“Maybe Cooper did something that prompted Tanya to leave town,” I said. “Did you ever think of that?” He looked at me then away. Despite already knowing the answer, I asked, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me all this from the start?”
“I ain’t doin’ you no favors tellin’ you stuff you shouldn’t know.”
I shouldn’t know? There was more he wasn’t telling me—for my own good. What a sad sack. When I stood to leave, he said, “You’re not gonna ditch me ’cause it’s Cooper’s money, are you, Mr. Landau?”
“No, Eddie, I’m not gonna ditch you. To be perfectly honest, I kinda like the idea of Cooper’s hard-earned swag providing my staff of life.” And it was true.
Chapter 34
I lay on the couch, right arm draped over my eyes, Punim curled on my stomach. At times, ideas surfaced when I stopped trying so hard, just hung out in the alpha waves or something. How would Amy describe my disposition? Rummaging through themes of the investigation’s consciousness, perhaps. Look at the periphery. Who were these people? Spike the gangster, the businessman. Doug the pub owner, wine connoisseur. What did others see? Doug the clown, the loser. Doug the magician.
I sat up quickly. Punim’s claws dug in as she leapt off, scratching thin lines of blood on my torso. I reached for the phone, shouting cat-directed obscenities.
“Johnny Bail Bonds.”
“Jules for Johnny.”
“Hold, please.” Irish tin whistle music, then, “Hey! You okay?”
“Cops nowadays got all kinds of databases. And I bet Sheila knows how to use them.”
Laughter. “She just might.”
“New Mexico vital records. Someone named Doug Daley killed in a car wreck. Find out whatever you can.”
—
The darkened bay windows and flaking paint gave a Victorian spookiness to Margot’s apartment. As I stood staring from the end of the block, it occurred to me I had never seen Margot outside her home.
The post-dinner crowd occupied every table at Pâtisserie Grenouille. Margot sat alone, reading a hardcover book. Without lifting her head, she used a fork to cut off a bite of pastry and bring it slowly to her mouth. Brenda fluttered among her patrons, never losing her smile. I wondered if Margot had apologized to Brenda or if they both feigned ignorance of a strained friendship.
I meandered around the area, staying within eyesight of the pâtisserie’s window. Across the street at the Auvergnat Vin Bar, dapper North Siders learned how unoaked vessels differed from stainless steel as they swirled and sniffed Bordeaux reds and Alsace whites. Would they know the real thing from a fake? I leaned against a haloed streetlight. Despite the banality, the Hollywood imprinting of my youth provoked a trench-coated image with fedora and cigarette. I then saw a ten-year-old staying up late to watch an old movie with his father. On the television, usually an urban black-and-white world of detectives, spies, or gangsters in the thirties and forties, both decades well within Dad’s living memory. The din from Pâtisserie Grenouille broke the spell as Margot walked out.
I kept a full block between us then ducked around the corner when she reached the door to her apartment. A minute later, I reemerged to see Margot staring at me down the sidewalk. “You gonna stand there all night or do you want to come in?”
Professional investigator or amateur sleuth—a perception easily blurred. When I approached, Margot said, “Next time stand in the shadows and not under a streetlight.”
“You’re assuming I didn’t want to be seen.”
She walked past me to the stairs rolling her eyes. Once inside, Margot flicked a switch that illuminated several lamps, transforming the apartment into her mustard-yellow refuge. Then she assumed her customary position on the chaise longue and stared out the bay window. I remained standing.
“Two visits in ten hours. I should be flattered.”
“I’d like to see the newspaper article—about Doug’s car crash.”
“You know where it is.”
I walked to the writing desk, opened the small drawer, noticed the .38 revolver, then reread the article. Margot watched my reflection in the window. I put the article back in the drawer then sat on the love seat.
Margot said, “Christ! So say something already.”
“The article isn’t dated.”
“It was in February.”
“Just a couple of months after he disappeared with Tanya.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a death certificate or a coroner’s report?”
Margot sat up for a moment, glanced at me, then fell back. “Did you see the car? I don’t think an autopsy was necessary.”
“I’m just curious about the date on the death certificate.”
“What’s with you and dates? Why don’t you just say whatever the hell it is you’re implying?”
I stared at Margot’s profile. “Was it last fall that Doug found out about you and Jeremy?”
“I guess. I don’t know for sure.”
“Later in the year—around Thanksgiving—Doug hits the road with Tanya.”
Margot closed her eyes. “Sure, whatever.”
“But he stayed in touch with Spike. Together, they decide to rip off your wine.”
“It was Doug’s idea, I’m sure. He talked Spike into it.”
“This morning I wagered a case of Lafite the security cameras showed Doug or Spike liberating your ten cases of Mouton from a high-tech storage facility like the Vintner’s Treasure. Over two million dollars, walking out the door. Did you ever bother to look at the surveillance tape?”
“I don’t—I don’t care anymore.”
“You think you can just not care anymore and suddenly everyone leaves you alone? You’re now free to lie on your chaise staring out the window, watching the seconds of your life tick away? Is that it?”
Margot swung her legs off the chaise and sat facing me. “And why the hell do you care so much?”
