Murder in Hell's Kitchen (14 page)

She shook her head.

“Did he go to a closet while he was here? Did he change his clothes?”

“He didn't change his clothes. We were here for maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Would you give us permission to look around the apartment?”

She sat breathing deeply, her mouth moving as though she might burst into tears. “OK,” she said.

“Thank you, Cory.” He signaled the two uniformed officers and they moved into the bedroom.

“There's no gun,” she said in a low voice. “I promise you.”

Mike Fromm got up to check the bedroom, leaving Jane alone with Cory. “What kind of work did Jerry do when he was living in New York?”

“He was in sales. He sold advertising for a television company. When he came back here, at first he was afraid to do anything where he had to give his address and Social Security number. He still kind of works off the books at the gas station. And I pay all the bills here so nobody knows he's here.”

“Did he ever think he was being watched?”

“He was careful. He always checked. But I don't think so.”

Jane took her coat off and laid it on the arm of the sofa. When she sat down again, she made small talk with Cory while the men in the bedroom did their work. When they came out, she could see they had found nothing.

Mike Fromm sat down opposite Cory. “We'd like to set up your phone,” he said, “so that if Jerry calls, we know where he's calling from.”

“I don't know if I should.”

“He may be running from someone who's after him with a gun. We'd like to be able to help him.”

“Look at the trouble you got him into already.”

“I know, and I'm sorry about that. But if Jerry's in trouble, we'd like to help him.”

Her mouth trembled. “I was never supposed to tell anybody anything.”

“You did the right thing, Cory. We want Jerry alive as much as you do. If we find him, we'll protect him.”

“Go ahead,” she said, her voice breaking again. “Do what you have to.”

He went to the phone and made the arrangements. Then he and Jane left for the hospital.

16

“YOU MUST BE ready to collapse,” Mike said as he drove to the hospital.

“I'll catch some sleep later. I won't be flying back today.”

“Good idea. I hope John can talk to us. There's a lot we need to know. Two missing cars. And how did the shooter get to the gas station? In a third car?”

“And did he follow John from my hotel, or was he there when John showed up?”

“Which would mean he'd followed Jerry Hutchins.”

“I'm probably too tired to think, but I'm trying to figure out who in New York knew I was coming to Omaha, or who knew I was on the case and might have passed along the information.”

“You must have interviewed a lot of people.”

“Not that many,” she said. “The ones we wanted were all dead, except for Jerry Hutchins. There was the owner of the building, the super, the two detectives who worked the case four years ago, some guys at the last place Hutchins lived.” She tried to get her brain to function for another few minutes. “Hollis Worthman's mother, Margaret Rawls's friend, and then Margaret's sister. Arlen Quill's wife, but this isn't about Arlen Quill, I don't think.” She looked at Mike. “You don't know what I'm babbling about.”

He laughed. “No, but it makes sense. Here's the hospital. Let's hope John's doing well.”

He was, as it turned out, but he was still asleep. His wife even smiled when she talked to them. She had sat by his bedside ever since he returned from surgery, but it would be a while till he woke up. There had been a second bullet, probably from the same gun, in his back, but it hadn't done much damage. All in all, he was very lucky.

In his room they talked to him, but there was no response. He was hooked up to some IVs, but he was breathing on his own. Jane watched him with feelings of guilt and sorrow. He had been so helpful, so kind to her, and he had ended up like this.

“Go home and sleep, Detective Bauer,” Helen Grant said. “John's going to be fine. Come back later and you can talk to him.”

It was good advice. They left her sitting in a chair beside the bed, her eyes on her husband.

“I think you should check out of the hotel and go somewhere else.”

She knew Mike was right. If Jerry Hutchins had not shot John Grant, whoever had shot him probably knew where she was staying. He might be outside the hotel right now, waiting to see them drive up, waiting to follow her to another hotel or to the airport. She said all this to Mike.

“We can get you out a back way while I sit in the car out front waiting for you.”

“Let's do it then.”

“I'll go upstairs with you till you're packed and ready. You can use the express checkout, or I'll settle the bill for you. How about bunking in my house till you're ready to go back?”

She smiled, her eyelids closing as fatigue began to take over. “I'm almost too worn out to turn you down, but staying with you would just put your family in jeopardy. Whoever this guy is, he'll find me if I spend any kind of time here.”

“My family is my son and me, and he's a cop. He's the guy I'm going to call to get you out the back way.”

