Caught Dead (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-five

Drugs, I thought.
She
thought. Molly thought.

Drugs and Kristen. But not Kristen alone. I couldn't imagine her maneuvering the mean streets of Hartford to cop a nickel bag. Not in a hundred years. But, admittedly long ago, that had not been a problem for one of the children.

I knocked on Tommy's door, surprising him. It was midmorning, but he was waking up. One of his roommates, a scraggly man in his late twenties, was leaving for work. Dressed in baggy shorts, no shirt, and flip-flops.

“Are you a lifeguard?” I asked him.

“No,” he mumbled, “I work at a carnival.”

He walked out, nodding at Tommy who was sitting in boxer shorts that had seen better days, a bottle of Pepsi in his hand. His punk hairdo—that careful construction of Mohawk and fade—hadn't yet met his morning mirror. He looked like a hayfield after a hailstorm.

“Now what?” The departing roommate had let me in, unceremoniously.

“I'm bothering you.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever.”

“I'm still trying to help find your mom's killer.” A beat. “You interested in that?”

“I don't think talking to me is gonna do the trick.”

“Yeah, but you might have some answers to some questions.”

“Hey, I doubt it.” He pulled his legs up under him, inclined his body. He sipped from the soda bottle, smacked his lips noisily, and frowned at me.

“Can I be the judge of that?” I said.

“Well, you're the detective. So detect.”

“I just have a couple of questions.”

He cleared his throat and ran his fingers over his nose, back and forth, like he was trying to stop a sneeze. “Shoot.”

“Did you know that your Aunt Molly was concerned that Kristen was into drugs?”

He stared at me, wide eyed, and then burst out laughing, almost rolling off the sofa. I waited, but he laughed and laughed. “That's a good one. Real rich.”

“What's so funny?”

“Where did Molly get that idea?”

“I'm asking you.”

“Look.” He sat up, angry now. “Just because I had that bum probation shit over a couple of joints doesn't make me the family authority on drug use among the rich and stupid.”

“She's your cousin.”

“Who lives in another world from me.”

“So you don't think it's true?”

“I mean, maybe Kristen tokes a joint or two at some party now and then—for Christ's sake it's pot, not crack or heroin—but do you know how little contact I have with Kristen and Jon? Almost nothing. Now and then, some family function that nobody wants to be at. Viet Cong New Year's or something. The Tet Really Offensive. But now that the beautiful Le sisters are no more, maybe that will finally stop.”

“You don't miss your mother?”

A bit of a pause. “What do you think? Of course I do. Every day. Mom was, well,
my
Mom.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's just that, well, there's not a damn thing I can do about it now.”

“You can help me by giving me information.”

Tommy stood up, pulling up his sagging shorts, and walked to look out the front window. He looked back at me. “If I could, I would.” I could see he was sweating, but then so was I. The tight, close room was baking.

“That's why I asked you about Kristen, Tommy. I'm not trying to harp on your past. As far as I'm concerned, that was nothing but a teenage moment. But I thought you might know something.”

He sat back down. “I'll tell you something, Rick.” His tone now was confidential, almost intimate. “Yeah, Kristen smoked a little dope back in prep school, but if she does it now it ain't much. You know. Recreational. You mean to tell me you never smoked?” He waited.

“Yes, I did, back in college.”

He feigned a hopped-up gesture. “But you didn't go on to become a frenzied heroic addict, did you? Reefer madman.”

“Something I did with friends in a dorm room. Now and then.”

“Still do it?”

“No.”

He looked at me. “Well, if you wanna know, I'll tell you something. I
still
smoke. Recreational use. But that doesn't make me a druggie, for Christ's sake. And it certainly has nothing to do with Mom's death. That just makes no sense.”

“You didn't stop after prep school arrest?”

“Yeah, for a year or so. But, you know, you hang out with friends—they smoke. But they're cool. But never with Kristen and Jon. Jon? That uptight asshole. Kristen, well, I think the only thing she puts in her mouth these days is diet soda.”

“You sure?”

“No, I'm not. All I'm saying is that this drug shit is just that—a lot of noise about nothing. So I don't know where you're going with this. You know, we get a bag of good chronic every month or so. That's all.”

“We?” I asked. “Cindy?”

He laughed. “No, she's happy in her dance club with Ecstasy. Who knew?”

“But you said ‘we.'”

He hesitated. “Danny and me.”

“Danny?”

“We go in for halves on an ounce of real good stuff every so often. Hey, we don't sell, and we're careful. I told you, it's for recreation.”

“Who buys it?”

“Danny gets it from a guy he knows. I give him the money and he gives me half. It ain't a big deal. Some good weed he knows where to find. That's all.”

“You smoke with Danny?”

“No, I buy it from him. It's cool.”

