Masquerade in blue, p.18
Masquerade in Blue, page 18
She finished the cookie and shrugged. “Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t. I guess I’ll take the risk.”
The fact that I might not want to take the risk never occurred to her. If the contents of the envelope were all Jeff needed to become a free man then, technically, I was finished. But she was still talking, and I was still curious. “Whoever set you up; how would they know you’d be there?”
She bought some time by taking another cookie and breaking it in half just like the other. “I’ve lived in this area all my life and so has David, so I knew who he was, but that was about it. Then I heard he was running for office and that he was an environmental advocate. I admit I was skeptical until I went to hear him speak. Then I was impressed. I talked to him afterwards, asked him some tough questions, and I was even more impressed. I started doing volunteer work for him then.” She told me that after the election she continued to work for him. Eventually the friendship evolved into something more. “We were very discreet, though.” She turned her attention back to the cookie. “Whenever he could get away to meet me, he’d call me at school and if he couldn’t get hold of me, he’d leave a message at the school for me.” She rattled on, describing elaborately coded responses they used in the charade as if it were all very logical and well thought out. I caught a flash of lightning out of the corner of my eye, but didn’t recall hearing the thunder. I couldn’t look at Julia because I was sure my eyes would give away what was going on in my head. She had impressed me as being a bright woman, now I wasn’t so sure.
“Did you always meet at the same place? Cedar Street?”
“Yes.”
“So, what happened last night?”
“I was there first. I always got the room. You know,” she shrugged, “people might recognize him. It was late. After that fund-raiser and all. Maybe twelve, twelve thirty. He brought a bottle of scotch and made us drinks. Everything like always, but there was something wrong. You know how someone acts when they’ve got to tell you something bad, but they don’t know how to do it. Or don’t have the nerve. It seemed like he couldn’t look me in the eye for more than a half second at a time.” She sighed and reflected for a moment. “I thought he wanted to break it off. I even asked him if that was it. He said that wasn’t it at all, and there was nothing wrong.” Then, with a shrug, she added, “I said good-bye, you know, figuring he’d open up.” She stopped.
“Did he?”
“No, he didn’t say anything. It was like he wanted me to leave.”
“So did you?”
She added a teaspoon of sugar to her half-filled mug. My jaws ached for a second. After stirring it she took a sip and set it down. “Yes, I left. Told him he could call me when he felt more sociable.” She propped her chin on her fist and, after a moment, said, “That’s the last thing he heard me say. ‘Call me when you feel more sociable.’ “
“How long were you together?”
“No more than fifteen minutes. More like ten. I barely started my drink.”
The rain had started and the window on the door was taking a pounding.
“Julia, was there a pattern? Did you always leave first?”
After wiping at her eyes, though I saw no traces of moisture, she said, “We never left together. I always left about ten minutes ahead of him.”
Elbow propped on the table, I braced my forehead against the palm of my hand. How dumb could a bright person be? I was reminded of the old ditty that ended something like: Love may be blind, but the neighbors ain’t.
I folded my hands on the plastic mat in a prayerlike gesture. “You really think no one knew what was going on?”
Her eyes widened. “Of course not. We weren’t kids. We were discreet.”
Shaking my head, I looked away from her. “You know, when you just said that you and Reaves were having an affair, I wasn’t surprised.” I turned back to her. “And I’d only seen you two together once. I’m not saying I knew it then, but looking back, you two were communicating on levels that defied any other explanation.” Her eyes narrowed. “And if I noticed something, then people who were around you more often would have to be blind to miss it. And those little notes you leave everywhere, they don’t fool anyone, at least not for very long.” Her look hardened and I raised a palm in a gesture of truce. “Okay, let’s not go into that now. But obviously someone knew about you and David. And they knew where you went. Who do you think that was?”
She held onto my gaze for a few seconds, then looked away and shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Julia, did David know you were the Blue Fox?”
I interpreted her silence as a yes and pressed on. “Is there more than one Fox?” When she didn’t answer, I prompted with: “How do you expect me to investigate this if I don’t know the score?”
“Then you’re working for me.” It was more a statement than a question.
“You stop talking now and I’m not.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “No, not at any one time.”
“What do you mean?”
She hesitated, then said, “The original Fox retired about seven years ago. David knew him. He knew what he was doing.” She went on to explain how David had approached her about becoming his successor a couple years ago, after they’d worked together for a while.
“Who was the original Fox?”
She drained the last bit of glucose from the mug and said, “I can’t tell you that, Quint. And, really, you don’t have to know.”
“Your father?”
“No.”
“Was the original a man or a woman?”
“A man,” she said and quickly added, “That’s all you’re getting.” It was more than I had before, so I decided to settle. “Did David suggest your activities as the Fox?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes I acted on my own.”
“That raid on Novotny’s office. Whose idea was that?”
“David’s.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe David was trying to frame you?”
“Of course, I thought about it. But no. He wouldn’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
She opened her mouth and the phone rang. Jumping to her feet, she said, “That’ll be Rob,” then stood next to it and let it ring five times before picking it up.
