The Savage Son (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 6)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  He took in a deep breath. "I was scared. He was so young. And I'd seen him when he was just seven or eight the first time. Back in the old country, that wouldn't have meant much. My grandmother was twenty years younger than her first husband when they married. He was already a widower by then. He died and she re-married. My grandfather was her age. They used the old man's money to move to Austria–now Czechoslovakia–to start a business. And they did well for themselves." He smiled. "Of course, all that went away when the Austrians lost the war in 1918. But, it was good while it lasted. They had a huge mansion in Ostrava…" He was standing in front of the tree, drifting into the past, and avoiding the topic at hand. I decided it was time to step in.

  "Did you tell Mrs. Kopek that you were dating her son?"

  This snapped him back into the present. He turned on me and heatedly said, "Yeah. I did. And she approved. OK?"

  Carter sucked in his breath and whispered, "Jesus Christ."

  I just looked right at Sam. "Yeah. So now we know that story. There's one other thing."

  "What's that?" He was calmer now.

  "Who's the other person from Petervald? The one who actually murdered Mr. Z?" I couldn't figure out what else to call him since I couldn't pronounce the dead man's name.

  Sam's eyes wrinkled in amusement. He really was quite attractive. Carter elbowed my ribs again.

  "I don't know. But, if I had to guess, this has something to do with the reason why Mr. Z, as you call him, came to America in the first place."

  "Why was that?"

  "Because the comrades were angry that he looted the place. He didn't just stop with the Kopeks. As the German governor wrote in his letter, Mr. K and his buddy in the Czechoslovak government pulled scams on several people across the country. Once they knew the Germans were on to them, they hopped it over to Switzerland where they spent the war. Or that's what I heard."

  "Why come here?" I asked.

  "Haven't you heard? The Americans hate the commies. This is a great place to hang out if they're after you."

  "Why not just stay in Switzerland?"

  Sam shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he tried some scams there and the Swiss police were getting too close. With Zbigniew, it could've been anything."

  "When did he come to the U.S.?" I asked.

  "As far as I know, it was in 1950. I think he has a Swiss passport, which he probably bought. I only know this from what I've been able to pull together from little bits that I've heard from friends back in the old country."

  "So you think the Czechoslovakian government is after him?"

  He nodded. "Don't have any proof, though."

  Carter said, "If that's true, that means that there are Reds running around assassinating people under the noses of the F.B.I."

  I shook my head. "This really smells like a vendetta. Based on the way Mrs. Kopek reacted, it has to be someone she knew personally and liked." I looked at Sam. "At first I thought it was you. But you didn't just get here and that's how she acted. Is there anyone that you know who grew up there and is in the government?"

  Sam pursed his lips and said, "Not in the government. But definitely in the Party. Someone Anna and I were good friends with."

  "What's his name?" I asked.

  Sam grinned and said, "Not a 'he,' comrade, but a 'she.'"

  Carter whistled. I said, "A close friend of Mrs. Kopek's?"

  "You could say that. From what Anna told me, she was what you call here the 'Maid of Honor' at their wedding. Her best friend. Karina Ros."

  . . .

  Lunch was a quiet affair. The three of us sat around the kitchen table and slurped on the stew I'd made. Finally, Carter started telling Sam about the party we went to in Georgia out in the country at a place called Belle Terre. The big house was owned by Nick Smith. We'd met him in August and had become friends with him and his lover, Jerry Reynolds.

  Sam shook his head in wonder. "That sounds like fun. Can anyone go?"

  Carter smiled and said, "The next time you're in South Georgia, you let me know."

  I piped up. "But not anytime soon. Nick is in Miami and Jerry is in Brazil." I thought for a moment. "Although, I think Nick is in Brazil by now. Jerry said he was going down there for a couple of weeks for Christmas."

  Sam asked, "But aren't they a couple?"

  I nodded. "Yeah, but Jerry says they need time away from each other in the winter so they can stay together." I looked over at Carter and winked. He smiled his slow, southern smile at me.

  "Damn! There you two go again." That was Sam. I looked over and saw him grinning.

