Swan Dive - Jeremiah Healy Page 12

  "Was she thinking about leaving it? Prostitution, I mean."

  "Not that she ever said. Just that . . ."

  "Yes?"

  Goldberg flapped her hand. "Just that she had this dream of becoming an actress. That she thought the life had taught her enough about how to act different than she felt, and that she thought that was better training for the movies than some drama school she’d gotten mail about."

  "She ever pursue the acting idea?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "Nino told me that she was . . . wasn’t involved in anything he’d arranged for the night she was killed. Does that sound consistent to you?"

  "Yeah. You were going to say she was ‘free-lancing’, weren’t you?"

  "Yes."

  "Thanks for trying to spare my feelings, but I did know she was a whore, you know?"

  “I know."

  "I mean, whether she arranged it or Nino arranged it never changed what she was doing, did it?"

  "I guess not."

  Goldberg toned down a bit. "She free-lanced a lot. I don’t think Nino really cared about that. He’s not exactly your stereotypical pimp."

  "Is that how she met Marsh?"

  "I don’t know. I know she was really proud that she wasn’t just a party girl Nino set up with conventioneers. I think she . . . I think she had trouble with the law before she met Nino, and I think she liked the fact that her personal clients now were in banking and insurance and so on. Like it gave her status."

  "Ms. Goldb-"

  "Reena, please. Don’t you think by this point you could call me Reena?"

  "Sure. Reena, Marsh didn’t strike me as the kind of man who would pay for sex. More the kind who’d intimidate for it. I only met him a few days before he died, but I—"

  "I know. The cops tried to get me to say I’d heard Teri mention your name, but she didn’t used to do that."

  "Do what?"

  "Mention the name of her clients. To me, anyway. It was like a professional thing with her. Like confidentiality with a lawyer."

  I considered it. "Then how did you know who Marsh was when the cops first contacted you?"

  "I didn’t. Till the drugs came into it. Then I knew who they meant."

  "How?"

  "Teri was into trading, you know? Like, what’s the word for it, one thing for another?"r

  "Barter?"

  "Yeah, barter. Right. She didn’t have any kind of health plan, obviously, and she wasn’t about to go to this butcher Nino knew, so there was this doctor she used to . . . do things for in exchange for his treating her. Well, I knew she was seeing a guy she got drugs from, cocaine, and when the cops asked me about Marsh, I just matched him up."

  "She ever talk about him? The drug supplier, I mean?"

  "No. She really didn’t do that. At least not with me."

  I thought about the next question I wanted to ask, because I was afraid that it might end her cooperation.

  "Reena, you said before that Teri approached you because you looked kind. She must have confided in somebody about some things."

  "Maybe her sister. Teri never told me her name, always just ‘my sister? The family lives in Epton, near Lawrence." Reena stopped, then said, "I don’t think you understand how it was between Teri and me."

  "I guess I thought you were lovers."

  Reena’s eyes clouded over, but she spoke past them. "I loved her, but she came to me for the same reason clients came to her. To get something they were missing in the rest of their lives. I wish to God I knew what it was."

  "Does Teri’s sister still live at home?"

  "You mean in Epton?"

  “Yes."

  "No, I don’t think so. She’s younger than Teri . . . than Teri was. But she’ll be there today, anyway. The funeral was scheduled for this morning." Reena glanced up to a clock, and the tears began to come. "It started . . . ten minutes ago . . . I couldn’t go . . .they’ve been through so much already. It didn’t seem fair . . . to add me to it."

  "It takes a pretty strong person to do something like that."

  "Oh yeah," she said, rallying a little. "That’s what I’ve always been. Strong, tough even. Well, I’ll tell you, you know some people are tougher than they look?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, I’m the opposite. I look tougher than I am." I left her wiping a cuff across her eyes.

  SIXTEEN

  -♦-

  I was unsteady getting up from the flowers and caught my balance by using her stone.

  Too much to drink last night?

  "No. Too much Terdell."

