Marine Corpse (19 page)

“Don’t worry about Meriam, Heather. She’s harmless.”

“She didn’t sound harmless.”

“Hey, she’s an old lady whose only son got murdered.”

“So what about the notebooks? What do I do about them?”

“Nothing. Ignore the whole thing.”

“Is this a legal opinion, Brady?”

“It is. If she wants to take you to court for the notebooks, it’ll be about five years before anything happens. Then you can get a couple of continuations…”

“I get it.”

“Did you tell Zerk about this?”

“No. I will.”

“He’s your lawyer. He’s the one you should be talking to, not me.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

I said nothing. Heather couldn’t see me smile.

“You there, Brady?”

“I’m here.”

“Am I going to see you sometime?”

“You name it.”

“Now?”

“Well…”

“Just kidding,” she said. “You’re not all that big on spontaneity, are you?”

“Let’s make a date, Heather.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “Let’s see. Tomorrow’s no good. Ted Kennedy’s taking me to the opera. Just kidding. How about the next night? Tell you what. I’ll broil us a couple of steaks. You bring a bottle of expensive wine. I’ve got a new Miles Davis tape you’ll really love, and we can play a few hands of gin. How’s that sound?”

“Perfect. How’s seven?”

“Seven is good. I’ve got a session in the afternoon. That’ll give me a chance to shower and unwind. Maybe even grab a quick nap.” She yawned again. “’Scuse me. Listen. I’m still deciphering Stu’s notebooks. There’s some funny stuff in them. Funny strange, I mean. References that I can’t figure out. Maybe you can take a look at them when you’re here.”

“What kind of references?”

“If I read it accurately, he jotted down thoughts on Haiti and Cuba.”

“Well, that’s been on the news a lot, of course,” I said. “Tonight, as a matter of fact.”

“I know. Can you believe that guy? What I don’t get is why Stu would mention that in these notes.”

“What was the context?”

“No context that I can figure out. It’s as if he were trying to write reminders for himself that no one else would understand. Purposely ambiguous, almost. And anyway, his handwriting was so lousy that I’m not sure I’ve even got the words right. Anyhow, maybe you can help.”

“Sure. I’ll try. You didn’t come across any references to drug dealing, did you?”

“Are you still on that kick?”

“It’s not a kick, Heather. It’s a hypothesis that the police are pursuing.”

“Nothing on drugs. Nothing on David Lee, either, in case you were wondering.”

“Matter of fact, I was, yes.”

“Well, nothing on that.”

“Hey, don’t get angry with me,” I said. “That’s not why I called at all.”

She sighed. “I’m not mad. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a
kvetch
. It’s just that…”

She was silent for a moment.

“I know,” I said. “I know how you feel about Stu. I do, too. Also his friend Altoona. I’m just trying to resolve it all.”

“Oh, when you told me about that poor old man…”

“I considered not telling you.”

“No, I’m glad you told me. But it’s just so sad. Stu was really fond of him, I can tell from what he wrote.”

“Yes. I was, too. And that’s what I want to understand.”

“I know, Brady. You don’t have to explain.” She paused. “I miss you,” she said in a small voice.

“Me, too.”

“There you go, getting all syrupy again. Look. Bring one of those hugs with you when you come over, will you?”

“I’ll bring several.”

We exchanged soft good-byes and hung up. I picked up the copy of the
Yale Law Review
that I kept on the floor beside my bed. It was full of important stuff that an up-to-date attorney was truly obligated to know. But my eyelids kept falling down. “
Mañana
,” I muttered to myself, and the last thought I had before I fell asleep was the translation of that word that I had heard from an Hispanic attorney I knew.
Mañana
doesn’t mean “tomorrow,” he told me. It means, “not today.”

It was, I thought, an important distinction.

At five minutes of four the following afternoon, Julie buzzed me and said, “Mr. Lee is here for his appointment.”

I swiveled my desk chair around to look out the window at the end of another gray winter day in Boston. “Let him wait,” I said.

“But…”

“I want him to stew in his own juices for a little while, okay?”

“Certainly, sir,” she said. She did not approve.

I gave him twenty minutes before I went to the door and said, “Mr. Lee, won’t you come in, now?”

