Body on Pine

by DeMarco, Joseph R. G.

“Why? Who’re you? You ain’t the police.”

  “No, I ain’t. I’m worse. I don’t let go once I get my hooks in. Miss a call and Kev here will be on the next train to Harrisburg with two buddies who look just like him.”

  “How long I gotta stay there? I hate it out there… there’s nothin’ to do.”

  “I’ll tell you when you’re comin’ back.” If I could get Ty to press charges and if I could get Giuliani to help put the slimeball away for a while, I’d escort him back to the city myself.

  ***

  I told Kevin he could take the night off. Couldn’t ask him to work more than he had although he said he’d enjoyed himself. As he was turning the corner at Spruce, he puckered up and blew a Germaine-sized kiss at me and smiled broadly.

  My cell phone rang a moment later.

  “Fontana.”

  “Listen, Fontana. Something weird is going on and I’m wondering if you know anything about it.” Shuster didn’t bother to announce himself, just assumed I’d know his whiny voice.

  “Shuster, listen. First you have to tell me what this something is before I take the blame.”

  “You remember that creep who was watching us at that café?”

  “Yep,” I answered, not wanting to tell him I’d seen the guy again.

  “He cornered me. He actually cornered me outside my office. Around the corner in an alleyway. Threatened me. Told me to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Here I thought he was after me,” I said, feigning disappointment. “You get all the hotties, Shuster.”

  “You’re a big help, Fontana. This is a dangerous guy and you make jokes.”

  “Any idea who he is? ‘Cause at the café you said you never saw him before.”

  “That was the truth. I thought he was connected to one of your cases and he was after you. I didn’t know him. I’ll bet he saw us together and assumed I was helping you with whatever you’re doing. Now he’s after me because he thinks I’m helping you.”

  “You report this to the police?”

  “Are you crazy? How would this look in the middle of a campaign? People would think who knows what? It could hurt Kelley in the primary. He’d kill me and I’d be finished in the business. So, no, I did not report it to them. That’s why I’m calling you.”

  “Okay, calm down, Shuster. Got time to come into my office tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be there first thing.”

  ***

  They didn’t need me at Bubbles and I was happy for the opportunity to get home early. Of course, the best laid plans… As I strolled past The Village Brew, Sean was leaving and spotted me.

  “Hey, Marco. Funny bumping into you. This card reader who comes in and trades readings for coffee, told me I’d meet the man of my dreams tonight. And here you are.”

  “Funny man, Sean.” I looked at him. For some reason, Sean, always a sex bomb, was even hotter just then. Maybe it was his skin tight shirt or his curly mop of hair or his Botticelli face. Whatever it was, he stopped me in my tracks.

  “Not funny, she’s real. Come in some night and I’ll prove it. Wanna have that drink you promised me the last time?”

  “I’d love to. But truthfully I was headed home. Been a long couple of days.”

  “We can drink at your place,” Sean said, slipped up next to me, and took my arm in his.

  “If you don’t mind a mess. My maids and butlers all quit a few days ago.”

  “Well, I can swing a mean dustmop, if you need a live in houseboy…” Sean looked at me suggestively.

  “That’s a thought. First let’s see how good you are at mixing drinks… and other things.”

  Chapter 16

  Slugging down the powerful coffee Olga left for me in the coffeemaker, I let the caffeine kick in. After a pleasantly lively night with Sean and not much sleep, the coffee would keep me going. I felt refreshed. Having a night without thinking about the case or anything else, had helped. I’d been too wound up and wasn’t thinking clearly. Sean managed to distract me completely.

  Now I had to get back into the short list of leads that went nowhere. I didn’t like it. I was no closer to Brad’s killer than I had been the morning they’d found him.

  I couldn’t drop the feeling I was missing something right in front of me.

  About to pick up the phone to see if the phantom Charlie had gotten back to town, I heard voices and laughter in the outer office. My door opened and Luke walked in followed by a slightly taller, elegantly dressed, Asian man whose chiseled features reminded me of a movie poster I’d seen somewhere. I hoped Luke wasn’t bringing me a new client. If so, he’d have to get in line.

