Pumped for Murder (33 page)

Helen left Ahmet’s office a complete failure. She could get nothing out of him because there was nothing in him. He was not some romantic figure of evil. He was a businessman. He’d killed Mark because it was expedient. He’d locked up his mother because she was inconvenient. He felt no guilt. He felt no remorse. It was just business.

As she drove back to the Coronado, Helen felt a great heaviness overtake her. She fought to stay awake and prayed she’d make it home before she fell asleep at the wheel.

Helen slept until seven o’clock, when Thumbs woke her up demanding his dinner. She fed the cat and saw the lights burning across the courtyard in the Coronado Investigations office. She remembered her encounter with Ahmet and felt hot with shame. She would never tell Phil what she’d done.

She had to see if Phil had learned anything about Ahmet. She wanted that man behind bars.

Helen ran upstairs to their office. A red-eyed Phil was squinting at his computer. The half-empty coffee mugs next to his computer testified to the intensity of his search.

“Mrs. Yavuz gave us a good lead with that Silverhall name,” he said. “Her baby boy hasn’t abandoned his shady ways. He’s set up some shell companies to flip high-priced real estate. His mother, his wife and his ten-year-old son are on the boards. Ahmet did a—well, a land-office business—”

Helen groaned at the pun. “I assume he made this money before the real estate slump.”

“You bet,” Phil said. “So far, I’ve found three properties he flipped for a profit of twenty million dollars total. I can’t find any tax records.”

“I thought those weren’t public,” Helen said.

“Not for ordinary people,” he said, and grinned. “A supersleuth like me can find them. Seriously, Helen, I’ve only been at this a few hours. That information is out there, and I know how to look for it. When Ahmet applied for a loan to buy his new multimillion-dollar home, the bank wanted to see three years of tax returns, business and personal. Ahmet paid a lot of taxes, but nothing on those three properties.”

“His son isn’t in high school yet and the kid is already a tax cheat,” Helen said.

“If I had more time to investigate, I know I’d find more dicey deals.”

“You’re not going to take more time, are you?” Helen asked.

“No, I want to end this case. I have enough to interest the IRS,” Phil said.

“So we’ll get Ahmet on tax evasion?” Helen asked.

“It’s possible. Gus will want him in jail for murder, and that’s not going to happen. We’ll give our client our final report tomorrow morning.”

“Can you do me one favor?” Helen asked. “Can you take me to see Ahmet’s house?”

“Now? Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not where he lived with Bernie,” Phil said.

“I know. I just want to see it.”

“Then you shall,” he said.

Ahmet Yavuz had his own elegant waterfront home in a pricey subdivision on Hendin Isle. His mansion was dark and lifeless, surrounded by a high white fence bristling with security cameras. A tough-looking crewcut guard made the property look like an expensive prison. Helen could catch only a glimpse of the house. Its thrusting planes of cantilevered glass glittered like ice shards in the moonlight.

“Brr,” Helen said. “I wouldn’t live there if you paid me.”

“I hope we’ll help move him to less exclusive accommodations,” Phil said.

G
us was polishing the bright red paint on a small, sleek sports car with graceful fins in front of Boy Toys Restoration and Car Repair. A long line of cars paused to pay homage to the gleaming antique stunner. Phil parked the Igloo in the shop lot, and Helen and Phil got out to admire the red car.

“That is awesome,” Phil said.

“Is it an old Thunderbird?” Helen asked.

“Better,” Gus said. “This baby is a fifty-nine Studebaker Silver Hawk. No rust, no dents, dual exhaust with glass packs.” He patted one fin and smiled.

It was the last time Gus would smile that day. He was about to hear the Coronado Investigations report. They retired to Gus’s office. Phil delivered the report, Helen at his side.

Gus was speechless for several seconds. Then he erupted into anger.

“So that’s it! The killer gets off scot-free? My mother and my sister were in on the cover-up and Bernie gets away with it, too?” Gus asked.

“Your sister didn’t get away with anything,” Phil said. “Bernie did six months in a psychiatric hospital. She punished herself.That woman is carrying a load of guilt. She’s suffering, Gus.”

“What about Ahmet? Is he suffering in his mansion?”

“He’ll get his eventually. Even Al Capone got his.”

