To Find a Killer

by Charlie Vogel

  Taking up my original spot on a sofa across from the buffet table, I tried not to look bored. The people milling around looked so . . . generic, I couldn’t even work up a good idea for a painting. Maybe something moderate, within a post-impressionist, but a touch of Seurat.

  As Henry stepped onto the little band platform and began his speech, Lori plopped down beside me. I checked my watch. She had been gone thirty minutes. “Where have you been?”

  She gave me that seductive “I-know-something-you-don’t” smile that I hated. “Guess what?”

  Why not play? “What?”

  “You know that maid Tina who got you the beer? Well, I found out her birthday is two days before mine.”

  “Okay. Where’d you meet her?”

  “In the can. She remembered when I was Henry’s driver. Anyway, she knows this big secret about Henry. Interested?”

  I groaned. “It’s not a sex thing, is it?”

  “Could be. Why?”

  “I don’t care, that’s why. Just as he is, Henry is enough to make me barf. I can’t stomach any more tales about his dark side.”

  “Oh, no. This you want to hear. About a week or two before Eileen died, Tina heard Ben tell Charles that your wife bought more shares of Henry’s business. Did Eileen tell you?”

  “Yeah. She thought it would grow her portfolio. I shrugged it off. Her money was her money and we didn’t talk about it much.”

  “What did the two of you talk about?”

  “Lots, most of it personal stuff that I’m not telling you. But we had an understanding. She had her job ambitions, I had mine. She had her money, I made mine. Jobs and money were two things we didn’t talk about.”

  “Too bad. Sounds like you should’ve, this time at least. Eileen bought enough shares to own sixty-one per cent of Ashland Steel. In other words, she took the control away from Henry.”

  My mind went blank. Why didn’t Eileen tell me that? It was obvious why Henry didn’t. But, maybe it was just servant gossip.

  “Wait a minute. Why would Tina tell you this?”

  “She hates Henry and thought you might do something with that information. So are you?”

  “Hates him? What’s her reason?”

  Lori sighed heavily, obviously not wanting to tell more than she had to. “Henry forced her to perform at the Gentleman’s Club. I told you the place is into all kinds of perverted crap. They almost killed her one night. Henry has been more or less black-mailing her to keep her quiet and keep her working.”

  “You think she’s telling the truth?”

  “I know she is.” Lori’s eyes glazed with tears. She blinked them away then hurried on. “One more thing is Eileen had a will. Henry made some changes in it before turning it over to his attorney. Seems he threatened the attorney to use that copy for whatever wills need to do.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “But . . .” she sucked in a melodramatic breath, “it’s not the original. Tina said the word is that . . . you have that one.”

  “The only legal-type stuff I have . . . .” My God! “The box. The encrypted files! We gotta get out of here. That sonofabitch got us all here so he knew when to send someone to search the apartment.”

  “Calm down, Bobby!” Lori patted my arm. “The box ain’t there.”

  “What?”

  “While you were in the hospital, Harry took it to a friend, somebody who is a real genius with computers and has equipment coming out his ass. His friend is trying to break the access code.”

  “Where? Where’s this guy?”

  “Ask Harry. What’s the big rush? You can’t do anything with Eileen dead.”

  “The will, Lori. Eileen must have willed everything to me. That’s why Henry is looking for it!”

  Her fingers gripped my arm. “You don’t think . . . Would he have his own daughter killed?”

  I stared into her eyes, the truth bombarding my over-loaded brain. I heard Henry’s voice say “Charles.” The sky of my mind cleared. “But what if he found out she wasn’t his daughter? What would he feel then? And afterwards . . . he found out about the will and put Turner on me. What’s he going to do when he finds out I know?” I yanked Lori to her feet. “We really gotta get out of here!”

  “Where’s Harry?”

  “In the corner, talking to the shrink.”

  “Bob, we don’t have a car.”

  “We’ll borrow one of Henry’s. Think he’ll report I stole it?”

