The Shimmering Blond Sister

by David Handler

  He started back outside with Yolie’s spritzer and a cold Corona for the lieutenant. Des followed him. Very stood next to his bike yakking a mile a minute with Yolie, the two of them so hyper Des was sure they were about to lift right up off of the ground.

  Mitch handed them their drinks. “Any luck finding somewhere to stay tonight, Lieutenant?”

  “Afraid not. There isn’t a motel room to be had anywhere.”

  “I just spoke to my neighbor Bitsy. You’re welcome to bunk with her. She lives in that giant natural-shingled place over there. I can introduce you after dinner.”

  “Thanks, dude. Appreciate it.”

  “How did you make out with that other thing?”

  Very took a long, thirsty gulp of his Corona. “I made out,” he replied, leaving it there. Des had no idea what they were talking about.

  Mitch checked the grill and decided the fire was good to go. Fetched the platter of marinated chicken from the kitchen and set the pieces on the grill to sizzle, arranging the ears of corn around them.

  Very flopped down at the picnic table. “You get anywhere today, Sarge?”

  “Not unless you call nowhere somewhere,” Yolie grumbled, sitting down across from him.

  “Your people still haven’t turned up that ski mask?”

  “No mask. It’s gone. Or was never there to begin with.”

  “How about Dawgie’s body? Did they find any hairs or clothing fibers on him?”

  Yolie shook her head at him. “Nothing. And they can’t tell us much more about his assailant than we already knew. He, or she, swung that bat right-handed. Height’s anywhere between five six and six foot—depending on how low Augie was crouched as he crept through the brush in the dark.”

  Des took a seat with them. “How about the force of the blows?”

  “Average strength for a man. Above average for a woman. Meaning we can cross Bertha Peck off our list. Except she’s so tiny and ancient that she was never on it to begin with.” Yolie took a sip of her spritzer. “Those shoe prints they found down by the riverbank? Tread pattern belongs to a pair of Converse Chuck Taylor All Stars. It’s a unisex shoe. A man or woman could have been wearing them. Same old song—average-sized foot for a man, above average for a woman. They gave me their usual boatload of blah-blah-blah about the perp’s estimated weight and corresponding height, for whatever good that does.”

  Des made a face. “Which isn’t much.”

  “I don’t even pay attention,” agreed Very, nodding, nodding. “I’ve turned up big, fat perps with little, tiny feet. Pip-squeaks who wear a size twelve triple-E. That stuff’s meaningless. Sure sounds good when they do it on Law and Order though.” He peered across the table at Yolie. “So you’re nowhere.”

  “As I believe I just told you.” She turned her gaze on Des. “I’m still waiting to hear from you, Miss Thing. Got any news I can use?”

  “I do. For starters, I tracked down Hal Chapman’s alibi.”

  Yolie brightened. “This would be Terri E as in maybe Edsen?”

  “It’s Ensor,” Des informed her. “Hal told you she worked for some New York outfit that recovers peoples’ lost assets, right? I surfed the Web sites of a gazillion companies until I finally found one called Equitrust. It’s headquartered in White Plains, not the City. I accessed their employee directory and found a Terri Ensor. Then I located a Gregory and Terri Ensor in West Nyack. Called them up and got Greg. Identified myself and asked him if his wife was home. Right away, he wanted to know why. I told him she may have witnessed a vehicular accident in Dorset last evening. He acknowledged that she was out here visiting a college friend, just got home this morning. He went and fetched her. When Terri got on the phone I told her I needed to talk to her about Hal Chapman. She said ‘Who?’ I said ‘You know, your trainer at the Dorset Fitness Center.’ After a really long silence she went ‘Ohhh. . . .’ Clearly, Greg was still standing right there and she was scared he’d find out. I told her I just needed to know if Hal was with her last night at nine o’clock. She wouldn’t be called to testify in court. This was strictly off the record. But I needed to know.”

  Yolie stared at her expectantly. “And . . . ?”

  “She backed him up, Yolie. Everything Hal told you.”

  “That’s good work, girl. Thanks.”

  “Excuse me, did I say I was done?”

