Full Frontal Murder (15 page)

But when the door opened and Murtaugh stepped in, his face showed something like relief. “Jim! Will you be handling this … misunderstanding?”

“Is that what it is, Brad?” Murtaugh asked tonelessly. “A misunderstanding?”

On the other side of the glass, Campos said, “Jesus Christ! They're
friends?
You shoulda told me, Lieutenant.”

“No need,” Marian replied. “The captain didn't want us to go easy on this guy. What he wanted was exactly what you gave him—an open-and-shut case.”

In the interrogation room, Ushton was saying he'd make no statement until he had legal representation. Murtaugh waved that aside and said, “I'm here to tell you something, not ask questions. And what I'm telling you is this: cooperate. Give the investigating officers answers to all the questions they ask and it will go easier for you. Admit what you've done, face up to it, and ask for help. And that piece of obvious advice is
all
the help you're going to get from me. In fact, I'm going to ask the DA's office to oppose bail at your hearing. You're a menace, Ushton, and you ought to be locked away where you can't hurt any more little boys.”

“I never hurt them! I—” He clamped his mouth shut and would say no more. Murtaugh looked at him in disgust and left.

A little over an hour later they gathered downstairs in the briefing room, the only closed room in the stationhouse that could hold more than four people comfortably. Marian's two teams of detectives had come in; and the captain was still there.

Marian said, “Campos and his team are interrogating Bradford Ushton, and they're under strict orders to make no mention of the Galloway case or the two homicides connected with it. They're not even to hint at murder. So when Campos is through and Ushton thinks he's finished for the day—that's when we move in. His attorney will scream and holler, but there's not a damned thing he can do about it.”

Walker asked, “Do we have anything linking him to the murders?”

“No, but he won't know that. So far his only connection is that he's Hugh Galloway's attorney.”

Dowd said, “He was after the Galloway boy. What more do you need?”

“We need a
lot
more,” Marian said emphatically. “It's a flimsy connection at best. But I don't see any other suspects standing around, do you?”

Murtaugh grunted. “See if you can get him to talk about Bobby Galloway. He might let something slip.” The others nodded.

“All right,” Marian said. “That's what's going to happen next. Let's hear what you found today. Walker, you first.”

Walker looked unhappy. “We struck out, Lieutenant. Julia Ortega just didn't talk about her work. We spoke to everyone we could find who knew her, but we're going to have to wait until tomorrow when Hector Vargas gets back from Atlantic City.”

“What about Mrs. Vargas?”

Walker shook his head. “No help.”

Dowd laughed shortly. “She didn't know nuttin' about nuttin'. She was saying what her husband told her to say if anyone ever showed up asking questions.”

“Huh. Well, don't push her. See Vargas as soon as he gets back. Now, what about Nick Atlay? Perlmutter?”

He cleared his throat, prefatory to giving a negative report. “We couldn't find the building where Atlay worked as a janitor. We did find someone who knew Atlay's job was in an office building and not a residential one. But we have a few more leads we can follow tomorrow.”

Marian spread her hands. “That's it? Why is this so difficult?”

“Couple of things, Lieutenant,” Perlmutter said. “Atlay was a loner. There was
no
one he was close to. Not by choice, I'm guessing. But he just didn't have friends. Everyone looked upon him as part of the background, not as a person worth paying attention to. He was slow and didn't understand a lot and people got impatient trying to talk to him.”

“Yeah,” O'Toole agreed. “They talked about him like he was a piece of furniture.”

“And that's what caused the second problem,” Perlmutter went on. “We'd ask about Nick Atlay, they wouldn't know who we meant. Almost nobody knew his last name. We didn't get anywhere until we started asking about ‘Nickie'—that's the only name they knew him by.”

“How'd you find that out?”

Perlmutter grinned. “Lippy Sarkoff. I told you he'd tell us the truth.”

“Well, good for Lippy.” She frowned. “There was something else—”

O'Toole said, “You wanted us to ask Rita Galloway whether her brother knew Bradford Ushton or not. She says they never met.”

