True to his pledge, Corrigan listened without saying a word. When I finished, he took a sip of his coffee and after carefully setting down his cup, asked, “What aren’t you telling me, Claire? What does this tree guy have to do with all these murders?” His voice was even, but his hand was gripping his cup so tightly it was a wonder he didn’t crush it.
While I knew finding the killer should have a higher priority than keeping Eileen’s notebook a secret, I still balked at betraying Timothy’s confidence. “My sources...”
He laid his forearms on the table and leaned towards me. “You’re tying my hands, Claire. Who are your sources? What do they have? If you’re going to help me, then, dammit, help me.” The vein in his temple, the one I think of as his aggravation vein, gyrated.
I bit my lower lip and debated with myself. One toe in the water wasn’t enough. To be of any assistance, I had to get soaked. “Okay, I’ll tell you all about it. Give me until four this afternoon.” Somehow I’d have to convince Timothy that turning over the evidence to Corrigan was the best route to take. My churning gut told me that wouldn’t be an easy task.
Right now, though, I had to seize this opportunity to get answers to my own questions. “What can you tell me about this latest murder?”
He hesitated, pressing his lips together tightly for a moment. “All right. I’m trusting you, Claire. Don’t let me down.” He pulled out his notepad. “The victim’s name is, or was, Rebecca Singer. Forty-three. Single. Lived alone. She’d last been seen alive playing bingo at Corey’s Bingo Center. No witnesses to the crime.” He closed his pad. “That’s all we have so far.”
My brain was whirling so fast, it should have made me dizzy. Another murder tied to bingo. What was it about that game that spurred the killer to do what he did?
Corrigan rubbed his face and the full extent of his exhaustion shown through again. “Every turn I’ve taken with this has led to a dead end and another corpse. I’ve got to get this guy.” His shoulders slumped as if the weight of all the victims’ bodies had been dropped on him.
I tilted my head in a question. “So you’re asking, in your roundabout way, for my help? I mean, besides what we just talked about.”
His eyes scanned the room, as if he was afraid of being caught talking with me. “Yeah. I guess I am. Not, I repeat, not to have you track down the killer yourself. My feelings on that haven’t changed. I don’t want you hurt. No more going to bingo parlors. Please.”
I was flattered that, after pushing me to the outside on so many cases, he would actually welcome my help. But I couldn’t just drop my own pursuit of the man who’d snuffed out so many lives, especially that of my beloved babysitter, Vincenza Amato. I had to get this guy for her. On top of all that, it’d taken me numerous murder cases to gain what small amount of confidence I had in my abilities. Would what was essentially working for Corrigan end up with me losing my independence?
I realized while I’d been staring at my hands lost in these thoughts, Corrigan had been watching me, no doubt calculating my response. When I raised my head, it hit me how much he needed my consent. I sighed, understanding that I couldn’t agree to stop my own investigation, but I could be more cooperative. “What exactly do you want?”
He grabbed my hands. “You let me know immediately whenever you get any new information or even a suspicion of something going on. That’s all I ask. And that you stay away from any hint of danger.” He smirked. “I don’t want to have to rescue you.”
I yanked my hands from his. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to save me from any villain who’s tying me to the railroad tracks. I can take care of myself.”
He harrumphed, but gave no retort. Maybe he was just too tired.
Draining my cup, I said, “I better go. I have people to talk with and information to dig up.”
He rose from his chair. “Me too. But I expect to hear from you in six hours or less. That would be by four this afternoon.”
“I can tell time and even add or subtract. Talk to you then.” My display of confidence was a sham. Timothy had been adamant about not sharing Eileen’s information with the police. The thought of breaking my promise to him made me feel like a weasel. Surely there was a way to convince him to share. There just had to be.
***
Luck is something I rarely encounter. But it shone its sunny face on me that morning. Timothy not only answered his phone but even agreed to meet and talk.
The girl behind the counter at The Coffee Cup gave me a knowing smile when I showed up for the second time that morning with a different man. Thank God, Timothy, with his obvious comb-over and belly that lapped over his belt, didn’t notice.
