Cube Sleuth

by David Terruso

  “What’s his name?” I dig my notebook out of my pocket.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I never met him. They met at weird times, in hotels, that kind of thing. It’s not like she took him to dinner parties.”

  “But she never told you his name? You said she told you everything.”

  “Her own mother never knew he existed. And never will. I was the only person she could talk to about him.”

  “She ever use a nickname to talk about him?”

  “She called him Mr. Luther. I think it was just a random fake name so we could talk about him without saying ‘the guy who’s cheating on his wife with you.’”

  I write MR. LUTHER in my notebook and surround it in question marks. “Where did Eve work before she worked here?”

  Faith looks up at the ceiling. “Oh, what the hell was it called?…Something Staffing. It was in Ambler. That’s all I remember. Something Staffing.”

  I write down ________ STAFFING, AMBLER. “How long before I was with her did she break it off? Or did he break it off?”

  Faith’s face contorts like she has a pain in her front teeth. She doesn’t want to be the one to tell me whatever she’s about to say. “They were still together when she was with you. She was with you to make Mr. Luther jealous, maybe force him to leave his wife. She left him hints around her apartment so he’d figure it out and realize that if he wouldn’t commit to her, she had other options. I guess it didn’t work out the way she thought it would, and she just gave up on it. On you. Sorry.”

  I sit in silence for a minute letting this news sink in. Faith examines some invisible threads on her clothes, allowing me a moment of privacy.

  “This makes sense, really. The way she came on to me so strong. It was out of nowhere. I didn’t question it because I just wanted her. Didn’t care why she wanted me. But this fits.”

  Then, a thought strikes me. I lean in close to Faith. “Do you think he was at the funeral?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know what he looked like. There were plenty of men there that I didn’t know; I assumed they were all family. High school friends.”

  “I still don’t understand why she wouldn’t just tell you his first name. You know? Just Ted, or whatever. Why the fake name?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Were they together right up to the end?”

  “Don’t know. She stopped talking about him. Stopped talking about herself, too. I don’t know exactly what happened, but she went in her shell in the last few weeks of her life. I thought maybe Mr. Luther got really jealous and hit her or something. She wouldn’t tell me anything. Didn’t want my help.” Faith looks like she’s about to cry for what seems like a split second, then snaps out of it like someone threw a bucket of ice water in her face.

  “I’ll find this guy.”

  “You think you’re a detective or something?”

  “Or something.” I’m struck by a thought, a vomitus, awful thought. What if Keith is Mr. Luther? It would explain why Eve made up a name for him. Maybe she lied to Faith about him not working here. I flip through my notebook to pretend I had this question prepared. “Did Eve and Keith have any kind of history?”

  Faith laughs. “That jerk hit on her the first week she worked here. Asked her if she wanted to go to the Marriott with him. She said no thanks, that she already had one married man and didn’t need another. And she told him he looked like a four-eyed penis with his shaved head.”

  I laugh so hard I nearly vomit. I can’t imagine Keith having a penis, let alone a libido. He doesn’t strike me as the type to be this assertive with a woman. But I’m relieved that I can rule him out as Mr. Luther.

  “After that, she avoided Keith like the plague. She wouldn’t speak to him unless it was absolutely necessary. He did the same.”

  “Any other guy here she had that kind of interaction with?”

  “That guy in your department, the one with—”

  “Cody?”

  “Yeah, him. He tried to get in her pants a few times.”

  Of course.

  “He made some comment about mustache rides. She said she’d rather ride a spear than his Yosemite Sam ‘stache.”

  I crack up again. Oh, Eve, now I really miss you…

  * * *

  Mr. Luther. A mystery man. A secret identity. This is exactly the type of clue I’ve been dying for. My very own Keyser Sozë. The mythical arch-criminal behind it all. In this case, most likely a middle-aged middle-class nobody with a beer belly who cheats on his wife.

