Bouncer (9 page)

“So, why did you acquiesce so easily? Certainly you can’t be softening up?”

“Quite the contrary. I find it difficult to drive and type at the same time. Also, it will save gas, since money’s quite tight right now. I suggest that on occasion, when we need to keep a low profile, we should take mine. However, no matter what the vehicle, you can always drive.”

“Always?” He was surprised. He’d been positive Fox would never abdicate that position considering her stance on the male gender.

“Always. It makes a man feel in control when he’s behind a big engine. This is a V-8 right? It all has something to do with penis size, I’m sure. However, since I don’t give a damn about that—you can always drive; kinda like my chauffeur.”

Nick slapped his hand on the wheel and snorted. “Remind me to give you the card of a friend of mine in Girard. He’s a great psychiatrist. Maybe he can help you out.”

“Did he help you?”

Nick swore so vehemently he nearly ran a stoplight. Fox chuckled delightedly to herself, and he suddenly saw the twisted humor in it all. Damn if she wasn’t a pill.

Trish Fisher’s house was on the way to Connie Judson’s flat, so they stopped there first. The mayor had done very well for himself, though the two-story Victorian house seemed a bit of out of place amongst the Ranch and Mediterranean-styled houses lining his block. All had old trees and huge water bills and cost nothing less than two million bucks.

An expansive lawn slanted upwards toward the gabled entryway, which looked upon a huge circular fountain in which a naked cherub squirted water out of his mouth, barely missing the floating lilies under which bright goldfish dodged the artificial rain. When Nick lifted the heavy bass knocker, a black-clad maid politely answered after the second tap.

“My name is Inspector Nick Thayne,” he said, “and this is Inspector Fox. We’re wondering if Mrs. Fisher is available?”

“She’s in mourning,” said the maid hesitantly, her eyes just missing theirs. The Hispanic woman had been trained well.

“It’s crucial we see her. I understand she’s currently grieving, but need some information regarding her husband’s last hours. Could you please ask her again?”

“Tell her if Mrs. Fisher doesn’t speak to us now,” blurted out Lea, “she’ll be visiting us at the police station to explain her whereabouts over the past week.”

“Good God, Fox,” snarled Nick between clenched teeth. “She’s not even a suspect yet. Jesus!”

The startled maid disappeared and returned less than two minutes later, gesturing for them to follow her. Lea smirked as Nick gritted his teeth.

“I get things done,” she mouthed much to his chagrin.

The beautiful house’s cluster of square-shaped panes let in glorious ribbons of light. Mrs. Fisher waited in a large music room near the rear of the house where a huge, ebony grand piano stately waited for competent hands. Lea instantly recognized it as an original Steinway, and her fingers itched to play chopsticks. Trish Fisher had draped herself in black. A lovely amber brooch bound the restrictive high-necked blouse at her throat. Elegance flowed from her like a rose’s sweet scent. Lea instantly went on guard.

“Please, sit down, Detectives,” the widow said stiffly. Mrs. Fisher had been quite a looker in her day, and even now, with her ash blonde hair swept up in a becoming chignon, she was still quite stunning. Her trim figure had just the right curves, and her tiny feet were clad in somber but stylish black pumps.

“I’m so sorry about your husband,” said Nick quietly and leaned forward to take her hands gently. Lea didn’t bother to offer any condolences, choosing instead to watch Nick in action. The woman, like so many others before her, didn’t even bother to acknowledge her.

“We’re investigating your husband’s case and have a couple of questions to ask you,” began Nick. “I understand this might be painful, but it’s necessary, since his murderer remains free.”

The woman didn’t ever bother to pretend. “You want to know where his trashy mistress is, don’t you?”

Nick stiffened, but Lea instantly warmed to the woman’s style. She said, as bluntly, “That’s right, Mrs. Fisher. Do you have any idea where Connie Judson might be?”

“The last time I saw that bitch, she was having dinner at Di’Monicos with my husband. He had the nerve to call me and cancel our dinner engagement only 40 minutes earlier. Being hungry, I went out with a friend, and there he was, nestled in a back booth all cozy-like with her. I told him if that’s how discreet he was going to be, he’d better not bother coming home.”

“How long ago was that?” said Nick, marveling at the lovely woman’s coldness.

“Over three weeks, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“You don’t appear . . . regretful,” stated Nick carefully.

“Why should I be? I’m going to enjoy my money and hope his mistress is running fast because I know she did him in.”

“How would you know that?” asked Lea.

