Witch House (6 page)

“Do you think when Adam called, he told her
to provide him with an alibi?”

“No,” I said, giving it more thought than it
probably deserved. “I suppose if he needed her as his alibi he
would have talked to her about it before now.”

“But?”

“But what?”

“I don’t know. I thought I heard a but
coming.”

“Did you, now?”

“Yes.”

I smiled at that. Carlos really knows me
better than anyone else does. I only wish that Lilith knew me half
as well. “It’s the money,” I said. “I can’t shake the feeling that
it is still out there somewhere and that Adam knows it. I think he
and his father were planning to dig it up together.”

“If that’s the case then maybe somebody else
thought the same thing; only something went wrong last night and so
that someone killed Landau.”

“Yes, but what someone?”

“I don’t know, a silent partner maybe, an
accomplice that had been waiting for him to get out of prison all
these years.”

I was about to challenge that notion on the
grounds that Landau would have been worth more alive than dead to
anyone like that, when Carlos got the call from Spinelli that we
were waiting for.

“You got it?” he said, after listening to
Spinelli’s opening sentence. “Great.” I could tell from his end of
the conversation they were talking about Stephanie Stiles. Carlos
pulled out his notepad and started writing. “What is it again?
Ah-huh, yes, okay. Thanks.”

I waved to get his attention. “Ask him about
the lawyer.”

He held his finger up to stop me. “Okay,
good. Got anything on the lawyer?” A short pause followed. “Yeah?
Oh?” Another pause. “Really? I’ll tell him.”

He hung up, and without looking at me,
scratched something down on his notepad. “Well?” I said.

“This is interesting.” He punctuated the last
of his notes with a dart-like jab to the paper. “Paul Kemper was
Landau’s attorney at his trial.”

“What is so interesting about that?”

“Nothing, except that the court considered
Landau a non-violent offender, since he only drove the get-a-way
car and was unarmed when apprehended. The eyewitness that put him
at the scene of the crime also identified Johnny Buck Allis as the
man who pulled the trigger on the armored truck driver, although
she said that the driver shot first.”

“That may be, however it is still murder when
committed in the act of a felony.”

“I know that. My point is this; even though
the court did not consider Landau a violent criminal, it sentenced
him to twenty years in Walpole, a level six super max facility
typically reserved for the hardest of hardcore prisoners like
Richard Reid, the so called Shoe-Bomber.”

“And Albert DeSalvo.”

“Yeah, the Boston Strangler.”

“But just as strange, is why didn’t Kemper, a
highly regarded up and coming hot-shot lawyer, object to the
Walpole sentencing? He should’ve pushed for incarceration at a
level four facility like Bay State Correctional.”

“Or a level three like South Middlesex.”

“I think it’s something we should ask him.
Did Spinelli get you Stephanie Stiles’ address?”

“He did, but don’t you want to hear the other
interesting tidbit he had for us?”

“There’s more?”

Carlos held his notepad close to his chest as
if guarding a killer poker hand. He stole a glimpse at it and then
came up smiling. “Guess who the arresting officer was that caught
Landau leaving the burning cabin that day.”

I shook my head. “I give up.”

“Ronald Powell.”

“Sergeant Powell?”

“Yeah, only he wasn’t a sergeant back
then.”

“We just saw him this morning.”

“I know.”

“Do you think he knew who Landau was?”

“I don’t see how he couldn’t. He was right
there when you found his prison ID card.”

“He didn’t say anything.”

“Well,” Carlos slipped his notepad back into
his jacket pocket, “I told you it was an interesting tidbit.”

“Yes you did. I am beginning to think there
are many interesting tidbits to this case. I only hope they begin
adding up soon.”

“Coffee?” Trish came back to the table with
my coffee and toast and a large tea for Carlos, no ice. “Yours will
be up in a minute,” she said to Carlos.

I thought she would turn and skedaddle as
quickly as possible, but she did not. When it became obvious that
she wanted to say something, only she did not know where to start,
I asked her, “Is there something else?”

