Dark Blonde (7 page)

“You’re quite a girl. First you come apart, take a standing eight-count, then you bounce right back with some fancy footwork and a hard right cross. I’d think you’d be a bit more interested in funeral arrangements than political maneuvering.”

She turned and came up close. I looked into her taut face. New things were in her eyes now, fire and purpose and something that put a chill on my neck. Her hand came up but she held it like a poised ax, then she stuck one sharp fingernail halfway down my scar and held it there. “You’re stupid and rough and cruel! Don’t you understand anything? Gail’s not important, I’m not important; Henry’s the only one who matters. He’s in a position to win this race, to do some good. Why in a few years Henry could make it all the way to the White — ”

I laughed, not derisively but just a little half laugh like you give a friend politely when he tells you a joke that’s not funny but he tried hard to make it funny. She didn’t like my laugh.

Her hand fell limply to her side and she stared at me, the temperature in her eyes dropping fast. Then she wilted like a piece of lettuce in a sauna and dropped into my lap. She let it out good, soaking the front of my shirt and clutching me like a sick child. If the cops could see us now they might suspect us both. For what reason I didn’t know, but they were cops, and cops don’t always need a reason.

Okay, son. I can see that you’re hooked. I’ll try to help you where and when I can. But they only give us so many words we can pass on. Be careful. Lean on Rick.

Light footsteps came down the hall and a weak tapping at the door. Miss Dee’s voice was plaintive. The police need to see Mrs. Gateswood. They knew I was with her.

Julia looked up into my eyes. “Thank you for this,” she said in a half whisper. “Please don’t desert me now. Stay on the case. Whoever did this to Gail must be caught and punished. And I…I didn’t mean — ”

“I know. But you’re right, I am stupid and rough and cruel. Goes with the job description. But not for you. For you I’m wise and soft and kind. Please remember that. Whatever I dig into, I can’t always help where the dirt flies. Sometimes it hurts, getting to the bottom of things. I’ll try to see that you don’t get hurt any more than you have to be.”

She put a wet kiss on my cheek, right over the place I could still feel the impress of her fingernail. Her eyes showed gratitude now and held a message I would have worked the case for nothing for from that point on.

I went down and told them Julia would be a minute. I wanted to give her time to fix her face. Lieutenant Ed Burk glowered at me as I took a seat in the living room. He was old school and had worked with Rick on our last big case involving a murder-for-profit ring. Burk seemed wider than he was tall with large shoulders and a waistline that had fallen sometime back in Truman’s administration. For a large, short-legged man, his face was strangely gaunt. His hair was the color of old snow and his skin a catcher’s mitt badly needing Neet’s foot oil. Burk didn’t appreciate my smart mouth but tolerated it for Rick’s sake. When I became insistent he’d turn to Rick and pretend I wasn’t in the room.

His new partner was introduced as Emil Andresson, the “e” being long. Emil had skipped half the meals Burk had consumed. He looked like a young John Carradine, that guy who played creepy roles in Hollywood. His features stuck out on his too-long face like snags in a bad road; his black lizard eyes were sharp, like his chin, ears and knuckles. I half expected to see a tail sticking out under his trench coat. Andresson squinted and clutched a pad in one hand, hanging an ear out to whatever was said as he scribbled rapidly. His eyes darted from Rick to me to Miss Mathews like he was trying to count us and kept losing count after me. He was still learning how to speak cop.

Rick leaned against the mantel. The rest of us sat in the living room waiting for Julia, everyone refusing drink except Miss Mathews, who peered over her teacup through her cheaters at me probably reliving the kiss she’d stolen at my door.

Burk leaned forward on the sofa, his eyes on the stairs. He twisted his wristwatch until the dial made two complete circuits. “She coming, or do we have to go up? I want you dicks to know that Frank Gerard is on his way. High profile case like this, it’s one of the things we have to put up with.”

Andresson remained expressionless, but wrote something down on his pad, probably his name so he could remember who he was to introduce himself to Gerard.

About the time that the Summerdale scandal broke and the top boys were looking for new blood, I’d handed Gerard a Russian Mafia ring working in Chicago and based downstate in Mattoon. Gerard got the credit and publicity, the only time in my investigative career that a D.A. owed me, but it didn’t mean I could lean on him to pay for donuts every week.

The upstairs door closed and a pair of pointed turquoise high heels appeared. They stepped purposefully down the stairs. Julia Gateswood, head erect, hair perfect, shoulders back as if she was doing a runway walk. She wore more than shoes but you couldn’t tell that by the way the men ogled. The two lieutenants stood. I glanced at Rick and he winked back with a look that said: you poor drooling dog. I could tell he was impressed. Only a mummy wouldn’t have been.

