“Trucking for Jesus?”
Cal laughed.
“They’ve got murals painted on the sides of their eighteen-wheelers. Jesus in the passenger seat, the co-pilot.”
“When did she remarry?”
“Five or six years ago, I guess.”
“Is she born-again, too?”
“I guess so, but she’s not obnoxious about it.”
“And she works in a bar?”
“Like I said, she’s not obnoxious about it. I think she went through it just to please Dirk, but she lives her life pretty much the way she wants to. He’s on the road a lot.”
“She fools around?”
“No. But she doesn’t sit at home praying, either.”
“I’m seeing her day after tomorrow. It’s interesting to know all this.”
“I think you’ll like her. She’s a smart, strong woman.”
“She seemed a bit deluded about her daughter, though.”
“I doubt if she really is. She’s not naive. But she always supported her, no matter what. She paid Lucy’s rent when Dirk kicked her out of the house.”
“Why did he do that?”
“He’s not a big one for racial mixing,” he said. “When Lucy started dating blacks, they got into a pretty big row about it. I thought June was going to move out, too, for a while, but she stayed.”
“I thought you said she was smart.”
“Dirk is basically a good man. He’s solid. And around here, his attitudes aren’t that unusual.”
“I’m beginning to figure that out,” I said. “Listen, I might as well be straight with you. I’m working on the assumption that Avila didn’t do it. How does that strike you?”
“Not too far-fetched,” he said.
“Did Lucy have any enemies that you know of? Anyone who could be capable of shooting her?”
He thought for a moment.
“Only about half a dozen,” he said.
Chapter 17
I guess I showed how startled I was. Jagger laughed.
“I’m exaggerating a bit,” he said. “But there is a dark side that lurks behind Sunland’s tidy middle-class stucco façade, There is an under-class, even in paradise, and there are some pretty tough characters around.”
“How would Lucy be involved with them?”
“She grew up with them. She went to school with the kids who went on to become thugs and drug dealers and petty criminals. And that’s not all. There are some among the proper folk who are capable of being judge, jury, and executioner when it comes to someone who behaves the way Lucy did.”
“They’d shoot her for sleeping around?”
“Especially with blacks,” he said. “The father of that boy I told you about, who tried to commit suicide, is widely rumoured to be active in the Ku Klux Klan. Axel Bonder would like nothing better than to get rid of Lucy and frame Avila.”
“Wait a minute. How could he get hold of the gun? It was in Avila’s condo.”
“Last I heard, he manages the property.”
“Oh. That’s convenient. And what about his son?”
“I think he’s safely in the bin these days, but I’m not sure. There’s another suspect for you. Then we have the other ballplayers. One of them might have had a grudge. You’d know about that better than I would.”
“I don’t know anything about their private lives.”
“You could find out. Maybe one of them found her presence embarrassing.”
“You don’t murder because you’re embarrassed.”
“It’s a possibility. So’s Barwell, by the way. He took a run at Lucy this spring. She humiliated him pretty badly.”
“How so?”
“She got a bit drunked up at The El Rancho one night and told the wrong people that Barwell is rather spectacularly under-endowed.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Gave him a brand-new nickname, too. Dick Teensy.”
“This did not go over well, I assume,” I said.
“First person who called him it to his face got punched out. Now they just call him that when he’s not around.”
“I didn’t realize that Lucy had a cruel streak.”
“Not really,” Cal said. “It wasn’t exactly the kind of information that’s easy to keep quiet.”
“Hey, I can’t wait to pass it on myself,” I admitted.
“It is pretty funny,” Jagger said. We both laughed.
“This isn’t really getting us anywhere, though,” I said. “I wish I knew what my next step should be.”
“What do you mean?”
I decided to trust Jagger. I explained something of my history in matters of murder and what the players expected of me.
“I can’t convince them that I’m not some sort of super private eye.”
“But you are good at digging out stories,” Jagger said. ‘That’s the first step.”
“I know. But I’m just worried I’ll let them down.”
“Could you use some help? I have got a few skills of my own going rusty on this little rag.”
“Are you sure you can spare the time?”
“I haven’t got much on for the next few days, anyway. Let’s see how it goes.”
“Do you know this lawyer, Whitehead, who’s representing Dommy?”
“Better, still. I know the woman who works with him. She’ll be doing most of the preliminary work, anyway. We’ll get her on the team, too.”
“I think I saw her at the arraignment this morning,” I said. “A dark, kind of homely woman?”
“That’s Esther,” Cal said, picking up the phone. “I’ll call her right now.”
Half an hour later we were sitting in a back booth in a crowded, comfortable, beachfront bar with a cold pitcher of beer on the table between us.
“This is the place where June works,” Cal said. “I thought you’d like to see it. Before Esther gets here, let me tell you a bit about her.”
“Okay.”
