‘Guess they’re not much on security,’ O’Reilly observed.
‘Not yet anyhow,’ Kozlowski agreed.
They turned into the subdivision and followed a road lined with oversized houses around a man-made lake. They came to a stop in front of a huge Greek revival with a three-car garage. There was a Mercedes-Benz parked in the circular drive. A sign posted on the front lawn notified visitors that the house was protected by Safeway Systems.
‘Let’s cool our heels for a while,’ O’Reilly suggested. They drove to the end of the block and turned around, parking in front of a vacant wooded lot where they could see the front of the house. After a few minutes a dark-haired woman wearing a tank top and tight white slacks came out the front door and drove off in the Mercedes. Not long afterwards, a Cadillac Seville pulled in and parked in the far garage.
‘The master of the house?’ Kozlowski queried.
‘Good guess. What say we go and have a little talk with Mr Columbo?’
They pulled into the driveway, parking in the space vacated by the Mercedes.
‘We’re definitely dragging this place down,’ said O’Reilly, as they got out of the unmarked car. They rang the doorbell and a Hispanic woman answered. Visibly rattled when the detectives flashed their stars, she left them standing on the front porch and hurried off in search of her employer. She returned shortly thereafter, asking them to follow me please in heavily accented English. She took them through an opulent entry and down to the lower level, past some scattered tools and pieces of wood to an office at the far end of the room. Vince Columbo was sitting at his desk watching a muted Cubs game. The window behind him framed a pool with landscaped grounds sloping down to the lake.
They fished their stars out again and Vince took a disinterested look before turning off the game. ‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’ he asked, his dark eyes piercing and intent as he leaned forward over his desk.
O’Reilly addressed him in his best deferential manner. ‘Mr Columbo, we’re from Area 3 Homicide, and we wonder if we might ask you some questions?’
The housekeeper was hovering nervously in the doorway. ‘It’s OK, Maria. You may go. These gentlemen are not from immigration.’ She crossed herself and walked away, a whispered prayer trailing behind her.
Vince got up and closed the door. He gestured toward a couple of leather chairs in front of the TV and took a seat on a leather sofa opposite them. ‘You said you have some questions?’
‘Mr Columbo,’ O’Reilly began, his sweat finally starting to dry in the cool of the air-conditioned office. ‘A little over a week ago a woman named Angela Lupino Wozniak was murdered and her body found in Lincoln Park. Did you know this woman?’
‘No, I did not know her,’ said Vince, the mention of the name putting him on alert.
‘You’ve never met her?’
‘No. Absolutely.’
‘Not even for a drink or something innocent like that?’
‘I told you I don’t know the woman.’ He didn’t try to cover the irritation in his voice. ‘Listen, gentlemen, while I have nothing to hide, I’m more than a little leery of two Chicago police detectives showing up at my door unannounced and grilling me about a dead woman I’ve never met without giving me any clue as to why. Perhaps you would like to enlighten me here.’
‘Simply put, Mr Columbo, your phone number has been linked to a person of interest in the case. This is an informal inquiry, but it’s been my experience that people with nothing to hide are generally very cooperative. Now, are you willing to answer a few more questions?’
No sooner had O’Reilly voiced his request than the office door opened and a striking young dark haired woman wearing painted on jeans slipped into the room. Her face took on a look of total surprise when she saw the two detectives. ‘Oh, excuse me, Daddy. I didn’t realize you had company.’ Without waiting to be asked, she pulled the door closed behind her, gone as quickly as she had come. Vince found himself wishing she didn’t wear such tight clothes.
‘Beautiful girl,’ said Kozlowski.
‘My daughter. Tell me I don’t die a little every time she walks out the door with some knucklehead.’ Vince resumed the conversation. ‘I want to make it clear I am not comfortable with this situation and I won’t be railroaded. However, I will answer any questions I find to be reasonable. Any other questions you can ask in the presence of my attorney. Fair enough?’