After Miss Mathews brought Julia black coffee and introductions had been made, Burk offered his condolences. Julia was a stone woman, sizing up Burk. A sort of charged emptiness hung in the air, like everyone braced for some sort of unpleasantness and felt wrong for being there in the face of Julia’s loss. She looked over at Rick, then returned her eyes to Burk. Julia was steady, well trained for pressure situations. All those pageants, talent competition, swimsuit strutting. She was good.

Burk began questioning her in a gravelly voice that struggled to phrase each question gently but exactly. He was a good interrogator who probably sensed Julia’s fragility and knew he’d get more if he went slow, yet also knew the importance of a first account by the woman who’d found the body. Often such interviews provide the critical baseline. If her story later shifted, it would give him openings. Still, it was obvious that her beauty affected his bearing slightly.

He asked her the same open-ended question I had, how she’d discover the body. Julia gave the identical account of the voices, her medication, the sound of a car leaving, and the open door to the guesthouse. Miss Mathews confirmed that she’d gone out to fill Mrs. Gateswood’s prescription, and had also picked up some newspapers and a romance novel to read on her breaks from organizing the details of the upcoming television debate. She confirmed that the key was still in the keybox by the back hallway.

When Julia mentioned the Demerol, Burk’s eyebrows scrunched and he pointed his chin at Andresson who wrote something on his pad, then crossed it out and wrote something else. Indecision’s a horrible thing in a cop. They train them that it’s more blessed to be decisive even if it means being wrong. Later I found out that Andresson was a second cousin to the Mayor. Poor Burk.

After he heard Julia’s account, Burk went to the front windows, held his wrist behind his back and twisted his watch around a few more times. He looked out on the expanse of lawns and driveway like more questions might be written on the grass. I looked out the side window. Forensic types filed in and out of the guesthouse like drones. Burk turned and stared at me, trying to look tough, setting his jaw, throwing more gravel in his already rocky voice. “Before the district attorney gets here, I want to know why Angel and Anthony are here. Why did you call them before calling us? Why did you give them access to the crime scene?” He aimed his knit brow at Julia. The gentleness was gone from his voice. His natural irritation took over.

“I did that,” chirped Miss Mathews, raising a hand weakly and fidgeting on her chair. “I thought it — ”

“Never mind,” Julia said evenly returning Burk’s stare with hard ice. “It’s not top secret. I hired Mister Angel to find Gail. She’d been missing for over four days, and I was worried.”

A car pulled up out front. Burk turned and looked out, then faced Julia again.

“That doesn’t answer why you’d get them here first, unless you had something to hide. It’s no secret that you and your late sister had a few public battles. That’s all in the record.”

I stood up, tugged at my ear and walked between Burk and Julia. I saw the corner of Rick’s mouth turn up slightly. Rick was a good audience. “Hold on,” I said, doing my own imitation of tough. “The lady’s had a rough day. A lot of siblings fight now and then. It’s no reason to play the heavy. Why don’t you let your scarecrow helper there ask a few questions, he’s getting writer’s cramp. Or maybe he’s still got training wheels on?”

Burk glared like he wanted to slug me. Wanted to pretty badly. “Andressen’s no scarecrow, you wiseass shamus. He was with me last month when the guy came out of First Federal on that big heist job. It was Andressen’s shot that downed him.”

I clucked my tongue and went back to the mantel and leaned against it, grinning at Andressen as silly as I knew how. “I read about that in the
Times
,” I said, sharing the grin with Burk. “It scared me awful for days and days.”

Julia sat erect. Her voice was sharp and clear. She wasn’t willing to play the defended creampuff. The look she gave Burk could have peeled the hide off a baseball. I was beginning to admire this woman. Even with her notable obsession for climbing to high office, she had a lot of sides to her, the kind of woman who can be a dame or a kitten, as tough as she needs to be or as soft as the moment calls for. A woman like that can be your equal but a life with her would be a real grab bag.

Julia put her coffee down and gripped the arms of the chair. “When you find something so horrid, so ghastly, Lieutenant, you reach out to those you know first. I don’t know you and I don’t want to. Yes, Gail and I had our differences, but we always worked through those. She hung with the wrong sort, and it got her killed. I’ll give you the same file of information on her and her acquaintances that I gave Mister Angel.”

Burk looked like he’d just bitten into a donut with mud in it and couldn’t get the taste out. He pushed one big mitt slowly in Julia’s direction, patting the air. “All right, all right,” he said. “We’ll need your written statement. Come down to the precinct headquarters at your convenience within the next 48 hours. The M.E. should have time and manner of death established by then. You must realize this is a high-profile case. We’ll try to be sensitive to your needs and schedule, but there will be more questions.”

