by Matt Hilton
No. That wasn’t entirely true.
There was also the detective and her bodyguard to worry about, because through their pursuit of his adversaries they might learn something they shouldn’t.
It was confirmed then, once Trojak had done his bidding, Bruin would give him another pat on the head, and sic him on Tess Grey. Hopefully Po and Trojak would kill each other in the fall out, and all would end swimmingly for Daryl Bruin.
‘Yup, Bruno, that’s the right decision,’ he told his reflection.
TWENTY-FIVE
‘We need to get off our butts and do something,’ Tess announced as she strode into Po’s spacious sitting room.
Po and Pinky were lounging in reclining chairs in front of an immense flat-screen TV that dominated the wall above the original fireplace. On screen Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis were up to some crazy antics. Pinky was giggling with child-like glee, but neither was Po immune to humour, because he also huffed out a laugh reminiscent of steam escaping an overheated boiler. He bit down on the laughter at Tess’s sudden declaration and squirmed more upright in the seat, planting his feet.
‘What’s up?’ he asked as Tess bustled past en route for the kitchen.
‘While we’re taking it easy, girls are dying,’ Tess said, and disappeared through the doorway.
‘It’s like I said, me.’ Pinky held aloft one surprisingly long and thin index finger. ‘Never a dull moment.’
‘Just ambiguous ones,’ Po added. ‘Wonder what’s gotten her bent all outta shape.’
Pinky shrugged, glanced again at the TV and chortled at Jerry Lewis’s ungainly dance moves while in the background Martin romanced a pretty girl. He’d only one eye on the old movie though, and one on Po as his friend stood, and took a step after Tess.
Po halted in his tracks as Tess reappeared, shoving her arms into her coat sleeves. Po noted the ashen colour of her cheeks.
‘You going to slow down and tell me what the hell’s happened?’ he demanded.
‘We need to do something,’ she repeated, still as vague about her sudden change in demeanour. She went to stride past him.
Po grasped her by her shoulders, forcing her to stop and face him. ‘What was that about girls dying?’
‘Those missing persons cases I was looking into,’ Tess explained. She had to swallow bile. ‘One of the girls has been found. She’s dead, Po. Murdered.’
‘Oh, man,’ he wheezed, though he’d always been aware that they could face this horrible outcome. ‘Is it …?’
Tess shook her head, but he’d already curtailed his question. If the victim were Jasmine, she would have already said so.
‘It’s not her. But I’m positive it’s one of the other girls I was looking into.’ She told him about the recent news report she’d discovered, and how the location and the victim’s profile fitted what she’d already pieced together.
‘Did you tell Emma Clancy?’
‘Yes. She’s going to request as much detail from the investigative team over in Massachusetts as she can: she’ll share it with me. But it’s still too soon to bring in the FBI.’
‘And that doesn’t suit you?’ His tone suggested otherwise.
‘Yes and no,’ she replied, unconsciously rubbing her scarred wrist with her thumb. ‘Of course I’d love all the resources they can bring to the case, but still …’
‘It means they’d probably order us to keep our noses out of it,’ he finished for her.
‘For the FBI to take over they need a pattern, usually three bodies, or proof that the crimes are being committed across state borders,’ Tess went on, ‘and for now I can’t prove my theory.’
‘You feel strongly about it, though.’
‘When am I ever wrong?’ she asked.
‘In our relationship? Never.’
They were both being ironic, but it served its intended purpose. Po smiled at her and she exhaled, pushing her fingers through her hair.
‘OK. OK. We have to think about this,’ she admitted.
A wild goose chase wasn’t helping anyone. But neither was she prepared to sit waiting for another murder victim.
‘Margaret Norris is safely out of the way for now,’ she said, ‘and Calvin Hopewell’s still a no-show. I want to go back and see Daryl Bruin.’
‘It has gone midnight,’ Po reminded her.
‘Fuck his beauty sleep,’ she retorted.
‘I’ll take you,’ Po said.
They looked at Pinky.
‘Hey! I’m happy keeping company with Lewis and Martin, me,’ he assured them, and made a shooing motion of his hands. ‘Got a full box set here to binge-watch. Sailor Beware is up next, a personal favourite of mine … if you get my drift?’ He winked, and jiggled his eyebrows.
