And 47 Miles of Rope (Trace 2) (15 page)

“No, thanks, we’ll pass. Mind if I show Sarge the safe?”

“Go ahead. Anything to get me my money,” she said.

Trace and Sarge walked back toward the house. National Anthem saw them and waved, and Parmenter nodded to them.

Sarge said, “Boy, can that woman wave. Who are all these people? I saw them the other night but none of them registered.”

“The two statues on the lounge chairs are the Neddlemans. They say they’re into shipping, but I think they just ship their bodies around to anyone who’ll have them. Ferrara there is some kind of Italian drug dealer, and the mousy guy across the way is his valet. Felicia, you know. The girl with the jugs is National Anthem. She makes porn movies.”

“Disgusting,” Sarge said. “Where are they playing?”

“Her first isn’t out yet,” Trace said. “I’ll let you know when. We’ll go together.”

“And these are all house guests?”

“Them and the baron,” Trace said. “Felicia says they’re a bunch of parasites.”

“I believe it.”

“Where did you learn so much about drugs?” Trace asked.

“I don’t know. I read a lot. He’s the guy you almost hit the other night?”

“Yeah.”

“You should have,” Sarge said.

“I probably will before he leaves town. This is where Jarvis’ body was found. Did Rosado show you the pictures?”

“Yeah,” Sarge said. “Christ, that water’s filthy. How can goldfish live in it?”

“God knows.”

“Remember that aquarium you had when you were a kid?” Sarge asked.

“Yeah. The fish were always dying.”

“It was my fault. I always killed them,” Sarge said. “I’d be sneaking a drink around the house and your mother’d catch me and I’d dump the drink into the fish tank so she didn’t find me with it, and the damn alcohol would kill the fish.”

“There’s a great lesson in there somewhere,” Trace said.

“Yeah. Fish shouldn’t drink,” Sarge said.

“This is where the coroner said he hit his head,” Trace said, touching the ceramic fish statue with his toe. Then he led his father into the living room and showed him the panel that popped out to reveal the safe.

“How’d the thief get into the safe?” Sarge asked after looking at the front cover.

“I don’t know. He was drilling, then changed his mind.”

“He must have opened it with the combination,” Sarge said.

“Right. But if he had the combination to begin with, he wouldn’t have started drilling, would he?”

“No,” Sarge said. “So he starts drilling and then he gets the combination. And the only change is that Jarvis came home.”

“So he got it from Jarvis,” Trace said. “But why would Jarvis give him the combination?”

“Were they working together? Or maybe he had a gun and he forced it out of him?”

“Maybe,” Trace said. “I don’t know.”

The baron bounded through the open patio doors into the living room.

“Felicia said you were looking for me?”

“Hello, Baron,” Trace said. “We wanted to talk to you. This is my father. Patrick Tracy, Baron Hubbaker.”

“Call me Ed,” the baron said.

His father stepped forward, shook hands warmly with the tall lean man, and then, almost casually, strolled behind him.

“This isn’t official,” Trace said.

“Well, I’m glad of that, whatever it is,” Hubbaker said with a small smile. “Mind if I sit down? That way, your father won’t have to tackle me from behind.”

“Help yourself,” Trace said.

The baron sprawled casually on the sofa, facing the fireplace.

“R. J. Roberts.”

The smile vanished from Hubbaker’s face.

“You know?” he said.

“Yeah,” Trace said. “We found witnesses who saw you going in and coming out early this morning.”

“The man in the diner across the street?”

Trace nodded.

“I thought he saw me. I was hoping he wouldn’t have, but I thought he did.”

“He did. Want to tell us what happened?”

“Sure. Hold on. Wait. You think I killed him?”

“It’s as reasonable as anything else I’ve heard,” Trace said.

“No, no, no, no, no. He was dead when I got there. Somebody slit his throat open.”

“We saw the body,” Trace said. “Maybe you ought to start from the top and tell us what happened. How did you know Roberts?”

