Annie Seymour 01-Sacred Cows

by Karen E. Olson

  Marty sighed. “This whole thing is ballooning. Let’s try to stick a pin in it.”

  A definitely murdered Yalie was worse than one who just jumped from a balcony. I wish I could say I felt his pain.

  The diner was dark, darker since I’d left my sunglasses on.

  “One?” the waitress was asking, pulling out a menu.

  I shook my head. “I’m meeting someone.”

  She smiled. “Oh, yes, he’s here.” I was guided to a booth in the back, where Hickey was ignoring the ban on smoking in restaurants, but no one in any position of authority here seemed to care. I coughed on purpose.

  “You’re one of those reformed smokers, aren’t you?”

  It was the curse of quitting. After enough time without a cigarette, I felt any smoke that invaded my lungs was the enemy. I used to crave it, drink in secondhand smoke like baby’s milk, but now it annoyed me. “You know, there’s no smoking in restaurants anymore.”

  He took a long drag and purposely blew a smoke ring toward me. I still had my sunglasses on and I studied his face. Everything on it was wide: his cheeks, his nose, his eyes, his mouth. The crew cut just accentuated it. He was between thirty-five and fifty, I couldn’t narrow it down more than that. He wore a sweatshirt with PENN STATE riding on top of a beer gut that barely fit behind the table. Between the smoke and the rank smell emanating from Hickey’s person, it was too bad I was hungry and thought I’d be able to have lunch.

  He was studying me as much as I was checking him out. He blew another smoke ring. “You know, a few years ago you would’ve made me a lot of money.”

  I think he meant it as a compliment.

  “That hair is great, and a lot of guys might like those legs wrapped around them. But you must be over forty now, too old for me.”

  I kept reminding myself he was a source and I had to be nice to him. But I crossed my leg and whacked my boot into his shin.

  “Shit!” he exclaimed, the cigarette falling out of his mouth. I took the butt and stamped it out.

  “Let’s get on with it,” I said coldly.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  “I need to know about McGee.” I didn’t want to waste any more time, but the waitress suddenly was hovering over us. I shook my head, but Hickey picked up his menu.

  “A cheeseburger platter with extra fries,” he told her.

  My stomach growled. What the hell. “A tuna melt with fries. And a Coke.”

  She disappeared.

  “I told you I can’t reveal anything about our clients,” Hickey said.

  I was going to have to do it. I had no choice. I needed a place to start and I was nowhere right now. “Off the record.”

  He paused, thinking about it.

  “Whatever you tell me, I’ll confirm with other sources. I won’t use your name.”

  “The cops are coming down pretty heavy on me. They’ve already searched my place.”

  What place? An office? His apartment? A train station locker? I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know, so I pressed on. “Did they find anything?”

  Hickey’s mouth moved into a grin. “Are you kidding? Nothing’s on paper.” He tapped his forehead. “It’s all right here.”

  It was a scary thought. “McGee?” I said again.

  Hickey sighed and leaned closer toward me. I tried to close my nostrils to the tobacco scent emanating from his mouth. “They’re regulars. Three different guys, but they always want the same girls, young, smart, pretty. Melissa was hot, and they knew that.”

  “Do you have a regular contact?”

  He nodded. “Same guy always set it up. But I’m not sure which one Melissa saw that night.”

  “Would it be possible to talk to one of the girls who saw these men?”

  “I don’t want to reveal my girls’ identities.”

  “I don’t care about them, I just want information about McGee.”

  The waitress reappeared with two plates. I took a bite of my tuna melt and savored it, despite the rank air around me.

  Hickey nodded. “You know, I really liked Melissa. She was a good kid. So I’m going to hook you up with Allison. She’s a Yale student, too. But you have to promise to keep her off the record.”

  I nodded. “Okay. When can I talk to her?”

  “I’ll call her when I get back and have her call you.”

