“Ah,” he said, obviously filing that under “Questions to Be Asked Later.” He turned back to Jane. “So, tell me a bit about Martin Rigsdale. Did you meet him professionally?”
She nodded. “I worked with him, married him, and ended up divorcing him.” She went on to give a pretty concise explanation of the reasons for each stage in that relationship and didn’t fly off the handle when describing Martin’s shortcomings.
While Tobe Phillips quietly took all that in, Sunny spent the time checking him out, hoping she wasn’t being too obvious about it. The studious boy she remembered had grown into an attractive man. His sandy hair had been cut in a style that suited his face, rather than the too-long mess she remembered. And the years had pared away some of the youthful softness from that face. Tobe didn’t have the drop-dead gorgeousness of a Martin Rigsdale, or even the chiseled features of a Will Price. But he was a good-looking guy, thoughtful, and judging from his reactions to Jane’s story, kind.
Sunny glanced around the desk and shelves. No pictures of a wife and kids.
He asked a couple of questions to clarify some details, then said, “So you had a marriage that didn’t work out and a divorce that wasn’t too contentious.” He raised a hand—no ring, Sunny noticed—to cut off any comments from Jane. “Believe me, I’ve seen worse. So why do you think you need me?”
“Because I get the feeling that the cops think I killed Martin,” Jane replied a little more loudly than she’d intended. She sat back in her seat, looking embarrassed.
“We have a mutual friend, a former Portsmouth policeman who’s now a town constable in Kittery Harbor,” Sunny said. “When the detectives started questioning him as well as Jane, he suggested we talk to you. His name is Will Price. Apparently he encountered you in court.”
Tobe sat back, thinking for a moment—and smiling. “I remember him,” he said. “A pretty savvy cop. If he thinks you may have trouble, I’d take it seriously. So back to the real question: Why do you think the police suspect you?”
“Well, we found Martin—the body.” Jane faltered a little over those words. “His receptionist immediately started accusing me.”
“Detectives Trumbull and Fitch took our statements,” Sunny said. “When we were finished, Will came to pick us up at the station, and Trumbull saw him.”
“Mmmm-hmmm.” Phillips turned to Jane. “Were you in the habit of seeing your ex-husband?”
Jane shook her head. “It was almost a year and a half since we’d even talked. Then he asked me out to dinner—but that was only so he could ask for money.” She explained about the foundation she was running and its generous funding. “He wanted a six-figure consulting fee, and he wanted it up front! Is it any wonder I threw that drink in his face?”
That was something Jane hadn’t mentioned before, but Sunny didn’t have a chance to ask any questions. Jane went on, “Then I heard from Sunny that Martin had been to see her, and I called him. He said to come over during his evening hours.”
Tobe turned to Sunny. “What did he say to you?”
“He wanted my help in persuading Jane to give him money,” Sunny told him. “And he suggested we might spend some of it together.” Sunny rolled her eyes. “I don’t know if you’ve seen pictures of Martin, but he was a very attractive man, and he didn’t mind spreading the charm around.”
“Way too much,” Jane agreed grimly.
“Maybe even more than you know.” Sunny related her conversation with the diner waitress. “It sounds to me as if the receptionist, Dawn Featherstone, was involved with Martin. That would explain her reaction when we showed up—jealousy. And apparently he had at least one other lady friend.”
“So you’re suggesting at least two other possible suspects.”
Sunny opened her mouth, on the verge of also mentioning the Russian cigarettes, but then decided against it. All she had was a foreign cigarette filter suggesting that someone had been watching Martin. Given Martin’s habits, that watcher could have been a detective getting the goods for a suspicious spouse. A detective with weird smoking habits, but still . . .
Tobe looked at her. “Did you want to add something?”
“Only that Jane also mentioned to me that Martin had a habit of approaching some better-off clients for money.”
Tobe frowned thoughtfully. “Do you think he was spreading his charm there, too?”
Jane’s cheeks went pink. “Probably.”
