Murder with a Twist (14 page)

thirty-one

I excused myself and
left Nigel to deal with Daphne. From the
bedroom I called Marcy. “Money?” she repeated after I asked her my question. “No, there wasn’t any money found on the body. Why?”

I repeated what Daphne had told me. Well, minus the part where Leo was blackmailing Daphne about Audrey’s presence at Lizzy’s. I just left it that Daphne was paying Leo to leave. Marcy let out a low whistle. “Lord, Nic. That complicates things a bit.”

“It might. But then again, it might help Audrey’s case. If Leo was
killed for the money, then it lets Audrey off the hook.”

“How so?”

“Audrey didn’t have to kill Leo in the men’s room if she wanted the money. She could have just taken it out of his pocket when they got home.”

“Or she might have found out about his plan to leave her and killed him out of anger. God knows, I’d be tempted if I were her. Who besides Daphne knew about the money?”

“I don’t know if anyone knew.”

“Well, clearly
someone
knew,” said Marcy. “Because it’s gone now.”

_____

When I returned to the living room, I told Daphne and Nigel that no money had been found on Leo’s body. “But no one else knew about it!” Daphne said. “At least, I don’t think anyone did.”

“Obviously,
someone
did, Daphne,” I answered.

“Do you think whomever murdered Leo knew about the money,
or do you think they found it … afterwards?” she asked.

“I don’t know. But I suspect it’s an important distinction. Does your father know what you did?” I asked.

Daphne shook her head. “I didn’t tell him. I was … I was too ashamed.”

“He needs to know. Audrey needs to know as well.”

Daphne finished her drink. “I know. I’ll tell them.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” asked Nigel.

Daphne’s face brightened a little, and she nodded. “Would you?”

Nigel said that of course we would. I said nothing. I finished my drink and mulled over what Daphne had told us. I most certainly did not want to accompany her to tell Max and Olive the latest wrinkle in this mess. I could only imagine Olive’s wrath at discovering that not only had Daphne taken money from Audrey’s trust, but that the money was now gone. It was sure to be ugly. However, at this point, I couldn’t figure a way—polite or otherwise—to excuse myself from the scene. So, I did the only thing I could. I got up and headed for the shower.

thirty-two

“You did
what
?” Olive
screamed at Daphne from the throne-like perch of her toile chair later that afternoon.

“I took money from Audrey’s account to pay for Leo’s silence and for him to go away,” Daphne repeated for what must have been the fifth time.

Max stared at Daphne, his expression inscrutable. “
You
did this?”

Daphne glanced at him sharply. “Yes. I just told you that.
I
took out the money and gave it to Leo. And now it’s gone.”

Max looked as if he was about to say something else, but Audrey spoke first. “Leo really said he’d leave me forever if you paid him?” she asked.

Daphne looked at her, her face pinched with regret. “Yes. I’m sorry, Audrey. I really am. I shouldn’t have done it. I was just trying to protect you.”

Audrey nodded. “I know. It’s okay. You’re not to blame. I am. For marrying someone like Leo in the first place.”

Max leaned over and took her hand. “Audrey. Please. None of this is your fault. You aren’t the first person to make a bad marriage. He took advantage of you.
Leo
is to blame for all of this. And if he weren’t already dead
…
” Seeing Audrey blanch, he came to an abrupt stop. “Sorry.”

Audrey ducked her head. “It’s okay. I understand.”

Max turned to me. “But what does this mean? For Audrey? Are the police still looking for other leads? Do they really think Audrey could have done this?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I spoke to my friend Marcy and told her about the missing money. I’m sure the police will look into that.”

“Could Leo have owed more money to other people?” Daphne asked. “People other than Frank Little?”

“He might have,” I said. “Anything is possible.”

“Especially where Leo was concerned,” said Olive.

Although I hated to admit it, she had a point.

thirty-three

The one person I
thought could answer the question of Leo’s debts was Frank. He wasn’t at home, so we tried the family restaurant/front.
Little’s Vittles
was a hole in the wall located on a shabby side street on the Lower East Side. The décor was garish. The seating was a mix of red velvet and black pleather. Along the back wall behind the bar were highlights of some of the more famous scenes from Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. Rather than God’s hand reaching out to provide Adam with the spark of life, a muscular version of Danny offered a reclining patron a plate of antipasto. In a nod to the nude Adam and Eve’s banishment from Paradise, two would-be patrons were chased out of Little’s by a reprimanding hostess. Based on their attire, their crime appeared to be that they were Red Sox fans.

