Nice Place for a Murder (8 page)

The shack itself was all of fifteen by twenty feet, blackened wood that had never seen paint, with a rusted metal roof. The stairs to a tiny front porch lay in pieces on the ground. A small stool stood in their place, evidently to provide the needed step up or down.

“This sure is a tour through the low-rent district today,” Wally said. “I wouldn’t want to go in there even if there wasn’t some crazy son-of-a-bitch with a gun and a knife inside.”

I lifted my jacket up so he could see the .38 in the holster on my hip. “Stay in the car.” I got out.

“Don’t tell me stay in the car,” he said, getting out, too. “Makes me feel like a wimp. However, I’m going to let you lead this operation because of all your professional experience.”

We made our way slowly toward the shack. I didn’t take my eyes off of the two windows that faced us. I could see no movement inside. “I’m going up. Stay here,” I said softly. I saw he was about to argue, so I added, “You’re not a wimp. I never said you were a wimp.” I took my gun out of its holster and held it down at my side as I stepped on the stool, then onto the porch. Up close now, I could see the door to the shack was barely ajar, maybe half an inch. I stood to the side and rapped on the doorframe. “Sosenko? Hick Sosenko? Time for us to talk.”

There wasn’t a sound, not from the house, not from anywhere. I reached around from the side and put my toe against the bottom of the door, pushing it open slowly. Raising my .38, I stepped cautiously into the doorway and looked inside.

It was all one room. A filthy mattress on a bedframe, single chair with the upholstery in tatters, TV set with rabbit ears perched on top of two milk crates, half-size refrigerator, two-burner hot-plate, ancient cast-iron sink, small shower unit tucked into a corner, and, right out in the open, a toilet, unflushed since its last use.

There’s no place like home.

But Sosenko wasn’t there. I holstered my gun. “Nobody home,” I said to Wally, but when I turned to face him through the open door, he’d disappeared from the front. I heard his voice calling me. “Come around back. I found Lulu.”

When I got off the porch and around the shack, he was holding up a sizeable piece of quarter inch plywood, painted white, on which was lettered the name Lulu. There were pencil mark outlines for the letters, obviously made with the aid of a ruler, filled in with black paint, and nails protruding around the edges of the sign. It was Hick Sosenko’s maritime disguise, a sign he’d made to nail onto the stern of another boat, probably his own, to give it a false identity while he was out on the water ending the life of Kenneth Newalis.

“Found it face down in the weeds over there,” Wally said. “He really does have a thing for Lulu, doesn’t he? What a guy.”

We both sensed a barely audible approach through the high grass. Someone was moving toward us from around the far corner of the shack. I pulled my gun out of its holster and raised it, looking over the barrel as I waited. The noise continued, an uneven rustling, as if someone were deliberately kicking at the undergrowth. But no one came. Wally glanced at me, shrugging. What to do? I put out my free hand, palm down. Wait.

Finally our visitor appeared, turning the corner, then stopping dead still, as he saw my gun pointed at him. “You going to shoot me, give me a minute to get ready,” he said, after a reflective pause.

He was on crutches, a pot-bellied old man with a wild growth of mottled gray beard on his chin, and no hair at all on his head. He wore cheap rubber sandals, faded brown pants and a shirt that displayed the residue of a week’s meals. He looked skyward, as though for inspiration, then put his hands together in an attitude of prayer. He glanced over at us to make sure we were paying attention. “Dear Lord, if you’re going to take me now, I sure would appreciate having a ready supply of Old Crow bourbon waiting for me in my heavenly home. And it would be nice if I could have a friendly old lady who’s got some good fucks left in her. Amen.”

Once again I put my gun in its holster.

“Good thing he’s not going to send you to your reward right now, amigo,” Wally told him. “Looks to me like you couldn’t handle that old lady if you got her.”

“Hard to tell, because I don’t receive that many offers. But I could try,” he said. He approached us at an incredibly slow pace, pushing the grasses away with his crutches as he came. “Looking for Hick?”

“That’s right,” I said.

“With a gun,” he said.

