The Alex Shanahan Series

by Lynne Heitman

  “So what?”

  “Under her normal authority, she couldn’t have signed those Crescent invoices. They were too big. She made special arrangements so that she could.”

  “Can’t you just believe that she wouldn’t have done something like that?”

  “But she did. I found the request and the approval in her files.”

  “I’m talking about the whole scam. I’m telling you she wasn’t that kind of person.”

  I leaned back against the passenger door. “Dan—”

  “I say she was clean, that she was trying to do the right thing, and you won’t take my word on that. So what it comes down to is, you don’t believe me. You don’t trust me.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair and stared through the wet windshield into the red blur of taillights. The combativeness in his voice had gone. He sounded almost plaintive. “You don’t trust me.”

  The only sounds in the car were the blasting heater and the sluicing of the wet windshield wipers, steady as a metronome. I turned around to face front and wished like hell that we weren’t stuck in traffic, that we could put some distance between us and this place we were in.

  “Listen to what I’ve found, then you can decide for yourself. Six days before she died, Ellen made a trip to Denver. I don’t know if you remember her list of secret trips, but it was on there. It was the last destination.”

  He didn’t respond, but I knew he remembered.

  “She flew out and back the same day, and it looks as if it was a special trip to visit the archives. The archivist remembers her. She asked to see the prepurchase adjustment schedule. When Matt went looking for the same documents a few days ago, they were gone. The original invoices with the signatures are also missing.”

  “That doesn’t mean she took them.”

  “Come on, Dan—”

  “Or if she took them, and I’m not saying she did, she took them to build the case against Lenny. That’s what we’ve been saying all along. She took them to keep them safe.”

  “Then where are they? Where is the evidence?”

  “We’ll find it.”

  “Think about this. If she was on the inside working the scam with Lenny, then her signature would be on those invoices. Destroying them would be one way to cover up her own involvement.”

  “Give me one good reason why she would be involved in something like this.”

  “She was sleeping with Lenny.”

  He swung his entire upper body around to face me. If we’d been going any faster than four miles an hour, we might have swerved off the road into a ditch. “Bullshit, Shanahan, bullshit. I told you before that’s crap.”

  “Molly pulled up Lenny’s travel schedule from the past eighteen months. When we checked it against Ellen’s list, ten of the fifteen cities matched. Ten. And one of the five that didn’t was the last trip to Denver. She was in the same city with him ten different times. In secret.”

  His head canted to one side, slowly, almost like a door opening. The traffic was picking up and spreading out, and he had to pay more attention to the road. Maybe that explained why he didn’t say another word for almost three miles—a long, slow three miles.

  He finally broke his silence. “Was Lenny in Boston the night she died?”

  “There’s no record that he flew into Boston,” I said, “but I think he was here. He could have driven.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  I reached into my back pocket, pulled out an envelope, and opened it up. “I found this letter in her mail. It just came this week.”

  “What is it?”

  I pulled it from the envelope. It was too dark to read, but I didn’t have to. “This is a letter from a place called Maitre d’ Express. It’s a dinner-delivery service.”

  “Like Domino’s Pizza?”

  “No. They only do the delivery part. You can order from lots of different restaurants around town, and they bring it to your house. Inside is a credit card receipt and a letter saying that Ellen still has to pay for her last order even though she never took delivery.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It was for the night she died.”

  He looked over at me but didn’t say a word.

  “The receipt was for one hundred fifteen dollars. Twenty-five was for the delivery from Boston to Marblehead. That leaves ninety dollars, which even by Boston standards is a lot for one meal. So I called Maitre d’ Express and they had a record of the order in their computer. One appetizer, two salads, and two entrees from Hamersley’s. At eight o’clock she called and cancelled, but it was too late. The order had already been made up, so she was charged anyway.”

  Shadows moved in and out of the car with the steady flow of headlights streaming toward us. I watched his face. He was working his jaw, but I saw no other sign that he was listening.