“Because he had no money! You certainly don’t think this is the first time Thad was fooling around do you? More like the umpteenth time, and after his second adultery, I told him that I didn’t care what he did with his little trollops as long as I kept my money and he was discreet.”

“Your money?” repeated Nick.

“That’s right;
I
was the one with money. Do you think Thad had much when he married me? Oh, he had a fine scholarship education and lots of promise, and believe it or not, used to be quite handsome. He wouldn’t have become mayor if it hadn’t been for my dad’s money opening doors for him. After I saw what a lying whoremonger he’d turned out to be, I made sure my sizeable dowry reverted to me. The brilliant man actually signed a prenup to marry me. And ten years ago, I took out a gigantic insurance policy on him. I actually didn’t think was going to take this long to get back my initial investment since he was cruising for a heart attack or a jealous husband’s bullet.” She leaned forward. “But, you know what the best thing is? I no longer have to put up with all the behind-the-hands’ gossip everywhere I go.”

Nick squirmed at the woman’s vituperative tone but continued gently. “I’m sorry about your marital problems. So, how did Thad get money?”

She sighed. “Our deal was that if he remained discreet, I’d make sure he had 10 grand a month deposited into his personal account. Three weeks ago, I froze that money. He had violated our agreement. His mistress had to know the gravy train was over. I’d check his accounts if I were you. I’d lay odds everything is gone! Thad also had a Rolex and a ring, which were worth at least twenty thousand. You might want to check the local pawnshop. Thad mentioned that he did some consulting or something—but I suspect that wasn’t probably enough to keep his ‘friend’ in the lifestyle she desired.”

Nick digested this information before continuing delicately. “I’ve just a couple more questions, Mrs. Fisher. Investigator Fox and I believe it is possible that whoever murdered your husband might have also been involved in the death of a young girl by the name of Ashley Peebles some twenty-five years ago. Certain aspects of the case are similar. Did you know her?”

“Ashley Peebles? I remember reading about the unfortunate incident in the papers just after I was married, but I’m afraid I know little more than that. I’m sure, however, that any similarities are a pure coincidence. It’s clear my husband’s mistress killed Thad. And unless that whore Connie was a murderer at age eight, there couldn’t be any connection. ”

“You and your husband have been married how long?”

“Twenty-nine years, which is about twenty-eight too long.”

“Did your husband ever speak about the Peebles murder?” asked Lea.

“Not really. I remember him thinking it shocking that seventeen-year-old girl went missing and was murdered, but I don’t see how it bears any relevance to my husband’s death.”

“His finger was severed in precisely the same manner as hers. One of the unusual aspects of that case is that Ashley’s ring had been missing for over twenty-five years and was just found upon your husband’s little finger.”

For the first time, Mrs. Fisher paled. “Good God! I certainly
hope
he had nothing to do with that young girl’s death, but he always liked the pubescent ones, you know? The younger the better. Once he even propositioned our daughter’s friend from ninth grade right at the dinner table. Leaned over and whispered dirty nothings in her ear. She had the grace to turn red, and I ordered his fat, perverted ass from the table. So, who knows, maybe he
did
have something to do with that unfortunate girl’s death. Somehow, I wouldn’t put it past him. Good God. Wait until
this
hits the morning paper!”

Nick shifted smoothly. “The last time your husband was seen alive was at a home on Chester Street, not far from where his body was found. He was witnessed pulling up in a black limo at number 614. The owner’s name is Collins. The police haven’t managed to locate him. Do you know if Thad had any sort of business attachment to someone by that name?”

“My husband had many attachments, but whether for business or not is anyone’s guess. I take it he was with
her
?”

“Yes, he was, madam.”

“Well then he was probably having a wild bunny party.”

“And you hadn’t spoken during your separation?” interrupted Lea.

“Not even once, and we were barely speaking before that. I found it time to move past my husband’s tawdry world. My father, who’d encouraged the marriage in the first place, died four months ago, so I felt I no longer had to make a pretense. It wasn’t like Thad was mayor any longer. In fact, Thad resembled a leech in every way—that corpulent slug.”

Nick pulled uncomfortably at his collar while Lea expertly typed in the information into the F & H. Mrs. Fisher’s animosity hung so thickly towards the deceased it could be cut with a knife. Lea glanced up from her mini-computer.

“The time of death has been pinpointed to last Tuesday night, Mrs. Fisher. What were you doing that evening?” asked Lea, wondering just how painful plucking all but five or six of one’s eyebrow hairs would be. Trish Fisher’s brows were so sparse a forest the woman had to use eyeliner pencil to prove she had any at all.

