Murder on Location (24 page)

“That was close!” A short man at the curb grabbed my arm and pulled me across the road and onto the sidewalk. “They never even stop. I tell you, it's some kind of world where you can get killed just crossing the street.” I was busy dusting off invisible paint marks from my coat and wondering which of the current crop of acquaintances was trying to write me out of the script. “What you need is a drink, my friend.” The little guy led me by the arm into the beverage room at the back of the Colonel John.

“We don't open till noon,” the bartender said. “Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you, Mr. Cohn.” I took another look at my rescuer. He had a chirpy brown moustache under horn-rims, thick lenses, and not very much hair. His ears looked like rabbits had nibbled at them and his skin was pink the way smoked salmon is pink. He was looking me over.

“Mordecai Cohn?” I asked.

“That's right. You'd think Mordecai
or
Cohn, wouldn't you, but my mother thought it should be both. But things were different in those days. People had values, standards.”

“Cohn leaned on the table with the elbows of his fine navy-blue overcoat. A white silk scarf with his monogram was tucked under the collar. He pulled at himself to make himself more comfortable as we sat there sizing one another up. For a long time he kept his eyes locked on
mine. It was the kind of eye-contact stuff that made me nervous, as it was supposed to do.

The bartender had brought a teapot and placed it with two teacups in the middle of the round table. The teapot wasn't steaming.

“I'm not that hard to meet, Mr. Cohn. You didn't have to go to all that trouble.”

“I wanted you to think that I'm your friend. I
am
your friend, you'll see. At the moment, Mr. Cooperman, you don't have a better friend in the world. Believe me. What you did last night has made a friend and colleague of mine, a very calm and relaxed businessman, very impulsive and vengeful. He could get into a lot of trouble he's so mad. So, like a good friend, I tried to calm him down, get him to see reason, only the only thing he sees is blood, Mr. Cooperman. Now in the old days we both saw a lot of that. We're both experienced. We're old surgeons. Once you've seen one gall bladder, you've seen them all. Know what I mean? So, when my friend gets mad and starts yelling for blood, I know right away he's annoyed. In fact, he hasn't been so hot since his kid was turned down for West Point. I mean he spends more time over the river than he does here. Anyway, like I was saying, I know it's dangerous to stand between an angry man and his wrath, but I'm basically a peacemaker. A peacemaker is what I basically am. So I asked my friend if I could have a shot at you first, so to speak. But we've got to talk fast, because my friend can only smoulder so long. I don't have that much influence when it comes right
down to it. So let's see if we can find some sane, reasonable way out of this.”

“That Duster, was that the way of reason?”

“That was to get your attention, that's what that was.”

“Okay, you've got it. What's on your mind?”

Mordecai Cohn examined his fingernails; they were neat, clean and manicured to within an inch of their lives. His shirt-cuffs were crisp and white, held together by cuff-links with amethysts. His tie was of the same washed-out violet, pinned to his shirt with a sterling clip. He smelled of talcum, just like my father.

“I was thinking of this country, Mr. Cooperman. You know, the seasons we get up here: spring, summer, autumn, winter. Down south in Florida, or Havana in the old days, it was all the same. Every day the same thing. Here we go from season to season. I like the contrasts. I suspect that you like them too, or you wouldn't be working up here. Am I right?”

“They're okay. Go on. Speak your piece.”

“Well, it would be a shame never to see the spring, Mr. Cooperman, that's what I was thinking. You know, with the daffodils, the robins coming back, the eternal renewal, that sort of thing. Well, my friend has probably eaten as many robins as you've looked at. He's not big on sentiment, although I will say this for him, he's a great family man. He's got a wonderful wife and kids you wouldn't believe. But right now, with a nod, my friend could fix it so you don't see the spring. No more daffodils, no more robins. Right now, I'm the only thing stopping
him from fixing that this morning. Funny, I left him eating Rice Crispies half an hour ago, and he could have fixed it between spoonfuls.”

