As a Favor (10 page)

“Were all the workers there?”

“Oh, yes. Every last one, except Jeremy Dales and the clerk, who, thank God, are on vacation. So what we were left with was Alec, Mona, Fern, Anne, and me. Still an unpleasing grouping.”

Strange that Fern hadn’t mentioned that party when I asked her about Monday; it was an easy alibi. “Were you there all evening, all of you?”

Nat sighed, and I tried to ignore the implicit condescension. “I don’t know how long the rest of them stood it, but Anne and I left at eight-thirty. And then—I know you’ll ask—I drove Anne to a supermarket on Shattuck. And then I dropped her off at her apartment. I did not go in.”

“And?”

“I went home.”

“Directly?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No.”

“Maybe someone saw you?”

“I doubt it.”

“Then there’s no proof, Nat. You could as easily—”

“I did talk to Owen on the phone, as soon as I got home.”

I looked up. Maybe Nat’s story was true. If he’d left Effield’s at eight-thirty and done what he said, he couldn’t have gotten home before nine thirty-five, maybe nine forty. “What time was the call?”

“Twenty to ten, maybe quarter of.”

“Of course, that’s still not proof. You could have called him from anywhere. You could even have used Anne’s phone.”

Nat squeezed the book around the pencil that marked his place; the cover strained to an ellipse. “Jill, Owen called me. Does that satisfy your requirements?”

“On that. For now.” I put up a hand to forestall his rebuttal. “You asked me to check this. I’ve spent a day and a half on it and I’ll be spending more time. I’ve got other cases that are gathering dust. The least you can do is answer my questions civilly.”

Nat’s face barely changed; it simply solidified from a face to a mask.

I took a deep, calming breath and said, “Nat, there was something going on with Anne’s cases. What do you know?”

“Does that connect with Anne’s being dead?”

“Other than your pen, it’s the only lead in the case. Do you understand? Nat, your pen was there, for whatever reason. You worked closely with Anne. You were the last person to see her…alive. Don’t you see how that looks?”

“But, Jill, you know that I would never—”

“I can’t tell Lieutenant Davis that you are my former husband and you wouldn’t kill anyone. I need something concrete, Nat.” I pulled out my pad and opened it to the list of case names. “Do these mean anything to you?”

He glanced down the page. “No. Who are they?”

“Anne’s cases.” I explained about the addresses.

“Anne helped me on my cases; I didn’t work on hers.”

“You knew Anne. There was something going on with these cases. Anne took bribes from her clients. What do you think—”

“I can’t believe that. Anne wouldn’t—”

“It’s true.”

“She wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was she like?”

Nat bit down on his lip. “It’s hard to say. She’s not quite what she seems.”

“You’ll have to be more explicit. I don’t even know how she seems, much less how inaccurate that is.”

He ran his teeth over his lower lip. “It’s hard to describe. Let me think about it for a while.” He started to turn, then said, “I’ll tell you this, though. Anne was someone other women couldn’t take.”

I said nothing.

“Mona grilled me about her, too: What did she do with her time? Whom did she see? Did I think there was something going on between her and Alec? Or even Donn Day?” Nat shook his head. “That kind of bitchiness isn’t like Mona. She never gets like that about anyone else.”

I still said nothing.

“Maybe it’s just working there—I mean, maybe it’s the case distribution. Mona was having it out with Anne and Alec last week.”

“About the cases?”

“I don’t know. It was in Alec’s office. I was at my desk trying to do some work.”

“Why do you think Mona was so interested in Anne?”

Nat sighed. “I just told you, Jill. Anne’s not a woman’s woman. That’s as clear as I can make it.”

I knew from experience there was no sense in pressing him. Exasperated, I said, “Nat, you must have considered what happened to Anne.”

“I’ve been very busy.”

Without comment, I turned and walked down the stairs. Nat’s concern for Anne certainly had been short lived. Still, I knew Nat too well to doubt that he might have gotten so involved in his book that he had forgotten Anne.

Or did I know him? Did I merely know the Nat of a year or so ago? I’d changed in that time; why should I assume he’d remained static? Could he have been a partner to the bribes? Could he have called me because he needed to find Anne? I found it hard to believe.

