“Bet you did.”
We finished our meal without talking business. He told me a little of his life story. It was a short story, despite his 82 years. Lifelong bachelor who loved numbers and keeping books. He had no family except for his five cats. I only counted four. One of them had failed to acknowledge his or her existence to me. He also added that he hated dogs, did not smoke or drink anything but wine. Solid citizen.
He insisted upon paying for the meal. I indulged him.
It took longer to return to his house in Oak Park because we caught the five o’clock traffic. It was close to seven when we pulled into his driveway. The black and white cats were keeping vigil in his window.
“You didn’t meet Credit and Debit,” he said.
“True accountant, huh Malcolm?”
“That’s me, Clancy.”
“Debit would be the all black cat, of course.”
“Has to be.”
“One of your cats failed to meet me,” I said.
“Better clarify something. They’re not my cats. They live in my house. I feed them. I take care of them, but they are not my cats. I am their friend, but not their owner. You don’t own a cat, Clancy. I must learn to co-exist with felines. They permit me to live with them.”
“Like you and Dilworth?”
“That was a much tougher relationship. I happen to like cats. I enjoy their independence, I admit. Might be their live and let live attitude. But I also enjoy their companionship when they choose to grant me the privilege of sharing the room or bed or whatever. We have an understanding.”
“You and Dilworth never reach that understanding?”
“Only tolerance, I’m afraid. I tolerated her and she tolerated me.”
“Any other bits or pieces for me?”
“Well, she became more and more powerful. She did whatever she wanted to with the magazine. And usually whatever she did worked for the success of the magazine. Of course I did not benefit first hand from any success of the publication. I was paid by Mr. Malone exclusively. I took care of all bookkeeping, both the magazine’s and his personal stuff as well.”
“Oh, I thought Cyler Conroy took care of his personal stuff.”
“Cyler made some of the payments to individuals, but I kept the records.”
“So you knew about Bimbi Love and her daughter?”
He got out of the Blazer and walked around to my side.
“Let’s go inside and meet the other member of the family.”
I followed him inside. He led me to a back room that had separate beddings for each of the five felines in the house. An orange cat was lying in her bedding. Above the soft bedding was the name Profit. Malcolm was consistent.
“He’s mentally retarded. He’s been here for over ten years. The other cats are friendly with him, but no one gets too close, except for me. He lets me stroke him and I come in here and we talk some. But he can’t get out and do what the other cats do. He’s a bit clumsy and awkward, but in this environment, he gets by. We all have our secrets, Clancy. All of us.”
We knelt down and he guided my hand over to Profit and stroked the cat’s back with my hand.
“He likes you.”
“How can you tell?”
“He didn’t attack you when we entered the room.”
55
I was lying on the bed sorting through what I had learned from Malcolm Wheesely and the others when the room phone rang. It was Malcolm.
“I checked my files and the name of Dilworth’s uncle was Flowers, Homer Flowers. Don’t know much about him, but he was Mr. Malone’s contact in Virginia. Apparently Mr. Flowers knew the people who supplied the photos we used in the magazine.”
“Imagine that,” I said.
“You’ve heard of him?”
“A long time ago. Some ghosts never go away.”
“I know about those kinds of things.”
“Malcolm, would you verify something for me?”
“Sure.”
“Somewhere in your records, the books for the early seventies, would you check to see if you had a single entry of a payment to Bob LeFoy?”
“Funny you should ask for that. I just came across that entry while looking up the name of Homer Flowers. Yes, I issued a check to Robert LeFoy for five thousand dollars in September of 1972.”
“Damn.”
“That must mean something to you.”
“The end of a long quest.”
“You don’t sound too happy at arriving at the end.”
“Oh, I haven’t arrived at the end just yet. But I see the end, and I see where the road is taking me. You can’t imagine how much help you have been to me, Malcolm. I am forever indebted.”
“Nonsense. You have lighted up the life of an old man with simple pleasures. I shall forever remember fondly our afternoon delight at the Blue Café. I must say that you cannot imagine how much pleasure you have brought to a devout bachelor. Too bad we didn’t meet fifty years ago.”
“How romantic of you to say so.”
“You are a dream come true, Miss Evans. Thank you for joining me for lunch. Oh yes, that Robert LeFoy entry was the only one for that year for him. However, there have been numerous ones since then. In fact, regular payments.”
“Every year?”
“Yes, but not directly traceable to Robert LeFoy. You know of course that we are talking about Big Bob LeFoy, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there were two accounts set up for what Dilworth called ‘discretionary’ accounts, number one and number two. Number one was the business account she used for magazine stuff. Number two she used to keep Big Bob on the payroll.”
“On the payroll. What did Big Bob do for the magazine?”
“I have no idea. You’ll have to ask either Big Bob or B.A. Dilworth.”
“Count on it.”
“I was kidding, Clancy.”
“Not I. I’m an investigator. Therefore, I investigate.”
