The Winter Man (3 page)

“Sure, you'd defend her, when you did a threesome with her and John!” he snapped.

Frank gaped at him. “I beg your pardon?”

The other man's reaction made Tony even more
uncomfortable. He fiddled with his water glass. “John told me about it.”

“Oh, for God's sake!” Frank burst out. “I've never done a threesome in my life, much less with Millie!”

“Maybe he made a mistake with the name,” Tony mumbled.

“Maybe he made a mistake telling you lies about me,” Frank shot back. “I'd give anything to have Millie notice me! Don't you think I know how little I have to give to a woman with her brains? She has a degree in library science. I barely got out of high school. I'm a bouncer,” he added heavily. “A nobody.”

“Stop that!” Tony said immediately. “You're not just a bouncer. It's a rough job. It takes a hell of a man to do it.”

“I'm sure there are guys in New York City who place ads hoping to get hired as bouncers in bars,” Frank said sarcastically. “Here in San Antonio, it's not exactly the dream job of most men.”

“You're sweet on Millie Evans, so you're defending her.”

“I'm sweet on her, all right. If the competition wasn't so stiff, I might even try my luck. That's what made John crazy. He couldn't stand the competition, either. He knew he'd never replace that other guy Millie's been in love with for six years.”

“What other guy?” Tony asked carelessly.

“You.”

It was as if time stopped and everything went around
in slow motion. Tony put his fork down and looked across at Frank as if he'd gone mad. “Excuse me?”

“Do you think Millie needed courses in criminal justice to be a librarian?” Frank asked drolly. “She took those courses because your foster mother had told her you were taking them, in addition to your regular college classes, so you could get your degree faster. It was an excuse to be around you.”

Now, horribly, it made sense. He hadn't even questioned her presence in the classes.

“Great,” Tony muttered. “The murderer of my best friend thinks I'm hot!”

“She didn't kill him. But no jury would have convicted her if she had,” Frank persisted. “He got her fired, Tony. He went to her boss and told her that Millie was hanging out in bars to have sex with men for an audience. He told that to three of the library's richest patrons, one of whom sat on the board of directors for the library. They demanded that she be fired.”

Tony watched the other man warily. “And how do you know it wasn't true?”

“Because I went to a friend of mine at the local precinct and got John's rap sheet and showed it to them.”

Tony was feeling ill. “Rap sheet? John had a rap sheet?”

“Yes. For fraud, defamation of character, petty theft, three charges of stalking and a half dozen other charges. I got a statement from the last woman he'd stalked, a
receptionist for one of the dentists John went to. She swore in court that John had threatened her life. He convinced a lawyer that she was lying and produced a witness who heard her bragging that she'd get John arrested.”

Tony waited for the rest.

“The gang members testified in his favor and got the case thrown out of court. A couple of weeks later, the receptionist was raped. Nobody was ever caught or charged.”

Tony leaned forward. “Don't tell me John was mixed up in that!”

“He never admitted it,” Frank replied heavily. “But I knew he was. A few months later, one of the gang members was pulled in on a rape charge and he bragged to the arresting officer that he could get away with it anytime he liked. He had alibis, he said. Turned out they were also members of his gang. Sadly for him, on the second rape case, the new gang member he bragged to was wearing a wire. He's doing hard time now.”

“But John wasn't like that,” Tony protested. “He was a good man!”

“He was sick,” Frank said flatly. “He utterly destroyed Millie's life because she didn't want him. Even his relatives apologized to her for what he'd done. There are still people who go to that library who are convinced that Millie has orgies down in the basement, because John told them she did.”

“I can't believe it,” Tony said to himself.

“Obviously. You didn't know the adult John became. You still saw the kid who played sandlot baseball with you in ninth grade.”

“He had a rap sheet. I never knew.”

“He was a troubled man. There's something else, too. My friend at the precinct said that when they searched John's room, they found an open bank book on the coffee table. It showed a withdrawal of five thousand dollars in cash—John had apparently sold everything of value that he had. The pawn slips were there, too, neatly arranged. There was a note, addressed to Millie, with only a threat: ‘You'll be sorry.' The police haven't told her yet, and they warned me not to say anything. But I'm afraid for her.”

“What do you think John did with the money?” Tony asked.

“I don't know.”

Tony was frowning. “Any of those gang members ever been suspected of murdering anybody?”

“Yes,” came the curt reply. “John had a vindictive nature. It wouldn't surprise me if he didn't put out a contract on Millie.”

The John whom Tony knew as a teen wouldn't have been capable of such actions. The man he was only now coming to know might well have done it. He could hardly get his mind to function. He'd come home with clear-cut ideas of the good guy and the bad woman, and now his theories were worthless. He was remembering Millie's
tragic expression when he accused her of murdering his friend. He was remembering, too, what Frank had just told him, that Millie had cared about him. It was a good bet that she didn't anymore, he thought cynically.

Frank checked his watch. “I have to get back to the funeral home. Millie said she was coming over to see John. I tried to talk her out of it, but she said that it was something she had to do, that she felt responsible. Even after all John had done to her, she still felt sorry for him.”

Tony closed his eyes and groaned. He didn't know how to tell his friend that Millie had already come to see John, and that Tony had treated her like dirt and made her run out of the building in fear of him. It wasn't a revelation he was looking forward to.

F
rank actually winced when Tony told him how he'd treated Millie when he'd seen her at the funeral home earlier.

