Lou Mason Mystery 03-Cold Truth (38 page)

"Been known to happen," Mickey said.

Mason said, "Which means that Evans had access to the elevator control room for Gina's private elevator."

"Which also means he could have sent you for your thrill ride. Holy shit," Mickey said.

Mason looked at him. "You converting?"

"Nah," Mickey answered. "It's tough to whistle in the rain. What now?"

"Let's talk to the doorman," Mason said, motioning to Earl Luke.

Mason peeled back Earl Luke's tarp, swinging Earl Luke's feet off the bench, forcing him upright, Mason and Mickey sitting down on either side of him, each supporting one end of the tarp in a rough lean-to, breathing through their mouths.

"Can't break into the Depot, you gotta break into my house, is that the way it is, second-story man?" Earl Luke said.

"Something like that, Earl Luke. Nice place you got here," Mason said. "When were the locks changed?"

"This morning, early. Woke me up, in fact. People are damn inconsiderate, you ask me, course nobody does. I'm just a goddamn street bum, piece of trash, people can ignore, move in on in the rain like they goddamn please!"

"Don't worry. We aren't spending the night," Mason said. "You remember Labor Day, the night Gina Davenport was killed?"

"Course I do. I was on TV with that good-looking reporter and that shrink come flying out the window like a bird with no wings. Scared the piss out of me, I'll tell you what, and I seen lots of dead people, believe you me, I have."

"Earlier that night, were you here, on the bench, watching the building?" Mason asked him.

"You know I was, so why you ask me?"

"I imagine you know all the tenants in the Cable Depot," Mason said.

"Listen, second-story man," Earl Luke said. "I been all over this with the cops. Just 'cause I'm a bum don't mean I'm stupid. You wantta ask me somethin', ask it and get outa my house. Leave me be!"

Mason shook the tarp, bouncing a pocket of water off the back. "Who'd you see that night coming and going from the building?"

"I done told the cops all that. Give 'em all the names. Saw that big ox what they call Mad Max. Saw that skinny gal what does the morning show. Saw that girl what kilt the shrink, your client, what's her name?"

"Jordan Hackett," Mason said.

"That's her," Earl Luke said.

"What about her parents? Did you see Arthur or Carol Hackett?"

"Never see them. They always park in the garage under the building. Garage door is on the east side. I watch the front door."

"How about David Evans? Did he use the front door that night?"

Earl Luke flashed his yellow, gap-toothed grin at Mason. "Now there's a right interesting question. No, sir, Mr. Evans did not use the front door that night."

Mason looked at Earl Luke, whose washed-out eyes were lively, flickering with a mischief Mason hadn't previously noticed. Earl Luke was right. Just because he was a street bum didn't mean he was stupid. No doubt he'd been questioned, rousted, and harassed by cops enough times to learn the toughest lesson for any witness. Only answer the question he was asked. Earl Luke was waiting to be asked the right question.

"Did you see David Evans that night?"

"That I did."

"When?" Mason asked.

"A little while before that TV lady showed up."

"Was that before or after you saw Jordan go in the front door of the Cable Depot?"

Earl Luke nodded, holding his grin. "Before."

"Where were you when you saw Evans?" Mason asked.

"Comin' up the bluff behind the Depot."

Mickey interrupted. "That bluff leads down to the interstate highway. What were you doing there?"

Earl Luke cast a closed-mouth glance at Mickey, resenting the intrusion. "It's okay," Mason said. "He's young and doesn't know any better, but it's a good question. Why were you on the slope?"

"People dump stuff there, cans, bottles, sometimes more valuable stuff they don't know they throw'd away. I was lookin'."

Mason said, "I don't imagine Evans was on the bluff too. Where was he?"

Earl Luke laughed, a quick burst of bum breath that stiffened Mason's spine. "You lawyers are all alike," Earl Luke said. "Every one of you a second-story man. Mr. Evans, he was opening that old cable works door you was fancyin' the other night."

"Holy shit," Mason said as Mickey whistled.

"Did you tell the cops about Evans?" Mason asked.

"They didn't ask. All they was interested in was who went in and out the front door and that's all by God I tole 'em."

