Bound to Die

by Laurie Rockenbeck

  She flipped through papers. “Nolan and Payne installed the system at Schorr’s business. That’s the only work done over there. But that was six months ago. That’s a long time to make any real connection stick.”

  The ride out to Issaquah took them half an hour. Once they were off the freeway, it took another ten minutes to get through the main drag and south of town. “How does someone living out here work in Seattle? Wouldn’t the commute totally suck?”

  “It does. Did it for a couple of years early on. We moved into town when it was clear I was permanently SPD.”

  A group of paragliders jumped from the top of a small mountain as they passed by. The brightly colored gliders made swoopy circles before landing on a grassy field close to the road.

  “Looks like fun,” Court said, pointing up to where one tandem glider had floated off the rocky ridge above.

  “Did it once. Right from there, too. Some of those jumpers are nuts, but it was fun. Once.”

  Court’s estimation of his partner went up a notch. She had the balls to jump off a mountain. That was always a good sign.

  They drove through several smaller developments surrounded by large trees. He liked hiking in the mountains, but living around trees made him feel claustrophobic. He preferred the smaller, manicured city lots and apartment-scape he was used to. The weather was barely cloudy, but the threat of rain hung over them as they wound through the streets. He couldn’t see any distinguishing landmarks, and every curve blocked what might be ahead from view.

  “You drive like my grandmother,” Ivy said. “Can’t you go any faster?”

  “I only drive as far as I can see.” He slammed on the brakes as a kid skated across the street ahead of them.

  “I’m driving back.”

  Payne’s neighborhood consisted of cookie-cutter houses and had a family-friendly vibe to it. Basketball hoops hung proudly from the middle of more than half the garages. Unlike the staid beiges and greens in most upscale developments, exterior paint colors covered the whole spectrum in this one. A purple monstrosity halfway up the block from Payne’s house extinguished any question about the neighborhood’s adherence to any covenants and restrictions.

  Ivy parked right in front of the For Sale sign with a bright red SOLD banner nailed to it at an angle. The yard was well groomed, with a fresh layer of bark around the shrubs at the front of the house. Court took an information flyer out of the box on the sign. The house was a three-bedroom built in 1995 with an asking price of 642K. Payne would be walking away with a good chunk of change. The tax records had indicated Barbara Payne was the original and sole owner of the house. If it was free and clear, there’d be enough money to pursue all sorts of dreams.

  When there was no answer to his knock, Court cupped his hands around his eyes so he could see in through the glass on one side of the door. There was some furniture in place, but it had the air of being empty and staged for show. He rang the bell again.

  “We can see if anyone knows where he went. I’ll take this side.” Court waved to the neighbors to the west of the Payne house. Ivy nodded and set out in the opposite direction.

  The kid who answered the first door couldn’t be more than eight and reached out to touch Court’s shiny badge when he held it out for him. “You home alone?” Court asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Did you know the people who lived next door?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you remember about them?”

  The kid twisted his lips around as he considered the question and peered around the door to look at the vacant house as if to remind himself who used to live there. “I liked Timmy. He was nice. I didn’t like Maw-Maw so much.”

  “MaMa?” Court asked, knowing he didn’t have it quite right.

  “Everyone called her Maw-Maw. She was old. She was loud. She died.” He pronounced it more like the sound a crow makes.

  “How well did you know Timmy. Was he your friend?” Court asked.

  “A little. Maw-Maw used to babysit me sometimes, and I would play with his stuff. He had wires and things in the garage. He was nice.”

  “Do you know where Timmy went?”

  The little boy shook his head. Court was about to thank him and leave when the boy added, “He pays me though.”

  “Pays you for what?”

  He opened the door wider and pointed to a paper sack. “I get his mail after school.”

  “Did he tell you when he’d come get it next time?”

  The boy shook his head.

  Asking the kid to hand over the mail would complicate things particularly if there was any useful evidence in the bag. He weighed the options for a couple of seconds. “Can I take a look at the stuff in the bag?”