“He sells?”

“Christ, man, you ain't listening. Danny has a real job, a real life. He just picks some up for partying, and I'm in on it. I trust him and he trusts me. You can't be too careful.”

“You think Danny gives Kristen any drugs?”

“How would I know?”

“Are they sleeping together?”

He laughed. “Nothing would surprise me with Danny. But who cares?”

“But Molly suspected Kristen of using drugs…”

“I didn't think it had anything to do with Kristen.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought it all started with Mom.”

“I'm not following you, Tommy.”

He chose his words carefully. “You know how Mom felt about drugs. If I had to hear one more time about the cousin who died of opium in Vietnam and how his wife suffered and the kids starved…Man alive. After I got arrested, she spent years asking me, over and over, ‘Are you on drugs?' It got to be almost a dumb joke between us. I told her over and over that I was clean, but sometimes she looked at me weird. You know, given the way I choose to look, haircut and all. But I didn't want her to know. To worry. Because she didn't understand drugs. A single joint late at night listening to garage bands—or Danny lighting up for a night of sex, since he told me he loves pot for sex alone—couldn't be explained to Mom. Or to Molly. Drugs was, you know, some freak screaming on TV. And commercials about this-is-your-brain-on-drugs. Addicts.”

“So big an issue?”

“It was their big fear. Christ, I grew up with stories of the beloved cousin who became a raving lunatic on opium back in Saigon—destroyed his life, his family. It's one of our childhood fairy tales. So, yeah, drugs—any drugs. A hint of drugs would send Mom and Molly into orbit. So I couldn't sit down and say, ‘Hey Mom, pot's recreational. Like a glass of wine you have.'”

“I'm still not following what you're saying.”

“Well, lately Mom was watching me more closely. One time I caught her fiddling with my phone, for Christ's sake, but she only fucked it up. Another time when Danny stopped in, she caught us going out back. He was giving me the stuff. She didn't see, but, you know, mother eye and all…”

“I still don't understand why Danny would risk his job at the bank.”

“Risk what? The man likes a puff now and then. If every banker in America stopped lighting up, you'd have a lot of grumpy souls in expensive suits.”

“So your mother worried you were back on drugs?”

“Yeah.”

“But Molly, I guess, suspected Kristen was on drugs.”

“Mom never mentioned that, but she did tell me Molly had told her drug use was on the rise—like it was a news flash that just hit her. I mean, she was on this antidrug charity or something. So, I guess, yeah, if she thought Kristen was using, she'd think it was Danny. Or me. Especially me. She'd call Mom about me and whine.”

“What would Molly say?”

He smiled. “Keep an eye on Tommy and Danny.” He paused, seemed to be thinking about something. “You know, that's what she did, in fact. Kept an eye on me, mainly. I saw Mom watching me real close. Mom told me Molly was on her high horse. But Mom never mentioned Kristen.”

“You told me you rarely saw Danny anymore.”

He grinned. “I lied. Well, not really. I don't see him. He ain't a friend. It's just because we go way back. In this matter I trust him, and he trusts me.”

“Convenient.”

He smirked. “Way back when, I knew Mom was listening to Molly's crap. She thought drugs would be the end of me.”

“You know she called Detective Smolski?”

Surprise: “Why?”

“I don't know. For advice?”

“What did he say?”

“He's retired, and she hung up.”

“Maybe she wanted to turn me in.” He grinned. “Round two.”

“She was worried about you.”

“I always told her not to worry. Yeah, you know, when she told me Molly called about that antidrug charity, she looked at me suspiciously. When Danny was in the room, she stayed with us…wouldn't leave.” He thought of something. “I think Molly poisoned her against Danny all over again.”

“Did Danny know Molly had warned your mother to keep an eye on you and him?”

“Yeah, I told him Molly and Mom were on their antidrug crusade again. Keep a low profile.”

“You did? Why?”

He shrugged. “Conversation.”

“Was Danny bothered that Molly suspected him?”

“No, he laughed, in fact. Said it was no big deal. ‘I'm not gonna lose sleep over a dime bag,' he said.”

“You know, I thought you didn't like Danny.”

He drew his lips into a tight, bloodless line. “I hate Danny.”

“And yet…”

“I told you—Danny and I go way back. I share a bag with him now and then. Infrequent. He Facebooks me—I get back to him. No big deal. But he knows I hate his guts.”

“But you still have contact with him?”

“I'm not his favorite person either. I'm a waste-of-space boy, the squanderer of opportunity. You know, we don't travel in the same social circles, that's for sure. Rick, we don't have to
like
each other.”

I stood up, ready to leave.

“But,” Tommy also stood, “I don't see how this has to do with Mom's murder. Come on, think about it. Me and Danny smoking a bowl, each in our separate worlds, I gotta tell you, ‘cuz we never do that together. It's just party-time crap. Nobody gonna get killed over a nickel or dime bag.”

