Marine Corpse (21 page)

“The key. She keeps—she kept—a key hidden outside. She showed it to me the first time I was here. She was dead when I got here.”

“A key, huh. Hm.” He pursed his lips. “I wonder who else knows about that key.”

I shrugged. I felt cold.

“Come on, Mr. Coyne. Think. What about friends? Other boyfriends, maybe. People she worked with. Relatives.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. She never talked about them. I can’t help you there.”

“Because there’s no sign of forced entry here, see. So whoever killed her either let himself in, or else she let him in herself. Either way, it wasn’t a stranger. So it would help us a lot if we knew who she knew.”

“I just don’t think I can help you there,” I repeated. And I felt a pang of sadness, because it was true. There was much about Heather Kriegel that I hadn’t had the chance to learn.

“What was your relationship with her?”

“We were friends.”

“Friends, huh?”

“Friends. Yes.”

“Tell me everything from the time you came in the door.”

I did, as well as I could. There wasn’t that much to tell, except that images of Heather kept intruding, so that my recitation lacked coherence, even to me.

“So you hung around downstairs for ten or fifteen minutes while she was dead upstairs, is that it?” said Carlson.

“Yes. Like I said, I thought she was getting ready. I am always early for things. She tends to be late.”

“But you didn’t think it was a little strange that she didn’t answer when you called upstairs to her?”

“I figured she was in the shower. I assumed she didn’t hear me.”

“Any idea who’d want to kill her?”

I shook my head. “No.”

Carlson stood up. “You sit right there, Mr. Coyne, and try to relax. I’m going to go upstairs to take a look. The Medical Examiner should be here in a minute.” He glanced meaningfully at the other policeman, who had posted himself by the front door, then he went up the stairs. I looked at the cop by the door, who stood at attention and stared at the wall across the room. I said to him, “I’m going to get myself a beer, okay?”

“No, sir,” he said, without looking at me. “You’re supposed to stay here.”

I shrugged and sat back.

A few minutes later the doorbell rang. The cop opened the door and conversed for a moment with somebody. Then he came back into the room, followed by a bulky man wearing a topcoat over a suit and carrying a black bag. He scowled down at me as he walked past on his way to the stairs. I could hear him wheezing loudly. I wondered if he’d survive the climb to the second floor.

“That’s the ME,” said the policeman to me.

“I figured,” I said. “Hey, look. I’d really like a beer, or at least a glass of water, you know? I really don’t feel too hot.”

“You’ll have to wait ’til the Lieutenant comes down.”

“You want me to puke on the rug here?”

“Please don’t move, sir.”

I stood up. “I’m going to get a beer. Shoot me, if you want.”

I went into the kitchen and took another Beck’s from the refrigerator. When I turned, the policeman was standing behind me. “Want one?” I said.

He smiled briefly. “No, thank you.”

We went back into the living room and resumed our places, he by the door and I on the sofa. I lit a cigarette. A moment later Lieutenant Carlson came downstairs with the Medical Examiner. They walked over to the door, talking in low voices. Then the doctor left and Carlson went to the phone. I noticed that he held it with his handkerchief, just like in the movies. He spoke into it, hung up, and came over and sat beside me.

“A photographer and the forensics boys will be over in a minute. While we’re waiting, maybe you’ve thought of something else you can tell me about this.”

“I called a guy named Gus Becker after I called you,” I said. “He’s with the DEA. Maybe he can help you. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

“What’s the DEA got to do with this?”

“Ask Becker. I don’t know if it has anything to do with it, but I think he can explain it all better than me.”

“How well did you know Miss Kriegel?”

“I told you. We were friends. I met her about a month ago.”

“Anything missing in here that you noticed?”

“No. Not that I noticed.”

“What about these beer bottles?”

“They’re mine.”

“The cigarette butts?”

“Mine, also.”

“And I suppose you’ve touched everything in here?”

I sighed. “I got a corkscrew from a drawer in the kitchen. I went into the refrigerator a couple of times. I adjusted the volume and changed the station on the stereo. I probably touched the knobs on the bathroom and bedroom doors. I turned on the light in the bedroom. I called you guys on the telephone.” I shrugged. “I probably touched other things, too. I don’t know.”