  The little boy handed it to Court. He pulled out the small pile, flipping through it rapidly. Almost everything was addressed to Barbara Payne. Lots of flyers and coupon books. A couple of bills. There was one item addressed directly to Payne, a letter from Haubek. He put everything back in the bag and handed it back to the boy.

  “So, you sure you’re not alone in there?” he asked again.

  “Yeah,” he said, bringing the door in close against his face, making it hard for Court to see past him.

  “All right then, thanks for your help.”

  “Hey mister,” the kid said as Court turned away. “Is Timmy in trouble?”

  “I don’t think so. I need to ask him a few questions, is all.” Court paused and pulled out card and scribbled a note on it. “Put that in his mail, will you? Make sure he sees it when he comes to pick it up.”

  With any luck, Payne would get his mail soon and actually call him. He wasn’t going to hold his breath. He felt a little guilty about it, but dialed CPS to report an eight-year-old being home alone. The kid was probably okay, but eight was too young to leave without reporting it.

  Three more interviews later, and Court was seeing a story take shape. Everyone he talked to knew both Paynes. The general picture of the mother was she spent a lot of her time in floral muumuus and curlers. She coddled her miniature poodle to the point of dressing it up with pink bows and carrying it in a purse while shopping. The others he talked to had all described a reclusive woman with a very nice son. A couple thought maybe she had a screw or two loose.

  She was a heart attack in fuzzy slippers waiting to happen. No one was surprised when the ambulance rolled out of the driveway without the flashers and sirens. No one was shocked when the house was on the market two days after Barbara Payne had died, either.

  The story was that she’d had Timothy when she was older. Her husband was already sixty when the baby came, and he’d died in a boating accident fifteen years later. Mrs. Payne and her son had moved in when the house was newly built in 1995. No one remembered her working a day. The gossip was that the husband’s retirement fund or life insurance bought the house with plenty to spare. No one knew where Timothy had moved to.

  Court met Ivy back at the car and compared notes.

  “Bless those nosy neighbors and gossip,” Ivy said.

  She’d gotten a similar story from her side of the street. The most significant thing had come from the woman who lived right next door. There had been a loud fight between Payne and his mother the night she had died. When pressed, the neighbor admitted that fights between the two were pretty common.

  Court dialed the realtor’s phone number. His call went to voice mail, so he left a message. The realtor ought to know how to get in touch with Payne.

  39

  As they were pulling into the parking lot, Court got a text telling him Schorr was in-house. “You want to watch?”

  “Yes, but I don’t want him to see me. If he knows I’m working this case...” She shuddered and closed her eyes for a second. “Synagogue is going to be incredibly painful as it is. Me knowing he was seeing a domme like that? Him knowing I know is too much to contemplate.”

  “If he’s got much to tell us, he’ll find out. If he’s guilty of something, he’ll
definitely find out.”

  Ivy closed her eyes and leaned back against her seat. “Yeah. I know. I would like to delay it as long as possible.”

  “He knows you’re in Homicide, right?”

  “Maybe. Not necessarily. It’s not like I jumped up during service and let everyone know about my promotion.”

  Court made sure that Schorr was in the interrogation room before they entered the building. Court stood in front of the small window of the door while Ivy sneaked past to enter the one-way viewing room where she could observe them unseen.

  Schorr sat at the table, hands folded placidly on top. Next to him, a short, barrel-chested man in a suit tapped his fingers against a folder in front of him. He stood and introduced himself to Court as Schorr’s attorney, his thick smile warm and genuine all the way to his eyes.

  Court sat across from the two men, read Schorr his rights and got their acknowledgement for the recording.

  “Why didn’t you return my phone call yesterday?” Court asked.

  “Ignoring one’s phone is not a crime,” Schorr said. The attorney patted his wrist and gave him a warning look.

