“This is all deep background, right?”
She nodded, smiling.
“The cops can be systematic and follow clues. They get to harvest carefully, making sure that each item is clean and fresh and useful. I just shake the shit out of the trees and hope something ripe falls out.”
“Remember what I said about driving a stake through Morley’s heart. Even a dead bee can sting.” She swallowed the last of her coffee, and put out her cigarette. I lit one more for her and watched her walk out. She possessed no butt at all and nice legs, shown to advantage in a dress and shoes that were chosen for her by someone who knew how. I thought about how lonely and desperate she must have been to be open to Morley.
I finished my coffee, over-tipped Gerald, and left, walking out into the humidity.
***
Since I was running on an entire night’s sleep, I pulled out the map and picked a route to the Morley family home.
The map didn’t account for construction and three unexplained traffic blockages. The townhouse looked as I’d expected. Probably worth a million or two, with a security pad outside.
I walked up to it and pressed the white button. The male voice said, “Yes?”
“Paul Costa, to see Mrs. Morley, please.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but if I need one, I’ll speak to her assistant.”
“Please wait there, sir,” said the voice.
It seemed like a long time until I was buzzed in. The man who met me at the door was taller than me, maybe six-two or three. He had dirty blonde hair, pulled back from his forehead, heavy brows and a body builder’s physique. He was wearing a golf shirt; about two sizes too small, blue slacks and running shoes. “Good afternoon, Adam.” He blinked and resumed the basilisk stare he’d greeted me with.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Costa. This way.”
I followed him through a light green alcove and hallway. Stairs to the left. There was a phone on a small table in the hall, and mirrors, photos and paintings. Elegant and tasteful, including the small chandelier overhead. There was a drink cart, beautiful seating and a butler’s table. On a love seat upholstered in some blue damask sat a lovely woman, whose picture I had seen. In most of those pictures, she had been seated gazing up at her husband, Dick Morley. She wore a dark green pantsuit that harmonized with the room. She sat perfectly erect, head up, with her legs turned slightly to the side, crossed at the ankles. She held a glass in one hand, and an unlit cigarette in the other.
“That will be all, Adam,” she said.
I pulled out my lighter and she leaned forward, taking the light.
She looked up to see that Adam had left. “You’ve got nerve,” she said, “Coming here, I mean.”
“First, may I express my condolences for your loss?”
“Thank you. Since you’re here, please make me an extra dry martini, lemon twist, straight up. You’ll find everything you need over there on the cart.”
After a quick surge of irritation, I figured, okay, let’s do it, but like a gentleman who’s a guest, not a damned servant. She had Boodles gin, and a cute little ice bucket. I mixed her drink, adding a twist of lemon peel, a classic martini.
I poured myself a healthy glass of Glenlivet. I handed her the martini, and walked across to another chair and sat. I crossed my knees and looked over at her as she sipped her drink. She looked up sharply. “That is a perfect martini, like a cold cloud on my tongue.”
“It isn’t the first I’ve made”
“No, I don’t suppose it is.”
“Mrs. Morley, I didn’t murder your husband.”
“He died of a heart attack of some kind, I’m told. Why did you push a knife into his ear?” She was calm and spoke slowly.
“Didn’t do that, either.”
She took a drag from her cigarette, pulling so hard that the tip grew extra long and hot, then took a large sip of her drink. “One of the joys of being the widow, instead of his wife, I can smoke and drink again. I really missed that. Always in moderation, never smoking. It was ghastly. Wonderful perks, though.”
“I’m sure. I don’t mean to intrude on your grief, but I do need your help to clear myself.”
“Paul, my husband was a leader, an outstanding legislator, and well liked by his colleagues. Each election got him a higher percentage of votes. He had only a few enemies, and they aren’t killers.
“You, on the other hand, had already beaten him up and ejected him from a bar where he was peaceably minding his own business.”
“Not exactly.”