He and I found a table in the back of the cafe and sat across from each other. Before I could say a word, he began tapping his fingers against his cup. “You want to take Eileen’s notebook to the cops.” His jaw was set and his eyes held a challenge.
To convince him that surrendering the notebook to the police was best, I bent the truth a bit. Okay, I twisted it like a strongman curves an iron rod. “The police have just hired me as a consultant on the Red Bow murders. So it wouldn’t be as if I just turned over Eileen’s notebook and walked away. I’ll have some control over how it’s interpreted.” My words fell over each other, repeating how vital his evidence was, not only in solving Eileen’s murder, but possibly even the Pittsburgh killings. I even appealed to his conscience, pointing out the possibility of other women dying if his information didn’t come to light.
He hung his head in silence.
I went on to tell him what my call to Lori had revealed.
Still, he didn’t lift his head, nor say a word.
I softened my voice. “Timothy?”
He finally looked me in the eye. “I’m counting on you to use the notebook wisely.”
I blew out a breath. “To the best of my ability.”
With a curt nod of his head, he broke eye contact. “I won’t give you the ribbon back. If you turn it over to the cops, God knows how they’ll interpret it and Eileen can’t defend herself now.”
There’d be no argument from me about the ribbon. I was relieved he at least had enough confidence in me to let me turn over the notebook. “Understandable. But if you change your mind…”
“I won’t.” With that, he stood. “I gotta get outta here.” He walked out leaving me feeling like Judas.
I stared at the exit for a moment, half expecting him to return and demand the notebook back. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he had. With the evidence now completely in my control, the fluttering in my stomach intensified.
I got into my car and drove to the office, obeying all the speed limits. At every stop, I allowed other drivers to pull in front of me. But none of that made me feel any better of a person. Just a better driver. Even understanding Eileen’s notebook could be of value in finding her killer didn’t help. The belief I was a turncoat stuck to me like gum to the bottom of a shoe.
Once I laid my purse on my desk, I was determined to heave my guilt into the waste can. It was getting in the way of my current task, finding invoices for Gino. I shuddered to imagine how Griselli might rearrange my boss’s face if he didn’t get his money back.
I shuffled through a huge paper file, grousing not for the first time, over why Gino insisted on hard copies instead of a computer spreadsheet.
About a third of the way through, an invoice stopped me cold. It was a duplicate of an old bill we’d recently collected on. Back then, the name on that invoice had been meaningless to me. Now I clutched the paper so tightly the top of it ripped.
Wolden. Jerry Wolden. The name smacked my brain so hard my head whipped back. The elderly man from bingo. Why did he keep popping up—at bingo, the library, Eileen’s workplace? And now he could be the uncle of a murderous nephew? I tried to recall what else Gino had told me about the case. Either the memory hadn’t stuck or was buried under a ton of other information. I pounded my temples with both my hands, trying to shake the memory l
oose.
Praying Gino’s filing ability prior to my re-employment was better than his punctuality I hurried over to the file cabinets.
Fifteen minutes later, I located the handwritten notes on Wolden. Skimming through them, I recalled the gist of his concern. He had suspected his nephew, who now lived with him, of killing his own mother, Ann. Ann had been Wolden’s sister.
I stood in front of the open cabinet drawer and flipped through the report, my eyes darting across the pages, searching for the nephew’s name and other details about him. The information wasn’t included. Not anywhere. That’s when I realized page three of the report was missing. I slammed the file drawer hard. Damn, damn, double damn!
Taking a deep breath, I reopened the cabinet drawer. The missing page had probably been filed in the wrong folder. My heart sank to my knees when I thought how long it might take to find it.
The office phone rang. It was Ed.
“Hey, kiddo. Just talked with the drummer I knew from Pittsburgh. He recalled a guy, a guitar player, with a weird name. Thinks it could’ve been Birch. Says the guy used to play with a group called the Wild Ones. My buddy also said he thinks he has a promo picture of the Wild Ones, with the guy you’re looking for.” He took a breath. “Anyway, I gave him your number and he says when he finds the picture, he’ll fax it to you.”
