“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said.
She sat down on the mattress again and I sat down next to her. She started to cry again.
“If you’d told me this morning where she was maybe I could have saved her,” I said.
She sat quietly; said nothing, staring straight ahead.
“I’ve got to go,” I said.
“Her stuff’s still here,” she said in a monotone. “In there,” she said weakly, pointing to one of the small side rooms. I walked over to take a look. A stereo, a TV and a few sticks of furniture. Some clothes. It wasn’t much to show for a lifetime.
I went over and sat down next to her room-mate again. “Look, I’m going to have to call the police, but there’s no need for anyone to come here. You know anyone can come and clear out her stuff?”
She looked at me and shook her head.
“Has she got any family here in Boston?”
She looked at me. “No; I don’t know. A brother I think.”
“You know where he is?”
She sniffed back tears. “Delaney’s over in Dorchester. I ain’t never seen him.”
“I’ll try to let him know,” I said.
I left her there, walked over and out the door and went back to my car. I switched off the caller display on my cell to call 911. Then I changed my mind, put the phone back in my pocket. Then I took it out again and called Lucy.
“I’m on the way home Lucy. I’ll call round when I get there,” I said.
“You don’t sound too good, are you okay?”
“I’m okay; I’ll see you in a while.”
I stopped in my driveway, went inside, had a shot of JD and then walked down to Lucy’s place.
“Got a bed for the night?” I said.
Chapter Eleven
Another Busy Day
“It’s awful to kill somebody like that – just for a few drugs or a bit of money.”
We were lying in Lucy’s bed, side-by-side. I was face-up, staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t see the ceiling, but I knew it was there.
“It’s not just the money Lucy. It’s about face. If you’re a big player you can’t afford to let anyone get away with ripping you off.”
“It sounds like whoever killed her was trying to get her to talk first; trying to find out who her accomplice was.”
“From the state of the body it’s likely they succeeded.”
“How long do you think she’d been dead?”
“Less than three or four hours is all I can say. The blood was dry, but rigor mortis hadn’t set in. So probably late afternoon, while I was wasting my time in the library.”
“Well you can’t blame yourself.”
“I should have given the money to Benny earlier. Money always talks or makes people talk.”
“So did you call it in?”
“No. I need time to think. She won’t be going anywhere.”
“What about you? Where do you go from here?”
“I’ll keep looking for the guy with the briefcase. Obviously if Trish’s killer or killers find him first that’ll be an end to it.”
“But we don’t know that she talked – or maybe she told them who it was but was unable to say where he was. She may not have known.”
“Good point. You’re beginning to think like a detective now.”
“So you’re just relying on Benny and your other informants for the search?”
“I can’t think of any other way to find him. He doesn’t seem to be involved in the local drugs scene; he may not even be local. I plan to visit the Costa brothers. I didn’t consider them suspects at first, because there’d be no point in killing someone who owed you money – but now I know about the theft of the briefcase I can’t rule them out. I thought that maybe the Costas might be responsible for hiring someone to snatch the case, but that was only a guess; and if Freddy was working for Al Costa then it’s highly unlikely that the brothers would steal from their own father. But maybe Freddy was making a delivery on behalf of someone else – the Costas found out and had someone steal the briefcase for themselves or their father. Obviously it wasn’t one of them or I’d know by now; Benny and the others would have recognized the guy in the photograph right away. But they could be connected to the theft in some way. But now I know what happened to Trish I’m sure she was involved. Whoever the guy in the picture is, if he’s still out there he’d better hope that I find him first.”
“Do you know where these Costa brothers hang out?”
“Yeah, Benny told me where I can find them. I was planning to go there tonight but I got kind of side-tracked. How about you − any news from Angela?”
“Not yet. She said she’d let us know as soon as she found anything out. We talked about it – she plans to tell Muriel that she wants to let the brother know about Bob’s death. Obviously she can’t tell her the real reason.”
“That might work – let’s hope so.”
“Do you ever dream about all this stuff?” Lucy said.
“No, I never dream. Well obviously I do, everybody does, but I never remember what I’ve dreamt about when I wake up. How about you?”
“I dream about my grandparents a lot,” she said. “I mean they’re just there, and sometimes I’m surprised because I think ‘but they’re dead’ and then I realize that they aren’t and it’s great. Then I wake up and of course they are dead – but it’s still kind of comforting getting to see them like that.”
I gave Lucy a squeeze and then rolled over. “Come on, let’s get some sleep,” I said. “Another busy day tomorrow.”
*
We got up, showered, and Lucy cooked us breakfast.
“It’ll be a waiting game for me today,” I said. “I just hope that Benny or one of the others comes up with something.”
“Do they know about Trish yet?”
“No, and I’m not planning to tell them. When somebody dies like that it tends to make people clam up. I need to see the Costas. Call me if you hear anything from Angela.”
I walked the few hundred feet to my place, but stopped when I got to the driveway. I’d backed into the driveway last night and as I approached the car I could see a note that someone had slipped behind the wiper. I pulled it off and looked at it. It wasn’t written in English. It said this:
‘Non è omo così forte, che da mi non po’ schapare.’
