Bouncer (25 page)

“Roger!”

“Have mercy, man. I’m going stir-crazy here, and this damn incision itches like hell. Besides, your partner is AWOL, and you need me.”

“She’s not my partner!”

“Wedding bells are gonna chime.”

“You shit. I’ll be there in 60 minutes. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and your stitches will bust wide open.” He slammed down the phone.

Nick had some time to kill before he picked up Roger. He shuffled through the printouts Fox had organized, each in its own separate file, complete with color-coded label. Likely OCD. He sat for a long while staring at the Montanari brothers’ faces made slightly blurry by the distortion of the computer printout. Both boys resembled their father significantly. The phone jangled, and he snatched it up, expecting Fox’s husky voice.

“It’s Roger again. Charlie has been detained at the Waterford Children’s agency, but they plan to move him. Apparently, from Eddie Murdock’s testimony, Bouncer is over 30 years old.”

“No! Any way we can verify that?”

“Not until we get the birth records. Murdock refuses to tell us much more except that the boy is an orphan and his birth certificate is lost.”

“Lost my eye.”

“Precisely. I also just chatted with Anthony. He was in Vegas from Monday morning to Thursday around noon, meeting with some of his distributors and taking some R & R. Will drop all the hotel and business receipts at the station. Uh-oh,” he whispered. “Susan’s coming. See you in 30.” The line went dead.

So, Anthony had an alibi. Somehow, Nick wasn’t surprised. He picked up Ashley Peebles’ file and stared at the fresh-faced picture of the 17-year-old killed in 1978. The girl’s hair was dark and wavy, and he wondered if she’d ever dyed it red. The image wouldn’t leave his brain, and he finally gave in and headed to his Mustang, lifting his portfolio out of the trunk. Once inside, he removed the sketch and studied it. No matter had he angled the photo, the girl in the picture was not the one in his drawing.

Nick closed his eyes and relaxed, letting his mind foliate. Finally, he flipped open a new page in his pad and began to draw. Within 15 minutes, the pencil sketch was complete, but he felt more disturbed than ever. The unknown man with dark hair had his back to Nick as the struggling couple battled by a sluggish stream. The girl’s face, turned towards him in terror, seemed familiar somehow—so pretty and intelligent, but definitely not Ashley Peebles. He needed to talk to Roger right away.

Roger sat slumped in Fox’s squeaky office chair, a blue polyester pillow scrunched behind his back. Nick had avoided Susan by a good 15 minutes, and getting Roger out of the house had been a snap, since the kids were at their cousin’s. Roger came armed with a liter of bottled water, pain pills, a brown bag, and the navy blue pillow. He wore faded black jeans and a well-worn, long sleeved t-shirt proclaiming UC Berkley’s prowess as a football team. His slip-on sandals didn’t quite go with the outfit, but Nick suspected they were all Roger could force on his feet.

Roger winced.

“You okay, old man?”

“Just hunky dory. The fresh air is doing me good.”

Nick tossed the first sketch into Roger’s hands, followed by the second he had drawn earlier in Lea’s office.

“That’s Charlie’s mother, and she isn’t Ashley Peebles.”

Roger sighed heavily, shaken by the second picture. “This is nasty. So, how do you know it’s Bouncer’s mom?”

“I just do.”

“Damn it, man, can’t you just level with me. You drew these right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you’re a damn good artist. Has Fox seen ‘em?”

“Nope. I’m actually a little concerned. She failed to call me like promised.”

“Wonders never cease. Nick Thayne concerned about a woman.”

“Fox is a woman?”

“Very funny,” chortled Roger.

Nick said more seriously. “I was just recalling something your brother-in-law said—that the murderer is someone you’d least suspect—and knowing Fox, she’d rush in where fools fear to tread.”

“Lea can take care of herself. She’s a dead shot.” Roger dropped the unbearable sketch face down on the carpet.

“I saw her weapon. Jeez, remind me not to make her mad. Do you by any chance recognize the woman?”

