The Blackmail Club (18 page)

Gladys looked at Jack. “Benny was so unhappy. I wonder if he felt any relief when he died?”

“When I saw Haviland,” Jack said, “he was slouching into the corner of a dumpster with insects eating part of his face. I saw fear, not relief.”

“That’s morbid.” She opened her napkin, put it over her face and began to sob.

Alan spoke while his wife fought to regain her composure. “Bennie lived in constant fear. He feared being arrested by every policeman he saw, even the meter maids. That’s partly why he liked working at night. Felt he would be harder to recognize in the dark wearing his stocking cap.”

Gladys swiped away a tear moving nearly sideways across her puffy cheek.

“Alan and I decided we would enjoy whatever normal life we could get before someone like you came along and it ended. If what you want from us is a crime, you can just turn us in. Our life of crime is over. What is it you really want from us?”

Jack sipped his tea. “That list. I want that list complete. And the keys to get in each of your buildings, including any pass keys needed for the interior offices, also the procedures for turning off any alarms.”

“No,” Gladys said. “We told you no criminal activities.” Then her husband added, “Turn us in, Mr. McCall and take whatever benefit comes to you from that.”

Jack smiled. “I’ve been testing you. I will likely need some access to your buildings, but not right now. If I do, I assure you it will be to help solve a crime. I’m working a case that involves a tenant in a couple of your buildings. I may need access to their offices.”

Thirty minutes later Jack had convinced them that if he needed that access, Alan Clark would search him before he went into the elevator and again when he came back down to the lobby. That way, without knowing which office Jack had visited, Clark would know that nothing had been taken in or out.

Gladys stared into Jack’s eyes for a long minute, and then asked, “Is your case about blackmail?” Alan jerked his head toward his wife, his brow furrowed. She reached over and patted the top of his hand.

“It could be,” Jack answered. “Why do you ask?”

“About a year and a half ago, in late summer,” Alan said, “by courier, we received smaller copies of those pictures you just showed us. The next day a man called demanding two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars. We were told to leave the money under a bush in the Sculpture Garden in the National Mall. The blackmailer must have been watching us for months, because the bush he described grows near a bench we often sit on during the summer. We—”

“We almost went to the police right then,” Gladys said, finishing her husband’s point. “But we paid. We had a little more than that left from selling the weapons we took from the National Armory.”

“And?”

“And,” Alan did a whole-body shrug, “several weeks later he called to assure us we would never hear from him again, and we haven’t.”

“Describe his voice.”

Gladys shuddered as if a cool breeze had found her spine. “He sounded like something from a science fiction movie. Later, in a movie, we saw a guy hold some vibrating gizmo against his neck. The blackmailer sounded like that.” Her head flopped sideways against her husband’s shoulder.

Jack tilted his head to draw her eyes back to him. “You need to keep working on that list.”

“I’m done,” she said. “We only do about a dozen.” She pushed the pad back toward Jack. “They’re all large, and we’ve had most of them for years. Now you don’t get in them, not one, except for the way we agreed. Right?”

“As we agreed.” He glanced down at the list and recognized two buildings. The one where Chris had his practice and where he and Nora had gone to met with Chris’s pal, Dr. Radnor. Then he returned his attention to the Clarks. “For now, just go back to living your normal lives. Don’t change anything. I doubt you’ll hear again from the blackmailer. If you do, contact me immediately. You’re not prepared to deal with him without help.”

The two fugitives left without offering to shake hands.

As Jack walked out, Nora called. The typewriter expert had come and gone. Both notes had been typed on the same machine, an old IBM Selectric. Before hanging up, Jack asked Nora to call Eric Dunn. “He may be able to give us another piece of this puzzle.”

Chapter 27

Eric Dunn walked into MI with his coat dangling from one finger, draped back over his shoulder. Jack estimated Eric’s height at five-nine, but he looked shorter with the coat ending behind his knees.

“Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” He dropped into an oxblood leather chair in Jack’s office and shook his head. “It’s been a crazy one.”

“Two of the usual?” Mary Lou asked after sticking her head through the doorway.

The two men exchanged glances and nodded. Jack said, “Yes. Thank you, Mary Lou.”

