Symphony of Blood, A Hank Mondale Supernatural Case (13 page)

“Hello, Blake residence. May I help you?”

“Horace.” The soothing tone of Blake’s butler was unmistakable.

“Yes.”

“It’s Hank Mondale.”

“Ah, yes. Hello, Mr. Mondale.”

“I need to speak with Mr. Blake.”

“Let me see if he’s available. One moment, Mr. Mondale.”

“It’s important, Horace. Very important.”

“I see. Just give me a moment.”

Soft music kicked in, and I doodled goofy stick figures into the margin of my phonebook while I waited. After several minutes, Thomas Blake got on the phone.

“Hello, Mr. Mondale. How is the case coming?”

“Not bad so far, sir. I’ve learned quite a lot.”

“Have you picked up the trail of that thing?”

“I’ve definitely picked up a trail. I believe we need to talk.”

“Okay, let’s talk.”

“In person, I mean. Can I come see you?”

“This feels very ominous, Mr. Mondale. What’s up?”

“Do you know anything about Nicole
Leifson
? Or Bobby Marks?”

“Yes. They’re friends of my daughter’s.”

“Yes. They are. And they are both missing. As is your business partner, Bill Palmer.”

There was silence for about ten full seconds. Then a loud exhale.

“Okay, Mr. Mondale. I’ll send a car to your office to come get you. It will take about an hour. Be ready.”

“I’ll be here.”

* *

The car pulled up in front of my office and stopped, and I walked out to meet it. The weather turned a bit balmy. For the first time in weeks I didn’t need my gloves.

“Fancy car,” Mrs. Kim said as I walked past.

“Wish it was mine,” I replied and waved.

“Me too,” Mr. Kim said…at least I think that’s what he said.

The driver was opening the door to the black Lincoln as I walked up. He nodded a “good day” but didn’t say a word.

I nodded back and stepped inside. I fixed myself a drink, trying to rehearse what I was going to say, but it was no use. It wouldn’t matter what I said. So instead, I finished my drink, sat back, and quickly fell into a cat nap.

When I opened my eyes, we were turning into the Blake estate. It was far lighter outside than the last time I’d seen it, and I was able to appreciate the size and beauty of Blake’s place. The grass was perfectly manicured, nicer than any country club I’d ever seen; the lawn had been mowed in a distinct crisscross pattern and not a blade of grass was out of place. Each side of the driveway was lined with three-foot high trees, which changed to two footers and then once we neared the house, pretty potted plants. There were flowerbeds close to the house that were just coming into season; the soil in them looked freshly turned. The maintenance must have gone on nonstop.

The car stopped in front of the main entrance, and I let myself out. The driver stepped out, grunted upon noticing I was already out, then stepped back in and drove quickly off. I hopped back to avoid losing a toe, although the car wasn’t really that close, I just was surprised to see him drive off so fast.

Horace opened the door as I approached. I walked into the entranceway and smiled.

“Good day, sir,” Horace said.

“Hello.”

“May I take your coat?”

“But of course.” I handed him my coat.

“Mr. Blake is expecting you. He’s waiting in the library. I’ll show you the way.”

“That’s quite alright, Horace. I remember the way.”

“If you please, sir.”

I walked to the staircase and made my way up to the library. Blake was standing in front of a bookshelf. Perhaps he was looking for a book, but it seemed more like he was in deep contemplation.

I cleared my throat as I walked in, so as not to startle him. He quickly turned and took a few steps towards me.

“Hello, Mr. Mondale. I hope your trip up was pleasant.”

“Beats a cab every time, Mr. Blake. Great way to travel.”

“Good. Very good. Let’s have a seat.”

I took a seat on the hard brass bench. What a horrible seat. I’m sure it cost a fortune but my ass was sore from the moment it made contact with the cold, hard seat. The slender pillow didn’t pad the thing a bit.

“So,” Blake said. “Let’s get right to it.”

“Yes…” I paused. As much as I hate to admit it, I was intimated by the man. “Mr. Blake, this is a bit awkward. But we need to clear the air on a few things.”

“Very well. Speak your mind.”

“Remember, I work for you.”

“I was about to remind you of the very same thing.”

“Of course. You pay me to do a job. And I do it. That’s why you hired me. But please understand, I have some very good leads, but I need your full cooperation.” I paused to let him talk, but he didn’t. So, I continued. “You’re a very smart man. I don’t have to tell you the obvious. But bear with me. If you have a lawyer defending you in a case, he needs all the facts in order to best defend you. Same as a doctor, if you go to a doctor to help you get better, he needs to know all the risk factors, your history. Etcetera. Again, I hate to state the obvious, but it’s important that we work together.”

“I understand, Mr. Mondale. But we are dealing with my daughter. I explained when I hired you, she is my life. I will do anything to protect her.”

“Of course you would.”

“Anything at all.”

“Like create a totally outlandish story to cover up something she’d done?”

“Do you have a daughter, Mr. Mondale?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t truly understand.”

“Okay. I’ll give you that. But you do understand, I work for you. I’m not a cop.”

“No, but your friends are.”

“I have a friend who’s a cop.”

“You wanted to be a cop.”

I slumped down and the armrest dug into my back.

“I know all about you, Mr. Mondale. I know about your felony convictions and how they ruined your chances at a career with the NYPD.”

“Are you trying to put me on the defensive, sir?”

“Just letting you know where we stand. You’re not the only one who does his homework.”