“Admit it. Doug never went to New Mexico with Tanya, they were here the whole time.”
“How much to get you to leave me alone? Tell me how much, damn it!”
“Not gonna happen, Margot. Now that you’ve been cornered by the truth, you want to buy your way back to fantasyland.”
Her neck flushed first before spreading to her face and ears. She stood, walked to the kitchen, and began opening and closing cabinets until she found a long-stemmed glass. From another cabinet she took a bottle, filled the glass with red wine, then sat at a small round table in the kitchen. She sipped, looking deep in thought, as if I had taken money and left as she suggested, problem solved.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t give a shit about your wine. It’s finding Tanya I care about.”
Margot laughed. “You’ve spent all this time making things so complicated when I told you from day one Tanya is dead.”
“But from day one you’ve been lying to me. And you’ve refused to say how you know she’s dead.”
Margot took a large gulp. “I don’t even like the expensive stuff,” she said. “Just give me a nice pinot noir, and I’m happy.” She refilled the glass. “You really want to know why I’m so sure Tanya is dead?” I didn’t respond. Margot took another healthy gulp. “Because I killed her.”
Chapter 35
I waited for the punch line but Margot offered only a catatonic gaze at an empty wineglass. The implication of her confession permeated all previous thoughts, prompting a hard reboot.
Finally, I said, “Uh, you mind expanding on this theme?”
Margot glanced at me, looking bored. “A few weeks after Doug ran off with Tanya—about mid-December—they came over, ostensibly to try to keep things amicable. Of course, that was a lie. He wanted to talk about the wine. He claimed I purposely kept the wine’s value a secret. He reminded me that legally, we were still married. He started threatening lawsuits and claimed he could prove I was having an affair before I got the wine and god knows what else.”
I waited. “Then what?”
“We argued. I killed her with that gun you undoubtedly saw in the drawer.”
“And why would you leave the murder weapon in the drawer instead of throwing it in Lake Michigan?”
“Because I don’t know how long I can live with knowing I took someone’s life. In the meantime, if someone wants to investigate, here I am. Anyway, you have your answer. Tell your client to stop wasting his time looking for Tanya.”
“Do you really think I’m gonna walk out of here without knowing the circumstances of you killing her?”
“What difference does it make? She’s dead. Call the cops if you want.”
“Where’s the body?”
“I don’t know.”
“I should call the cops and tell them there’s no body and nobody has reported her missing. You’re a real nut job. I don’t believe a word you said.”
“They wouldn’t leave it! They kept pushing me! That little bitch kept saying how they were going to take everything in court if I didn’t give them half of the wine. Who the hell was she? That little street tramp coming to my house, thinking she’s so smart and clever, like she had something on me.”
“So you let Tanya push enough buttons to provoke you to shoot her?”
My comment pushed a button of its own. Margot shouted, “What do you know? You’re so smug with your detective pomp! So cool, so full of yourself. They pushed me! I was scared. Doug trained her, told her all the things to say—very personal things! Tanya pranced around acting like she owned the place, like she owned me. And you know what was weird? I saw right through her. I knew it was all an act, that she was really a sweet girl Doug had convinced to go along with his scam. It was Doug talking through her. When I pulled the trigger, I was shooting Doug.”
“So you lost it. You took the gun out of that drawer and shot her.”
Margot stood, then walked back to the chaise. I followed her and took my place on the love seat. She said, “You’re having a hard time thinking me capable of such violence.” I didn’t answer but it was true. “I’m surprised an experienced detective like you isn’t more cynical about such matters. You know, the dark side all people harbor.”
“I’m plenty cynical, but I’m not the grizzled, disillusioned veteran just yet. Don’t worry, I’ll get there.”
“Do you have dark secrets, Jules? Things you’ve done that you would never want anyone to know about? Things that would ruin your reputation?”
“My reputation isn’t worth ruining. You want to tell me the dark secret that made you a murderer?”
Margot didn’t answer.
“Okay, so you shot Tanya, then what? How did Doug react?”
“He screamed, took her into his arms. I fell to the floor and curled up in a ball, begged for it to all be a dream. At some point, I crawled to Doug, begged him to forgive me. I told him to take the wine, take anything, just don’t tell…He didn’t say anything. Just held her. There was blood….”
Margot pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs. “I don’t know how much time passed. I lay on the floor and just kind of surrendered to whatever was going to happen next. I’d never felt that way before. Without saying anything, Doug got to his feet and started opening closet doors. I walked over to him and asked what he was doing. ‘I need blankets,’ he said. Tears dripped off his face. He really loved her.”
“So Doug wrapped her up and carried her away?”
“I helped him put her in his car. After that, I don’t know where he took her. I don’t want to know. A few days later, he calls. Says he wants the wine. I gave him an access card and password—”
“Spike had volunteered to do the stealing, but you didn’t know anything about Spike being involved, did you? You really didn’t know Spike decided to keep the wine for himself.”
“Doug didn’t realize it right away either. He called me, angry, saying I’d changed my mind about giving him the wine and accusing me of hiding it somewhere.”