“Perhaps you could elucidate,” she said and smiled at using the word. There was the slightest slurring of her sibilants. If I hadn’t seen her drinking, I might have thought she had a lisp.
“Of course. He was in the bar, and had been drinking. I declined service and offered some alternatives. He got loud and abusive and I escorted him out, after he tried to manhandle me.”
Her eyebrows rose. “He tried to hit you?”
“No, ma’am, he just grabbed me.”
“Please don’t call me ‘ma’am,’ Paul. It makes me feel old and unattractive.”
“Anyway, I had to control him as I walked him out. Once a customer grabs you—”
“Yes, I understand.”
“If this is too painful, we can stop,” I said, meaning exactly the opposite.
“You mix a nice numbing drink. He loved power and his job.”
“Mrs. Morley, I’m under suspicion and I did not kill him. I found his body, that’s all. I can’t just sit and hope for the best. I need to know as much as I can, and you might be able to help.”
She stopped to consider, then looked me up and down. “What is it you need?”
I realized that this would be my only chance at her; that she was slightly drunk and somehow receptive, whether grieving or relieved. “I still think your husband was murdered, Mrs. Morley. I need to know how it was done, and who would want to do it.”
She continued to sip her martini, and take long drags from her cigarette, considering my speech. “I have a friend; he’s with the government. It’s possible that he can help.”
“Could you introduce me to your friend?”
“I’ll call him as soon as you leave.”
I wrote down the name and number of my motel, and gave her my room number. “I appreciate it.”
“Dick was a good Congressman, but he had his failings, I suppose.”
“How about your son, Jason, I believe?”
“Chip off the old block, fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree. He’s his father’s son, one hundred percent.”
“Same kind of integrity surrounding his job?”
“Job? He was my husband’s aide, working for a dollar a year. He lives off of his father and me. Has an apartment, but the rent comes from my checkbook.”
I was wondering how close he really was to his father. I opened my mouth to ask.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” said a male voice.
“Jason, your language,” she said mildly.
“Mom, this man killed my father, and he’s sitting here, drinking our liquor and chatting with you like a—.”
“Jason, I know no such thing, and neither do you. He’s a guest in our house and I won’t have him spoken to in that manner.”
He glared at us. He looked just like his pictures. His hair was perfectly cut and styled, and he was dressed in gray slacks and a designer shirt. He was perspiring freely, so he had just come in from the heat. Adam stood next to him, with a pretty young lady. The daughter. Adam’s bearing screamed that he was carrying a gun. I looked at his arms and hands and decided it was probably at the small of his back.
“Adam,” said Jason Morley, “Mr. Costa was just leaving. Perhaps you could show him the door?”
“Certainly, Mr. Morley.” I stood and put my drink carefully onto the coaster.
“Mrs. Morley, I appreciate your hospitality and graciousness, under the circumstances.”
I felt the sudden power shift in the room. From her to her son, as sudden as the drop of an axe blade.
Adam approached from the side. “Don’t need the rough stuff, Adam,” I said turning so that we faced each other squarely.
“Jason, please stop this.” A girl’s voice, soft and hesitant. The sister.
I glanced at the siblings. He had a wolfish leer on his face. The sister, Charlene, as I remembered, had a hand to her mouth and a mixed look of fascination and fear. Their mother lit another cigarette, and her martini glass was empty except for a lemon peel. I had a feeling that if I’d mixed her another drink, she’d have taken it from me with the same sang-froid.
“Please come with me, Mr. Costa,” said Adam, quite calmly. Then he grabbed my wrist in his left hand, keeping his gun hand free. He had it half right. I took my own hand, the one he was gripping, in my free hand and twisted and pulled at the same time. My bent arm snapped free as I twisted away. I paused for a split second and spun back towards the houseboy.
The torsion and drive from my hips concentrated at my elbow as it met Adam’s face. His head snapped away and he clawed at his back with his right hand.
