Murder on the Rocks (11 page)

“What happened?” Duncan asked.

“What happened is I let my sympathy for the widow sway me into buying the property
too fast and paying more than I should have. I knew she was desperate to sell and
I probably could have knocked her down in the price, but I felt sorry for her. Besides,
I checked out Ginny’s story about the developer and what she told me about the condo
project was true and most of the other store owners had said they were willing to
sell. So even though I overpaid a little, I still thought I’d not only be able to
recoup my investment, but turn a healthy profit. There were two apartments upstairs
and I figured the rent on those would help offset my costs.”

Tad paused and sighed heavily. “The first sign of trouble was when the city inspector
contacted me because the EPA had targeted the shop for dumping PCE.”

“PCE?” I repeated.

“Yeah, it’s short for some big long chemical name . . . perchloro-something. Apparently
it’s a big cancer causer and the previous owner was dumping the crap into the ground
out behind the store. So the EPA told my tenants they had to leave and told me I could
no longer rent the apartments. Then they locked the place down, sealed it up, did
some tests, and condemned the entire building.

“I wasn’t overly worried at first, because I had planned all along to just sell it
to the developer, who was going to tear everything down anyway. I figured he could
do any remaining cleanup that might be needed. But then the residents in those bordering
neighborhoods got wind of the condo project and started pressuring the other store
owners not to sell, promising to support them with their patronage. It was a classic
NIMBY campaign, and a well-organized one. They wanted to preserve that small-town
neighborhood feel in their little section of the big city, and they weren’t keen on
a big-assed condo going up where all their quaint neighborhood markets were. Their
efforts worked. Enough of the store owners reneged on their promises to sell and the
developer eventually dropped the project and moved on.”

“So do you still own the property?” Duncan asked.

“I do. It’s my albatross. I can’t sell it, I can’t rent it, and I can’t afford to
tear it down or make it habitable because it has to be done by some special company
in some special way because of the chemical contamination. Now I’m getting pressure
from that damned neighborhood group as well as the other shop owners to do something
with it.”

“Geez, Tad,” I said. “I knew you got stuck with a property deal that didn’t go well,
but I had no idea how bad it was, or that Ginny was the one who sold it to you. Why
didn’t you tell me?”

Tad shrugged. “I wasn’t sure what your relationship with Ginny was and I didn’t want
to bad-mouth her in front of you. Besides, you know I’m trying to keep the whole thing
under wraps.”

I nodded and then looked over at Duncan to explain, even though I knew it wasn’t necessary.
But I didn’t want Tad to get a hint of Duncan’s knowledge or involvement. “Todd’s
wife is quite wealthy and a prominent figure in the area.”

Duncan looked puzzled and asked Tad, “Can’t she take care of this thing for you then?”

“Oh, sure,” Tad said irritably. “My wife could easily afford it, but I can’t. She
holds the purse strings and, believe me, her grip is a strong one. Plus she doesn’t
know anything about that property. I bought it on my own and leveraged my business
pretty heavily to come up with the money for it.”

“Why?” Duncan asked.

Tad leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and rubbed his forehead for a few seconds
before he answered. “It was going to be my ticket out of there, my escape.”

“Your escape from what?” Duncan asked looking bemused.

“Not what, who,” Tad said, sighing miserably.

Duncan looked sympathetic and nodded, making me wonder what type of marital history
he might have. I know cops tend to have high rates of divorce and I wondered if he
fell into that category.

Duncan cocked his head to one side and smiled. “I’m sympathetic to your plight, but
you do realize you’ve just admitted to a stellar motive for wanting to kill Ginny
Rifkin, don’t you?”

Tad nodded, looking glum.

I felt sorry for him particularly since I knew what I had to do next. I showed him
the picture of his broken eyeglasses. “Recognize these?” I asked.

Tad shrugged. “Of course. Those are my old glasses. I broke them last night . . .
thank goodness. My wife picked those things out for me and I never liked them. They’re
hideous.” He reached up and adjusted his new wire-framed glasses. “I got these this
morning. They not only look better, they feel better. Those things weighed a ton,”
he said, nodding toward the picture.

“How and when did you break them?” I asked.

“It was right before I left here last night. I’d had a bit more to drink than I meant
to, and I was in the men’s room and took them off so I could splash some water on
my face. I set them on the edge of the sink and somehow managed to knock them off.
I didn’t even realize they were on the floor at first. The paper towels were off to
one side and when I went to grab some, I stepped right on the damned things. I picked
them up and saw how broken they were, so I tossed them in the trash. I’m pretty nearsighted
without them so it made for an interesting walk home, I can tell you.”

