Swan Dive - Jeremiah Healy Page 14

  In addition to the entrance, there were two big doors off the room, one next to the bed, the other past the footboard. Each looked to be of solid wood with glass knobs.

  I looked into the one at the footboard first. Just a hopper and a sink within the loosely tiled walls. "Only a half bath?"

  "The oh-twos used to be suites. Then they broke ’em up. Didn’t put showers and all in most of them." I moved to the other door. Patch whisked it open for me. “The spacious walk-in closet."

  Four feet by five. A horizontal bar at eye level, some wire hangers on it. An old baggage holder with two of three straps broken. I said, "This where they found Marsh’s wallet?"

  "So they tell me. After he hit the ground, some guy off the street comes running in, saying there was somebody splattered all over the goddamn pavement. I run out after him. There’s a body all right. Kind of. Haven’t seen such a mess since the war. It looks to me like her regular ’cause of the short hair, but Kaghe’s the guy with the thick cheaters—he goes all to pieces, so he’s no good, and I gotta call the cops, then go out and make sure nobody fools around with what’s left of this guy Marsh until they get here."

  "So you weren’t in a position to see who was leaving the hotel?"

  “Son, like I told the cops, with the commotion from the sirens and all, you gotta understand, a lot of people in beds in this place ain’t planning to sleep over. The joint cleared out like one of them old-time cartoons of the rats leaving the ship, you know? Like in speeded-up motion?"

  "Did you see the actual scene in twelve-oh-two?"

  Patch sighed. "Yeah. After the cops got here and secured things in the street, I pointed up to the window. You could see it was broke ’cause of the way the lights from the yards across there didn’t shine off it. I brought one of them, the Guinness guy was with you yesterday morning, I brought him up to twelve-oh-two and let him in. He told me to stay outside, and I did, but I could see the girl, down by the bed there." Patch swung his index finger left to right from the bed up to the wall near the closet door. "So much blood and the way she was lying, you could tell she was dead."

  I walked around the room one more time. It wasn’t telling me anything. I thanked Patch and left.

  EIGHTEEN

  -♦-

  I got back to the condominium about 4:00 PM. My office answering service gave me the same two messages that my home tape machine had. Hanna Marsh and J.J. Braxley. I called Hanna first at the Swampscott number.

  "Hello?"

  "Hanna, this is John Cuddy, returning your call."

  "Oh, thank you. Two men come here to see me."

  "Who?"

  "Two black men. They say that Roy was in business with them."

  Here we go. "When was this‘?"

  “This morning. Before lunch."

  "What did they want?"

  "They want something they said Roy had. They didn’t say the drugs, but I knew that was what they meant. I told them I knew nothing, I was not with Roy then or before even. The man with kind of funny hair just smiled. The other, he didn’t say nothing but he smelled so bad."

  "Did they threaten you?"

  "No. Well, no, they didn’t make to hit me or nothing. I looked through the window when they ring the bell, so I send Vickie upstairs where they can’t see her."

  Out of sight wasn’t exactly out of mind. "What did they do?"

  "Nothing I could tell the police or anybody. Just that they wanted the—the smiling one called it ‘the material’—the material back or else they would have to ‘pursue other alternations’ or something like that."

  “Hanna, listen. If they’re willing to visit you in broad daylight, they’re not planning on doing anything just yet. They also probably expected you to call me, which means they’ll want to give me time to find the drugs for them."

  "So you think Vickie and I are safe'?"

  "For a while, anyway. Still, better keep Vickie around you a little closer than usual, okay?"

  "Okay. John?"

  "Yes?"

  "I thank you for helping us, but please don’t get hurt again."

  "Don’t worry. I’ll be careful."

  I rang off and dialed the number J.J. had left. A crusty voice said, "Yeah?"

  "Can I talk with J .J . Braxley?"

  "Who want him?"

  "The guy he called."

  "J.J., he call lotsa folk."

  It didn’t sound like Terdell, so I said, "Look, pal, tell you what. You tell J .J. that the guy he wanted to talk to spoke to you and you fucked it up. Or I can mention it to J.J. the next time I see him."