It was Italian, but I had no idea what it meant. I walked back to Lucy’s place.
“You’ve been brushing up on your Italian,” I said. “Do you know what this means?” I handed her the note. She looked at it for a minute or two, silently mouthing the words to herself.
“It means something like ‘No man is strong enough to be able to escape from me’,” she said. “Where did you get it?”
“Some joker put in on my windshield.”
“It doesn’t look like a joke,” she said. “It looks more like a threat…or a warning or something.”
“It means somebody knows that I’m on the case,” I said. “And not somebody friendly. An unfriendly Italian by the look of it.”
“But why would they put that on your windshield?”
“Let’s analyze it,” I said, sitting down. “Why don’t you fix us both some more coffee.”
I studied the note, muttering Lucy’s translation to myself as I did so.
“No man is strong enough to escape from me. It has to refer to the guy I’m looking for don’t you think?” I said to Lucy. “The guy with the briefcase.”
Lucy brought over the coffee. “Do you think it means they found him? Is it a kind of boast?”
“No, I don’t think so. There’d be no point in that. I think it’s a statement of intent. I think it means something like ‘you stay out of this because I’m going to find the guy myself’. Something like that.”
“But who would know you were looking for him?”
“Well, whoever it is wouldn’t have found out from Benny, Len or Blue. There’s n
o way they’d let anyone know who they were working for. It can’t be Trish’s room-mate, because she has no idea who I am, let alone where I live.”
I thought about it for a few minutes.
“There’s only one explanation that I can think of. Somebody knows I went to Trish’s place to look for her; or maybe they saw me when I went into the building where she was killed, perhaps followed me back to her room-mate’s place, and then followed me home. I let my guard down, I’m afraid. I wasn’t aware that anyone was following me – I guess I was too pre-occupied with what I’d seen.”
“That’s a bit scary.”
“It’s encouraging is what it is,” I said. “If I’m right then it means they haven’t located the guy yet. They’re trying to scare me, to get me to back off.”
“Which you’re not going to do, are you?”
“Nooo I’m not. Now I know the guy’s still out there I’m going to double my efforts to find him. And now I know something important about the guy who’s looking for him too – he’s Italian. The Costas are Italian,” I said.
“So the note’s really had the opposite effect from what was intended.” Lucy said.
I smiled at her. “Yes,” I said. “Ironic isn’t it?”
Chapter Twelve
A Skeleton in the Closet
There was no time to waste now. I wasn’t going to wait until nine o’clock at night to pay a visit to the Costas. I decided to call the restaurant they apparently frequented and leave a message that I was on the way down there. But then, as so often happens, something else came up. Malone called to say that there had been an unexpected development in the Hughes case. It was ‘the clincher’, he said, the missing link which explained why Bob had killed himself and his wife. Maybe Lucy and I would care to drop by his office. He sounded smug.
“That was Malone,” I said to Lucy. “Says he’s got some new evidence which strengthens the conclusion they’ve already reached about the Hughes murders. He wants us to get over there to see him.”
“Did he say what it was?”
“No, I think he wants to enjoy telling us about it face-to-face.”
We drove over there separately since I needed my car after the meeting and Lucy needed to get back to the office. We were ushered into Sam Malone’s office. He was leaning back in his chair, a cup of coffee in his hand and his feet on the desk. He removed the feet when we entered and invited us to take a seat.
“You want a coffee?” he said. “Mitch, bring us in some coffee, there’s a sweetheart,” he shouted through the open office door.
Malone folded his arms and leant them on the desk. “Good of you to come over,” he said. “I thought I’d better let you know about the new development so you won’t waste your valuable time chasing rainbows anymore,” he said.
“You want to cut the bull and get to the point, Sam?” I said, as charmingly as I felt able to.
He smiled and reached over to a thick manila folder on his desk, placed the flat of his hand on it and patted it affectionately. “What we have here,” he said, “is the motive. It seems that Bob Hughes had a skeleton in his closet. He’d been siphoning off money from his client accounts for more than nine months. The annual audit was due in mid-March. When the audit was started a couple of days ago the loss was discovered almost immediately. It’s yet to be completed but there’s a substantial sum of money involved.”
I sat, taking this in.
“So I guess Bob decided that the game was up,” Malone said. “Decided to take the easy way out. Probably decided to kill Cynthia first rather than have her face the shame alone. So I guess that puts it beyond doubt.” He spread his hands in front of him palms up and shrugged his shoulders. “So I guess there’s no need to preserve the crime scene any longer.”
“You made me a promise,” I said. “I’ve got more than a week left and I can’t waste any more of it sitting here. Maybe you’ll excuse us if we skip the coffee; my assistant and I have got work to do.”
“Okay, but you’re wasting your time on this one,” he said as we got ready to leave. “Even if there was a valuable watch, he probably sold or pawned it. God knows what he was doing with all that money.”
“So you want to check that out for us?” I said. “For the sake of completeness.”
