“What sorta trouble has that no good sonofabitch got into now?”
“He may not be in any trouble,” I lied.
“Don’t count on it.” He spat into the dust. Copenhagen.
“Does Reese live here?”
“Hell, he lives wherever he damn well pleases. The wife, she keeps a place fixed up for him around back. Treats him like a goddamn king. Maybe on account of she couldn’t have no kids of her own.” He spat into the dust again. It made a nice brown spot not three inches from the first one. If we stood there long enough, he might draw me a happy face.
“I take it you don’t get along with Reese.”
“If it was up to me, which it ain’t, I’d’ve run the bastard outta here on day one.”
“Is he here now?”
“Naw, he lit out on his damn motorbike a couple hours ago.”
“How long has he—?”
“I got work to do,” he said, cutting me off. “You can talk to the wife.”
He turned his back to me and yelled at the empty screen door, “May!” Then he and his dogs walked, bandy-legged one and all, around the house and out of sight.
May Sutter came out onto the front porch. She was about the same size, age, and shape of J. P., maybe a little heavier. She wore an apron over her faded print dress. Her hair was white and done up in a bun. Reddened hands worried a dish towel.
“Yes?”
I introduced myself. “I’d like to ask you some questions about your nephew, Leonard.”
“Is he in trouble?”
That seemed to be the standard assumption.
“Possibly,” I said. “But I’m here to patch things up. Could I ask you a few questions?”
She worked the towel and thought it over. Then she said, “Come on in out of the heat.”
I stepped up on the porch and followed her inside. The house was dark and cool. We passed through a corner of the living room. I caught a glimpse of rustic furniture, wooden floors, and a massive stone fireplace. The kitchen was brighter. Yellow walls. Well-scrubbed wood and linoleum. We sat at the table. In the center was a wooden bowl with fat, fuzzy peaches. She offered me one. I declined.
“You said you’re some sort of policeman?”
“A private investigator.”
“Private …?”
“Yes. It’s almost the same as being a policeman,” I said, not stretching the truth more than a few miles.
“What did Lenny do?”
“He stole quite a bit of money from my client. I’m trying to find out how much of it he’s spent.”
“I don’t understand.”
I didn’t blame her.
“If I can recover the money, or even part of it, my client won’t bring in the police.”
“Oh.”
“Has Lenny spent a lot lately?”
“You’d have to ask him, I suppose.”
“I intended to,” I lied, feeling guilty, as if she were my aunt instead of Reese’s. “Your husband said he’s not here.”
“Oh.”
“Perhaps you could help me now.”
“Yes, well, okay, now let me think.” She put her finger to her withered lips and looked at the ceiling. “There was the car, of course. And he went on a vacation trip. No, two trips.”
“When did he buy a car?”
“In March, I think it was. No. April.”
Townsend cashed his mutual fund in April. May smiled.
“And oh, what a car! One of those Corvette Chevrolets, brand-shiny-new and the brightest red you ever saw. He came zooming in here one day and nearly ran over poor J. P. He was fit to be tied, I can tell you. But then, he and Lenny never did hit it off.”
“Tell me about Lenny’s trips.”
“Let’s see now, one was soon after he bought that car. He was happy as could be. Told me that he’d just made a big business deal and … But you’re saying that he stole that money?”
“I’m afraid so. What about his trips?”
She shook her head. “Lenny sometimes does things by his own rules. But, honest, he really is a good boy.”
She looked at me with eyes wide, waiting for me to agree. She was so honest and good that it was impossible for her to understand that her nephew, her own dear flesh and blood, preyed on other people.
“The trips?” I prompted.
“Oh, yes, well, first he went to Las Vegas. J. P. calls it Satan’s Playground, but I don’t guess it’s as bad as all that. Anyhow, Lenny took a bunch of his friends with him, flew them all out there for, let’s see, almost a week. He said they did some mighty heavy gambling. I don’t recall if they won or lost, though. Then his other trip was to Mexico.”
“That was in June?”
“Yes, it was. One day I looked out back and there he was loading a bunch of clothes and stuff into this nice new van. Said he’d swapped his car for it. Said he was going on the road for a while. I didn’t know till he got back that he’d been clear down to Mexico.”
“How long was he gone?”
“A month or so.”
“Do you know who went with him?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. And I’m sorry for your friend, too. It looks like Lenny spent a bunch of that money he borrowed off of him.”
Borrowed. I admired her outlook.
Suddenly, her face lit up.
“He still has the van!” she said. “Why, he could sell that. And he’s got some more money coming from that fellow he swapped the car to. I know, because I got his name right here.”
She stood up and reached past the refrigerator. On the wall, next to the phone, was a corkboard covered with bits of paper and colored pins. She took down a business card and handed it to me. It was a Chevy dealership in Lakewood. I copied the address and the sales manager’s name.
“That man is supposed to call when he sells the car,” she said. “Lenny don’t have a phone, so I’m to take the message.”
“When’s a good time to catch Lenny at home?”
“Well, he does come and go. Generally, he sleeps late in the morning, on account of his job.”
“Which job is that?”