“I didn’t. I never even met the man,” Hubbaker said.

“Come on, you’re at his office at four A.M. and you don’t even know him?”

“This is the way it was,” Hubbaker said. “Right after you left here last night, Roberts called. We were sitting around watching sex movies. I didn’t even know who he was. He told me he had to talk to me about the jewels. Something that he said was important to me and he wanted to see me. Initially, I thought he was crazy, but he was very insistent. Vague but insistent, and finally I said okay, I’d meet him.”

“Who picked the time?” Trace asked.

“He didn’t really pick it. He told me he was going to be out of his office most of the night, but I should try him really late. I told him that I could just as easily see him tomorrow, that’s today, but he said no, it wouldn’t wait. The cheek of the man.”

“So why’d you go at four o’clock?” Trace asked.

“I fell asleep. I had a little too much to drink. When I woke up, it was almost three. I called him and he said I should come over and he’d wait for me. I did. By now, I was intrigued by what he wanted. When I got there, his office door was open and he was dead.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

Hubbaker shrugged. “It was stupid, I guess. But I thought for a minute and I thought how dumb it was that I was there at all. Would the police believe me? I mean, going to a four-A.M. meeting with a man I’d never met? Did that sound believable?”

“No,” Trace said. “Actually, it still doesn’t.”

“That’s why I didn’t call the police. I hadn’t touched anything. I just walked in and saw the body. I don’t know what he wanted to talk to me about. The police, well, I couldn’t be any help to them. So I left and I came back here and went to sleep. I don’t mind telling you, I didn’t sleep well at all.”

“Roberts slept like a dead man,” Trace said.

“You can’t believe I had anything to—”

“It’s not for me to believe or disbelieve,” Trace said. “That’s for the cops. When they find out your background, I’m
sure—
”

Hubbaker interrupted him back. “What do you mean, my background?”

“Your work with the insurance companies,” Trace said. “You had a perfect right to talk to Roberts.”

“Will someone please explain to me what you’re talking about?” He looked at Trace, then at Sarge as if for help. Sarge shrugged. Hubbaker said, “Everybody’s talking as if I’ve got something to do with insurance. You, that ridiculous dwarf you work for. What is going on here?”

“Don’t you work for an insurance company?”

“Of course not. Actually, I don’t work at all,” Hubbaker said. “Is that what this is all about? Does Marks think I work for an insurance company? Is that why he called me the other day to tell me that idiotic theory of yours?”

Trace nodded.

“Well, I don’t,” Hubbaker said.

“Too bad,” Trace said.

“Why?”

“Cops’d be less likely to think you were a killer if you were a detective.”

“I guess you have to tell them I was there?” Hubbaker said.

“You guess right. Withholding information from the police is a very serious matter. One I could not countenance in any way,” Trace said.

“Amen,” Sarge said.

“Tell me,” Trace asked Hubbaker. “Anybody here know you were going to see Roberts? Did you tell anybody?”

Hubbaker thought a moment, then said slowly, “Yes. Actually I told everybody.”

“Everybody in the house?”

“Yes. And, let’s see, Spiro. He was serving drinks. He would have heard too.”

“All right,” Trace said. “I’ve got to call Dan Rosado. You’re not going to try to leave or anything, are you, Baron?”

“Where would I go? Out into the desert and live like a prospector? Suck water from the roots of cactus? Of course I’m not going anywhere.”

Trace walked around to the kitchen telephone, leaving his father to watch Hubbaker. He dialed Rosado.

“This is Trace. You still mad at me?”

“You bet your ass I’m mad at you,” Rosado said. “What do you want?”

“I want to make amends for all my failures as a human being in the past.”

“It’ll take too long. What do you want now?”

“Sarge and I found a witness who saw somebody leaving Roberts’ office at four o’clock this morning.”

“You did? Who was that?”

“I’ll tell you all about it when you get here,” Trace said.