“She’s about thirty. Grew up here, then went away to college, and graduated from Harvard law school. She is very, very bright and more than a little bitter. Growing up in Sunland Jewish and, as you said, homely, wasn’t the greatest for her. She never really fit in. I was surprised that she came back here to practise law. I always figured that she would end up in the north somewhere. But I think she wants to be near her parents. There also might be a bit of ‘in your face’ in her attitude. Success isn’t bad revenge, you know.”
“She works with Whitehead in Tampa?”
“Yes, that’s the other reason she came back. He’s the best there is around here. And God knows, there’s lots of work for a criminal attorney in these parts.”
“How do you know her?”
“She’s a friend of my wife, Beth. They were both on the board of a women’s shelter a few years back, and became very close. She’s like part of the family now. The kids love her.”
Before we had a chance to get any further, Esther Hirsch arrived. She was short and overweight, with dark curly hair slightly flecked with grey. She carried an oversized, bulging purse, and wore jeans and an old sweatshirt. Imprinted on the front was a comic-strip frame of a woman with one hand held to her brow, and a word bubble reading “Oh, my God! I forgot to have children!” She obviously had a sense of humour.
She also had a firm handshake and a warm smile. She greeted me, then gave Jagger a big smacking kiss.
“Ve haff to stop meeting zis way, my dahlink,” she said, in a deep, comic Slavic accent. “Your vife vill be getting suspicious.”
“Like I was telling you, Kate, Esther is an extremely formal and serious person.”
“I can tell,” I said.
“All right, what’s this all about?” she asked. “Do I get to order some food first?”
We called over
the waitress, who wore hot pink Lycra knee-length pants and a cut-off purple tank top which proclaimed that she had “eaten it raw at Molly O’Toole’s.” We ordered a couple of dozen oysters, a giant order of peel-’n’-eat shrimp, and another pitcher of beer.
“How well do you know Avila?” Esther asked.
“A bit. He’s just a rookie. How’s he doing?”
“Not too great. He’s pretty scared. He seems like a nice kid, though.”
“I think he is. And I think he’s been framed. Are you going to be able to get bail?”
“Not a chance. A foreigner charged with first-degree murder isn’t considered a terrific risk to stick around.”
“It’s going to destroy him, being in jail,” I said. “Especially after the season starts and he’s completely alone.”
“We’ll have the crime solved by then,” Cal said. “No problem.”
“Which we did you have in mind?” Esther asked.
“That’s why we called you here,” Jagger said. “This is the founding meeting of the Jagger, Henry, and Hirsch Private Investigation Agency. Murders R Us. We’re going to find the real killer and clear Avila’s name.”
“Forgive your friend’s melodramatic exuberance,” I said. “Let me explain.”
I went over the whole story again.
“It occurred to Cal, and I agree, that you are well-placed to be of some assistance, if you are willing,” I finished.
She thought for a second.
“Why not?” she said.
Chapter 18
Before the night was over, we had divided up the areas where suspects might lurk. Esther was keen to look at Troy Barwell’s life. She had a criminal lawyer’s traditional distrust of cops, and she thought Barwell was even worse than most. She was our contact with Domingo and also agreed to do the slogging through old court documents we might need to investigate, since, as she pointed out, she speaks and reads lawshit fluently.
Jagger was going to use his connections with Lucy’s family and friends. I was going to look at the possibilities on the team. We agreed to meet in a couple of days, and exchanged phone numbers in case anything dramatic came up.
I saw Jagger the next morning, at Lucy’s funeral. He was sitting towards the front of the characterless modern church, fairly close to the family, with a red-haired woman I recognized from the picture in his office as his wife. They were just across the aisle from Hank Cartwright, who appeared to be sober, but suffering. He was wearing a suit that looked borrowed, and his hair was in one braid down his back. Willie Nelson on a bad day.
Jeff and I sat at the back with a group from the ball club. Gloves and Karin Gardiner sat with Tracy Swain. The David Sloanes also attended, which surprised me. I didn’t expect those two pillars of the Mormon church to have much sympathy for a woman as scarlet as Lucy.
Eddie Carter, Joe Kelsey, and Tiny Washington were in the row behind us, conspicuous in the otherwise white crowd. Hugh Marsh came with his assistant, Millie, from the dining room, and her big, red-faced husband. None of the other Toronto reporters showed up.
I did a quick count of the house, while an elderly organist slogged her way through a lugubrious rendition of “Lucy in the Sky,” etc., peering through bifocals at the sheet music propped up on the little electric organ. There were about seventy-five people there, many of them young. Barwell was there, and thinking of Lucy’s nickname for him took some of the threat out of his glowering. I also recognized the first cop on the scene the night we found her, the one who had looked so upset when he heard who it was. I made a note to ask Cal or Esther to check if there was some history there that we should know about. I looked in vain for any obvious murderers in the crowd.
June, dressed in black, sat stiffly between her second husband and her son in the first pew. On Ringo’s left was an older couple, probably Lucy’s grandparents.
