“You seem very calm about all this,” Ann said.
“I’m not calm,” Lauren said. “I’m very angry. I just don’t feel good. I’m having chest pains and I don’t have any strength.”
“Lauren, listen to me,” Ann said. “One way or another Harry’s hopes of being mayor are over. Just accept that and go get treatment while there’s still time.”
Ann’s receptionist interrupted then, said it was an emergency. Ann took the call, and Lauren left.
Chapter 40
The next morning, with no sleep, no shave, barely a shower, I was parked across the street from Ann Everett’s office on Grace Avenue. I had arrived early, and she was running late. I was hoping that she would walk into her office, see that the recordings were missing, panic, and lead me to Rainer.
Lauren had still not come home. Nor had she shown up at the sanatorium—which Clip was watching while Ray caught a couple hours sleep and a shower.
Everett’s first appointment arrived, a short lady with an enormous bottom and some sort of animal on the end of a leash. She parked right in front, whether to show off her importance or to save herself some effort in transporting her backside from the car to the office, I wasn’t sure. Probably a combination of both. She got out with whatever was on the leash, shuffled up to the door, and pulled on it. When it didn’t give, her hand slipped as she was coming back and she hit the small cement platform with the largest part of her. After she got up, which took a while, she waited for a few moments then huffed away, dragging the creature on the leash along behind her.
I waited as three other clients arrived, found the door locked, looked around, then left, and was about to give up, when Everett’s receptionist pulled up, hopped out of her car, tacked a note to the front door, and took off again.
After reading the note, which said that Dr. Everett was ill and would be out for a few days, I was tailing the receptionist, hoping she would lead me to Everett.
She led me out to Watson Bayou to the new housing complex known as Cove Gardens, which probably meant her husband was an officer stationed at Tyndall Field.
Cove Gardens, a thirty-acre complex located on the old Van Horn homestead, provided one hundred units for non-commissioned officers with the rank of sergeant or above and fifty units for civilian families. Nestled beneath live oaks, surrounded by paved streets and sidewalks, and fronting the waters of Watson Bayou, Cove Gardens offered some of the nicest housing in the area.
Each unit faced the park, so Everett’s receptionist parked on the curb and walked into the back of the unit. She didn’t knock. In fact, she got in so quickly that I doubted the door had even been locked.
I parked down the street in front of another unit, got out, and walked toward the unit she had gone into, the morning sun dappling the ground beneath my feet, the cool breeze waving the Spanish moss hanging on the oak limbs above.
Standing on the porch next to the 50-gallon fuel tank, I looked around, then tried the door. It was unlocked.
I opened it and went inside.
The units were every bit as nice as I had heard. The kitchen had an electric refrigerator, a bottled-gas range, and a sink and tray combination for washing clothes as well as dishes, which was what I found the receptionist doing.
“Mr. Riley?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”
She twisted toward me, her hands still submerged in the soapy water.
“Don’t waste any time, do you?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“Come right in and get to work.”
“I was doing the washing when Dr. Everett called and asked me to run an errand for her. What are you doing here?”
“I need to see Dr. Everett,” I said.
“She doesn’t live here,” she said. “This house belongs to me and Richie—my husband. How did you know where I lived? How’d you get in?”
“I followed you from Everett’s office,” I said. “The door was unlocked, so I came on in.”
“Why didn’t you knock?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your washing,” I said.
“That was—how’d you know I was washing?”
“I’ve got to see Ann,” I said.
She withdrew her hands from the soapy water and began to dry them with a dishtowel that was draped across the back of one of the straight-back wooden chairs around the kitchen table.
“Dr. Everett is taking a few days off for personal reasons,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve forgotten your name.”
“It’s Midge.”
“Midge, you seem like a nice person, so you’re probably not aware of what your boss has been up to—”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s mixed up with some very dangerous men in a blackmail scheme.”
“Not Dr. Everett,” she said. “She couldn’t be. She’s a healer. She helps—”
“She is,” I said. “She’s blackmailing one of her clients, Lauren Lewis, to get her husband to drop out of the mayor’s race.”
Her eyes widened. She knew Lauren was a client, and she had obviously heard about Harry’s announcement after the debate.
“Surely there’s some mistake,” she said. “She would never—”
“She’s been recording our sessions without us knowing it,” I said.
“I thought you knew,” she said. “I thought you had signed a waiver.”
“I did,” I said. “For just the first few sessions. She told me she was doing research for a project about wounded servicemen. I doubt there’s any such project, but even if there were, that was supposed to have ended over six months ago.”
She was beginning to entertain the possibility. I could tell.
“It’s just all so hard for me to believe,” she said.
“That’s because you’re a good person,” I said. “You can’t really understand people like Everett and Rainer.”
“Dr. Rainer is in on it, too?” she asked.
I nodded. “Midge,” I said, “Lauren is very sick and she’s missing. I’ve got to find her and get her some help. Now either Everett and Rainer have her or they know where she is. I’ve got to find them.”
