by Barbara Paul
Schumacher was returned to his cell; both lawyers departed. The detectives who’d observed the interrogation went home, leaving Marian, Captain Murtaugh, and Gloria Sanchez to work out the details. They decided to return the killer to his suite at the Regency the next morning; they’d keep him there under guard until Virgil called, thus avoiding the risks present in moving him back and forth from a jail cell every day. Detectives from both the Ninth Precinct and Midtown South would stay with Schumacher for every second. Murtaugh insisted on four-man shifts; the killer was just too dangerous to go with any fewer. Marian and Gloria drew up a schedule.
“An organization as efficiently run as Virgil’s,” Marian remarked, “has got to keep records. Lots and lots of nice incriminating records.”
“Yeah,” Gloria said happily. “We’re gonna close a lot of homicide cases once we get those records.”
“And maybe even more. I’m thinking of O.K. Toys. Maybe Virgil’s records will tell us what kind of dirty business Oliver Knowles’s company was up to.”
Murtaugh raised a quizzical eyebrow. “What makes you think Virgil is interested in the reasons people hire him?”
Marian shrugged. “It’s a tremendous potential for blackmail, Captain. Virgil’s in a great position to extract money from people. You think he’s not going to use it?”
The captain conceded the probability. “But you can’t count on it. Dave Unger’s the only way you’re going to find out what the toy company was being used for. And he’s not talking.”
Gloria said, “But when Unger’s name shows up in Virgil’s records, we won’t have to prove motive. Just the fact that he hired Virgil will be enough.”
“It’s not right,” Marian grumbled. “We have to depend on a master criminal to solve a lesser crime for us? It shouldn’t work that way.”
Murtaugh smiled. “Offends your sense of propriety, does it, Larch?”
“It’s not right,” Marian repeated.
33
“You’re in trouble,” the voice on the phone said.
Midmorning of the day following the capture of Thomas Schumacher, Elmore Zook had called Marian to issue a few legalistic-sounding threats. He blamed her for losing a client; it seemed Austin Knowles had followed Marian’s advice and hired a different lawyer. That news heartened Marian so much that she barely heard Zook’s threats. Another possible breakthrough?
“I don’t think you understand what you’ve done,” Zook said icily. “I’ve represented the Knowles family ever since about two months after I received my law degree. And now I’ve lost Austin because some lady cop doesn’t know what else to do and so plays at divide and conquer. You simply can’t use your badge to meddle in private business.”
“Mr. Zook, I can give advice to anyone I please,” Marian said. “But I can’t compel anyone to follow that advice. And don’t threaten me. You’re wasting your own time as well as mine.”
“We’ll see whether it’s a waste of time or not. I’m going to hit you with a civil suit unless Austin comes back. He listened to you once, he might listen again. You talk to Austin.”
“A civil suit?” she asked with interest. “Charging me with what?”
“Violation of police authority,” Zook said coolly. “You talk to Austin.” He hung up.
That was exactly what she was going to do: talk to Austin. She called his office; the architect’s secretary said he was at the Wall Street construction site. Marian grabbed her coat and bag. Dowd wasn’t at his desk; he and Walker were on this morning’s guard duty at the Regency with two detectives from the Ninth. Sergeant Buchanan had been keeping out of her way—probably just as well. She told Perlmutter where she was going. He offered to come with her; she said get back to work. He grinned and shrugged; it was worth a try.
Marian took the subway, the quickest way of getting downtown. When she found the construction site, she saw it was mostly idle. A few men were at work putting up some temporary hurricane fencing. But none of the huge earth-moving machines Marian expected to see were on view; the ground must be too hard to work this time of year. Austin Knowles was in the foreman’s shack going over blueprints.
When he saw Marian at the door, he asked the foreman to leave them alone for a few minutes. The other man left with a questioning glance at Marian. She perched on a tall stool and examined the man she’d come to see.