The service was brief and too pat for my taste. The minister, a stern man in his fifties, was apparently Dirk’s pastor, and seemed to have had little acquaintance with Lucy. He talked about God calling her home as if he believed it. My father used to be a minister, so I went to more than my share of funerals growing up, and I’ve never heard a eulogy so lacking in comfort.
I was glad to get out of the stuffy church and into the glorious spring sunshine that seemed to mock the mourners as they came out the doors. I paused just outside, when I saw a police car pull up to the curb in front of the church.
I thought at first that it was there to escort the hearse, until I saw Detective Sargent, Barwell’s partner, get out and scan the crowd. When he spotted his boss, he walked quickly to him and grabbed his arm. They moved off to one side, Barwell glaring as he listened. He looked both surprised and angry as he moved away from Sargent and cut through the group surrounding June Hoving. He shook her hand and spoke to her for a moment, while Sargent moved back to the car, started it up, and idled at the curb. When Barwell had finished paying his respects, he got into the car and the pair drove off with a squeal of the tires.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Huh?” Jeff said. He hadn’t been watching.
“Wait here a second.”
Cal Jagger and I had agreed to pretend that we didn’t know each other, but when I spotted him, it was obvious he was looking for me, too. He hadn’t missed the scene with the police. He made a discreet motion with his head and strolled away from the rest of the congregation, towards the parking lot and around the corner of the church. I went the other way round and met him behind an oak tree. Very cloak and dagger.
“What do you think that was about?” he asked.
“I was hoping you could find out,” I said. ‘There’s something going on. We should check it out.”
“It’s probably easiest for me. I’ll go back to my office and make some calls.”
“No. Stay here and do what you’re doing with the family. Just call me as soon as you find out anything. If it’s another body, at least Dommy is in the clear.”
Jagger looked at me oddly. I guess it was a rather strange remark, but I’ve only been involved in two murder cases, and each of them had more than one victim. Why should this one be any different? It would make my life a lot easier.
“It might not even be connected,” he cautioned.
“I’ll bet it is,” I said.
“I’ll call you later. Will you be at the hotel?”
“Or you can leave a message.”
I waited a few minutes after he went back, then went to join the group still gathered on the lawn. The Titan contingent was just leaving. Gloves stopped when he saw me.
“I thought you’d split,” he said. “How’s it going? Have you found anything out yet?”
“I’ve barely begun.” I said.
“I wonder if the murderer was here at the funeral,” Karin said, with a shiver. ‘That’s what always happens on television, isn’t it? The killer shows up to gloat.”
“This isn’t television, Karin,” Tracy said.
“Where’s Stinger this morning?” I asked. She shrugged.
“He had an early tee-off time. I thought that one of us should do the right thing.”
“I’m sure the family appreciate it,” I said. “How did you know Lucy?”
“She used to babysit some of the kids when she was just a teenager,” Tracy said. “Stinger’s and mine and David and Marie’s twins.”
That explained the Sloanes’ presence.
“Ours, too,” Karin said.
“I didn’t know that. I only met her later, when she started working for the magazine,” I said.
“I didn’t see much of her anymore,” Tracy said. “But we both think it’s a great tragedy. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
I agreed and moved on, stopping to speak briefly to Tiny, Joe, and Eddie, who were starting to leave. We exchanged some small talk, awkwardly. Funera
ls are not an easy place to talk to people with whom you normally laugh a lot.
“I’d like to get together later,” I said. “After practice, I guess.”
“He’ll probably keep us late because we took time off to come here,” Eddie said.
“I can talk to you any time,” Tiny said. “I don’t have to listen to Massah no more.”
“Aren’t you filing a report today?” I asked.
“I’ll be done that by lunchtime,” he said.
“Well, well, aren’t you sounding like the old pro now,” I said. “I’ll catch up with you at the media room, then. I want to talk to a few more people here.”
“You just keep on with your investigating,” he said, with a smile. “Maybe you should get yourself one of them trench coats.”
“Yeah, but my magnifying glass is in for repairs.”
“Catch you later, then.”
I nodded and touched his arm. I had just spotted Hank Cartwright, by himself, heading slowly across the lawn to the parking lot.
I caught up with him as he was getting into his car, a broken-down Ford with a decided tilt to one side, and introduced myself.
“I’m doing a story for the Toronto Planet on Lucy, and I’d like to talk to you about her, if you have a few minutes.”
He turned and looked at me, then smiled. Or leered, perhaps.
“Far out,” he said. “The Planet. And you’re Lois Lane.”
“The newspaper was named before Superman was invented. As far as I know, none of our reporters does anything peculiar in phone booths.”
“Too bad,” he said, flirting grotesquely.
“Maybe this isn’t a good time,” I said.
“I have an important appointment.”
“What time would be good?”
“The appointment is with an old friend,” he continued. “I don’t think he’d mind if you came along.”
“If you’re sure,” I said, dubious.
He held the door and gestured me into the car.
Night Game Page 10