by J. L. Abramo
“Mr. Diamond, I’m here on business,” he said without ceremony, “I want to hire you. I want to know who killed my boy.”
“Do you know who your son was in debt to, Mr. Cash? Who Freddie needed the ransom money to pay off?” I asked, in as businesslike a way as I could manage.
“No.”
“Listen, Mr. Cash. I’m doing the best I can to try to find out who killed a former client of mine, and why. It’s possible that it may somehow be related to what happened to your son. If that’s the case, then I’m already working on it, and I’ll be happy to tell you what I find out, no charge.”
“What have you discovered thus far?” he asked.
“To be honest, not very much. And I’d rather not get into the details with you until I can establish a connection, if I can at all. I’m quickly running out of leads.”
“Mr. Diamond. I feel the need to confess that I was not totally truthful at the time of our first meeting.”
“Oh?”
“Freddie had come to me for money. A hundred thousand dollars. I asked him why he needed it, he asked me to trust that it would be used for a good cause. I told him that his answer wasn’t satisfactory, and then he stormed off. That’s why I suspected my son when the ransom demand was also one hundred thousand. I have never trusted coincidence. I can’t help thinking that if I had given him the money, with no questions asked, Freddie might still be alive.”
“Mr. Cash, my feeling is that simply handing Freddie the money wouldn’t have changed things. You were right to ask what he wanted it for, I only wish he had given you an answer. I think that where the money went, not how Freddie managed to get it, holds the key to what happened to your son.”
“Who is paying for your services, Mr. Diamond?” he asked. “You say your client was killed.”
“No one.”
“Then please allow me to help you. It would help me a great deal, make me feel as if I was doing something for Freddie,” said Cash. “I suspect from your efforts that we may agree that late is better than never.”
“All right,” I said.
What the hell. I couldn’t work very much longer for free. I would be lucky if my wages for the film role would cover travel to Denver, getting a hotel, and maybe picking up a car to get around in. I accepted a three-thousand-dollar retainer from Cash for expenses, insisting that I would return what I didn’t use and promising to keep him informed of my progress.
Cash handed me a personal check, thanked me, then turned and left the office.
I waited until I heard Jeremy Cash go through the outer door, then I went out to the front room.
Though I hadn’t noticed on my way in, Darlene’s dog was conspicuous in his absence.
“Where’s McGraw,” I asked, “leave him at the zoo?”
“Very funny, Jake, but you’re not far off,” Darlene said. “My boyfriend spent the night. I left the two of them standing side by side this morning eyeballing a two-pound slab of Canadian bacon.”
“Think I have time to make it over there before it’s all gone?” I asked.
“Cut it out, Jake. What happened in there?”
“We were just hired to find Freddie’s killer,” I said. “Jimmy Pigeon would have loved this one.”
“Why so?” Darlene asked.
“We’re probably looking for one murderer, but you’d think we were working four cases. Brenda wanted to pay me to find Vigoda’s killer, Officer Moss came to me to find Katt’s executioner, Jeremy Cash wants to find out who murdered his son, and I’m all tied in knots about who killed Lefty.”
“And you think that Jimmy would have appreciated the irony?”
“The part that would have tickled Jimmy is that this whole thing began with the assassination of Judge Chancellor and that I’m standing here wondering how long it will be before someone approaches us about solving that riddle.”
“You can stop holding your breath,” Darlene said, handing me a slip of paper. “He called while you were in with Cash. He would like to see you at noon for lunch at the Sir Francis Drake Hotel. He’s buying.”
There were three words on the slip of paper.
Governor Charles Krupp.
I rode the Powell Street cable car down to the hotel.
I was led to the governor’s table by a kid in his early twenties who might have reminded me of Freddie Cash, if not for the white dinner jacket and wide-open eyes.
“Jake,” Krupp said, rising from the table to offer his hand, “thank you for coming. You don’t mind if I call you Jake?”
“Not at all, Governor,” I said, accepting the handshake.
