Neal Rafferty New Orleans Mystery #1: The Killing Circle (A Neal Rafferty New Orleans Mystery) (12 page)

Chase said he had two more stops to make, the liquor store and the deli. “We gotta get supplies, man. We can't go way the hell to wherever it is we're going without supplies.” He came back with smokes, bourbon, and pastrami sandwiches.

“If these supplies are any indication,” I complained, “a little farther outside New Haven means we'll be driving all night.”

“Just sit back and relax, Neal. I'll have us there in a couple of hours flat.” He lit a cigarette and we got on the road. I sat back, but I didn't relax. I never do when I'm not driving.

“Chase Manhattan Jones,” I mused. “How did you ever manage to come up with a name like that?”

“I didn't, my parents did. They had a sense of humor.”

“The name somehow doesn't go with the artist image.”

“True. So I dropped the Manhattan from my signature this year. But it was good last year when I played cards. Instant respect. My parents had the right idea; they wanted me to start out on the right foot.”

“Sounds optimistic, but is the foot on the right track? Artist this year, card player last year What about the year before? Sailor of the high seas?”

He was puzzled for a second. “Oh, the tattoo. No, that's part of this year's image. The wild hah; the booze, the tattoo. That's what I meant about keeping up the image being a pain. Everytime I take a bath I have to put the damn thing back on. It's a hassle, but the kids love it. Look, I'm getting depressed.” His shoulders fell and he looked straight ahead, but the moment soon passed. “Maybe I'll become a private dick in my next life,” he said somewhat cheered. “This is fun.” I got passed a sly look. “Not bad the way I got your gun away from you, either. With a little practice . . .”

“Yeah, but it might not always live up to your high sense of adventure, like when you're sitting outside some fleabag motel in the rain because a wife has gotten suspicious of her husband. I don't understand why you don't stick with what you're doing. You seem to be making out okay and maybe you're not as bad an artist as you think you are.”

“No can do. I always know when it's time to move on. I start getting depressed. Take this morning when I woke up. It was awful. When you came in I was on the verge of deciding I should be a businessman again.”

He had an inner tension that always seemed to be coiled, ready to spring. And yet there was a certain composure even though he was in continuous movement. Maybe the movement kept the tension relaxed just enough, like vibrating a piano wire keeps it in tune. He was a person who would find adventure washing dishes in a hash house because he liked life and living; in other words, an eccentric.

“What kind of business?”

“It doesn't matter,” he answered, playing with the knobs on the dashboard for no apparent reason. “I just look around and see an empty slot and move into it.”

I would have tried his approach and picked a new life if I could have forgotten some of the details about the present one.

Two hours later, because of a hard rain, we had pulled over to the side of some rural road or other in Connecticut. We couldn't see where we were going which didn't matter too much because we didn't know where we were going—we were lost.

“I must have made a wrong turn somewhere,” Chase said.

“Or two or three. Let me see the directions.” Chase gave me a hastily drawn map that made about as much sense as my palm would make if I were trying to get to Moscow. I handed it back and pulled out the map I could read.

“If I just knew which road we're on now,” he said, “I could figure out where I went wrong.”

I had seen a hand-painted sign when we had made the last turn. “That's easy enough. We're on Manning's Road which must be a private road to some farm belonging to Manning.”

I got an exaggerated look of admiration. “Gosh, Neal. What astute powers of observation and deduction. I'll have to apprentice myself to you for a while before I strike out on my own.”

“You'd have to pay me a lot,” I said.

He pored over his map. “Simple error;” he proclaimed. “I made a right when I should have made a left.”

We waited for the rain to slow up, which it showed no sign of doing, ate sandwiches, put quite a dent in the bourbon, and talked. Nearly an hour later we found the farmhouse. We parked at the side and walked up on the open porch.

Chase rattled the door and called out, “Hey, Cart, open up. It's Chase. And friend,” he muttered under his breath.

The door was opened by a girl whose beauty would rival Catherine Garber's when her face matured a bit more. Her chestnut hair fell to her waist and her large, dark brown eyes sparkled. She had on a smock. Several paint brushes showed in the long front pocket.

