Muller, Marcia - [McCone 05] Leave a Message for Willie [v1.0] (htm) (42 page)

"Selena," I said, "when I was here last night you
told me you met Jerry Levin when he bought some fruit from you."

She hesitated, then continued filling the bag. "That is
true."

"No, it's not. I want to know how you really met him—and
when."

"He bought some fruit from me—"

"No, Selena."

She reached for a stapler that sat beside her, picked up a label,
and sealed the bag, stapling the label to it at the same time.

"You've known Levin for a long time, haven't you? Ever since
he and Mack Marchetti and Monty Adair used to play those war games."

She was silent, tossing the bag on a pile of full ones and
reaching for another to fill.

"Where did you meet Levin?"

She looked up, eyes flashing with about a third of their former
spark. "All right! I met him at Mack's house. Once. And that is
all. Is it a crime to meet someone at a friend's house?"

"No, not if it had stopped there. But you met Levin again, at
David's, the day Sam Thomas saw you. Why did you go there?"

"To have lunch! Why does anyone go to a delicatessen?"

"No, Selena, you had more on your mind than bagels and lox."

She began putting corn nuts in the bag.

"Last night you also said that Jerry Levin wanted keys to
Willie's house so he could retrieve the Torahs. I know he got those
keys. From you."

Her hand faltered and corn nuts rolled onto the floor.

"What I wonder," I added, "is how you duplicated
them."

"I didn't!"

"Then who did?"

"Monty. Monty did."

Of course. If Willie occasionally gave Beck his keys and asked him
to get things from the truck, he could just as easily have given them
to Adair.

"When?"

"I don't know. He dropped them off here on Saturday night."
Possibly he'd duplicated them that day, or even the week before,
after Selena had reported Levin wanted them.

"And when did you give them to Levin?"

"After the flea market on Sunday. We met in the parking lot.
Monty told me to tell Levin that Willie was never home from five to
seven on Sunday evenings."

That was the time for which he had refused to give himself an
alibi. "Where does he go then?"

"I do not know."

"Did Monty say why he wanted Levin to have the keys?"

"No. I guess he wanted him to have his Torahs."

That made no sense at all. "Are you sure he didn't explain it
to you?"

"They never tell me anything."

They
. "Selena, last night you also said that people
are always making you do things you don't want to, by threatening to
turn you in to Immigration."

"That is true. I am in a very delicate position."

"Is that why you gave the keys to Levin? Because Monty
threatened you?"

She was silent, staring down at the spilled corn nuts. "Did
he also make you meet with Levin that day at David's?"

Again, silence. "Selena!"

"They wanted to know what Jerry Levin was thinking. They had
had some business, and then there had been a falling out."

"What kind of business?"

"They did not tell me."

"What caused the falling out?"

"I think that happened when Jerry Levin rediscovered his
faith. They wanted to know how serious he was about it, and why he
was always at the flea market, watching."

"So you talked to him and found out?"

"Yes. They made me."

"By 'they,' you mean Monty Adair and Mack Marchetti?"

She nodded.

"What's your relationship with Marchetti?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you called him right away when you heard Alida was
dead. And you must have talked to him today because I spoke with him
earlier and he said you'd told him I was a detective."

"Oh."

"Does he make you do a lot of things, in exchange for not
turning you in to Immigration?"

She spread out her hands, palms up, and waved them wearily. "Oh,
not so many things. I see him, that is all."

" 'See' him?"

"Yes. You know."

I'd suspected as much. "You must really hate Mexico."

"One does what one has to. I am alone in this country; I need
a protector."

"But for a man to force you—"

"He is a man. He does not know any better. Besides," she
added with a trace of her former sparkle, "I hate Mexico far
more than I hate Mack Marchetti."

I had no answer for that. And since I had found out what I'd come
here for, I left her alone amid her plastic bags and banana chips and
corn nuts.

