Murder in the Hearse Degree (16 page)

“Tom Cushman?”

“What name did he give you?”

“He called himself Stan.”

“Stan?” I rolled the name around in my head until it bumped into a wall. “Constantin.”

“Excuse me?”

“Constantin. That’s the name of the character he’s playing in
The Seagull
. Con-
stan
-tin.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Forget it. Yes, he was posing. I met Tom just the other night, Mr. Larue. He told me that you met with him and Sophie concerning her baby. That’s why I called you.”

Larue made a temple of his fingers and brought it to his chin. “We did. My wife and I are in the market, so to speak, for a child. We’re offering to pay all medical and related expenses.”

“Tom was posing as the father.”

“I’m not certain
what
your friend was posing as. Yes, he said he was the father of the child. He also said that he was married to someone else and that he was not in a position to help the young woman in any substantial way, which was why they had come to me. It all sounded off to me. Miss Potts said she was a good Christian. She would not be murdering the child.”

“You mean having an abortion?”

“That is what I said, sir. The poor girl was quite upset. It is a horrible predicament when young women allow themselves to get into this position. My heart goes out to them. They who cast aside the armor of the Lord shall invite incursion from the devil.”

I shifted in my chair. “I guess they shall. Um . . . look, Mr. Larue, I’m just trying to piece together Sophie’s story here. Was this the first time you’d met her?”

Larue was studying me closely. He seemed almost to have missed my question. Certainly he ignored it.

“What is your agenda here?” he asked bluntly.

“My agenda?”

“Yes, yes. Let’s move this along. Your agenda. Why are you here?”

“I’m . . . I just told you. I’m trying to piece together—”

“Why?”
The pink in his face was deepening. “Were you terribly close to Miss Potts, Mr. Sewell?” He leaned forward in his chair and locked a hard look onto me. He lowered his voice into the accusatory range. “Was this your child, son? Is that what this is all about? Are you among the sinners here?”

I didn’t respond immediately. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever again field such a juicy question as his last one and I wanted to savor it.

“I never even met the woman,” I said.

Larue blinked. Not simply a run-of-the-mill keep-the-eyes-moist sort of a blink. This one was Olympian. His eyes practically gulped. The muscles in his jaw seemed to relax.

“You never
met
her?”

“No, sir.”

“Never spoke with her?”

“No, sir. Never.”

“You had no contact with her either directly or indirectly?”

“That’s right.”

His lips pursed and suddenly he looked extremely pleased with himself. “I am going to ask you one more time, sir. What is your agenda? What are you seeking from me?”

I gave my noodle a scratch. “Well, for one thing, I’d be interested to know how it was Sophie got in touch with you in the first place.”

“With all due respect, I believe that is a private matter, sir.” He slid down off the chair. Our interview was apparently over. He ran a pink hand down the lapel of his jacket. “Mr. Sewell, I apologize, sir. There has apparently been a misunderstanding. I interviewed Miss Potts and . . . this other fellow.”

“Cushman.”

“Mr. Cushman. And nothing came of it. It appears that our paths, Mr. Sewell, have crossed by mere accident. I need to be getting back to my guests. By all means, I hope that you and Miss Finney will remain and enjoy my and my wife’s hospitality.”

I unpeeled myself from the leather couch and followed Larue back out of the room, where he quickly insinuated himself back among his guests. I scanned the room for Julia and found her holding court over by a punch bowl. The redhead who had brought out the cake was listening to Julia with a frozen smile on her face. The fellow with the horn-rimmed glasses was also with them. Julia was telling her Greek belly-dancer story. I waited until the punch line, which drew more laughter from Julia than from her audience, then came forward.

“It’s time we hit the road, dear. They’ll be sending out the dogs soon.”

“We haven’t met,” the redhead said. “I’m Virginia Larue. Crawford’s wife.”

I’ll be damned if the dapper little egg hadn’t gone into the trophy room and pulled one down off the shelf. My guess was that she was in her late thirties and determined to remain there. The eyes were crocodile green. The smile was warm but the fingers were cold. I tested their temperature when she handed them to me.

