Witch House (19 page)

Carlos stole a glance over his shoulder at
the wall clock. “Maybe we should discuss this over lunch.”

“Great! You buying?”

He pulled back and pursed his lips. “Ooh, I
don’t know. Payday is not till Friday and I don’t….”

“I’ll spot you. I know you’re good for
it.”

“Yeah,” said Spinelli. “It’s your turn,
Carlos. I bought last time, and Tony paid the last three times
before that.”

“Yeah, so what do you say?”

What could he say, with the two of us tag
teaming him down on the matt like that? If he only knew that
Dominic and I had planned that two pronged attacked for weeks, then
maybe he could have weaseled out of it. As it was, even with me
floating the check until payday, it could have been worse. We could
have invited the girls along for company.

We arrived at the Percolator in the middle of
the lunch hour rush. A clan of six from traffic and vice had
squeezed into our favorite booth by the window, with half the rest
of the precinct filling the others, leaving us with the wobbly
table in the corner, across from the lunch counter, almost in the
restrooms. Carlos did not mind, though. He drinks so much iced tea
with his lunch, we knew it would all work out for the best.

We took our seats and perused the menus. I do
not know why we do that, as I am sure that we, along with everyone
else in the diner, could recite it by heart. I suppose we keep
expecting that one day we might find something new between its
folds, like the time they added the Hillary chicken special to the
menu: a small breast, large thigh and a left wing. Carlos is still
trying to understand that one.

“So,” I said, alternating glances between
Carlos and Dominic. “Tell me your thoughts.”

“I’m thinking about the turkey plate,” said
Carlos.

“No! I mean about Powell. Is he hiding
something, or isn’t he?”

“He is definitely hiding something,” Spinelli
replied. “It is so obvious.”

Carlos said, “I agree. He did not have an
answer for everything. He did not even lie well for the answers he
did have.”

“How do you mean?”

“All right, first off you asked him why he
did not respond to the 10-103 disturbance call, and he said he
didn’t hear it.”

“That’s because there was no 10-103. I just
wanted to know where he was when those thugs from the casino
roughed Landau up out in the alley.”

“Yes, but he didn’t know that, yet he assumed
the disturbance was at Pete’s Place. I think he was there.”

“I see your point.”

Spinelli added, “I still don’t believe his
story about his car troubles the morning of the robbery. He told
you he messed around with his battery cables for only a couple of
minutes before calling in his disabled unit, but I read the
official report filed by the D.A.’s office. The time difference
between him receiving the 211 and his call to dispatch advising
them of his troubles was nine minutes, three times longer than it
took the robbers to kill the armored car driver and get away with
the money.”

“You still think he was in on the
robbery.”

“Of course. Powell’s job that day was to make
sure he was the closest unit to the crime scene when the robbery
went down. I mean come on; he clocked in and got on the road
fifteen minutes before shift change. It’s no coincidence the heist
occurred just before seven o’clock when there were no other cops on
the street.”

“He’s right,” said Carlos. “When have you
ever known Powell to show up for work early?”

“Never.”

“There you have it.”

“So, Powell goes to the cabin a couple of
days later and what happens?”

Dominic said, “He went to the cabin to get
his share of the loot, but he found the cabin on fire and the money
gone. Naturally, he thinks Landau is trying to stiff him so he
threatens to arrest him and take him downtown.”

“Which he does,” said Carlos.

I asked, “Why wouldn’t Landau rat Powell out
as an accomplice?”

“Who would believe him? Johnny Buck is dead.
That leaves the word of a robber against a cop’s word. Besides,
something fishy is still going on here. It cannot be coincidence
that Powell’s girlfriend is also Landau’s fiancée.”

“I agree. Something is not adding up. Listen
Dominic, I still want to know who is paying Stiles’ bills.”

“I am working on that.”

“Good, and while you are at it, I want you to
find out what happened to the money from the heist.”

He laughed. “Well, that’s the big question,
isn’t it?”

“No, I don’t mean the actual cash; I mean the
loss. The chief said that insurance covered the casino’s losses.
Find out if that’s true, and if the armored car company had
insurance, as well.”

