Another Senseless Killing (3) A wide smile suddenly appeared on Nick's broad face. "Why the grin?" I asked curiously. "Oh --- just thinking back to Chicago." "We do go back a few years." I returned the grin as I fell in step with Nick's sudden reminiscent mood. "What? Twenty --- thirty years?" "Oh --- Easy. Foley's Hat Store on Mohawk --- Irish Catholic, and Gold's Hat Store on Grant Street --- Orthodox Jewish." We both nodded. Nick went on. "I was a lot younger then, but I still remember. God, I loved those days." "Yeah. Me too. Things seemed so much --- simpler then." "Manny, where the hell has the time gone?" I shrugged. I had no answer. Again there was silence between us. I broke the mood. "By the way, I got this client. And --- " Nick put his hand on my arm. "That's great, Manny. And I don't mean to be rude or disinterested --- but I'm so tired --- I mean I'm really beat --- " "So you want I should tell you about it another time?" "Yeah. Like when I'm awake." He leaned in closer. "Because I do want to hear about it." "Okay." I shrugged. "It's no big deal." He gave my arm a squeeze. "I knew you'd understand." I looked at my watch. "I got to go. Time to trail Mister Delvecchio." "I remember when I was a young and eager detective. I used to hate those shit details too." "It's that obvious?" Nick didn't have to answer. "Well, thanks --- I think." The perturbed waiter came up to our table with two menus under his arm for the next patrons. Too bad! "More coffee, please." I said. The waiter gave us both a long reprimanding look, then left. "Manny, I thought you had to go and trail that client of yours." "Yeah --- but I need some more coffee first." Nick laughed. The family of four was still quiet. Then I realized the mother was mute and they were all signing. Most unobservant for a PI, I thought. I was certain Nick had caught it. "The Warner case sounds interesting." I said. The waiter filled our cups with the same angry expression. He never looked up, then vanished. "Wait ‘til you've done this for as long as I have, Manny. Apathy replaces interest and boredom replaces excitement. The challenges are few and far between." He took a fresh cigar out of his pocket. "It's sort of like marriage." I took a sip and pushed my cup aside. "I can relate to that --- the marriage part, that is." We both stood up much to the relief of the frustrated waiter. Nick left the tip and took the check to the front. I let him pay. I knew he enjoyed being the big shot. He also made more money than I did. Standing at the cash register, I casually asked Nick, "When we gonna play racquetball again?" "Never!" I could see my friend drooling over the dessert case. "You lefties kill me." "Crybaby." "And besides," he added, "ever since I hurt my Achilles tendon last year ---" "Excuses. Excuses." I love this banter. "Manny, it's just not worth the pain." We left the desserts and went outside. "Well, Nick, I rather enjoyed blowing you off the court. It builds my ego." "Yeah. And all of it at my expense." "So," I suggested playfully, "maybe we can take up chess. At least you won't get physically annihilated." "Very funny!" Nick didn't laugh. "Look, I would love to keep up this snappy chatter, but I do have to go to work --- tired or no. I wouldn't want you taxpayers to think I was fucking off." "That's a good idea." I did a bad impression of Stan Laurel scratching his head. Then we shook hands warmly and parted company. * In an out of date powder blue polyester jump suit and cheap Converse sneakers, Juan Morales was sitting with his feet up on a table in the far corner of the county morgue watching a local news program on a nine inch black and white TV. The large orange drink in front of him was half full. "Hello." He waved. Nick and I waved back. He took a Wendy's bag from under the table and removed a sandwich. Judging by Morales' size, I guessed the sandwich was a Wendy's triple with bacon and cheese and anything else that would fit inside the bun. Juan Morales has been the Filmore County Coroner for twelve years and a friend of Nick Foley for almost as long. He was born forty-one years ago in Austin, Texas and educated at Harvard Medical School. His parents were both Spanish and he speaks with a slight Spanish accent. Juan is short and fat with no eyebrows. He sports a thin mustache under a large pock marked nose. His olive colored skin is like leather and his greasy black hair is combed straight back. His tortoise frames support thick myopic lenses. The room reeked from obnoxious smelling chemicals that I couldn't identify. Everything was white: White linoleum, white walls, white ceiling. Two small windows were at either side of the room with the white blinds drawn shut. Several useless vents were scattered over the walls and ceiling. Microscopes, assorted bottles, knives and scalpels were lying on small tables against the walls. I had been in this antiseptic room only five minutes and already nausea was setting in. Morales turned off the TV and consulted a large piece of yellow paper. He took another bite of his huge sandwich and followed it with a large swallow of his drink. Then he motioned to us and we came into his office, which was tiny but surprisingly neat. "Curt Warner is in the cooler. He hasn't moved since you saw him last." Then he laughed. Nick and I looked at each other and shook our heads. Did he do this routine very often or just for our benefit? Juan put his dinner on a tray on an adjacent table, and sat on the desk. Nick and I sat on chairs opposite him. "Nothing much new, Nick." Then