Caper (19 page)

Wrong again.

Richard's client, with whom he apparently had a dinner date, was none other than Ms. Fairfield, the attractive young ADA who'd busted me for the congressman caper.

39

A
LICE WAS IMPRESSED.
“R
ICHARD
'
S DATING AN
ADA?”

“Yes.”

“He seduced her to get you off the hook?”

“Somehow I doubt it.”

“Yeah, but it's a nice thought. It's above and beyond the call of duty. And you didn't even give him a retainer.”

“Alice.”

“He's not charging you, is he? I mean, if those should turn out to be billable hours …”

“I'm glad you think it's funny.”

“Of course it's funny. And original. You've never had your lawyer date your prosecuting attorney before.”

“She's not my prosecuting attorney.”

“Thanks to Richard. I do like him so much better for this. Makes him almost human. Instead of some sort of robot into which you put a quarter and a lawsuit comes out. Say, that could be a new children's toy. A cause-of-action figure.”

Alice was on a roll, which was good. When Alice was on a roll, things were either good, or very, very bad. There was no way the situation with the congressman slipped into the very, very bad category. No one suspected me of having anything to do with the congressman's death. And there was little likelihood anyone ever would. Even the doorman, my worst-case scenario, couldn't put me in the apartment. There probably weren't enough inferences to hold me for questioning, unless I voluntarily spilled my guts. If arrested, I would just say, “Call my lawyer. If you can't reach him, page your ADA.”

“So,” Alice said, “Richard was no help.”

“No.”

“He figured he'd given you all the help he could, now it was up to you.”

“That's not exactly how he put it.”

“He pooh-poohed your theory about the widow and the jock.”

“Pretty much.”

“Do you think he's right?”

“I don't know.”

“So, what's your plan?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who you gonna go to next? Besides me. See, I can't help you much.”

“You're always a help.”

“You just say that because you want sex.”

“What's your point?”

“What are you going to do?

“I don't know.”

“That's the problem. You want someone to tell you.”

“I'd settle for the sex.”

“Why can't you see MacAullif again? Not the phone number, that's ancient history. I mean the most recent reason.”

“I tipped Hanson's lawyer off the doorman was a bad witness.”

“Oh, right. Which pissed off the ADA, and MacAullif figures it was you. That's so unfair.”

“It happens to be true.”

“Yeah, but he doesn't know that.”

“I sort of implied it.”

“No wonder he's pissed.”

“A moment ago it was so unfair.”

“A moment ago you hadn't implied it.”

“So I can't talk to MacAullif. So what do you think I should do?”

“Talk to MacAullif.”

40

“D
ON
'
T THROW THAT
!”

MacAullif had picked up his phone. I don't mean the receiver, I mean the whole damn thing. He was holding it as if it were a baseball and I were a batter he was about to brush back from the plate.

“I'm not here on police business. Or private eye business. Of any other business. I got some juicy gossip.”

MacAullif is not an old woman. He is a hard-nosed homicide cop. He put down the phone. “What gossip?”

I told him about Richard and the ADA.

MacAullif frowned. “What's the ADA's name?”

“Fairfield.”

He frowned. “Fairfield?”

“She's a woman and she's pretty.”

“That's sexist. You think there aren't a lot of pretty ADAs?”

“Of course not. That would be sexist.”

“You want me to throw this phone at you?”

“I'd rather you didn't.”

“What's she look like? Never mind. I remember the composite you did with that sketch artist.”

“She wasn't Asian,” I volunteered.

“Well, that narrows it down. Was she black?”

“I don't think so.”

“You're a trained investigator. You'd have probably noticed.”

It was a relief to see MacAullif horsing around, even if it was on a safe subject, far removed from the case in question. I wondered if I should bring it up?

“How long you gonna dick around before you ask me about the case?” MacAullif said.

I grimaced. “I don't know what to ask.”

He exhaled. “Oh, for Christ's sake. Just like old times. Here you are, totally clueless, looking for a lead.”

“Actually …”

“Yes?”

“I got some more gossip.”

“Do tell.”

“It has to do with the case.”

“Why am I not surprised. This is the real reason for your visit, you're afraid to bring it up, so you preface it with a similar story that doesn't mean anything, and might even be fictitious. Is Richard really dating anyone, or was that just a ruse?”

“He's dating an ADA.”

“Good for him. Who's the real couple you're concerned with?”

I told him about the widow and the stud.

MacAullif was actually interested. “You think the guy's ringing her bell?”

“I have no idea.”

“It would open interesting possibilities.”

“Yes, it would.”

“Particularly if the contractor's off the hook.”

“Of course, we can't assume that. Just because his lawyer got him released doesn't make him any less guilty.”

“You have an annoying habit of stating the obvious.”

“Sorry about that.”

“I should say the obvious but untrue. Since you and I know the guy didn't do it.”

“I wouldn't go that far, MacAullif. I can spin you a number of scenarios where the guy's actually guilty.”

“I'm sure you can. It doesn't alter the fact he's not.” MacAullif considered. “I like it. The marital triangle, I mean. It's a good motive. A lot better than some contractual dispute. Sex beats politics. Sex
and
politics beats practically anything. I don't suppose you could spin that, could you? This jock isn't a political figure?”

“I don't know anything about him.”

MacAullif grimaced. “And this is the extent of your investigation.”

“I'm a little hampered here, MacAullif. The number of people I can approach in this is rapidly dwindling.”

“Not fast enough,” MacAullif grumbled.

“You'd rather I didn't bring you this?”

“I'd rather you brought me some facts. Rather than a recitation of who you happened to meet in what lobby. Couldn't you have found out anything?”

