“If I hadn’t called first, how would you have known who it was?”
“If you hadn’t called first, I wouldn’t have come to the door at all. You want to talk down here or upstairs?”
“Down here” looked like a bombed-out German aircraft plant. “Let’s try upstairs.”
She secured things behind me, including a bolt like the one the natives used to keep King Kong on his side of the wall. “Come on then.”
We went up a central, industrial-strength spiral staircase for the equivalent of four floors, then through a sealable trapdoor into her loft. The windows, or more accurately, the skylights, angled sixty degrees away from the roof, bathing the huge studio with sunshine. There were a dozen pieces of hewn furniture, in varying stages of completion, scattered around the room. She seemed to specialize in hardwood kitchen and bath cabinets.
Goldberg walked toward a thickly upholstered but gut-sprung armchair that was obscured by a nearly finished floor cabinet that must have weighed fifty pounds. She bent over and hoisted the cabinet to chest level.
“Can I give you a hand with that?”
“I can manage.” She moved it off to the side without apparent effort and then flopped into the chair. Pushing forty if not past it, she was wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves unbuttoned and old army camouflage pants. Both were as covered with sawdust as the floor around her. Her hair was short, parted in the center and combed to the sides like an 1890s judge. She said, “Homicide or Narcotics?”
“Neither. My name’s John Cuddy. I’m the guy the cops thought was the killer.”
Tugging on an earlobe with her left hand, Goldberg slid her hand down the chair’s fanny cushion. She came up with a survivalist knife about a foot long. “You have another gun, I’m dead. You don’t, you are.”
I lowered my rump onto the third rung of a ladder beyond threatening range. “Nice trick, but if you think somebody’s going to try to take you, it’s usually better not to be caught sitting down.”
“What do you want?”
“Somebody set me up for the killing. Mugged me beforehand, took my gun and used it. I want to find out who and why.”
“The cops still think it was you?”
“Reasonable people seem to differ on that.”
She laughed, but the knife didn’t waver. “Like I told you on the phone, I already talked to the cops. Both Homicide and a black guy from Narcotics. They didn’t seem to think I knew anything that mattered.”
“Mind answering a few questions for me anyway?”
She brought the knife down to her lap. “Go ahead,” without enthusiasm.
“I already talked with a man called Niño. His real name is—”
“I know who he is.”
“He’s arranging for me to talk with some of Teri’s …” I stopped.
“What’s the matter, you can’t say the words? I can. Some of her ‘hooker friends,’ you mean.”
“It’s not that. I just realized. All the police and Niño ever told me was her street name. I never heard them use her real name.”
Goldberg bit her lower lip. She looked down at the knife and said, “They never bothered to. Not even the cops when they were talking with me. Always just ‘the Angel,’ like she was some kind of car model you referred to like that.”
I waited. She finally looked up and said quietly, “It was Teri, actually. Or Theresa. Theresa Papangelis. That’s where she got the Angel part from.”
“Tomorrow I’ll be seeing some of the other women she knew through Niño. Can you tell me something about her they won’t?”
I don’t know. We met at … this bar for women. Meeting is easier now than when I was younger. Back in high school my mother was always pointing me toward guys, especially the smart ones. But it’s kind of hard to care about the president of the biology club when you have your eye on the captain of the cheerleaders, you know?”
“How long ago did you meet her?”
“About a year. When Teri walked in that night, she was spectacular. Every head in the place turned to watch her. She came right over to me and sat down and said, ‘You have kind eyes.’ Just like that. We came home here, and I’d see her maybe every two weeks or so.”
She stopped, so I said, “Did she talk much about her life?”
“No. Not if you mean ‘the life.’ I didn’t even know … No, that’s not fair. She didn’t tell me for a month or so, but I guessed it from her clothes and the fact she would come to see me but I couldn’t come to see her. At first, I thought maybe she was married, but then she finally told me, and I wasn’t surprised.”
“Was she thinking about leaving it? Prostitution, I mean.”
“Not that she ever said. Just that …”
“Yes?”
Goldberg flapped her hand. “Just that she had this dream of becoming an actress. That she thought the life had taught her enough about how to act different than she felt, and that she thought that was better training for the movies than some drama school she’d gotten mail about.”
“She ever pursue the acting idea?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Niño told me that she was … wasn’t involved in anything he’d arranged for the night she was killed. Does that sound consistent to you?”
“Yeah. You were going to say she was ‘free-lancing,’ weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks for trying to spare my feelings, but I did know she was a whore, you know?”
“I know.”
“I mean, whether she arranged it or Niño arranged it never changed what she was doing, did it?”
“I guess not.”
Goldberg toned down a bit. “She free-lanced a lot. I don’t think Niño really cared about that. He’s not exactly your stereotypical pimp.”
“Is that how she met Marsh?”
