Something clutched at his ankle. Mr Pinstripes. He was an easy target, but Greg’d had enough blood and gore for one day. He tried to shake him off’, stumbled. His leg twisted beneath him. Suddenly it felt as if he’d been stabbed in the kneecap with a fondue fork. He lost his balance and fell. A thin ribbon of pain zipped down one side of his body and back up the other, exploded in his skull in a ball of rippling white light.
For just a second or two — about the same amount of time that it takes to tell about it — nobody moved.
Four
The Georgia Viaduct was so close that anybody with a reasonably strong arm could hit the scummy brick wall of the Rialto with an accurately thrown hubcap. The window was wide open, and the throb of traffic was so loud that Willows, who was the soft-spoken type, had to raise his voice to make himself heard.
Not that the guy lying on the bed would hear him, no matter how much he cranked up the volume.
Willows studied the bloated body, the way the dark and swollen flesh bulged at the man’s shirtcuffs, throat and ankles. The shirt had white piping and fake mother-of-pearl buttons, triangular silver points at the ends of an unfashionably wide collar, and was made of a shiny red material that looked like silk, but wasn’t.
Willows walked around to the foot of the bed. The linoleum crackled underfoot. The woman sitting demurely in the corner followed him with her eyes.
The dead man’s shirt was tucked sloppily into a pair of faded black jeans. His belt was wide black leather and had a heavy brass buckle depicting a stylized bucking horse apparently trying to throw its rider.
The cowboy motif went all the way down to the boots, which looked expensive — some kind of snakeskin, maybe — but were badly neglected, rundown at the heels.
The desk clerk had been told not to touch anything but had pushed open the room’s solitary window as far as it would go. Willows wasn’t going to give the guy a hard time about it.
The Rialto was the kind of place that made you feel like you needed a hot shower the minute you stepped through the door. Despite the pile of rotting garbage at the bottom of the window, the breeze drifting into the room smelled relatively sweet.
Willows said, “Three, four days?”
Parker nodded. Willows glanced at the woman, back to Parker. He went over to the window and looked down. A couple of men hunkered down out of the wind under the viaduct were sharing something in a brown paper bag.
Parker, speaking very softly, said, “Can you tell me when it happened, Honey?”
The woman, her back to the wall and her eyes focused on the ceiling, blinked twice, very slowly, as she thought about it.
Parker waited, impatient but not letting it show. The woman hadn’t yet gotten around to looking directly at Parker, and Parker was beginning to doubt it would ever happen. Finally Honey said, “Wednesday. I think it was Wednesday.”
“Any particular reason?”
Honey nodded. She licked her lips. “He made me go out and buy a lottery ticket. It was raining, pissing down. He knew I was gonna get soaked but he didn’t care. Getting rich was all he cared about.”
Parker said, “How old are you, Honey?”
“Nineteen.”
“No, really. How old are you.”
Honey smiled wistfully. A front tooth was gone and the rest didn’t look too stable. She said, “Twenty-six, somewhere in there. On a bad day, almost thirty.”
Thirty was the number Parker had in mind, but she let it go. “Is Honey your real name?”
“It’s what real people call me. Got a smoke?”
Parker shook her head, no. A cheap black plastic purse lay like a dead crow on top of a battered highboy to the left of the window.
Parker said, “Is that your purse?”
“What purse?”
Parker went over to the highboy, picked up the purse and dangled it in front of Honey’s bleary, deconstructed face. “Yeah, it’s mine.”
Parker said, “You mind if I look inside?”
“What for?”
“Cigarettes.”
Honey looked out the window. The sky had a bruised look. Punch a cloud and watch it bleed. She said, “Go ahead, do whatever you want.”
Parker gingerly poked around inside the purse, found a crumpled pack of Export As, matches. She handed the cigarettes to Honey, helped her light up.
Honey inhaled deeply. “My favourite vice.” She spat a shred of tobacco at the floor, sighed.
Parker said, “We’d like to talk to Chet, Honey. Ask him some questions.”
“Such as?”
“The circumstances of his death,” said Parker. “How he died.”
Honey said, “Yeah, well … ” A passing truck on the viaduct made the air hum and throb. Honey scratched her scalp, smoked.
Parker said, “But we got here too late, didn’t we? I mean, by the time we arrived, he was long gone.”
Honey flicked ash from her cigarette into the cupped palm of her hand, made a fist.
Parker said, “Will you help us, Honey? Will you fill in for Chet?”
“You wanna know what happened, that it?”
Parker nodded. She said, “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. But it would really help a lot if you did.”
“Do I need a lawyer?”
Willows said, “I can get one for you.”
“What do I need a lawyer for?”
Willows shrugged.
Honey said, “Just stay out of it, okay?”
Willows held both hands up, palms out. “Whatever you say.”
“I mean, you mind?”
Willows said, “Sorry … ”
Parker repressed a smile. Despite his age, Willows continued to add to his vocabulary.
Honey, her eyes on Parker, said, “Okay, go ahead.” She waved her arm. Ash spilled from her cigarette. “No, hold it, wait a minute.” She held a hand out to Parker. “What’s your name?”