“Mr. Sewell, I have been having the most intriguing talk with your friend here,” Virginia Larue said. “She certainly seems to lead an . . . interesting life. Should I be believing everything she has been telling us?”

“Oh, why not? I do,” I said. “It’s so entertaining.”

She introduced me to the fellow with the horn-rimmed glasses. His name was Russell Jenks.

“Russell is executive director of the ARK. He is Crawford’s right-hand man,” Virginia Larue said proudly, placing a hand lightly on the man’s arm. “The ARK would be sunk without Russell.” I wondered if she had intended to make a joke. Her expression indicated not.

Jenks gave me a vigorous handshake and a disarming smile. He blushed slightly. “Ginny is extravagant with her praise. I am a soldier. Plain and simple.”

“The Lord has reserved a special place for his soldiers,” Virginia Larue said. Julia moved her foot and gently pressed it onto my shoe.

“Jenks,” I said. “I believe I met your wife.”

“Sugar.”

“That’s the one.”

Julia chimed in. “She has lovely eyes.” She smiled sweetly at the man then averted her gaze as her own eyes crossed.

“We’re off,” I announced. I bid the soldier and the redhead a good afternoon and took hold of Julia’s elbow.

“Lord save me,” Julia muttered as I steered her toward the door.

As we reached the front door Nick Fallon appeared. He produced a business card and handed it to Julia.

“When you ditch this bloke why don’t you give me a call?”

Julia didn’t even glance at the card. She reached into Fallon’s inside pocket and pulled out a pen. Smooth move. She scribbled something on the back of Fallon’s card then tucked it into his breast pocket, giving it an extra little pat.

“I don’t call, Mr. Fallon,” she said. “I answer.”

Mae West herself could not have said it so well.

 

 

I took Libby and
the kids for a picnic lunch in Patterson Park. We opted for the all-grease menu, a bucket of Popeye’s fried chicken and a couple of bags of gloriously oily Utz potato chips. We set up near the Chinese pagoda. If you want to know why they stuck a Chinese pagoda in the middle of Patterson Park you’re going to have to consult a guidebook; I’ve never sussed it out. Every Fourth of July the oriental structure is draped in patriotic bunting and a municipal band sets up for a program of John Philip Sousa. As far as anomalies go, the Patterson Park pagoda is an attractive one.

Libby and I sat on the pagoda’s wooden steps and watched as Toby and Lily attempted to work out a tumbling routine on the grass nearby. We had Alcatraz along with us; he was keeping busy trying to pick up a slinky redhead named Polly. Polly was an Irish setter, skittish and swift. She was having none of my hound dog’s moony moves. Libby looked beat. She had mentioned on the way over that she wasn’t sleeping awfully well.

“Look at the bags under my eyes. I’m a wreck. I must get up at least three or four times a night and check in on the children. I’ve never done that before. It’s exhausting.”

There was something peculiar about the Irish setter. It was the way she ran. Her tail end moved faster than her front end—or nearly so—so that she practically ended up scampering sideways. Alcatraz was having a hell of a time figuring out which way the dog was actually going. I pointed it out to Libby.

“I’ve had a few relationships like that before.”

Libby wasn’t really watching. She planted her chin in her hands and gazed off past the romping curs.

“Mike called last night.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, that’s the other reason I’m so ragged. It must have been three in the morning. He’d been drinking, there was no question. He was pretty belligerent. He’d heard from my lawyer. I’ve started proceedings for a legal separation and I guess it really set him off. He yelled over the phone for a while until I finally hung up on him. He called back maybe an hour later. He was in tears.”

“Full range of emotions. I guess that’s sort of a healthy sign.”

She sighed. “I really don’t know what’s going on with him, Hitch. Mike has so much going for him. He’s smart, he’s good-looking, he works hard, he’s good at what he does. But he’s one of those people who never seems satisfied. Do you know what I mean? He’s always grabbing for more. This whole mess he’s in now at work. I think he’s really stepped in it this time. It’s so damn ridiculous of him. Why would he risk everything like that? We could still be having a good life together, him and me and the kids. Just a normal regular life. That’s all I ever wanted. For God’s sake, I left you and went back to Mike because that’s what he represented. You know that.”