“Have a seat,” he said, sitting. “What would you like for lunch?”
“I’m not really hungry, Governor. Coffee would be good.”
I was actually starving.
“I think that you are aware that Andy Chancellor was a close personal friend of mine, Jake.”
“So I understand,” I said. Chuck.
“I’m very relieved that his killers have met with retribution, and that we can now try to put this terrible tragedy behind us.” A waiter brought coffee. I almost asked him to throw it in my face to wipe off the idiotic expression.
“Which killers would that be, Governor?” I asked, when the waiter was safely away from my coffee cup.
“I met with the district attorney earlier. It was suggested that three men conspired to burglarize Judge Chancellor’s home. I learned how the robbery went terribly wrong when Andrew surprised the inside man. I was told how Officer Katt murdered his coconspirators to keep them quiet, and how Katt was later killed by a house burglar outside of his apartment. Quite ironic.”
“Quite ironic, and quite an educational meeting with the DA, Governor, sir,” I said, “and you’re quite a fast learner.”
Krupp looked at me with surprise. It was apparent that he wasn’t accustomed to being talked to quite that way. I really didn’t care.
“Pardon me?” he managed.
“Governor Krupp, I have no desire to offend you, but you have to be joking. Lefty Wright did not kill your friend Judge Chancellor, and it wasn’t a stranger who murdered that horrible excuse for a police officer.”
“And you have proof to back up these opinions, Mr. Diamond?”
“Of course not, Governor. If I had proof we wouldn’t be sitting here having this ridiculous conversation.”
“In that case don’t you believe that it would be better to let it rest, close the book and move on. For the good of the city and the state, the peace of mind of our citizens, and the memory of a great champion of jurisprudence?”
“Jurisprudence. Nice word, what does it mean?”
“Mr. Diamond, you are coming very close to being insolent,” Krupp said.
“Let’s see if I can come closer,” I said. “There is no peace of mind and there are no champions of jurisprudence when justice is ignored, and no one knew that better than Chancellor himself. I was hired by Lefty Wright to find out who killed the judge and like it or not I’m still working on it. You can close the book that was handed to you, but I’m reading a different translation. I have my own peace of mind to contend with.”
“Mr. Diamond, you should be more concerned about the enemies you could make,” said Krupp.
“Governor, I’ve been too busy lately trying to make friends to worry about making enemies. I don’t need for you to like me if it’s for the wrong reasons.”
“I don’t dislike you, Mr. Diamond. I’m only trying to do what I think is best.”
“And you really believe that closing the Chancellor case is the best thing to do?”
“Yes.”
“Then we simply disagree, Governor. I can live with that. How about you?”
“Will you keep me informed of your progress, Mr. Diamond?” Krupp asked.
“I truly don’t know, Governor. I would have to be more certain that you were really interested and for what reason. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t distrust you, I’m just not sure yet that we sha
re the same goals,” I said, “and if you’ll excuse me I have some work to do.”
I left him sitting there and I walked back to the office.
“What happened?” Darlene asked the instant I stepped through the door.
“The district attorney’s office wrapped up the Chancellor case in a neat if porous package,” I said, “and handed it to Governor Krupp with a red, white, and blue ribbon tied around it.”
“And he bought it?”
“That’s the funny part. I’m not sure he bought a word of it. I started to get the feeling that all of his discouragement was meant to encourage me.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I think that the governor wants to get the truth about Judge Chancellor’s murder the safe way, without a high-profile investigation that might fail to achieve results. I think that he just dumped it right into my lap to sink or swim with. I think that I just had coffee with a very smart politician.”
“Was the coffee any good?” asked Darlene.
Twenty Two
Once every two weeks, on Thursday night, I played pinochle with Tom Romano and Ira Fennessy. Tom ran the Tomrom Detective Agency out of an office on Ninth and Market. Ira and his younger brother, Ed, ran FBI, Fennessy Brothers Investigations, out of an office on Montgomery. We took turns hosting the game, which on that Thursday was set for Tom’s house in Pacific Heights.
