by Jan Burke
“You okay?”
I nodded again, took a deep breath. “What’s inside?”
The D.A. gently opened it. The locket had a thin middle section, so that it held four small photos in its hinged compartments. The first ones were two handsome young men, the youngest no more than a teenager. The second, a man and a woman. I recognized the faces. “Conn O’Connor, his brother Dermot, and their parents. Her family — part of it. The ones to whom she was closest.”
The questions began again. Frank asked Betty about Gus’s associates, and in a way that seemed to spark some memories. I was glad for this interlude — it helped me to focus again.
Frank seemed to get some kind of high sign from his lieutenant. While they conferred, Brennan said, “Ms. Kelly, do you have questions?”
“Yes. How did Gus know that Jack Corrigan would be at Katy Ducane’s birthday party?”
“He said that she’d invite him because he was her uncle, and he thought that was funny, too, so I figured he was one of her mother’s lovers or something. And Gus had a couple of people watching a bar or two that he might show up in — if Corrigan did, they were supposed to call somebody else, and they would come and get us and we’d try the same thing at the bar. But Gus was pretty sure of the party, so he got an invite from someone, and Bo carried that in.”
“Did Gus know Rose Hannon, the nursemaid?” Frank asked.
“Not her,” she said. “I think he had dated that other one — the one that had the night off. I don’t like saying that, because it makes her sound bad, like she lied. But I don’t blame her for not figuring it out. Gus knew that sooner or later, the boss wanted him inside the Ducane place, so months before all this happened, Gus was trying to chat up that housekeeper. He took her out once. But she decided she didn’t like him, and he didn’t get her keys off her, like he wanted — I remember that made him mad. But he learned where the baby slept and where the nurse’s rooms were, and all of that.”
She halted for a moment, briefly losing her composure. Brennan asked her if she wanted to stop, but she shook her head, brushed away tears, and said, “I never — not in a million years — thought he was doing anything but getting set to rob the place. I swear that’s true. But I should have known, I guess. Somehow I should have known.”
Frank and the D.A. asked a few more questions, and it was agreed that Mr. Brennan would come with her to police headquarters the next day so that she could look through some mug shots to help identify other people who might have connections with Yeager.
“I hope I helped,” she said. “Did I?”
We all assured her that she did.
I wanted to talk to Frank, but that wasn’t going to work out with the lieutenant and the captain there, so we just said a quick, “See you at home,” and parted company. I could see that Hailey was anxious to talk to me, so as soon we were away from the others I said, “You’d better run if you’re going to get this in before drop-dead deadline. And before you get any big ideas, we need to make sure we don’t use Yeager’s name in a way that will get us sued. We may need to bring the company lawyers in on this one.”
“Irene — I’m really worried.”
“About the paper being sued? We’re threatened with it all the time.”
“No—”
“You’ll make deadline. I have faith.”
“No! Not the paper. I’m worried about Ethan.”
“Me, too. But now’s not—”
“Then you know?”
“Know what?”
“He was going to go over to Mitch Yeager’s house.”
64
“TELL ME,” I ORDERED HER, WISHING FRANK HADN’T JUST LEFT WITH HIS bosses.
“I felt a little bad about what I had said. I saw him leave the building tonight, and I followed him out to this bar—” “Oh hell.”
“He didn’t go in. He kind of hung around outside it, then he walked down the street to this coffee place some of us hang out at sometimes — you know, people who were in J-school together. Anyway, I could see he was upset. He was calling someone on his cell phone, so I didn’t come too near him at first. I wanted to give him some privacy.”
“What happened?”
“He saw me and waved me over, said he had just been talking to his sponsor.” She blushed. “I thought he meant he had some kind of deal, you know, like an athlete with a shoe company. Then he told me it was a friend from AA. Anyway, I tried talking to him, because I could see he was still really bugged by what I had said to him. Things were going okay, he was cool — but then I don’t know, we got into it again. My fault, I guess. He was mad at me for saying we couldn’t do any good. He said, you know, ‘Then why show up for work at a newspaper, why tell anybody anything if nobody really cares…’”
“How did this lead to Mitch Yeager’s house?”
“He said that the only thing anyone needed to do was get DNA from Mitch Yeager.”
“And you told him that was a job for the police, right?”
She looked away, then said, “God, this is all my fault.”
“You can enjoy your guilt trip later, Hailey. What the hell happened?”
“I was, like, ‘Oh sure, just call him up and ask him for his toothbrush.’ He asked if I had Yeager’s phone number. I did. I had looked it up a few weeks ago, to try to get a comment from him for a story.”
“You’re telling me Yeager answered the phone and told him to come on over?”
“Ethan was awesome. He called and whoever answered said Mr. Yeager was with guests — some kind of party he’s having tonight. Ethan says, ‘Yes, I know, I’m supposed to be there now. Please ask Mr. Yeager to come to the phone. Tell him it’s Mr. Harmon from Eden Supply.’”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…”
“Yeager comes on and Ethan apologizes for getting him to the phone in that way, and quickly gives Yeager this story about how he — Ethan, I mean — was your worst enemy, and everyone on the Express hated Ethan because of what he had done, and how it made him feel sympathy for Yeager, because the Express was so unfair to both of them. If he could stay on staff, he’d try to tell some of these stories about Las Piernas’s past from a perspective Irene Kelly might not like, but he needed a really good interview to do that, and he was hoping Mr. Yeager would grant him that favor.”
