Snowjob (4 page)

“Yeah.” I left it at that. He was following some train of thought of his own. I didn’t want to derail it.

“Well, I figured I was, too. I mean, Doug’s my partner and you know how that goes. We’re like joined at the hip for eight, ten, whatever hours we work together.”

“And you like Melody,” I said carefully. “Everybody does. She’s a special kind of woman.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just it,” he said angrily. “Like for three weeks I’ve been covering for Doug while he screwed around with this divorcee of his. She was pretty, sexy. Sure. But goddamn it, she was no match for Melody.”

“I agree. And if it makes you feel better, Doug says there was nothing to it. It was just business.”

“Bullshit,” he exploded. “He couldn’t stay away from her. Hell, I’m his partner. If there was anything else going down he’d’ve told me.”

I shrugged helplessly. “All I know is I trust Doug. I was with him in a lot of hot spots and he was solid as a rock.”

Hinton shook his head. “There’s a big difference between guts and honesty. I’d trust Doug with my life. Hell, you have to think that way about your partner, you know that. But it burned me up covering his ass while he was off screwing that Laver broad.”

“He says he wasn’t. And, on that subject, you said she hadn’t been laid before she was strangled.”

“No. And she’d showered, ready for bed. Like it doesn’t make sense that she’d have done that if Doug had been there with her and they were fighting. She’d have booted him out, then gotten into the shower.”

I thought about it. “Did Doug have her key on him when he was arrested?”

“No.” Hinton shook his head. “And he would’ve if they’d been serious about one another. Of course, he could have slung it away after the murder.”

“If he’d strangled her and thought that deeply he’d have hidden the money better,” I suggested. “Where was she killed?”

“The body was on the bed, but she wasn’t killed there. The best guess is in the bathroom.”

“Were there traces on the floor?”

“Yeah.” He splayed his hands. “You know how it goes in stranglings. Her bowels gave out. Whoever did it to her took the time to clean it up, but the guys who checked were thorough. They found traces on the tile. And the bedclothes under her were damp. She hadn’t had time to dry herself before she was attacked.”

“Who investigated?” This was the important question. I didn’t know how many enemies Doug had in the department and if one of them had fingered him.

“The daytime team, Cassidy and Morgan. Then, when the landlady mentioned Doug they called the chief and he went down there himself. He made the arrest, at Doug’s house. Doug was in bed.”

I wondered whether there was bad blood between the other detectives and Doug but Hinton didn’t mention anything so I didn’t push it. Instead we talked some more and he promised to show me the photographs and the forensic report when he went on duty. That ended our discussion. Hinton hadn’t mentioned anything about Angelo Manatelli or the investigation Doug said he was making into Manatelli’s association with the locals. I thanked him and left with four hours to fill before I could visit him at the office and see the crime scene photographs.

I found another coffee shop with a telephone and called Irv Goodman, my former partner in Toronto.

Irv was exactly the right guy for this investigation. He’s a sergeant of detectives, an old-style rank that meant he was in charge of a squad of men working under a detective inspector. He’s a veteran copper and he has a law degree. Right then he was working the fraud squad, using his legal knowledge to analyze the books of questionable companies. He took my call as if he had all the time in the world, asked after my family, then got around to business.

“I’m in Vermont, checking into a killing that’s supposed to have been done by a friend of mine. He’s a detective here.”

“Good luck, Reid,” he said. “Did he do it?”

“I don’t think so but there’s quite a case against him. He doesn’t have an alibi and he was supposed to be having an affair with the victim.”

“And what was he doing? Was it something legit?”

“He was investigating the activities of the bookkeeper for a mob family in New Jersey. Guy called Angelo Manatelli, works for the Mucci family. He isn’t able to tell me much more. My friend’s in custody and he’s scared to say too much, scared for his family’s safety.”

“Okay. I’ll run a make on Manatelli,” Irv said. “What else?”

I explained about Cindy Laver’s job and the fact that there was money involved in the killing. That’s when Irv’s radar clicked in. “I wonder if this is some money-laundering thing?” he asked.

“The thought had crossed my mind, but if s out of my league. How’s it done?”

The sun must have been shining into Irv’s office. He went poetic on me. “How do I wash thee? Let me count the ways. You got an hour or two?”

“I will have. Maybe I can call you at home tonight, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“That’d be best,” he said. “You could be on to something. It’s a long way from New Jersey to the wilds of Vermont and I don’t guess the volume of business at a resort town would be big enough to do much for a mob operation, but it’s an idea.

“If you want to know how if s done I’ll spell it all out for you later on if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate that. When would be a good time to call?”

“My in-laws are coming over for dinner. It’s Friday night and they’re very serious about the Sabbath. Don’t be too early. Make it around nine and I can sneak out for a while. You got the home number?”

“Sure.” I’d brought my phone book with me. “No problem there.”

I hung up the phone and stood thinking for a moment. I was at a standstill, but the time need not be wasted. I decided to head over to Cat’s Cradle and take a look around. If nothing else it would give me a look at the scope of the operation. I might even see whether fifty grand was a large amount of money to be deposited on a Wednesday morning. It amounted to a whole lot of ski rentals, tow fees and coffee shop snacks.

Not too high, I discovered. This was Friday, a weekday, but already, before noon, the parking lot was packed and the hills were covered with skiers gliding down the beautifully groomed slopes. I stood and looted at it all for a minute or so before heading into the cafeteria.

It was filled with skiers clattering around in unfastened ski boots, all of them high on the fun they’d been having on the hill. I got a cup of coffee and sat with it, doing some mental arithmetic as I watched the lineup at the counter. Fifty thousand dollars wouldn’t have been out of line for a day’s receipts. But what did I do next?