  Mr. Luther didn’t kill Ron, unless Ron really did have an affair with Eve and they both hid it so well that no one but Mr. Luther found out. What was this guy’s deal? Eve must’ve had a good reason not to tell her own mother that he existed, to use a fake name when she talked about him with Faith. What was Eve protecting him from?

  Mr. Luther clearly doesn’t want anyone to know about him or his dirty deeds. Once I find him, I’ll use his fear of being exposed to get him to tell me what he knows. If he’ll indulge me, I might even shine a bright light in his eyes and ask him where he was on the evening of such-and-such.

  Now all I have to do is find him.

  Chapter 29

  The Elusive Mr. Luther

  After lunch the next day, I go into Suzanne’s office looking ready to cry and tell her that I need to leave for the day. She smiles warmly and says it’s no problem. I feel a tickle of guilt in the back of my throat.

  Driving to Ambler with a printout of all of the companies with the word “Staff,” the new Bobby Pinker tells the old one that he should have taken half a vacation day and not taken advantage of Suzanne’s good nature.

  Luckily, Ambler is a small town and only four companies in the area have “Staff” in their name. Eve worked at Paine-Skidder for six years, so it’s possible that no one she worked with at Something Staffing still works there. I need a good ruse to get someone in HR to look through their employment records and see if Eve ever worked there. For this I let the old Bobby Pinker take over, and he comes up with the idea to pretend to be the son Eve gave up for adoption, desperate to find a connection with her. A little perverse considering the nature of my relationship with Eve, but it’ll do the trick.

  Something Staffing is either Zimmerman Staffing on Bethlehem Pike, Sweeney Staffing on Butler Pike, Staff Solutions on Fort Washington Avenue, or (this was a stretch) Anthony J. Stafford, D.D.O on Highland Avenue. Unless Something Staffing went out of business or moved to a different town. That would suck.

  * * *

  At Zimmerman Staffing, I get a little nervous as I launch into my lie. Making up a story about a dead woman that might change the way her old friends look at her makes me feel horrible.

  I walk to the receptionist, whose smile reminds me of the way an infant smiles, when you’re not sure if they’re happy or just pooping. I start my spiel and it hits me that her old coworkers probably know she died, may have been at the funeral. I need to account for this in my story or pretend to be shocked when they tell me the bad news.

  Maxine, the poop-smiler, taps a pen into her open palm. “Eve Mothit. That name doesn’t sound familiar at all.”

  “How long’ve you worked here?”

  “Four years.”

  “She’s been gone for at least six, I think. Can I talk to your HR person?”

  “Sure.” She smiles wider and resembles an infant who’s really straining. “Sure. One sec.” She picks up the phone and starts to dial, then stops. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name.”

  I open my mouth to say Bobby Pinker, then think how criminally stupid it would be to use my real name. I wish I’d taken the time to think of a good pseudonym. “My name…it’s…Vince Codmist.” What the hell kinda stupid name did I just say?

  “OK, Mr. Codmist. One sec.”

  * * *

  The HR guy’s office smells like a burp. He has a bloated belly and his tie comes past his belt buckle and halfway dow
n his fly. His voice has a deep James Earl Jones, rumble, but with a strong lisp. After telling him my lie, Mr. Earl Jones leans back in his chair and shakes his head from side to side. “I’m schorry. Your mother never worked here. I’ve been with Zchimmerman for fifteen yearsch and could rattle off the namesch of every employee schinche I schtarted and tell you their schtart date. I don’t need to look at my filesch. Schorry you had to come all the way down here to find that out.”

  Mr. Earl Jonesch stands and extends his hand.

  * * *

  I get basically the same story from the HR woman at Sweeny Staffing, but nothing there reminded me of poop or a burp, and no one had a speech impediment. So, moving right along…

  * * *

  I tell the receptionist at Staff Solutions a revised lie. “She passed away recently. I had been looking for her for a while and didn’t find her until it was too late. I was hoping someone here might remember her and could tell me about her. What she was like, what she liked to do.”