“Hi, Lise.”

“Chase,” she said with surprise, checking out his new attire. “What's up with you?”

“Lise, I want you to meet Neal Rafferty.” She gave me her hand as Chase draped his arm across her shoulders. “Where's Carter?” he asked as we moved into a large, homey room with a low beamed ceiling.

Carter himself came out of a back room to answer the question. He wore faded blue jeans, sneakers, and had longish brown hair. So far, so good.

“Right here, Chase. Who's the friend?” Suspicion clung to him like barnacles to the Lido Pier. Chase went through the intros again and Lise moved us over to some chairs and a couch and told us to sit down. When we were settled, she smiled at Chase and said, “Well, Chase, something's up to get you out of the city. I thought fresh air made you dizzy.”

I took over. “Chase brought me here. I'm a private investigator from New Orleans.” Before I could get out any further explanation, Carter's nerves snapped.

“You dirty son of a bitch,” he shrieked at Chase. He jumped out of his chair with his fists clenched and his face contorted into a childish snarl. He crossed over to belt him, but Chase beat him to it and landed a blow on his jaw that knocked him down. I shouldn't have been, but I was amused.

Chase leaned over Carter and dragged him up by his shirt and threw him back in the chair “Look, you insipid little bastard, you listen to what this guy's got to say before you go flying out of control again.” He gave me a smile on his way back to his seat. Fleming rubbed on his jaw and Chase rubbed on his hand while Lise looked on horrified.

I tried again. “Carter, I was hired by your father, but not to find you. That's between you and him. He hired me to find his Blake books.”

“So? So?” he yelled at me. “What are you doing here? I don't know anything about his stinking books.”

“You know where they are because you have them.”

He shut his eyes tight. “Get him out of here,” he said threateningly to no one in particular.

“What you might not know,” I went on, “is that Stanley Garber is dead. Murdered.” His eyes popped open along with his mouth and he turned to stare at me. A muffled moan came from Lise's direction. If they were acting, it was a convincing act. “He was killed in his store the morning you were there.”

“So?” His voice shook. “What are you trying to do, pin it on me? I don't know anything about it.”

“May be not, but you were seen there and once the cops get that load, they'll be breathing down your neck every second of every day.” I paused to let it sink in, but he stayed mum. I turned to look at Lise but she was staring at Carter. He wouldn't look at her.

She finally spoke. “Carter”

“Shut up, Lise.” Her mouth clamped down and her eyes began to jerk around.

“Carter, I'd like to speak to you in the other room.” She got up and walked out and after a moment's hesitation he followed.

There was some muffled conversation in a back room. I thought it sounded angry. It must have been. When they came back they were both wearing that clamped-mouth look.

“Lise,” I said, “would you like to tell me about something?” She glanced in Carter's direction, got no response, vaguely shook her head, and stared at the floor. Carter braved a glance in her direction once she wasn't looking. Chase and I passed furtive glances. And so we all sat, everybody looking at everybody else. I began to get restless.

I stood up and took a deep breath. I was tired of giving out with the same old spiel so I thought I'd jazz this one up a bit. “Okay. Let's take it from the beginning. You, Carter, were seen at the shop the morning of the murder. In fact, you were so close on it that once the cops learn you were there, you will automatically be the number one suspect. Also, take into account the rather well-known story about your problems with your father and, hence, your money problems. Now, throw into that the fact that Robert André knows you have those books. And he'll tell all about it if he thinks it will save your skin from a murder rap. For some reason, he seems attached to you,” I added. “Once he starts talking, he automatically gets himself in trouble for suppressing evidence. So does his daughter.”

At the mention of André’s name, Carter's head jerked toward Lise. She wasn't quite glaring at him, but her eyes had the intensity of Las Vegas lights in a nighttime sky.

“Seems to me,” I went on, “that if you didn't have anything to do with Garber's murder, then neither did those books. Once that's cleared up, you'll clear everyone connected with the books. I mention that in the event that you don't care about your own involvement one way or another.”

