Wolfs clothing, p.28
Wolf's Clothing, page 28
I could tell Portia was anxious to get her back on track—back to the murder. She asked, “Now we know that Carletta Arenas, Colin Dempsey’s wife, didn’t show.”
“Oh she did for a few minutes, with her tequila. What a crock. She wanted to see what was going on, but she was pissed at Daniel for having me there.”
“So she exits,” Portia said, “after handing out tequila and seeing you.”
“Just being a nosy bitch, is all.”
“Quite.” Portia paused. “Tell us about Erin Erskine’s departure.”
“When she found out what had been planned, she hit the roof. She cussed everyone upside down and backside up. She told her husband she was divorcing him. She pushed Daniel out of her way and sent him winding.”
“I take it she didn’t like lesbian performances.”
“I took one look at her when she walked in and knew that. Husbands are morons. So we just had Nita, me, Mitchell and Daniel. Daniel wanted the show to go on, but with a different cast.”
“Wasn’t Colin Dempsey still there?”
“Daniel told him to get his drunk ass out of there and practically pushed him out the door. It’s a good thing he lives up the street.”
Portia seemed to be enjoying the interrogation. “So you all were going to have an orgy in the purple room?”
“It didn’t happen that way.”
I said, “Before you tell us the different dynamics, tell us about the belladonna.”
“Daniel was addicted to it and his bong, but I didn’t like the effects. My recreational drug is ecstasy.”
“How did belladonna affect him?”
“He’d get nervous, loud, and he had hallucinations. It’s dangerous stuff. They used to kill people with it in the old days.”
“How was he that night?”
“His speech was slurred like a drunk’s and he was confused. He got loud. The gardener had to come out and calm him down. He gave him an antidote, but it didn’t help much. He sat on the chaise in a trance.”
“How was Mitchell?”
“You know, after the uptight woman left and Carletta came and left, I got really weird feelings, like something bad was going to happen. I even shivered and put on some gloves. Daniel kept that house cold and it was winter.”
“But he threw a party by the pool?”
“It was heated.”
“What did you think was going to happen and to whom?” Portia asked.
“With overdoses, anything can happen. I didn’t want to be around. I gathered up all my stuff when Nita came and told me Mitchell was bad.”
“Do you remember running into him on his way to the guest room?”
“Yeah. He was out of it.”
“Did Mitchell hit the bong, too?”
“No, but Nita put belladonna in the hors d’oeuvres to loosen everyone up. She thought we might have group participation—maybe in the pool—when our act was over.”
“Who did she serve dinner to?”
“No one.”
“Where was Daniel about this time?”
“Out to the pool, on the chaise.”
“Who was still standing that could kill Daniel?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes,” Portia said.
“I did not kill Daniel. Neither did Nita. Daniel was going to revive our films and I was getting excited about that. Nita, too.”
“But according to what you’re saying, Mitchell was in no condition to kill anyone.”
“Not then.”
Yet an hour later he was accused of thrusting a knife twice in Daniel’s back.
“What time did you leave the house?”
“Me and Nita left together right before midnight.”
“And Mitchell was still passed out, is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes. I had to go into Daniel’s room to get my bags. He was on his belly, halfway across the bed.”
I surmised right. The jewelry was Daniel’s and that was his room.
“That was immediately before you left?”
“Sure. Old man Garian came down the stairs, raising hell. He told us to never say a word about what happened here. He peeled off a couple of thousand dollars for each of us and told us to pack our bags.”
“Did you take that as a threat?”
“You bet we did.”
I smiled at Portia, a little triumphant lip twist. “Then what did old man Garian do?”
“He went out to the pool and started in on Daniel. I was waiting for Nita to get her bag from the lounge and heard the old man. Daniel whined and cried like he does when he’s confused. ‘Just kill me then,’ he said.
“Where was he? Sitting, standing?”
“Sitting sideways on the chaise.”
“Just kill me then. Are you sure that’s what he said.”
“Absolutely. While the whole party went ka-blooey. I stayed sober. So did Nita. After I left I threw my gear in my car and lit out for Nashville.”
“When you found out that Daniel was murdered, didn’t you think that Jon Garian did it?”
“The old man kill Daniel? I didn’t think that, no. I thought Daniel would kill him. They’ve always hated each other. Daniel was furious when the old fart threw him out of the master bedroom and took over it himself.”
Portia said, “You understand you will need to tell this to the Atlanta Police Department and the attorneys who will try to sort out your story from the evidence they collected at the scene.”
Challenged, she said, “They never found any evidence of me.”
“You are very clever and stayed out of jail.”
“As I intend to do now.”
“The least I can do is shame you for letting a man get convicted and sit in prison for a crime he didn’t commit because you got a couple thousand dollars.”
She stood. “I don’t know that he didn’t do it, I was gone by then.” She took two steps toward the door. “Now I must go.”
Lake walked in with two officers. Evidently not noticing the uniforms, Staci beamed a bright welcoming smile at Lake, perhaps thinking he would become one of her thousand dollar customers.
