He appeared to mull it over. “No. Should they?”
“Glenn had a meeting with someone a few days before his death, but we haven't been able to find anyone, including clients, friends, or artists, with those initials.”
Victor lowered his eyes and stared into his empty wine glass. “You know, I've been thinking about Glenn a lot the past few days since you and Carter came to see me. It didn't occur to me until recently, but Glenn did make a comment the last time I saw him. It probably has nothing to do with anything, but I thought it was rather strange.”
“I'd appreciate if you shared it with me just the same.”
The waiter returned to fill our glasses, then left promptly.
Victor narrowed his eyes as if he was trying to look into the past through a distant memory. “Like I mentioned before, Glenn and I never talked much about personal stuff. And by that I mean our marriages, family, finances, what have you. To be polite, I always asked how his wife was doing, and he did the same. But he made a comment about his sister. He'd never mentioned he had a sister before, so naturally I was curious. He told me she died at a young age and that he'd just remembered it was the forty-year anniversary of her death.”
“Did he explain how she died?”
“I asked him. He said it was a car accident. He didn't seem eager to talk about it – but think about the irony.” Victor sighed, swirling the wine around in his glass. “Glenn ends up getting shot on the same day that his own sister died forty years before. It's like a scene out of a Shakespearian drama.”
“That is pretty ironic,” I said, feeling goosebumps prickling my arms. “Which reminds me, I told Elizabeth I'd try to get in touch with Glenn's mother. She might not know that he's … gone.”
Victor took a sip of wine, his expression morose. “I have a daughter. Even though we don't see each other often, I can't imagine not talking to her. Twenty years is unfathomable, no matter the reason.”
“I agree.” I checked my watch and smiled apologetically. “Well, I still have work to do, so I'd better head out.”
“Good luck.” Victor stood as I gathered my things to leave.
* * *
It was almost 4:30 by the time I got to Chloe's apartment building. I let out a sigh of frustration as I approached – the scooter was still parked on the lawn. Didn't this Chad person have a job? He was making my life difficult and I wanted him to disappear. Chloe's involvement with Glenn Fleming was a puzzle, and it pissed me off that I couldn't get to her. What did I have to do? Camp out across the street twenty-four hours a day in the hope that Chad would leave the apartment long enough for me to interrogate his girlfriend?
As I sat in my car, trying to come up with a solution, my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but answered anyway.
“Hello?”
“Sarah Woods?” The male caller sounded tentative.
“Speaking.”
“This is Rudy. Remember me? From Gambler's Anonymous?”
I saw him in my mind – the seventies lounge singer type, sporting the comb-over – and remembered I'd given him my card. “Yes. Hi, Rudy. What's up?”
“Hey, I was wondering … are you still looking for Duncan Schwartz?”
I paused, feeling a surge of adrenaline. “Do you know where he is?”
“He's back in town.”
“Where?” I asked. “Home with his wife?”
“No. He's, um, he's staying with me for one night.”
“Okay,” I said. “So what's the catch?”
“A thousand bucks and I'll give you the address.”
I shouldn't have been surprised that Rudy would be so quick to stab his friend in the back for some quick cash. “Duncan is no longer of interest to me,” I said. “Unless, of course, you have proof that he was involved in Glenn Fleming's death.”
“If he was involved in a plot to murder someone, he didn't let me in on it. But this is a one-time opportunity. If you want to talk to him, you'll have to do it tonight.”
“Two hundred bucks,” I said.
“No. One thousand dollars. Not a penny less.”
I thought about the offer for a few seconds then said, “Why are you doing this, Rudy? I thought he was your buddy. You even drove him to the hospital when he got beat up.”
“If you don't want first crack at him, there are other people I can call. There's a long list of folks just waiting to get a chance to get even with Duncan Schwartz. I gave you first opportunity because …well, I like you.”
“If I decline, who do you call next? His wife?”
He hesitated. “Maybe.”
