Read The Body in the Bouillon Online
Authors: Katherine Hall Page
The Body in the Bouillon (20 page)
“Yeah, we were kids. The circus came to Lowell and we went up to see it. Stayed around and ended up going along. The old man was pretty p.o.'d. Said if I didn't come home, he wouldn't have anything more to do with me. That was okay. Eddie moved on, but I stayed with the circus a long time. Nice people. Nice places. Warm places. Not like friggin' Boston.”
“So you never saw Eddie again.”
“Why are you so interested in Eddie? You got a thing for him?”
Faith realized James didn't know Eddie was dead.
“No, I'm marriedâhappily. I'm just interested, that's all.” She hoped James' alcoholic stupor was thick enough to make this less-than-satisfactory explanation seem plausible.
“Yeah, well Eddie and I are buddies. We go way back. Joined the circus together, did I tell you that?”
“Yes, you did. Have you had any good times together lately?”
It was time to try to move James toward the present.
He looked at her cagily. “Why don't you bring Eddie down here and we can all talk.”
Faith thought quickly. Standing in the cold trying to parry his questions was not going to get her anywhere. Knowing that James had run off with Eddie and remembering that Millicent had said James had returned to Massachusetts two years ago, which was when Eddie had also come back, convinced her that James and Eddie had been buddies who stayed in touch. James had worked in hospitals, moving around. Had he been Eddie's inside manâsupplying whatever the customers wanted? She decided to try to get James to go someplace warm for a cup of coffee. Maybe he'd talk more and let something slip.
“It's terribly cold here,” she said. “Could you take a break and have a cup of coffee with me?” There was a place called The Bell in Hand across the street and down the block.
He smiled. He must have been good-looking at one time, but now several teeth were missing and his blue eyes were so bloodshot, they looked purple.
“Never turn down a free cup of coffee, especially from a beautiful lady. But I gotta stay here a while. Come back in a half hour. I can go then.”
Faith spent the next thirty minutes wandering around the marketplace. She bought a pound of the chewy black and red raspberry candies Tom liked so much and went back to the stand where they were selling trees. James was in virtually the same position as when she'd left. She wondered if he was doing any business.
He saw her approach and called to one of the other men, “Hey, Billy, keep my place, will ya? I'm going to get some coffee.”
“Bring me a cuppa?”
“Sure,” said James, and he followed Faith to the curb. The traffic was brutal as usual, and as they waited for a break, James unaccountably started talking again.
“Thought you were Muriel when you first came. Best
sister a man ever had. Like a mother. Never had a mother, did you know that? I mean I had one, but she croaked.”
sister a man ever had. Like a mother. Never had a mother, did you know that? I mean I had one, but she croaked.”
“I'm sorry. That must have been very hard.”
“I don't even remember her. Muriel does. Muriel tells me about her.”
But Muriel hadn't told him about Eddie Russell. Or maybe that was what she had been calling about.
“Do you see your brother Donald often?”
James started to laugh, then his eyes filled with tears, “Dumb bastard. Wouldn't even write to me. Told Muriel I had to come apologize to Dad. Dad! He's a looney and that's his nuthouse out there. They don't know. I stay away. I'm not crazy.”
He reached out to grab Faith's arm to pull her across the street and darted into the break between cars. He missed her arm but kept on going. She started to follow, then saw a shiny new black Cadillac Seville bearing down on them with no intention of slowing down.
“James!” she screamed, drawing back. “Stop! There's a car coming!”
He turned and waved at her to come, giving her a lopsided smile.
The car hit him head on. The driver didn't even stop to look.
Faith dashed after the car to get the number from its license plate. She had been stunned when she had first arrived in Boston by the aggressiveness of its drivers and the apparent total lack of logic in its street signs, but this accident went far beyond a rude gesture. Or it was no accident.
