Dusk should be mad at the kid for being indirectly responsible for the pandemonium and destruction the clown left in his wake. To a degree, he was a little torqued. But his happiness over the tyke’s safety trumped any malice he had toward Nicky. And the fact that Feathers planted a story in The Clown Gazette praising him and Lou as civic heroes, helped matters. Just the same, the kid needed to learn the fundamentals.
“Hey, clown!”
He turned to Nicky dressed in a checkered suit with a matching hat. Red cowboy boots completed the outfit. Dusk suppressed a laugh as he appraised the boy’s clothes.
“Fancy duds you got there!”
“Yeah, I got people to see about something huge, a real score that could put me on easy street.”
“Easy street, huh?”
“Yeah, that’s right. So whaddya want? Time’s money, ya know!”
Dusk smiled and sauntered over to the boy and grabbed him by the ear. “Oh, don’t worry, this won’t cost a thing.”
“Ow! Hey, what’s the rumpus?”
As the clown led the boy along, Lou Blatz appeared in front of the two, snapping a thick, tooled, black leather belt.
“I’m going to give you the chances I never had as a kid. I thought Detective Blatz could give you some traffic safety tips and talk about good citizenship.”
Split the Difference
By Albert Tucher
Albert Tucher says: Since writing my first stories about prostitute Diana Andrews in the summer of 2000, I have been mulling my choice of actors to play her in the movies that are sure to come. (Think positive, right?) Right now Hilary Swank would be ideal, but I wouldn’t say no to Evangeline Lilly, either. They don’t let the tough chick thing get in the way of being beautiful, and that’s Diana.
*
“Jeez, what a face,” said Breitwieser. “What’s that about?”
Diana didn’t reply right away. She was still getting used to him impersonating an honored guest in her kitchen.
In his natural habitat, twenty miles to the south in Morristown, Detective Breitwieser looked like part of the scenery. Here in her rented Cape Cod, the sight of his comb-over and 46-regular polyester suit made her jump every time she turned around. He kept refusing to disappear, like a bad dream, which left her no choice but to lean across the table and refill his coffee cup.
“Does that mean you know the guy?” he asked.
“I know of him. That’s enough to make anybody suck lemons.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Everybody calls him the Baker. I don’t think I ever heard his name before you said it just now. No way I would have anything to do with him.”
“Never?”
“I heard about him when I was new in the business. He finishes work around two in the morning, and then he relaxes with one of us.”
She made the face again.
“He relaxes, but nobody else does. Everybody warned me to stay away. It was like there was this ogre from a Grimm’s fairy tale, right there in Morristown.”
She gave Breitwieser a look that she suspected wasn’t friendly. She didn’t care. It didn’t faze him, either.
“I have a feeling you already know this stuff. That’s why you came to me in the first place. What’s going on?”
Breitwieser liked to be the one holding all the cards, but he also knew her. If he tried the bullying route, she would shut up, and he would get nothing.
“The Baker is dead. A driver found him around five A.M. Stabbed a whole bunch of times. Up close and very personal.”
“And you think I can help you. Again.”
“You tend to have a different take on things from the average civilian.”
His tact surprised her. Earlier in their acquaintance he wouldn’t have admitted that a hooker was human at all.
“So,” he said. “With a rep like that, how does he get anybody to come?”
“At this point there’s basically one escort agency in the area that will deal with him. Trudy Gernsheimer runs it. You must know about her.”
Now Breitwieser made the sour face.
“We’ve been trying to put her out of business, but she’s smart.”
“And lucky.”
“You never worked for an agency, did you?”
“Independent from the start. The agencies are all sleazy, but Trudy is the worst.”
“How so?”
“She works the girls to death. I’ve heard of them seeing twelve, fourteen, sixteen men in twenty-four hours. And if a girl wants to call it a night, the driver threatens to dump her someplace really unhealthy.”
“Why would anybody work for her?”
Diana shrugged. “I can’t say for sure. Some just don’t know what they’re getting into. They’re new to the business, and they want to let somebody else handle the details. I also think some women are taught from birth that life doesn’t give them choices. They tend to end up working for people like Trudy.”
“So it’s possible the Baker got rough with one of Trudy’s girls, and Trudy got rough back?”
“Unlikely. She’d just charge him more.”
“How about the girl herself?”
“It’s possible. Understand, if that’s what happened, I’m rooting for her.”
“That doesn’t mean you hold out on me. I can get tough with you, and not just in Morristown.”
“I was waiting for you to get to that.”
She knew that cops talked to each other across jurisdictional lines. The police in her hometown of Driscoll looked the other way when it came to her, but if another cop asked them to make life hard for her, they would do it.
“Let’s hope I don’t have to. Come on.”
“Where to?”
“The scene of the crime.”
A grin spread across his hypertensive face.
“Come on, you’re always talking about those true crime shows you watch. Time to walk the walk.”
