Chapter 23
Jake’s office appeared to have been a closet in a previous life. There was room for a desk with one of those chairs on rollers behind it, a small sofa, and, next to the sofa, an end table with a lamp. The desk had a small fluorescent light on it, but there was no overhead lighting. Dee-Dee sat on the sofa, which was at a right angle to the desk, leaving me to either sit in the chair behind the desk or on the edge of the desk itself. Since I didn’t want to appear to be assuming the role of a boss here, I leaned back against the desk and strived mightily not to look down the front of her blouse.
“How’d you do that?” she asked. “You know some kind of martial arts stuff or something?”
Actually, I’ve had some training in karate, but as I once told Simon, I know just enough of it to get my ass kicked in a good street fight. I wrestled in high school and college, and I use some of that when I have to. Basically, though, whenever I find myself in a situation where I’m forced to defend myself, I just sort of go with the flow and do whatever comes naturally. I’m pretty quick, and my reflexes are okay, so I’ve always been able to handle myself. Plus, to be honest, I hate to lose. I used to play racquetball every Friday night with a friend of mine. The two of us were fairly evenly matched, so the games were always close. One night, though, I was distracted. I think I was in the middle of a difficult case, but whatever it was, I suddenly found myself on the wrong side of a 14-0 score. Kenny and I played to 15, and the winner had to get all 15 points and win by two, no quitting after an 11-0 whitewashing or anything like that. Anyway, I wasn’t upset with Kenny, just mad at myself for losing my focus. I let the tiger out just a bit that night, and I scored 16 straight points to win, 16-14. Later, in the locker room, as he was toweling off, Kenny looked at me for a minute and then said, “JB, remind me never to get you pissed off at me, okay?”
“I just got lucky,” I told Dee-Dee.
“Un-uh,” she said. “Until tonight, I’ve never seen anyone handle Marko. You didn’t get lucky, you got good, and I think you’ve been that way for a while. Anyway, what can I do for you?”
And she crossed her legs and leaned slightly forward. This was another one of those times when I was going to have to remember to maintain that old focus.
“Dee-Dee, I’m not sure how to ask this, but could you describe the nature of your relationship with Terry Pendleton?”
“Sure,” she said, “I was his mistress.”
Well, that took away some of the awkwardness, anyway.
“And by mistress,” I said, “you mean . . .”
“I mean that we’d get together once in a while and fuck each other’s brains out. Am I embarrassing you, Jeremy? You seem a little red in the face.”
“No, not at all,” I said. “It’s just that I usually don’t encounter such, uh, honesty in my profession.”
“Let’s be clear about one thing, okay?” she said. “There’s a difference between a mistress and a whore. I never took any money from Terry, that was never part of our arrangement. He’d give me little gifts sometimes, and we’d go on overnight trips once in a while, but he never left an envelope filled with fifties on my night table, you know?”
I wasn’t anywhere near expert enough on the topic to debate the difference between a mistress and a whore with Dee-Dee or anybody else, and even if I were, that wasn’t my purpose.
“When did you two meet?” I asked her.
“Last Halloween. I remember ‘cause we had a bachelor party here that night, and I was wearing a cute little black outfit, made me look like a cat. Terry noticed me right away, asked for my number, and we started getting together.”
“Did you, uh, know he was married?”
“Well, there’s married and there’s married-married, you know? Terry was just married.”
Again, I felt a little out of my depth here, so I didn’t go into that married or married-married thing.
“What kind of arrangement did the two of you have?”
“We’d meet somewhere every couple of weeks, sometimes more often, sometimes less. Depended on his schedule, both at home and work. Usually, he’d come to my place, but sometimes we’d go out to dinner somewhere far enough away that there wasn’t any chance of our being seen by anybody who’d know him. And a couple of times, when he had to go out of town on business, he gave me plane fare to fly and meet him. Once to New York and once to Toronto. That was fun. We saw Beauty and the Beast.”
