The Dead Caller from Chicago (24 page)

“You know damned well I didn't kill Cassone.”

“I know because I had two men watching you last night.”

“Black Impala?”

“You asked that when you called from outside the bar. The answer's still no. I had one man in a white Crown Victoria, the other in a yellow Ford Explorer. The Crown Victoria followed you shopping after you left the tavern. The Explorer slipped your lock and had a look around inside your stone tube. Neither was in the bar with you and Cassone. Help Amanda, Elstrom. What don't I know?”

“Cassone noticed someone watching us.”

“You told me that last night, and I just told you the Crown Victoria was mine.”

“Someone else, inside the bar.”

“Wasn't one of mine. Did you see his face?”

“No. I just felt a draft on the back of my neck as he left.”

“Who else wants the painting?”

“Snark Evans, because he was the one who stole it in the first place. A divorcing couple out in Hollywood. Underneath the cows is a picture of a flower, one in a set of four. The couple owns or has options on the other three. The value of their pictures and options would go up immensely if they recovered the long-lost fourth in the series.”

“We're done for now,” he said, sliding out of the booth. “Mr. Phelps has got the two million ready, and now I have the painting. All we can do is wait, and be careful how we make the exchange.”

“Wendell's the wrong man to be running this. He's too cocksure, convinced of his own wisdom.”

“It's out of my hands.”

“You can treat this as a kidnapping, have your people question anyone who might have been in the bar or on the sidewalk last night. Maybe someone saw somebody following Cassone.”

“Like you pointed out when I came to your castle, I have no jurisdiction.”

“Let me in on this, Jarobi.”

He shook his head.

“I'll report her missing in Rivertown.”

“On what grounds? That she left your place and hasn't been seen since?”

“Sure.”

“They'll call Mr. Phelps. He'll say everything is fine. He wants this hushed, so he can control it himself.”

Outside, I went to the trunk of his car, but it was for show.

“Not a chance,” he said.

 

Forty-two

I drove back to the turret because I had nowhere else to drive.

Robinson was across the frozen lawn, standing with another man in the city hall parking lot. I walked over, because going inside the turret at that moment would make me feel caged, like an animal.

Robinson was trying to ease a jimmy bar down the passenger's door of a silver Escalade. His hands were shaking too badly to work the bar. He handed it to the other man.

“You wouldn't believe how many people used to drop their cars off at the garage and leave the keys locked inside,” Robinson said.

“Maybe your hands are too cold,” I said.

The other man jiggled the bar, drew it up along the glass, and popped the lock.

Robinson motioned for me to walk with him down to the Willahock. “You've got to help me,” he said.

“You're sure you're being followed?” I had no room for his problem, but I asked anyway.

“He switches between a light-colored sedan and a small SUV, blue I think.”

“Is it the same man?”

“He's always too far away to tell. He's not always there, but it's when I'm headed to work, or driving to lunch or driving home.”

“A light-colored sedan or a small blue SUV? How about a black car, an Impala, maybe?”

“No. Just the light-colored car or the blue SUV.”

“Do you have any idea why someone would be following you?”

He stopped and spun to face me. “No, but like I said before, I think you brought him to me. You came around saying Leo Brumsky wanted to know about Snark Evans. I told you Snarky was small time, a punk who lifted trinkets, and that he was dead. Next thing, Tebbins is dead, shot in his house, and you're back, asking about the floater that got stuck downriver. Now I just heard Rudy Cassone was beaten to death. I looked Leo up in the phone book, and still nobody's answering. Maybe he's dead, too. Three deaths, maybe four, all of them linked to that damned fool Snarky—and I'm linked to him, too, because I was there with the rest of them. You still think all this has to do with something Snarky stole off Cassone?”

“I don't know,” I said, meaning I didn't know how much I should tell him.

“Listen, you got to find some way to stop this.” He shook his head, hard. “No way; no way I knew about Snarky stealing off Cassone.”

“You haven't heard who the floater is, Mr. Robinson?”