We all loved the game of pinochle, but the get-together had additional benefits. It was a chance to catch up with each other’s trials and tribulations, noncompetitively. We limited the throat cutting to the playing of the cards. We had even been known to help each other out from time to time.
It was not unlike group therapy.
We traditionally began the evening with what could best be described as small talk, albeit small talk with an often high level of enthusiasm. Movies, the latest classical CD releases, newly discovered breakfast joints, the cops to steer clear of. After a couple of hands, and a few drinks, we would eventually get down to cases.
Ira had just covered a six-fifty bid in spades. He bought two tens and the nine of spades in the kitty, buried thirty points, caught the other ace of trump hanging, and made the hand by five points. While I was shuffling the deck for the next deal, Tom brought up the murder of Judge Chancellor.
I filled them in on what I knew and what I thought I knew about the case.
“So, you think that the governor was actually egging you on?” asked Ira.
“I really do. I think that Krupp is cagey. He gave me a good push and then he scuttled out of the way.”
“And your only suspect is Lowell Ryder?” asked Tom. “Yeah,” I said, “too bad, huh.”
“It’s weak, Jake,” said Tom. “The guy is running for office, he has every reason to want the case set aside without having to actually be the guilty party. I doubt that what his brother did fifteen years ago would ultimately hurt the outcome of the election. Ryder is the biggest thing since sourdough bread right now Put yourself in Ryder’s shoes—well never mind that. But I’m sure you can see that if this case is the dead end it seems to be, it would behoove Ryder to let it rest. At least until after the votes are in.”
“What about the Cash kid, Jake?” asked Ira. “Do you think there’s a connection?”
“I don’t know. Lopez put a bug in my head. I wish I knew who he was in debt to.”
“You might ask Tony Carlucci,” Ira suggested.
“I might.”
“What is it, Jake?” asked Tom.
“What’s what?”
“The thing that has you hanging onto Ryder. The thing that has you going off to Denver to play actor, to talk to a brother who hasn’t seen Ryder in fifteen years.”
“That’s the thing, Tom. Why? Why did Ryder and his brother fall out of touch after what happened in that parking lot in eighty-five?”
“Maybe Ryder is simply ashamed or embarrassed about having a brother who’s an ex-con,” said Ira.
“Maybe,” I said, looking at my cards. “I’ll bid four-fifty.”
“Pass,” said Tom.
“Seven hundred,” said Ira.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Tom.
“Pass,” I said. I didn’t have a single spade in my hand.
“I’m looking for an ace of spades,” Ira said, turning over the three-card kitty.
Ten of diamonds. King of diamonds. Ace of spades.
“Those diamonds won’t hurt,” he said, smiling. “I think it’s a lay down.”
On Friday morning, I arranged breakfast with Joey Russo and Sonny. I asked them to put the word out through their pipeline that we were looking for whoever Freddie Cash was in to for heavy gambling debts and looking for Alfred Sisley. Before breaking up the card game the night before, Ira and Tom said they would do the same.
I called Troy Wasinger in Denver, to see if we could get together before the shoot began on Monday.
In the spring of 1989, I completed a run in an Off-Off Broadway production of The Desperate Hours, in a basement theater on Third Street in the East Village.
I played the role of Glenn, the leader of a trio of prison escapees who hold a terrified Ohio family hostage in their suburban home. I pulled double duty as the set carpenter. My performance received a very good notice in The Village Voice and landed me a summer in Boulder with the Colorado Shakespeare Festival. My work in Boulder led to an offer to join the Denver Center Theatre Company for the 1989-90 season. It was an opportunity to earn an Actors’ Equity card and four hundred twenty-five dollars a week. I leaped at it.
