The Cruel Ever After (17 page)

“I, ah—” He ran the back of his hand across his mouth. “I need a minute. Jane?” He nodded for her to follow him into the living room.

Everything he’d said and done since coming in the front door, the sweat forming on his upper lip, and the complete disintegration of his usual bonhomie, only added to her confusion—and her growing anger. “What are you mixed up in?” she demanded.

He leaned toward her and whispered, “I can’t talk to him.”

“Why not? Did you murder that guy?”

“No.”

“Then why can’t you answer his questions?”

“Because I need a lawyer. I swear, Jane, I never touched Dial.”

“But you know something.”

“Yeah, I do, and when I explain what happened, it will look bad for me. That’s why I’m going back in there and telling that guy that I refuse to talk to him without my lawyer present.”

“Who’s your lawyer?”

His eyes flicked to her and then away. “I don’t have one. Not here, anyway. I was hoping, could you call your father? You’re my last hope—you and your dad.”

“Jesus, Chess. What am I supposed to think?”

“I may be a lot of unsavory things, but I’m no murderer. You have to believe that. You
have
to.”

She needed more than just his word and a plea for trust. “How did your passport end up in Minnehaha Park?”

He slumped against the back of the couch.

“Tell me the truth, Chess. You’re not a very good liar.”

When his eyes cut to her, she had no idea how to read his expression.

“Fair enough. Here it is. I was playing poker with Dial on Tuesday night—at his house. I admit I was pretty drunk, so I don’t remember all the details, but I always carry a couple of hundred-dollar bills in my passport. I took it out because I needed them. I stood up, set the passport on the mantel, and then sat back down. When I left that night, I forgot to take it with me.”

“You’re saying Dial was alive and well when you left?”

“He was. I never thought about my passport again until I was looking for it the next day. I went back to his house. The door was open. I thought it was strange, but I went in. Nobody was around. I swear, Jane. Not a soul. I looked for the passport on the mantel, but it was gone. I figured he’d found it and put it somewhere safe. I mean, I felt funny being in there. I don’t know—it was like, I knew something was wrong, otherwise why was his door unlocked? When I left, his neighbor saw me go. We exchanged a few pleasantries. He can vouch for the time. And then, as I was coming around the lake, I saw your restaurant and decided to check it out, see if it really belonged to you. I could never have done that if I’d just murdered a man. You said it yourself. I’m not a good liar.”

She recalled that he’d seemed distracted on Wednesday afternoon, but nothing extreme, nothing out of the ordinary. If he’d lost his passport, that would account for it. “How did the passport end up in the park?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

On the one hand, she wasn’t sure what to believe; on the other, it wouldn’t hurt to call her father. Maybe he could help get to the bottom of things. “Okay, I’ll call him. But I want you out of my third floor. Today.”

“Sure, I understand. You’ve been more than kind.”

The cop was sitting at the dining room table talking on his cell when they returned to the front hall.

“Are you here to arrest me?” asked Chess, stepping in front of Jane.

“Just to talk.” He flipped his phone closed and stood up to face them.

“Okay, but not without my lawyer present.”

Taylor switched his gaze to Jane, then back to Chess. “If that’s the way you want to play it. It would be a whole lot easier if you’d just answer a few simple questions. Cooperation goes a long way.”

“Like I said, I want to cooperate, but I need to speak to my lawyer first.” Turning to Jane, he said, “Would you phone him?”

“Your father?” asked Taylor.

She nodded, watching the expression on his face harden.

“We’ll do it downtown,” said Taylor.

“What if I can’t reach my dad?”

“Then we’ll do it when he’s available. But it better be sometime today. Otherwise, Mr. Garrity will get a chance to be a guest of the MPD sooner rather than later.”