“If I had, you'd be all over me for poking around in a case where I've got no business.”

MacAullif looked like he might pick up the phone again.

“You see my problem. The widow thinks I'm one person. The widow's son's girlfriend thinks I'm another. The widow's son's girlfriend's parents—”

“Oh, stop it,” MacAullif said. “I get the point.”

“Do you? The doorman thinks I'm someone else. The ADA thinks I'm me but doesn't know who I am. I mean in terms of my actual involvement and motivations.”

“I could tell him. You're a major pain in the ass.” MacAullif exhaled, shook his head. “Listening to you whine, I would say there were two ways you could go. You could slip the ADA a tip to lean on this jock. In terms of effectiveness, that would rank about zero. Or you could try to make it make sense. You got a whole bunch of disjointed facts. What you gotta do is find a point where it all hangs together. Right now you got nothing. See what I mean?”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “So you're telling me you've got no advice?”

I was out the door before MacAullif hefted the phone.

41

I
THOUGHT OVER WHAT
M
AC
A
ULLIF HAD SAID, ABOUT
finding a place where it all came together. That wasn't much help. The unifying factor seemed to be the murder of the congressman. That brought everyone together, but only to the extent they were involved. It seemed to me I had the ingredients in place; I just had to stir the pot. The question was how. As I told MacAullif, I had so many personas kicking around in this little caper it was difficult for me to come and go. I was reminded of the Kurt Vonnegut short story about the very shy actor who merged into the parts he played but had no real personality of his own. That was me all right, the shy, ineffectual detective, wondering
Who Am I This Time?
And what could I do. Of all MacAullif's suggestions, such as they were, the one I liked best was the anonymous tip. Of course, that would be my favorite, involving no real action on my part. Just give the ADA the idea and let nature take its course. Only how much credence was the guy going to put in an anonymous tip? They must get a hundred a day, any one as credible as mine. Would he act on it? Not likely. And, if so, was there any way to investigate the possibility without being so blatantly obvious that everyone knew exactly what he was going for, and had no problem evading the issue.

No, an anonymous tip was out.

Luckily, ADA Reynolds and I had a relationship. It wasn't all that bad. The guy knew me as me. Maybe he didn't know who the me he knew was, and maybe my intentions were couched in duplicity. But he didn't know that. As far as he knew, Stanley Hastings, private eye, was an unlucky son of a bitch eager to wash his hands of the whole affair.

I went down to the courthouse and hunted up the ADA. That's not as easy as it sounds. The guy didn't just have that one case, he had a lot of cases, spread out all over the court system. Today he was presenting a case to a grand jury. Not the congressman's case, but another case, about mishandling securities, which was probably very important to those people whose securities were mishandled but which somehow seemed tame next to a murder. I waited for him to break for lunch, which he had to do by one o'clock, since the grand juries change, the morning shift moving out, and the afternoon shift moving in. That's the good thing about grand jury duty. It's only half a day. The bad thing is it lasts a month.

I met him in the hall, walked him back to his office. He didn't seem pleased to see me. At least he didn't call the cops. “Can you make this fast? I got a luncheon date.”

I told him about Macho Man. I can't say he thought it was earth-shattering news.

“The guy from the memorial service showed up at the widow's office. And this concerns me how?”

“Suppose he didn't just happen to protect her. Suppose they were having an affair.”

“Shocking. Who gives a damn? Except some tabloid reporter. Do you know for sure that they were?”

“No.”

“Do you have
anything
else to indicate this guy might be involved?”

“Not in itself.”

“Not in itself. God, I hate that expression. Do you have anything that is
not
in itself?”

“Well, if the evidence should indicate the contractor didn't do it …”

“Do you have any evidence that would indicate the contractor didn't do it?”

“Not in itself.”

“Here we go again! What evidence of
any kind
do you have that the contractor didn't do it?”

“Well, you let him go.”

“Not because he's innocent. Because his lawyer made a fuss. Jesus Christ, lawyers try everything they can, not because their client's innocent, but because they're getting paid.”

“I understand. Still, if the case was airtight, I don't think he'd walk.”

“He didn't walk. He's out on bail.”

“Pot
ay
to, pot
ah
to,” I said.

He glared at me. “How do you happen to know this guy showed up at her office?”

“Oh.”

“Oh? What's the deal?”

“I thought I should pay my respects.”

“You saw the widow at her office?”

“That's right.”

“And she didn't throw you out?”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” He said. His voice rose ominously at the end of it. “She didn't know you were the private eye trying to catch her husband with teenage hookers? So who
did
she think you were?”

“Oh.”

“It gets worse and worse, doesn't it? You called on the widow in her office and pretended to be who?”

I gave him my gay perfume cover story.

He listened incredulously. “What the hell are you doing? You don't have a client. No one's paying you. You have no interest in the case? Why are you involved?”

I had no answer, so any interruption was welcome.

Almost any.

“What's
he
doing here?”

I turned and looked.

My mouth fell open.

ADA Fairfield stood in the doorway, makeup on, purse in hand, every bit as alluring as she had been the night before when she'd been going out with Richard.

My mind had a lot to process. This woman knew me from the congressman caper. She also knew Richard was my attorney. But she didn't know I knew she'd been out with Richard. And she didn't know, until this moment, I had anything to do with ADA Reynolds. Now she did, and in the general scheme of things, that was not good.

Luckily, her question was not addressed to me. I kept quiet, let ADA Reynolds handle it.

“Oh, right,” he said. “You caught the congressman thing, and this is the guy.”

“Yeah. What's he doing here?”

“He has theories.”

“Oh, he does, does he? And what might they be?”

“He thinks the contractor's innocent.”