Swan Dive - Jeremiah Healy

by Jeremiah Healy

  a hooker are dead."

  "No."

  "What?"

  "I said, no. All Murphy told me was that Marsh was found dead with a hooker. Nothing about her being dead, too."

  Holt squared his shoulders. "I’m tired, Cuddy. And I don’t want any shit from you."

  "You want anything from me, you better talk nicer."

  Guinness came forward, Holt stopping him with a palm on the chest. Dawkins looked as bored as an usher at a long-running movie. '

  "Murphy says you’re a wiseass but that you’ll cooperate."

  "Ask your questions."

  “Where were you last night, seven to nine P.M.?"

  "Sleeping against a Dempster Dumpster."

  "What?"

  I explained about the mugging.

  Guinness said, "Who saw you?"

  "Far as I know, nobody."

  Holt said, "Let me get this straight. You leave your office at five-ten, when Tremont Street looks like fire drill time at the fucken anthill, and nobody sees you get hit?"

  "Like I said, my car was parked around back, in the alley, in the shadows."

  "The only car there when you got to it."

  "Right."

  "And this mugger was waiting for you."

  "Right."

  "Only one car there, the guy musta been waiting for you in particular."

  "Maybe. Maybe just for the one person he could nail at that time of day without attracting attention."

  "Why didn’t you report the gun?"

  "I told you, I was punchy, still a little sick. When I got home, I just fell into bed."

  Guinness said, "You didn’t go to the hospital."

  "No."

  "Or call a doctor."

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "I’ve been hit before. My coordination and all seemed okay."

  Holt said, “Let’s have a look at the head."

  I touched my chin to my chest as he examined behind my ear. I jumped when he hit the spot. Holt said, "Not much of a bruise."

  "It did the trick."

  "Pretty easy to whack yourself there, you know I how."

  "So?"

  "So why should we think all this went down the way you say it did?"

  "Look, you think I killed Marsh and the prostitute, right?"

  “So far."

  Holt said, "When we found out who Marsh was, we called his house. His girlfriend answered. Before she went nuts with the crying, we got his lawyer’s name out of her."

  "And Felicia Arnold told you Marsh and I didn’t exactly hit it off at the divorce conference."

  Guinness said, “She told us more—"

  Holt cut him off. "It goes a little deeper than that, Cuddy." He fished in his folder, came out with a mug shot, and spun it by a corner over to me.

  I looked down at it. Front and profile of an attractive, dark-haired woman in her late twenties. She was wearing a garish red-and-white-striped blouse and an exasperated expression.

  Guinness said, "Know her?"

  "No."

  "Street name’s Teri Angel. Pimp’s name is Nino, but he says she was free-lancing last night."

  "And Angel’s the dead hooker?"

  "Let’s just say she was known to blow more than kisses."

  "I still don’t know her."

  "You don’t know her."

  "No."

  "She was found dead in the Barry Hotel."

  The Barry was a run-down joint near South Station. “Their restaurant’s really slipped the last

  few years."

  “Yeah, only she didn’t order nothing from room service. Shot, she was. Near naked."

  "Dissatisfied customer?"

  "We don’t think so. Bellhop tells us Marsh was one of her regulars. Saw him coming in that night with a suitcase."

  "Suitcase?"

  "Uh-huh."

  “Was Marsh done with the same gun?"

  "No, he wasn’t shot. He took a swan dive from the window."

  “Didn’t strike me as the suicide type."

  "You tell us."

  "Lieutenant, I wasn’t there, all right? Any marks on him?"

  Guinness laughed. "You kidding? The guy went through the glass on the twelfth floor. Somebody hits the ground from that high, if it wasn’t wearing clothes, you wouldn’t know it was human."

  Holt said, "Except it wasn’t."

  "I don’t get you."

  "Marsh. He wasn’t wearing clothes. Just bandages on his feet, briefs, and a pair of those latex stretch gloves.".

  "Lovely."

  "Yeah. We figure him and the Angel were doing beautiful things together when somebody interrupted them."