“Thousand bucks is a lot of money. I'll need to okay it with my client. Can I call you back?”
“I'll give you ten minutes,” he said.
“Fine.”
I ended the call, but instead of calling Elizabeth, I had another idea.
Chapter 12
It took me fifteen minutes via the turnpike to get to Dorchester. I was parked across the street from Mary Schwartz’s home at exactly 4:55. I figured since I hadn't called Rudy back, he'd be chomping at the bit to get someone else's money. And who better than Duncan's wife? She'd be the one willing to pay dearly for revenge.
I half expected Rudy to call, offering one last chance to accept his offer, but he never did. So I waited for something to happen.
Ten minutes was all it took.
Just like I'd anticipated, the front door of Mary Schwartz's home burst open and she came rushing out, purse in one hand, and baseball bat in the other. She moved purposefully, her expression one of fury. She got in her Cadillac and peeled out of the driveway, never seeming to notice that I was parked across the street. I followed her all the way back to Bridgeport as she hit ninety miles an hour on the turnpike. I prayed I wouldn't get stopped for speeding.
I followed her to the south side of town where Route One turns into a major commercial area. She finally pulled into a gas station located at an intersection. I parked my car next to the station's air pump and crouched down in my seat. Out of nowhere, I noticed Randy approach her car, dressed in a polyester button-down shirt, red hair flapping in the breeze. Mary handed Rudy an envelope. He pocketed it, then said something to her – presumably supplying the address where she could find her husband. The exchange lasted about ten seconds. Rudy looked around the parking lot, but didn't seem to notice me. He jogged across the street and disappeared down an alley.
Mary pulled her Cadillac back out onto Route One. I followed her to a residential neighborhood less than half a mile from the gas station.
Mary Schwartz's Caddy screeched to a halt, one tire coming to rest on the curb. She exited the car with her bat and marched up to the entrance of a modest ranch-style home. She banged on the door while shouting Duncan's name, along with a few other choice words.
The door remained closed.
I didn't blame Duncan for not answering. Maybe he wasn't even there, but I found it hard to believe Rudy would try to scam this particular woman. I would not want to be on her shit list.
Neighbors started poking their heads out of their homes to see what the commotion was all about. I stayed in my car, parked a few houses down, and watched it all unfold, just as I'd hoped. I placed a call to 9-1-1. When the dispatcher answered, I told them they'd better get a policeman over to Fifteen Pleasant Street. A crazy woman was threatening to kill her husband with a baseball bat. A neighbor must have called prior to my report. The dispatcher said officers were already en route.
Two minutes later a police cruiser, lights ablaze, roared up the street and stopped in front of the house, right behind Mary's Caddy. The officers tried talking Mary down from her enraged state, but she didn't seem to be in a mood for compromise. She took a swing at one of the officers. The second cop pounced on her, sending both of them crashing to the ground. She was cuffed - not too gently, I might add – and carried off to the cruiser like a rabid animal frothing at the mouth.
It couldn't have played out any better. Mary was gone
and now I knew where Duncan was. I didn't expect Rudy to return any time soon. He was probably hiding out at some bar, spending his blood money on expensive drinks while waiting for Duncan's wife to make mincemeat of his houseguest.
I waited a few minutes to give Duncan a chance to change his undies. He'd probably come to the conclusion that his buddy Rudy sold him out.
I remained seated behind the wheel. About twenty minutes had passed when the front door opened, and I saw Duncan Schwartz – all five-foot-four of him – sneaking out of the house with an overstuffed backpack slung over his shoulder. He started walking toward the bus stop located about 200 feet away.
Duncan appeared to be scrutinizing the bus schedule on a sign near the bench. He checked his watch, shuffled his feet, and glanced over his shoulder more than a few times.
I pulled my baseball cap down low over my forehead and grabbed my purse. I locked the car, crossed the street, and joined Duncan at the bus stop. He gave me the old stink-eye as I approached.
