Instead I studied the final item: the spent bullet. It had come from a Colt M1911A1, a heavy gun, about two and a half pounds. It was a single-action semi-automatic, never jammed, never misfired, and was pretty accurate even at three hundred feet. In short, I was pretty sure that the bullet hadn’t come from any gun that Lena had ever used. It had too much weight and too little intimacy.
So what was it doing in Lena’s memory box? In amongst the other important items, it had significance to her.
About that time Yudda lumbered over to my table with the bouillabaisse, a whole baguette, and a bottle of Cantillon Kriek, some kind of Belgian beer he loved. No idea where he got it, but it was pretty good.
I considered, and rejected, the idea of just going after Lena, wherever she was. My main gig was to find her sister, like I promised. I wasn’t sure if having a birth certificate would help, but for some reason it seemed nice to have. The photo would be more helpful.
Then my stomach got the upper hand, and I dug into the bouillabaisse, which was the best I ever had. It was all I could think about for a while: the clams, the mussels, the whitefish, a hint of orange peel, hot pepper, and a broth that was made, I swear, from the tears of God.
I stopped about midway and mumbled something like, ‘Yudda, what the hell? How does a mortal make something like this?’
Yudda was sitting on a stool by the door, reading the morning news. He shrugged. ‘I’m from New Orleans.’
That seemed to be the entirety of his explanation, so I returned to destroying the rest of the bowl.
When it was empty, and the beer was gone, I sat back, a little clearer in my head. Ellen Greenberg had lived in Fry’s Bay. I was still surprised that I’d never seen her, as our little blue heaven is fairly small, and Ellen had a kid, which was my business. But there would be other people in town who knew her. That was a nice place to start looking for her. And I could also pay a visit to the Chalet Suzanne in Lake Wales, see if anyone there remembered her or knew where she had gone.
I looked up.
‘Hey, Yudda,’ I called out, ‘you ever see this kid?’
I held up Ellen’s picture.
He squinted. Unable to make a complete assessment without closer scrutiny, he relieved the stool beneath him of his considerable weight and thundered toward me.
‘Lemme see it.’
I handed him the photo. He really took his time, then handed it back.
‘Nope. No idea.’ He gave me back the photo. ‘She got a kid that’s in some kind of trouble?’
‘Yeah,’ I told him. ‘You could say that.’
And there was my gig: Lena’s sister Ellen had a kid who was in danger. A family member, one Ironstone Waters, the grandfather, was on their trail. I had to find the kid.
That’s what the paperwork would say.
SEVEN
I showed Ellen’s picture to everyone in town, even the drunks at the donut shop and a couple of stray dogs in the alley behind the abandoned bakery. No dice nowhere. By nightfall I figured if Lena’s sister ever lived in town, she must have been invisible. It didn’t make any sense. Fry’s Bay was a very small town. Somebody should have recognized her.
By the end of the day I was pretty tired. Which was a surprise to me. You’d think after sleeping for a week I’d be pretty well rested up.
As I wended my weary way homeward, I suddenly remembered Lena saying something about David and kids in the park. I figured Lena meant Abiaka Park. It was small, close to the beach, very peaceful.
The Cherokee warrior Abiaka wasn’t as well known to whites as Osceola, but he was probably just as important. He was a great spiritual leader, and he directed Seminole warriors in a couple of genius moves, especially in the Battle of Okeechobee. The park named after him was a very quiet place and always kept up – nice flowers, well-watered, that sort of thing. I figured it was tribally maintained. Maybe somebody who was taking care of the place had seen something. It didn’t seem important enough to stop me from going home and lying down, but it would be something I’d get to sooner or later.
I made it to my front door about the time the moon was rising. Redhawk had made good on his promise to fix the door; it was new. But someone, probably Baxter, had festooned police tape across the entrance. I removed it.
The second I walked in, I felt like a flat tire. I think the sight of my bed must have had some sort of hypnotic effect on me. I wasn’t sure I could get my coat off in time to collapse. Apparently being in a coma can take it out of you.
