Текст книги "Hugger Mugger"

Автор книги: Robert B. Parker

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

FORTY-FOUR

AFTER I LEFT Vallone, driving back to the motel, I noticed that I had picked up a tail. He wasn't very good at it. He'd get too close, then drop too far back, then have to drive too fast and pass too many cars so he wouldn't lose me. When we got to my motel I pulled into the lot and parked. He pulled in behind me, and went to the far corner of the lot, and just in case I hadn't noticed him, he turned the car around and backed into a slot where he could come out quickly if I took off. Pathetic. I sat in my car with the motor running and the a/c on high and thought for a minute or two. Then I got out and walked over to his car and rapped on the window. The window slid down and the cold air from the interior slipped out and wilted in the heat. The tail was a slim young guy with curly blond hair and aviator sunglasses. He was wearing a plaid summer-weight sport coat and he looked at me with an expression so studiously blank that it made me smile.

"Yeah?"

"Where's your boss?" I said.

"Excuse me?"

"Delroy," I said. "Where is he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The car's registered to Security South," I said, just as if I had checked.

"How you know that?" he said.

"It's why they make car phones," I said. "You picked me up outside the Paddock Tavern and followed me here. Worst tail job I've ever seen."

"Shit," the kid said, "I never done it before. You gonna tell Delroy?"

"Maybe not," I said. "My name is Spenser, what's yours?"

"Herb," he said. "Herb Simmons."

He stumbled a little over "Simmons" and I assumed it wasn't really his name.

"Why are you following me, Herb?"

"Delroy told me to. Said to keep track of you and make sure you didn't get near the house or the stables."

"The house being the Clives' house."

"Yes, sir."

"And if I did?"

"I was to call for backup and we was to apprehend you."

"Why?"

"Trespassing."

"Call a lot of backup," I said. "How long you been working for Security South?"

"A month."

"What'd you do before?"

"I was a campus police officer over in Athens. I never had to follow nobody."

"A good thing," I said. "Where's Delroy as we speak?"

"Up in Saratoga. Hugger Mugger's running in the Hopeful."

"So Penny's up there too."

"Miss Penny, everybody. Everybody goes to Saratoga in August… Hell, I never been to Saratoga," he said. "Except when I was in the Air Force, I ain't never been out of Georgia."

"No reason to go," I said.

"You gonna tell Delroy?"

"No," I said. "How about your relief, when's he show up?"

"I got no relief. Delroy says we're shorthanded and I'm on you by myself."

"Hard to tail somebody by yourself," I said.

"Damn straight," Herb said.

"Why doesn't he cut back a couple of guards at the stable area, and help you out?"

"There ain't no guards on the stables no more. They figured it would be more efficient just to put somebody on you."

"Who do you call for backup?"

"There's guys at the house. I call them."

"Why are they guarding the house?"

"I don't know. I know nobody's supposed to go in there."

"Well," I said. "I'm going in now and have a sandwich, and watch the Braves game and go to bed."

Herb didn't know what to say about that, so he tried looking stalwart.

"Have a nice night," I said.

I walked back past my car and into the motel lobby. I looked at my watch. It was 6:35. I went through the lobby and out the side door and walked through the gas station next door and out onto the highway. It was about two miles from the motel to Three Fillies Stables. I strolled. Even in the early evening it was very hot, and by the time I got to the stable area at seven, my shirt was wet with perspiration. Mickey Blair was still there washing one of the horses with a hose. The horse seemed to like it. I could see why. It looked like I would like it.

"Hello," I said. "I'm back."

"Oh, hello," Mickey said. "I thought…"

"Yeah. I was let go, but now I've been hired again. Anyone in the office?"

"Nope. It's all locked up."

"Got a key?"

"Sure."

"I'll need to get in," I said.

"Why?"

The water sluiced softly over the small chestnut horse, who bent her neck a little so she could look around at me.

"Penny wants me to check something in the files."

"Nobody said anything to me," Mickey said.

"No, they wouldn't. It's supposed to be very hush-hush."

"Gee, I don't know."

"No, of course you don't and it's not fair to ask you," I said, "without explanation. Penny wants me to sort of check up on Security South."

"Security South?"

"Yes, Jon Delroy, specifically."

"She wants you to check up on Mr. Delroy?" There was something in Mickey's tone that suggested she thought it would be a good idea to check up on Delroy.

"She's afraid he's stealing from her."

"Damn!"

"This is the best time to do it," I said. "While they're all in Saratoga."

Mickey nodded. She could see that.

"So I figured I'd take the chance and tell you." I smiled at her. "Our secret?"

