Blowout (32 page)

They heard a man say, “I sure wouldn't apply there if I was fresh out of law school. I wonder if there'll be a shortage next year.”

“All three of the law clerks who worked for Justice Califano—dead in a week.”

“The
Post
didn't say she was dead. She's in Bethesda.”

“Who knows?”

They walked through the aisles, pausing to listen when they hit a new group of people.

“I sure hope they protect that poor law clerk this time. If she's still alive.”

“Bingo,” Ben said.

When Ben and Callie left, he found himself driving back toward Savich's house. He said, “I spoke to Savich when you went to the bathroom. I told him what we'd heard, and he said okay, good, that was what he'd hoped. I got the impression that he feels like shit about Giffey. I heard it in his voice. He blames himself.”

“Yes, he would. And given what happened, I'd blame myself too. Where are we going?”

Ben slowed down in front of the house, then pulled to the curb and put the car in park. “I wanted to check on them. Everything
looks quiet. I know Savich has a state-of-the-art security system, protection for his grandmother's painting, of course. But still—”

“You wanted to make sure. No problem.”

“One more stop?” Ben pressed the turn signal, went right toward the house where old Mr. Avery lived. “I remember it being 2371 Lombard Street. It's not too late. Let's stop in and talk to him. You game?”

N
ATHANIEL
A
VERY ANSWERED
the door almost immediately. He was decked out in a tatty pale blue chenille bathrobe that fell nearly to his bony feet. It looked like it belonged to his wife. Ben felt his optimism sinking fast. Truth was, Mr. Avery looked like a batty old codger who wouldn't know a Toyota if it had its name printed across the windshield.

At least Mr. Avery wasn't wearing fuzzy house slippers, or Ben might have turned right back around and left. No, his house slippers were a manly dark brown leather.

“Who're you, sonny?”

Ben pulled out his badge, held it out for Mr. Avery to study, which he did, pushing his glasses up on his nose and looking at Ben's badge for a long time, silent the whole while. He finally looked up. “Okay, you're really a cop. And you?”

“I'm Callie Markham. I'm with him.”

“What are you two doing here all duded up?”

“We had dinner at Filomena's,” Ben said smoothly. “The swordfish was excellent.”

“I never cared none for swordfish.”

Callie said, “Do you think we could speak to you about last night, and the man you saw jump into that car and drive off?”

“I already spoke to a good half-dozen local cops. I was hoping maybe the FBI would call, but they haven't checked in yet. You think they might?”

“Nah. I think we're the best you're going to get,” Ben said. “It's been twenty-four hours since you spoke to anyone, and I'll bet that you, Mr. Avery, have thought and thought about it, replayed the scene a lot in your mind.”

“Well, yeah, that's true enough. I know all about that agent's house getting shot up—we haven't ever had anything that exciting happen in this neighborhood.”

“Maybe, sir, if we all discuss it together, you might remember something new that could help us.”

Mr. Avery's glasses were sliding down his nose as he waved them into a dark living room where the TV was on, but there was no sound. “Marylee, don't worry, it's the cops!”

An old woman with lots of beautiful silver hair, wearing an identical pale pink chenille bathrobe and fluffy pale pink slippers, was sitting in a La-Z-Boy chair, feet up, staring at them. “What did you say, dear?”

Mr. Avery raised his own voice to a yell. “It's the police! Go back to your knitting, Marylee. Everything's okay. Where's Luciano?”

There was a surprisingly robust bark, and then a tiny black dog pranced out, tail wagging like a fast metronome. “That's Luciano, my little boy. He's only two, my happy little camper, always on the go. I have to walk him six times a day. He loves to waggle around, walks right up to big dogs and barks at them, tries to lick them.”
Mr. Avery leaned over, knees creaking, and picked up Luciano, who licked him all over his face, barked, and then paused, cocked his little head, and stared at Ben and Callie.

“Now Luciano is a seriously cute dog,” Callie said. “What's his breed?”

Mr. Avery leaned close, whispered, “He's a miniature poodle, but he doesn't know it. If you asked him, he'd say he's human.” He patted the dog, raised his voice, and waved them in. “All right, you come in and sit down. Marylee doesn't use the sound on the TV, couldn't hear it unless it was loud enough to blast out the neighbors, but she likes it on while she knits. Good lip-reader, Marylee.”

