Pigs Get Fat (Trace 4)

by Warren Murphy

  “You have one with a view? Of Puerto Rico?” Trace said.

  “Afraid not,” Coles said. “This one will do.” He put Trace in the last cell on the left. “You’re our first criminal today,” he said.

  When the heavy cell door closed behind him and was locked with a key by Coles, Trace suddenly decided that this was serious business. He had been arrested and now he was in jail. Charged with a felony.

  He immediately started planning his defense. He hadn’t been read his rights. He hadn’t been permitted a phone call. Coles had grabbed him by the arm, bringing him down the stairs. Maybe he could bump against the wall and bring up some bruises.

  It wasn’t much, but it was a start. False imprisonment, violation of his constitutional rights against self-incrimination, brutality, not being allowed to speak to counsel.

  It was a snap. Even he could handle the defense. He was going to waltz out of this joint and then slap them with a fifty-million-dollar lawsuit.

  Or else he was going to be convicted and sent up to the big house.

  Is this the way it was going to end? Making license plates?

  Maybe he could write a book about his experiences. He started to pace the cell as research for the book. It was four big paces in one direction and two and a half big paces in another direction. It’d be hard to call his imprisonment inhumane. His cell was bigger than the bedroom in most apartments he had lived in.

  Look on the dark side, he told himself. Think in terms of movie rights.

  Would he ever hear a bird sing? Would he ever see his children again? See? he told himself. Even prison has its good points.

  This was getting him nowhere. He’d already been in jail five minutes and he still didn’t have a theme for the book on his experiences. How was he going to get himself in the right morbid spirit?

  Maybe if he had a drink.

  Suddenly the whole crushing oppression of prison and the bleakness of his future pressed down on him, almost physically forcing the air from his lungs. He might never have another drink.

  He felt like crying.

  He ran to the cell door and wrapped his hands around the big bars. Just as he was about to start shouting for his freedom, he heard the door at the end of the corridor open. He moved quickly to the corner of the cell, craned his neck, and saw Chico coming toward the cell, along with Coles.

  “You got a visitor, Tracy,” Coles said.

  “Thank God. I was going crazy in stir,” Trace said.

  “Oh, will you stop it?” Chico said, standing in front of the cell. “You’ve only been in here two minutes.”

  “An eternity, baby, when you’re a man without hope,” Trace snarled from the corner of his mouth.

  Coles unlocked the door. “You’re free to leave,” he said.

  Trace cringed in a corner of the cell as the door opened. “This is a trick, isn’t it? I’m going to walk away and you’re going to shoot me in the back and say I was trying to escape.”

  “Get out of here before I shoot you where you stand,” Coles said disgustedly. He turned to Chico and said, “Lady, you ought to get rid of this one before he drags you down with him.”

  “I know,” Chico said. “I know.”

  Trace refused to talk until they were in the car and several blocks away from the sheriff’s office.

  Finally, he said, “Okay, what happened?”

  “I convinced the sheriff that you were harmless,” Chico said.

  “So he dropped the charge?”

  “He made it disorderly conduct. You’re out on bail.”

  “How much bail?” Trace said.

  “Fifty dollars,” Chico said.

  “Well, that’s more like it,” Trace said. After a while, he said, “Do I owe you fifty dollars?”

  “You’ll have to wait till my MasterCard bill comes.”

  “You bailed me out on plastic?” Trace said.

  “Hey, baby, this is California,” Chico said. “It’s not all that easy, though.”

  “No. What’s the catch?”

  “I told Carey that we’d find out who the killer was before we left Frisco.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “You may recapture the title of suspect number one,” Chico said.

  Trace pulled to the side of the road, stopped, and took the young Eurasian’s hands in his. “Chico,” he said earnestly.

  “Yes?”

  “Find that killer.”

  Tammy opened the door to the apartment above the gymnasium. When she saw Trace and Chico, she called out: “Julio.”