“Claire.”
“Nice to meet you, Claire?”
They shook hands. Parker said, “I just want to be clear on this — are you waiving the right to a lawyer?”
“No doubt about it.”
Parker said, “It’s just a formality, but I’ve got to caution you that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
“Surprise, surprise.”
Parker smiled.
Honey said, “So, go ahead.”
“Why did you wait such a long time before you called the police?”
“Because I wanted to make damn good and sure that he was dead.” Honey wiped away what might have been a tear. “Soon as I saw that he was cut, I knew it was hopeless, there was nothing I could do for him.”
Parker glanced at Willows. He shrugged. She turned back to Honey.
“Why couldn’t you help him?”
“Because the minute he got out of the hospital, he’d come looking for me. Beat me to death.”
Parker said, “Tell me what happened, okay.”
“You take a close look at him, you’ll see right away what happened. He got a bellyful of knife and it didn’t agree with him.”
Willows was turning to look out the window, smiling.
Parker said, “What I want to know is, why was Chet stabbed?”
Honey lit another cigarette. Her hands were steady. She gave Claire Parker a wry smile, and Parker couldn’t help wondering where she’d learned to smile like that, put so much into so little. Not plying her trade in the eastside, that was for sure.
Parker said, “Honey … ”
“Beats me. I mean, I wish I knew. It’s all kind of vague … ”
Parker waited.
After a few minutes, Honey said, “It was the lottery ticket. I got him the wrong kind, he wanted a red and I got him a blue, and he got real pissed off, like he did sometimes when he’d been drinking or whatever. Anyway, he blew his top, came after me.”
Parker said, “How do you mean, he came after you?”
“Thump me. He w
as gonna thump me.” Honey reached out, lightly touched the hem of Parker’s dark blue skirt. “Nice material. Where’d you buy it?”
“Somewhere there was a sale.”
“There’s a place over on Robson … ” She closed her eyes, and for a moment Parker thought she was going to nod off. Then Honey said, “Chet used to take me there, once in a while, if business was good. He’d tell me to go ahead and choose something I liked, buy me something else. Take me back here. Make me get dressed in my new clothes.
“While I was getting changed, he’d go get Wendell, tell him he wanted to show him something.”
Parker said, “Wendell’s the night clerk, right?”
“I’d have to do some poses, get Wendell all hot and bothered so he’d give Chet a couple days free rent. Or if I was extra nice to him, a whole week, sometimes.”
Parker said, “How long were you and Chet together?”
“Since about the middle of the summer. Late July, early August. Somewhere in there.”
“When did he start pimping for you?”
“On day one.” The question seemed to have taken Honey by surprise. “That was the whole idea — that he’d take care of me, cover my ass.”
“What were you doing before you met Chet?”
“More of the same. Lots more. I was younger then. More of a downtown person.”
Parker said, “Chet sent you out for a lottery ticket. You bought the wrong one and he beat you up, is that what happened?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Is that your knife in Chet’s stomach?”
“I dunno. What’s it look like?”
“All I can see is the handle. It’s mother-of-pearl.” Parker shuffled slowly through a dozen of Mel Dutton’s crime scene Polaroids, found a close-up that wasn’t too graphic.
Honey shook her head. “That’s Chet’s knife, not mine. All his shirts got buttons made out of that stuff. Like the one he’s wearing. It’s fake. Plastic. You pull the knife out of him, you’ll see it’s got a button that you press, makes the blade fly out. Mine’s an ordinary paring knife, but extra sharp. It’s got a wood handle with copper wire wrapped around it.”
Parker said, “Do you know where your knife is, Honey?”
“Chet told me fingerprints couldn’t stick to the wire, so if I had to cut somebody up, it was no big problem, nothin’ to worry about.”
“Do you know where your knife is?” Parker said again.
“In the purse, right down at the bottom, tucked away under a flap. You must’ve missed it, the first time you looked.” Honey expertly flicked her cigarette butt out the window.
Parker tilted the purse to the light from the window. There could be anything in there. She went over to the highboy and carefully shook the contents of the purse out on to the cigarette-scarred top. The knife had a six-inch blade. The wooden handle was loosely wrapped with copper wire, and Chet was probably right about it not taking a print.
Honey’s eyes were on the knife. She said, “My best friend.”
Parker said, “You’re serious about saving your life, try a condom.”
“Tell it to Chet. You could die of old age before he stopped laughing.”
Parker said, “Honey, can you remember what happened when Chet found out you’d brought back the wrong lottery ticket? You said he lost his temper.”
“Never gonna find it, now.”
Parker said, “No, I guess not.” Honey slipped the Polaroid into her jacket pocket. Parker let it go, for now.
“He took a punch at me. Hit me in the breast and I started screaming.”
Honey fumbled the last cigarette out of the pack. Parker tossed her the matches.
“Wendell must’ve heard the racket. He walked right into the room, wanted to know what was going on. Chet hit me again, and asked Wendell would he be interested in going a few rounds. Wendell said yes.”
Parker said, “What time does Wendell come on duty, Honey?”
“Midnight. But if you’re thinking about having a talk with him, forget it.”
