AND A TIME TO DIE

by Walter Erickson

  Another consideration was that now that I knew Max was Max Kimmel, it seemed even less likely Max was the killer, unless he’s changed a lot since I last saw him. The Max Kimmel I knew wouldn’t have killed anyone. He didn’t have to, and it would’ve been bad for business if word got around. I decided to see if there was anything to the Ray Villani angle.

  “I understand your father was associated with Ray Villani,” I said.

  “They had a company called Delphi House. They were east coast distributors for some high quality triple ex hard core.”

  “Did your mother know about this?”

  “Shit no,” he sneered. “My mother doesn’t want to know about anything.”

  “Does she know Ray Villani?”

  “Sure. We’ve known Ray for a long time.”

  “Is there anything going on between Ray and your mother?”

  “Between Ray and my mother? Are you kidding?”

  “Not at all, Billy. We understand your father was quite a ladies man. Sometimes the wife takes a lover just to pay the sonofabitch back.”

  “My mother wouldn’t do that,” Billy said firmly. “I don’t want you to mention it again.” I was certain he was scowling.

  “Okay, I won’t. Just trying to narrow it down, trying to see if someone other than the diamond merchant wanted your father dead.”

  “My father was killed by the Jew,” he said savagely. “Who else could it be?”

  “Thank you, Billy,” I said, getting to my feet. “If I have anything further, Sammy will be in touch.”

  In the outer office, Billy gone, I said, “What’s your read, Sammy?”

  “A smug, arrogant asshole.”

  Back in the office, Kelley still not in, I thought about Leon. What was his game? Was he now completely insane and acting wildly and impulsively? I hadn’t heard from Frank about the phone number I’d given him, and that probably meant it was a pay phone, as suspected. I tortured myself with the knowledge he probably gave his home phone number to Bobby Micelli, and Bobby had given it to me, but I didn’t write it down. I had called him immediately, a local call, it wouldn’t be on the phone bill. If I had used my cell phone instead of the office phone there would’ve been a record. Someone once said life was full of regrets, and this was certainly one of them.

  Once the thoughts and pictures start tumbling over one another there’s no stopping them. Thoughts like Leon hadn’t been planning to kill Zobranski when he gave me her name. What caused him to change his mind? On the other hand, maybe it wasn’t all my fault at all. The number Leon gave Bobby to give to me could’ve been a pay phone, and knowing how eager I was to get her name he hung around waiting for me to call. Wheels within wheels.

  I was still wrestling with those wheels, still thinking about Leon when the phone rang.

  “Just wanted to let you know Youssef came in this morning,” Cathy Cerullo said, “so you can call off your search.”

  “That’s good, Cath. We didn’t do much, so this one’s on the house.”

  “No, I don’t work that way. Send me a bill.”

  “Will do, Cath. One day at standard wages.”

  “Thanks, Matt. If you still want to talk to them they’ll be in my office this after.”

  “Call me when they show.”

  A few minutes later Kelley came in.

  “Hi, babe,” I said. “Car taken care of?”

  “Always a hassle,” she said wearily, “but it finally got done. What’s going on?”

  I told her of my interview with Billy DeMarco. “Also,” I said, “Cathy Cerullo just called, her boy Youssef came in voluntarily, so we’ll have to send her a bill for a day’s work.”

  “Okay,” she sighed. “Looks like a paperwork afternoon. If there’s anything worse than Public Defender’s Office paperwork, it’s insurance company paperwork.”

  I clucked sympathetically and sat there amid the sound of rustling papers. I was pleased when Ed came in. He said hello to Kelley and pulled the chair across the room. He sounded tired. The licorice scent was muted as well. He probably had a bad day all around.

  “No luck, Matthew,” he said wearily. “The only guy who actually saw anything was a pretzel vendor, and he had no idea who the diamond guy was. I talked to a couple of diamond merchants, guys with beards and hats, but they didn’t know anything about it either. If the pretzel man hadn’t actually seen it, I’d be inclined to believe Jimmy and Tommy made the whole thing up. What’s the official status of the DeMarco case?”