He said, “Miss Brentwood, you can go to the police station voluntarily, or you can go in handcuffs. What will it be?”
“What’s the charge?”
“You’re a material witness in a crime.”
“What the hell is that?”
Portia stood and said, “Pursuant to 18 U.S.C. @ 3144, you have information that is material to a criminal proceeding.”
“The trial is over,” she snapped.
“The appeals are not,” Portia said, chin high. “The authorities can ensure you give testimony in any criminal proceeding by either subpoena, custody or recognizance.”
“You a judge or something.”
“Something, yes.”
Staci gritted her teeth at me. “Your flunky said we would have a private conversation. You tricked me.”
I laughed. “Look who’s talking tricks.”
***
The uniforms led Staci out by the arms. Lake took us aside and reported on his brief interrogation of Perry Erskine. Lake said he believed that young man was telling the truth. His lawyer had let him brag about tricking Pearly Sue. “Perry is about as warm as his old man,” Lake said. “Speaking of warm, Warner showed up spouting lawsuit.”
“Did Perry tell you why Jed alerted in that potting shed?”
Lake laughed. “Last summer when Liam and his mother were in Europe, and Parker was looking after Jed, Parker brought Buddy to Liam’s house so the dogs could exercise on Liam’s training heaps. Perry Erskine came over to complain about a mama cat who had kittens in the potting shed. They wanted her and the litter gone and so Perry asked Parker if he could borrow something of Buddy’s to put in the nest with the cats. Parker gave him Buddy’s nasty tug-of-war sock. Next day mama and kitties had scatted. The sock laid there for months before Perry threw it away.”
“Another mystery solved. But where the hell is Buddy?”
***
Let’s go pick him up,” Lake said. I’d arrived at the shop to meet up with Lake, four uniformed officers, and two search warrants.
Having following Lake and two uniforms, I pulled to the curb and cut the engine. The three-story white house with the classic rounded corners and cantilevered eyebrows had a downcast appearance, but maybe that was due to a sky filled with clouds having the texture and color of gray velvet.
Picking up Jon Garian was like a sand castle that dissolved in the waves long before we could get to it. Caretaker Curtis Knowles was not in residence at the Art Deco house. There was a real estate lock box on the dead bolt. “They worked fast,” I said to Lake. An officer knocked, rang the bell, beat on the door and announced the APD’s presence.
“Go around back and break in,” Lake said. “Do as little damage as possible, just enough to get in.”
Once inside, we saw that it had been vacated in the exact condition as when we’d been there earlier. I had the photographs to prove it.
Half an hour later, we left the house to the mercies of the warrant searchers, with a reminder to look for hidden closets and film equipment.
Lake said, “Let’s head over to Jon Garian’s other place. The uniforms there will have served the warrant.”
The woman that Jon Garian called waitress told us that Mr. Jon Garian was travelling abroad with no known date of return. Mr. Curtis Knowles was accompanying him. He had chartered a jet in New York where he Mr. Curtis drove them. And, yes, this had been a trip planned well in advance. She said just last week he told her about going on a long journey and that she should look after the house in his absence. And, yes, he crated his dogs for the trip. He wouldn’t go anywhere without his dogs.
We left the uniforms to their search, Lake went to the shop and I to my office. I had a phone call to make.
When I got there, Webdog reported on another development. Erin Douglas had called. The question of the Rolex watch and the owl ring jogged Mitchell’s memory. He said the items belonged to Daniel. He knew that Jon Garian bought Daniel’s house, but did not know that Uncle Jon was in the house that night.
“Damned old cuss,” I said. “He wanted to spy on Daniel, and let him know his place by kicking him out of the master bedroom.”
“Well, he was the master,” Web said.
“A savvy one, too,” I remarked. “After the murder, he removed his belongings. Those clothes we saw in the master bedroom belonged to Daniel Garian. His initials were on the shirt pockets and the suits hung in cleaners’ garment bags with Daniel’s name on the tags.”
Dinner was late and, for me, a melancholy one. First the martini then the wine and I was right there with my Irish ancestors—in my mind and heart, singing a song about lost boys and pipes and valleys. Not Lake, though. When Lake’s over a piece of nearly raw red meat, he won’t shed a somber tear, even when two suspects bolted while within his certain grasp.
27
The indestructible, old-fashioned black landline phone rang again. Before that, in a woozy state of exhaustion and waking nightmare, I heard Lake’s cell buzz.
“What the hell!” Lake sat up and fumbled the sheets away and reached for the iconic receiver. He said into it, “You got the wrong number.”
I didn’t think so.
The clock said four-thirty. In the morning. Outside it was raining softly and in the throes of the darkest-before-dawn proverb.
“Oh sorry, Commander,” Lake said, and, sitting up, listened a minute; then jumped up suddenly. “Yes, sir.” And slammed the receiver into the cradle. Meantime I’d reached over to turn on a lamp.
“I’m a son-of-a-bitch!” Flinging dark hair off his face, he motioned me up. “Get dressed.”
“Where?”
“The sons-a-bitches have gone after Buddy themselves.”
“Who?” As if I had to ask.