And how could she refuse a challenge like that?
He felt no need to make conversation as he drove his Lumina down Route 15 to I-80 to I-287. The silence was fine with her. Once on the local roads, he took a roundabout route, as if testing her. She declined the bait and said nothing about the wasted time. Finally he turned onto an industrial loop road and pulled into the third driveway on the right. The one-story whitewashed building was the ultimate no-frills industrial econobox.
Crime scene tape stretched across the front door. Breitwieser pulled one end loose and let the tape fall. He used a key in the lock and pushed the door open.
“Six employees,” he said.
I know, she almost said, but she bit down on the words. “Any of them women?” was what she did say.
“No, six guys. There’s one I would normally like for it. He’s new on the job, and he’s an ex-con with an attitude. But they say they all went to breakfast together.”
“Does the restaurant remember them?”
“Not really. They’re regulars. Hard to say which night was which.”
The bakery did no retail business. The door led right into the heart of the operation, with the ovens, racks, sinks, vats and tables. Everything looked clean and orderly. Diana’s eyes went first to the neat row of knives in a slotted wooden block. Breitwieser caught her looking, but he said nothing.
One interior door revealed a supply closet. The cops must have searched it and left the door open. Another door, also open, led to the Baker’s office. Diana walked through without waiting for an invitation. Here she found more of a mess, with unfiled papers weighing down the steel desk and teetering on top of two gray filing cabinets.
She went around behind the desk and looked at the letter laid out on the blotter. She felt a grin spread across her face.
“What?” said Breitwieser.
“It’s from the I.R.S. He was about to be audited.”
“I saw. So what?”
“So I almost wish he had lived to keep that appointment.”
“I guess it’s his son’s
problem now.”
“He inherits?”
“Right. He doesn’t work in the business, though. Doesn’t seem to do much of anything, to tell you the truth. The ex-wife is long out of the picture.”
“Now there’s a surprise.”
In the far wall of the office was another door. This one drew her like an invisible tow line. The odors of death assaulted her as she pulled on the handle and groped for the light switch. Breitwieser didn’t reprimand her, but she wouldn’t have stopped if he tried. She stood in the doorway and felt him move up behind her.
“Comfy,” he said. “Or it would be without the blood.”
“Not really.”
“Are those sheets on the cot?”
“They were at some point. They probably fused to the mattress years ago. Yuck.”
“You’ve been here.”
She wasn’t really surprised. She knew from previous dealings with him that the dull, plodding cop was an act.
“Nine years ago.”
“Why lie about it? I never thought you killed him.”
“I’ve been working on forgetting this room ever since. Seeing it like this won’t help.”
“What happened that time?”
“I’ve seen everything. I’ve done everything. But nobody ever made me feel like used toilet paper the way he did.”
“Did you get paid?”
“It took some doing.”
“What kind of doing?”
“Let’s just say it involved those knives out there. And waiting for the right moment. Guys who don’t want to pay tend to forget—they can’t get what they want from a hooker without being vulnerable at some point. Nobody actually got cut, but I made my point.”
“The same problem wouldn’t come up with an escort agency, I’m thinking.”
“True. They have ways of getting paid. Starting with the driver. He generally doubles as a bodyguard and bill collector, if you know what I mean.”
“I do. So if the Baker tried not to pay, it could have been the driver.”
“But why this time?” asked Diana. “He’s been dealing with Trudy for years.”
Breitwieser led the way out to the main room and pointed at the knives with his chin.
“All accounted for, and we tested them. No blood. The killer brought his own. Or her own.”
“Suggests premeditation.”
“Could be. Don’t some women carry a weapon?”
“I don’t, but I know some who do.”
“Anything else strike you?”
“No. It’s like a time capsule in here. Nothing has changed at all.”
He waited, and he was good at it. But the extra time didn’t help.
“I’m not getting anything,” she said.
“Okay, let’s get you home.”
Only after Breitwieser dropped her off did it strike her how gentle he had been with her.
She thought about the expedition and wished she could be there when Breitwieser interviewed Trudy Gernsheimer. Diana hoped he would be at his most deliberate and methodical and take up most of her day. It would just about kill Trudy to have to sit there and know she wasn’t making money.
Diana flopped in the armchair in her living room and didn’t even have the energy to grope for the remote on the end table. She wondered at the source of her exhaustion, until she realized that it must be the effect of dredging up the past.
She sat as long as she could, but it wasn’t long enough. Tired or not, she had a date with one of her oldest regular clients. Don Prendergast differed from the others in knowing her full name, her address, and practically everything else about her. That was inevitable with the man who prepared her income taxes. Ten years earlier he had been the one who explained Al Capone to her, and the need to stay on the right side of the I.R.S.
“They don’t care if what you do is illegal. They just want their cut. Give it to them, and all anyone can ever get you on is misdemeanor prostitution.”
Don was a routine date with quick vanilla sex and then the conversation of old friends. It still surprised her that some regular clients did feel like friends.