A second after she said hello, I could tell it wasn’t Rob. Her expression clouded over and she turned her back to me. Then I heard her say, “What are you – “ She stopped and listened for a few more seconds, then hung up the phone, but held on to the receiver as if using it for support. She stayed that way for maybe a minute and I listened to the rain slashing against the door. When she turned around, her mouth was set in a thin line and her eyes were cold.
She reached in front of me for her purse and I had to lean back in the chair to get out of her way. In one smooth movement, she withdrew a .32 automatic and brought it to bear on me. I swallowed.
“Give me your car keys,” she said.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
I stood slowly and dug into my jeans pocket. When I started to remove the car keys from the ring, she stopped me. “Don’t bother with that. Give me the whole thing.”
“How am I supposed to get in my house?”
“You’ve got an extra set, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but they’re in the house.”
“Break in. You’re probably good at it.” Still I hesitated and she gestured with the gun. “Put them on the table. Slowly.”
I finally did. There was something in her eyes that cautioned me not to take her lightly.
“Back up,” she instructed and after I’d retreated several feet, she took the keys and pocketed them. “Now take your pants off and give them to me.” I didn’t move. She wet her lips and when she spoke her voice was a pitch higher. “Do you have trouble hearing?”
I shook my head, going with the hunch that she didn’t have time to argue. “I gave you my keys. You want my pants you’ll have to take them off my body.” No reaction so I added, “It’s a black Honda and it’s parked on Anderson.”
Finally she reached for her purse and hooked it on her shoulder. Still keeping the gun on me, she backstepped to the door and opened it. A gust of wind swept a sheet of rain in. “Julia,” I said and she stopped. “Find yourself another P.I.”
She regarded me impassively for a couple seconds, then stepped out into the storm.
I didn’t follow. Maybe I still had my pants, but she had the gun and was starting to remind me of a cornered animal. Thunder rumbled and a flash of lightning followed seconds later. Shit. I wasn’t sure what Julia had been running from, but I didn’t want to stick around to find out. As I was folding her confession into my wallet, the cookie timer went off. I almost ignored it. But even though I didn’t know this Cindy who lived here, I was sure she didn’t deserve to have her house burn down, plywood hearts and all. Just as I was transferring the tray to the cooling rack, the doorbell rang. Whatever they were selling, I wasn’t interested. If the back door was good enough for Julia, it was good enough for me.
I stepped out into the storm. I expected to get soaked. I expected to be cold and miserable and to curse Julia Ellison with every step as I sloshed my way home. What I didn’t expect was to find myself eyeball to eyeball with Ed Carver.
Chapter 15
NEITHER OF US MOVED for several seconds. I watched the rain run off his khaki mackintosh in little rivers and their tributaries. He’s only got a few inches on my six feet, but he’s lean and angular and has always seemed taller than that. When I looked up at him, trying to read his expression, the rain pounded my eyes shut.
“What in the hell …” Carver broke off and pushed past me into the kitchen. Standing there dripping on Cindy’s black and white tiled floor, he surveyed the small room, dwelling on the racks of fresh cookies. He reminded me of someone who had just woken in a strange place and was trying to get his bearings. He turned to look at me, his features pulled together in puzzlement. Possibly he was wondering why I continued to stand out in the rain, which struck me as an immensely logical question and I stepped back into the house.
After more intense scrutiny, Carver spoke. “Where is she?”
“You just missed her.”
The doorbell rang again, buying me a few moments to think. Did I owe anything to a woman who tried to hire me, then held me at gunpoint while she stole my car? And tried to take my pants? I heard Carver give instructions to check the upstairs, then he stepped back into the kitchen.
“What does she drive?”
“She’s driving a black Honda Accord, license number QMC1701.” He squinted at me from under his cap. “Isn’t that your car?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“You gave her your car?”
I shifted slightly and glanced at the empty hallway before answering. “Give isn’t the word that comes to mind. When someone points a gun at you and asks for the car keys, I think it’s called taking.”
His expression didn’t change. “What kind of gun?”
“.32 automatic.”
“Damn.” He made a fist and slammed it against the counter. The cookies jumped. “We had her. How long ago?”
“Less than ten minutes.”
He snatched the phone from its receiver and as he stabbed the buttons, said, “Give me a description of her and what she was wearing.”
“Five eight, a hundred and thirty pounds, dark shoulder-length hair. Eyes maybe hazel,” I paused and added, “kind of sleepy-looking.” Carver gave me an odd look but didn’t say anything. “She was wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt.” The rumble of thunder prompted me to add, “She’s probably wet right now.” I hoped she was miserable as well.
When he finished phoning in the all points bulletin on Julia Ellison, he turned back to me. “You want to tell me what you’re doing here?”
I took the envelope out of my wallet and handed it to Carver. “I guess I’m the messenger.” Then, as an afterthought, added, “I’d rather you didn’t shoot me.”
One of Carver’s officers joined us in the kitchen. “There’s no one upstairs and Collins says it’s clean downstairs too.” He was a grim-faced little man with large eyes and a nervous twitch.
As Carver studied Julia’s confession, I said, “That should be enough to get Jeff Barlowe out of jail.”