  “Pretty much at a standstill. Dan Acker’s convinced Jimmy did it, so they’re just making their case. Nobody’s looking for an alternate suspect. The odd thing is, Adele Clotherman said she told her brother she saw a young man running down Cameron Street right after she heard three shots. Either the District Attorney didn’t tell Dan Acker about it, or he did and Dan figures the runner didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Probably he didn’t,” Ed said softly. “Maybe he was just passing by, saw the shooting go down and took off, scared as hell.”

  “I suppose that’s possible.”

  “I been giving it some thought,” he said, “as you might imagine. We have one central question. If Jimmy Pompo didn’t kill Tommy DeMarco, who did? We have four distinct possibilities. The wife could’ve done it, or had it done.”

  “She could have. Why?”

  “She found the diamonds and decided now was her chance. She was tired of his philandering, and the diamonds would set her up.”

  “And the second?”

  “Ray Villani. He was Tommy’s partner in the dirty video business. Maybe something went sour. I think we should try to find out if there was a business dispute.”

  “I’ll ask Sammy Weese to ask around. And the third?”

  “You say Villani and DeMarco’s wife were having an affair. Maybe Villani just wanted an inconvenient husband out of the way. Maybe Mrs. DeMarco wanted an inconvenient husband out of the way. Maybe she talked to Villani about it and Ray saw a chance to have the wife and the business too. Villani had to know about the diamonds, he was Tommy’s capo, so add them to the goodies coming Villani’s way with Tommy out of the picture.”

  “Men have killed for less.”

  “Women, too. The fourth is the most reasonable of all. Tommy DeMarco was killed by the diamond merchant, or more likely some agent of the diamond merchant. If that’s the case, it’ll be tough. Sammy’s gonna hafta send somebody to New York.”

  “Tommy was killed with a local gun. That means the shooter was local, hired locally. I think we better check out Steve the hoagie man. I’ll get Sammy to clear the way, otherwise Steve won’t know anything about any guns.”

  “Probably won’t even if Sammy talks to him personally, but it’s worth a try. There’s a further question, Matthew. Where are the diamonds now?”

  “Yes, I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “If Jimmy did the killing, then Jimmy has them. If he didn’t do the killing, then either the wife has them, or the son has them, or Villani has them.”

  “Or the diamond merchant got them back.”

  “There’s something we’re forgetting. Adele Clotherman was reasonably certain the shooter had nothing in his hands when he ran by her.”

  “If he was the shooter. Assuming he was, he didn’t have to have the diamonds with him, he didn’t even have to know about them. Somebody was waiting and got the diamonds out of the car after Tommy was shot.”

  “If the diamonds were in the car, that means whoever he was meeting was gonna take the diamonds off his hands, and Billy says Max Kimmel was in the Bahamas, not due back until the next day.”

  “Maybe he got back early.”

  “Why would Kimmel shoot him?”

  “Save himself three hundred thousand.”

  “That’s a pretty good reason,” I sighed. “I think we should look into when Max got back to Stone Harbor.”

  “Or if he ever left. I’ll head down there now. They probably know him in the yacht club. I’ll
talk to the bartender.”

  “There’s another way Max could’ve gotten the diamonds, if he has them. Jimmy, Ray, Irene or Billy could’ve killed Tommy and taken them.”

  “That’s what makes this line of work so interesting, Matthew.”

  Ed left and I thought about Max Kimmel and the diamonds. Max might never have been in the Bahamas; Tommy might have sold the diamonds to him right away, and the two-week delay a ruse on Tommy’s part, an attempt to cut out his partners. Not likely, because then he wouldn’t have told his son about going to Stone Harbor and meeting Max, but you never know. If the diamonds were sold, then Tommy was holding out, and Jimmy had a legitimate reason to put a bullet in his ear. Maybe even Billy, son or no son. Maybe Max was never in the Bahamas and it was Billy who sold him the diamonds. Again, you never know.