Mickey smiled. "Sure," she said. "Key's on a nail right inside the door to the tack room."

"Thank you."

FORTY-FIVE

THE FILES WERE locked, but I figured there'd be a key somewhere. People who would leave the office key hanging on a nail in the tack room wouldn't be terribly fastidious about the file cabinet. It wouldn't be too high because then Penny couldn't reach it easily. And it wouldn't be too far because people hate to bother. In about five minutes I found it, hanging on a hook in the lavatory, under a hand towel.

It took me a while longer to find anything interesting in the files. But it didn't take forever. The files were immaculately neat, which helped. Everything was precisely labeled, and everything was alphabetical, and near the back was a file folder with no label. I took it out. Inside were reports from Security South dating back more than ten years. There was information about Stonie at the truck stops, about Cord's problems with young boys, about SueSue's adulteries, and Pud's arrests for public drunkenness and assault. Each case included specifics of action taken and sums expended by Security South to resolve the problem. Most of these reports in the earlier years were initialed WC, and in recent years, increasingly, PC.

There was also a three-page typewritten report, unaddressed and unsigned, which in summary concluded that it was quite possible that Walter Clive had been having an affair with Dolly Hartman while he was married to Sherry, and it was entirely possible that Jason Hartman was Walter's son. There was a copy machine on the long table behind the desk. I ran the report through the copier, folded up the copy, stuck it in my back pocket, and put the original back in its folder. I assumed the report was by Delroy, and I assumed it was for Penny. There were no initials on this one, but there was no reason for Walter Clive to commission such research. He'd know whether he could have been Jason's father or not.

I spent about an hour more, but didn't find anything else to help me. It appeared from my fast glom of the files that Penny was running the business, and that the business was doing very well. I locked the files, put the key back, turned off the lights, locked the office door, and put the key back in the tack room.

Mickey had finished washing down the chestnut filly, who was back in her stall, looking out at me. Half a carrot would get me anything. Mickey sat on an upended plastic milk crate, reading Cosmopolitan.

"You got a carrot I can give her?" I said.

"In the bag," Mickey said, nodding at a black canvas backpack lying near her left foot.

There was a plastic bag of loose carrots in the pack, in among what appeared to be gym clothes and makeup. I selected one.

"Put it on the flat of your hand and let her lip it off," Mickey said. "That way she won't confuse your finger for a carrot."

"Hey," I said. "I was born in Laramie, Wyoming. You think I don't know horses?"

"Really? How old were you when you left?"

"Ten or twelve," I said.

Mickey smiled.

"Hold your hand flat, let her lip the carrot," she said.

Which I did. The chestnut filly took the carrot as predicted, leaving my fingers intact.

"You find anything?" Mickey said.

"Nothing special," I said. "What do you think about Delroy?"

"He works for my boss," Mickey said.

"I know that. But I figure anyone willing to exercise Jimbo has to have a certain amount of independence."

Mickey smiled at me. She had a wide mouth. Her big eyes were steady.

"Delroy is a creep," Mickey said. "He gives me the whim-whams every time I have to talk to him."

"Really? That's the way I feel about Jimbo."

"Jimbo's up-front," Mickey said. "He wants to kill you and will if you'll let him. Delroy's a slimeball."

"Don't beat around the bush," I said.

Mickey smiled. "You asked me," she said.

"What makes him so slimy?"

"He's so buttoned up and spit-shined and polite.

Kind of guy wears a blue suit to a beach party. But inside you know he likes to download kiddie porn from the Internet."

"Literally?" I said.

"Hell, I don't know. I just know he's not the way he seems."

"How?"

She smiled at me.

"Female intuition," she said.

"But Penny likes him."

"You bet," Mickey said.

" 'Likes' is too weak?"

Mickey shrugged.

"I don't know. Sometimes I think they're doing the nasty. Sometimes I think she just uses him for her purposes."

"Could be both."

Mickey shivered.

"God, how revolting. Being in bed with him. Yuck!"

"He ever make a pass at you?"

"Not really," she said. "He's too stiff and creepy. But he's a starer. You know? Sometimes when you first teach a horse to be ridden, you lay across the saddle on your stomach while he gets used to your weight. Which means your butt is sticking up in the air. If Delroy's around you he's staring."

It had gotten dark as we talked. We stood in the small splash of light from the stable while around us the Georgia night, not yet black, turned cobalt. I took a card from my shirt pocket and gave it to Mickey.

"If you think of anything useful about Delroy, or anything else, I'm at the Holiday Inn for the nonce," I said.

"The what?"

"Nonce. But you can always leave a message on my answering machine in Boston."

