Veronica turned to me and said, "Miss Louella is an elderly patron of the arts, if you catch my meaning, and she's been collecting newspaper clippings for many years. She's famous for it. And, she showed me that wonderful photograph of you, Nick, standing next to your handsome man, Carter, and those two other scrumptious dishes. You all look slightly miffed, but I don't blame you one bit."
I said, "We had just walked out of the elevator when they took that."
"Well, even surprised you all look mighty handsome and none so much as--" She stopped and looked up. "Well, speak of the man himself."
I turned and saw Carter walking towards us. Veronica said, "Oh, I'm gonna faint. I just know I am. Look at him."
I stood up and was going to offer to help Veronica, but she was up like a rocket and was standing in front of Carter in a flash.
"You must be the famous Carter Jones. We don't stand on ceremony here. My name is Veronica Lake. I think you know my dear friend Dawson. And, of course, Nick needs no introduction."
Carter smiled his seductive smile and said, very slowly. "Pleased to meet you, Veronica."
She lifted up one arm in the air and said dramatically, "Oh, I knew it, I am gonna faint." She fell to her side. Carter leaned over and caught her. I could hear Runson snickering to himself as Veronica put her arms around Carter's neck and pulled him in for a big kiss.
Being a gentleman, of course, he gave as good as he got. But he then stood up and forced her to let go or hold on to his neck several inches above the ground. This was one definite advantage to being a giant.
Veronica turned and looked at me coquettishly. "Oh, what you must think of me. But I had to have the kiss of life."
I smiled and nodded. "Of course."
"Oh, I did know you were just a perfect gentleman. So friendly." She paused and batted her eyes. "So generous." I had been touched for money before, but never quite like that.
"Veronica..." Runson growled threateningly. If he hadn't said something, I would have happily given her a hundred, just for that performance.
"Of course, Dawson. I simply must dash. It's always tea-time somewhere, and I have to be there, wherever it is." She blew kisses to us as she briskly walked towards the door.
Carter looked at me and asked, "Friend of yours?" I smiled.
Runson said, "Have a seat."
Carter and I squeezed in on the side facing the door where Veronica had been.
I asked, "How do you know her?"
"Well, Veronica was once Vincent."
I nodded.
"After that got settled, we started going together. But, as you saw, she's a hard butterfly to pin down."
"And you like your women barefoot and in the kitchen, right?"
He reached over and pinched my cheek. "I like my women to be men. And Veronica is still very much a man."
Carter laughed at that. I asked him, "So, what'd you find out at 1701?"
"Not much really. I was given a cup of tea and one cookie. Nice lady. She's very lonely. She knew who I was from the paper." He grimaced at that.
Dawson asked, "Did she mention anything about Michael and Tom fighting?"
Carter asked, "So they were lovers, then?"
Dawson nodded. "Yeah. For over a year."
"She said that she had seen them fighting through the window. Nothing violent but lots of screaming. But she also said that she couldn't believe someone could make that big of a mess and that no one would hear it. Were the details in the papers?"
"Generally. But not enough to know it would have been loud from the sound of broken plates and glasses. I wonder if she has a key and let herself in to look around." Dawson looked thoughtful.
Carter nodded. "Could be. She mentioned having been inside the house before. She has been to the studio. And she talked about what it looked like on the second floor before it was all redone."
"Any particular reason she mentioned that?"
"Yeah. She seemed to think that was all Tom's idea. She said that before Tom showed up, the house was a mess. How long did Michael live there?"
Runson answered, "His father bought it for him in '50."
I asked, "What do you make of the plates and glasses being thrown on the floor one at a time. Ever seen anything like that before?"
"Nope. Seems very methodical. Seems to me, in fact, that Michael did it himself."
"You find flour and sugar in his clothes?"
"And in his hair and under his fingernails and in the soles of his shoes."
"So he stages this mess and then someone else kills him?"
"Yep."