She lay next to him in the motel bed, and a mental picture of the Baker’s audit notice came to her. And with it came the beginnings of an idea.
“Don?”
“Hmm?”
She gave his shoulder a light slap. “Hey. No husband stuff here.”
He laughed. “Yes, dear.”
That struck a little too close to home. They were both getting older. He must be sixty, and he wasn’t wearing his years well. She was thirty years younger, and she hoped she was doing better at this aging thing.
“You do other girls’ taxes, don’t you?”
He turned his head toward her.
“Yeah, but I can’t talk about anyone.”
“I know.”
She did understand, but it was awkward. How could she get what she needed from him?
“Do you do any escort agencies?”
“Yeah.”
He was sounding more and more cautious.
“Okay, let me just jump in here with both feet. I’ll say a name, and if you can’t talk, just go on to something else.”
“I guess that will work.”
“Trudy Gernsheimer?”
“No,” he said. “Her I wouldn’t work for.”
“Why not?”
“I really shouldn’t go into it, but I was warned about her. She cheats way too much. Someday she’s going to go down for tax evasion, and so is anybody who signs her return. Why?”
“The business would be better off without her. So would the rest of the world.”
As soon as Diana got home, she called Breitwieser’s office number and left a message. He didn’t call back, and he didn’t ring her doorbell until early the next afternoon. Soon she was making more coffee.
She needed to solve the case, because this had to stop.
“Okay,” he said. “Things have been busy. What’s this brainstorm of yours?”
She wondered where to start.
“I think Trudy might have had a motive to kill him.”
“As of now I have nothing that points to her. What I do have is the name of the woman who went to see the Baker. Trudy gave her right up. We’re looking for her, and we can’t find her. That always gets us more interested.”
“Do I know her?”
“Marcia Stransky, aka Blaise.”
“I’ve heard of Blaise, and I met a Marcia a while back. If they’re the same, it’s news to me.”
“Met her how?”
“The kind of thing that happens once in a while. A girl stakes out a motel, looking for somebody like me. Then she braces me in the parking lot and says she’s looking to get into the business. Wants to pick my brain.”
“So you’re like a mentor?”
“Not by choice. I always brush them off the first time. And the second if they come back. Three times, and I figure they mean it.”
“Did she?”
“She never came back. I thought she decided against it, but if this is her, she just went straight to an agency. And I’d have to say, if she went to Trudy, it was the wrong agency.”
“Is there a right one?”
“Some are less awful than others. I know a girl who had a date that went very bad, and her agency saved her life with a phone call at the right moment. That wouldn’t be Trudy, though.”
“You’ve really got it in for her.”
“Listen to this, and tell me I’m wrong. She comes on all motherly with a new girl, getting all the details about her life. Then when the girl says she’s quitting, Trudy drops the hammer. ‘You think so? If you try, I’ll tell your mother, your father, your boyfriend, husband, your boss in your day job, your dean of students.’ And so on. Trudy knows exactly what to threaten her with.”
“So Marcia was looking at a lifetime of dates with the Baker.”
“I don’t just don’t see her doing it.”
“Why not?”
/> Diana thought and said, “Maybe I just don’t want to.”
“Trudy said Blaise was the Baker’s favorite. He was asking for her night after night. If he was as bad as you say, that could make her desperate.”
“Did you search the car? Question the driver?”
“No blood in the car, none on her that the driver could see. But she would have gotten naked, and we know somebody washed off at one of the sinks. We found blood in the drain.”
It was sounding worse and worse for Marcia, but Diana refused to give up yet.
“Before you jump to conclusions, just hear what I found out.”
“Fair enough.”
“Trudy thinks the purpose of life is to get paid. Any second she’s not making money is wasted.”
“Okay.”
“Now, the Baker never wanted to pay for anything.”
“But he was paying Trudy. She wouldn’t keep sending Marcia otherwise.”
“But he would have been looking for a way to get it for free. Suppose he got something on her.”
“How?”
“That audit notice. Maybe he was thinking of throwing Trudy to the I.R.S. I have it on good authority that she cheats big time. If the Baker told them how much money he paid her during the past year, they’d cross-check, and they’d have her not reporting it. Maybe he’d earn some points.”
“That’s a lot of maybes.”
“Here’s one more. He gets this brainstorm. He tells Trudy what he can do to her. Then he tells her he’ll keep his mouth shut if she throws him freebies from now on. That would drive her up the wall.”
Breitwieser looked across the table at her for a long moment.
“Okay. You’ve earned some credibility with us. We’ll look into it. But we’re also going to look for Marcia. We have to.”
“I know.”
That killed Diana’s afternoon and her evening as well. She didn’t taste what she ate for dinner, and she couldn’t concentrate on American Justice or Cold Case Files. When she went to bed after eleven, she expected to lie awake all night.
The Untreed Detectives Page 13