  As the morning sun skipped over the waves in the harbor below us, I brought her up to date on what had happened.

  So what do you think?

  "I think I have a sackful of people who knew either Marsh or Teri but so far no connection between them."

  How do you mean?

  "Well, whoever hit me on Monday knew I’d be a good candidate for the frame. That means that somebody trying to kill Angel would have to know about me and Marsh."

  What if just Marsh was the target?

  "Then Teri’s side of this is a blind alley. And I’m left with looking for motives for killing Marsh. I think his lawyer Felicia bought drugs from him, his partner Stansfield cashed a quarter-million in key-man insurance, and his wife Hanna believed she’d get both life-policy proceeds and the house."

  The nurse’s father hated Marsh, right?

  "Yes, but Kelley seemed pretty quick to yield to his daughter’s will when I was with him. Also, she alibis him for Monday night."

  The drug pushers are rough enough.

  "The problem there is that J .J. would be better off if Marsh had stayed alive. And none of the cops seem interested in anything but themselves or nailing me."

  What about this Nino guy?

  "Harder to figure. No indication that he even knew Marsh. Nino may have a nose for the stuff himself, or just be looking for indirect compensation for losing Teri. Or . . ."

  Or?

  "I don’t know. Maybe he really cared for her. Her lover certainly did. And would have had the physical strength to send Marsh out the window."

  And shoot the woman she loved in the bargain?

  "You’re right. Doesn’t figure that way."

  If Marsh didn’t meet Teri through her manager, then maybe you should find out how they did get together.

  "I’ve been trying to."

  What are you going to do next?

  “First, try to talk with Teri’s sister."

  Couldn’t that wait?

  "I don’t even know her name or where she lives. If I’m going to see her, today at the family’s house is the best bet."

  You said first?

  "What?"

  You said first you were going to talk with the sister. Then what?

  "Oh. Then I get to have lunch with Nino and his ladies."

  I’d always heard that widowers were corruptible.

  "Please."

  * * *

  The drive to Epton took about an hour. I’d looked up the family name in the telephone book, and it was the only one in town. A stop at a gas station pointed me toward the street, and the center of gravity of the dozen or so cars parked along the road appeared to be the address.

  I slowed down. The shallow lawn rose steeply to the stoop. The inner door to the house was open but the outer, screened door was closed, the upper part filled by the broad back of a man in a dark suit. He seemed to be talking to someone, then swiveled sideways to let a young woman in a knee-length black dress edge past him and outside. She clicked down the path in modest heels, face downcast and palms locked onto elbows. An old woman fussedly came halfway out the doorway and yelled something at her in Greek. This one wore black too, only more so: shoes, stockings, long skirt, sweater, even kerchief on her head. The younger woman ignored her, the older one giving a curiously European "good riddance" wave before going back into the house.

  I pulled by the younger one. Her features matched the o
nes I’d seen in Holt’s mug shot of Teri, but plainer and somehow less vital, the way a Xerox of a Xerox used to look.

  She reached the sidewalk and turned to walk in the direction I was driving. I accelerated to the first empty stretch of curb and parked. I got out of the car and came around to the passenger side while she was still twenty feet away. Drawing closer, she treated me warily, as though she had just noticed me standing there. I could see her left hand: no engagement or wedding ring.

  “Ms. Papangelis?"

  "Yes?"

  I showed her my ID quickly as I said, "My name’s Cuddy. I’m investigating the death of your sister."

  She sighed and closed her eyes. "Again?"

  "I’m afraid so."

  She opened her eyes and gestured vaguely behind her. "Today?"

  "The sooner we get all the information we can, the better our chances of—"

  "Okay, okay." She looked up the street. "Would it be all right if we just walked around for a while? I’m kind of tired of the house and all."

  "Sure."

  We continued on the route she’d started, past the old homes with narrow driveways and detached rear garages that could have been in any blue-collar neighborhood within fifty miles.

  "Ask your questions."

  "We still don’t know for sure whether the killer was after Marsh or your sister. Can I call her Teri?"