he turned toward me. "This dude was shot through the head. I would guess five or six times." Nick nodded. "I think it'll be easier to talk without his landlady around." "So, Nick, you remember he had half his fucking head blown away." I only wanted to get the hell out! "The damage was done by a thirty-eight." Morales reached back and took a bullet out of a box. "This was lodged in the dura mater around the brain." He looked at me again. My nausea intensified. "Normally it doesn't smell this bad in here. But I'm all out of deodorizer." He forced a smile. "Some people never get used to the odor." "You can include me." I said. Juan's smile remained frozen. "Next time it'll smell better. I promise." Next time? I was dying for some fresh air and a cigarette. "There." Juan dumped the small piece of metal into the palm of my hand. "There were powder burns --- " He turned the page. " --- so he was shot at close range." "Possibly by someone he knew." Nick added. Juan thought a second. "Possibly." I rolled the disfigured metal piece in my hand and gave it to Nick. "Death was quick." Juan said. Nick gave back the bullet and the medical examiner returned it to the small box. "Do we have the weapon yet?" Nick asked. I began to inch toward the front door. "No." Juan shook his head. "When ballistics has it, they'll contact me." Then he reached over and took a final bite of his sandwich, which had to be ice cold. He made a face accordingly. Then he finished his orange drink. After a gigantic burp, he threw his garbage into the wastebasket under his desk. "Well." said Morales as he folded his large hands and put them on the desk. "Any other questions?" I wanted to ask if there was a place I could throw up, but I didn't. Nick asked, "How long has he been dead --- unofficially?" "Oh --- I would estimate --- around four or five days. That would make the murder date --- " He consulted a small calendar on his desk. " --- October fifth or sixth." "How long can you keep him here?" Nick asked. "We'll keep him in the cooler for maybe another week. Then hopefully the landlady --- or someone will come and get him." Juan opened the top drawer of his desk. "I almost forgot." He handed Nick a brown envelope. "I had some prints made of Warner's face from his driver's license --- as per your request, Nick." "Thanks, Juan." Nick smiled broadly. "I knew I could count on you." "I don't do this for everyone. Here's three copies." "I'll take one." I said, planning to show it to Margo. Nick looked at his watch. "Ready, Manny?" But I was already out the door. * V Nick Foley was in the process of moving into his new office, and the walls were bare, the carpet not yet laid. There was only a desk and two chairs. The desk displayed a phone and an eight by ten photo of his wife and kids. Some papers were scattered across the center. Nick sat in the chair behind his desk. I occupied the chair opposite him. "I can still smell the paint." I said wrinkling my nose. "Yeah, I know. They used oil base. But this is nothing." Nick looked at the papers on his desk as he spoke. "You should've been here two days ago." "I'm glad I wasn't." My insides began bouncing in all directions. Nick looked up and pointed at me. "What's sticking out of your shirt pocket?" "Huh --- ?" Kate was escaping from Alex. I couldn't blame her. "You mean this?" "Yeah. Is that a photo?" "It's a photograph of my new client's sister." I pushed the photo back. "Want to hear about it?" "Well, I'm sure it's interesting --- " Nick threw a quick glance at the clock above the doorway. "--- but I've been here since early this morning. I passed exhausted long ago. We can discuss it --- " "Fine!" I didn't mean to snap. Nick sat back in his chair and loosened his collar. "Okay, go ahead. Just be quick about it." "Okay. This --- " I took Kate's picture out of my pocket and showed it to Nick. "is my client's sister." "Let's see." He got his face close to the snapshot. Then his mouth dropped open and his eyes became two cue balls. "I'll be a son-of-a-bitch!" He took a photo from the top drawer of his desk and showed it to me. "Look familiar?" My reaction would have been no different then if someone had kicked me in the balls. I tore it out of his hands. Nick looked at me as if I'd gone berserk. I wondered if I had. "Curt Warner, the homicide I'm working on, had this in his pocket." Nick added. I held the two identical photos of Kate Blair in either hand and stared at them for what seemed like hours. There was dead silence in the room except for the soft ticking of Foley's clock. Nick broke the spell. "I think it's safe to say that the chances of there being two identical Kate Blairs are slim and none." "The odds are about the same as me making it with one of my ex-wives." I lit up a Camel. It was tough because my hand was shaking. I took a deep drag. It didn't help. "Kate has been missing for about --- six days. Her sister, Margo, hired me to help find her." Nick took a cigar out of his vest pocket, looked at it then put it back. "Well, Manny." Nick spoke with a renewed vigor. "I guess we'll be working together on this one." "Well --- " I took another deep drag, then exhaled slowly. " --- I don't know about that, Nick." He folded his hands on top of his desk and leaned in towards me. "What do you mean --- you don't know?" "I --- I'm not sure I want to take this case, and --- " "Why not?" He answered for me. "Of course you'll take it." "And besides, I would probably just get in the way, so that --- " "Look." Nick interrupted. "We've never worked together before. And