Carter asked, "Not suicide?"
"Nope. He was shot from too far away. No gun. No shell casings. Whoever did it was a real professional."
"Or it was someone who methodically cleans up after himself," I said. "Does Tom have an alibi?"
Runson raised his eyebrows. "You think he could do it?"
I shrugged. "Anyone can do anything. You're a cop. You know that."
"Sure. He's given me the run-around from the start. His way of dealing with this was to bring you in on the deal. And I have to tread carefully."
"Politics?"
"Brother, you have no idea."
I thought about Tom's voice on the phone. "Grief makes people do funny things."
Runson nodded. "Grief. And guilt."
A thought came to me. I asked Runson, "What about the senator?"
Runson grinned at me. "What about the senator, Nick?"
"So, was he a long-distance runner or a cyclist?"
Runson looked at Carter and shook his head. "Cyclist. Was in the '24 Olympics. Did OK but didn't take a medal."
"Think he could shimmy down a rope through that open skylight and then back up again?"
Runson smiled and said, "Yep."
"What about Tom? Could he do the same thing?"
Carter spoke up. "He looks like he could."
Runson said, "He was a long-distance runner for Georgetown while he was an undergraduate."
"You checked?" I asked.
"Of course. He was my first suspect. Still is."
"So, Tom has no alibi." Runson nodded. "What's the senator's alibi?"
Runson smiled wider. "He's a senator. That's his alibi."
Chapter 17
Paramount Steakhouse
Tuesday, June 1, 1953
Just past 7 in the evening
Runson raised his hand. A short handsome man with dark skin and thick and wavy black hair came to the table. "You ready for to order?" He had a thick accent.
"Diego, these are my friends Nick and Carter."
He nodded and bowed. "Very glad to have you. Lootent Runson is a great copper, don' you think?"
I smiled and said, "Yes, he is."
Runson asked us, "You guys hungry? They have great steaks here."
Carter said, "Sign me up."
We ordered. Carter got his usual porterhouse, all twenty ounces of it. Bloody, of course.
Diego brought us a round of drinks. Runson had gin and tonic. Carter had a beer. I had a Martini.
We sat there in companionable silence for a moment. I raised my glass and said, "To Michael Bushman, may he rest in peace." Carter and Runson both said, "Hear, hear!"
I took a sip. "To Veronica Lake. For the best performance of a leading lady." Runson laughed but joined Carter in saying, "Hear, hear!"
Diego brought over a cart and tossed our salads fresh. Runson suggested the house dressing. I held up my hand. "Does it have garlic?"
Runson and Diego both said, "Yes," in unison.
Carter asked, apologetically, "Do you have a buttermilk dressing?"
Diego looked thoughtful for a moment. "No but I make some for you. I give these two the house dressing then I make a budermelk for you special." He winked. "You like."
Runson and I got our salads and I could smell the garlic. I knew I was about to be very happy. Garlic did that to me. It made Carter very unhappy, which was a mystery to me. Sometimes I couldn't beli
eve we ever made it past our first few meals together. But that's how I knew this was for keeps. If we could survive garlic, we could survive anything.
In about two minutes, Diego returned with a bowl of salad tossed in a creamy sauce. It looked like the one I had come up with at home. He put it in front of Carter, who tasted the dressing with the tine of his fork. He smiled. "Perfect. Thank you Diego."
The man nodded. "De nada. Is easy. Enjoy." He pushed the salad cart away and we dug in.
. . .
After Diego took away the remains of our steaks, Runson pulled a cigar out of his coat pocket, bit off the end, spit it on the floor, and looked at me expectantly. I reached for my lighter, flipped it open, and rolled the wheel to ignite it. Runson put his hand around mine and held it steady while he puffed on his dime-store cigar. When he let go, I flicked the lighter closed and put it back in my pocket. As he had held my hand, he was rubbing the palm with one of his fingers.