“Where’s here?”

“I’m at Felicia Fallaci’s place.”

“What are you doing there?”

“We found the guy that was seen leaving.”

“And you went to talk to him yourself first?” Rosado snapped. “You’re doing it again.”

“No, I’m not. We came here to make sure it was the same guy. We thought we recognized the description, but we didn’t want to accuse an innocent man. He admits it.”

“He admit the killing too?” Rosado asked.

“No.”

“I’ll be right there,” Rosado said. “You know, Trace?”

“What?”

“I used to like you better when you weren’t involved in my business.”

“I know. This is the last time. I’ll never get in your way again.”

“I’ll be right there. And you better tell me who the hell that witness was too. I don’t know how my men missed him.”

“Your men didn’t miss him. It’s just that Sarge was more persuasive,” Trace said.

“The police will be here in a few minutes,” Trace told Hubbaker.

“You know, this is quite terrible,” the baron said. “They are going to try to put the blame for this murder on me and I didn’t do it.”

“Then they won’t pin it on you,” Trace said.

“I wish I were as confident as you are,” Hubbaker said. “Can the condemned man have a final swim?”

“Be my guest. Just don’t try to swim out of town,” Trace said.

The baron got up, peeled off his shorts and shirt, then walked past them and dived into the pool. He was a powerful swimmer and he coursed up and down the pool in solid, steady strokes, leaving only a thin wake behind him.

“I guess I ought to protect Felicia,” Trace said. Sarge looked quizzical, and Trace said, “The drugs.”

He walked to the end of the pool where Felicia was still talking to Ferrara. National Anthem was sprawled out naked in the sun on the far side, and if eyes could satisfy hunger, Willie Parmenter would never have to worry about another meal.

“Felicia, the police are on their way here. They want to talk to the baron.”

“Oh? Anything I should know about?” she asked Trace.

“Not really. I just thought it might be wise if you stashed all your goodies before they arrive.”

“You mean to say the police are busting in here without a warrant,” Ferrara said. “Sniffing around like watchdogs. That’s not legal.”

“Talk legal, talk from jail,” Trace said. “I just thought I’d tell you.”

“Thanks, Trace,” Felicia said.

Ferrara curled a lip. “Police are really stupid things,” he said. He was fondling his stick of Afghan hashish. “All detectives are, actually.”

Sarge tapped Trace on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you hit him when you had a chance?”

“My better nature showing through,” Trace said. “Besides, I thought it was be-kind-to-assholes week.”

“I won’t make that mistake,” Sarge said. He reached toward the table, yanked the lump of hash from Ferrara’s hands, and threw it into the pool.

“Why, you…” Ferrara jumped to his feet. He seemed to make a quick judgment about the inevitable outcome of mixing it with Sarge, because he suddenly bellowed, “Willie, get that.”

“Get it yourself,” Sarge said. He grabbed Ferrara by the neck and the seat of the pants and tossed him into the pool too.

“Bad form,” Trace said.

“I’m out of practice,” Sarge said.

Ferrara was splashing around, yelling for Parmenter to help. Felicia was laughing aloud. “He’s the only one with drugs,” she said. “Cops take him away, who cares?”

“I just hope he doesn’t leave an oil slick in your pool,” Trace said.

Ferrara clambered up the ladder on the far side of the pool. Parmenter gave him a hand up and Ferrara said, “Get my hash.”

“Yes, sir,” Parmenter said.

Ferrara, squishing water from his shoes, stomped off toward the house. Parmenter looked at the black lump in the pool for a few seconds, then went to a small utility shed and brought back a net to try to scoop it out. But the baron, powering by in the water above it, dived down, brought up the hashish, and dropped it on the deck in front of Parmenter.

“Thanks,” Willie said.

Hubbaker nodded, then dragged himself out onto the deck near Felicia’s chair and let out a big sigh.

“What have you done to get the police interested in you?” she asked.