“You mean is it Snarky, if he didn't really die that summer? Hell, maybe it's Leo, since everybody that's dying around here goes back to that garage, that summer.”

“It's not Leo.”

A faint sweat had built on Robinson's forehead, despite the cold. “Look, Tebbins and Snarky I can understand getting killed, if they stole something expensive from Cassone, but that makes Cassone the killer, doesn't it? Yet now he's dead, too. There's nobody else, Elstrom, not now.”

He was right. There was no reason to tail him. An exchange was already in progress: Amanda for the painting and a couple of million bucks.

Unless there was someone else after the painting, someone who didn't know a ransom demand had been made. Someone, nonetheless, who might be connected to the person who'd made the ransom demand.

Someone who might be the actual kidnapper.

“When's the last time you were tailed?” I asked.

“This morning, driving to work.”

“What time do you quit?”

“Four thirty, but I've got to do a damned forms inspection before that. I'll be leaving around three.”

I took the river walk back to the turret. Inside, I rummaged through an old address book and found Wendell Phelps's phone number. I called his office.

His secretary said he was out.

“Out, like in temporarily out?”

“I'll have him call you,” she said and hung up. She hadn't asked for a message, or my number.

I called Jarobi. “I'm having nasty thoughts.”

“Such as?”

“I think there are two parties after that painting, and they might know each other.”

“You mean like that man and woman divorcing, out in California?”

I told him about Robinson.

“How can Robinson being tailed relate to Ms. Phelps?” he asked.

“I don't know.”

“Look, Elstrom, the divorcing Bennetts are a possibility, I'll give you that. Both might know Ms. Phelps has been kidnapped, even if only one's got her. We'll make sure Mr. Phelps deals with the one that's got Amanda.”

“How will he know? What if somehow he's negotiating with the wrong one?”

“Call Mr. Phelps.”

“I tried. He's out, and his secretary is not taking messages.”

“I'm out, too, Elstrom. I'm not in the loop much.”

I sat then, and drank coffee, and made sense of nothing. At two forty-five, I drove to Thompson Avenue and parked where I could see across the spit of land.

Right at three, Robinson's burgundy Escalade left city hall and drove up to Thompson Avenue. I tucked a few cars behind it and followed it to Leo's neighborhood.

Robinson had gotten out in front of the new excavation by the time I drove by. I parked a few cars up.

Robinson handed a man wearing a hard hat a white business-sized envelope. The man shook his head, angry. Robinson shrugged and began walking around the hole, taking his time to look down at the forms that had been set up for the foundation walls.

I called Wendell again. The same secretary answered. I said we probably got cut off a half hour before. She said we hadn't. I asked if she'd asked Wendell to call me. She hung up on me again.

I called back. “Tell him to make sure the person has the goods.”

She hung up.

Robinson got back in his Escalade and drove away. It was rush hour by now, and Thompson Avenue was thick with traffic. I followed him east into Chicago. He went food shopping and headed home to a bungalow three blocks from Leo's. I watched his house until ten thirty, when the lights went out. No one had tailed him.

I called Jarobi. “Anything?”

“Wendell's beside himself. Nothing.”

“You told him about Robinson seeing a shadow?”

“Yes, though that can't have anything to do with Mrs. Phelps. I also told him about the people in California. He got your message, by the way. He knows to be careful.”

I drove to Leo's house. Only one lamp was on, and that was in the front room. I hoped that meant Ma and Endora were staying away.

Down the block, the excavation looked as it had, and maybe as it always would. The envelope Robinson had handed the contractor might delay things for forever. I thought about calling Jenny, but whatever she knew about that house didn't matter much to Amanda's kidnapping.

I pulled my peacoat tighter and pushed away the thought that Amanda was lying somewhere, cold like Wozanga.

 

Forty-three

I was down the block from Robinson's bungalow by five the next morning. His lights went on at six, and he left for city hall at seven. The streets were mostly empty, and I tailed him from far back. No one else did.