‘Fair enough,’ O’Reilly replied, unfazed. It wasn’t like having an attitude was anything new to him. ‘First off, who lives here?’
‘Myself and my wife and my daughter, when she’s not away at college, and the housekeeper part-time,’ said Vince.
‘No one else.’
‘That is correct.’
‘You know anyone who lives in Kenilworth?’
‘I know several people from Kenilworth. I’ve done some projects there.’
‘Specifically, do you know Michael and Carol Anne Niebaum?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know of any reason why someone from their house would have called here on the evening of June 6?’
‘I told you, I don’t know those people or why anyone would—’ He stopped mid-sentence. Suzanne had called him that night to tell him she was going out with the girls and couldn’t keep their date. He got up and went to the door and opened it, sticking his head out to make sure that his daughter had gone. He resumed his seat opposite the detectives. ‘I did receive a call from Kenilworth that night. It was from my girlfriend. She was attending a party and she called me down here on my private line.’ His gaze shifted from one detective to the other. ‘Man to man, I hope this can remain between us.’
‘This girlfriend have a name?’ O’Reilly asked.
‘Suzanne Lundgren.’
O’Reilly was stunned. Suddenly he had a better idea of where those flowers on the floor had come from on their last visit to her. He tried to remain cool.
‘But you never met her friend Angie?’
‘No. I’ve only heard of her through Suzanne. Who is extremely distraught over her murder, I might add. Because of my fondness for Suzanne, there is nothing I would like better than to see the culprit brought to justice.’
O’Reilly nodded appreciatively before going for the jugular. ‘Do you know anyone named Steven Kaufman?’
Vince had to work hard to keep his face placid, trying to figure out how the cops had come up with the carpenter’s name. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘He was seen around the girls that night.’
‘Steven Kaufman was doing some work for me here at the house. He was working on the bar you just walked past out there.’
‘Any idea why he might have given out your phone number as his own?’
‘He’s staying in some transient hotel downtown, so I gave him this number to use for suppliers and deliveries. But, unfortunately, he’s turned out to be as transient as his hotel. He hasn’t shown up to work this week.’
‘Any idea why Mr Kaufman was in Kenilworth last Friday evening?’
‘None at all.’ Vince was prepared for the question. He couldn’t tell them the reason Kaufman had been in Kenilworth, nor could he tell them that the man they were looking for was upstairs in the servant’s quarters, probably watching TV.
On his way out, Kozlowski ran a hand over the smooth surface of the unfinished bar. His father had been an artisan from the old country and he knew great craftsmanship when he saw it.
‘This is some beautiful work. It’s a shame Kaufman didn’t finish it before he disappeared.’
‘Isn’t it though?’ said Vince.
The Mercedes pulled into the driveway as they were pulling out. O’Reilly checked his watch, one of those plastic jobs that runners used. It kept excellent time. The digital display read six o’clock. Past cocktail hour. He watched in the rear-view mirror as the same dark-haired woman they’d seen before got out of the car and began unloading groceries. ‘If I had a wife who looked like that, I sure wouldn’t be out screwing som
ebody else,’ said O’Reilly.
Kozlowski made no comment on his partner’s observation, saying instead, ‘Don’t you find it a little odd that Columbo’s wife is hauling groceries in the front door of that house.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, there’s a three-car garage, and you know there’s gotta be a garage entrance to the kitchen. Don’t you think Mrs Columbo would want to go in that way instead of dragging the groceries through that whole big house?’
‘Maybe the garage is full.’
‘Well, his daughter’s home, so that’s one space. We saw Columbo park in another. But what about the third space? Who’s parked there?’
‘The housekeeper?’ O’Reilly offered.
‘Maybe so, but seems kind of odd to give a garage spot to the help. But here’s something that’s bothering me more. You see all those tools lying around the floor in the game room. They’re expensive. Seems weird to me that a tradesman would run off and leave his tools.’