“I don’t know. I know she was really proud that she wasn’t just a party girl Niño set up with conventioneers. I think she … I think she had trouble with the law before she met Niño, and I think she liked the fact that her personal clients now were in banking and insurance and so on. Like it gave her status.”
“Ms. Goldb—”
“Reena, please. Don’t you think by this point you could call me Reena?”
“Sure. Reena, Marsh didn’t strike me as the kind of man who would pay for sex. More the kind who’d intimidate for it. I only met him a few days before he died, but I—”
“I know. The cops tried to get me to say I’d heard Teri mention your name, but she didn’t used to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Mention the name of her clients. To me, anyway. It was like a professional thing with her. Like confidentiality with a lawyer.”
I considered it. “Then how did you know who Marsh was when the cops first contacted you?”
“I didn’t. Till the drugs came into it. Then I knew who they meant.”
“How?”
“Teri was into trading, you know? Like, what’s the word for it, one thing for another?”
“Barter?”
“Yeah, barter. Right. She didn’t have any kind of health plan, obviously, and she wasn’t about to go to this butcher Niño knew, so there was this doctor she used to … do things for in exchange for his treating her. Well, I knew she was seeing a guy she got drugs from, cocaine, and when the cops asked me about Marsh, I just matched him up.”
“She ever talk about him? The drug supplier, I mean?”
“No. She really didn’t do that. At least not with me.”
I thought about the next question I wanted to ask, because I was afraid that it might end her cooperation. “Reena, you said before that Teri approached you because you looked kind. She must have confided in somebody about some things.”
“Maybe her sister. Teri never told me her name, always just ‘my sister.’ The family lives in Epton, near Lawrence.” Reena stopped, then said, “I don’t think you understand how it was between Teri and me.”
“I guess I tho
ught you were lovers.”
Reena’s eyes clouded over, but she spoke past them. “I loved her, but she came to me for the same reason clients came to her. To get something they were missing in the rest of their lives. I wish to God I knew what it was.”
“Does Teri’s sister still live at home?”
“You mean in Epton?”
“Yes.”
“No, I don’t think so. She’s younger than Teri … than Teri was. But she’ll be there today, anyway. The funeral was scheduled for this morning.” Reena glanced up to a clock, and the tears began to come. “It started … ten minutes ago. … I couldn’t go … they’ve been through so much already. It didn’t seem fair … to add me to it.”
“It takes a pretty strong person to do something like that.”
“Oh yeah,” she said, rallying a little. “That’s what I’ve always been. Strong, tough even. Well, I’ll tell you, you know some people are tougher than they look?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m the opposite. I look tougher than I am.”
I left her wiping a cuff across her eyes.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I WAS UNSTEADY GETTING up from the flowers and caught my balance by using her stone.
Too much to drink last night?
“No. Too much Terdell.”
As the morning sun skipped over the waves in the harbor below us, I brought her up to date on what had happened.
So what do you think?
“I think I have a sackful of people who knew either Marsh or Teri but so far no connection between them.”
How do you mean?
“Well, whoever hit me on Monday knew I’d be a good candidate for the frame. That means that somebody trying to kill Angel would have to know about me and Marsh.”
What if just Marsh was the target?
“Then Teri’s side of this is a blind alley. And I’m left with looking for motives for killing Marsh. I think his lawyer Felicia bought drugs from him, his partner Stansfield cashed a quarter-million in key-man insurance, and his wife Hanna believed she’d get both life-policy proceeds and the house.”
The nurse’s father hated Marsh, right?
“Yes, but Kelley seemed pretty quick to yield to his daughter’s will when I was with him. Also, she alibis him for Monday night.”
The drug pushers are rough enough.
“The problem there is that J.J. would be better off if Marsh had stayed alive. And none of the cops seem interested in anything but themselves or nailing me.”
What about this Niño guy?
“Harder to figure. No indication that he even knew Marsh. Niño may have a nose for the stuff himself, or just be looking for indirect compensation for losing Teri. Or …”
Or?
“I don’t know. Maybe he really cared for her. Her lover certainly did. And would have had the physical strength to send Marsh out the window.”
And shoot the woman she loved in the bargain?
“You’re right. Doesn’t figure that way.”
If Marsh didn’t meet Teri through her manager, then maybe you should find out how they did get together.
“I’ve been trying to.”
What are you going to do next?
“First, try to talk with Teri’s sister.”
Couldn’t that wait?
“I don’t even know her name or where she lives. If I’m going to see her, today at the family’s house is the best bet.”
You said first?
“What?”
You said first you were going to talk with the sister. Then what?
“Oh. Then I get to have lunch with Niño and his ladies.”
I’d always heard that widowers were corruptible.
“Please.”
The drive to Epton took about an hour. I’d looked up the family name in the telephone book, and it was the only one in town. A stop at a gas station pointed me toward the street, and the center of gravity of the dozen or so cars parked along the road appeared to be the address.