The plate was obscured by layers of dirt, but she thought one number was an eight and another a two. It was a Massachusetts plate. She ran back to James. He wasn't moving. A few bystanders had gathered around him, and one was directing the traffic into a side street. Someone said a woman had gone for the police. Faith bent down close to him. There wasn't any blood that Faith could see. He'd been thrown almost to the other side of the street and
was lying on his back; one arm was twisted underneath. She took off her coat and put it over him.
was lying on his back; one arm was twisted underneath. She took off her coat and put it over him.
“James,” she said, “James, it's going to be all right. Help is coming.”
She had no idea whether he could hear her.
He opened his eyes and stared at her.
“Stan,” he slurred.
“No, no, don't try to stand up. Just stay still. An ambulance will be here soon.” She could hear the wail above the Christmas carols on the loudspeakers outside the market. She knelt down next to him. He looked very young; his eyes were pleading with her.
“Stan,” he repeated, then seemed to make a colossal effort. “Stanley.”
It was a name. One of the men who had been with him selling trees? Billy was approaching, and Faith stood up and called to him, “Could you get Stanley? Is that the other man's name?”
He came closer. “That's Patrick. No Stanleys around.” He crouched down over James and said tenderly, “Hey, pal, hang on. What do you want? Some of this?” He reached into his pocket and took out a bottle. James closed his eyes. The loudspeaker began to blare “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”
A police officer was pushing his way through what had now become a crowd.
“Clear the way here. Stand back.” He bent down over James' supine figure. His back was to the crowd. He turned and asked over his shoulder, “Anybody see what happened?”
Faith stepped forward. “Yes, I did. He was hit by a carâa black Cadillac Seville, fairly new I'd say. It had Massachusetts plates and I think two of the numbers were eight and two. It was coming from there”âshe pointed back toward Government Centerâ“and it never slowed down. It went toward the waterfront down North Street.”
The ambulance had arrived, and suddenly there was
activity everywhere. The policeman stood up and walked over to Faith. “You happen to know who he is?” There was no reason not to tell. “Yes, his name is James Hubbard. He was living at the Winthrop Chambers on Anderson Street. His family lives in Byford. His father, Dr. Roland Hubbard, is the director of Hubbard House, a retirement home there.”
activity everywhere. The policeman stood up and walked over to Faith. “You happen to know who he is?” There was no reason not to tell. “Yes, his name is James Hubbard. He was living at the Winthrop Chambers on Anderson Street. His family lives in Byford. His father, Dr. Roland Hubbard, is the director of Hubbard House, a retirement home there.”
The cop looked at her quizzically. “He a good friend of yours?” His inflection indicated his incredulity.
Faith was freezing. Her coat was being loaded along with James into the ambulance. She was in no mood to stand on the street corner chatting with one of Boston's finest about her taste in friends.
“I know the family. Look, can I give you my name and how to reach me? I really have to get home to pick up my little boy.”
“Okay.” He took out a pad. “We'll be in touch with you, and you'll have to come back and sign a statement. You've been a big help,” he added. “Lots of people don't want to get involved in things like this.”
Well, she was involved, Faith thought. Involved right up to her ice-cold neck. She took the card with his name and number and ran back toward Cambridge Street. Not only did she have to pick up Ben or have him suffer that worst of all fates, being the last child waiting for his mother, but her meter was about to run out. When she got to the car, she looked at her watch and shoved another quarter in, then went down the street. There was a phone by the curb, but she pushed open the door of a bar, The Harvard Gardens, in search of one with some warmth. She had to call John Dunne immediately.
“Stanley,” James had said. “Stanley,” and there was only one Stanley in this case, or rather twoâsenior and junior, but she was putting her money on Stanley Russell Senior. The bad husband with “flash,” Dr. Hubbard had said. Her mind raced. It all fit together neatly. Eddie didn't have the brains for something bigâwitness his little blackmailing
schemes and general gaucheness. No, somebody else was directing the drug businessâoverseeing the hospital thefts, the street sales, andâif someone began to look like a liabilityâarranging “accidents.” But would he kill his own son? And why? Faith could imagine that James' obvious addiction was creating problems. He probably talked too much and was certainly eating into profits, if he was still employed by Stanley at all. When Faith had walked in on Muriel, she was saying “You've got to goâ” Where? To the police? To get help?
schemes and general gaucheness. No, somebody else was directing the drug businessâoverseeing the hospital thefts, the street sales, andâif someone began to look like a liabilityâarranging “accidents.” But would he kill his own son? And why? Faith could imagine that James' obvious addiction was creating problems. He probably talked too much and was certainly eating into profits, if he was still employed by Stanley at all. When Faith had walked in on Muriel, she was saying “You've got to goâ” Where? To the police? To get help?