“Wrong place at the wrong time. It’s all a mistake. Not to worry,” Hubbaker said.

“Felicia,” said Trace, “don’t you think that maybe you and Nash might put on some clothing?”

“Oh, yes. Good idea. I don’t know if Nash owns any, but maybe I can lend her something.” She walked into the house, followed by National Anthem, who looked confused.

They came back a few minutes later, wearing long terry-cloth robes. Sarge said, “I liked it better when they didn’t know the cops were coming.”

“Quiet, you dirty old man. Don’t you know you’re supposed to be a role model for me?” Trace said.

When Rosado arrived, Trace met him in front of the house and explained to him quickly about the eyewitness who had seen Hubbaker. “Of course, it’s not any positive identification yet,” Trace said, “but he admits he was there. He’s all yours now.”

“Trace, keep out of my face.”

Rosado talked for a while to Hubbaker, then asked him to accompany him downtown for formal questioning. When he left, the police officer said to Sarge, “That was good work, Mr. Tracy.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Sarge asked.

“Question him, then see,” Rosado said.

“We’ve got a saying in the N.Y.P.D.,” Sarge said.

“What’s that?”

“Fuck him, book him,” Sarge said.

When Trace and Sarge were leaving, Felicia invited Sarge to come back some night for dinner before he left town, and in the car driving back to Las Vegas Sarge said he might take the offer.

“It’ll just get you into trouble,” Trace said.

“Only if you drop a dime on me,” Sarge said.

“Not me. You know, I’m really confused about Hubbaker.”

“Why’s that?”

“I would have sworn he was the insurance detective,” Trace said.

“You told me the detective was a mystery man. Worked in secret?”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe Hubbaker is the guy and just didn’t want to tell us because it’d blow his cover. Maybe he’ll tell Rosado if he has to.”

“That’s possible,” Trace admitted, and the more he thought about it, the more sense he made.

Sarge let out a big sigh when he dropped Trace downtown in the parking lot where his son had left his white Mazda.

“You going back to your hotel now?” Trace asked.

“Not yet. I’ve got some things to do first.”

“There’s another cocktail reception at the Araby for Gone Fishing. I thought I’d stop in there and see how Chico’s holding up. Why don’t you come over when you’re done? Bring Mother. They’re serving free food.”

“Maybe I’ll do that. She’d be upset with me if I make her miss a free meal.”

“She’ll be upset with you anyway,” Trace said. “By the way, Sarge, good work today.” When he saw his father’s eyes glow, he added, “I didn’t know how good you really were.”

“I used to be all right, son,” Sarge said.

“Still are,” Trace said. “You can work with me anytime. Maybe we will start that agency. You can handle the East Coast and I’ll take the West.”

“I’d like it better the other way around. It’d get me out of the house more.”

“We’ll work on it,” Trace promised. He clapped the older man on the shoulder and got out of the car. His father was whistling as he drove off.

“So what’s the latest report from the front?” Trace asked. He was talking to Chico in the hospitality suite of Garrison Fidelity. The suite had just been opened, but already it was fuller than it had been the previous night. And there were more and better-looking women, which meant that some of the bachelors at the convention were in the process of getting lucky, Trace realized.

“Reasonably peaceful today,” Chico said. “No lockouts, no lost wives, nobody roughed up by hookers or crooked dealers. Did you get my note?”

“Apology accepted. Forget about it. I have,” he said.

“You’re very gracious today,” she said. “What happened to you?”

“Well, Sarge found a body and it was downhill after that.”

“Good for him,” she said. He was surprised at her reaction. “It must have made his day. Anybody I know?” she asked.

“R. J. Roberts,” Trace said. Briefly he recapped the day’s events for her, but when he finished, she was giggling.

“Honestly, Chico, I don’t think the day was a laughing matter. Murder. Questioned by the cops. Dan mad at me. I don’t find even a snicker there, much less a sustained giggle.”

