by Blake Banner
Dehan was by the door, hammering. Chavez snorted at me. “Lucky is dead, man. What kind of shit cop are you?”
I nodded and smiled. “A live one. Hang loose, dude.”
The doors clanged open and we stepped out. The echo of them slamming closed again behind us seemed to roll down the corridors and up the walls over our heads. We walked in silence, led by the prison officer, back through the long tunnel-corridors to the main gate, where more doors were opened among more iron echoes, and we finally exited into the vast floodlit parking lot, desolate under a black sky. Our feet crunched across the gravel and as we reached the car, Dehan put her arms around my chest and squeezed. I held her a moment and kissed her. She smiled, but it was a sad smile. “Life sucks sometimes, Sensei.”
I nodded. “It does.” I kissed her again. “I prescribe buffalo steak, good wine and Irish whiskey.”
“See,” she said, smiling foolishly, “that is why I married you.”
TEN
We got a table near the open fire, where a couple of logs were burning in the grate, occasionally spitting small showers of sparks across the hearth, giving out an uneven heat and playing wavering orange light over Dehan’s face. She was leaning back in her chair, holding a half-full glass of beer. Before her was half a bison steak, which she was working her way through with methodical enthusiasm. Right then, I was chewing and she was watching me with narrowed eyes.
“As evidence, it’s not worth much. It’s hearsay, unless the judge admits it as a confession.”
I did a passable imitation of Chavez. “‘You some badass motherfocker, man! You killed that dude?’ ‘Yeah, man. I stabbed that son of a bitch with a knife!’”
She laughed.
I shrugged. “It might stand as a confession. But the rest of it is hearsay, and relates exclusively to what Ned said he was going to do. We still have zero evidence to show that Ned, or any of his pals, were there that night after Al broke Ned’s fingers.”
She made a face, set down her glass and attacked her steak. While she was chewing, she shrugged. “At least we now know what happened.”
I raised an eyebrow, took a pull on my beer and signaled the waitress for two more. “Do we?”
She shook her head in something like mild despair. “Don’t we?”
I smiled and cut into the tender meat. “This is why you are not supposed to torture witnesses, Dehan. You can’t be sure of what they tell you.”
I stuck a chunk of meat in my mouth, leaned back and chewed.
“On the way up here, I told myself, if we have to threaten him, he will either implicate Lucky, Chicane Evans or Simon Ibanez, ‘el Loco’.”
“Because they are all dead and they can’t testify. That’s why you made the crack about saying hi to Lucky.”
“You heard his reply.” I shrugged again and drained my glass. “Of course, Lucky was crazy enough to do exactly what Chavez said, but it is also true that we can’t confirm it or deny it. Even if we got Delroy Evans to confirm Chavez’s story, it does not prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Ned did it.”
The waitress arrived with our beers, set them before us and took her smile away with her.
I picked up my glass. “And there is another thing.”
She nodded. “Ned’s mother.”
“Not only does she say he was with her, his pals all say she was there at the hospital, and they went home together…”
I waited, watching her. She watched me back. “You believe Chavez’s original story.”
I nodded. “I believe it more than the crock he gave us when he thought Ernesto was going to be transferred.” I shook my head and laughed. “He was dosed up on diazepam and suddenly the cold November night woke him up? And out of the five guys who might have gone with him, Chavez names the one guy who was crazy enough to have done it, and was also conveniently dead. Besides…” I shook my head again. “You could see him making it up as he was talking.”
She finished her steak and sighed. There was an edge of irritation to her voice when she asked, “So do you think Ned is off the hook?”
“No, I am not saying that. He may well have done it, and he is still our best suspect, but if he did, Chavez doesn’t know about it.”
“You know, sometimes you kind of complicate things.”
“Just telling you what I see, shweet heart. Then you get mad if I don’t tell you what I’m thinking.”
“I’m a woman.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re a what?”
