Malice Times Page 18

  “Why did you call your daughter to tell her when Miles was killed?”

  “So, you know about her?” he asked with his hand on the doorknob.

  “I do. Why did you call her?”

  “Because I thought she might want to know. Because I thought she would call you.”

  “Why would you want me to know?” I asked in bewilderment.

  “Maybe I’m tired of this place. Maybe I’m tired of being used. Maybe I’m tired of the way my daughter looks at me. Maybe I’m just tired.”

  “I get two hundred a day, plus expenses. I’ve been here for nine days. So that’s eighteen hundred you owe me, plus six hundred for the apartment that I rented for the month. Plus, other various expenses, but let’s just call it twenty-five hundred up to now.”

  “Stop by the house and I’ll cut you a check.”

  “I have one question before I agree,” I said. “It is important.”

  “Did you let Watkins out because he had an alibi?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “I figured that’s what you wanted.”

  “Is that all?”

  “No. Dempsey wanted him taken out of the frame.” He turned the doorknob and walked out of my office leaving me there to ponder what that meant and how wrong I must have been about Rae.

  ♦♦♦

  The Chiang House was a nice Chinese restaurant on Suburban. They served a pretty good General Tsao's chicken if I remembered correctly. That was the only Chinese dish I ever ordered. I stopped eating Chinese food a number of years ago when I learned that an establishment I frequented got shut down for two months because someone discovered dead cats hanging in the freezer. Two months seemed a rather light penalty. They should have locked them up. I took a bite of my General Tsao’s chicken, while Elizabeth poked at her sweet and sour pork.

  "Why don't you tell me about Daniel?" I asked.

  She straightened in her chair, but kept her blue eyes locked on mine. They were a deep blue. The sweet strawberry smell of her shampoo mixed well with the smells of the orient.

  "What are you talking about?" she asked.

  “I was wondering about the nature of your relationship.”

  She sat there and looked at me for a long time. Her face searched mine. She was thinking. She was trying to decide what to tell me or how much.

  “Is that what this is all about?” She laughed and started eating more voraciously.

  "Not entirely."

  "But mostly," she said and took a deep breath. "You’ve been dropping hints all day. How did you find out?"

  "I saw you at his apartment last night."

  "I see,” she said. “You were there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Find anything interesting?”

  “Not particularly,” I said. I took a sip of my water searching her face for anything, finding nothing. “There wasn’t much there.”

  “Daniel lived a pretty quiet life.”

  “Until the end. Do you have any idea what story he was working on that was so important to him?

  “No. He wouldn’t talk to anyone about it.”

  “Not even you?”

  “Not even me.”

  “So, what are you doing out with me?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I suppose you caught me off guard when you asked me out. Although, it is clear that the only reason you asked me out was so that you could ask me about Daniel.”

  “Can’t a guy have more than one reason for asking out a beautiful girl?”

  “You are far too charming for your own good.”

  “Tell me about yourself. Where are you from?”

  “New York,” she said. “I went to journalism school there.”

  “Your parents live there?” I asked.

  “No. Both of my parents are gone. My mom died when I was young. Dad died a few years ago.”

  “How old were you when your dad died?”

  “I was only fifteen.”

  “So, who did you go live with?”

  “An aunt and uncle took us in. We lived in New York for a little while.”

  “We?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer me. The only thing I could hear was the tinkling of silverware at the other tables. Her eyes drifted to her plate and stayed there.

  “Yes, I had a younger brother,” she said.

  “Had? I’m sorry.” I was expecting to hear about another murder. Isn't that what I've been hearing about over and over again for the past couple of days? It really was starting to get monotonous.

  “Oh, no. He’s still alive. He got into quite a bit of trouble as a juvenile and they took him out of my aunt and uncle’s care. I haven’t seen him in five years. He never recovered from my dad’s death.”

  “Well, a death of a parent can be a very difficult thing.”

  “It can be,” she said. “My brother idolized my father. We both did.”

  A small tear dropped from the corner of her right eye and hit the fortune cookie that the waiter had just brought to the table. The tear splattered across the plate. She picked up the cookie and broke it open, tossing the fortune aside without reading it. She began to slowly munch on the cookie.

  “Where is he now?” I asked.

  “Prison, I’m afraid. He got out of juvie and promptly got busted for armed robbery.”

  “How did you end up in Malice Grove?”

  “There was an opening,” she said. “Everyone has to start somewhere. I’m getting great experience here. I mean I am practically the editor of the paper at age twenty-five.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, you are the editor of the paper,” I said and started to laugh. She smiled.

  “What do you think happened to Michael?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But it has something to do with Brad Graber, Celia Archer, a diamond heist, some blackmail and quite a bit of revenge.”

  "A diamond heist? Color me confused."

  "Don't be. Just let everything happen. It's going to start soon. I can feel it. Like a storm rolling in. You can smell it. Then, the wind starts to kick up. A couple of raindrops. And then boom.”

  "It seems like the storm is already here," she said.