  "Theresa. You can call me Sandy or Sandra, I don’t care. But Teri was her . . . the name she used with her customers. I always called her Theresa."

  "It might help us focus on who was the target if you can tell me something about her."

  "Like what? I mean, I already answered all the questions you guys had the last time."

  "Tell me what you haven’t said already. What you think I ought to know."

  "God. What you ought to know." She took a breath.

  "There were just the two of us, we had a brother, but he died while he was being born. Theresa was five years older than me, and always in trouble. I mean like school trouble, grades and attendance and that kind of thing. I was always the perfect student, skipped two grades, my father scraped and saved to send me through parochial school, you know? He would have done the same for Theresa, but she didn’t care, and probably didn’t have the aptitude to do the work. So she went one way and I went another."

  "Which way did you go?"

  “Teachers’ college. Framingham State. Got out last year, now I’m teaching in Salem. Salem, New Hampshire, not Massachusetts."

  "Did you stay in touch with your sister much?"

  "Depends on how you mean. She and Mom don’t . . . didn’t get along too well. When she found out about what Theresa was doing . . ."

  "When was that? That your mother found out."

  "Not really till all this. I mean, my father suspected, for a long time, I think. But my mom . . . do you know much about Greek families?"

  I thought back to what Eleni had told me about the men she hated in Greece. "Not much."

  "Well, it’s no disgrace for a man to go see a . . . they’d use the word ‘whore.' The men joke about it in the living room, while the women make believe they can’t hear them from the kitchen. But it’s a real disgrace for your daughter to turn into one. That’s one of the reasons I had to get out of the house just now. I couldn’t stand the hypocritical men standing around trying to console my parents about what Theresa had become while they were probably kicking themselves for never trying to . . . never trying to see her, too."

  "Tell me about Theresa personally."

  “Personally?"

  "Yes. What was she like?"

  "Pretty. No, more flashy, like the kind of girl the guys would always be watching. She knew it, too. And she had this great smile and way of talking to you, that made you feel better even though it wasn’t so much what she said as what she let you say." Sandra smiled, but it didn’t make her look happy or pretty. "Maybe that’s why she was good at what she did."

  "You ever meet Roy Marsh?"

  "No. To be honest, I’d really only see Theresa when she’d come up to the house for family stuff. Dinner once in a while, holidays. She never brought anybody with her. Or invited us down for anything. I don’t think my parents ever even saw her apartment? She broke off, her expression hardening. "You guys decided when I can finally get in there and get her stuff?"

  I remembered lunch with Nino and his possibly taking me there. "Not up to me. The one to call is Lieutenant Holt. Try him tomorrow and he’ll probably okay it."

  "So long as I can get in by the weekend. I want this all . . . all cleaned up by then."

  "I can understand that. Did Theresa ever talk with you about her clients?"

  "No. I know she had a guy managing for her. She took up with him after she had the trouble in Salem. And there were a couple of other girls working with her for him. But I don’t remember their names." She half laughed. "Probably only heard their street names anyway."

  "You said she got into trouble where you work?"

  "Where I . . . oh, no. Not up there. Salem, Massachusetts. She got arrested, for soliciting I guess they call it. But that was a long time ago. I was just, what, maybe thirteen."

  "Anything happen from it?"

  "I don’t think so, but I was kind of young to really understand, and she didn’t exactly talk about it at the dinner table, you know?"

  "She ever talk about leaving, about finding another line of work?"

  The half-laugh again. "Not exactly. She always wanted to be a movie star. Even when she did go to school, she never really studied, just came home and read the fan magazines. She thought she looked like a young Natalie Wood. That was how she said it too, ‘a young Natalie Wood.' She kept thinking that somehow she’d be able to get into movies through somebody she’d meet. How she thought that was going to happen for her when she lived here instead of out in California someplace . . ."

  We’d made a circuit of the block and were drawing even with her parents’ driveway.

  She said, "Any more questions for me?"