For the first time since she’d met him, Austin Knowles was not a bundle of nerves. He appeared resigned, depressed—but no longer jumpy. He’s decided to talk, Marian thought with a surge of adrenaline. “Elmore Zook just called me,” she said.
Austin gave her a lopsided grin. “He’s not too pleased with me.”
Nor with me. “You’ve got a new lawyer.”
“Yes. And he’s persuaded me to tell the police what I know about my father’s business dealings. I can’t tell you much, because I don’t know much. But my attorney says it will be enough for you to know what to do.”
“That’s what you should have done right at the start. When do we get to hear your statement?”
“My attorney’s negotiating with the DA’s office. We’ll be in as soon as he’s able to work out some sort of deal for me. I’m under orders not to talk to you at all unless he’s present. So I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“Who is your new attorney?”
“James Archer. Archer, Carlisle, and Wickes.”
“That’s a big firm. Archer—the head honcho’s doing the negotiating? Not one of his associates?”
“He says he wants to handle it himself.”
Another lawyer sniffing out a big case, Marian thought with distaste.
Austin Knowles misinterpreted the look on her face. “We are coming in, Lieutenant.” He looked sadly at the blueprints spread out on the worktable. “I just wanted to make sure that this last job is done right. Now, I can’t talk to you anymore.”
Marian didn’t argue; she knew a defeated man when she saw one. She left him alone.
It was getting on toward noon. Marian looked for an eatery that had a pay telephone and found a fairly clean lunch counter called Rusty’s. She asked for a cup of coffee and sat waiting for her beeper to sound. But twelve-fifteen came and went with no signal from the device; Virgil had not called today. Marian ordered lunch.
When she’d finished, she thought that as long as she was out, she might as well drop in on Dave Unger. The air was brisk and cold, and something vaguely resembling sunlight was shining in the streets. Marian stopped a cab and gave the driver Unger’s address.
She had nothing new to say to Unger, and Murtaugh would give her hell if he knew she was going to see a murder suspect alone. But Marian had never gotten a sense of personal menace from the man; he was a long-distance killer, hiring someone else to do his dirty work for him. The background check had turned up the information that Unger was a CPA who’d started in Billing at O.K. Toys and worked his way up to manager. Just another all-American success story. Nevertheless, Marian unfastened the flap on her shoulder holster. Maybe she should have brought Perlmutter after all.
Unger was at home alone, although the spacious apartment showed indications that both a woman and children were living there. “Zook told me not to talk to you,” Unger said.
“I’ll talk,” Marian replied. “You listen.”
He didn’t offer her a seat. “I’m listening.”
“You know your days are numbered, don’t you?” she asked rhetorically. “This thing is coming to a head. It will go much easier for you if you cooperate now, when you still have something to offer. Deals are made every day.”
“I can’t,” he said tightly.
“Sure you can. What are you afraid of? We’ll keep our side of the bargain.”
He just shook his head.
Marian was exasperated. “I don’t understand you! The IRS is going to send you away for a thousand years and we’ll add another thousand on top of that with a homicide charge. You can get yourself reduced sentences on both char
ges just by talking now before it’s too late—and you don’t say a word!”
Unger spread his hands helplessly. “Lieutenant, I’m an accountant. I’m not a policy-maker.”
You had your policy-maker killed, you sonuvabitch. The two stared at each other until Marian gave it up as hopeless and left, thinking the trip hadn’t been worth the cab fare.
Back at the station, she dumped her coat and bag in her office and went to see Murtaugh. She told him about Elmore Zook’s threatened civil action.
“He’s blowing smoke,” Murtaugh scoffed. “There’s nothing he can sue you for—he’s just trying to intimidate you.” He squinted at her. “Did he?”
“No. But I thought you ought to know.”
“Right.” A pause. “How’s the Buchanan problem?”
Marian smiled wryly. “He’s hiding from me.”
