If looks could kill, I would have been dead instantly. “No, I don’t,” he said smoothly. “And that’s why we’re tailing him. We’ll find Tony, sooner or later, and I think we may then be onto something.” He opened the car door and led me up the walkway. “Now, let’s forget about all this murder stuff, okay?”
The sensation of his palm against my waist was all it took. Pepper’s death, and the mystery surrounding it, seemed terribly unimportant.
As soon as we were inside the apartment, Michael pulled me to him and kissed me squarely on the mouth, not with passion exactly, but with a great deal of fervor. While he whispered my name, his hands stroked my cheek and neck, and then my back, sliding slowly down the smooth jersey. My own hands were just as busy, exploring the wondrous mystery of hard muscle and warm flesh. But just as I began fiddling with the buttons of his shirt, he adjusted his position, resting his arms on my shoulders, and kissed my nose in brotherly fashion. “Maybe we should just talk instead.”
“Talk,” I croaked. “About what?”
“You know, who we are, what’s important in life.” He brushed the hair from my forehead. “There’s a lot about you I don’t know—where you grew up, what your favorite food is, where you stand politically, how long you were, uh... how long you’ve been married . . .” The last words sort of caught in his throat, though he did a fine job pretending they didn’t.
“I grew up in a small town north of Sacramento. I like too many foods to pick a favorite. Although I’m growing more conservative every day I still consider myself a liberal. And I’ve been married six years. But none of that’s what I’d call important.” I unbuckled his belt and began working on the zipper. “Anything else?”
He grinned. “Nothing that can’t wait.” Then, lifting my hair, he nuzzled the nape of my neck and nibbled at my ear. I could feel his breath, warm and moist against my skin, and I sank into the inviting firmness of his body.
But only for a moment. Abruptly, the lazy, timeless drift of seduction was shattered by a shrill beeping.
“Oh, shit I’ve got to call in.”
“Right now?” I asked hoarsely. “We could finish up pretty quickly.”
Michael wasn’t listening, though. He’d already tucked in his shirt and re-buckled his belt as though he were going to greet a guest at the door rather than make a phone call. Hastily he punched in the number, grunted into the receiver, then grabbed a pencil and scribbled something in his notebook.
“Okay,” he said finally, “I’m leaving right now.” When he returned to the alcove by the door, his face was taut, his eyes somber. “They’ve located Tony. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”
“Can I get a rain check?”
“A double,” he said softly. “At the first opportunity.”
Grudgingly, I refastened rows of buttons and hooks.
“You might as well come along,” Michael announced after a moment. “There isn’t time to drive you home anyway. Do you mind?”
I thought it probably wouldn’t have mattered if I did, though of course I didn’t. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere near San Pablo Avenue in Oakland. One of the men followed Jake there this morning. He and Tony went out for coffee, then Jake dropped Tony off. And now we’ve got him.”
Like an animal caught in a snare, I thought, remembering the frightened eyes and the quick, sharp motions of the young man fleeing down the steps at the Bart station. “Are you going to arrest him?”
“Not at the moment. We just want to ask him some questions.”
While Michael drove, quickly and silently, his face devoid of all expression, I slouched on my side of the car, fighting the urge to reach over and stroke his cheek. The steely control of a policeman was apparently beyond my grasp.
We headed west into the depths of Oakland and pulled up, finally, in front of a vacant storefront. The buildings on both sides were vacant as well. A faded For Sale sign was propped against one grimy window. Although the space above appeared to be inhabited, it didn’t look any brighter or cleaner.
Michael switched off the ignition, then turned to face me. “Keep the doors locked. I shouldn’t be too long.”
“No way,” I protested. “I’m coming with you.”
He started to say something more, but I was already out of the car with my door firmly shut, so I didn’t hear him. “At least stay out of the way once we’re inside,” he muttered over his shoulder.