  “You lookin’ to end up—"

  "Because I’m pretty sure he’ll know it was you, since he really needs to talk to me and he left me this number to call, which means he probably knows that you’re always around to answer it."

  Some hesitation, then barely civilly, "He got the number you at?"

  "He’s got two of them. Let him guess which one’ll be good for fifteen more minutes."

  "Hey, I don’t—"

  I hung up on him. No more than five minutes later, the telephone rang.

  "This is John Cuddy."

  "Mon, you think you a pretty slick dude."

  "Let’s just say I’m not too impressed by the quality of your staff."

  "My staff, huh? My staff Terdell, he like to know exactly what happen last night."

  "Hard to say. I was delirious."

  "Terdell, he not too smart to start with. Last night didn’t improve things none."

  "They can do wonders nowadays with learning disabilities."

  "Oh, mon. Two quality players like you and me, we shouldn’t be all the time fighting. We got lots of things to talk about, be beneficent to both of us."

  "I guess I wouldn’t have called last night so beneficent."

  "My mistake. Don’t like to admit to such things generally, but I approach you all wrong. Didn’t realize your depth."

  "Why don’t we cut the crap, all right'? I’ve got other calls to make."

  “I expect you do at that. I want another meet, try a different approach this time."

  "What about?"

  "I tell you when I see you."

  “You’re wasting my time, J .J."

  "You pick the time and the place. And I guarantee it won’t be no waste."

  "Okay. Half an hour. Bar on Boylston Street called J.C. Hillary’s."

  "I be there."

  "Better leave Terdell in the car. Unless you’ve had him hermetically sealed."

  "You not exactly on Terdell’s kiss list, mon. I’d walk wide around him, I was you."

  "Half an hour."

  I hung up and debated with myself for all of ten seconds before punching Murphy’s office number.

  "Lieutenant Murphy."

  "Lieutenant, John Cuddy."

  "Cuddy, I told you already. I can’t talk with you."

  "Then talk with your buddy Sergeant Dawkins. Tell him I’m meeting Braxley at Braxley’s request at J .C. Hillary’s in thirty minutes."

  "The one on Boylston?"

  "Right."

  "You got something going with Dawkins, why don’t you call him yourself`?"

  "Because he didn’t dress like he hung around his office much. Besides, I think I’m going to want a council of war tomorrow with Holt, and I know where his office is."

  "I’m not even gonna ask why the hell you don’t call Holt then."

  "Be back to you tonight."

  "I’ll be in Saint Croix by then."

  Murphy hung up. I was glad to see him regaining his sense of humor.

  * * *

  J .J. came through the heavy front doors by himself. I was seated at the bar. He casually looked around, the place nearly empty at 4:30, as the convention facility across the street was under construction. He walked over to me and said, "How about we take us a table‘?"

  I led him to a back corner. We sat and the waitress took his order for Chivas on the rocks while I sipped my screwdriver.

  W
hen she moved away, he said, “Smart. You picking a place this public and this confidential, all at the same time."

  I raised my drink, turning the glass slowly in my hand. "I picked this place because they use fresh-squeezed orange juice in their cocktails."

  Braxley gave me a barracuda grin. "You a little more than I bargain for, Cuddy."

  "How do you mean?"

  "I figure, mon so dumb he get whomped on the head and lose his piece, that mon be a little easier to push."

  "I take it you finally buy my version of what happened?"

  The waitress brought his drink. He worked his smile on her, but got nothing in return. He hooded his eyes, tossed off half the drink, then settled back.

  "I don’t buy nothing. I already bought. Bought and paid for the stuff Marsh had on him."

  "I think we already had this conversation."

  "Oh no, mon. Not this conversation. Last night just an exhibition compared to what come."

  "You make me too nervous, I might spill my drink on you."

  "No, my friend. What come ain’t gonna come on you. I watch just now, coming over to the table here. You move pretty good for what Terdell whale upon you last night. You gotta hurt, nobody take that and not hurt, but you cover it. That mean you can take a lot more, and probably be real careful not to get suckered like we do last night. No, I was not thinking on you."

  “Your visit to Hanna Marsh?"

  Braxley looked pleased. “Thought she be calling about that."