  Despite Harry’s concentration on something Welsh was saying, he glanced up and caught my motioning toward the patio doors. Everyone in the crowded room, even the servants stood facing Henry, the speech maker. We slipped out the door, across the flagstone patio, and down the steps to the garden sidewalk. I broke into a trot as I led the way around the house toward the garage. Lori muttered a curse before kicking off her high heels so she could keep up.

  “Okay, Bob,” Harry huffed. “What’s up?”

  “We’re getting out of here. That box your friend has? It may have Eileen’s will, too.”

  “I didn’t see anything like that. What’s so important we gotta run for it?”

  “Henry wants the will.”

  “Well, he seen us leave. I saw him look at us just as I went through the door.”

  Panting for breath, we reached the garage. Henry had ten cars in his fleet. Lori pointed to the little Sunbeam. As I scanned the board holding the keys, her hand reached over my shoulder and snagged the limo keys.

  “That’s not . . .”

  “I can drive the limo and it’s like a tank. Let’s go!”

  We piled into the front seat and barely got the door closed before she floored it. The back drive was a straight utility road. She didn’t waste time. On our way through, the closing gate almost caught the rear bumper.

  “I think Henry’s on to us, all right!” she announced as the tires bit into the curb in the turn onto the residential street. Harry and I kept our eyes open and our mouths shut. I didn’t want to know if her passing the limo between parked cars on a narrow street at 55 mph was skill or luck.

  Harry gritted his teeth at one close call. “Damn it, Lori! Slow down . . . just a little.”

  “Bob doesn’t think Henry’s calling the cops. You and I know better. I want to get him as close to that box as possible before I’m caught. If I’m going to jail, I’m going to have a damn good time gettin’ there!”

  “Getting killed is not my idea of a good time! There’s a red light!”

  “Too late! We’re through it!” I gasped out. “Lori, stop this goddamn thing and let me drive!”

  She gripped the wheel harder. “I am not letting the owner of Ashland Steel drive his own car. What the hell is that truck doing?”

  Both Harry and I frantically looked around. Brakes squealed, but from the momentum I knew they weren’t ours. Harry leaned over. I copied him. Either you are kissing your ass good- bye . . . or this position will save us.

  Somewhere outside the car something exploded then steel scraped against steel. A really big horn blared and Lori laughed. My body jammed forward, the dash sliding over my head. I tasted blood. Harry! Gotta see if Harry’s hurt! But the collision had locked me under the dash, my head stuck between my knees.

  “Harry! Are you okay?” I mumbled.

  Inches from my leg I heard “Yeah. Fine. Lori!” he tried to shout. “Can you push the fuckin’ seat back?”

  Her laughter floated over us again. “Just a second. Just a second. I’m looking for the manual lever. The electrical isn’t working.”

  “What’s so goddamn funny?” Harry demanded irritably.

  “What? Oh, I missed the truck.”

  The seat smoothly slid backwards, relieving the pressure. I sat up, staring into Harry’s uninjured but angry face. His expression immediately turned to concern. A warm trickle slid down my face and caught on the corner of my mouth.

  “You okay? A couple of those stitches popped and you’re bleeding a little.”
<
br />   My finger started toward the wound, but his clean handkerchief beat me.

  “Does it look okay?” I asked.

  “Prettier than mine. Naw, you’ll need the stitches replaced is all.”

  We looked at Lori. She was totally unruffled, probably because she had wisely fastened her seat belt. The windshield had shattered into a spider web so bad we couldn’t see out. My door wouldn’t open, so we followed Lori out the driver’s side. As I stood on solid ground again, I couldn’t believe what sat in front of us. She had missed the truck, but buried the limo into the side of a parked police car.

  A half dozen witnesses ran toward the accident scene. Harry grabbed Lori and me by the arm and shoved us to the back of the limo.

  “You two get out of here. I’ll say I was driving.”

  “You can’t do that. I’ll take the blame. You and Lori get out of here.”

  “Yo, Bob you still got beer on your breath and Lori’s got a warrant. Get the hell out of here. Now!”