“I didn’t say I was satisfied there was a watch. I was just pointing out that even if there was it doesn’t change anything.”
I patted Lucy’s leg and stood up. “We’ve got to go. I hope you’re going to stick to your promise about the crime scene.”
“We’d better get hold of Angela,” I said, as we left the building, “and break this latest bit of news to her. She’s not going to like it.”
“So you think Malone’s right? That it’s a clincher.”
“I didn’t say that. Look I need to see the Costas. You arrange a meeting with Angela as soon as possible and let me know.” I looked at my watch. “I should be through by early this afternoon. See if you can get Angela to drop by for a meeting. And in the meantime I want you to circulate details of the watch to every pawnshop in the state.”
I drove downtown, located the clam bar and asked for the manager.
“I’m looking for either Jimmy or Joey Costa,” I said. “Or both of them.”
He shrugged. “They’re not here right now.”
“But you can get them here, I guess.”
“They’re rather busy guys.”
I gave him my card. “They won’t be too busy to see me,” I said. “Tell them to give me a call.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, putting the card in his vest pocket.
“I’ll wait here, if it’s all the same to you,” I said. “In case they’re anxious to see me.”
“Please yourself,” he said disinterestedly.
I took a seat over by the door, next to the window. I thought about what Malone had told us earlier. It certainly put things in a new light, but I was still sure there was a brother too. Probably a twin and probably an identical one. I thought of the words Claudia had used, ‘I’m not stupid, I know what I saw’. But the information that Sam had so triumphantly imparted to us this morning had certainly added a further complication. My thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of two swarthy-looking men in their late twenties or thereabouts.
“Mind if we join you?” the taller one said.
“Be my guests. I’m Kane.”
“We know who you are, what do you want?”
“An introduction would be a good start.”
“I’m Jimmy, this is Joey,” he said, as both sat down opposite me. “Now what do you want?”
“You know perfectly well what I want. I want to know who killed Freddy.”
“He fell on the train tracks. It was an accident according to what I heard,” Jimmy said. “What’s your interest anyway?”
“Freddy’s father doesn’t think it was an accident, and neither do I.”
“We should care what you think?” Joey said.
“Why don’t we cut the crap,” I said. “Freddy was about to make a delivery when he died. Someone pushed him and stole his briefcase.”
“Is that so?” Jimmy said.
“Who stole the briefcase?” I said.
“How the hell should we know?” Jimmy said.
“How much did he owe you?” I said.
“A couple of grand. We’ve written it off – business loss. It happens, no big deal.”
“What was in the briefcase was a big deal though, wasn’t it?” I said.
“We don’t know nothing about it. And we’re busy men. Say though, if you find out who killed Freddy you be sure to let us know,” Jimmy said.
“Why should I tell a couple of dumb-ass low-life loan sharks?” I said.
“Hey,” Joey said and started to get up. Jimmy put his hand on Joey’s arm. “Leave it, Joey, he ain’t worth it.”
“Yeah, leave it Joey,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve been c
alled a lot worse than that.”
Joey sneered at me. He ran his forefinger over his throat like a knife.
“Let me give you some advice,” Joey said to me. “Whoever killed Freddy and took the briefcase is living on borrowed time. When the time runs out, Freddy’s death will be…how to say? Avenged. Keep out of it Kane, it’s not your business.”
They both got up and left the restaurant without a backward glance. I hadn’t learnt much, but I figured that the guy hadn’t been located yet. It was a matter of time, and luck. I needed to get home, but I had an errand to do first.
I drove to Dorchester to find Delaney’s and to break the news to her brother about Trish’s death and give him a chance to collect her stuff from the apartment before the police seized it all. I wasn’t looking forward to it. It’s never much fun telling someone about the death of a family member.
“I’m looking for Mr. O’Connor,” I said to the guy behind the bar.
“Paddy? He’s in the cellar; is it important?”
“Yes, it’s important. Are you in charge here?”
“Yeah, I’m Dennis.”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news for Mr. O’Connor. There’s been a death in his family; his sister. He’s probably going to need some time out.”
“Oh sure, I understand. He can take the rest of the day off, it’s okay.”
“Can you get him for me?”
“Give me a couple of minutes.”
He disappeared through a door behind the bar and reappeared about half a minute later together with a guy with red hair, oiled and brushed back, and a pale complexion. “Hi, I’m Paddy. What can I do for you?” he said uncertainly.
I was momentarily lost for words. I was staring at the guy from the photograph.
Chapter Thirteen
Bad News
“Paddy, my name’s Kane. I need to talk to you; I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. Dennis says you can take the rest of the day off,” I said.
“Is there somewhere private we can talk?” I asked Dennis.
“Back office is empty at the moment,” he said.
We walked through a swing door, past the toilets and Paddy opened a door to a small, cluttered room. There was a desk and a couple of chairs. We sat down.
I Spy - Mark Kane Mysteries - Book Six: A Private Investigator Crime Series of Murder, Mystery, Suspense & Thriller Stories - A Murder Mystery & Suspense Thriller Page 7