By the time Faith found the phone through the hazy smoke in the bar, she was sure that Stanley Russell had tried to kill James, or have him killed. What connection it had with what had been happening at Hubbard House she wasn't sure, yet there had to be one.
Surprisingly, Dunne picked up his own phone. She told him briefly what had happened.
“What's the name of the cop who took the information?” She gave it and the number to him.
“I was on my way to Hubbard House when you called. Turned up some interesting stuff, and I wanted to ask some people a few questions. Now we've got some more to ask. Want to meet me there? The police probably already called them, but you might want to tell them what happened in more detail, and I'd like to be there when you do. By the way, Faith, just to be sure. The car was definitely aiming for James Hubbard, right? It wasn't by any chance trying for you?”
Faith was stunned. “Of course not. Who would want to kill me?”
“Simply a thought. So you want to meet me in Byford, say in half an hour?”
“Yes,” Faith agreed readily, dismissing the choice of targets from her mind. It merely muddied the waters. What this case definitely did
not
need was more options. Especially now when it seemed everything was coming to a head, and she had no intention of being left out, if that was
what John was suggesting. This Safety First attitude was a bore.
not
need was more options. Especially now when it seemed everything was coming to a head, and she had no intention of being left out, if that was
what John was suggesting. This Safety First attitude was a bore.
Of course, she was gone for that half hour. James could have called someone. But whom? And why?
She hung up the phone and dug into her purse for more change. Please, Pix, she prayed, be home. God was good and she was.
“Pix, something important has come up and I have to meet Detective Lieutenant Dunne at Hubbard House. Could you pick Ben up from school and hold on to him until I get home?”
“Sure, but he'll have to come with me while the Evergreens finish decorating Peabody House for the Christmas tea tomorrow.”
“Won't he be in the way?” asked Faith, picturing Ben festooning himself with tree lights and ornaments under the eyes of the garden club members and the Peabody House residents.
“Of course he'll be in the way, but you know how much the people there love to see children. I'll manage. Now go off to whatever you and Dunne are up to and happy hunting.”
In another life she must have done something especially wonderful to end up in this one with a friend and neighbor like Pix, Faith thought. If the Millers ever moved, she'd have to go too.
No one in the bar had looked up when she had come in and no one looked up as she left. Out on the street it was as cold as a witch'sâshe paused mentally; she was a minister's wife after allâfinger, and she hugged herself to keep warm as she sped to the car and its heater.
It didn't take long to get to Byford, and she was there before Dunne.
She waited in the parking lot and thought about the case. She'd been right. James Hubbard was the key. He must know all about both Russells' operations. If it hadn't been so obvious that he didn't know Eddie was deadâand
was also clearly unable to negotiate a trip to Byford even in good weatherâshe might have put him on the list of possible murder suspects. She'd decided to add Stanley Russell Senior. He might not have had much paternal feeling for a son he hadn't watched grow up, especially if that son was starting to cut into his profits or threaten him with blackmail. Eddie was certainly dumb enough to do that. Wasn't that what Scott Phelan had pointed outâthat he was stupid enough to get himself killed? If Stanley himself hadn't wielded the knives, someone in his employ might have. But the timing and locale didn't make any sense. Why not just wait for him to try to cross the street in Boston? Under ordinary circumstances, the car would have been long gone before anyone had tried to get the number. It was Stanley Russell's very unlucky day that Faith was there watching.