  Trace said, “We don’t need him. I thought we’d talk in English.”

  “Try this. It’s even better. We’re not going to talk at all.”

  She started to close the door but Trace put his hand against it.

  “Not even about blackmail?” he said. He tried to breathe through his mouth. The temperature in the hallway was stifling and the air stale.

  The young woman stopped pushing against the door. She was wearing a dirty bathrobe, even though it was mid-afternoon. Her hair was tousled about her head and Trace got the feeling that he had awakened her. Which led to a question. Didn’t college students ever attend class anymore?

  “What about blackmail?” Tammy said.

  “I just heard an interesting story about your stepfather. Since it concerns you I thought you might want to comment on it before I tell it to the cops.”

  Julio stepped out of the back room. He was wearing his tight swimming trunks and his leather belt. As he came forward toward the door, Trace could smell him. He added that to his small list of perceivable smells. Julio.

  “Whatcha want?” Julio grumbled. He stared hard at Trace. Tammy raise a hand to silence the beast. “It’s all right, Julio,” she said. “Dick Tracy’s going to tell us a story.” She hadn’t stopped staring into Trace’s eyes. “Come in, I suppose.”

  “I think we’d rather stay in the hall,” Trace said. “The air’s better out here.”

  “All right. Then tell me about blackmail.”

  “Remember how you told me that Collins tried to rape you? I’m sorry—should we refer to him as the dear departed? Or will Collins do?”

  “Collins will do fine. Yeah, he tried to rape me.”

  “That’s not exactly the way he saw it.”

  “No?”

  “He tried to rape you?” Julio said to Tammy. He looked around in confusion as if searching for something to bite.

  “Forget it, Julio. He’s dead already,” she said.

  “He’s lucky,” Julio said.

  “Well, he might argue the matter,” Trace said. He looked at Tammy again. “Anyway, Collins said that you…you sure you want Julio to hear this?”

  “Go ahead, talk,” Tammy said.

  “Collins said that you seduced him.”

  “That’s a laugh,” Tammy said.

  “What’s it mean, seduce?” Julio said.

  “Never mind, Julio,” Tammy said.

  “Yeah. Never mind, Julio,” said Trace. “Collins said that you asked for it, that you wandered around the house half-naked.”

  “I might as well have. That bastard was always undressing me with his eyes anyway,” Tammy snapped.

  “Then when it happened, he said you tried to get him to invest some money in a business with you. He claimed you made him a proposition that was hard to turn down: it was either turn over the cash or else you’d tell your mother that you’d been raped.”

  “Somebody tell me—what’s it mean, seduce?” Julio said.

  “Never mind, Julio,” Trace said.

  “That’s all a lie,” Tammy said. “Tell me, did Collins tell that story to some woman?”

  Trace hesitated, then nodded.

  “Sure,” Tammy said. “He was trying to make himself out the big lover. Even his own stepdaughter couldn’t resist him. Well, he was a lying bastard. It never happened.”

  “What about the investment in a business? I guess that would be your little sweat parlor
here.”

  “Yeah. I asked him once if his company would be interested. He laughed at me. He said I could go out and trick for the money.”

  Finally, a word had been used that Julio understood. “You don’t go tricking for nobody,” he said righteously, then looked around, pleased with himself.

  “Never mind, Julio,” Trace said.

  “That’s right, Julio,” said Tammy. She told Trace, “Collins said he had friends who would set me up as a ‘pro.’ Dear old step-dad even suggested that maybe he’d throw me a dollar or two once in a while himself.”

  “You really hated him, didn’t you?”

  “I shouldn’t?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know which one of you is a liar.”

  “I’m not going to talk to you anymore,” Tammy said. “I don’t think I should.”

  “You know I’m going to have to tell this story to the police,” Trace said.

  “That’s your business, I guess,” she said.

  Julio said, “You want I should throw him out?”

  “I am out,” Trace said. “See? I’m out in the hall.”