“I believe you. I’d tell you if I knew,” she said. “I just don’t have any idea. I don’t even know where she lives.”
“Call her,” I said. “Try to get her to let you come by her house or meet you somewhere.”
“I couldn’t,” she said.
“You have to.”
“She’d know I was lying,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
The front door opened and I turned to see an air force uniform full of muscle walk thought it.
“What the hell’s this?” he asked.
“It’s not what you think, honey,” Midge said. “I swear it ain’t.”
“I just need your wife to make a quick phone call for me,” I said. “It’s extremely important. Then I’ll be gone.”
“Or you could go now,” he said.
“I’ll go once your wife makes the call,” I said. “I’m not leaving until she does.”
“Or maybe you are,” he said.
He moved so quickly, there was nothing I could do. In two steps he was right in front of me and in two quick movements, he was smashing a large, heavy ceramic canister into the side of my head.
I was trying to say something, trying to raise my arm to protect myself. I was thinking I could make him understand or catch him off guard, then I was just trying to react, to counter what he was doing, then … nothing.
Chapter 41
When I woke up, I was face down on Midge’s kitchen floor with a headache and dried blood on my face. Actually, I just thought I had a headache. When I pushed myself up, the real pain began.
“Have a nice nap?”
I looked around to see Butch smiling down at me.
Pete stepped forward, extended his hand, and helped me up. “You okay there buddy?”
I didn’t say anything. It was a
stupid question. Of course I wasn’t okay. I had been whacked on the head with a ceramic canister.
“We got you for breaking and entering,” Butch said. “Wanna tell us what the hell you think you’re doing?”
I thought about whether I should tell them. It would give them plenty of ammunition to implicate Lauren in all the deaths surrounding the case, but I didn’t have a choice. They could help me track down Ann Everett, and that’s what I needed to do.
I told them the truth—maybe not the whole truth, but certainly most of it.
Butch turned to Midge, who had been hovering in the background with Richie in the livingroom.
“And you don’t know where this Everett woman lives?” Butch asked.
Richie had his arm around the little woman, holding her against his red-blooded, all-American fly-boy body protectively. They looked like an ad for the good life the war effort was protecting.
“No, sir,” she said. “I just worked for her. We’ve never talked about anything personal.”
“But you have her number, right?” I asked, adding to Pete, “She’s got her number.”
“Are you sure about all this, Jimmy?” Pete asked. “You seem like you’re—”
“I’m sure,” I said. “We’ve got to find her. And we’ve got to hurry.”
“There’s a lot of things I don’t like about PIs,” Butch said. “A lot. But the thing I don’t like the most is how you fellas always make a mess, then we have to clean it up.”
“Seems I recall a couple of us cleaning up your mess before you were able to make it recently,” I said.
He hesitated, took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Okay,” he said, “so I went out of my head for a moment, and you guys helped me. I owe you one. Just don’t press it.”
I nodded. “I won’t,” I said. “Just help me find Everett.”
Butch looked at Jimmy, who shrugged, then to Midge. “Let’s have the number,” he said.
She gave it to him. He then borrowed Midge’s phone, and called the station while we waited.
“I’m sorry about your head, Mr. Riley,” Midge was saying. “I know you didn’t mean no harm. My Richie is very protective of me.”
“I’m sorry I barged in,” I said. “I thought you might be involved in this thing with Everett. I wanted to surprise you.”
“I understand,” she said. “It’s okay.”
Butch replaced the receiver on the cradle and said, “I’ve got an address. Let’s go see if we can’t clean up this mess so you and me can be even.”
It wasn’t me, but Ray he needed to worry about being even with, but I didn’t mention it.
The small block home on Cherry Street in Callaway had obviously been neglected. The yard was mostly dirt with a few tall weeds. Peeling paint flaked off the block and collected in the dirt and weeds on the ground below. Newspaper had been taped over missing window panes and trash spilled out of a tin can in the front corner of the yard.
I had followed Pete and Butch here in my car. I parked behind them on the shoulder of the street and got out.
“You sure this is the right place?” I asked.
“Will you listen to this?” Butch said. “I’ve got a peeper second guessing me. And not just any peeper, but the one who got us into all this.”
“Doesn’t look like the lady’s home,” Pete said, nodding toward the collection of Herald Tribunes on the front porch.
“Only one way to find out for sure,” I said.
I started to walk toward the house.
“You wait here,” Butch said.
“But—”
“I can still arrest you for B and E,” he said. “I’s you I wouldn’t push me.”
I knew Midge wouldn’t press charges, she wasn’t the type, but I held up my hand in a placating manner. “Just hurry.”
Moving around Butch, Pete walked much faster to the porch and knocked on the front door. When, after a few moments, there was no response, he knocked again—louder and longer this time. Still nothing. His final knock was not a knock at all but an incessant banging.
“Police. Open up,” he yelled.