  I finished my tuna melt in about three minutes and downed the Coke. I gave him my cell phone number again. “Have her call me on this. That way no one at the paper will intercept any calls.”

  He nodded, his mouth full of cheeseburger. I threw some bills on the table. “Thanks, Hickey, it’s on me.”

  As I pushed my way out of the booth, he wiped his mouth. “You know, I think I was wrong about you. I’ve got some guys who’d really get off on you. Interested?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was kidding, so I just shook my head and walked away.

  My cell phone rang when I got into the car. It couldn’t be Allison this soon. It was Tom.

  “Just thought you might like to know we’re going to make an arrest.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Why would I kid?”

  “Who?”

  “The ex-boyfriend, David Best.”

  “What have you got on him?”

  “Fingerprints at the apartment. And we’ve got two witnesses who saw him, one outside as he was yelling up for her to come down, another who saw him in the hall.”

  “He was there? How did you ID his fingerprints?”

  “He was arrested for drunk driving last year.” So much for the clean-cut college boy. “We’ve got a warrant, his lawyer’s going to get him to turn himself in in about an hour. Thought you might like to know.” He hung up.

  I stared at the phone. It was over. Sort of. I was still curious about McGee, but if they thought they had their man, then my job was to report that and get on with the business of the day. I’d had a nagging feeling about David Best from the start, when I talked to those kids and then when I talked to him. It was him. It was as simple as I’d first thought. But somehow I felt let down.

  I didn’t let myself think about it. I went back to the office and told Marty what was up. The furrows in his forehead grew. A Yalie killing another Yalie. I was glad I didn’t have to tell the publisher about that one.

  THE POLICE STATION was surrounded when I got there, cameras jockeying for position, waiting for the perp walk. Richard Wells caught my eye and winked. I was tired of the wrong men winking at me. Tom was nowhere to be seen.

  But he was there, that guy, the other winker, the Frank Sinatra look-alike. He was off to the side, sandwiched between two television cameramen. At first I wasn’t sure it was him, but when the guy next to him moved back a little, I saw him plain as day. This had gone on long enough. I squeezed my way around a couple of other reporters, but when I got to the spot where he’d been, he was gone. My brain kicked into overdrive. Maybe he was one of the McGee people; no, couldn’t be, why would he be following me? Maybe he was another reporter. I let him slip away again as a dark car pulled up along the sidewalk, about six cops surrounded it, the doors opened and the show began.

  David Best looked like hell. His face was pale, his hair slicked back. His lawyer stuck to his side, repeating “no comment” to anyone who even looked at him. In a second it was over, they were gone, and David would be under the gun all night. I’d caught a glimpse of Tom as he brought David in. The lines in his face were longer, deeper, and his eyes didn’t reveal his thoughts.

  “What do you think?” Richard Wells was at my side, his notebook closed, his pen secure in his shirt pocket.

  “About what?” I just wanted to get back and get this story done.

  “Do you think he really did it?”

  I stopped and looked at him. “That’s not really for me to say.”

  “Give me a break. You’ve got an opinion. We’ve all got one.”

  Yeah, and while reporters have a certain camarade
rie that allows them to share a few beers and their own opinions away from the listening public, Richard Wells was hardly someone I would do that with. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t take advantage of his willingness to talk to me. “So what do you think?”

  He shook his head. “No way. The kid’s not a killer. It’s not in him.”

  “How do you know?”

  Richard lowered his voice conspiratorially. “He’s known about this life of Melissa’s for a while now. Why now? Why would he suddenly snap? It doesn’t make any sense. Sure, they had an argument that night, but would he really have the balls to kill her over this? I don’t think so. He’s just some snobby rich kid who couldn’t get what he wanted.”

  “But anyone can snap at any time.”

  “True. But I think this is all bullshit.”

  “How did his fingerprints get in the apartment?” I wanted to trip him up, throw a wrench into his theory, but I was intrigued, being uncertain myself.

  “He was there, but I don’t think he has the balls to off anyone,” he repeated.

