Spur of the Moment

by David Linzee

  A hundred feet from the entrance to Jeff Csendes’s building, he stopped.

  There were three police cars double-parked in front of it with lights flashing. One patrolman stood near the door, talking on his radio. As Shane watched, a large white van with CRIME SCENE UNIT lettered on its door pulled up, blocking the street entirely. Traffic piled up and horns began to honk. A patrolman moved unhurriedly into the street to deal with the mess.

  Shane backed up a few steps and ducked into an alley. He leaned his back against the wall and stuck his hands in his pockets. He waited.

  Chapter 65

  Schaefer had no difficulty picking the lock on the door of Bistouri Surveillance & Security. Once in the small office, they set to work immediately searching the filing cabinets and desk drawers. After a while Bryson went to the window, gazing out at the black tubes and wires of a neon sign and the brown brick wall opposite. He dropped his gaze to the outer window ledge covered with pigeon droppings. The expression on his face was baffled, as if he could not believe he was in a place like this.

  Schaefer was squatting, riffling through a bottom file drawer. He glanced up. “Sir? You okay?

  “I don’t think the disk is here. Only that fucking kid knows where it is.”

  “We gotta keep looking.”

  Bryson didn’t move.

  “Sir, uh, the position is clear to you, right? If the cops get hold of that disk, we’re going to prison. For a long time.”

  “I’ll provide you with the best legal representation.”

  “Mr. Bryson, nobody can talk a way out of this for us. We got to get the disk.” He went back to work.

  Bryson returned from the window and sank into the chair behind Bistouri’s desk. Cards and scraps of paper were stuffed into the edges of the desk blotter. Bryson leaned forward, examining them.

  “Shane Komarovsky.”

  “Sir?”

  “That’s the kid’s name.”

  “How do you know?”

  “This is his business card. He’s a rep for Pryor Lab, a diagnostic medical lab over on the West Side.”

  “So?”

  “Pryor Lab is where Jeff Csendes worked, too.”

  Schaefer straightened up and came over to look at the card. “So the kid didn’t work for Bistouri. He was friends with Csendes.”

  “Yeah. Or he was supplying pills to Jeff. I guess it comes to the same thing. When you’re a drug addict, your dealer is your best friend.” Bryson turned the card over. “It doesn’t have his home address. Too bad. I doubt he hid the disk at the lab.”

  As he talked Schaefer had been tapping keys on his smartphone. He looked at the screen and grinned. “No prob. He’s listed. His home address is also on the West Side.”

  Chapter 66

  The Chicago police proceeded in the same manner as the Clayton police: they asked questions, they did not answer them. After interrogation, uniforms had herded Peter, Renata, and Patel to the end of the hall as the Csendes apartment filled with cops. They sat on a cold radiator beneath a dirty window and waited. A uniform standing at the apartment door with a clipboard, writing down the names and badge numbers of all who entered, kept a watchful eye on them. The wait was hardest on Patel. She kept her eyes on the floor and did not respond when Peter spoke to her.

  A short, broad-shouldered woman with brown hair pulled back tight and turquoise eye shadow came out of the apartment and approached them. She had a detective’s shield clipped to her shirt pocket and carried a folder under one arm. “I’m Detective Gutierrez,” she said. “You’re Doctor Patel?”

  Patel nodded.

  Gutierrez held up a photo. “Is this Jeff Csendes?”

  Renata could see the photo too, and the first thing she realized about the man was that he was dead. His eyelids hung slack over glassy eyes. His face was battered. His mouth was half-open and two of his teeth had been knocked out. Bloodless cuts with pallid wrinkled edges marked his forehead and cheeks. It was hard to believe that he had been a young man when he died.

  “Yes, it’s him,” said Patel hollowly. “He must have suffered terribly.”

  “Most of the damage was postmortem,” said Gutierrez, not unkindly. “He was in the river for between six and nine hours before we found him. He got entangled in a shopping cart. The current drove things into him.”

  “How did he die?” asked Patel.