“Which leaves us, as a potential pool of suspects, his immediate family, who certainly had motive enough, in spite of what Max says, and the nightmare scenario.”
“What is the nightmare scenario?”
“A passer by.”
She puffed out her cheeks and blew. “Maybe from the hood, maybe saw the altercation earlier, has heard the rumors, goes and knocks, Al recognizes him from saying hello, opens the door, the guy steps inside…”
“It’s a possibility we need to be aware of. Not so much framing Ned, as exploiting the fact that Ned had framed himself.”
She shook her head. “I’d rather look for a yellow needle in a haystack. That would be all but impossible…”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s just a possibility and we have lots to look into yet. The house hasn’t been touched since the crime. When Martinez examined the house, he was looking for evidence that Ned had killed Al. If Ned didn’t do it—and I am not saying he didn’t—but if he didn’t, obviously Martinez wasn’t going to find any.”
“OK, you’re right. We have to look at the house again with a wider lens.”
“And we also need to talk to Justinian and Annunziata. We need to hear their side of the story.” I smiled. “It’s not disappointing, is it?”
She gave a small laugh. “No, Mr. Holmes, it is as insoluble as you promised it would be. By the way.”
“Yes, my dear Dehan?”
“Where’s that Bushmills you promised me?”
* * *
We got back to the station at midday. As it turned out, we didn’t need to contact Justinian. He called us on the way back and said he wanted to come down to the station to make a statement. I told him twelve-thirty and we pulled into the small parking lot on Fteley Avenue at just after twelve. As we stepped through the door, Maria, the desk sergeant, gave me a shout.
“Hey, handsome!” Then she winked at Dehan. “You too, beautiful.” She tossed me an envelope. When I caught it, I felt the keys inside. She said, “From Chester Cardio-Valves, delivered by messenger yesterday.”
“Thanks, Maria.” I showed them to Dehan. “The keys to Al’s place.”
She grunted. “You think they’ve been in to sanitize the place?”
“We’ll soon know if they have.”
We pushed through into the bustling detectives room and made for our desks. She spoke over her shoulder as she walked. “If they haven’t, that means either they didn’t do it, or they are very confident.”
I pulled off my coat and hung it up. “You keep talking about them as though they were one unit, instead of three distinct people. Max may be as pure and innocent as the driven snow. He may well have sent the keys over in good faith. Doesn’t mean Justinian and Annunziata are innocent, or acting in good faith. You have to ask yourself, what has Justinian scurrying over here to talk to us? Could it be that we have these?”
I waved the keys at her.
“OK, point taken. So why is he coming to see us?”
“What has prompted him to come and see us? OK, baby steps: he is coming to see us because he has heard that we went to see his brother.”
She nodded. “Which means that either A, he has something to add to what his brother has told us, or B…”
“He wants to know what his brother has told us. That—and it’s a stretch—but it could mean that he fears his brother might have implicated him.”
“That is a stretch, but whichever way you look at it, it’s either a defensi
ve move or an offensive one.”
I thought about it and nodded. “Let’s hope it’s not just that he wants to gossip.”
She laughed. “Yeah, it could be that, too.”
The internal phone buzzed and Maria told me Justinian had been taken up to interview room two. We collected three paper cups of coffee-like liquid from the vending machine and went up. I went in ahead and Dehan followed and placed the paper cups on the table.
Justinian stood when he saw Dehan. He was short, maybe five five, slim and dapper. He was in his mid sixties, but looked fit and healthy. He had silver hair cut very short, and moved with the exaggerated grace of a dancer. He watched Dehan with wide eyes and a smile, and when she’d set down the coffee, he held out his hand to her. “How do you do? Justinian Chester. You must be Detective Dehan.”
She was taken aback and I could see the laughter in her eyes. She took his hand. “How do you do, Dr. Chester?”