I was just about to lumber forward and fall like a tree when the phone in the kitchen rang. I made it to the offending machine, picked up the receiver, and parked at the kitchen table.
‘What, exactly?’ I muttered into the phone.
‘Foggy?’
‘Maybe.’
‘It’s Baxter. Christ. You’re supposed to be in the hospital still.’
‘Naw,’ I assured him. ‘I been all over town today, you know, working.’
‘Well, Maggie said that’s what you were doing, but I didn’t believe her. You’re an idiot.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘but I’m an idiot for the state. I’m working a case. Ever hear of an Ellen Greenberg?’
He was silent for a moment.
‘No.’
It was a suspicious no because Baxter was often the talkative type. But he was also a policeman, and I didn’t like to accuse that sort of person since they can lock you up. I just got out of the hospital. Jail wouldn’t do me any good at all.
‘Right,’ I said, ‘so why did you call me? Just to tell me I’m an idiot?’
‘Why did I call you?’ He sounded sore. ‘You don’t get what ungodly hell transpired after you shot up Ironstone Waters’s fabulous mansion?’
‘There was hell?’
‘Like you wouldn’t believe. How much do you remember?’
‘After I was shot?’ I said. ‘Nothing.’
Baxter regaled me – only slightly augmenting what Lena had said.
When I went down, Redhawk took charge. He called Baxter, told him that ‘a government employee’ had been shot in Ironstone’s house. Baxter figured that the victim was some kind of FBI type, owing to Ironstone’s questionable gestalt, and Redhawk let him think that. If he’d known it was me, there’s no telling how he would have reacted. Ironstone’s not a guy you’d want to mess with under ordinary circumstances.
Didn’t matter. Philip brought me to Redhawk’s car, stopped the bleeding, and got me to the hospital, like Lena’d told me. What Baxter filled in was the brouhaha at Ironstone’s pad.
Baxter and a couple of his finest officers roared up the mansion’s front driveway, sirens blaring, moments after I had been whisked away. They found Ironstone, two of his ‘employees,’ some blood, a bullet hole, and a little furniture out of place.
Ironstone’s story was that the person who had murdered his son had broken into his home, aided and abetted by one Foggy Moscowitz, in order that they both might kill him. When Ironstone began to describe the non-Jewish assailant, Baxter realized that it was the kid from the night before, and, apparently, laughed out loud.
‘He actually wanted me to believe that you and that little girl broke into his house and tried to kill him,’ Baxter concluded. ‘I mean, Jesus, if you know what I mean.’
‘I believe I do,’ I assured him. ‘And just for the record, he shot me. I’m the one who got shot. I’m wondering why you don’t ask me about that.’
‘So what were you doing there, Foggy,’ he asked.
‘Lena, the kid who shot David Waters at Mary’s Shallow Grave, had information for Ironstone,’ I said matter-of-factly. ‘In fact, it was actually something Ironstone wanted to know.’
‘Namely.’
‘That David Waters had a daughter,’ I said. ‘Meaning Ironstone is a grandpa.’
‘That’s what you were there to tell him?’ Baxter sounded very surprised. ‘Why wouldn’t he just tell me that, instead of telling me all that malarkey about you trying to
kill him? What’s the deal?’
‘Search me,’ I told him. ‘He’s a criminal. You know how they are: they’re incapable of telling the truth.’
‘This is a bit of a pot and kettle situation,’ Baxter said, ‘given that you were a car thief for so many years.’
‘Yeah but that’s different,’ I assured him. ‘I’m reformed. Ironstone’s still in the life.’
‘Uh huh, so tell me more about this alleged baby, Ironstone’s granddaughter.’
‘I don’t know much more,’ I began, ‘And I can’t find her, or the mother. I was actually going to come by your place tomorrow with a picture of the mother, see if you had any ideas where I might find her.’
‘The baby’s missing?’
‘Ironstone did something to chase mother and child out of town a while back, or so I’m told,’ I said to him. ‘And the thing is, David Waters had a nice insurance policy. I’ve been thinking about finding the kid to make good on the policy.’
Baxter hummed into the phone. ‘That ain’t something the insurance company does?’