“Not in the least. You got any ideas?”

“It’s either someone I’ve met or . . .

A brisk knock sounded upon the door and a handsome young man with sleek brown hair and 500 dollar sunglasses stepped into the office. “You Nick Thayne?” he asked extending a hand.

“I am,” returned Nick quickly rising and grasping the young man’s hand. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Rudolph Montanari, but you can call me Rudy. I thought I’d stop by because I’m a little concerned with the direction Thad’s case is taking, and I wanted to make sure that Trish Fisher was in no way implicated. I’ve heard through the grapevine that certain people in the police department, especially your chief, believe she might have hired a hit man.” He cocked an eye at Roger as if he was the purveyor of such lies.

“This is Roger Chung. I’m helping him on the case after his surgery.”

“Ah, yes.
The
Detective Chung. Where’s the Fox woman?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Probably best that way. Trish wasn’t impressed with her style or her manners. As I was saying, the papers state that the MCPD believes the Jenkins man held in custody was hired by Mrs. Fisher. Trish would never do a thing like that. Much as she disliked her cheating scum of a husband, she’s no killer.”

“And how would you know that?” asked Nick, eyeing the man dressed in an elegant, beige three-piece suit. His rig must have cost four or five thousand dollars.

“I know because I love her.”

“
You
and Trish Fisher?” Would wonders never cease?

“That’s right. She and I have been seeing each other for over 18 months since meeting at a charity function. I’d gone there to assist my mother, and believe it or not, she actually introduced us.

I couldn’t believe what an elegant and intelligent women Trish was. We started conversing about art as well as her involvement with the Guide Dog Association of Monroe County, and I was amazed at her depth. Here was a rich woman who could remain idle and waste time improving her tan, but instead chose to help out other people, whether at a children’s home or volunteering money and time to juveniles stricken with leukemia.

“I quickly discovered that I liked a lot of things about Trish Fisher, and it didn’t matter that she was seventeen years older than me. She had something I needed—a quality I admire in my own mother, which is as simple as compassion. I know she might appear harsh, but you have to realize her back is against the wall. Trish doesn’t know what you guys think and is afraid she might be implicated in a murder she had nothing to do with. That’s why I have asked her to come and speak to you, but she refused. She’s afraid her reputation will become further tarnished if the public finds out she’s dating a younger man. Of course, after her husband’s behavior, how could it become more damaged than it is?”

Nick noted that Rudy Montanari was as large as his father in stature, but trim and fit; only his sideburns showed the faintest hint of gray. He would be thirty-two or so remembered Nick; just a small boy when Ashley Peebles was murdered.

“Do you suspect my father?”

“What makes you think I might believe your dad is a murderer?” asked Nick quietly.

“If you’re a good P.I., you’d have to suspect him. Is that bourbon in there?” Nick’s eyes flicked over the desk as Rudy opened the maple cupboard. Did that outstanding bottle of seven-year-old bourbon really sit on Fox’s shelf?

“Please, help yourself,” he said and wasn’t surprised when the younger Montanari poured himself a stiff drink. Roger glanced at Nick, a pained expression on his face. His current medications and alcohol didn’t mix.

“It needs ice,” Rudolph said, “but this will have to do. I have some information for you that will prove Trish Fisher is as totally innocent as my scumbag father.”

Roger leaned forward painfully. “You have proof?”

The youngest Montanari took a hardy swig of his strong liquor and nodded. Nick would have to remember where Fox kept her alcohol.

“The police discovered Charlie Murdock at the Collins house, didn’t they?”

“This morning. It’s a very interesting situation.”

“And they learned Eddie Murdock was his caretaker?”

“That’s right. So, you know about him?”

“Of course I do, as does Trish and my mother.”

“Your mother knew about Charlie Murdock? Your father’s illegitimate child?”

Randy started, spilling some of the expensive liquor. “What do you mean my father’s illegitimate child?”

“Isn’t Charlie Murdock the son of Ashley Peebles and your father?”

