The Same Mistake Twice

by Albert Tucher

  “You didn’t meet her?”

  “James never brought her into the office.” Sven grinned. “It might hurt my feelings that they were cohabitating.”

  “Nice kids.”

  “I’d say so.”

  “Was she a dropout?”

  “Not necessarily. She was a few years older than James.”

  Another lead at the mall. No wonder downtowns were in trouble. It meant another trip through the endless traffic.

  She walked past the familiar stores to the multiplex. It was almost time for the late afternoon matinees. She asked the ticket clerk for the manager. The young woman didn’t appreciate being summoned away from her private thoughts.

  “He’s busy.”

  “It’s important.”

  The clerk didn’t look impressed, but she picked up the phone and pressed an in-house button. She spoke briefly and hung up.

  “He’s busy.”

  “Try again, please.”

  Diana tried to look as if she wouldn’t go away. It must have worked, because the girl picked the phone up again.

  The manager appeared. He was forty, a little soft, with a well-tended mustache that didn’t help. He reminded Diana of clients who saved their twenties to see her every couple of months. They were always gentle and considerate, and she wished she could like them better.

  He saw her and froze with his mouth hanging open. She wondered what his problem could be. Maybe he just hated confrontations and was fighting an urge to flee.

  After a long moment he recovered.

  “How can I help you?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Were you working here ten years ago…?”

  “Todd. Todd McNally.”

  Diana knew she had no way to justify her interest. If their roles had been reversed, she would have told him to get lost. But he kept making those gooey eyes at her. She knew the look from clients who had decided they were in love, but most spent a few minutes on top of her before they succumbed. Todd was setting a record for infatuation.

  “Uh, yes. I was assistant manager then. I’m the manager now.”

  “Then you’ve got a head for business.” She was making herself sicker than the odor of rancid popcorn had already done. “Good with numbers, good memory?”

  “I guess.”

  Diana looked around for a flat surface and decided on the refreshment counter. For the moment no one was waiting for service. She went through the routine with the yearbook. He took a long look at the picture of James Zakrewsky.

  “Don’t think I know him,”

  When he looked at her again, he seemed to have fallen out of love.

  That’s another record, she thought.

  “You’re sure?”

  He shrugged. “I see hundreds of people every day.”

  She didn’t believe him, but she had lost her leverage.

  “Thanks for your time.”

  She drove home again. It was starting to feel as if she had a job at the mall.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tillotson would never admit it to Diana, but he had never considered ignoring the lead she had given him. She was right too often.

  But this time going through old paper files exacted a heavy price in time wasted, dust inhaled and paper cuts endured, and it looked as if she had it wrong. James Zakrewsky had no arrests or convictions. No one had ever filed a missing persons report on him, which wasn’t as unusual as it should have been. He must have been one more kid who had no one who cared enough to look for him. Tillotson knew his next step—visit Driscoll High School and request their files.

  Instead he lifted the phone on his desk and used his shield number to obtain Gary Rennert’s unlisted office number from the phone company.

  “Yes, Detective.”

  “Thanks for your list. All of those men are accounted for, but I have another name to run by you. This one’s different.”

  Rennert listened. Tillotson had already learned that the man didn’t fill perfectly good silence with unnecessary words.

  “James Zakrewsky. Know him?”

  “No.” Pause. “Should I?”

  The timing was perfect. Tillotson had to admire it.

  “I don’t really know,” he said. “It’s just a name that has come up.”

  Rennert didn’t follow up with questions of his own, which most civilians would have done. But Rennert would know better than most that a detective didn’t give out information. His silence proved nothing. That was the annoying thing about silence.

  Rennert’s performance was flawless, which meant that Tillotson couldn’t be sure it was a performance and not the truth. Which meant he had learned exactly nothing.

  He was pressing buttons again, and he shocked himself with the recognition of the number he was calling.

  “Hello?” said his wife’s voice.

  “It’s me.”

  The pause held years of frustration and disappointment with him.

  “Why are you calling? We’re not supposed to have any contact.”

  “I need help with a case.”

  He wondered what he was doing. Late in their marriage he had consulted her several times as a last-ditch effort to reconnect with her. It hadn’t worked even before they gave up on saving the marriage. And the fact was, in her job with the Division of Youth and Family Services she had confidentiality issues similar to his.

  He pictured her as he had last seen her: mid-forties, a dark-complexioned brunette, nothing like Diana Andrews.

  He had known the risks of making that comparison for some time now.

  The two women in his life did have similarly excellent legs, which he always appreciated. His wife would probably have little trouble building a social life around dating other men. Right now the prospect didn’t affect him. He wondered if the indifference would last.

  “Oh, what the hell,” she said after a moment. “This could come up again. Might as well practice a little.”

  “James Zakrewsky,” he said. “Would have been about sixteen ten years ago. Ever run across the name?”