"I'd just as soon our conversation was private," Mickey said.

"Me too," I said. "Mum's the word."

"Not nonce?"

"Mum," I said.

"You talk really funny," Mickey said.

"It's a gift," I said.

FORTY-SIX

WHEN I GOT back to the motel Herb's car was gone.

The next morning, when I came down for breakfast, Becker was sitting in the lobby, reading the paper, with his legs stretched out, so that people had to swing wide when they walked past him.

"Morning," Becker said.

"Morning."

I walked to the door of the lobby. Across the parking lot I could see Herb's car. My personal tail. On the job. I turned back to Becker.

"Breakfast?" I said.

"Had some, but I can have some more," Becker said. "I like breakfast."

We went into the dining room and sat in a booth.

"Fella outside sitting in his car with the motor running," Becker said. "Know about him?"

"Yeah. He's been assigned by Security South to follow me."

"And by luck you happened to spot him," Becker said.

"They could have tailed me with a walrus," I said, "and been better off."

The waitress brought juice and coffee. We ordered breakfast.

"You know why he's tailing you?"

"He's supposed to make sure I don't go near Three Fillies-house or stables."

"And if you do?"

"He calls for backup and they restrain me."

Becker made a little grunt that was probably his version of a laugh.

"Be my guess that you don't restrain all that easy," he said.

"Maybe it won't come to that," I said. "So far, I've been outthinking them."

Becker added some cream to his coffee, and four sugars, and stirred it carefully.

"Got some stuff back on Delroy," Becker said. "He's got a record."

"Good."

"He used to be a cop. Then he wasn't. After he wasn't he was busted twice for scamming money from women. Once in Dayton. Once in Cincinnati. Did no time-in both cases the women changed their minds at the last minute and wouldn't testify against him."

" 'Cause they still loved him?"

"Don't know," Becker said. "But here's a clue. He served three years for assault in Pennsylvania."

"Think he might have threatened the witnesses?"

"Been done," Becker said.

"It has," I said. "Where was he a cop?"

"Dayton. I called the chief up there. Chief says Delroy was shaking down prostitutes. There was a police pay raise being debated by the city council. So they let him resign quietly. Which he did."

"They get the pay raise?"

Becker drank some coffee and put the cup down and smiled.

"No."

"Bet they're glad they let him walk," I said.

"They are," Becker said. "We don't like to go public on bad cops."

"Sure," I said. "Who'd he assault?"

"Don't know," Becker said. "Probably some nosy Yankee private eye trying to get the goods on him."

"Anyone would," I said. "You know what I'd like to see?"

"I've always wondered," Becker said.

The waitress brought our breakfast. Becker really did like breakfast-he had eggs and bacon and pancakes and a side of home fries. I had a couple of biscuits.

"I'd like to see Clive's last will and testament."

"Thought you talked to Vallone."

"I did. But I don't think Vallone says everything he knows all the time. In fact, call me crazy, but I don't think Vallone tells the truth all the time."

"And him an officer of the court," Becker said.

"What it looks like is that somebody in his family killed Clive to keep him from changing his will to include his illegitimate son."

After some work, I got a little grape jelly out of one of those little foil-covered containers and put it on my biscuit. Becker signaled the waitress for more coffee.

"They'd kill him to keep somebody from getting a quarter of what they were going to split three ways? Unless there was a lot less than we think, that doesn't make a lot of sense."

"It doesn't seem to. But what else makes any sense? He was killed two days after his DNA test confirmed Jason. Is that a coincidence?"

"Could be a coincidence," Becker said.

"And it could be a coincidence that the horse shooting stopped when Clive died."

"Or the shooter figured there was too much heat and went on vacation," Becker said.

"Sure, and the whole thing about the horse shootings and Clive being shot is just another coincidence."

"Or Clive caught the horse shooter in the act and got shot instead," Becker said.

"Which happened two days after he found out about his son?"

"It had to happen on some day," Becker said.

"Well, aren't you helpful," I said.

"I like your theory," Becker said. "But you know and I know that's all it is, a theory. You can't arrest anybody on it, and if you could, their defense lawyer would chew up our prosecutor and spit him into the street."

"Well, yeah," I said.

"So you need some goddamned evidence," Becker said. "Something for the DA to hold up in court and wave at a jury and say look at this. You know? Evidence."

"That's why I want to see that will."

"I'll get you a copy," Becker said. "It'll give me something to do."

"Here's something else you can do," I said. "I want to go out to the Clive house and rattle the cages, and I'd rather they weren't expecting me."

"I'm pretty sure I spotted several violations of the motor vehicle code on that car that's tailing you."