Rudy Montanari looked bewildered. He violently shook his head. “Of course he isn’t.”

Roger threw out, “But Charlie
is
related to you, isn’t he?”

Rudy flinched again and took the remaining swig of the alcohol.

“You can have more if you want,” said Nick. The young man poured himself another stiff portion.

“I don’t know if I’m really related to him, but I’m positive that my father isn’t Charlie’s dad.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Roger, vicariously enjoying every sip the younger man partook of the amber inebriant.

“Because when I was 18 years old, I overheard a conversation between my parents regarding Charlie’s welfare. My mother begged for the child to be raised with loving care, as it was obvious he would never be a threat to the family’s integrity. She never pointed a finger at my father or accused him of fathering Charlie. Instead, it seemed as if . . .”

“As
if
what?” said Nick leaning forward. Roger’s color had heightened.

“It seemed as if my father had taken on the responsibility of Charlie because of the something else. I remember my mother putting her arm around my father, and for the first time, I saw true affection between them. Up until then, all I did was pray and wait for a divorce, never realizing my Catholic parents would
never
divorce. My mother would go on being who she was; sweet, loving, and giving, and my father would go on being a demanding and overbearing jerk. My three sisters all ran off, and my two brothers . . . Well, they enlisted and headed to Nam. That should tell you a lot about my dad.”

“So, you believe that the child is somehow related to you but don’t know the real connection?”

“Maybe . . .” He shuffled his feet, appearing highly uncomfortable. “Trish said her husband knew the whole truth and was blackmailing my father.”

Nick wanted to chortle with glee. “So, Thad Fisher knew the child’s origin and had become a blackmailer.”

“I think so.”

“You
think
so?”

“Well, I can’t be sure if he was blackmailing my father about Charlie or something else, but I know for certain he was blackmailing my father. Once, when my father was gone on a business trip, I went through his papers. I must have been about twenty at the time, and I discovered a dozen or so checks made out to Thad Fisher.”

“Checks in what amount?” asked Nick.

“Five thousand or ten thousand at a pop, dated every two to three months. My dad was keeping Thad Fisher, and most likely, his many mistresses as well.”

“That’s one of the things that attracted you to Trish Fisher, wasn’t it? You viewed her as a scorned and betrayed woman, so you reached out for her.” Roger’s voice sounded kind.

“It’s true,” said Rudy, turning his gaze to Roger, who sat humped in the chair, the pillow billowing around him. “My father’s just learned about my relationship with Trish and is livid. He had my wife all picked out. I’ve informed him that if Trish and I marry, we won’t have any children.”

Nick remembered the tabloid and Rudolph’s supposed fiancée. “And the Montanari line will die out,” said Nick. “You’ll be the last surviving male Montanari.”

“That’s right,” said Randy. “And that’s not such a bad idea. Bad blood runs in my family—at least in the male side. I’m praying I’ve sidestepped that genetic flaw. You’ve surmised my father isn’t the most noble of creatures, especially since he started having some financial difficulties, which he won’t explain to either my mother or me. He bought the house on Chester Street under the company’s umbrella and put up Eddie and Charlie Murdock there.”

“And that’s bankrupting him?”

“Not that. It’s because my father was being blackmailed by both Thad Fisher and someone else. I found this in his desk two weeks before Thad was murdered.”

Nick grasped the envelope extended towards him. A message written in a strange, cramped scrawl went straight to the point. Nick read it out loud for Roger to hear, suspecting Rudy Montanari already knew it by heart.

“
How dare you, Anthony Montanari
,” he read, “
indicate that you will no longer take responsibility for your family’s sins! She was defiled, I say, defiled, and if you want me to expose all the sordid details to the police, you had better pay up and keep paying just like you have always done. If you even consider breaking our covenant, you will receive a most brutal sign from God. I will rid you of that leech who drains your funds, your youth, and your health. I will help you, but by doing so, you must never break our pact. It is a mere penance for his sins; a further chance to buy his soul out of purgatory. You will meet your obligations as I have always met mine.”