Bleeding Blue

by Don Weston

  “Are you kidding?” Dag said. “When?”

  “Yesterday around lunch time,” Chris said. “I just stepped off the curb and this naked lady’s man came around real fast and tried to run me over.”

  “Ridiculous,” Earl said.

  “It’s true. I heard you coming and jumped back. Your exhaust roared when your truck jumped up on the curb and nearly killed me.”

  Earl started to say something and stopped short. “Where did this happen?”

  “Fourth and Madison,” I said.

  “I—I got a call to pick up a car over in East Portland, and I had an appointment with a client in an hour. I was in a hurry to make the tow, drop it off and make my appointment. I remember hitting that curb. But I didn’t see you there; my mind was miles away. I’m sorry, man.”

  “I saw you both look at me,” Chris said. “You knew I was listening in. You were trying to kill me.”

  “Hey, I remember you now. I saw you coming out of the Mayor’s office when I stopped off to meet Tuttle.”

  “I was signing papers with the Mayor and the lawyers,” Chris said.

  “I didn’t see any lawyers. I saw you and Mayor Clemons come out into the lobby alone. He was patting you on the back and telling you something about doing a good service to the city or some crap like that.”

  “I was signing papers for my lawsuit.”

  “Billie, did you ever consider maybe Chris, here, has been acting as a mole for Mayor Clemons? Doesn’t Clemons have a feather up his butt about you?”

  “What?” Chris said. No. I . . .”

  “I’ll bet Clemons has him following you around to spy and report back,” Earl said. “Is that what you’ve been doing, creep?”

  “No. She’s hiding me out because someone is trying to kill me. You are trying to kill me.”

  Chris got up and started to leave. He hesitated and returned for his untouched plate of spaghetti, a fork and napkin, and scurried up the stairs to his bedroom.

  “Boy, you sure can empty a room,” Jason said to Earl.

  “I tell you, I’m on your side,” Earl said. “But you’d better watch that guy. I’ll bet he’s stooging for the Mayor. In fact, I’ll prove he is.”

  Earl stabbed a meatball, jammed it in his mouth and marched out the front door.

  “Angel sure is a good cook,” Dag said. “Did you notice how everyone wants to take their dinner to go?”

  “Who else have we got as suspects?” Dan asked.

  “Now I guess we have to add Chris to the list,” I said. “There’s the Mayor, who hates my guts, and he seems to have Gloria working for him to keep me in line. Commissioner Tuttle may be involved now because he’s obviously hooked up with Earl somehow.”

  “You think Earl is a suspect?” Dag said.

  “I have for a long time,” I said. “I just don’t trust a man who dates two women at the same time. In the beginning, I thought he was just a louse. Then Eileen tells me he’s a P.I., and he seems to have this knack for inserting himself into my investigations. Hell, who knows what Angel’s been telling him. Now it’s this thing with Chris. I don’t think Earl was trying to kill Chris, but Chris’s observations certainly struck a sore spot with him.”

  “Jeeze, you’re painting a conspiracy here,” Dan said.

  “And The Jet said his handler was a cop. Earl looks like a cop, don’t you think? I mean if he changed out of that T-shirt.”

  “He looks ex-military and he has a lot of confidence in himself,” Jason said, “so yeah, he could pass for a cop.”

  I forked the last wad of spaghetti into my mouth and talked around it. “The only other cop I can think of is Steve. Do you think any cops on the investigative team might be jaded?”

  “I know most of them personally,” Dan said, “I doubt it. I don’t know McGraw well, but he has a lot of ambition so I can’t see him mucked up in anything which could jeopardize his career. I’ll ask around. See if I can pick up on anything suspicious.”

  “Wasn’t Steve the first one on the scene when your garage blew up?” Dag said.

  “I thought about that,” I said. “Earl conveniently appeared too. And Officer McGraw showed up a few minutes later and said he’d seen Chris hanging about when he drove by earlier to check on my safety.”