18

Chess stood outside the Caribou Coffee in downtown Minneapolis, finishing a cigarette and waiting for Irina to pick him up. It was going on six fifteen, which meant that he most likely had another fifteen minutes to wait. Irina was rarely punctual. Next to him on the sidewalk were his two suitcases and his leather briefcase. He’d done as Jane asked, moved out of her third-floor apartment. Even if she hadn’t asked, he was planning to do it anyway. The only reason he needed to come back to the house at all was to get his things. If someone had followed him to Julia’s apartment this morning and put a tracking device on his junker car—without checking the car, he couldn’t be one hundred percent positive that’s what it was, but he was sure he was right—they’d found his hiding spot. He needed another. Besides, he didn’t want anybody observing his comings and goings, especially not now, with the way everything was coming together for the sale of the bull.

After an abortive meeting with Sergeant Taylor and his partner, Sergeant Hellickson, down at city hall, Chess had been released; much to his relief, Ray had arrived and given the police an ultimatum: Arrest him or let him go. On the advice of counsel, no questions would be allowed. Chess shook Ray’s hand and thanked him profusely, but in response received nothing but the evil eye. Ray made it clear that the police considered Chess their number one suspect. They made a date to get together tomorrow to talk about his legal options, but legal options or no legal options, once Chess had the money from the sale, he would leave the Twin Cities—without Irina—never to return. He had to use his wits and his lawyer to forestall any action by the police.

Irina pulled up to the curb in a beat-up cherry red Mercury Cougar ten minutes later. She popped the trunk so that Chess could stow his bags.

The first thing she said after he flipped his cigarette away and got in was “Tell me about this woman you’ve been staying with.”

He hid his smile behind a feigned cough and told her that she had nothing to worry about, that
she
was the love of his life.

“What’s her name?”

“Oh, come on.”

“Tell me.”

He gave a tired sigh and snapped on his seat belt. “Jane Lawless.”

Irina frowned and then turned. “Raymond Lawless’s daughter?”

“How do you know Ray Lawless?”

“He ran for governor last year.”

“Oh, yeah. Someone mentioned that to me. But look, she’s just a friend. I’m not lying to you.”

“I read an article about her that said she was gay.”

“Was and is. Can we drop this now?”

Last summer, after spending an intensely romantic week with Irina when she was in Istanbul on business, he actually thought he might be in love with her. During the time they’d been apart, she’d changed. The sexy, fun-loving woman he’d gotten to know had morphed into a walking, talking bag of nerves—and a bag of bones. She’d lost so much weight that her clothes hung on her. Worse yet, every time he saw her, she seemed more strung out, her eyes sunk deeper in their sockets, her mouth held more tightly.

Chess reached for her hand, gave it a squeeze. “How are you feeling?”

“I had a nap, so a little better.”

“I assume you heard about Dial.”

She kept her eyes on the road this time. “What about him?”

“His body was dumped over by Minnehaha Falls. A jogger found him this morning. It made the local news. Unfortunately, so did my name.”

She gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white with strain.

He explained what had happened. “The cops aren’t done with me. I’m apparently their number one suspect.”

“But what happened to the blackmailer? I thought you were working something out with him.”

“He called me this morning and announced that he’s out, that he wants nothing more to do with me. Didn’t want my money. Didn’t want anything. I imagine the body was already in the park by then. I don’t understand it either, but what’s done is done—and I’m on the hook.”

They drove in silence until they reached the freeway entrance.

Turning the air conditioner on, Irina said, “You’re not the only one with problems.”

Chess found the comment just this side of arctic. Were they trying to one-up each other on the disaster scale?

“Someone tried to kill me last night, so what does my loving husband do?” She pointed the car at the freeway and accelerated, cutting off a guy in a plumbing truck, causing him to hit the brakes and his horn. “Does he come home and comfort me?” she asked, paying no attention as the truck swerved around her and the guy gave her the finger. “Not Steve. I’m not even sure he believes there was actually someone in the house. He went ballistic when he saw the damage I’d done to the bedroom door. He’s insisting I come back to the house tonight, but that’s not happening. I’m staying put with Misty.”

“You think that’s wise? With the baby and all?”

“What the hell would you know about babies?”

In the space of a few minutes, she’d gone from jealous to sulky to simmering.