"Kid's name is Herb. If I was a fox I'd want him to guard the chicken coop."

"I can keep him busy for a while," Becker said. "Be kind of fun, almost like being a cop. Maybe I'll bully him a little."

The waitress put the check on the table. I paid it.

"You think this can be construed as a bribe?" Becker said.

"Sure."

"You want a receipt?"

"It'll be our secret," I said.

FORTY-SEVEN

AS I PULLED out of the hotel parking lot I could see Becker swaggering over to Herb's car, looking very much like one of those small-town southern sheriffs we fellow-traveling northerners learned to loathe during the civil rights sixties-except that he was black. I smiled at the image and then it disappeared from my rearview mirror and I was out on the highway alone in the Georgia morning, heading for town.

I found Pud and Cord eating a late breakfast together in the coffee shop downstairs from their apartment.

"I'm going out and talk to your wives," I said. "Either of you care to join me?"

"They won't let you in," Cord said.

"Security South?"

"Yes."

"I'm a little tired of Security South," I said. "I think I'll go in anyway."

Pud was wiping up his eggs with a piece of toast. He stuffed the toast in his mouth and smiled while he chewed and swallowed. His complexion was more tanned than I remembered it. His eyes were clearer.

"You going in either way?" he said.

"Yep."

"Want company?"

"You want to see your wife?"

"Yep."

"You quit drinking?" I said.

"Pretty much," Pud said. "Got a job too. Limo driver."

"Okay with me," I said. "You care to join us, Cord?"

Cord shook his head. "I don't want trouble," he said.

"Okay."

"When will you be back, Pud?"

"In a while," Pud said. "You'll be all right."

"What if there's trouble and something happens? What if they come looking for me?"

"If you'd feel better," I said, "go down to the Bath House Bar and Grill and tell Tedy Sapp I sent you."

"I know Tedy."

"I know you do. When we're through we'll meet you there," I said.

"Is that place open this early?" Pud said.

"Yes," Cord said. "I'll see you there."

He left us while Pud finished his coffee, and walked out of the coffee shop, neat and trim and walking erectly, struggling in parlous times to keep his dignity.

"He's not a bad little guy," Pud said. "They were pretty rough with him when they threw us out. He's scared, and he's lonely, and he doesn't know what to do. He's trying to be brave. I feel like his father."

"It could get a little quick out at the old homestead," I said. "If they don't want us to come in."

"Ah hell," Pud said. "I'm with you, tough guy."

As I had when I'd first come there and met Penny, I parked on the street, and we walked up the long curving drive with sprinkler mist on either side of us. It was hotter this time and the air was perfectly still, the stillness made deeper by the faint sound of the sprinkler system and the occasional odd sound that might have been grasshoppers calling for their mates. The sky was high and entirely blue, and at the far corner of the house I saw Dutch loafing along toward the backyard.

I felt like I had just wandered into a Johnny Mercer lyric. Beside me Pud was quiet. He looked tight around the eyes and mouth.

On the veranda, with his uniform shirt unbuttoned and his gun belt adjusted for comfort, a Security South guard was sitting in a rocking chair, tipped back, with one foot pushing against a pillar, rocking in brief intervals. While the boss was up in Saratoga, the subordinates apparently let down a little. He looked up when I came onto the veranda. He frowned. Maybe he had been thinking of things that he liked to think about, and I had interrupted him.

"How you doin'?" he said.

He was lean and hard-looking, his hair trimmed short. He looked like he might have been an FBI agent once. I doubted it. I suspected he'd been hired because he looked like he might have been an FBI agent once.

"The ladies of the house at home?" I said.

He let the rocker come forward and let the momentum bring him to his feet.

"Sorry, sir." He was a little slow with the "sir." "They aren't receiving visitors."

I walked toward the front door. Pud was about a half-step behind me.

"The ladies don't live," I said, "that wouldn't receive a couple of studs like us."

The guard had a microphone clipped to his epaulet, with a cord that ran to the radio on his belt. He pressed the talk button on the radio and spoke into the mike.

"Front porch, we got some trouble."

The guard had his hand on his gun as he stood in front of me.

"Nobody goes in," he said.

"First you get sloppy with the 'sir,' then you don't say it at all," I said, and hit him hard up under the sternum with my left hand. He gasped a little and fumbled the gun from his holster. I got hold of his wrist with my left hand and came around with a right hook and he went down, except for his right arm, which I had hold of. I half turned and twisted the gun out of his hand and let it fall with the rest of him. I stuck his gun in my jacket pocket, stepped over him, and tried the front door. It was locked. I backed away from it and kicked it hard at the level of the handle. The door rattled but held.