“We have to talk to him, but they say he can get nasty,” I said. “You live here?”

“Over there. I’m Hick’s neighbor.” He pointed at a shack only marginally less hideous than the one we stood behind. “Talk to him? That mean you’re not here to shoot him?”

“Not unless I have to,” I said.

“That’s a disappointment,” he said. “But,” he paused for effect, “life is a compromise.”

“We thought he was home,” Wally said. “Door unlocked, and all.”

“Door’s never locked. There is no lock.” He looked at me. “You went inside. See anything anybody’d be desperate enough to steal?”

“You know where Sosenko went?” I said.

“He doesn’t tell me where he goes. Matter of fact, he doesn’t say boo to me. A lot of the time he’s at his boat, the Tiderunner, just there at the dock.” He pointed down the lane with one of his crutches. “But he’s not there now.”

“How do you know?” I said.

“Saw him drive off in his pickup, first thing.”

“But his boat, it would be at the dock now?” I said. I gave Wally a look that told him I’d like to check it out.

“Bound to be,” the old man said. “Look, if you catch up with Hick, don’t let him know I talked to you. Unless you’re set to kill the bastard. Then I’d appreciate it if you’d tell him it was me just before you do him in. Long as he can never come looking for me, I’d kind of like him to know it was me put you onto him.” He turned and began his slow motion journey back to his own shack. “Watch yourselves,” he said as he moved along.

Tiderunner was Lulu, all right. We could see the marks where the phony name had been nailed to the stern of the shabby wooden boat, then pried off later. We boarded to take a better look inside, but found the door to the wheelhouse secured with a padlock. Seemed Hick Sosenko worried more about his boat than he did his home.

“No problemo,” Wally said. “I’ll get a screwdriver or something from the car, pop the hasp.”

“Don’t bother,” I said. “I see what I need to see. Look on the deck inside.”

Wally pressed his forehead against a wheelhouse window, using his hands to keep reflections on the glass from obscuring his vision. “Scuba tank and regulator. And flippers.”

“He changed the name of the boat, in case anybody might see it,” I said. “He anchored near the Julian place, and when Newalis went into the water, he did, too, with scuba and flippers, on the Greenport side of the boat where nobody could see him. He pulled the poor bastard under and drowned him. Then he got back on the boat and took off. It was all planned out.”

“Adds up,” Wally said.

“But why did he do it, anyway?” I said. “And why did he return? He was back there hours later, when I arrived. Doesn’t make sense.”

CHAPTER VIII

Time was you could get a lobster roll for four bucks, complete with the little paper cup of cole slaw. Now the menu begged the subject of money entirely with the announcement “market price,” which was supposed to mean the price of a lobster roll changed with what the restaurant had to pay for the lobster that went into it. What it really meant was that a lobster roll cost more every time you ordered one. Today it was fourteen ninety-five.

Which didn’t stop Wally Prager from relishing his, his long fingers covered with the mayonnaise that leaked out of the roll, his mouth stuffed with lobster salad. “I never get tired of these,” he said, “especially when you’re buying.” He wiped his hands on a paper napkin and extracted slaw from its cup with a fork. “So? Que pasa? Now you know who he is and where he lives, you could just wait till he shows up and grab him, shoot him, whatever.”

I finished the remains of the clam chowder that was my lunch, tilting the bowl to get the last spoonful. “Maybe. Or maybe he won’t show up there anymore.”

“The guy is a bayman. All he has in his miserable life is his shack and his boat. Can’t believe he’d just walk away from all he owns,” Wally said.

“He has a truck, too, don’t forget. Guy like that, he could go anyplace, live anyplace. Live in his truck, if he had to. He knows I’m looking for him. And that I have a gun.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know Lulu Lumpkin fingered him. And he still thinks you’re looking for a boat called Lulu.” Wally dispatched the last of his lobster roll, then raised his hand to summon our waitress away from the handsome bus boy she had cornered nearby. “A slice of that chocolate mud pie, and another iced tea,” he told her. Then to me, “You want dessert?”