  “I think I throw you downstairs then, flatfoots.”

  “Trace, I think we ought to go,” Chico said.

  “You’re lucky, Julio,” Trace said. “She’s getting me out of here just in time.”

  Back in the car, Trace said, “Well? What do you think?”

  “I don’t like her any more than I did the other day,” Chico said.

  “You think she’s telling the truth?”

  “I don’t know. What about you? What do you think?”

  “I hope the rainy season starts soon,” Trace said.

  “What are you talking about?” Chico asked.

  “I think it’s the only way we’re going to get Julio into a shower,” Trace said.

  Back at the hotel, the clerk desk intercepted Trace. “A package arrived for you, Mr. Tracy.”

  “What now?” Trace said to Chico. “All I want is a drink to celebrate my narrow escape.”

  “Cheer up. Maybe you won the Reader’s Digest sweepstakes.”

  “Try to minimize the pluckiness, Chico. I warned you already once today. Pluck wears thin.” Trace took a manila envelope from the clerk. It bore no return address. “It’s probably from the IRS,” Trace said. “Some new scam of theirs.”

  Chico took the envelope from his hands and opened it. The envelope contained a photo.

  “That was fast,” she said. “It’s from Anselmo at the Fontana. Look at it. I bet that’s your sweet Mandy the hooker.”

  Trace took the photograph. It was a grainy reproduction of a television picture. The time and date were stamped in a corner. It showed Thomas Collins sitting at a blackjack table. Next to him was a woman wearing the diamond butterfly necklace.

  “Mandy?” Chico said.

  “Close but no cigar,” Trace said.

  “Who is it?”

  “Laurie Anders. Collins’ secretary.”

  25

  When they arrived at the Collins-Rose agency, Laurie Anders was bent over, rifling through the middle drawer of her desk. When she saw Trace, she pushed the drawer shut quickly.

  “Mr. Rose isn’t in,” she said, running her hand nervously through her hair. “His in-laws are visiting and—”

  “That’s all right,” Trace interrupted. “You’re the one we wanted to talk to. This is Miss Mangini, my assistant.”

  “Me?” Laurie’s voice rose an octave. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

  Chico stepped up to the desk and breathed deeply. “Your perfume, for one thing,” she said. “I’ve always liked Evening in Byzantium.”

  Laurie’s face fell. “Thomas is dead, isn’t he?”

  “Sure is,” Trace said. “How’d you do it?”

  “I didn’t do it.” Laurie looked frantically from Trace to Chico. “I didn’t. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “Sure,” Trace said coldly. “You’ve got such a wonderful track record for telling me the truth.”

  The young blond woman sobbed. Chico stepped forward to put an arm around her, but Trace shook his head, warning her away. Warmth wasn’t the way to go. He’d rather freeze it out of her.

  Finally, she took a deep breath and wiped her eyes with a Kleenex. “You know,” she said, shaking her head, “I had a feeling something was wrong when we didn’t hear from Thomas last week. He didn’t come in and he didn’t call. I thought something was wrong.” She smiled ruefully. “And I knew whoever found that perfume bottle might think of me.” She covered her face with her hands. “This is a nightmare,” she groaned. “It’s not real. Things like this don’t happen to people.”

  “They do when people commit murder,” Trace said.

  “But I didn’t murder anybody,” she snapped. “Maybe it looks that way, but I swear I didn’t do it.”

  “Hold it,” Trace said. “All this noise isn’t helping. Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

  “How I started to work here?”

  Trace took the photograph from the envelope and held it in front of her. “Like how you were at the Fontana Hotel with Thomas Collins. Maybe the truth this time?”

  She gasped, staring at the picture, defeated. “I was scared. I didn’t know what was going on and I was afraid to tell you the truth.” Her voice was small and very weak.

  “Just because he was missing? That doesn’t really hold a lot of water. How’d you wind up in Vegas with Collins? I thought you despised him.”