O’Reilly didn’t have to think long before saying, ‘You know Joseph, you are a friggin’ genius. You’re going to make lieutenant before me, I swear. I guess what we need to know now is who is parked behind door #3?’
THIRTY-EIGHT
Suzanne
Suzanne walked in the door and went directly to the den to play her messages. An electronic voice told her she had received six calls. The first caller was Vince. His tone of voice told her something was bothering him.
‘It’s me, baby. Just checking to see if you’re back from your parent’s house yet. I’ll try you later. Don’t call me.’
That’s curious, Suzanne thought. He’s never said that before.
The next message was from Kelly. ‘Wanna go to the wedding together on Saturday?’
Vince again. ‘You’re not home yet? I hope you’re all right?’ Actually, she wasn’t all right. It was the anniversary of Johnny’s death, a night she always spent at the family home. It was a solemn, depressing evening that opened up old wounds.
The fourth call was from Detective O’Reilly. ‘Please call me when you get this.’
A fifth message was from her father, probably placed the second she’d walked out the door. ‘Hello, honey. It’s Mom and Dad. Call us as soon as you get in so we know you got home safely.’
The last call was a hang-up, but she had no doubt it was Vince again.
She called her father first. He sounded both anxious and tired. ‘Hello, Suzanne?’
‘Yes, Poppy, it’s me. You can go to sleep now. I’m home.’ She could hear her mother in the background asking if everything was all right. She pictured her father in his cotton pajamas, bathrobe tied tightly about his thin waist, nodding his head to let her mother know their little girl had gotten home in one piece.
‘Good night, sweetheart. Your mother and I will sleep better knowing you’re at home. We love you.’
‘I love you too,’ she echoed.
It saddened her that her parents would forever live in the shadow of Johnny’s death, two aging people stuck in a groove, moving back and forth from store to home like robots, spending far too much time over yellowing picture albums. Sometimes Suzanne wanted to scream, You’ve got to let him go. You have to move forward with your lives instead of sinking into oblivion. Tears welled in her eyes, tears for her parents, for Johnny, for herself. You’ve got to let him go too, Suzanne.
The telephone pulled her from her web of resurrected pain.
‘Hello,’ she answered flatly.
‘Baby, you’re finally home. It’s after eleven. I’ve been trying to reach you all night.’
‘Well, I’m here now.’ The disconnect in her voice troubled Vince, and he had the frightful thought that the police had spoken to her about Kaufman. Luckily, she put that fear to rest right away. ‘I’ve just spent one of the most depressing nights in my life. Sometimes I think if not for me, my parents would just cease to exist. And now Dad’s talking about selling his business since there’s no one to take it over. I know they want me to run it, but I can’t seem to explain to them my aspirations run higher than Skanda.’
‘Poor baby,’ he said, so intertwined with her that her unhappiness became his own. ‘Can I do anything?’
‘No, Vince. There’s nothing you can do.’ Then as if a magician had waved his wand, her tone changed and became more upbeat. ‘Three calls tonight. To what do I owe this momentous honor?’
Vince steeled himself. He had a most unpleasant task to take care of – and it needed to be handled right away. ‘I’ve got to see you. Now.’
‘Tonight? It’s so late already. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’
He wanted to say, yes it can wait until tomorrow and a thousand tomorrows after that. It can wait for eternity and a day. But he didn’t have the luxury of time. He had to get to her and explain his actions before it was too late. He needed to make her understand and hope that she wouldn’t hate him.
‘I wish it could wait, but it can’t. There’s no traffic this time of night. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.’
Though she was exhausted, the urgency in his voice made her agree to let him come. She wondered what he told his wife when he left the house at odd hours like this. Did he create some kind of construction emergency? The thought of him lying to his wife was unattractive, so she pushed it out of her mind. Then a more unsettling notion occurred to her. What if he was coming to break off their affair? The possibility had never occurred to her before. The time they had spent together had been so blissful, so exciting, that she couldn’t remember what life was like before him. The fantastic things he gave her, the places they went to eat, the sex. Above all the sex. A shiver passed through her at the mere thought of it. She couldn’t believe she had gone so many years without any intimacy. For the longest time she thought sex wasn’t important. Now she couldn’t think of living without it.