  “Here’s what I think happened that day. Ellen spoke to Lenny on the phone sometime during the morning. I don’t know what was going on between them, but he must have talked her into seeing him that night at her house. Before she left work, she cancelled her trainer’s appointment for that night at the gym, but according to her running log, she went running that afternoon along the Charles, so she wanted to get a workout in, but didn’t want to keep the appointment that night. She got home around four and called this place to order dinner for the evening.”

  “And when Lenny showed up he killed her.”

  “One thing’s for sure. Whoever killed her knew her. He had access to the house, probably a key, and the code for the security system. Or she let him in. No forced entry. He knew about her mother, knew enough about her and her life to make the murder look like a plausible suicide.”

  “Why would he kill her?”

  “Could be that Dickie’s package triggered something. Maybe there was some kind of blow-up between the two of them and they stopped trusting each other. Maybe she was accumulating the evidence to use against him. It’s clear that Ellen had the evidence, not Lenny, and he’s still looking for it, he and his pals the Dwyers.”

  At the end of our exit ramp, he took a right turn that put us on a poorly lit spur. I looked out the window at an industrial area of aluminum-sided warehouses and vast parking lots filled with eighteen-wheelers backed up to raised concrete loading docks. It was lonely and cold and desolate.

  “The thing I don’t get,” I said, “is why she cancelled the dinner. What happened to her between four in the afternoon when she ordered and eight o’clock when she cancelled?”

  He had nothing to say to that. Neither one of us said another word for the rest of the drive out.

  Angelo DiBiasi’s white stubble crept down the soft roll of flab at his throat. His worn cotton T-shirt covered a narrow chest, which ballooned into a big, hanging gut that kept him from pushing in close to the table. With one eye almost shut, he cocked the other at me as he spoke to Dan. “Why’d you go and bring her for?”

  “Don’t start with me, Angie. I told you I might bring her.”

  “And I told you not to—”

  “Which just goes to show you’re not in charge here. You’re the one who’s sitting at home on your butt with no job, and she’s the one who can bring you back, so be nice.”

  Dan’s tone had an urgent edge, as though he was running out of time and patience, even though we’d just arrived. We were at a fluorescent island of a truck stop by the side of the highway. It had stools at a long counter and ashtrays on every wobbly table.

  When Angelo looked at me again, it was with eyes that were puffy and red-ringed, the kind you get from lying awake at night. Or crying. Or both. I offered him my hand across our sticky Formica table and introduced myself. “I’m sorry about your wife, and I hope we can work something out.”

  He switched his cigarette to his other hand and returned the gesture. His fingers were long and thin in my hand, the only part of him that seemed delicate.

  “Let’s get this over with.” He let go and turned back to Dan. “I don�
�t want to be seen with the two of youse.” He took a quick tobacco hit, then moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. “You bring something in writing describes this deal?”

  “We don’t have a deal yet,” Dan said, “which is why we’re talking.”

  “That’s not what you told my wife. Why’d you have to go and call her anyway? You got no right calling and bothering her with my business.” His chest puffed out and his back stiffened, and he looked like an old rooster as he shook his head full of white hair. “What you did, a man should never do to another man.”

  Dan stirred his coffee. “I’m sorry I had to bother Theresa, but since she’s the one who’s sick, I thought she had the right to know there was a way for you to get your job back. You didn’t tell her.” He lifted the cup to his lips, had another thought, and put it back down without drinking. “And besides, you’ve got a strange idea of what’s right. She starts chemo in two weeks and you’re out boosting TV sets, getting yourself fired and losing your medical benefits.”

  “I was taking that TV home for her,” he sputtered, “so she’d have it to watch when—” He stopped abruptly and turned toward the window. It was a big picture window that looked out over the parking lot, where snowflakes were beginning to drift down into the rain puddles. His cigarette was wedged tightly between his thumb and index finger. We sat in silence and watched as he smoked it all the way down to the filter. As soon as he stubbed out the butt, he started a new one. “Tell me again,” he said wearily, “what you want and what you got.”