“Misty’s a slob, which means I had to scrub out the bedroom this morning. Before I go back there tonight, I need to stop at a drugstore to buy a couple of those disposable white masks. I’m going to insist that Misty wear one around Dusty. I’m extra careful about my hygiene, but she’s drinking again, and hanging out with some real lowlifes. I’m just being cautious, you see that, don’t you?”

In an effort to reconnect, to soothe her bruised feelings, he said, “Absolutely.” What he understood was that she was becoming absolutely wacko when it came to her son.

“So where are we going?” he asked. He needed another cigarette, but Irina would never allow it, not even in Misty’s car.

“The gallery.”

“Why?”

“I hid it down in the basement after the gallery was ransacked. What safer place could there be? I discovered some loose bricks in the wall a few years back. I gouged a space out behind them. It’s a perfect spot. Nobody knows about it but me.”

Chess looked straight ahead, grinding his teeth. “You told me you’d put it in a safety deposit box—in a bank.”

“I did, but I took it out.”

“I am
not
a happy man.”

“You’re always telling me to calm down. Now it’s your turn. It’s more accessible this way. We can get at it anytime, day or night.”

He wasn’t convinced. The statue meant everything to him—more than Irina could ever understand.

*   *   *

In the summer of 2005, while visiting an old friend in the ancient city of Halab, Chess had been taken to an ancient antique shop on a narrow, winding back street, where he’d come upon the winged bull. He’d heard rumors about it but never expected to actually run across it in his travels, least of all to learn that it was for sale at a time when he had the wherewithal to buy it. The winged bull had an aura. He commented on it, described it, but nobody else could see it. The craftsmanship was of the highest order. When he ran his fingers to the tips of the wings, he saw an inner vision of another hand touching it, this one covered in jewelry set with precious stones, a man’s hand with polished nails and smooth skin. He understood immediately what it meant. He’d owned it in another life. In that instant he realized something profound: He hadn’t found it,
it
had found him.

*   *   *

Half an hour later, creeping down the back steps to the gallery basement carrying his leather attaché case, Chess let Irina take the lead. Her mood had improved now that she had a task to perform.

“We don’t store anything down here except for shipping boxes and supplies. Whoever tossed the gallery didn’t do much damage.”

Packing boxes had been knocked around, probably to ensure they were empty. The cement floor had been swept clean, although Chess noticed that the corners were full of cobwebs.

“It’s right here,” said Irina, carefully removing a brick about a foot above her head. She removed three more bricks next to it and then reached inside. “What the—” she said, standing on her tiptoes, trying to see inside.

“What is it?” Chess set his case on a wooden table.

“It’s gone.”

He rushed over and sank his hand into the hole. For his effort, all he got was scraped knuckles. Turning on her, he grabbed her by the shoulders.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t
know
.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I take it?”

He wanted to make her feel
real
pain, make her pay for her incompetence. Instead, he walked around kicking boxes, venting his fury on something inanimate. “How could you be so stupid? This is the worst place in the world to hide something like the bull.” It had been a mistake to let her take it, even for a few days.
She
was a mistake.

She burst into tears.

“Stop it. Just
stop
sniveling.”

“You hate me. You never loved me.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? How important that statue is to me?”

“Yes,” she spat back at him.

“Who has a key to the gallery?”

She dropped down on a bench. “Just me and Majid.” She looked up at him, light dawning in her eyes. “It has to be Majid. He spent the day here cleaning.”

“Where does he live?”

“A few blocks away. In an apartment.”

“You’ve got the address?”

“What are you going to do?”

He thought for a moment more. “I need money. Cash. How much do you have with you?”

“I’d have to check. A couple hundred, maybe.”

“I need more than that. Do you have an ATM card?”

“Tell me what you’re planning.”

He moved back to the hole, felt around inside again. Placing the bricks back into their slots, he eyed the wall from various angles, trying to see if the loose bricks were apparent. He came to the conclusion that they were, but only slightly, probably not enough to tip someone off that something was behind them. “Whoever took the bull knew about the hiding place. Have you ever hidden anything else behind those bricks?”