“I’m just thinking of poor Walter Marks,” she said. “His big detective has his butt in the hoosegow. It’s going to ruin his week. When will you tell him?”

“Let him find out himself.”

“Good for you,” she said. “Have a drink.”

“I don’t believe you said that.”

“What would the end of the day’s work be if you couldn’t have a pop? Help yourself. I’ve got to be charming hostess. Cio-Cio-San, number-one lady helping all Melicans visiting our stlange city.” She steepled her hands in front of her and rocked her head from side to side in imitation of a geisha.

“Later, remind me to tell you how Sarge threw your Italian lover boy into the swimming pool.”

“I love it,” she said. “I absolutely love it.”

While Trace was getting a drink at the bar, Bob Swenson sidled up to him.

“I expected you to call this morning,” he said.

“What for?”

“To tell me mission accomplished,” Swenson said.

“I only call to say mission not accomplished.”

“Good. You’ve got my three grand back?”

“As soon as the check clears the bank,” Trace said,

“You took a check from a hooker?” Swenson said.

“No, it’s complicated. I took it from the guy who ran the hookers.”

“If the check doesn’t clear, we’ll sue the bastard. Can you sue a pimp?”

“Actually,” Trace said, “this wasn’t a pimp. It was a private detective, and you can’t sue him.”

“Why not?”

“His throat got cut,” Trace said.

“You didn’t have to do that. Not even for three thousand dollars.”

“I didn’t do it,” Trace said, “but the cops took some convincing. They wanted to know why he had just written me a check for three K and then was killed.”

“What’d you tell them?”

“That I lent him the money and he was paying it back.”

“Trace, you’re an absolute gem. No way I’m going to be involved?”

“No way.”

“Remind me to give you a raise.”

“I’ll remind you when you’re sober. Just do me a favor,” Trace said. “Don’t pick up hookers in the bar. Ask me. Or a pit boss, Get a newspaper on the street and call a service. Not a hooker in the bar.”

“A temporary moment of madness, Trace. I won’t do it again.”

“No?” Trace said.

“No. National Velvet—”

“Anthem,” Trace corrected.

“Right. National Anthem and I are having dinner tonight. Tonight, I will not fail. Where donkeys have succeeded, can I do less?”

“‘There is no glory in outdoing donkeys,’” Trace said.

“I know that’s some obscure literary reference from your wasted youth.”

“Martial, Roman poet.”

“Screw him, what’d he know? He never saw National Anthem,” Swenson said.

At a little after six o’clock, Chico said, “The Good Ship
Dreadnought
has arrived.” Trace saw Sarge and Mrs. Tracy standing in the doorway. His mother had a tight set to her lips.

“From the looks of her, I think she might have tried to get into our apartment,” Trace said.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Chico said sweetly. “She did try. I thought I told you.”

“No, you didn’t tell me. What happened?”

“The concierge turned her away.”

“How do you know that?”

“She came here for lunch. She hoped she d see you.”

“Sorry I missed her,” Trace said.

“I didn’t,” Chico said. “You could tell how desperate she was because she even deigned to talk to me, rittle chopstick girl.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her that we had planted land mines inside our front door, and no, we did not appreciate her attempts to redo our apartment. That’s what she calls it. Redo. And if she tried to bust in one more time, I’d have her arrested for breaking and entry and you’d cosign the complaint.”

Trace chuckled. “Always the kidder,” he said. “What’d you really tell her?”

“Sorry, sport. That’s what I really told her. That and other things.”

“What other things?”

“That you personally threw her lavabo in the garbage. Lavabo. I shall wash. Her lavabo. I shall puke. That she put up that cheap nine-dollar piece of glazed crap over a thousand-dollar print that you personally bought at Christie’s. Are you paying attention to this?”

“I’m hanging on every word. Really hanging.”

“I just wanted to be sure I had your attention,” she said. “I told her further that putting that white monstrosity on our wall was the equivalent of hanging a bank calendar on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.”