  Dan put both elbows on the table. “I don’t know what it is you know, Angie, but my boss went to a lot of trouble to try to talk to you before she died, so I’ve got to think it’s big. You give me what she was looking for, and we’ll bring you back to work. No termination, no hearings or arbitration, none of that shit. You just come back tomorrow like you never left.”

  “You’re talking about the boss killed herself, right. Not this one.” He nodded in my direction without looking at me, and I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely confused or yanking Dan’s chain.

  “I’m talking about Ellen Shepard.”

  “How am I supposed to know what she wanted? I never even met her.”

  “Don’t waste my fucking time, Angie. I’m not in the mood.”

  Angelo sat back and kicked one leg out, stretching as if he had a sore knee. “Why should I tell you anything? I can get the same deal from Big Pete without being no snitch.”

  “If Big Pete’s going to bring you back, it means he’s doing it through Lenny, and if Lenny wants to bring you back, he has to wait until after arbitration. Those are the rules, Angie, and who knows how long a hearing might take? Yours probably won’t take much longer than what?” Dan checked with me. “Six months?”

  “I once had a guy who waited a whole year,” I offered helpfully.

  “I’ll take a little time off.” Angelo glanced nervously from Dan to me and back. “Now’s a good time anyway.”

  “Right,” said Dan, “and at the end of your ‘vacation,’ maybe you’re at work with full back pay. Then again, maybe you wait six months and never come back. Hard to say what happens with an arbitration panel. But let’s say you do get back. Do you know what’s waiting for you here?”

  Angelo stared, his breathing growing shallow between drags.

  “Me.”

  He’d been close to the edge from the beginning, and now I saw perspiration forming on his upper lip.

  “If you come back off Lenny’s deal, Angie, I’m going to make you my own personal rehabilitation project. I’m going to see to it that you never have time to think about stealing again because you’ll be working your ass off.”

  Dan edged closer, pushing the ashtray out of the way. Angelo’s eyes shifted back and forth, trying not to focus on Dan but unable to look anywhere else.

  “I’ll sit guys down to make sure you’ve got work to do, Angie. You won’t have a second to yourself, and if you try to steal from me again, I’m gonna catch you and that’s going to be it. You’ll be out on your ass for good.”

  “That’s harassment.”

  “Nothing in the contract says I can’t make you do your job.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Danny.” He stubbed out his butt, jamming so hard, stale ashes spilled onto the table. “I don’t got enough problems without you threatening me all over the place?” He lowered his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and massaged his temples with the heels of his hands, turning his entire face crimson in the process. Between the cigarettes, the sick wife, pending unemployment, and Dan’s pressure, I feared for the guy’s vascular health.

  “Angelo,” I said, “here’s another way to look at it. Your wife starts chemotherapy in two weeks.”

  He nodded, eyes still shut.

  “Take our deal and your benefits will be restored tomorrow. Take Lenny’s deal and you’re going to have to sit out for six months, maybe longer, with no benefits and no guarantees. How are you going to pay the bills in the meantime?” His hands slipped around to cover his eyes. “Do you want your wife worrying about that when she’s trying to get well? Your wife’s peace of mind means a lot to you, I can tell. Tell us what you know, come back to work, and give her that peace of mind. It would be worth more to her than a TV.”

  He looked at me through bloodshot eyes. “Full back pay?”

  “Yes.”

  “All my benefits, including flight bennies?”

  “Of course.”

  He slumped back in his chair and studied the ceiling as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. When he finally sat forward, Dan and I leaned in, too. In that moment before he began, as we all stared at each other, I knew that this was as close as we’d been to the truth—any truth—about Ellen Shepard’s death, and I could barely hold still. I watched Angelo’s face and everything seemed to slip into slow motion as he opened his mouth and said, “I want a better deal.”