“OK. Sure. Thanks.” She shut her eyes and her mouth for a few seconds. “I haven't had an all-nighter for a long time.”

“You can catch up in our guest room. We've—” He stopped as a radio call came in. “This is Sergeant Fromm. Go ahead.”

“Sergeant Fromm, we've got a blue Toyota registered to Cory Blanding abandoned about two miles from the gas station where Detective Grant got shot tonight.”

“Thanks, Mary. I can't get there for a while, so tell them I said to treat it like the biggest case they've ever handled. Got that?”

“You bet. You just call me when you're ready to go and I'll lead you right to it.”

“He's on the run,” Jane said.

“Or the shooter got to him. It'll hold till later.”

“Suits me just fine.”

He came into the room and made some phone calls while she gathered her things together. Having expected to stay only a couple of days at the outside, she didn't have much, and it repacked easily. His son arrived about ten minutes after he was called, a handsome young man named Luke who was tall but didn't look much like his father. It was something she always noticed, who people took after. He had a small overnight-sized bag with him that Mike intended to use as a decoy. Its much-used look resembled her old suitcase at home, just what a New York cop would carry if she hadn't gotten to Bloomingdale's before dashing out to the airport.

When she was packed and Mike had arranged payment for the room, he took the small suitcase downstairs to his car. Then Jane and Luke took the service elevator down and went out the back way. He was driving his own car, and they drove off the hotel grounds using the back exit, the one trucks used when they made deliveries.

Jane didn't look around till they were well away from the hotel. The sun was rising now, light in the eastern sky, cars along the road, most of them heading into Omaha.

“You know what?” she said. “I've got my second wind. Can you take me to where they found Cory Blanding's car? I'd like to see it before I go to sleep.”

“You sure?”

“I'm sure. I won't collapse on you.”

He smiled and turned at the next intersection. It took about twenty minutes to reach the car, and a crime scene unit was already on the scene, the area taped to keep away the curious. Four floodlights, with black battery packs, provided the detectives with enough light to read by as they examined the car and its contents.

Jane introduced herself to the detectives and asked if they had found anything.

The one named Joe Meyner said, “There's a lot of junk in the backseat, fast-food garbage mostly, but nothing in front. The door to the driver's side was open when we got here, and the motor was off.”

“Keys?”

“None.”

“Mind if I have a look around?”

“Sure thing. Hope you find something.”

So did she. She bent to go under the tape, then walked back and forth, moving farther away from the car with each turn. Luke Fromm joined her.

“What're you looking for?”

“Anything he might have thrown away.”

He pulled out his flashlight, although it was fairly light by now, and pointed it toward the ground. The grass was several inches high and weedy and would need to be combed to dislodge its secrets. The area was similar to the brush behind the gas station, where she had searched for John Grant and Jerry Hutchins a couple of hours ago. She didn't think Hutchins was around, but just in case he was hiding from an attacker, she called him a couple of times; there was no response except for the rustling of the wind in the leaves.

“Something over there?” Luke said.

In the beam of the light there was a glitter, glass or metal. They walked over carefully and Jane crouched. “Keys,” she said, feeling a rush of excitement.

Luke pulled a plastic sandwich bag out of a pocket and lifted the keys with it. “Looks like he tossed them to keep someone else from driving his car away.”

“Could be. Mark the spot where the keys were lying and give them to the crime scene guys, and then maybe I'll be ready to find a place to sleep.”

Nothing was new at the car. The trunk was open, revealing more junk but nothing that looked promising as evidence. She gave Meyner the keys and saw his eyes light up. She was sure he would have checked out the grounds himself later, but she was glad to have found them.

“Toyota,” Meyner said, looking at them. “Very nice.” The smile he gave her was genuine.

“OK,” she said to Luke. “Now I think I can sleep.”

She didn't, of course, for some time. By the time they got to the Fromms' house, a small house with a beautiful front lawn and a big yard out back, it was after eight, which meant it was nine in New York and time to call in. She reached Defino on the first try and he returned her call, conferencing in McElroy. She detailed the night's events as far as she could remember them. They hadn't read her fax yet, but while they spoke it was delivered to Defino by Annie.

McElroy must have been taking notes, because he asked her to repeat a lot of things. Finally, after almost twenty minutes on the phone, he summarized: “You're telling us that someone knew you went to Omaha, that he followed you when you picked up Hutchins, that he went after Hutchins at the gas station where he worked and managed to shoot a cop and get away with Hutchins?”

“Or Hutchins ran for it. No telling where he is now.”