“LeFoy is a dangerous man.”
“And Dilworth is a piranha.”
It was mid-morning and I was dining at a restaurant near the hotel enjoying a hearty breakfast. I figured if I had to wrestle with Dilworth and LeFoy today, I should at least put some calories inside of me. I had both guns with me, the 9mm in the small of my back and the .357 in the shoulder holster. Despite the heat of late August, I was wearing a sporty jacket to help conceal the weapons and carry some extra rounds in my coat pockets. I always like to be prepared when I dance with the devil.
I was just finishing my second cup of high velocity java and silently cursing my luck at confronting both Dilworth and LeFoy alone when Rosey walked through the door of the restaurant and came over to my table.
“What a glorious sight for my all-too-weary-yet-fearful eyes,” I said.
“What do you have to afraid of?” he said.
“We’re all going to die sooner or later.”
“Philosophic this morning, are we?”
“Mellowing, I think. How did you find me here?”
“What I do.”
“Consult with, shoot at, and search for people.”
“In a nutshell. So, what’s on the docket for today?”
“Time to confront.”
“You find the missing pieces?”
“I know who killed my father. I know who hired him to kill my father. I know why. That’s enough for now.”
“What about Joey Malone?”
“Dead end on that one so far.”
“Could be the same people.”
“Motive is all wrong. Let’s go see Dilworth. You got something for us to ride?”
“Rental Jeep. I’ll drive and you can tell me what I need to know.”
Rosey drove us to the magazine’s offices on McComb. Marlene was working the reception area as usual. I provided a quick update so that he would know most of what I knew. Concise but meaningful.
“Editor in?” I said to Marlene.
“Sure, let me buzz
her.”
“No, we want this to be a surprise.”
She started to object, but I winked at her and she put forth no effort to argue with me. I was an old hand by now for walking into the office area as if I knew what I was doing. A good act.
No one paid any attention to me, but some eyes followed Rosey as we walked through toward Dilworth’s office.
I stopped at the desk of a young, dark-haired woman who looked friendly. I hadn’t seen her there before today. I asked her about Conroy and she said that they had received no word this morning. He was still in a coma as of late last night. I thanked her and we moved on.
I knocked gently on Dilworth’s closed door. We went inside when she invited us to do so.
“You’re not welcome here,” she said to me. “This your bodyguard?”
“Among other things.”
I sat down in front of her desk. Rosey stood to the right of the door hinges, just in case Dilworth might be fretful of our presence.
“Who’s this?” she said to me while looking at Rosey. “He looks familiar. I seldom forget a face.”
“Roosevelt Washington,” he said to her.
“Name doesn’t mean anything to me,” she said.
“It will,” he said.
“What do you want?” she was talking to me this time.
“Revenge, but I’ll settle for justice.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You hired Big Bob LeFoy along with three other fellows to kill my father back in the early seventies.”
“That’s absurd. I’m the editor of a magazine. I don’t go around ordering murders.”
“You did at least once.”
“Even if I did do it, you can’t prove it.”
“Line items in your books. Payment to LeFoy and for a motel room in Dan River, Virginia.”
“That could mean anything, could be for anyone.”
“Could be, but it’s not.”
“Who was your father to me?”
“Nothing to you. Small town County Sheriff in Virginia. You thought he was the one who stopped your source of pornographic pictures of little children, and the one who killed Uncle Homer.”
Her face turned pale at the mention of Homer, and I thought I could detect a hint of sweat bead on her forehead.
“You’re the daughter of that hick sheriff who should have minded his own business years ago?”
“In person.”
“You expect me to believe that you tracked me down after all these years for some murder that happened in Virginia when you were a little girl?”
“I don’t care what you believe, Dilworth. I don’t even care if you accept the fact that I know all these details about you, how you got this job to begin with, and how you dealt with Joey Malone to keep it. I don’t care what you believe. You’re going to jail, but before that happens, I just wish you would do something really stupid right now. If there’s a gun in one of your desk drawers, I wish you would try to get it and use it on me.”
“I don’t have a gun in this office.”
“That’s too bad. Would it help if I loaned you one of mine?”
“You can’t arrest me,” Dilworth said to me.
“I can,” Rosey said.
“And who are you?”
“I work for the United States Government. Contracting a murder in another state is a federal offense. You’re under arrest.”
Rosey walked over to her and lifted her out of her chair by the arm. We had no handcuffs.
“Where is your proof?”
“In a safe place,” I said.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Police station just up the street. Detective Morland would love to talk with you.”
“I want to call my lawyer.”
“Maybe at the police station,” Rosey said.
56
“You’d better have solid evidence against her, Evans,” Morland said to me after he had Dilworth locked in a cell.
I told him everything I had to connect her to my father’s death.
“I thought you came here to find out who killed Joey Malone.”
“Still working on that one,” I said.
