"Not if you don't want to. It's up to you. For insurance, a police report will be helpful."
"Insurance. They dropped us after the third time we'd reported some water damage they should have covered. So, no, I don't think I'll need a police report."
"You have someplace to stay tonight?"
"You think they'll be back?"
"No. No. I just think this is an awful mess for you to be around." Actually, I thought it was entirely possible whoever did it might come back. If they hadn't found what they were looking for, they might try beating it out of Hollister. But he didn't need to hear that. "I'll have someone come and help you clean up in the morning."
"I'd rather not be alone anyway. Give me a minute to call a friend."
***
Next morning, I walked to Hollister's place the long way. October mornings reminded me there would be a mad rush to the end of the year and before I knew it I'd be on vacation, standing in a bar in Ft. Lauderdale, toasting the New Year with a bunch of people I hardly knew.
As I walked, I enjoyed the bracing air, it made me more aware of my surroundings. It also cleared my mind and I needed to think about the case and review things with Luke before I talked to Hollister.
Luke was a little younger than I and a lot more successful. Owner of one of the city's largest housecleaning agencies, he'd made a fortune. There was even a group of his cleaners who did it in the buff, if the customers requested. Naturally they got loads of requests. Luke himself had started out as a cleaner, though not of the nude variety, and that's how we met.
My housekeeping skills being less than satisfactory, according to my mother, I'd figured it would be a good idea to hire a housekeeper. Even better if he'd be naked when he cleaned. When Luke showed up at my door five years before, I was caught off guard. A gorgeous Chinese man, slightly shorter than my five feet eleven, with dark hair and the darkest deepest eyes I'd ever seen. He was shapely, had a lilting smile, and a seductive manner. I could see him working for StripGuyz not cleaning houses. I was sold.
That day, five years ago, he and an assistant, cleaned house and made it look like I'd just moved in.
When my mother saw the job he'd done she said, "Che bello! Come pullito! What's his name, this cleaning guy?" When I told her, she just said, "Marry him." And not another word on the subject. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought they were collaborating since Luke made it pretty clear after a few months, that he wouldn't mind playing house permanently. He wasn't as coy as Anton about showing me just how much he wanted it.
Since then nothing has cooled off between us. Luke even helps out with investigations at times. Like this one -- Hollister wanted his place put back together and I needed someone I trusted to go through the papers and give me a report. So, I'd called Luke and explained everything.
Luke brought Chip, the employee he trusted most and one I'd known a long time. Chip was a man in his seventies and no one's fool.
Anton also agreed to help out and arrived at the same time. Since I knew how that Eastern European mind worked, I realized Anton was keeping an eye on how Luke and I were getting along. His blue eyes never missed details. But that was the point, he had an eye for anything out of the ordinary which is why he often helped with cases I worked. He and Luke were both detail-oriented.
Luke knew how to put the place back together and I told them what to watch for that might help the case. Hollister hovered over them and I knew that'd have to stop. So, I took him aside.
"Can we talk somewhere away from here?"
"Don't they need me here?"
"Luke will get your place in order. Take a break. Besides, I've got lots to ask you."
Hollister nodded slowly, the dark half-moons under his eyes gave him a grave, clerical appearance. Turning, he plucked a jacket from the closet.
"Won't you be cold?" He looked me up and down.
"I'm Italian. Hot from the inside out," I joked. "I like this temperature. Keeps me alert."
"The young," Hollister said and shook his head. "You think you'll live forever. You won't, you know. No one ever does."
"The cafe on the corner has great coffee, but I guess you already know that."
"Actually, I never drink coffee. I'm a tea man," Hollister commented. "But we did go to the cafe quite often. Brandt would work on his projects, I'd read. It was always so peaceful."
"Would you rather we talked somewhere else?"
"No. I shouldn't avoid places. Anyway it might bring back those moments for me and that would be good." He breathed in the cold air and lightly thumped his chest. "You're right about the cold, Marco. It makes you feel alive."
The cafe was relatively empty at eight on a Saturday morning. The fragrance of fresh baked pastry filled the air and I breathed it in, trying to resist temptation. Hollister took a table at the rear and I bought us both something to drink.
"So, you'll take the case?" Hollister stirred some sugar into his tea.
"Looks that way, Mr. Hollister." I poured half and half into my coffee and tore off a piece of my croissant. It tasted like ones I remembered eating in Provence. For just a moment I was far away from Hollister and Philly and everything.
"What convinces you?"
I heard Hollister ask me the question but it was as if he were on the other end of a very sketchy connection. I sipped my coffee and the bitter flavor brought me back to the cafe in the gayborhood.
"I'm not saying you're right and there's some grand conspiracy. But I don't believe in coincidences. It wasn't just a mugging. There's more to it than that."
"You'll find out just how much more there is. And it won't be small."
Now he was getting all conspiracy crazy on me. I ate another piece of croissant and sipped more coffee.
"I have to ask some questions you may not like, Mr...."
"It's Tim. Now you're taking the case, just call me Tim. All this mister stuff makes me feel older than I already am."
"I've got to ask some difficult questions. They might bring back memories you'd rather not think about."