Not surprisingly, the restaurant was not crowded. In fact, the only occupants were Frank and Danny. Frank was wiping down the bar with a questionable-looking dishrag. Danny was sitting on a stool smoking a cigarette and reading the sports page. Neither appeared pleased to see us.

“Landis! What the hell are you doing here?” Danny barked when he saw me.

“I’m a gourmet at heart, Danny. But I am hurt that you can’t remember my name. It’s Martini. Like the drink.” I said.

Danny scoffed. “More like a Shirley Temple,” he said.

I smiled. “Why, thank you, Danny.”

“I hate Shirley Temples,” Danny finished.

“Do have some respect for the dead,” Nigel admonished. “That woman cheered up a nation in need.”

“Good point. Let’s just stick with Martini,” I said as I took a seat at the bar. Nigel sat next to me. Skippy merely laid his head on the battered surface and stared at Frank. Nigel and I each picked up one of the menus and read the daily specials.

“We’re not open right now,” said Frank.

“Well, that is a shame,” Nigel said, laying his menu on the bar. “Because you had me with ‘The Codfather.’”

“So, have you heard about our mutual friend Leo?” I asked.

Frank nodded. “Yeah. We’re all broke up about it.”

“I imagine you are. Easy marks with fat bank accounts are hard to come by,” I said.

Frank produced a half laugh. Danny glared at him. “What do you want, Martini?” he asked as he stubbed out his cigarette into an ashtray.

“Well, other than a desire to know what exactly is in a vittle, I wondered if Leo might have owed money to anyone besides you?”

Frank cocked an eyebrow. “Man, if that were true then that boy would have been in deep.”

“So, is that a no, then?” I asked.

“Yeah. As far as I know, he only owed us. I would have heard about it otherwise. People knew I wanted my money. If there was a … competition for Leo’s attention to that matter, I would know. Why? What did you hear?”

“I ran into Leo the night before he died. He was at The Lucky Lady.”

Frank regarded me with wide-eyed amusement. “You were at The Lucky Lady? I would have loved to have seen that.”

“I’ll be sure to call you next time I go. My point is that when I saw Leo there, he seemed to be in a particularly good mood.”

“I’ll bet he did,” Danny said with a snort.

I glanced at him. “Yes, well he seemed to be in a jolly mood for reasons other than the entertainment.” I returned my attention to Frank. “Leo told me that he’d paid off his debt to you. And yet he still had money to fling at the so-called ‘lucky ladies’ at the club.”

Frank met my gaze. “And?” he asked.

“And, I wondered if that was correct? Had Leo paid off his debt?”

Frank nodded. “Yeah. We were all squared up. Why?”

“Well, the last time we chatted, I think someone mentioned something about messing up Leo’s smug face. And I think that someone was you. But when I saw Leo that night he was bruise-free, and the next night the only bruising on his face was a result of a disagreement he had with my husband.”

Frank and Danny looked at Nigel. Nigel shrugged. “It was a gentlemen’s disagreement. I didn’t think he was one.”

Frank crossed his arms across his chest and frowned. “Yeah. Well, I still planned on smashing his face in, but now that he’s dead it seems
…
”

“Excessive?” suggested Nigel.

Frank nodded and grinned. “Yeah. Excessive. That works.”

“But why didn’t you, as you so quaintly put it, ‘smash his face in’ when he paid you back?” I asked.

Frank poured himself and Danny a glass of whiskey from behind the bar. He then held up the bottle to me with a questioning expression. I shook my head no. He shrugged and put the bottle back. “Leo didn’t pay me back in person,” Frank explained after taking a sip of his drink. “He sent some woman to do it for him. Typical Leo. Always hiding behind a chick.”

I frowned. “He sent a woman to pay you? Was it his wife, Audrey?”

“No,” said Frank, “It wasn’t her.”

“So who was it then?”

Frank took another sip and shook his head. “I don’t know. I never saw her before. She’s not the type of customer we usually get.”

“Could she have been one of the dancers from The Lucky Lady?”

Frank laughed at the suggestion. “Not unless they are completely changing their lineup to uptight blondes.”

“But she was a friend of Leo’s?”