  “If it weren’t for the fee,” Kelley said, “I’d say forget these people, they just aren’t worth it.”

  “No they aren’t, babe.”

  My thoughts had drifted back to Leon again when Mrs. Latham called, demanding to know if I’d talked to the District Attorney yet and I said I was working on it. The truth was, I’d forgotten all about Warren Clotherman. Not that I was going to call him. Mrs. Latham was completely wrong. The mafia had nothing to do with her daughter’s death. But Leon did, and maybe Tomas Medalore and Youssef Paul had seen something while they were stealing her car.

  Tomas Medalore and Youssef Paul had been cleared of any connection to the Driscoll murder, and Cathy Cerullo was working on pleaing down the auto theft, so they were no longer wanted for anything, at least for the moment. I had just resumed my Leon reverie when the phone rang again.

  “The boys are here now, Matt,” Cathy said, “if you want to talk to them. They were reluctant at first, but they came around when I told them there might be some money in it.”

  “Work to do, babe,” I cried, hanging up the phone. “Put the paperwork aside and follow me to Cathy’s.”

  Cathy’s receptionist showed us into the inner sanctum and Cathy made a fuss over Buster, as usual. I noticed she was wearing the same scent she had on the last time I saw her, and when we shook hands I once again had the urge to arm wrestle. She led us to the conference room and introduced us to Medalore and Paul. Kelley and I sat down, and Buster lay down under the table, in his accustomed place, on my feet.

  “I’m Matt Doyle,” I said, introducing myself. “I’m a private investigator, looking into the death of Louise Driscoll, the woman whose car you’re accused of stealing. Kelley will take notes, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Miss Cerullo say there be somethin in it for us,” one of them said. The voice was clearly that of a teenager, and a careless one at that, for the words were slurred and run together.

  “There’s a reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the killer,” I said. “Did either of you see anything at the Almiranta motel that night that seemed at all out of the ordinary?”

  “Yeah,” the same voice said. “I seen a guy walk away.”

  “Are you Tomas or Youssef?”

  “Tomas. Youssef be my homey. Anythin Youssef be seein, I be seein too, so we save time if I be answerin the questions.”

  “Why was a guy walking away out of the ordinary?”

  “You don’t see people walk away from a motel, they be havin their car there.”

  “He wasn’t walking to a car?”

  “I seen him walk across the parkin lot and head toward Detmer Street.”

  “About what time was this?”

  “About eleven thirty.”

  “Youssef, did you see a guy walk away from the motel?”

  “Yeah, I did. We both seen him.” The voice was also that of a teenager, higher in pitch than Tomas, though just as careless. I had difficulty understanding either of them.

  “What did he look like, and why did you notice him?”

  “He was a white guy,” Tomas answered.

  That seemed to be the extent of the description, so I said, “What drew you to him?”

  “Why’d I notice him? I be tryin to bust an ignition and I didn’t know if it was his car or not.”

  “You know whose car it was now, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, it be the lady’s. At the time, it just a Lexus, sittin there waitin to be taken.”

  “Do you know which door the guy came out of?”

  “No, I wasn’t lookin when he came out.”

  “Did you notice which door, Youssef?”

  “I didn’t notice him till Tomas mentioned him.”

  “Did you tell this to the cops?”

  “We don’t tell the cops nothin,” Tomas said scornfully. “They don’t like us, we don’t like them.”

  “Was there anything else you noticed, anything out of the ordinary, besides the guy walking away?”

  “No, just the guy walkin away.”

  I’d run into dudes like this before. Arrogant, scornful of authority, immensely proud of themselves and their attainments. “Describe him for me,” I said.

  “A white guy, old,” Tomas said, “probably in his forties. Couldn’t tell how big he was, but he seemed like he be a big guy.”

  “Big tall or big fat?”

