"'Sniff around' meaning what exactly?"
"Exactly, I'm not sure. I think he just needs to feel that everybody is doing everything they can to find the killer."
"We are doing everything we can, Mr. Payne."
"I'm aware of that. I really am. And I told him so."
"Let me ask you something, Mr. Payne."
"All right?"
"Is there any evidence you're withholding?"
I thought about the earring. I hadn't been expecting a question like this. If I told Detective Holloway about the earring now, I could have some legal difficulties on my hands.
"Nothing I can think of," I said.
"Now there's a forthright answer."
"I'm just trying to help my friend."
"And I'm just trying to help your friend." She sighed. "Do you have a fax number?"
I gave it to her.
"The preliminary report is the only thing I can release."
"I understand and I appreciate it."
"It'd be fun to get you under oath some time, Mr. Payne."
I laughed. "Fun for you, maybe."
"It's only in movies that private eyes get involved in murder investigations, Mr. Payne."
"Not anymore, Detective Holloway. One of the first people a good criminal attorney hires these days is a field investigator. And most of us are licensed by the state as private operatives."
"And yours was issued three-and-a-half years ago following the death of your wife and your resignation from the FBI."
"You checked me out."
"Just doing my job, Mr. Payne."
"I don't blame you at all."
"That's nice of you." Then: "Chew around the edges if you want to, Mr. Payne, but don't try to hide anything from me. Understood?"
"Understood."
"You wouldn't want to piss me off. Believe me."
"I believe you."
"I'll fax those reports over to you. Have a nice day, Mr. Payne."
It took me most of the morning but I eventually located Paul Gaspard.
He lived in a red-brick six-plex in the middle of a block that had started turning black a few years ago. A variety of dirty words had been painted on the west wall of the apartment building and most of the windows were cracked and several of the cheap aluminum doors showed dents where burglar bars had been used to jimmy them open.
Gaspard lived on the second floor. Two little black faces peering around the edge of a curtain stared at me all the time I stood in front of Gaspard's door and knocked. I waved at them and grinned. They looked at each other as if they weren't sure how to respond. Then one of them waved at me.
And then the other one did, too.
Gaspard opened the door on three different chain locks.
"Yeah?"
"I'd like to talk to you about finding Father Daly."
"I already talked to you fellas. You woke me up."
"I'm sorry I woke you, Mr. Gaspard. But I'm not police. I'm a legal investigator working for Monsignor Gray."
"Legal investigator? What the hell's that?"
I explained it as cogently as I could.
"Shit," he said. "I guess you might as well come in. You got me woke up now."
The apartment was small, cluttered and smelled of cigarette smoke and greasy food. For most of the time I was there, a tiny Pekingese stood in front of me and yipped. He had a cute little collar with his name, MIGHTY MIKE, spelled out on it with fake rubies.
Gaspard looked to be in his mid-sixties, a balding man with liver spots on both his hands and his face. He was thin but it was an unhealthy thin. I wondered if he'd been sick. He wore a once-white T-shirt, gray work pants and felt slippers with the toes cut out.
He said, "He was dead when I got there."
"All right."
"And I didn't see anything or hear anything."
"You checked him in?"
"Uh-huh."
"When?"
"You want some instant coffee?"
"No, thanks."
"I'm going to have one. I just can't get started without a little coffee."
The kitchenette, as they are called, was just big enough to fit a small stove and refrigerator in the corner. Gaspard took a battered saucepan, filled it with water, then stood there to wait while it boiled.
"I checked him in just after midnight."
"Had he checked into your motel before?"
He paused. Then shook his head. "That priest got more ass than a toilet seat as we used to say."
"So you'd checked him in before?"
"Usually once or twice a week. He usually wore a hat and dark glasses and kept his collar up, but I always knew who he was."
"You ever see any of the women he was with?"
Gaspard shook his head. "He was real cagey about that. He'd have them park in back so they could walk right to his room without me seeing them."
"But you're sure he always had somebody with him?"
"Why would a man rent a room to be alone?"
You ask a stupid question, you get a stupid answer.
Gaspard brought his coffee over and sat back down in his recliner. His lime-green recliner. The couch I sat on was orange crushed velvet. The crushed velvet ottoman was light blue. Being color blind was apparently one of Gaspard's virtues.
"Did Father Daly act any different than usual that night?"
"Different how?"
"You know, scared or more talkative or less talkative or—" He sipped his coffee. "He looked — nervous or something."
"Why do you think that?"
"He walked over to the window a couple of times while I was getting him his key. He stared outside like he was trying to see if somebody had followed him."
"Maybe he was looking for his woman."
"Don't think so."
"Oh?"
"Like I said, the women always came around back."
"You ever see him nervous like that before?"
"Huh-uh. And it gave me a funny feeling."
"Funny feeling?"
"Yeah. I used to get that in Nam. And I mean Nam when it was rough. Sixty-four and sixty-five. Before Johnson decided to give the grunts any air cover."