Frank shook his head. “I doubt they were actually friends. She was a scared rabbit. I don’t think she was Leo’s type. Or visa versa.”

“So what did this blonde look like?” I asked.

Frank regarded me in confusion. “I just told you. Blonde.”

I sighed. “Yes, but what else? Tall? Thin? Curvy? Sexy? Old? Young?”

Understanding dawned in Frank’s eyes. “Oh. Yeah. She was young.
Thin. Kind of the Grace Kelly type rather than a Marilyn Monroe, if
you know what I mean.”

I looked at Frank in surprise. “Why, Frank! I never pegged you for a movie buff.”

He nodded. “Only the older stuff. The stuff they put out today is crap.”

“A man after my own heart,” said Nigel. “Tell me Frank, what does Bogart mean to you?”

Frank regarded him curiously. “What do you mean, what does Bogart mean? Like Humphrey Bogart?”

Nigel nodded.

“Other than being one of the best damn actors of his generation? Nothing. Why, should it?” he asked.

“No. But you’ve restored my faith that some of greatest actors of our time have not been wholly forgotten.”

Frank took another sip of his drink. “One of the greatest love stories, too. That Lauren Bacall was a damn fine woman.”

thirty-four

Nigel, Skippy, and I
returned to the hotel after our meeting with Frank. I then left the two of them there and paid Marcy a visit. She was sitting with her feet up on her desk and reading a file when I entered her office. Seeing me, she sat up and shut the folder. “Hey, Nic. What’s going on?” she asked as she offered me a chair.

“Oh, just the usual Bacchanalia of holiday family dysfunction,” I said.

Marcy laughed. “I guess that’s one way to put it. Although it’s much classier than what I would call it. I guess these high society folks are rubbing off on you.”

“God, I hope not,” I confessed as I sat down.

“So, what’s all this about Leo having a bunch of money on him when he died?” she asked.

“Apparently, he had a bunch of money on him when he died,” I answered primly.

Marcy raised an eyebrow. “Something you’re not telling me, Nic?”

“Probably,” I admitted. “But it’s not my thing to tell.”

Marcy crossed her arms. “Nic, a man is dead. One of your relatives …”

“One of
Nigel’s
relatives,” I corrected.

She tipped her head in acknowledgement and started over. “One of
Nigel’s
relatives is under suspicion in that death. If you know something that affects this investigation, then I’d appreciate it if you’d share it with me.”

“I know, Marcy. And I will. I promise. I just want to make sure that I understand what I think I know before I say anything. I don’t want to waste your time investigating a misunderstanding.”

Marcy stared at me for a long beat. “Fine, Nic. Have it your way. But I’m warning you. We go back a long way, and I’ve always counted you as a friend, but that courtesy doesn’t extend to your …
Nigel’s
… relatives.”

“Understood. Don’t worry. I’m not going to hide anything from you. I only want to double check some facts first.”

“Such as?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. Everything. Did you ever get any leads on who killed Fat Saul?”

She shook her head. “No. If anyone knows anything, they aren’t talking. I’m not surprised, really. Fat Saul was a psychopath. Maybe whoever killed him is now being hailed as a hero of sorts.”

“Or is just the successor to the title.”

Marcy gave a wan smile. “That’s probably a more likely scenario.”

“Do you think either Frank or Danny Little had anything to do with it?” I asked.

Marcy shook her head. “It would make my life so much easier if they had, but honestly, I can’t find any evidence linking them to the crime. They both have airtight alibis. And as much as I hate to admit it, they seem legit. Their alibis, not the individuals who provided them, that is.”

“Duly noted. What about Lizzy Marks? Any progress there?”

Again Marcy shook her head. She tapped her pen on the manila folder. “We’re still keeping an eye on her ex-husband, but there’s nothing to connect him to the scene of the crime.”

I looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean, there’s nothing to connect him? He was practically stalking her.”

Marcy nodded. “I know. I know. But technically he obeyed the terms of his restraining order, if not the spirit of it. I can’t find anything that puts him in her apartment. Not that I’ve written him off, of course. I haven’t. But until I get something solid, I have to let him go.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Marcy cocked her head and stared at me. “Do you think he had something to do with her death?”

“I don’t know. It makes sense on paper, but there’s something I’m missing. I still don’t get Lizzy and Leo’s relationship.”