“Of course. I know.”

“A cocaine habit. A nasty gambling habit.”

“I don’t do coke anymore. Haven’t touched the stuff in years.”

“A drinking problem.”

“Sir, please don’t change the subject. We need to talk about Mackenzie and her missing friends. The police want to talk to her, and to you.”

“And how do you know that?”

“My friend, Victor’s a cop in the city. He helped me get some information. To help you, and some things have come to their attention.”

“You say you are on my side, and yet you give information to the NYPD that could incriminate my daughter?” His voice didn’t raise, but his blue eyes sharpened and shot a hole right through me.

“Not intentionally. I needed help to piece things together. Quid pro quo. That’s what makes the world go around, Mr. Blake. You of all people know that. I didn’t know I would wind up incriminating Mackenzie.”

“But you did.”

“I may have. But we have to work from here. I need to talk with Mackenzie about her friends. Does she know where they are?”

“No. Maybe they’re together, shacked up somewhere. You know how kids are.”

“That would make a whole lot of sense. But if that’s what happened, then I need to hear that from Mackenzie. And so will the police.”

“She’s asleep right now. I had her doctor prescribe something strong for her. You saw her. She’s an emotional wreck. She needs to rest.”

My cellphone rang. I looked at the number; it was Victor.

“This is Victor now. My detective friend.”

“Very well,” Blake said. “Take the call.”

I stayed in my seat and answered the call. “Victor, what’s up?”

“Hank, I saw Mr. Singh. We have a positive ID on the vagrant.”

“Great. No surprise there.”

“Yeah, but I do have a surprise.”

I shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench and looked away from Blake, whose eyes were affixed on me.

“What is it?”

“Your friend, Blake.”

“Yes, Vic. I’m sitting with Mr. Blake right now.”

“Oh, really. Well that is interesting. You see, I called the Westchester detectives who are working on the Palmer disappearance.”

“Right, and?”

“They told me that Mr. Blake’s head landscaper, Mario
Libardi
is also missing.”

I looked at Blake but didn’t say a word. He put his index finger to his lips as if eagerly anticipating what I had to say.

Victor continued, “So when I told them about Mackenzie’s two missing pals, they were very interested. That was the first they’d heard of it.”

“I see.”

“They’ve been trying to make a case on Blake since day one. They think Palmer and the gardener both missing has to be connected to the
Blakes
. Now add this in, they are convinced.”

“I imagine they want to speak to the
Blakes
.”

“Oh yeah. They’re on their way.”

“Now?”

“Right now. So, if you’re there, I guess your confidentiality thing with your client is blown.”

“Yeah, that’s the least of our problems at this point.”

“I guess so.”

“Thanks for the info, Vic.”

“Yeah, we’ll talk soon. You be careful.”

“I will.”

“Be very careful.”

“Okay. Talk to you later.”

I snapped my flip phone shut, then stuck it in the inside pocket of my suit jacket. I took a deep breath.

“So? What did your detective friend have to say?” Blake asked.

“He told me about your gardener.”

“Mario? Yes, we’re all a bit concerned about him. He’s been a loyal employee for many years.”

“And?”

“And, he had a falling out with his wife, I suspect.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know for sure. But it was rumored that they weren’t getting along. I’m not nosy, you know. My employees’ personal lives are none of my business.”

“When was the last time you heard from him?”

“Mr. Mondale, please. This questioning is not necessary.”

“Well, you’re better off getting your story straight with me, because Vic tells me Westchester County police detectives are on their way. Once they heard about Nicki
Leifson
and Bobby Marks’ disappearances, they became very interested to talk to Mackenzie, and you as well, I’m sure.”

Blake didn’t flinch. His eyes held mine. The stalemate ended quickly.

“I see. I have to make a phone call. Excuse me.”

Blake got up, and left the room. I grabbed an issue of Business Week from the coffee table and thumbed through it with complete disinterest.

* *

At least a half hour passed, then Horace stuck his long, skinny head in and said, “Mr. Mondale, I’m terribly sorry to keep you waiting.”

“No problem, Horace. Where’s Mr. Blake.”

“I believe he’s meeting with Mr.
Greenwal
. They should be along shortly.”

“Have the detectives arrived?”

“No. I don’t believe they have.”

“I’d like to talk to Mackenzie.”

“Sir. I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”

“Horace. I’m here to help.”

I nudged him out of the way and walked towards the staircase.

He followed behind, his usually calm voice breaking and crackling. “Please, Mr. Mondale. Mr. Blake won’t like this.”

I stopped and grabbed his arm. “It will be fine, Horace. I’m just going up to Mackenzie’s room to speak with her.”

I turned from Horace and took one step up the staircase towards the third floor where I was met by Marty’s fat belly. He folded his arms and stood his ground, three steps above me. Wes was two steps behind him.

“Come on, buddy. You’re not allowed up there.” Marty said through heavy breath. The walk down the steps was more than his lungs could handle.

I laughed and shook my head. “Fine. That’s fine. Where’s Mr. Blake?”

The doorbell rang. Horace sprang to attention and then walked slowly down the steps, looking frazzled at first, but his dignified manner returned with each step. By the time he got to the door, he was completely recomposed. I followed him down.

“Hello, officers,” Horace said, politely and calmly. “Come right in.”

I heard footsteps behind me, and turned to see Blake and
Greenwal
coming down the steps.

The cops stepped in, ignoring Horace and myself and walked straight towards Thomas Blake.