“I don’t rightly know. But it keeps him out till all hours of the night.”
“I’m not surprised,” I said. Drinking beer and beating up private cops can be tough work. “Thanks for your help.”
“It was surely my pleasure.”
I left May Sutter with her vision of a sweet and kind nephew and headed home.
On the way, I stopped at Mountain States Chevrolet, ten acres of vehicles, gleaming in the sun like metal fish, aching to be released into swirling currents of traffic.
I climbed out of the Olds. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten my shark repellent. Three salesmen moved in on me like threshers on a wounded tuna. I fought my way past them and made it upstairs to the office of the sales manager.
His name was Bloomquist. He was surprisingly young and soft-looking, with rosy cheeks and a face as smooth as a baby’s. But when he smiled, I saw his pointed teeth.
“Here it is,” he said, after flipping through a file on his desk and pulling out a five-by-seven card. “New Vette. Model number, serial number, etcetera, etcetera. Color: flame red. Options: deluxe interior, air, tape deck, etcetera, etcetera, fully loaded. Sold, April twenty-second to Leonard Reese.”
“For how much?”
“Twenty-eight thousand, six-ninety, including tax.”
“Did he finance?” I said, knowing the answer.
“No, he paid cash.”
“You mean as in fifty- and one-hundred-dollar bills.”
“That’s correct,” he said, his smile still in place.
“And that didn’t make you suspicious?”
“Of what? Mr. Reese wanted to buy an automobile. I sell automobiles. Also trucks, vans, and RVs.”
“Right. I understand he traded the car for a van.”
“More or less traded. I gave him the van and a thousand dollars. When we sell the Corvette, he’ll receive t
he difference in prices. Less the thousand and commission and prep charges, of course.”
“Of course. When did the trade take place?”
Bloomquist read the back of the card. “June sixth.”
The day after Townsend had died on the mountain.
“Maybe this is expecting too much, Mr. Bloomquist, but do you remember if he seemed anxious or in a hurry?”
Bloomquist looked past my right ear, into the past.
“Now that you mention it, yes. In fact, he was waiting for me when I came to work that morning. He said the Corvette had been fun, but now he wanted a ‘road vehicle.’ Those were his words. He said he was eager to get on the road.”
“I imagine he was.”
CHAPTER 30
GLORIA RUIZ PHONED ME at six.
“I spoke to my friend Vicki.”
“Yes?”
“She told me the girls’ names. Two out of three, anyway. She didn’t know the third. One was Katz something. Vicki didn’t know her last name. She said this Katz is just a whore. Pardon my language, but that’s what she said. Katz sleeps around, usually with bikers. She hung out with Tiny for awhile.”
“Who’s the other girl?”
“Melissa Cooper. She lives at home.”
“At home?”
“With her parents. She’s only sixteen. Get this: Vicki used to babysit for her and her brother. Can you believe it? Anyhow, Vicki gave me Melissa’s address.”
I wrote it down.
“I appreciate your help, Gloria.”
“Something else.”
“What?”
“When the five of them were in Mexico, Lenny beat up Melissa. He sent her home on a Greyhound bus. She might be too scared to talk.”
“Who could blame her?”
The address was in an upper-middle-class neighborhood just east of Monaco Parkway. The houses were big and mortgaged and fronted by smooth, even lawns. There were willow trees and juniper bushes and spotless driveways. The wide garages were crowned with backboards, pure and white and untouched by basketballs. The Cooper residence fit right in.
I parked in the street and went up and rang the bell.
The woman who answered the door was in her late thirties. She wore a Madras shirt, blue denim skirt, and Weejun loafers. She wasn’t wearing nylons or makeup. Her dark hair was streaked with gray and curled up just above her shoulders. Mrs. Prep.
“Mrs. Cooper?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Jacob Lomax. I’m a private detective.”
I got out a card and held it so she could read it. She didn’t open the screen.
“What do you want?” There was no suspicion or resentment in her voice. Just curiosity. She looked like she was ready to smile.
“I’d like to speak to your daughter, Melissa. With you present, of course.”
“Why?”
“I want to ask her some questions about Leonard Reese.”
A cloud crossed her face. She aged five years.
“We have nothing whatever to do with that man. Good day.”
She almost, but not quite, slammed the door in my face.
I rang the bell and waited. I rang it again.
The door opened. This time it was the man of the house. He wore dark slacks, slippers, and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His forearms were pale and hairless. He sported a paunch.
“What do you want, pal?”
The “pal” part was supposed to sound tough. It almost did. And a flute almost sounds like a tuba.
I introduced myself and asked if I could speak to his daughter. The screen stayed closed. His wife stood half a room behind him. To her left was a staircase with a banister. There was a boy, maybe ten, squatting partway up the stairs, just low enough to see me. His eyes were wide. A stranger at the door. This was better than TV. One step up from him were two bare feet, shapely calves, and dimpled knees. I wondered if they belonged to Melissa.
Cooper had been talking. He was telling me to get lost. “And stay away,” he said. Then he showed his wife how to slam a door.
I went back to the car.
