by Tim Ellis
‘Why, you after sharing it?’
He gave her an amused smile. ‘No. There was a murder there three weeks ago . . .’
‘Yeah – police were all over the place like the fleas on Hank. We had to find somewhere else to sleep for a couple of nights.’
‘Did you see the murder?’
‘Me? No, I didn’t see anything. At the exact time that man was killed I was at the hairdressers.’
They reached the hot dog stand.
‘What’ll it be?’ the man asked. He sported a gold ring in his right ear and a thick black moustache, which was thick enough to grow a herb garden in.
‘Three hot dogs, please,’ Tom said.
‘One of those is for Hank, Giuseppe,’ Horty said. ‘You know how he likes them.’
‘Got yourself a sugar daddy, Horty?’ he asked, opening up the metal lid, taking out a hot dog with a pair of stainless steel tongs, slipping it between a roll and passing it to Hank.
Hank carried the steaming hot dog in his mouth to the wall of the building and lay down to eat it.
‘Angel, more like,’ Horty said, and grinned. ‘This is Mister Thomas Gabriel.’
Giuseppe offered a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
Tom shook it. ‘Likewise.’
‘Thomas wants to know if I saw that man getting himself killed three weeks ago in the alley.’
Giuseppe’s face changed to a look of concern. ‘She didn’t see anything, Mister Gabriel.’ He passed Horty a hot dog, and then started on Tom’s.
Horty squirted dollops of mustard, mayo and ketchup on her hot dog.
‘I promise, I’m not here to cause any trouble. I’m a PI from St Augustine in Florida.’ He showed them his ID card.
Giuseppe handed Tom his hot dog. ‘She still didn’t see anything.’
‘Can I have another one, Thomas?’ Horty asked, licking her filthy fingers.
‘Fill yourself up, Horty,’ he said.
‘Keep ‘em coming ‘Seppe,’ she said. ‘And another one for Hank as well.’
Hank barked, and his tail began wagging.
‘If you did see something, Horty,’ he said. ‘Well, I could stretch to a fifty dollar reward.’
She stopped eating her second hot dog and stared at him.
‘Don’t listen to him, Horty,’ Giuseppe said.
‘Fifty bucks, ‘Seppe. That’d keep me and Hank in food for . . . Well, for a long time anyway.’ She took a bite of the hot dog and shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t see anything . . .’
‘Oh well,’ he said. He’d give her the fifty bucks anyway. ‘Thanks for . . .’
‘. . . But I heard something.’
It was Tom’s turn to stop eating. ‘Really? What did you hear?’
‘You gonna give me fifty bucks?’
‘Of course.’
She held out a hand.
He took out his wallet and handed her two twenties and a ten.
She hoisted up her dress and stuffed the money into a pair of stained and grubby knickers. ‘Hank and me was behind the boxes. I couldn’t see anything, and I was afraid to move. There was lots of shouting and one guy was pleading for his life . . . I guess he was the one who got himself killed. Anyway, he was saying, “Please, Tony. I won’t tell another living soul.” So, I guess the man who had the gun was called Tony, and the other man knew him.’
‘Seems logical,’ Tom said.
‘I don’t think Tony was persuaded by what the other man was saying though, because he shot him anyway. I know that because the man started screaming something terrible. He also did a lot of pleading for his life and swore a lot, but I’m too much of a lady to repeat what he said. Tony then said, “Mister Stern said your time is up, Joe.” There was a second gunshot and everything went quiet after that. Hank and me stayed exactly where we were until it went dark, and then we found somewhere else to sleep for a couple of nights.’ She held out her hands for Giuseppe to give her a third hot dog. ‘And another one for Hank too.’
Tom was feeling unusually hungry as well, and had a second hot dog with a squirt of mustard. ‘Thanks very much, Horty,’ he said. ‘And you, Hank.’
Hank barked and wagged his tail as he polished off the third hot dog.
‘You’ve been the best date a man could wish for.’
‘You really mean that, Thomas?’
‘Definitely.’
Horty went and sat next to Hank on the sidewalk.
‘Used to be a lawyer,’ Giuseppe said to him.
‘A lawyer?’
‘Up and coming star apparently. Joined a local law firm, but for some reason it all spiralled out of control. She’s been living on the streets for about fifteen years now. You look her up, Mister Gabriel – Hortense Hartman. She was a looker as well.’
‘I will. Thanks for your help, Giuseppe.’
‘What you’re doing ain’t gonna come back on Horty is it?’
Tom shook his head. ‘No. I’m not interested in the murder – it’s something else entirely.’
‘Good luck to you then.’
He squatted down, was about to scratch Hank’s head when he saw fleas jumping up and down on the fur – he pulled his hand back. ‘I’m going now, Horty. Thanks for the best date I’ve had in a long time.’
‘You want seconds, you know where to find me.’
‘Look after yourself. And you, Hank.’
Hank barked.
As he strolled back to where he’d parked the car his cell played the annoying tune. For a change, he noticed who was calling him. ‘Hi, Laura.’
‘Hi, Tom. Some more information on that magnifying glass.’