“Where does Danny get the stuff?”

“It's like a network. He gets his off a claims officer whiz kid at the Hartford Insurance Group.”

“Not on the street?”

“You mean like that square where Mom got shot? Come on. That's one world. Danny lives in a white-collar world. Pot passes next to the water cooler. There's enough shared drugs in that world to pay off the Connecticut state deficit.”

“But your Mom suspected drugs. Molly probably got her going on it. She wouldn't understand how it is distributed.”

“But she's certainly not gonna drive to some wild-west corner in Hartford looking for
me
,” Tommy said. “Look, Mom told me not to use drugs, and I told her I wouldn't. Mom believed what I told her—at least until Molly started flapping her mouth.”

“She believed you?”

“I've always lied to Mom. It's an art form.”

“A charmer like Danny.”

“No, he got it down to a science. But Molly was working her magic on Mom, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“She bad-mouthed Danny. Mom mentioned that Molly didn't like having Danny around. I thought it was the old story…you know, Molly angry over the dumb rumors that Danny was Larry's son. That's what I thought it was about. Danny was…cocky. A bad influence.”

“She wanted you to stay away from him?”

“I'm telling you, we didn't hang. He did me a
favor
. A little bit of guilt maybe—for the old days when I took the rap and he walked off into the sunshine.”

“So your mother didn't know anything.”

“She never did.” He paused. “At least about my shit. But maybe she did. About other things. She knew
something
, maybe. She must've.”

“Why?”

“Like it got her killed.”

Chapter Twenty-six

Detective Ardolino called me on my cell phone. “Why am I always the one calling you?”

“What's up?”

I could hear the clacking of computer keys and the constant buzz of phones. Worse, I could hear him eating. “I gotta finish this. You let McDonald's shit sit, it's like eating sawdust.” He described opening a packet of ketchup, squeezing the feeble contents onto the fries. Three fries slipped to the grimy floor. I heard a creaky chair shift.

“Did you pick them up?”

“Hell, no. We got a cleaning crew, you know.”

“What's up?” I asked again.

“I'm gonna play the good guy and lay info on you. Mainly because you provided the first info.”

“What are we talking about?”

“You told me that Danny Trinh—real name Trinh Xuan Duong—was renting that happy apartment in Frog Hollow. Somehow that information, well,
eluded
me.” He stressed the word, humorously. “I know you got a bug up your ass about Danny, seeing him as somehow dirty. Based, I know, on nothing but Fu Manchu instinct.”

“Detective…”

“No lectures, okay? I checked out priors on that beehive of losers. The owner, the gent on floor one, relative of a.k.a. Duong, is a two-bit hood, but small potatoes, picked up a half dozen times—with his wife, no less—for welfare fraud, shoplifting, domestic battery, a string of shit a mile long.”

“No dope sales?”

“None. But he's a low-rent, small-business type.”

“I was hoping there was a drug connection.”

“They're probably all smoking, even the three-year-old, but nobody hawking wares outta that building.”

I told him about Molly's worries about Kristen, as well as Molly's and Mary's eagle eyes on Tommy and Danny. Ardolino wasn't surprised and told me what I already knew—Mary's call to Smolski. “Everybody smokes,” he summed up.

“Tommy said Danny got his pot from a guy at the Hartford.”

Ardolino started to choke on his food. “Thanks for that good news. That's my insurance company.”

“You're one lucky man.”

He grunted. “Fuck.” A pause. “I just got ketchup on my pants. Now I gotta wash them. Thought I could get another week outta them.”

I smiled. “Tell people it's blood. Say you were in a shootout.”

“I only exchange gunfire with the missus.'

“Tell them she's getting closer to her real target.”

“Funny man. Hey, by the way,” he added, “your boy Danny a.k.a. Duong has a heavy foot.”

“Meaning?”

“Past year three speeding tickets across the border in New York. On the Saw Mill and I-684. Headed to the city and back. Last one recently, morning after Mary Vu's funeral. In White Plains. That boy is always in a hurry. Boys with their fancy cars don't believe the law is for them.”

“He pay the fine?”

“You bet.”

I smiled. “Good citizen.”

“Yeah, the best. The first time he appealed the fine. Claimed he was stopped because he's young, Asian, and driving a Mercedes.”

“What did the judge do?”

“Probably wet his pants laughing so hard.”

“Danny pay?”

“Yeah, I told you. As you said, a solid citizen.”

***

Liz met me outside her office and handed me a stack of printouts. “I can't stay. Too many meetings. But these should interest you.”

