On the Street Where You Die (Stanley Bentworth mysteries Book 1) (15 page)

Chapter 23
 

The next morning I was in the office, back to normal, which was
needing
a shave, bleary-eyed, with a star-spangled hangover and yet another resolve to quit drinking. I sent Willa out for some V8 and vodka, Buford’s hangover cure. I sat staring at the wall until she came back, whereupon I drank two coffee cups full of the potion. Drinking a hangover cure isn’t the same as drinking, I told myself.

I told Willa to call Oliver’s for a total on my tab and to send them a check.

“And no lectures on what I’m spending, either,” I told her. “Some guys collect cars, others play golf. I count cigarette burns on the bar at Oliver’s.”

“How many are there?” she asked.

“Several more as of last night.”

“Get to work,” she said. “Earn your keep.”

I went into my office. Rodney was already there.

“I located that cell phone at an Italian restaurant in town, Uncle Stanley.”

“Did you call Overbee?”

“Yep.
He called this morning and said to tell you the problem has been taken care of. Who’s
Sanford
?”

“The guy who takes care of problems.
Let’s get to work.”

Rodney’s transcriptions of my notes onto the whiteboard were good. I had to make a couple of corrections, and they were due to my crappy handwriting.

“
Here’s things
to add,” I said to Rodney when he came in. “From memory. Put all this wherever it fits on the board.”

Rodney listened and transcribed my summary with dates and events posted on the timeline.

“Willa,” I called out to the outer office. “Would you go across the street and get me some breakfast? The V8 is starting to work.”

“Sure,” she called back.

Willa left, and I continued to recite things for Rodney to post on the whiteboard.

My cell phone rang. It was the pay phone at Ray’s Diner on the caller ID.
Had to be Bunny.

“What?” I said.

“Stan, I’m sorry.” She was still kind of weepy.

“Apology noted. Have a good time on your date.”

I hung up the cell phone.

Willa came in with breakfast. “Was that what I thought it was?” she asked.

“Depends on what you thought it was,” I said.

“Sounded like you blowing off Bunny. That’s long overdue.”

“Willa, I don’t need Dear Abby just now.”

“Yes, you do,” she said with a firm tone. “You don’t want my advice, but here it is for what it’s worth.”

I started to interrupt, but she said, “Shut up and listen. She’ll beg you to take her back but don’t do it. Not right away. That’s what she’s counting on. Good old Stan, always there when she needs him, always in reserve. She’s keeping you in the bank for when times are slow.”

That was what Sammy had said.

“Willa—”

“She needs to learn that you never know what you have until you’ve lost it. I never appreciated my husband while he was here.”

Willa’s husband had died a while back.

“And quit getting drunk over it. That doesn’t get a woman back. It sure doesn’t keep her.
As you should know by now.”

“End of lecture?” I asked.

“For now,” she said.

I shook my head and turned back to the whiteboard.

“What’s left?” I asked Rodney.

“I think that covers it, Uncle Stanley. What are you going to do next?”

“I’m going to see if I can question the four suspects that live with Buford.”

“Can I go along and observe?”

“No. That doesn’t work. An interrogation team works in sync. We know by instinct from working together what questions each other will ask and when. We know when one should step down and the other take over. We complement each other.”

“Sure. Good cop, bad cop. I know how that works. I watch TV.”

“You aren’t ready for that, and private investigation rarely uses those techniques anyway. We don’t work murder cases. The only reason we have this one is the cops think they got it closed, and we think they got it wrong.”

“What can I do?”

“Stay here at your computer and collect everything you can find on Sanford, Ramon, Missy, and Serena. I got no background on any of them except that
Sanford
used to be a lawyer with the mob, and Ramon is an illegal alien.”

Rodney was typing on his laptop, making notes.

“One more thing.
Vitole was shaking down other guys in witness protection. Maybe one of them bumped him off. Get into the Marshals site, and do a search. Pull the names of witness protection clients who have relocated somewhere around here and are still alive. If we can point suspicion at any upstanding citizens like that, maybe we can create reasonable doubt for Buford.”

Chapter 24
 

I went again to Buford’s residence for the hard part, interrogating the client’s friends and family. Buford was on the patio in his bathing trunks. The ankle bracelet had chafed the skin on his shin just above his foot as he’d said. His ankle was big like the rest of him. The bracelet was in its largest buckle setting and, even so, pinched his skin.