  “He was in a fight. It wasn’t one-sided. He had broken knuckles, cuts, and bruises on his hands. We’re finding blood in the apartment. The fight was here. He died by strangulation.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “He was found Friday morning. It happened late the previous night.”

  “Thursday the twentieth?”

  Peter glanced at Renata: Csendes had died five days after Helen had left Don at the opera and come to see him.

  “Do you have any idea—” Peter began, but Gutierrez interrupted.

  “I can’t tell you much at this stage. Frankly, the investigation was stalled because we couldn’t identify the victim. Now that we have the ID and the crime scene, I expect we’ll know a lot more soon. Especially because of one strange thing. It was wired for sound and image.”

  “Jeff’s apartment?”

  “Yeah. Hidden cameras and mics were set up to cover the whole room. It was done by a professional. You know anything about that?”

  Renata and Patel shook their heads. Peter said, “Did you find a recorder?”

  “No. Wireless remote. Whatever was recorded, there’s no telling where it was sent.” She waited a moment, and when they said nothing more, she addressed Patel. “Doctor, I’d like you to come with me. To the medical examiner’s office. Make the official identification.”

  “What about us?” asked Renata.

  She handed each of them her card. “Why not get something to eat? Then come over to the station and we’ll take your statements.”

  “Ma’am?” a uniform called from the door, and Gutierrez left them. Gripping the arm of the taller, more slender Patel, she took her along.

  Renata and Peter headed for the stairs. She said, “She doesn’t seem terribly interested in us.”

  “She wants to call the Clayton police before she talks to us.”

  She frowned. “They can tell her how annoying I’ve been. But we’re getting somewhere at last. Aren’t we?”

  They began to descend the stairs. Peter said, “Here’s what we know. Eleven days ago, Helen Stromberg-Brand left your brother at the Civic Opera house and came down here to talk to Jeff Csendes. We think it was to make peace after she screwed him out of his share of credit for the vaccine. We think she wasn’t successful. Six days ago, somebody came to see Jeff, who was expecting him and had the room wired for sound and video. They ended up fighting and Jeff lost. I have a guess or two about what happened—”

  “So do I.”

  “Let’s get something to eat and talk it over. We’re probably in for a long night of waiting around at the cop shop.”

  “Yes, I’m starving.” She had been running on coffee all day. “You know, it’ll be our first meal together.”

  “I don’t guarantee this neighborhood will have a restaurant worthy of the occasion.”

  They passed under the archway to the street. The sun had dropped below the cloud layer and slanting evening light graced Jeff Csendes’s bleak neighborhood. They walked by the parked police vehicles. She had her head down and was lost in her thoughts. It took a moment to realize she had come to a stop. Someone was blocking her path.

  As her head came up she saw the bare left arm covered with swirling multi-colored ink, recognized the girl with the rosary in her mouth. This was the man she had passed in the revolving door of Bryson’s building Monday night. The man who had knocked her out. She fell back against Peter. His solid form was reassuring. At least she didn’t take to her heels.

  “Hey,” he said. The hollow-cheeked face was smiling. “You’re the guy’s sister, right? We got to talk.”

  “Y
ou hit me,” Renata said.

  Peter stepped between them. “Who are you?”

  The man was looking over Peter’s shoulder at her. His eyes were wide open, unnaturally so. Excitement or amphetamines or both. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know who you were and wanted to find out. Anyway, plenty has happened since then. I can do you a lot of good. And your brother.”

  “He’s the guy from Monday night,” she told Peter.

  “Let’s have it,” Peter said. “Start with your name.”

  “Shane. You don’t need to know the rest of it. But I got something for you. Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “Just around the corner. Please. These cops are making me nervous.”

  He turned and shuffled away. Peter glanced over his shoulder at Renata and she nodded. They followed the man around the corner of the nearest building. Peter was scanning the street. The man noticed.

  “Don’t worry. I’m alone.” He gave a nervous bark of laughter. “I’m as alone as a guy can be.”