She kept her head down, her chin nearly to
her chest. I could see there was something. She took a shallow
breath and said, “Detective, I….”

“Yes?”

“I want to tell you that I lied to you
earlier.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. I told you earlier that I never met
Adam’s father. The truth is I did. I met him yesterday when he came
to the house to see Adam.”

I looked at Carlos. His brows were
fish-hooked in perpetual surprise, and I imagined if I looked into
a mirror, I would have seen a similar expression on my face, too. I
made it a point to scowl in an attempt to display my disapproval,
and maybe convey a sense that I knew she was lying all along. “All
right then,” I said, “why don’t you tell me about that?”

I watched her eyes carry off on an invisible
thread to the corner of the room before snapping back to mine. “He
was already agitated about something,” she said of Landau. “I
walked in on him and Adam while Mister Landau was on the phone. He
was yelling at the man, calling him a swine and a crook.”

“Do you know who he was talking to?”

Trish shook her head. “No, but I heard him
say to whoever it was, ‘I’ll see you at the bar tonight’, and then
he slammed the phone down.”

“I’ll see you at the bar tonight?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t know who it was, a man or a
woman?”

“No.”

“Does Adam know?”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I asked him. After Mister Landau left, I
asked Adam who that was on the phone, and he said he didn’t know.
He told me that his father came in, said hello, they hugged and
then he went right over to the phone and made the call.”

“So, Mister Landau placed the call?”

“Yes.”

“Trish, why didn’t you tell us this
earlier?”

“I wanted to,” she said, “but when Adam
called here, he told me not to mention that. He said we didn’t need
to get mixed up in it, and that whoever killed his father might
want to come back and hurt him or me.”

“I see, but you know it is against the law to
obstruct or mislead an active criminal investigation. You and Adam
can find yourselves in serious trouble for holding back
information.”

“I know. That’s why I am telling you this
now. All I ask is that you don’t tell Adam I spoke to you about it.
I don’t want him to hate me.”

I took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Don’t worry. We won’t tell. Just make sure you keep us informed if
anything new develops, or if anyone suspicious tries to contact
Adam. Okay?”

“I will, Detective. Thank you.”

She walked away, and this time I made it a
point not to watch her, so that Carlos could not accuse me of
lusting after women one-third my age, even though I am her age now.
It is not so much that I dread dealing with Carlos and his
adolescent teasing; I do not. It is Lilith, should she ever catch
wind of it. The everyday girlfriend may show mercy for such trivial
infractions, but never the witch. The witch will make your life a
living hell just for looking. Sometimes I think she knows when such
fears have me thinking of her, as was the case then when she called
me on the phone, even before I took my first sip of coffee. I shook
a stern finger at Carlos and warned him, “Don’t you say a
word.”

“About what?”

Only then did I realize that my phone did not
yet ring. When it did, I pulled it out of my pocket, flipped it
open and said, “Yes, Lilith.”

“Tony, you will never guess what. Ursula and
I were just….” She paused.

“Just what?” I said.

“Are you with a woman?”

“I’m with Carlos. Does that count?”

“Hmm, listen. Ursula and I were just looking
at a house across town.”

“Oh?” I covered the mouthpiece and whispered
to Carlos that the girls found a house. “That’s nice, Lilith, but I
really can’t talk about buying a house right now. We are in the
middle of an investigation and—”

“It’s haunted.”

“Come again.”

“It’s haunted, really. As soon as we walked
in, we got this cold chill and a vibe like there was something
paranormal afoot.”

“A paranormal foot?”

“No, Tony, something afoot—in the house,
there is something paranormal taking place. You should see it. The
minute you walk into a room, the mirrors and windows fog up, the
temperature drops. The floor shakes. We didn’t even see any rodent
or bug droppings lying around, and the house has been empty for
years.”

“So, you’re saying it’s clean?”

“I am saying we think there is a restless
spirit living there and we want to investigate further. Ursula and
I are going back with some candles and incense later. We want to do
a séance.”

“Is the realtor going to mind you conducting
a séance in the house?”

