Dark Blonde (6 page)

“Where’d you get the egg?”

“Victim’s house. Seems I interrupted someone rifling through the place. Did everything but tear the linoleum up. She must have had something they wanted badly. How long’s she been dead?”

“I’d say sometime during the night. About 12 hours. Where is anyone’s guess. What little blood there is in the two rooms argues she was dumped here. If they’d killed her somewhere in the house there’d be a lot of blood. No cleanup in the bathroom, no wire, no rope anywhere. Those things were left behind, or removed.”

“Which makes one wonder why they’d dump her here, naked and headless with some wild Greek goddess name. Seems like a lot of work a single slug could’ve done. Unless it’s to send a message or embarrass the congressman or make us think it’s some psycho.”

“Which would establish a motive for political opponents. I hear the campaign is tightening up. Big debate coming soon. Some might argue all politicians are psychos. Of course that’s an intellectual tap dance I’d hesitate to engage in.”

“I’ve never heard of politicians cutting heads off constituents, maybe because they can’t overtax a dead man. If the killer were on Whipple’s team, dumping a body in the Henry’s estate would be one way to narrow the gap. I’d imagine a body in the guesthouse reflects poorly on one’s standing at the country club. Now, let’s see — who’s lining up behind Whipple? The Teamsters and a few other labor toughs, all the fat plumbers in the Whipple’s union. He’s from Cicero, Capone’s old hometown.”

“The kind of neighbors you put up with, Mike. After the police are done here and we give our statement, you can fill me in on any other details in the case. I’d like to see Gail’s house too, if the cops haven’t sealed it up by then. Getting sapped, you might have missed a few things, but it means whoever was ripping the place apart wasn’t finished. Maybe they missed what they were looking for. If it was the killer who blackjacked you, why didn’t he finish you? He’d have nothing to lose.”

Two cars glided rapidly into the porte-cochere, one squad car and one unmarked. A curtain stirred in an upstairs window, parted by a white hand, then fell back.

The lush grounds held the cold still air, the sky opening up with a low sun brightening the expansive lawn. A robin, brave but too lazy to fly south for the winter, was sounding off about what a perfect setting it was. If I didn’t know there was a decapitated body in the guesthouse I would have thought
Home Beautiful
was on the way to film the place.

I arm-waggled the cops toward the guesthouse, then walked rapidly toward the side door to the main house. Opening the door I turned and said to Rick, “Keep them occupied while I talk to Julia.” I needed to prepare Julia for the grilling she’d get. Father protector was coming through in me, something I try to resist, even with clients. I had no idea what shape the lady was in.

The detectives clambered out of an ugly black Ford scowling like somebody’d run off with their donuts. One of the dicks was Burk, a brick of a dolt, too short in the legs, too long in the face and too thick in the waistline. We’d dealt with Burk some on a prior case, or rather Rick had, and I was glad of it. Beating cops to a murder scene’s never a recipe for free tickets to the policeman’s ball. Burk’s sidekick was a rail with a face that could pass for a genetic accident: one side didn’t match the other and the eyes worked against you figuring out which one was staring at you.

The door to Julia’s bedroom opened at my first light rap. She was dressed for diamond shopping or hopping off to the Mardi Gras: two piece turquoise suit with blue and orange trim, tailored for maximum enhancement of her curves. Her eyes were blank, washed out, looking smaller than they had at Alfie’s. She looked past me into the hall, then stood aside while I entered. I took a seat next to the bed. She locked the door and went to the window, looking down at the guesthouse.

“We probably won’t have but a few minutes. Rick Anthony, my partner, will keep them busy for now. They’ll ask you a bunch of questions, since you discovered the body. It might get rough. I’ll try to help. I’m afraid I have to ask a few as well, that is, if you want me to dig into this.”

She nodded, leaned her shoulder against the wall, folded her arms and rested her temple against the window frame. At any other time I’d make a move on her. “Who’d do such a thing, Mike? Who could be so savage as to kill someone that way?” Her words painted faint fog on the pane, the light lined her face in silver that made her look like a statue. I thought of Ismene, the perfect Athenian woman.

“Miss Mathews said you found the body. Do you mind telling me how you found it?”

She slumped against the window frame, like air had been let out of her knees.

