The Cracked Spine (21 page)

He did suggest that I remain on my guard around my new coworkers, at least until I knew for sure that none of them was a killer. He might not have been into blether, but I suspected he didn't miss much of anything that went on around him. I told him I would stay aware.

Though Jenny's building was on the other side of town from Genevieve's neighborhood, it didn't take us long to get from one side to the other. Since it was so late, there wasn't as much traffic to contend with and Elias took backstreets with the skill of someone who knew all the shortcuts.

At first glance the streets around Jenny's building didn't seem dangerous. However, a closer inspection showed that not only were the buildings older, they were more worse for the wear, more run-down than “historical.”

As the cab slowed Elias looked purposefully out the windshield and nodded toward what could be seen even in Kansas: two people in the middle of a transaction of some sort. If they were trying to look casual it wasn't working. I didn't think it ever did.

Elias said, “They're not concerned aboot who's watching. They probably ken the police cars.”

“A cab might be a good cover. The police should think about the idea,” I said.

Elias nodded again. “There. I bet that wasnae something for the young lady tae add tae the cake she'll be baking this evening.”

“No, I think there's another kind of baking involved there.”

“Aye. If Jenny spent time around here, no good came of it. It's not a place tae go just because ye'd like tae roam aboot.”

“No,” I said as I looked out the window. “Wait!” I sat forward in the seat and looked harder at a man who was walking past the couple just as they finished their transaction.

“What is it?” Elias said as he tried to see what had grabbed my attention.

“I know that man. He lives in Jenny's building. I've seen him twice now, and, strangely, both times he's been in his bathrobe.”

“That's not what he's wearing now,” Elias said.

The man who lived across the hall from the building manager was making his way down the street. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. Though he was still unshaven, there was something very different about his manner and demeanor. When I'd seen him in the robe, he'd struck me as old and sedentary. But the way he moved in his real clothes made him seem somewhat younger and much more mobile. He moved with strength and purpose, though not in a youthful way. He looked to be in his late forties. If I'd guessed his robe-clad age, I would have said late fifties, early sixties. It was an alarming transformation.

“I need to go talk to him,” I said with my hand on the door handle.

“I'm coming with ye,” Elias said as he swerved the cab to a spot next to the curb, not too far ahead of the transaction we'd observed. Elias got out of the cab first and came around to the other side just as I opened the door too.

Elias had been wearing a jacket, but he took it off now and threw it and his hat onto the passenger seat of the cab. Under the jacket he wore only a short-sleeved white T-shirt. Without the jacket, the tattoos on his arms showed.

I looked at him with raised eyebrows.

He nodded and said, “Let's go.”

I had an urge to tell him that I would be fine without him, but I was grateful to have him with me.

“Will we be okay?” I said quietly as we took off walking so we could catch up to the man.

“I think so, but if I tell ye we need tae leave, follow my lead.”

“Will do.”

The man ahead stopped with a red traffic light. He seemed antsy to get across the street, leaning over and looking up and down for a safe moment to cross against the light.

“Excuse me,” I said as I set off in a jog, so as not to risk missing him.

Elias made a strange noise but kept pace with me.

“Excuse me,” I said again when we were only about ten feet away.

There were a few people around, walking or waiting to cross too. But in the way that someone knows they're the one being beckoned, only the man turned and looked at me.

“Hi,” I said as I stopped when we reached the corner. Elias stopped too, directly beside me.

The man looked at me first with recognition, but it transformed quickly into irritated disbelief.

“Hello,” he said as though he didn't really want to.

“I'm sorry, but I saw you walking and I just wanted to talk to you,” I said.

“Why?” More disbelief.

His accent was so thick that he made the one word sound like two syllables.

“Because, well, do you have a minute? We could go for a cup of coffee?”

He laughed.

“Whisky,” Elias said. “I'll buy the first round.”

“Well, now that might be more agreeable,” he said. “I ken just the spot.”

