Amy Patricia Meade - Marjorie McClelland 02 - Ghost of a Chance (17 page)

“Oh yeah,” the cabbie nearly sang the phrase. “I hope I don’t get
in trouble for this, but there was a kid.”

“A kid?”

“Yeah, I decided to beat it and this kid ran right in front of my
cab. I almost hit him!”

“Probably Freddie, on his way to call you,” Marjorie said to
Jameson.

“No, Miss. He couldn’t have been running to fetch the cops,
‘cause I already heard the sirens. The sirens were what made me
want to beat it outta there in the first place.” He shook his head adamantly. “No this kid was funny. He hightailed it outta the fair and
ran in front of my cab. I had to slam on the brakes so I wouldn’t
hit him. I got out to see if he was okay, but he just kept running.
Normally a kid would be shaken up, but not this one. This one just
kept on goin’-didn’t even look back.”

“What did he look like?” Marjorie asked excitedly.

“Oh, about sixteen years old. Thin, dark hair, glasses and a pretty
big…” He drew his hand outwards from his nose. “I’ll never forget his face. He looked right at me as I slammed on the brakes. He
seemed … I dunno, angry. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t jump. He
didn’t even move a muscle. Nah, he’s a cool customer that one.”

Marjorie looked at Jameson with a combination of wide-eyed excitement and horror. “Yes, Mr. Maxwell,” she agreed. “Herbert Nussbaum is precisely that-a cool customer.”

Noonan escorted Mr. Maxwell to a back office, where they completed and filed the necessary paperwork. Marjorie had been feeling a bit drained from her sleepless night at the Randolph house,
but the latest revelations in the Nussbaum case provided her with
a jolt of energy that could have kept her awake for days.

She leaned an elbow on Robert’s desk. “And you said Herbert
Nussbaum wasn’t a viable suspect!”

“Okay, so he was there,” he admitted grudgingly. “But what’s his
motive?”

“Are you kidding? Herbert openly admitted that he hated his father. Nussbaum never appreciated the boy and his-what did he call
it?-‘superior intellect’ Add to that the fact that Nussbaum betrayed
Herbert’s mother and hurt his sister, and the kid has a list of motives
a mile long. Not to mention he also has the disposition needed to
pull off the crime. You heard how Maxwell described him-that’s
exactly the type of person who would kill another human being.
Cold, calculating … yet inside, almost simmering over with anger.”

“I agree with you, honey. Herbert Nussbaum is definitely one
strange kid. But just because he was running away from the scene,
doesn’t mean he committed murder.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Marjorie conceded. “But it does make you wonder if Herbert was one of the people Nussbaum was on his way to
see.

“If so, Alfred would have said he was meeting his son. He wouldn’t
have said he had two `appointments’ to keep.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Nussbaum was living a double life.
He wouldn’t have told the cabbie anything that would incite a bunch
of questions about his personal life. You know how those conversations go. Alfred mentions he’s seeing his son, the cabbie asks him
how many children he has and how long he’s been married. I admit
I don’t know Nussbaum-I never will-but he doesn’t strike me as
the type who would have readily offered up that kind of information.”

Jameson nodded. “You’re probably right. But what reason would
Nussbaum have had for meeting Herbert at the fair?”

Marjorie shook her head. “I don’t know. But we can’t ask Nussbaum.”

He sighed. “No, we can’t. We’ll have to ask Herbert.”

“You do that. I’ll be at home listening to Buck Rogers” She rose
from her chair and started to walk toward the door.

“Oh no you don’t!” Jameson bellowed from his desk. “You wanted
in on this investigation. Well, you’re `in’ and that means talking to
Herbert.”

Marjorie pulled a face and moped back to her seat. “I know. I
was joking … somewhat. That boy really gives me the creeps.”

“Trust me, I’d rather be having a root canal than facing him
again, but-” Before the detective could complete his thought, the
phone positioned in the corner of the desk began to sound. He answered it on the second ring. “Jameson here … Oh hiya Mike. What’s
new? … Oh yeah? … Really? … Hmmm … Yeah, we had a lead here
too-Nussbaum’s kid was at the fair. Cabbie saw him … Yeah … uh
huh … Yeah, if you could bring them downtown that would be
great … I’ll be there in a couple of hours … See ya then. Thanks.” He
replaced the receiver in the cradle with a loud click.

“What was that about?” Marjorie inquired.

“Mike Logan, the friend of mine with the Boston Police Department, questioned the parking garage attendant where Mateo
Saporito keeps his car. Seems `Mattie’ was out early Saturday morning and didn’t return home until the wee hours of Sunday morning, when he had Josie in tow.”

Marjorie arched a finely tweezed eyebrow. “He could have been
in Ridgebury.”

“Hmm mmm. Mike is picking up Mattie and Herbert, and bringing them to his station. I said we’d meet him there to do the questioning.”

“Back to Boston!” Marjorie declared and then realized the significance of her words. “Oh, before we leave, could I stop at home
for a minute? Just to freshen up. Vanessa has different coloring
than I do and her lipstick just doesn’t go well with fair skin.”