  "Not for now. I’m really sorry about Theresa."

  Sandra kicked a stone off the sidewalk and onto her father’s lawn. "Save your sympathy for Teri. She’s the one who died Monday. Theresa I lost a long time ago."

  She turned away from me and walked resignedly back up the path to the house.

  * * *

  "John! Christ, I haven’t seen you in, what, five years."

  "More like seven, Ed."

  I grew up in South Boston with Ed. He’d wanted to attend college and law school, but his steady girlfriend’s pregnancy intervened. Starting out as a night janitor in the South Boston courthouse, he slowly moved up the chain to an assistant clerk’s job. He’s active in court administration across the Commonwealth and knows everybody.

  "What brings you back to God’s Little Acre?

  Oh, shit," he said, striking himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand. "I forgot about Beth. I’m sorry."

  "No need to be sorry. I’m here officially. Sort of."

  Ed leaned over the counter and looked in every direction before saying, "What’s the trouble?"

  "You know the killing over at the Barry?"

  "Just what I read in the Herald. A hooker and her john, right?"

  "Right. My gun was found at the scene, and I need some information I can’t look up for myself."

  "Christ, John. A double murder, that’s pretty heavy stuff. How deep are you in this?"

  "I didn’t do it. Somebody mugged me and took my gun to frame me."

  "The paper just said something about ‘unidentified’ weapon." _

  "Yeah, but it’s not the weapon I’m interested in. It’s the hooker."

  "I don’t get it."

  "I’m told she was in some legal trouble a while back."

  "And that surprises you?"

  "No, but I can’t go through the cops for the story."

  "I don’t know, John. All that shit is tied up by the privacy statute. The records,
I mean. She processed through here?"

  "No. Salem District Court."

  "Salem! Christ, John, the chief judge of the whole fucken system works outta Salem."

  "Ed, you’ve shaken every hand ever stamped a paper in this state. All I need is some noncontroversial information about her."

  “Like what?"

  “One of the suspects is a lawyer from Marblehead who used to do a lot of criminal work. I want to see if she was involved in the case."

  "Why—never mind. I don’t wanna know." Ed bothered his teeth with his tongue for a while. "I don’t know, John. How long ago was all this?"

  "Eight years, give or take."

  "Oh, John, all the stuff from that far back’d be on the micro." He made a rude noise. "Okay, I’ll give it a try. But I’m gonna have to bury this with some other kinda requests, and God save the sailor if anybody ever notices who was asking about her."

  "I really appreciate it, Ed."

  "Name?"

  "Street name was Teri Angel. Real name, and probably the one Salem would have, is Papangelis, Theresa."

  "Spel1 it for me."

  I spelled it. "Age back then about nineteen. The lawyer’s name is Felicia Arnold."

  "Gimme a couple days. I’ll call you."

  "Thanks, Ed."

  "Christ," he said walking away. "Guys lose their pensions like this."

  SEVENTEEN

  -♦-

  La Flor was tucked between a mom-and-pop grocery and a dry cleaner’s on the lower end of Sommer Street. I parked two doors down from the cleaner’s and watched the front door of the restaurant for a while. Two construction workers in bandanas, boots, and nonmatching hard hats came out, chewing thoughtfully on toothpicks. Not seeing anybody else by 1:30, I got out of the Fiat and walked into the place. There were twenty small tables crammed into the bowling alley space that reminded me more of New York than Boston. The tables were draped in clean white cloths, a fresh-cut carnation in a clear glass vase centered on each. An elderly couple were finishing lunch near the window. She wore a plain print dress, he a fifties sharkskin suit. They were holding hands and toasting each other with small port glasses. Nino waved to me from the back of the room. He sat on one of three stools at a tiny bar, behind which a fat man was drying glasses with a towel. Immediately in front of Nino was a table for four with two women eating across from each other. One had a badly bleached ponytail draped across her near shoulder, the other long raven black hair. They both glanced up at me, the blonde following me with her eyes as I walked toward them, the other just returning to her plate.