“I can’t give you that.”
“Now look here—”
Any second now he was going to start jabbing a finger at me again. I said, “I can’t give it to you because I don’t know. I don’t know who killed Silvia Griego, and I don’t know why.”
He sat back with another frown, and took another deep breath. “Mr. Croft,” he said. He was trying to be pleasant again, and the effort showed. “Mr. Croft, Silvia was one of my wife’s closest friends. They’ve known each other since high school. And naturally Felice is … extremely upset about all this. She’s afraid that somehow your questioning Silvia may’ve had something to do with this …” he searched for a word, found it, “tragedy. I explained to her that this was nonsense, that in all probability the person who killed her was some sneakthief, some burglar, that Silvia happened upon accidentally. But she’s distraught, of course, and she won’t really listen to reason.”
“So you came over here,” I said, “hoping that I could ease your wife’s mind.” Maybe he wasn’t a complete loss after all.
He nodded. “She feels somehow responsible. She feels …” he shrugged unhappily, not very comfortable with the word, “guilty.”
“She shouldn’t,” I said.
He nodded briskly. “Exactly what I told her. It was some sneakthief. Some drunken Mexican. And poor Silvia was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
He frowned. “But you said—”
“I said your wife shouldn’t feel guilty. And she shouldn’t. I don’t think Silvia Griego even knew the necklace had been stolen. But she was involved in something, probably something illegal, and I think her involvement was somehow responsible for her death.”
He shook his head again. “Impossible. My wife and I have known Silvia for over twenty years. There’s no way she could’ve been involved in anything illegal.”
I shrugged. “Okay. It’s impossible.” I took a bite of English muffin.
He crossed his arms over his chest and put his head back, atilt, the better to look down his nose at me. He said, “And just what was it, according to you, that Silvia was involved in?”
“I’m not sure.” I drank some cider.
“But obviously you’ve got some idea. And dammit, Croft, I have a right to know what it is. I’m not just some bozo who wandered in off the street.”
As far as I was concerned, that was exactly what he was. I picked up my fork, and discovered that I’d lost my appetite. I set it back down. “Look,” I said. “Mr. Leighton.” If he could make an effort, so could I. “I understand that you have a vested interest in this. It’s your necklace, you’re the one paying the finder’s fee for Atco, and Silvia Griego was a friend of yours. I understand all that. But you have to understand that my only responsibility here, assuming I locate the necklace, is to return the thing to Atco. Anything else I might stumble into is my business, and it has to stay that way. If I find clear evidence of a felony, then by law I’m required to report it to the proper authorities. But I don’t have to report anything else to anybody else. Are we clear on that?”
Still frowning, he said. “I’ve made some inquiries about you around town. People I know.”
“Yeah?”
“The consensus seems to be that you’re an arrogant bastard, but fundamentally honest.”
I nodded. “I see it as a serious character flaw. The honesty, I mean.”
“All right,” he said, nodding as though he’d suddenly made a decision. “All right. I’ll hire you. Personally. To investigate the death of Silvia Griego.” He lifted his ankle from his knee, put both feet on the ground, and reached into his suitcoat pocket for a wallet. “What sort of retainer would make you happy?”
I shook my head. “It’s an open case. The cops wouldn’t let me near it. They tend to think they’re better at murder investigations than anybody else, and they’re usually right. Besides, I’m already working.”
He tapped the wallet against the arm of the chair. “On a speculation contract. You said so yourself. I’m prepared to offer you cash. Up front.”
“For what?”
“I told you. For investigating Silvia’s death.”
“Why?”
“Let’s say I’m not happy with the way the police are handling this.”
“The police haven’t even begun to handle it yet.”
“Silvia was a friend. I only want to make sure that whoever did this is brought to justice. You have contacts in the police department. You can keep me apprised of what they learn.”
“Ah,” I said.
He scowled at me. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Just for curiosity’s sake,” I said, “is your wife really upset about Griego’s death? Or did you only come over here to see if I could find out whether the cops picked up the Polaroids?”
He opened his mouth and blinked at me. “Polaroids?” He might’ve been a successful contractor, but he would’ve made a lousy poker player.
I went around the corner, down the hall, into the bedroom, and took the photographs from the place where I’d hidden them. I shuffled through the stack, found the ones that showed either Leighton or his wife, or both, and put the others back. I carried the Leighton photographs back to the living room and flipped them into Leighton’s lap. “They didn’t,” I said, and sat down.
He had clapped his knees together when I tossed the Polaroids at him, but one of the prints had fluttered past his legs to the floor. He bent down, picked it up, put it with the others. He sorted through them quickly, tapped the stack back into shape, and slipped it into his suit coat pocket. He opened his wallet and looked.at me. “How much?”
The man was impossible.
I shook my head. “All I need from you are the answers to a couple of questions.”
He stared at me for a moment. At last he said, “I want to make one thing clear to you, Croft. I’m not ashamed of what I do, and I’m not ashamed of who I am. I have a good marriage, a viable partnership, that’s probably more stable then eighty percent of the relationships in the country.”