"Ask. How much more can I be hurt? They took away my life last night and then they ransacked my home. After a while, you become numb."
"The mugging..."
"The assassination, you mean."
"Did you get a good look at the shooter? Can you remember anything about his face or voice, or anything. Anything at all?"
"The man who..." Hollister closed his eyes, drew in a breath. "The man who took Helmut's life was just so ordinary. A face in the crowd. Nothing you'd remember if you spent hours standing in front of him. There was fear in his eyes. That I remember. He was a frightened man."
"No attempt to hide his face?"
"Only minimal, a cap and his jacket collar. But I could see his eyes."
"The color of his hair? His height? What he was wearing?"
"I can't remember. It was all so fast, so shocking. One minute we were laughing, the next Helmut was on the ground."
"Did the shooter say anything?"
"He asked for Helmut's bag then said Helmut had better stop what he was doing. No explanation. Just stop. Then he fired and Helmut went down. The man glanced at me and, for a second, seemed confused. The next thing I knew he was running away and people were screaming. Helmut was bleeding to death on the ground. I was lost in an ocean of silence."
"I'm sorry. Truly, Tim. I'm sorry." I placed a hand over his, it was cool and seemed unreal. Hollister appeared strangely unmoved.
"It hasn't all sunk in yet," he said. "And I'm confused."
"About what?"
"What's so important...?"
"About the shooter? If this is about Helmut's work, and that's looking pretty likely, then the mugger is important. If we're right, somebody hired the shooter and he can tell us who that was." I was convinced it was no ordinary mugging but I was still skeptical that there was a huge conspiracy behind everything.
"Ah. I see." Hollister mulled this over.
"I'm sorry you can't remember mo
re. It would have made things a whole lot easier."
"Then, how will you find him? There were other witnesses. Maybe they can do better. Maybe they'll recall more detail."
"Let me worry about it. That's why you hired me." I looked him in the eye which seemed to reassure him. "Can you handle a few more questions?"
"I want you to find Helmut's killers. Ask what you need to ask. I'm stronger than I look, Marco."
"Last night you mentioned rivals and others."
"There are all sorts of people I can name."
"Outside of his work, who else might have wanted to hurt Helmut? Was there anyone he fought with?"
Hollister held his teacup in his hands as if gathering the warmth to himself. The man looked ragged and tired and the day had hardly begun.
"A man like Helmut, with opinions on so many things, has enemies. He had a long list. Few of them were the killing kind."
"So we all think. Let's start with the worst and work our way down. What were his most recent problems?"
"There's not going to be anything dramatic, Marco. Nobody threatened Helmut in public like in some low grade drama. There were quiet arguments. Academic struggles, I suppose. Some weren't so quiet. Religion raises hackles."
"And the worst of those with their hackles raised?" I asked, unable to help asking myself what the hell hackles were anyway.
"Tom Quinn, a writer who's doing similar work. They had a skirmish not long ago and Quinn promised to get even with Helmut. Helmut never gave it much thought."
"Did Quinn threaten Helmut physically?"
"No. He claimed he'd get even in print or he might tell Helmut's publisher some dirty little secret. Undoubtedly he'd have made something up to suit his purposes. He's a vile man."
"Others on your list?"
"There's Franny, oh, his name is really Francis Clifford but we all know him as Franny. He doesn't like people to remember what he was like when he was called "Franny." He's connected to both Opus Dei and the Archdiocese."
"Connected? How?" Again with the Opus Dei stuff. These conspiracy guys never let go when they get an idea in their heads. And they say Pit Bulls have strong jaws.
"He works for the Archdiocese. Some sort of low level functionary. As for his Opus Dei connection, he isn't publicly a member. But he sometimes has an Opus Dei boarder in his home."
"He has an Opus Dei boarder?"
"Franny lives in a large house in South Philadelphia and often has one or two boarders. I've heard he has one living there now. That kind of fits one Opus Dei pattern. Frankly, I don't understand how the man tolerates Clifford. There must be some connection there."
"And Clifford argued with Helmut recently?"
"Argued is too strong a word. Franny never argues. He just condemns with quiet words and evil glances. He met Helmut on the street and told him in so many words what he thought of his book and the harm it would do the Church."
"No threats?"
"Not so you'd notice. But Franny has his own way. He told Helmut that his new work would never see the light of day. That he would destroy Helmut's name."
"Sounds like a threat to me."
"If you knew Franny you might not think so, but with the weight of Opus Dei behind him, who knows?"
"That's the list?"
"And one Peter Wren from the Archdiocesan public relations office. He had a meeting with Helmut that turned into a screaming match. It never got violent, people like Wren never get violent on the surface. But he told Helmut that his work was damaging the moral authority of church leaders. Making them seem like conspiratorial murderers. Helmut said he'd laughed it off."
"That probably lit Wren's fuse."
"The man flew into a rage and said that Helmut would burn in hell for his work and that he, Wren, would see to it."
"Certainly sounds like a threat."
"Until you see Wren. The wizened little creature can hardly keep himself upright in a chair, let alone credibly threaten someone."
"Still. I'll want to talk with him."
"I'll keep thinking if there are others. Is that it?"