“Yeager fell for that?”
“No. But then he kept him on the phone somehow, hinting around about a bunch of stuff, and ended up saying, well, okay, he probably wasn’t going to be able to continue to be a reporter, so he’d have to look for some other way to support himself. Which was too bad, because he was good at interviews and learned things that other people might not know. And oh — that reminded him that Bennie Lee Harmon said Eden Supply was a good company, and that Bennie Lee would give Ethan a reference if Ethan ever contacted his boss. Yeager told him that maybe something could be arranged, but he was entertaining some people this evening.”
“And that was that?” I said, hoping against hope.
“No, Ethan said matters were a little rushed, so Yeager said to come over at eleven, they could talk then.”
“Oh, shit…” I looked at my watch. It was eight-thirty. Still plenty of time to talk Ethan out of this.
“At first I thought he had faked the whole phone call,” she said. “I didn’t believe him — told him Yeager’s butler probably hung up on him two seconds into the call, and I was just hearing more bullshit from him. Ethan got really mad. He said fine, he’d tape-record the whole interview, and he’d get DNA from Yeager if he had to reach across the desk and stab him with his pen to do it.”
I resisted my own impulse to do the same to her. “Where is he now?”
“I’m not sure, but I think he’s at his place.”
“Do you know Ethan’s home phone number?”
“Not by heart, but it’s listed. I’ve got his cell number.”
“Okay, I’ll call information, you call the cell phone. If you reach him, hand the phone over. If you don’t, l
eave my cell number on his voice mail and tell him it’s urgent — that he must talk to me before he sees Yeager. Tell him it’s seriously a matter of life and death.”
She called. As I was reaching information, she got voice mail. She left a message. I could hear in her voice that she thought the life-and-death bit was overly dramatic.
I got Ethan’s number and asked if there was an address listed as well. “Oh yes,” the operator said, and gave it to me.
Oh hell, I thought, as I wrote it down.
I called. He answered. That in and of itself nearly made me speechless with relief. Nearly. “Ethan? Irene. Do you want to keep working at the Express?”
“Hailey is such a little—”
“Never mind that, and it really doesn’t matter who told me. You and I must talk face-to-face this evening. Immediately. No choice — you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a deadbolt lock?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Bolt the door. Turn on your cell phone, because you may need it. Do not let anyone but me in the door. If your own mother comes to the door—”
“She’s dead, so I’ll assume it’s just a zombie pretending to be my mother. But I won’t let anyone else in. I won’t go out in the corridor, even if someone sets the building on fire.” His tone was flat — he sounded resigned, a little too resigned.
“Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Don’t you need directions?”
“Still living on Chestnut?”
“Yes — oh, you got it from the phone book. Apartment eight.” He paused. “You think someone else could get my address the same way.”
“Exactly. If someone tries to get in, call the police. Don’t hesitate.”
I hung up, then asked Hailey, “Did Yeager know you were there when he talked to Ethan?”
She shook her head. She was looking a little pale. I think she was starting to get the bigger picture.
“I want you to promise me that you will never, ever attempt something so stupid as going one-on-one with Mitch Yeager.”
She promised. She promised to be careful driving back to the paper.
“Ask security to walk you out to your car when you leave,” I said.
I tried to call Frank. His cell phone wasn’t on, and he wasn’t back at his office yet. I left a message on both voice mails, telling him I needed to talk something over with Ethan and would be home late, but he could reach me on my cell phone if needed. I also gave him Ethan’s home number. “It’s a long story, but — it might be a good idea for him to stay with us for a few days,” I said. “Would that be okay? Let me know.”
Ethan lived in an old apartment building in a tough part of town. I found a street lamp and parked beneath it. As I locked the Jeep up and set the alarm, I prayed I wouldn’t have to call LoJack to find out where it was later that night.
The building was long and two stories tall, a flat-roofed Spanish-style structure, probably built in the 1930s. The mailboxes at the entrance indicated there were sixteen units in the building.
Although it was moving toward nine o’clock on a weeknight, I could hear voices and music and laughter coming from the building. A party palace. The noises coming from it were the kinds of noises you might hear in the hallway of a college dorm on a Friday night — a confined space occupied by individuals watching a dozen different television shows at high volume, listening to just as many different kinds of music, each trying to hear their own above others — apparently, not one of the tenants believed in headphones. The glass front door was framed by dark wood and could have easily been smashed open by anyone who really wanted to get in, but I took the easy route and pushed the buzzer above Ethan’s mailbox. I pulled his name tag off it, which made it one of five blank ones. There was no sound from the intercom, but the door started humming and rattling, so I pushed it open.