“Every Tuesday night I attend our chapter’s weekly Assistance League meetings. We help clothe and educate needy children in the valley. I was there from seven to ten, but you can certainly check the roster, as our secretary Thelma always takes attendance. Before that, I had dinner here, and my maid Carmen, who let you in, can attest to my whereabouts. Around 10:15 I arrived home, took a sleeping pill, and went straight to bed. On Wednesday, I play bridge with my group. We started at six p.m. at Charlise Ruskin’s house, and I remained there until after eleven. Carmen may have noticed my arrival, though I doubt it. She normally retires at ten. Do I need to go further?”

“We’ll double check those times with the maid,” said Lea, not mincing words as usual.

Trish Fisher flashed topaz eyes at her, and Nick swore a glint of mutual respect passed between the two women.

“Thanks very much for your time, Mrs. Fisher. If there is anything that we can do for you, please give us a ring.” Nick handed her his card, and before Trish Fisher had more than a chance to glance at it, Lea offered the black-clad woman hers as well.

“I’m available twenty-four hours a day, Mrs. Fisher, and if you come up with anything, just let me know. By the way, in the past few weeks has your husband been doing any painting around here? Perhaps whitewashing some walls?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Your husband apparently ingested some paint before his death. I just wondered if he had somehow swallowed some paint flakes by accident while sanding a wall.”

“My husband perform
manual
labor? Surely you jest.”

Thayne interrupted. “Could we see your garden, Mrs. Fisher? Do you have a green thumb by chance?”

“Not really. I enjoy a lovely garden of course, but use a weekly service.”

“You don’t keep any tools?”

“A broom and rake perhaps. I really don’t know. It’s more a storage shed, though you’re welcome to check. Carmen will escort you out. Good day to you both, Detectives.

Chapter 8

Nick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his well-maintained Mustang as Lea limped to the car. She had taken a detour to check Mrs. Fisher’s shed, so now he waited.

“Did you have to pick bright red?” she grumbled, lowering herself into the cramped front seat. That morning, she had discarded her crutch, and it was evident her injury bothered her. Her suit looked even more terrible in the harsh Saturday morning sunshine.

“It’s my style,” said Nick. “We
all
have a definite style, don’t we? And it appears you have a soul mate. Mrs. Fisher’s certainly not afraid to speak her mind.”

“She didn’t respect her husband much, did she? But I can understand that,” said Lea. “Most men are swine anyway.”

“Well,
thank
you,” said Nick, noting how much Fox enjoyed making that statement. He started the Mustang’s powerful engine and gunned it to see her squirm. He certainly didn’t wish to dissuade her from her stupid opinion.

“Anyway,” he said calmly. “I’ve asked Carmen to come down and present a statement at the station, and she agreed to take Mrs. Fisher with her at the same time. While it’s clear that Trish Fisher hated her husband, I have sincere doubts she murdered him. There would have been no reason to.”

“I’d have to agree, since it was clear the marriage was over and her money intact. No evidence of the usual gardening tools in their shed, just skis, brooms, and whatnot. And there’s nary a rose bush in the entire garden. She prefers ferns and geraniums.” Lea seemed mildly pleased. “She most likely got over her jealousy twenty years ago.”

“She could have left,” said Nick, “but wanted to stay for the money.”

“It was her money after all,” retorted Lea. “Why should a husband who is unfaithful get any of it?”

“She certainly forced him to stay in a miserable marriage.”

“With all his floozies by his side to comfort him during his unbearable agony.”

“I’d love to continue this discussion of Psychology 101, Fox, but we have another person to visit before lunchtime. Connie Judson resided in some ritzy condos down near Madrid Street.”

Nick revved the engine, and Fox buckled up so hurriedly he had to laugh.

Unfortunately, the landlord didn’t have much information to give them. The last time the balding man had seen Connie Judson was over a week ago, though he indicated she’d mentioned embarking on some big trip.

“Said she was going down to Mexico to some pricey resort,” said the stoop-shouldered landlord as he slowly shuffled some invoices.

“How long has Ms. Judson lived here?”

“About a year. I think her boyfriend bought this place for her.”

“And would that boyfriend have been the ex-mayor?”

The skinny landlord shrugged his sagging shoulders. “I’m not supposed to notice things like that, but it sure appeared like he rewarded her with a nice little love nest. Always bringing her presents, he was. Of course, that didn’t stop her from seeing the other gent.”

“The other gent?” shot back Lea. “What other gent was that?”