I looked at the framed photographs hanging above the dusty Formica table that had been shoved against the living-room wall. Gaspard young, with and without his parents; Gaspard in his thirties, in uniform and in Nam; and Gaspard in a bowling shirt about to roll an important ball. Most women seem able to make a hovel appear home-like. But not men. This place writhed with loneliness and boredom and drift. No matter how many years he lived here, it would always feel temporary. I guess that's why the dog kept yipping. The place was getting to him.
"Anyway, six, seven guys I went over with got killed there. And right before they did, I always got this funny feeling about them. You ever see any TV shows about ESP?"
"A few."
"I think that's maybe what it was. That funny feeling, I mean."
"And you had the same sort of feeling about Father Daly?"
"Exactly."
"As if something bad was going to happen to him?"
"Uh-huh."
"You say that to him?"
"Say it to him?" He looked at me as if I was profoundly stupid. "I never let him know I knew who he was."
"I see."
"He gave me Communion sometimes over at St Mallory's Church, but if he knew who I was, he never let on."
"But the other night—"
"I know what you'd like me to say but I can't say it because it wouldn't be true."
"You didn't see or hear—"
"I didn't see or hear anything." Then: "Oh, I forgot. About the phone call."
"The phone call?"
"Yeah."
"When was this?"
"Maybe one, one-fifteen, something like that."
"It came to the switchboard—"
"Came to the switchboard— it’s just a little board we've got — and I put it through to the room."
"Father Daly answered?"
&n
bsp; "I assume he did."
"Tell me about the caller. Male?"
"I think so. It was pretty muffled. They'd put something across the phone, whoever it was."
"What did he say?"
"Said he wanted to be connected with Room 154."
"So he knew the room number?"
"Yes."
"Was that the room number Father Daly usually had?"
"That or Room 152 or 156. The rooms on the back wall. He always wanted one of them."
"So you connected him and that was the last you heard from the caller."
"Right." Then: "Mike. C'mon now, Mr. Payne is our guest."
Mighty Mike was yipping and yapping and driving me crazy. Every time I tried to reach down and pet him, he snarled at me with spiky little vampiric teeth.
Mighty Mike was reminding me why I was a cat man.
"I got to get up and get going," Gaspard said. "Got my line-dancing lessons in the afternoon. The gal I go out with is kind of heavy." He smiled with cheap, gleaming dentures.
"But I figure she likely never went out with nobody as bad-lookin' as me, so we're probably even up."
There was a sadness and humility in his words that made me like him suddenly. He was a decent man, and an honorable one.
"I'd like to leave my card with you."
"I've told you everything I know, Mr. Payne. But if you want to leave your card, fine."
I stood up, took out a card, carried it over to his recliner.
"Just in case," I said, handing it to him.
Mighty Mike walked me to the door, snarling at me all the way.
"He's really a good dog," Gaspard said.
"Yeah, I can see that."
The two little boys were still in the window when I left. This time they waved first.
I smiled and waved back.
Even when I was all the way down to the sidewalk, I could hear Mighty Mike still yipping.
Chapter Nine
COUNTY OF LINN, INVESTIGATOR'S REPORT
Department of Medical Examiner
620-3764
Homicide
CRPD/Evans
INFORMATION SOURCE:
Detectives Miles and Reynolds
LOCATION:
Bowker Park
INVESTIGATION:
620-3764 A 31-year-old black female is the victim of an apparent homicide.
STATEMENTS:
According to Detective Miles, a woman in the park was looking for her dog when she came upon the body of the deceased.
The decedent was last seen alive at the Suds 'N Brew tavern at approx. 8:15 P.M. on the previous evening.
SCENE DESCRIPTION/BODY EXAMINATION:
I arrived at the scene at 0805 hr. The body was lying between two jack pine trees near the northwest end of the park.
Decedent was lying on her back. She wore a plaid skirt, pantyhose, a white frilly blouse and a brown winter coat. From appearances, she did not appear to have been sexually assaulted. Her white cloth underwear showed no evidence of semen or blood.
The most obvious wounds were a) several stab wounds in the area of her heart and b) her eyes, which somebody had crudely dug out of their sockets.
Rigor mortis was fully established.
More than six fresh footprints were discovered near and around the decedent.
EVIDENCE:
620-3765: Hair standards and fingernail standards were taken.
620-3766: Hair and nail standards taken as well as physical evidence by criminologist B. P. Jepsen.
IDENTIFICATION/NOTIFICATION:
620-3767: Identification was established at scene by husband Thomas being summoned to the park. He identified wife immediately.
When I finished with that report, I started in on the second, wanting to refresh my memory. The report concerned a Ronald Swanson, age fifty-six. He, too, had been stabbed, though the clinical reports about the type of weapon and condition of the knife blade indicated that two very different weapons had been used.
Probably because I felt guilty (and somewhat unprofessional) about withholding the earring from her, Detective Holloway was my first call.
"It's like we're going steady now," she said, after I identified myself. "I mean, you call every twenty minutes it seems like."