Even his voice sounded different than when he'd spoken to me from his doorway—younger, maybe, but definitely different.

There were no pubs named Delaney's in sight, but there was one called The Tilting Bear. The man led us around the corner and halfway down another block that was much darker than the one we'd come from. I got the sense that when we entered the noisy space, everyone there knew who the man was, but not in an it's-good-to-see-you way.

This was a rough crowd. They eyed people instead of looked at them. They squinted instead of smiled. They weren't loud in a party way, but rumbly in a serious, watch-your-back way. I was even more grateful that Elias and his tattoos, whatever they meant, had come with me.

We sat at a small table by the front window and our order was placed with only a nod from the man and a quick lift of his fingers from the table. I didn't even see where the waitress had been located to take the order, but a moment later, there was a bottle and three shot glasses on the table.

Elias did the honors and poured a shot for each of us. Both he and the man downed theirs with one gulp. I took a small sip and then put the glass back on the table. I knew I might ruin the moment, but I really wasn't a big drinker and now wasn't the time to do something extra stupid.

They both looked at me and, thankfully, smiled. Elias's smile was supportive. The man's was impatient.

“Dinnae drink?” the man said.

“Not much, and I promised someone I'd have my first Scottish whisky with them. I don't want to go back on my word. I'm Delaney, and this is Elias.”

The man stared at me a long moment and then finally blinked.

“Why're ye 'ere? How is that ye've been in my building two days in a row and now ye're here?” he said. “Following me?”

His accent was even stronger than Elias's. Everything he said seemed thick and rolling.

“May I ask your name?” I said since he hadn't offered it up.

“Heath, Gregory Heath.”

It sounded like Gra-egor-ee.

“Mr. Heath, no I'm not following you. I'm sorry because I'm sure it looks that way, but I promise I'm not. My interest in you has to do with one of the residents of the building you live in; the one who was killed earlier this week.” I was also keenly interested in him, specifically his wardrobe choices, but Jenny was more important.

“It's Gregory. Ye want tae ken aboot Jenny then?” he said.

“Yes.”

“What d'ye want tae ken?”

“I just want to know about her life. I have a personal interest.”

“Aye, that was her brother I saw ye with.”

I nodded but didn't add anything else.

Gregory shrugged and said, “She and I were friends, in fact.”

I took a quick glance at Elias, but his attention was focused on Gregory Heath, his eyes suspicious and firm.

“I see. Well, I…” I stammered.

Elias cleared his throat. “The reputation of the neighborhood, Gregory. It's not a good place tae spend yer free time and most people dinnae unless they're looking tae buy or sell drugs.”

Without seeming offended in the least, Gregory nodded, poured and then downed another shot of whisky, and said, “True, and Jenny was particularly haunted by drugs. She was an addict who lost every battle with her addiction.”

“Every one of them?” I said.

“Aye, she never spent more than a day or so away from the stuff,” Gregory said.

“Really?” That wasn't consistent with what either Hamlet or Edwin had said about her stretches of sobriety. “Stuff? What was the stuff?”

Gregory shrugged. “Most everything.”

“Everything? Heroin?”

“Prescription drugs mostly, I think.”

“How long did you know her?” I asked.

Gregory squinted one eye as he seemed to silently count back in time. “Coming on ten years, I s'pose.”

“And she never spent any substantial time sober, in all those ten years?” I said.

“No, none at all.”

“Are you sure?” I said.

“Aye. I fight my own battles oot here. I have the same problems. Jenny and I were friends because of our mutual demons. It happens.”

“How do you function?” I said.

“Dunno, I manage tae get by, I s'pose,” he said as he poured another shot. Elias put his hand over his glass when the bottle swung his direction.

“What do you do for work?” I said.

“Och, I've had jobs here and there. I get the bills paid. Most months.”

“Did Jenny have a job?”