As we approached the narrow doorway, a young, lean black man stepped into our path from the shop entrance next door. “Lieutenant Stone? Rick Myer, Oakland Police Department. You got here quick.”
Myer looked briefly in my direction, but when Michael said nothing, he dropped his gaze, secretly wondering, I imagine, what sort of dingbat cop, even undercover, would wear a clinging, narrow-skirted dress and high heels to question a murder suspect. But then he was Oakland and we were Walnut Hills, and I’m sure he thought we were an odd breed to begin with. “Sheris went inside about forty minutes ago and hasn’t come out since.”
“Is there a back entrance?”
“Your man Lawton is there now.”
As if he’d been waiting for the right moment to make an entrance, a short, redheaded man joined us. “Michael,” he said, looking directly at me. “Glad you got my message.”
Lawton went first, then Michael and then me. Through the door and up a decrepit, narrow staircase. The light, if there was one, was burned out and I was glad. The discolored stains and dried puddles were disgusting enough in dimness; I couldn’t imagine what full illumination would have revealed.
“Watch it,” Lawton warned, “the banister is loose. I wouldn’t count on it for any support”
I wouldn’t have touched it for anything in the world. At the landing there were four doors, none with numbers. “You stay here until I tell you otherwise,” Michael snapped, and this time I didn’t protest. It looked exactly like the kind of shabby, lowlife place I’d seen in movies. The kind of place where gangsters leap out from nowhere and shoot at you. Or worse.
Lawton pointed to the third door, then pulled out his revolver. Michael knocked and the door opened, but just barely.
“Tony Sheris?”
“Yes.” The voice was wary.
“I’m Lieutenant Stone with the Walnut Hills police. I’d like to talk to you for a minute.” The door opened wider, I could tell by the shaft of light on the tattered hallway carpet. “Inside, if you don’t mind.”
Michael motioned to me and I stepped forward, followed by Lawton, who, I was happy to see, had returned his gun to its holster.
Tony looked at me in surprise. “You again! You’re a cop.”
“No, I’m just . . .” But it hit me suddenly that this wasn’t a social call, so I shut my mouth. “No, I’m not,” I said finally, and let it go at that.
The room was sparsely furnished with a metal-frame bed, a bureau and a chipped, green table. A sink, tiny refrigerator and hot plate were in the far comer next to the bathroom, such as it was. The door was missing and I could see the yellowed toilet, propped up with bricks. I was beginning to wish I’d stayed in the car after all, where I might have been bored, but would at least have been spared the worry about germs and fleas. And rats.
Tony shuffled apologetically. “I’m not used to entertaining.” His hesitant smile was met by Michael’s cold silence. Tony sat on a stool and pointed to the bed. “Go ahead. It’s the most comfortable spot in the room.”
Lawton and I seated ourselves at opposite ends of the couch. I could feel the springs poking through the mattress into my hips and thighs. Michael, wisely, remained standing.
“We’re investigating the death of Pepper Livingston,” he said.
Tony sighed. There was that tentative, oddly touching smile again. “I figured as much.”
“So, what can you tell us?”
“Not a lot, I’m afraid. I did some work for the Livingstons, took care of their garden, did some odd cleanup and maintenance jobs. Th
at’s about it.”
“You were generally there a couple of times a week, weren’t you?”
“It varied.”
Michael rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. “But you haven’t been back since Mrs. Livingston’s death. Even once.”
Tony hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his palms together. “No, I didn’t think there was any urgent need.”
“Do you have a key to their place?”
He nodded. “Mrs. Livingston gave me one a couple of months ago when I was washing windows for her.”
“And you still have it?”
“She said I should keep it, for getting gardening supplies out of the garage and stuff.”
Shifting his body so that he was perched on the very edge of the bed, Lawton cleared his throat and spoke for the first time since entering the room. “Why’d you move from your apartment in Berkeley?” He looked around pointedly and smirked. “Moving into better quarters?”
Tony shrugged.
