The Original Alibi (Matt Kile) (15 page)

“That’s correct. She was the one, my one. There can be no replacement. I am destined to live alone with her memory. As for your accusation, the court found me innocent.”

“Not so. The court ruled the state had not made its case even sufficiently to have you arrested. The D.A. had no real choice but to drop the charges. Those charges can be reinstated. You were not tried and found not guilty. So don’t rest all that easily.”

“I am innocent, Matt.”
So we were back to first names.
“I did not kill Ileana. I loved her. And I want you to find whoever did kill her. I’m sure the general has agreed to compensate you well for proving my innocence. I want you to earn that money. I hope you do.”

There was nothing more to be gained by continuing. Eddie Whittaker likely had very little confrontation in his life. I had given him a heaping serving and he had handled it well. I had scrambled his composure, but he had recovered and held it together. The man was smart and cool under pressure, perhaps an inherited trait, perhaps just a cocksure confidence that he believed himself to be the smartest guy in any room.

I left. Eddie didn’t follow me outside.

Chapter 18

On the way out, Charles stepped around the Christmas tree near where I had first seen Karen. “The general would like to see you, Mr. Kile.” I felt confused. Charles noticed and cleared that up. “The general is feeling much better. He asks that you come to his small private study off his bedroom. He occupies the west wing at the top of the stairs; I’ll take you up.”

Karen’s room had been to the east at the top of the stairs. There was also a door to the right, past her suite, which she had said was Eddie’s room.

The general’s small study was about twelve feet by fifteen, not all that small, with thick carpeting. Low music played in the background, music similar to what Mackie played in his bistro. The temperature was a bit warmer than downstairs and the general was in shirtsleeves, again khaki. He insisted on standing to greet me. We shook hands. His shake seemed weaker than it had been only a few days before. His eyes a bit more hooded.

“Popinjay?” He laughed, and then coughed. “Fop? That was a bit thick, don’t you think? Even for a writer?”

I looked at him. He grinned. “Oh. I heard the whole thing. You didn’t see him at all during the first several days of your investigation, left him to wonder, then a full frontal attack. Great strategy. May I ask if you learned anything from it?” When I continued to look at him, knowing he had somehow overheard, he explained. “This room is directly above the main study. I had it fixed so that I can listen or not to whatever is going on in there. I arranged for it while building the house. No one else is aware, so I ask you to keep it under wraps. Over time I have fashioned the study into the place where family members gather to talk seriously. However, there are other rooms that afford me this same … access, shall I say?”

“General, I certainly hope, when our country again finds itself engaged in combat that the defense department will invite you to participate.”

The general laughed. “There are advantages to being an old man. Not many mind you, but a few. Young people, even those well into middle-age, have this notion that we curmudgeons have minds which deteriorate in direct proportion to the wasting of our bodies. Their self-indulgence on this point can easily be played against them.”

“So, you simply come up to this room and it becomes spy central.”

“It is helpful to know what people say when you are not about. How that confirms or contrasts with what they say when you are with them. Dozing in a chair after dinner or toward the end of a family meeting can briefly allow similar access. We old folks are assumed to be unreliable, even as to being awake. Ten minutes of strategic dozing is often more informative than hours spent as an active participant in conversation.”

“Don’t you feel a bit guilty using such tactics on your own family?”

With some effort, the general crossed his legs. “No more than they should feel using the tactics of waiting until they think I can’t hear to say what they really think.”

I reached out and touched his arm and smiled. “I see your point, General. You put this in place some years ago, then, while the house was still under construction?”

“Some plans are for near term use. Others have a longer horizon and are refined as time passes.”

I looked toward a slight knock on the door. Then Charles came in carrying a tray with what I knew had to be some Irish on crushed ice. The general smiled. “Would you indulge me, Matt? Please enjoy that for the both of us.” After I nodded, he said, “Now tell me, did your getting in my grandson’s face tell you anything?”