  “Luke!” I stood and walked over to hug Luke. He felt warm and familiar, his scent intoxicating. I closed my eyes remembering the day before.

  “Marco,” Luke said, pulling out of the hug, “I want you to meet someone.” He looked from me to the stranger and smiled. “This is Xinhan. And this…” Luke waved a hand in my direction, “is Marco.”

  Xinhan extended his hand. His jeans and expensive-looking silk shirt didn’t hide the slender muscularity of his figure. The handshake was firm but he obviously didn’t feel the need to prove anything with it. He exuded a magnetic air of calm self control.

  “Nice to meet you, Xinhan,” I said, replicating Luke’s pronunciation which sounded like, Shinhan. I indicated they should take seats.

  “Nice to meet you, as well, Marco. After everything Luke said, it’s a pleasure.”

  “I may not live up to Luke’s PR.”

  “Don’t let the humble act fool you, Xinhan.” Luke wiggled his eyebrows and smiled.

  I shrugged.

  “Any news?” Luke asked.

  “A few nibbles. Nothing solid. You?”

  “I made more calls like you asked. Just a bunch of guys either sorry to hear about Brad or who claimed not to know him. Nothing suspicious far as I can tell. I don’t have that Italian ability to see a suspect behind every face. Here’s the list.” He pulled a paper out of his messenger bag.

  Placing the list on my desk, I glanced at Xinhan, then at Luke. He must’ve noticed the question in my look.

  “Xinhan’s tagging along. My cousin Chunxue introduced us and we’ve been trading stories from back home. Xinhan comes from the same town.”

  I noticed Xinhan staring at the corkboard I’d set up with pictures and notes from Brad’s case. He tried joining the conversation but kept getting drawn back to the board.

  “Something bothering you, Xinhan?”

  “Yes. That man. The older gentleman…”

  “One of the murder victims in this case. Smithson…”

  “Wheeler.” Xinhan said finishing my sentence. “Yes, I thought that was him.” The air of peace surrounding Xinhan wavered for a moment but he regained composure seamlessly. “Smithson was a business friend. A supporter of Chinatown initiatives and development. How did this happen?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Xinhan. Maybe you can help with a little background. Right now I don’t know all that much about Wheeler.”

  “He was an exceptional man, an astute businessman. Smithson was the definition of honor. He was a friend to Chinatown and to me personally. Other than that…”

  “What was your connection to Wheeler?”

  “I own a business in Chinatown.”

  “He’s being modest, Marco. Xinhan is one of Chinatown’s business leaders. He owns the Green Dragon kung fu school and two restaurants. Not shabby at all.”

  “Chinatown depends quite a lot on friends like Smithson. He will be missed for many reasons,” Xinhan said, a touch of mystery in his remark.

  “How exactly did he help you?” I asked. Xinhan’s expression tightened with reluctance. My question was intrusive, too personal. I figured he’d react this way but I needed information. “I don’t mean to pry, Xinhan. Anything I can find out about him may help catch the people who killed him.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Yes. I understand.” His smooth, deep voice
was shaded with sadness.

  “What was Wheeler’s involvement in the community? Did he help you in particular or…?”

  “He did many things for a lot of people. Many years ago, his father had some sort of business in China. Smithson spent a large part of his childhood there and in Hong Kong. He spoke Mandarin well. Loved everything about China and the Chinese.”

  “Okay,” I said taking notes.

  “He was instrumental in obtaining financing for a number of businesses including mine, at a time when things were difficult. Not everyone is as enlightened as Smithson was. Not everyone is as free from… let’s say, their own feelings about others as Smithson was. He did what he could.”

  I looked up at him.

  “It was all open and above board,” Xinhan added. “Everything went through the banks. Smithson had influence with banking firms. He saw to it that banks cooperated and we were given fair deals.”

  “That was probably a big help.”