“That’s wonderful, Ed. In the meantime, was he able to remember what the guy looked like?”
“I asked, but he said it was too long ago to recall. Sorry.”
“Yeah, not surprising. Great job, though, Ed. I’ll look at what he sends and then take it to Corrigan.”
I told him about working with Corrigan, Ed was sympathetic.
“The guy needs a break before this case breaks him. Hope this arrangement pans out for him. And for you.”
Probably looking for some sympathy for myself, I recounted my experience with the lost page to Ed.
“Did you check Gino’s desk?”
“Why would it be there?”
“Why would it be missing from the report?”
“You’ve got a point.” I was anxious to return to my search. “Thanks for your help, Ed.”
Off the phone, I wondered if Ed could be right. It was unlikely, but maybe he was. I’d look there later, after the file cabinets.
Mentally I replaced having a good night with having a long night, because that’s what it would be.
I didn’t get very far when my phone rang again.
It was Suzy. I moaned. With all that’d been going on lately, I’d forgotten about my duty as maid-of-honor.
“Claire, I’m so sorry to bother you at work, but if you’re free this Saturday morning, would you be willing to look at wedding dresses with me? Maybe you could also find a bridesmaid’s dress.”
Her voice sounded so sweet it made the heat from my guilt burn even hotter. “Of course, Suzy. And I’m so sorry for not calling you sooner. It’s just…” Any excuse would sound so insignificant. This was my future stepmom I’d been ignoring.
“Don’t worry about it, Claire. You’re a busy woman. And it’s just as easy for me to pick up the phone. So how about we grab breakfast at Second Watch at Crocker Park and then start shopping? Around nine? I’m bound to find something with all those stores there.”
“Something traditional, like a white dress?”
She laughed, “That boat sailed before you were even born. No, I want something that’ll reflect who I am.”
A tight-fitting dress with rhinestones. I quickly banished that uncharitable vision. “Sounds good. I’ll just let my aunt know I need the day off.”
“Umm. You don’t have to do that. I already squared it with her.”
Suzy was getting the hang of handling this family. “Great, see you tomorrow morning.”
The crammed-together folders were still waiting for me, and I returned to searching for the missing page three when my phone rang yet again. Frustrated at the multiple interruptions, I was about it let it go into voicemail. Then I saw it was Gino.
“Hey, Claire. I, uh, won’t be in the office today. Or tomorrow. I’m working on a deal.”
“To pay back Griselli?” I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache coming on.
“Yeah. Do me a favor, though.” That approaching headache galloped across my scalp. “If Betty shows up, asking where I am, play dumb. Okay?”
I didn’t have to play. Allowing myself to get involved with any plan or deal with Gino was dumb. “But I don’t—”
“Thanks, you’re a doll.” He was gone.
Enough. So many needs, wants and other people’s interests were hitting me, I felt as if I were sitting on one of those carnival dunk-‘em seats. Just a matter of time before somebody hit the bull’s eye and I dropped into the water tank.
I was left alone again, but didn’t have the patience to look for what amounted to scrounging through a cyclone of papers. To my relief, the photo Ed’s friend had promised finally came in. It was blurry, so I grabbed the magnifying glass Gino kept in his top drawer. I peered at the photo again. The man Ed’s friend had thoughtfully noted as Birch was tying a big bow around some smiling groupie’s neck. Looked like laughs all around, but I wondered if the bow was red.
A glance at the clock reminded me of my promise to Corrigan. I grabbed my purse and keys, hoping I could make it to the police station by four.
I arrived with two minutes to spare. Corrigan was waiting outside the station for me. He hustled me into an interrogation room. “Never know who’s listening. What have you got for me?”
I handed him Eileen’s notebook and told him all I knew, even about the ribbon that escaped from the notebook’s pages. I concluded, “Eileen must have had something on this Birch guy. Something bad enough that he kept looking for her, even ten years later.”