He turned to Eric. “I want to poke around in Donny Andujar’s background.”

They paused when Mary Lou came in carrying a tray holding two Coronas with lime slices protruding from their necks. She’d also brought a few napkins, a small knife, the rest of the lime, and an ice bucket chilling a second round. “In case your meeting runs overtime.” She grinned.

When the door closed, Jack continued. “We know Donny opened his club about three-and-a-half years ago, no small accomplishment for a man who was then in his early thirties. I know his folks would not have financed it. What can you tell me about where he got the money? How he learned the business? Stuff like that.”

“Some facts,” Eric said, “some rumors. Before Donny started his club, he worked for Luke Tittle, a shady character who owned one of the town’s swankier lounges, Luke’s Place. Tittle opened in the late seventies and operated for decades, until the police shut him down the year before Donny opened his place.”

After a deep pull on his beer, the columnist added, “When I worked the crime beat I used to hang out at Luke’s.”

“Tell me about the joint.”

“Luke’s was many things, but not a joint. Luke’s was one of the swell spots. Only top call brands, no house pours. I expensed mine to the paper.” He winked. “A lot of non-arms-length contracts got negotiated in Luke’s. My articles referred to Luke’s as ‘a local hot spot’ or some such euphemism. In those days, the customers were waited on by pretty cocktail waitresses wearing pushups under skimpy outfits. Nothing like the nearly nude getups wore these days by the girls at Donny’s.”

Sam Spade’s kinda joint
. “What did Donny do for Tittle?”

“He started as a bartender and worked up to assistant manager. He also dealt some cards in Luke’s private backroom casino—a playroom for the power brokers who liked to roll the dice and turn a card. Except for coming in as customers, the cops let Luke’s backroom operate. That’s about it for the facts.”

Jack forced the lime down through the neck of his bottle until it dove into the beer, swirled it around a bit and took his first drink.

“What about the rumors?”

Dunn loosened the knot in his tie. “After Donny became an assistant manager, a few high-class hookers started decorating Luke’s stools. He limited the girls to one in the daytime and two during evening hours. The girls were not allowed to solicit. They had to be approached.”

Eric put his empty on the table and motioned. Jack lifted another out of the ice bucket, wiped the moisture off the outside of the bottle, sliced a fresh lime wedge, jammed it into the neck, and handed it to Eric, who was already busy telling his story the way Jack assumed Eric would dictate a draft for one of his columns.

“Rumors were that Donny ran the girls and split his end with Tittle. Donny was quickly becoming a real up and comer in the local rackets. The story went around that Tittle’s silent backers planned to bankroll Donny in his own place. Tittle’s specialty would remain serving liquor and gambling, while Donny’s new place would serve liquor and girls.

“Then the big twist. New Metro Chief of Police Harry Mandrake ordered a raid that surprised everyone, and arrested Luke Tittle. Two days later, Tittle was out on bail and within hours he was gunned down. End of story.”

“Tittle’s high-end gambling clientele would’ve had open accounts,” Jack said. “What happened to their markers? And who were Tittle’s silent partners?”

“Not even any hints about his partners or, for that matter, whether it was even true that he had partners. After the raid and Tittle’s release, our readers had little interest in accounting records. The sexy story became, who gunned the saloon king?”

Jack held up his beer bottle. “Let me change the subject. Tell me about the killing of Tino Sanchez. Could his death be connected with Tittle and his missing records?”

“Don’t you recall any of this, Jack? It wasn’t all that many years ago.”

“Those years I was pretty busy in the Middle East.”

Eric nodded before jutting his chin up and stroking his neck. “Sanchez was a big story, but a short one. Chief Mandrake had promoted Sanchez, his longtime partner, to chief of detectives. Luke’s Place had been raided and Luke Tittle murdered. Sanchez’s life ended like punctuation on the back end of the Tittle story.”

“What do you remember?”

“I was the crime beat reporter at the scene. Mandrake and Sanchez had gone out for dinner. Walking into the restaurant, Mandrake spotted some fella wanted for questioning. I don’t recall his name. One of Tittle’s gunsels, the name won’t come to me right now.