"I don't quite know how to say this." I felt the color rising in my face. I wasn't ashamed about the question, it was just bad timing.
"Then just ask. I've always found that to be the best way to do it."
"Okay, was Helmut involved intimately with anyone else? Did he have other lovers? For that matter, were you involved with anyone else?" There's nothing wrong with fooling around, in my book. Of course, Anton would have a different take on the subject.
"I suspected you'd ask that. It's no secret. We both had our dalliances. What couple who've been together so long doesn't? At least we were honest with one another." Hollister seemed defensive. Maybe he didn't feel Helmut had always been honest with him.
"I don't want details, just names. I'll need to check them out."
"If you feel that's necessary." He seemed stung.
"You can write up a list at the house. No need to dwell on it now."
***
Back at the house everything looked better. Luke, Anton, and Chip had gotten a lot done. Paintings on walls, drawers in their places, books on shelves. The three of them were sorting papers at the dining room table.
"You guys are miracle workers!" I said "Great work, huh?" I turned to Hollister.
He looked pleased but there was a sadness to his smile.
"Helmut would be impressed. He always said we should hire someone to do the housework."
"How's the upstairs?"
"Oh, piece of cake," Anton said. "We finished putting everything back."
"But these papers...," Chip said, running a hand through his white hair, making it even messier. "It's like a bizarre jigsaw puzzle."
"We're working on it," Luke said. "We'll have it figured out soon."
"I'll check back later then. You guys'll be all right for a while?"
"Where're you off to?" Anton asked, a smile twisting the upper left corner of his mouth. It was an unconsciously sexy movement that drove me crazy.
"I need to see somebody down at the police district office. Then, I want to check out a couple of characters at the Archdiocesan building."
"Right into the mouth of the lion. You're a brave man." Luke smiled. "Last time I was there I swear I could feel the building shudder when I entered."
"Wish me luck, then."
Chapter 6
Walking into the Center City police district office felt odd. My short stint trying to qualify for the Force hadn't been the greatest time. Being rejected for some arcane reason which no one has ever fully explained left a sour taste in my mouth. Somehow now I felt above it all, maybe even lucky not to have gotten trapped in police work.
Though I knew a person or two at the district, very few were ever willing to stick their neck out for me when it came to something big. But squeezing information out of them wasn't always difficult. Depending on the person being squeezed.
Clark "Obie" O'Brien, a few years short of retirement, sat at a desk directing visitors. Obie had been one of my supporters when I was at the Academy. He'd aged since then. His hair was thin and uneven, and he looked overworked. His usually pink face appeared dry and rough, like a pumpkin left out in the weather.
He smiled broadly when he saw me. Obie was a smiler but I knew when the smile was genuine and when it wasn't.
"Marco! Good to see you. How's the P.I. business?"
"Can't complain. And you?"
"Things are good. Retirement looks better every day, but this ain't so bad." He passed a hand over the desk. "So what can I do ya for?"
"Who's working the Brandt case?"
"The mugging in midtown?"
"That's the one. Who caught that case?"
Obie's smile disappeared and that wasn't good. I stared at him and waited.
"Giuliani." Obie looked at me as if I'd lost my dog and he couldn't do anything about it.
"Shit."
"Not the word I woulda used, but you got it. She'd rather
chew on your liver than help you out. And she don't even care about this case. 'Just another friggin' mugging.' That's what she said."
Gina Giuliani was a cop who wanted to be Commissioner. She was on a mission. Little cases and people like me had no business getting in her way. She hated all P.I.s but me in particular. I'll never really know why. Could have something to do with the fact that she'd dated one of my brothers who dumped her for a hot French-Canadian guy he'd met on one of his buying trips. I'd always thought she was bigger than that. Anyway, she'd moved on and gotten married.
She had a good chance of moving up in the ranks. I was happy about that because she was smart, hard working, and dedicated. But she was too transparent. It's great to be ambitious, you just can't look too hungry. Giuliani always looked like she was starving.
"Well, Obie, I gotta give it a try. Do me a favor?"
"Anything, kid."
"If it sounds like it's getting rough in there, call the cops."
I left Obie laughing and coughing as I made my way to Giuliani's door. Seeing her name on the frosted glass door gave me the willies. She was good at what she did, knew her stuff, and handled things well. But she hated me.
Opening the door after knocking, I seemed to have surprised her. She looked up quickly from something she was writing. Her expression went from startled to stony in less than one second.
"Who let you in?"
"Uh, taxpayer." I pointed to myself. "Remember? I pay your salary? I get to come see you now and then." I hated being a wise ass but how much more could she hate me?
"Leech is more like it. A boy playing adult games. What can I do for you?" As she moved, her voluptuous dark hair arranged itself in elegant waves down to her shoulders. She was a looker. That didn't matter on this job but she had everything else that did.
"How can I resist such a kind offer of assistance?" I smiled my best and brightest. It was no use. My brother looked too much like me and I almost saw the memories replaying themselves in her head. "I could use some help on a case. The Brandt murder. Guy named Hollister was his partner. But I guess you know that. Anyway, he hired me."
Murder on Camac Page 5