Death at the Wheel (11 page)

Someone knocked on the door, opened it, and stood there, not quite meeting Donahue's eyes. "Rooney sent me for the wrench," he muttered.

"Well, goddammit, go get it then. Can't you see I'm busy?" The man sidled into the corner and grabbed a large wrench. "You're gonna bring that right back, aren't ya, Joe," Donahue said. "I don't want to have to come looking for it." Cringing before Donahue's dark look, the man nodded and slouched out, leaving black fingerprints on the door.

"We're dealing with a real-life situation here, Mr. Donahue," I reminded him. "They did arrest her. So they think they have reason, don't they?" He didn't like that, but he held his tongue. With difficulty. I could tell he wanted to yell at me again. Feeling more and more out of my league, I persisted, "Do you know of anyone who wanted to hurt your brother-in-law?"

"I would have," he said. "My brother-in-law Calvin was a horny scumbag who had to dip his wick into everything that moved. He cheated on my sister and bullied her and put her down until he broke her spirit. I didn't shed any tears when I heard that fucker was dead. No sirree! Except for leaving Julie alone with those two little ones, but Cal wasn't interested in being a father anyway. Practically went nuts when the second one wasn't a boy! He only used 'em for show, know what I mean? He used to rag her somethin' awful about how she had to dress and behave and how the girls had to dress and behave and how she had to talk and what clubs to join." He stopped abruptly. "You get my drift?"

"He was very controlling?"

"I guess that's what you'd call it. I think a man's got to keep a woman under control, don't get me wrong, but there's a kind of a deal that goes along with that, and he didn't keep the deal. Plus he was a complete shit to live with. You can quote me on that. Never missed anything. The house had to be just so and his food just so or the man would have a fit. She was the sweetest little thing... Dee... Julie was."

Now that I had him going, Dunk, as he urged me to call him, was on a roll. "She changed her name?"

"Bet your ass." I never bet my ass on anything, but I didn't tell him that. The phone rang.

He snatched it up, barked his name into it, listened for a minute, and pawed through the papers on his desk. "Thursday! Listen, dickhead, I've got a business to run here. A trucking business. Which means I need my trucks. You said Monday." He listened again. "Did you try Bilodeau? Well, try him. If I'd known you'd take this long, I'd have done it myself. No, ass-wipe, sitting in an office hasn't made me forget a thing. I can still put an engine together faster than you can take a piss." He listened again. Barked a laugh. "I just might take you up on that. Okay. Okay. Try Bilodeau and get back to me. I'll bet he's got something lying around." He threw the phone down. "Where were we?"

"You were telling me about Julie changing her name."

"That was Cal's idea, too. Fell for her when she was named Deanna, but it wasn't classy enough for him, so he suggested Julie. Told her never to let on that she'd come up the hard way. The two of 'em invented a whole story for her about her rich family and her proper upbringing. Guess a smart mill town girl pulled herself up by her bootstraps wasn't good enough for Mr. Calvin 'self-important' Bass. No way. He's got to take a real smart, capable, college-educated girl like that and make her act like some kind of country club twit. Way he had her behavin', you wouldn't think the girl had a brain in her head. He even had her believin' she didn't."

"Where did Julie go to college?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised," he said, frowning. "Dee was determined to get out of here and make something of herself. Until she met that jerk. Best damned mechanic on my crew, but she wanted to leave this town behind and do something respectable. Not that I blame her. We come up hard, me and Dee. I guess it was harder on a girl, growing up poor like we did, treated like trash 'cuz we didn't have a father and our mother was a drunk. Dee went to Wheaton. Studied economics and sociology. Honors and everything. She was going to be a smart social worker and help people like us."

He shook his head. "Then she meets that asshole and love turns her into mush. 'S funny, you know. How all that ambition could vanish and leave her just like a piece of clay. All his fault, you know." He glared at me as though I might dare to disagree, unconsciously clenching his freckled fist, the muscles in his arm dancing, but it was unnecessary show. It was already very clear to me that sensible people didn't disagree with Dunk Donahue. At least not openly. Even when he was calm, anger hung around him like a red cloud.

Dunk's story of their childhood was a far cry from the life of privilege Julie had described—described so well it sounded like she'd come to believe it. His was a different story than I'd gotten from Cindy at the Kwik-Stop, though I recognized the characters. It wasn't helping me any, though. I tried to change the subject. "What about their financial situation? Did Julie talk about that?"

He shook his head. "That's another dumb thing my sister did. She's perfectly competent to handle money but she let him do it. I don't know what came over her. It was like she ran out of confidence or something. I don't know. All through high school she worked like a dog to get out of here. She was going to set the world on fire... and then she up and marries that guy and... I dunno. It's like he brainwashed her or something. My wife and I, we were both always saying to her, Dee, you've got to keep a job, some means of support. Suppose the guy walks out on you? But she wouldn't hear it. Said it would never happen."

He shook his head. "Real dumb for such a smart person. My wife Brenda, she says she thinks Dee married her dream of how life was supposed to be but then Brenda likes to read those women's magazines that're always preaching that psychology shit. Whatever the reason she married him, she discovered that it was no better than what she'd come from. Worse, if you ask me. But she wouldn't have killed him. She's not the killing type. And she wanted those girls to have a father. That was more important than what he was doing to her, even if he did have her so skinny and nervous she couldn't even eat anymore." He shrugged. "But I don't know much about their finances. They lived well. He wasn't generous, though. He made her account for every penny. Lately she said he'd been real nervous about spending. That's all I can tell you."

"Did you ever hit him?"

"Once. He had her up against a wall, choking her, because she'd forgotten to pick up his favorite shirt at the laundry and he wanted to wear it. I couldn't help myself."

