by Lois Winston
“So why am I here, Mrs. Pollack? What’s this about other murders?”
Where to begin? I inhaled deeply, expelling the air slowly while I paced back and forth to gather my thoughts. “Bear with me, Detective. This is going to take some explaining.” I then began to tell him about Cynthia’s body being found in the canal and Pablo turning up dead in Camden.
He looked up from his notepad and asked, “What’s your connection to these murders?”
“Cynthia was married to my husband’s half-brother Ira. Her father married my mother. You’ve seen them. They arrived at my house the night I discovered Betty’s body.”
He nodded. “And Pablo?”
“Ira’s pool boy. He and Cynthia were having an affair. They ran off together a couple of weeks before Cynthia’s body was pulled out of the canal.”
After jotting another note, Spader said, “The Hunterdon County police are most likely looking at Cynthia’s husband as their prime suspect.”
I raised an eyebrow. Did Spader already know about Cynthia’s death? And if so, why? Lambertville was way out of his jurisdiction. “What makes you say that?”
“He’s the most logical suspect.”
“But Ira had nothing to do with Cynthia’s death.”
Now it was Spader turn to raise an eyebrow. “You know this for a fact?”
Point taken. I had no proof Ira wasn’t responsible for Cynthia’s death—just my gut telling me Ira was no killer.
“What do these murders have to do with my cases, Mrs. Pollack?”
“The medical examiner ruled Cynthia’s death an overdose. Lawrence claimed she had an ongoing drug problem, but Ira knew nothing about that and never saw any signs of drug use.”
“What about you?”
“I only met Cynthia once. She acted perfectly normal.” For a stuck-up gold-digger looking down her nose at her husband’s poor relations, I added to myself. “I didn’t notice any telltale specks of white powder under her nose or any other visible signs of drug use.”
“If her death was ruled a drug overdose, why do you suspect foul play?”
“I don’t believe the accuracy of the medical examiner’s report.”
This time Spader raised both eyebrows. I quickly explained my theory about the manner in which all the victims had been killed. “I think it’s one killer using methods from various movies and TV shows so the police won’t connect the murders.”
Now Spader went from raised eyebrows to rolling his eyes. “You dragged me all the way out here for this flimsy crock of circumstantial evidence? Stay away from the television, Mrs. Pollack.” He pushed his chair back and stood to leave.
I stopped dead in my tracks and leaned against the conference door to block his exit. “Wait! There’s more.”
Spader placed his hands on the table and leaned toward me. “You have one minute. And for cripe’s sake, sit down. You’re making me dizzy with all that pacing.” He pointed to the chair at a right angle to his.
I dropped into the seat. He remained standing, his arms folded across his chest, as I continued. “The reason I think all the murders are tied together is because of Lawrence.”
“Lawrence?” He grabbed his pad and referred to his notes, scowling as he flipped several pages. “Who’s Lawrence?”
“My mother’s new husband. Lawrence Tuttnauer.”
Spader raised his head. “Your mother married Lawrence Tuttnauer?”
I nodded. “You know him?”
“I’m asking the questions here, Mrs. Pollack.” He lowered himself back into the chair.
“And I’ve always been not only forthright and honest with you, Detective, but exceedingly helpful. I should think by now you know you can trust me.”
He eyed me for a moment before grunting something that might or might not have been his way of offering an apology. “You’re right. Let’s just say I’ve heard the name mentioned in the past.” He waved his hand in the air. “Go on.”
“Has his name come up in an organized crime investigation? Because I have reason to believe he’s laundering money for the Genovese mob.”
Spader’s brow wrinkled as his eyes narrowed. He took his seat, leaned back, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Go on.”
I told him what Lawrence had explained to Zack and me about the events in Carson City and how he’d turned down the government’s offer of Witness Protection. “Lawrence’s cousin is that mobster who died yesterday—“Jelly Bean” Benini. He arranged for new identities for Lawrence and his daughter, I’m guessing in exchange for laundering mob money. Lawrence didn’t say, but the mob just doesn’t do favors for people without expecting something in return.”
“And how do you know that, Mrs. Pollack?”
I rolled my eyes. “Really, Detective? I live in New Jersey. How would I not know that?”
He grunted again. “So why would Lawrence Tuttnauer tell you all this?”
“He realized I’d discovered some questionable items he’d locked away—passports in various names, a cache of diamonds, a gun. He explained why he had them.”
“Which was?”
“In case he ever had to make a quick getaway. I don’t think he realized I had also discovered evidence of the money laundering.”
Pencil poised over his notepad, Spader made direct eye contact with me and asked, “Exactly how did you discover all this evidence?”
I squirmed in my seat. “I was snooping through his desk.”
Spader slammed his notebook onto the conference table. “You suspect your mother’s husband is connected to organized crime, and you—” He sputtered, unable to continue his train of thought. Then he finally said, “Are you out of your freaking mind, Mrs. Pollack, or just incredibly stupid?”
“Neither. And I didn’t know he was in the mob when I started looking through his desk. I thought he had a gambling problem and owed Benini money. I was concerned for my mother’s wellbeing.”