“Your nephew seems to be good at hacking into shit,” he said. “You think he can get this thing off me?”

“Maybe.
One time he took the boot off his car’s wheel that the cops had put on.”

“That’s good. What did he do with it?”

“He changed the pins in the tumbler lock so they couldn’t open it. Then he put the boot on a police cruiser parked in front of a doughnut shop.”

“
Man, that
kid has balls. What kind of trouble did that get him in?”

“I intervened. He got community service and no record.”

“You’re a good uncle.”

“I am.”

“So, what about this bracelet?”

“I’ll ask him.”

I doubted that Rodney could do much about the bracelet. They go out of their way to make them tamper-proof.

“Thanks for taking care of that wise guy,” I said.

“Thank
Sanford
.”

“You think I’ll get more visits?”

“Not likely. He probably didn’t tell anyone about you. They usually wait until the job is done. Don’t bother the bosses with details. Just results.”

That was a huge relief. It wasn’t a guarantee, but if anyone knew how the mob operated, Buford did.

“I need a private place to talk to your people,” I said.

“How about my study?
If they don’t cooperate, you can take a gun off the wall and shoot them.”

I went into the study and sat at the giant desk. While I waited for my first interrogation subject, I called Rodney.

“You think you can remove a house arrest ankle bracelet without triggering its alarm?”

“I don’t know, Uncle Stanley. I’d have to look at it.”

“Next chance you get, make an appointment to come see Mr. Overbee. If you can do it, there’ll be a bonus.”

Buford sent Ramon in first.

“Ramon,” I said. “Sit down.” He did. “I am collecting information related to where everyone was when Mr. Vitole got shot. Where were you that morning?”

“I was here all day, Señor. Sanford and I were playing pool.”

“Who won?”

“
Sanford
did. It is advisable to let
Sanford
win.”

“Mr. Overbee says you play chess. Can you beat
Sanford
at that?”

“He will not play me.”

“You’re very loyal to Mr. Overbee.”

“Si, Señor. He is my benefactor. He is trying to get me a green card and eventually citizenship.”

“So you’d do anything to protect him.”

“Anything.”

“Did you know he was having problems with Mr. Vitole?”

“No, I did not. I knew he was having problems with someone.”

“Weren’t you here the day I told him about Mr. Vitole?”

“Si, Señor, I was here, but I do not listen when Señor Overbee discusses business.”

“Thank you, Ramon. That’s all I have for now. Bring me black coffee, please.”

Ramon left and Missy came in.

“Dad’s got us lined up out there like in a doctor’s waiting room.”

“Miss Curro, where were you the morning Mr. Vitole was shot?”

“Serena and I were shopping.”

“Okay. I don’t need you to prove it to me, but if the cops ask, is there anyway you can substantiate where you were?”

“They can ask Serena.”

“Yeah, but you are each other’s alibi. They’d want corroborating evidence.”

“Easy. Look at my Dad’s credit card account. Serena practically bought out Belksdales.”

“And you?”

“I didn’t even buy lunch. But Serena will tell you I was with her.”

Missy left, and Ramon came in and put a pot of coffee and a cup on the table. He poured me a cup and left.

Usually in a situation like this, the tendency is to cut corners, save time, and not interview a corroborating witness. I would expect Serena to say what Missy said she would say. But experience had taught me to expect the unexpected. And, besides, it was Serena. I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to look at her again. I asked her to come in.

The young woman was so beautiful that I found it difficult to concentrate. She was wearing that same bikini with the white terrycloth robe hanging off her shoulders. When she sat, she crossed her legs so that the robe fell off them such that they were on full display to her best advantage. I am a weak man. I was ready to believe anything she said. I have to work on that.

“So you’re a detective,” she said. “That must be like exciting.”

She uncrossed her legs and re-crossed them the other way. Be still my heart.

“No, it’s mostly boring routine work.”

“Well, I’m impressed. Some day you’ll have to tell me some of your stories.”

Take a deep breath. Relax.
Down to business.

“Serena, I understand that you went shopping the day of the murder.”

“What day was that?” she asked.

What woman could forget the day a murder happened of which her husband had been accused? I told her the date.

“That’s too long ago. I don’t know where I was.” She flicked a bit of lint off her shoulder and looked into my eyes. Fortunately I was looking at her face at the time and not other places that were demanding my attention. She smiled. I smiled back. The gaze took longer than it should have. Then I snapped out of it and continued.