  I said, "Look, Marsh came on like a piece of shit, but I wasn’t about to kill him."

  "Your gun, Cuddy."

  "What?"

  Guinness said, "Was your gun did the Angel."

  "How do you know?"

  "Registration number, you stupid shit. Computer matched you right off."

  "You mean you found the gun at the scene?"

  “On the floor, by the window. But we didn’t find Marsh’s clothes."

  "His clothes."

  "That’s right. No clothes, his or the Angel’s. And no suitcase."

  I thought for a minute. "If` he didn’t have any clothes, how’d you ID him?"

  Guinness said, "Thought you might wonder about that."

  I turned back to Holt. "Lieutenant?"

  "We found his wallet. On the floor in the closet, like maybe it fell out of his pants when they were hanging up."

  "Before his pants pulled the disappearing act."

  “Yeah."

  Guinness said, “We also didn’t find his stuff."

  "What stuff?"

  Holt said, "His cocaine stuff."

  "That’s where I come in," said Dawkins, speaking for only the second time. "Homicide here like to know why you killed Marsh and the fox. Me, I’d like to know what you did with a quarter-million street value of J. J. Braxley’s snow."

  I put my head down, taking a couple of deep breaths. "Somebody set me up."

  Guinness said, "Sure they did."

  "Think about it, will you? I get knocked out, they take my gun, kill Angel here and Marsh, and leave the weapon there to link me with a guy I already didn’t like."

  Holt said, "Or you fake the hit on the head, toss Marsh through the window, and lose the Angel as a witness."

  “And leave my righteous gun at the scene?"

  Holt and Guinness exchanged glances, Dawkins kept his eyes on me.

  Holt said, "You don’t have a righteous gun anymore, my friend."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning you didn’t report the loss of your gun like you were supposed to, and the commissioner has pulled your license to carry."

  “Just like that."

  "The statute says he can do it ‘for cause’ and ‘at his will’."

  "I told you why I didn’t report it."

  "The statute also says ‘forthwith.' You lose it or get it stolen, you’re supposed to report it ‘forthwith,' not when you fucken get around to it."

  Guinness said, "That means we catch you with a piece, you’re gone for a year, pal. No deal, no parole, no way 0ut."

  I said, "Your theory is I do those things with a registered weapon instead of a throwaway, then leave the registered piece on the floor somewhere?"

  Guinness said, "You got surprised, and—"

  "I had a date scheduled with Nancy Meagher last night."

  Holt said, "The assistant D.A.?"

  "That’s right. Because of getting hit, I stood her up. Tried to call her but never got through."

  "You try to call her, but you’re too punchy to report the gun, is that it?"

  "That’s it."

  "So?"

  "So your theory is I plan to ace Marsh, and do this Angel in the bargain, leave my traceable gun at the scene, then don’t show up for a date with an assistant D.A. and don’t even warn her."

  "You pan
icked. Didn’t think it through till this morning? '

  I jerked my head toward the door and immediately regretted it. Massaging behind my ear, I said, "And what about the little show-up outside there?"

  "What show-up?"

  "The two pensioners on the bench. The ones you brought in from the Barry. They live there or what?"

  No response.

  I said, "Either way, Lieutenant, they didn’t make me, did they? You had a little talk after Guinness al waltzed me past them, and neither one ever saw me before."

  Guinness picked at his teeth. Holt and Dawkins just watched me.

  "C’mon, Lieutenant. Somebody set me up, somebody who wanted Marsh dead."

  Dawkins said, "Or the Angel."

  Holt said to him, "The Angel?"

  Dawkins said, "Yeah. Somebody wants the Angel dead, he just have to appreciate how Cuddy here have it in for Marsh." Dawkins treated me to a sugary smile. " ’Course, I’d still like to know where J.J.’s stuff got to, and so will he."

  * * *

  Holt let me go, warning me to stay available and not to call Nancy until they had checked my story with her. I went up the hall and by the corner to Murphy’s office. Nobody I recognized was around, so I walked up to his door and knocked.