But I wouldn’t be able to explain that to Lt. Davis.

W
HEN
I
BANGED ON
the glass door, Lt. Davis was in the process of straightening up his desk. He was a fastidious person. His forte was organization. And it had served him well in the Department. He had entered at the right time, in three years—the minimum—made senior patrol officer, and six months later, sergeant. Again in minimum time, he’d become a lieutenant and there he’d stayed, waiting for the captain’s slot to become vacant. But the other two Watch commanders also had ambitions for the captain’s job. They eyed each other, hoping for a false move, and they eyed Lt. Davis, aware that having a black captain with a master’s degree would be almost more than Berkeley could resist.

Lt. Davis was alert, watching for flaws in his work—and ours.

He looked up as I opened the door.

“It’s about time you reported in, Smith. You’ve left your beat low all evening.”

“Sorry. It couldn’t be helped.”

“That’s my decision, Smith. That’s why there are Watch commanders.”

“Yessir.” I sat down on one of the hard wooden chairs that might as well have been a stool—I’d never seen anyone feel comfortable enough to lean against its back. “I’ve been following up a Missing Person’s report.”

“A report made by your ex-husband, directly to you.”

“Yessir. I—”

“I’ll transfer it to…” He tapped a caramel-colored finger against the desk.

“Lieutenant, hear me out first. I know this is rather unorthodox, but I have spent a day and a half on the case, and I think it’s cost-efficient for me to complete it.” I was walking a thin line here. Cost-cutting was in vogue nationwide these days, and our department, like all others, had felt the squeeze. But while it had only been fashionable recently in government, with Lt. Davis it was a way of life. Still, as much as savings would appeal to him, my attempt at making yet a second supervisory decision would not. I waited to see how well I’d balanced.

“Go on, Smith.”

I explained about Nat’s report, and the search of Anne’s apartment. “There was blood on the wall. The lab crew sent in the specimens and the fingerprints, but—”

“I know. Three days at best.”

“Still, the combination of a bloody apartment, an abandoned purse, and those monogrammed clothes that were turned in suggests more than just a standard missing person.”

The lieutenant nodded. “What have you found on her?”

“Well, she was clearly more appealing to men than women. And not at all appealing to welfare clients. Beyond that, the most definite things people said were that she didn’t talk about her private life, but she had come here two years ago. Effield, the welfare supervisor, knew her before. And the word among welfare clients is that she’s on the take.”

The lieutenant sat back, eyes half closed. I felt like I was feeding data into a computer and when I had finished the input the machine would print out the correct answer.

“The interesting thing,” I said, “is that no one at the welfare office, even Effield, who said he recommended Anne for the job, was surprised. Effield seemed distressed that it could be going on under his nose, but Mona Liebowitz took the news in stride.”

“So?”

“Well, Anne had seventeen cases separated out. I can’t come up with a good reason why. Effield said they might be waiting for address changes.”

“Could be. Welfare clients move much more frequently than the average. These clients, were they heads of families or single adults?”

“Both. Twelve adults—all women—and five families. So far I’ve checked on four of the adults.”

“Good. Deal with the adults first. Facts get muddled in families. The adults will save time.”

I was tempted to add that some of the adults I’d run into—Delehanty in the forefront—were pretty muddled. “The intriguing thing is that of the four women who were listed as living in the Ranier Hotel off Telegraph, not one of them is there now and a long-term tenant claims none of them ever did live there.”

“And this Effield says they moved?”

“He says probably. He’s cagey. He put up a fuss about breaking confidentiality, but finally agreed to let me talk with one of the twelve, the one of my choice.”

“So, Smith…” He sat, stroking his moustache. “So what do you make of all this?”

“These clients were paying off Anne Spaulding.”

“Because?”

“They were breaking the rules. Excess income. It’d have to be excess income to make it worth her while. General Assistance clients only get two hundred a month. If that were their total income there wouldn’t be much for Anne to go after. So they must have unreported income, enough to bribe her.”

His eyes half closed again; his hand went back to the moustache. “It hardly seems worthwhile bribing a worker to keep getting two hundred a month.”