When she’d reported the incident in the records department, Murtaugh had exploded; Marian had never seen him so angry. The denigrating sexist talk was bad enough, but innuendo that Murtaugh had engineered Marian’s promotion in exchange for sexual favors was what really got to him; the captain was just as jealous of his good name as Marian was of hers. His first impulse had been to have it out with Buchanan, but Marian had asked him not to. Buchanan would undoubtedly take a reprimand from a man more seriously than he’d taken one from her; but he had to learn that he must listen to her. Getting the captain to fight her battles for her would just reinforce Buchanan’s attitudes toward women in authority.
Murtaugh reluctantly agreed. But he no longer addressed the other man by the friendly Buck; now it was the more formal Sergeant or just Buchanan. The whole station was aware of the ice that had suddenly appeared between the captain and one of his sergeants.
Marian reminded Murtaugh that she was taking some personal time the next day, for Ivan’s wedding.
“What if Virgil calls?” he asked. “What if you have to miss the wedding?”
“Then Ivan will kill me,” Marian said simply.
34
Virgil did not call on Thursday.
Almost cheering with relief, Marian was out of the stationhouse by twelve-twenty. Captain Murtaugh, god bless him, had told no one that she was acting as best man in her former partner’s wedding, so she was able to escape without the razzing that would otherwise have been her lot.
The wedding rehearsal had gone smoothly the night before. Mrs. Yelincic was in her element, playing both The Great Organizer and The Perfect Hostess rolled into one. Marian met the members of the wedding party she didn’t know, including two of the ushers; the other two were police detectives she’d known as long as Ivan had. All during the rehearsal, the matron of honor—Claire’s older sister, Angela—had kept staring at Marian as if she were some sort of freak. A little of that went a long way; Marian quickly decided she didn’t care for Angela.
Right before they broke up for the evening, Claire had whispered to Marian that Ivan had asked her to be his best man because she was the only one of his friends he could trust to make things work. That’s when Marian started getting nervous.
Shower and shampoo, and then Marian took out the dress she’d bought for the wedding. She hadn’t bought a dress in about two years, and she knew she’d never wear this one again. Not her sort of thing at all. Too see-what-a-pretty-doll-I-am for her tastes, right down to the touch of delicate lace at the neckline. Kelly had talked her into buying it. Marian had asked her friend to help her find the right sort of thing, as there didn’t seem to be much precedent for what female best men should wear. The dress was even a color Marian normally avoided, a rich beige just enough darker than bridal white so that she wouldn’t seem to be stealing Claire’s thunder. Kelly said the color set off Marian’s dark hair just right.
Marian checked for the tenth time to make sure the ring hadn’t jumped out of its box. Time to go pick up Ivan.
She’d ordered a limousine for the occasion; Marian didn’t want to have to worry about traffic, possible flat tires, and getting lost in Queens on top of all the other things she had on her mind. The driver was a talkative sort who regaled her all the way with stories about rock stars and tennis players he’d picked up at the airport.
Ivan was actually standing out on the sidewalk with his luggage waiting for her when they pulled up. “My god, I thought you’d never get here!” he screamed.
“I’m half an hour early,” she replied with a calmness she was far from feeling. “Get in.”
“Nervous?” the driver asked. He put Ivan’s luggage in the trunk.
Ivan had the envelopes waiting for her, the ones with the checks to pay off various people who expected to collect for their services later in the day. Marian put the envelopes in her new purse.
“Do you have the ring?”
“Yes, Ivan, I have the ring.”
“Show me!”
She showed him.
“Okay, okay. Don’t lose it! Maybe I’d better take it?”
“I’m not going to lose the ring. Try to relax, Ivan. My god. Take deep breaths.”
He concentrated on breathing deeply. The limo moved smoothly through Queens traffic toward St. Stanislaus Church. After a few minutes, Ivan had calmed down somewhat.
“Oops,” said the driver.
Ivan sat bolt-upright. “What do you mean, ‘Oops’?”
“I think I missed a turn back there,” the driver said. “Can I get to the church from here?”