“I’d been taking a nap a couple of hours when I heard male voices down toward the guesthouse. I take a sedative for migraines so I was a bit groggy, light-headed. It took me some time to get to the window. I heard a car going down the front but it went over the rise before I got to the window. When I did get there no one was on the grounds. The door to the guesthouse was standing wide open. That’s strange because it wasn’t open before I lay down, and no one’s around except for Dee and myself. Today’s the maid’s day off and the groundskeeper only comes on Saturday this time of year, just to get things ready for winter. I called down to Miss Mathews and when she didn’t answer I remembered I’d sent her to fill my prescription. I put on my shoes and went down. When I saw the body, saw through the open bathroom door, I screamed and ran back in the house and that’s when Dee came through the front door. I vomited on the stairs and told Dee to get a hold of you.”

Bing, bing, bing — she said it all without hesitation and it didn’t seem rehearsed. Still, my scar was tingling. Was it Dad’s way of telling me to be careful?

“And you’ve been in your room since?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear voices after coming back into the house? And what about the butler?”

“I only heard them once, as I was waking. They were muffled, but definitely male voices. As I said, I’d taken a sedative. Henry let the butler and the rest of the staff go when he announced for the Senate. He felt the lifestyle might look elitist, work against his election.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t move you into a log cabin, this being Illinois. What sort of sedative?”

She took a deep breath and rubbed the back of her pretty white neck, something I wouldn’t have minded doing myself. “Demerol. I usually take one 50-milligram tablet when I feel a migraine coming on. I’ve been worried about Gail lately and the onset this time was rapid, so I took two. It wasn’t wise of me. I wasn’t very awake when I heard the voices. At first I thought I was dreaming. There were two men. One said something loud and the other laughed. They went back and forth but stopped. ”

“If you don’t mind me saying, that shit’s nothing to mess with. How long have you been on it?”

She stiffened, turned and threw me a hard look, her body coiled. Then she slumped back into staring blankly out the window. I gathered she was too fond of the nasty narcotic to even admit the possibility of an addiction, which is the way most narcotics drag you down. You just believe you can get off of them anytime and the idea that a guy with a medical degree gave them to you makes them happy harmless fruit pills. Herr Goering was up to 18 Demerols a day before the end. From what I knew about the drug, it might explain some of her quick changes of mood.

“Never mind, we can get to that later,” I said, putting as much butter in my voice as possible. “Could Miss Mathews have been in the guesthouse? Does she have a key?”

“No. There’s no reason for her to. When she sleeps over there’s an apartment at the end of this wing for her.”

“So, who else has a key? You, Henry, who else?”

“The groundskeeper uses one. He had to do some plumbing work in there about a month back. There’s a box for several keys by the back door. He’s supposed to return them when he’s done with whatever work he has.” She described the key to a Schlage lockset with deadbolt and told me where to look.

“Anyone could have used the key if they knew about the wall box. No doubt the killer did since no signs of break-in. I’ll check and see if the key’s there. Go on, other than the voices, did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary within the last 24 hours in or around the place?”

“Nothing I can think of.”

“I saw a few articles of clothing in the guesthouse. They didn’t look like your style. Were they Gail’s?”

“Gail stayed there at times, entertained, if that’s what you want to call it. Henry invited her to use it whenever she wanted. He was always giving her little things, trying to be a father to her. She took whatever he offered, never said thank you and abused whatever he gave her. It was a bone between Henry and I — we argued over it more than once. After that grand jury mess I wanted to cut her loose. I knew she’d never listen to me about the type she ran with. Henry thought she was just young, would come around.”

“Any politicos in her crowd?”

“Hardly, they would have bored Gail to tears. She liked fast cars and dancing all night with dangerous types, drug dealers, snick boys I called them, always snickering at anything decent. You probably saw her medicine cabinet. A regular drugstore.”

“I did. Bluejays, goofballs, yellows, the whole party. But no Demerol.”

She blanched. “Stop it. I can’t take any guff from you now. I’ve only begun the Demerol, the headaches — they’ve worsened. It was my doctor’s idea.”

“Sorry. Haven’t slept well since I met you. My insults keep getting mixed up with my compliments. Speaking of Gail’s medicines, whatever the party was looking for would have been small enough to fit in a medicine bottle, otherwise they wouldn’t have dumped each one out without taking the drugs.”

She turned her eyes on me again. They were more relaxed. I could see something else there that was close to what I’d seen in her car outside Alfie’s that night. I liked hunting in her eyes. It was like watching a beach sunset, dipping my toes in warm blue waves. In that breathless voice again, she said: “What could it be?” and her lower lip suddenly as red and luscious as any man could dream of.

She liked that I’d lost sleep thinking about her.