‘Go on.’
‘Apparently, it is a magnifying glass and it is an antique, but it’s not an ordinary magnifying glass.’
‘Oh?’
‘It’s an ornate gold loupe which is French for magnifying glass, and is used by jewellers and watchmakers. Some loupes fit in the eye socket, some can be attached to spectacles, while others – like this one – are held in the hand. The magnification of the glass can be anything from 2 to 20 power. This particular one is 16 power, which is used for really close-up work.’
‘What about its provenance?’
‘A Swedish portrait artist called Anders Leonard Zorn painted a portrait entitled: The Watchmaker in 1898. In the painting – on the table by the watchmaker’s right hand – is a gold chain with the loupe attached. The loupe next turns up in 1936 at an auction in Germany. It was sold by a financier named Isaac Wittenberg to a Swiss antiques collector called Maja Grether who died in 1995. The loupe re-appeared at auction in 1998 at Sotheby’s in England. Presumably it was being sold with many of Grether’s other antiques to pay off her death duties in Switzerland. Anyway, the loupe was purchased by a private collector here in America.’
‘No name?’
‘No, but I think I will have by Monday.’
‘You should come and work for me, Laura.’
She laughed. ‘You couldn’t afford me. Anyway, I’m just telling you what my art dealer friend told me.’
‘Maybe he should come and work for me?’
‘You couldn’t afford him either.’
‘Oh well! I bet your first thought when he told you about the loupe was that it was about diamonds, wasn’t it?’
‘A girl’s best friend. Are you a mind reader now, as well?’
‘Thankfully not, but it was my first thought also. Mr Doe didn’t strike me as a watchmaker.’
‘You think this is about diamond smuggling?’
‘You didn’t find any diamonds in his pockets or in the suitcase that you forgot to tell me about, did you?’
‘I wish. And don’t let the fact that I’ve booked a Caribbean cruise persuade you otherwise.’
‘Really?’
‘Only two weeks unfortunately. A girl’s got to spend her hard-earned money some way.’
‘And meet Mr Right.’
‘No such animal. I keep looking for another Tom Gabriel, but they threw o
ut the blueprint when they made you.’
‘That’s because I’m defective – have been for a long time.’
‘My kind of defective. Anyway, I need a break. I’ve been working non-stop for ten months now.’
‘When do you go?’
‘In three weeks.’
‘If I don’t get the chance before then – have a fantastic time.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll wait to hear from you on Monday then.’
‘You do that.’
***
She’d decided to come into the office. It wasn’t her proper office at the St Augustine Record on the Avenida Menendez – that was being re-built after the fire, but it was at least somewhere she could work. Mr Franchetti had informed the staff that it would be another six months before they could go back there.
The temporary offices were in an empty warehouse on Cordova Street. If she wanted to look out of a window she had to walk half the width of the building, and then all she could see – instead of the beautiful Matanzas River – was the view along Saragossa Street that emptied out onto North Ponce De Leon Boulevard. It was depressing, and didn’t inspire her when she needed inspiration.
She’d decided not to go to Tom’s office and confront MBA Lou. What could she say that wouldn’t sound like sour grapes, jealousy, or a parasitic green-eyed monster? He had every right to employ whoever he wanted to sort out his office. There was no doubt that his office needed organising.
It was just . . . What was it just? She tried to analyse her feelings, but they refused to be analysed. Tom was merely someone she worked with sometimes, wasn’t he? Someone she had met through a twist of fate, someone who needed her help to navigate through the technological world, someone who . . . No, he was more than that – much more than that.
She had lost her mother a long time ago, and although she had rarely spoken to her father – he had still been there if ever a time had come when she needed a shoulder to cry on, but now . . . Now, with her father dead, she had no one. And, without realising it, Tom had taken the place of her father.
Her tablet vibrated on her desk. It was an email from Lillian Taylor.
Hi Rae,
Nothing yet. Just checking in really, to let you know that I’m still working on the three-letter airport codes and the dry-cleaning tags.
I have an idea about the airport codes. First, the airport codes are airport codes. What I mean by that, is that the individual letters themselves don’t represent anything else, they simply make up the airport codes. Second, the three-letter codes haven’t been written down in any specific order. In other words, they’ve been allocated randomly. Third, I think each three-letter code represents something else – have you any idea what that might be?
In the same vein, I’m beginning to think that the dry-cleaning tags are just that – dry-cleaning tags. I ran the numbers through a mathematical algorithm because they resemble an Affine Cipher, but the sample is too small to identify any pattern, so I don’t think I’m going to be much help with the tags. However, I have one last thing to try, but I need to access one of the university laboratories over the weekend when it’s deserted – don’t ask!
Lillian
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Rae.’
‘I know.’
‘Don’t lie. You didn’t know at all.’
‘As soon as you spoke I knew it was you.’
‘But you didn’t see my name appear on your phone, did you?’
‘I’m driving.’
‘I hope you’re using the Bluetooth?’
‘Of course.’
‘You don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you?’
‘What did you ring me for?’
‘I’ve had an email from Lillian Taylor.’
‘And?’