‘Mi casa es su casa, Pinky,’ Po told him, ‘but I’d appreciate it if you don’t empty my beer cooler.’
‘Oh, I have my limits, me,’ Pinky said, one hand on his heart, ‘I solemnly promise I’ll save you the dregs from the bottles.’
They’d driven to Po’s place alongside the Presumpscot River in the pickup truck. They took it back to the autoshop and transferred to Po’s Mustang. Earlier Tess had claimed she’d easily find Bruin’s home address, and proved her point with a few swift motions on her iPad while Po drove. The falling raindrops looked as thick as Tess’s fingers in the wash of the Mustang’s lights. Po had the wipers on full, and the heating blowing to keep the windshield clear. His mirrors were obscured by teeming water, but Tess noticed him continually glancing at them, alert to a possible tail. She too checked occasionally, but apart from a small number of taxicabs nobody was out in the storm.
Bruin’s home was on Munjoy Hill, a prominent feature on the skyline of the Portland peninsula, only a few minutes away from his penthouse office on Fore Street. When they arrived, Bruin’s tall Victorian was in darkness but for one porch light. Across the way was a cluster of condominiums and apartments sold on the strength of their sea view over Eastern Promenade and to the many islands beyond: this night the view was relegated to a few dozen yards at most.
‘Time to wake up Mr Sleepyhead,’ Po announced as he switched off the engine. With the cessation of the steady V8 growl the drumming of rain was more evident. Tess didn’t appear in a particular hurry to face the storm again.
‘You think he’s even home yet?’ she wondered.
‘Only one way to find out,’ said Po.
He was out of the car and up the short incline to the front door in seconds. Even over the storm’s constant roar she heard him hammering on the door. She watched for lights flicking on inside, but the place remained in darkness. Po hammered again, then leaned and hollered through the mailbox flap. He looked back at her, hands open in question. She waved him to the car. He jogged back, then slid into the driver’s seat, dripping wet.
‘He owns a number of bars and nightclubs, it stands to reason he’d be late home,’ Tess reasoned.
‘He’s down a manager at Bar-Lesque,’ Po suggested, ‘you think he’s gone over there to oversee things while Max is laid up?’
‘Could be. But he doesn’t strike me as the type who’ll roll up his sleeves. You ask me, Chris Mitchell has had to step up on Max’s behalf.’
‘You heard how he’s doing?’
‘Chris?’
‘Him too, but I meant Max. He pull through?’
‘To my shame, I haven’t given Max’s condition much thought.’
‘He’s a royal prick,’ said Po.
‘Still doesn’t deserve what happened to him,’ Tess countered.
Po looked nonplussed.
‘I think Chris will be fine,’ Tess said to change the subject. ‘He was shocked, and hardly surprising, but he used to be a nurse. He’ll have seen worse. He’ll pull through in no time.’
‘The guy’s too good for that place. Nah, not the club: he’s too good to be on Daryl Bruin’s payroll, I mean.’
‘You got a job open for him at the autoshop?’ Tess teased.
‘Huh, if I do t
hat, Pinky will become a permanent visitor.’
‘As if you’d mind.’ Tess gave him a sly look. ‘Come to think of it, if he was chasing Chris, I guess he’d leave you be. When we got together I didn’t realize I’d be contesting for your affections with your old cellmate.’
‘Believe me,’ said Po, ‘there simply is no contest.’
‘So? All that time in Angola together, you never got as far as heavy petting …’
Po scowled at her, and she couldn’t hold back her laughter.
‘Don’t worry, Po, your status as a full-blooded heterosexual male is firmly established in my mind … despite what Pinky claims.’
‘Eh? What the hell did he say?’
‘He he!’ She mimicked their copious friend, wagging a finger alongside her nose.
Shaking his head, Po hit the ignition and the Mustang growled to life.
‘We should swing by Bruin’s office,’ Tess suggested. ‘Maybe he burns the candle at both ends, but I’m betting it’s where he feels most in control.’