I leafed through them: phone records, not only for Susie's home, but, more importantly, calls in and out of his secret apartment in Frog Hollow. And also the records for Benny Vu's home and store, for Larry Torcelli's mansion, for Tommy's phone. Kristen had her own phone. “You have me doing illegal acts. Police channels.” She tapped the sheets. “And not for the first time.”

Back at my apartment, Hank was waiting, having used his key to let himself in. He was sitting by the front window, headphones on, and the base line of some song punctuated the air. He didn't even hear me come in. I tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped, then laughed. I waved the pile of printouts in front of him. “What's that?” he said.

“I am always dependent on the kindness of Liz.” I fanned the printouts in front of me. “These are phone logs for a week before Mary was killed, up to the day of Molly's murder.”

He was interested. “Cell phones?”

“We'll see.”

“Anything good?”

“That's what you and I will be finding out this afternoon.” I waved the sheets in front of him.

And intimidating it was. What Liz in her thoroughness had procured was formidable. So Hank and I sat with pen and pad and shifted through—a waste of time, perhaps, because most of the numbers called were not identified. Not that I could complain. Liz had dutifully and beautifully labeled all the prime players in the drama. The only problem, I told Hank, was that the unidentified calls could be the ones that were crucial—a number possibly appearing
one
time only—impossible to identify it. But we started. As expected, there were lots of calls from Susie's home to Molly's home, but not many going the other way: Susie calling in for whatever reason.

“Or,” Hank reasoned, “Danny calling the house.”

“Maybe for Kristen.” I checked Kristen's phone. The girl talked on the phone constantly, it seemed. “But in that period she made three calls to Danny's cell phone. All late at night.”

Hank pointed to another sheet. “The calls between Mary and Molly's home, including to Benny's store, are all over the place.”

We went back and forth, making notes, but it was obvious that these people were all involved with one another and liked to use the phone. Nothing stood out, other than Danny and Kristen's brief late-night communication. “Well,” Hank noted, “he did admit to sleeping with her.”

“Let's look at Tommy.” I made a notation on my pad. “He clearly believes his cell shouldn't be separated from his ear lobe. We cross-referenced calls to the store, to his mother's home, but none to the Torcelli household.

“This is crazy,” Hank said.

“What we need to do is look at the day Mary died and the day Molly died.”

“Makes more sense,” Hank agreed.

“In the morning someone from the Torcelli house called Mary at home. A couple calls back. But all real short—maybe just a message on the machine.”

“Look at this,” Hank pointed out. “At six o'clock the day Mary died, Danny called Tommy, but it's a brief call, just seconds, maybe to leave a message. But then he called Benny's store, also a brief call.”

“Looking for Tommy.”

“But,” Hank went on, “he later called Benny's home phone, and that call lasted nearly ten minutes.”

“Why would he be calling Mary?” I wondered out loud.

“Maybe he was still looking for Tommy.”

“So three calls to get to Tommy.”

“But,” Hank said, “he ended up talking to whoever answered the phone there.”

“It had to be Mary. Or Cindy? But she told us she'd had a fight with her mother that morning and stormed out. Well, it wasn't Tommy. He told us he didn't see his mother that day. He told us he saw her the day before at the store.”

“Unless he's lying.”

“And he
is
a liar,” I said.

“But let's say Danny did talk to Mary.”

“But it could have been idle chitchat.”

“Ten minutes?” Hank was shaking his head.

“Two hours later she's dead.”

“I wonder if he ever reached Tommy, after all.”

Hank suggested another call to Benny Vu, who sounded groggy when he answered the phone. No, he told Hank, he couldn't remember who called the store that afternoon. This person called, that person called. “Did Danny call looking for Tommy?” Hank asked.

A pause. “No, I don't think so. I can't remember.”

“Around six o'clock? Danny. We know he called the store.”

Another pause. “Maybe. I don't know. How can I remember? Danny did call one afternoon, but I don't know what day.”

“Looking for Tommy?”

“I guess so,” Benny answered. “Yes, what else could it be? He's called Tommy before at work. I frown on that.”

“Was Tommy working?”

“No. Not that day.”

“Danny called your home that day.”

“Maybe he thought Tommy was there. I don't know.”

“But Mary didn't tell you he called.”

A long, painful pause. “I never spoke to her again.”

“Oh.” Hank turned red.

“Is that all?”

Hank apologized for the call and hung up the phone.

“So,” he stressed, “Danny was looking for Tommy, calling three places late that day.”

“And never seems to have reached him.”

“But he did talk to Mary, most likely.” Hank was excited.

“He had to. Because Tommy said he didn't see his mother that day.”

“Unless Mary wasn't home and Tommy
was
there. She could have been headed into Hartford.”

“And what does that tell us? Just that Danny was anxious to reach Tommy.”

“Or maybe Danny was the last person to speak to Mary alive.”