I pulled out a chair and sat. They sat too and he reluctantly let go of her hand. “I am Detective John Stone; this is my partner, Detective Dehan. Have you got some information for us regarding your brother Aloysius’ death, Dr. Chester?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I may have.”
I gave him the dead eye for a second while he continued to watch Dehan. I said, “What would it take for you to know, Dr. Chester?”
He wrenched his eyes away and looked at me, like he was trying to focus and failing badly. “Hmm? Yes, sorry!” He laughed. “Your partner is ravishing. Such skin! And the features! The bone structure! Sublime.”
I sighed noisily, he sighed quietly and Dehan gave a small cough.
He repeated, “What would it take…?”
“Your brother’s murder, Dr. Chester. We are very busy and really haven’t got time to waste.”
“No! Quite! I see that. I mean, I’m not sure what Max told you. And have you spoken to Anne? Heaven knows what she will tell you…”
Dehan was blunt. “Dr. Chester. If you have come here on a fishing expedition to find out what we know, not only are you wasting your time, but that puts you in a very bad light.”
Before he could answer, I asked him, “What do you think Maximilian and Annunziata might have told us, Dr. Chester? Why is that important to you?”
His eyes were wide. “Well! I mean! I only came in to help and you’re practically accusing me of fratricide!”
I leaned forward. “Is that what it was? Fratricide?”
“Good Lord! Of course not! My interest, my questions, were in the interest of the family! We are very sensitive to scandal, you know. We have a reputation in this city.”
Dehan spoke more softly. “Dr. Chester, what we know is what your brother told us. If you want to know what that is, then you had better ask him. The question is, did you come here just to try and pump us, or have you something to tell us?”
“No, no, I came to offer my assistance. I didn’t realize it would be received with such hostility.”
I let Dehan answer. She was being god cop. “We’re just doing our job, Dr. Chester. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty.” She smiled. “But everyone’s a suspect until they’re in the clear.”
“Quite…”
“So what can you tell us about your brother’s death?”
“Well, I mean to say, I don’t know what Max and Anne have said to you…” He waited, glancing at us. We gave him the dead eye until he went on, wriggling slightly in his seat. “I just feel perhaps I should put things into context, a little.”
I said, “That would be very helpful, if you could do that. What is it exactly you want to put into context?”
“Well, we were all so worried.” He turned to Dehan. “You can understand.”
She raised her eyebrows and nodded, like she could understand.
“And Dr. Epstein was so unhelpful. Professional privilege, my tush! Who is paying the bills here? Surely that gives us some kind of privilege!”
I grunted. “So you tried to get some information from Dr. Epstein that he was unwilling to share with you.”
He winked at Dehan. “He catches on fast, doesn’t he?”
She nodded. “He’s pretty smart. What was it you were trying to learn from Dr. Epstein?”
He gave his head a quick shake, lowered his eyes and shrugged all at the same time. “I mean, just stuff that related to poor Aloysius’ future wellbeing. Some of us, you know, were not happy with the family having disowned him in that way. However foolish he may have been in his youth, he didn’t deserve… that!”
I said, “What is that, precisely, Dr. Chester?”
“Well, that…” He grimaced. “That house, in that neighborhood, with that awful Jewish psychiatrist and his assistant…”
“Are you racist, Dr. Chester?”
“Not at all,” he said frigidly. “Some of my favorite bankers are Jews. Is that relevant?”
Dehan answered. “I don’t know yet, we’ll have to wait and see. I’ll run it by my rabbi, see what he thinks.”
“Oh, Lord, I was only being flippant.”
I nodded. “Can we get back on task? So you were thinking about bringing Aloysius back into the fold? What did Maximilian and Annunziata think about that?”
He stared at me so long I was about to ask him if he was OK. But then, his eyes shifted to Dehan and back to me a few times. He drew breath and held it a moment before saying, “Well, that’s the thing. I mean, people say things, don’t they, in the heat of the moment?”
“Who said what, Dr. Chester?”