‘Probably,’ I agreed, ‘but, see, it’s associated with the whole thing that night at Mary’s, with the kid and David – see, it’s still my case, right?’
‘Yeah, speaking of that,’ Baxter said, ‘where is the kid, the shooter? Because, see, it’s still my case too.’
‘I guess it is at that,’ I told him. ‘But see, I been in a coma. I wasn’t even sure where my apartment was, let alone some gun-crazy juvenile.’
‘So let’s line this up,’ he sighed. ‘You can’t find the shooter, you can’t find David’s wife or child, and you’re still suffering the effects of your little coma.’
‘Uh huh,’ I yawned. ‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Foggy,’ he began.
‘I’ll come in first thing, bright and early,’ I promised. ‘I want to show you this photo, see if you might know the aforementioned mother.’
‘Good,’ he concluded. ‘And maybe then you can show me what you found in that safe deposit box you ransacked this morning.’
‘Sybil Blessing is not supposed to give out the wherefores of a safe deposit box,’ I told him.
‘She didn’t. Any more than Yudda told me whether or not you enjoyed the bouillabaisse.’
‘You had me followed,’ I said, hoping he heard my irritation.
‘From the second you left the hospital.’
‘Because?’
‘See you in the morning, Foggy,’ he answered. ‘Bright and early. No kidding.’
He hung up before I could respond.
I loosened my tie. Why would he have me followed like that? Maybe Maggie Redhawk called him because she was concerned for my health and she was just watching out for me. After all, I had told her that Baxter would be asking for me. But it was really more likely that Ironstone had something to do with it. He’d sent a goon, Herbert, to ransack my office. And Herbert had related Ironstone’s feelings about me, namely that he wouldn’t mind much if I ended up dead.
Ironstone Waters was rich, mean, and unencumbered by morals – the kind of guy who would get what he wanted no matter what. The percentage I could play was to figure out exactly what he really did want and then try to give it to him.
Maybe that way he wouldn’t want to kill me so much.
EIGHT
The next morning was very bright. After several years in Florida I still hadn’t gotten used to the heat. And I insisted, against all good sense, on wearing the kind of suits I thought a gentleman ought to wear, to wit: the grey sharkskin with slick black Oxfords. The shirt was cotton but the tie was silk. In short, by the time I was in Baxter’s un-air-conditioned office, I was sweating like a stool pigeon in Manny’s back room.
The police station in Fry’s Bay was modest. It was a stand-alone brick number about fifty square feet, windows on all sides. There was a front desk with a sergeant, there was a coffee pot on a table, there were two detectives, and there was Baxter. I didn’t mind him because he knew about my questionable past in Brooklyn and he didn’t care. He didn’t mind me because I did my job at Child Protective Services better than anyone should have. I actually cared about the kids, which was a big surprise to me. And they often seemed to take to me, even more of a shock. So Baxter and I were on a more-or-less even keel. Still, he’d had me followed, and I suspected that he might be in bed with Ironstone. In a way that made me feel more at home. The cops in my neighborhood in Brooklyn were taking money from every third-rate crook on the block.
I sauntered in the door a little after eight in the morning. The guy at the desk was named Gilmore – bald, slow, and drunk.
‘Officer,’ I told him, ‘Detective Baxter has expressed an interest in seeing me.’
‘Hey, Foggy,’ he said, waving the hand with the cigarette in it. ‘Go on back.’
Baxter was the only one who had an actual enclosed office. It took up the back quarter of the big open room and was glassed in. The blinds were always up. Baxter was always in his shirt sleeves, drinking coffee.
I walked on back and knocked on the glass door. He looked up and motioned me in.
‘How you feeling this morning?’ he asked.
‘Like I just got out of the hospital,’ I said. ‘Also like I got shot. Which reminds me, where do I file a complaint about that?’
Baxter nodded. ‘You can get the form from Gilmore. I’ll put it in this pile right here, on top of Ironstone’s complaints about you: breaking and entering, attempted murder, harboring a fugitive – I forget what all else.’