  . . .

  Sam left after lunch to go get the rest of his things from his flop over on Eddy. Carter gave him a spare key so we didn't have to worry about meeting back at a specific time.

  Carter opened the door of the Buick and I slid across the seat so that he could drive. Once the front door was closed, he leaned over and kissed me deeply for a long moment.

  "What was that for?" I asked.

  "Just loving you."

  I smiled as he started the ignition, put the car in reverse, and began to pull out onto the street.

  As we drove around the block to Castro Street, I said, "We need to take Mrs. Kopek a peace offering."

  "Defending her kid on a murder charge isn't enough?"

  I laughed. "We need something a little more tangible, Chief."

  "Well, Boss, how about flowers?"

  I shook my head. "That's what Mr. Z took her when he was trying to convince them he was a long-lost cousin."

  "Yeah. That might not work out well."

  "Exactly." I sat for a moment and tried to think of something.

  "How about giving them the apartment for free?" Carter asked.

  "Nope. That would just embarrass them."

  "Right. Well, why not do what you taught me to do?"

  "What's that?" I asked.

  "Ask Marnie."

  I smiled and said, "Perfect!"

  . . .

  Marnie and her mother lived on the other side of Castro in a comfortable house on Collingwood. Carter pulled into the driveway behind Marnie's car. I could see a light was on in the front window. The steady rain of the morning had become misty in the afternoon. This was one of my favorite types of weather in San Francisco.

  We walked up the steps to the front door and I pressed the bell. After a long moment, the door opened and there stood Marnie in a thick cotton robe, with her head wrapped in a towel, and her face covered in some sort of green goop.

  "Hi, Nick."

  I took off my hat and said, "Hi, doll. Bad time?"

  "I have about fifteen minutes before I have to get this stuff off my face. As long as my beauty treatment doesn't frighten you too much, come on in."

  We both walked in and put our hats on the table in the front hallway.

  I said, "We have a quick question for you."

  "Yeah?"

  "I was interrogating Mrs. Kopek this morning after she made us all a huge breakfast. She got upset and ran out the door. Now we need to go over and interrogate her again. What should we bring?"

  Marnie laughed. "Boy, all the cops should be coming to you for etiquette tips, Nick."

  She put her left hand on her left hip and stood for a moment thinking. "You know what those folks from the old country like around Christmas?"

  I shook my head.

  "Fruit. Mother and I had a neighbor in the old place who was from Hungary and she loved getting boxes of pears and oranges at Christmas. Those boxes where they wrap each piece in tissue paper. You know what I mean?"

  I nodded. "Where could we get something like that on a Sunday afternoon?"

  Carter snapped his fingers. "City of Paris. I saw a display of boxed oranges there yesterday."

  Marnie nodded. "Problem solved."

  I smiled and said, "Thanks, doll. I'd give you a kiss, but I don't wanna smudge your beauty treatment."

  She giggled. "Oh, Nick!"

  As we were putting on our hats, Carter ask
ed, "Where's your mother?"

  Under the green goop, Marnie's face turned pink. It was like two kinds of sherbet next to each other. "Oh, mother? Well, she's out for the day with her new guy friend." She scratched the back of her neck which was her tell that she was nervous.

  We said our thanks and goodbyes and walked out the door, down the steps, and got into the car. As Carter was backing down the driveway, I said, "Did I tell you that Mrs. Wilson is dating someone? And that Marnie might now be interested in doing the same?"

  "Was that because of what Mrs. Kopek said?" he asked.

  "Yeah. Well, that's how the conversation started, at least."

  "It's hard to imagine Mrs. Wilson marrying any man. I can't think who would be equal to her."

  I nodded thoughtfully. I had a crazy idea and then put it out of my head. As we turned onto Market Street heading to Union Square, I let the thought back in and wondered whether it was possible. Finally, I shook my head and, without realizing it, said out loud, "Not even thinkable."

  Carter asked, "What?"

  "Nothing."