When there was still no answer, Pete walked around to the back of the house. Butch walked back toward me.
“She ain’t here,” he said. “We’ll come back later.”
“But what if—”
“We’ll come back later,” he said. “Let us run down the rest of your story. Who knows? If we get enough evidence maybe we get a warrant and when we come back it don’t matter if nobody’s home.”
I couldn’t figure Butch. He seemed genuine in his attempt to be helpful. Maybe it was his way of repaying me or perhaps he was trying to lull me to sleep in order to set me up somehow, but it seemed like good police work.
“Thanks, Butch,” I said.
He grunted.
Pete walked back around and joined us.
“No car,” he said. “No sign of life.”
“Couldn’t we just—”
“You got two choices,” Butch said. “Either way we’re all leaving this empty house. You can go get your head seen about, get some sleep, clean up—who knows?—maybe even shave, or you can go with us to a nice cozy jail cell. It’s up to you.”
“Jimmy, we’re gonna keep looking for this Everett dame and Rainer, okay?” Pete said. “I’ll put out an APB. We’ll find them. I promise. Just go get yourself together and let us do our jobs. It’s exactly what you would’ve said back when you was a cop.”
I nodded. He was right. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go get my head examined.”
“Long overdue,” Butch said with a mean smile.
“Call me the moment you have anything,” I said to Pete.
“Partner,” he said, his big blue eyes so innocent and boyish they were almost believable, “you know I will.”
I didn’t know any such thing, but I needed them to leave so I could break into Everett’s house.
“Thanks,” I said, nodding, and turned to walk away.
“Peeper,” Butch called after me.
I kept walking.
“Don’t get any bright ideas,” he said. “I’m gonna have this house watched. Midge’s place too.”
Rubbing the side of my head, attempting to conceal my disappointment, I said, “I think Midge’s husband has that covered.”
Chapter 42
Butch probably really would have someone watch Everett’s place—at least at first. Deciding to wait a while before I broke in, I drove back to the office to test a theory I had about what July might have been doing at the office so late the night she was murdered.
When I pulled up in front of our building, I saw that someone, undoubtably Ray, had placed a wreath on the door. He was the grown-up of this outfit. It hadn’t even crossed my mind.
I could tell from the moment I opened the door that the office was empty, and I wondered if it would always be this way. Ray and I were both avoiding it, and I couldn’t imagine that we would ever feel comfortable in it again. My guess was when this was all over we’d be looking for a new place.
Walking up the stairs to her work area, a wave of sadness washed over me. She had made this job fun. Unlike Ray, she was easy to talk to and got most of my jokes and references. She was tough and smart—and probably on her way to making a good detective.
As I reached her desk, I wondered again what she was doing here that night. Why come back so late? What couldn’t wait until the next morning?
I thought I might just know a way to figure out the answers. Even if I did, it probably wouldn’t tell me who killed her, but it’d be a place to start.
Earlier the cops had Ray and I look to see if anything was missing. We had not—at least I had not—looked for what she had been working on. I thought it was possible that whatever was under the files and papers the killer had strewn would tell me.
I began with what was on her desk beneath the files.
Before, we had merely done a cursory check to see if anything was missing, now,
I returned everything to its file and stacked them to the side. It took a while, but when I reached the bottom I found what I was looking for—except I didn’t like what I had found because it pointed to me. July had come back here from the park to look at our agency’s logs, the paperwork we all used to account for our time and to bill clients.
Ray, the former Pinkerton, operated our agency as if we could be audited any minute. July’s primary job was to keep careful records of all our activities—including accounting for all the gas and food ration coupons we used on each case.
The logs she had out started a little less than a year ago and went through the present. They showed, among other things, that following our breakup, I had followed Lauren—often on company time—and had falsified records to cover it. It showed Ray’s legitimate work for Harry Lewis in following his wife and the other small jobs we were handling at the time, and every hour we had logged on every job since that time.
She also had the invoices out, and together they showed that I had done extensive surveillance work for an Erich Stevens, a client I had made up to cover the fact that I was following Lauren and had never billed. Detective that she was, July, watching Lauren run around the track in the dark, had deduced that I had followed her before. But why come here? Why did she think it was so urgent? Did she think I was following her again? Of course I was, but did she think that I was the one they couldn’t get close to or that I had hired Carl—was she that far ahead of us? Did she think Lauren was in danger? That I was going to eventually hurt her? I hope she hadn’t died thinking such things about me.
More recently, her logs were incomplete. There were hours logged with no client, clients with no hours, and several hours unaccounted for. Maybe she had come in to catch up on her bookkeeping. She had to know that Ray would be unhappy if he saw the condition everything was in. He had never once been late turning in a report to her, and she was usually good about accounting for everything once she had it. Was she going through something we didn’t know about? Was she killed for something that had nothing to do with the Lewis case or anything to do with our agency? If so, why was she killed the same way the other victims were?
Michael Lister - Soldier 01 - The Big Goodbye Page 15