“They also get food stamps and MediCal.”

He nodded. “And a good cover for any illicit income.”

I waited while he added this input.

“So you are assuming that one of these clients attacked her and then disposed of her corpse and clothes?”

“Tentatively.” I had gotten caught before, agreeing too wholeheartedly. Don’t develop theories too soon, the lieutenant had said, they box you in. “It all seems rather penny-ante for murder, but—”

“Nothing’s too small to kill over.” There was an unfamiliar note of weariness in his voice. “Check with Sex Crimes, Smith. See if these ladies are theirs.” He paused again, as if awaiting the final printout. “I would like to take you off this case. There’s no way you can avoid being too close, divorced or not. No matter how a marriage ends, your emotions don’t shift back to neutral.”

“I’ve got a statement from Nat, my ex-husband.”

The lieutenant shrugged, discounting that.

I leaned forward, aware that the blood was coming to my face. I wished I had a fine brown skin like his, one that didn’t flush so obviously. “If you’re not sure, send someone to check his alibi.”

He rubbed the wiry hairs of his moustache.

“It’ll save manpower.”

I waited. Why was I so anxious to hang onto this case? I hadn’t mentioned the pewter pen. Although Lt. Davis had read about it in my report, he would have no way of knowing the pen’s value to Nat. Was I protecting Nat? I knew he was lying, but I didn’t know why. Still, another officer wouldn’t even realize that. No, my knowledge of Nat was an advantage here. And there was more than Nat involved now. I didn’t want a case, any case, taken from me with a vote of no confidence. And, I wanted to know what had happened to Anne Spaulding. And, I wanted to find that out myself.

Still, I waited. There was no more to say.

“Smith,” he said, putting out his words with care, “I am counting on your professional competence. I am assuming if you cannot be objective you will let me know immediately. You understand?”

“Yessir.”

“Howard will check the alibi.”

“Uh huh.”

“You, of course, will say nothing.”

“Yessir.” I was surprised how automatic my agreement was.

“And Smith—”

“Yes.”

“We could have Spaulding’s body turn up any time. When that happens this case will be in Homicide. Keep on top of everything and have it ready to transfer.”

Howard had been summoned as soon as I left the lieutenant’s office. I dictated the reports of the day’s interviews—ready for transfer. I left a request for Sex Crimes. I summarized the case so far. It was twenty to eleven.

I didn’t know what I’d gained by that interview with the lieutenant—perhaps another day or so before he transferred the case, not to a friend like Howard or Pereira, but to a detective in Homicide. The case would be gone, and even when solved, I would never know the little details of it. A detective wouldn’t come by and tell me why Fern Day lied about the party or what motivated Mona Liebowitz. The only point he’d discuss with me would be the pewter pen.

I could feel my neck tense as I thought of the pen, of Nat.

There was some paperwork I could do till eleven, statistics to be compiled from my cases. There was always paperwork waiting to be done. There had been paperwork piling up, waiting for me, when I took this job.

“Great thoughts?”

I looked up. “Connie. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“It’s not exactly silent in here, but I didn’t tiptoe in. You just looked so caught up staring at that form, I wondered if you’d found something in it that had eluded me.

She settled atop the desk behind me.

“No. What I was doing was not so much thinking as trying to avoid it.”

“Nat, huh?”

“Yes,” I said, embarrassed. How many times had I carried on about him? “But not in exactly the traditional sense.”

“Nat in a new arena of conflict?” A grin flashed on and off her face.

I hesitated.

“Nat in the Anne Spaulding case, perhaps?”

“Right. You recall his pen in Anne’s living room?”

Connie nodded.

“Well, Nat claims he was never in her apartment. He says he lent her the pen. I may know very little of Nat now; I may never have known as much as I thought I did; but I do know how incredibly fussy he is about those possessions that are important to him. He does not lend those things. One time I took a piece of his engraved stationery—Nathaniel Hawthorne Smith—because I was completely out of writing paper and I had to get a letter off that night. I realized it was a mite presumptuous, but Nat was not just put out; he was angry. The paper was one of those things he didn’t lend. The pen was another. His father gave it to him three years ago.”