Carlson sat back. “Mr. Coyne, I’m not accusing you of this, you understand. So you don’t need to feel defensive. You’ll notice I didn’t read your rights to you or anything, so you should take it easy. But you’re the closest thing we’ve got to a witness right now, and I want to make sure we don’t miss anything. So if you don’t mind, when we’re done here you and I will go down to the station and you can give us a statement.”

“And if I do mind?”

“You’re an attorney, right?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then.”

I nodded. “I know. Sorry. I wasn’t being defensive. I’m upset. She was—I cared very much for her.”

He nodded. “Sure.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, and then four more police officers arrived. One of them carried a camera with a flash attachment and a big bag over his shoulder. One of the others was a woman with frizzy hair who appeared to be in charge of the crew. They all conferred in low tones with Carlson and then dispersed. The girl and the photographer headed upstairs.

Gus Becker arrived a short time later. He spoke briefly with Carlson and then came over and sat beside me on the sofa. He put his hand on my arm.

“How ya doin’?”

“Not that great.”

He nodded. “Understandable. What’d you tell Carlson?”

“Just what happened when I got here.”

“According to Carlson, the ME says she’s been dead two hours at the most. He suspects a drug OD.”

“For God’s sake, there was blood in her ear,” I said.

“Well, I know. Evidently there was so little blood the doctor didn’t make the connection. We know what we think they’ll find when they do a real examination. Matter of selective perception. You find a young woman dead in her bed, no obvious signs of physical violence or anything, you make certain assumptions.”

“I told Carlson about her ear.”

“I gather that the ME’s not the type who listens.”

“I’ve been thinking about something,” I said. “Something I didn’t tell you.”

“What is it?”

“Remember I told you that the hooker at the Sow’s Ear talked with Stu Carver the night he was killed?”

Becker nodded.

“And that she said he was babbling about Haiti and the Lampley assassination attempt?”

“Yeah? So?”

“Well, what I left out was that Stu was with somebody else at that place, and they were arguing.”

“Somebody else. You mean—”

I nodded. “A man. Stu’s lover.”

“Well, for Christ’s sake, Brady…”

“Listen, I blew it. I know. If I’d told you right away, maybe Heather…”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “That kind of shit is not productive. Come on, now. What do you want to tell me? What are you thinking?”

“I know who might’ve done it. Who might’ve killed Stu and Altoona. And Heather.”

“Well, for God’s sake, what’s his name?”

“David Lee. Like I said, Stu’s lover. He was with Stu that night, New Year’s Eve. They argued because Stu wouldn’t go with him. I don’t know why the hell he had to kill Altoona, unless he thought Stu and the old guy were lovers or something. Maybe Stu told him that, I don’t know. But he used an icepick on both of them.”

“Why would he kill Miss Kriegel?”

“That’s clearer. She was the one who gave me Lee’s name. And I told him it was Heather who told me. I thought that would make him feel better, knowing it was Heather, I mean. The guy is probably crazy. That’s what Al Santis has been saying all along. That would explain it, wouldn’t it? That David Lee was jealous and crazy and out of control?”

Becker nodded. “Yes. That might explain it. I’ll tell Carlson, have Lee picked up. Do you know where he lives?”

I shrugged. “No, but he teaches at Lincoln Prep. They’d know.”

“Okay,” said Becker. “One good thing, anyway.”

“What’s that?”

“The girl wasn’t abused, according to the doctor. No sign of rape or anything.”

“Well, that’s not surprising,” I said.

“How’s that?”

“It’s fairly obvious,” I said. “After all, David Lee is a homosexual.”

“Good point,” said Becker. “Of course,” he added, “there’s something else to think about.”

“What?”

“It could have been a woman. A woman wouldn’t rape her, either.”

I
WAS STILL THERE
when the two ambulance attendants came down the stairs lugging the black plastic zippered body bag. They maneuvered it with casual efficiency. It was something they had done before. They didn’t drop her or bump her on the stairs. But they managed to convey that what they carried was inert.

Then Carlson drove Gus Becker and me to the Sudbury police station. He questioned each of us separately, and it was after eleven o’clock when he let us go. A uniformed policeman drove us back to Heather’s place where our cars were.