  “You’ve got something more?”

  “I checked with Amtrak on the comings and goings of Kenny Lapidus over these past three weekends. The first weekend that our Dorset Flasher waved hello, Kenny bought himself a ticket on the Northeast Regional that left Boston’s South Station on Friday at 5:35 p.m. It arrived on time in Old Saybrook at 7:34. He caught a train back to Boston from New London at 10:20 p.m. on Sunday. Made it home just after midnight.”

  “Why did he leave from New London?”

  “The late train doesn’t stop in Old Saybrook on Saturday or Sunday.”

  “So he was here in town while the Flasher was doing his thing?”

  “He was here,” Des confirmed.

  “No way,” Mitch protested as he turned the chicken on the grill. “Kenny’s not the Dorset Flasher.”

  “I’m not saying he is, baby.”

  “But Dawgie was all over his mother,” Very pointed out. “Kenny had a definite motive for swinging that bat.”

  “How about the other two weekends?” Yolie asked her.

  “Amtrak had no record of him purchasing tickets last weekend. He must have driven his Prius down. We already know he drove here this weekend. He told us so. What we don’t know is whether he got here on Friday in time to leave that little present on my welcome mat.”

  Yolie considered this for a moment. “You think Captain Rundle would mind if you took a personal day tomorrow?”

  “Captain Rundle would be thrilled not to see my long face hanging around his barracks. You want me to drive up to Boston and check out the security cams at the MassPike toll booths, am I right?”

  “You are. Let’s nail down exactly when Kenny came and went. I’ll run his credit card receipts. Maybe he bought gas somewhere along the way.”

  “You people are wasting your time,” Mitch argued insistently. “Kenny’s a total wimp. Hell, I used to protect him from playground bullies. Do you honestly think a guy like him could murder a retired police detective?”

  “It doesn’t take balls to commit murder, dude,” Very said. “Just desperation.”

  “We have to look at him, Mitch,” Yolie added. “These Flasher incidents coincide with his visits. The victim was putting the screws to his mom, like the lieutenant says. And he has no one to vouch for his whereabouts at the time of the murder. Kimberly told us he was in his bedroom sending e-mails, but he could have slipped out the bedroom window.”

  “No way,” Mitch shot back. “If he’d gone out the window Des would have seen him. She was staked out right there.”

  “True enough,” Des conceded. “Except the window wasn’t his only way out.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Kimberly was out on the porch, right? Kenny could have just tiptoed through the apartment without her knowledge and gone out by way of the front door of the building. Then I wouldn’t have seen him.”

  “Maybe somebody else did,” Very said.

  “Maybe.”

  “Now that you mention it,” Yolie said, “that scenario plays for Kimberly, too. She was alone on the porch. No one to vouch for her. And she’s plenty strong.”

  “Why would she kill Dawgie?” Very asked.

  “Because Kenny wasn’t up for it. The man’s a wimp, like Mitch said. What we don’t know is why they’d go to such lengths to protect his mom. I mean, so what if Augie was hassling the lady? All she had to do was just Say No—unless he was a total creepaholic stalker, in which case Des would have gotten involved, right?”

  “Actually . . . there’s a bit more to it than that,” Very put in slowly. “Another angle that I worked this afternoon with
my man Mitch here.”

  Yolie glowered across the table at him. “What angle?”

  “Augie was absolutely convinced that Beth Lapidus and her married boyfriend, Vinnie Brogna, were up to no good together.”

  “What kind of no good, Romeo?”

  “It’s Romaine. Are either of you ladies familiar with the Seven Sisters?”

  “Wait one second . . .” Des said. “Augie asked me that on Friday. I thought he was talking about the colleges. He called me a hick.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like Dawgie.”

  “So what is the Seven Sisters?” Yolie demanded.

  “A somewhat legendary Jewish crime family,” he replied. “They got their start a hundred years ago on New York’s Lower East Side. And still exist to this day. I happen to know a little about them because I’m a member of the family. So is Beth Breslauer. We’re both descended from the same long line of thieves. The two of us are cousins.”