  The Staff Solutions receptionist speaks with a funereal tone. “I didn’t know your mother, but she did work here. I’m sorry for your loss. A few people here now worked with her. They were all pretty distraught over her passing. It’s a small company, like a family. I’m sure one of them can tell you all about her. Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll go ask around.” She smiles a beautiful, capped-tooth smile.

  So it was Staff Something, Faith. Not Something Staffing. Way to go.

  I sit and wait to talk to one of Eve’s old friends, tapping my thighs with my fingers and taking deep breaths.

  One hen, Two ducks, Three squawking geese, Four corpulent porpoises, Five limerick oysters, Six pairs of Revlon tweezers, Seven charging Macedonians in full battle array, Eight brass monkeys from the deep dark crypts of ancient Egypt, Nine peripatetic, paraplegic old men in wheelchairs with a marked propensity toward procrastination and sloth, Ten lyrical, spherical, diabolical denizens of the deep who quiver the quo of the quay, all at the very same time.

  The thought that anyone close to Eve might know that she never had a child she had to give up makes me feel nauseous. I revise my lie as the receptionist returns with a man who looks about Eve’s age.

  The man’s eye contact unnerves me. I know he’s never heard of me, must think I’m a con man. Extending his hand, he keeps direct eye contact and says my name like a politician who speaks out loud to remember it. “Hi, …Vince. I’m Nick Wynant. I worked with your—with Eve for three years. Why don’t we go talk in the lunch room?” Nick’s meaty hand grips mine, his eyes scan me like a metal detector.

  I walk behind him to the lunchroom. He’s half a foot taller than me and his back is so broad I could sleep on it sideways. His wavy salt and pepper hair looks like a combed Brillo Pad. We sit at a table in the empty lunchroom. Nick leans forward and smiles suspiciously at me. “I have to say, this is really a surprise to me, Eve having a son. I knew her very well. She never mentioned you. We weren’t just work friends, we used to spend time together outside this place.”

  I can’t help but interpret “spend time” as “have lots of sex.” I ignore this for now and focus on selling my false identity. “I didn’t know my mother, obviously, so I don’t know why she didn’t tell you. She was so young when it happened. About seventeen. Maybe the guy she was with was a bad person.”

  “You mean your dad?”

  Oops, yes, I do. “Yeah… I don’t know him either. But maybe she felt guilty for giving me up. I honestly have no idea. But I’m pretty sure she never tried to find me, so maybe that says it all.”

  I think about how Eve looked under the bridge, and how I’d taunted her on that same bridge. Genuine tears fill my eyes.

  Nick watches me carefully and then nods to show either me, or himself, that he believes me. “So weird. I thought I knew all about her. It’s amazing how people hold in big secrets like that. But she probably did feel guilty for giving you up. She loved kids. Loved her nieces. Spoiled them. Always wanted kids of her own, she said. Eh, sorry. I didn’t—”

  I wave off his apology. “It’s OK. Can you tell me about her? What she was like?”

  “She was beautiful. Really… alive. A warm person, someone who really cared about you. She wanted to hear your stories and she always remembered to ask you how this or that went.” Since he started with her beauty, I draw the conclusion that if he didn’t sleep with her, he definitely wished he had. His description of her makes me sad. She always listened to me that way.

  Nick tells me some nice stories about Eve. Some funny stories. My warm smile comes from finally learning something personal about a woman that I ached to be close to for a brief but intense period. I wait for the right moment to ask him if Eve was seeing anyone while she worked there. As I ask this, I look down at his meaty left hand and see a wedding band.

  I may be talking to Mr. Luther.

  “No, she didn’t date anyone who worked here. It’s a really small company. Fifteen employees. Look at our lunchroom, it’s smaller than most company’s break rooms. This is worse than a small town. We all know each other’s business whether we want to or not. Dating someone here would be like dating someone you’re locked in a bank vault with. Plus, the owner has a strict policy against it.”

  I look at his ring again. My question comes out as a raspy whisper: “Did you ever date her?”

  “Did you hear what I just said? You don’t do that here. I’m married.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know if you were married back then. It’s just the way you said she was beautiful.”