since these cases are obviously connected, it's a natural." I started to protest, but he put his hand up almost in my face. "It's settled." He produced a wide grin. "We're a team." Then he stood up and stuck out his fat hand. "Put it there, partner." Nick could be more stubborn than me at times. I could see that arguing would be a futile. So I stood to face him and shook his hand reluctantly. "Okay --- partner." * VI "Nice apartment." I was impressed. I poured Margo and me each another glass of Riesling dry. Both the room and the furniture were of a strictly modern decor. Sharp lines and sharp angles. The sofa we sat in was a smooth white fabric with black spots running through it at random. Two thin black contemporary lamps stood on either side. A black chair with white random dots was on the opposite wall next to a huge bone white entertainment center. Books and knickknacks covered the walls on both sides of an unused fire-place. The two windows had simple mauve drapes and the carpeting was a tight charcoal weave. All the walls and the ceiling were wallpapered with an off-white shadow stripe. I set the decanter on the tray on an s-shaped glass table in front of us. "So --- " I said as I looked at the Ms. and BSc. degrees from Ohio State University, " --- you are a certified interior designer. "Yes." We both took another sip. "Did you do your own apartment?" I asked innocently. Margo paused and stared at me. "Sure. Why not?" I shrugged. "Oh --- some people might think it's better to get another's opinion out side the realm of your own environment." "More objective, you mean.” "Exactly!" I agreed. "Well --- " She smiled. " --- I guess I'm not some people." I nodded. Her brown eyes were starting to get to me. So was the wine. "Manny Gold." She said thoughtfully as she moved to the chair across from me. "Doesn't sound like a detective." She finished her drink and put the empty wine glass next to mine. I liked the way it looked. I smiled. "How about --- Sam Spade?" She laughed. Her eyes sparkled. "I believe you’re too late for that one." I picked up my glass and finished the wine, then I took out a fresh pack of Camels. "Where's the ashtray?" "Ah --- ah." She said waving her forefinger at me. "Put them away, Sam Spade. This is a non-smoking apartment.” I nodded. "I should have guessed." I immediately put the cigarettes back in my pocket. She got up and went to her purse. "Here." She handed me a white envelope. "Open it." I opened it slowly and looked at Margo. Then I looked back at the envelope. I took out the twelve hundred dollar bills and stuffed them in my side pocket. "A thousand plus an extra two-hundred for time and miscellaneous expenses. I hope that's enough to get you started." "Yes. That's fine." "And you have her picture?" "Yes." I patted my shirt pocket. There were a few minutes of silence as we both sat motionless. Margo broke the spell. "You know, Manny. I just don't understand Kate. She has looks, talent --- she could be anything she wants: An actress, a high profile model --- anything." I started to interject, but Margo continued. "She lives day to day. No concern about the future." She took out a tissue and wiped her eyes. "I love her dearly, but she’s so --- irresponsible." She put the tissue away and sat back. She folded her hands on her lap and looked at me. Her brown eyes suddenly seemed larger. Margo took a deep breath and spoke with a sneer. "I saw her a couple of times with this --- this black guy." "I assume you dislike him." "Despise would be a better word." I waited. She proceeded with difficulty. "I know damn well he beat her!" I sat back on the sofa. "She told you this?" Margo hesitated a second. "Let's just say she alluded to it." "Sounds vague. I'm not sure that's enough to --- " "What if I saw bruises on her cheek and her arm?" I started to respond but she continued emphatically. "Manny, I just know that bastard beat her!" "Did you ever discuss it with her?" I suddenly got very angry. "I told you. Even with me Kate is a very private person." "So she never admitted the beatings." It was a statement not a question. Again Margo hesitated. "No. But she never denied them either. She was --- evasive." "So maybe someone else hit her." I put my hand up to stop her angry reply. "I'm playing devil's advocate here, okay?" I took out a small notebook and pencil. "What's this guy's name?" "Rowland." She spat the words out like they were snake venom. "Herb Rowland." "Do you know where I can find him?" My hand was shaking as I wrote. She shook her head. "When Kate disappeared, Rowland disappeared." "Do you think it's possible they went away together?" I tried to be kind. "That is one horrid thought I've tried to put out of my mind." "But --- " I pushed gently. " --- it is possible." There was a long pause. "I --- I don't know. I sure as hell hope not." "Can you tell me anything about this Herb Rowland?" I knew I had to tread lightly. There was another long pause. I knew my client's blood was boiling. "I once heard her refer to him as a forty-one year old retiree. Forty-one year old bum would be a more apt description!" She uncrossed her legs and put her knees together. "I'm sure my sister gave him money." I didn't interrupt. I let her get it out. "That really pisses me off. He beat her and she gave him money!" After a long silence, I decided to alter course. "Margo. Do you know if Rowland has a car?" Margo thought for a moment. "I doubt it. And if he did, it would probably be registered in Kate's name."
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