“What I want to know is who else has differences with him? Who might have it in for him?”
“How would I know?” She waved a hand in disinterest. “Plenty of people. He acts like he’s God Almighty.”
“I think it has to do with a man named Harold Draper?”
“Who? I don’t know anyone by that name.”
She turned, all at once in search of an ashtray. The question had made her nervous.
“Harold Draper. He had some business dealings with your brother.”
“I never heard of him. I don’t know anything about my brother’s business! He thinks I’m an idiot!” Her voice had grown shrill.
“Draper made a fool of him. And of some other men.”
“Look, I’m busy–”
“What’s going on? Juniemay came in saying....”
I waggled my fingers in friendly greeting. A scowling man halted halfway through the door.
“Hello, my name’s Maggie Sullivan. You must be Vern.”
For several seconds he didn’t know what to say. I wondered briefly if he was somebody else, caught in the act of being cozy with Dorothy. But I knew who he was from the photograph in the newspaper. Wavy black hair, slender and stylishly dressed. He started toward me, trying to pull off a threatening look, which is easier when your shoulders aren’t built by a tailor.
“How dare you push your way in here and bully my wife?”
“Vern–”
“She’s not well.”
“Oh, dry up, Vern. There’s nothing wrong with me.” Dorothy crushed her half-smoked cigarette with jerky movements. “She just had some questions about some man. Somebody she says did business with Ferris.”
“Harold Draper,” I supplied helpfully.
“I told her we’d – I’d never heard of him.”
Vern gave her a glare.
“I don’t recognize the name either. Now if you’ll excuse us–”
“They had some financial dealings that didn’t turn out very well.”
“I’m the last person Ferris would discuss business with,” Vern said sharply. “We don’t care much for each other.”
“Gee, I’ll bet you sell a lot of cars when you turn on the charm like that,” I said.
He reddened. Dorothy crossed her arms again and looked like she wanted to pace.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I can see myself out.”
One of them was lying to me.
Or both.
Fourteen
I’d learned a couple of things in the course of the morning. I just wasn’t sure where they fit in this particular jigsaw puzzle. Lunchtime having come and gone, my stomach and brain ganged up to suggest I might think better if I went to the Arcade.
The soaring building occupied most of a city block smack in the center of town. Its grand glass dome let in light even on cloudy days like this one. Going to the Arcade meant you didn’t have to wait for your food. At one end the ground floor was thick with stalls selling fresh fish and chops waiting for dinnertime skillets, but the center was populated by ones offering things that were ready to eat. Sausage rolls, cheeses and slices of ham were some that beckoned.
I went for liverwurst on a crusty roll and added a sweet pickle. When I’d settled on a bench and taken a couple of bites I started to think about my visit to Dorothy and Vern. He’d looked daggers at her when she made that slip about neither of them knowing Draper. It had raised the embarrassing question of how she could claim her husband wasn’t acquainted with someone she denied even hearing of, and Vern realized it. They were hiding something. Either they were in cahoots or one was covering for the other.
Wildman had dismissed any suggestion that either of them could be connected to the swindle or to the ramming of his car. I wasn’t so sure. I wanted to find out more about both of them. It reminded me I’d neglected to call Tilly Sweeny, the gossip columnist on Jenkins’ paper.
Stretching my legs, I looked up past the shops and offices that ringed the second floor of the Arcade. I studied the turkeys decorating the base of each metal arm that supported the glass of the dome. Their tails were fanned and every time I saw them I wondered why the architect had chosen turkeys instead of eagles or falcons or maybe peacocks. I didn’t have any answers there either.
Bringing thoughts and vision back to earth, I stopped midway through a chew.
Boike?
Yes, I was sure it was Lieutenant Freeze’s underling that I’d just glimpsed. He’d turned away now, chatting with a butcher clear to the other side from where I sat. The blocky build was right, though. And I thought I recognized the suit. Something about his presence here, strolling along as if he had all the time in the world, made me wary.
Surely he wasn’t following me. Mick Connelly had said Freeze trusted me, so why would he have one of his men keep tabs on me? The possibility that popped up in answer made my blood simmer. Could Freeze have a tail on me to find out who’d hired me?
“Your face is going to freeze like that, Mags. Better stop frowning.”
The smell of potato chips hot from the fryer engulfed me. Jenkins slid onto the bench, already chomping on one from the paper cone in his hand. Ex-governor Cox’s newsmill where he worked was out the door by the butcher section and across the street. I figured he was headed back from some assignment.
“Guy you wanted me to find out about is dead,” he said.
“Yep.”
“Bashed on the back of the head.”
“Yep.”
His eyes crept toward me a fraction while the rest of him stared ahead at the stands and the people.
“By person or persons unknown,” he said.