My senses were assailed by both a louder edition of the noise I had heard outside, and a strong odor of urine and dried vomit in the foyer. I rushed back outside, remembering just in time not to let the door latch behind me. I took a deep breath, went back in, and held the breath all the way up the stairs, not exhaling until I reached the second level. The stairs ended at a short hallway at the front of the building. I glanced out a window there and saw that the Jeep was still where I had left it.
Apartment eight was to the right and at the rear of the building. The air quality was better in this dimly lit hall, but not by much. As I passed doors, the particular music of that apartment dweller intensified and became a little clearer. Two steps later, it was jumbled into the mix.
No wonder Ethan wasn’t getting much sleep.
I knocked on his door, saw the peephole in it darken, and heard the lock click back. The door opened.
“Hi,” he said, and gestured me inside.
He was still wearing his work clothes, a suit that hung loosely on him. His dark blond hair was slightly shaggy, but it actually looked better that way than it had in the shorter style he had worn before he went away to rehab.
The room we were in was neat and furnished in a spare way, with a table and chairs and sofa that looked as if they were not with their first owner. Or second or third, for that matter. I glanced around. It might as well have been a hotel room — nothing personal.
He had watched this perusal as he leaned against the back of the door, arms crossed. “No, it’s not much,” he said.
“Not home, either, is it?”
“I’ve only noticed that recently,” he said, and moved toward the kitchen. “Can I offer you something to drink?” He smiled at my raised brow and added, “Coffee, water, tea?”
“Coffee would be great — but before you do that, call Mitch Yeager and tell him that you are sorry to have bothered him and won’t be coming over, that you were trying to impress a girl who dared you to get an interview with him. That you never actually interviewed Harmon and will not be troubling him in any way. That will be the first call. I may have you make a second one to the homicide division of the Las Piernas Police Department, to tell my husband what you’ve done, so that he can tell you whether or not you have just completely fucked up a major investigation.”
“I was trying to help it. I’m not so sure that I shouldn’t still try to help it.”
“Ethan, this is all very noble, but you cannot walk into the police department with Mitch Yeager’s blood on your pen — yes, Hailey told me about that — and tell them that they now have what they need to arrest him for murder. For one thing, that’s not your job. For another, I sincerely doubt it will stand up in court as a legal way for them to obtain evidence. And it is hardly ethical for you to have tried to blackmail Yeager into an interview by lying your ass off, is it?”
“No, but… no, it’s not.” He put his hands up to his face, ran them up through his hair. “I let Hailey get to me. She was — no, never mind, I’m not going to blame her.” He opened his cell phone, used it to look up Yeager’s number, then called from his land line. He hung up. “The line’s busy.”
“We’ll try again in a few minutes. In the meantime — Ethan, I’m so worried about you.”
“Afraid I’ll start drinking again?”
“No — I mean, maybe you will, maybe you won’t. Right now I’m seriously hoping you will live long enough to struggle with your alcoholism. You’ve undoubtedly pissed off a man who arranged for the deaths of more than half a dozen people because he wanted to seek revenge in the cruelest way possible. He was willing to scheme and wait for years to carry out vengeance the first time, but at his current age, I doubt he’ll bother with long-range planning again. I’m hoping he didn’t realize other people heard you talking to him.”
He sat in silence. Then he said, “Maybe if he comes after me, he’d be doing the world a favor.”
“Ethan, if you will just pull your head out of your ass, you’ll see that you’ve got a bright future.”
He laughed. “Okay. I’ll call a halt to the pity party.
Thanks.”
“Good. Try Yeager again.”
He called. This time, someone answered. I heard Ethan ask for Yeager, then say, “Oh… Well, listen — will you please tell him that Ethan Shire will not be coming by this evening after all? … That’s right, I called earlier…. No, I’m notcoming by… and please tell him that — that I’m very sorry to have bothered him, that I was just making stuff up, and it was all a stupid dare to impress a girl, and I’m sorry. And he can call me later and I’ll explain and apologize for disturbing him. Did you get all that?… Yes, that’s it…. Thank you. And sorry about earlier, when I made you bother him…. Thanks … Bye.”
He hung up and said, “He couldn’t come to the phone. Do you think that will be enough?”
“To be honest, I’m still worried.”
My cell phone rang. It was Frank. “Collecting strays again?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I suppose you want to tell me that this one is a real doozy, but he’s right there.”
“Yes.”
“That’s okay, they’re all doozies. Bring him over. Especially if that gets you home faster.”
“Thanks. You know, I think your grandmother was the last person to use that word.”
“Doozy? No, I picked that one up from you.”
“Touché,” I said, laughing. “See you soon.”
“Where are you, by the way?”
“Over on Chestnut near Polson.”
“Jesus—”
“We’re leaving just as soon as he can pack an overnight bag. I’ll be home soon. And, Frank—”
“You love me and you want me to hide the booze. I remember what you told me about him. No problem. We won’t make it harder on him than it already is.”
“Thanks.”
He said he’d wait up for us, and we said good-bye.
“Are you allergic to cats or dogs?” I asked Ethan as I put the phone away.