Bouncer (21 page)

“That is highly doubtful. In fact,” she mocked, “it’s
inconceivable
.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Let’s just say that Anthony’s children dislike him so much that they all refuse to grant him what he desires most—a grandson. You reap what you sow.”

“Just what is it about Anthony, besides his bad manners, you dislike so much?”

“How much time do you have, Ms. Fox? To start with he is a bore, a womanizer, and a child and wife abuser. He’s never given a cent to anyone in need even though he has money coming out of his ears. He needs Ruth to soften his rough edges, but abuses her because of her generous nature. No wonder every one of his daughters ran away from him and his sons joined the military to escape.”

“They weren’t drafted?”

“No, both boys joined the military though certain they’d be sent to Vietnam.”

“You knew his older sons?”

“By reputation only. They were wild and uncouth—just like their father. The daughters and youngest boy took more after their mother. I believe Anthony luckily neglected them except for his routine verbal and physical abuse.”

“His abuse caused the three sisters to leave town?” asked Lea.

“The town? You mean the state! They moved as far away as they could to get out of his control. One even became a nun to prevent him controlling her unborn children. He’s a tyrant, Ms. Fox, and that’s why I despise him as well as my husband, who, while a man of many faults, knew just what kind of man he was dealing with.”

“So, you’re saying Thad snapped at the hand that fed him?”

Trish Fisher bristled. “I beg your pardon! My husband accepted donations for his campaigns, but Anthony Montanari never controlled him or influenced any of his decisions. In fact, I believe it was more the other way around, like Thad held some sort of sway over Anthony. ”

“Were they business partners?” Lea’s fingers flew over the keys of the F & H.

“They may have had some investments together. Though God knows how legal. Thad always seemed to have enough money.”

“And what about Anthony’s last remaining son?”

“Rudolph.” Mrs. Fisher swallowed. “He deals with his controlling father the best way he can, I suspect.”

“And he’s never married.”

“No, but that’s no crime, Ms. Fox. You’re not married, either, I take it, or ever shall be?” Lea ignored the barb. “And besides, what connection does all this have to my husband’s murder?”

“Did Anthony know Connie?”

“You mean that trollop of my husband’s mistress?”

“Her body was
discovered
in one of his fields.”

Mrs. Fisher crossed one slender leg over the other. “That means nothing. The Montanari’s own thousands of prime acreage around here. Their property borders every side of this town. Go five feet in any one direction, and you’ll run into one of their stinking fields.”

“I just thought it was interesting to note that Ashley Peebles’ body was also found on their property. Did your husband know her?”

The muscles worked in her throat, and Trish Fisher’s voice turned cold. “I believe he might have known
of
her, and I’m certain he was acquainted with her murderers. He used to visit the farm workers on insurance business.”

“Insurance business?”

“Yes, he was an insurance broker before he became mayor. Thad was a Jack of all trades.”

“And were you aware of your husband’s infidelities even then?”

No hint of a blush tinted the hardened woman’s face. “No, I only became aware of them just before he became mayor. I had the misfortune to walk in on one of his
campaign briefings
; he was missing his
briefs
while
briefing
his secretary.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I wasn’t, and it made it quite easy for me to never again feel obligated to perform my wifely duties. Besides, I didn’t want to
catch
anything.”

“One other question, Mrs. Fisher. Do you really believe Philemon Jenkins murdered your husband?”

Trish stiffened and smoothed the fine fabric of her expensive dress. “I have my suspicions he may have.”

“Why?”

“This is something I didn’t really want people to know, but now . . . My husband had a gambling problem. I’ve tried to keep that information out of the newspapers, but since I’m certain everything will come out in the papers tomorrow, and Richard Rollins can’t shield me much longer, I might as well tell you. I believe that when my husband fell behind on payments to bookies, I’m afraid they may have hired a professional to take care of their
little
problem.”

So, at least Anthony and Trish had their stories straight.

“But I thought you said Thad always had enough money. Now you indicate he couldn’t pay his debts.”

“I believe he was
generally
lucky in his gambling, but this once, perhaps fell behind.”

“Hmm. I’m a bit confused—it all seems so
drastic
. The loan sharks certainly wouldn’t receive any payback if he were dead. And why have a hit man kill the mistress as well? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m not sure they meant to kill him. From what I can ascertain about my husband’s demise, I believe they tortured him and his girlfriend in hopes of gaining information about how to access his funds. In fact, I’m positive about it.”

“And how could you be so sure?” asked Lea, leaning forward.

“Because cutting off a finger is an oriental threat. I was raised in San Francisco and that particular calling card was often left as a warning to those who didn’t pay their bills. I’m sure that Thad and his mistress were persuasively warned and when they refused to pay up, things got out of hand. Philemon Jenkins was a hit man in Chicago. He was hired by the Asian loan sharks and did his job.”