“I’d like an answer. Why did you pull out a day or two after Mrs. Livingston’s death, without even a forwarding address?”
“I don’t know, I wanted a change maybe. Is moving a crime?”
“You’d paid rent through the end of the month.”
Another shrug.
“But maybe you’re so rich a month’s rent here or there doesn’t matter.” The snide tone of Lawton’s voice made me uncomfortable, but Tony seemed able to ignore it. He rested his arms on his knees and stared hard at the floor.
Lawton stood and approached Tony. “Where were you on the night of May fifth?”
“Home, probably. That’s where I am most nights.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know, reading.”
“Not much of an alibi, is it?”
“Why should I need an alibi?” Then it hit him, you could see it in his face. “You think I killed Pepper?” His voice broke, but it was hard to tell if the unevenness was a laugh or sob.
“Did you?” Michael’s words were sharp, but his tone was tinged with an odd gentleness.
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
There was a pause, brief but telling. “No.”
Even I could see that Tony knew more than he was letting on, and I was struck by his use of Pepper’s first name. Then, from out of nowhere, Kimberly’s comment about scones popped into my mind. “You and Pepper were pretty friendly, weren’t you?” I asked.
Three heads turned and stared at me. “You sometimes had tea, and she once visited you at your apartment, isn’t that so?”
Tony looked pale, Lawton looked confused—and annoyed—and Michael simply looked, regarding me impassively with clear, gray eyes.
“She came by once, to bring me a check.”
Lawton snickered. “Such service.” He turned and started to amble around the room, peering into shelves and closed drawers.
“That’s kind of unusual,” Michael commented absently.
“She was an unusual woman.”
Lawton took a book from the shelf above the sink. “Tolstoy. Pretty highbrow tastes—for a gardener.” He leafed through the book, and without looking up asked, “You know a Jake Turbino?”
This time the pause was so pronounced even Tony seemed to feel it. Finally he nodded, then dropped his head into his hands.
The smirk on Lawton’s face annoyed me, though I couldn’t see why my sympathies lay with a possible killer rather than the law. Maybe it was my own discomfort which gave me pause. Greed, anger, betrayal—whatever raw emotions had paved the way to Pepper’s murder, whatever intrigue or mystery lay hidden just beneath the surface, it was all going to come out in the next few minutes. I braced myself, caught between fascination and revulsion.
“What’s your relationship with Jake Turbino?” Michael asked evenly.
“Is he a suspect too?”
“Just answer the question.”
Tony took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He’s my father.”
“Your father!” Michael’s official, dispassionate calm deserted him.
“And Pepper,” I said, as things began to fall into place, “she was ...”
He nodded. “My mother.”
Lawton, who had not reacted at all except to rein in his smirk, stepped forward, shaking his head skeptically. “Wait a minute. We had information that your parents live in Illinois.”
“My adoptive parents.” Tony lifted his head, but stared at the wall in front of him. “They adopted me when I was a baby. A couple of years ago I found the note my real mother wrote when she gave me up. She seemed warm and gentle, like a storybook mother. When I turned eighteen I began trying to locate her. Last fall I finally made contact with Pepper; she told me about Jake. I wrote to him, and when he was paroled, he came to California.” With a ragged sigh, Tony looked directly at Michael. “She was a very special person. A mother I could have loved. A mother who would have loved me in return.” He paused. “And now she’s dead.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this in the beginning?”
“I didn’t... It didn’t seem important.”
“And why the move?” Lawton asked, his tone still steely. “You tried to disappear, in fact.”
Tony chewed on his lower lip. “I don’t know why, really. Everything just sort of fell apart with her gone. I couldn’t go back and keep on working for her husband as if nothing had happened. And I didn’t want to see . . . anyone. At first I was going to move away altogether, just pretend the last six months hadn’t happened, but I couldn’t, not just yet anyway.”
“And there was Jake. Your father.”
Tony ran his tongue along his bottom lip and nodded.