I met Troy doing As You Like It that summer, and he was preparing to begin his second season with the DCTC in the fall. Troy had a large loft apartment on Eighteenth Street, just north of the Sixteenth Street Mall and east of Union Station. He had two thousand square feet of floor space, twelve-foot ceilings, and he paid five hundred a month. The place was within walking distance of the Denver Center for the Performing Arts, on the edge of downtown, but was quiet and desolate after five in the evening and all weekend. Wasinger had a small room in the rear of the loft that he offered to rent for two hundred a month while I worked in town. I jumped at that, also. It was a wild and woolly year. We were two kids in our late twenties living as if we might never reach thirty.
At the end of the season I returned to New York and ultimately tried my luck in Los Angeles. Troy remained with the theater company and ultimately took a position teaching at the National Theatre Conservatory in Denver. The last time I had seen Troy was three years earlier, when he was in San Francisco interviewing prospective students. I hadn’t seen Denver in more than ten years.
An unexpected business exigency was taking Sally out of town for the weekend, so I thought I might just as well get to Denver early and hang with Troy for a day or two before I began work on the movie. Troy said that he was free Saturday and Sunday and would love to run around like a twenty-eight-year-old for a few days. He promised me that I wouldn’t recognize the city at all.
I decided to take advantage of the three-thousand-dollar advance from Jeremy Cash and take a room at the Brown Palace Hotel through Tuesday night. I passed on Troy’s generous offer to put me up in his loft during my stay, but I gladly accepted his offer to pick me up at Denver International Airport on Saturday afternoon.
Darlene took care of the hotel reservations and was martyr enough to deal with Bobo Bigelow for the airline tickets and spare me the anguish.
Since we were both leaving town on Saturday, Sally and I arranged to meet for dinner on Friday night. She told me that she felt like cooking, so I said I would bring the wine. Sally hinted that she had some big news, but she wouldn’t give me any clues. I left the office early, laid out what I would need for the trip the next morning, and spent a few hours looking over the film script.
At seven I hopped into the Toyota, stopped on Haight Street for a good bottle of Chianti, and headed over to the Presidio. Sally answered the door wearing my favorite perfume—balsamic vinegar and garlic. I
followed her into the kitchen and uncorked the wine as she threw the salmon filets into a hot skillet. I could smell the stuffed artichokes baking in the oven. I could almost forget everything else.
“So,” Sally said, as we polished off the meal, “how are you feeling about getting in front of the cameras again after all this time. Nervous?”
She was keeping me in suspense about whatever her big news was.
“Not really. Once they put you in a costume and makeup and turn on the lights, it’s like riding a bike.”
“Is it fun?”
“I never quite thought of it that way, but yes, it is. I mean it’s work, but it’s a bit like child’s play. Make believe. Even with a small part, it feels good to be so fussed over. I’m thinking that I’ll have a good time.”
“Why did you get out of it?” Sally asked.
“It was too hard to be around the big stars. Don’t get me wrong, a lot of these people are very generous. Even humble. But when you see the big private trailers, the chauffeured limousines, the personal staff, the fan attention, and you have an idea of the paycheck they’re banking, it can make you envious. Covetous. It’s not a great way to feel. I love the acting, in fact I was thinking about going back to the stage. The roar of the crowd, you know. Then Jimmy Pigeon came along, and something about what he did, or maybe how he did it, appealed to me. It’s not so different when I think about it. When I’m doing the job well, which I occasionally do in spite of myself, it’s like playing a role. The best and the worst part is that there’s no script, no telling how it will come out.”
“Do you think you’ll learn anything in Denver?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to steer clear of expectations. I’m at the point where it’s worth the time and effort, if only to be able to say I did all that I could and then let it go.”
“So, it sounds as if you still think that Ryder might be tied up in the judge’s death somehow. Or, at least, you’re not convinced that he isn’t,” Sally said.
“Intellectually, rationally, it has nothing at all to do with Ryder.
But then there’s that nagging voice in my head that has little to do with intellect or rationality. It whispers. It sounds like it’s saying that the last straw is a straw nonetheless.”