Lise's ferocious eye-hold on Fleming was slowly turning into fear, but the kid still seemed unmoved.

I went further. “You know, Carter, you may not be overly fond of your father right now, but he's the man paying me and I sure would hate to have to turn what I know over to the police. I would be throwing them my last lever of protection. I won't be any good to any of you after that. They're convinced that those books are the motive in Stanley Garber's murder and they're determined to pin it on someone. You're available and you're in possession of those books. There's no way you'll be able to move them now.” I was getting a little far out on the proverbial limb, but I saw Fleming's Adam's apple bobbing around in his throat. I waited a decent length of time, but I got tired of eye language. I went into my own act.

“Okay, Chase,” I said, “let's go. There's nothing for me to do but lay it on the cops.” I started for the door Chase looked confused, but he played along and came with me.

“Wait.” It was Use. She hadn't moved, but she held out a hand to stop us. “Wait.” Her voice cracked and there were tears on her long thick eyelashes. “Carter;” she said anxiously, “tell him. Please, tell him.”

“God, Lise,” he said giving her an imploring look.

“Then I will. I won't let them do anything to Robert.” She stopped, priming herself or waiting for Carter to do something, I wasn't sure which. She glanced back at me. “Sit down, Mr. Rafferty. I'll tell you.” Fleming put his head in his hands. “Carter and his father don't get along well. Carter wants to paint and his father wants him to go to school. You're right, the main battle is over money. As long as Carter won't go to school, then his father won't give him any money. Well, it is his money. Anyway, I think we can make it on our own.” This last was said with a lot of pride, maybe too much, like she wasn't sure that they could.

“Don't go into all that, Lise,” Carter interrupted.

Lise looked affronted for a moment, then resigned. “Carter took the books to sell them so he could get some money. But he didn't have anything to do with Stanley Garber's murder. You have to believe that. We didn't even know about it until you told us.”

“How did you figure you could get away with it?” I asked Carter.

“I don't know. I really don't know.” He was exasperated. Now that Lise had started the explanation, he couldn't resist a go at convincing himself and maybe me that foolish as it all was it had been necessary. He leaned in my direction. “Look, what Lise told you is true. I admit the whole thing was hare-brained, but my old man is being a real pig about everything. I was even sorry I ever told him where I was living. He sends men over to spy on me all the time and comes up here to bribe me into going back home with him. All I wanted was some time to get away from his dominance. He won't believe that I am a person with feelings and that I want to do something that isn't under his control. He has to control everything around him or he isn't happy. I guess I wanted to see him squirm for once and not be able to get something he had his mind set on, like the books. So I took them. Do you realize what a hypocrite he is? If I wasn't his son, he'd be buying my paintings, supporting me like he supports a bunch of no-talent idiots so he can see his name in the paper once a week. He can't stand to be out of the public eye any longer than that.” He spoke with a bitterness that could only have been acquired over many years.

“I get the picture,” I said. I got it all too well. Carter the Third and I had more in common than met the eye. The old man had his methods of control, too. It's just that he doesn't quiver quite like Fleming. “What did Robert André have to do with it?”

Lise opened her mouth to speak, but Carter wasn't to be stopped now. “Nothing. He had absolutely nothing at all to do with any of it except that I caused him a lot of pain by telling him what I'd done.”

“Why did you give his name to Garber, then?”

“That was stupid. Complete stupidity. I called Garber to find out if the books had gotten to New Orleans. I told him that I was acting in behalf of someone who was interested in buying them. I was scared and nervous, so when he asked me who, instead of saying something intelligent, like my guy didn't want his name brought into it until he knew for sure that the books were for sale, I gave him the first name that popped into my head. Unfortunately, it was Robert's.”

I bet he'd gone over that twenty times a day since he'd made the blunder

“How did you know about that? Robert didn't tell you, did he?”

“Garber wrote André's name down before he died, probably while he was talking to you. Your name, too, only I thought at first it was your father the note referred to.”

“Does my father know? God, what am I saying? Do the police know?” He looked frantic.

“No, not yet ...”

Chase pointed at me. “You found the body and you took the note.” He was gleeful.