Marcy sat back in her chair and produced a mocking smile. “Really? You don’t? I think I have the files from some of our more lascivious cases that might clarify that for you.”

“I don’t mean
that
part,” I said. “I mean, how did they meet? Leo is a … was a gold-digger. Lizzy was cut from the same cloth.”

“Seems a match made in heaven, if you ask me.”

“But that’s just it. It isn’t. Leo didn’t have any money. Not really. He just had whatever Audrey gave him. And Lizzy didn’t have anything either. From what Frank and Danny said, she was good at scamming people, but that’s not likely to attract someone like Leo who was looking for a cash cow.”

Marcy frowned. “What’s your point?”

“I don’t know exactly. I just wonder how they met in the first place.”

“Does it matter?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It might. Any chance I could take a look at the files?”

Marcy let out a reluctant laugh. “You never were lacking for moxie were you, Nic?”

“Moxie? Nope, I’ve never lacked moxie. Good sense, however, was and always will be a whole other problem.”

Marcy pushed two thick folders across her desk. “Well, that goes without saying. Here, I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Would you like one?”

I admitted I did.

“Fine. I’ll get you one too. My treat. Why don’t you stay here and wait for me? I should only be about twenty minutes. You can hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

I smiled at her. “Thanks, Marcy. I owe you.”

She nodded. “Remind me one of these days to let you settle up that bill.”

_____

I started on Lizzy’s file first. Elizabeth Marks, a.k.a. “Lizzy,” aged forty-seven, was discovered after a concerned neighbor noticed her apartment door was open and investigated. She was pronounced dead at the scene at 6:00 a.m. The coroner concluded that death resulted from a blow to the head. The wound was likely caused from the edge of a chrome side table. Death was instantaneous. Based on the state of the apartment, it appeared that there had been an altercation prior to the attack. The victim’s ex-husband, William “Billy” Morgan, was interviewed and released. Bags and boxes found in the victim’s bedroom suggested that she was planning on moving. Her landlord, Jerry McLane, confirmed that she had given notice and was scheduled to move out at the end of the month. He knew of no forwarding address.

Although I already knew most of the facts surrounding Fat Saul’s case, it helped to read them again too. Saul Washington, a.k.a. “Fat Saul,” aged fifty-six, had been found at the Park View Terrace construction site after the foreman, Martin “Marty” White, discovered his body at approximately 5:55 a.m. According to the coroner’s report, Fat Saul had been shot twice at close range in the lower abdomen. Death was not instantaneous, and the victim bled out. The coroner estimated the time of death between 12:00 and 3:00 a.m. No one reported hearing any shots. The gun found at the scene was determined to be the gun used in the shooting and was registered to Saul Washington.

I sat back and stared unseeingly at the words. I was missing something. If Fat Saul had gone looking for Leo the night he died, then that meant Leo could have been hiding out at the construction site. But why would he hide out there? And why would he think it would be a safe place?

I decided to have a chat with the owners of Park View Terrace. I moved out of my seat and into Marcy’s empty chair. I tapped in a search on Park View Terrace on her computer. Within minutes, I found what I was looking for; the name of the parent company. The name rang a bell. I jotted down the address, scribbled a note to Marcy apologizing for leaving, and left.

_____

Park View Terrace was an enormous skyscraper located in Midtown Manhattan. From the looks of the exterior, no expense had been spared; it was fifty stories of sheer glass and concrete reaching skyward. According to large placard outside the site, it would one day house “an exclusive enclave of timeless elegance for people with discerning tastes.” I had no idea what that even meant, but I still doubted it. Walking over to a construction worker who appeared to be on a break, I introduced myself as a detective and asked about the recent discovery of a body on the site. As I expected, I was immediately directed to a trailer that served as the main office. I knocked on the door and opened it. It was a nondescript, makeshift kind of office. The décor was early American garage sale. To one side were several beige metal file cabinets and a table covered in blueprints. To the other side was a desk, also made of beige metal. Two empty chairs sat in front of it; one sat behind it. This one was occupied. The woman occupying it looked up at me in irritation. I guessed her to be in her early fifties. Her brown hair was streaked with gray and cut into a sensible bob. Her face was narrow but not unpleasant. A pair of glasses was perched low on her thin nose. “Yes?” she said. “Can I help you?”