  Elizabeth excused herself from the table and went to the restroom. I usually went after dinner too, but for some reason I didn't that night. I just sat at the table and drank my tea. I didn't even think about the damn case. All I thought about was my small one-bedroom apartment and my little black cat. I missed him. I just wanted to drive down Interstate 79, curl up on my old beaten up couch and watch whatever was on AMC at the moment.

  When Elizabeth returned from the bathroom, I paid the check and we walked out into the cool night air. The breeze off of the lake was refreshing. We walked towards my car.

  The smells of the restaurant lingered in my nose, along with the smell of orange blossoms from Elizabeth's hair. It's amazing the things we remember at the most defining moments of our lives. For instance, I remember a seagull sitting on a phone wire peering down at me as the gunshots rang in my ear. I even remember him flying quickly away. It wasn't just a few gunshots. It was a seemingly endless succession of gunshots from across the street. I pushed Elizabeth down behind a Volkswagen Bug and I felt the sharp pain of some intruder entering my body. I knew the pain well. I fell to the concrete. I prayed for a quick death, but it didn't come. I could hear the blood flowing from my body. The sweet smell of Elizabeth's hair filled the air. She kneeled above me calling my name. Others quickly joined her. There was a lot of shouting and pointing. Then there was darkness. That big black pipe at my feet just swallowed me up and I was thankful.

  I woke up in a hospital bed surrounded by the smell of roses. What happened to the orange blossoms? A nurse hovered above me. She had a machine next to her and I could feel a squeezing sensation around my right bicep. She was holding a thermometer in my mouth and watching the machine. The temperature came up 100.7, but I couldn't figure out my blood pressure.

  From the back of my right hand ran
an IV line to a bag above the right side of my bed. The nurse saw that I was awake and said something to me in Swahili. I said something back, but she couldn't understand what I was saying any more than I could understand her. Then she got the idea, because I started to shiver. She brought me another blanket before the black pipe opened up again. I hate that pipe.

  I woke up and fell back asleep again the entire next day. My awake time lasted no longer than ten minutes at a time and consisted of me drooling all over myself. I'd been shot in the ass. The bullet had entered the crack from right to left, burning everything in its path, not to mention penetrating. The bullet had gone completely through and came out of my left hip. No serious internal damage had been done.

  The next day I woke up in a good mood, knowing that I had gotten to someone and that I was lucky to be alive. I was doing something right. I got many visitors that day. My mother and father were there. They even brought me a balloon. Who doesn’t want a balloon after getting shot? My father sat beside me and didn't flinch for over three hours before my mother dragged him home. He looked preoccupied and angry. “Don’t take it out on Charles,” I managed to say before falling back to sleep.

  Elizabeth and Regina came in next. Elizabeth brought flowers and Regina gave me a big box of chocolates, which the nurses quickly confiscated.

  “What has happened since I’ve been in here?”

  “Everything has been quiet,” Regina said. “Of course, the main antagonist has been in bed drooling all over himself for the past couple days. Except this.” Regina handed me an envelope. I asked her to open and read it.

  She tore the envelope open and took a small note out and read, "Joe, I need to get out of this town. Thank you for everything that you have done, but something isn’t right. Try to stay safe and get to the truth. Ask Watkins about the Golden Seagull. Dulcy.”

  "Where is she?"

  "Well," Elizabeth said. "That's the problem. She's gone. Paid off the lease at her apartment, packed up all her belongings and left."

  "Did she leave a forwarding address?"

  "No," Elizabeth said.

  “Try to find her and make sure she’s okay,” I said. “I don’t like it when people just disappear and leave notes.”

  30

  The hospital released me the next morning. Doctor Salvatore inspected my lower regions and told me to make an appointment with him in a week. He gave me a sitz bath kit, which looked rather frightening and told me to use it after every bowel movement. I promised. They wheeled me out to where Regina was waiting. When I got out of the wheelchair I realized that walking wasn't my forte. Regina helped me into the car and I asked her to drive to the paper. She insisted that I go home and rest for one day. I did my damnedest to persuade her, but it did no good. When she got me home, I thanked her and told her she could go.

  "Oh no," she said. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

  "Who said I wanted to get rid of you?" I asked.

  "I'm staying right here," she said. "Just in case you need anything. I can't have my hero going around attracting any more bullets."

  "If all it takes to be a hero in this town is to get yourself shot, there must be plenty of heroes."

  She laughed. "So, what's next on the agenda?"

  "I thought I'd take some of these magical mystery pills and see everyone in about a month."

  "No, really," she said. "I want to help."

  "You want to help?"

  "Yes."

  "That's not a very wise life choice. One of the people working for me is dead. I almost joined him."

  "You got shot in the ass."

  "What are you saying?"

  "Oh nothing," she said. "Just that real men don't get shot in the ass."

  “I thought I was your hero.”

  “I was trying to make you feel better about yourself, honey.” She patted me on the head like a little boy.

  “You’ve wounded me."

  "Not as much as that bullet."

  "Bullets.”

  “Only one hit its mark.”

  “You want to help, take me to bed,” I said as I tried to stand. Regina grabbed hold of my arm and helped me up. “I really need to stop getting shot.”

  “Maybe you can make it your New Year’s resolution,” Regina said.