  "She doesn’t know where the drugs are. She had nothing to do with Marsh for a while before he died."

  "I believe her."

  "So?"

  "So, I visiting not to see the woman so much as the house. Saw it once before, but that was in the night, time we paid Marsh himself a little visit."

  "The one that put him in the hospital?"

  "Marsh, he made of milk, mon. Can’t take the lickin’ like you."

  "Didn’t you get a good look at it the time you and Terdell tossed it?"

  "Just Terdell that time."

  "Maybe if you got to the point?"

  Braxley lapped a little more scotch. "Thought you be smart enough to see the point."

  "I’ve always been disappointing that way."

  "Maybe I better sharpen the matter up for you then." He put down the glass with a flourish. "I get the stuff from my supplier, I pay him. I give the stuff to Marsh, he don’t pay me. The word is out on the street. ‘J.J. get the sting,' ‘J.J. give the credit and get burned,' and like that. But the stuff, it ain’t on the street. That don’t ring true. Some people get ideas, think maybe I’m gone soft about things. Business things. Somebody work up the balls to try me, see if I push a little on the territory. Means I gotta push back. Inefficient. Waste my resources on fights I don’t want and can’t make pay."

  Braxley affected a woeful look, playing to the second balcony. "Or maybe my supplier talk to one of these dudes, get the word that I’m loose with his shit, he think, ‘Fuck, J.J. slipping the knot, getting ready to bolt on me, gotta groom this new J .J., take his place? Then I push the new man, supplier say, ‘Fuck is this shit? What the hell J.J. doing?' Then the supplier, he ask himself, ‘How come the last load ain’t hit the street yet?' I don’t need those kinds of troubles, mon."

  "Sounds like you got them. Through your own fault with Marsh."

  The woeful look dissolved. “Sound that way to you? Well, let’s us see how this sound. I give Marsh the credit, he don’t pay up. He do that to a bank, what the bank do?"

  I didn’t respond. Braxley reached for his drink and finished it decisively.

  "Tell you what the bank do. The bank treat that like a family obligation, mon. The bank go take his house and toss his family on the street. Well, you talking to a bank now, the First National Bank of Braxley. Terdell I and me visit the missus this morning, polite as can be. We wearing hats, they woulda been in our hands. We give her notice this morning, but I spell it out for you. I get back my shit, or we take the house to cover it."

  "You ever hear of duress?"

  Braxley started to laugh, then cut it off." ‘Duress,' huh? That woman own that house now, she can do whatever she want with it. Like she can put it on the market for maybe twenty thousand less than it worth, and sell it like in a few weeks, and she get plenty on it, mon, plenty enough to cover her husband’s debt. And she gonna wanna do it, too. Know why?"

  I still didn’t say anything.

  "Sure you know why. You just don’t wanna hear the words in the air. You a sensitive son of a bitch. Well, maybe you better brace yourself, ’cause here they come, ready or not. She gonna wanna do that for me because I like be holding her little child in excrow. The daughter she so careful not to let us see this morning. You know what excrow mean?"

  "The expression is ‘escrow,' Braxley, and I know what it means."

  He sat back, even more pleased with himself. "You got the benefit of a fine stateside education, my friend. I just a poor immigrant, but I catch on fast. This here an open society, anything possible for a mon who willing. You believe it."

  I believed it.

  * * *

  I waited in the bar for half an hour after J .J. left. Then I looped around the blocks the long way and drifted toward my building from the river side. No whiff of Terdell or sign of anyone else. I went inside and upstairs.

  I called the Christideses’ home number.

  "Who is this?"

  It sounded like one of Eleni’s cousins, so I said, "My name is John Cuddy. Eleni wanted to see me yesterday."

  I heard some muffled talk in Greek, then the voice came back to me with "Wait, wait, she come." I waited.

  “John?"

  "Yes, Eleni. Is everything all right?"

  "Yes, fine, fine. You want Chris?"

  "Please."

  "He not here, John."

  "I really need to speak with him. Do you know when he’ll be back?"

  "He gone to a meeting two hours already. Can he call you back?"

  "Yes. I’ll be home."

  "I tell him."

  I thanked her, pushed down the button, and called Murphy again.

