“Car killed a woman yesterday. A prostitute named Martha.”
“What?”
I told her a simplified version of my activities without mentioning Christine Locke. I said that I’d met Martha at the Seward and that I’d gone to her apartment and found her shot to death with Teddy’s gun. I told her about my interview in the homicide office at 850 Bryant. Someday maybe it would make a funny story, how scared I’d been. For now I could only tell it straight.
“And why do you think Car would have killed her?”
“She knew something about why Teddy was shot. Either that or she knew whatever it was they shot Teddy for knowing.”
“So Car killed this prostitute, and Gerald Locke had Teddy shot. Have you got any kind of theory that makes sense of all this?”
“Teddy was shot for a reason, right?”
“That doesn’t mean they were shot for the same reason.”
Remembering the message on my brother’s home answering machine —Martha’s voice, This is Chris and Martha calling—I was sure that Christine hadn’t told me the half of her relationship with my brother. I was working on the assumption that the person who’d killed Martha had shot Teddy, too. Fix this. The gun in Martha’s apartment, the money missing from Santorez’s trust account—it all seemed to come back to Car.
Jeanie went on: “For me the chief thing is that Teddy’s lying there in the hospital. I’m not in the business of solving crimes, Leo. I’m not a lawyer on this one, and I’m certainly not a cop. I’m just someone who cares about your brother. My ex-husband.”
Maybe it didn’t matter to her who had shot Teddy, not the same way that it mattered to me. She’d spent her adult life undermining assumptions most people took for granted—that it was possible to say for certain that this event had happened, that this person was responsible, and that he should suffer this penalty for his crime. The human world was about chaos, her weary gaze seemed to warn, and it was the worst kind of foolishness to believe that we could impose order on it.
She paused. “Maybe the police are right,” she said. “Teddy might have stolen the money from Santorez. After all, it’s hard when you’re in a solo practice. One year there’s money, the next there isn’t, but the bills keep coming. And that big fat client trust account is just sitting there. Maybe he figured he could take some out, then put it back when he caught a big case. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d done it before and gotten away with it.”
“No one else had access to the gun,” I said. “It had to be Car. On Thursday he was here when I came back to the office. I pulled it and he took it away from me, locked it in the safe. I didn’t have the combination, but he did. He’d already opened it and taken something out. I’m sure that was the gun in Martha’s apartment, the one she was shot with.” I didn’t mention the twin in Teddy’s bedside table.
Jeanie said, “I think we should go out for pizza rather than sit here and drink all this gin.”
She rose. I had no choice but to follow. I knew of nothing else I might say to hold her in that chair.
We cut through the empty financial district to North Beach, Jeanie keeping half a step ahead of me. I tried to draw abreast of her but she only walked faster. It was a long walk.
The entrance of Tommaso’s was crowded with people waiting for tables. I had to edge through to put our names in. When I returned I half expected her to be gone, but she was leaning outside the door holding two glasses of wine.
I found that my appetite for asking unanswerable questions had passed. Right now it seemed enough to be with her, waiting for a table, sharing our grief over Teddy, even if that grief expressed itself in each of us differently.
I’d told the host we wanted a booth, because we’d have no privacy at the long communal tables. We drank two glasses of wine each before being seated. Tommaso’s had always been our place, hers and mine and Teddy’s.
“You don’t actually know it was Teddy’s gun in that apartment,” Jeanie said when we’d sat down. “The police nodded, they acted like what you were saying was very interesting, they took down your completely insane statement, and then they let you walk out of there when they got bored.”
“The gun might not have been registered. They had no way of knowing.”
She spread her hands on the table. “Leo, Car didn’t do this. Hurting women isn’t really his style. Much less murdering them. Trust me.”
“You must know what kind of man he is, Jeanie.”
“What kind of man is he?”
“He’s a pimp. Keith’s partner. It’s probably Car that Keith thinks he’s hiding from, if he’s hiding from anyone. Which I’m beginning to doubt.”