That didn't really bother me. It was a common enough occurrence. But it did make me think of something I'd been wanting to ask him since he'd swatted me on the ass earlier. This was gonna be tough so I mentally steeled myself for it.
"Why are we here?" I looked directly at Runson.
He looked up from his cigar and smiled. "Because they serve good steaks."
"No."
He looked at Carter and then back at me. He tilted his head. "Senator Bushman wants to use you as leverage if something goes wrong. Either the senator or, maybe, Tom Jefferson. That's how I read it."
"Why are you being so nice and ingratiating?"
"Because my captain said it was a good way to show the brass how good I am at working with the V.I.P.'s."
I asked, "He's not holding something over you?"
"Who?" He looked at me in a slightly unfriendly way. I didn't blame him. I could feel Carter stiffen next to me.
"The senator."
"Nope."
"Your captain, then?"
"Seems like you're asking a lot of unnecessary questions there, Nick."
I nodded. "What is it he's got on you?"
Runson took in a deep breath. As he spoke, he looked at his cigar, rolling it between his thick fingers. "We can play this the friendly way or we can play this the hard way."
"What happens the hard way?"
"I drive you to Virginia and turn you over to the local cops. There are two or three I know who would love to arrest a real live sodomite."
I nodded. "What's the easy way?"
"You help me with this investigation."
"You don't seem to need our help."
He took a deep drag. "That's where you're wrong. You have access to places I can't go."
"Like where?"
"Oh, a few dark holes where, if I go, I could get in trouble if it came out that I was a cop." He was grinning when he said that.
Carter said, "You are a real smug son of a bitch."
Runson didn't like that. I think it actually hurt his feelings, which was fascinating and painful to watch. He really was between a rock and a hard place and he had obviously seen us as potential friends and possible playmates. The latter was certainly out of the question, but I felt for the guy and didn't want to hurt him. Sure, he could get us arrested. But we would be out on bail quickly. And, as everyone in the world knew, I didn't have to stay in Virginia, or the U.S., for that matter. Carter and I could go buy an island somewhere. No one was really interested in trying to prosecute me. Or Carter. That's what Andy had said earlier. And I figured that Runson knew that as well.
I said, "Let's back up." I reached my hand out in a conciliatory way. "We're gonna play the easy way. I can see the hard place you're in and I want you to come through this looking good."
He looked at me for a moment. The pain faded into the background and his impish smile returned. "Good."
Carter said, "Yeah. Sorry about that Runson. We just..." He stopped. I could hear him get choked up.
I spoke up. "We ran into someone very much like you last week. And that man died in my arms. This has been a crazy couple of weeks and we both just really wanna go home."
Runson's face softened and he said, "Damn. That's tough. Was that the police captain in Mexico the paper was talking about?"
I nodded. Carter said, "Nacho. His name was actually Ignacio, but he liked to be called Nacho. He was a pistol. No doubt about it. But..."
I nodded. "Yeah."
Runson looked at both of us, one to the other, with interest in his eyes. Carter shook his head. "We don't do that. With no one."
Runson nodded. "I just wondered if that was why..."
I said, "You had to have been there to understand. And I'm gonna make damn sure the same thing, or something worse, doesn't happen to you."
Runson's eyes popped in surprise. "I guess you're right. This whole mess could get me in a lot of trouble. Nobody really has my back."
Carter said, definitively, "We do."
. . .
I paid for dinner. Diego was interested in my Diners' Club card but didn't take it. So, I paid with greenbacks.
We walked outside into the fading sunlight. Runson said, "There's something in the basement I want you to see. Let's go look at it."
I just nodded. Carter said nothing. Talking about Nacho was still a touchy subject.
As we walked up the steps of the house, I could see that the door was open slightly. Neither Carter nor I were packing, so we stood back while Runson drew his revolver. He motioned at us to stay put.
He slowly pushed the door open with his gun and waited, listening. I could hear someone moving around. It sounded like it was coming from upstairs.