I went back behind my desk. David Lee entered, paused in the doorway, then came and took the straight-backed chair across from my desk. I didn’t stand for him or offer him my hand.

He leaned toward me. “I really don’t appreciate being summoned like this, Mr. Coyne. I hope you understand that it’s damned inconvenient.”

“Then why did you come?”

He looked startled. “I—I thought I owed you the courtesy.”

I lit a cigarette and stared at him for a moment. “You do, Mr. Lee. You do owe me the courtesy, as you put it. And I thought I would extend to you the courtesy of this meeting before I speak to the authorities.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He tried to convey outrage. He fell just short of succeeding.

“You lied to me, Mr. Lee. It changes everything.”

“Now, just a minute—”

“No,” I said. “You wait a minute. You were with Stu Carver the night he died. The night an icepick slid into his brain. You told me you hadn’t seen him since October. That was a lie. There is only one reason why you would lie about that.”

“Now, listen,” he said, placing both fists on my desk. “I wasn’t lying. I never saw Stu.”

I shrugged. “Have it your way, then.” I buzzed Julie.

“Yes?” she answered.

“Get Detective Santis for me, please.”

“Certainly.”

I sat back and stared at David Lee. He returned my gaze for about five seconds, then dropped his eyes. “Okay, Mr. Coyne. I’m not going to call your bluff. Will you listen to me?”

“Why bother? You can talk to the police.”

“Please.”

I nodded. “Okay.” I buzzed Julie again. “Cancel it,” I told her.

“Playing games, are we?” she said sweetly into the phone.

“Yes, that’s right,” I said. I turned to Lee. “Okay, then. Go ahead.”

He sighed. “It was the afternoon before New Year’s Eve. Stu called me at home. I was correcting a set of exams. He sounded quite agitated. He said he wanted to see me, he had to talk to somebody. I said that of course I’d meet him. I missed him terribly, and I told him so. I hoped he had decided to come home. He told me to meet him at this awful place…”

“The Sow’s Ear,” I said.

Lee grimaced. “Yes, that’s right. Stu was there before me. He had already had several drinks. I didn’t think too much about it. He did that sometimes. But this was different, I quickly realized. He was in a corner booth, sitting back in the shadows. As if he were hiding, you see. His eyes kept darting around, as if he were afraid he had been followed, or someone might have followed me. I sat down across from him and touched his hand. He snatched it away from me. ‘Jesus Christ,’ I remember him saying. ‘Not here.’ Well, I took encouragement from that. If not here, I thought, then someplace else. But that wasn’t what Stu wanted. Matter of fact, it wasn’t at all clear what he
did
want, because he started mumbling about how he shouldn’t have called me, he didn’t want to get me involved, and the more I asked him what the hell he was talking about, the more he said I should just leave. I told him I wasn’t going to leave until he told me what the trouble was. He said it wouldn’t be fair to tell me. It went on like that for a while. He had some more drinks. I kept begging him to tell me about it.” Lee paused. “Mr. Coyne, may I have a drink of water, please?”

“How about Scotch? That’s what you prefer, isn’t it?”

He looked startled. “Why, yes. Yes it is. Scotch would be fine. And water, if that’s all right.”

I went to the cabinet and poured each of us a drink. He took his and sipped at it. “I told him I really meant it, I just wouldn’t leave him until he told me what was on his mind. I’d never seen him so excited. Upset and excited both. Finally he leaned across the table and whispered to me. ‘I’m really onto something,’ he said. ‘Something big.’ Then he said he shouldn’t tell me. It was too dangerous.”

“Dangerous,” I said. “Was that his word?”

“Yes. He said dangerous. But then he started to tell me this story when a girl came and sat with us. We tried to be polite with her. She was a prostitute. I tried to suggest that we weren’t interested. All the while, Stu is mumbling about being onto something big. Once he got started, he couldn’t seem to stop. At last the girl went away. I said to Stu, ‘What is it? Tell me what this is all about.’ He was pretty drunk, Mr. Coyne, but I gathered it had something to do with that business in Haiti, and the assassination attempt back in December. Remember?”

“I remember,” I said. “Felix Guerrero. The Happy Warrior, as Mickey Gillis called him. Thurmond Lampley. Sure, I remember. What about it?”

