Murder Can Spoil Your Appetite (9 page)

“You got it,” I say.

It seems I just never have the heart to contradict him. Tonight I even gave myself permission to forget that this is what I’d had for lunch. Which you couldn’t really call a sacrifice, considering my affection for cheeseburgers. Plus, it wasn’t as if I’d had the slightest intention of ordering the bluefish or the grilled vegetable platter or any of those similarly boring, good-for-you foods. Besides, I did manage to vary the meal a bit from the one I’d consumed earlier. I ordered a slice of coconut cream pie for dessert.

 

When I walked into my apartment I found three messages on the answering machine.

The first was from Ellen. “Hi, Aunt Dez. I wanted to know how it went today. Give me a ring when you get in.”

The second was from Jackie. The two calls might have been identical, except that Jackie added, “I’ll be waiting for your call.” She made it sound like a threat.

Last was a message from Al. “I was hoping you’d be home by now. I’m really anxious to hear what kind of a day you had. It’s just after six Las Vegas time, and I’ll be going out in about five minutes to meet an old college buddy of mine for drinks and then dinner. We have a lot of catching up to do, so it’ll most likely be too late to phone you when I get back to the room—even a night owl like you will probably be asleep by then. I’ll try you tomorrow. If I can’t get in touch with you, though, maybe you’ll have better luck reaching me.” And speaking quickly now to avoid my machine’s rudely terminating him as it had so many times in the past, he rattled off his phone number, along with his schedule for the next couple of days.

After this there was an abrupt change in his tone of voice. “Uh, Dez?” he said tentatively. “I just want you to know I’m thinking about you.” And then he hung up.

I felt a rush of warmth. How lucky I was that someone like Al Bonaventure cared for me!

Well, tired or not, I’d better return those calls. So grousing under my breath, I picked up the receiver. I really needed this now, right?

 

“So?” Ellen demanded. “How did it go?”

I kept the information brief and factual, telling her that I’d talked to an eyewitness to the shooting and then with the victim’s widow and cousin.

“How do you like working out of that police station? Are they nice?”

I refrained from confiding that my temporary partner considered my presence there as welcome as the ebola virus. And that, if anything, it was even less welcome to the Riverton police chief. Instead, I said, “Well, they’ve assigned this one man to team up with me—a lieutenant—and he’s been pretty helpful.”

“Is he cute?”

“Who?”

“This lieutenant, of course,” Ellen responded impatiently.

“No. But he appears to be a good cop, which is a lot more important. Look, Ellen, I’m really pooped now. Besides, I’d better make myself some supper. I’m famished.”

“You haven’t
eaten
yet? Oh, Aunt Dez, I
wish
you’d start taking care of yourself.” She sounded just concerned enough so that I felt guilty about the lie. “Go fix something this minute.”

“Okay, I—”

“Before you hang up, though, I have one quick question: What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I’ll be driving over to New Jersey again. There are quite a few people I should talk to, and I don’t want to let a lot of time elapse. What did you have in mind, anyway?”

“Well, last week Mike and I went bowling, and it was so much fun that I’m dying to do it again. He has to work all weekend, though”—Ellen’s almost-fiancé is a resident at St. Gregory’s Hospital—“so I thought maybe you’d like to come with me.”

She had to be kidding! I don’t suppose I have to tell you that it wasn’t by chance that I hadn’t been bowling in years. I mean, bowling is like
exercise,
for heaven’s sake. And I can’t help it; I blanch at the very thought of straining my limbs like that. “Gee,” I responded with total insincerity, “I’m really sorry I can’t make it, Ellen. Maybe some other time.”
Yeah. When garbage cans sprout wings.

 

It’s likely that Derwin—her significant other—was at Jackie’s apartment when I got back to her, because Puccini was playing in the background, and Derwin just loves Puccini. Plus I was almost certain I heard a cough—a
male-
type cough—at one point. Also, Jackie refrained from following my sketchy account of today’s doings with her usual ten million questions. And to clinch it all, she didn’t venture a single unsolicited opinion—not about anything. So who knows what I interrupted. But whatever it was had my gratitude. The important thing was that tonight’s call may have set a brevity record for a Jackie telephone conversation.

