny and dry. After a while she fixed me with a sideways glance and asked, “Why did you leave Alicia?” Her voice was soft but the tone had an edge to it.
The question caught me off guard. I didn’t answer for a minute. “I thought you knew. She left me-I didn’t leave her. It was…you know…the guy…” I let it trail off.
She shook her head urgently. “No, she told me you left her a long time before that. Not physically, I mean. It’s just that you weren’t there emotionally.”
Christ, I was there. What the hell did women mean? How could you communicate with them?
“Laura,” I said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was there. Same as always.”
A Murder Too Personal (ed rogan) Page 2
