Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 03 - Trick Question (15 page)

He had just hung up his coat and sunk down at his desk when Cherrylynn beeped and asked whether a call from Detective Fox Lane was important. He sighed and said yes.

“Hello, Officer Lane. How are you this afternoon?” he asked.

“Ready for a vacation. I have two pieces of information for you. As you know, it is improper for me to communicate directly with defense counsel about a case under active investigation.”

“I don’t think it’s improper, Fox. I just think it may be against your policy.”

“That’s a fine distinction, but anyway, here’s what I have for you, confidentially. First, the other doctor who worked with the decedent, what’s his name, Swincter?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“Beats me.”

“Anyhow, he has a large bank balance, like half a million dollars.”

“Where did he get it?”

“I have no idea. Lieutenant Porknoy didn’t think it worthwhile to follow up. Actually, the only way he found out about it was, he did a routine request to the university credit union about your client Cletus Busters’s accounts, and they screwed up and gave him a printout of the entire department.”

“How recently did the money go in?”

“No idea. All Porknoy got were balances.”

“That could be anything, I guess. But thanks anyway. What did Cletus’s account show, by the way?”

“About three hundred dollars.”

“Figures. You said you had two things for me.”

“Yeah. Number two is, Mrs. Valentine has an arrest record.”

“Really? What for?”

“Assault on her husband. Almost two years ago. He was the complainant. Then the case was dismissed.”

“That’s very interesting. Do you have the file and the police report?”

“That would be in the warehouse somewhere.”

“And Officer Porknoy didn’t think that was worthy of following up either?”

“How’d you guess? Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for you. Trial is when?”

“Jury selection starts the day after tomorrow.”

“Well, if your man did it, I hope he gets the death penalty, but at least he ought to have a fair shake.”

“Yeah, thanks. You’re a pal.”

He hung up and leaned back in his chair, eyes toward the ceiling. “Now let’s think this thing through,” he said out loud.

But it was not going to be that way. The intercom beeped again.

“Collect call from the jail,” Cherrylynn reported. She knew he took calls from the jail.

He picked up.

“Tubby, it’s me, Mickey.”

“What’s wrong, man?”

“I got pulled over for DWI.”

“Aw, shit.”

“Yeah, I know. Can you get me out of here?”

“Open the door, Harold,” Tubby yelled while he clanged the knocker on the wood. He was at Debbie’s apartment building. It was a place with lots of palm trees and a pool. He knew if he kept pounding, heads would peek out up and down the hall. “It’s your old brother-in-law, Tubby.”

Finally the door swung open, and Harold, unwrinkled and sandy-haired, flashed his lustrous, innocent smile and emerged into the light.

“Come on in, Mr. Tubby. It sure is good to see you. I was just about to call you for a job reference. I’m trying to get hired at that shoe store, High Top Heaven -”

“You’re looking peaked, Harold,” Tubby interrupted, staring past him into the gloom of Debbie’s apartment. “Don’t you ever open the blinds or turn on the lights?”

“Well, I just got up. I was feeling real sick last night and couldn’t sleep.”

“Harold,” Tubby said. “Please sit down.”

They both sat. Harold was posed at the edge of the sofa, clenching his hands between his knees.

“You were supposed to stay in Hawaii, Harold. Why didn’t you?”

“Well, actually, Mr. Tubby, I ran out of money. I got the check you sent me, and I had an apartment and everything. But there was a fire in the building, and it completely cleaned me out. I had a real nice job, too, making these Hula Balls, which are like Hawaiian snowballs, down on the beach, but this hellacious storm came through and blew over the snowball stand and just about everything else over there. You might have read about it.”

“No. No, I didn’t. Do you have any plans, other than to stay here in Debbie’s apartment?”

“Sure, I’m planning to get a job and get back on my feet just as soon as I can.”

“Why are you here, in the dark, Harold?”

“I told you. I just got up.”

“Look, is anybody after you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, is anybody after you? Anybody you may have ripped off? Are the police looking for you?”

“Mr. Tubby, would I be staying here with my niece, your daughter, if that was the case?”

“Yes, you probably would. Have you ever been in treatment?”

“For what?”