“You heard it all, General. What do you think?”

“Yes, the question in answer to a question. However, I heard only Eddie’s words. You saw his face, perhaps smelled his sweat. I could do neither.”

“No, General. I don’t think my bracing of your grandson told me any more than I knew before. Except for learning he is smart and handles pressure well. He may be made of sterner stuff than even he knows. Of course, that has nothing to do with whether or not he killed Ileana Corrigan.”

“That was my read as well,” the general said. “And thank you for sticking up for me. Eddie is smooth, but for reasons known only to Eddie, he remains confident he is superior to all others. Feeling so, showing respect is not easy for him. Nonetheless, he feigns it well in the company of outsiders. I know of no one who does not find him affable and courteous. Still, you got his goat a bit. I don’t recall ever having heard him threaten to pummel another man.”

“I did have him out of sorts for a moment. But he quickly recovered his composure. That’s when I knew he would not open up. General, in light of it being eleven plus years since the death of Ileana Corrigan and in light of your clandestine method for overhearing, what have you learned? Did Eddie kill your unborn great grandson?”

“If I knew that answer, I would not have needed you. The investigation would have been over and we would have advanced to the penalty phase.”

I asked the general if I could step out and use the men’s room. He offered me the use of his which sat between his bedroom and the adjoining study we were in. I had hoped he would. After using it for the justifying reason, I took a few plastic storage baggies from my pocket and collected a significant wad of hair from his brush. I put two cotton swabs from his waste basket, each soiled with ear wax into a second bag. Several used facial tissues went in a third. After that I flushed, washed my hands, and went back to the study to rejoin the general.

“I understand your daughter spends more time with you than does your grandson. Is this true?”

“Karen is very attentive and strives to be a companion and a help. Eddie avoids everything beyond token appearances. And, may I add, Karen displays that same attitude and interest in this old war horse whether I am with her or as far as she knows, not around. I’m guessing you wonder why I’m leaving so much more to my grandson than to my daughter.”

“That’s none of my business, General.”

“I appreciate that, Matt. Go on, now.” He motioned with his fingers, raising them in an upward manner. “Enjoy your drink. Would you like another?”

“Would we, General?” After he nodded, he smiled and pressed a button on the desktop. Within less than a minute, Charles entered with the tray on his outstretched hand, the drink obviously made before the general summoned it. The general and Charles worked together like a priest and his acolyte.

“As I was saying, I appreciate that, Matt, but you know more about this family now than anyone outside it so I think an explanation is in order. I have thought about being more generous with Karen. I continue to think on it, but in the end I’m afraid I’m a hopeless chauvinist, unable to think of substantial wealth going to a woman. I do have a meeting with my attorney this afternoon. Reginald Franklin, you remember him. He came to your office to arrange your first visit.”

I grinned, “Reginald Franklin, the third, as I recall.” I took a large portion of my fresh drink. The general stayed quiet while I did so.

“I know. I know,” the general said. “He’s a bit stuffy, pretentious, but he is an excellent attorney and a quite honorable man. After Charles, Reggie is my longest and most loyal ally. I think I am the only person alive who calls him Reggie. I think he likes it, but would never confess it. His wife calls him Reginald.”

“I’m glad you told me of your eavesdropping system, General.”

“As I told Charles, we shall trust your integrity, Matt. I wanted you to know in the event you wished to make use of it in some manner. My only concern is that you don’t alter what you say or how you say it in deference to my feelings. I want you to handle things without concern for my possibly hearing them. Agreed?”

“Agreed, General.” I finished my last drink.

The general licked his lips.

I walked out.

Chapter 19

I left the general’s home without being certain if I was mixed up with a normal family or one that was completely dysfunctional. Part of that confusion is I’m not all that sure what constitutes a normal family. Are you? What I knew was I liked the general, lusted for his daughter, and neither liked nor respected his grandson. But that did not mean Eddie was guilty of anything more than being a popinjay. I also suspected I didn’t have much time if I was going to find the answer for the general while he was still able to hear it.