She was laughing now, so hard that she blushed in embarrassment. “The Green Light? You think Teddy would’ve allowed that?”
“Car was recruiting Teddy’s clients, setting up his operation. They had an argument the week before Teddy was shot. That was when the lid came off. Teddy must have finally figured out what Car was doing.”
This time she didn’t try to suppress her laughter. “Half an hour ago your prime suspect was Gerald Locke. Now you’re saying Car killed Teddy?” Her tone was exasperated.
My head swam from the wine. A wave of dizziness washed over me. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”
She went on more gently: “If Car was doing what you say he was doing, Teddy would have known. And if Teddy knew, then either he would have had to be in on it or Car would have been gone. I’m not saying Teddy wasn’t in on it. He cared about helping clients. He didn’t particularly care how they made their living. If he saw a chance to get some girls off the street and improve their quality of life, maybe he would have gone for it. But Car couldn’t have done it alone without Teddy knowing what he was up to.”
She was right: Teddy was too familiar with his clients for something like that to escape him. He would have known.
The pizza came. It was Jeanie who broke the silence, once we’d stopped eating. “I think prostitution should be legal. So did Teddy.”
“Obviously, if he was in on the Green Light. With Santorez’s money, no less.”
“Come on, Leo.” She paused again. “Look, I should have told you this sooner, but I’m going back to private practice. I’ll be taking over the lease on the office and representing most of Teddy’s old clients. I imagine that Tanya and Car will work for me, but, of course, they’re free to do what they want. There’s still an empty desk. You could use it until you get on your feet.”
I just stared at her, thinking of all that I’d learned about my brother in the last four days. I thought about her refusal even to entertain the thought that Car might have been the one to kill Martha, cleaning up loose ends. And then the disappointment hit me. I should have known it was too ambitious to be true, my own plan to take over Teddy’s practice. There was no question of going up against Jeanie. If you were a defendant searching for representation, who would you prefer, Monkey Boy or Jeanie Napolitano, with two hundred jury trials under her belt?
I took a deep breath and let it out. “In that case, I guess I should let you know that I’ll be representing Santorez at his arraignment for attempting to murder Teddy. Assuming the grand jury returns an indictment. I expect it will.”
Now it was her turn to stare. Then she dropped her eyes and lifted another slice of pizza. “You want to be disbarred for harboring a conflict of interest, you go right ahead. But if I were you, I’d try to hang on to that bar card now that you’ve got it.”
“He’ll sign a waiver. He has a right to the attorney of his choice, and I won’t be representing him in any substantive proceeding. What I’m going to do is enter a not-guilty plea; then I’ll march out of the courtroom and inform the press that the DA’s charged the wrong man. I can’t prove Santorez didn’t do it. But even if Teddy did take that money, it doesn’t feel right.”
She chewe
d slowly. She wiped her mouth, drained her glass, and signaled the waiter for our check. “It doesn’t feel right,” she echoed skeptically. “Just don’t make the mistake of thinking you know what you’re doing.”
I’d imagined Teddy saying much the same thing to me. Without warning there were tears in my eyes. She reached across the table and touched my hand, then quickly withdrew the touch. I grabbed the bill when it came.
During our long walk back through the financial district I racked my brain for some neutral topic of conversation but quickly realized we had nothing more to say to each other, a feeling that came to me like news of the death of someone I’d known long ago.
At her car Jeanie touched cold lips to my cheek. “Try to remember you still have a brother,” she said. “I’m afraid someday you’re going to wish you’d spent more of this time with him. I’m not judging you.”
I looked away, impatient to be gone. I knew she was right, but I couldn’t tell her that. She drove off, and I walked home and fell into bed.
Chapter 18
Monday morning found me once again standing in the doorway of Teddy’s hospital room. It was early, too early even for Jeanie. I’d passed a restless night. I’d kept dreaming that he was dying and I couldn’t get to him. I ran up and down stairways and halls in a building more sprawling and labyrinthine than any hospital in existence—but always I found the last door locked. Meanwhile the alarms sounded code blue, code blue.
