Wed and Buried (24 page)

Joe slumped in the chair. “What?”

“Can you check with whoever handles vagrancy and find out exactly what happened when Billy Big Horn was arrested at St. Fabiola's Hospital?”

Joe was obviously surprised. “Billy was busted? When?”

“The Saturday that Mike and Kristin were married, the twenty-fourth of June.” Judith hoped she looked appropriately meek. She certainly felt that way.

Joe expelled air from his round cheeks. “I could do that. I don't know why I should, but I could.” He seemed to be wrestling with internal demons, most of whom Judith was sure looked like her. “Okay. Is Monday good enough?”

Regretfully, Judith shook her head. “No. Now is best.”

It would take a simple phone call, and Judith knew it. “Okay,” Joe agreed with as much enthusiasm as a man headed for a root canal. “Why not?” With a grunt, he rose from the chair and went to the phone.

Judith sat very quietly. In the living room, she could hear her guests, including the cranky couple from Chula
Vista, preparing to go off on their evening revels. The chicken breasts still sat on the counter, oozing pink juice onto the kitchen floor.

“Right,” Joe was saying after a lull where he presumably was being transferred from pillar to post, “you can't block a hospital entrance…Billy was hostile? That's weird…Sure, he had to be booked…Right, I understand…Okay, that's…what?” Joe's usually rubicund color faded a bit. “That's…odd.” There was a long pause, and Judith felt her scalp tingle. “No, you're right…Most of those guys are whacked out on cheap wine and God knows what else. Thanks, that's all I need to know.”

Joe set the phone down on the counter and returned to his chair. The green eyes slid to the package of chicken breasts. “Are we going to eat tonight? Despite the heat, I'm kind of hungry.”

Judith jumped up. “Oh! Yes, sure. I've already fed Mother. She wanted a chop. The barbecue's going, I'll be right back. There's a green salad and French bread and…”

“Peanuts McGoohan said Billy wasn't the one who was arrested.” Joe's voice followed Judith down the hallway.

She stopped in mid-step and nodded. “I thought not. Who's Peanuts?”

“A highly unreliable wino and pickpocket who was doing a stretch at the city's expense around the same time Billy was in jail.” Joe looked vaguely intrigued as his wife turned to face him. “I take it you believe Peanuts?”

“Definitely.” Judith turned away and headed outside to the barbecue. When she came back into the kitchen, Joe was eyeing her speculatively.

“Okay,” he said, “I'll bite. Why do you believe Peanuts?”

Judith sat down at the table where she explained about Uncle Gurd and the harmonica in the Naples Hotel fountain. Joe seemed more shocked by the news that Gurd was
back than by his find. Judith, however, persevered.

“Billy Big Horn would never leave his harmonica, let alone in that fountain. Besides, when Renie told me he'd been arrested after making a scene at St. Fabiola's, it didn't ring true. Billy is a very gentle soul. If someone other than Billy was arrested,” Judith added ominously, “then I'm afraid he's in danger. Or worse.”

“Like dead?” Joe grew thoughtful. “Why would anyone harm Billy?

Judith sensed a condescending note in Joe's voice, but at least he was discussing the case. “He couldn't have seen anything because he's blind,” she reminded her husband. “He had to have heard something. Maybe he heard whatever it was at the Belmont or the Naples that Friday night.” Her voice grew uncertain, then she put a hand on Joe's arm. “You're absolutely sure that the Belmont has been searched top to bottom?”

Joe nodded. “Absolutely.” He cocked an eyebrow at Judith. “You're thinking ‘body'?”

“Yes. But I suppose it's not possible.” She rested her face on her fists and concentrated. “The Naples? Did the police search there? Or at the hospital?”

“No. There was no reason.” Joe winced. “There still isn't. Your hunch isn't probable cause.”

Judith got up and began pacing the kitchen. She stopped by the counter where she kept her bills and reservations and correspondence, and snapped her fingers. “Joe—where's Harley's apartment?”

“At the bottom of the hill, about four blocks from the radio station, towards downtown.” He finished his beer and leaned back in the captain's chair. “Why?”