  “They all had a chance to place the bomb,” Dan said.

  “The one thing that continues to eat at me,” I said, “is when The Jet go into Blaney’s office and how did he know to exit through the secret door in Tuttle’s office?”

  “You said he was looking for a clue as to who hired him,” Dag said. “He also went into Mayor Clemons’ office. Maybe he was looking for blackmail material and stumbled onto the door like you did. If he hadn’t been paid, he probably wanted some leverage.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” I said. “Crap, it’s too late to find out now. After sounding the general alarm at my break-in last night, they’re probably waiting for me to try something stupid again.”

  The next day started out bad and never got better. Angel stayed the night because as she said “my ride went home” and although she said she didn’t blame me, I seemed to be getting the cold shoulder. Chris and I got into an argument over what Earl suggested about him informing to the Mayor, and he stormed out of the house.

  Angel settled into her work demeanor so I gave her the list of names of Art’s friends Delilah Fleming had given me and asked her to see if she could find any of them living in Portland. To the list I added Robert Paul. It was a hunch which already hadn’t panned out, but I gave her Paul’s last known address and phone number in New York and asked her to run him to ground if he was living in Portland.

  I asked her to track down Bob and Gloria Blaney’s home address. It was about nine in the morning, and I was willing to bet Gloria was a night person and probably just waking up. I gave Angel my itinerary and told her to call me right away if she turned up any of the names in Portland.

  At the last minute, I decided to add my green blazer to matching slacks and white blouse. I checked my makeup, removed my lip gloss and added a magenta shade of lipstick. My hair was fly-away so I added some hair spray. I hoped I might catch Gloria in her housecoat and maybe for once she would be the frumpy one.

  I found a matching green purse but it was too small for my gun. I took off my blazer, strapped on a shoulder holster and gun and donned the jacket again. By the time my taxi pulled up to her Laurelhurst home 40 minutes had elapsed. I thought I saw her through a dining room window drinking coffee as we pulled up so I paid the cab driver and knocked at the door. I waited and knocked again and there still was no answer. I was sure I saw someone through the window. She must be home, I thought.

  There was a doorbell so I pushed and held it tight. A not too pleasant melody chimed throughout the house. Three minutes later the door opened and there stood Gloria in a powder blue dress, hiked distastefully above her knees, perfectly coiffed black hair, lipstick three shades redder than mine, killer high heels and killer legs. I almost gagged at my luck.

  “Are you the one making all the racket? I didn’t hear you from the bathroom. I was just putting the finishing touches on my face. Oh, dear. You have a smudge on yours.”

  She whipped out a dainty kerchief from nowhere and wiped the edge of my lip. “There that’s somewhat better; no, it isn’t. You should check it yourself.”

  I opened my purse, still standing at the front door, and checked my face in my compact. The witch had smeared lipstick from my lips to my cheek. I grabbed the handkerchief from her and dabbed off as much as would come willingly.

  “I wondered if we might talk for a few minutes?” I said. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask you.”

  “I’m afraid not, Dear. I have an appointment with the dentist in twenty minutes. Then, I’m meeting friends for brunch, I have some volunteer duties at the hospital, and several appointments during the day. You should really should have called ahead, you know.”

  “I was just wondering about your
little affair with Mayor Clemons.”

  “Affair? Why we’re just good friends. Actually, I’ve known him for years. We went to school together at the University of Oregon. He, Bob and I spend a lot of time together since Bob started working for the city.”

  “Bob was appointed by the Mayor when the former city auditor abruptly resigned mid-term, wasn’t he?”

  Listen, Honey, I simply don’t have time. If you want to have a talk with me, the earliest I could fit you in would be this evening.”

  “When?”

  “Bob and I are going to meet at Finnegan’s along the Willamette River for a late dinner at eight-thirty. We could have drinks there at eight. Does that work for you?”

  “I guess it will have to.”

  “You know where it is?”

  “On Swan Island, in the Industrial district. I’ve been there.”