The arrival on rounds of Dr. Gottlieb and his four residents prodded me into the room, if only because I knew they’d quickly kick me out. Teddy had gotten a shave but otherwise looked no different, maybe slightly gaunter, like something that had wilted in the refrigerator.
I went down the hall to wait in the lounge. I kept expecting Jeanie to show up, but she hadn’t arrived by the time Dr. Gottlieb came down the hall to talk to me.
“I was hoping I might catch you this morning,” he said, sitting down by me. “How’s the legal profession?”
I was dressed for court. “It won’t ever be the same without my brother.” I steeled myself. “Where are we at with what we discussed?”
“In regards to that conversation I told you we might have? Nothing’s changed. Your brother’s condition hasn’t improved; but at the same time, it hasn’t gotten noticeably worse. Of course, lack of improvement is itself a concern. At this point we can only wait and hope. Every day that passes without improvement, however, makes the prognosis slightly worse.”
“I can’t stand having him like this,” I heard myself say. “I can’t stand it. I know he’d hate it. I don’t want this—this suffering—to go on a second longer than it has to.” It was not what I’d meant to say, but I’d said what I meant.
“Whose suffering—yours or his?”
“What kind of life is he going to have?”
“You can see for yourself. I’ve arranged for both you and Ms. Napolitano to tour the rehabilitation facility.” Gottlieb’s face showed the barest tick of impatience.
“I’m not interested in the rehabilitation facility.”
“That’s your choice.” He stood. “To answer your question, yes, at the point where I deem that it has become medically futile for this stasis to go on, I will inform you.” His voice was suddenly very, very weary. He seemed on the verge of giving me a bit of fatherly advice, then apparently thought better of it, pressed my arm, and walked out.
I went back to Teddy’s room and stood looking out the window toward the sliver of the bay that was visible. My father must be on his way to the city by now, I realized. It made me slightly queasy to think of him on this side of the water, still in custody but perhaps one step closer to freedom. Soon he’d be on the witness stand, taking an oath he probably didn’t mean to keep. What would I do if he lied his way to freedom before the grand jury? Would I have to see him?
I sat at Teddy’s bedside deep in my own thoughts. At some point he must have stopped respecting the oath my father was about to take. Defending the guilty must have drained away his respect for the truth. Gerald Locke’s words returned to me, and I wondered what I might do to keep my father in prison—to catch the person who shot my brother.
~ ~ ~
On my way out an hour later I ran into Car, who was walking in with Jeanie. Seeing me, Car grabbed my arm and spun me around, throwing me off balance. “Ho, Monkey Boy.”
I kept going, but he was there beside me, matching my stride. I glanced back. Jeanie was standing uncertainly near the elevators. “Teddy’s upstairs,” I said to Car. “He was asking about you.”
“Yeah?” Car’s face was perfectly blank.
“You and Keith Locke. I caught both names.”
“You talking to Keith? Say hi to him for me.”
“Why, you looking for him?”
We were outside on the broad front entrance plaza of the hospital. “See, I told your brother at the beginning, this kid’s no good, he has no common sense, let him wet his dick with some other lawyer.” Car gave me a push. “I hear you’ve been saying I murdered people.”
“That girl, Martha.” My voice came out hoarse. “She worked at the Green Light.”
“Not for me, she didn’t. Nobody worked for nobody at that place, but definitely not for me.”
“Maybe not anymore. She was shot yesterday with Teddy’s gun. The one you locked in the safe. The police may not believe me, but as far as I’m concerned, you were the only one who could have pulled the trigger.”
Car looked bored. “Sorry to hear it. I suppose I shot Teddy, too. If I did that, you’d have a bullet between the eyes. But hey, you’re still breathing. Know why? Because it’s all a joke. You’re a joke.”
“I know what you and Keith were into. With Santorez’s money, no less. What’s going to happen when someone tells Santorez the whole story?”
