Peggy Sue Got Murdered

by Tess Gerritsen

  "Hell," someone said with a laugh. "Folks dyin' all the time. Nothin' special."

  "Nicos Biagi wasn't special? Or Xenia? Or Eliza?"

  There was a silence.

  "So why do you care, M. J. Novak?"

  Even before she turned to face the speaker, she knew it was Jonah. The tone of command in his voice was unmistakable. She found herself gazing at a magnificent man, towering, with unnaturally pale eyes and a lion's mane of brown hair. The others remained silent, as he moved forward to confront her in the circle of light.

  "Is it so hard to believe, Jonah, that I would care?" she asked.

  "Yeah. Because no one else does."

  "You forget. This was my neighborhood. I used to hang out on the same streets you hang out on now. I knew your mamas. I grew up with them."

  "But you left."

  "No one ever really leaves this place. You can try all your lives, but it stays with you. Follows you wherever you go."

  "Is that why you're here? To help the lost souls you left behind?"

  "To do my job. To find out why people are dying."

  "To do your job? Is that all?"

  "And-" She paused. "To warn your lady, Maeve."

  Jonah stood stock-still. No one moved.

  Then the steady click-click of boot heels across the floor cut through the silence. A shadow, sleek as a cat's, came out of the darkness. Casually the woman strolled into the circle of light where she stood with arms crossed, gazing speculatively at M. J. She was dressed all in black, but in various textures of black: leather skirt, knit turtleneck, a quilted jacket with patches of shimmery satin. Her hair looked like broomstraw- stiff and ragged, the blond strands tipped with a startling shade of purple. She was thin-too thin, her eyes dark hollows in a porcelain face.

  The woman walked a slow, deliberate circle around M. J., studying her from the side, from behind. She came around to the front, and the two women stood face to face.

  "I don't know you," said Maeve. Then, with that declaration, she turned and started to walk away, back into the shadows.

  "But I know your father," said M. J.

  "Bully for you," said Maeve over her shoulder.

  "And I knew Herb Esterhaus. Before he was shot to death."

  Maeve froze. She turned to face her.

  "You're a suspect," said M. J. "The police'll be coming around, asking questions."

  "No, they won't."

  "Why not?"

  "Because they already know the answers."

  M. J. frowned. "What do you mean?"

  Maeve glanced at Jonah. "This is between me and her."

  After a pause, Jonah nodded and snapped his fingers. "Out," he said.

  Like magic, the circle of people melted into the shadows. Maeve waited for the last footsteps to fade away, then she reached for a crate and shoved it toward M. J. "Sit," she said.

  "I'll stand, thank you," said M. J., unwilling to yield the advantage of height.

  Maeve, unruffled, propped one black boot on the crate and regarded her adversary with new interest. "Where did you meet my father?"

  "The city morgue."

  Maeve laughed. "That's a new one."

  "He came in to look at a body. We thought it might be yours."

  "He must've been disappointed when it wasn't."

  "No, as a matter of fact, he was terrified by the prospect. As it turned out, it was someone you probably knew."

  "Eliza?" Maeve shrugged. "Everyone knew her. You couldn't avoid it. She'd bum you out of your last dime."

  "And your last matchbook?"

  "What?"

  "She had a matchbook. L'Etoile Restaurant. Had your father's phone number written in it."

  Again, Maeve shrugged. "She needed the matches. I didn't."

  "What about Nicos and Xenia? Did you know them too?"

  "Look," said Maeve. "They were stupid, that's all. Took some bad medicine."

  "Who passed it to them?"

  Maeve didn't answer.

  "You know, don't you?"

  "Look, it was a mistake-"

  "On whose part?"

  "Everyone's. Nicos. Xenia-"

  "Yours?"

  Maeve paused. "I didn't know. The bastard never bothered to tell me. He just said he wanted to make a delivery, needed a runner out to Bellemeade."

  "And you told him Nicos was available."

  "I didn't know Nicos was dumb enough to snitch a sample for himself. Pass it to his girlfriends."

  "So you arranged it all," said M. J., not bothering to keep the disgust out of her voice. "You do this sort of thing all the time?"