Johnny Bail Bonds had called me back to verify what I already knew—nobody named “Doug Daley” died in a car crash last February in New Mexico.
“Your own husband started blackmailing you,” I said. “Get his wine back or else. Someone called to set up an exchange of wine for ransom. It didn’t occur to you Spike was behind it?” Margot didn’t respond. “I guess you weren’t cynical enough. You didn’t see the dark side Spike harbored. Where’s Doug hiding now?”
“I don’t know. At first, he called periodically to threaten me. I guess when he figured out Spike had betrayed him, he stopped all communication.”
“What if you called him to set up a meeting?”
“He doesn’t answer the phone. He’s the only one who knows where Tanya’s body is and he wants to keep it that way. So what’s next for you? Collect the rest of your money and on to the next case?”
“Nothing’s changed, Margot. I’m still looking for Tanya.”
“But I told you—”
“Nobody’s dead if there isn’t a body. And if I want to find Tanya’s body, I need to find Doug.”
Margot looked as if she might vomit. “Why don’t you just turn me in to the police and get it over with?”
“Why would I do that, Margot?”
“Because I killed somebody.”
“You’ve got it backward. Are there witnesses to the shooting? The fact Doug knows where to find Tanya’s body condemns him, not you.”
“But you know the truth. Could you live with yourself knowing you let a murderer get away?”
“The only truth I need is confirmation of Tanya’s death. Everything else is only so much talk.”
Chapter 36
Lying on my back, I stared out my bedroom window, watching a curtain of mist hover a few feet above the buildings. Then I sat up. Wall-to-wall clouds, forty-something degrees. Springtime in Chicago.
Margot settling her neck over the chopping block exhibited naïveté. People got away with murder all the time. Doug guaranteed deflecting murder charges away from Margot when he carted off Tanya’s body. But Margot believed in Truth—a potential prison in itself for those wanting to live in a just universe. The puzzling part was not Margot shooting Tanya, but Doug so readily taking care of the body. Through Doug’s shock and grief, his thoughts turned to blackmail? I fed the hungry cat then grabbed the phone.
“If you wanted to find Doug,” I said to Spike, “where would you look?”
“A graveyard.”
“Pretend he’s alive.”
“I’d pretend not to care.”
“You should care. He’s got info on you.”
“Bullshit. He’s got nothing.”
“How about that fortune of stolen wine, dumbass?”
“He knows I’m connected. He won’t touch me.”
“Are you a businessman or Cosa Nostra?”
“It’s perception that matters, Landau. The way you carry yourself. You know that. What about Tanya? If Doug’s alive, does that mean Tanya’s alive?”
“I need to find Doug in order to find Tanya. Are you getting it now, Professor?”
Spike sighed through his nose. “So what do you want?”
“I’m not sure. Just tell me more about him. Anything.”
“What makes you think he’s still in Chicago?”
“Because that’s where the double-crossing son of a bitch with his stolen wine is.”
“You think he’s laying low, making a plan?”
“With millions of dollars’ worth of wine at stake, wouldn’t you?”
“So what’s he waiting for?”
“It doesn’t matter. Since you know where the wine is, I would suggest embracing the following scenario: one way or another, you will be contacted and asked questions. It may get uncomfortable.”
Spike laughed. “You think I should be afraid of Doug Daley? He doesn’t have the stomach.”
“A couple of million bucks can change a person. Why not consult with Cooper?”
“Because I don’t need Cooper.”
“Of course. Asking for help would show weakness. Then take the initiative and call out Doug. Make him an offer.”
Another laugh. “I’m supposed to pay off Doug when I’ve got what he wants? Only a pussy would do that.”
“Compromise! It happens all the time in business.”
“Only losers compromise.”
My turn to laugh. “Do I gotta teach you to be a gangster? It’s about perception, remember. Make him an offer appearing to want compromise. Then after you get him in your sights, you get physical with him until he agrees to take both of us to Tanya.”
I didn’t know what pained Spike more, agreeing with my plan or the idea of twisting someone’s arm. “I’ll think about it,” Spike said.
“What’s there to think about? You want to find Tanya or not?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, but—”
“You disappoint me, Spike. Get the word out! Isn’t that how the system works? Let the street know you want to make things right with Doug. It’ll get back to him. You pull this off, Cooper will be impressed, that’s for sure. You’ll be on your way.”
Spike’s ambivalent grunt almost provoked more career-path advice from me. But people can change. Who was I to discourage a young criminal’s dream?
—
The last time I spoke to Kalijero, he’d insulted me in Greek and hung up. He owed me an apology.
“Jimmy, it’s time for you to show me the value of your forty years of cop work.”
“I don’t have to show you anything.”
“Yesterday you were so concerned about my well-being. I was really touched. Today, I’m nothing but a cheap whore.”
“A cheap whore has more sense than you.”
“Okay, that’s settled. But you need to help me get some info out on the street.”
“I need to?”
When will I learn? “I’m asking you. Think of it as more billable hours. You said you needed the money.”
“Use your contacts, Landau. That’s what private investigators do.”
Gold Coast Blues Page 18