I nodded. “Good for you.”
“But I have my children to think of. If these had come out—” he tapped his left breast “—the children are the ones who would’ve suffered.”
I nodded. Maybe he believed this. Maybe he had to. I didn’t. I knew that in this town, a business like Leighton’s could survive anything but ridicule.
“I won’t ask you,” he said, “how you got these. But I want you to know I’m grateful.” He shot his wrist, glanced at his Rolex, looked up at me, and said, “What would you like to know?”
“Why’d you fire Frank Biddle?” I said.
SIXTEEN
DEREK LEIGHTON crossed his legs again, frowned at me from the chair, and said, “I can’t see how that’s relevant. I had my reasons.”
“I’m sure you did. But I’d like to know what they were.”
A small, quick shake of his head. “They were personal.”
“Look,” I said. “You want that necklace back, am I right?”
“Of course I do. But I don’t see that the two things are related.”
“The police think they’re related. What was the reason you gave them for firing Biddle?”
“I told them it was a personality conflict. It was no more their business than it is yours.”
“Nolan, in Burglary, thinks that Biddle planned the robbery to spite you for firing him, and that Stacey Killebrew carried it out.”
He nodded. “Sergeant Nolan apprised me of his theory at the time. I didn’t think much of it then, and I don’t think much of it now.”
“Why not?”
“I had a long talk with Frank when I let him go. I also paid him a sizable cash settlement in lieu of notice. I don’t believe he held a grudge, and I don’t believe he’d steal the necklace in order to spite me.”
“So why’d you fire him?”
He shook his head, as stubbor
n as a child.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t know how that necklace of yours figures in all this, but I’m convinced that Biddle had access to it last week. And this week, two people are dead. One of them, Biddle, was a man who worked for you. The other, Silvia Griego, was a friend of yours. That doesn’t mean anything to you?”
Frowning again, he said, “I thought it was your contention that Silvia knew nothing about the necklace.”
“So far as I know,” I said. “And that’s the problem. I don’t know very far. And all the people I talk to suddenly turn up dead. I’d like to avoid any more of that. Why’d you fire Biddle?”
He was looking down his nose at me again, as though he smelled something offensive in the room. Maybe my scrambled eggs were beginning to rot. “You’re trying to browbeat me,” he said. “Trying to make me feel responsible for these deaths.”
I said, “What I’m trying to do is get your cooperation. Look at it this way. Whatever personal reasons you had for firing Biddle, they couldn’t have been more personal than those Polaroids. And those Polaroids could be lying on some desk over at the police station right now.” Not without Hector putting me through the wringer they couldn’t; but Leighton didn’t need to know that.
He crossed his arms over his chest, lips pursed in thought. I let him think. It would’ve been rude to interrupt a process that took so much energy. After a moment he said, “Do I have your word that this will remain confidential?”
I nodded. “You have my word.”
He narrowed his eyes, doubtful. People who don’t put much stock in their own word don’t put much in the word of someone else.
I shrugged. “I’m honest, remember? Ask anyone.”
“It had come to my attention,” he said abruptly, “that Biddle was selling drugs.”
“What do you mean ‘come to your attention’? You knew he was selling drugs. Wasn’t he supplying coke for those parties at Griego’s house?”
He nodded. “That was one thing, providing it for us, for adults. We could weigh all the factors involved, the risks and benefits. We could make an intelligent decision.”
Ignoring my doubts about that, I said, “Kevin. You found out he was dealing coke to Kevin.”
He blinked, surprised, then frowned, as though irritated at my stealing his punch line.
“I talked to Kevin earlier this week,” I said. “He told me Biddle had sold him coke.”
Leighton nodded curtly. “I spoke with Frank. I told him I knew he was … distributing it in my home. I overheard him once when he made the arrangements. I told him I couldn’t allow him to stay on there. As I said, I gave him a month’s pay in lieu of notice. He understood the reasons for my decision, and I think he respected them.”
I said, “You never told Kevin you knew about the coke.”
“No.”
I nodded.
He uncrossed his arms, putting them along the arms of the chair, and said, “I’ve talked about drugs before with both my children. Explained all the dangers involved, legal and otherwise. I’m a responsible adult, and I want my children to grow up to be responsible adults. And sometimes that means allowing them to make decisions for themselves.” His voice was growing louder; an attack is the best defense. “What would I accomplish with a confrontation, besides anger and resentment? I did the proper thing, the only thing, and removed the threat from my house.”
I nodded some more.
“And Frank,” he said, “Frank understood my motives. He thought the cash settlement was more than generous.”
“You liked Biddle,” I said.
He shrugged. “He was a likeable sort. A picaresque character.”
A guy sleeps with your wife and sells coke to your kid, he’d better be a picaresque character. I said, “How come you were so angry at him then, when he came by your house a week, two weeks ago?”
He frowned again. “Kevin told you that.”
“Yeah.”
“I wish you’d leave my family alone.” It was said more with regret than anger.
