Fire Lake (29 page)

She was beginning to get the point, and, as I had
expected, she didn't like it.

"Karen," I said. "Lonnie was a
liability to them. Once Norvelle and Cal decided to kill Claude, they
couldn't afford to have Lonnie running around loose--a three-time
loser wanted by the police. Lonnie would have talked if he was
busted. He would have given them up, and unlike LeRoi, the cops would
have listened to his story. They had to get rid of him, leaving the
cops looking for a guy who . . . wasn't there anymore."

"They took him to a friend in the country,"
Karen said flatly, as if she hadn't heard a thing I'd said. Her
square jaw was set, and her pale blue eyes looked harder than I'd
ever seen them look, as if they were made of gemstone.

"There was no 'friend in the country,' " I
said.

"Leanne lives in the country!" Karen almost
shouted. Her face turned red and she glanced quickly around the
restaurant--to see if anyone had overheard her. "She has a
farm," she said in a lower but no less steely voice.

"Why would thev take him to Leanne's farm?"
I said.

"Like I told you, she could have been the one
who gave Lonnie the two grand. They took him to see her. That's where
he wanted to go."

What Thelma had said did tend to confirm Karen's
hunch. But if I was right, whether Leanne had given Lonnie the two
grand or not was beside the point. Once Norvelle and Cal had decided
to kill Claude Jenkins and to set Lonnie up for the murder, it made
no difference where Lonnie had wanted to go on Friday night. They had
another destination in mind. I said, "Karen, why would Norvelle
and Cal have taken Lonnie anywhere? Why wouldn't they have-"

Karen held up her right hand. "I don't want to
hear it, Harry," she said, shaking her head solemnly.

"I don't want to hear it."

"Not wanting to hear it isn't going to change
things," I told her. "Without the crack, without Lonnie we
have no reason not to go to the cops."

"What about Jordan?" she said slyly.

"I'm going to have to face him sooner or later.
I think I can make enough of a case for myself with the D.A. to keep
him at bay."

"Aren't you forgetting about Norvelle?" she
said.

"When we were in the house, it was different.
Jordan could have shot me on the spot and rigged it to look like I'd
been involved in the drug deal. But in open court, I can beat him.
Norvelle died of an overdose. There's no way around that, even if
Jordan wants to think differently."

"And LeRoi?"

"We'll turn him over to Al. That'll help us,
too, if we get indicted."

Karen stared at me for a long moment, biting her
lower lip so hard that it turned white. "You've got it all
figured out, huh?"

"I don't like it any more than you do, Karen,"
I said. "But staying out in the cold is going to get us killed.
If we could find the crack or Lonnie it would be different."

"I say no," she said, still staring at me
fixedly. "I say that we keep looking. At that farm."
"It's a waste of time," I said.

Her pouty lip started to tremble. "We still
don't know for sure who fronted Lonnie the two thousand dollars,"
she said in a desperate voice. "That would be useful
information, wouldn't it? I mean if we did go to the cops,
eventually."

"Yeah," I admitted. "It could help."

"We11?"

There was such a depth of despair in her eyes, such a
deepseated need to see it through to the finish, that I couldn't turn
her down, even though I knew that our search would only lead to the
same dreadful conclusion--that Lonnie was dead, killed by his old
friend Norvelle and Norvelle's buddy Cal. But after twenty years of
Lonnie, I figured that Karen was owed a sense of closure, of finale.
She needed it, so she could tell herself she'd done all she could.
Mavbe, I needed it too. And, after all, it only meant a few more
hours of looking.

"All right, Karen," I said, giving her a
worn-out smile.

"Let's find a ride out to Leanne's farm."
 

40

It was Karen's idea to call up Sy Levy. She
considered the old man an ally. I considered him a possible suspect.
But since I wanted to talk to him anyway, I had no objection to using
him as a chauffeur.