  "No! It was a favor, that's all! Old times' sake. I didn't know-"

  "That it was poison?"

  "He said it was a one-time thing! All he wanted was a delivery boy."

  "All who wanted?"

  Maeve let out a breath and looked away. "Herb. Esterhaus. He and I, we used to be…"

  "I know, Maeve. We saw the photos."

  "Photos?"

  "You know. All that X-rated posing you did for your good friend Herb."

  There was a flash of regret in Maeve's eyes. "Dad saw them too?"

  "Yes. He wasn't pleased. Would've strangled Esterhaus if the man wasn't already dead."

  Maeve snorted. "I'd like to strangle him myself. For using me."

  "Did he use you often? For these deliveries?"

  "I told you, it was just a one-time thing." She shook her head. "And I thought he was clean, you know? After he got busted last year, he was real careful to-"

  "Wait. Esterhaus was arrested? When?"

  "About a year ago. It was small time, a few pot plants in his backyard. I don't know how he squirmed out of the charges, but he did. I figure, the feds stepped in and helped him out. They look after their witnesses."

  "You knew he was in the Witness Protection Program?"

  "He told me about Miami. When he got busted, that really scared him. He didn't want Miami to find out. And he didn't want to lose his job. Hell, he liked being cooped up in that lab! Me, I hated it. After awhile I couldn't take him either."

  "So you left him."

  "I wasn't mad at him or anything. I just got bored."

  "The police say you're a suspect in his murder."

  "They'd say anything."

  "You have a better suspect?"

  Maeve moved away from the crate and began to pace, weaving in and out of the shadows. "Herb was just your average Joe, trying to make a buck. And trying to stay clean."

  "Then why was he stealing Zestron-L? Moving it out onto the streets?"

  "He was being squeezed."

  "By whom?"

  Maeve turned to look at her. "Try the people at the top. The ones who'd like to wipe South Lexington off the map."

  "Who, City Hall? The cops?"

  "The list goes on and on. People at the top, they look down at us and we're like rats, crawling around in the sewers. And what do people do with rats? They exterminate them."

  M. J. shook her head. "Wild accusations won't earn you any points, Maeve."

  "No. People like you never listen to people like us."

  "Hey, you're not exactly scraping bottom, okay? You're a Quantrell."

  "Don't remind me," snapped Maeve. She turned and started to walk away.

  "Your father's waiting out on the street," M. J. called after her. "He wants to talk with you."

  Maeve turned around. "Why? He never bothered to talk with me before. It was always at me, not with me. Ordering me around. Telling me to clean up my act, toss out my cigarettes. Hell, he's not even my real father."

  "He wanted to be."

  "But he isn't, okay?"

  "So where is your real father? Tell me that."

  Maeve glared at her, but said nothing.

  "He isn't here, is he?" said M. J.

  "He's living in Italy."

  "Right. In Italy. But Adam's here."

  "He's not my father."

  "No, he just acts like one. And hurts like one."
>
  Maeve shoved away a crate and sent it toppling.

  "Oh, great," said M. J. "Now we're going to have a tantrum."

  "You're a bitch."

  "Maybe. But you know what I'm not? Your mother. And I don't have to take this crap." With that, M. J. turned and walked away. She heard, off in the shadows, a scrambling of footsteps, then Maeve's command: "Forget it. Let the bitch go."

  M. J. managed to navigate her own way out of the building. It took her a few wrong turns, a half-dozen rickety flights of stairs, but she finally found her way outside. Looking back, she realized she'd been in the abandoned mill building. Boarded-up windows and grafitti-splashed brick was all one saw from the street. She wondered how many pairs of eyes were watching her from behind that wall.

  She walked on, heading briskly back to South Lexington Avenue, back to Adam.

  She saw him pacing by the car, his fair hair tumbled by the wind, his hands deep in his pockets. The instant he spotted her, he started toward her.

  "I was about to call the police," he said. "What happened?"

  "I'll tell you all about it." She opened the car door and got inside. "Let's get out of here."

  He slid in beside her. "Did you see Jonah?"

  "Yes."

  "And?"

  "It was an unforgettable experience."