He walked inside very quietly and stood at the bottom of the stairs. Pointing his gun towards the landing he said, in a loud voice, "Police. Announce yourself!"
A voice called down from upstairs. "It's me, Tom Jefferson. I'm getting some of my things."
"Mr. Jefferson, move to the landing where I can see you and hold your hands in the air."
I wondered about the wisdom of this. If Runson was on any sort of thin ice, arresting the senator's loyal aide was not gonna play well with the brass.
But, Tom did as he was told. Runson asked, "Do you have a gun?"
"Of course not," came the irritated reply.
"OK. Wait up there where you are. I'm coming up."
He whispered, "Stay put." We did.
I heard him walk upstairs. When he got to the top, he started talking to Tom. I couldn't hear what they were saying. They spoke for maybe a minute, then I heard them both coming down the stairs.
Runson said, "OK, guys. All clear."
I walked in the door and Carter followed. Tom was looking a little sheepish. "Sorry about that, Lieutenant. I should have called you. I just needed to get some of my pills. I have terrific hay fever and the only pills I have that work were over here."
That was funny. I didn't see anything like that in the medicine chest. I didn't say anything.
Runson said, "That's OK, Tom. You're just lucky it was me. That's a good way to get arrested. You did break a no entry line and that's a misdemeanor."
"I understand, Lieutenant. It won't happen again."
"Well, while you're here, maybe you can come with us down into the basement."
Even in the dim early evening light, Tom visibly blushed.
"Sure."
After securing the front door, Runson led the way down the stairs. When we got down there, I understood a couple of things almost immediately.
I now knew why Tom was embarrassed. This was basically a sadist's playroom.
I also understood about the dark holes that Runson had referred to earlier in the restaurant. The places he couldn't go. But that Carter and I could.
The room had been recently built out. The walls were freshly painted and a new section of concrete had just been poured.
As I surveyed the room, I didn't know what everything was, but there were lots of toys to play with. Some looked interesting. Others
were odd. Some were definitely not my cup of tea. Many of them had been custom built out of chain, bolts, plywood, and leather.
Runson looked around as we all stood there. "What role did you play, Tom?"
I said, "Sadist, of course."
Tom said, defiantly, "Who cares now?"
"Any of your play ever get rough?" asked Runson.
"Not really. I was easing Michael into things."
I looked around and asked, "You call this 'easing'?" I picked up a set of very large handcuffs from off the top of a handmade plywood table standing next to me There were a wide variety of curious items laid out neatly. "What are these for?"
"Securing the legs."
"I see. And this?" I pointed to a long rod with a strange pointed bulb on the end that looked like a fat carrot.
Carter laughed, "Nick! You're kidding, right?"
I looked at the device and suddenly understood. I picked it up and sniffed the end of it. Carter made a disgusted noise.
"You just threaten Michael with this? Cause it smells like new rubber to me."
"That's part of the fun. You just show him what you can do to him..." He stopped. His face got contorted. He sat down on one of the two wooden chairs and put his head in his hands.
Runson knelt next to him, "Sorry about this Tom. I know it's hard. But there are a couple of questions I need to ask."
"What?" came the muffled reply.
"What are those pills that you claim are for hay fever?"
Tom looked up, surprised. So, the playroom basement was where the hard questions were gonna start. Seemed like as good a place as any. As I watched Tom, I was impressed with Runson's technique. It produced a powerful reaction.
"They're like mood enhancers. I don't know what they're called. They just make sex better." Tom pulled the bottle out of his pocket. It was a brown bottle that I had seen in the medicine chest and had mentally classified as a tonic of some sort.
Runson took them and held them up to the light. "Gotta keep these, Tom. They're evidence. And, you need to stay away from this stuff. It will fry your brain. I've seen guys dribbling out of their mouths after taking too much of this." He stood up and looked at me.
The Sartorial Senator (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 3) Page 11