“How do you feel about the fact that he’s dead?”
“I’m sorry he was killed, I really am, but, hey, whaddya gonna do, you know? Shit happens.”
This was a tough cookie.
“Who else knew about the relationship?” I asked.
“Not too many people,” she said. “Like I told you, we almost always met at my place or somewhere else.”
“Never here?”
“Yeah, once. About two months ago, we were supposed to meet at my apartment, but I had car trouble, so I called Terry at work and asked him to pick me up here, and he did.”
“Anybody see you and him together?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, he was only here for, like, thirty seconds. He just stuck his head in the door, got my attention, and we left.”
“Terry was married. What about you? Any boyfriends who might have been less than happy about you spending time with someone else?”
“I got no boyfriends, just friends. Look, Jeremy, I’m thirty-two years old, I been married and divorced twice. The only good thing I can say about both those relationships is that there weren’t any kids. I stopped lookin’ for Prince fucking Charming a long time ago. I don’t hate men, I just know what they’re like, that’s all. I got one thing to offer,” and here she spread her arms out and leaned back so that her skirt rode even higher up her legs and her breasts jutted out even more, “and you’re lookin’ at it.”
“What about Marko? Would he have known about you and Terry?”
“Marko? I doubt it, although I think he was here that night I had car trouble.”
“Would he be likely to be jealous of Terry?”
“I can see where you’re going, and I have to tell you that you’re way off. Marko’s definitely got a major case on me, and he might try to beat the crap out of someone he thought was hanging around me too much, but I can’t see him shooting anybody.”
“Do you know if he owns a gun?” I asked.
“I can’t say for sure, but I know I’ve never seen him with one.”
“Did Terry ever talk about work with you?”
“Well, sure, we talked about his work, my work, who the Steelers were playing that week, everything.”
“When was the last time you saw him before he was killed?”
“Just a few days before.”
“Did he say anything at all that night about hoping to be made a partner at his law firm?”
There was the slightest hesitation before she said, “Un-uh, not that I can remember.” It could have been nothing, but I wasn’t sure.
“Do you think he was seeing anybody else, besides you?”
“Hell, I don’t know, but I’d guess not. It wouldn’t have bothered me if he was, but I don’t think so.”
“Okay, thanks, Dee-Dee. If I think of any other questions, would you mind if I contacted you?”
“Not at all,” she said, and she recrossed her legs.
I got up to leave, but before I could open the door, she walked over to me and put her hand on my arm.
“Hey, Jeremy, I know you probably think I’m a bitch, but Terry and I knew exactly what our relationship was all about, and it was a good deal for both of us. He got to spend time with this body, and I got a few little gifts and an occasional field trip. As far as his marriage was concerned, that was his problem, not mine. I mean, I’m sorry he was shot, and I’m sorry for his wife, but there’s nothing I can do about any of that, especially now.”
I looked at her for a minute.
“I don’t think you’re a bitch, Dee
-Dee.”
And I left the room and walked back along the bar to the front door.
Definitely one tough cookie.
Chapter 24
I spent the next couple of days trying to find excuses not to meet with Rachel Pendleton. I’d have to talk with her eventually, since I now knew for sure that her husband had been unfaithful, and despite Dee-Dee’s claims to the contrary, her affair with Terry did open up at least the possibility of another motive for his murder. One scenario that had to be considered was his being killed by the jealous husband or boyfriend from some other extramarital liaison. Also, what if Rachel had known about Terry’s cheating? Could she have hired someone to murder him? I really didn’t think so, since I considered it unlikely that her circle of friends included many hired killers. And speaking of hired, why hire me, especially if the cops had already written Terry’s death off as a mugging? Plus, at our first meeting, her grief had definitely seemed genuine. Still, I would have to talk with her, in person, about this aspect of her husband’s life. It wasn’t something I was looking forward to, but it had to be done. Meanwhile, I had asked Denny if he would check out Marko for me. Denny told me I’d have to bribe him for any information he came up with, and, after some negotiation, we agreed that I’d buy him lunch on Friday at the Grille on Seventh downtown.