The lawyer stood. “If you haven’t guessed it by now, I’m taking this case.” He outlined some of the practicalities and gave Jane some papers to sign. “If Fitch or Trumbull comes at you again, refer them to me,” he said. “I know it’s not easy, having your life stirred around like this. But you will come through it.”
“Thanks,” Jane said, taking his hand. “For the first time in a week, I feel as if I can really breathe.”
Two quick raps sounded on the door, and an anxious-looking young woman poked her head in, waving some papers.
“Now I’ve got to get back to the present emergency,” Tobe Phillips apologized. “Can you find your way out?”
They made their way to the reception area. As they did, an elevator opened and a guy came out, carrying a bulging briefcase—more papers apparently. Sunny dashed up and stopped the doors from closing. They stepped aboard.
In the elevator, Sunny said, “Well, that was a surprise.”
Jane nodded. “A nice one, for once.”
They got downstairs, outside, and into Jane’s car. Sunny pulled out her cell phone. “I just want to check the office machine. Make sure there are no last-minute calls.”
She dialed the number for the MAX office, got the answering machine, and punched in the code for messages.
“Damn,” she muttered. “One message.”
“This is, ah, Larry,” an unfamiliar voice said, obviously flustered at dealing with a machine. “From, ah, Portsmouth Tobacconists. That gentleman you asked about? He’s coming in tonight.”
“Damn, damn, damn,” Sunny groaned. Looks as if I’ll have to talk about those Russian cigarettes after all.
“There’s somewhere we have to get—and quickly,” she told Jane, giving her directions to the shop. “I’ll explain while we drive.”
In between telling Jane about the exotic cigarette and where she’d found it, Sunny punched in the number for Portsmouth Tobacconists. “Hello, Larry, this is the lady with the twenty. Thanks for calling me. Has the gentleman shown up?”
“Ah, no,” Larry said, sounding nervous.
“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. If he comes before then, stall him.”
She hung up on Larry asking how he could do that.
They arrived at the tobacco store, and Jane looked for parking while Sunny went in, checking that the place was empty. Larry jittered behind the counter, a lot less chatty this evening.
“Has he been here yet?” Sunny asked.
Larry shook his head.
“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll be outside. When the guy comes in, you can—”
“I thought you knew him,” Larry interrupted.
“It’s just that it’s sort of dark outside,” Sunny improvised. “I’d hate to miss him.”
“At his size, I think he’d be hard to miss,” Larry said.
Sunny hurried back outside, where Jane had gotten a space across the street from the store. Not long after, it was clear that the man in question had arrived, and Sunny could see what Larry meant about him being hard to miss: This character added a football linebacker’s width to a basketball forward’s height. His head and shoulders almost brushed the top of the door frame, and a gray herringbone overcoat like a big wool tent flapped around him.
“Yow!” Jane said.
Sunny had to agree. “So much for the theory about smoking stunting your growth.” She peered through the windshield. “Okay, he was in the blue SUV that passed us and parked down the block. That means he may pull a U-turn to go back the way he came.”
�
�Have you done this before?” Jane asked. “Because if you have, you can drive.”
For a second, Sunny debated spinning a tale to make Jane feel better, but then decided on the truth. “This is my first time, too,” she said. “But if he makes the U-turn, give him some space before you try it. And don’t ride on his rear bumper.”
Jane stared at her. “I guess they teach you some weird things in journalism school.”
Sunny laughed. “J-school, hell. That’s from watching cop shows.”
The guy came out, a carton of smokes tucked under one massive arm. He walked down the block to the SUV and got in, making the big vehicle rock for a moment. A second later, the truck’s rear lights lit up, and it pulled out into the street, heading to the corner and making a right.
“Okay, start,” Sunny said. “He can’t see us now, but we’d better get back in sight of him.”
Jane brought the BMW to life and quickly took the corner. Their quarry was nowhere to be seen.
“Okay, take a right at the next corner,” Sunny directed. “Maybe he’s doing that instead of making the U-turn.”