  Convinced, we ducked between two untouched parked cars and walked quickly around the corner. I stopped for a peek back. The truck driver who had swerved and run into a traffic pole was climbing out of his cab, his hand pressed to his bloody forehead. Harry was instructing the gawkers to help him.

  Behind me, Lori hailed a cab.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as we crawled in.

  “My house.” I gave the driver the address then settled back in the seat to whisper, “I think Eileen put her will in her purse. It was like her to carry something that important, as if she could protect it by just knowing where it was.”

  “Sounds kinda dumb, but kinda smart, too. I mean, who would carry something really important that any pick pocket could grab.”

  “A woman who hung her purse around her shoulder and always had one hand on it. She learned that going to college in Chicago.”

  Lori nodded with admiration. Every once in a while I looked over my shoulder to see if a police car or anyone else followed. Unreasonable as it seemed, I knew Henry was out there somewhere searching.

  “I thought you sold your home.”

  “Real estate company hasn’t had one interested buyer.”

  We sat in silence as the cab turned onto Dodge and headed west.

  “You haven’t been back since moving to the apartment.” Her voice dropped lower. “Will it bother you?”

  “I have a specific purpose. It’s not like I’m looking for memories, Lori. I know right where that purse is.”

  She nodded stiffly, as if she didn’t quite believe my rationalization.

  Twenty minutes after the accident, the cab pulled into the driveway I hadn’t seen in weeks. The driver took my last twenty and, for the first time in my life, I was penniless. Self-consciously, I glanced at Lori to see if she had noticed. She was totally absorbed in looking at my former home. I knew she was comparing it as obviously something more than the apartment, but less than Henry’s mansion. The thought didn’t bother me. Why is that, Bob? Maybe because you’ve let go of it?

  She started toward the house.

  “No, Lori. This way.” I pointed toward the door that led into the garage where the good Judge Williams had parked my Ferrari Boxer.

  I flicked on the garage light. A coating of dust dulled the Boxer’s color.

  “Hm, Norris, you have a thing for red cars, don’t you!”

  I shrugged and approached the passenger door. My stomach quivered. I took a deep breath to quiet it.

  “I thought you said you needed to get her purse. So . . . she kept it in the car?” Lori couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice.

  Through the tinted window I could see every detail of the car’s interior. In my mind’s eye I could almost see Eileen’s form sitting in there, waiting for me to be the gentleman and open the door. “No,” I whispered, “she left it there. I-I opened it once, looking for that access code for Maggie, but I left it. Under the seat, right where Eileen wanted it.”

  Quickly I unlocked the door, held my breath for fear of inhaling her long-gone perfume, and pulled out the black leather bag.

  “Here it is.” My statement sounded flat, almost reverent, which was stupid. I cleared my throat and clenched my jaw, forcing myself to the business at hand.

  “Do you want me to look, Bob?” Lori asked gently.

  I glanced back through the tinted window. Not one hint of Eileen tricked my eyes. “No. She left the boat and she’s left the car. She’s letting me get on with it.”

  “What? You’re not making any sense.”

  I waved a hand at her then carried the purse to the wooden bench with its clean and shiny tool box I had never touched. The tools were a “just-in-case” gift from Eileen one Christmas. A laughable gift because we both knew I was as mechanically challenged as I was technically phobic. I had always been and would always be an artist, not a blue-collar type. With a confident smile, I opened the expensive clutch and pulled at the fabric liner that provided a slim, nearly invisible compartment. I tugged the folded document from its hiding place. The print was small, compact, typically Eileen.

  “What does it say, Bob?”

  After skimming the legal introductions on the first page, the second page gave me shivers that soon settled into cold determination. Eileen had specified I inherit everything, her complete fortune with all accounts listed, as well as her shares in each of her business interests, also listed. Her signature was dark, definitive, deliberate. She had meant this to be.

  I lifted my eyebrows at Lori. “You’re right. I own the controlling share of Ashland Steel.”

  “That’s good . . . I think. So, ah, what now, boss?”