  "Murphy."

  "Lieutenant, it’s me, Cuddy."

  "Hold on. Holt’s right here."

  "Lieutenant, wait—"

  “Cuddy, this is Holt. Just what the hell you think you’re pulling here?"

  "Lieutenant, I’d like a meeting with you and Dawkins tomorrow."

  "You fucken asshole. Where do you—"

  "In the morning, if possible. Your office would be fine."

  "How about I send a cruiser right now?"

  "How about I call Senator Kennedy and tell him how you’re violating my civil rights?"

  “What rights?"

  "You want to send a cruiser, line. You want me to tell the papers and TV in a few days how you and yours were responsible for botching a double murder and getting a child hurt on top of it, go ahead."

  "What child? The fuck are you talking about?"

  "I’ll explain it tomorrow. How about ten A.M.?"

  The gnashing of teeth. "You be here. If we are, too, we’ll hear what you have to say."

  I put the receiver down and turned on the news. I sat through sports, weather, and Tom Brokaw. Then I went downstairs, backed the car out of the space, and drove to the waterfront.

  * * *

  Most of the residential housing on the harbor consists of condominium flats in redeemed warehouses. The warehouses themselves sit on wharves, huge stone and beam intrusions into the water and from another century. Before Boston’s renaissance fifteen years ago, the wharves were abandoned, and only the intrepid would wade through the muddy moats the filled land around them had become. Ten thousand cash at a tax title auction would have snagged you a whole structure. Now, the same money would just about cover two years of property assessment on a single two-bedroom unit.

  I slowly drove by the address Nino gave me. Teri’s place was in one of the newly constructed towers,
rising floors above even the elevated, six-laned Central Artery that still separates the docks from the commercial downtown. As I pulled over to come back around, I saw Nino get out of his parked Olds across the street and incline his head toward the building entrance. Five minutes later, I found a parking space and joined him.

  He nodded approvingly. "Punc-tu-al-ity, man. At lunch and tonight, too. Important quality for professional men like you and me."

  Nino was wearing brown suit pants with cuffs and Hush Puppies shoes, but it was the top half of his outfit that caught the eye. Blue dress shirt, pencil-width leather tie, and a starched white coat with "Dr. Rodriguez" stitched over the chest pocket. The ear-pieces of a stethoscope protruded from a side pocket.

  "Career change?"

  "You like the getup? Shit, man, this here a condo building. Half the units owned by fucken docs as tax shelters, you know it? I walk in like this, we blend in. Rent-a-cop figure, ‘Big-time médico, too fucken cheap to have some agency show the place to a new tenant.' C’mon."

  Nino pulled the door open for me, then moved in quickly and got ahead of me, marching along in that self-absorbed way you see in hospital corridors. The guard said, "Evening, doctor."

  * * *

  Nino half saluted but never broke stride. I shrugged at the guard and whispered, "Famous surgeon."

  The guard winked to show no offense taken.

  Nino eased the door closed, pushing the police bar back into the slot on the floor.

  I said, "That was easy."

  "The cops, they don’t post no round-the-clock shit for a dead hooker, man. Besides, she killed someplace else."

  The room was a large L-shaped studio, sleeping alcove off to the right, bathroom and kitchenette to the left. Sweeping view of boat moorings and airport runways through the picture windows, a small telescope set up near the glass.

  Nino walked toward the telescope, saying over his shoulder, "Do you thing, man. Just don’t break nothing, okay?"

  I started with the alcove. Cherrywood four-poster bed, frilly comforter, the collar of a flannel shirt just visible under one of the pillows. On cold nights, Teri probably slept in it. Beth used to do that all the time. Matching nightstands flanked the headboard. On one of them sat a telephone and a tape machine identical to the one in my apartment. An "O" glowed in the message portal. I pushed the side button which releases the lid. Both outgoing and incoming tapes were still there. I moved the lever to "Answer Play," the device immediately rewinding the short distance with no noise. That meant the "O" wasn’t kidding, buddy, there really were no messages. The machine automatically clicked to "Play" anyway, nothing but silence coming from the speaker. Stupid to think the cops hadn’t already tried it.