  "Yeah."

  I entered, closing the door behind me.

  Murphy looked up from a file he was reading. "Get out."

  "Lieutenant, I wanted to thank you."

  "I’m not supposed to be talking with you."

  "You must have told Holt I wouldn’t have done Marsh that stupidly. Otherwise, with what he had on my gun, he would have held me awhile."

  "Cuddy, I will not talk with you about another squad’s case. Now get out."

  "This mean I can’t get a look at the jacket on this?"

  Murphy snapped the folder closed and came up out of his chair, shoulders hunched. "You fucking asshole! You did me a favor, fine, I do you one. Ask around on this guy Marsh. But then the guy turns up dead, and it smells so much like you I’m afraid to shit. Things develop, it does look too stupid for you, but how am I supposed to explain that to Holt, huh? Am I supposed to say, ‘Nah, couldn’t have been Cuddy, man. I seen Cuddy set up a killing, even covered him on it, and it was nothing like this’?"

  "Lieutenant, I promised you something that time. I promised you I’d never do anything like that in your jurisdiction. Believe me, I didn’t."

  Murphy sank back down in his chair and reopened the file, trying to find his place."‘Get out. I’m not gonna say it again."

  TEN

  -♦-

  I hiked home to clear my head. Once there, I called Nancy’s office, but the secretary said she was in court. I asked if Detective Guinness was there, and the secretary said, yes, would I like to speak with him? I told her no thanks and said I’d try again later.

  Chris answered on the second ring.

  "Chris, this is John Cuddy. I have to see you."

  "Jeez, John, the cops already called me. l heard about Marsh on the late news."

  "Can we talk if I get there in the next hour?"

  "Oh, John, I’m up to my ears . . ."

  "I’ll be there by noontime, Chris. Don’t go anywhere I can’t find you." I hung up, cleaned up, and went down to the car.

  * * *

  I pushed open the door to Chris’s waiting room. Sitting in one of the plastic chairs was a man with black wavy hair and a dark complexion. He wore a crudely cut suit with a narrow-collared white shirt and no tie. He watched me, collapsing a tissue-thin, crinkly newspaper with headlines in what looked like the Greek alphabet. As he was about to say something, Chris stuck his head out from the office.

  "C’mon in, John. I hope this won’t take too long. I’m really up to my—"

  "It won’t take long." I followed Chris into his office as the man in the chair followed me with his eyes.

  * * *

  “His name’s Fotis. Eleni’s cousin."

  "He doesn’t look too good for business, glaring in your reception area like that."

  "What can I do, John? She’s really rattled by this i Marsh thing, not that I blame her. I’m in and out a lot, I so she feels safer with Fotis and Nikos here for a while."

  "Nikos another cousin?"

  "Right. He’s with Eleni. In the kitchen."

  I didn’t respond, so Chris said, "So, what can I do for you?"

  I settled back in my chair. "You can explain why you didn’t let on that Marsh was into the drug trade when you hired me."

  Chris moved his tongue around against the inside of his cheek. "John, I didn’t have any proof of that. Just the wife’s say-so, for chrissake. I might have tried to use it if things went bad at the settlement conference, but the way we were going . . ."

  "Chris, you asked me to bodyguard because you were afraid of the guy. It might have been nice for you to warn me about what you suspected instead of giving me that 'insurance salesman’ line."

  "John, I’m telling you, I didn’t know for sure. Christ, you’d think I’d been a customer of his or something."

  "Were you?"

  "Oh, John, c’mon .

  "Look, Chris, somebody set me up, understand? Somebody who knew enough about Marsh, and me, to see me as a good patsy. Now that isn’t a whole lot of people."

  "What do you mean, set up?"

  I explained about the mugging and the cops’ visit to my door. When I got to the gun, Chris said, "Holy shit."

  “Now do you see what I mean?"

  Chris kneaded his hands. "Jeez, John, I’m sorry. When the cops called, they didn’t say anything about the gun." He looked away. "So somebody hits you and then plants your gun in the room. God in heaven."