“I don’t believe in that karma crap,” Gus said. “I want my brother’s killer in jail.”

“He may still go to jail,” Phil said. “But not for Mark’s murder.”

“Think what a murder trial would do to your sister,” Helen said. “She’s worked hard to become a useful citizen. Your brother loved Bernie. Mark wanted to save her. He succeeded. Don’t undo all his good work. He gave his life to help her.”

Gus’s seething silence was ominous.

“I know this is hard to hear,” Helen said. “Wait a while. See how you feel when you’ve had time to think it over.”

“What do I owe you?” Gus asked, his face expressionless.

Helen handed him the bill.

Gus glanced at it, yanked open a drawer in his black desk and wrote a check. He tossed it at Phil.

“Don’t bother coming back here if there’s anything else wrong with your car, Helen,” he said.

They left without a word. Helen and Phil had expected that Gus would be unhappy with them. Coronado Investigations could not use Gus Behr as a recommendation, but it didn’t matter. Valerie Cannata’s television exposé generated enough business to keep the fledgling agency busy.

Shelby Minars, their first client, stopped by Coronado Investigations in late September. She made a pretty picture in her blue dress, sitting primly in their yellow client chair. Her manners were softer and she seemed contented.

“I wanted to say that you can use my name as a reference,” Shelby said. “I was unhappy when you first told me that Bryan was cheating on me. The truth hurt, even when I expected it. But now I’m in therapy and dating the sweetest man. I don’t care if it is an office romance; I enjoy being with him. I wouldn’t go out with him until I was free. He’s divorced and soon I will be, too.”

“Peggy mentioned that your boss had a crush on you,” Helen told her.

“I like him a lot,” Shelby said. Helen caught the hint of a blush. “I don’t think he’s the one, but he makes me feel like a woman. Thanks to Bryan, I’m an independent woman. Financially, that is. My lawyer made sure that Bryan gave me the house and a good income. My pride was hurt, but I’m better off with Bryan out of my life. He moved in with that woman, Carla.” Shelby looked like she’d bitten into a lemon. “They’re living in her cracker-box condo.

“He lost his real estate job; did you know that? He’d been using clients’ houses to meet her. He’d tell the manager that he had a showing. You can guess what he was showing Carla. A homeowner came back early and surprised those two in the master bedroom. Can you imagine?”

“I’d rather not,” Helen said, hoping to shut out the memories of the afternoon she’d stumbled upon her ex-husband with his paramour. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

Helen was surprised when Gus called their office at Christmastime. He sounded uneasy. “Helen, can I stop by and see you and Phil sometime? I got something I want to say to both of you.”

“Sure,” Helen said. “How about in an hour?”

Gus labored up the stairs to 2C with slow, heavy steps, carrying a small brown cardboard box with a red bow taped on it. “Nice office,” he said. “Vintage, like my cars. Cool poster. Is that real?”

Phil beamed at the praise for his Sam Spade poster.

“Is it okay if I sit in that yellow chair?” Gus asked. “I’m still wearing my work clothes. I don’t want to get grease on it or something.”

“Don’t worry,” Helen said. “The vinyl upholstery is washable.”

“Cruiser behaving itself?” Gus asked, as if he were checking on an adopted pet.

“It’s perfect,” Helen said. “I couldn’t be happier.”

Gus handed Helen the package and said, “This is for you.”

Inside, Helen found two stainless steel oval rings, about five inches wide, and a steel crown-shaped object. They were arranged in a felt-lined box like jewelry.

“It’s a stainless-steel gearshift frame set,” Gus explained. “It’s designed for the newer Cruisers. Fits over the gear shift and gives it a custom look. I can install it for you.”

“Why, thank you, Gus,” Helen said. “It’s beautiful.”

Phil admired the gift. “Should make an already good car look even better,” he said.

“I’ve been meaning to come here for a while,” Gus said. “I owe you an apology.”

“No, you don’t,” Phil said.

“Hear me out,” Gus said. He shifted in the yellow chair and jiggled his leg. He was not accustomed to making speeches. “I admit I was disappointed when you told me that Ahmet killed my brother and he couldn’t be arrested because there wasn’t any evidence. I wanted him to rot in jail for what he did. He not only murdered my brother; he helped kill my mother. She gave up after Mark died.