“Hey, do you know when the next bus gets here?” I asked. “My car just broke down and, of course, my AAA membership ran out last month.”
His shoulders seemed to relax a bit. “Bus should be here in about ten minutes.”
“Thanks,” I said, rubbing my hands together to stay warm.
Duncan hung his head, hands plunged deep into his pockets. His hair was black and frizzy, streaked with grey. Most of his face was covered in the same-colored scruff. Just looking at it made me want to scratch my chin. “Hey, you wouldn't happen to have a smoke, would you?” I asked.
He shook his head, staring at the ground. “Sorry.”
“Thanks anyway. So, you live around here?” I asked, making small talk.
He looked up at me. “Why do you want to know?”
“Sorry,” I said, backing up a few steps. I held my hand high in the air. “Just trying to be friendly. Forget I'm even here.” I turned my back to him and pretended to look at my phone.
After a few seconds, I felt a light tap-tap on my shoulder. When I turned around to face him, his expression looked apologetic. “Hey, miss, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be an asshole, but it has been one shitty day.”
I shrugged. “No big deal. I've had a shitty day myself.”
Duncan was actually dwarf-like. Everything about him was small except his nose. The unexpected warmth in his eyes caught me off guard. He smiled faintly, as if embarrassed. “So, what's up with your car?”
“It won't start. I think the battery is okay, but I can't be sure. I'm a dummy when it comes to cars. It's probably something simple.”
“I know a little something about engines,” he said. “My dad used to own a garage. If you want, I could take a look at it. Could be a quick fix.”
“Are you serious? That would be awesome. My car is just down the street. But what if you miss the bus.”
He checked his watch again. “Make you a deal. If I can get your car started, you give me a ride.”
“If you can get my car started, I'll drive you anywhere you wanna go.” I held out my hand. “I'm Sarah, by the way.”
“I'm Duncan,” he said. “But everyone calls me Dunk.”
As soon as we got to my car he pointed to the hood. “Pop it open. Maybe a spark plug wire got loose. Could be that the battery cables are corroded, too.”
I did as he asked and stayed in my car while he got to work. Within a few minutes, he said, ”Okay. Give 'er a try.
I turned the ignition key, and it started.
Just like magic.
I yelped with faux excitement and said, “You are truly a lifesaver.”
Duncan seemed proud of himself as he shut the hood. “You might want to get a tune-up. She's idling a little rough.”
“Will do. So … where would you like to go, Dunk?”
“Actually,” he said, sheepishly. “I could really use a drink.”
“Any place in particular?”
“As far away from here as possible,” he said.
“Okay. I know just the place.”
* * *
I drove clear across town to a quiet spot on the ocean called Mel's Marina Bar and Grill. Duncan barely spoke a word on the ride over, though I tried my best to engage him in conversation.
“Well, here you go,” I said, pulling up to the front entrance, where a sign read: Ship ahoy, mates.
Duncan seemed to study the sign with interest “Just my speed. Doesn't look too fancy.”
“If you're hungry they have a killer fish taco dish,” I said.
He looked at me and smiled faintly. “It'd be nice if you wanted to stay and have a drink with me. Unless, of course, you have somewhere else to be.”
I pretended to give it some thought. “Hmm. I guess I'm not in a hurry to get home.”
Mel's Marina Bar and Grill was a low-key establishment decorated with a nautical flair. Vintage fishing nets, anchors, and black and white framed photos of old fishing villages adorned the walls. Over the bar, a gigantic stuffed swordfish hung from the ceiling by invisible wire. The smell of fried seafood instantly made my mouth water.
Duncan grabbed a stool at the bar, deposited his backpack on the floor next to him, and ordered some scotch. I asked for a glass of red wine.
“So Dunk,” I said, deciding to get right to the point. “Have you given up the whole gambling scene?”
He froze for a few seconds then turned to look at me. “I never mentioned anything about gambling.”
“Truth is, I know all about you, Duncan.”