“Omigod … I don’t know! Where are we? Marian, where should he turn?”
Marian pointed out that he was the one who lived in Queens, not she.
“Let’s try this,” the driver said and turned right.
“We’re not going to make it!” Ivan said in a high voice. “I’m going to be late to my own wedding!”
“We’re not going to be late,” Marian said soothingly. “We’re early, remember?”
“Plenny a time,” the driver agreed. “Hey, here we are! Right back on track. No problem.”
“No problem.” Ivan sank back in his seat. “I’m never gonna make it. I’m never gonna make it.”
“Of course you are,” Marian said. “The ceremony will be over before you know it—and then we’ll all dance at your wedding. You’re going to remember this day for the rest of your life.”
She kept talking to him, trying to keep her voice level and reassuring. By the time they reached the church, Ivan wasn’t exactly calm but he was no longer jumping out of his skin. He sprang out of the limo and ran into the church.
“Eager, ain’t he?” said the driver.
Or scared. “Listen, you’ll need to move Ivan’s luggage to the bridal limo when it gets here. As soon as—”
“How do I know which one it is?”
“I’m telling you. As soon as the bridal party gets here, look for Mrs. Yelincic. She’s easy to spot—she’ll be the one giving orders to everyone else. Mrs. Yelincic will have the key to the trunk of the bridal limo.”
“Yelincic, check.”
“We’ll be leading the procession from the church to the reception hall. You’re sure you know the way?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know the way. Don’t worry. Just you and me?”
“And one other. If you’ll pull the car up enough to leave room for the bridal limo, you can stay right here. I already checked with the priest.”
Marian watched him move the limousine forward a few feet; that was all right, then. She went into the church and down the long center aisle. Just before the altar she turned right, toward the little room where Father Kuzak had said they could wait until the ceremony began. Her route took her past the musician hired to play at the wedding; he was just sitting down at the … synthesizer, Marian saw, not organ.
“Hiya, Sally,” he said vaguely as she passed.
Marian said Hiya back. Sally?
Ivan was standing in front of the full-length mirror placed there expressly to reassure nervous bridegrooms, grimacing at his reflection. “How do I look?”
&nb
sp; He looked great. “You look great, Ivan.”
Something in her tone convinced him. “Yeah?” He grinned, at last beginning to realize he was supposed to be enjoying himself. “Great, huh?”
“No question.” Marian slipped out of her coat and Ivan saw her dress for the first time. “Hey, so do you! That’s a terrific dress! It makes you look … soft and feminine.”
She glared at him.
Father Kuzak came bustling in, looking for all the world like a bald Peter Lorre. “Are we all ready, then? A good day for a wedding, a good day! Do you need anything? May I get you something?”
“Thanks, Father,” Ivan said, “I think we’re all set.”
“Good, good. There’s orange juice in that little refrigerator and you know where the restroom is. I have something to attend to, but I’ll be back to get you in good time.” He bustled back out.
The synthesizer music started. “The first guests must be arriving,” Marian said. “I’d better go check on the ushers. I’ll be right—”
“What the hell is he playing?” Ivan interrupted.
“What?”
“God, that’s awful stuff! Why’s he playing that?”
Marian, who was tone deaf, ventured no opinion. “He’s not playing the music you and Claire selected?”
“No! I don’t want that played at our wedding! That’s awful!” A note of panic was creeping into his voice.
“Ivan, I’ll take care of it. Keep calm. See, I’m going to take care of it. I’m going now. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.”
He was gulping in air when she left the room and slipped up to where the musician was sitting. She put her mouth next to his ear and said, “You’re playing the wrong music.”
“Hanh?”
“It’s the wrong music.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“The bridegroom says it is. Stop.”
He brought what he was playing to a close and started shuffling through some sheet music. He pulled out a typewritten list of the numbers he was to play. “See, that was right! The Hamilton/Burger wedding.”
Marian ground her teeth. “This is the Yelincic/Malecki wedding.”