“For drugs. Let’s not bullshit here. For marijuana or crack or whatever you’re stringing yourself out on.”

“Hey.” Harold looked insulted. “I drink a couple of beers, but I’m off the drugs now.”

“Because there are lots of programs. Hell, New Orleans is full of them. I could even help you a little bit with the cost.”

“I would definitely appreciate a loan to tide me over,” Harold said earnestly.

“You are not getting my drift.”

“I’m off the crack, truthfully, Mr. Tubby. I’ve even been thinking about volunteering for one of those counseling programs where they go to the high schools and stuff and tell kids about the evils of dope, you know.”

“You can’t stay here, Harold.”

“I’m not going to be around long, Mr. Tubby.”

Tubby glared at the carpet and around Debbie’s apartment. It was sparsely decorated with girl things – a color TV, a wicker chair, some flowers in a vase, a macrame wall hanging. He saw a hair dryer he thought belonged to Christine, but he did not pause to examine the implications of that. When Debbie was home, the room looked sweet and cheerful. With Harold there in the dark, it looked exposed and cheap.

“How about the Army, Harold? Have you ever thought about that? Get a skill. They pay for your education when you get out.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely thinking about that if this shoe salesman deal doesn’t work out.”

Tubby left after that. He guessed there was nothing to be done until Debbie, or maybe Christine, decided to kick Harold out. It was her house, not Tubby’s, but he could happily handle the eviction.

In the Upper Pontalba Building, two men stared at each other over a crystal vase of red camellias on the coffee table.

“I think he’s getting too damn close,” Mr. Flick finally said. “The risk of him running around loose is too great!”

“So what are you telling me to do?” Walter asked him.

“Take him out of the picture.”

“Permanently? Or do you want me just to put him in a coma for a while?”

“Either one would be fine. Whatever you think is best, Walter. It would be in everyone’s best interest if this fellow Dubonnet, or whatever his name is, were sidelined. So to speak. But it should be an accident, of course – routine street violence, perhaps.”

“I can handle that.”

“You’ll do it personally?”

“That’s what I get paid for, boss.”

“Take care of this and you’re due for a raise.”

Walter took one of the camellias from the vase and smelled it.

“Odorless,” he said. The crooked twist his pretty lips took might have scared a child.

“Not to me it’s not,” Flick said.

* * *

Cherrylynn parked her slightly ratty Datsun across from Magenta Reilly’s apartment on Jeff Davis Parkway. Distressed as she was, she didn’t even get mad at herself for dragging her car’s tender sidewall along the ragged granite curb.

She hurried across the street. The lights of a passing car caught her, and some teenagers yelled something she didn’t want to hear. She rang the bell but no one answered, so she rapped on the door.

Footsteps came down the hall, and a voice asked, “Who’s there?”

“It’s Cherrylynn,” she replied. “We met at the laundromat.”

“Go away. I don’t want to talk to you,” Magenta said.

“Please let me apologize. I feel terrible.”

“Go away right now.”

“Please. I know you’re mad at me, but I do want to say I’m sorry. Could you at least let me do that?”

The door opened a crack. A slice of Magenta’s face appeared, and she had been crying. Cherrylynn offered a big, miserable smile.

“I really do apologize,” she said. “Could I come in for just a minute? I’m not a bad person.”

“I suppose,” Magenta said.

Cherrylynn stepped quickly inside.

“I shouldn’t have fooled you last weekend. I know it was the wrong thing to do.”

“Who are you really?” Magenta demanded.

“I’m a legal secretary for Mr. Tubby Dubonnet. He’s the lawyer for Cletus Busters.”

“The man who killed Whitney?”

“Mr. Dubonnet doesn’t believe he did it, Magenta. We’re trying to find out who really did. And I guess I was just playing at being detective when I talked to you. I’m not very good at it.”

“I’m sure you found out everything you wanted to know about me.” Magenta pouted.

“Yes, I did. I found out that you are a very nice person, and not the sort who would kill anybody. You didn’t really tell me anything confidential.”

“What exactly were you trying to learn?”

“Look, may I sit down?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Thanks.” Cherrylynn plopped down on the sofa.