“Ah, I see where you are going. I’ll look
into it.”

“Oh, and before I forget, you have plans
tonight.”

“I do?”

“Yes. Lilith wants to conduct another séance
at that old house. We have to be there by eight o’clock. Do you
have a problem with that?”

“Well, I don’t know. I was going to—”

“Ursula will be there.”

“Oh, then sure, I’ll be there.”

“I thought so.”

Soon after our server arrived and took our
orders, we heard a voice call out from across the diner. “Yo,
Detective Marcella!” We all looked. It was Adam Landau. He came to
our table and shook my hand. Acknowledging Carlos with a nod and
ignored Dominic completely. “I thought that was you,” he said. “How
are things going? Any leads yet in my father’s case?”

“We are working on it,” I said.

“Yeah? How `bout the money? Any clues to what
happened to that?”

“I thought you said it burned up in the
fire.”

“I didn’t say that. My father said that.”

“You said you believed him.”

“Did I?”

I looked to Carlos. “You took notes on that,
didn’t you, Carlos?”

He looked up at Adam. “That’s what you
said.”

“Oh, well….” He shrugged it off. “Maybe I do
and maybe I don’t. I can tell you for sure it’s not up at the
cabin.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I have looked for it—me and a
million other treasure hunters. The mystery surrounding that loot
is practically folk lore around here.”

I started to ask him when the last time was
that he had gone to the cabin, when Trish Rosado came up to our
table in a skip. “There you are,” she said, folding Adam’s arm in
hers and locking it to her side. “I’ve been waiting for you
outside. You ready to roll?”

He kissed her absentmindedly. “Sure, I was
just chill`n with Detective Marcella and his posse, seeing if he
had any news of Pop.”

She smiled at the three of us, spending an
unusually long time looking at Spinelli, as though recognizing him
from somewhere. I thought she might even ask him about it, but she
let it ride, turning back to Adam, saying, “We really have to go,
baby. My mom is taking me to the bridal shop later this
afternoon.”

“Bridal shop?” I said.

Adam blushed. “I asked her to marry me last
night. She said yes.”

“Yeah? Congratulations!” Carlos and Dominic
echoed my sentiments. “Have you picked a date?”

“A week from Saturday,” Trish answered.

“So soon.”

“Yeah,” said Adam. “I only wish Pop could
have been around for it, but what can you do?”

“Life goes on,” I said. “Best of luck to you
both.”

The two thanked me and said goodbye, passing
our server on the way out as she brought our drinks to the table.
Carlos wasted no time emptying half the sugar shaker into his glass
of iced tea. I said something to him about liking it sweet and he
replied, “Not as sweet as Trish was on Dominic.”

“What?”

He smiled slyly. “Didn’t you see how she
looked at him?”

“Dominic?”

“Sure.” He said to Spinelli, “What was that
about?”

He said nothing, but I could tell from his
flushing that it was something. “Dominic?” I said. “You two know
each other?”

“Yeah, I know her from high school.”

“Yeah?” Carlos elbowed him in the side. “Come
on then, spill it.”

“What? There is nothing to spill. We dated
briefly. That’s it.”

“You ever get any?”

“Carlos!” I reached across the table and hit
him. “That’s none of our business.”

I could see that the conversation was making
Dominic uncomfortable. I had always thought that maybe he had never
crossed that final threshold into manhood, and that made me think
of him and Ursula. Someone as fragile as she could do well with a
man not so versed in modern women. We know that his feelings for
her are no secret, and I suppose inside I am rooting for the two of
them to hook up. Cultural differences aside, with her death and his
near-death experience, both shared something that no one else we
knew could. I think also that a small part of me wanted someone
else to know what it is like to love a witch. They say misery loves
company. Not that mean to insinuate that my relationship with
Lilith is miserable, but for the company I do yearn, as Carlos has
no idea what pains I go through to make my relationship work. I
consider Dominic a cool cat, and although he and I could hardly be
more different, there are enough similarities in our nature to
compare notes. He is analytical; I am analytical. He is rational
and levelheaded; I am likewise even-keeled. Having a friend with
whom I can relate unique experiences appeals to me. I believe we
might learn from one another in ways that only he and I might
understand. More than simply a sounding board, Dominic can be my
canary in a coalmine. What blows up in his face with Ursula could
save me from a similar fate with Lilith. That is until he catches
on to my game. Until then, I say to him with a smile, here kitty,
kitty.