“I told you, I didn’t have nothing to do with the Green Light or with Keith, either. See, Monkey Boy, your trouble is you don’t know smoke from fire. What happened to Teddy didn’t have nothing to do with Keith or anyone else. It was Santorez all the way. Teddy tried to hang on to some money he didn’t earn. He probably figured Santorez was in the pen, what could he do about it? Ricky reasoned with him for a while, then he saw he wasn’t going to get his money back, so he had Teddy shot, sent a big loud message.”
“You were Keith’s partner, and Keith was going to talk,” I countered. “Teddy was just about to set the deal up for him. Then Teddy got shot, Ricky got blamed, Keith got the message to keep his mouth shut and do whatever prison time comes his way, and you walked off into the sunset. You and Jeanie.”
I saw the look in his eyes and was suddenly aware of my surroundings, no one around, no pedestrians passing, not even a cat to track through my blood if Car spilled it. His narrow Slavic face grew pale, bringing out the redness of his lips. His muscles knit together beneath his hoodie. Then his eyes narrowed in a catlike smile, and without any visible relaxation the tension was gone. “You ought to forget the law. There’s no money in it. Screenplays, that’s where the money is. An imagination like yours, you could make bank. Safer too, way things are going.”
“I’m trying to find my brother’s shooter.”
“Yeah, but you’re trying too hard.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. “Be seeing you, Monkey Boy. Don’t forget to say hi to Keith.”
I didn’t drop my eyes to see what he’d given me until after he’d walked back toward the hospital. Then I unfolded the sheet of paper and saw that it was a printout showing a series of photographs, grainy from the quality of the printer, a night scene with the camera looking in the open front passenger door of a car. Car had a fancy digital camera, I knew. It took me a moment to recognize Christine Locke as the woman in the foreground; then a shock ran through me. It was Teddy’s Rabbit in the photo, and the man kissing Christine was
me.
Clearly a threat or a warning—if there was even a difference with a man like Car. Or perhaps he hadn’t been following me. Perhaps he had a reason for following her. That could only mean that he knew something about Christine’s relationship with Teddy.
Something was printed on the back of the page, just a line at the top, easy to miss if you were in a hurry—an empty page with a footer, “page 4 of 4,” like the extra page you get when you print something. It hadn’t been printed at the same time as the pictures. Instead, someone had fed the sheet into the printer upside down so that the blank backside could be used. Jeanie’s habit of reusing paper used to drive Teddy nuts. More than once, I knew, he’d filed a brief with some e-mail or map fragment appearing between the pages.
I’d meant to drive back to Teddy’s office, but instead I merged onto the interstate toward the Bay Bridge, following a wild hunch that I would find something more at Jeanie’s to help me catch the trail Car seemed to think he was following.
Jeanie kept a key under a flowerpot at her townhouse. Twenty-six minutes later I used it to let myself in.
The blanket I’d wrapped myself in two nights ago still lay in a heap at the foot of the couch. Two glasses stood on the counter, and there was a faint reek of smoke. Half a dozen filterless cigarettes were stubbed out on a plate on the counter. I stood looking down at the saliva-stained, half-folded butts. Jeanie didn’t smoke. Car did.
I took a tour of the place and saw more cigarettes stubbed out in a cup on the bedside table. It shouldn’t have bothered me that Car had been there, but it did.
I started opening drawers in her home office—an alcove off the kitchen beneath the stairs—but they were crammed to overflowing with old checkbooks and bills. I was stymied, but then I remembered how paranoid Jeanie used to be about hiding her drugs—not paranoid enough, as it turned out, because eventually I’d found all her hiding places. She prerolled all her joints, and I would take them apart and reroll them smaller, skimming off her stash.
Her most effective hiding place was so obvious it was brilliant. In the apartment where we had lived during my teens, where I knew every nook and cranny, every loose floorboard and grate, there hadn’t been many places a person could conceal the tin in which Jeanie kept the drugs she and Teddy shared, marijuana and hash and occasionally something stronger. It stared me in the face every day, but I didn’t have eyes to see it. I never took out the garbage, pig that I was, so I’d never thought to wonder whether there might be anything underneath the bag.
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