  “He had a genuine interest in the Asian community in this city. His childhood experiences affected him deeply, from what I understand. Smithson wanted our community to thrive. He wanted us to be a bigger force in the city. He told me once that the surest way to more lasting power was to get involved politically.”

  “He was right,” I said. “You can’t depend on other people to have your interests at heart.”

  “The Chinese community here is learning. Smithson knew a lot of politicians and exerted influence on our behalf.”

  “He obviously enjoyed taking a hand in things for Chinatown.”

  “Please don’t think he had a patronizing, colonial mentality. He wasn’t like that. No one I know ever felt that way about him.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Sounds like he was pretty generous with the connections he had.” I paused and looked at him. “I’m grateful for the information, Xinhan.

  “I thought you had Wheeler figured for an innocent bystander at the spa,” Luke said.

  “Still do. It never hurts to know a victim’s background. Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.”

  “We’ve got to go. Clean Living doesn’t run itself and Xinhan promised me he could get my housecleaners into several new condos and businesses. So, we have some talking to do.” Luke stood up and Xinhan followed suit.

  “I may have a few more questions depending on what else I uncover. That okay with you, Xinhan?” I asked and stood to see them out.

  “Luke knows how to get hold of me,” he said and smiled.

  I nodded. I caught the double meaning.

  “I’ll call you later. Some things I need to tell you,” Luke said.

  That meant he was bursting with juicy news or gossip. I guessed it had to do with the elegant Xinhan.

  I watched them leave, wondering how much Xinhan really knew about Wheeler. Like why he was at the spa that night? Was he one of Brad’s investors? Was he gay? Or, both? Or did Wheeler play a more integral role in the case? Xinhan wouldn’t know all the answers but he might know something. Even if it was a detail meaning nothing to him, it could make a difference and give me a lead.

  After they left the office, I sat back in my chair and the aroma of coffee tickled my nose. Before filling my cup, I decided to call a few of Brad’s clients. If I got anything, the day wouldn’t be wasted.

  Half an hour later, I’d made twenty calls only five of which connected. Of course, none of them recalled anything unusual during their sessions.

  About to put the list aside and get some coffee, I noticed Ricky Sorba’s name heading up the next page and Anton’s notation next to Sorba’s name: “Extremely rude”

  I figured I should give the right-wing nut a call myself. I dialed the number Brad listed.

  “Sorba.”

  “Marco Fontana. I’d…”

  “How’d you get this number, pal?” His grating voice crackled with annoyance.

  “Got it from Brad Lopes. You’re on his client list.”

  “Don’t know the guy. Who’d you say you are?”

  “I’m investigating the murder of Mr. Lopes. You were a client of his.”

  “I deal with a lotta people, pal. What’s this murder got to do with me?” His voice lost some of its bravado.

  “Mr. Lopes was a masseur. You were a client. I’m questioning as many…”

  “Listen up , pal. I don’t deal with fags. Not queer masseurs or queer anything. I was never a client of this faggot. Got it?”

  “Never said he was gay. Looks like you know more than…”

  Next thing I heard was a click and some dialtone.

  I needed coffee. As soon as I stood to fill my cup, Olga buzzed me.

  “Is man waiting to be seeing you.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Is waiting here Mr. Shooter… Shoeser…”

  Had to be Shuster. Just as I had the thought, his angry voice hissed through the intercom, “It’s Shuster! Shoo—ssster!”

  “Send him in, Olga.”

  Shuster attempted making a grand entrance. Except his stubby little form wasn’t made for grand entrances.

  I glanced at the clock on my desk. It was past eleven.

  “You call this first thing in the morning, Shuster? Maybe I should get into politics. I’d get more sleep.”

  “Always a wiseass. You think having my life threatened is a joke.”

  “Hey, I get threats on a regular basis. Its no big deal. Depending on who’s making the threats.”

  “I don’t know the thug who made this threat. He was the creep who spied on us at the café. I can’t have this sort of…”

  I interrupted him. “Just tell me what happened.”