He regarded me over the top of the paper, then reached underneath his mack, and pulled out a pair of glasses. Holding onto one arm, he snapped them open. Then he put them on and turned away as he read. When he was finished, he removed the glasses and said, “Jeff Barlowe’s not my biggest concern right now.”
“He’s in a bad way. We need to get him out of there.”
“Yeah, well I’m in a bad way too. And I’m going to be worse if I don’t get this Julia Ellison in for questioning.” He looked around the room, as though he’d forgotten something, stopping at the table. “Which mug was she using?”
I told him and he hooked the mug’s ear with a pencil and dropped it into a plastic bag. “If she was in such a damned hurry, what’s she doing baking cookies and drinking coffee?”
“She didn’t know you’d found her.” I told him about the phone call and her subsequent actions.
“Why don’t you give me that letter? I’ll see about getting Jeff out of jail.” As I made the request, I knew it was a futile one.
Sure enough, Carver shook his head. “You’re coming with me. We’re going looking for Julia Ellison. I’ve never seen her. You’ve been eating cookies and drinking coffee with her.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And God knows what else.”
Once my reason for a hasty retreat was no longer so urgent, I had no desire to step out into the rain. But I didn’t think Carver would care much for my suggestion to wait until the rain let up. Not likely. Even though Carver was parked in the street – one of the privileges of his rank – I got enough of a soaking to wish I had one of those natty mackintoshes.
As I sat in the squad car, I ran my hand through my soaking hair, trying to squeeze some of the wet out. Carver glanced at me. “You should’ve worn a raincoat.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I dug my cigarettes out of my pocket and was elated to find one with a dry filter.
Carver gave me time to light up before he said, “Don’t smoke in here.”
I smiled grimly and snuffed it out in his ashtray. Bad enough riding around town with Ed Carver, now I had to do it without the support of a cigarette.
“I don’t care if you want to kill yourself with those things, just don’t do it in my air.”
“I’m deeply touched by your concern.”
We drove slowly down Prairie, heading east toward the river. I was looking for my black Honda, but not hopeful. Not only was Julia probably halfway to wherever she was going now, but due to the heavy rain, visibility was poor. I squinted out into it and kept looking.
“Did you enjoy your little charade the other day?” Carver asked.
“That wasn’t a charade.”
“Don’t give me that crap.” I didn’t argue and after a few moments, he continued, “I suppose you’d never heard of her before today.”
I shrugged and wiped the condensation from the passenger window, briefly wondering how much water was soaking into the back seat of my car. “She didn’t need a private detective until today.”
“Yeah, and I suppose she just came across your name in the yellow pages.”
“No, she knows I’m a friend of Jeff Barlowe’s. That’s why she called me and not the Acme Agency.” I paused and added, “Or you.”
“What did she hire you for?”
“She tried to hire me to find out who killed Leonard Novotny and David Reaves. Says she didn’t do either.”
He snorted. “Oh, well, let’s call it off. The lady says she didn’t do it.” He shook his head and added, “Why should she confess to you, anyway?”
“Why would she bother to call me if she did kill either one? Why wouldn’t she just cut out of town?” I couldn’t believe I was defending the woman.
“Maybe she needed a car.”
He had me there. “Who tipped you off?”
“None of your business.”
We crossed the river at Grant, heading into town, then turned south on Route 35. We’d be driving past my place and I wondered if that was intentional.
“River’s high,” Carver remarked. We’d gotten a lot of rain that summer and with each new rainfall the level got a bit higher, and the river more restless. Now it was roiling in its banks, flowing fast and angry.
We had just passed the point where the road dips down near the river when Carver slowed, and at first, I couldn’t see a reason. Then I saw a car pulled over on the river side of the road with its flashers going. Another car, a station wagon, was pulled off just ahead of it. I assumed we’d come upon an accident, but as we moved past the two cars I could see no damage to either. Then I saw two people standing on the narrow riverbank, staring off into the river. A man wearing a bright red windbreaker looked over his shoulder, apparently saw the squad car, and began waving frantically, then turned and gestured toward the river. Carver and I exchanged looks and he pulled over just ahead of the station wagon.
As we got out of the squad, the man was yelling something, and the other person, a short, squat woman, was gesturing and yelling, but I couldn’t make any of it out.
The wind whipped at me and I was cold and soaked right down to the bone. The grass was slick and I sidestepped my way down the bank. The man in the windbreaker said something about “twenty feet out … it’s sunk deeper.” And then I saw it. At first it looked like a dark tree limb that had gotten snagged on the bottom, but that was wishful thinking because I’d really known what we’d find as Carver pulled the squad car onto the soggy riverbank. Now I stood and stared through the rain at the fender of a black Honda, bobbing up and down in the river’s current like a toy submarine.
Tilting my head back, I opened my mouth and let the steaming shower water run down my throat. After a minute, I shook my head and swallowed, blinking the water from my eyes. I tried to adjust the tap but it was already as hot as it would go, and now that it had peaked, the water was dwindling to warm. I stood there, one hand braced against the shower tiles, and wondered if I’d ever be warm again.