He rose from his chair. “And you think that something concerned the women who died in Pittsburgh and the murders here?”
“Don’t forget. Eileen was the first victim in Cleveland. That’s not a coincidence.”
“Ten years after the Pittsburgh killings? Come on, the murders might be related, or maybe someone’s a copycat, but...”
I waved the fax. “And look at this. This one’s Birch.”
His brows drew together. “Girl’s wearing a bow around her neck. But lots of people used bows. And she doesn’t look like she minds.” He caught my look of determination. “Okay, okay, we’ll contact the authorities in Pittsburgh. See if we can get a lead on this Birch guy.”
My mouth formed the words to tell him about Gino’s investigation for Jerry Wolden, but I stopped myself. He would just think I was wasting his time.
Chapter Twenty Five
Frustrated at my inability to move forward on the case, I left work to take Charlie out, then arrived at Cannoli’s just in time for my second job. Thankfully, we were busy, but no new drama presented itself. As the evening wore on, my energy level slowly dove to near zero. I had a cup of black coffee toward the end of my shift, hoping it would get me through my nighttime search of Gino’s desk for the missing report page.
***
Yawning, I unlocked the office door, turned on all the lights, and locked the door behind me. Can’t be too safe.
I stepped into Gino’s office and realized, with dismay, his desk was piled high with papers turned every which way, some smoothed, some crumpled. None in any order. I scooped up one stack and leafed through them. Nothing I needed. Same with the next stack.
Fatigue was getting the upper hand on me. I plopped into a chair with stack number three and began sifting through the papers. I didn’t get far when I heard a noise. Removing my gun from my near-by purse, I aimed it at the door.
“Claire?” It was Gino, looking even more disheveled than when I’d seen him the previous day. Despite the unseasonable chill in the mid-June air, he’d replaced his usual sports jacket for a polyester shirt that looked as if it’d been left over from disco night. “What’re you doing here?”
“I thin
k we might have a break in the Red Bow killings.”
His heavy-lidded eyes opened wide. “What is it?”
After giving him a quick rundown of what had occurred today, I added, “If my guess is right, the nephew whose name is on page three of the report you completed for Jerry Wolden is our killer. But that page is missing.”
“Can’t be.” He rubbed the heavy stubble on his chin. But if it is, we’ve gotta find it.” He glanced at his watch. “But not now. I got somebody coming here to talk business. Time for you to go home.”
He practically shoved me out the door and on my way down the stairs, I saw why. A heavyset, olive-skinned man in an expensive suit was heaving himself up the stairs. I could smell his expensive cologne as he passed by. Why he was there was unclear to me, but I was sure it wasn’t to hire Gino to track down his Bible. Even as I pulled out of the office parking lot, a part of me wanted to go back inside and save Gino from whatever his scheme was.
But my boss was a grown-up and would have to deal with his actions. Not that I really bought that, but Charlie needed to go outside and, unlike Gino, he hadn’t made his bed.
Good thing I’d made that choice because as soon as I opened his cage door, my poor pup ran to the door, whimpering. I was so anxious to get him outdoors I pulled my gun from my purse and paused only long enough to lock my door behind me.
Charlie tugged and pulled at his leash to catch up with two couples who looked like they were trying to get their 10,000 steps in before the end of the day. We followed them as they did a loop past my apartment building. Feeling safe, I finally managed to yank Charlie away and we turned into my building.
I sped up the stairs, hoping to tire Charlie out even more. Once we reached my floor, we jogged to my apartment door. It was ajar.
Chapter Twenty Six
Charlie let out a low growl and the hairs on my arms stood up. I pulled my gun from my waistband. Not wanting Charlie to get hurt, I wrapped his leash handle around the doorknob so he couldn’t run in. On legs that felt as sturdy as paper clips, I took a step inside. Far enough to reach my phone. I was ready to call 911 when Charlie freed his leash and dashed into my apartment, barking as if to chase out the demons. I followed him.
Cupcakes and Corpses Page 18