“I was shocked by your report, too. I never knew Mark rescued my sister from Ahmet’s house. No one told me. Hearing it years later made it worse somehow.

“I also didn’t expect my own sister to be mixed up in Mark’s murder. I never dreamed that she’d called Ahmet to warn him that Mark had a gun after Mark rescued her. Bernie got our brother killed.

“I don’t believe Ahmet shot him by accident or in self-defense, either. Mark owed Ahmet three thousand dollars for cocaine. My brother had thumbed his nose at Ahmet by hauling Bernie out of his house.

“I think Ahmet killed Mark to make an example of him. Drug dealers can’t have customers or employees disrespecting them.

“Anyways, your report caught me by surprise. I said some stuff I’m sorry for now. It takes me a while to get used to new information, you know? But I want to thank you for telling me.”

Helen and Phil nodded.

“I saw the story on Channel Seventy-seven that the TV reporter Valerie Cannata did,” Gus said. “She said Ahmet Yavuz has been indicted by a federal grand jury and will go on trial for tax fraud. They say he’ll probably go to jail.You did that.”

Helen and Phil neither confirmed nor denied Gus’s speculation.

“The television reporter said Ahmet couldn’t explain where he got three million dollars to start his real estate business. He set up some shell companies to fool the IRS, but they saw through that. We know he used drug money, right?”

Double silence.

“You and Phil sicced the IRS on him.You told me Ahmet would wind up in jail, but not for murder.”

“I said he
might
wind up in jail,” Phil said. “It’s just luck that he got indicted.”

“Right. I believe that like I believe Santa Claus is gonna come down my chimney. You pointed the feds in the right direction, and nothing you say—or don’t say—can convince me otherwise. He’s going to jail and he’s gonna serve time. Hard time.

“Ahmet is used to fancy cars and a big mansion and elegant furniture. Living in an eight-by-ten cell with a toilet for the centerpiece will cause him real pain.That’s fine by me. He deserves it. He’s caused more hurt than he’s ever going to feel.”

“An indictment isn’t the same as a conviction,” Helen said. “Ahmet might win his tax-fraud case. But his lawyers will get most of his millions. If a man has no conscience, the best way to get him is through his wallet.”

Gus laughed. “I like that. You got him good. Both of you.

“I hired you because I wanted to know what to say to my grandson, Gus the Third. I was worried he’d inherited some kind of suicide gene. I didn’t know how to explain my brother.

“Now I know what I’ll tell my grandson: the truth. His greatuncle Mark was a great man. Great men have great struggles, and they don’t always succeed.

“Mark saved his sister, and that’s what matters.”

“G
reetings, TV star,” Margery said.

Helen’s landlady was alone by the pool, bathed in purple dusk and soft clouds of cigarette smoke. Margery lifted up her glass of box wine in greeting. “I saw Coronado Investigations got another plug on Channel Seventy-seven.”

“Was that cool or what?” Helen said. “Evie Roddick won her lawsuit against the city of West Hills and Homicide Detective Evarts Redding.”

“Retired detective,” Margery said.

“Gone for good,” Helen said.

“He should be,” Margery said. “The jury awarded Evie a cool seven hundred thousand dollars.”

“I’m glad Valerie mentioned our part in freeing Evie,” Helen said. “She didn’t have to do that.”

“Gave Valerie another chance to show that clip of her in the flame red workout suit in front of the gym,” Margery said. “That has to be good for ratings.”

“It’s definitely good for our business,” Helen said. “The phone’s been ringing nonstop since the show aired tonight. Phil is answering the calls.”

“You two got time to join me for a drink?” Margery asked.

“I will, as soon as I feed the beast,” Helen said. “I’ll try to pry Phil off the phone. Is Peggy home yet?”

“She and Pete will be out here in a minute.”

“Phil and I will join you in five,” Helen said.

Helen ran to her apartment, poured Thumbs some food, checked his water, then called Phil. Their office line was busy.

She opened her fridge and brought out a massive tray of cheeses, from sharp cheddar to creamy Brie. The deli had artistically arranged the cheese with grapes and apples. Helen peeled off the plastic wrap and poured crackers into a basket. Then she dialed their office number again. This time she got through to Phil.