Mason patted Earl Luke on the back. "Thanks, Earl. Appreciate you inviting us in," he said, surrendering the cover of the tarp, glad to be back in the rain, Mickey joining him.

"You know, for such a smart fella, you ain't too bright," Earl Luke said, gathering the tarp around him like a gown, the rain beating against his face.

"That so?" Mason asked. "I make the same mistake as the cops and not ask you the right question?"

Earl Luke answered with a silent, smug smile, pulling his head inside the tarp like a turtle. Mason and Mickey looked at one another, debating whether to climb back under the tarp.

"I've got it!" Mickey said. "The lock on the cable works door. I'll bet Hackett forgot to have it changed."

Earl Luke stretched out on the bench, wrapped in the tarp, and rolled onto his side, his back to them, a disgusted snort his only response. "I don't think so, Mickey," Mason said. "I mean, you could be right about the lock. Earl Luke probably figures we're smart enough to check it out, but I don't think that's the question he wants us to ask."

"What is it, then?" Mickey asked.

Mason shoved Earl Luke in the butt with the toe of his shoe. "Earl! Wake up! Something I want to ask you."

Earl Luke rose slowly, still covered in the tarp, a poor man's mummy come to life, parting the folds of the tarp enough to peek at them. "What's your question, second-story man?"

"Hackett may not have had the lock on the cable works door changed. But if he did, we'll need to find another way inside the Depot. Care to lend a hand?"

Earl Luke licked his lips, rinsing his gums with rainwater, spitting onto the sidewalk. "Expect you might could use some help," he said, stuffing the tarp onto the bottom rack of the grocery cart, tightening the rope belt around his worn pants, zipping his Army fatigue jacket, all but snapping a salute. "Nice to be asked," he added.

"You ever been inside?" Mason asked him. "In the basement or wherever the cable works used to be."

"Practically grew up in that building," Earl Luke said. "My daddy, he worked there when the cable cars still ran. Chief mechanic, he was. Place was my playground and my school until I was ten years old. Then the city shut down the cable cars. Times was hard and my daddy started drifting. Like to say them times was my real education. Growing up, I figured I'd end up like my daddy, a mechanic and all. Guess I did end up like him, drifted right back here. Ain't been inside in a long time. Kinda like to see it."

The backside of the Depot faced north, an eight-story shadow in the sun, an unlit, black curtain at night, the ground sloping away toward the bluff, the pale glow of headlights filtering up from the interstate like a planetary ring. The distant lights of the River Market blurred in the rain, the Missouri River flashing for an instant under the blinking lights of a private plane landing at the downtown airport. His back to the wall, Mason, trailed by Mickey, followed Earl Luke to the Dumpster that sat on top of the concrete pad housing the entrance to the cable works. The three of them shoved the Dumpster onto the grass.

Mason looked up, shielding his eyes from the rain with one hand, tapping Mickey with his other, pointing to the lights on in Arthur Hackett's office. A woman appeared in the window, too far away for Mason to identify her, though he had no doubt it was Carol Hackett. A man impossible to recognize at that distance materialized at her side, grabbing her arm, the woman pulling away, the man giving her the back of his hand, the woman collapsing against him, the light going out.

"Son of a bitch!" Mason said, grabbing the door handle, a six-inch L-shaped lever hinged to swing up, allowing the door to open skyward. It was locked tight. Mason slid the master key into the lock, his heart picking up a beat as he struggled with the key before the tumblers clicked into place, the key rotating clockwise, the bolt sliding open with a sharp clack. The lever handle offered no resistance this time, but the door held fast, Mason yanking so hard he lost his footing.

"What's up with that?" Mickey said, helping Mason to his feet, both of them looking at Earl Luke for an explanation.

The old man scratched his chin stubble, not answering. "Come on," Earl Luke said, walking toward the edge of the bluff.

"What is it?" Mason asked. "Why won't the door open?"

"There's another bolt on the inside. Locks both ways," Earl Luke said over his shoulder, not looking back.

"Where are you going?" Mason shouted.

"You ask too many questions," Earl Luke said, disappearing in the darkness like he was walking out to sea.

"Mickey, stay here," Mason said.

"Like hell I will, Boss!"