“I’ll be happy to, soon as I find the necklace. Why were you so angry?”
“The man had given me his word he wouldn’t come back to my house.”
Code of the West. Biddle had violated it.
“But I want to tell you one thing,” he said. “I’ve never accepted Nolan’s theory,” he said, “that Frank was involved in the theft of the necklace.”
“He had it last week. I’m sure of it.”
“If he did, he got it from that Killebrew person.”
“Did you ever meet Killebrew?”
“No.”
“He never came around the house when Biddle was working there?”
“Not that I know of.” According to Kevin, Killebrew had been by. Didn’t mean Leighton was lying; maybe he just hadn’t been there when Killebrew had.
“One more question,” I said.
He glanced again at his watch, nodded. “One more. I’ve got a ten o’clock flight.”
“When I talked to Allan Romero, at Atco, he said you were in Albuquerque the day of the burglary. Your wife called down there at eleven o’clock, but you didn’t get back here until two. You flew up in a private plane. What took you so long?”
He pursed his lips, shrugged, and said, “I have a friend down there.”
I nodded. “You mean a woman.”
He got defensive again. “Felice knows about her. We don’t have any secrets from each other.”
I nodded.
“As I said, we’ve got a better relationship than most couples ever dream of.”
I nodded again.
He eyed me for a moment, as though expecting me to contradict him, then he said, “In any event, it took John—I was staying with John and Emily Dupree—it took John a while to locate me. As soon as he did, I drove over to the airport. He met me there and flew me back to town.” He looked at his watch. “Speaking of airports. If I don’t leave now, I’ll miss my plane.” He stood up, held out his hand.
I stood, took it.
“I’m glad we had this little talk,” he said.
AFTER LEIGHTON LEFT, I drove down to the police station to see Hector. I signed my second statement, the one I’d made after someone had shot at me and Felice Leighton, and then dictated a third, this one about my visit to Griego’s gallery. Hector was right; I had been making more statements lately than a politician. And I’d made this last one about as honestly. There’d been no outright lies in it, at least none I could get called on; but there’d been a fair amount of equivocation. Had I seen the decedent at any time following the incident at her gallery? No. Telling myself that what I’d seen that night, lying in the bathtub, had not been Silvia Griego. And reminding myself that mentioning the visit to her house would only complicate life for everyone involved: the Leightons, Linda Sorenson, Peter Ricard. And, of course, me. It’s a rare altruism that doesn’t hide some self-concern.
Anyway, I had a few days grace before I actually had to sign it. Maybe I could get this whole thing cleared up before then, and I could tell Hector the truth.
Sure I could. I’d been making terrific progress so far.
After he turned off the tape recorder, Hector sat back away from his desk and linked his hands behind his neck, the light gray tattersall shirt tautening against his biceps. “I wish you’d tell me, Josh, who gave you the information about Biddle and Griego.”
“Sorry, Hector. But if it helps your conscience any, it was just someone who happened to see them together.”
“We got confirmation this morning,” he said, “from the girl who works in Griego’s gallery. She says they were a number, off and on, for three or four years. She didn’t mention it yesterday, she says, because they hadn’t seen each other for a long time, and she didn’t think it was important.”
“And you didn’t ask her because you didn’t know that Biddle and Griego were an item.”
He nodded. “She also says you talked to her last night.”
“Yeah. I was out and about last night, taking in the culture and art that Santa Fe offers us all. She tell you that Griego knew Killebrew?”
“She said he made a delivery to the gallery, a couple months ago.”
“Same thing she told me. You talked to Killebrew?”
“Not yet. He’s not at his apartment, and he hasn’t been hanging around that garage he owns over on Cerillos. No one’s seen him for two or three days.”
“You figure him for Griego? You think the two killings are related?”
He nodded glumly. “I got two dead people in less than a week, and it turns out they both knew each other. Yeah, Sherlock, I’d have to say I think they’re related.”
“Different M.O.,” I pointed out.
He shrugged. “I’d bet that Stacey’s capable of a little variety now and then.”
“If it actually was Stacey. And where’s the motive? I don’t think that Griego knew anything about the necklace.”
He shrugged. “You’re the one has to worry about the necklace. Maybe the necklace doesn’t have anything to do with this. Maybe Biddle got killed for something else.”
“I’ve been told that the thing hasn’t been fenced.”
“Oh yeah? And who was it, exactly, told you that?”
“A reliable source.”
He snorted. He was still good at snorting, and this was one of his better efforts. “These sources of yours, they’re so reliable, how come they don’t have any names?”
“They’re like the people who donate anonymously to the United Way. They’re self-effacing.”
He snorted again.
I said, “You find anything at her house?”
He shook his head. “Nothing to let us know who killed her. And nothing connecting her to Killebrew. There were some financial records in a strongbox, hidden in her closet. She was working some kind of tax fiddle, looks like.”
“What kind of tax fiddle?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know yet. The Fraud people are on it now, and the I.R.S. is sending someone up from Albuquerque to look over the stuff.”
Wall of Glass Page 18