“I'm not going to tell you where she is, Mr. Cohn. That's not something I'm going to bargain about.”

“I understand your reluctance. Look, I've got finer feelings too. I had to look the other way when Solly Minden got it. Solly and I went back to prohibition days. We were like brothers, used to date the same girls, bet the same horses, fix the same fights. But he was caught creaming the top off the profits that he was supposed to be putting away for my business associates and myself. So Solly was creaming our cream. It was open and shut. I went to see him, but I couldn't talk any sense into him. Where was I? So, what I'm saying is that in the end you've got to decide whether you want to see the robins again or whether you don't. It's up to you.”

“I see. What are you going to do with her?”

“You don't have to worry about that.”

“What do you think she's done?”

“Again I'm telling you, don't get involved. You don't want to carry around useless information. You want your mind clear to see the big chance when it's looking at you.”

“I guess I'm not going to get time to break that idea in?”

“Uh-uh.”

“And there's no use telling you that it's all a terrible mistake?” He shook his head, and seemed to see the tea-pot
for the first time. He poured out mine first. These hoods are clever. It even looked like tea. “You don't want to hear about how my friend is interested in getting a break in the movies. She doesn't want any more to do with her husband or his business, especially his out-of-town business.”

“I think my friend would like to take this up with her himself.”

“He had over twenty-four hours.”

“She was starting to see things our way.”

“Did Solmi tell you that? Do you really believe that it took your pal a full day to get that girl to see a money-making proposition? Come on. I thought you said you'd been around.”

“Talk broken English. I don't follow you.”

“I'm saying that I happen to know a deal was settled between them as soon as they started talking.” I tasted the tea, following Cohn's lead. It wasn't the best rye whisky I've tried, but probably the best I've had before noon from a teapot. Cohn was thinking about what I'd said. I decided not to push it. When you sow a seed, you don't overwater it. Cohn shook his head.

“I don't believe it. I don't believe it.”

“Suit yourself. You don't think he was acting mad just to put you off?”

“Be quiet a second. I know him like a brother.”

“Just like Solly Minden.” Cohn's moustache began to tremble under that nondescript nose.

“How would you know? We've had peace between us for ten years. Nobody'd believe a Jew and a Gentile could do business together like we do. We had sneers on both sides, but I've been at his christenings and he's been to my bar mitzvahs. There hasn't been any of that rough stuff on the Niagara frontier for all this time. Why would he throw that away?

“You know Tony Pritchett is here, don't you? Maybe your friend is looking for another partner. Did you know that Pritchett has money invested in this movie, or did Solmi forget to tell you? Try out the sound of it: Solmi and Pritchett. It has a nice ring to it.” Cohn pushed himself away from the table, nearly upsetting his teacup. His mouth was moving while he got up, but he wasn't saying anything. I expected at least a final glare from those large distorting lenses, but he looked right through me, then stormed outside.

I don't quite know what I hoped to achieve by putting Cohn off like that, but in my position, I couldn't see how I could make things worse. Better to have Cohn hunting Solmi than Solmi hunted me. Anyway Cohn deserved it for nearly running me down in the street. As for Solmi, even without meeting him I didn't think much of his methods.

I cut through the kitchen of the Colonel John to get from the beverage room to the lobby without running into any of Tullio's friends. Nobody noticed me, and I liked that. A big fight was going on, a battle in black and white: the chef was arguing with the maître d' about
whether or not it was part of his job to heat Campbell's vegetable soup for Hampton Fisher. Coming into the lobby, I nearly ran into the stringbean of Thursday night. The chefs were still at it as I scooted out the back.

With unaccustomed warm weather fanning my face I returned to my room at the Clifford Arms. From the pay phone in the malty lobby, I tried to reach Captain Jim Loomis of the New York State Police. I'd heard Savas mention him once or twice and my head holds on to things like that like my pockets collect fuzz. I caught up with him in the Lewiston Detachment. He sounded friendly enough, with a voice that could have sold breakfast cereal on television. I gave him some invented regards from Chris, then told him what I wanted. He said he'd do what he could, and I told him I'd check in later.