Spader lowered his head and ran both hands through what remained of his hair. Was it my imagination, or was he counting to ten under his breath? “Okay. I suppose that’s understandable.”
“What are you going to do?”
He gathered his notepad and pencil, pushed away from the table, and stood. “My job.”
“What should I do?”
“Keep your mouth shut and your nose out of everything that doesn’t concern you.”
“This concerns me.”
Spader glared at me. “You know what I mean. No more snooping. Leave the investigating to the professionals. I don’t want you getting hurt. Understood?”
I nodded. “Don’t take too long.”
He stormed out of the conference room, slamming the door behind him.
EIGHTEEN
I have to admit I was surprised to find Mama and Lawrence at my house when I returned from work later that evening. I would have thought Lawrence might fear I’d blab to Mama what I knew about him and therefore, want to keep the two of us as far apart as possible. Apparently, his Dinner Mooching gene outweighed his concerns about my big mouth. Either that or he realized I’d never say anything that might cause Mama distress. Whatever the reason, once again I had two extra mouths to feed at Casa Pollack that night.
I found Mama and Lawrence curled up on the sofa, watching the six o’clock news on the den television. I took a deep breath and exhaled my annoyance. “Mama, I really wish you’d give me some notice when you plan to join us for dinner. I don’t know that I have enough meatloaf to feed everyone.”
At that moment my phone chimed an incoming text. I ignored it as Mama waved away my concern. “We’ll make do, dear. You can always open a few cans of soup as a first course and make a larger salad.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer the peace and quiet of dinner at your condo where you won’t get into any arguments with Lucille? You know how she irritates you.”
Lawrence pulled his attention away from a traffic report about a pile-up on the George Washington Bridge. “That would mean I’d have
to eat your mother’s cooking.”
Mama jabbed him in the ribs. “Very funny! As I often remind you, dear, you didn’t marry me for my culinary skills.”
“Good thing. I’d starve.”
“My talents lie elsewhere,” said Mama.
Lawrence lifted her hand off her lap and kissed her palm. “And those talents are a far better use of your time.”
Mama batted her lashes while I placed my hands over my ears and loudly proclaimed, “TMI!”
My mother stopped her eyelash batting and turned to me. “Our being here has nothing to do with my cooking. I don’t like the idea of you and the boys alone in the house while there’s a killer on the loose.”
“We’re not alone. Zack is here, and I have a security system.” Besides, what sort of protection could two oversexed senior citizens provide should a killer come calling?
Although, given what I now knew about Lawrence, perhaps having him around wasn’t such a bad idea, especially if he came armed. I wondered if he owned more than the one gun I found locked away in his desk.
“Where are the boys?” I asked, changing the subject as I unbuttoned my coat and removed the scarf wrapped around my neck. Alex and Nick were nowhere in sight. For that matter, neither was Zack.
“I think they’re in Zack’s apartment,” said Mama. “When do you plan on serving dinner, dear? We’re famished.”
“I’ll have the maître d’ call you when your table is ready.”
“Really, Anastasia, sarcasm is not becoming.”
“Neither are uninvited dinner guests,” I mumbled under my breath as I exited the den.
“What’s that, dear? You know I can’t hear you when you mumble.”
Which is why I mumbled. “Nothing, Mama. Just talking to myself,” I called back.
My phone chimed again as I made my way to the kitchen. I fished it out of my purse and glanced at the display to find a message from Zack: Meet me in apt.
I deposited my purse on the kitchen table, then grabbed the meatloaf out of the refrigerator and tossed it into the oven to heat up. After wrapping my scarf back around my neck, I headed out the back door.
Zack was waiting for me at the top of the staircase and ushered me inside. I looked around as I slipped out of my coat. “I thought the boys were with you.”
“I wanted them out of the house.”
“What do you mean? Where are they?”
“I treated them to dinner out. Told them to head over to the library afterwards to do their homework and not come home until we called them.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Sit down.”
His serious tone caused all my nerve endings to stand at attention. I made my way over to the sofa while he grabbed a bottle of chardonnay from the refrigerator, uncorked it, and brought it, along with two wine glasses, to where I now sat nervously on the edge of one of the sofa cushions.
“I made a few phone calls today,” he said, filling the glasses and handing me one before taking a seat beside me.
“To whom?”
“People I know in Washington.”
“Alphabet people?”
He frowned. “I know people who know people. I called in a few favors.”
I took a sip of wine. “And?”
“No one could confirm the story Lawrence told us about what happened in Carson City.”
“He lied to us?”
“About everything. There’s nothing in any law enforcement database about a man killing a drug dealer after his wife overdosed and nothing about anyone striking a deal to get out of a murder conviction for testifying against a major Nevada drug kingpin who subsequently was murdered in prison.”
“How far back did they look? Lawrence said the events occurred when Cynthia was a teenager.”
“And I’m telling you they never happened. Lawrence pulled the entire story out of his butt.”
I could think of only one reason why Lawrence would make up such a fantastical story—to cover up something far worse. “What should we do? I’m worried about Mama. Who knows what Lawrence has done or what he’s capable of doing.”