Marian was doubtful. “But surely he knew who he was. From court—the Galloway divorce hearing.”

“We asked her about that. It was settled in the judge's chambers, only the two Galloways and their attorneys present. It wasn't a real hearing, anyway—that comes, er, next year?”

“Whenever Bobby is old enough to start regular school.” Marian looked at Murtaugh. “No blackmail … since Fairchild didn't know whose picture he was taking in that men's room.” The captain shrugged; it was a long shot.

“Anything else?” Marian asked the room at large. “Okay, then, grab a bite to eat while you can. We're in for a long siege.”

A long and fruitless siege, she should have said. Captain Murtaugh left around nine o'clock, when it became clear that they were going to get nothing from Ushton. When Ushton understood that he was being questioned about murder, he became in turn appalled, angry, indignant, and frightened. Even when they reached the fear stage, he had nothing to tell them.

Marian called it quits. They were all tired and were getting nowhere fast. She'd just about convinced herself they were on a wild-goose chase anyway when Walker came to her and helped her decide.

“No motive,” he said. “He's not interested in Bobby Galloway. Not that way. We asked him about Bobby. He said, ‘He'll be a lovely boy in a few more years.'”

“And that's not interested?”

“Not now. ‘He'll be a lovely boy
in a few more years.'
Bobby's too young for his tastes, Lieutenant. Ushton likes 'em around ten, eleven. All the boys he took pictures of are about that age. There's no picture of a boy as young as Bobby.”

Marian looked at him tiredly; she should have thought of that herself. “You're right.” She'd known it all along: Ushton wasn't their killer. She'd been clutching at straws when she ordered his interrogation. “Good work, Walker, getting him to tell you that.”

He grinned wryly. “It was Dowd he told. He directed all his answers to my partner. Ushton didn't like being questioned by me.” Walker was the only black man on the team.

She told him to go home and get some sleep. Marian was discouraged. They were right back where they'd started, with no suspect. She wondered if there was anything to be gained from a talk with old Walter Galloway at a time when Hugh was not around. Not tomorrow, though; wait until next week when Hugh would be in the office.

It was almost one when she finally unlocked the door to Holland's apartment. And found the place dark. A wave of disappointment swept over her, followed by a flash of irritation. And then she was ashamed of herself; she hadn't realized until that moment how much she counted on Holland's making himself available whenever she wanted him. Something to think about.

But later. She was too tired even to take a shower. She stripped off her clothes, slipped on an oversized T-shirt, and collapsed on the bed. Within seconds she was asleep.

When she awoke the next morning, Holland was sleeping beside her; she hadn't heard him come in. She eased herself out of bed carefully so as not to wake him.

She turned the showerhead setting to its most needlelike spray. Marian felt a lot better this morning; that deep, undisturbed sleep had done her good. Yesterday wasn't a washout at all; they'd nailed a child molester and simultaneously eliminated him as a murder suspect. Not a bad day's work.

On the dining table lay a Carnegie Hall program with yesterday's date. Kiri Te Kanawa. So that's where he'd gone last night.

Marian started the coffee. But the concert wouldn't have lasted until 1
A.M.
; he'd gone someplace else afterward. She wouldn't ask.

He came in while she was spreading cream cheese on a toasted bagel. Wearing only black silk mini-briefs again. Dark shadows under his eyes; not enough sleep. “Caffeine,” he muttered.

Marian poured him a cup. They sat at the table and she waited until he started to look more awake. “So, how was Kiri?”

“Magnificent, as always.” He reached over and took the other half of her bagel. When that was eaten, he said, “After the concert, I picked up a couple of chorus girls and we did the town.”

She got up to toast another bagel. “Did you have fun?”

“Oh, yes. A ton of fun. We snorted a couple of lines and went to an illegal gambling den on West Forty-fifth.”

“Hmm! Living dangerously.”

“And when we ran out of money, we sold our bodies. I had more customers than the girls did.”

“I'll bet you did.”

“Then Sigourney Weaver came along and asked me to marry her.”