  He started the engine and muttered, "So was waiting for you."

  They pulled onto South Lexington and headed north.

  "I saw Maeve," said M. J.

  Adam almost slammed on the brakes. "She was there?"

  "Celeste got it right. She's Jonah's lady." She glanced back at the line of cars honking behind them. "Keep moving, you're holding up traffic."

  Adam, still rattled, turned his attention back to the road. "Did she seem… happy?" he asked.

  "To be honest?" M. J. shook her head. "I don't think that kid was ever happy."

  "Will she talk to me?"

  M. J. heard it in his voice and saw it in his face: a father's fear, a father's despair. All at once she wondered about her own father, that nameless man with the green eyes. She wondered where he was, if he knew or cared he had a daughter. Of course he doesn't, she thought. Not the way this man does.

  She looked ahead, at the line of traffic. "She isn't ready to see you," she said.

  "If I tried to-"

  "It isn't the time, Adam."

  "When will it be the time?"

  "When she grows up. If she ever does."

  He gripped the steering wheel, staring ahead in frustration. "If I only knew what I did wrong…"

  "Some kids are just born angry. In Maeve's case, my guess is she's angry at her real father. But he's not around to scream at, so she takes it out on you. Nothing you do is right. You exert a little control, and you're a tyrant. You try to set limits, she smashes them." M. J. reached over and touched his knee. "You did the best you could."

  "It wasn't enough."

  "Adam," she said gently, "it never is."

  He drove in silence, his troubled gaze focused on the road. How quickly he accepted the blame, she thought. As if Maeve had no responsibility for her own life, her own mess.

  "She did clear up a few things," said M. J. "In fact, she cleared up a lot. Esterhaus was the source. He stole the Zestron and passed the drug to Nicos for a delivery. Nicos must have kept some for his own use. That's how it got into the Projects."

  "A delivery? To whom?"

  "Maeve didn't say. But you know who she says is behind it all?" M. J. laughed. "The city elite, unspecified. Meaning all the creeps in power. She figures they're distributing the drug in order to clean the trash off the streets."

  "I hate to admit it, but she's got the city elite pegged just about right."

  M. J. glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "But systematically pushing poison? To clean the riffraff from Albion? That's a big leap." She gazed out at the numbing landscape of abandoned buildings, shattered windows. "Still, I admit the same thought did cross my mind a few days back. But that's paranoia for you. Conspiracies are seductive…" She paused. "By the way. Did you know Esterhaus was arrested a year ago? Possession of marijuana plants."

  "No, I was never informed."

  "Somehow it stayed off his record, and he walked."

  "Maybe the feds stepped in to protect their old witness. Had him released."

  There was a silence. Quietly Adam said, "What if it wasn't the feds?"

  "Come again?"

  "What if he made, say, other arrangements to avoid the charges?"

  "You mean… bribery?"

  "He had access to an inexhaustible supply of narcotics. At Cygnus. That's a pretty persuasive bribe."

  "So he cuts a deal. With a judge. Or…"

  "The police," Adam finished for her.

  They were back on the old conspiracy kick, but it was hard to let it go. Esterhaus's death had been an apparent execution. She thought of what Maeve said-that Esterhaus was being pressured to steal the Zestron and deliver it somewhere. The bombing of her house had been a professional job. She thought about all the doors that had slammed in her face when she'd tried to publicize the overdose victims. The powers that be in Albion had systematically shrugged off the deaths of those three junkies in South Lexington.

  Shrugged off? Or covered up?

  "Head downtown," she suddenly said.

  "Why?"

  "We're going to City Hall. I want to see Ed."

  Adam turned onto the downtown exit. "Why?"

  "Force of habit-I like to torment him. Plus, he might get us the information we need. Namely, which cop arrested Esterhaus-and then let him go. And what else the said cop has been involved in."

  "Would Ed know that?"

  "He has a direct pipeline into Police Internal Affairs. If there's a crooked cop involved, they might have a file on him."

  "Unless they're all crooked."

  "Please," she groaned. "Don't even mention the possibility."