“Nice try, Jenkins, but that’s not how I hear it.”
His breath of vexation assured me he’d heard the police were closing the case, and was hoping he knew something I didn’t.
“So,” I said stretching my legs and crossing my ankles. “You now owe me double. Once for not delivering the goods on Draper and once for Herman of Troy.”
He winced. His wife’s cousin had been even duller than I remembered when the four of us went out Saturday night. Worse still, toward the end of the evening, he’d attempted to hold my hand.
“In fact, you should owe me double for him alone.”
Jenkins offered the cone of chips. I shook my head. I like my spuds mashed, or boiled in the jacket. He munched for a few seconds.
“You still interested in talking to Tilly Sweeny?” His voice was resigned.
“Yes, but I keep forgetting to call her.”
“I could spare you that ordeal at least. I might still owe you, but it ought to earn me something on the account book. Tilly’s company makes Cousin Herman look good in comparison. It may be beneath me, but I can sniff out society dirt as well as she can.”
Behind the wire rims of his spectacles his eyes were earnest. With the light from the dome above us brightening his curls, all he lacked was a harp and some wings to make him the picture of innocence. Which was why I suddenly realized he was trying to fox me.
Jenkins’ antennae were always alert for something that would land him a newsworthy photograph before the competition even caught wind of it. He knew as well as I did that Draper’s death looked suspicious, and he had good instincts. He’d put two and two together and guessed, correctly, that my earlier interest in the gossip columnist somehow related to Draper.
This was going to be fun.
“I don’t know,” I said dubiously. “There may not be anything to it. It’s just that on another matter I’m looking into, I’ve heard rumors the man it concerns might be having an affair with some socialite who parties more than she should.”
“Doesn’t that include all of them? I didn’t think you did divorce work,” Jenkins said, losing interest.
“It’s not a divorce. It’s a business matter. His partners are concerned it might be ... detrimental to their concerns.”
“Detrimental? How big a business we talking?”
His inte
rest was back. I gave him a coy smile. I loved Jenkins like a brother. Better than the one I’d had – and might still have somewhere. That didn’t mean I had any qualms about putting one over on him. He’d been baiting a hook for me. Instead, with luck, he’d bite into mine.
“Not much to go on,” he groused.
I was about to answer when a man with his nose in The Saturday Evening Post caught my eye. Boike. I’d been right, then.
“Mags? You okay?”
As Jenkins started to follow the line of my gaze I pressed my hand to my mid-section.
“Just some gas. Pardon me. What were you saying?”
“You need to give me more to go on. Kind of business, maybe?”
“I can’t–”
“Come on, Mags. I can’t help if I don’t know something.”
I couldn’t play wide-eyed half as well as Jenkins could, so I shrugged.
“If I knew any more I could do it myself. All I’ve heard is she’s a real boozer and her brother made millions in some sort of business.”
“Gee, that narrows it down,” he said in disgust. He glanced at his watch. “Have to go.”
I gave him enough time to settle his camera. Boike was still reading.
“Then again, the men who’re all in a tizzy thinking it could bring down their business could have it wrong. Maybe the guy they’re worried about’s just seeing some showgirl.”
I caught the slight pause as Jenkins straightened a strap, and knew his ears had pricked. My bit of backpedaling, coupled with the vagueness of my information, would make him dig like crazy.
* * *
As soon as Jenkins disappeared toward Ludlow, I got up and sauntered toward the opposite entrance. After eight steps or so I did a basketball pivot too quickly for Boike to find cover. Pivoting again, I hooked my arm through his.
“Detective Boike. Fancy seeing you here. Enjoying yourself? Catching up on your reading?” He was red as a beet and attempting to free himself. “Relax. I won’t tell your girlfriend how cozy we got.” Releasing his arm, I stood arms akimbo and we eyed each other.
“That the best you can do when you’re tailing somebody? A magazine?”
“I thought about putting on an apron and standing at one of the meat counters. I was afraid all that blood might make me faint.”
I wondered if he was making a joke. He hadn’t cracked a smile.
“Mind telling me why you’re keeping tabs on me?”
Shifting uncomfortably, Boike looked over my head.
“Lieutenant didn’t like it how that guy Draper ended up dead right after you started hunting him. He figured if it wasn’t an accident, whoever was responsible might decide they wanted you out of the picture too.”
“You’re protection?” I wasn’t sure I believed it.
He shrugged. “Just until he needs me on something else.”
“Hey, I’m as fluttery as if he’d sent roses. Thanks all the same, but I manage fine on my own.”
“Guess you do at that.” He considered some. “One day your luck could run out.”
“Luck!” I opened my mouth to argue, then thought better of it. There had been a time or two when it might have been mostly luck that saved my skin.