Karen walked out to a phone booth in front of the
restaurant to make the call. When she came back, she was smiling
hopefully. "He's on his way. He even knows where Leanne's farm
is. He's been there!"

"You didn't tell him why we needed the ride, did
you?" She shook her head. "I told him your car broke down."
"And you didn't tell him about Norvelle?"

"What's the point in hurting him?" she said
sadly.

"Norvelle was an old friend." Karen dropped
into the seat across from me. "Thanks, Harry, I need to do
this."

"I know you do," I said. "But if it
doesn't pan out ..."

"Then we'll talk about going to your pal Al
Foster," she said.

It took Sy Levy only twenty minutes to get from St.
Bernard to East Walnut Hills. Karen and I were waiting for him in the
lobby when he walked into the restaurant. He looked the same as he
had in his studio--a cheerful, elfin-faced old man, wearing a black
tam, a tweed topcoat, and a muffler wrapped around his throat.

"Well, children," he said when he spotted
us in the lobby. "Levy is here."

"Thanks for coming, Sy," Karen said,
running over to him and kissing him on the cheek.

Levy blushed. "Can't leave one of my kids out in
the cold." He held the restaurant door open for Karen and me,
and we walked out into the glaring day. "I'm around the corner."

Levy led us to his car-a beat-up, fading yellow
Studebaker. We all piled in the front. The leather seats were torn
and leaking stuffing, and the floorboard on the driver's side had
worn through in one spot.

"So you think Lonnie might be at Leanne's farm?"
he asked as he cranked up the Studebaker.
Karen
glanced at me. "We're hoping he's there."

He got a concerned look on his face. "Did he get
his problem settled?"

Karen ducked her head. "We'll tell you about it
on the way."

Levy turned on the engine and a rush of warm fetid
air came pouring out of the floor vents. "It ain't gonna get
real warm," he said apologetically. "This damn hole."

He put his left foot over the hole in the floorboard
and pulled out onto McMillan. Levy headed due east, toward Columbia
Parkway.

"Where is this farm?" I asked him.

"Out past Milford, in Clermont County," he
said. "Jon picked it up at an auction. He already owned some
property out that way, so . . ." He waved his hand, as if other
people's reasons for doing things eluded him. "Jon's changed a
lot over the years. I mean he still looks like a kid, with that red
hair and that goofy grin of his. But inside . . . he ain't a kid no
more. He got old." Levy made a tsking noise, as if getting old
were a tragedy. "All he thinks about now is making money. He's a
regular real estate tycoon."

"Leanne looked fairly prosperous too,"
Karen said with a touch of bitterness.

Levy smiled. "You still mad at her, Karen?"
Karen blushed.

"You shouldn't be. Leanne's had a tough row to
hoe, honey. Maybe not as tough as yours. But don't let the office
fool you. She's not a happy lady."

We continued down McMillan, skirting Mt. Lookout and
the beautiful colonial houses on the ridge above the river. Levy
turned left on Columbia Parkway and headed out along the Ohio. It was
the same route that led to the Encantada Motel--due east toward
Milford.

"You ain't told me about Lonnie yet," Levy
said after a time.

Karen sighed. "It's such a long story."

"It's a long drive."

"You already know that he copped some crack and
was taken off for it," Karen said.

Levy nodded.

"It turned out that he was set up to be robbed
by his friends."

"By Norvelle!" Levy said with horror.

"And Cal, Norvelle's roommate."

Levy slapped his forehead with his right palm. "Gott
im Himmel! I'm the one who sent Lonnie to Norvelle in the first
place."

"You didn't know what would happen," Karen
said immediately. "Lonnie lied to you about why he wanted to
find Norvelle."

"I should have known," Levy said bitterly.
"Lonnie wasn't going to start no band again. Those days are
gone." His mouth trembled, as if the thought broke his heart.
"Dope was the only reason he was looking for Norvelle. I
should've seen that. That's all Norvelle's good for anyway--if you
want to score smack or coke."