  “Right before I called you last night, he threatened me. He’s a psychopath. The look in his eyes was enough to make me vomit. There was nothing behind those eyes. He was just there to hurt me and enjoy it.”

  “Did he? Hurt you, I mean?”

  “Well… n-no. No… not physically… No. That’s not the point, Fontana.”

  “Like I asked, tell me exactly what happened and what he said.”

  “I’d left the office, headed for a late meeting at Kelley’s headquarters. I thought something was odd, like someone was following me. I passed it off as caffeine jitters. I knew I should have turned on Broad, but I walked over on Juniper. It’s shorter. All of a sudden this lunatic jumps me from behind and pulls me into some filthy alcove.” Shuster paused. His breathing got heavier as he relived the event. He was scared of something.

  “Want some water? Coffee?”

  “W-water. Thanks.”

  I went to the mini-fridge and pulled a bottle of water for him. He took it and the act of opening the bottle and taking a drink calmed him.

  “What’d the guy do then?”

  “H-he pushed me against the wall and pressed his arm against my throat. I could hardly breathe. I couldn’t squeeze out a sound.” He swallowed more water. “I can still smell his breath. Smoke and… ugh… something, I don’t know…something rotten…I don’t know what it was.”

  “What did he say?”

  “At first nothing. He just looked at me as if he was making sure I was the one he wanted. Then he stared into my eyes. Just stared. He’s got strange eyes. Cold. Deadly.”

  “He eventually say something? Threaten you?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know why,” Shuster’s voice shook, as if he were trying to forget something or hide something or make it all go away.

  “What exactly did he say?”

  “He told me to keep my mouth shut. Told me if I said anything…” He shuddered.

  “What were his exact words, Shuster.”

  “I… I don’t remember. He said I should keep my mouth shut. Or he’d…” Shuster paused. “Or… he’d… he pulled a knife then, with his other hand and held it up to my face. He still had his other arm on my throat. I couldn’t make a sound. But he made sure I saw the knife and knew what he’d do. I… I don’t know what he wanted. It had to be…”

  �
��What?”

  “It had to be connected to you. Something you’re doing. One of your cases.”

  “Why pick on you then? What’ve you got to do with anything?”

  “He saw me talking to you that night. He probably thinks you told me something. That’s got to be it…” He took another swig from the water bottle.

  Did I buy this crock? Maybe Shuster was assaulted. He seemed genuinely shaken. Something happened. He’d been threatened, that much I could believe. But I wasn’t buying the details he put out. Was it the guy he claimed? Or, was it someone else? Like maybe a trick gone bad? Shuster was a big time political closet case.

  Maybe he was telling the truth. Nah, I couldn’t swallow that. He was telling a piece of the truth. That much I could buy.

  “Look, Shuster, I’m not saying I don’t believe you…”

  “How can you not believe me? This is all your fault. If it wasn’t for you…”

  “Listen, prick, you came here asking for help. Now you’re blaming me for your problems. Which do you want? Help or a boot out the door? ‘Cause I don’t have time for games.”

  “H-help. I need your help, Fontana. Even if it…”

  “I need more, Shuster.”

  “More? What? Like money? What’re you…”

  “More convincing. Gimmie something I can go on. How do I know it was the same guy we saw that night? Could be somebody you’re screwing in an alley and he turns on you. Could be you just want a scapegoat if some sex video turns up on somebody’s radar. Like your boss. He gets wind of your hanky panky, and you’re out on your ass. Am I right?”

  “No! You’re all wrong, Fontana. This was the guy who followed us that night. I swear.”

  “Say I believe you. What do you want me to do?”

  “Stop him. He’s dangerous. Keep him away from me.”

  “Tell you what, Shuster. This guy comes around again, tell him to see me. Tell him I’ll take care of his problem.”

  “Like that’s gonna happen. He’ll cut my throat next time.”

  “Not if you do what he says and keep your trap shut.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “Then you’re home free. You can’t talk about something you don’t know anything about.”