Lea sighed. “Everyone sure knows a great deal about information that’s generally kept from the public. I wonder how that can be?”

“I have friends,” snapped Mrs. Fisher.

“Your Chief Rollins certainly agrees with you about Philemon’s role.”

“I don’t know if that’s what Chief Rollins believes, but after I told him all I knew about Thad’s gambling problem, he found evidence to support my assertion.”

“So,
you
where the one who told him about Philemon?”

“Not exactly. The gardener’s name and previous occupation were mentioned when I gave my statement, and it all seemed to fit.”

Lea changed tactics. She had been right about Chief Rollins and Trish Fisher, but there was nothing to be gained by indicating she knew about their relationship

“Whose car is that outside, Mrs. Fisher?”

“Just a friend trying to help me through hard times,” she answered stiffly.

“Oh?” Lea let the monosyllable dangle.

“The vehicle belongs to Rudolph Montanari. He brings his family’s condolences.”

“I see.”

Trish Fisher made an exaggerated yawn. “Do you have any more questions for me, Mrs. Fox? It’s late, and I need to obtain some rest, since I know some rather unsavory information will be exhibited in the paper tomorrow. Unfortunately, a woman is always judged by her husband’s actions, so I need to prepare myself.”

The maid materialized from nowhere, and Lea found herself led out. The Mercedes coupe had disappeared.

She’d barely strapped herself in when her cell phone sounded with Beethoven’s fifth.

“I have a piece of information for you, Lea.” said Steven.  “Connie Judson died from formaldehyde poisoning just like everyone expected, but there’s something else that’s even more interesting. During the examination, I noticed that Connie has a nasty bite on her upper arm.”

The snarling animal from the Collins house immediately sprung to Lea’s mind.

“Just what kind of bite?” she asked excitedly.

“Human. Most likely an adult male, since the jaw and teeth show mature development. I swabbed the wound and hope for some DNA from the culprit’s saliva—but that’s a long shot. I have Philemon Jenkins’ DNA just in case.”

How dreadful Thad and Connie’s last hours must have been. This revelation pointed more and more towards some cannibalistic serial killer on the loose.

“Thanks, Steven.”

“Um, Lea. Where’s Thayne?”

“Running around just like me, trying to solve this case before Chief Rollins tosses us out.”

“I don’t like that you’re wandering around on your own, he scolded. “Don’t forget to pack your gun. And promise me you won’t interview any of your suspects alone. This killer’s as dangerous as a tiger in a kitten’s suit.”

“Oh, come on. You know how much I love cats. I’ll be talking to ya, Steven.”

Chapter 20

“You’re looking loads better,” observed Nick.

“You’re full of shit, but thanks anyway.” Roger shifted in the giant king-sized bed and frowned at the broth Susan had strategically placed on the wicker side table.

“So, any insights about this case, Roger?”

“Just that I need to get out of this bed before you and your partner kill each other.”

“She’s not my partner!” Nick retorted.

“Oh, really? You could have fooled me. Rollins may not have called her in because he hates her, but I’m glad you’ve teamed up. Lea Fox has a first-class brain.”

“And a first-class attitude.”

“Had a tough life. Just like you. The tougher the life, the better the investigator. That’s why the two of you are better than me. I’ve got it too good.”

“Now,
who’s
full of crap?”

“Well, I’d like to be
full
of something. Susan’s damn near going to starve me! I want something edible to eat, not this stinking broth!” He shouted it loud enough for his patient wife to hear in the nearby kitchen.

“I’ll sneak you in a greasy burger piled high with chili and onions, just like you like it.”

“It would likely probably kill me.” He leaned over and took the bowl, slurping loudly. “Not bad for broth. So, let me get this straight. Philemon’s in jail charged with Thad’s and Connie’s murders. He’s most likely an ex-hit man. You can’t figure out the connection between the murders except that both Thad’s and Connie’s fingers were severed and Ashley’s ring was found on Thad’s finger. The word
Phile
was carved on a tree. Anthony Montanari has some connection to all this, and Connie’s cousin is the only one we know didn’t do it. Oh, and there’s some kid creeping around the Collins' yard who likes to play ball, and something about Christmas carols. Have I got it all?”

“A stinking pile of dung in the Collins back yard, and Philemon didn’t do it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

A strange expression passed over Nick’s face before he answered. “I’m positive he’s retired and reformed. Fox thinks it’s true, as well.”

“So you
are
listening to her.”

“Only between fits of rage.”