I slowed down. The shallow lawn rose steeply to the stoop. The inner door to the house was open but the outer, screened door was closed, the upper part filled by the broad back of a man in a dark suit. He seemed to be talking to someone, then swiveled sideways to let a young woman in a knee-length black dress edge past him and outside. She clicked down the path in modest heels, face downcast and palms locked onto elbows.
An old woman fussedly came halfway out the doorway and yelled something at her in Greek. This one wore black too, only more so: shoes, stockings, long skirt, sweater, even kerchief on her head. The younger woman ignored her, the older one giving a curiously European “good riddance” wave before going back into the house.
I pulled by the younger one. Her features matched the ones I’d seen in Holt’s mug shot of Teri, but plainer and somehow less vital, the way a Xerox of a Xerox used to look.
She reached the sidewalk and turned to walk in the direction I was driving. I accelerated to the first empty stretch of curb and parked. I got out of the car and came around to the passenger side while she was still twenty feet away. Drawing closer, she treated me warily, as though she had just noticed me standing there. I could see her left hand: no engagement or wedding ring.
“Ms. Papangelis?”
“Yes?”
I showed her my ID quickly as I said, “My name’s Cuddy. I’m investigating the death of your sister.”
She sighed and closed her eyes. “Again?”
“I’m afraid so.”
She opened her eyes and gestured vaguely behind her. “Today?”
“The sooner we get all the information we can, the better our chances of—”
“Okay, okay.” She looked up the street. “Would it be all right if we just walked around for a while? I’m kind of tired of the house and all.”
“Sure.”
We continued on the route she’d started, past the old homes with narrow driveways and detached rear garages that could have been in any blue-collar neighborhood within fifty miles.
“Ask your questions.”
“We still don’t know for sure whether the killer was after Marsh or your sister. Can I call her Teri?”
“Theresa. You can call me Sandy or Sandra, I don’t care. But Teri was her … the name she used with her customers. I always called her Theresa.”
“It might help us focus on who was the target if you can tell me something about her.”
“Like what? I mean, I already answered all the questions you guys had the last time.”
“Tell me what you haven’t said already. What you think I ought to know.”
“God. What you ought to know.” She took a breath. “There were just the two of us, we had a brother, but he died while he was being born. Theresa was five years older than me, and always in trouble. I mean like school trouble, grades and attendance and that kind of thing. I was always the perfect student, skipped two grades, my father scraped and saved to send me through parochial school, you know? He would have done the same for Theresa, but she didn’t care, and probably didn’t have the aptitude to do the work. So she went one way and I went another.”
“Which way did you go?”
“Teachers’ college. Framingham State. Got out last year, now I’m teaching in Salem. Salem, New Hampshire, not Massachusetts.”
“Did you stay in touch with your sister much?”
“Depends on how you mean. She and Mom don’t … didn’t get along too well. When she found out about what Theresa was doing …”
“When was that? That your mother found out.”
“Not really till all this. I mean, my father suspected, for a long time, I think. But my mom … do you know much about Greek families?”
I thought back to what Eleni had told me about the men she hated in Greece. “Not much.”
“Well, it’s no disgrace for a man to go see a … they’d use the word ‘whore.’ The men joke about it in the living room, while the women make believe they can’t h
ear them from the kitchen. But it’s a real disgrace for your daughter to turn into one. That’s one of the reasons I had to get out of the house just now. I couldn’t stand the hypocritical men standing around trying to console my parents about what Theresa had become while they were probably kicking themselves for never trying to … never trying to see her, too.”
“Tell me about Theresa personally.”
“Personally?”
“Yes. What was she like?”
“Pretty. No, more flashy, like the kind of girl the guys would always be watching. She knew it, too. And she had this great smile and way of talking to you, that made you feel better even though it wasn’t so much what she said as what she let you say.” Sandra smiled, but it didn’t make her look happy or pretty. “Maybe that’s why she was good at what she did.”
“You ever meet Roy Marsh?”
“No. To be honest, I’d really only see Theresa when she’d come up to the house for family stuff. Dinner once in a while, holidays. She never brought anybody with her. Or invited us down for anything. I don’t think my parents ever even saw her apartment.” She broke off, her expression hardening. “You guys decided when I can finally get in there and get her stuff?”
I remembered lunch with Niño and his possibly taking me there. “Not up to me. The one to call is Lieutenant Holt. Try him tomorrow and he’ll probably okay it.”
“So long as I can get in by the weekend. I want this all … all cleaned up by then.”
“I can understand that. Did Theresa ever talk with you about her clients?”
“No. I know she had a guy managing for her. She took up with him after she had the trouble in Salem. And there were a couple of other girls working with her for him. But I don’t remember their names.” She half laughed. “Probably only heard their street names anyway.”
“You said she got into trouble where you work?”
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