“I’ve already notified Detective Spader. Apparently, he has his own suspicions about Lawrence. Once you told him what you’d discovered, he contacted the county Organized Crime Task Force. They’re going to execute a search of the condo.”
“When?”
Zack shrugged. “Depends. They have to wait until a judge signs off on the warrant.”
“Which means they could be searching the condo right now?”
“Possibly.”
“Spader told you all this?”
“Yes.”
Spader never told me anything, no matter how helpful I’ve been to him. All I ever got was the standard line about not being able to divulge any information regarding an ongoing investigation. Was this a case of bro-bonding out of professional courtesy or gender discrimination on the part of a male chauvinist cop?
I itched to call Zack out on this, but now was not the time. Instead I asked, “So Lawrence has no idea about any of this?”
“Of course not.”
“Does Spader know Lawrence is here now?”
“I called him as soon as I got the boys out of the house. We have to pretend everything is completely normal here this evening.”
I nodded even though I found myself two breaths away from a panic attack. I didn’t do deceit convincingly. “But how will the police get into the condo without setting off the alarm? Won’t the alarm company notify Lawrence of a breach?”
“You need to trust that the police know what they’re doing. It’s quite possible they may delay executing the warrant until after Lawrence and your mother return home this evening.”
How does he know all this? My list of reasons why Zack was really a spy continued to grow, but I had a bigger worry at the moment. “Whether the police wait or not, they’re going to seize all those files I discovered—along with the gun, the diamonds, and whatever else they find. And it’s not going to take a rocket scientist to figure out I had something to do with it.”
Zack reached for my free hand and squeezed it. “He’s going to be arrested tonight.”
That didn’t keep me from quaking in my shoes—shoes that might soon become encased in cement, given Lawrence’s connections. “Prison bars are no guarantee he won’t seek revenge.”
“I spoke to Spader about that. He assured me that won’t be the case.”
“Why not? Lawrence is going to know someone ratted him out, and I’m the obvious rat.”
“Unless they have another rat feeding them information.”
“Who?”
Zack shrugged. “That’s on a need-to-know basis.”
“Need-to-know basis?” I jumped to my feet; my voice escalated three octaves. “Shouldn’t I of all people need to know? Given Lawrence knows I rifled through his belongings, he’ll target me as top rat on his list.”
Before Zack could answer we heard someone climbing the stairs to the apartment. A moment later the door opened, and Mama entered. “What’s all the shouting about?”
Zack frowned at her. “Perhaps you could knock next time, Flora?”
She ignored him and instead turned her attention to me. Waving at the wine glasses and the half-empty bottle of chardonnay sitting on the coffee table, she said, “Since the two of you don’t seem to be enjoying a very happy Happy Hour, do you think we could get on with dinner? Some of us are hungry—including the belligerent Bolshevik who’s downstairs hurling all sorts of insults your way. She thinks you’re up here enjoying an early evening delight.”
If only…
I grabbed the half-empty wine bottle and handed it to her. “Dinner isn’t ready yet. Why don’t you and Lawrence enjoy a glass of wine in the meantime? Offer one to Lucille, too.”
Mama studied the contents of the bottle. “There’s hardly enough here for two glasses, let alone three.”
Zack grabbed a bottle of pinot noir from his wine rack, pa
ssed it to her, and swung open the door. “Enjoy, Flora.”
After glancing at the label, Mama graced him with one of her Blanche Dubois smiles. “Isn’t that sweet of you, Zachary dear.” Then she frowned and added, “Although it’s a shame to waste such good wine on that commie pinko.”
“Mama—”
“Well, it’s true.” She executed a graceful pirouette and flounced down the stairs.
As soon as Zack closed the door behind her, I smacked my hand against my forehead and groaned. “You know what’s the worst part of all this?”
“What?”
“If Lawrence is arrested and goes to prison, she won’t be able to afford to stay in that condo. She’ll wind up back here permanently.”
“Not permanently. Only until she finds her next husband.”
“How comforting. I’ll tell you one thing, though. If she wants to get married again, I’m hiring a detective to vet the next guy before she sashays down the aisle again. I don’t care how much it costs.”
Although, I was beginning to regret not having helped myself to at least one of those diamonds, which I’m sure the government would confiscate. I also wondered what would happen to all that money socked away in those offshore bank accounts.
I gulped down the remainder of wine in my glass, took a deep breath, and said, “Let’s get this dinner over with.”
Zack and I headed downstairs and into the house. With Ralph observing from his favorite spot atop the refrigerator, I tossed a batch of sweet potato fries into the toaster oven, then started chopping up a salad. After feeding Ralph a piece of carrot, Zack grabbed plates and silverware to set the dining room table.
Right on cue, the moment Zack began to set the table, Lucille waddled precariously into the dining room. I watched from the kitchen as she lugged a squirming Mephisto under one arm while maneuvering her cane with her other hand. As she collapsed onto her chair, the poor dog wriggled out of her grasp and scampered off to join me in the kitchen.
When the meatloaf and rice were ready, I called Mama and Lawrence to the table. Ralph followed me in from the kitchen and perched himself atop the breakfront. Mephisto remained camped out on the kitchen floor next to his water and food bowls.