I stepped forward and grabbed his short ponytail with one hand, his chin with the other, turning his face upward, pulling his head downward. That spun him to the floor, on his stomach. Since I had a fistful of hair, I pushed it into the nape of his neck as hard as I could, dropping one knee onto the back of his thigh. I pulled the Glock from his holster, ejected the magazine, and jacked out the chambered round.
“Adam,” I said, “You should never carry a round in the chamber, it’s dangerous. You could blow your ass off that way.”
“Mrs. Morley, you are a gracious hostess. Thank you. Jason, I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
“Bet on it, asshole,” he said. Adam was dazed, but still stared at the empty pistol. The sister hadn’t moved.
“Pierced by your rapier wit,” I said, walking back down the sterile, elegant hallway and closing the door softly behind me.
I was back at my motel in half the time it took me to get into the city. Between the quick drive, and the atavistic joy from hitting back, I was feeling pretty good. I hadn’t solved the real problem, but Adam probably took part in assaulting Lois, and the primitive in me rejoiced in the once-removed payback. It made a point and I had gained some insight into Morley’s family.
Chapter 9
I struggled with the little plastic keycard to get my door open, then sat down to read Sandra’s file. Her research started with Morley’s personal details, birth, education, military service, marriage and children.
Camille, his wife, was the middle daughter of a Newport old money family of declining wealth. From the marriage she gained income and prestige, and he locked into a whole new league of funding and support networks. He also acquired a decorative and decorous ornament for campaigning. His first known step off the line was with a colleague’s aide during his first term. They parted amicably, but off the record, she described him as twisted. He had allowed his ten-year-old son to watch them having sex, and told her about it afterwards.
There were others, where videos were recorded and given to the son. In one case, drugs were used to allow the fourteen-year-old boy to have his first sexual experience while the father watched and taped it. After a few pages, it was numbing and I felt awful about my growing detachment. I set it aside and lit a cigarette. There was a small coffee maker in the washroom area, so I started a pot.
Someone knocked at the door. I looked over at the file, figured it was best kept private and started in that direction. “Who is it?” I asked. There was an indecipherable male voice on the other side of the door. I closed the file, and for no particular reason, slipped it into the plastic laundry bag hanging from the rod. I wanted it hidden and that was the quickest spot.
I slipped the security bar back and turned the lever handle. The door exploded inward, and there they were. Jason and Adam faced me; Adam with his Glock pointed at my face. Jason was behind him as they walked into the room. The entire left side of Adam’s face was swollen, and his eye was nearly closed. That felt nice, until I remembered the gun, and that there were two of them and that I was alone.
Jason was smiling, and there was something small, but apparently heavy dangling from his right wrist. He stepped forward and swung it towards me. There was a peculiar sensation and smell, and the room seemed to flow down and away. I saw his arm go back again, maybe I saw it come forward, or maybe I just knew that it did.
Chapter 10
When I opened my eyes, the room was dim. There was a long time where I lay still. It took some time to realize I was on the floor. When I did, it was baffling. How did I get down there? Slowly, things started coming back to me and I started to rise, first one hand under one shoulder, then the other. I tried to do a slow, agonizing push-up. I collapsed to the floor. The flare of pain in my ribs radiated to my shoulders and down to my crotch. On the fourth try, I got myself onto my hands and knees.
I was still there, swaying, waiting for the nausea to pass, when Sandra was magically kneeling at my side, with an ice bag and some towels. She got me into a chair somehow and was unbuttoning my shirt. She held an ice pack against the left side of my forehead and hissed when she saw my chest. I looked down slowly, and waited for the blurring and random clouds to clear.
They had kicked the cheerful shit out of my ribs and crotch while I was out. I felt lucky that they hadn’t gang-raped me, for good measure. “They searched the room, too, it looks like,” she said. “My file?”
“File?” There was a time where it was dark, and then I could see.
“Paul? Paul, my file.”
I remembered a file. “Hid. Gimme a second.” I could remember things from the day before. “Time is it?” I heard myself ask.