“Hello, Detective Landis, NYPD. I need to talk with you about the discovery of the body the other night. That of a Mr. Saul Washington,” I said, as I quickly flashed my wallet open. I had made that gesture enough times over the years to know that hardly anyone ever actually looked at the ID. I hoped she would prove to be one of those people. She did.

“Karen Talingo,” she said, reaching out to shake my hand. “I already talked to the police,” she continued in a polite but firm voice. “And I really am very busy.”

“I understand that, and I promise not to take up any more of your time than is necessary,” I said as I took a seat in the chair opposite her desk and pulled out the notebook I’d purchased on the way over. “I just have a few questions, Ms. Talingo.”

She let out a resigned sigh and sat down. “Fire away.”

I nodded. “I understand that one of your crew found the body?” I glanced down at my notebook where I had jotted down the highlights from the file Marcy had shown me. “A Martin White?”

She nodded. “Yes. That’s right; Marty found the body on his rounds early that morning. Scared the crap out of him.”

I gave a sympathetic smile. “I can well imagine. Did you know the deceased?”

“No,” she answered. I scribbled in my notebook.

“Had you ever seen the deceased before?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. And I never saw him after, either. Marty called the police and then me. By the time I got here, the police had removed the body.”

“I see. Now, where was Mr. White when he found the body?”

“He was on one of the upper levels.” She paused. “Would you rather talk to Marty?”

I pretended to consider the question. “Perhaps that would be best.”

She picked up the phone on her desk and told someone on the other end to send in Marty. After she hung up, she turned to me. “He’ll be right down. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”

I said she could. She fixed us both a cup, and we quietly sipped foul-tasting coffee from Styrofoam cups while we waited for Marty to arrive. Within five minutes there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” called Karen.

The door swung open and a large muscular man with numerous tattoos stepped into the office. “You wanted to see me, Karen?”

She nodded and indicated me. I stood up and offered my hand. “Hello, Mr. White. I’m Detective Landis. I’m just here to follow up on a few things regarding your discovery of the body the other night. It’ll only take a minute,” I said, indicating the other chair.

Martin nodded, shot an uneasy glance at Karen, and sat down. “I already talked to the police
…
” he began.

I smiled and raised my hand. “I know. My boss is just a stickler for paperwork. I swear, it seems like I waste more time writing down stuff that’s already been written down, if you know what I mean.”

Martin smiled a little and nodded.

I glanced down at my notebook. “So, I have here that you discovered the body?” I glanced back at Martin. He nodded. “And the victim was dead when you found him?”

“Yeah, he was dead all right. I mean, I didn’t touch him or anything, but you could tell he was dead.”

I nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry. That must have been a nasty shock.”

Martin agreed that it was.

“And where was the victim exactly?”

“On the tenth floor. We’re further along on those apartments; the lower ones, I mean. Some of them are almost done.”

I nodded. “I see. Could someone have been staying there—maybe a squatter?”

Martin paused. “We do try to keep this place secure at night, but we have had some problems with vagrants; especially now that it’s winter. People with no place to go try to find shelter.”

Or people who are hiding out from violent loan sharks, I mentally added. “That makes sense,” I said. “Did you happen to notice if it looked like someone had been using the apartment for that reason?”

Martin considered the question. “I didn’t hang around a long time after I found the body, if you know what I mean. There were some wrappers and stuff around. But it could have been trash from our crew.” He looked at Karen sideways. “I mean, they know they’re supposed to pick up their trash, but they don’t always do it.”

“Sure,” I said, nodding, “that makes sense. But you did see food wrappers and the like?”

“Yeah. There were empty soda cans and stuff.”

“Got it. And did you recognize the deceased?”

Martin shook his head. “No. I never saw the guy before in my life.”

I jotted this down and then stood up and smiled at Martin and Karen. “Well, I think that about does it for me. Thank you again. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Hopefully I have all I need for my boss.”

Both Karen and Martin stood up. They each appeared relieved that the interview was over.

“Oh, just one more thing,” I asked Karen as I glanced at my notebook. “Who owns this site?”

Karen’s eyebrows pulled together. “Park View Terrace?” she asked.

“Yes. Who is the owner?”

“Meyers and Company,” she answered. “Hang on. I have their card right here. Oh, and here’s our brochure if you need more information.” She reached into her desk and retrieved both. I took the card, thanked her and Martin, and left.