“Liam and Parker. They called for back-up.”
“At least they got that part right. Where?”
“Shanty County.”
The Atlanta Police Department is in Fulton County. The APD has reciprocal agreements with all of the contiguous counties, but Shanty County was not contiguous with Fulton. It was with Cobb so the Cobb Sheriff’s Department tried to contact the Shanty County Sheriff but was unable to get in touch with him. He was out on a case. That meant APD had to call in the Georgia Bureau of Investigation.
Lake was not about to wait for the GBI, a triplet of letters more hated than the FBI. He was risking censure at best, and a knock on his entire career to help Parker and Liam in their search for Buddy.
While we were in route, Liam called Lake. His voice came through the speaker. “Sorry partner, it was something we had to do. It’s my fault. Parker understands.”
Liam could have cited chapter and verse the times that Lake—and sometimes with me—had gone out of jurisdiction when immediate action was required.
“We got here earlier and looked over the place,” Liam said, keeping his voice low. “Buddy’s here or coming back with whoever is in charge of this place now,” Liam said. “The cage, a stretcher, and water bowls are still here.”
“Where are you?” Lake asked.
“Shanty Hollow Road. Go past the K-9 training place for two miles. Turn left onto the road, go three miles to a Y in the road. Go left. Takes you up into the woods. You can’t see the barn from the road. There’s an old condemned house near the gravel road where you turn right. House has blood inside. Lots. White doctor’s jacket with blood on it. Sheds out back. Pass by the house and sheds, there’ll be a low water bridge to the barn.”
“The horses?”
“Don’t know. They aren’t making any noise. No one is. A man showed up about ten minutes ago in an old Mercedes.”
Sal’s old, but still cool, Mercedes.
Liam continued, “He crossed the low water bridge. We’re on the same side of the creek behind a John Deere tractor. Over from us, Jed’s in the SUV. He knows to keep down and quiet until he gets the command.”
“What about the man in the Mercedes?”
“Young, strong. He got out of the Mercedes and carried something into the barn. Looked like something wrapped in a rug or blanket. He came back outside, got on his cell and told someone to hurry here. Then he got in the Mercedes and drove around the barn to the back. We can’t see him.”
“Could the bundle have been Buddy?”
“Jed didn’t alert, though he might have— even if I didn’t give the go-ahead. That’s why we called. We’re staying put for right now. When you get here, don’t cross the bridge. There’s a stand of flowering dogwoods to your left. Pull the car into there. You’ll be right behind us on the other side of the creek.”
“What’s the weather?”
“Wet but not raining.”
“We’ll get there as fast as we can.”
Speeding over hill and dale on the county road, we came to a cross-road bridge that announced we’d come into Shanty County. No lights, no sirens, but Lake hollering on the radio. “Where’s the GBI?”
“They’re mustering,” came the GBI dispatcher’s answer.
“Tell them to muster faster. This is two cops in trouble.”
“Why are they there?”
“Dispatch, you’ve been apprised, or you haven’t. I don’t have time to brief you. Get those agents here fast.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll certainly apprise them of the urgency.”
“Bastard,” Lake said, as we took the turn onto Shanty Hollow, bumping hard on the pot-holed asphalt and taking the Y left.
The condemned house’s low lights were dimmed further by trees and tall weeds. “That house has to be where they died,” I said.
Praying—with my fingers crossed—not Buddy, too.
Lake turned onto the gravel road. We passed the house and the sheds.
“I’m thinking you’re right. This is where Sanders and Subic bought it. They haven’t found Subic’s body yet.”
“Sanders got it first. Before they could dispose of Subic’s body, we found Sanders’ corpse in a limestone cave. That’s lets out limestone caves for corpse disposal. Subic’s probably in a mountain stream somewhere.”
“Don’t all these rivers up here feed into the Chattahoochee, the river that supplies Atlanta’s water?”
“The very one.”
No time to be queasy now. I’d already been thinking about brushing my teeth in bottled water.
Creeping up the road, I said, “Liam didn’t tell us the whole truth.”
“No he did not,” Lake said, “and it might mean his life and Parker’s, too. He figured the whole thing was his fault. He had told Cathilee about a man wanting a money-sniffing dog. She likely asked him why he wanted one. He told her the story about the money and where he thought it was hidden. She lied to us, too.”
“Through her strong denials, I still found her disingenuous,” I said, thinking this through. In my mind I saw the yellow Lab going through training. “She didn’t use one of her dogs because they are undisciplined pups and she hadn’t time to train one to sniff money.”
Lake said, “Liam phoned Parker. They figured out who the abductors were and where Buddy might be. So the two of them decided to go after Buddy themselves.”
“I’m sure Cathilee never talked to Warner. Warner would have told us.”
“Except she told her companion.”
“So setting the kidnap scheme in motion.”
When the car sloshed through a deep puddle, its shocks swayed and throbbed. In the hush of the interior, I marveled at the landscape. Even though the colors of spring had come to the foothills, the full moon created shadows that had me thinking I was in an old black and white movie—heading for the underlying menace, the horror of knowing but not being able to stop it.