Briefly, Judith looked disappointed. “It was just an idea.” Then she brightened again. “But Tara has a high-rise about a block from St. Fabiola's, which means it's a block or two from the Naples and the Belmont. Can you search it?”

Joe grimaced. “We already did. Woody and I got a
warrant this afternoon after we'd interrogated de Tourville and you gave Woody the emeralds. No dead body. No emeralds. No cigars.”

“You checked Tara's wardrobe?” Judith leaned against the counter, knocking over a stack of mail.

“We checked everything,” Joe replied. “We're thorough, we go by the book. That's how we do our job.”

“Yes,” Judith murmured, bending down to pick the correspondence off the floor. “Oh—this is today's mail. Phyliss must have brought it in while I was gone. Good grief, more wedding bills. I hope the Rundbergs are shelling out for…Hmmm…Phyliss must not have seen this. It's another letter to her from the gang in Deep Denial. I forgot that Cecil said he was delivering it here. I'll give it to her when she comes to work on Monday.”

Judith slipped the letter into the frame of her bulletin board.

She couldn't possibly guess that the answer to the mystery lay inside.

“Y
OU'VE GOT TO
do it,” Renie declared when she arrived the next morning to pick up Uncle Gurd. “Joe or no Joe, you've got to report that designer dress as missing. It could be full of emeralds.”

“But it wasn't,” Judith protested. “I would have felt their weight. The dress was light as a feather.”

“Whoever stole it from Ron's Bar and Grill didn't think so,” Renie asserted. “Coz, you have to collect on the insurance, and the only way you can do that is to report it to the police.”

“I know, I know,” Judith said nervously as Uncle Gurd emerged from the hedge wearing U. S. Army combat fatigues. “More to the point, if we knew who stole it, we might know more about Harley's death. Though I still think it's fairly simple. Whoever is running the smuggling ring killed him to keep him quiet. But right now I hate to upset the apple cart. Joe seems in a much better mood today. We talked quite awhile last night about the emeralds. I honestly think he was impressed that I'd found them.”

“He should be,” Renie responded, then frowned at Gurd. “Couldn't you wear something that doesn't look like you're AWOL?”

“I was at Bastogne,” Gurd growled, getting into the passenger's seat beside Renie.

“You smell like you're still there,” Renie snarled. “Get out, sit in the back seat, you crazy old coot.”

Despite a show of anger, Gurd obeyed. “Do I get paid for this?” he asked in a querulous tone.

“Talk to Morris Mitchell,” Renie snapped. “I'm just the chauffeur. And graphic designer,” she added under her breath.

Judith started to wave them off, but Uncle Gurd had rolled down the rear window. “
Where
in Florida?” he shouted.

“What?” Judith strained to catch his meaning. “Florida? Oh! Vivian! Panama City!” But she felt her words were lost on the warm summer air.

 

That afternoon, while Joe was checking out his fishing gear, Judith sat down at the big oak dining room table and tried to organize her thoughts about the Harley Davidson case. She began with what facts she knew, but they didn't seem to fall into any logical pattern. Instead, she wrote down the names of each person involved. She was studying her findings when Renie came through the back door.

“I lost Uncle Gurd,” she announced cheerfully. “You got any Pepsi?”

Judith told her cousin to get a can out of the fridge. “Where did he go?” Judith asked when Renie came into the dining room.

“Who knows? Who cares? Morris and I got the pictures, which is all that matters.” She sat down next to Judith. “We had to dress Gurd up in bum clothes, though. The fatigues just didn't do it for Morris.”

“So what happened to Gurd?” Judith asked, finally looking up from the tablet on which she'd made her notations.

Renie shrugged. “He went to change and never came
back. Do you really want to know? I think he's caused you enough problems.”

“True,” Judith allowed. “He seems able to take care of himself. But he must have left his belongings here.”

“They don't amount to much, from what you've said.” Renie drank from her can, then looked over Judith's shoulder. “What's that?”

Judith showed her cousin the tablet. “I started with Harley. I've tried to put down anything about each individual that might pertain to his murder. See if you can think of anything I've left out.”

Renie put on her glasses with the scratched and smudged lenses, the efficacy of which Judith always doubted. But despite the blemishes, Renie managed to read aloud:

HARLEY DAVIDSON

Blind disc jockey.