Mr. Avery settled himself in a matching La-Z-Boy, settled Luciano on his bony legs, and waved Ben and Callie to a very lovely brocade sofa opposite him.

“All right. Ask your questions, Detective Raven.”

“Let's go over exactly where you were when you saw this man, Mr. Avery.”

“I was maybe twenty feet south of my house.”

“There was a half-moon last night, so that means light. Were you wearing your glasses?”

“Yep, have to when Luciano does his business because I gotta scoop it up. And I don't want a car to run me down when Luciano wants to walk over to Madison Avenue, that's one of his favorite areas around here.”

“Okay, so you saw a man. How old was he? What did you think when you saw him?”

“He wasn't old, but gawldarn, Detective Raven, a guy'd have to be seventy before I wouldn't think he was a kid. Okay, let's say he was getting up there, middle age, fifties, I'd say. He was big,
looked fit, no fat that I could tell. He was wearing a Burberry coat. I know Burberrys because that's all my brother wears, the affected dufuss. I only noticed him because he was running. You don't see that very often on a Saturday night in this neighborhood. No druggies hang out here, just good solid folks, like Marylee and me and Luciano. We've been here for forty-five years.”

“Where was his car parked?”

“About twenty feet north of my house, on this side, it was the only car out on the street. Like I said, this is a homey neighborhood, folks have garages and use them. No punks with cars up on blocks in their driveways or on the street.”

“You said it was a white car, maybe a pale gray?”

“I think now it was white.”

Callie beamed at him. “So you remember that now.”

“Yep, thought about it a lot, like Detective Raven said I'd do. I told the other cops it was a gray or white Toyota, late model, maybe a 2000 or a 2001, but I wasn't all that sure at the time. Guess they had good reason not to take me seriously about it. I saw a couple of Toyotas today, and that's what it was. The Toyota had two doors, not four. It was clean, even the radial tires.”

Ben said, “So the guy runs up to the driver's side, pulls open the door, jumps in, starts the car, and peels away from the curb.”

Mr. Avery was shaking his head. “You know what—hey, Luciano, come back to Daddy—don't chew on Marylee's slipper!—good boy, that's a good boy. Now, what was I saying? Oh yeah, the thing is, now that I think about it, the car was already running.”

Ben didn't move a muscle.

“That's something else I remember now. You see, Detective Raven, there wasn't time for this guy to run to the car, open the
door, stick the key in the ignition, turn over the engine, and take off. Nope, he jumped in the driver's side.” Mr. Avery snapped his fingers. “Yeah, I remember that clearly now. The car had to be running. And he didn't have to open that door, it was already ajar.”

Ben, doubtful now, and hating it, hoping the cops weren't right about Mr. Avery making things up, nonetheless said, “Were you going to call the FBI about remembering this, Mr. Avery?”

Mr. Avery was shaking his head. “Well, maybe, if they'd asked again, but I knew they were thinking I was just an old buzzard with pudding for brains and probably blind and deaf as a post, like poor Marylee. They sort of acted that way last night. I mean, they were respectful, and they nodded a lot, but you know, I saw them looking at each other when they didn't think I'd notice. Why waste my time?” Mr. Avery paused a moment, then cursed. “Yeah, I would have called tomorrow, anyway. My pa was a cop, taught me what was right.”

“Good for you,” Callie said.

Ben sat forward, hands flexing on his knees. His eyes were bright, and he felt his heart begin to pound. “Well, I'm here, Mr. Avery, and it seems to me you're as sound as I am, sir. Okay, then, were you saying there was someone else in the car?”

Both Callie and Ben waited to the sound of Marylee humming to the theme song of a television show no one could hear, her knitting needles clacking loud in the silence. Luciano was standing on his hind legs, his front paws on Mr. Avery's knee, tail wagging, as if waiting to hear what his master was going to say, too.

“You know, I don't remember hearing the car running, but then, I wasn't really paying any attention, until I saw this guy
heading toward that car on a dead run, that Burberry coat flapping around his legs. I guess someone in the car saw him coming, and that someone had to turn on the ignition key. The driver's side door wasn't shut, yeah, it had to be partly open, that's it, because, like I told you, that guy comes running up—he wasn't even out of breath, I remember that too—and he pulls the door open, jumps in, his foot slams down hard on the gas, and he fishtails it away from the curb.”