I got there early, and while I waited for Denny, I thought some more about my conversation with Deidre Wilson, especially about her response when I’d asked her if Terry had talked about being made a partner at Chaney and Cox. Had she hesitated before answering, or had I imagined it? I’m usually pretty good at reading people, and my gut feeling was that Dee-Dee knew something that, for whatever reason, she wasn’t willing to share with me. I also thought about the way she looked at life. I couldn’t imagine being as hard in my assessment of women as a group as Dee-Dee was of men. Of course, I wasn’t lugging two divorces around as part of my past, either. That might tend to change one’s outlook. Having never been married, let alone divorced, I wasn’t in a position to say.
Looking up, I saw that Denny had arrived. He was wearing a dark gray suit that probably cost more than my monthly mortgage payment. A bright yellow silk tie was knotted perfectly at the top of his pale blue dress shirt, and gold cufflinks showed at the ends of his coat sleeves. His black loafers, which I knew he’d had custom-made on his last trip to Italy, gleamed with a luster that would have made a drill sergeant weep.
As he sat down opposite me, I asked, “Didn’t you wear that same outfit a couple of times last week?”
Denny just chuckled and shook his head a little. Actually, I don’t think he’s ever worn the exact same outfit twice. There’s always some variation, maybe just a different tie or shirt, but always something.
After we’d ordered our lunches, he said, “Anybody been following you?”
Since my run-in with Manny, I’d been extra careful about checking for tails.
“If they are,” I said, “I haven’t spotted them.”
Denny thought about that for a minute.
“Then they weren’t there,” he finally said. “You’d’ve seen them.”
“Yes, I would,” I agreed. “What about my man Marko? Any news?”
“Marko Stevenson,” said Denny. “Got a record but nothing really bad. Couple of minor assault charges. Served a few months on one of them. Arresting officer in that incident mentioned something about Roid rage in his report. Marko’s been out of trouble, at least officially, for over a year now.”
“Own a gun?”
“Nope, at least not one that’s registered in his name. You like him for the Pendleton murder?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “At the moment, he’s just one of many in the growing cast of characters in this little drama. How about Chaney and Cox?”
“Looked into that myself,” said Dennis. “Firm seems to be okay. About the only slightly unusual thing about them is that, for a small Pittsburgh firm, they handle a good number of overseas transactions. ‘Course, there’re two other small law firms in that same building that also deal mostly with international clients, so that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
“They always been at Fifth Avenue Place?” I asked.
“Un-uh,” said Dennis. “Until about five years ago, they weren’t much more than a neighborhood legal office. Then they moved downtown and started acquiring some A-list clients, which begat even more of the same, and so on. Now they’re so successful that I doubt if any of the partners has actually seen the inside of a courtroom in years. The American dream, JB.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Our lunches arrived, and while we ate, we made plans to get together for some basketball the following Sunday afternoon. A group of rookie cops plays in a year-round league, and occasionally, when they’re a couple players short, Denny and I fill out the team. I think we originally made the cut mostly because of Denny’s rank, but following our first game, we were in on merit, especially after Denny slam-dunked over three opposing players, two of whom ended up hobbling off the court.
After lunch, Denny walked me back to the garage where I’d left the 4Runner.
“Sorry I wasn’t more help, JB,” he said.
“Well,” I told him, “don’t feel too bad. I only had to buy you lunch, and, actually, I thought I’d have to spring for dinner. Got ya again, man.”
“Ha!” said Denny, as I turned to walk into the parking garage. “You idiot. I was gonna give you the information, ‘cause I felt sorry for you. Now, who got who?”
Then, laughing, Denny and his mortgage-payment suit went off to combat crime and, for all I knew, any fashion faux pas that he spotted along the way.
