by Neal Davies
Sebastian is encouraged by this new information from Mr Sheldon and knows that if he can keep the communication flowing there’s a chance of Mr Sheldon revealing more. His plan is to make Mr Sheldon feel as though he is empathic to his troubles to create a closer bond and break down the barriers between the two of them. “You’re right; people are often doing the wrong thing and then suing because they’ve hurt themself in the process. Who the hell do they think they are? What did this dumb arse look like?”
Mr Sheldon is feeling like he’s finally met someone who understands what he has to go through and replies, “I only saw the back of him, but he was a short stocky guy with dark hair and a black jacket.” Sebastian is excited as he senses the landlord may have witnessed the murderer fleeing from the building.
“Anything else you remember?”
“Yes, now that I come to think of it. There was a small scratch in the leather on the left shoulder. The only reason I remember it is it looked a bit like an L and my first name is Lance. I yelled out to him but he didn’t turn back. It’s bad enough to have kids running up and down but you’d think an adult would have a bit more sense and when I yelled the second time he just moved faster.” Mr Sheldon looks for confirmation of his statement from Sebastian. “You’d think he’d know better, wouldn’t you?”
Sebastian nods his head and agrees, “Yes you would! Thanks for your help, that’s all I need to know.” Mr Sheldon is expecting a bit more conversation and acknowledgement at this stage but Sebastian having all the information he requires from him, turns the knob to Frank’s apartment and begins to enter. Mr Sheldon stands stunned for a fleeting moment then swings on his heels and marches off muttering obscenities. Sebastian has a quick look around but the apartment doesn’t offer any more than the photos in the file did. His main objective was to get rid of Mr Sheldon, once he knows he has gone he comes back out and raps on the door of the adjacent apartment with his cane.
Sebastian hears the sound of metal on metal as a latch on the other side of the door is released and a middle aged woman peeks out from within. A single solid chain keeps a safe barrier between her and Sebastian and she says abruptly, “What do you want! And if you’re selling stuff go away, I don’t want any!”
Sebastian replies in his silky-smooth voice, “sorry for disturbing you Mrs, my name is Sebastian Cork and I am a consultant with the police department. I was wondering if I could have a word.”
“Show me some credentials!” she snaps back. Sebastian pulls his new papers from the pocket inside his jacket and passes them through the slot. The door slams in his face and he stands there patiently awaiting the outcome. He finally hears the rattle of the chain again and then the same snappy little voice pierces his ears. “Come in and hurry up. I don’t want others thinking I’m some sort of police informant!”
Sebastian is puzzled by her appearance; she has a touch of class about her. In the way she carries herself and although her clothes are well worn; they are elegant and would befit someone who once lived in a better environment. He can see she has fallen on hard times and her unhappiness has caused her to let herself go. Her matted grey hair is flattened at the back where she had fallen asleep in her chair after a drinking spree and the stench of cheap alcohol still wafts from her breath and through the room. She grabs several crumpled newspapers from an old armchair and asks him to sit down. He knows if he refuses her offer, he’ll be ostracised immediately, so he sits down as he would in his own recliner at home.
After moving several empty bottles from the coffee table next to her chair and taking them to the kitchen she sits opposite him, leans forward with a half- empty whiskey glass and says, “Well Mr Sebastian Cork, how can I help you? It’s not that often I get visitors that are as well off as you.”
He lowers his head slightly and tries to play down his wealth, “I don’t know about being well off. I’m doing ok, I guess.”
She glares at him scornfully. “Bullshit Mr Cork! Don’t try to play me for a fool! That’s a bloody Armani suit you’re wearing and those shoes! Hell, I’d hate to think what they’re worth.” Sebastian can see this woman is no fool and needs to respond quickly.
“You’re right, I guess I am well off compared to some; but to me it’s not what makes me who I am. I’m from a farming family and my parents always told me I should never forget where I come from. Yes, I have the money to buy the best of things, but I don’t deliberately go out of my way to flaunt it or make others feel small.”
