The Scent of Murder

by Barbara Block

  “The people who beat you up?”

  Silence.

  “You know, I get a better response from my cocker spaniel than I do from you.”

  Still nothing.

  “Fine. I’m calling the cops.”

  “Don’t,” Toon Town rasped.

  Something at last. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “I know where Amy is.”

  “Where’s that?”

  He turned the corner of his mouth that could still move up. “Someplace where no one is going to find her.”

  “So why shouldn’t I call the police?”

  “Because I won’t tell them.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I want my money.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but you’re in no position to get anything right now.”

  “I am if you drive me.”

  “You’re crazy. You should be in a hospital.”

  He gestured towards his face. “I’ll take care of this later.”

  “Do what you want. I’m phoning.” I started to leave. I didn’t have to worry about Toon Town going anywhere in the condition he was in.

  “Don’t waste your time. I won’t tell the police where she is. I won’t tell them anything.”

  I turned back. “They’ll make you.”

  “How?” He managed a sneer. “I’ll call my lawyer from the ER room. He’ll be there before they read my X-rays.”

  “If anything happens to her, you’ll be charged as an accessory.”

  “But it won’t matter, will it? Because by then, it’ll be too late for Amy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not that stupid, are you?”

  I tightened my hands around the bat’s neck, then loosened them. Cracking Toon Town’s head open was a luxury I couldn’t afford. “You really are scum,” I hissed.

  He grimaced and clutched his side again. “Look, this is the deal. You drive me to where I want to go. You get Amy and I get the stuff.”

  “What about the people that took her? You think they’ll just hand everything over to you?”

  “I think that’s something you don’t have to worry about. Now, are you going to help me or not?”

  I said yes, even though I knew Toon Town was lying through his teeth, because I figured I didn’t have much of a choice.

  “Good.” Toon Town tried to stand up. He got an inch off the bed before he sat back down. His face was beaded with sweat from the effort. I didn’t see how he was going to stand up, much less walk down the stairs.

  “I don’t think you’re going to be able to do this,” I told him.

  “I don’t care what the fuck you think,” he growled. “Just help me get dressed.”

  It took me a good ten minutes to get his pants and shirt and shoes on. I inhaled his odor—acrid sweat, sour breath, and blood—as he leaned up against me. He was heavy, and I kept stumbling under his weight. The process of getting him out of the room and down the stairs seemed to go on forever. Progress was measured in inches. By the time we were halfway down the steps, my arms and legs were trembling with the effort of holding him up. His breathing sounded ragged. When we got out the front door, my shirt was soaked in sweat. I propped him against the wall, told him to wait, and ran to get the cab.

  “Now what?” I asked, after I’d helped him into the front seat and settled myself behind the wheel.

  “Now we go to Amy’s house.”

  “She’s there?”

  “No. I have to get something.” Toon Town put his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. A moment later, his jaw went slack. He’d fallen asleep. I studied his face. His skin was grey. His cheekbones jutted out. His mouth was a black hole. I could have been transporting a corpse.

  It had started to rain. I turned on the windshield wipers and pulled away from the curb. Their swish formed a duet with the whistle Toon Town made every time he exhaled. I clicked on the radio, but I couldn’t find anything I wanted to listen to, and I finally clicked it off. I spent part of the ride over trying to figure out what had happened and wondering if I were doing the right thing. Unfortunately, since I couldn’t answer the second question without answering the first, I abandoned the effort as a waste of time. Except for an occasional semi lumbering along, 690 and 81 were deserted, and I made good time getting to Gerri Richmond’s house.

  “We’re here,” I told Toon Town, as I turned right at the stone pillars and threaded my way up the narrow, winding path to the cul de sac where Gerri Richmond’s house sat. As I got close to it, I could see that the lights were off. The house was dark. There were two cars in the driveway, though. Maybe Gerri Richmond was out with a friend. Or maybe she was asleep, although it was early for that.

  Toon Town grunted and opened his eye.

  I pulled in behind the Mercedes. “Now what?”

  “I need a list of the Richmond property holdings.”

  “Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  Toon Town groaned as he sat up.

  I turned towards him. “You’re fishing. You don’t know where the fuck Amy is, do you?”

  A line of blood worked its way down his chin. He wiped it off with the back of his hand. “I know she’s in one of the places on that list.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d like to explain how you know?”

  “No.”

  “So what are we supposed to do? Go to all of them?”

  He glared at me. “You want to see her again, you’ll stop asking questions and do what I tell you to.”

  Ordinarily, I would have told Toon Town to shove it, but this time I shut my mouth and did what he said.

  “I’m just supposed to ask Gerri Richmond for the list?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And she’s going to hand it over?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  “What happens if she calls the cops?”

  “She won’t, if you explain the situation to her correctly. After all, she has a stake in this, too.” Toon Town closed his eyes again. He didn’t open them when I got out of the cab.

  I turned my jacket collar up, scurried for the door, and pressed the bell. The first bar of “Für Elise” floated out into the air. Gerri Richmond opened the door a moment later. Her eyes were unfocused. Her blond hair stood up in tangled clumps. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I saw glints of grey among the blond. Her makeup was smudged. Her silk shirt was stained with spots of something dark, but the double strand of pearls around her neck gleamed pure and unsullied.

