by Ed Gorman
I ran the gauntlet as usual. By now a few small vans from town were out here serving various kinds of food. The number of reporters was half of what it had been last night. Many of them had been in town for Ben’s press conference.
The thwock of the tennis ball brought me around to the side of the formidable house. The double court was located on the west side. And there they were in their whites. Two brothers – Cain and Abel, if you like biblical shorthand. They didn’t see me at first both because I stood far enough away, and because they played furiously. Robert wasn’t giving anything away today. And James knew it, as his loud curses revealed. The reds and greens and golds of the surrounding trees provided a pastoral setting, the same kind of setting the swells of Victorian England would have enjoyed when they played the game on the sides of their castles; the ladies in their finery, the men drinking sherry and smoking cigars and betting on the players.
Robert had nearly put me to sleep one night exulting about his new courts and explaining to me at great labored length about the differences between clay and courts of acrylic and courts of grass. Or some damned thing.
James spotted me first. The way his long body lurched into defensive mode told me that he was, as always, delighted to see me. Then Robert saw me and shouted hello and waved his racket over his head. No problemo here; what murder are you talking about, amigo?
‘Your friend Conrad is here to spoil our fun, I see,’ James said as I approached.
‘Give it a rest, James,’ Robert said. Then, ‘Hey, Dev, I finally beat my younger brother.’
‘It’ll be in all the papers,’ James said. ‘Front page.’ He was all sweat and tiny gasps. Years of carousing had begun to take their toll. The gym had kept his muscles in good shape for his age but alcohol takes your strength and your stamina.
Robert was sweaty, too, but his breathing was back to normal and, even with a small excess of belly and a fleshier face, his body signaled better health.
James touched his racket to his brother’s arm and said, ‘I’m going up to the house to let you two ladies talk.’ He glared at me then brushed on by, ever the asshole.
Robert laughed. ‘I have a feeling that sometime before this is all over you’re going to flatten him.’
‘If Ben doesn’t beat me to it again.’
‘Or even Maddy.’
‘Maddy?’
‘She couldn’t, of course, but she wishes she could. She absolutely hates him.’ He nodded to the house with a head full of graying wet hair. ‘C’mon, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.’ His relaxed manner had started to bother me. I wondered if the family doc had given him some kind of nirvana injection. From hysteria to bliss; we needed him somewhere in the sane middle.
I decided the best way to test his connection to reality was to simply tell him why I was here, but before I could say anything he said, ‘How are you doing with Howie Ruskin? If we can find him we’ve got this whole thing resolved. We could even win the election if we can hang it on him fast enough. And we know he killed her.’
‘Maybe.’
We’d started to walk toward the house but my single word stopped him.
‘Maybe? You mean you can’t find him or you aren’t sure he killed her?’ He was plugged back into reality now all right. He was implicitly accusing me of somehow betraying him.
‘Both. I may have a lead on him and a good one, but I still think you’re keeping something from us and I want to know what it is.’ I hesitated. Then I just dropped it on him. ‘I’m told everybody in the family has a key to the cabin.’
‘Sure. The cabin’s for the whole family.’ It took him maybe four or five seconds. ‘Man, you’re not suggesting that somebody in my family—’
‘Everything has to be considered here, Robert.’
‘I can’t believe that you think somebody in my family might have killed her. Do you know how insulting that is? You know who killed her. Just because Hammell won’t consider anybody else except me is no reason for you to start looking at my family, Dev. For God’s sake, we’re your friends. You know how much Elise and Maddy love you. And I do mean love. You know that. So please keep that in mind.’
‘I do keep it in mind, Robert. But I don’t want to make the same mistake Hammell is. Looking at just one person. Everybody in your family has a key to the cabin. Everybody in your family knows about your affair and is concerned about how Elise would respond to another one. What if one of them found out about Tracy Cabot being at the cabin?’
He took a different approach this time. No hurt feelings and anger again. Oh, no, this time he was going to evade any serious discussion by throwing a sweaty arm around my shoulder and saying, ‘Dev, we’re buddies. Look at all the ups and downs we’ve been through together. I was coming apart yesterday and I apologize for that. I’m sure I scared the shit out of you.’ The arm came down. ‘I’m ready for the battle now. Let’s go have some of Mrs Weiderman’s great coffee and talk about what we do next.’
‘In other words, you’re not going to tell me what you’re hiding.’
He was pretty damned good, I’ll give him that. Following a whoop of a laugh, he said, ‘That’s the Dev I love. One incorrigible sonofabitch!’ Smiling as he said it.
I had not learned one thing.
FIFTEEN
The call came on my cell as I was nearing the city limits. When I heard the first ring I knew who it would be. Don’t know how. I just knew.
‘Mr Conrad?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m calling from a pay phone so don’t try and have this traced. It won’t do you any good.’
‘I appreciate the information.’
‘I’m Howard Ruskin’s girlfriend. My name is Sarah Potter. I have some information for you.’
‘Information is always good.’
‘But I’m pretty scared and so is Howard.’
The bellman who’d described her had said that she looked like a hippie. I kept trying to picture her.