"Well, you are kind of cute now that you mention it."
"So are you, Mr. Payne. But I'm a happily married gal with three kids."
"Three kids? You don't look any older than thirty."
"Boy, save some of that butter for popcorn at the movies."
I laughed. There's a certain type of wise-ass woman who is even funnier than a wise-ass man. Holloway was one of them.
"Now let's be serious," I said.
"Fine by me."
"Tawanna Jackson had her eyes cut out, right?"
"Right."
"And Ronald Swanson had his ear cut off, right?"
"Right."
"And now Father Daly's had his tongue cut out, right?"
"Right. But what does it mean?"
"Seeing, hearing, speaking."
"I'm just a country girl, Mr. Payne, not a high-powered FBI-type like yourself."
"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. The Three Wise Monkeys."
Silence. Then: "I'll be damned."
"You buy it?"
"I don't know if I buy it, Mr. Payne, but I've got to give you an A for imagination." Then: "It is kind of interesting at that. You have any theories as to how these three people tie in together?"
"St. Mallory's."
"Right. But that's the obvious one, Mr. Payne. St Mallory's a big church. And they were all stabbed. But you know how many murder victims are stabbed to death every year? Any other connection?"
"I don't know. But I think that between us we should be able to find one."
"If one exists," she said.
"Right. If one exists."
"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. It does sort of make sense."
"You work on it, and so will I."
Then: "The captain is waving at me, Mr. Payne. I'd better see what he wants."
"I appreciate you taking me seriously."
"Why, that's all right, Mr. Payne. But I don't take you half as seriously as you and your FBI buddies take yourselves."
She said it in the sweetest of ways, and then hung up. I wondered just what kind of bad experience she'd had with the Bureau in the past.
But then most city cops feel that way.
Chapter Ten
Gilhooley reached me on my car phone.
"I got something for you, Robert. But I'm not sure what it means yet."
"Yeah? What is it?"
"It seems your friend Ellie Wilson's got one hell of a temper. A social worker accused her of four different counts of child abuse. But nobody ever brought any charges against her."
"Physical abuse?"
"Yeah — very bad physical abuse. Broken ribs, black eyes things like that. Seems elegant Ellie was brought up by a very religious mother. And Ellie really freaks out when she thinks her kids have been ‘bad.’ She's judge and jury."
"Good work. I'm going to be seeing Ellie in a little bit, matter of fact."
"Don't say anything dirty. She might slug you."
We hung up.
Gilhooley tells me that if you want really great cuisine you need to go to Iowa City. But then Maoists aren't known for their gourmet tastes.
In former days, downtown Cedar Rapids was crowded with good little restaurants offering the standard fare of seafood and steak. Ethnic restaurants, at that time, didn't have much chance of success.
But over the past ten years, ethnic food has become one of the mainstays of Cedar Rapids restaurants. Indian, Chinese, German, Greek, French and Korean fare have done especially well out here. Of course, this has happened simultaneously with Cedar Rapids itself becoming more cosmopolitan. On sunny streets these days, you hear a variety of languages spoken, from Japanese to French to Lebanese. And at the rate Cedar Rapids is adding
international businesses, there will be even more languages spoken very soon.
The place where I was to meet Ellie Wilson was a block away from a large downtown park. At noontime, the restaurant was crowded with workers from the various office buildings. There was an old joke about Cedar Rapids. Hold your middle finger up and say, "You know what this is?"
"No, what's that?"
"The Cedar Rapids skyline."
This was when we had only one building taller than fifteen stories. Now we have several so the joke no longer applies. There are now enough people working downtown to pack the restaurants every single working day.
I left my name with the hostess and took a table next to a window where I could watch the river. I was on my second cup of coffee when I looked up and saw Ellie Wilson.
"I'm sorry I'm late."
"I'm in no particular hurry."
She was breathless as she sat down. "I think he's following me."
"Who is following you?"
"Bob. My husband."
"Why would he follow you?"
She was about to say more when the waiter appeared.
"My name is Phil and I'll be your waiter today. Would you care for something from the bar?"
I've always felt that name tags were sufficient. That way, knowing the waiter's name is elective. If I was all that curious about it, I could look up at the plastic rectangle riding his shirt pocket and see his name for myself. At least he wasn't dressed up like a pirate or anything.
"I'll have a glass of white wine," Ellie Wilson said. White was the motif for the day. She wore a white suit that gave her an open, summery look.
"That sounds good, plus a cup of coffee," I said.
After our pal Phil left, she said, "He's been following me the last couple of months."
"Any special reason?"
"He thought I was having an affair."
"Were you?"
"Yes. Yes, I was. I'm ashamed to admit it, but it's the truth."
She glanced around the restaurant, as if somebody might be eavesdropping on our conversation. The place was a large room filled with small tables covered with starchy white tablecloths and centered with fretted black metal candleholders. There was a hungry mob waiting up by the cash register. They wanted us to hurry the hell up and eat and get out of there.
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