“Jesus.”

“Right.”

“We got a problem.”

“Looks like it. We have to find out who Henry Soderberg was, who he worked for, and whether Derek, the super, knows things he hasn't told us. But you know, I never told Charlie Bracken where I was going, so maybe we can cross him off our list.”

“Guess we got our work cut out for us,” MacHovec said into the speakerphone.

“Have a good time, guys. I'm going to sleep. I'll get back to you later.”

“Have a good one,” McElroy said. “And don't leave that phone till we talk.”

The living room looked as though it had been designed for smaller people than the Fromm men. But it was comfortable and cheerful, with floral patterns on the sofa and curtains. Family pictures were scattered around, some of them from Mike Fromm's boyhood, when he was a tall, gangly kid. His wedding picture was there, his bride a foot shorter than he, smiling and very pretty.

“Mom died two years ago,” Luke said.

“I'm sorry. I lost my mother, too.” She realized she had been standing in front of the picture and staring. “I think I need sleep.”

“This way. The guest room's upstairs.”

The guest room had obviously belonged to Luke's sister. A handmade quilt covered a double bed that half a dozen stuffed animals sat on. Luke dropped off her suitcase and closed the door behind him, saying he would see her later. She gathered up the animals in one big armful and dropped them on a chair. Then she pulled the quilt down, stripped, and got into bed.

She slept soundly for three hours, then got up. The clock radio on the night table said it was almost noon, and she felt so refreshed that she found the bathroom, where a stack of clean towels lay on the toilet cover, presumably for her. When she got out of the shower, she was a new person.

In her life she had rarely spent a night in a house. Having grown up a New Yorker, she was used to apartment living. She had a friend or two in grade school and high school who lived in a single-family or two-family house in the Bronx, but it still struck her as a different way of living, four walls that looked out onto the outside world. Here there would be no complaints about heavy-footed people running amok, about loud stereos and TVs. Angry wives would not shriek back at angrier husbands only a few feet from the limits of your room. Living in a house gave a new meaning to privacy.

Her hair dried, she stepped out of the bathroom and stopped to listen to the sounds from downstairs.

“Jane? You up?” It was Mike's voice.

“Yes. Hello.”

“I just got home. Come down when you're ready. I'll have some breakfast for you.”

She was downstairs in ten minutes, the smell of fresh coffee leading her to the kitchen. “Good morning. You're a very hospitable family.”

“I'm finally off duty. It's been a long shift. I stopped at the hospital and got to say a few words to John.”

“He's OK?”

“He's fine. He asked about you.”

“What about what happened last night?”

“He's feeling a little dopey from the anesthetic, so it wasn't a very long conversation, but the gist of it is, there was a third man there. John arrived at the gas station sometime after the guy who was looking for Jerry Hutchins. By the time John realized what was going on, the guy had shot him and gotten his gun. Hutchins got away in his car while the shooter was looking for John.”

“How did the shooter get there in the first place?” Jane asked as he filled her coffee mug.

“Didn't ask. We can go back later, but I want you to keep a low profile. Somebody knew you were here. Let's keep you hidden as long as we can. How about some scrambled eggs? I put a little Texas hot sauce in them.”

She smiled. “Sounds good.”

“I'll join you. This is either my breakfast or my supper, I'm not sure which. But I'm hungry. Let's see if we have some bacon.”

He cooked like a master, the smells filling the kitchen and dinette. She could see the kitchen had been updated not too long ago, and she could imagine the pleasure of the woman who had used it.

“We fixed the kitchen up for my wife,” he said as he sat down finally to eat. “My son and I did most of it not long before she took sick. She didn't get much time to enjoy it.”

“I'm sorry.”

“She was too young to die, but you don't have much say in things like that.”

“She was very pretty,” Jane said. “I looked at some of your pictures in the living room.”

“That she was. And about half as big as I am.” He swallowed a lot of coffee. “You talk to your people in New York?”

“First thing this morning. They'll be looking for the connection. I hope it isn't anyone on the job.”

“First place you gotta look.”

“One of the original detectives on the case is on sick leave now. Emphysema. The other one's still on the job. I don't like to think it could be either one of them.” She sketched out the case, starting with the Quill homicide.

“I'd be looking at that super of yours,” he said. “Sounds like he's on someone's payroll.”

“There's another possibility. Last night is just coming back to me. The empty apartment on the top floor . . . Hutchins lived on the top floor. He said someone was living in the apartment. Unofficially.”