  “I never dealt with him. I can say that for sure. Local case loads aren’t huge in Sussex County, you know that.”

  “Right.”

  “But I can’t say for sure he never attracted our attention until I look at the files. Which I never did, should anyone ask you.”

  “Goes without saying.”

  “Can you narrow it down? I mean, what town?”

  “Most likely Driscoll.”

  She paused again, and he knew what was coming. Their cease-fire was coming to an end.

  “Driscoll. Doesn’t your girlfriend know anything?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  Tillotson kicked himself mentally. He had fallen for it again.

  “And no, she came up with the name, but she didn’t know him either.”

  “She says.”

  “I tend to believe her. It has led to good results for my investigations.”

  He made a face. Could he get any more pompous than that?

  “Let’s stop before the lawyers get involved,” she said. “They won’t be happy about this conversation. If I find anything about James Zakrewsky, I’ll let you know. If you hear nothing, that means I didn’t.”

  “Works for me.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Diana turned into her street and saw two young men sitting on her front steps. There was no mistaking them. She knew their fathers, and now she knew them. As she parked at the curbed and got out of the car, they stood. Dexter Grogan crossed his arms to look more intimidating. He did it well. Don Rennert glanced at his friend and imitated him. Diana kept coming. A hooker who couldn’t confront menace needed to get a mainstream job.

  “Isn’t this sweet,” she said. “A high school reunion.”

  “Wrong class,” said Dexter. “And you’re too old for us.”

  She started to reply that some young men didn’t think so, but she stopped hersel
f.

  “You’ve been messing in our personal business. Figured we’d give you the chance to ask us face to face.”

  It raised an interesting question—who had told them about her? Gary Rennert, John Grogan, or Tracy Grogan? When Diana thought about it, Tracy seemed unlikely. Dexter didn’t look angry enough to know that a nosy amateur detective had been in his home.

  “You never know who might see you at the mall,” said Don.

  Oh, she thought.

  Someone had seen her with Paul Riemenschneider and tattled. Thanks to her, Dexter and Don had come back into Paul’s life to give him some more bullying.

  Or maybe he had taken the prudent course and told them himself.

  “How about you?” she said to Don Rennert. “You down with this? Or does he do the talking for both of you? And the thinking?”

  He declined to help her.

  “Okay, you just stand there and do the manly silence thing.”

  “What do you want to know?” said Dexter.

  “What happened to James Zakrewsky?”

  “How the hell would we know?”

  The problem was, she had no more power over them than over Todd the movie manager.

  “His girlfriend says you do.”

  “Patty Horvath is a lying bitch,” said Don.

  With a look Dexter told Don to shut up.

  “Anything else?” said Dexter.

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Now is the time. Because if we hear about you butting in again, we won’t be as understanding.”

  “I’ll bet you’re a tough guy. With people who can’t give you a fight, anyway.”

  Dexter took a half step toward her before he caught himself.

  “We don’t have to do a thing. You know who we work for?”

  She nodded toward Don. “You work for your friend’s daddy. What exactly do you do?”

  “Never mind. Just bear it in mind—we work for him, and he doesn’t like people who interfere with us when we do it.”

  “He also doesn’t keep people around when they’re too much trouble.”

  For a moment Dexter looked uncertain.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I know him.”

  It was probably a mistake to have said that much, but she was tired of his smug face.

  “Time for you to go. Since you’re too young for me.”

  To her surprise they obeyed. One of them passed her on each side. Both of them gave her a rough shoulder. For once Don Rennert seemed to have thought of the move himself. She watched them cross the street and climb into a silver BMW. Dexter got behind the wheel. Without looking in any direction, he lurched away from the curb.

  When the sound of their engine faded, another took over. This one idled and then shut off.

  “Who were those two?” said Tillotson.

  He slammed his car door behind him.

  “The next generation of Rennerts and Grogans,” she said. “I thought I scared them off, but I guess it was you.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Not to me.”

  “I’ve heard of young Mr. Grogan. Some of the local departments tell me he’s been on their radar screen for years. There are several young women who refused to testify against him.”

  “Charming.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to tell you how much I enjoyed getting jerked around by Gary Rennert.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think his son has the chops to take over the family business.”

  “I wonder what that is,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What exactly does Gary Rennert do? Everybody says don’t mess with him. Nobody knows exactly why.”

  “He puts deals together. That’s basically it. He gets a piece of everything, and it doesn’t happen if he says no.”

  “How does he make that happen?”

  “My guess is by knowing stuff. Like, every time I entertained somebody for him, he knew about it, and he had that in the bank. Some of them were local government types, not that I’m saying who.”

  She felt like slapping her own face, because she had just “opened the door,” as they said on Law and Order.

  “You have my list?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’d say you’ve had enough time.”

  “I thought you understood my business a little better than that.”

  “So?”

  “Ten years. Two hundred men. At least that many. I can’t remember them all.”

  Lying to him still felt terrible.