  Chapter 12

  335 Turk Street

  Sunday, December 20, 1953

  Half past 5 in the afternoon

  As we stood in front of the apartment building, I said, "This is a terrible thing to do, but I'm gonna do it anyway."

  Carter was holding the largest box of oranges we could buy. The clerk had told us that each orange was hand-picked fresh just a few days ago at a grove in Sicily and flown over just for the City of Paris. Based on the price, I wondered if each orange got its own seat on a Boeing Stratocruiser. The box was tastefully lacquered in gold paint and each orange was wrapped in gold tissue paper.

  "What's a terrible thing to do?" asked Carter.

  One by one, I pressed all the buttons on the panel except for the ones on the fifth floor. Experience had proven that someone would buzz us in, and they did. As I pushed open the lobby door, I said, "That. That's terrible. And, as the landlord, I should be ashamed of myself."

  As Carter walked in and let the door close behind him, he said, "What you should be doing is installing an elevator in this building."

  As we walked up the first flight of stairs, I said, "And lose the chance to watch you stretch out your long legs and fine ass? Never."

  He grunted and we continued up.

  . . .

  "I just need five minutes of your time."

  Mrs. Kopek was looking at me through the door with the chain on the hook. "No. I no kill no one."

  I nodded and said, "I know. And I think I know who did and I understand why you want to cover for…" I paused and then said, "Her."

  She said something in Polish, pushed the door closed, slid the chain back, and then opened it. Sighing heavily, she said, "Fine. Come in."

  I stood back to let Carter go in first. Mrs. Kopek asked, "What this?"

  Carter said, "Oranges. From Sicily." He put the box on the small dining table.

  "Oh?" Her voice was wary but hopeful.

  I said, "Yes. Maybe you have a knife, and we can see if they are as good as was promised?"

  "Yes." She disappeared into the kitchen.

  Mr. Kopek was sitting in his usual armchair. He stood up and walked over to us. "How is my son?"

  I said, "As well as can be expected."

  Mr. Kopek grunted. "Good." He looked around me at the box on the table.

  "What is this?"

  "Oranges," answered Carter.

  "How do you know?"

  "How do we know what?" asked Carter.

  "How do you know this is Anna's favorite thing?"

  I smiled and shrugged. "I'm a private investigator. It's what I do." Behind Mr. Kopek, I saw Carter roll his eyes.

  Mrs. Kopek bustled back in from the kitchen. She was carrying four plates and four small paring knives. She put them on the table. Carter opened the box for her. She peered in and squealed something in Polish. Pulling out one of the oranges, she ran her thumb across the skin. The sweet aroma of the oil released from the rind wafted through the room.

  "My favorite. Thank you." She bowed to me and then to Carter.

  "You're welcome," I said.

  Mr. Kopek lifted the box off the table after his wife had selected four oranges and carried it into the kitchen.

  Once he was back, we all sat down. Carter and I watched how the Kopeks pared open their oranges. They carefully cut from one end to the other and opened the orange up. From inside, they each slowly removed one segment and cut it into two pieces. Then they each popped one piece in their mouths and, as if they were performing synchronized orange eating, both rolled their eyes back into their heads in joyful ecstasy. It was a wonderful thing to behold.

  Neither Carter nor I could cut our oranges the same way, but once I had a piece in my mouth, I had to admit it was delicious. The juice was like nectar.

  Once we had mostly eaten half, I said, "This is the best orange I've ever tasted."

  Mrs. Kopek smiled and said, "Yes. Very good. Remind me of summer at Split, in Yugoslavia, by the sea." She closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma of orange oil which was all around us. "Like the sun, no?"

  Carter said, "That's exactly right, ma'am. Just like the sun."

  I suddenly realized something. I said, "Mr. Kopek, this is Carter Jones."

  The older man was also smiling and enjoying his orange. He nodded amiably and said, "Yes. I recognize you from the newspaper. Very tall."

  Carter smiled and said, "Yes."

  We all laughed.

  . . .

  Once we were done, Mrs. Kopek put the dishes away and came back with four glasses of the beer we'd had on Tuesday night. Mr. Kopek went into the kitchen and returned with one of the oranges from the box. Mrs. Kopek looked scandalized. "No, Papa. Not for the beer. Wait."