He spoke rapidly, staring at the wall, avoiding our eyes: “Well, all sorts of people said all sorts of things, but I mean to say, one does, but it doesn’t mean anything!”
“Give me patience! What made you come here, Dr. Chester?”
He stared at me, but didn’t speak.
“If you have just come here to gossip and play the mysterious guy who knows something but won’t talk, then I have a good mind to charge you with obstructing justice and wasting police time! Now cut the crap and tell us what you came here to tell us, or get the hell out of here!”
He went very white, then his cheeks flamed red. “We were afraid that Aloysius might do something stupid.”
Dehan arched an eyebrow. “Commit suicide?”
“No, heavens! Far more stupid than that. That would have been quite sensible.”
I slammed my hand down on the table. The noise made him jump. “I’m giving you ten seconds to tell me what this is about. After that, I will formally charge you and have the sergeant take you down to the cells! Am I getting through to you?”
He nodded. “We thought he was going to get married.”
“Married?”
“Well, you can imagine the repercussions. It could have been catastrophic!”
“So what did Max propose doing about this?”
“Well, I mean to say! We didn’t know what to do! I mean, his wife would acquire legal charge of him, the quarter share in the company would effectively be hers! She would have made decisions on his behalf at board meetings! She might have sold his shares!”
Dehan leaned across the table. When she spoke, her voice was like a particularly dangerous frost. “I am going to ask you one more time, Justin, what did Max intend to do about it?”
“Well, it wasn’t just Max, it was Anne too. We had a meeting. They scared the living daylights out of me, I don’t mind telling you! They said it couldn’t happen. We couldn’t allow Aloysius to become a problem again. Max said we couldn’t go back to the dark old days. And they said, well, they said, that if he planned to marry, we should have him killed…”
ELEVEN
Dehan had turned to stare at me. If she’d been the kind of girl who gaped, she would have gaped. Instead she just stared. I studied the tabletop for a moment, then held up a hand to stop him talking.
“Can we just go over that again? Are you telling me that Maximilian Chester and Annunziata Chester conspired together, in your presence, to kill your brother Aloys
ius Chester?”
He crossed one elegant leg over the other and looked away at the wall. “Oh, dear, this really is not what I had intended.”
“Dr. Chester, will you please answer the question?”
He flashed a look at me. “Well, I mean! You phrase it like that and it sounds awful! ‘Conspired to murder…!’ Maxie and Anne wouldn’t conspire to murder Ally! They just…” He looked pained and his eyes drifted again.
Dehan said, “What? They just what?”
He made a noise like ‘B-b-b-b-b…’, like his battery was flat and his mouth wouldn’t start. Then he got going and said, “They just talked, in the abstract, about the possibility that it might be necessary, if he did in fact go ahead with the idea of marrying… But they didn’t mean it! That’s what I came here to tell you, whatever they said, or may say, they didn’t mean that they intended to have him killed.”
I nodded. “I understand. It was just abstract speculation.”
He gestured at me like he was offering me a canapé. “There you have it. Abstract speculation. Exactly what I was trying to say.”
I smiled, like I was pleased that he approved of my succinct phrasing, and went on. “And in this abstract speculation about a possible future situation…”
“Precisely, thank you.”
“Who would have actually carried out the…”
I trailed off, waiting for him to finish the sentence for me.
“The, the, the…” He jerked his head a couple of times, as though he was gesturing at Al’s dead body in his imagination. “The execution?”
“Yes, the execution. Thank you.”
“Well, we never discussed that. At least they might have, amongst themselves, but I always assumed that Max would take care of that.”
My eyebrows said I was surprised. “Max?”
He waved his hands at me in alarm. “Oh, no! No, lord no! I mean, he would know whom to talk to, in order to get it done. Probably his factotum would talk to an attorney who would know somebody who knew somebody, you know, down the line. Every link increases deniability, as I am sure you know.”