His jaw dropped as he scanned the place. “What is this?”
The bartender slid our drinks over. I took a sip of my wine and smiled. “I know a little about you. You have a deranged wife who wants you dead. You have a friend who ratted you out for money. And your reputation as a bookie is in the gutter.”
He glared at me, confusion in his eyes. “What are you, an undercover cop?”
“I'm a private investigator. And I'm looking into the death of Glenn Fleming.”
His flabbergasted look seemed genuine. He had no idea what I was talking about. “Who the hell is Glenn Fleming?” he asked.
“One of my sources told me that Glenn paid you a visit about his friend, Neal Bellows, the kid with a pony tail. He owed you money.”
Duncan rubbed his forehead. “Shit. That's right. That guy Glenn … he came to the pizzeria and wanted to make a deal.”
“So he paid off Neal's debt?”
“Not exactly. He offered me a painting. Said it was worth over three thousand bucks – more if I held on to it for a couple of years. I didn't want the damned thing. What the hell do I know about art.”
“So you declined his offer?”
Dunk shook his head and sighed. “I took the painting. What else could I do? Besides, Glenn seemed like a cool guy. I was impressed that he'd do that for a friend, especially a nitwit like Neal. We had a nice conversation.”
“So you had no reason to kill Glenn?”
Duncan gulped. “You can't possibly think I killed him? I've never killed anybody. I didn't even know the guy.”
I stared at him for a few seconds, trying to read his expression. “I know you didn't. You were in the hospital. A guy named Moe beat you up for cheating during game night with the boys.”
“What happened to Glenn?”
“He was shot by a robber at his gallery.”
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I really am, but what does this have to do with me?”
“Look, I need your help,” I said. “I have a hunch that Glenn knew the person who shot him. I'm just wondering if Glenn mentioned anything to you.”
“About someone wanting to kill him? Why would he mention that to me?”
“You said he was a nice guy and that you two talked for a bit.”
“Yeah, well, he never said someone wanted to kill him.”
“Did he mention the name Chloe Goodwin by any chance?”
“Is that his wife?”
I hesitated. “No.”
/>
“A girlfriend?”
“I don't know,” I said. “That's what I'm trying to find out.”
Dunk took a swig of his scotch and wiped his mouth. “Well, isn't that interesting.”
I looked at him. “What?”
“I complained to him about my wife. You know how guys do that, right? I told him I probably wouldn't be married very long because Mary was always on my case for this and that. When I asked Glenn if he was married, he told me his wife had recently decided to leave him. Difference was, he seemed pretty devastated. I couldn't wait for my wife to leave me. When you mentioned this Chloe girl, I figured she was his new girlfriend. A rebound or something.”
I blinked in shock. “Glenn told you his wife was leaving him?”
Duncan shrugged. “It happens.”
“Did Glenn tell you the reason?”
“He didn't go into it. I got the feeling he'd said more than he wanted to.”
I grabbed my wallet out of my bag and paid for the drinks. “Dunk, I really have to go. Do you need a ride somewhere?”
“No,” he said. “I think I'll stay for another shot. Why are you in such a hurry all of a sudden?”
“There's someone I need to talk to.”
* * *
Elizabeth was still at the gallery when I arrived at 6:30. I could see her through the window, sitting at Glenn's desk, laptop in front of her. I knocked gently so as not to startle her.
She looked up and hurried to the door to open it. “Sarah. Are you okay? You look frazzled.”
Trying to keep my voice calm and collected, I said,. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Of course. Come on in. I was just catching up on e-mail before heading home.” She gestured to one of the empty chairs by the desk. “Do you have new information?”
“I just had a conversation with Duncan Schwartz, the bookie. First of all, I'm pretty sure he wasn't involved in Glenn's death or the robberies. However, there was something he said that confused me.”
“What did he say?”
“He said you were planning to divorce Glenn?”
Sarah Woods Mystery Series (1-6) Boxed Set Page 69