  “Tall and husky.”

  “He had a beard,” Youssef said.

  “That’s right,” Tomas agreed. “I almost forgot.”

  Reward money not only sharpens the memory, it often improves it, even creates it. I was beginning to think we were being taken for a ride.

  “How did you see all this?”

  “There be lights in the parkin lot. He walkin under one of them.”

  “All right,” I said, “concentrate. Remember that night. A husky bearded guy walking across the parking lot, walking under a light. What was he wearing?”

  “Khakis and work boots,” Tomas said.

  “What kind of shirt?”

  “Short sleeve, collar, a pullover, no buttons.”

  “What color?”

  “Light color, maybe yellow, something like that. They be mercury lamps in the parkin lot, so it changes the color.”

  “Did you see any blood on his clothes?”

  “No, he looked clean to me.”

  “Was he carrying anything? Did he have anything in his hands?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “What color was his beard?”

  “Didn’t notice. Just a beard.”

  “What color was his hair?”

  “Didn’t notice that either. Just hair.”

  “Did he have any? Was he bald? Half bald?”

  “Didn’t notice. Just a white guy with a beard comin toward me. When he turned and started out of the lot I didn’t pay him no more mind until I looked up and seen him on the sidewalk. That’s when I said to Youssef that the man be takin a bus to the motel to meet his lady.”

  “Whatever works,” I said. “What happened after that?”

  “Nothin. I got the Lexus started and we went for a ride.”

  That was about all they had to say, and we thanked them and left. Kelley said she thought they were telling the truth, and I decided to take her word for it. The whole thing sounded a little pat, but even if they were telling the truth, I didn’t see where it helped me. Even if the guy they saw was the killer, I couldn’t see anyone forcibly taking a blood sample from every bearded white guy in Philadelphia. Even the fact that he didn’t use a car to get to the motel didn’t help much. Maybe he lived in the area, within walking distance, but he could just as well have taken a bus or the subway.

  Kelley returned to her paperwork, and I called Frank Kopf and told him about the bearded white man.

  “First I heard of it, Doyle,” he said. “Them kids were pretty uncooperative. Do you have any reason to believe he was meeting Louise Driscoll?”

  “None at all. Just grasping at straws. Mrs. Latham asked me to look into it. I won’t get in your way. If I do, just holler.”

  “I’ll holler like hell,” he rasped. “If yo
u come across anything, let me know. Incidentally, you were right about that phone number. Pay phone, Neshaminy Mall, up in Bucks County.”

  I said thanks and we hung up.

  There was plenty of day left. Kelley was busy with her paperwork, and would be for many hours. I put Buster’s harness on and said, “Going out to West Philly. Maybe somebody at the motel knows our bearded white man. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

  “I’ll stay till I finish this,” Kelley said. “That insurance company has everything fouled up.”

  “That’s the nature of insurance companies, toots. One thing at a time and all eventually gets done.”

  “Yeah, well easier said than doing it. See you when you get back.”

  Buster and I took the subway to West Philly and walked the three blocks to the Almiranta motel. The weather was no longer sticky due to the late afternoon cool down, though still fairly warm. Just another in a recent series of typical July days.

  My knowledge of Philly streets wasn’t quite encyclopedic, there might have been a few streets I hadn’t been on in my glorious career in the Philadelphia police department, but my memory was good enough to get us there. Buster still hasn’t learned to read, so I had to ask someone where the office was. I was pointed in the right direction and a moment later I was inside. Inside a latrine was my first thought. The place smelled of insecticide and burnt electrical insulation. The insecticide I understood, the burnt insulation would probably forever be a mystery.

  “Sorry about the smell,” a sour sounding female voice said. “The fan burnt out, and in this weather too. What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Matt Doyle,” I said, trying not to inhale. “I’m a private investigator. I’m looking for a husky white male, forties possibly, has a beard. He may frequent the motel, but arrives on foot, not by car. Does it ring a bell?”