  I remembered my first impression of David Best, and I couldn’t say without a doubt that I thought he did it or didn’t do it. But even if he didn’t, something had happened between him and Melissa that night.

  “I’ve got to get back. Nice talking to you.”

  I left him with his mouth hanging open. I’m not sure what he’d expected.

  Dick was already writing when I got back to the paper. He had canvassed the university and gotten reaction to the arrest.

  “Memorial service tomorrow,” he reminded me.

  And my black dress still hadn’t made it to the cleaners. Damn.

  I quickly wrote up the main arrest story and dragged my ass out at a reasonable hour to an empty apartment with an empty refrigerator. I’d forgotten to get dinner. Abate’s Pizza delivers. As I was dialing the number, my cell phone started chirping.

  “Miss Seymour? This is Allison.”

  Hickey’s Allison. I’d forgotten all about her. I could tell her the case was closed, but maybe I could get another story out of this, especially since Mark Torrey was the city’s Mark Torrey. It was worth a shot.

  “Hickey said I should talk to you.” Her voice was tight. She didn’t want to talk.

  “Do you want to do this on the phone or do you want to meet somewhere?” I wanted to meet, I couldn’t see her face this way, gauge her reactions, see if she was telling the truth.

  “I don’t like cell phones,” she admitted.

  “Where are you?” I didn’t relish the idea of going out again, I wanted pizza to miraculously appear at my door, and then I wanted to go to sleep. But this could be my only shot to talk to this girl.

  “I’ll meet you wherever you say.” I liked an agreeable girl.

  I tried to think of a place where it was crowded enough to make her comfortable, but not crowded enough to keep us from talking. And a place that had food. “There’s a Mexican restaurant on State Street, where the street forks. Do you know it?” It had fabulous food and was rarely overcrowded.

  “Yeah. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

  My mouth was watering for a margarita, and I figured one wouldn’t make a difference and might make Allison more comfortable. I was already sipping it and tapping my foot to the conjunto music when she arrived.

  Allison could’ve been Melissa’s twin, but blond. Her straight hair fell like silk around a perfect face and brought my eyes down to a perfect figure. She was about twenty, with intelligent eyes.

  Since mine was the only table occupied by a single woman, Allison came over and slid into the chair across from me. “You must be Anne Seymour.”

  I nodded. “I’m having dinner. Would you like something?”

  She picked up a chip and nibbled it without dipping it in the salsa. “No, I have plans for a little later.”

  I wanted to scream, what the fuck are you doing, but that would’ve been too much like her mother and not at all like an objective reporter. Shit, I was old enough to be her mother.

  “I understand you and Melissa saw people from McGee Corporation.”

  Allison nodded. “They liked her better than me, but if she wasn’t available, they asked for me.”

  “Hickey says it was three different guys.”

  “They were all pretty nice. They tipped well.” She kept moving her eyes so she was looking behind me, probably embarrassed. I didn’t blame her.

  “Can you tell me anything about them? We’re having a hard time tracking down anything about the company.”

  She picked up another chip. “They all thought they were pretty hot stuff.”

  “Can you describe them?”

  For the first time she looked me straight in the eye. “I met all three guys at different times. They’re all in their early thirties, very well dressed; one took me to the theater, the others to a couple of charity events. They seem to know everyone. I was surprised they didn’t have wives or dates and that they had to go through the agency.”

  “The fast track?”

  “Definitely.”

  My tacos arrived, three of them, wrapped up tightly in soft tortillas, the guacamole ready to be slathered all over them. I took a bite and washed it down with a slug of margarita. Nothing was better than this.

  “Did you ever meet Mark Torrey?”

  “Oh, yeah, I saw him a couple of times. He was the best.”

  I didn’t want to ask what he was best in, and she continued without seeming to notice my cringe. “He is the youngest, but he bragged he was head of the company. Said he’d be a millionaire by the time he was thirty-five. Kept talking about some project involving some company with a Norwegian name.”