was also clearly unable to negotiate a trip to Byford even in good weatherâshe might have put him on the list of possible murder suspects. She'd decided to add Stanley Russell Senior. He might not have had much paternal feeling for a son he hadn't watched grow up, especially if that son was starting to cut into his profits or threaten him with blackmail. Eddie was certainly dumb enough to do that. Wasn't that what Scott Phelan had pointed outâthat he was stupid enough to get himself killed? If Stanley himself hadn't wielded the knives, someone in his employ might have. But the timing and locale didn't make any sense. Why not just wait for him to try to cross the street in Boston? Under ordinary circumstances, the car would have been long gone before anyone had tried to get the number. It was Stanley Russell's very unlucky day that Faith was there watching.
She thought some more about James. He knew about the Russells. What else did he know about Hubbard House? Maybe Dunne would be able to question him today. And where was the lieutenant anyway? She looked at her watch. She wanted to know what he knew and was willing to trade information. She looked in her rearview mirror, saw his car pull up, and stepped out to meet him.
He looked at her outfitâa black wool jersey DKNY skirt and topâchic, but chilly. “Where's your coat?” he asked.
“Gave it to James. Have you heard how he is?”
“Yes. He's dead, Faith. I'm sorry.”
Faith began to shiver even more. The little boy in the picture was dead. The man she had been talking to only an hour ago, the man who was looking forward to a hot cup of coffee, was dead.
“Do you think the Hubbards know?”
“Not yet. I asked Boston to hold off. But the family does know he was hit, and Roland Hubbard went in to the hospital. Muriel and Donald are here keeping everything going. Charmaine's here too, probably getting in the way.”
Faith thought of Dr. Hubbard, driving in to see the son he hadn't seen for sixteen years. What was he thinking? And when he arrived, it would be too late. Too late to say anything, or hear anything. It was heartbreaking.
“You were right, incidentally. Stanley Russell does drive a Cadillac, plate number MBA 802, although at the moment he says he wasn't driving it today.”
They entered through the front door of Nathaniel's house. Sylvia Vale was outside the office. She had been crying. She didn't seem surprised that Faith was there.
“I'll tell Muriel and Donald you're here,” she said, and disappeared into the office.
“You haven't told me your news. What was so interesting that you had to come here to ask more questions?” Faith realized she'd gotten sidetracked by James' death and what she was sure was the involvement of Stanley Russell.
Dunne looked down at her and with a trace of smugness said, “We traced the knives.”
Traced the knives! That meant they had the murderer!
Â
Donald and Muriel arrived together. Charmaine was a few steps behind. They looked as if a tiny spark would send them flying to kingdom come.
“Is there someplace private where we could go to talk?” Dunne asked.
“How about my office?” Donald was clearly trying to speak in a nonchalant tone, as if Dunne and Faith were coming to consult him about hangnails or persistent dandruff, but the words came out in four terse bullets.
They followed him through the annex hallway into the other house. Muriel was behind them and Charmaine was lagging far to the rear. Faith thought they might lose her before they reached their destination, but at one point John Dunne whirled aroundâthereby creating a small vortexâand swept her up to the rest of them with his firm eye.
Donald reached in his pocket, took out his keys, and
opened the door. Faith stepped inside and was mildly shocked. Donald was evidently a devotee of the Bauhaus as opposed to the Adam school, the period to which the house belonged. He had retained the cherry wainscoting, as well as the long windows with their hand-blown glass panes that offered wavy views of the front lawn. Everything else was a minimalistic compilation of chrome, leather, black, white, or glass. The single note of color was a huge abstract portrait of Charmaine, in the style of Soutine, which hung in solitary splendor on one wall.
opened the door. Faith stepped inside and was mildly shocked. Donald was evidently a devotee of the Bauhaus as opposed to the Adam school, the period to which the house belonged. He had retained the cherry wainscoting, as well as the long windows with their hand-blown glass panes that offered wavy views of the front lawn. Everything else was a minimalistic compilation of chrome, leather, black, white, or glass. The single note of color was a huge abstract portrait of Charmaine, in the style of Soutine, which hung in solitary splendor on one wall.
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