“You look fine to me, sweetheart. But we can stop-so long as
it’s quick.”

“Oh, it will be,” Marjorie assured as she grabbed her pocketbook and left the station. “Or at least I hope so.”

CREIGHTON PACED BACK IN forth in the tiled lobby of the fourteenth district station of the Boston Police Department, pondering the telephone call he had received from Marjorie just hours
before. What was the purpose of her call? Why did she ask him to
come here? Now that she was engaged to Jameson she had all she
wanted, hadn’t she? Why rope him into her schemes? And yet, here
he was, once again at her beck and call, awaiting her arrival.

Damnit, man, he thought to himself. What in God’s name are you
doing here? She’s set to marry another man! He drew a deep breath
and swung open the glass and metal police station door, only to find
Detective Robert Jameson waiting on the other side.

“Creighton, what are you doing here?” Jameson asked in surprise.

The Englishman couldn’t help but grin. True, he had relinquished all claims to Marjorie McClelland, but the expression of
surprise and shock on the detective’s normally sanguine counte nance was still cause for celebration. “Marjorie called me. She said
I should meet you here.”

Jameson turned his narrowed eyes toward his fiancee.

Marjorie, looking radiant, as well as defiant, in a green crepe dress
that was a favorite of Creighton’s, was prepared for the challenge. “I
thought he should be here in case I forget anything. After all, I do
intend on converting this into a true crime book, and Creighton, despite all arguments to the contrary, is still my editor.” Her eyes sparkled with an electricity he had never before seen, “You are still my
editor, aren’t you, Creighton?”

He stared at her, unsure how to react. There was something different about her-that was for certain-but he had been led down
this road before, only to meet with disappointment and frustration. “I’m your editor so long as you and the good detective wish
me to be,” he replied diplomatically.

Marjorie’s lovely face was illuminated with a broad grin. “Of
course I want you as my editor, Mr. Ashcroft. And so does Detective Jameson.” She turned to her escort, “Don’t you, Robert?”

Creighton grinned. When Marjorie was excited about something, when she had an objective to achieve, it was as if someone
flipped a switch and every cell in her body was pulsing with life,
her magnetism overshadowing every other being in the room. Detective Jameson didn’t stand a chance.

“Ummm … yeah, yeah, I guess so,” Robert answered. Creighton
imagined he heard the sound of the detective’s spine cracking under the steamroller force of Marjorie’s vitality.

Marjorie smiled and smoothed the skirt of her dress-Creighton
couldn’t help but admire her curves. “Good. Now that that’s settled,”
she proclaimed, “let’s go see our suspects.”

Detective Mike Logan was a giant of a man. Nearly six-feet-fourinches tall, barrel chested and broad shouldered, he met Detective
Jameson at the front desk and offered a beefy hand in greeting. “Hey
Bob. How are ya?”

Jameson shook his hand vigorously. “Good. Very good. Mike,
I’d like you to meet my fiancee, Miss Marjorie McClelland.”

Logan bowed slightly; that the younger detective had brought
his bride-to-be with him on an interrogation gave him pause, but
he offered a warm welcome. “Fiancee? You’re finally getting hitched,
huh? That’s fantastic! When’s the lucky day?”

“Oh, we haven’t set a date yet,” Marjorie responded.

“You haven’t? Are you crazy, Bob? You don’t want a pretty thing
like this to get away.” He gave Marjorie a playful wink before extending his hand to Creighton. “Is this your partner?”

The Englishman shook Logan’s hand and immediately understood how and where the term “meat hooks” had originated.

“Yeah,” Jameson replied half-heartedly. “Yeah, I guess you can
say Creighton’s my partner.”

“Well, glad to meet ya!” Logan pumped Creighton’s arm up and
down enthusiastically.

“Likewise” So spirited was the detective’s pumping, that Creighton wondered if he should shoot water out of his mouth.

As if sensing the Englishman’s pain, Logan dropped his hand
and his smile ran away from his face. “Say, Bob, I rounded up those
two like you asked. Saporito didn’t give us much trouble, but that
Herb kid and his mother? What a scene that was! The kid’s busy
quoting the Massachusetts state penal code while the mother’s clinging onto my leg, begging me to let go of her baby.” He shook
his head. “Some baby! When we went into his room, he was working on these.” Logan held out a handkerchief containing two small
brass objects.

“Darts!” Marjorie exclaimed.

“Yeah, he was making them from pen nibs he flattened out
with a ball-peen hammer.”

“Talk about incriminating,” Marjorie observed.

“You’d better mind that leg of yours, Logan,” Creighton quipped.
“Because if we have to arrest this kid, his mother will do a lot more
than cling to it.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it,” Logan chuckled.

“Did you find out anything else on Saporito?” Jameson inquired.

“Oh yeah. He and Josie definitely have criminal records. I don’t
have the details, but New York’s sending the files-I should have
them tomorrow.”

Jameson nodded. “Thanks, Bob. I appreciate your help.” He motioned to the back of the station. “Where are our suspects?”

“The kid’s in room `A’ and Saporito is in room `B”’ He patted
Jameson on the back. “If you need my help, let me know.”