  She hurried into the kitchen and came back with another orange that was smaller and a little shriveled. "This."

  Mr. Kopek nodded and smiled. He cut the small orange into four sections and, moving around the table, squeezed one section over one glass. "Now it is summer. We have cold beer with orange."

  He lifted his glass up and said, "To our friends. Thank you for finding our son."

  We lifted in reply and drank. And it did taste like summer.

  . . .

  "When did you last see Karina Ros?" I asked.

  Mrs. Kopek put down her glass of beer and sighed. "Today."

  Mr. Kopek banged his hand on the table. "Anna!"

  She shrugged. "I know. But she is my friend."

  "She is a Communist!"

  Mrs. Kopek nodded and shrugged again. "At home, yes. Here, she is just my friend." Looking at me, she repeated herself. "She is my friend."

  I leaned back into my chair and thought about what to ask next. I was sure I knew what had happened. I wondered, however, if I had enough information for the police and the district attorney to drop the charges against Ike.

  "Did you know she was going to do it?"

  Mrs. Kopek shook her head. "I don't know. You don't know."

  She defiantly took a drink from her glass and stared at me.

  "Is she still in the country?"

  "Maybe." She shrugged. "Who knows?"

  I nodded again. "Is she on her way to Mexico?"

  "Maybe."

  "Did you give her Ivan's money?"

  Her eyes widened. That told me all I needed to know. I stood up and said, "In order to keep you from getting into trouble with the cops and the F.B.I., I'm going to go tell the police everything I know. I hope they'll drop the charges against Ivan." I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Kopek. Now that I know, I have to tell them. I don't want to get into trouble and I don't want you to get into trouble."

  By this time, everyone was standing.

  "Don't say about the money. Please." She was pleading.

  I nodded and just replied, "What money?"

  . . .

  After calling Mike from a payphone on the street, we drove over to the North
Station.

  Carter asked, "Do you think she was putting her friend ahead of her son?"

  "No. She knows Ike didn't do it. She thinks her friend did. So she was trying to split the difference."

  "What do you think?"

  "At this point, I don't know."

  As we pulled into a spot near the North Station, I could see Mike waiting for us just outside. We all walked in together. Mike talked to the desk sergeant while we sat down to wait.

  Mike walked over, had a seat across from me, and said, "Rostenkowski is on his way in."

  After about ten minutes, Lieutenant Rostenkowski banged in the door and barked, "Robertson, this better be good!"

  The three of us followed him down a long hallway and into his office. He sat down in his desk chair, took a cigar out of his overcoat, bit off and spit out one end, and lit it.

  "Go ahead. It's your dime, Williams."

  I started by saying, "Mr. Z--"

  "Who?"

  "The victim."

  The lieutenant leaned back in his chair and put his shoes on the desk.

  "Oh, right. Mr. Z. Go on."

  "Mr. Z is originally from Petervald in Czechoslovakia. That's where the Kopeks are from. And Sam Halversen."

  "Halversen? Sounds Swedish."

  I nodded. "It is. His grandparents moved there from Sweden."

  "OK. Go on."

  "So, the Kopeks are second cousins. When they married in '28, they joined back together two parts of a big farm that had been in the family a long time. Mr. Z, who grew up with them, comes to them one day in '34 and claims that he's also related. He travels around getting proof and then, one day, someone from the government visits the farm and says that it really belongs to Mr. Z and that the Kopeks should sell it to him at a loss. They go to see a lawyer who says that they can appeal but they might lose and it'll be very expensive. So the Kopeks sell, take the money, and come here. Mr. Kopek had a cousin who got them set up and so here they are."

  "OK. What else?"

  "Meanwhile, Sam Halversen, who left Petervald in '24 bums around and goes to Moscow until they kick him out. He then signs up with a ship and sails over here as a crewman. One day he's walking down the street and he sees the Kopeks. He's the same age and they all knew each other back home. He and Mrs. Kopek start having coffee during the day while Mr. Kopek is at work."