She laughed at that. “Tony, trust me. The
realtor won’t mind. She is too afraid to go inside again, but
that’s all right. The locks don’t work. Honestly, you have to see
this place. It’s a riot. There is this one room where you turn the
light on and it shuts itself off, but if you turn it on and off
real quick, it will turn itself on again. It’s a hoot, I swear,
whoever this ghost is, he’s not that bright.”

“That’s great, Lilith.” At this point in the
conversation, I had turned the phone on speaker so that Carlos
could hear, too. “Just remember we don’t buy anything until a home
inspector checks it out.”

“Inspector? You kidding? This place doesn’t
need an inspector. It needs a ghost buster.”

“Lilith, please don’t make any irrational
decisions without me. You promise?”

“What does that mean? You want to help me
make irrational decisions?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Tony, it’s just a séance. Chill. Here, say
hello to Ursula.”

“No, Lilith, I don’t want to say—”

“Greetings, Master Tony!”

“Hello, Ursula. Listen, don’t let Lilith get
you—”

“Oh, Lilith speaks of going now. I must say
fare thee well.”

“Goodbye, Ursula.”

I flipped the phone shut. “You see this? See
what I have to put up with every day?”

Carlos only smiled and sipped his tea. I know
he must think I am a total bore. He has let me know countless times
how lucky I am to have Lilith, and even more so to have a second
chance at life. But it has taken me considerable time to adjust to
my new life, which seems funny, as I have walked in these shoes
once already. I guess the thing is, the first time I took that
walk, everything seemed so new and wonderful. Now everything still
seems new and wonderful, only in an old déjà vu sort of way. I
guess I am afraid of stepping on life’s little land mines a second
time around—one being Lilith, a powder keg with a short fuse. If
flirting with fire is living on the edge, then I am on the rim of
the volcano, sliding down its throat.

The clouds were beginning to break when we
arrived at Stephanie Stiles’ apartment. A good sign, I thought,
anticipating a break in the case as well. Her simple one bedroom
flat on the third floor of a low-rise condominium overlooked the
river along Edgewater Boulevard. She did not seem too surprised to
see us, although if she knew we were coming, I would have thought
she would have put on a robe. She answered the door in a sheer, if
not see-through, nightgown, unbuttoned to her navel and cropped
just above the knees. Her hair looked like a rat’s nest, her makeup
faded, smudged and worn, as though she had slept on it without
trying to remove any of it first. She probably had. Earlier, Carlos
had shown me her photo and said she looked chassis. I wondered if
he still thought so now.

Stiles invited us in, lit up a smoke and
offered us a seat on the sofa. On her walk to another chair across
the room, she passed in front of a glass slider leading to the back
balcony. Only then, with the sun silhouetting her figure, could I
say without reservations that her gown was indeed see-through. I
looked at Carlos and caught him in a flinch, as though he had just
suffered a carpet shock. In a way, I suppose he had.

“Ms. Stiles,” I said, “we are sorry to barge
in on you like this without calling, but we have come to ask you a
few questions, if we may.”

“About René, I suppose.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She took a long, slow drag on her cigarette
and let it out her nose, allowing a plume of blue-white smoke to
wrap her face in a ghostly shroud. Then she pitched her head back
toward the ceiling and watched the cloud evaporate around her.
“Detective, as far as I am concerned, René is dead to me.”

That caught my attention, and Carlos’, too.
“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I don’t care if I ever see him
again. You can tell him that next time you see him.”

“Won’t do any good,” said Carlos.

“What?”

I reached over and slapped his knee. “Ms.
Stiles, when was the last time you saw René Landau?”

She stole another drag of her cigarette and
expelled it in a manner I described previously. “Yesterday,” she
said. “He came here in a taxi, all bent out of shape, yelling and
screaming.”

“About what?”

She hesitated, took an abbreviated drag and
then blew it out sharply. “He accused me of seeing other men while
he was in prison.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I denied it, of course.”

I gave Carlos a subtle look to gauge his
expression. Surprisingly, his poker face kept me guessing. I said
to Stiles, “What happened then?”