They made two turns and spotted the SUV with a three-block lead on them, which Jane closed to one block. The driver ahead didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry, dawdling his way around downtown Portsmouth, seemingly taking turns at random. Jane sat white-knuckled at the wheel out of sheer frustration. She muttered curse words as cars cut her off or beeped at her to hurry up. “What the hell is this guy doing?”
“Maybe he’s got a meeting somewhere and is just killing time,” Sunny suggested.
They followed the SUV into a more industrial neighborhood. The few stores that fronted on the street had closed. “Well, this is a good place for a meeting—if you like spy movies,” Jane said.
The big guy’s SUV made a sudden turn into a narrow alleyway.
“Cut off your lights and turn in,” Sunny said. “If he keeps going, we can follow him. If we don’t see his lights, we’ll pretend we’re making a K-turn—”
“And get out of here?” Jane suggested.
“I guess so,” Sunny said. She’d hoped the guy they were following might lead her to some hangout where they’d be able to watch him discreetly, maybe even eavesdrop. As the thrill of the chase died down, Sunny’s more cautious side weighed in. This guy was a possible killer, after all. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a great idea to get too close to him. Still, if they got an idea where he stopped in this dark alley, they could come back in the daytime and get an address.
Jane made the turn, and had to jam on the brakes—the SUV was right in front of them.
And then, a second later, another SUV came pulling up behind, boxing them in.
Sunny and Jane looked at each other. Well, Dad, looks as if you were right, Sunny thought. I’ve definitely bitten off more than I can chew.
11
A figure in a heavy overcoat got out of the truck behind them and stepped over to Jane’s window, his hand in one pocket. At the same time, the big guy had appeared beside Sunny’s door, blocking her in, too. And he also had his hand in a pocket of his big, floppy coat.
The guy by Jane rapped on the window with his free hand. She lowered it a little.
“We have to talk,” the man said in a pleasant tenor voice. Sunny caught a slight accent. “Please to come out.”
With his big friend keeping watch over both Sunny and Jane, the smaller guy went into the alley and opened a door. Sunny exchanged a look with Jane. They really didn’t have a choice in the matter. So they got out of the BMW and went inside.
They found themselves in a sort of foyer, a plain, concrete-floored box with a heavy metal door facing the entranceway. Sunny was pretty sure if she tried the handle, she’d find it locked. As for the way back out, the big guy planted himself in front of that, more effective than any lock.
The fellow who’d spoken before put out his hand. “Identification, please.”
Sunny and Jane wordlessly handed over their wallets. While he looked through them, Sunny noticed that, despite his heavy overcoat, he was actually a slim guy. The big man would probably make about three of him.
Mr. Slim held up Jane’s driver’s license, his sharp features relaxing a little. “Mrs. Doctor Rigsdale,” he said. “Please accept my excuses. And you, too, Miss Coolidge. When Olek here calls me, says someone is following him, and asks for instructions, you might understand why we worry.”
“But now that you know who we are, you’re not worried?” Jane asked.
“Yes,” the man said simply. “I am Dani, by the way. And while I don’t know you, I do know—did know—Mr. Doctor Rigsdale.”
He breathed hard through his nose. “He owes me money.”
Hmmm, Sunny thought. He uses past tense for Martin, but present tense on the owing part.
“I tell you a story,” Dani said, handing back their wallets. “It goes back to the time I live in Kiev—Ukraine. My father, he has a business . . . let us call it moving things.”
“That can be a useful business,” Sunny said. “Like when people need to get their furniture to a new house.”
Dani shrugged. “That’s not exactly what we’d do.”
“Or when you need to get food from the country into a city,” Jane suggested, but Dani shook his head.
“There are things that people might want,” Sunny said slowly, remembering her friend Vanya’s comments on Ukrainian smuggling rings, “That other people—like a government—wouldn’t like to move.”
Dani nodded and smiled. “Exactly right. Sometimes it could be cigarettes, or vodka—or even money.”
“Sounds like a good business,” Sunny said.