  “We buried Dennis today.” She was slurring her words. She’d been drinking. “Did you know that?”

  “Your stepson told me.”

  She waved her hand around. “Everyone came. Everyone who was anyone. We had a police escort to the cemetery.”

  I interrupted. “We need to talk about Amy,” I told her. “She’s in trouble.”

  “She’s always been in trouble.” Gerri turned and walked away. “From the day she was born.”

  I closed the door and followed her. She wobbled as she walked. We went through the darken hall into the den. The light from the street lamp threw our shadows on the walls.

  “Serious trouble,” I emphasized.

  She stopped and turned around. “The police think she killed Dennis. Do you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I’m not so sure.” I could hear the rain pattering on the roof and the windows. Gerri Richmond cocked her head and listened to it for a minute before speaking. “They never got along. Even when she was little, they never got along.” She shook her head. “Have you ever made a mistake?”

  “Lots of them,” I answered impatiently. Time was short. I could hear the clock ticking away inside my head.

  “A really big mistake that you couldn’t take back? That you couldn’t undo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Amy is mine.”

  Maybe that explained why Amy turned out the way she had. If my mother felt that way about me
, I sure wouldn’t want to stick around—actually she had and I hadn’t. The window blinds were up in the house across the way. Someone was in the kitchen stirring something on the stove. I wondered what the meals in the Richmond family must have been like. Not pleasant, I was willing to wager. I regarded the room. The white, overstuffed sofas seemed to float in the dark. Gerri Richmond collapsed on the nearest one. I sat next to her. The coffee table in front hosted a bottle of Stoli, a glass, and a large number of wadded up Kleenexes. It looked as if Gerri had been sitting here for awhile.

  She was reaching for her glass, when I told her that Amy had been kidnapped.

  She froze. “I don’t understand.”

  When I told her why she began to laugh.

  Chapter 28

  I was so stunned I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Gerri Richmond’s laughter broke over me like waves. “Here I’ve spent all this time looking for the money Dennis stole, and my own daughter has it. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” She went into another laughing fit. “And you don’t know where she is.”

  “Toon Town thinks he does.” I explained about the list.

  “How does he know that?”

  It was the obvious question. The one I’d asked. The one Toon Town wouldn’t answer. I could have told her that. But I wanted the information instead of a debate, so I lied. “Amy told him she’d hidden the rest of the stuff in one of your places. He figures they’ll go there.” Maybe I was even right.

  “I’ll get the list.” Gerri Richmond levered herself up and staggered out of the room.

  I sat and watched the second hand of my watch revolve. After one minute, I got up and walked over to the mantel. It was crammed with family photographs. They’d been arranged chronologically over what I’d guess to be a fifteen-year period. In the beginning, we had the quintessential American family. Two children. Two parents. Everyone smiling. The Richmonds at a picnic. The Richmonds at the beach. The Richmonds at Disney Land. Midway, things had changed. The Richmonds were still smiling, but the smiles looked forced. Everyone was leaning away from, instead of towards, one another. Another couple of photos later, Charlie and Amy were scowling. She’d cut her hair very short. Almost buzzed it. A homemade job, by the look of it. How old was she? I guessed eleven or twelve.

  I studied the next snapshot. This one had been taken somewhere in the Bahamas. On the beach. Everyone was wearing bathing suits—except for Amy who was wearing all black. She’d pierced her nose. I ran my eye over the last photographs. Amy wasn’t in them. Neither was Charlie. If I were going to do an art show with the pictures on the mantel, I’d title it “Portrait of Family Disintegration.” I was wondering what had happened, when I heard Toon Town beeping. I glanced at my watch. Another minute had gone by. Time to get going. I went to find Gerri. I heard her voice rising and falling, as I walked out of the den. The sound formed a thread and I followed it into the kitchen. The room could have been a magazine ad in Better Homes and Gardens. It had all the amenities. Jen-Air grill. Center island. The wall stove built into a brick alcove. Glass refrigerator. The only thing lacking was the family.

  Gerri was leaning against the counter. She was curling the phone cord around her hand as she talked. When she saw me, she hung up. “I was talking to Charlie,” she said. “I thought he had a right to know what was going on.”

  “I think maybe you should tell him after you give me the list.”

  “Are you saying I don’t care about my daughter?” she demanded.

  “I’m saying I need the list,” I reiterated.

  She brushed by me. “It’s in my bedroom.”

  “I’ll go with you.” As I followed her down the hall, I wondered if she were telling me the truth about talking to Charlie. She hadn’t shown any need to keep him apprised of things before. Our footsteps echoed on the floor, as we headed for the stairs. Toon Town sounded the horn again. We were running out of time. I followed Gerri Richmond up the stairs and into the master bedroom. The smell of Le Dix lingered in the air. Gerri flicked on the light. I took a look around. The carpet was white. The bed was king-sized and canopied, the dressers and nightstands were painted white with a gold overlay. A large, rectangular mirror in a gilt frame decorated the space over the double dresser. Other than that, the walls were bare. Several cartons stood near a large treadmill.