“No, but it’s thoughtful of you to ask,” I said. The waitress departed for the kitchen. “Look, Sosenko is plugged in out here. He could find out what we’ve learned. Don’t forget, Lulu knows, the fat lady at the bar knows. And the guy with the crutches, he knows, too.”

“You think Sosenko’s smart enough to get the picture? People seem to detest him so much, they might not volunteer to tell him anything.” Wally said. “He could go back home figuring he’s OK there.”

“But you just know there’s going to be a buzz about us poking around, asking questions. These low-lifes, they know each other, talk to each other,” I said. ”My guess is Sosenko knows how to make people talk, even if they’d rather not. Anyway, he may have a reason for what he’s doing that’s bigger than a shack and an old boat.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know yet. Something.” I took out my cell phone. “I have to call Hector Alzarez.”

“The guy who asked for you to go to Shelter?”

I nodded. I dialed and waited. By the time I had Hector on the other end, Wally’s dessert and iced tea appeared. I watched him eye the chocolate concoction for a moment, anticipating the lusciousness of it all. It was almost with a sense of reverence, eyes closed, that he finally took a bite. It was worth paying for the pie just to watch him eat it.

“Lisa Harper tell you about last night, about the shooting?” I said into the phone.

“She told me. Awful story. You were right. Something major is going on,” Hector said. “Lisa told me you weren’t sure whether the shooter was after her or you,”

“I still don’t know. But I found out who he is. And I’m sure he’s the same one killed Newalis.” Hector listened in silence as I gave him the whole story. “So I know the who, and the how, but not the why. Could be there’s a connection of some kind with Julian Communications. Let’s give it a shot. Run the name Sosenko through your computer, all your databases. Customers, employees, suppliers, wherever there are lists of names. He’s called Hick, but I can’t believe that’s a real name. Just try Sosenko.”

“I’ll have that done right now,” Hector said. There was a pause that told me he was about to get into something awkward. “Look, I hate to ask you to do this.” Another pause.

“But you’re not going to let that stand in your way,” I said.

“I need you to come to New York. I know you’re trying to put the city behind you, but Arthur Brody wants to talk to you. In person, not over the phone,” Hector said. “I tried to keep him out of it. I’m not comfortable dealing with Ingo on one hand and Brody on the other. Not the way things are between them. But the news about Newalis is all over the company, and I felt I had to tell Brody about the shooting last night. He’s the president, right? And he asked for you. Come in tomorrow morning.” His tone told me it was more than a suggestion.

“What does he want me for?” I said

“It’s best you hear that directly from him.”

“You know, of course, that I don’t want to do this. Come to New York, talk to Brady, dig myself in deeper.”

“Yes, I know. But we need you. I need you.”

“The truth is, you need more than me. This is a dangerous situation, and if I had to bet, I’d say it’ll get worse. There should be cops on this case. Or more protection from Empire.”

“Ingo won’t do that. Neither will Brody. Not yet. Not with $600 million at stake. Ben, please.”

“All right,” I said, hating to hear myself agree. “I’ll be there at 11.”

“Come in and see me first. I’ll tell Brody you’ll be in his office at 11:30. If we find anything about this Sosenko, I’ll have the information when you get here. And my friend — thank you.”

Wally had nearly done away with his pie by the time I was finished with Hector. “Trip to New York? What, tomorrow?” he said.

“They’re pulling me in tighter and they won’t let me go. First Teague and now Hector. And it’s all on me because they won’t bring in the cops, or even more people from Empire. It’s an invitation to a disaster, and it’ll be my fault. Goddamn, I hate this.”

Wally scraped the last trace of chocolate off his plate, then licked his fork. “That’s what happens when you make yourself indispensable. You’re the one they ask for, and your ass is on the line all the time. You should do what I do. Pretend you’re incompetent.” He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his stomach. “I’ll say this one last time. I wouldn’t be so quick to walk away from that Sosenko guy’s shack. Or Lulu’s saloon, for that matter. Where else is he going to go? He’ll show up. Take that wise advice in payment for a swell lunch.” He smiled.  “I’d have another piece of pie, compadre, but I don’t want to ruin my dinner.”