“I appreciate it – and I’m not saying that to be smart.” I started to walk toward the Main Street entrance, with Boike in step. “I don’t need a baby-sitter. Clients wouldn’t go for it. If you or anyone on the force else tries to follow me, I’m going to spot you, and when I do, I’m going to give you a big, fat smooch – even if it’s Freeze himself.”
We stepped out into cold drizzle that by evening would turn into sleet. Boike looked indecisively from me to a skinny three-storey gingerbread building across the street. It was Market House, where the chief of police, the detective squad and the evidence boys were based.
“Yeah, okay.” He didn’t sound happy.
We crossed the street together and he disappeared into the mouth of the staircase into Market House. After I’d gone a couple of blocks I looked back to make sure he hadn’t come out a side door. The damp in the air created the kind of cold that seeps through clothing. I was glad when I reached my own building, and looking forward to putting my toes on the radiator.
I unlocked my office and stepped through the door. I was reaching for the light switch when the door slammed shut behind me.
“Don’t bother taking off your coat,” said a voice. “We’re going for a ride.”
Fifteen
“Turn around slowly and don’t make any sudden moves,” the voice ordered.
I thought I recognized the voice. When I obeyed I saw I was right.
Rachel Minsky sat in one of the visitor chairs against the wall. Her legs were crossed. The top one swung angrily. On the other side of the door a sharp-featured man lounged casually back with one hand tucked inside his coat.
“I helped you,” said Rachel. “Answered your questions. Told you things you didn’t know. And this is the thanks I get? You sic the cops on me?”
“I didn’t sic them on you. They had names. They had them when they dropped in on me.” It was sort of a fine point that they hadn’t had hers yet at that point. Just now I wasn’t feeling very friendly toward Rachel. I tilted my head toward the guy on the wall. “You always travel with a bodyguard? Nice touch.”
“Pearlie?” Her lips made their secretive line that suggested a smile. “He’s my boyfriend.”
“Gee, I didn’t realize this was a social call. I’m flattered. Mind if I sit down for a minute? Catch my breath?”
“And take a gun out of a drawer? You’ll have plenty of time to sit on that drive I mentioned.”
She got to her feet. A fluffy fur coat draped her shoulders. It was nearly as dark as her hair, beaver maybe. She shrugged into it without taking her eyes off me.
Pearlie and I were measuring each other. He was all edges: thin face, slim build, narrow feet. He reminded me of a well-honed knife, and I figured he could do just as much damage.
“Pearlie will enjoy your company more if you let him take a peek in your purse. Loud noises startle him.”
I offered it to him. “Be my guest.”
A woman wouldn’t settle for only one lipstick. I saw no reason to settle for only one gun. I kept my automatic in the car as a backup and the Smith & Wesson, which I liked better, at the office. It wasn’t in a drawer, precisely because I’d planned against visits like this, but it wasn’t where I could get to it, either, unless I sat down. Oddly, I wasn’t especially worried just now. Something told me Rachel was keener to show off her power than she was to harm me.
“Be sure to lock up,” she said, marching ahead of us like a countess. It irked me more than anything else that they’d picked my lock. “We took an opportunity to note the back stairs,” she said turning toward it. “We’ll go out that way.”
The only other office we passed going that direction was a domestic employment firm that kept its door closed. Going the front way would have taken us past an accountant’s place and the long glass window of a sock wholesaler, where my sort-of-friend Evelyn worked and her nosy mother-in-law noted every coming and going but wouldn’t have batted an eyelash if I’d been murdered in front of her.
“I like going places lots more when I’m invited,” I said as we reached my building’s small lobby. “If I start to kick up a stink, somebody’s sure to come to my aid.”
“Rachel wouldn’t like that,” Pearlie said tightening his grip on my arm as the two of them marched me between them. It was the first time I’d heard him speak; the first chance I’d had to glimpse the dazzling teeth that apparently gave him his nickname.
‘Rachel’? Jesus, maybe he really was her boyfriend.
I couldn’t judge yet how likely it was someone would get hurt if I started yelling. Besides, I was curious. A few times over the years since I’d hung out my shingle I’d had tough guys drag me somewhere to work me over a little and give me a warning. This didn’t have that feel. I let them put me into the bi
g black Buick I’d noticed outside Minsky Builders. The lock on the back seat passenger side had been welded down. Rachel motioned me in and then slid in beside me. Pearlie went up front to drive.
That part was pretty much what I’d expected. Except for the welded lock.
* * *
It wasn’t the sort of ride where you make small talk. They hadn’t blindfolded me or knocked me out, so I’d been on worse rides. We went south and turned off Patterson, heading west across the river. Then we followed a paved road which after three or four miles turned into gravel. When the road petered out, a large open field stretched before us.
Tough Cookie (Maggie Sullivan mysteries) Page 8