She smiles and says, “Now that’s an honest answer and I’d already worked out you weren’t a snob or you wouldn’t have sat down on that dirty old chair when you came in here. You might not believe it, but I lived the high life myself when I was younger. I guess you wouldn’t know it by the way I look now.” She begins buffing up her hair and Sebastian can see she is seeking his approval,
“it really wasn’t that hard to work that out. You have a certain air about the way you walk and even though your dress is a little worn it has a tonne of class.”
She smiles at him through her yellow teeth. “You’re a bit of a smoothy, aren’t you? I like that in a man. Anyway my name is Jeanie but you can call me Jean if it’s easier. Now how can I help you, Mr Cork?”
He knows he has won her over so he smiles back and replies, “Seb, you can call me Seb. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about the fellow that was murdered here a few nights ago; do you know anything about it?”
She curls the corner of her mouth up and rests her chin between her thumb and clenched fingers, then takes her hand away from her mouth, points her finger with her thumb cocked and says, “Well Seb, let me tell you something. Those stupid policemen came banging on my door and made a hell of a racket. All the other tenants were out in the hallway having a sticky beak and there was no way known I was going to open the door to them!” She scratches her head and continues, “how the hell would I know whether the killer was there listening or not! And if he was, he could’ve come back and got me later. So I just told them through the crack in the door that I didn’t see or hear anything.” Sebastian can see she is holding on to information or she would not have concerns about the killer coming back. There is another reason that makes him think she knows more; when the police had knocked on Jean’s door she answered, yet emphasised to Sebastian that she told them nothing. He can see the reason for her action and it was motivated by self-preservation because she was frightened to talk to them in case the killer was still around. If she didn’t know anything she would have nothing to fear.
All he had to do now was find the right strategy to get her to open up by responding with, “And rightly so! Why put yourself in danger? With all the tenants listening, any one of them may have been the killer. But there was something you heard or saw wasn’t there?” She had sat back to take a sip of her drink only to recoil forward on hearing what Sebastian has said.
“Now hang on a minute! I never said I saw anything. Anyway, how do I know I can trust you? You might open up that big mouth of yours and I may be the next corpse they carry out of this hell hole!” Sebastian sighs and his face becomes solemn.
He places his weight forward on his cane and soothes, “look Jean, I’m not here to tell anyone anything. I mainly took this job with the police so I could help a friend. And you know what? Coming in here was a mistake. I can see how frightened you are and I am not going to take up any more of your time. So thank you for at least hearing me out.” Sebastian pushes harder on his cane and rises to his feet.
He knows she’s a tough old bird and as he turns to walk to the door it was no surprise to him when she says angrily, “What did you just say! Did you say frightened?” Like a fisherman he had skilfully cast the lure and instinct had made her grab it.
He swings around and looks her in the eyes and says, “Well yes, how else would a frail lady such as you feel in an apartment block like this? Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you but that’s the only way I can see it.”
Jean’s eyes fill with ra
ge as she rises to her feet and snaps, “now you listen here you overgrown poultry- mouthed prick! I’m cautious, but I’m far from scared! I’ve lived here for over 10 years now and I’ve seen things that you wouldn’t imagine in your worst nightmares. Now, see that drawer over there?” She turns and points toward the kitchen and then continues her rant, “that’s where I keep my revolver, and I’m damn sure if you call me frail again, shit for brains, you’ll be visiting the local hospital with more than a touch of lead poisoning! Are we clear?”
Sebastian smiles and replies “you’re quite a woman when you’re angry. Yes, I’m quite clear.”
Realising how she has been manipulated, Jean shakes her head from side to side, then bends forward, begins to chuckle and says, “sit down you cunning old bastard before I really do get my gun. You knew that would piss me off and you know what else? I haven’t felt that good in years. We all need something to get the fire in our bellies burning.” Sebastian sits down again and begins laughing triumphantly. He chuckles back with new- born confidence, “now don’t be too sure that fire you’re feeling in your belly isn’t that stuff you’re drinking.”