Po took them down Washington Avenue to Mountfort Street past the cemetery, and on to Fore Street where it paralleled the narrow-gauge railway tracks. As office blocks went, the one housing Bruin’s top-floor office was largely unimpressive, and would have been lost in a larger city. It was an old structure that once served as an administrative centre for one of the ferry companies, which had since been gentrified and adapted for upscale clients. It stood out like a sore thumb above the surrounding dwellings, its facade glittering like molten silver in the rain. Lights blazed on the third floor.
Po pulled into the parking lot, and nodded at another vehicle spared the worst of the elements by a private shelter. Tess had no clue about makes and models of cars, but even to her eye the vintage roadster was gorgeous. ‘Wow!’ she said. ‘Looks as if Daryl Bruin’s business is more lucrative than I’d have given it credit for.’
‘Yup,’ said Po. ‘Apparently there’s good money in tits and ass. That there’s a thirty-five Chevy Phaeton. Probably took someone a lifetime of digging around wrecking yards and swap meets to find all the spare parts. Bet you a dollar to the cent Bruin didn’t dirty his hands restoring that beauty. Snapped it up at auction, I bet.’
‘How much does something like that even cost?’
‘Standard, in need of light restoration, you’re probably looking at thirty to forty grand. But that one’s been modified, lowered, overhauled and I’m betting there’s a new engine under the hood. Probably has all mod cons, MP3 player, GPS, air con … the works. Don’t expect much change from a hundred grand plus your Prius if you fancy doing him a swap.’
Tess held up her hands in surrender.
‘I don’t much care for hotrods,’ Po went on. ‘Too much style over substance for my taste.’
This was coming from a man driving a customized 1968 Ford Mustang?
He caught Tess’s quizzical frown.
‘American muscle,’ he said, patting the steering wheel affectionately – but she didn’t understand where the difference was. She slipped out before he got too deep into a subject close to his heart, and one that she was bewildered by. She used to think Pinky had a funny way of speaking, but if she tried keeping up with a conversation between Po and Charley at the autoshop it was akin to trying to decipher an alien tongue.
Po joined her at the door, while she pressed a buzzer for Bruin’s office. Last time they visited his assistant had let them in, but this time the man himself answered.
‘Your fifteen-minute promise better stand, buddy,’ Bruin snapped through the intercom. ‘I don’t care about the goddamn storm either, you’re late by three minutes and that means I eat free pizza.’
Tess shared a glance with Po, and he held up a finger. He quickly checked they weren’t being observed via CCTV, but then if they were Bruin would have realized they weren’t the pizza delivery guy he was expecting.
‘A deal’s a deal,’ Po said, affecting a higher-pitched, local accent. ‘S’long as you still tip me, sir, you can eat. Take it up with my boss if he complains.’
Bruin buzzed them in, with a curt order to ‘bring it up’.
‘That was an unexpected boon, huh?’ whispered Po as they stepped inside the office block. ‘I doubt he’d have let us in otherwise.’
‘Maybe we should’ve fetched breadsticks,’ Tess replied, and headed directly to the elevator for the short ride up to the penthouse.
The elevator opened into a narrow corridor, and directly opposite was the first of two sets of doors allowing access to Bruin’s office suite. They stepped up to the first, and Po rapped on them. After the faint click of a lock uncoupling, Po pressed the doors open. They entered the small vestibule where Bruin’s assistant usually acted as his gatekeeper. The inner door opened and Bruin bustled out, dressed in pleated trousers, buttoned-down shirt and suspenders, and shiny black Oxford shoes. His greased hair was slicked back, but failed to hide a bald spot on top as he dug in his wallet for a few dollars.
‘Like I said, you’re late …’ he began, but as his head came up his face grew still. He was holding out a couple of rumpled dollars.
‘Goddamn cheapskate,’ Po called him.
‘Hey, what are you guys doing here at this time of night?’ Bruin countered.
‘Seems as if you’re used to doing business at this hour,’ Tess said. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘That depends on you. I’m wondering if I need to call the cops.’
‘Got something you want to admit to them?’ Tess asked.
Bruin fed the two bucks back into his wallet.