“It would be the day you went to Belksdales with Missy.”

“Oh, that day.
I decided at the last minute to like go out. I was in town the whole day from when Buford got home.”

“And Missy was with you?”

“Not the whole day. She like doesn’t get up that early.”

“When did she join you?”

“For lunch.
There’s this really chic little vegetarian restaurant in the town square.
All kinds of, y’know, mushroom dishes and cheese soups.
We ate there.”

“And you didn’t see her before that?”

“No.”

“Did you drive yourself into town?”

“No. Ramon drove me. I don’t like to drive in traffic.”

“Did he stay with you all day?”

“No, he waits in the car. And he returned here just before lunch to get Missy. After he dropped her off, I guess he
was,
y’know, in the car. He like picked us up later to bring us home.”

I wrote what she said in my notebook.

“Mr. Bentworth, you are going to like find out who killed that man, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to try.”

“And Buford will be y’know cleared?”

“I hope so.”

“So do I. Buford and I are true soul mates like ever since we met.”

“Where did you meet?”

“I was a dancer at a club in
Philadelphia
. He knew the owner who introduced us. We both knew immediately that we were y’know meant for each other. Ever since then we’ve been like two stones that pass in the night.”

She said that just as I was taking a swallow of coffee. The coffee shot out of my nose and went down my shirtfront. I grabbed a napkin and sopped it up. I suppressed my laughter and asked her to send
Sanford
in.

Serena’s story had sent three alibis out the window. Ramon wasn’t where he said he was. Neither was Missy.
Sanford
’s alibi depended on Ramon’s. And if the store receipts didn’t bear her out, Serena had nothing to back up her story either. My gut instinct was right. Always get statements from everybody even when you think you know what they’ll say. They can surprise you.

One more to go.
Sanford
came in. I had saved him for last. He’d be the toughest one to read.

“
Sanford
, where were you when the murder went down?”

“Here.”

“All day?”

“Yes.”

“Can anybody vouch for that?”

“Ramon can.”

Always let the subject know he’s been caught in a lie. His reaction to that can tell you a lot.

“That’s what he said too,” I said, watching
Sanford
closely. “But I’ve also been told that he drove the ladies into town that morning and was away from here until the afternoon.”

Sanford
did not answer. He just sat and looked at me.

“Can you explain why he’d say that?” I asked after waiting for the response that didn’t come.

“Yes.”

“What’s the explanation?”

“The four of us need to get our stories straight.”

Another surprise.
He had just admitted that their alibis were contrived to account for a period of time that none of them could account for.

His answer also revealed that he didn’t give a shit what they told me. I’m not the cops.

“By the way,” I said. “Thanks for fixing that wise guy problem I had. I owe you.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Understood.
That’s about it. Could you find Mr. Overbee and ask him to come in?”

Sanford
left and Buford came in, settled in a chair, and got a drink from Ramon.

“Buford,” I said, “everybody tells a different story. As near as I can tell, the only one who isn’t lying is Serena.”

“She’s too dumb to lie,” he said. “That’s what I love about her.
Among other things.”

“Well, the result is that I got nothing to eliminate any of them except maybe Serena from the likely suspect list.”

“You got to crawl before you can walk,” he said.
“One step at a time.”
His mixed metaphors told me that my lack of success with the interrogations didn’t bother him.

“Do you have all the credit card receipts for that day? It’ll tell us whether Serena was shopping in the morning.”

“Yeah, she keeps everything.”

He got up and went out of the office. After a few minutes he came back in leafing through a handful of cash register receipts.

“Jesus Christ,” he said. “Not only do I have the mob and the cops on me, but Citibank is going to be coming after me too.”

I took the receipts from him and checked the time stamps. Serena was exonerated.

On the drive back to the office I went over the four interrogations in my head. What would Bill Penrod have done that I didn’t do? I tried to recall how we bounced off one another during an interrogation. I’d proceed as I had today, and then, at every inconsistency in a suspect’s story, Bill would jump in, yell at them, accuse them of the crime, and demand that they change their story and come clean or face arrest for obstruction, lying to a cop, impeding an investigation, or any one of a number of charges that he could cite or make up. He’d intimidate witnesses until they either broke down or convinced him that they didn’t do it. If they did neither, he’d fall back and let me take over again.

That’s what Bill would have done. I’m not like that. I was always the good cop. Besides, this time I was questioning the people on our side. It was a confusing dichotomy.