Roger laughed and suddenly clutched his side. “Yowzer that hurts! Jeez, I feel like a million years old.”

“You look it, too.

“And some say you’re charming. You and Lea get over to Chester Street first thing in the morning and wrap up this Bouncer connection. And interview Mrs. Simms again. Maybe she witnessed Philemon doing something suspicious. Footwork, Nick. That’s the key. Anything else?”

“Yeah. What have you heard about the oldest Montanari boys?”

“Just that they were real pricks. Anthony Jr. was the worst, though Randy was almost as bad. Dad must have rescued them a dozen times from messes they got in. It’s a shame they were killed in Nam, though. Don’t know much else.”

“They were both dead when Ashley was killed right?”

“By at least five years.”

Nick squinted and thought hard. “And Ashley’s son was never found, though Deke swore the baby was buried outside the encampment.”

Roger thought for a moment. “Lots of animals, coyotes, and whatnot. Baby could have been dug up and dragged away.”

“There’s something about the baby that bothers me.”

“You having one of your
premonitions
again? I just wanted you to know that I never bought that shit about your mob connections or the payoffs. Your gift rescued that little girl.”

“It’s not a gift.”

“Denial’s good. It’s the cornerstone of my existence. . So, if the baby bugs you, do your thing. There don’t seem to be many other leads in this blasted case besides the possible identification of the reindeer as Rudolph Montanari. Rollins will have Jenkins nailed to the cross for this if you don’t come up with something quick—and that just ain’t right. How you doing with Lea?”

“One thing I can say is that Fox doesn’t mince words. She doesn’t have the manners God gave a chipmunk.”

“Sharp as a tack, though,” chuckled Roger.

“Pisses me off and enjoys doing it.”

“It’s because she doesn’t care what you think,” said Roger. “Lea doesn’t give a hoot if you

believe she’s smart or attractive or brusque. She is who she is, and if a man doesn’t like it, tough shit. That’s what I like about her. Lea gets results. And
that’s
what you really need in a partner.”

“She’s not my partner or
going
to be my partner.”

“Well, she’s the closest thing to a partner you’re gonna get while I’m strapped to this bed. What’s Lea up to now?”

“Listening to Luke’s tape and going over the files on everybody. She’s has this nifty little contraption she calls the F & H with the tiniest little keyboard. Has motives, crime scenerios, everything.”

“Her
real
partner. Well, I have a sweet fact for her to put into her little gadget. Rumor has it that about 12 years ago, Richard Rollins had a little fling with Trish Fisher.”

“You’re positive about that?”

“As positive as a good rumor mill can be. Have Lea punch it in. Maybe she’ll pick something up. Steven Koh helping you out?”

“Yeah, but he’s an odd one.”

“Don’t let Susan hear you say that, though I’d have to agree. Steven’s a hard one to fathom, but a first-class coroner. Susan told me once that he followed us out here to Monroe from the Coast because his heart was broken when his best friend won the girl he loved. He’s pretty close-mouthed about it. Keeps to himself mostly. You seen his
lab
?”

“Talk about home entertainment centers.”

Roger chuckled weakly. “Gave me a framed Brazilian butterfly once for my birthday. Kinda pretty, but odd, you know. Not sure where to hang it.”

“Just one more thing, Roger. What can you tell me about Bernard?”

“Bernard?”

“Fox’s
boy
friend?”

Roger seemed confused. “So, she has a boyfriend. Actually, I think Steven mentioned him once. Glad to hear it, though he must be a tough nut to put up with her.”

Susan appeared at the door. “It’s late, Nick. Roger’s got to get some rest.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

“Good. Oh, and Nick. Take your vitamins. You’ll need them if you’re going to spend much time with Lea Fox.” He gave what could only be called a giggle and Nick itched to clobber him.

Monday Morning

The phone rang shrilly at exactly 5:55 a.m. the next morning. It had been a wild night, and Nick searched vainly for the phone amid the chaos of his room as the bitter sound refused to go away. Chastity, the curvy blonde, purred and handed him the phone.

“You are a popular man,” she said in a throaty whisper and slinked from the bed in her all-together. The Moral Right had it all wrong. Barbie girls really did exist, even if it took liposuctions, tummy tucks, and a boob job to get it.

He growled into the phone, “This’d better be good.”

“It’s Fox. Get your lazy butt out of bed and down to my office. We’ve been summoned by Chief Rollins to his office at eight, and we need to synchronize our stories.”

“You’re kidding. He called you this early?”

“No, actually, it was about twenty minutes ago, but I decided to be nice and let you sleep until six.”

“Then your watch is fast,” he snapped as Chastity glided back to the bed. This was going to be hard to explain to the amazingly energetic blonde. The waitress glinted blue-gray eyes at him, and suddenly Nick was glad for the opportunity to leave. She appeared the clingy type.