“Is he a very special person, too?” The snide overtones had returned to Lawton’s voice.
“I don’t know him that well, we’ve only met twice. Once before Pepper’s death and again yesterday.”
“And this morning.”
“Right. I’d forgotten about that” Tony was silent for a moment, studying his fingernails. Finally he asked, “Did Jake tell you where to find me?”
“No,” Michael replied. “In fact, he said he didn’t know you.”
A smile crossed Tony’s face briefly, then faded, and I thought once again how young he was. And vulnerable. I wanted to comfort him as I did Anna, shielding him from hurt and disappointment. But of course I couldn’t; no one could. No one ever had.
Lawton had been watching this last exchange through half-closed eyes. Now he sprang to life, stepping in front of Tony and leaning over him. “This story, if it’s true, and you can be sure we will check it out, still doesn’t let you off the hook. In fact, I’d say it raises more questions than it answers. And you don’t seem any too willing to help with the missing pieces, if you get my drift.”
There was a sour taste in my mouth, and I stood up abruptly and unceremoniously. “I’ll wait outside,” I said.
The sadness of it all came washing over me like a bad dream. I darted for the door and raced down the stairs, not even noticing the filth or the stench on my way out.
Chapter 16
“You okay?” Michael asked, when at last we were in his car headed home.
“How do you do this, day after day, year after year?”
“It beats sitting at a desk your whole life. Besides, sometimes you convince yourself you’re doing some good.”
An icy shiver worked its way down my spine and then settled in the pit of my stomach. The entire episode left me feeling queasy and dispirited.
“It’s funny,” I said finally, “I want to believe Tony, but something in his manner makes me think he knows more than he’s telling. It’s almost as though he was trying to protect someone.”
“He was,” Michael said. “His father.”
“Jake killed Pepper?”
“I don’t think so, but Tony was afraid he might have. That’s a big part of why he start
ed to run, I think. And why he was reluctant to tell us the whole story up front. But it’s also the reason he stuck around; he had to know whether Jake was involved.”
I shivered again. “How awful. The poor kid suffers through a lousy childhood, finally locates his real parents, and then not only does he find his mother murdered, he has to confront the fact that his father may be her murderer.”
Michael nodded glumly. “And I suspect Jake was afraid Tony might have been involved.”
“But neither was?”
“Jake has a pretty solid alibi—he spent the night in San Francisco with his minister.”
I turned and looked at Michael. “I thought he wouldn’t tell you where he was the night Pepper was killed.”
“He wouldn’t at first, but after he found out we considered him a prime suspect, he was a bit more cooperative.”
“Still, why hedge the question at all?”
Michael’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “Because the minister is a woman. And someone else’s wife.”
“I take it they weren’t holding a prayer meeting.”
“Not in the conventional sense anyway.”
“And what about Tony?”
“Tony... I don’t know. He still says he was home alone that night, but what would he have had to gain by killing Pepper? She seems to have welcomed him, gone out of her way to help him, in fact. He admits she paid him much more than she needed to.”
“Maybe he resented being abandoned by her,” I said, swallowing hard. “Here Pepper was, sitting pretty in a fancy big house, bestowing on Kimberly all the advantages he’d never had. And, don’t forget, Tony was friendly with McGregory. Somebody tipped McGregory off about her past.” These were not thoughts I entertained with any enthusiasm. Rather, I wanted my doubts about Tony laid to rest once and for all.
Michael frowned deeply and rubbed his jaw. When he finally spoke his voice was weary. “If Tony felt resentment, he certainly did a good job of hiding it. And I asked him about McGregory. Claims he didn’t know anything about the development battle, and he quit the landscaping job as soon as he learned McGregory and Pepper were adversaries. He thinks McGregory hired him only because he worked for Pepper. Seems the man tried to hire her house cleaner, too. A new form of harassment I guess.”
Murder Among Neighbors (The Kate Austen Mystery Series) Page 18