"Is that why Leanne hired him?" I asked.

The question was blunt, and, coming from me, it made
Levy angry. "I like that kid. What right you got to ask me that
sort of thing?"

"Sv, please," Karen said. "It's
Important."

He stared at her. "First you tell me why we're
going to see Leanne, Karen."

Karen gave him an embarrassed look. "Lonnie got
two thousand dollars from somebody--money he used as a down payment
for the crack. We think . . . It may have been from Leanne. He may
have been copping for her."

Levv shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Why?" Karen asked him.

"She don't get up, is why," Levy said
hesitantly. "She gets down."

"Junk?" Karen said with surprise. "How
long's that been going on?"

Levy glanced at her, red-faced. "Since Lonnie, I
think."

Karen dropped her head to her chest. "Lonnie,"
she whispered.

But Levy didn't hear her. "Stoner guessed right.
That's why Leanne kept Norvelle around, so she could get a taste when
she wanted one. That's why she don't get along with her father. He
knows she's a user. He still thinks it's a ghetto vice, you know? And
old man Gearheart, he don't want to be associated with nothing from
the ghetto. He's threatened to call the police on Leanne a couple of
times. His own daughter! Used to be Leanne would call me up on the
phone and just cry about it."

"How does her husband feel about her habit?"
I asked, thinking of the scene in Leanne's office. If Lonnie had
turned Leanne on to smack, it added a cruel meaning to the anger and
despair Jon Silverstein had showed at the mention of Lonnie's name.

"You'd have to ask Jon," Levy said coldly.

"It's got to be an expensive proposition,"
I said, pressing him.

Levy glared at me for a moment. He didn't like my
questions. He didn't like me. I wasn't part of his family, one of his
kids, like Leanne, Lonnie, and Karen were.

"Jon's got plenty of money," he finally
said. "And Leanne ain't always wasted. She does a spoon once in
a while. That's all. A spoon or two. Christ, she got married to
please her dad. Had kids to please her mom. Now, her husband's Mr.
Babbitt. And she's stuck in a life-style that other people have
wished on her." He stared hard at the road. "So, she does a
few drugs. Who doesn't?"

"How about you, Sy?" I said. "You take
a taste now and then?"

"Harry!" Karen shouted.

Levy laughed bitterly. "So you figure I'm in on
this, too, Mr. Detective? Maybe it was me gave Lonnie the money to
kill himself? Me and Leanne, who still worships the ground Lonnie
walks on?"

"Sy, he didn't mean it," Karen said
soothingly. "He doesn't know you."

"He don't know dick about people," Levy
said angrily. "That's what he don't know." He glanced over
at me. "I don't do drugs. And Leanne Silverstein ain't in the
dope-dealing business."

"I believe you," I said.

"I don't give a damn what you believe,"
Levy snapped, turning back to the wheel.

I looked at Karen. "You heard the man. You still
want to go through with this?"

She couldn't meet my gaze. "We haven't talked to
Leanne yet," she said feebly. "Lonnie still might have
called her. He might have run to her on Friday night. She could be
hiding him out there."

"Okay," I said with a sigh. "But we're
on a wild-goose chase, and you know it."

I settled back on the car seat and stared out the
window. On our left we drove past the Encantada Motel. It looked even
dingier in the bright sunlight than it had at night--its stucco walls
running yellow with rust, half its windows boarded up.

I closed my eyes. It was going to be a long,
pointless trip. And the clock was still running for LeRoi and for
Jordan. It had already stopped for Lonnie--I was sure of that.
 

41

About ten miles outside of Milford, Levy turned off
the highway onto a choppy access road that led up to a farmhouse
sitting all by itself in the midst of a huge snowy field. As we
neared the house I could see the duck pond that Leanne had mentioned,
lying in a wooded hollow that ran below the front yard. A battered
Jeep Cherokee was parked beside the house, in the shade of an
enormous snow-covered oak.