I made my decision and left the cafeteria, looking for the office. It was in a small, rustic-looking chalet but all business inside. There was a pretty redhead at a computer in the front office and I asked her if Ella Frazer was working. She looked at me quizzically, working out whether I was a boyfriend, then said, “I think she’s gone for lunch. Let me check.”

I waited and a moment later she was back with a woman around fifty, dressed in a business suit and carrying a purse and a down-filled topcoat. “I’m Ella Frazer,” she said.

“Reid Bennett, Ms. Frazer. The young lady tells me you’re just going to lunch.”

“Yes.” She looked at me without volunteering anything else.

“I’m an associate of Detective Hinton’s,” I said, stretching the truth. “I wonder if it might be possible to talk to you for a moment, please? Perhaps over lunch.”

She tutted. She had a pleasant face but she looked quite sour now. “Really, I talked to him at length, and to all the rest of your people. What else is there to tell you?”

“Probably nothing at all.” I smiled at her. “But it would be very kind of you if you wouldn’t mind.”

“All right then. I’m going to the Glauwein. Do you know how to get there?”

“Perhaps I could drive you.”

The redhead was watching with interest. At her age, mid-twenties, we must have looked like a couple of dinosaurs sparring. Ms. Frazer glanced at her and the girl’s amusement decided her. “No. Come with me,” she said and began putting on her coat. I helped her with it and we went out to the parking lot.

She got into a bright red Toyota Corolla and leaned across to flip the catch for me. I got in. “Thank you for seeing me,” I said and she pursed her lips and started the car.

“I suppose you want to ask me about poor Cindy.”

“I’m afraid so. Were you good friends?”

“Yes,” she said shortly and backed out of the parking space. “I’m still in shock about what happened. I hope they hang that black bastard for what he did.”

I wasn’t going to get any bonuses here, I realized, and it made me choose my approach carefully. I decided on “They don’t hang people anymore in Vermont.”

She took her eyes off the road to glance at me. “You sound like a friend of his?”

“You’d be surprised how many friends he’s got.” I felt like a juggler trying to keep a ball in the air while she did her best to bat it down.

“Ask your questions,” she told me, her face grim.

“Thank you.” I thought before I spoke again. The wrong question was going to get her back up and I’d be on the side of the road with a long way to walk back to my car. I kept it neutral. “Had you known Ms. Laver for a long time?”

“Since she started here, back in ’87. In fact I interviewed her when she came looking for a job.”

“So you’re her boss?”

“I was. And I am missing her like hell. She was a very good, dependable person.”

“She was banking some money, the night she died. Was that the routine?”

“Yes.” A brisk little nod. “We always cashed up the day’s receipts every day at four. It included the money left over from the previous night’s operations, after our office closed. And then Cindy would drive it to town.”

“She never had an escort?”

Ms. Frazer nodded grimly. “Usually the operations manager would go with her. He has a gun license and he would take her to the night deposit at the bank.”

“But he didn’t on Wednesday. Why was that?”

Ms. Frazer snorted. “Walter loves to ski. He always goes out in the lunch hour and on Wednesday he fell and twisted his ankle. He was hobbling all afternoon and Cindy said she would manage on her own.”

“Quite a responsibility.”

Now she took her eyes off the road for a dangerously long time as she gazed at me angrily. “Not on the face of it. Her goddamn lover boy was a cop. He should have kept her safe as a church. Instead he strangled her.”

She looked back at the road, in time to avoid going into the man-high snowbank along the shoulder while I thought about her answer. If Doug had been with the dead woman from four they’d had plenty of time to make her deposit. But instead they had gone somewhere for an hour or so. Then they’d gone to Brewskis for their drink and fight, and after that they’d spent an hour or two somewhere else before they arrived at her place, still fighting. Something didn’t add up. But I kept my questions neutral, probing for more detail.

“The guy with the broken ankle. How was he the next day?”

“His name is Huckmeyer, Walter Huckmeyer. He was fine, except for a limp. He’s still limping.”

“Huckmeyer? Is he the owner?”

She was concentrating on slowing and turning into the parking lot of the Glauwein, a mock Tyrolean place on the edge of town, so she didn’t look at me as she spoke. “You don’t know much about our town, do you?”

“No, I’m a stranger here.”

She parked and switched off the motor, then sat, looking out through the windshield. “Then you’re not an associate of Detective Hinton, are you?”

It was time for some truth. If she got snooty I could get a cab back to the slope to collect my car. “In a minor way. My main reason for being here is that I was in the Marines with Doug Ford and I don’t think he killed Ms. Laver.”

She drew a tight little breath, as if controlling her anger. “I ought to tell you to go to hell but I know what friendship is. I was a friend of Cindy’s. So let me tell you that you’re wasting your time.” She paused. “But, to answer your question, Walter is the owner’s son. One of his sons. He has two. The other is an actor.”

“Thank you.” I looked for something to make her cooperative again. “If it makes any difference, I’m not here to make monkeys out of the police. I’m a cop myself. But when friends are in trouble, you rally round. Right?”

That sat well. She nodded. “Okay. I’ll buy that. Let’s go in.”

We went into the restaurant which was three-quarters full, mostly skiers I guessed from the way they were dressed. We waited at the desk until the hostess came up to us and said, “Well, hi, Ms. Frazer. This way please.”

“Thanks, Jane.” Ms. Frazer smiled and I saw that she could be a very attractive woman. I followed her to a corner table and we took off our coats and sat down. I noticed that she was wearing a number of rings but had none on her wedding finger. The hostess was hovering and Ms. Frazer said to me, “The special is always good. On Fridays it’s fish, right, Jane?”

The waitress nodded. “New Zealand orange roughy.”

“I’d like that, and a glass of white, please,” she said.

“Same for me, with a draft beer, please.”