  “I’ll find an attorney, a new attorney I think. Someone totally unrelated to Henry in any way, somebody who would relish suing the bastard.”

  “Well, you better hurry before he gets his hands on that will and has you killed.”

  “I can find somebody. One court order and the cops will be after him and protecting me.”

  “Really? The cops have been that helpful to you?”

  “Well . . .” My confidence faded.

  “Eileen, Alabama, Charles, Maggie, Turner beating you up, that damn bomb that aged me twenty years. Why haven’t they been digging harder? What . . . or who is keeping them off? This is one street-smart . . . woman who thinks if you want Henry, you gotta get a confession out of him yourself.”

  “Oh, yeah, like the man sitting on the throne of power is going to spill his guts to me like Turner did? You said it yourself, Lori. The man didn’t get all his money by being stupid. Now, I just have to figure out how to be one step ahead, one thought smarter . . . or more unpredictable.”

  Chapter 16

  With a twinge of apprehension, I crawled behind the wheel of the Boxer. The garage door opener rumbled as Lori settled into the passenger seat. For a moment more I waited. Everything felt normal. I filled my lungs, but no “France’s Amour.” Instead I breathed in the light floral scent I now identified with Lori. Eileen had left the boat and the car. Now I could see beyond finding her killer. My life could go on, not because I realized I had money, but because I cared where I rowed my boat . . . right after I made Henry pay for what he had done to us piss ants of the world.

  * * *

  “Something wrong?” Lori asked.

  “Nope. Something’s right.” I started the little car and backed out the drive way.

  Lori eyed me suspiciously. “You’re beginning to worry me again, Bob. You’re not making sense.”

  “I’ll explain it someday,” I said, watching the garage door close again.

  Minutes later, I pulled the Boxer next to Harry’s Mustang. Lori and I stared at it a moment.

  “What are you going to do about Harry?”

  “Probably ask Roy to get him out of jail.”

  “Hey, it was the truck or the cop car. We’re alive ain’t we?”

  Lori’s smart-assed expression disappeared as I gave her my best teacher-warning look.
r />   Opening the door to the apartment I expected to find it destroyed. Instead I found it neat and clean with Harry drinking coffee at the dining room table.

  “What the hell took you guys so long?” he demanded.

  “What are you . . . How did you . . . How long have you been here?”

  “About a half hour.”

  “Did you clean up the place?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I thought for sure Henry would have sent someone to search it. So what happened at the accident? What did the cops do?”

  “They took me in, of course. Henry refused to press charges for car theft . . . just like you said. I got a ticket for reckless driving. Oh, and I just found out something. Guess who owns this building?”

  Harry’s guessing games were as bad as Lori’s. “Okay, who?”

  “Your brother Donald.”

  “You’re kiddin’ me.” I sat down at the table. “Who told you that?”

  “He did. He called. I just finished talking to him a minute before you came. Oh, and guess who’s the new building super?”

  I shook my head.

  He grinned at Lori. “Yup, me.”

  “Back up, Harry. Did Donald say how he got to be the owner?”

  “Henry sold it to him. Something about a tax cut. Anyway, this pays more, so I’m quitting the Stop-and-Go. I hated those hours, anyway.”

  Lori shoved a cold beer into my hand. Thankfully it was my import brand and not the lousy Pabst she gave Harry.

  “Something about this makes me uneasy. Did Donald say anything about me?”

  “You betcha. He said ‘Tell my brother he’s being evicted.’ So . . .” He shrugged. “Consider this your first notice, I guess.”

  My mouth dropped open. Lori looked like she was going to hit him on the head with the beer in her hand. Harry’s solemn expression melted into a grin then guffawing laughter. Lori rolled her eyes.

  “You’re a jerk!” she said as she punched him in the shoulder. “So, what did you say to good ol’ Donald?”

  “Nothing. I just listened. Since I didn’t argue with him I guess he figures I’ll do it. Let’s see. He said to tell you to get that place at Crazy Horse Lake within two weeks or we’ll all be evicted.”