Made excellent salary, much of it outside the studio and possibly under the table.

Made enemies easily, yet popular with listeners.

Rumors of drug use/peddling in L.A.

Seemingly not romantically involved with any particular woman.

Last seen alive by me atop Belmont; also by Tara Novotny and by killer (assuming she and perp aren't the same).

May have gone to Belmont Hotel because he knew smuggling ring met there—killed because of discovery.

TARA NOVOTNY

Top model, working primarily, but not exclusively, for Artemis Bohl.

Travels extensively—could be smuggler, or at least part of ring.

For reasons unknown, moved out of her apt. and into de Tourville's condo. Connection with de Tourville? Lovers?

Until then, lived two blocks from Belmont; might have set up headquarters there for smugglers.

Could be Killer? Seems too high-strung to carry it off.

BASCOMBE DE TOURVILLE

Known to authorities; uses illegal visas, papers to travel under aliases.

Involved in various scams; wealthy tourist victims.

Claims not to know about smuggling.

What is connection to Tara? Smuggling? Lover? Blackmail?

Connection to Harley? None that we know of.

Possesses sinister quality that could make him a murderer.

ESPERANZA HIGHCASTLE

Highcastle Hot Dog heiress, owner of various properties including Belmont, owner of KRAS and KORN radio stations.

Accused of being unfaithful by husband; about to be divorced.

May be in financial trouble.

No apparent motive for killing Harley—ratings kept her in business.

CHUCK RAWLS JR
.

Hated Harley, often got into it.

But Harley was job security.

Or was Harley a threat to same if he made known his antipathy to Rawls?

Emerald smuggling? Not that we can tell.

Where was he when killing occurred?

Doesn't seem capable of homicide, but often hard to tell.

ARTEMIS BOHL

Internationally-known designer, tied in with I. Magnifique stores.

Owns Caribbean sweat shop, or so it's alleged—drop-off point between Colombia (?) and U.S. for emerald-filled cigars? Bohl garments used for transport?

Mastermind—or dupe?

Could be killer if he's running the smuggling ring; ego, single-mindedness, arrogance often typical of killer.

Does he have an alibi for time of murder?

Why haven't Joe and Woody questioned him? (Or have they?)

DARRELL MIMS

KRAS gofer, aspiring DJ.

Didn't like Harley, loathed crude format and language.

Ambitious, crusader (crusaders can be dangerous).

Involved in smuggling? Dubious. Appears too principled.

Might have wanted rival DJ out of the way.

Doesn't seem right for the job—either as DJ or killer.

TNT TENINO

Estranged husband of Esperanza, retired boxer, does some kind of boxing-related work on occasion (and thus travels a bit).

Smuggler? Possibly.

As dumb as he seems? Maybe.

Motive? Only if involved in smuggling—unless he suspected Esperanza of cheating on him with Harley, which seems unlikely.

Have Joe and Woody talked to him?

BILLY BIG HORN

Well-known blind homeless person.

Allegedly arrested for loitering day after the murder; released from jail ten days later; hasn't been seen since—doubts have arisen as to whether it was really Billy who caused the disturbance.

Possible second murder victim? (No known connection to any of the above, but may have had intimate knowledge of Belmont which was sometimes used by homeless people.)

 

“Well?” Judith inquired when Renie had finished reading. “What do you think?”

Renie's air was apologetic. “Not much. It's pretty fragmentary, coz. One of the problems is that you don't have the time of the murder nailed down. Did Joe ever get more specific?”

“The ME figured between five and ten
P.M
Friday, which narrows it a little,” Judith said, taking the tablet from Renie. “We know it had to be after eight, because I saw Harley alive around that time.”

Renie craned her neck to look at the final entry. “You really think Billy is dead?”

“I'm afraid I do.” Judith underlined the phrase, “Second victim?” “Where was Billy between eight o'clock Friday night and early Saturday morning when he was supposedly arrested for loitering outside the hospital? If it was him, then he had to have stayed in the vicinity. Maybe he sneaked into the Belmont. The employees at the Naples wouldn't let him spend the night in the courtyard. Joe saw him when he went down to check on what I'd seen through the banquet room window. But by the time we left the hotel, he…wasn't…there.” The color drained from Judith's face.