“I’ll be right there,” he responded, making sure he gave a pained expression for Chastity’s benefit. It was clear she wasn’t a natural blonde.

“I can hardly wait,” chirped Fox and hung up.

Nick gave his best little boy grimace and hang-dog face; it worked nine times out of ten. By the time he was done explaining his unwelcome duties to the comely waitress, she was offering to whip him up a quick something to fortify him for his grueling morning.

Nick
was
late. He strolled in at seven-fifteen, satiated in all ways. Lea had observed that expression on her brother’s face a hundred times before and had little patience for it today.

“You’re tardy,” she growled.

“It just couldn’t be helped. I had to have some breakfast. I need nourishment.”

“Yeah, and I’m Pope Paul. So, are you religious by any chance, Thayne? Do you go to Mass regularly to confess your sins?”

“I used to, but since it only made me feel better once, I gave it up as a waste of time.”

“You swine,” she said, meaning it.

“Only you would think that. My lady friends get what they expect and are satisfied. Are you satisfied with your life, Lea Fox?”

“Only when my mortgage and car are paid off. I
need
this check.”

“Like it’s
me
who has the problem with Chief Rollins. So, what’s up?”

For fifteen minutes Lea relayed everything down to the last detail, the F & H clicking slightly. Finally, finished with her task, she added the punch lines.

“The chief was screaming on the phone this morning. Said Trish Fisher wasn’t impressed by my manners. And . . .” she paused significantly. “Philemon uses a lip product called
Solar Gel
, and a smeared fingerprint on the Cream Soda connects him directly to Connie’s finger. The blood on the snippers was found to be Philemon’s. Said he remembered getting a scratch when he was planting some rose starts, but I’m doubtful that’s gonna help him. Thus, our summons to Rollins’ office at eight sharp.”

“The chief knows you visited her?” Nick screwed up his face. Why didn’t Fox just let him do the interviewing? Her abrasive approach was going to get them nowhere fast.

“Yup. Indicated I was harassing Thad’s widow and should apologize to her. He’s downright smug about the lip balm. Things don’t look great for poor Philemon. He mentioned I’ll have lots of free time later in the day to catch up on my knitting.”

Nick peered out her very clean office window at the two heavily laden shelves of African Violets and what looked like a couple of hot pink geraniums leaning towards the sun. “Fox,” he mused as she collected her F & H. “You know how to avoid getting fired, don’t you?”

“How?” grunted Lea. Today she was dressed in a teal paisley pants suit that made her look figureless and dumpy and twenty years older than he knew her to be. Heavy-duty black pumps that reminded him of the kind worn by the sinister Sister Agnes at his primary school encased her small feet. Nick, in contrast, wore a sharp gray blazer over a spotless white shirt tucked into smoky trousers.

“You don’t show up.”

Fox peered thoughtfully at him through her thick glasses before nodding. She plucked up her mobile phone and switched it off. “I’m currently unavailable.”

Nick grinned, flashing his perfect white teeth and following her around the office as she brewed her coffee-black tea.

“There’s one common denominator in all three murders besides the severed fingers.”

“Every person murdered knew Montanari,” she responded, dunking her tea bag a few more times.

“That’s right.”

“So, where does Bouncer fit in?”

“I’m not sure,” said Nick watching her squeeze the last drops of water out of her spent teabag. “But we’re not going to find out by sitting here.”

Chester Street was peaceful as usual when they arrived at the cul-de-sac at exactly 8:00 a.m. Lea could visualize Chief Rollins sitting in his crammed office waiting futilely to chew them out before booting them off the case. She, for one, wasn’t ready to be axed just yet. Nick punched in the code supplied by Mr. Collins and waited for the wrought iron gates to swing open. The expansive lawn gleamed in the early morning air as he pulled Lea’s Mazda inside. It had been a major argument as to whose car they should use. They’d finally come to an agreement that they would alternate vehicles, with Nick as the designated driver. He’d had to scoot the seat all the way back just to accommodate his long legs.

The lawn sparkled from its early morning watering and the mauve roses glimmered beautifully against the reflection of the recently cleaned windows. Nick parked the car around the side nearest the garage and emerged from the small car with difficulty. A strange snarling sound issuing from the backyard caused both Lea and Nick to freeze in their tracks.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered.

“Yes,” breathed Fox.

She led the way, limping badly, and pushed open the side gate, which luckily was still unlatched. It opened without a squeak, and the pair tiptoed quietly down the walkway. Unfortunately, Lea’s uneven pace didn’t allow for a very silent advance, and she scuffed the brick walkway.