“What d’you mean?” said Willows.
Honey waved her cigarette at the open window, the air shaft. “He’s just a little guy, but by the time he hit that pile of garbage down there, he was going real fast, and he just kind of disappeared right into it.”
Willows and Parker exchanged a quick look. Willows leaned out the window. The two men were still cooling their heels under the viaduct. The pile of garbage was wide and deep. He couldn’t see Wendell.
Parker said, “Did Wendell fall out the window, Honey? Or was he pushed?”
“Jumped. Chet’s wrestlin’ me around and the knife goes into him. Wendell’s eyes bug out. I guess he figured he was next.”
Willows heard footsteps on the stairs, in the hall.
Willows’ inspector, Homer Bradley, appeared in the open doorway. There was a feather in his hat, a ten-dollar cigar in his mouth, a twinkle in his eye. He cocked a finger at Willows, disappeared back into the hallway.
Parker hesitated, and then said, “Honey, is there anybody else who was here at the time, that you haven’t told us about?”
Honey nodded towards the highboy. “Take a look in the bottom drawer.” Smoke leaped out of the gap that had been knocked in her smile. “Just kidding.”
In the hallway, Bradley said, “Something wrong with your beeper, Jack?”
Willows said, “Battery must’ve died. I’ll check it out when I sign off.”
At the far end of the corridor, a door opened a crack. A short, bald man wearing a bright yellow plastic jacket peeked out at them.
Bradley pointed the cigar at him. “Get back in your room and shut the door.”
The man said, “I worked all my life in the woods. I cut down trees taller than this building and never gave it a thought.”
Willows said, “That’s great. Now do yourself a favour and shut the door.”
“You seen Brenda?”
Willows shook his head.
“You see Brenda, you tell her I been looking for her, okay?” Willows nodded. The door eased shut. Willows turned to Bradley. “What’s up, Inspector?”
Bradley smiled. “Nothing much. I felt like taking a stroll, catching a little air. Since you and Claire happened to be in the neighbourhood, I thought I’d drop by. How’s it going, you making any progress?”
“Just wrapping up.” Willows led Bradley back to the room, knocked lightly.
Parker said, “Give me a hand, Jack.” Together, they helped Honey to her feet.
She said, “You gonna charge me?”
Parker said, “We don’t have much choice, do we?”
“Guess not.”
Bradley, trailing a cloud of cigar smoke, led the charge down the stairs. On the street, Parker turned Honey over to a uniformed policewoman.
Bradley, watching, realized something was up. He turned to Willows. “Am I missing something?”
Willows told him about the pile of garbage at the back of the hotel, the vanished night clerk, Wendell. He and Bradley and Parker walked around to the rear of the building. Bradley took one look at the rotting mountain of garbage and started laughing.
Willows said, “What’s so funny, Homer?”
“The perp, she’s an addict?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Anybody report Wendell missing?”
Willows shook his head.
Bradley kicked a plastic bag. “We’re going to need a garbage truck. An empty garbage truck.” He kicked the bag again, and it rolled to one side, exposing a corner of a fire-blackened mattress. He said, “This look like a fire hazard to you?” Willows nodded.
Parker said, “There’s a rat in there the size of a Doberman.”
“More than one,” said Bradley. “Why don’t we get a sanitation crew in here, let them do the heavy work.”
Parker said, “I’ll call it in.” Willows nodded, and began to pick his way across the littered ground towards the viaduct. He hadn’t been able to see it from the ho
tel window, but the men had pushed a big cardboard box over on its side and shoved it up against one of the viaduct’s concrete supports. The box had probably held a refrigerator or large freezer. It was out of the rain, out of the wind. Given a choice between the box and a room in the Rialto, Willows would go for the box every time.
The men heard him coming, came out to meet him. There were two of them. They were both fairly young, tall and thin, unshaven, wearing dirty jeans and ski jackets, heavy boots. Unemployed loggers, maybe. Willows wondered how long they’d been in the city. Long enough, by the look of them. He took a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet, told them what he wanted to know.
Both men nodded.
“Yeah, we saw him. There was a whole lot of yellin’ goin’ on. This was two, three days ago. In the morning. We’re sittin’ here drinkin’ breakfast, eh.”
“It’s kinda cool out, but the window’s open.”
“You can see people in there, movin’ back and forth.”
“Hear ’em yellin’.”
“All of a sudden this guy climbs out the window, his feet are kinda hanging out.”
“Weird, man … ”
“Next thing, he drops.”
“Tucked himself into a ball, eh.”
“Like when you jump into a river.”
“Cannonball.”
“Yeah, cannonball.”
“He hits the garbage dead centre.”
“Perfect.”
“Some stuff flies up, falls back. We’re sittin’ here with our eyes bugged out.”
“He vanished, eh. Plain and simple.”
“After a couple minutes it’s like it never happened. The yellin’s stopped.”
Willows said, “Was there anyone else near the window when he went out?”
“You asking was he pushed? No way.”
“Jumped of his own free will.”
“Yeah, jumped. Got a smoke?”
Willows shook his head.
“We look up and the window’s shut.”
Fall Down Easy Page 3