Lee shook his head. “I don’t exactly know. Stu was not coherent. I begged him to come with me. We’d talk to the police, I told him. He said, no, he was already dealing with it.”

“What did he mean by that?”

Lee sighed. “I wish I knew. He might still be alive if he had told me. But he got very sly. Paranoid, almost. He told me to go away, mind my own business, as if it were I who had called him up rather than the other way around. I think he was trying to protect me, do you see? Anyway, he wouldn’t budge. He just got abusive.” He sipped at his Scotch and shrugged. “So, after a while, I left.”

“What time did you leave?”

“It must’ve been around eleven. I got home just in time to see the New Year being ushered in on the television. You know how that big ball comes down…?”

“Yes,” I said. “Is that it?”

“Yes. That’s all of it.”

“Did he mention any names?”

“No. I would remember if he did.”

“What about Father Barrone. Joe Barrone.”

“No.”

“How about a Dr. Adrian Vance?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Did he mention Altoona?”

Lee frowned. “That’s in Pennsylvania. No, I don’t think so.”

“Altoona was a person. A friend of his. Who has also been killed.”

“He didn’t mention anybody by that name, no. He mentioned no names.”

“Any reference to his notebooks, or a diary, or a journal?”

He shook his head.

“Did he say anything about meeting somebody that night?”

He thought for a minute. “Well,” he said slowly, “not in so many words, no. But now that I think of it, he did look at my watch a few times, as if he had an appointment. I remember thinking that he acted as if he had a date, and wanted to get rid of me before a certain time.”

“Did he say anything about a date specifically?”

“No. I think I’d remember if he did.”

I leaned back in my chair. “What else, Mr. Lee?”

“What do you mean?”

“What haven’t you told me?”

“I’ve told you everything.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“Mr. Coyne, you’ve got to try to understand. Nothing I can do or say can bring Stu back to me. But it can ruin me. I explained that to you before. I didn’t kill Stu. I hope you know that. I don’t know any more about it than I’ve told you. But if my relationship with him ever became public knowledge…”

“I’m an officer of the court, Mr. Lee,” I said. “And you have withheld information relevant to the investigation of a felony. Do you understand?”

“I understand that you don’t seem to want to believe me. But it’s the truth. If you want to wreck my life, you have it in your power.”

“Your career is not relevant here.”

“It is to me.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to beg you. I told you everything. I do not want to be involved. As much as I loved Stu, I do not want to be connected to his death. It would do nobody any good.”

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth now?”

He shrugged. “I guess you don’t.”

“What are you hiding?”

“I’m hiding nothing from you. From the world, I’m hiding a great deal.” His shoulders slumped, but he held my gaze with his eyes. “I’ve told you all I know.”

“You understand I’ll have to talk to the police.”

“Will you have to give them my name?”

“They can be more effective than I in getting at the truth.”

“For God’s sake, Mr. Coyne! I’ve told you absolutely everything.”

“Have it your way, then,” I said.

He stood up. “I hope you have a conscience,” he said. “Good day, sir.”

He started for the door. “Mr. Lee,” I said.

He stopped and turned to face me. “Yes?”

“I’ll try to keep your name out of it.”

He nodded slowly. “I would appreciate it,” he said. Then he left.

I poured a little more bourbon into my glass. Then I called Gus Becker. I told him what I had learned from my visit to the Sow’s Ear. I included the information David Lee had given me, but I made it sound as if Trixie had overheard all of it. I left my interview with Lee out of it. For the time being, I thought I could justify that.

I told Becker about getting mugged. I had the impression that he thought it was funny.

But he seemed interested in what I had to say. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said. I told him that I failed to see the connection with the cocaine wars, and he said, “It’s very complicated.” He asked again about Stu’s notebooks, and I told him I had nothing new on that subject. He asked if Heather had started her book yet, and I said I didn’t know. He told me I should stop butting into police business. It sounded perfunctory. He suggested we get together for a drink sometime. I said I’d like that, and we left it there.

Al Santis did not seem interested. “So he went to a bar, shot the shit with a hooker, and got drunk,” he said. “Then he went outside and passed out in an alley. That don’t get us any closer to whoever stuck an icepick into his ear, now, does it?”

“You don’t think his talking about Haiti and Thurmond Lampley’s assassination attempt makes a difference?”