  “She was. I was single when she first started here, and I was in love with her. She wasn’t in love with me. Then I met my wife and that was that. Why are you so interested in who she was with?”

  Uh. Uh. Uh. “I thought if I found someone she was in a relationship with, they could tell me what she was like at home. Her family life and all that.” Nice save.

  “She had a few boyfriends while she was here. I don’t remember any names. I doubt anyone here would, it’s been so long. She never seemed to last with a guy for more than a few months.”

  I start watching Nick Wynant the way he’s been watching me, trying to see if he’s on the level. If he’s lying, he’s good at it. But then again, Mr. Luther would have to be an excellent liar.

  Sometimes in poker, a guy moves all in and you’re not sure how strong his hand is. I’m not sure if you can do it in a casino, but in a home game you can flip over your cards before you call or fold to watch your opponent’s reaction when he sees what you’re holding. The theory being that if his hand is weaker than yours, he’ll look scared when he sees your hand. If his hand is stronger, he’ll look calm when he sees your hole cards. The player knows he’s being watched, so you need to study his eyes in the first milliseconds before he can cover his reaction with acting. You can’t watch your cards flip over; you have to do it without taking your eyes off your opponent.

  I decide to turn over my hole cards. “Have you ever heard of Mr. Luther?” I lock in on his eyes before I say this, watching for a tiny glimmer of recognition, the glint of light that shifts across a moist pupil as it widens.

  No glimmer. No glint. “Never heard of him. Who is he?”

  I should have an answer for this, should have thought ahead. “I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me.” I look up for a second and then add, “Maybe he’s my father.”

  Nick doesn’t seem to notice how lame my answer is. If he asks me where I heard the name, I’ll really have no answer. I’ll have to escape somehow. The first escape plan that comes to mind is to jump up, scream “I’m turning into a werewolf! Ahhhh!” and run out, howling and ripping my shirt off. Foolproof.

  “Sorry, the name isn’t familiar. Is there anything else you want to know?”

  Phew, no need to escape. I’m glad; I really like the shirt I have on.

  * * *

  Nick Wynant drops me off at the receptionist desk. Before I leave, I tell her that I’m only in town for a few mo
re days and I might need to talk to some more people about my mom. She gives me the names and numbers of two women in the office who also knew Eve well.

  I figure that if I really was just talking to Mr. Luther, he fed me a load of horse poop. I need to get a second opinion.

  * * *

  Someone is lying. Either Faith lied to me about where Eve met Mr. Luther, or Eve lied to Faith about it, or Nick Wynant lied to me. Or maybe Nick really never knew there was a Mr. Luther; Eve’s own mother apparently didn’t. Or maybe there was no Mr. Luther, and Eve made him up to have an excuse for being beautiful and single. I come up with so many possibilities that I go mentally cross-eyed.

  If Nick is Mr. Luther, telling him that I know about him was a huge blunder. Because then he knows Eve never had a kid, guesses I must be the guy from Paine-Skidder who slept with her. Maybe he was at the funeral, saw me in the back. Thank God I didn’t use my real name with him. He’d have to do some snooping on his own to find out who I am. Unless he read my name in the newspaper reports of Eve’s suicide.

  Vince Codmist, what have you gotten yourself into now?

  Things would be much simpler if I were the only one lying all the time.

  Chapter 30

  How to Pick a Lock

  I call Capillo on my drive home from work the Monday after I talk to Nick Wynant. “Any news on Eve? Ron?”

  “Sorry, Bobby, haven’t been able to get to it yet. I had a more pressing case to deal with first. But that case is winding down already, so I think I’ll be able to look into your thing soon. You find out anything from your illegal investigation?”

  “It’s not really illegal because I’m not getting paid. Unless I trespass or tap a phone, I’m good.” Or tape a voice-activated recorder under someone’s desk.

  Capillo laughs. “You looked into it. Good for you. But I’m sure you’re doing illegal things whether you know it or not. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna blow the whistle on you. But not because I think you’re onto something. I’m really hoping you get yourself arrested doing something so silly it makes the papers.”