I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until I let it out. Tad’s excuse was a reasonable
one and judging from the look on Duncan’s face, he thought so, too.

Tad squirmed a little in the ensuing seconds of silence. “Why do you ask?” he said.

I tapped the picture of the broken glasses. “The police found these in the alley out
back near Ginny Rifkin’s body.”

“Whoa,” Tad said, leaning back in his seat and holding his hands up as if to ward
off some evil force. “I tossed them in the men’s room trash. Beyond that, I have no
idea.”

I did have an idea, and since Tad’s voice bubbles were perfectly round and constant
now, I was inclined to believe him. “We empty the rest room trash cans every night
and all the contents go into the Dumpster next to where Ginny was found. So if you
put your glasses in the men’s room trash, that’s where they would have ended up.”

Duncan shot me a slightly perturbed look and I wondered why. Was he annoyed that I
was helping Tad?

I pushed out of my chair and stood. “Thanks for talking to me, Tad.” Hoping to do
some damage control, I added, “And I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. Let
me buy you a drink on the house to make up for it.”

He turned and gave me a wan smile. “You don’t need to apologize, Mack. I understand
why you’re nervous about all of this. It has to have you on edge, particularly after
what happened to your father.”

“Thanks for understanding. Can I ask you one more question?”

“Why not?” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“Did my dad ever talk about Al Capone that you know of? Or show any interest in him?”

Tad shot me a puzzled look. “Al Capone? Not that I can recall. What does that have
to do with any of this?”

“Probably nothing. I’m just exploring a wild idea. Forget I asked. But I still want
to buy you a drink. What would you like?”

“Let’s change things up a bit. I’d like to try something I’ve never had before. Got
any suggestions?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. How about a Crazy Redhead?”

“T
his is one drink I need to know how to make,” Duncan said with a laugh. “With a name
like that and a bartender like you . . .” His gaze roved over my red hair.

“It’s pretty simple,” I told him. “Start with ice and add a shot each of Jägermeister
and peach schnapps. Then fill the shaker the rest of the way with cranberry juice.”
Having mixed all the ingredients, I capped the shaker and handed it to Duncan. “Now
shake it up good because that’s the part that makes this redhead crazy.”

I watched, amused and admittedly a little transfixed as Duncan shook the drink, his
arm muscles flexing beneath his tan. When he was done he poured it out for Tad and
handed it to him. After a sip, Tad gave it a thumbs-up.

I moved down the bar to where Kevin was standing between two men. Kevin was rambling
on about how he narrowly missed being the one to find Ginny’s body, but judging from
the expressions on the men’s faces they either didn’t believe him or weren’t impressed.
I suspect it was the latter.

I walked back to Duncan and whispered in his ear, “Join me in my office?”

I headed that way and Duncan joined me a minute later. “What’s up?” he asked.

“I was going to ask the male nurse, Lewis, to come talk to me next but it looks like
he has left with his girls in tow. So how about I invite Kevin in to talk next?”

“Okay. Why did you ask Tad about Al Capone?”

“No reason. Just a wild-goose chase. What can you tell me about Kevin?”

“He was on Ginny’s list of clients and it appears their relationship didn’t end well.”
He then told me what he knew, or at least as much of it as he felt comfortable sharing.
I had a definite sense that he was holding things back.

When he was done I said, “Wait here,” and I went out to fetch Kevin. I pulled him
to one side, and invited him into my office, explaining that I was determined to get
to the bottom of things and was doing my own investigation.

Unlike Tad, Kevin didn’t hesitate. “I’m happy to help in any way I can,” he said,
“though I don’t think I know anything that matters.”

Once we entered the office, I repeated the explanation I had given to Tad for Duncan’s
presence and directed Kevin to have a seat in the same chair Tad had used. Duncan
once again stood off to the side where he could see both of us.

“To start with, Kevin, I’d like to know what sort of relationship you had with Ginny,”
I said once we were all settled into position.

Kevin shrugged. “I didn’t have a relationship with her so I don’t know what I can
tell you. But I might have been the one to find her body this morning if my truck
hadn’t broken down. Today was my day to pick up in that alley.”

“Wow, close call,” Duncan said in a relaxed, buddy tone.

“Yeah, right, huh?” Kevin said, sounding a bit impressed by it all.

“What garbage company do you work for?” Duncan asked.

Kevin offered up the name of the company.

“Where did your truck break down?” Duncan asked.

“Over on Wisconsin Street. I was doing my regular pickups when the engine coughed
a couple of times and then started belching smoke like Old Faithful.”