Gerard didn’t waltz in right away so I guessed he was doing a five-minute tour of the guesthouse, posing near the body for some office photos he’d slip to the newspaper boys later, just to show the good Chicago denizens his office was on the job. Your typical suckface D.A. Burk asked about the help and who else might have been on the premises during Julia’s nap.

Gerard finally pushed his way into the room like the title to the place had just been recorded in his name. He was a cocky red-haired bastard, all five-foot-six of him. Little cop syndrome, now worse, little DA syndrome with three hundred dollar suits and a high gloss on his wingtips. He wore his hair longer than he had on that Mattoon case, in a sort of bouffant style that made him look like Porky Pig with his head on fire. But Frank Gerard wasn’t any dummy, and next to Mayor Daley and Police Superintendent Wilson, he pulled the most weight in the City. Gerard had the power to sway and even unduly influence grand juries, or to dispense with them and file charges, the power to put an innocent man away or tear them down on his way to the guilty. He made few mistakes.

Gerard was a mongoose with an itch. He began with a cheesy smile at Julia. He apologized about the questioning being hurtful in such a tragic time for her. Then he stood in the middle of the room and blathered about the importance of protecting a crime scene and keeping speculation out of the papers. He only wanted publicity when the case was wrapped up. He’d then take credit and all would be peachy, but he wanted Burk and us to know that he’d be sticking his gooey fingers in this one.

Andresson didn’t jot down any of Gerard’s little speech

When the runt took a breath, I sat back down in a wingback, crossed my legs, lit up a Lucky and said, “We don’t see you much at murder scenes down in Wrigleyville, Gerard. I wonder why that is? You work Arlington Heights exclusively?” I pointed at the front windows with my cigarette. “How long before your buddies at the
Tribune
arrive with extra rolls of film. Or will you use your stock photograph, the one where you look like someone’s just picked your pocket?”

The training-wheels detective made a sound, a cross between a cough and a choke, like he was eating his adam’s apple. Burk continued to glare at everyone. Gerard acted like he hadn’t heard a thing.

Gerard came over and gave me an easy smile like I’d just complimented his sister. He looked me straight in the eye; it was easy for him — I was sitting down. “I’m not sure it’s good to see you again, Angel. Dead bodies seem to follow you around. I’ve had an eye on you, just in case I ever have to inform the licensing board in the public’s behalf. I know all about your miscues in New York.” He sneered and stuck his vest out at me, one he must have bought in the boy’s clothing section at Marshall’s. “Guess I don’t have to tell you to hand my professionals whatever you’ve got here and stay out of their way. You need my permission to investigate a murder, don’t forget. If you think you’re holding any high cards because of Mattoon, you can forget about it. That’s not the way I run the department.”

“Oh, I’m sure not,” I said easily. “That sort of favor you can’t put in the bank.”

Gerard flinched and made shapes with his mouth like he was searching for a swear word acceptable for use in front of ladies. He only knew three or four, so his mind froze with his yap open.

Julia stood and carried her coffee cup to the sideboard, then faced Gerard. In her heels Julia could easily look over the top of his pointy-head. “That should be no problem, should it? He’s already under retainer. Mister Angel is more than qualified to help. The congressman and I prefer it. We want this matter resolved,” she said pointing a pretty finger at Gerard. “Without foot-dragging.”

Her tone was steady and well aimed. It’s not always the one pushing hardest who wins, but the one who pushes on the right spot. In his short tenure, Gerard’s office had already been criticized for recalcitrant dealings with some of the marginal players in the Summerdale police scandal, probably from pressure through Daley’s office. Gerard blinked.

Frank Gerard ordered his boys out to the curb and flashed too many teeth at Julia. “My office won’t rest until we find out who’s responsible,” he said like he’d memorized the line on the way over. “Your hired investigators must follow Illinois law, however, I’m sure you understand that. But no, I don’t wish to get in the way of a just resolution of the case. My apologies for your loss.” Julia relaxed, one hand rubbing her brow. She looked up at me. Our eyes met. She didn’t look away. I winked.

Hand on the doorknob, Gerard turned and craned his swarthy face out at us. If someone had opened the door right then, his puss would have splattered on the tile. He squinted like he was trying to make out a fly on the coffee table next to Julia. “Why the Shakespeare reference — anyone have an idea?” We all looked at him like he was too dumb to know the difference between Shakespeare and Sophocles. I used to be too dumb, but if there’s anything that pushes a man’s hat size, it’s brand new knowledge. Gerard hadn’t had that gift since elementary school.

Rick didn’t use the occasion to expound, which I was grateful for. Andressen kept scribbling as he headed for the door. Burk stuck his card in Miss Mathew’s hand then went out with his cadaverous stenographer and huddled under the porte-cochere, no doubt correcting Andressen’s spelling.

 
Rick and I said our goodbyes and walked down to the driveway.