“Thank you.” Dani gave her a courtly bow. “But then my father dies, and since I am a younger son, I must go from Kiev, or there will be trouble. So I go to Montreal, where some of my countrymen are, to start my own business there. Olek comes with me, because, well, because he takes care of me since I was a small boy.”
He shrugged. “But instead of business, I get trouble again. So Olek and I leave Montreal and come to this city. Everything looks good so far. But I have to ask—do you want to make trouble, too?”
Jane was pale, but she didn’t lack for nerve. “I just want to find out who killed my husband. It’s bad enough that I’m being blamed for it. But nobody should get away with murder.”
Dani nodded. “Oh, yes, that makes trouble for me, too—on top of the trouble your husband makes. But first a question. How is it that you follow Olek?”
Sunny explained about finding the cigarette and tracking down a source. Dani shot his bodyguard a reproachful look. Olek ducked his head, like a big dog who realized he’s done wrong.
“How many times do I tell you, ‘Don’t smoke those things, Olek!’” Dani scolded. “If you want to burn your tongue, there are American cigarettes like the Camels! They’re cheaper and they’re bigger!”
Looking downcast, Olek mumbled an apology. His voice was so low and rumbly, Sunny couldn’t tell whether he spoke in English or Ukrainian.
Dani reached up to clap his bodyguard on the shoulder. “I can understand, Olek. You want a taste of home, even if it tastes terrible. But see what you do here? These lovely ladies are thinking we killed the Dr. Rigsdale.”
“We’d be just as happy if you could show us we’re wrong,” Sunny suggested.
“I can tell you you’re wrong, and I can prove it,” Dani said. “It is a thing of business. The Dr. Rigsdale is better for us alive than dead.” He gestured as if he were carrying a large imaginary package in his hands. “We have much money coming in from people who owe us. The doctor, he has a bank account. We put our money though his bank—”
Sunny stared. “You were using Martin’s practice to launder money?”
Dani nodded vigorously. “He helps us make nice, clean money.”
“Let me guess,” Sunny said. “You gave Martin the money to try and fix up that house—at least to build that impressive-looking office.”
“Look
s good, doesn’t it?” Dani said. “He had all kinds of plans to set up things just the way he likes it. But it all costs more money than he expects.”
Sunny nodded. “And what happened when he couldn’t pay it back?”
“Then he had to do favors for us. It’s only fair.” Dani adopted a virtuous look that morphed into a crafty smile. “Besides, it’s a good kind of business. Many people pay in cash. That makes it easy to bring in money from other places.”
“And that’s what you do,” Jane said, “move around money?”
Dani beamed. “Exactly. So we have a good thing with your husband. To keep it going, we needed him alive.”
“But you said he made trouble,” Sunny pointed out.
That dimmed Dani’s smile a bit. “He was a very charming man. Very handsome and charming. He got a bank officer—a very foolish woman—to tell him when an important transaction would clear. And then he took the cash.”
“Well, that sounds just like Martin,” Jane snorted. “Handsome, charming, and untrustworthy as hell.”
“It also sounds like the kind of thing that could get a person hurt,” Sunny said. “Or even killed.”
“No, no, no. I am still starting out here and would rather not have trouble,” Dani replied. “But I find out about this quicker than Dr. Rigsdale expects, and I tell him he is not as smart as he thinks he is. He promises it was all a misunderstanding, that he just needed it to impress an investor. It will go back. To make sure, I have Olek keep an eye on him.”
That explains the observation post and the cigarettes, Sunny thought. “Did Olek see anyone come to the office the night that Martin died?” she asked.
Dani shot off a question in quick Ukrainian. Olek rumbled an answer, shaking his head negatively.
“He saw no one,” Dani reported.
When he saw the look on Sunny’s face, the mobster burst out, “If I wanted him dead, you don’t think Olek could do that? He could—” Dani slammed his hands together as if he were squishing a snowball. “We don’t need to fill him with poison.”
“That might be another way to avoid trouble,” Sunny said, “making it look as if other people did it.”
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