It was a frigid, clear winter night. A million stars glittered in the black sky. The moon was waxing toward full. Becker and I stood in the parking area, our breaths coming in steamy little puffs.

“You want to go get a drink or something?” he said to me.

“I don’t think so. I want to go home.”

“Carlson said he was going to talk to Santis. They’ll pick up Lee tonight.”

“Yeah. That’s good.”

“I imagine forensics will find something solid to link up Lee. Fingerprints at the girl’s place, murder weapon, something.”

I nodded.

“Of course, this doesn’t help me that much,” said Becker.

“Huh?”

“I mean, the drug connection. That’s my business. I guess I was off the mark on that.”

“Oh. Sure. It looks that way.”

“Still, it’s good to have it settled.”

“If I hadn’t been so goddam soft, we could have settled it a long time ago.”

Becker put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t do this to yourself, Brady.”

“Well, it’s true. The bastard kept saying how his career would be ruined if anyone found out he was gay, and I bought it.”

“It was reasonable. You had nothing to go on.”

“Yeah, but I
knew
. I mean, I just felt something was off-center, you know? Maybe the first time I talked with him, okay. But then when I found out he was with Stu—hell, he was so pitiful, so scared. And yet dignified, too. He seemed innocent to me. A victim. I just couldn’t imagine him shoving an icepick into somebody’s ear.” I shook my head. “I still can’t. When I try to visualize it, try to see in my mind’s eye David Lee doing that—the picture isn’t there. I just can’t see it.”

“You never can,” said Becker.

I nodded and held out my hand to him. “I guess that about does it for us, then, huh?”

He took my hand. “I guess so. I’ll see you around.”

“Do you think so?”

He grinned. “Actually, no. Probably not.”

By the time I got back to my apartment, and had kicked off my shoes and poured myself half a hand of Jack Daniel’s, more or less, it was after midnight. I figured Zerk would be sleeping, but I called him anyway.

“You awake?” I said when he answered.

“Always on the job, Counselor,” he said. “Just like you taught me. Hustle, hustle, hustle.”

“I never taught you that.”

“No, you didn’t. But you taught me good. What’s up?”

“Heather Kriegel was murdered tonight.”

“Oh, man…”

“An icepick, Zerk. In her ear. I found her body.”

He was silent for a long moment. I lit a cigarette shakily. “That fuckin’ faggot. Lee. That’s who did it. Damn!”

“That’s how I figure it,” I said.

“They should have picked him up as soon as you told them about him.”

“I didn’t tell anybody. Not until tonight.”

“You mean,” he said slowly, “after what Trixie told us, you didn’t go to the cops? You didn’t tell them Lee was with Carver that night?”

I sighed. “No. I talked with Lee myself. His story was—plausible. He admitted he was with Stu. But he said he left before Stu did. I believed him.”

“You believed him,” said Zerk, irony dripping from his voice.

I puffed on my cigarette. “Yeah. I believed him. He just didn’t seem the type. He still doesn’t.”

“You dumb honkie.” His voice was not gentle. “You could have spared a life, you realize that?”

“I’m glad I didn’t call you so you could make me feel better.”

“You don’t deserve to feel better, man. Shit.” He paused. “You think Heather was involved in some drug thing with them?”

“With Stu and Lee, you mean? No. No, I don’t. I think I knew her well enough. But, hell, what do I know?”

“That,” said Zerk, “is an excellent question. So did you tell your buddy Becker about Heather?”

“Yes. He was good. He came right out, stayed with me, talked to the police. I appreciated having him there. He doesn’t seem to think these murders are related to his drug investigation. It doesn’t fit together.”

“I don’t know,” said Zerk. “Maybe it does. Let’s say Lee, there, is a middle man of some kind, okay? Carver would know about it, for sure. And if he did, then Heather would, too. So maybe Carver panicked, or somebody got to him. Maybe he was even involved in distributing. Skimming some profits, say. Whatever. Lee finds himself in a bind with the big boys. Gets his orders: Clean things up, or you’ll find yourself feeding the lobsters at the bottom of the harbor. Lee goes to Carver, talks to him at the Sow’s Ear. Carver lets on that Heather and the old guy, whatsisname…

“Altoona.”

“Yeah. Him. Those two know about it. So Lee cleans up his mess. Kills all three of them.”