‘She doesn’t think the dry-cleaning tags are anything other than what they are, but she’s got one last thing to try.’
‘What?’
‘She didn’t say, but it involves breaking into a university laboratory. Also, she thinks that each airport code represents something else – have you any idea what that might be?’
‘If I knew that, I’d know everything.’
‘No you wouldn’t.’
‘Nearly everything.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’ve told you – driving.’
‘Where?’
‘How are you?’
‘I’m okay. I’m filling in time until three o’clock.’
‘Give me a ring later.’
‘Why?’
‘So that I know you’re all right.’
‘You say that as if you care.’
‘What’s that meant to mean?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re still upset about me employing Mary Lou as my office manager, aren’t you?’
‘It’s up to you who you employ. It’s got nothing to do with me. Why should I care?’
‘Why indeed, and yet you do.’
‘I do not.’
‘You’re still my partner, you know.’
‘You’re just saying that.’
‘I’m saying it because it’s true. Unless you don’t want to be my partner, of course?’
‘You don’t need me anymore – now that you’ve got that MBA bitch.’
He laughed. ‘She’s not a bitch.’
‘You would say that.’
‘Look, Mary Lou will be dealing with all the administrative and technological things I can’t, or haven’t got time to deal with. In fact, I might not have enough work for her.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning . . . you could use her. If we’re partners, then she works for you as well.’
‘She works for me?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Mmmm! I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Well, think about it. I’ve got to go now.’
‘What did you say you were doing?’
‘Driving.’
The call ended.
He was being very secretive. What was he doing? So, MBA Lou worked for her as well. An evil smile cracked her face. That certainly needed some thinking about.
Chapter Fourteen
Joseph Fowler had lived on Mace Street in the Lighthouse Hill area of Staten Island, and the three suspects identified in the crime report Detective McCullough had copied for him also lived in and around that area.
Although it had been three weeks since his murder, Tom decided to see if Fowler’s apartment had been rented out yet, and knocked on the building supervisor’s door.
A thin man wearing khaki coveralls, cowboy boots and had a nervous tick under his left eye opened the door. ‘Yes?’
Tom showed his ID card. ‘Tom Gabriel. Any chance I can speak to you about Joseph Fowler?’
‘Whad’ya want to know?’
‘Have you let his room out yet?’
‘Yeah – day after he croaked it.’
‘What about his possessions.’
‘In a box in the basement.’
‘Could I take a look?’
‘I dunno. I was saving ‘em up for relatives.’
‘He doesn’t have any relatives.’
The man hesitated. ‘I heard he had a father.’
‘They can’t find him.’ Tom took out his wallet. ‘Fifty do it?’
‘Ya got yerself a look in two cardboard boxes, fella.’ He shut his apartment door, led Tom into the basement, unlocked a wire cage and pulled out two boxes. ‘Help yerself.’
‘What can you tell me about Fowler?’
‘Kept hisself to hisself.’
‘Know anyone called Mr Stern or Tony?’
‘No. Him and me didn’t socialise, if yer know what I mean? He paid his rent on time, he kept the noise down and he didn’t cause me no headaches. ‘Bout as much as I know of him.’
‘Thanks.’
Tom began looking through the two boxes, but they were filled with junk. There was only one item of inte
rest that he pocketed while the supervisor’s twitching eye was looking elsewhere – a book of matches from a bar called The Tequila Tavern.
He stood up and his knees cracked.
‘Sounds like you got a dose of the galloping dogrot there, fella.’
‘The sound of old age.’
The supervisor let out a laugh. ‘That’s for sure. Know where you’re comin’ from with that one.’
Tom passed him a fifty. ‘Thanks for your help.’
‘Yer got it.’ The fifty disappeared into the top pocket of his coveralls. He pushed the two boxes back inside the cage with his boot and locked it up again. ‘A couple of guys came round two days before he died yer know.’
‘Oh?’
‘I remember because they was driving a limo and wearing suits.’
‘And they were after Fowler.’
‘Yeah, they said they were interested in talking to him. I let them go up to his room, but he was out at the time.’
‘And that was it?’
‘Yep.’
‘You didn’t happen to remember the registration plate?’
‘Nope, but . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘There was something . . .’
Tom offered a twenty.
‘Maybe . . .’
He increased it to forty.
The forty disappeared. ‘I recognised the sticker on the side of the limo – ADC – stands for Alpine Dry Cleaners. They got a number of shops all over the island. In fact, there’s one not far from here on Tysens Lane.’
‘Did Fowler work for them?’
The supervisor shrugged. ‘No idea. He must have worked for someone though ‘cause he paid his rent on time every month, but I ain’t got any idea who or where that might be.’
They made their way back up to the lobby.
Tom shook the man’s hand and thanked him for his help.
The supervisor patted the top pocket of his coveralls. ‘My pleasure.’
He had an appointment in Philadelphia at five-thirty and was running out of time. If he was going to make the appointment, he’d have to leave at about three-thirty. It was already one forty-five and he hadn’t had any lunch yet. He realised that he might have to come back tomorrow morning before he flew back to Jacksonville.