"You've got to watch the garage and the front door. Blues went to check out Evans's house. He'll be here in a few minutes. Call Harry and see if he found anything at Paula Sutton's." Mickey started to argue, Mason holding up his hand. "You know I'm right, so just do it. If I don't open the front door in ten minutes, find a brick and open it yourself."

Mason scrambled to catch up with Earl Luke, standing at the edge of the bluff, peering down into the dark tangle of weeds grown into rough hedges. He gauged the distance to the highway as the length of a football field, barely making out a zigzagged goat track worn across the face of the bluff.

"Earl Luke!" Mason shouted, the roar of eighteen-wheelers swallowing his words. He saw Earl Luke's head bob between a pair of stunted trees halfway down the bluff, their height exaggerated by the sharp descent. Mason followed, picking his way, fighting for footing on the slick surface.

"You ain't much for the outdoors, is you?" Earl Luke asked him when Mason found him sitting on a shallow ledge cut into the bluff.

"I'll show you my merit badges if you'll tell me what the hell we're doing down here," Mason told him.

Earl Luke leaned over, clearing a layer of wet brush around his feet, stamping his boot, the loud thwack of shoe leather smacking against wood. Mason squatted down, sweeping away the rest of the brush, running his hands over a weather-beaten square of wood, his fingers finding the hinges of a small door.

"What is it?" Mason asked.

"Cable cars used to run up and down this slope, all the way down to the River Market. That was before they cut the bluff down so they could build the streets south from the river. In those days, the bluff ran all the way down to Third Street."

Earl Luke stopped, staring into the night, remembering the past or forgetting the present, Mason couldn't tell. "Earl Luke," Mason said, "the door. Tell me about this door."

"Cable car company cut a shaft straight through the bluff to run the power lines for the cars. A short man couldn't hardly stand up in it, but it was great for a kid like me. Better than digging a hole to China. My old man used to tan my hide when he caught me playing in that shaft. This here door was like a manhole cover for a sewer so's you could get to this part of the shaft without going all the way down from the top. They was put in every fifty feet or so. Guess the city forgot about it when they tore up the tracks. Long time ago, it was."

Mason felt around the edges of the door, prying at the corners, searching for a handle. "Will it open?"

Earl Luke got down on his hands and knees, popping up one of the wooden slats, exposing a steel ring, grunting as he raised the wooden door. "Say the magic word."

They hovered over the black opening, the rain beating against their backs, Earl Luke lost again in his memories, Mason dreading another dark, claustrophobic passage. He'd crawled through enough tunnels and shafts to be a charter member of the Mole People, and every time the light at the end of the tunnel had turned out to be a train coming straight at him.

"Old times," Earl Luke said, as if making a toast, and dropped into the opening.

Mason took a deep breath and followed him, Earl Luke's street scent a better guide than any flashlight. Mason paused for a moment, using his hands to measure the shaft, finding he could scurry in a tight crouch, saving his knees from an uphill crawl, keeping one hand outstretched against low-hanging obstacles. The angle of the shaft was not as severe as the surface of the bluff, though Mason had to brace one hand against the side of the shaft to keep his balance. The air in the shaft was cool and fresh, encouraging Mason that there was a way out at the top. He slipped twice when Earl Luke disturbed rats that ran squealing past him.

The climb took only a few minutes, though it felt longer, the darkness distorting the passage of time, Earl Luke kicking out a wire mesh grate at the mouth of the shaft cut low on a wall, the two of them sliding out onto a smooth cement floor. Feeling his way along the wall, Mason found a light switch, his eyes happily adjusting to a wide room dominated by a round wooden platform in the center of the floor, a large gleaming black gear marking a bull's eye in the circle.

"Where are we?" Mason asked.

"Turnaround room," Earl Luke said. "The cars came in through there before they bricked it up," he added, pointing to a section of the wall against the bluff that was covered in brick, unlike the cement that formed the rest of the wall. "The big gearbox turned a giant wheel, like a wagon wheel turned on its side, and kept the cables moving. My daddy kept the gearbox greased and humming, checked them cars over, fixed 'em if they needed it, and sent 'em back out. I wonder why they kept all this old equipment down here."