  “Where do you come into this?”

  “Me and Jeff, we worked at a diagnostic lab. We got off at the same L stop. So we became friends.” He hesitated. “See, I live near here. Just ten minutes’ walk. Go with me there and I’ll give you what you need to clear your brother. Just ten minutes’ walk.”

  “What is it?” asked Renata.

  “A disk.” The man raised his hand and spread his fingers, as if holding a disk by its edges. “I’m giving it to you free. I just want you to take it away.”

  “Is it a video recording?” Peter asked. “Made in Jeff’s apartment?”

  “I’m not gonna stand here explaining the whole fucking thing. I want to get off the street.” His gaze shifted to Renata. “And I don’t want to be outnumbered, so the guy stays here. Understand?”

  “Renata, don’t go with him.”

  She did not need to think about it. “I have to.”

  Peter looked into her eyes and gave it up. He stepped back and bowed his head.

  Shane set off at a rapid clip. She could keep up because her stride was longer. She was several inches taller than he and probably outweighed him. He was wearing a T-shirt and tight jeans: nowhere to carry a weapon. She told herself these things because she was scared. She was keenly conscious of that group of police cars and men with guns, sworn to protect the law-abiding citizen, whom she was leaving behind. She had the feeling, now that she had committed herself and it was too late, that she was taking a stupid risk and it was going to turn out badly. She’d had that feeling several times in the last few days, and she’d been right every time.

  “Keep talking, Shane,” she said. “Tell me about Jeff Csendes.”

  “When we get to my place.”

  “No. I’m not going into your place until you convince me it’s safe.”

  “Lady, I am not gonna hurt you. This fucking thing has been a nightmare and you’re my way out.”

  “You say you were Jeff’s friend. He told you Helen Stromberg-Band came to see him?”

  “She just turned up at his door. He couldn’t believe it. He never expected to see her again. She says she’s sorry she fucked him over. She wants to make it up to him. He says, ‘You mean give me the credit I deserve for our discovery?’ That our pissed her off. She says, ‘I was gonna get you a job. But you can’t expect me to recommend a guy who’s living in a shithole like this, who’s high on something right now.’ ”

  “Jeff must have been hurt.”

  “Nah, he was happy. He’d been planning what he’d say to her for years. Never thought he’d get a chance. But here she was and he let her have it. He told me the last thing he said as she was trying to get out the door was, ‘There are a hundred people who hate your fucking guts as much as I do, but I’m the only one who has nothing to lose and can tell you so.’ ”

  No wonder Helen had been grateful for Don, Renata thought, with his soothing compliments and bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream.

  Shane had been glancing nervously around as they walked. Now he looked over his shoulder, cursed and stopped. Renata turned to see Peter, standing on the curb of the street they had just crossed. Shane took a step toward him and waved his arms, as if trying to make a vicious dog retreat. The people on either side of Peter began to cross the street, but he stayed where he was.

  “What’s with this guy? He your boyfriend?”

  “Yes,” said Renata. It was the first time she had said so. Might have been a bit nicer to make the announcement to her best friend rather than a scuzzy small-time criminal, but there it was. Peter would keep trying to follow them, of course. She mustn’t look back.

  Shane was unpleasant to be around. He stank. Worse than his sweat was a nasty chemical smell, as if he had so many drugs in his system that they were oozing out of his pores. Or maybe this was the smell of fear that they talked about in bad movies. Shane kept glancing around, and his Adam’s apple was bobbing in his throat. He was more frightened than she was. She had to find out of whom.

  “Why were you trying to get in to see Keith Bryson on Monday night?”

  Shane shut his eyes and wagged his head, as if in physical pain. “I can’t believe how this thing with Bryson turned out. It would’ve been so simple, if Jeff had just taken my advice.”

  “Jeff contacted Bryson?”

  “No. Bryson called him. Not some secretary or assistant. Keith fucking Bryson himself. Jeff told me he sounded just like he does on TV. He said Helen had called him the morning after she saw Jeff. “

  “She knew she hadn’t handled it well, and she wanted her partner to try again?”