  “My client is right. What’s so important you send officers to collect him? If what you want is answers to questions, you need only ask. Mr. Schorr can be a very cooperative man,” he said in a heavy Israeli accent.

  “Mr. Schorr, tell me about your relationship to Mistress Fidelma.”

  He sat back, crossing his arms. “There’s not much to tell. I’ve been seeing her once a week for the last four years.”

  “And where would you see her?”

  He glanced at the lawyer, who held his hands open. Schorr let out an explosive breath. “Fine. She has an office on Capitol Hill. What’s this about? Is she okay?”

  Again, worry about the domme. Both Duffy and Schorr showed concern for her above themselves. “She’s fine. Tell me about how you gained access to the office.”

  “What? At Allegiance Investments?” He pulled the cardkey out of his wallet and handed it over. “It’s a card key, pretty much like any card key these days. She programmed it so I can use it at a certain time. If I’m late, I miss my appointment.”

  “And how old is this key?”

  “She had to give me a new one after hers was broken. A couple months, maybe.”

  “And, how does this system differ from the one you use at your company?”

  He shrugged. “I think we might have the same system, why?”

  Court wasn’t picking up any signals from this guy other than frustration and confusion. If Schorr had anything to do with the second key, he would have had a more telling response to the question. Court switched gears. “Do you know any of her other clients?”

  “No. And I wouldn’t want to know. It’s bad enough knowing she has other clients. I have no desire to know who they are.”

  Jealousy? Could he have found out Berkeley Drummond was a client and offed him? “Who told you about her?” Court asked.

  Schorr’s mouth rounded as if he’d been sucker-punched. “A friend.”

  “A name, Mr. Schorr. Please tell me who hooked you up with her.”

  He looked at his attorney, eyes wide.

  “I’m advising my client to not answer that question.”

  Court opened a folder and slipped Walker’s photo out onto the table. “Do you recognize this man?” he asked.

  Schorr’s examined the picture. “That’s the guy who owns Haubek, right? Walker?”

  Court pushed Nolan’s picture across the table. “What about him?”

  Schorr shook his head. “Don’t think I know him.”

  Schorr didn’t recognize the man in the drawing or Payne, either. When Court pushed a photo of Berkeley Drummond in front of him, however, Schorr’s jaw dropped open. “What? That’s Berkeley Drummond. Why are you showing me his photo? Didn’t he die a couple of days ago?”

  “You recognize him?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “How well do you know him?”

  Schorr fell back against the seat, his hand flying up to cover his mouth, eyes blinking rapidly. “Oh, my god. You’re investigating Berkeley’s death? What does this have to do with Mistress?” His whole body deflated and he drooped into his chair, shoulders slumped. “He saw her, too?”

  Interesting. He kept referring to Drummond by his first name. “How well did you know him?”

  “Not well. We only know each other through Rotary. That’s it. Worked on a committee or two together. We aren’t friends.” He paused, his eyes growing wide with understanding. “Did Berkeley die at Mistress Fidelma’s? Is that why she canceled my appointment for tomorrow?”

  Was that all this guy worried about? When he would see his domme again? Court dropped Duffy’s photo onto the pile. “What about this guy?”

  Schorr’s face paled.

  “Did Giovanni Duffy turn you on to the domme, Mr. Schorr? At a Rotary meeting, maybe?”

  Schorr looked up at the ceiling. “Okay. Okay, all right. Yes. Giovanni introduced me to her. But I never mentioned her to anyone else. Certainly not Berkeley Drummond.” Schorr closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

  “Have you had any communication with Mr. Duffy in the last two days?”

  Schorr’s eyes shot open. “What? Did you talk to him already? Why didn’t he tell me? Does he know you are investigating Berkeley’s death?”

  “I take it you are closer to Giovanni Duffy than you were to Berkeley Drummond?” Court asked.

  “Maybe not as close I as thought,” Schorr said, bitterness edging each word. His jaw jutted out as he looked past Court’s shoulder. “We are … lovers.”