She calm’s herself from her laughter, takes a seat and says seriously, “Ok, you win! I’m going to tell you this because I liked Frank. He was good to me. We watched each other’s backs and I feel like I let the poor devil down.” She pauses briefly as she has a moment of melancholy and then continues, “There was this stocky built fellow who came on a couple of occasions when Frank wasn’t home. I never saw his face because when I’d open the door to let him know Frank was out, he’d hold his hand to the side of his head and thank me, then leave. The very last time he came, Frank was home and I knew it was him again because I looked through my spy hole in the door. As you know, the walls are paper thin in these buildings and I could hear them laughing and carrying on so I thought everything was ok. I still don’t understand what happened. One moment everything was fine and the next, all hell breaks loose.
Just before I heard the gun shot, the other guy began screaming at Frank like he hated his guts!”
Sebastian leans forward, “can you remember what he was screaming about?”
Jean’s face remained without expression while her eyelids blinked rapidly as she focused on her thoughts, “I remember the other guy yelling something that sounded like, ‘a bad motto’, and then something else, which I didn’t catch. As soon as I heard the gun go off, I raced to my door and saw the back of the stocky guy running toward the stairwell. It was really weird though, it was like he was making a faint pinging noise” Sebastian, recalling what the landlord had seen, wants to see if Jean’s description coincides with his.
“Can you remember if he was wearing a black leather Jacket with a small scratch on it?”
Jean shakes her head in disagreement with Sebastian’s suggestion and replies, “No, definitely not, it was brown!” Sebastian, now confused, slumps back into the chair.
“Are you sure?”
“Sure as I’m sitting here, definitely brown.”
Sebastian, still trying to get his head around how positive the two witnesses are about the different coloured jackets throws Jean a question that he doesn’t think through before asking it, “Why didn’t you ring the police?”
“It wasn’t like I was scared or anything but I figured if Frank was dead, what could I do? Do I really have to remind you Seb? I live here alone and it’s about survival. If you shove a helping hand out in a place like this you get it cut off. So I figured if I called them and the killer found out, he’d have a fair idea I saw him. On the other side of the coin, if I’d spoken to the cops they’d more than likely make me a suspect and who knows where that’d lead? So I took off for a couple of days and stayed at a friend’s house. The day I came back was the same day they found Frank. Look Seb, I feel crap enough for not doing something! Is there anything else you want to know?”
“No Jean, but I do want to assure you I’m not here to judge you. Given the circumstances I probably would have done the same thing myself. If it’s any consolation there’s nothing you could have done anyway. He took one to the head and would’ve died instantly.”
Jean lets out a sigh, “Thanks, I really needed to hear that. The cops tell you nothing and I was worried that he may’ve been lying there dying, when I could’ve done something to save him.”
“Well you can stop beating yourself up over it now. You made the right decision.” Sebastian pauses in thought for a moment, and then asks, “Did Frank have many friends? And can you tell me what he did for a living?”
She places her finger tips to her forehead, then pushes them away again and replies, “Honestly Seb, although I got along with him, I couldn’t tell you what he did for a living. I know there was another stocky fellow that used to visit him most Saturday nights. He carried a little red bag and Frank was always happy to see him. He called in earlier on the night that Frank was shot. I could be wrong but I don’t think he would’ve done it. They just seemed to get along too well. I can’t say for sure, but I think Frank may have been giving him some sort of lessons. The only other thing I can think of is that Frank used to have a few drinks down at the pub on the corner, called the Tuscan Tavern. Not many tenants here like it because it’s become a bit of an Italian club. Almost every Italian in the district goes there.” Sebastian reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet and places $200 into Jeans lap.
“Now before you say anything Jean, this isn’t for pity or the information you’ve given me, this is to make sure you have something a little more to my taste the next time I pop in. Now, here’s my card with my private number on it, ring me if you think of anything else.”