  “New Year’s is a long way away,” I grumbled.

  I took my pain killers and Regina helped me to the bedroom. Sleep came instantly. Later that evening Cheryl came over to the apartment. Her hair stood out on end and there were large bags under her eyes.

  "What's troubling you, Cheryl?" I asked.

  "It’s Charles. I’m worried.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

  “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but Charles was supposed to be keeping an eye on Michael. And he was supposed to be keeping an eye on you, too. It’s not his fault Michael up and got himself killed. And it sure isn’t his fault that you got yourself shot.”

  “Yeah, I figured it out.”

  “Your father was real worried about Michael. He had finally convinced him to move back home. Charles was glad, too. He had enough of babysitting him. You figured it out?”

  “I followed Charles one night to my father’s house. I saw the results of that meeting. Plus, you couldn’t have overheard all those conversations at Michael’s place unless you were eavesdropping.”

  “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  “And the white powder in Charles’ car.”

  Cheryl got up and started pacing the room. “Now, that’s none of your business.”

  “No, I suppose it’s not. But he could have got himself killed because of it. He’s probably damn lucky he didn’t.”

  I passed out a few seconds after she left. The dreams came immediately. Everything seemed foggy to me. There was a loud squawk in the fog. A large motionless seagull made of gold sat up high on top of a house. I could smell burning paper or was it gunpowder? My brother's face stared up at the gold seagull. His body was bloody, but not wet. Then I was in the apartment. It was the night of Michael's murder and everything was distorted as if I were on drugs. A black silhouette was rummaging through my brother's belongings throwing things around left and right. Then a clicking noise. The silhouette grabbed the gold seagull and stared at it. The door opened and my brother entered and closed the door. The mess presented itself to him and then the gold seagull came crashing down onto my brother’s head. The seagull exploded into thousands of diamonds and evaporated into thin air. My brother looked over his shoulder at the silhouette with blood streaming down his face. The silhouette screeched like a seagull over my brother’s body and was on top of him plunging a long slender knife deep into his back over and over again. The silhouette rolled the body up in a rug, tucked it under his arm like it was just a newspaper and left the room.

  A gold seagull laid overturned on the bookshelf.

  Squawk.

  I looked up and on the phone line was the gold seagull. A drop of blood came from his eyes. Elizabeth ducked. The gunshots came. I pushed Elizabeth behind a car.

  Squawk.

  31

  The next day was a little less painful than the day before and I managed to get out of bed. Regina had slept on the couch and vowed to stick with me all day. I didn't argue with her because I needed assistance getting around. When Regina finished with her shower I asked her to take me to Archer. She grimaced at the prospect. I didn’t care. He was going to give me some money and I wanted to ask him some questions.

  She helped me out of the car and we made our way to the front door of his house. A large circular driveway reached near a covered front porch. The roof was flat above. Off to the left through a wooden fence covered in ivy, I could see a pergola hanging over a back patio with a beautiful garden that sprawled out beyond to the sides and the rear of the house.

  Archer answered the door and invited us in. Regina was tense and obviously uncomfortable with the situation. I could feel it in the rigid hold she put around my left b
icep as she helped me up the one step into the house. Archer led us to the back patio. We sat down in some comfortable cushioned chairs at a large table. I looked out across the garden. I had forgotten about that garden after all of these years. It had been Celia’s pride and joy.

  "What can I do for you today, Joe?" Archer asked as he sat down. In front of him were the remains of a very hardy breakfast. Only crumbs of white toast remained.

  Before I could answer, a tall thin man walked out and asked Archer if he wanted anything. Archer asked for a refill on his coffee and then offered us whatever we wanted. Regina asked Bill, the butler, for tea and I joined Archer with a cup of coffee, no cream, two tablespoons, not teaspoons, of sugar.

  "I suppose you came for your money,” he said. He reached into a pocket and removed a folded check and handed it to Regina. Regina took the check and looked at it and whistled.

  "Tell me about the Miles murder."

  "The blood matched Miles,” Archer said. “No fingerprints, no clues of any kind, except the murder weapon was found taped underneath a watercooler."

  "I know. I was there. Did you trace the gun?"

  "Of course I did."

  "And?" I asked.

  "It was bought in a shop in New York eight years ago."

  "Who was it sold to?"

  "You know perfectly well it was sold to Tom Watkins."

  "Interesting," I said.

  “How so?” Archer asked.

  “That I was actually right. That doesn’t happen as often as some people seem to think.”

  "Does that mean Tom is guilty?" Regina asked.

  "Anything is possible," I said. "Just not likely. Have you arrested him yet?”

  "No. I got the distinct impression you wanted him out. I’m not arresting anyone until you tell me what the hell is going on. Besides, we can’t get past his alibi.”

  “Well, his alibi has up and disappeared.”

  “Not another one,” Archer said.

  “No, I think she just couldn’t take it anymore and left. Don’t blame her. She wasn’t cut out to be Tom Watkins’ girl. Lynda Cranston can handle that lifestyle, not Dulcy Baxter.”

  We sat there in silence for a moment. I looked out across the garden. Regina did the same. Archer eyed us quietly.