  “Oh, here’s my cab. I’d offer you a ride but I’m going in the opposite direction.”

  Before I had a chance to ask her what direction she was heading, she tucked her purse under her arm, closed the door behind her and swept past me down the steps to the cab. I fumbled through my purse for my cell phone and realized it had burned up in the fire.

  Damn, I’ve got to get a car, I thought, and walked three blocks to Glisan Street to catch the next bus downtown, cursing the tramp, Gloria, all the way. I felt we were heading for a showdown, and I wanted to make sure I had plenty of ammunition before I tangled with her again.

  Chapter 26

  I’d gone about twenty blocks on the bus when I remembered Honest Hal and his car lot on Northeast 21st and Sandy Boulevard, and I hopped off of the bus at the next stop. Glisan Street intersects Sandy at Northeast 20th, so I only had to walk a block.

  Hal deals in previously owned cars, and he has a liberal trade-in policy and easy credit. He was a former client of mine who got into hot water with the law when he bought a fleet of previously owned cars the previous owners were still looking for.

  His story about having received ownership papers from a man who represented himself as a legitimate auto broker fell on deaf ears with the cops because of the forged documents. The broker disappeared, of course, and all the contact information Hal had on the man turned out to be bogus. It took me about a week to follow a cold trail leading to missing broker.

  Hal was so appreciative he offered me a lifetime purchase special: at cost. Today I was going to take him up on it. I walked onto the lot with red flags flowing overhead, balloons on car antennas and prices marked with soap on the windshields. Most of the cars were late nineties models, a few older and a few newer.

  “As I live and breathe, it’s Billie Bly,” a voice echoed over the highway traffic on Sandy Boulevard. “I thought you were dead and buried.”

  I turned and saw the tall, slim car dealer walking toward me, dressed in chinos, a white linen shirt, and bolo tie with a turquoise stone, his feathery red hair flowing in the wind. He shook my hand with both of his and displayed a gap between his two front teeth.

  “Good to see you,” he said. His greeting turned into a bear hug, and he slapped me on the sides of my shoulders. “I thought sure you were dead for a while. Sent you flowers when you were in the hospital.”

  Honest Hal was just that. Honest and always sincere and compassionate. I never understood how he could be successful in the used car business.

  “I came to shop for a car,” I said.

  “Got a trade in?”

  “No.”

  “What happened to that cute little Miata?”

  “It got blown up,” I said.

  “Ouch. You’ve had that for a long time.”

  “Seven years. I called her Betsy.”

  “I got just what you’re looking for,” Hal said, and walked me over to a Smart Car, a white two-seater, with New Jersey Police insignias on the doors.

  “They bought five as a trial for local malls and decided it wasn’t a good fit.”

  “It’s really small,” I said. “How fast does it go?”

  “Seventy-miles-per-hour is top speed listed by the manufacturer, but these police specials will do eighty-five. How about it? It’s cute, it’s hip, and it’s you.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “It would draw too much attention. Not a good idea if I’m tailing someone or on a stakeout.”

  “I can have it painted a dull color. Price is eighteen thousand, you can have it for fifteen.”

  “That’s cost? Maybe I’d better look around some more.”

  “This car is hot right now. If I wanted to wait a while, I might get twenty-five grand, which is about what it cost new.”

  I walked down the line of cars and stopped at a cute red older sports car with a full sun roof. It was British and low to the ground, the red paint impeccable, new tires, and leather seats.

  “I thought you wanted to blend in,” Hal said.

  “I can’t help it. I have a thing for smaller, sporty, red cars.”

  “I just picked it up last week,” Hal said. “It’s a ‘73 MGB GT. Has a rebuilt engine, the works. Wife lost her husband to cancer and couldn’t bear to see it sitting in the garage. He spent years restoring it. She said it’s a pity people can’t be given new life like cars.

  “What did you say? People can’t be brought back from the dead? I wonder.”

  “It’s listed at eighty-five hundred. I paid four thousand below book for it because she just wanted to unload it. You can have it for six thousand.”