I had alerted Charles that I would be sending someone by to look at the records on the five old soldiers whose care the general had paid for until they each passed away. I asked him to compile what he had, also to prepare a letter of introduction to the assisted living facility and nursing home where they had resided. The general had donated enough to the facility that concern for the access rules under HIPAA regulations were not mentioned; the patients were all deceased. My representative would be allowed to speak to the administrator and look over their records. I didn’t yet know who I would send or the significance of doing this. This plan constituted little more than what the attorneys object to as a fishing trip into records looking for God knows what.

I had been on the case for only a few days and, as yet, had picked up no bones that had meat on them. Met some people and learned some secrets, but nothing that pointed me anywhere in particular. I needed to pick up the pace, multiply my efforts. Have more people sift through more haystacks in the hope that one of us might find the proverbial needle.

I got home late in the afternoon and immediately labeled and secured the three baggies I had filled in the general’s bathroom together with some items, secretions, if you must know, that Karen had left at my place the night we had our sleepover. I also had a piece of gum she had chewed and a measure of my dental floss she had used in the morning.

I also assigned Axel to follow Eddie. I wanted the general’s grandson shadowed twenty-four-seven with pictures taken of everyplace he went and everyone with whom he came in contact. Twenty minutes later he said it was all arranged. Buddha, his driver’s ed teacher would handle the driving while Axel handled the picture taking. Using Buddha had a strange feel to it, but then a former wheelman for the mob should be able to keep up with a popinjay. So, I decided to feel guardedly optimistic. Axel had not yet identified who he would use for the graveyard shift, but he expected to have that arranged by the time it was needed.

“Can Buddha still handle the driving?”

“Boss, that’s a silly question.”

“Well, can he?”

“Can Kellogg’s still make corn flakes?”

I repeated to myself about feeling guardedly optimistic.

“You’ll have to pay these guys, boss. But don’t worry, I’ll set it up. They’re good men. I won’t be able to be here at all hours like I’ve been. Can you handle things at the house without me?”

Axel had already become the indispensable man, at least in his mind.

*

We met Axel’s friend, Hildegard, in front of an apartment building several blocks from our condo on the opposite side of Mackie’s. She was around five feet, a little taller perhaps, with a medium build and a smile that could melt butter or men’s hearts. Her blond hair was bleached, the roots brown.

Hillie, as I was told she preferred over her full name, had turned eighteen since leaving home. I didn’t ask what she was doing in Long Beach. I had an idea, given where Axel said he first met Hillie. If she chose to share that information I would know, officially. If not, it was no business of mine. Hillie appeared to trust Axel, yet she remained wary.

Over the next two hours, we ate and talked at Morton’s Steakhouse in Anaheim, a short drive south from Long Beach. I mostly let Axel and Hillie talk; they were developing a great rapport. It always amazes me how much more one can learn by listening, rather than talking, beyond asking stimulating questions in a non-probing manner.

Hillie had grown up in Gridley, California, a small, mostly farming town north of Sacramento and south of the twin cities of Marysville-Yuba City. Her father was a certified public accountant and she spoke proudly of having worked for him all the way through high school. Her job had been to help him prepare financial statements and tax returns for his small business clients, which included several ranches and farms. Her goal had been to follow in her father’s footsteps. She had planned to join her father’s firm after going to college to major in accounting. Her mother was a different story. Of course, we were getting only the young lady’s opinion of her mother. Hillie saw her mother as an intolerable shrew. When she could stand no more, she left home. Hillie and her father stay in touch with the understanding he not ask her where she is or when she will be coming home. They talk Mondays, late in the afternoon while he is still at his office. She said Monday afternoon was a slow time in the work she was doing here in Long Beach. She didn’t put a label on her job. And like I said, I didn’t ask.