After dropping Dominic off at the Justice
Center, Carlos and I drove back out to Pete’s Place. We had new
photos to show him and a few new questions to ask. Mostly, we were
in confirmation mode. We felt confident we knew who met with René
Landau in the last hours of his life. With positive photo I.D.s
from Pete, we could be sure.

The bar had only just opened; stools and
chairs were still upside down on the tables and the smell of stale
beer and cigarettes had not yet filtered out through the
ventilation system. We caught up with Pete in the back room,
loading beer cases onto a dolly.

“Pete,” I said, “can we give you a hand with
that?”

He turned around, surprised, if not startled
to see us. “Oh, hey Detectives.” He pitched the dolly back and
started wheeling it forward. We parted, allowing a path between us.
“No, I got it,” he said. “If you want to help, you can start
pulling down barstool and chairs.”

“I’ll get it,” said Carlos. “You show him the
pictures. Pete, does it matter which ones I do first?”

“Yeah, start with the stools. The chairs can
wait. Table drinkers don’t show up until after the first matinée
lets out.”

“Got it.”

I shadowed Pete over to the beer cooler,
removing photos from a manila envelope as I walked. “Pete, I wonder
if I might show you these; see if you recognize anyone.”

“Sure.” He parked the dolly beside the cooler
and began filling it. “Don’t mind if I work while you show me, do
you?”

“Not at all.” I started with the surveillance
photos of Chief Running Bear. “Ever see this man?”

He stopped loading bottles long enough to
steal a glimpse. “Yeah, that’s the big Hispanic fellow who came in
with the two bouncer dudes the other night.”

Carlos pulled his phone out and queued up the
two pictures of the Indian bouncers he took at the casino. “You
mean these guys?”

“That’s them.”

“They are Wampanoag Indians.”

“Yeah, well they’re the musclemen who
escorted your boy outside for a little powwow; only he came back
looking like they tried to scalp him.”

I showed him a mug shot of Stephanie Stiles.
“This is the woman we asked you about yesterday. It is a more
recent picture. Does it ring any bells?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“How about this man. His name is Paul Kemper.
Ever see him in here before?”

Again, Pete shook his head, this time with
less assurance. “I don’t know. He looks familiar, but he could be
any of the stuffed shirts that come in here for drinks after work
before going home to their Betty Crocker wives. We get all kinds
here, you know.”

“Of course.” I cycled through a few more
photos until I got to Superintendent DeAngelo. “What about him?
Just another stuffed shirt?”

He took a longer look at that one. “No, him I
remember. That’s old crew cut. He’s the Joe that strolled in here
after midnight and took up residence at your boy’s table. They only
talked a few minutes, with crew cut doing most of it. I remember
him clearly because I thought I was going to have to break up a
fight.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Let’s just say that as a bartender, you have
a keen sense about these things. Besides, you expect something will
happen when a guy slams his fist down on the table hard enough to
spill drinks and then shouts, ‘Don’t fuck with me.’”

“That was crew cut saying that?”

Pete tapped his finger on the photo of
DeAngelo. “That was crew cut.”

I looked to Carlos. He knew what I was
thinking. In our interview, DeAngelo said he had never been to
Pete’s Place. He also told us he had not seen Landau since he
walked through the prison gates the morning before. “What happened
after that?” I asked. “Did DeAngelo make any threats?”

“No, after that he got up and went out the
back door. I felt bad for your boy. I was even going to send him
over a free drink, until his luck changed.”

“How so?”

“`Bout ten minutes after his run-in with crew
cut, Miss Hot Tamale strolls in and sits right down at his
table.”