  “You know,” he said, “hooking is illegal. Anyone ever tell you that? Maybe I should stop looking the other way.”

  She didn’t flinch. When trying to stare her down didn’t work, he turned and walked back to his Lumina.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Yes, Detective,” said Chief Jadlowsky.

  “I’m cell phone driving,” said Tillotson. “And I’m not wearing my seatbelt.”

  “I’ll tell you what I tell everybody on the most-wanted list.”

  “Turn myself in? Maybe I should.”

  “So why the call?”

  “Hell, I have no idea. No, I’m wrong. I know exactly why.”

  Jadlowsky waited.

  “I’m pissed at her.”

  “Diana Andrews.”

  “Right. She’s had time to make that list of clients, and she hasn’t.”

  “And it’s making you do things you wouldn’t normally do.”

  “I think maybe I’ve been cutting her too much slack all along.”

  “If you have, so have I,” said Jadlowsky. “Should I lean on her?”

  Tillotson stopped with his mouth hanging open. He wanted to say anything but “Yes,” but if he didn’t want Jadlowsky’s help, why had he bothered the Chief in the first place? He knew what he had to do.

  “No,” he said. “I think it’s time for me to be a cop.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  As she watched Tillotson drive away, Diana decided she was tired of being leaned on. She got back in her car to go do some of the leaning.

  At the multiplex the lobby was almost empty. All eight screens must have been busy. Diana leaned over to speak to the same ticket clerk.

  “Don’t tell Todd I’m here. You don’t want to get between us.”

  The clerk grinned. The idea of her boss in trouble seemed to please her. An usher standing nearby gaped but did nothing.

  Diana pushed through the door marked “Office.”

  “Todd, you lied. Don’t lie to me again.”

  His mouth flapped several times.

  “Patty Horvath. You know her. She worked here. Where did she live?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “I said, don’t lie to me.”

  “And I said, nowhere. Or everywhere. She lived on people’s couches or in her car. Or she squatted here and there. Anything but live with me. I offered.”

  The Salmon house, Diana thought.

  Tillotson had mentioned squatters. When James and Patty lacked money for the Regina, it was a good bet that they ended up where no one charged them rent.

  Diana returned to her car and started driving. Finally she had a destination.

  But as she drove, her enthusiasm waned. What did she expect to find after ten years?

  The Salmon house had its own rutted dirt road off Route 206, and at least ten acres of wooded land. For the first time she looked at the place with adult eyes. Who owned the property, and why hadn’t they sold out to developers? Why hadn’t the place been declared a nuisance and condemned? It made her wonder whether Gary Rennert was involved with the property somehow. He was turning up everywhere lately.

  She bounced a couple of hundred feet down the private road and realized that trees and bushes draped with creepers hid her from eyes along the highway. Nature was reclaiming the clearing around the house, but she could still wedge the car into the brush and hope to get it out again. She climbed out and fought the urge to sneeze that dense woodland
odors always provoked in her. She stood for a moment looking at the house. Shutters hung askew, and the paint had gone beyond dingy. The roof peaks sagged.

  Nothing about the building looked like a clue. She turned her attention to the grounds.

  Diana knew she didn’t have to search the entire property. She could ignore the area inside the yellow crime scene tape that the cops had left. They had found what was there to be found. She also decided to skip the second clearing behind the house, where the underage drinking parties happened, and the path that led to it. No one would be stupid enough to bury a body there.

  But that still left a lot of territory, and the early-summer light was starting to fade. The foliage and underbrush were dense enough to reduce the traffic noise from the highway almost to nothing. She worked quickly, making several passes over the rear of the property near the brook, but she soon felt discouraged. Did she really expect to recognize a grave after ten years of weather had blended it into the background?

  No, but it was another matter to smell fresh dirt and to see where someone had disturbed the cover of decaying vegetation just hours earlier. Who had reopened the grave, and why had that someone stopped digging?

  Because of an interruption. Like her.

  She began to run back to her car. When it came into view, she saw that a new BMW had parked blocking her escape route. Two men, a squat, powerfully built black man and a middle-aged surfer, leaned against the side of the car. They started toward her.

  “Bad idea,” she said. “People know I’m here.”

  “I doubt it,” said the surfer. He wasn’t aging well.

  Diana thought she knew him, and after a moment she had it. Years earlier he had been a one-time client. She couldn’t come up with his name, but he worked as a hospital orderly. He obviously recognized her, but she could also see that it wouldn’t earn her any slack from him.

  Each man took one of her elbows.

  “Somebody wants to see you,” said her former client.

  Thanks to the hospital connection, Diana knew who. It made sense. The former client must pick up some extra income somewhere if he could afford luxuries like her.

  Rebecca Grogan climbed out of the BMW’s passenger seat. The lack man turned his head toward her. Diana struggled and almost broke free.

  “For God’s sake,” said Rebecca, “can’t two of you hold her?”