"Lemme," Pud said, and ran at the door, hitting it with his right shoulder. The door gave and Pud stumbled into the hall with me behind him. It took us both a minute to adjust to the interior dimness. All the curtains seemed to have been drawn. Outside I could hear footsteps running, and then someone said, "Jesus." Then I heard him on the radio.

"This is Brill," he said. "Shoney's down, and there's someone in the house."

Pud was moving through the house. "SueSue," he yelled.

I took out my gun and stepped out of the front door and onto the veranda. The second guard, whose name must have been Brill, was there with his gun out, bending over Shoney, who was lying on his side only moving a little. Brill looked up and saw my gun and our eyes met. His gun was hanging at his side. Mine was level with his forehead. I didn't say anything. Brill didn't say anything; then slowly, quite carefully, he put his gun on the ground and stood up and stepped away from it. I walked over and picked it up and put it in my other coat pocket.

"Hands on the pillar," I said, "then back away and spread your legs."

He did as I told him and I patted him down. I had his only gun. I went over and patted Shoney, who was in some sort of twilight state. He had no other weapon either.

"Okay, sit there," I said to Brill, "and wait for reinforcements. If a head appears in that door, I will shoot it."

Then I turned and went back inside. The house was entirely still, as humming with quiet as the dead summer day outside. I looked around, remembering the layout from my last time. It was still dark with all the shades drawn. Then I heard Pud at the top of the stairs.

"Spenser," he said, and his voice was oddly quiet. "Get up here."

I went up the stairs fast. We didn't have much time before the arrival of more Security South guards than I could punch. The upper floor was as dark and still and cool as the first floor. The only sound was Pud's breathing and the subliminal rush of the air-conditioning. Pud was standing stiffly at the head of the stairs. Down the dark corridor, in the far end, were two dim figures huddled together, ghostly in white clothes. I found a light switch on the wall and flipped it. Squinting in the sudden brightness, the two white figures at the end of the hall seemed to shrink in upon each other in the light.

"My God," Pud said. "SueSue."

It was SueSue, and with her was Stonie. They were both wearing white pajamas, and they had backed tight into the corner at the far end of the hallway. Their hair was cut short. They wore no makeup. The distinguishing golden tan of the Clive girls had faded and they looked nearly as pale as their pajamas.

Again Pud said, "SueSue."

And in a voice without inflection and barely above a whisper SueSue said, "Help us."

The confiscated guns were heavy in my pockets. I took them out.

"Ever shoot one of these?" I said to Pud.

"No."

"Okay, this isn't the time to learn," I said.

I put the guns on the floor. And drew my own.

"Take one hand of each woman," I said. "You in the middle. We're going out of here at a run. Anyone tries to stop us, I'll deal with it. You keep them moving toward the car."

"What's wrong with them?" Pud said.

"I don't know," I said. "Get hold of them, now."

Pud hesitated another couple of seconds, then took a big inhale and went forward to the two women. He got each of them by the hand. They were childlike, putting their hands out for him to hold. I went down the stairs ahead of them, Pud behind me with the sisters.

Shoney was back on his feet when we went out the front door. He and Brill were looking a little aimless and uncertain as we passed them. They had no guns, and I had mine, so they made no move to stop us. We ran straight across the lawn, through the sprinkler mist, to my car, the women stumbling a little in bare feet.

"Put them in the backseat and down out of sight."

I went around to the driver's side and was in with the motor running when Pud joined me in the front. The Clive girls were lying in the backseat, SueSue above Stonie. I went into gear and we squealed away from the curb and out onto the street. As we turned the first corner, two Security South cars went bucketing past us, their flashers on, riding to the rescue.

"Jesus H. Mahogany Christ," Pud said.

He was still winded from running the sisters to the car. Breathing hard, he looked back at the two girls, still clinging to each other as if to keep each other from slipping away.

"Can they sit up?" Pud said between breaths.

"Sure," I said.

"SueSue, you and Stonie sit up now," Pud said.

Silently they did as he told them.

"You do this kind of thing often?" Pud said.

His respiration was normalizing.

"Usually before breakfast," I said.

"Man!" Pud said.

We turned onto Main Street. There wasn't much traffic. We passed a young woman in blue sweatpants and a white halter top, walking a baby in a stroller. A golden retriever moseyed along beside them on a slack leash. Pud eyed her as we passed. The ghostly sisters sat bolt upright in the backseat, their shoulders touching, looking at nothing. Pud looked back. No sign of pursuit.

"We can't just ride around all day," Pud said.

"True."

"Where we going?" Pud said.

"To a gay bar."