  Yolie looked at Des in amazement. “Okay, I didn’t see that one coming, did you?”

  “Not even.”

  “Wait, wait, there’s more,” Mitch said eagerly. “Beth’s not the only one who’s connected to the family. Back in the thirties, when she was a young chorus girl, Bertha Peck—nee Bertha Puzewski—was the mistress of Beth’s grandfather, Saul, a big time racketeer.”

  “Okay, now this is just plain whack,” Yolie said.

  “Very,” Des agreed.

  The lieutenant looked at her. “Yeah, Master Sergeant?”

  “Um, it’s very weird.”

  “I’m down with that,” he said, nodding, nodding. “Beth claims that she’s kept her thing with Vinnie a secret from Kenny. He doesn’t know about them. She never entertains the guy at her condo. Won’t even let him pick her up there.”

  Des mulled this over. “So she’s saying she slipped out the back door last night to go meet Vinnie?”

  “Exactly. Told us he picked her up down the block and the two of them hit the Mohegan Sun. Saw Linda Ronstadt. Got themselves a room.”

  “The front desk can confirm whether or not her story’s the real deal,” Yolie said.

  “Augie told you that Beth and Vinnie were up to no good together,” Des said. “You still haven’t told us what kind.”

  “He thought they were working the Mohegan Sun. You know, snatching handbags, wallets, jewelry. Beth insists not, naturally. And her criminal record is spotless, but . . .”

  “Wait, why am I just finding out about this now?” Yolie demanded, glaring at Very.

  “Because I’m telling you about it now. You want to hear my thing or throw down?”

  “Did Augie have any evidence to back that up?” Des asked.

  “He sent me some photos that, in his opinion, show Beth lifting a lady’s bracelet. You can look at them and see what you think. Mitch has seen them.”

  “And I don’t think they show Beth stealing a thing,” Mitch said. “Augie saw what he wanted to see.”

  “The photos are inconclusive,” Very acknowledged. “They for damned sure aren’t anything a prosecutor could run with. And yet I’m positive that both Beth and Bertha were playing me this afternoon.” He took a drink of his beer. “I found another roll of film hidden in his apartment, Sarge.”

  “Hidden where?”

  “Inside a jar of mayo in the reefer.”

  Yolie glared at him once again. “We made a deal, remember? You promised you’d tell me if you found anything.”

  “Which is exactly what I’m doing.”

  “How many hours after the fact?”

  “I had to get the roll developed, Sarge.”

  “Do you have to keep calling me that? Makes me sound like some grizzled old gee with a potbelly. Make it Yolie, will you?”

  “Or Precious,” Mitch said. “She really likes to be called Precious.”

  “I can shoot you, hon,” Yolie reminded him.

  “You wouldn’t dare. You’d leave Des bereft.”

  “What’s on this roll of film?” she wanted to know.

  Very fetched the photos from his knapsack and laid them out on the picnic table, one by one, without comment. They were photos of Beth Breslauer. Beth on her screened-in porch in a shortie nightgown, sipping her morning coffee. Beth in a halter top and shorts, painting her toenails. Beth in a one-piece bathing suit soaking up some sun out on the lawn. Her figure was quite good for a woman her age. Toned and shapely. She was showing skin in most of the photos, and was generally barefoot. The longer Des looked at them the more they creeped her out. They’d been taken by a lonely voyeur who had a schoolboy crush.

  “The fifty-year-old girl next door,” Mitch observed, studying them closely. “A lot of these remind me of those old issues of Playboy in his footlocker—minus the R-rating, of course.”

  “I’m with you,” Very said. “It’s pinup stuff.”

  “And they aren’t that recent, Lieutenant. See this one? The cartoon daisies behind her are in full bloom. That was in mid-July. This roll’s been sitting around for weeks.”

  “Playing you how?” Yolie said suddenly.

  Very looked at her blankly. “Sorry?”

  “You said you had a feeling that both she and Bertha were playing you.”

  “Totally. They were holding something back. I’d stake my life on it.”

  “I’ll have a go at her myself in the morning—minus Bertha. Squeeze her a little. See what pops out.”