“That’s the picture I got.”

“So what is his damn problem? He swears he loves me, but sometimes he’s got a hell of a strange way of showing it.”

“Like clipping you.”

“Yes. Like clipping me.”

Out on the grass, Lily was trying to teach her brother how to do somersaults. The concept clearly escaped the boy, who seemed content to squat down on his pudgy legs and set the crown of his head on the ground and just remain there. “Roll!” Lily implored, but her brother wouldn’t budge.

“Maybe it’s me, Hitch,” Libby went on. “Maybe I’m a fool for thinking there’s such a thing as a perfect domestic life. Mike and I looked good from the outside. But it was never near perfect. And you know the damn thing about it? On some level I knew what I was getting into. I think down deep I knew all along that Mike was a handful. I think that’s why I freaked out originally, that’s why I broke off the engagement. But I really wanted to start a family, Hitch. And so did Mike.”

“And this was not a card I was playing.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Libby looked down at her hands. “Mike is scared. There was a piece in the paper about the trouble he’s in.”

“I didn’t catch it.”

“Mike’s being accused of looking the other way on a construction scheme. That half-built sports arena off I-50? It’s public-works stuff, I don’t understand it all. Apparently there’s been some questionable fees”—she made a pair of quotation marks in the air—“solicited from certain law firms to help grease the rails on getting the thing passed through the legislature. Some sort of extortion. Or bribery. They’re saying Mike has been working from the inside to keep the D.A.’s office from looking into it. He’s being accused of blocking the investigation.”

“Why would he do something like that?”

“You tell me. He swore to me on the phone last night that he’s done nothing wrong. But do you make drunken phone calls at three in the morning if your conscience is clear? He was going on about his career being ruined. It was scary, Hitch.”

“I saw him yesterday.”

“I know. He mentioned that early on. He wasn’t real thrilled that I’ve been in touch with you.”

“That was the impression I got, too. He tried to warn me that you were up to your old tricks.”

“Is that right? And what tricks are those?”

“Using me to get him jealous.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. As if I want to make him jealous. That’s ridiculous. Mike just doesn’t like you, Hitch. Plain and simple.”

“Oh, I know that. He used the word ‘slumming.’ ”

Libby looked up toward the roof of the pagoda. “God, yes, I’ve heard that one before. Mike thinks he’s so damned lofty. Mr. Big Shot. Just ignore him when he talks that way, Hitch.”

We fell silent for a moment. Lily’s attempts to get her little brother to complete the somersault were fruitless. When she pushed him he simply fell over sideways. When she took hold of his ankles and attempted to swing his legs over his head, she ended up with a pudgy little wheelbarrow.

“I have something to tell you,” I said to Libby. “It’s about Sophie’s pregnancy. Did Sophie ever mention a fellow named Tom?”

Libby turned the name around in her head. “No. I don’t believe so.”

I told Libby what I had learned about Sophie’s ruse, about Sophie getting Tom Cushman to agree to pose as her husband for her meeting with the Larues.

“You’re kidding. Oh, Hitch, that’s horrible.”

“You remember those pamphlets? The ARK?”

“In Sophie’s room. Yes.”

“And you’re sure Sophie never mentioned anything to you about someone named Tom?”

Libby shook her head. “Never.”

“That’s where Sophie had been going every night. You told me she was going out that last week and not telling you where she went? She was going off to the theater in town to see Tom in his play. Apparently she developed a crush on the guy.”

“Then it could have been him, right?” Libby said. “Why couldn’t it have been this Tom guy who got Sophie pregnant? After all, that’s what you say he told Larue.”

“He also gave him a fake name and a fake story. It doesn’t add up for me. I think Tom’s telling me the truth.”

Libby looked off toward the horizon. “I just can’t believe Sophie went through all that. It’s so sad.”

“I tried to get Larue to tell me how Sophie got in contact with him in the first place but he didn’t feel the need to cooperate. He seemed to lose his patience with me.”