  Gerri followed my gaze. “Dennis’s things,” she explained, as she headed for the desk on the far side of the room.

  Well, she was more efficient than I’d been, that was for sure. It had taken me six months to tackle Murphy’s belongings. Either that, or she was anxious to get all reminders of him out of her life.

  I watched her open and close drawers and go through papers. “It’s here somewhere,” she muttered. “I know it is.” She took the three drawers out and dumped them on the floor. Then she got down on her knees and started pawing through the mess she’d created.

  I got down with her. I saw invitations. Notices from Amy’s school. Notices from the superintendent’s office talking about disciplinary hearings. Letters from the Richmonds to the only private school in town asking about admission for their daughter.

  “Here it is.” Gerri lifted a piece of paper up and waved it in the air.

  I snatched it out of her hand and scanned the list. There were five addresses all together. Not as many as I feared. “I’ll call the moment I have her,” I told Gerri, as I got up.

  She nodded. I waited for her to say something else, but she didn’t. Instead, her hands went to her pearls. She fingered the smooth white beads as if they were her rosary. I watched her for a few seconds more, before heading for the door.

  Just as I reached it, I heard her whisper, “Tell Amy I’m sorry.”

  I wanted to turn back and ask her if she were sorry for anything in particular or for everything in general, but there was no time to listen to her confession. I ran down the stairs and out the hallway. The front door slammed shut behind me, and I walked out into the rain.

  Toon Town opened his good eye as I slipped inside my car. The other eye had turned a deeper shade of purple. “Did you get it?” he asked. I could detect a quaver in his voice that hadn’t been there earlier. He was getting weaker. I wondered how long he’d been able to hold out, as I handed him the list.

  “Here it is.”

  “Good.” His hands were shaking as he took it. He held it up to the street lamp. His lips moved as he read. “All right.” He tore up the list, rolled the window down a crack, and threw the pieces out into the rain.

  I guess he wasn’t taking any chances. Then he told me to get on 690 and get off at West Street.

  I did what he said.

  I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I drove. He was gripping his knees with his hands. Every once in a while his head would drop down, then he would snap to and bring it up. He was having trouble staying awake, or maybe he was having trouble staying conscious. I couldn’t decide which. When we got to West Street, he told me to keep straight. After five blocks, he directed me to make a left.

  The houses in this part of town ranged from the small but adequate to the tumbled down. Windows were frequently covered with plastic. The lawns were festooned with “For Sale” signs. Piles of old furniture dotted the curbs. It was like Appalachia. Everyone who could move out already had. The only ones left were the old, the young, the sick, and the unemployable. Recently I’d read an article by a professor of sociology asking whether drug dealers had caused this type of urban exodus or had merely taken advantage of it.

  Naturally, though, he hadn’t asked the people who were still living there—like the men standing outside. No matter what the weather, they were always there, clustered in convenience store parking lots or lounging on street corners, talking and passing bottles wrapped in brown paper bags back and forth. They followed me with their eyes, as I drove by. Condemned to idleness, I had the feeling they’d still be there if I came back the next day, the next month, or the next year.

  When we hit
North Street, Toon Town told me to follow it.

  “I have a question,” I said to him.

  “What?”

  “Did you trash my store?”

  “No. Why are asking me something like that?” His voice rose a little.

  “Then what did you mean when you said you were going to get back at me?”

  “I was gonna bug your store and your house.” He gave me a sickly grin. “Shake you up a little. But I never got around to your house. The store is what gave me the kidnap idea.” Toon Town’s voice trailed off. He looked spent. Talking seemed to tire him out.

  I kept driving. The street was four miles long and twisted and turned through several residential areas. Two miles later, we came to a commerical block, and Toon Town ordered me to slow down.

  “This is it,” he said, when he came to the middle of the block.

  The building he was pointing to was three stories high. Judging from the number of “For Sale,” “Reduced Price,” and “For Rent” signs tacked on the wall, it had been vacant for awhile. Its pseudo-modern style—glass, metal strips, and colored panels, a style popularized twenty years ago—hadn’t worn well. Almost a third of the windows were broken, and the panels, once pink, were greyed-over with dirt. As I tried to read the faded sign hanging over the main entrance, I thought about why the Richmonds didn’t just abandon the place and throw it back at the bank. Maybe they were using it as a tax write-off.

  “You know what this place was?” Toon Town asked me. Under the streetlight, his face was a technicolor kaleidoscope of purple, black, and red.

  “No.”

  “The Evan’s School for Mortuary Science.”

  Somehow, given the players in this little drama, I wasn’t surprised.

  Death seemed to be the subject, the verb, and the modifier of their universe.

  Toon Town brought his hand up and pointed to an empty spot. “You can park here.”

  I pulled over to the curb and took my phone out of the glove compartment.

  “What are you doing?” he croaked.

  “I’m calling the cops.”

  “Don’t.” He was pleading now.

  “How are you going to stop me?”