“Old Faithful emits steam, not smoke,” I said, and both men turned and stared at me
for several seconds like I was crazy. “Sorry.”

“What time did this happen?” Duncan asked, shifting his attention back to Kevin.

“It was around nine, nine-fifteen this morning. My route is pretty predictable most
of the time and—”

“Why did you say you didn’t have a relationship with Ginny?” I asked, interrupting
him.

Kevin turned back to me with a frown; Duncan flashed me a smile and an expression
that might have been admiration. “’Cause I didn’t?” Kevin said with a shrug, his tone
suggesting the question was moronic. Up until this last comment, Kevin’s voice had
me tasting something cool and sweet, like whipped cream. Now the taste turned sour.

“The cops said your name is in her client database,” I said.

Kevin stared at me so long without blinking that I started to wonder if he’d died.
Then he finally blinked and said, “Well, she did list my house for me some time back.”

“And you only now remembered that?” I said sounding highly skeptical.

“Well, yeah,” Kevin said with another shrug. “It was like two years ago.”

“Based on the notes the cops said they found in Ginny’s file, she never did sell your
house, is that right?”

Kevin’s face clouded over. “That’s right,” he said, tight-lipped.

“You lost the house in a foreclosure?” I pressed.

Kevin’s expression went from cloudy to thunderstorm as the muscles in his cheeks twitched
violently. “Yeah, I did,” he said, his teeth tight. “Lost my job, then my house, and
now my credit rating is in the toilet. If I hadn’t found this job driving the garbage
truck, I’d probably be sleeping on a bench along the riverfront.” He seemed to realize
how uptight he was and he paused, blew out a hard breath, shook his arms, and rolled
his neck, trying to unwind.

“It must have pissed you off that you lost your house that way,” Duncan said, still
using his good-buddy tone of voice.

“Yeah, I was a bit pissed, and I still am. But it wasn’t Ginny’s fault the house didn’t
sell. I was upside down on my mortgage and couldn’t get the price I needed to break
even since the market was so crappy. Ginny did everything she could to sell the place,
so if you’re thinking I killed her over it, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“Why did you lie to me when I asked you if you knew her?” I asked.

“I didn’t,” Kevin said angrily. “You asked me if I had a relationship with her and
I didn’t. I didn’t really even know the woman. I used her in a professional capacity
two years ago, and all that involved was the signing of some paperwork, a couple of
phone conversations where we discussed selling ideas and strategies, and a dozen or
so e-mails. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since.”

I was fairly certain the last part of Kevin’s statement was true since he first started
coming into my bar a few months ago, a long time after Ginny stopped coming. As far
as I knew, they hadn’t crossed paths in the bar, but I had no way of knowing what
might have happened elsewhere.

“I’m sorry, Kevin,” I said, hoping to smooth his ruffled feathers. “It’s just that
Ginny’s body was found dumped in some garbage that you were conveniently set to pick
up, and
would
have picked up if your truck hadn’t broken down. It would have been a great way to
eliminate the body. That seems like an awfully big coincidence.”

“I don’t really care what it
seems
like, I’m telling you I had nothing to do with Ginny’s death. And I’m done talking.”
Kevin got up from his chair, pushed past me and Duncan, and stormed out of the office.

I gave Duncan an irritated look. “I don’t like playing bad cop,” I said.

“Too bad, because you’re very good at it.”

I sighed and shook my head in frustration. Anxious to control any damage I might have
done, and worried that Kevin might scare away other customers, I went after him. I
pushed past Duncan, thinking he might follow, but he hung behind instead. I expected
Kevin to make a beeline for the exit, but like Tad, he went for the bar. I hurried
up beside him and said, “Kevin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you but the cops
keep giving me information that’s scary, things that point to people I know. I’m just
trying to watch my back.” I paused, glanced around the bar warily, and added, “I’m
afraid, Kevin. Afraid the cops might arrest me at any moment, and I’m also afraid
I might be the next victim.”

Hearing the concern and fear in my voice, which was genuine, Kevin’s angry posture
relaxed. He waved away my concern. “You don’t need to apologize, Mack. I get it. I’m
sorry if I overreacted.”

“You didn’t. It’s scary being a suspect. Believe me, I know.”

Kevin flashed me a sympathetic smile.

“Tell you what, Kev. Let me fix you a drink on the house to make up for all the trouble.”

“Thanks, Mack. That’s sweet of you.”

Duncan, who had taken his time leaving the office, walked up behind Kevin and gave
him a pat on his back. “Man, that was rough on you, my friend,” he said in his best-buddy
voice. “Mack here had you squirming in the hot seat.”