“Some military guy from San Francisco assigned to the Presidio. Looked like maybe he was a

chief or colonel or something. Whatever his rank, he certainly had lots of fancy decorations on his uniform. Came here several times, always carrying flowers and chocolates, and she would throw her arms around him like some long-lost friend. Of course, he never arrived when the mayor did.”

“
What tangled webs we weave
,” Nick quoted. “You wouldn’t by any chance have caught the name of the other guy?”

“No, but I do know what kind of car he drove. It was one of those black Toyota Land Cruisers, brand-spanking-new with all the extras, tinted windows, and luxury seats. Anyway, she stayed careful, and I don’t think the mayor ever got wise to what she was doing,”

“Or maybe he or the second friend got real wise,” murmured Lea under her breath.

“Could you open up the place for us?” asked Thayne.

The landlord seemed uncomfortable. “Don’t you have to have a warrant or something?”

“Right here. Bless the chief’s heart. He had them issue
me
two of these things. One for Connie’s here, and one for the Jenkins’. Man’s thinking ahead.”

Lea flinched. Thayne was enjoying flaunting his influence with the chief in front of her.

“We’re not going to find anything at the mistress’s apartment, Thayne,” she said smugly.

“Oh, really,” said Nick, casting a glance at her as they followed the landlord through the beautiful grounds. A cascading scarlet bougainvillea brushed his sleeve, and potted ferns, azaleas, and dianthus peeked from every nook. A beautiful, flowering plum, its rich colored purple leaves casting brilliant shade over Connie’s entryway, just cleared Thayne’s head. “And just what makes you think that?”

“Connie was a smart girl, and while it’s apparent she was two-timing both men, there’s no way she wanted to lose her meal ticket. If she was flashing a plane ticket around, it is very likely that Thad either never knew about it at all or he was the one who purchased it for her.”

“And just what makes you so sure about what Connie may or may not have done? I wouldn’t think your acquaintance with that type of woman would be that broad.”

“I concede it’s not as extensive as yours,” she said. “But basically, all women are alike. You know what they really desire from a man?”

An evil grin crossed Nick’s face. “I have an idea,” he chuckled.

“Not that, you miscreant; that’s what
men
want! Women desire security more than anything. You can call it anything you want; money, a home, a family, but it all boils down to one thing. Every woman seeks security, and Connie wasn’t about to give up her secure lifestyle even if there was a more handsome hunk from the Presidio visiting her when Thad wasn’t around. Unless Presido Boy was loaded, her officer wouldn’t be able to provide for her like the ex-mayor.”

Nick had known a lot of women, and he would swear security wasn’t what
all
they wanted; in fact, he was positive about it, but then again, what did this frumpy private investigator really know about men, anyway?

“You think I’m way off base, don’t you, Thayne,” stated Lea as if she could read his mind. The skinny landlord fumbled with his keys before finding the right one to unlock Connie’s door.

“Well, Fox, I think there is a lot about people you probably don’t know. I think that maybe your experience has been somewhat limited, since you spent all your time studying at Harvard Law School and perfecting your gadgets. I can’t imagine you getting out and playing much.”

“I’ve done my share,” said Lea vaguely. “But that’s not the point. The point is that men and women have basic but diametrical needs. If you focus on what those needs really are, you’ll discover the motive to most crimes.”

“Exactly my point. So it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Connie took off to be with her Presidio boyfriend. He gave her youth and that little something
extra
an older man can’t provide.”

“The door’s open,” voiced the landlord. He faced them, his lined face bland. “Wow, so this is real police work in action. Hypothesize all you want, madam, but that woman was bonking two men at the same time and accepting money and presents from both of them. She was just damn smart, I think. And if you took one look at that broad, you’d want to bonk her, too. No offense miss, but a man takes what he can get when he can get it. Just wish she’d looked my way—I’d have shown her a real good time. One thing I’ll tell you, though, neither one of those guys lost out. Not one iota.”

Nick smiled like the cat that’d swallowed the canary. He withdrew his wallet and handed his card to the landlord.

“What’s your name again, sir?”

“Marty. Marty Corelli.”

“Well, Marty, if this
friend
from San Francisco shows up, you give us a call okay?”

“Sure. I’m
positive
he’d love to talk to you.” Marty grinned and sauntered down the wide steps lined with brimming pots of gardenias.

“He should have been a bartender, since he knows so much,” stated Lea grumpily. Nick made to enter the cool condominium.