“See, there’s a real detective working for Mr. Dubonnet. His name is Flowers. Anyway, Flowers found out somehow – don’t ask me how – that you and Dr. Valentine were having a relationship.”

Magenta gasped.

“That’s not true,” she squeaked.

“It probably doesn’t really matter anyway,” Cherrylynn continued. “We were just trying to find out who else besides Mr. Busters would have a motive to kill Dr. Valentine, and so Mr. Dubonnet, and Flowers and me, were talking to everyone we could think of.”

“I could never have killed Professor Valentine.”

“Oh, I can tell that. Mr. Dubonnet also investigated Mrs. Valentine. And you know what? She was having an affair too – with a chiropractor.”

“That woman is such a witch,” Magenta said bitterly.

“Why do you say that?” Cherrylynn asked.

“She made his life a living hell,” Magenta said.

Cherrylynn leaned forward and nodded her head.

“You don’t have any coffee?” she asked.

At that moment Denise unlocked her apartment door. The lights were on inside, and the TV was blaring.

“Baxter?” she called.

“It’s me,” he said, getting up from his chair in front of the television.

He spread his arms, came to her, and kissed her hard. He had poured a beer or two.

He pulled her head back.

“You’re late,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Baxter, but let go of my hair,” she began.

He slapped her across the mouth.

“Papa’s home. You should be on time.”

“Stop that,” she cried.

“That’s no way to talk to Coach,” he said and pressed her roughly against the couch.

“I love you, Baxter.” It was a complaint, or a question.

He grabbed her jaw in his hand so that her lips were squeezed together and her ears hurt. “So, you should do what I tell you to do,” he said fiercely.

But why should I? she screamed inside.

“Ow!” she protested.

“You don’t have any coffee, do you?” Flowers asked Tubby.

“I just put a pot on,” Cherrylynn said. “It’ll be done in a minute.”

The morning was gray, and it seemed even grayer from the forty-third floor, where you could see the river, the lake, and the sky all competing for dreariness.

Tubby was still groggy from dealing with Central Lockup, springing O’Rourke from the drunk tank, which had taken until the wee hours, and Flowers looked discouraged. Only Cherrylynn seemed wide awake and full of pep.

“Now, where were we, Mr. Flowers?” Tubby asked.

“I spent too much time in Cletus’s neighborhood yesterday. I found absolutely nobody who would really claim to know the man – certainly no one who would testify as to his good works and moral rectitude. One lady said he was good about picking up his trash cans after the garbage men came. I didn’t think you could use that. I also failed to find someone who could verify his whereabouts on the Friday of the murder.”

“We know he went to work,” Tubby said.

“Yeah, but I thought maybe we could show what he did before and after his shift – like maybe he didn’t act like a man who had just murdered someone and stuffed him in a freezer. But no one could, or would, tell me anything.”

“It’s a real problem,” Tubby said, “that Cletus has no recollection at all about what he did on the Friday of the murder. He just says he went to his job, but he can’t remember any details, or even what else he did that day. I suppose it’s not so strange. It all happened four months ago.”

“People are always skeptical when the accused has no alibi,” Flowers commented.

“Hell, I’m skeptical, and I’m his lawyer. But I guess it’s not surprising. How many of us recall what we did last week?”

Cherrylynn and Flowers swapped glances.

“I usually do, Mr. Dubonnet,” she said.

Flowers just shrugged.

“Well anyway, where do we go from here? Who’s got an idea?”

“I don’t have any ideas, boss,” Cherrylynn said, “but Magenta Reilly told me that Dr. Valentine’s wife has been going out with Bennett for months. She didn’t keep it a secret from him, but she sure did from everyone else because she wanted alimony if he sued her for a divorce. She told him she didn’t care if he left, so long as he paid her a lot every month for support. She claimed she put him through medical school and he owed her. She was real abusive, and even would attack him physically, I mean.”

Tubby couldn’t get over his surprise. “You got all this from the medical student you had coffee with?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” she said proudly. “And Dr. Valentine also told Magenta he was going to leave his wife, just as soon as he finished some very important project. He said he had to concentrate on his work to get it done, but after that the marriage was all over. He was going out the door.”

“Valentine confided all this to Magenta?”