  City Hall had been turned into a media circus. Banners were everywere: Mayor Sampson Presents the Albion Bicentennial, 200 Years of Vision, Albion: looking toward the third century. In the hall was posted a map of Friday's two-mile parade route. Anyone who bothered to study that map would see that the parade didn't even go anywhere near Albion's center, but skirted around it, along the northern city limits, thereby avoiding the South Lexington district entirely.

  Ed was in his office, barricaded by a fortress of papers. Campaign posters were plastered across the wall behind him. A picture of a kid serenely skipping rope caught M. J.'s eye: "Albion. Safe, and getting safer." For whom? she felt like asking.

  Ed, as usual, did not look happy to see her. "I haven't got a lot of time, okay?" he grumbled as M. J. and Adam settled into chairs. "This bicentennial thing is turning into a disaster. The weatherman says rain. Three high school bands have dropped out because of sniper rumors. And now the cops say they can't guarantee crowd control."

  "Yep, that's our town," said M. J. sweetly. "Safe, and getting safer."

  "What you do want?" snapped Ed.

  "Some service for my tax dollars, Mr. DA."

  He sighed. "This isn't about the drug ODs again, is it?"

  "Peripherally. By now, you've heard about my exploding house. And the dead Cygnus researcher."

  "That was a paid hit, Miami mob. At least, that's what the cops tell me."

  "The cops also say Esterhaus stole the drug from Cygnus and bombed my house to stop me from asking too many questions."

  Ed laughed. "I can think of a lot of reasons to bomb your house."

  "But that theory strikes us as too simple," said Adam. "Blame all those acts on a dead man. Esterhaus kept his nose clean for years. He had only one arrest-a year ago, for growing marijuana."

  "I didn't hear about that," said Ed.

  "He wasn't charged. It appears he was rather quickly released. We want to know who made the arrest."

  "Why?"

  "Pot growing's an open-and-shut case," said M. J. "Find the plants, y
ou've got your conviction. Now, why go to the trouble of arresting someone, and then let him walk without charges?"

  "The decision could've been made on a number of levels."

  "We want to know the street level," said M. J. "The name of the cop."

  "Yeah? What else do you want?"

  "We want to know if Esterhaus might have offered this cop a bribe. Whether this particular cop suddenly found some new… prosperity. Check with Internal Affairs, see if there's a file."

  "There may not be."

  "Then just the name, Ed. Get me that."

  Ed shook his head. "You're just fishing, M. J. You've got nothing."

  "I've got an empty lot where my house used to be."

  "And I've got a dead researcher," said Adam.

  Ed leaned back. "So you're both fishing, huh?"

  "You should be too," said Adam. "It's part of your job, Mr. DA."

  "And he's a terrific one, too," said a voice from the doorway. They turned to see Mayor Sampson, looking dapper in a three-piece suit. He strolled into the office and, like any good politician, reached out to pump Adam's hand. "Mr. Quantrell, good to see you again. Coming to the bicentennial ball, aren't you?"

  "I hadn't made plans."

  "But I thought Isabel reserved two inner-circle tickets."

  "She didn't mention them to me."

  Sampson glanced at M. J. and she saw the look of dislike on his face, quickly smothered by a smile. "Keeping busy, Dr. Novak?" he asked.

  "Too busy," grumbled Ed.

  "Oh, Lord. Not those junkies again?" Sampson gave M. J. an indulgent pat on the shoulder, the sort of gesture she resented. "You are taking this case entirely too personally."

  "Yeah. It got real personal when my house blew up."

  "But Ed is right on top of things," said Sampson. "Aren't you?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Now, isn't it time we got moving?" asked Sampson.

  "Huh?" Ed glanced at his watch. "Oh, yeah. Gotta go, M. J. Parade committee."

  They all walked out of the office together. In the hall, Ed raised an arm, a gesture that could've meant either goodbye or good riddance, and headed off with the mayor. M. J. watched the two men disappear around the corner and then snorted in disgust. "Our tax dollars, hard at work. I'll be glad when this damn bicentennial is over."

  They got into the elevator, joining a City Hall clerk, her arms loaded down with a pile of gaudy flyers. "Take one!" she said in a cheery voice.