Callie's foot was tapping. She was sitting forward.

Mr. Avery pulled Luciano back up on his lap. “Jeez, yeah, now I see it, you know what else? Someone moved inside the car, in the passenger seat. I remember when he floored the gas and the car fishtailed a little bit, someone's head jerked back. It had to be a woman because her hair sort of fanned out. Yeah, it was a woman waiting for him, a woman who turned on that car. That or some sort of weird hippie guy with long hair.”

It was close, but Ben avoided picking up Mr. Avery and Luciano and waltzing them around the living room.

Ten minutes later, Ben was on his cell to Savich, telling him how smart old Mr. Avery turned out to be.

Savich said, “You're sure the old man has it together and he wasn't spinning a good story for you?”

Ben said, “He's a piece of work, I'll grant you that. Initially he comes across on the flaky side, but his brain is intact, Savich. I'm as sure of that as I am that my mother found my stash of
Playboy
magazines when I was eleven years old.”

“Okay. You're right, Ben, this could be big. Well done. Tell Callie she's a princess. Oh yeah, did you guys enjoy Filomena's?”

“Probably as much as you intended us to.”

“Well, that's good.”

When Ben hung up, he turned to Callie. “Savich said you were a princess. Does that make you proud?”

Callie laughed, then sobered quickly. “All right. What are we going to do now?”

“I'm taking you home. I think we've got enough for tonight.”

“I agree. So there was a woman in Günter's car. I suppose now Savich will find out where every woman involved in the case was last night. Oh, Ben, you will call me the minute you find out anything about Giffey?”

“You got it.”

He turned the Crown Vic around and headed toward Margaret Califano's house on Beckhurst Lane.

After about five minutes of staring straight ahead through the windshield, Callie said, “You know, you did look like a natural.”

“What? A natural what?”

“When you were holding Sean last night. You looked like a natural.”

“Oh yeah, well, I got four nieces and nephews, two of each. I've changed a couple of diapers in my time.”

Now she did turn to face him. “Really? You've really changed diapers yourself?”

“It isn't rocket science, Callie. What with the Velcro tapes, I'd bet you a baby could do his own diaper. Where's this coming from?”

She shrugged. “We did have a lovely dinner, didn't we?”

“I was salivating more over that dress of yours than I was the swordfish.”

“It's been just over a week. It doesn't seem real.”

He nodded, turned smoothly onto Caledonia Street and continued west. He wanted to ask if she'd like to neck with him, but managed to hold his tongue.

“Hey,” she said, “Mr. Avery is something else, isn't he?”

“Yes, he is, and that little dog is a ridiculous little bit of fluff, but you know what? I liked him. Happy little critter. Can't believe I'd say that about a poodle. A miniature poodle, for God's sake. Thing is, I can see him crawling all over me at six in the morning, licking my face off.”

As a matter of fact, Callie could picture it too, and that was a surprise. What wasn't a surprise was that she could also see herself, lying next to Ben Raven, laughing, waiting for Luciano to leap over on her. Why did feelings and attachments have to sprout like weeds at a time like this?

Ben shot her a look, but didn't say a word. When they got to Margaret's house, he walked Callie to the front door. The lights were all off except for the porch light.

“Looks like your mom's friends have gone for the evening.” He waited until she'd unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“Callie, about this natural thing.”

“Yes?”

“Ah, forget it. Never mind. I'll call you when I find out anything about Giffey.” She was bundled up in her black wool coat, a bright red scarf wrapped around her neck, but he could clearly picture that sexy little black dress beneath. No, it wasn't the time, dammit. “Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning.” He turned to leave when she grabbed his arm and yanked him back. Then she looked up at him and said, “Don't go. Oh dear, am I an idiot or what? I forgot that my mom told me she wanted me to move back to my own place this evening. She said she was fine now, that she needed to be by herself for a while. I told her I would, that I'd see her for dinner tomorrow night. I forgot. I wonder what I should do.”

“Check on her, make sure she's okay, then I'll take you to your apartment.”

She nodded. “Okay. What will we be doing tomorrow?”