  “Yeah. Jeff told me Bryson’s exact words: ‘Helen wants you to feel better about the contribution you made to this wonderful discovery.’ Well, I told Jeff, you got a billionaire who wants to make you feel better. How much you gonna ask for?”

  “Sounds like you were expecting Jeff to give you some of it.”

  “Hey, look. By that time Jeff was into me for three thousand two hundred fifty bucks.”

  “Yet you continued to supply him with drugs.”

  “Right. Like I said, I was his friend.”

  “Uh-huh. But he wouldn’t take your advice?”

  “He wasn’t interested in meeting Bryson. He said if it was just a pay-off, he didn’t care. So I talked and I talked, and finally I found a way to get him to meet Bryson.”

  “You suggested bugging the meeting.”

  “Yeah. I told Jeff, we’ll get him on tape, admitting that your idea was the key one that made the vaccine possible. Now he and Stromberg-Brand are gonna make a fortune and you get nothing. You make him hand over plenty of cash if he wants you to keep quiet. Then you double-cross the son of a bitch. You go public with the tape. Nobody would be interested if it was just some professor who fucked you over. But when it’s Keith Bryson who did it, that’s news.”

  “Jeff agreed to your plan?”

  “That wasn’t my plan. I was hoping once he had the money, Jeff would forget about exposing Bryson and the lady doc. He was kind of weak on follow-through in most things. I should’ve known this time was going to be different, because he didn’t want to talk about the money, only the video. I said we could do it ourselves, go to some spyware store. I’d advance him the money for camera and mic. But he says no. We don’t want any mistakes with this tape. We want a professional. So that’s how Bistouri came into it. Guy called Lou Bistouri—”

  “We’ve met.”

  “Oh yeah. You came to the motel yesterday. He told me. Man, that was close. I was in the room upstairs. Anyway, Bistouri knew his business, I’ll give him that. The video is top quality. You can see and hear everything that happened.”

  “Which was that Bryson killed Jeff.”

  Shane nodded. “Never should’ve happened. Bryson started out by telling him the money was in the car. He’s begging Jeff to name his price. But Jeff’s only thinking about the video. Trying to get Bryson to admit Helen couldn’t have done it with
out him. That she fucked him over. And Bryson … my God, he starts defending her. Jeff lost it. Lost it completely. Bryson was trying to get out of there and Jeff wouldn’t let him leave. They’re throwing punches. Rolling around on the floor. Bryson gets on top, gets his hands around Jeff’s throat—”

  Renata didn’t want to hear anymore. “So that’s why you came to St. Louis. To sell Bryson the disk.”

  “That was Bistouri’s idea. Or part of his idea, anyway. I had a feeling he wasn’t telling me everything. But he wasn’t as smart as he thought, ’cause he got himself killed.”

  “By Bryson?”

  “Or somebody working for Bryson. I don’t know. I wasn’t at the meet. When I got there, I found only Bistouri, with his head half blown off. That was it for me. I knew from the start, you don’t want to fuck with a billionaire. I headed for home. Only Bryson and his guy were following me. The guy is very good, because I didn’t know it till I got to Chicago. I lost him, though.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. But I know they’ll track me down. A guy like Bryson can do just about anything. There’s only one way to take the heat off me. I’m giving you the disk. Free. No strings. ’Cause it clears your brother. It was Bryson that killed the lady doc.”

  “What?”

  “ ’Course it was. He went to tell her what happened with Jeff. Had to. She sent him to Jeff in the first place.”

  “Okay,” said Renata slowly. “But why—”

  “Obviously, he said she had to keep quiet about the murder. And obviously, she refused. That’s the only way it could’ve gone. You mean I have to talk you into this?”

  “No. I’ll take the disk.” Now she understood. Clearing Don, she would incriminate Bryson. And he would have too many other worries to continue a pointless hunt for Shane. “You’ve worked it all out, haven’t you?”