“The thug ran with the chief in pursuit. Sanchez, the considerably heavier man, followed with the gap between them widening with each block. The suspect took them on a merry chase before cutting into an alley. When the police backup arrived, Sanchez had been shot dead by the suspect and Mandrake had shot and killed the suspect. Mandrake told what happened and the physical evidence supported his telling. The gun that shot Sanchez was traced back to the suspect. The forensics team found gunpowder residues from the firing on the suspect’s hand and his prints on the gun. The review board ruled the shooting righteous.”

After Eric Dunn left, Jack called Nora’s extension and asked her to join him. He filled her in on what Dunn had told him. Then asked what she remembered from the cop’s angle about the raid on Luke’s Place and the killings of Luke Tittle and Tino Sanchez.

She took a seat at the end of the couch near the window. “As for Tittle’s betting records, the cops who searched Luke’s Place and his two homes didn’t find them. Chief Mandrake then worked out a deal. Tittle was to give the records to Sanchez the day after he made bail, but Tittle got dead before that meeting.”

“What about the killing of Tino Sanchez?”

“An arrest turned bad. Shit happens.” Nora kicked off her shoes, snuggled into the corner of the couch, and turned toward Jack. “The shooter was called ‘The Counter.’ His real name was Terrence Leoni. He was Tittle’s accountant, with oversight of the backroom casino. The shooting board ruled Mandrake’s killing of Leoni justified.” Nora tucked her legs under her. “It was a really juicy story. What makes you curious?”

“It all seems too pat. Luke’s place is raided. Tittle is arrested. Tittle is out on bail. Tittle is killed. Tittle’s accountant is killed. Tittle’s records are never found.”

Nora nodded. “It’s been years and nothing more has come of it. Whoever ended up with the records may have burned ‘em so as not to be tied into Tittle’s murder.”

“Was Donny at Luke’s Place the night it was raided?”

“Don’t remember, if I ever knew, but I can find out. Anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Then I’m outta here.” She smiled at Jack. “What’re your plans for tonight?”

“Sleep.”

“No old movies?”

“I need to crash.”

“Me too. A man I find very interesting called late last night, but I’m hoping he doesn’t tonight.”

“I bet he won’t.”

Nora grabbed her purse and when she got to the doorway, she turned back, that half-turn profile that seems to come natural to women.

Chapter 28

At nine-thirty the next morning Nora was back in the doorway to Jack’s office. “I stopped to see Chief Mandrake on my way in. To answer the question you asked yesterday, Donny was working at Luke’s Place the night the raid went down. The officer in charge of the raid let Donny go without booking him or even naming him in his report. Let’s get some coffee.”

On the way, Jack asked, “Who was the officer?”

She didn’t answer until they had their coffee and were inside the case room. “Tino Sanchez was the officer in charge at the scene. I didn’t want Mary Lou to hear me mention her father.”

Nora sat down and ran her finger inside the gap above the top button of her bright blue blouse with a stiff white collar, her nail temporarily leaving a thin white trail. “The chief told me he approved Tino releasing Donny and all the employees. The target had been Jake Tittle, not the folks who worked for him.”

“What can you tell me about the rumor that Tittle had been paying for protection for his backroom gambling casino?”

“The chief said that was also true. The raid had convinced Tittle that Mandrake was serious about cleaning up gambling, so Tittle was agreeable to a deal with the chief. Tittle admitted arranging police protection through Tyson, who owned a piece of Luke’s Place—off the books of course. Tyson had been his bagman, and Tittle promised he’d testify against Tyson.

“The deal included Tittle’s records in exchange for the chief’s help with the DA’s office for immediate bail. Tittle would have gotten bail on that rap anyway; so all the deal meant was bail came a little cheaper. Oh, the chief also told me Tyson could not have killed Tittle because at that time Tyson was in a stakeout on the other side of town.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “By the time Tittle was killed, the entire police department, the DA’s office, and the court likely knew about the deal for Tittle’s records. So anybody with a serious need to stop Tittle from turning over those records could’ve been the one to drop Tittle on the sidewalk.”

Nora slipped her fingers back inside the opening at the top of her blouse. “True enough.”

Jack heard her nails rake her skin, and watched the material pouch up to show a flesh-colored bra strap.