“Congratulations. When's the wedding?”

“Egad, woman, will
nothing
make you jealous?”

“Not when you're clever enough to tell the truth but treat it as a joke so I won't believe it. But it didn't work. I truly believe you did do all those things.”

“I went back to the office and did some work,” he muttered. When she laughed, he said, “Well, this has turned into a working weekend, hasn't it? You'll probably have to go in again today.”

“Probably.” She looked at him with a gleam in her eye. “But not just yet.”

15

Hector Vargas, private detective and employer of the slain Julia Ortega, did not get back from Atlantic City until almost noon on Sunday. Parked outside his building and waiting for him were Walker and Dowd.

“Vargas took it real hard when we told him Ortega was dead,” Walker told Marian a little later. “She was his niece, Lieutenant.”

“Oh jeez,” she said. “And he wasn't worried about her? He didn't report her missing?”

“Remember, Ortega was a cop in Brooklyn for nine years? Well, there's a reason she left the force before making retirement. The lady picked up a habit during her years on the street. Brooklyn sent her for treatment, but she didn't stick to it. So they kicked her out.”

“And her uncle took her in.”

“Yeah. He said losing her job as a cop pretty much put the fear of God into her, and she made a real effort to stay clean.” Walker frowned. “But she backslid once, about a year ago—went missing for six days. Vargas just thought the same thing had happened again.”

Marian nodded. “So he didn't want to get her into more trouble by filing a missing person report.”

Dowd spoke up. “It had to be a pretty big habit. Brooklyn wouldn't have given up on one of their own unless it was. And that has to be why she went to work at her uncle's fleabag agency—nobody else would hire her.”

“How fleabag?”

“Vargas, Ortega, one part-time op to do some of the legwork. That's the whole agency. Their cases are all petty stuff—skip-tracing, like that. Office is two tiny rooms in a building one step up from a slum.”

Walker said, “Vargas is eager to cooperate, Lieutenant. You ready to see him now?”

She was.

Walker went to where he'd left Vargas sitting in the squad-room and brought him back. Dowd stood up to let the private detective have his chair, and Walker stayed in the doorway after making the introduction.

Vargas was short and stocky; he wore a white shirt that was frayed at the collar and trousers that had a bit of a shine. His hair was coal black: he could have been anywhere from forty to sixty. Vargas didn't immediately meet her eyes; the man was uncomfortable in a police station.

“I appreciate your coming in, Mr. Vargas,” she said. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” he replied in a subdued voice. “You think a client killed Julia?”

“It's almost a certainty. I know you've already talked to the detectives, but I'd appreciate your going over it again with me.”

“Anything. Tell me what you want to know.”

“How many cases was your niece working on?”

“Just one. Things have been a bit slow lately, you know how it is.”

“Tell me about that one.”

“Well, a guy named Arlen, Tony Arlen, wanted somebody to check up on a woman named Rita Galloway—”

“Mr. Vargas, start at the beginning. How did this Arlen first contact you?”

“Phone call. He said he was disabled and it was hard for him to get around, but he'd send somebody with the cash if I'd take the case.”

“Did he?”

“Oh yeah. Not more'n an hour later. A big guy named Nickie brought it.”

Marian opened a drawer of her desk and took out a picture of Nick Atlay.

“That's him!” Vargas said. “That's Nickie. Hey, how'd you happen to have his picture?”

“What was it that Tony Arlen wanted you to do? Exactly.”

Vargas sat up straighter, suddenly aware that more was going on than just his niece's murder. “He wanted to know if I could provide him with someone to pose as a cleaning woman. To get some information for him.” Vargas paused. “He dint
say
she had to be Hispanic, but I figured he wouldna called me if he wanted Snow White. So I gave him Julia.”

Marian said nothing about entering private premises under false pretenses. “Did they ever meet? Face-to-face?”

Vargas scratched the side of his nose. “Well, I ain't real sure that they did. I know that first time he just called her at the office and told her where to go and what he wanted her to do. They coulda met later, I guess.”