“No kidding,” Kevin said, but there was no more anger in his tone. He grabbed a napkin
from the bar and started dabbing at the beads of perspiration that had broken out
along his hairline and collar. “Got something that will cool me down, Mack?”

“I do. I’ll make you a Milwaukee River Iced Tea.” I suggested. “It’s guaranteed to
cool both your temperature and your temperament.”

Kevin smiled. “I’ll take it.”

I led Duncan behind the bar, grabbed a cocktail shaker, and talked him through what
I was doing as I made the drink. “The beginning part of this drink is the same as
a Long Island Iced Tea,” I said, scooping ice into the shaker. “Mix together an ounce
each of vodka . . . gin . . . rum . . . tequila . . . Triple Sec . . . and lemon juice.”
Having added each of the ingredients, I put the top on the shaker and handed it to
Duncan, eager to watch him in action again. “You shake it up good for about thirty
seconds and then pour it into a glass. If you’re making a Long Island Iced Tea you
top it off with cola, but for the Milwaukee River version, you top it off with beer.”

I let Duncan finish off the drink and when he was done and served it to Kevin, I said,
“Fair warning, Kevin. That drink packs a punch.”

“I could use one right about now,” he said. He took the glass, took a sip, and his
eyes grew huge. “Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

“Too much? I can make you something else.”

“No, this is fine.” He took another sip and smacked his lips. “I’ll go slow with it,”
he said, putting the drink down. “Thanks, Mack.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“And just for the record, I didn’t kill Ginny.”

He said this loud enough that several people nearby turned to look at us. Their expressions
weren’t wary or worried, just curious.

I smiled and said, “Just for the record, neither did I.”

Duncan and I dodged between Billy and Gary to get out from behind the bar. Gary was
in silent scowling mode, but Billy grabbed me by my arm before I could get away. “What’s
going on in your office?” he asked.

“I’m talking to some of my customers about stuff the cops have told me about Ginny’s
death.”

Gary overheard this and his face fumed a brilliant shade of red.

“Why?” Billy asked. “Do you think someone here killed Ginny?”

Duncan jumped in before I could. “If you think about it, it makes sense to think the
killer is someone who knows Mack and the bar.” Then he looked at me and added, “By
the way, I overheard those cops who were in here earlier say your coffee rocks. Word
is spreading. I suspect you may be building a whole new clientele.”

Gary muttered a profanity and walked away. I knew why he was upset but I wasn’t sure
what to make of this information either. On the one hand, more customers was a good
thing, and if those customers were cops, they did bring with them a certain sense
of security. But I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be running a cop bar. Some people are
uncomfortable having a bunch of cops hanging out at the bar, off duty or not. I worried
that any customers I might gain would be more than offset by how many I’d lose.

Missy, looking adorably flustered, dashed up to the bar and handed me a fistful of
food orders. “Mack, where have you been? Can you do these for me? I can barely keep
up with the drinks.”

“Sure,” I told her. I took the food orders from her and headed for the kitchen with
Duncan on my heels. Once we were inside the kitchen I handed the food orders to Helmut
and then pulled Duncan aside. “Any more questioning will just have to wait. I need
to get back to my customers. This is a much bigger crowd than my usual Friday night
turnout. I had no idea a back alley murder would drive in this kind of business. Maybe
I should commit one nightly.”

I laughed but Duncan didn’t, and I realized my comment, though it was meant to be
funny, probably sounded crass. When I saw the calculating way Duncan was scrutinizing
me, I realized it also sounded like a confession.

Since Helmut was a little overwhelmed, Duncan and I got busy helping with the food
orders. There was no talk between us outside of the occasional “Excuse me,” or “Please
hand me that plate.” I started wondering about Duncan’s willingness to let me handle
these questioning sessions in order to get my special take on the people and discussions
involved. He claimed to be interested in how I interpreted things through my synesthetic
filter, and yet he hadn’t bothered to ask me for any feedback thus far. Why was that?
Was it all a façade put on for my benefit? Was I the real primary suspect here?

I pondered all this in the back of my mind as we worked to get the food orders made
and delivered. Once things were caught up, Duncan disappeared into my office, presumably
to make some more phone calls.

I was debating following him in there when Zach showed up. His smiling face was a
welcome sight and his easygoing, reassuring personality felt like just what I needed
at the moment. He was still dressed in his uniform, and the tight-fitting white shirt
outlined his physique nicely. I took a second to admire his broad shoulders and slim
waist before heading toward him.

I met him midway between the bar and the door and he gave me a quick peck on the cheek,
knowing I don’t approve of public displays of affection when I’m working. “How’s everything
going?” he asked. “I’ve been worried about you all day.”