  “A better deal!” I couldn’t believe I’d heard right.

  “I want to retire today, but I want the last two years of my salary and full benefits, including my pension.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Dan spoke for both of us.

  “You got me in a position where I got no choices, Danny. I got forty-one years in, and I ain’t walking away with nothing.”

  “You got yourself in this trick bag and you got some balls trying to use it to jack us up.”

  “Listen to what I’m saying to you.” He looked around the diner and lowered his voice. “That lady boss of yours, the other one, she was right. I do know something. And if she knew it, too, that’s why she’s dead. So I’m askin’ you, if they killed her, how long do you think I’d last down there on the ramp?”

  Dan and I exchanged a glance. No one else was in the diner with us except the kid who was working the counter and doing his homework. I could hear the squeaking of his highlight pen as he marked his textbook. A prickly wave danced up the back of my neck and crawled underneath my hair. “Angelo.” My heart was pounding in my throat, and I was surprised that my voice didn’t waver. “Do you know that Ellen was murdered, that she didn’t kill herself? Do you know this?”

  He nodded. “I know too much for my own good.”

  “You miserable motherfucker. All this time you didn’t say any—”

  I laid my hand on Dan’s arm. “Tell us what you know, Angelo, and I’ll get you whatever you want.” I looked into his eyes and I knew, no matter what Big Pete had promised him, that he was scared, that he loved his wife, and he wanted to get this over with. Even so, he held out as long as he could, until the corner of his mouth began to quiver. “There’s two parts to this story,” he said finally. “There’s who killed her, and there’s why. I’ll give you the who tonight. You get me my deal and I’ll give you the rest.”

  Dan pulled away from me and sat back, arms crossed tightly across his chest. I nodded to Angelo and he began.

  “Big Pete, Little Pete, and Lenny—used to be Dickie, too, before h
e kicked the bucket—they was all involved in this thing happened here a few years back, and it turned out that she somehow knew this secret and was gonna blow the whistle.”

  “What secret?” I asked. “Was it the IBG vote?”

  “I ain’t sayin’ what it had to do with until I get my deal, but it wasn’t that. That was nothing. What I will tell you, certain people weren’t where they said they were the night when she got killed.”

  The prickly feeling came back, only this time I felt it across my whole body.

  “It so happens that night I was down at the employee parking lot taking care of some personal business. While I was there, Little Pete comes flying up in that big truck his pop bought for him. He’s coming back to work in the middle of his shift, which was stranger than hell because once he’s gone he never comes back.”

  “What time?” I asked.

  “Around midnight.”

  “Was he drunk?” asked Dan.

  “He’d had a few, but I’ve seen him a lot worse. I gave him a ride up to the line so he could find Big Pete. On the way up, he was jumpy, like he needed a drink. He couldn’t stop yapping about how big changes was coming because of him and everything was going to get back to normal.”

  “What did you take that to mean?” My throat was tightening.

  “Nothing. The kid’s always spoutin’ off about something. But he kept pushing, so I asked him, does he know this on account of his pop telling him? Because everybody knows that’s the only way the kid ever knows anything is it comes from his pop, right? I tell him this and it pisses him off. He says his pop didn’t know nothing about it, that he and Lenny had a scam going.” Angelo lowered his eyes and blew out a long stream of smoke that scattered the wisps of ashes off the table. “Finally, he couldn’t keep it in no more and he just comes right out and says it. The dumbfuck bastard sits right in my tug and tells me he just killed the lady boss.”

  Dan’s fist slammed down on the table, dumping over Angelo’s coffee cup. Angelo bounced back and out of the chair. I shot straight up. My chair flew back and tipped over as the hot liquid spread across the tabletop. Dan was the only one who didn’t react. He sat there frozen, his arm still flat against the table, his fist squeezed so tight it was shaking. Hot coffee soaked the sleeve of his cotton shirt. I looked at him and he looked back. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “That fucking son of a bitch killed her. I knew it.”