  Holy shit! This was getting more convoluted by the minute. “How long have you and Duffy been lovers?”

  “Five years. We’ve been very discreet,” he said. “But, you’d think he would have called me to tell me about this. He could have warned me.”

  Court wanted to whip around to get Ivy’s response to all this, silently cursed the one-way mirror. He’d love to see the look on her face about now. “So you were seeing Duffy and the domme at the same time?” As well as Ivy?

  Schorr became a statue, his voice strangled into tightness. “What do you mean?”

  Court cocked his head, considering the question, the way Schorr was responding formed a whole new picture in his head. “Did you go to the domme together? You and Duffy?”

  He moaned a deep, mournful sound, clamping his eyes shut. He rocked back and forth, whispering something in Hebrew under his breath.

  Court caught the attorney’s eyes. The other man shrugged and put a hand on Schorr’s back. He leaned in close, whispering into Schorr’s ear. Schorr stopped his rocking.

  “Can you answer the question, Mr. Schorr?”

  He breathed in through his nostrils and out through his mouth, waving at his face with both hands. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Maybe four times a year. She would play us off each other. We would compete to be the better …” He broke off, sudden tears streaming down his cheeks. “Look, I love my wife, I love Giovanni. I don’t do monogamy well. If my wife…” He dropped his head into his hands.

  Court gave him a minute before continuing. “Do you have any idea if Mr. Duffy and Berkeley had any sort of relationship?”

  Schorr didn’t move. He had drifted into another world. Court repeated his question.

  Schorr spoke in a monotone. “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure what to believe any more.”

  “How did you feel about Mr. Duffy going out to Belle Nuit once a week?”

  He closed his eyes. “Annoyed more than anything. You wouldn’t catch me dead in there, but Vanni felt like he was doing some sort of service there. Said he wanted to make a difference to newbies. Honestly, I think he went for quick pickups. I never saw him on Wednesdays. It’s not like I would be jealous. We both have other things going on the side. Neither of us are good at monogamy.”

  “Mr. Schorr, where were you Wednesday night?” Court asked.

  40


  As soon as Schorr was gone, Ivy emerged from the observation room. “He was telling the truth in there. I don’t think he had anything to do with Drummond’s death.”

  “How well do you know him?” he asked.

  She hesitated, focused intently at a spot on the ground so he couldn’t see her eyes. “Not as well as I thought, maybe.”

  “Well enough that you’re surprised he was seeing a domme?”

  She kept her gaze lowered. “I thought I knew him better than that.”

  “I saw a picture of him on the internet. At a ball game. With your kid. I’m pretty sure you were sitting next to Schorr. Leaning against him.”

  Ivy cocked her head and met his eyes. “Yeah. So? We were friends.”

  “Close friends?”

  “I can’t believe he was seeing her the same time we were…”

  She didn’t need to finish the sentence. “Ivy, you should have told me.”

  She leaned against the wall, head back and eyes closed. “I haven’t seen him in over a year, other than briefly at events. It was three months. We saw each other a couple times a week for three months. I guess this explains why he was usually available on Wednesdays. My husband and I were going through a rough spot.”

  Her conflict of interest was more than casual. “Look, I don’t think he had anything to do with Drummond’s death. We’ve got to check his alibi, but I don’t want you working on anything to do with Schorr.”

  “Are you going to make that official?”

  Writing up the details for the official report would mean everyone would know about her indiscretion. “No, I won’t. I don’t see a need to tell the entire department you had an affair. If it comes out later, we’ll deal with it. But, if his alibi clears him, we can forget about your relationship. It’s not likely to have any bearing on the case anyway.”

  Court’s phone buzzed with a text from Mary Coleridge. The autopsy would be at eight in the morning. She was back from the derailment, but the staff was finishing the day with processing the victims they’d brought back with them.

  He tapped his watch. “There’s this family thing at seven. I gotta get a move on.”