“Good God,” Frank said heavily. “That poor woman. How could you, Tony?” he asked accusingly.

Tony grimaced. “I didn't know any better,” he defended himself. “All I had to go on was the letter John sent me and the memory of those visits I made home, when he'd cry on my shoulder about how bad she was treating him. I was sure that she'd killed my friend with her heartless behavior.”

Frank sighed heavily. “I wish she hadn't gone to the funeral home early.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” Tony replied. He was never going to be able to forget Millie's mad dash out the door. It would haunt
him. “Look, that friend of yours at the precinct,” he said. “Could you get him to ask around and see if there's any word on the street about a potential hit?”

“I could do that,” Frank said, and brightened a little.

“Maybe John just left a lot of money to an animal shelter and made the threat to scare her,” Tony said.

Frank gave him a sour look.

Tony held up both hands. “Sorry.”

“It won't matter what he finds out,” Frank said. “There's no budget for protective custody on supposition, no matter how educated. They won't be able to assign anybody to protect her.”

“I'm off until the new year,” Tony said. “I can handle that.”

Frank blinked. “I'm sure she'll welcome having you around, after the warm reception you gave her at the funeral home.”

Tony flinched. “Yeah. Well, I'll have to apologize, I suppose.”

Frank didn't say anything to that. Privately he thought Tony was going to find it difficult to bend enough to convince Millie that he was sorry. His friend had spent most of his life in violent surroundings. His social skills were a bit rusty, especially around women like Millie. Tony's taste was the brassy, forward sort of females he could find in bars. Millie was both refined and reserved. It would be a tough combination to crack for a hard nut like Tony.

* * *

The next morning, a penitent Tony joined Frank at the funeral home for John's last rites. There was a very small group of people there, mostly family. A couple of rough-looking men were sitting in the back, looking around constantly. Tony wondered if they might be John's gang friends.

After the brief service, Tony drove Frank and himself to the cemetery for the graveside service. It was equally brief.

Tony noted that the rough-looking men had also come to the cemetery. One of them was intent on Tony and Frank, as if he found their presence suspicious.

“We're being watched,” Tony told his friend as they walked back toward Tony's sports car.

“I noticed,” Frank replied. Working as a bouncer had given him a sixth sense about trouble. Tony, in his line of work, also had developed it. They pretended to talk casually, without making it obvious that they saw the two men.

When they got to the car, and were seated and ready to travel, Tony looked in the rearview mirror and noted that one of the men was unobtrusively writing down his license plate number. He started laughing as he pulled the car around two of the family's vehicles and exited the cemetery road.

“What's funny?” Frank asked.

“They're cops,” he said.

“What?”

“They're cops,” Tony repeated. “Gang members wouldn't give a hoot in hell about my plate number. They want to know who I am, and what my connection is to John.” He glanced at his friend. “How about asking your contact in the police department what they want to know about me? I'll phone him with the details.”

Frank chuckled. “Fair enough. I'll call him when I get home.”

Tony grinned. It amused him to be viewed with suspicion. He mostly was these days. He kept a low profile and never talked about his job.

He dropped Frank off at his apartment, and promised to meet him the following day for lunch. Then he went back to his hotel.

He noted that he was being followed again. He gave his car keys to the valet who handled the parking, walked into the lobby and slowed his pace as he went toward the elevator. He felt eyes on his back. Someone was following him. This was amusing.

He got into the elevator and pretended to be disinterested in his surroundings. A man whom he recognized as one of the two strangers at the funeral got in with him and stood apart, also pretending unconcern.

When Tony got off, on the wrong floor, he noted that the man remained behind but jotted down a number.

He took the staircase down, and was waiting in the
lobby when the man following him got off the elevator. He looked up into Tony's black eyes and actually jumped.

Tony gave him a worldly look. “If you want to know who I am and why I went to John's funeral, come on in the bar and I'll buy you a drink and give you the lowdown.”

The man raised his eyebrows, and then started laughing.

“How did you figure it out?” he asked, when they were seated at the bar.

“I've worked with cops before,” Tony told him, “in between jobs overseas.”

“What sort of jobs overseas?”

Tony chuckled, reached into his pocket for his wallet, flipped it open and displayed his credentials.

The man whistled softly. “I thought about going with them, once, but after six months of being called, interrogated, lie-detected, background-checked and otherwise investigated to death, I gave up and joined the police force. The pay's lousy, but I've only been involved in one shoot-out in ten years.” He grinned. “I'll bet you can't say that.”

“You'd be right,” Tony had to admit. “I'm carrying enough lead in me to fill a revolver. They can't take some of the slugs out because of where they lodged.”

“You knew the deceased, I gather.”

He nodded. “He was my best friend since high school.” He grimaced. “But it turns out I didn't know him at all.
He was stalking a woman we both knew and I thought she was lying about it.”

The man pulled out a notepad. “That would be Miss Millicent Evans.”

“Yes.”

“She wasn't lying,” the police detective told him. “She called us in on a 10-16 domestic, physical,” he added, using the ten code for a domestic disturbance call. “He'd knocked her around pretty badly.”

Tony felt two inches high as he remembered Millie's unexpected reaction when he'd moved so abruptly in the funeral home. He couldn't speak.

“But when it was time to press charges, she wouldn't,” the detective said flatly. “We were disappointed. We don't like women beaters. She said he was drinking heavily and had apologized, and it was the first time he'd hit her.”