Ned Evans was holding court on his adopted ground in the beverage room. It was early, but Ned and Jack and Will must have been on a party. Ned's eyes were half-shut and red-rimmed. He was wearing that secret smile that gave him a superior look. I didn't want to get sucked in, but I couldn't see a way out.

“That fellow Noonan's on the take. He can be bought.” Ned said. “He's looking for loot, not talent. I showed him my review in the
Beacon
, Benny. Remember my Romeo?

“That was a bit before my time.”

“The
Beacon
said that I brought spirit of professionalism to the Niagara Peninsula. Professionalism! It went on
to say I no longer had the figure of Romeo, but no matter. They wouldn't have appreciated Henry Irving or Martin Harvey either. Bloody provincials.”

“Ned, did you direct that one, or was it in Monty Blair's day?”

“It was Monty's triumph, my boy. When I say I was good, it is no better than faint praise. I was brilliant!”

“Not on opening night,” whispered Will.

“No more of that.”

“What happened?”

“I was brilliant throughout the run. On opening night I was also brilliant, until the tights split, then I was inventive. The facts are a matter of public record. You can read all about it among Monty's papers at the Library. Part of the historical record of our times, Benny.”

“Not on opening night,” repeated Will.

“Tell me, Benny, what do you say to
The London Merchant?”

“What is it? It's not Shakespeare, is it?”

“George Lillo, eighteenth-century, cast of nine. I will play poor Barnwell myself, and you might make a possible Trueman. It's a play that takes hold of the stage and shakes it.” He spilled some beer on the table for emphasis. “Ah, but who will we get to play the incomparable Millwood?”

“Well, what about Jack, here, or Will?”

“Millwood, my boy, is a woman. She's a woman of great beauty, but a savage siren. The incarnation of evil. She tempts the innocent Barnwell into a life of crime because
he's in love with her. It's one of the great parts and requires the most perceptive actresses …” Ned went on and on about this play, and eventually I put down a few bills and excused myself.

It was eleven miles to Grantham from the Falls, and I'd covered that piece of road so often in the last few days that I felt like a bus driver. This time, though, because of Ned's tip, I felt that I wouldn't be making the trip too many more times. That gave me a light feeling in the heart and added an ounce or two to my foot on the gas pedal.

TWENTY-ONE

Ella Beames was in her usual place in the Special Collections Room at the Library. Ella and a few other token human beings had been brought over from the old Carnegie building when it was destroyed to make way for an empty lot. She had helped me on more cases than she knew about. In fact I pocketed a lot of change for work Ella looked up for me for nothing.

“Benny Cooperman! My, it's good to see you. I was just thinking about you the other day.”

“What have I done now?”

“Oh, nothing like that. I just remembered I haven't seen you in a couple of months. How's your mother?”

“No change. Still glued to the television.”

“In the old library she used to come in and clean me out with her novel reading. She ran through Faulkner like grain through a goose. Then she went on to Hardy. I saw her through Trollope and Balzac, Dickens and Thackeray. Even Meredith. I could understand George Eliot. She put me on to Mary Webb, you know. And now she watches television?”

“She still reads a lot. She's found some Frenchman now.”

“That would be Proust. She called me about him.”

“Ella, Ned Evans says Monty Blair left his papers to the Library. Could I have a look at them?”

“I don't see why not. You're a member. You were even in some of his plays. I remember you in a green hat.”

“Ned gave me my big break in
A Midsummer Night's Dream
. Monty only let me do bits in one-acters. I did the Guard in
The Valiant
six times. All he ever says is ‘Yes, sir.'”

“Well, I'll have one of the girls bring you the boxes. Monty's sister sent them over a year after he died. I don't suppose they've even been properly catalogued. You're the second person in here asking to see them. A young reporter with the
Beacon
was in here not long before Christmas.”

“David Hayes?”

“A tall young man with a nose like the Cutty Sark.”