‘All right, Sarah.’
‘This is very delicate, what we have to do.’
‘Will Ruskin be joining us?’
‘Not this time, I’m afraid.’
‘Later?’
‘That depends on how this works out. You and I.’
‘So where do you and I meet?’
‘There’s a neighborhood bar named “Rick’s” at 3654 Fulmer Avenue. I’ll be watching you from my car at eight thirty.’ Then, ‘I mean, would that be OK?’
The last line reminded me of my daughter when she’d been ten or so. She’d come over and stand in front of me and make a very adult presentation of what she wanted to do, and then she’d break my heart with, ‘But I don’t want you to be mad or anything.’
I liked this Sarah Potter a whole hell of a lot.
‘That’ll be just fine, Sarah. I’m easy to talk to and easy to deal with.’
The way she exhaled I could tell how tightly wound she was.
‘Oh, God, that sounds so good. I looked you up on YouTube and saw a couple of your interviews. You have very kind eyes. So I was hoping you’d at least listen to me.’
‘It’ll be my pleasure, Sarah.’
Rick’s was three blocks east of a large shopping center. It was painted a dark green with an outsize electrical sign on its roof and another one on its northern side. Both depicted the glowing golden profiles of a man and woman about to kiss. I’m sure somewhere there was a full-size version where they were making electrical love.
Since part of my business is working with both demographics and psychographics, I judged the customer base to be white, thirty to fifty, blue collar. There was a big screen that showed some sporting event – when all else failed there was always the Peruvian marble championship – but Rick or whoever had the grace to keep it low so the customers could shout at each other over the jukebox that played pickup truck music with a vengeance.
I ordered Bud in a bottle and a glass.
When she came in a few of the men along the bar gave her a quic
k glance then went back to their conversations or the TV set. She was entombed in this heavy, black, winter long coat – ready for a Russian winter – leaving her sweet, small, homely face seeming very small indeed. It was all wrapped up in a blue headscarf. She moved quickly toward me, the blue eyes frightened and fixed on me as if I was the star guiding her through a room full of monsters.
She slid into the booth, leaned toward me and said, ‘I might have been followed.’ Not till then did I realize she was out of breath.
‘Who’d be following you?’
‘That’s just it. I can’t be sure and neither can Howard.’
‘Most people call him “Howie.”’
‘He’s sick of that name. He said it makes him sound like a little boy.’
‘Would you like something to drink?’
‘No, thanks.’
The bartender was watching me. Waiting for an order. I shook my head.
She took her scarf off and let her scruffy blonde hair fall free. She was a tiny thing, a miniature. But the wrinkles spoke of long and troubled years.
‘I know you probably hate Howard, Mr Conrad. I wouldn’t blame you, either.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that I like him a lot.’
She had a tiny laugh that seemed to touch her eyes more than her lips. ‘You’re being kind.’ Then, ‘He needs your help.’
‘Now that’s a surprise. A hell of a surprise.’
She glanced around as if half-a-dozen men in fedoras had suddenly appeared. ‘He said he can’t trust anybody in his party because it’s changed so much. The people he used to work with are out of favor. The new people scare him. They’re so far right they’re off the charts.’
Howard ‘Howie’ Ruskin afraid of his own people. Too good to be true. This could all be some kind of elaborate scam but I needed to follow wherever it led.
‘Why me?’
‘He said he’s been aware of you for years. He says you’re dirty but not dirty enough to be really bad. And that makes you clean enough for him to talk to.’
My laugh was loud enough to win the bartender’s attention. ‘I guess there’s a compliment in there somewhere.’
‘Well, if you knew Howard you’d know he talks like that all the time. So convoluted.’
‘What’s he afraid of?’
I’d flipped a switch. The playfulness of our conversation ended then and there. She pushed her little face toward me and said, ‘I have no idea. But if he’s this afraid – and I’ve never seen him this scared before – then I’m afraid, too, because whoever’s after him will be after me as well. They’ll think that I know something.’
‘And you don’t?’
She sat back. ‘Oh, I know lots of things Howard has done. Fairly recent things. He usually tells me that so-and-so has hired him to do such-and-such. He did some dirty tricks for a few politicians during this past primary season and made a lot of money. But this thing, he’d never talk about it; not from the start and not now. That’s why I’m so worried. He likes to brag about how well he’s doing and most of the time it’s fun to listen to. But it’s only about the usual stuff. The really important stuff he keeps secret from everybody, including me.’
‘When did you get into town?’
‘Three nights ago.’
‘Were you with him yesterday?’
‘In the morning.’
‘When was the next time you saw him?’
‘Just after midnight last night. I knew something was wrong right away.’
‘How?’
‘He seemed upset.’
‘Did you ask him about it?’
‘I always ask him but it rarely does any good. He wouldn’t tell me, of course. After all we’ve been through together. I’m planning to marry him. We’ve talked about it many times. And then he treats me like this. Something bad happened and he won’t tell me what it was.’
Perhaps even for Howard ‘Howie’ Ruskin, killing somebody was too much of a burden. Maybe he was coming apart.