“Wait, Thayne. Before you go inside, let’s go over what we know for a minute. One. . . Thad Fisher is dead, and even though we know his wife despised him, she probably didn’t kill him because of the money.”

“Since it was her money in the first place?”

“Right. She stays married to the bum even though she’s aware of his adulterous nature. That is, until he refused to stay discreet. Two . . . Connie the mistress was on the receiving end of Thad Fisher’s meal ticket. I’d lay odds that we’ll discover she owns more than forty pairs of shoes, her closet is loaded with expensive designer clothing, and she possesses a well-stocked jewelry box.

“On her answering machine, we’ll hear messages from both Thad and the unknown army officer. Connie is not the killer because everything points towards her desire for security. There’s no way she would have plugged him, simply because she needed him. I don’t think Mrs. Fisher would have done her husband in, either, no matter how much she despised him. I get the sincere feeling that, while Mrs. Fisher didn’t care for her marriage, she in many ways may have been thankful to Connie for providing services for her husband that she herself didn’t want to perform anymore.”

“The F & H conjured all that up?”

“The what?”

“The Fox & Hound. You touch a button and two suspects are exonerated just like that?”

“Nope. I just know. And, it may have been just one meeting with her, but there have been many women who have exactly the same story. If you think that all women begrudge their husbands keeping a mistress, think again. Some wives are downright grateful, and therefore I’d be inclined to believe that neither woman had anything to do with his death. They both had too much to lose.”

Whatever Thayne’s thoughts were, he kept them to himself and simply swung open the door. Lea followed his tall frame inside, limping slightly and confident Thayne would have to eat crow in about 15 minutes.

Nick had to admit he was a little more than put out by the time they’d finished examining Connie Judson’s lovely condo. Lea’s estimation that Connie would have hoards of shoes was right on target; in fact, it proved an underestimation, as she possessed over a hundred pairs. Her huge, theatre-like closet revealed an array of outfits extending from formal evening gowns to sleek daywear, all costly and sporting designer labels. Even Connie Judson’s costume jewelry was exquisite, nestled alongside expensive pieces such as a pair of lovely emerald earrings and a matching pendant necklace. No woman in her right mind would have left those expensive trinkets behind. Three messages glowed on the answering machine. Lea listened carefully as Nick played back the recordings.

“This is Thad. Don’t forget our date tonight, sugar,” droned the nasal drawl of the ex-mayor. “I’ll pick you up in the limo at five-thirty. Why don’t you wear my favorite color?”

After the next beep came the professional tones of a travel agent. “This is Kathy from Taylor’s Travels. Your tickets are ready and can be picked up any time after twelve noon today. If you have any questions, just give me a buzz.”

A well-modulated voice spoke briskly, as if rushed. “I’ll be in town on Sunday, Connie. I’d sure love a home-cooked meal from my favorite chef. Call me when you’ve got a chance.”

“Now, isn’t that interesting,” said Lea, flipping open the plastic lid to retrieve the small tape and tuck it inside her oversized blue handbag. Nick glimpsed the metallic end of a small handgun before she zipped up the top.

“Nice kitchen,” said Lea, strolling through the circular room. “I wonder what our chef’s picked up at the local supermarket. It’s amazing how a fridge reveals one’s style.” Fox wandered over to the shiny appliance and jerked open the door.

“Strawberries, even though they are out of season, with cream. A bottle of Brut Champagne cooling. Hmm, must be at least a hundred bucks a pop on this one. Filet mignon. Yuck. It’s starting to turn. Sweet peas, caviar from Russia. This lady lived high on the hog. No wonder Trish Fisher was miffed.”

Nick peered at the over-laden countertop. “And check out at all these gadgets.”

He pointed across the immaculate granite. Everything from juice squeezers, a gigantic bread maker, to a state of the art food processor covered the iron gray surface.

“And lookie here,” said Lea. She plucked something from off the magnet on the gleaming side of the immaculate refrigerator. “A graduate of Ethel Morton’s School of Cookery. Why, our Connie really
is
an amateur chef. No wonder Mr. Fisher seemed a little bit too portly for his own good.

Uh-oh, her house plants are wilted.”

“They are at that,” agreed Nick. “This place is too clean.”

“She must have a maid who just came or is the most wonderful of housekeepers.”

“Yeah, a real Martha Stewart slash Holly Homemaker. Every man’s dream.” Nick moved away from Fox’s smug countenance and phoned Randy, instructing him to have the place dusted for prints. Lea met Nick back at the bright red Mustang after he returned the key and informed Marty an officer would be back later.