I tried to steer the conversation back to my original question. "Do you know of anyone else who might have wanted to harm Cal?"

"Not specifically, but I expect it's everyone who knew the guy, except maybe his golfing buddies. The husbands of some of the women he slept with, maybe? He wasn't particular about their marital status. Or some of the women he'd rejected. You know how they are. I don't know this for a fact, of course, but I expect he didn't get on very well with the people who worked for him, either. He probably treated them the same way he treated Julie. Badly."

"You don't know any particulars?"

"Julie didn't talk much about his work. I don't think she knew much."

Other than Dunk himself, I was coming up empty-handed. "What about girlfriends? Anyone you can think of that I should talk to?"

"You're asking me about Cal's girlfriends?"

"Julie's girlfriends. Friends. The women she socialized with."

"Dee... Julie isn't much for girlfriends. She's always been sort of a loner." There was a pause as he reflected on the conversation. "Hey, wait a minute, lady. You aren't suggesting that I might have done it?" He leaned over the desk and peered at me. "You sure you aren't a cop?"

"I'm sure. Did she ever talk to you about Thomas Durren?" It was a long shot, a casual question. I wasn't prepared for his reaction at all.

A thundercloud rolled across his face. A quick reach behind him and he had the crowbar in his hand without even looking.

My nose tingled as I remembered the man on the loading dock. Jimmy. "You said you were her friend, and now you're trying to slander my sister." His voice dropped to a growl. "Let me tell you something, missy. If you have any notions of sharing that with the police, you'd better forget about them, you know what's good for you. We Donahues have to look out for each other." He set the crowbar on his desk, like a peculiar paperweight, but kept a hand on it. "Why did I tell you all that stuff for, you go and ask a question like that?"

I shrugged. I had no answer for him. And questions of my own, like why I'd wasted my time coming up here. The man was a tiresome bully. "I'm leaving," I said, getting up.

"Sit down," he said, patting the crowbar. "Sit down and tell me about how you won't say anything about Durren to the cops."

I stayed standing, comparing the distance around the desk for him to the distance to the door for me. "I don't have to tell the police anything, even if I were so inclined, which I'm not. I don't know anything about Dr. Durren except his name. But frankly, Mr. Donahue, it seems to be no secret—the rumor about Durren and your sister is all over Grantham. It's a pretty small town, you know. I expect some helpful soul has been willing to share it with the authorities."

"You sure you're not with the police?" he asked again.

"If I were with the police and you asked to see some identification, I'd have to show it to you." I waited to see if he'd ask. He didn't. "Julie volunteered for my mother at the hospital. Mom introduced us because she thought Julie needed a friend.... I lost my husband a few years ago in a car accident. She thought I might be able to help."

"Cops won't look beyond the ends of their noses, now that they've got her," he said bitterly. On this subject, at least, he and my mother were simpatico. "Especially once they find out she knows—" He bit the words off abruptly, reddening, trying to cover the breach with the awkwardness of one unused to watching his words. "Forget it. Damned cops." Donahue stared at me suspiciously, something in his look making me very uneasy—like he still didn't believe that I wasn't a cop. "You came all this way just to talk to me?"

"No. I had to see some people at the Northbrook School today. You know Northbrook? I was already close and I had some time, so I came." It sounded lame to me and from his look, I could see he thought it was lame as well. "I'm a consultant," I added. He didn't say anything but I sure didn't like the way he kept looking at me. I took a step toward the door. "Thanks for seeing me. If you remember anything Julie might have said that you think could be helpful, please call me." I offered him a business card.

He took it without looking at it and set it on the desk. "I don't think you're—" He was interrupted by the phone. "Don't leave," he said. A longer call this time, which required another rummage through the papers and then he read several things to whoever was on the other end. As soon as he hung up, there was another call. He turned his chair around so his back was to me. All I could hear was the murmur of his voice, except for one phrase. I heard him say "...send someone to talk to me?" and then "...cover for me if I have to go out."

While his back was to me, I edged toward the door, had my hand on the knob when he swung around. I stopped. A strange mood had overtaken him. He seemed to have forgotten that I was there. He grew pensive, rubbing his beard and staring at the wall behind me. He muttered to himself something about Durren. Suddenly he picked up the phone, started dialing a number, and then glared at me. "You have to go," he said rudely. "I've got work to do."

He gathered together enough manners to see me out, getting up, taking his coat, opening the door. He was even gracious enough to leave the crowbar behind. As we walked down the bawdy hallway, he cast the occasional sidewise glance to see if I was observing the decor. I stared carefully straight ahead. He said good-bye at the entrance and then stood watching as I walked to my car. His farewell was civil enough, but I couldn't shake a lingering sense of menace as I drove away.

 

 

 

Chapter 9

 

I stopped to buy daffodils but got seduced by scented Stargazer lilies, which reminded me of hot summer nights. Bought some red wine. A sinful chocolate cake. A huge can of salted nuts with no peanuts. All the trappings of a big evening, first class all the way. Carrying my offerings, I presented myself at Andre's door, all the ups and downs of the day ousted by anticipation. I felt a little tingle of excitement when I heard his footsteps. Then the door opened and the tingle became a rush. Around Andre, my normal self-control sometimes vanishes like morning mist. This was one of those times.

He took the flowers and the wine, the nuts and the chocolate cake. Admired the cake, opened the nuts, put the flowers in water, and opened the wine to let it breathe. As he moved around the kitchen, I leaned against the counter, admiring his shape under his clothes, the firm line of his jaw, his sturdy forearms, the sexy arch of his brows, and tried not to drool. My mother would have been shocked at the ideas running through my head; Anais Nin would have been envious. I wanted him to sweep everything out of his way and pounce on me. He knew it, too. I'm no good at hiding my feelings from him.