“No, never. Her high-and-mighty brother gave her money, I'm sure. But she'd never admit as much. She didnae always use the money wisely. There were plenty of times when she didnae have enough for rent.”

Hamlet had mentioned that Jenny had once cleaned houses, and he'd known Jenny for less time than Gregory had. Edwin had been surprised that the building manager hadn't called requesting rent money from Edwin. The accuracy of the information I was accumulating was questionable, but I couldn't immediately determine who was telling the truth.

“What did she do when she couldn't pay rent?” I said.

“What we all do.”

“Which is?”

“Beg, borrow, and steal.”

“If that's just an expression, then I'm not exactly sure what you mean. If those were the actual activities, then there might be potential killers in the group that she begged, borrowed, and stole from. Do you know anyone who might have wanted her dead for such behavior?” I said.

Gregory smacked his lips and then licked them as if there might be a few stray drops of whisky in the stubble around his mouth. “Not specifically.”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, there are lots of people around here and in the building behave'n in ways illegal, immoral, and potentially murderous. Either ye're on friendly terms with them or ye arenae. Depends on many things.”

“Okay, well, try specifically. Can you think of anyone else at all who might have had strong feelings about wanting Jenny dead? Who did you see her with over the last few days before she was killed?”

I doubted that the booze we'd watched Gregory down was the only altering item in his system, but his eyes suddenly became somewhat heavier, as if something had just kicked in.

“Gregory?” I said as I put my hand closer to his on the table.

He looked at my hand and then pulled his away. “Lots of people. Couple weeks before she was killed.”

“Did you know them? Can you describe them?”

“Rich folks.”

“Anything else?”

“Ask Harry, the manager. I saw her talking to him the day before she was kil't. He was wondering what she was up to. Meebe she told him.”

“I will. You said I shouldn't look for a flat there. Why?”

“There are dangers … even in the places ye think are safe. It's no place for a young lass.”

“Something feels strange about that, Gregory. The building is so quiet.”

“Huh. Weel, I suppose it's verra quiet during the day. It's a little louder at night, but quiet doesnae necessarily mean safe. Could be people are trying to stay hidden, not call attention tae themselves.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“I hope so.”

Gregory downed one more shot and I realized we were almost to the point we wouldn't be able to get anything even partially coherent out of him.

“Can we give you a lift home?” Elias said.

Gregory laughed again. “No, the night's young.”

“You didn't drive here, did you?” I asked.

“No, I didnae drive. I don't drive.” He stood and sought balance with a couple of fingers on the edge of the table. “Ye might find something else int'restin'.”

“What's that?” I said.

“There was a man there the evening before she was killed. I saw him walk down the first-floor hallway toward the lift.”

“Okay, what was he wearing?” I said.

“Some costume or something.”

Hamlet's visit was old news by now.

“But later, as I was goin' up tae the third floor tae visit a friend, I heard Jenny through her door. She was yelling, telling someone tae get oot. It must have been him, but I didnae see.”

“Did you tell the police?” I said.

“No, and I'm not going tae. The police arnae someone I want tae be involved with. I'm only telling ye tae make it clearer that ye need tae stay away from that building, particularly at night.”

“All right. Can you tell me more of what he looked like?” I said, still not worried that Gregory had seen Hamlet, but needing to confirm that it really was him.

“I s'pose it wasna a costim, act-u-ly. It was a suit. Fancy. Tuxedo.”

“How old was he?”

Gregory's rummy eyes worked hard to focus on me. “Older than ye.” With a gigantic effort, his eyes moved to Elias. “More yer age. Meebe.”

“Are you sure?” I said. “What color was his hair?”

He shook his head slowly. “Dinnae ken. Wore a hat, I think. Mebbe red, though. As I walked by Jenny's door, I 'eard her yell a name, like from Shakespeare. I remember finding that funny. I wondered if they were in a play or somethin', but Jenny would never have been in a play. I dinnae ken.”