 

It was a little after eleven-thirty when I crawled into bed, completely spent. But I couldn’t fall asleep. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to my second day in Riverton—and the prospect of dealing with a man who was so put out about having to work with me.

It’s possible, though,
I tried convincing myself,
that you’ll be able to win him over. Eventually, anyhow. I mean, in spite of a few bumps along the way, our first day together ended on a fairly positive note, didn’t it? So actually, he might already be starting to thaw out.

Grow up!
I retorted.
He was only attempting to make the best of what he must consider a barely tolerable situation. Be honest with yourself for a change, will you? The fact is, Lou Hoffman still resents you like hell.

Well, as much as I wished it were otherwise, I had to concede that this was no doubt true.

And what’s more, who could blame him?

Charlie Ross was short and pudgy, with squinty eyes, a spread-out nose, and scraggly, yellowing gray hair that cried out for a barber. (A little of that Just for Men color gel wouldn’t have hurt, either.) He had agreed to stop in at ten-thirty, and he’d arrived on the dot. Now he was seated in Lou’s office.

“I wonder if I could ask you to repeat for Detective Shapiro here what you told Sergeant Peterson and me the other day. She’s just become involved in the investigation, and it would be a big help if she could hear directly from you about what it is you saw that evening.”

Ross shifted his attention to a corner of Lou’s desk—the one that the better part of my rear right cheek was presently occupying. He assessed me frankly for a moment. “No kidding.
You’re
a detective?” The voice was unusually high pitched for a man’s. But then, it would have been high pitched even for a woman’s.

“Yes.” I came close to hissing the word.

He turned to Lou. “I thought all you wanted was for me to answer one or two more questions. I can’t spend all day in the police station, you know. I have a lot to do later.”

“This will only take a few minutes,” Lou assured him.

“All right,” Ross agreed grudgingly. He focused on me again. “Well, here’s how it started. I always have the radio on when I’m eating breakfast. And the shooting was reported on the seven o’clock news Thursday morning. Now, as a rule I hardly pay any attention when they talk about what’s been happening locally. It’s usually so depressing—there must be another murder around here every other second lately. But this time I heard ‘Hedden Circle,’ so I stopped and listened. I work there, too, you know. Same building as the victim.” He looked at me expectantly, apparently trying to gauge the impact of his words.

“You do?” Not wanting to alienate the man, I even tried to pack some heightened excitement into the response.

“Yes. I’m with O’Connell, Smith, and Goldberg.”

Judging from the pause, this, too, seemed to call for a reaction. I figured a nod should do it.

“It’s one of the biggest accounting firms in the state,” Ross apprised me. “Anyhow, from what was said on the radio, I thought maybe I was privy to some facts you people could use. But I don’t like to get involved. Know what I mean?”

“We do know what you mean, and we’re glad you changed your mind.”

“Well, as I told the other officer”—he gestured toward Lou—“I wasn’t the one who changed my mind. As a matter of fact, I even discussed the situation with my wife, and we both agreed it would be best if I minded my own business.”

Would this man ever get around to talking about what he was here for?
But in spite of my impatience, I asked politely, “What made you decide to share your information with the police, then?”

“Not
what—who
.”

“Fine.
Who,
” I amended.

“Cookie. My fourteen-year-old daughter. And if you’re wondering how come I’m the father of such a young girl, I didn’t get married until a week past my fortieth birthday. And the way Natalie—that’s my wife—and I were brought up, you didn’t even
think
about having a baby until after you’d stood in front of a minister and said ‘I do.’ Not that I was anxious for a child even then. Natalie, though, had her heart—”

By now I was so frustrated I was ready to clobber the man. Lou came to his rescue. “It’s a good thing for us Cookie was able to persuade you to come in,” he interjected. I caught Lou’s expression, and he seemed to be having difficulty suppressing a grin.

“Yeah, well, she overheard me speaking to my wife. I realize a lot of people might dispute this, but kids seem to have more of a social conscience than the rest of us. Don’t you agree?”