‘My conscience is clean,’ he replied, and jerked his head for them to follow. ‘I’m trying to do some damage control, get people moved around to fill staffing levels affected by this storm. Not to mention having a manager down at one of my clubs. Ah, well, you’re here now. You may as well say your piece then get out of my hair.’
Po leaned on the doorframe, arms and ankles crossed. Tess accepted the seat she’d previously sat in. This time she didn’t have to contend with spearing sunlight blistering her neck; she could feel the chill radiating out from the windows instead. The rain made a constant patter behind her. Bruin took his seat, but with a lingering stare over his shoulder at Po. ‘Why don’t you come on in?’ he asked.
‘I’m good right here.’
‘You’re making me nervous. I’ve got the feeling you’ll sneak over and slit my throat when I’m not looking.’
‘Trust me,’ said Po, ‘if I intend cutting your throat I’ll be staring in your eyes when I do it.’
Bruin grinned madly, showing his teeth. ‘I really do think I rubbed you up the wrong way with that Evangeline crack.’
‘You don’t fuss me, Bruin.’
Tess sighed, sitting back in her chair and drawing Bruin’s attention.
Bruin raised his eyebrows at her.
‘Calvin Hopewell,’ she stated.
His response was a beat too long in coming. He lowered only one eyebrow. ‘Who?’
‘You know who. It’s the person who cut Maxwell Carter’s throat, and who almost bashed in your cousin’s head.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Bruin.
‘What’s your beef with him?’ Tess asked.
‘Couldn’t say.’
‘Won’t say,’ Tess corrected him.
‘I’m only extending my hospitality to you and your friend,’ Bruin pointed out. ‘I let you in out of the rain when I could’ve had you kicked out of here for trespassing under false pretences. I’m not obliged to answer your questions. That reminds me! What the hell is keeping that pizza guy? I’ll tell you, he needn’t ask for no tip.’
‘Stop being an ass, Bruin,’ said Tess.
‘Just saying it as it is. A deal’s a deal. If they don’t deliver within fifteen minutes I get to eat free, but this is beyond the joke.’ He glanced at his gold wristwatch, and shook his head. ‘I should get compensation, let alone tipping the delivery guy for poor service.’ He forestalled Tess’s retort by holdin
g his hand flat towards her. ‘I’m only pointing out something important. I’m a man who believes a deal is binding. I offered to pay you to help track down Jasmine Reed, and you refused my offer. I’m wondering if you’ve given it second thoughts, and that’s why you’re really here.’
‘You can shove your cash up your butt,’ Po growled from the doorway. ‘All two measly dollars of it.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Bruin, again concentrating on Tess. ‘Then any offer of a deal’s off the table. But that also means I’ve no reason to speak to you, let alone answer your questions.’
‘Calvin Hopewell,’ she said again, undeterred.
‘Don’t know him.’
‘I beg to differ.’
Bruin made a zipping motion of his lips then threw away the imaginary zip-pull over his shoulder.
‘You’re making things more difficult than you need to,’ Tess warned him. ‘See, I know you know Calvin Hopewell. Need I remind you that you were fostered by his parents for a few months?’
Bruin’s gaze went flat.
‘I didn’t say I wasn’t. I just didn’t connect the name to one of half a dozen families I was passed to and from.’
‘When you lived with the Hopewells, did you come in contact with their son Calvin?’
He made a frog-like grimace. ‘Not that I recall.’
‘He’d have been a few years older than you, Daryl, maybe already away at Valley Forge Military Academy. Ring any bells?’
‘I remember an older girl called Beth. Face like a carthorse and the butt to match. But a dude called Calvin? Nuh, means nothing.’ He fed his thumbs under his suspenders and rasped up and down them. ‘Back then I had such a large extended family it’s tougher recalling names than saying goodnight to all the goddamn Waltons.’
Bethany was Calvin’s older sibling, now married with children of her own and living in Europe, Tess had learned from the files she’d studied concerning Jasmine’s various foster families. She knew Bruin was lying, as Chris Mitchell had already mentioned overhearing him speaking to Max Carter about Hopewell’s impending return. But that was a piece of information she preferred to keep to herself.