Mike, you’ve got to keep your big head in charge and tell your little head to butt out —
 
either that or only take cases from ugly dames. Your life is on the line here. Henry Gateswood is not a man to take kindly to your impulses.

It was the longest message I’d yet received from Dad. It was more than a warning of danger this time, it was advice to stay objective. To fight the magnetic pull of Julia. What’s more, that Gateswood and others were dangerous. It was good advice, but then I often ignored such advice when Dad was alive, and it was no different now. Maybe I was too green to be a good private detective; maybe I simply wanted to fulfill Dad’s ambition. So, why didn’t he have a real conversation with me some night when we were alone, and help me figure things out? Probably because he knew I had to struggle with it on my own.

“Something important enough to kill for. Somebody burned buckets of calories tearing the place apart. Whatever they were looking for, if it had to do with that prostitution mess that might explain a lot. Canaries attract vultures. And I’m betting that Gail’s old squeeze Christy French wasn’t the only one embarrassed by her testimony, even if most of it pointed his way. Are we sure he’s six feet under?”

She seemed distant now, barely audible. “The police identified his body and I can’t think of who else…everything died down about it and anyway it’s been nearly two years. I can’t see why someone would kill her for that now.”

“You may be right, but a killer with that much rage can be cold, calculating and patient as hell. I’ll look into Frenchie’s old blotter. He might have had a crony who wanted to exact revenge against Gail. Someone who could be patient, wait until he could set it up to point another direction. Plus which, it’s no coincidence the body’s dumped at the home of a man on the verge of a senate victory.”

She looked drained. Now she was searching my eyes. The cops would send up for her any minute. It was no time for dreaming. I wanted to kiss her, take the cute little turquoise jacket off. Instead I said, “Antigone. Mean anything to you?”

“I’m not sure. Shakespeare isn’t it?” Blondie was no more of a scholar than I was, and I was glad to hear it. Beauty pageants don’t attract scholars.

“We think alike, but no, Rick says it’s Greek, a couple thousand years before Willie published his greatest hits. The cops will think of the political scandal the adversary angle, Gail’s ratting out of Christy French, or Henry’s connection with DePaul, and maybe a lot of other angles too, make it messy, stomp around your life for months, even years. Even with the publicity it’s only one of dozens of cases up their noses. They solve it and their boss and the D.A. get all the glitter and plaudits, until then it’s a pain to them and you’re just another pile of questions.”

“So how should I handle them?”

“Don’t tell them more than you have to. Answer their questions with yes or no. If I tug at my ear, play dumb. They might also be aware of your rocky history with Gail and make it rough on you for it, even start by suspecting you, Miss Mathews or anyone connected with the place. Lucky for Henry he’s out of town. Plus, they’ll no doubt dig up that entire prostitution ring and grand jury flap. Cops are like dogs sniffing for where the old shit was dumped so they can shovel the new shit into the hole and head back to the barn; they really don’t care where the shit gets moved to as long as it does. Because the body was dumped here, they’ll need to interview everyone connected with the house, Miss Mathews, the groundskeeper, any other hired help. When will the congressman be home?”

Julia watched me intently. A glimmer of amusement leaked past the sorrow in her eyes when I described police shit-moving methods. When I asked about Henry, the light faded. “I reached him this afternoon right after…after I found Gail. He won’t be back until the weekend. A critical vote on a works project that means thousands of jobs here. What do you mean dumped? She wasn’t killed in the guesthouse?”

“No, it’s clear she was hanged, bound, and decapitated somewhere else, possibly on the grounds but we haven’t had time to look. There’s not enough blood in the guesthouse for it to be the murder scene.”

She held one hand up and made a stuttering sound in her throat. I could see her fingers tremble slightly. She was fragile with more emotional faces than a madhouse. I’d have to go slow. I didn’t want to tip her over the edge.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to be graphic, but it may be a few days until we know exact cause of death. She might have died from hanging or she might have been decapitated while hanged. Or possibly some other cause. Gail had something someone wanted very badly, which was why they tortured her and tore her place apart. Rick and I are heading there next before the police seal the place. It might help if you don’t mention the ransacking.”

She straightened and her face came together. “The debate will have to be canceled, I suppose,” she said in a clear businesslike voice. “The scandal of this will put this race into a dead heat. Any misspeak on Henry’s part in that debate could flush the senate seat down the drain.”

She’d taken a wheelie off the road of sorrow and back onto her grinding highway of wife pushing politician’s career. I realized the way she dressed was preparation, a public face for the press conference she had no doubt already arranged in her head. Miss Mathews was no doubt already on the task.