I’d have to catch Melissa away from home. Presuming, of course, that she would talk. It was likely she shared her parents’ opinion of me. In which case, I’d have to question someone else about Reese in Mexico. Katz the whore. Not as promising, but better than nothing. I started the engine.
“Hey!”
I looked toward the house. A teenage girl was waving at me from a second-story window.
“Wait there,” she said.
I shut off the engine. A few minutes later she came jogging around the side of the house. She opened the passenger door and climbed in.
“Hi, I’m Melissa.”
She wore jeans cut off so short that the pockets hung out, white against her firm tan thighs. Her blouse was sleeveless and white and partially unbuttoned. She looked me up and down and ran her tongue across her bottom lip. There was mischief in her smile and playfulness in her eyes. She was trying to be sexy. She didn’t have far to go. Except for the pink scar across her nose and the remnants of two black eyes.
“You’re really a private eye?”
“Really.”
“That must be exciting.”
“It has its moments.”
“Do you have a gun?”
“There’s a bazooka in the trunk if we need it.”
She laughed. A throaty laugh, older than her sixteen years. She leaned back against the door. She put her hands behind her head to show off her breasts. I looked away.
“Let’s drive,” she said. “If my parents see me out here, they’ll shit.” She stretched out a smooth leg and touched my shoe with her toes.
“Let’s stay here,” I said. “In case I have to scream for help.”
She laughed again. She had a nice laugh. For a kid, I told myself.
“Tell me about Leonard Reese.”
“What about him?” Fragments of laughter were still in her voice.
“Have you seen him since Mexico?”
“No. Hey. How did you know about that?”
“I’m a private eye, remember?”
She smiled broadly. Her teeth were white and perfect.
“Tell me about your trip south,” I said.
She lowered her arms and hooked her thumbs in her pockets.
“What’s to tell? I went down there with him.”
“Were you dating him?”
“Jesus, who dates? I’d never met him before.”
“But you left the country with him?”
“Why not? A girlfriend called me one night and said did I want to take a trip with some people. They were leaving in an hour. I said sure. Anything to get out of here. I mean, this place sucks. So I tossed some stuff in a backpack and walked down to the corner and they picked me up.”
“Reese and Tiny and Katz and your friend.”
“Anita, right.”
“And then?”
“We drove. Lenny drove. He had just bought this new van and they had wine and grass and coke and we just drove all night. We got to San Diego the next day. We went through Tijuana and kept going till we got to Ensenada. Lenny and Tiny, and I think Katz, had been there before. We stayed in this really cool shack behind this other shack where some Mexicans lived. They had chickens and goats and even a fucking burro. And I mean, it was right on the beach. We just hung out and got stoned and messed around in the ocean. It was cool.”
She frowned, remembering, rubbing her nose.
“Why did Reese hit you?”
She shrugged, and her peach-breasts moved beneath the blouse. “We’d been there about two weeks. Lenny was getting restless. I think that was the problem. Anyway, he and Tiny and Katz were getting into some pretty kinky sex. I mean, weird shit. They wanted me and Anita to join in. I said no way. I mean, I’d been sleeping with Lenny since we’d been down there, but what they wanted turned me off. Besides, I didn’t want Tiny touching me. He’s a pig. So’s Katz, for that m
atter. But anyway, Anita said okay to their little games. I think she was afraid to say no. Also, though, I think she liked it.”
“But you didn’t go along.”
“No. Lenny pestered me for a few days to get with the program. I finally told him to fuck off. So he hit me.” She rubbed her nose again. “He hit me a couple of times. Knocked me out cold. I think Katz stopped him from hurting me real bad. He was drunk, like I said. Hey, you sure you don’t want to go for a ride?”
“I’m sure. What happened after Reese beat you up?”
“The next day he was sober and he wanted me out. Told me to hit the road. I mean I was broke and my nose was busted and I was in fucking Mexico. Where the fuck was I supposed to go? So Anita and Katz gave me some money and I took a bus home. A couple of buses.”
“Did you tell your parents where you’d been?”
“Sure. They acted like I’d been kidnapped or something. They slobbered all over me. Assholes. At least they sent me to a doctor to fix my nose. He had to break it again to straighten it. In a few weeks, he’ll do something about this scar. Then I’m out of here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m splitting. I hate all this.”
She waved her hand to indicate home, family, and maybe life in general.
“Did your parents tell the police about Reese?”
“Tell them what?”
“About his taking you across a state line. Or giving you drugs and alcohol. Or assaulting you.”
She shook her head. “They’d rather forget the whole thing. Act like it didn’t happen. That’s okay with me. Besides, Reese isn’t such a bad guy, you know?”
Her eyes drifted out the window. She missed Mexico.
“Why did Reese go down there?”
“For kicks, I guess. Only …”
“Only what?”
“You know, Tiny said something. But I’m sure he was joking.”
I waited.
“Almost every day we were down there, Lenny drove up to Tijuana to buy newspapers. He wouldn’t say why. Finally, Tiny told us that Lenny was checking for news of a murder. He said they’d dusted some dude.”
“Lenny and Tiny killed a man?”
Death on the Rocks (The Jacob Lomax Mysteries Book 1) Page 16