Ironically, his marital status mattered to her less than ever. After that first night together, when Suzanne realized the rules of the game, she had come to terms with the wife’s existence and felt very unthreatened by it. Vince clearly adored her, and how many wives could make that claim. He was there for her physically, psychologically, and even financially if necessary. She didn’t need anything more.
Then another thought nearly as disturbing crept into her mind. What if he was coming to tell her that he was leaving his wife? That could be as bad as losing him. Their relationship was perfect just the way it was – he was there for her, but she still had her own space. Suzanne enjoyed her independence and felt absolutely no need to marry. She had no desire for children, believing the odds of children bringing pain were as high as the odds of them bringing happiness. She would never put herself in a position to suffer like her parents.
Suzanne lived on her own terms, content with her life as it was. So as she sat in the window, watching the city lights below her, she hoped whatever Vince was coming to tell her was something she could handle.
The phone woke her. She had dozed off. The doorman was calling from the lobby. Yes, please send Mr Columbo up. She met him at the door, and he walked past her without so much as an embrace, the intensity in his face frightening, his eyes dilated like a wounded animal. He looked older, less handsome, perhaps because his mouth was drawn down at the corners. His right cheek was twitching uncontrollably. Her heart beat with unhappy fear. Help me, God. He’s leaving me.
‘What is it, Vince,’ she asked quietly.
‘Can we sit down and talk?’
‘Of course.’
Acting more like an unexpected guest than a lover, he followed her into the living room and sat beside her on the sofa, leaving an intentional gap between them. He drank her in with his eyes. For the first time since they met, her body held no physical desire for him. His entire being was on edge like a soldier who knows the enemy is waiting to spring from somewhere in the dark. In this case, the enemy was the truth.
‘Suzanne, I care for you deeply,’ he began, almost meekly. ‘More so t
han I ever have for any woman.’
Suzanne opened her mouth to speak, but Vince hushed her with a raised hand.
‘Wait until I’m finished. I think you know me pretty well, and you know the sort of guy I am, the kind who when he wants something he goes after it one hundred percent. Nothing stands in my way. I feel even stronger about you. I want you one hundred ten percent.
‘I wake up thinking about you. I think about you all day. You are the last thing on my mind before I go to sleep. I need to hear your voice at least once a day or I go crazy. My feelings for you make my wife so secondary she practically doesn’t exist.’
He rose from the sofa and began pacing the room, his hands clenched into tight fists. In a matter of seconds, Suzanne’s thoughts seesawed from Help me, God, he is leaving me to Oh my God, he’s leaving his wife.
‘Please, don’t hate me for this,’ he said, placing one foot deliberately in front of the other. ‘I don’t know any other way to tell you, so I’m just going to spell it out. The night of the bachelorette party, when you were out with the girls, I …’ His voice trailed off as the words stuck in his throat.
‘You what, Vince? What?’ she demanded.
He stopped and bowed his head. ‘I had you followed.’
‘You what?’ The very idea was so ludicrous, she laughed aloud.
‘It’s true, I had you followed. I had a man who works for me follow you to Kenilworth and later downtown. He was with you and the other girls in The Overhang.’
A numbness spread over her as the reality of what he was saying began to gell …
‘I don’t understand this, Vince. I’ve always been up front with you, told you where I’m going and what I’m doing. I’ve volunteered all that information because I wanted to. I have no idea what would make you mistrust me like this.’ Her face glowed red with anger. Her life was not her own. She was as kept a woman as had ever been kept. ‘Didn’t I call you that night to tell you what I was doing? Didn’t I? Maybe it would have been better if I just shouted my plans out Carol Anne’s front door. Hell, you’d think I was the one who was married and cheating.’
The Last Night Out Page 23