‘What does he want to talk to me about?’
‘I have no idea. He just wants me to set up a time and place to meet. There’s a state park about six miles outside the northern city limits. Washburn is the name of it. He says if you pull in the entrance and then turn your headlights off, he’ll come out. This would be at ten o’clock tonight. All of this – it’s so insane. And he’s so afraid. He’s almost hysterical.’
I tried to puzzle through the setup. I couldn’t see any danger for me. I wasn’t important enough to be a player in Ruskin’s games. I wasn’t significant enough to bother with. But he was obviously in trouble and scared.
And so he wanted me to help him. Not because I mattered at all in the scheme of things, but because I was close by and because I had enough connections that I could lead him to the kind of protection he needed. What needed to be negotiated at this point was how much he was willing to tell me about his whole operation while I recorder-immortalized his every word.
‘Please say you’ll meet him. Please.’
‘All right.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ Her relief brought tears. ‘You don’t know how happy you’ve made me. I am so afraid for him – for us.’
‘Is he armed?’
She sniffled up tears. ‘Yes. He’s always armed. He has a Glock. I don’t know anything about guns – I hate guns – but that’s what he told me it is. But you don’t have any reason to be afraid of him.’
‘Why’s that?’
Without any humor at all, she said, ‘Because he wants something from you. That means he has to be nice.’
SIXTEEN
I sat in a near-deserted Burger King parking lot and made calls to Jane – who’d been wondering what had happened to our supposed dinner – and to Michael Hawkins. I didn’t tell him much except that I was working on a strong lead and planned to call him with more information later. He suggested that we meet up and work on this lead together. I remembered what Tom Neil had told me: how Hawkins liked to be the star of all investigations. I told him it would go better if I worked alone. He didn’t try very hard to keep the disappointment from his voice.
There wasn’t much traffic on the highway to the state park. On the curves my headlights took snapshots of fall trees and farm fields and a lone isolated convenience store. But on the straight stretches there was just my beams piercing the night.
On the left side of the park entrance was a life-size bronze statue of a Native American and on the right a bronze life-size statue of a man in the uniform of the northern army during the Civil War. A splash of headlights revealed both to be covered heavily with bird shit. Then total darkness, the road into the park dark with only a few signs to guide me. I pulled over to the side and waited.
I unlocked my glove compartment and reached in for my Glock. I kept it in my hand as I sat there. There was no reason for Ruskin to try to hurt me that I could understand. But maybe he had a reason he could understand. And this could be a trap, after all.
I was far enough in that the occasional cars and trucks on the highway sounded remote, far enough in that when I clipped off my headlights and sat in silence the sound of my engine was enormous, as if it had the power of a racing vehicle. I kept checking my rearview as well as left and right windows. I gripped my Glock tighter.
I was impatient so my sense of time passing was exaggerated. I kept checking my watch, certain that ten, even fifteen minutes had passed. No such luck. Five, six, seven minutes only.
I resented being made this vulnerable. Sitting in this deep a darkness anything could come at me from anywhere and surprise me so completely my gun may be useless. Strong wind rattled the leafy trees now and somewhere ahead of me I could hear a car engine. Then I saw headlights through the trees as the vehicle made its way around curves toward me.
The highway patrol car appeared and when it reached me it stopped. Of course. A highway patrol car would check the park at least once a night. The darkness vibrated with the red and blue of his emergency lights
.
And just as it did, way back at the entrance, I saw the headlights of another vehicle pull in and then quickly back up and start to disappear. Had that been Ruskin?
The officer, a tall and heavy man, stepped out of his vehicle. Tan uniform, campaign hat. The motor was still running. I’d already pulled my license out.
‘The park is officially closed,’ he said, taking my license. ‘There’s a sign right at the front.’
‘I guess I didn’t see it.’
‘Any special reason you’re sitting in the dark?’
I knew a number of variations on the standard shit-eating smile. I used number six-B. ‘This is kind of embarrassing.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Umm-hmm. I’m, uh, meeting someone here.’
‘A woman?’
‘Yes.’
‘Married?’
‘Do I have to answer that?’
‘No.’
‘Well, what the hell, I’ll tell you. No, she’s not married but she’s got an ex-boyfriend who follows her everywhere she goes.’
‘Tell her about this new invention called a restraining order.’
‘She’s had two of them.’
‘Then somebody should bust his ass.’
‘He’s clever and has a good lawyer.’
‘You’re clever, too, or trying to be. I don’t buy anything you just told me. I’d like you to step out of your vehicle.’
Shit.
He stepped back and to emphasize how serious he was, his left hand dropped to his holster.
Wind and the scent of coming rain. The first thing I did when I got out of the Jeep was look straight back at the highway. All I could do was try to hurry this along.
The first thing he did was shine his light inside the Jeep. ‘That a Glock?’ This close he smelled of pipe tobacco, which always reminds me of my father. Instant image: him sitting in his easy chair with a glass of Burgundy, his pipe and his British detective novels from the forties and fifties. He hated everything that came after that.
‘Yes. A Glock.’