I had a fairly good idea now of the way things had happened and
why, but it still wasn't enough to pin the crimes on anyone or to
clear Willie. And that was my primary responsibility, wasn't it—to
clear my client? I drove home, turning the facts over in my mind,
trying to make concrete connections.

The house looked lonely and abandoned in the dusty light. Don
wasn't there, nor was there any note or other indication he'd
returned after his lunch with his friend at KSUN. It was just as
well, I told myself. I had too much on my mind right now to deal with
personal problems. Still, the place was mighty cheerless, and even
Watney rubbing around my legs failed to lift my gloom. I picked him
up and sat down on the couch in the living room to think about Monty
Adair.

The sharp-eyed flea market vendor had been calm and collected when
I'd gone to his apartment last night. How long was that after Alida
had been killed? An hour? Two?

Of course, I hadn't said anything about the murder to Adair. All
I'd said was that I wanted to locate Willie. And it had been too
early for the story to be on the news; Selena hadn't heard it until
ten, and she had probably had her radio on all evening. So, as far as
Adair was concerned, there was no cause to be nervous when I arrived.
He might have assumed the body wouldn't be discovered until morning.
And with any luck on his part, it might not have been.

But instead, she had been found, and the police and news reporters
had come…

I looked over at my stereo setup and the tape deck with which Don
had been recording KSUN's prime-time show the night before. The tape
was still advanced to where it had run out. I set Watney down on the
couch and went over to the stereo, turning on the power switch and
then rewinding the tape about halfway. I punched the play button,
listened to the tail end of a particularly horrible New Wave
selection, and then heard the d.j.'s voice announce the time as
nine-fifteen. I pushed the fast forward button, played some more, and
repeated the procedure several times until I found the ten o'clock
news broadcast.

"… And in the local news, the body of a young woman, Alida
Edwards of San Francisco, was found stabbed to death in the shrubbery
near Kezar Stadium earlier this evening. Ms. Edwards was a jewelry
designer and member of a prominent Houston, Texas, family. Police
have issued an all-points bulletin for Ms. Edwards's fiance, William
Whelan, of San Francisco…"

I pressed the stop button, stood there for a moment, then started
to rewind the tape so I could listen to the news broadcast again. The
phone rang, and I glanced at it in irritation. The calls should be
transferring over to the service, but after four rings I realized
they weren't. Don must have returned at some point during the day,
used the phone, and forgotten to switch it back—and that, plus
the lack of a note from him, was a bad sign.

I turned the tape deck off, crossed the room, and answered the
phone. There was a lot of noise on the line, background noise like
you'd hear if the call came from a bar. I could barely hear what the
caller was saying.

"Sharon? It's Willie."

"Willie! It's about time. Where the hell are you?"

His reply was muffled.

"What?"

"Can't talk now. Can you meet me at the Oasis? In twenty
minutes. There's a little alley behind, go there. Don't go inside."

"Willie, what have you—"

"Twenty minutes." He hung up.

I glared at the receiver and slammed it down. I'd better get going
or I wouldn't make it on time and then Willie might not wait. I
needed to get my hands on him, tell him what I'd found out, and then
convince him to turn himself in to the police. When he did that, I'd
tell them everything I knew. They could take it from there, but I
wasn't giving them anything until Hank was around to protect Willie.

I grabbed my purse, pulled a heavy sweater from the bedroom
closet, and had just started toward the front door when the bell
rang. I kept going, jerked the door open, and came face-to-face with
Inspector Leo McFate.

"Dammit!" I said.

McFate raised one eyebrow politely. "Is something wrong, Ms.
McCone?"

"I was just on my way out. I… I have a date."

"A date." He looked quizzically at my Irish knit
sweater, jeans, and tennis shoes, as if he couldn't believe a person
would go out of the house dressed this way, let alone on a date.

"Yes," I said firmly. "What can I do for you?"

He glanced around the front porch, an obvious hint that I should
ask him in. I remained in the doorway. Finally he said, "I was
in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by to check some of the
details in your statement on the Levin murder."

"Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

"Ms. McCone, this is a homicide investigation. Surely you
know we don't keep regular hours when we're on a case."

"All right. What do you want to know?"

I expected him to take out a notepad, but he didn't. McFate, I now
recalled, was reputed to have a photographic memory and prided
himself on it. "You stated that you and Mr. Whelan arrived at
his house at eight o'clock that evening."

"Approximately." I glanced at my watch. If I didn't get
to the Oasis quickly, Willie might not wait.

"Approximately. And you found the body when?"

"Eight-ten."

"When you entered the house, which one of you noticed it had
been ransacked?"

"Well, we both noticed. It was obvious—"

"Did you or Mr. Whelan first call attention to the fact
something was wrong there?"

I shifted impatiently from foot to foot. "He noticed the door
to the garage was open. And then he went into the living room, turned
on the light, and we both saw—"

"So it was
Mr. Whelan
who called attention to the
ransacking."

"I guess you could say that."

"You guess."

"Yes, it was Mr. Whelan."

"Good. Now, Ms. McCone, you stated that you were the first to
go down to the garage."

"Yes. Willie… Mr. Whelan was right behind me."

"And you were the first to notice Mr. Levin's body."

"Yes, but again Willie was right there and noticed it almost
at the same time."

"But you first called attention to it."

"Yes."

"Did it ever occur to you that Mr. Whelan was
letting
you find the body first?"

"What does that mean? You think he killed Levin, ransacked
his own house, and then let me discover it?"

"It's possible."

"It may be possible, but that's not what happened."

"How do you know that?"

I hesitated.

"Well?"

"Inspector, are you finished with your questions? Because if
you are, I really do have to go."

"Ah, yes. Your date. It wouldn't be with Mr. Whelan, by any
chance?"

Was it just a shot, or did he know something? "With Willie?
You've got to be joking."

"I understand you've been pursuing this investigation,
talking to people who know him."

"Of course I'm pursuing it; I work for his attorney; we have
to build a defense."

"I only hope you're pursuing it in a legal and ethical way.
I've heard things about you, Ms. McCone."

"Such as?"

"I've heard that sometimes you conduct your investigations in
a manner that could be termed obstructive."

I glared at him, my hand tightening on the doorknob. "Have I
ever been charged with obstruction? Have I ever been brought up
before the licensing board?"

"Not yet." He studied my face thoughtfully. "Perhaps
I could help you give a more positive direction to your career."

"In what way?"

"Perhaps we could get together some time and talk about
proper procedure, how you can help rather than hinder the department.
Nothing formal, you understand, just conversation over drinks or
dinner."

It was a pass. And a backhanded, snotty sort of pass, at that. I
stared at him.

He turned and started down the steps. "I'll give you a call
in a few days, set something up."

I stood there, speechless, and then I noticed a hammer that was
lying on the porch next to the pot of geraniums. For a moment I had a
violent urge to pick it up and whack McFate on the head with it.
Fortunately, I contented myself with slamming the door.

Now I was really late for my appointment with Willie. He'd told me
to go to the alley behind the bar rather than inside, but that didn't
mean he wouldn't go in, perhaps to check for messages. I hurried down
the hall and called the Oasis. I asked the bartender to tell Willie,
if he came in, that I still intended to meet him. "Please tell
him to wait," I said. "Tell him I'll be there soon."

I slammed down the receiver, looked out the front window to see if
McFate was gone, and then ran outside to my MG.

The fog was in on the west side of the hill near the Medical
Center, but it was not nearly so thick as on the previous night. I
drove toward Irving Street, thinking over what I knew.

Monty Adair, Mack Marchetti, Roger Beck, and God knew how many
other denizens of the flea market world had been accustomed to
playing weekend soldier at a National Survival Game franchise
somewhere in Contra Costa County. For Adair and Marchetti, as well as
their unlikely friend Jerry Levin, the game hadn't been enough. They
had told Roger Beck they planned to open their own game site, playing
a "rougher and more challenging" version.