  "Chris, who knew about my blowup with Marsh at Felicia Arnold’s office?"

  "Aw, I don’t know. Felicia, Hanna. I told Eleni a little bit about it."

  “What about that guy in Arnold’s office?"

  “What guy?"'

  "I think his name was Paul Troller."

  "Oh, he’s . . . Look, I don’t know him too well, you understand? But he isn’t the first young stud lawyer Felicia’s hired, if you get my drift."

  "Any reason he’d have for doing Marsh?"

  "Jeez, John, how would I know? Wait a minute. When did you say you got mugged?"

  “Maybe five-fifteen, give or take a couple of minutes."

  Chris shook his head. "No, that lets Troller out."

  "Why?"

  "The county bar association dinner was last night over in Salem, and they always, do a cocktail thing beforehand. Troller was on line, a couple people in front of me, ordering a drink."

  "And what time was this?"

  "No later than five-thirty. I remember thinking that if the bartender didn’t speed things up, I’d never get another round in before dinner."

  "What about Felicia?"

  "Didn’t see her. But I talked with her this morning, and I can’t see how she could have anything to do with it."

  "What did you talk about?"

  "What do you think? Marsh’s dying kinda screwed things up for me, you know."

  "I don’t follow."

  Chris spread his hands on the desk. "Couple decides to get divorced, even if the papers are filed and everything, it isn’t effective till it’s final."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning Marsh’s dying like that ends the divorce action."

  "The law makes sense after all."

  “You’re not getting it. Hanna doesn’t need me anymore."

  "What about the settlement?"

  "It’s off. She doesn’t need it now."

  “Why not'?"

  Chris made a face. "Because she gets everything anyway. Felicia told me this morning Marsh was too fucking cheap to make a will, like to try to disinherit her. You can’t really do that in this state, and some of it is gonna have to go into the kid’s name, but basically everything goes to Hanna like she and Marsh were still lovey-dovey."

  "Hanna gets the house?"

&
nbsp; "Like I said. Everything."

  I thought about somebody putting Marsh through the window and shooting Teri Angel. Then I thought about Hanna’s broad, sturdy body and her determination about the family hearth in Swampscott.

  I looked up at Chris, but he was already standing and shrugging into a sports coat that hung very lopsided on him, as if there was a great weight in his pocket. '

  "John, I’m sorry, but I really got to get on the road here."

  "What’s in the coat?"

  "Huh?"

  "The pocket."

  "Oh." He reached in, then withdrew his hand again. "I got a permit to keep one in the house a long time ago, back when Eleni first . . . got sick and couldn’t move around so good. For burglars, you know? Now this thing’s got Eleni so scared, with drugs and all being involved, that I just carry it around the place, make her feel better."

  I tried to catch Chris’s eyes. I’d have bet money he would scare before she would. But all he said as he brushed past me was "Hanna gets everything and I lose a ten-thousand-dollar fee. Jeez, if I went into the hat business, kids’d be born without heads, you know?"

  When we walked back into the reception area, Fotis was standing, the paper folded and stuck in one of his jacket pockets. Something else weighed down the other pocket. The partisans’ mountain stronghold. Fotis said, "Eleni want to see you."

  Chris stopped. "Hey, Fotis, I gotta get going here."

  Fotis said, "Not you. Him."

  * * *

  Eleni and a not-quite-twin of Fotis were watching a game show on a nine-inch black-and-white in the kitchen. As I drew near, Eleni said, “Nikkie," and the twin reluctantly stood up, clicked off the set, and walked out of the room.

  "Sit."

  I rested my butt on a stool across from her. She said, "I told you that Marsh, he was a bad man."

  "Eleni, somebody made it look like I killed him."

  "Why somebody do that?"

  "I don’t know."

  She let a wise smile crease the side of her face that didn’t twitch. "I think different."

  "What do you mean?"

  "A bad man, that one. You saw what he done. His own child, a poor little animal. He deserve to die."

  "And the girl?"

  "A whore."