  “Lundgren?”

  “Yes, that was it.”

  “Did he say anything else about it?” I put my taco down.

  “You’ve heard of it?”

  I nodded. “They’re a big development firm, the city’s pushing them for a redevelopment project. They’ve already done some studies. What does McGee have to do with it?”

  Allison shrugged. “All Mark said was something about how his company was going to make it all possible.”

  I pondered that for a few seconds. I’d heard the city was trying to get some sort of grant for this project, which as of yet did not have a cute name attached to it. I didn’t cover that part of the city and had only a peripheral knowledge of the project, but if Marty hadn’t heard of McGee before, either, then maybe no one had.

  “Did you ever go to the apartment?” I asked her abruptly.

  She stared at the table and I saw a blush creep over her cheeks. “Yes,” she said.

  “Listen, Allison, it’s not for me to judge what you do, but I guess I just don’t understand how a pretty, smart girl like you would do something like that.” I resumed eating my tacos, unwilling to let them get cold.

  “It’s good money,” she said quietly.

  “Is it that good?” When I wanted extra cash in college, I typed kids’ English papers.

  She smiled, the blush now gone. “Yes. You’d be surprised.”

  No, I probably wouldn’t be.

  “I don’t come from a rich family. I’m on scholarship.” Which made it even more sad, but I didn’t say anything. “Melissa, well, I’m not sure why she did it, I think mostly because she knew if her parents ever found out they’d really hit the roof. They’re loaded, she really doesn’t, didn’t, need the money.”

  “Are there drugs involved?”

  Allison looked away again, and I could see the truth in her profile, but I waited to see if she’d tell me.

  Finally she turned back to me. “Those guys, the McGee guys, they always had coke on them, and once they tried to get me to do heroin. But I’m not into all that. I’m not sure about Melissa. We didn’t talk about the drugs. But I think maybe she got off on it. She got off on a lot of bad shit.”

  “Do you know David Best?”

  “Sure. He was at that party that night, bugging her
again.”

  “Bugging her about what?”

  “Oh, she let it drop what she was doing later that night, and he was pissed. He didn’t want her to see anyone else, even though they broke up. He was really possessive.” No news there. “When she called me later, she said he’d followed her from the party.”

  “She called you?”

  “She was out with Mark. He wanted a threesome.”

  I tried not to let my shock show. “So.” I kept my voice even. “Did you go?”

  Allison shook her head. “I couldn’t. I had a test the next morning and had to study. But she was upset about David. Said she thought he was outside the building.”

  No shit. “I wonder how he got in,” I mumbled to myself, and Allison frowned.

  “What?”

  “They arrested him tonight, David. Didn’t you know? They found his fingerprints in the apartment, someone saw him in the hallway.”

  “But that’s not possible.” She seemed so sure.

  “Why not?”

  “She wouldn’t have let him in. Neither would Mark.” She had a point.

  I needed to talk to Mark Torrey and the other McGee guys. I had a nagging feeling in my gut that something was very wrong with all this. “If you see Mark again, or any of the others, could you let me know? I want to talk to them.”

  Allison frowned. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

  Now she gets a conscience.

  “Listen, I don’t think these guys are on the up-and-up, I’m not sure what it is, but it could be dangerous for you.” I needed to talk to them and I wasn’t above scaring her.

  She shrugged. “I’ll see.”

  I handed her my business card. “I’d really appreciate it.”

  I finished my tacos and margarita after she left. I hoped she’d reconsider.

  CHAPTER 7

  I found a pair of black trousers in the back of my closet and put it together with a white short-sleeved blouse. It was too warm for a blazer, but I figured it looked solemn enough for the memorial service. As I ate a bowl of Rice Krispies, I remembered my mother said something about the Peabodys contacting her firm. Maybe I could try to find out something at this service. It would be crass to talk to the parents, but there was always a close friend or relative who might know something and would be willing to talk.