  I reminded him of our lifetime agreement and he let me have it for five thousand. I wrote a check on my credit union’s line-of-credit account after test-driving the spiffy little red demon and promptly nicknamed her Myrtle. She had plenty of power and performed even better when I shifted gears smoothly.

  I took Myrtle up to Washington Park and put her through her paces on the winding curves above the Rose Gardens. By the time I arrived downtown it was noon. I plugged a meter on Southwest Fourth and walked along the park block to the hot dog stand where Chris spotted Tuttle and Earl.

  I ordered a dog with onions and relish and noticed Tuttle, sitting on a park bench, apparently deep in thought as I slid down next to him.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Hi,” he said amiably, not looking up at me.

  “You come here often?”

  “Huh, yeah. Three or four times a week. I love their polish dogs.”

  “They are pretty good,” I agreed.

  He glanced up from his meal. “Oh, it’s you. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, except at the funeral.”

  “Yeah, I noticed I never got a visit in the hospital.”

  “Believe it or not, I meant to,” he said. “But with campaigning and homeland security drills I lost track of the time.”

  ‘That’s okay. I wasn’t exactly your favorite person.”

  “The lawsuit, you mean. Nah, that was just business. I thought it was pretty funny when I heard what you did to that guy in the revolving door—until he sued the city.”

  “I didn’t see it coming either,” I said.

  “You got a bad break. A couple of bad breaks, including your brother. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m hanging on by a hair, Commissioner. The only thing keeping me going is the thought of finding Darrin’s killer.”

  “But I thought they caught him. Isn’t it Steve Thomas—your former partner? He’s going to be arraigned this afternoon I understand.”

  “In two hours,” I said.

  “Are you going to attend?”

  “Maybe. I’ve got a busy day lined up.”

  “Then let’s not waste time,” he said, taking another bite from his dog. “What’s on your mind?”

  “What do you think is on my mind?” I said.

  “I have no idea. Something to do with your brother’s death, I would guess. Sounds like you aren’t convinced Thomas did it.”

  “I’m not sure about it. I want to think he didn’t do it, but the case against him seems pretty convinc
ing. What do you think?”

  Tuttle took another bite and chewed for a while.

  “Something’s off kilter. There’s a strange vibe in the air around City Hall these days. Weird things are happening. People seem not to be themselves. The Mayor is crankier day after day and more stubborn. We’ve had office break-ins, nobody’s talking to anyone, and . . . well I’d better just leave it at that.”

  “Can you tell me about the break-ins?” I asked.

  He looked over his shoulder and back at me.

  “Last week someone broke into my office and rifled through it,” he said. “And a few nights ago, someone broke into Bob Blaney’s office and apparently escaped through the exit in my office.”

  “Was anything taken during the first break-in?”

  “I can only speak for myself,” he said. “Some drawers were open and papers moved around on my desk, but nothing was missing.”

  “Was that what you and Blaney argued about last week?”

  “How—?”

  “I’ve got sources.”

  “Whoever it was, first came through an interconnecting door between our offices. Then it happened again a few nights ago. The thing is, the door was kind of a secret. It was covered by wallpaper and blocked by a Japanese folding screen and my bookcase. No one knew about it except Bob and me. It used to be our private little joke. One of us would get silly or tired at the end of the day and visit each other.”

  “Why did you two argue?”

  “It’s a lot of things. I accused him of searching my office. He denied it.”

  “What did you think he was looking for?”

  Tuttle became tight-lipped.

  “You got pretty upset,” I said. “You could be heard yelling at him in the outer offices.”

  He grimaced. “I felt violated and I was mad.”

  “Was that because he accused you of being involved with his wife?”

  “No! I mean, he did accuse me, but it was completely untrue. Gloria asked me out to lunch a few times, and she flirted with me like she does with all men. But I’m happily married and it didn’t go anywhere.”

  “Gloria seems to me to always have an agenda. What did you two talk about?”