Lou’s “Yes, I do” and my “Absolutely” emerged simultaneously.

“Of course,” Ross added, “I’m referring to the ones that don’t go around doing drugs and mugging old ladies and batting out a bunch of illegitimate offspring for the rest of us to support.”

And here Lou set a truly admirable example in tact. “We don’t want to take up too much of your time, Mr. Ross, particularly in view of how hectic your schedule is today. So why don’t you tell Ms. Shapiro about the car now.”

“Yes, I’d better do that. It was there, parked across the street from my building, since at least five after six Wednesday night. A tan 1986 Toyota Camry, just like the radio said.”

“I understand you noticed someone in the car,” I told him.

“Correct. When I was headed for the lot—that’s where I park my own car—I crossed the street right in front of the Camry. It’s only natural that I would think the occupant might be someone I knew, so I casually peeked inside. But I wasn’t able to see very much of him.”

“Because it had started to get dark outside, you mean?” I asked.

“Not really. Hedden Circle’s very well lit, as I’m sure you’re aware. It was primarily because he was slumped so far down in his seat—almost as if he were trying to conceal himself.”

“You’re not able to tell us anything about the man? Not
anything
?” I persisted.

Ross’s brow furrowed, and he appeared to be turning things over in his mind. “Only that he was all bundled up. I remember noting that it wasn’t a very cold day, either.” His tone became defensive: “But that wasn’t any cause for suspicion. Listen, the fellow might have been trying to ward off the flu or something, true? In fact, I myself was wearing—”

Lou cut short what promised to be a lengthy description of his attire. “Anybody else around when you left that evening?”

“Not a soul.”

“And you’re certain it was a man in that car?”

“Oh, yes,” Ross stated emphatically. But as it had with Lottie Schmidt, the question gave him pause. “Uh, why do you ask? Have you any reason to believe that it wasn’t?”

“No, just double-checking,” Lou responded.

“And you’re definite about the vehicle being an ’86 Toyota Camry?” I put to him.

“Look, if there’s one thing I know, it’s cars.”

“So the perp was at the scene from six o’clock on,” I mused aloud.

Ross stuck his two cents right into my thoughts. “I said he was there since
at least
six. Or five after, to be exact.”

This guy could really get to me, all right. “Yes, you did,” I mumbled, making a valiant—if not altogether successful—effort to keep my irritation to myself.

“As I told Lieutenant Herman here—”

“Hoffman,” Lou corrected good-naturedly.

But Ross was too intent on his narrative to pay attention. “—On most days I leave for home at five, taking a file or two with me, if necessary. It’s a struggle to concentrate at work. Believe me, that place is a positive
zoo
. Don Bender—the fellow in the office next to mine—he blasts the damn radio all day long.”

I gave him a couple of
tsk, tsks
to be nice.

“And if that’s not bad enough, the firm appears to be committed to hiring the silliest, noisiest secretaries they can find. You can’t imagine how those girls chatter and giggle and carry on. It does absolutely no good to complain, either. I found
that
out. All it accomplishes is that everyone starts referring to you as an old woman. And just because you believe in a decent work ethic. Well, I—”

“On the subject of that Toyota, Mr. Ross—do you have anything else to add?” I was, at this juncture, once again teetering on the very brink of violence.

“I am
trying
to explain something, Detective,” Ross shot back, his voice having risen to a pitch I wouldn’t have thought possible. “If I’m allowed to finish what I was saying, you’ll see that.”

“I’m sorry. Please go on.”

“What I am
trying
to tell you is that Don Bender didn’t show up for work that day. A stomach virus—he
claimed
. More likely, though, he was hung over. The man drinks too much, if you want my opinion. At any rate, it also happened that the secretaries all put on their coats exactly at five that evening, just as they do on Fridays—you can set your watch by them on Fridays. Well, the project I was working on was almost completed, and so I decided to take advantage of these fortunate circumstances and stay at my desk to wrap it up.” He sat back in his chair, a superior expression on his face now. “You understand what I’m getting at, don’t you?”