I turned around and went back to the turret. I called Jarobi before I went inside. “I don't like this one damned bit. The kidnapper should have called by now.”

“I want to think he's just being careful.”

“No one's tailing Robinson, or they backed off, if they saw me.”

“Mr. Phelps will concentrate on the one who calls.”

“Give me something to do.”

“Back away. Mr. Phelps wants you clear away from all this. For now, we wait for a call from our man.”

“Or our woman?”

“California's a long shot, Elstrom. Don't get your hopes up.” He promised me he'd call with news and hung up.

I called the Bohemian. “What do you hear about my friend Mr. Smith?”

“He's not so agitated. He quit drawing pictures as soon as you left. Now he's eating and leafing through magazines.”

“Still in no shape to leave?”

“Not even close, they tell me.”

I called Endora next. “Leo's improving,” I said.

“Then we're coming home.”

“There've been two more murders, plus a corpse found bobbing in the Willahock. Amanda was helping me, trying to puzzle through what Leo might have gotten caught up in. She's been kidnapped.”

“My God, Dek!”

“I've got to go away later,” I said. “I can't worry about you returning to Rivertown while I'm gone.”

“Leo's safe; you're sure?”

“Hidden away from the world.”

“Call me soon?”

“As soon as I know something,” I said, which didn't sound like anytime soon at all.

*   *   *

The burgundy Escalade passed beneath my windows an hour later. I grabbed my coats and ran to the Jeep.

Robinson drove to the same Denny's Jarobi and I had gone to, just the day before. He and another man went in. They sat at a booth by the window, as Jarobi and I had. I watched them eat what looked like omelets. When they came out, I followed them back to city hall. Cars and trucks got between us, but again I spotted no one following Robinson.

My landline rang as soon as I got back inside.

“Did you get hungry, watching us?” Robinson asked. He sounded calmer.

“How was breakfast?”

“Excellent, like every morning. I spotted you following me home last night as well. I appreciate the thought, but if I noticed you, chances are my secret friend did, too. He's probably backed off for a while.”

“Maybe you should ask the police for help.”

“Rivertown police? You're kidding, right?”

“I've got to go out of town for a little while. I think you'll be all right.” I made sure he had my cell phone number and told him to call me if his tail reappeared.

*   *   *

Jarobi called as I was walking from the indoor garage.

“Anything?” I asked.

I lost his words in the chatter of a group of people walking behind me, happy folks on their way to happy times.

“Tell me, Jarobi: anything?”

“I said—” His words vaporized as the nattering group passed by.

“Any word?”

“What the hell are you doing at the airport, Elstrom?” he shouted.

“Chasing the only idea I've got,” I said, riding the escalator up to the ticketing area.

“There's a man less than fifty feet behind you. See him waving?”

I turned. Down at the base of the elevator, a man waved.

“You're wasting manpower tailing me.”

“It's the only idea I've got,” he said, mimicking my words. “He wants to stick a gun in your ribs before you can buy a ticket. What shall I tell him?”

“Tell him security people will frown at his gun, but if he's got a cop ID, he can come along.”

“Those divorcing people?”

“I can't just sit.”

“Your L.A. lovebirds won't tell you anything. They've got the money to hire professionals.”

“I'll agitate. I'll fuss, I'll fidget, I'll look like I know more than I do. Tell me what else I can do. Tell me why the kidnapper hasn't called. Tell me how Amanda's feeling, right now.”

“Wait here, be bait. Maybe our kidnapper thinks you still have the picture.”

“He knows better if he's already contacted Wendell. You can put a man on my turret, though, to see if anyone comes. Or you can pick my lock like the last time and wait inside.”

“As I remember, it's too cold inside your place.”

“I'm hoping I'll heat things up in L.A.”

 

Forty-four

Right after I landed, I used a nicely anonymous prepaid cell phone to call each of the two divorce lawyers named in the
National Enquirer.
I gave each receptionist the same message: “This evening only, I'm in town to see if you're interested in a daisy.”