“I’ll have to call Virginia. They’ll likely want Dilworth down there. Know any good state attorneys who will work hard on this?”
“One or two.”
“This will be a hard one to get a conviction.”
“Even with the evidence?”
“Thirty-two years is a long time, Evans. Most of what you have is circumstantial. It certainly looks like she went after your father. Points to her, but a trial is a different animal. You need LeFoy to admit that she hired him.”
“Not likely, huh?”
“Not likely at all.”
“Let’s go talk to him,” I said to Rosey.
“Tell me again what agency you work for,” Morland said to Rosey.
“Didn’t tell you the first time. Covert activity.”
“How can I verify all of this?”
“You’re the arresting officer,” Rosey said to Morland. “That’s why I suggested that you give her the Miranda ritual.”
“She call a lawyer yet?” I said.
“Yeah, just before they put her in the cell.”
“Who’d she call?”
“Don’t know. That’s private, you know.”
“Sure.”
We started out the door.
“You want some help talking to LeFoy?” Morland said to us.
“Thought you’d never ask,” I said.
Rosey drove and we followed Morland. LeFoy had been on my list of people to see. We were in the vicinity of the Rattlesnake Club. I recognized some of the streets so I knew that we were close to the river. That was the extent of my knowledge.
We were on Franklin and then turned onto Walker Street. LeFoy’s building was on the right. There was a modern office complex next to a large warehouse. Morland and the four squad cars that followed him parked in front of the warehouse. Rosey and I parked near the office building.
Morland sent two cars around to the back of the buildings. He joined Rosey and me as we entered the office complex. No one was working the lobby desk. We walked down the hallway and knocked on some doors, but no one answered. The doors were all locked. Apparently, no one was home.
“Whattaya bet that B.A. Dilworth called Big Bob LeFoy and not a lawyer?” Morland said.
“I never bet on a sure thing,” I said.
“LeFoy had to know we were coming. He’s always got people in this place working their buns off. His operation is too large to shut down unless he is really frightened.”
“Dilworth might have encouraged him to be frightened,” I said.
“Would he leave the country?” Rosey said.
“Not likely, but he might go into hiding for a very long time. Either way, it would be tough to find him,” Morland suggested.
“Wait,” I said, “let’s not assume that Dilworth is giving up and that LeFoy is gone into hiding just yet. If they could destroy the evidence and me, then the state of Virginia would have no case against them.”
I realized that Wheesely was in danger.
“We’ve got to go, Morland. We’ll call you later,” I motioned for Rosey. We ran to his rented Grand Cherokee and headed for Malcolm’s place in Oak Park.
“Where are you two going now?” Morland yelled after us.
“To protect my sources,” I yelled back.
Despite the steady flow of traffic, it still took us twenty-five minutes to get to Wheesely’s place. No one was home except the cats. Credit and Debit, the bookends, were stationed at their usual positions in the front window. I assumed that the rest were in hiding. There were no signs of forced entry, and the MG was not in the garage. Perhaps Wheesely had just gone out to pick up something at the grocery store. All appeared calm.
“Where to now, Madame?” Rosey said.
“Options are thin.”
“But not exhausted.”
“It’s a big city.”
“Intuition?”
“Running on empty these days. How about a hunch?”
“Hunches are okay sometimes.”
“I have a hunch that Big Bob has been working for Dilworth nearly all of his life. She has made him into the figurehead we all see. But the truth is, she’s the real criminal mind and money behind the whole operation. He was a front for her, and her job was a great cover.”
“You making this up as you go?”
“Yeah, but it does sound plausible. When Tony Scarletti was dying, I asked him if he worked for Big Bob. He shook his head.”
“But he never said who he was working for.”
“True, but let’s assume that he was telling the truth. He did not work for Big Bob. By all appearances, LeFoy would be the natural one to work for if you are a dirty cop.”
“Appearances.”
“Try this on. Dilworth sends Big Bob to Malone to buy the magazine. Dilworth hears through Conroy that Malone is wanting out anyway, so she sends in the figurehead. The front guy. Mr. Kingpin. She must have known that Malone did not like her all that much and that he would not sell the magazine to her. So, she goes through another door. Then, to seal the deal, she goes to Malone and fakes an argument with him over the selling of the magazine.”
“So, you don’t believe she killed Malone.”
“No. She wanted to own the magazine. If Malone is dead, she loses her opportunity to buy it. Big Bob’s offer and her great acting skills were about to close the deal. Then someone killed Malone.”
“Too bad for the mean lady.”
“Yeah, really.”
Rosey was driving us back into the city.
“Where are you taking us?” I said.
“Don’t know. You haven’t given me a direction nor place.”
“Find I-75 and go north. I know a good place that LeFoy might hide.”
“Another hunch?”
“Nothing less.”
57
It was close to five o’clock when we turned down the empty paved road that led to B.A. Dilworth’s modest home.
One Lost Soul More: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 1) Page 23