“Three in the morning,” she answered slowly. “I finished work and I thought we could talk, I was so wired, but when I came to your door, it was partway open, so I walked in and found you. I unplugged the coffee pot, it was burning up.”
“Out long, then.” The coffee pot. When did I start it? I had to think for a long time, about reading the file, and then somebody knocked on the door and I put it— over there. “Okay, laundry bag.” My clothes were still on the hangers, but looked rumpled. She returned with the file in her hands, flipped through it and sagged back into her chair.
“It’s all here, but out of order.”
With my head clearing, I became aware of pain. My ribs felt bruised, at least, cracked maybe in a couple of places and my crotch felt swollen and I was sick to my stomach. She looked hard at me and helped me to bed, packing more ice around my head, ribs, and handing me a bag for the nether regions. She kicked off her shoes and curled up on the chair next to the worktable. She rested her hands on one high arm, laid her head on her hands, and left her eyes open to watch.
Once in awhile she woke me, shined a cigarette lighter in front of each eye, then let me go back to sleep. It was full morning before I woke. I couldn’t find anything that didn’t hurt, including my tongue where I must have bitten it.
“Interesting life you lead, Paul Costa.”
“You mean getting beaten up?”
“You talk in your sleep. All women’s names, ‘Isabel,’ ‘Marisol,’ ‘Dana.’ You must keep busy. It makes me wonder what’s wrong with me. At the restaurant, you gave out the ‘Thanks but no thanks’ pretty clearly.”
“Isn’t you, Sandra.”
“You already let me down gently, so you don’t have to say anything about that.”
Thank God, I thought. The phone rang and we both started. She didn’t attempt to get it. That told me something, too. She’d been in rooms or apartments where a woman answering the phone wasn’t safe. The loneliness in her brought on a wave of pity on one hand, and a bit of anger as well.
“Hello?” I said.
&nbs
p; “Paul,” said Mrs. Pina, sounding angry and I hoped, relieved. Mrs. Pina was not a person I wanted to be angry. “You didn’t call last night.”
“Mrs. Pina, I’ll explain when I come back. There’s a lot happening here. Can you put ‘Sol on the phone?”
Even the silence that followed sounded angry, but eventually I heard her voice, “Daddy?” There was both question and fear in it.
“Honey, I’m so sorry. I was out until late, and I couldn’t use a phone. Everything’s okay, though.”
“Daddy, I was so scared. I thought all kinds of things.”
The pang I felt at the eighth part of truth I’d just told her got worse. I was furious, too. I was angry with myself, the people I was involved with, and the whole damned situation.
“’Sol, it’s okay. I have a little more to do down here, but I’ll be home soon. Okay, sweetheart?”
“Promise, Daddy?”
“Promise. Just as soon as I can. I miss you too much to stay away.”
“Mrs. Pina’s pretty mad, Daddy.”
“Can you fix that for me?”
She giggled. “Maybe, we’ll see.”
“I love you, little one.”
“Love you, too, Daddy.” She was upset enough to she let me get away with calling her “little one.” She thought it was a baby name.
When I turned from the nightstand, Sandra was looking at me. “Nice,” she said. “Was that your kid?”
“Marisol, my daughter.”
“How old?”
“Eleven, gorgeous, of course.”
“Of course. I have to go pull myself together and go to work. You need the hospital. I think you might have some broken ribs. You definitely have a concussion, and that cut over your eye needs a stitch or two. I didn’t take you earlier because I didn’t think I could get you into my car, and you didn’t want an ambulance. I can drop you at the E.R. on my way to work, and call housekeeping to get the blood out of the carpet.”
I looked down and saw a stain on the carpet. I hadn’t noticed that I’d been cut. I knew that I was pretty well done, in terms of mobility and so forth, but I could make a few calls, gather a bit more information and then go home. The hospital would cost me a day, but she was right.
Last Call Page 10