Chapter 25
The next morning, I stretched my run out a little, doing about ten miles through various paths in Frick Park. I needed the time to think about the Pendleton case and to clear my mind a little.
Okay, so maybe I also wanted to get a little buffed in preparation for my semi-blind date at Angie and Simon’s barbecue that night. Hey, can’t a fella feel pretty once in a while?
When I got home from the run, I spent some up-close-and-personal time with my weights, and then, after a quick shower, I went out back and looked for birds’ nests. I found one, about half finished. I took it down and tossed it in the trash can, enduring all the while what I assumed was a pretty fierce scolding from a couple of robins. Live with it, guys, I thought. The rest of us aren’t lucky enough to be able to eliminate most of the frustrations in our lives by building a new nest every twenty-four hours.
I thought I’d sit and read the morning paper for a bit. Well, actually, I should have just said the paper, since Pittsburgh hasn’t had an afternoon newspaper for several years now. Not something the city fathers (and, I assume, mothers) trumpet in the press releases that are sent out to encourage people to live in the area. I settled down on my living room sofa, put my feet up on the coffee table, and began reading, figuring I’d take a nap afterwards and just spend the day relaxing at home. But within a few minutes, I decided to clean out the closet in my guest room. I’d been meaning to get to that particular chore for several weeks, and now seemed like as good a time as any. I spent about ten minutes up there before realizing that I’d miscalculated how much work was involved. The closet was definitely a rainy-day project. Instead, since it was getting close to noon, I thought I’d walk into Shadyside and grab a light lunch. As I was putting on my jeans, the phone rang. It was Angie.
“Hey, Ang, how’re you doing?” I said.
“Jeremy, I just wanted to remind you to be here at 6:30 this evening.”
“6:30,” I said. “Got it. Can I bring anything?”
“Nope. We’re set. What are you wearing?”
“Clothes,” I replied.
“You know, Jeremy,” she said, “if smart mouth were an Olympic event, you’d be awash in gold.”
Angie can sling it with the best of them.
“The fact that you asked that question means, I assume, that you
have some specific suggestions regarding my attire for this evening’s activities,” I said.
“Of course I do,” said Angie. “First, do not, I repeat, do not wear those old jeans you usually wear over here for cookouts.”
I looked down at the jeans I’d just pulled on, the old ones I thought I’d wear that night.
“C’mon, Ang,” I said, “gimmee credit for some taste, okay? Of course, I’m not going to wear those old jeans. My tux is at the cleaner’s, so what else might be appropriate for meeting Ms. Fleming?”
“Anything casual and clean,” she said.
“You sound a little nervous, Ang,” I said. “So, you really think this Laura and I will hit it off, huh?”
“Oh, you’ll like her, Jeremy, there’s no doubt about that. Every adult male at school hits on her at least once a month, including Mr. Grim.”
“Mr. Grim? Angie, the man must be seventy years old.”
“And when you’re seventy,” she said, “how diminished a sex drive do you expect to have?”
“Good point,” I said.
“So wear something nice and try not to make a fool of yourself. You know, I just thought of something. I could tell Laura that you have laryngitis. That would help get you past those crucial first couple of hours, which is when you generally screw things up.”
“Very funny,” I said. “I will present myself at the Ventura estate at half after six this evening, and you may rest assured that both my outfit and my manners will be beyond reproach.”
“They better be,” said Angie, “’cause Laura Fleming is the best thing that’s come your way in a long time. Oh, oh, gotta go. Abby, that is not something that dogs eat. Bye, Jeremy.”
Hanging up the phone, I finished putting on my jeans, the ones that I, of course, would not even think of wearing to an important backyard barbecue, threw on an old sweatshirt and some tennis shoes, and then walked into Shadyside, where I sat at a table outside Starbucks and had a café latte and an orange scone. Not the most nutritional of lunches, but, then, I had run ten miles that morning. Self-satisfaction has its rewards.
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