  “And I can go at Vinnie in the City,” Very said. “Dawgie’s photos of him with Beth give me big-time leverage. I’ll threaten to drag his wife in for questioning. No way he wants that to happen. Yeah, Vinnie I can squeeze plenty hard—if you want me to, that is. Your case, Yolie.”

  “Squeeze away,” she urged him. “I really want to break this tomorrow.”

  “I know you do. We’ll get there,” he promised.

  Mitch had fallen strangely quiet. Just stood there gazing out at a sailboat on the water.

  “Are you okay?” Des asked him.

  He looked at her, frowning. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Your dream girl isn’t exactly who you thought she was.”

  “I’m fine, Des.” He went back to the grill to turn the chicken. “Besides, this whole thing is much harder on the lieutenant. He’s combing his own family’s unsavory history. How does that feel?”

  “Needs doing,” Very said with a shrug. “I’m good.”

  Des nodded politely, thinking, You are both so full of crap.

  “Me, I’m just plain confused,” Yolie said. “If Augie’s killing has something to do with Beth and Vinnie’s activities, criminal or otherwise, then what about the rest of it? Was Augie the Dorset Flasher or wasn’t he? What’s the connection? Is there a connection?”

  No one answered her. No one had an answer.

  “I’m still waiting to hear the Berger version,” Des said finally. “My man’s not a member of the reality-based community. His mind operates on an entirely different astral plane. He sees things that the rest of us don’t.”

  “And this helps you how . . . ?” Very wondered.

  Mitch, meanwhile, was standing there at the grill staring at the lieutenant, his eyes narrowing.

  “Dude, why do you keep looking at me that way?”

  “Because it’s your family.”

  “Right, and I just said I’m . . . Hold on, are you thinking I killed Dawgie?”

  “Why not? You showed up here out of nowhere waving a tin star . . .”

  “Gold shield, actually.”

  “You knew the access code to Augie’s garage. Knew where he kept the spare key to his apartment. Knew that he hid the murder weapon under his bed. Maybe he was about to expose one of the Seven Sisters’ deep, dark secrets. Maybe—okay, here it is—maybe you didn’t go straight after all. Yeah, that’s it. You’re actually one of them. A loyal family member. They planted you on the force, which Augie never knew about until now. And so you had to kill him to protect your cover. You’ve stuck around Dorset b
ecause you’re trying to influence Yolie’s investigation. Steer it toward Vinnie and away from yourself.”

  “That’s . . . really awesome, dude,” Very marveled. “Way cool. Except it’s not real life. It’s a movie with, like, Harvey Keitel.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of Johnny Depp.”

  “No, Colin Farrell,” Yolie said with tremendous certainty.

  “Just out of curiosity, am I the Dorset Flasher, too?” Very asked. “Or is that an icebox question?”

  “An icebox what?” Yolie wondered.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

  “You’re not the Flasher,” Mitch told him. “There’s no connection between the two cases. He’s just some horny, frustrated high school kid. Which is exactly what Des was thinking before Augie turned up dead.”

  “He’s right about that,” Des admitted.

  “Mitch, you are one major-league twisted mother. I’m serious, dude. So what happens now? Do I pull a piece and try to shoot my way off of this island?”

  Mitch frowned at him. “I haven’t worked that part out yet. Give me a sec, will you? This plot’s only two minutes old.”

  Very let out a laugh. “I love this guy.”

  “You’re out of luck, wild thing,” Des informed him. “He’s taken.”

  “I think I’ll run up to the Mohegan Sun after dinner,” Yolie said. “Try to nail down what time Beth and Vinnie checked in last night. I’ll need pictures of them I can show around.”

  “You’re welcome to whatever you need,” Very said. “Want some company?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I could ride along with you.”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  Des’s right foot collided with Yolie’s shin under the table.

  Yolie looked at her, startled, before she cleared her throat and said, “If you want to ride along, it’s fine by me. Happy for the company.”

  “Cool.” Very drained the last of his beer, swiping his mouth with the back of one hand. “Anybody in class have anything else they’d like to share?”

  Mitch raised his hand. “Yeah, I do. Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat.”