‘OK.’ I sat down in the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of his desk. ‘So you wanted me to come in. So here I am.’
‘Where’s the kid?’ he asked. ‘The one who killed David Waters?’
‘Lena? You can’t find her? I thought you’d have her here in jail. Last time I saw her was when we were both being shot at by Ironstone.’
‘You saw her in the hospital after that.’
‘I did?’ I grinned. ‘I was on a lot of pain medication.’
‘Are you telling me you don’t know where she is?’
‘I swear to God, Baxter, I have absolutely no idea where Lena is.’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘What about the stuff in the safe deposit box. She gave you the key.’
‘She didn’t. She put the key in my suit coat pocket when I was unconscious. I just discovered it there yesterday morning.’
‘I don’t care,’ he sighed. ‘What was in the box?’
‘Got it right here,’ I answered innocently.
I reached into the inside pocket of my sharp suit and produced the two photos, the birth certificates, and the insurance policy. The letters and the bullet were hidden in my apartment. I didn’t even think to mention the cash I’d left in the box.
Baxter leaned forward and had a look.
I pointed to one of the photos. ‘That’s Lena, the alleged assailant in the David Waters murder. The other one is her older sister, Ellen Greenberg. That’s who I’m looking for. The insurance policy is for her daughter, hers and David’s, as you can see.’
He squinted. ‘Yeah. Ironstone was asking about that little item.’
He made a move to grab it and I put my hand on it; slid it back my way a little.
‘Look, Baxter,’ I said, ‘I don’t know what you’ve got in mind, but I’m on an official case for the state of Florida that involves the welfare of several minors. I’m absolutely certain that you’re not the type to interfere with a person such as myself, in the pursuit of his sworn duty, right?’
‘Look, Moscowitz,’ he snapped, ‘I got a case too, and it don’t make sense to me right now. I want to know what happened to David Waters. I want to know where his killer is. I want to know what went on at Ironstone Waters’s big old house. And you seem to be in the middle of it all!’
I took a breath. ‘So you don’t know where Ellen Greenberg is?’
‘Christ, Foggy!’ he shouted. ‘What the hell is going on here?’
‘Tell you the truth,’ I admitted, ‘I don’t know. Apparently Ironstone Waters didn’t want his son David to be married to this Ellen Greenberg, who worked in some flower shop that, far as I can determine, doesn’t exist. Still boys will be boys, and David married her anyway, I think. They had a baby, as married people will, and kept everything secret from Ironstone. But Ironstone found out anyway, and had Ellen shipped out of town, maybe permanently – or maybe Ellen just got scared and ran, I don’t know. So David turns miserable, takes out this policy, but as is always the case, the policy won’t pay off if it’s suicide. So he arranged to have Lena kill him. That would accomplish several things. First, he’d be dead. Second, he’d be free. Third, his kid could collect a million bucks. And in addition, he could really upset his father, which seems to have happened a-go-go.’
‘Yeah.’ Baxter nodded. ‘I think it’s safe to say that Ironstone is pretty upset.’
‘So what now? Can I get on with my work?’
He closed his eyes. ‘They shut down your office, you understand that?’
‘And somebody left it unlocked, so a lot of the junk is missing. But I’m going to straighten all that out – and get more furniture. I mailed a report to the state office the night David Waters got shot. Meaning they haven’t finished processing the paperwork. Takes them this long to find a paper clip. Meaning the case is still open, so technically my office is still open. Get it?’
Baxter rubbed his forehead. ‘OK. OK. If you get your office officially opened, and if you file the proper co-complaints with me, I’ll see what I can do to stall Ironstone. But I got to keep on with the investigation into the David Waters murder until you give me some answers about all this mess, right?’
I smiled. ‘Who could ask for anything more?’
‘Yeah,’ he sniffed. ‘I give you a week.’
I blinked. ‘A week? Baxter. Come on. I just got out of a coma.’
‘Yeah, well, Ironstone Waters would be happy to put you back into a coma at this point, so you’re lucky it’s a week. You have no idea the kind of pressure I’m getting. It’s not just the money. He’s got muscle on the Tribal Council.’
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