  “It was two weeks ago. He made me go.”

  “Tied your wrists and ankles with rope and dragged you into his car?” Trace said.

  “No. He made me.”

  “It couldn’t have been too bad,” Trace said. “He bought you that diamond necklace, didn’t he?”

  “He did that almost as soon as we got to the hotel. Then he wanted it back two nights later.”

  “But you didn’t give it to him,” Trace said.

  “No. He was losing so much money by then, I was afraid he wouldn’t even have money left to buy gas to come home. He’d already borrowed all the money I brought with me.”

  “Did you argue?” Trace said.

  She nodded. The tears started from her eyes again. “I told him I never wanted anything to do with him again. He laughed, the bastard. He said I’d do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, because I was already involved.”

  “Involved? Involved in what?” Trace asked.

  She clenched her fists. “This is getting worse,” she said.

  “There aren’t too many crimes worse than murder,” Trace said.

  Laurie’s lips were set in a tight thin line. “I think maybe I’ve said enough.”

  Chico said, “We’re easier than the police are going to be. Maybe I can help you. Collins was stealing money from the firm, wasn’t he?”

  Laurie’s head snapped toward Chico in surprise. “How did you know?”

  Chico shrugged. “He dropped a lot of cash at the Fontana, didn’t he?”

  “It was company money.” Her eyes squinted and she looked pained. “I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “I believe that,” Chico said. “Tell us what happened. Maybe we can help.”

  “All right,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Collins had set up a half-dozen phony firms. He was having company checks made out to them, as if they were legitimate contractors. Then he was cashing the checks and spending the money.”

  “How’d it involve you?” Trace asked.

  “He was signing my name on the checks. I write most of the checks around here and he was signing my name. He was proud of how well he could forge it. He told me he practiced it thousands of times at home.”

  “How’d you find this out?” Trace asked.

  “What I told you first was true, Mr. Tracy. I was at the farm once with him, about a year ago, and then I stayed away from him. He was after me, but I wouldn’t go near him with a ten-foot pole. About a month
ago, Mr. Rose was talking to me and he said the company was in a little trouble; our expenses were too high. He wanted me to do an analysis of spending, item by item. I went through the books and discovered all these companies that we were paying off: companies I’d never heard of. When I got out the checks, I saw my name on them but I didn’t remember writing any of them.”

  “What happened then?” Chico asked gently.

  “Mr. Rose was out, but Collins was in, so I went into his office to talk about it. I told him that I thought the checks were forgeries, and he closed the office door and said to me, that bastard, he said, ‘Laurie, it looks like you’re in a lot of trouble.’ Then he started to laugh and said he didn’t think I’d look good in prison stripes.”

  She looked up at Chico first, then Trace, searching their faces for sympathy.

  Chico’s face was impassive. Trace said, “How’d you find out it was Collins doing it?”

  “He had me shaken up. And then he told me he was going to tell me something real confidential. He told me that he was pretty sure Mr. Rose was stealing money from the firm, but we couldn’t say anything and we had to wait awhile. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t really believe it, but I couldn’t disbelieve it, either. Not in my situation.”

  “That was a month ago?” Trace asked.

  She nodded, and Trace said, “So how’d you get to Vegas with him two weeks ago?”

  “He told me he had an investigator working on the case and that we had to meet him in Las Vegas. We drove out, and once we got there, he bought me the necklace. I didn’t know what it was all about until he told me, after a few too many, that he had been taking the money and forging my name and now we were partners. I don’t know, Mr. Tracy. He filled my head with all kinds of things. I was scared to death. I was scared of jail and scared to run.” She lowered her eyes. “I was even scared not to put out. I hated that bastard.”

  She was interrupted by someone coming in the office door. It was a young man and woman with a little boy in tow.

  “We’re looking for a house,” the man said.

  “We don’t have one in here,” Trace said.

  “I mean, to buy a house. We want to buy a house.”