She grins at him and replies, “you’re a good man Seb, and if I hear or think of anything you’ll be the first to know. By the way, what’s your poison?”
“Bourbon” he answers, as he walks out the door.
“Bourbon it is.” she replies.
Sebastian could have taken the elevator, but after speaking with Jean he believes the killer is the same man the landlord saw leaving the building via the stairwell. He is hoping he will find something in the stairwell that can help in the investigation, but so far he hasn’t found a thing. Halfway down the stairs his mobile phone begins to ring. He answers and hears a familiar irate voice that begins tearing shreds off of him, “You were supposed to ring hours ago and we had a deal. I rang the station and Jim tells me you’re in one of the worst neighbourhoods in town. What the hell is wrong with you, Seb?” He had totally forgotten to ring Cynthia and now he is facing the consequences of his actions.
He weighs up his options, decides to apologise and then moves along quickly, “Cynthia, I really am sorry! I got so involved with the case that time got away from me. I’m leaving the building now and heading down to a pub on the corner called the Tuscan Tavern to follow up a lead. I was wondering if you could do a small favour and check into Gina Portola’s financial status for me, my love. I will most definitely check in with you the moment I leave there, ok?”
Cynthia’s eyes roll back in her head and there is a short pause before she gives her solemn response, “Sebastian Cork, I’ll look into this for you but let me tell you this, if you don’t ring me in one hours time, I’ll be making my own call to the commissioner asking him to withdraw you from the case. And if you don’t think I’ll do it, you better think again!”
He tucks the phone between his shoulder and ear and replies, “I’m setting the alarm on my watch right now so I won’t forget. There, it’s set for exactly one hour’s time. I’ll talk to you then. Love you, bye,” Before she can respond the line goes dead and Sebastian heads down the stairs and toward the Tavern.
Cynthia looks at her phone as though it is evil itself staring back at her and she clenches her fist so tight around it her hand begins to shake. One large deep breath helps her regain her composure. Before delving into Gina’s financial well being, she heads to the kitchen for a well deserved passionflower tea.
THE TUSCAN TAVERN
The tavern has been barely open a half hour and there are already several shady looking men drinking in a quiet corner. Sebastian strolls in full of confidence and approaches the bar. He orders his usual bourbon on the rocks and when the barman returns with his drink, he asks him if he’s heard of Frank Portola. Even though he’s a good distance from the other men, he feels as though he can cut the air with a knife on the mention of Frank’s name. One of the men in the corner slowly turns his head toward Sebastian, tilts it back quickly and says with a snarly Italian accent, “Who wants to know? Are you a cop?”
Sebastian, not wanting the other fellow to think he has the upper hand, snaps back his reply, “No I’m not a cop. I’m a friend of Frank’s brother. Who’s asking?”
A sarcastic smile appears on the other man’s face. His brow turns to folds, he opens the palm of one hand as if he’s looking for a donation and then looks at the other two men he’s sitting with and says, “Who the hell does this guy think he is?” He stares straight into Sebastian’s eyes with murderous intent, “Who the fuck do you think you are? You come into my fucking bar asking questions like some pathetic imitation of a cop and ask me, who’s asking! You’re not even Italian. Get the hell out of here!”
Sebastian quickly realises that if he continues to take the tough line with this guy he’ll embarrass him in front of his friends, and that wouldn’t have a good outcome. So he has to take a different tact this time. “You know you’re right. It was wrong of me to come into this establishment without introducing myself first. My name is Sebastian and I apologise for my actions. If you’ll let me, I’d like to buy you and your friends a drink, even if you do own the bar.” The other man still eyeballing Sebastian, eventually smiles. He looks at his companions and back at Sebastian.
“I don’t own the bar but I drink here, and that makes it mine. My name is Gino Gambini, take a seat.” Gino looks over at the barman and flicks his head back. “Pete, a scotch and two beers on Mr Sebastian, Sebastian strolls over to where they’re sitting, pulls a fifty from his wallet and places it in the centre of the table.