“What's wrong?” Renie asked in alarm.

Judith grabbed Renie by the short sleeves of her shapeless muu-muu. “Coz! It only dawned on me now—Billy was gone by nine o'clock, when we went home.”

Renie was looking puzzled. “Meaning…what? He missed out on the late-night panhandling?”

Releasing Renie, Judith let out a big breath. “Meaning he may have gone to the Belmont then. He could have been there when Harley was killed! Ever since I saw that harmonica, I knew Billy had some part in this whole thing.”

Renie cocked her head. “So Billy decides to hit the hay and toddles off to the Belmont. He can get there because he's done it before. By chance, he goes up to the top floor—because he enjoys the view even if he can't see—and stumbles in on Harley and his murderer. Meanwhile, he's pitched his beloved harmonica in the Naples fountain. Gee, coz, that's really
logical
.”

Judith's face fell. “You're right. It doesn't make much sense. What am I missing?”

Naturally, Renie didn't know. “One thing,” she finally offered, gazing thoughtfully at the bowl of yellow, pink, and red roses that sat in the middle of the dining room table, “if Billy was killed at the Belmont—and I'm not saying you're completely wrong about that—then where is his body?”

“I asked Joe if they'd searched the Naples or any of the other buildings, but he said they had no reason to. In fact,” she added sheepishly, “I even called St. Fabiola's awhile ago and tried to find out if they could account for all the bodies in their morgue.”

Renie couldn't suppress a grin. “What did they say?”

“They thought I was crazy, of course. But I did manage to learn that nobody died at the hospital between June twenty-first and July sixth, which washes out my theory.”

For a few moments, the cousins fell silent. “Then Billy's body has to be at the Belmont,” Renie said at last.

Judith shook her head. “Joe insists they searched everywhere.”

“You miss my point,” Renie said. “You can't cart a body around and not have someone notice.
Ergo
, if your premise is right, Billy was never taken out of the Belmont. Think about it, coz.”

Frustrated, Judith held out her hands. “Then my premise is wrong. Billy is alive and well and missing his harmonica on a Greyhound bus bound for southern California. The truth is, the killer didn't care if Harley's body was found, so why would they care about a poor homeless man being discovered? The only precaution the murderer took was to remove all of Harley's ID and to cut Mr. Artemis's precious labels out of…”

The cousins' eyes met. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Judith breathed.

“I think so,” Renie answered in a weak voice. “But why?”

“I don't know.” Judith chewed on her lower lip, then ripped off the pages of notes she'd made in the tablet and
crumpled them into a ball. “We're back to square one.”

Renie caressed her Pepsi can. “Are you going to tell Joe?”

Judith thought for a minute. “No. He wouldn't believe me. I haven't a shred of evidence, and no motive. Not a real motive, that is.”

“So what do we—ah, I mean,
you
—do next?” Renie inquired.

Judith uttered a nervous laugh. “I haven't a clue. Literally.”

 

What Judith actually did was fetch the mail, which brought yet more wedding bills, including a couple of courteous “reminders.” She also received her I. Magnifique statement and an innocuous-looking envelope from the U. S. Treasury Department.

“I'm getting so I hate to bring in the mail,” Judith declared to Renie who'd been about to leave. “Damn, if those Rundbergs don't start tending to some of these, I'm in big trouble.” With apprehension, she tore open the I. Magnifique envelope. “Double damn! I'm in big trouble anyway. That lavender dress is charged to this statement. You're right, coz. I've got to report it as stolen.”

“Do it now,” Renie urged, “while Joe's not at work. Maybe he won't hear about it. He's always complaining about how one division doesn't know what the other is doing.”

“That's so. I will.” Judith sighed as she fingered the brown government envelope which was addressed to Joseph P. Flynn and Judith A. Flynn. “I don't like this. Dan and I used to get these and they were always bad news. Dare I?”

“You'd better,” Renie said with reluctance.

Judith carefully tore the envelope open, removed the two-page missive, and collapsed against the oak credenza in the entrance hall. “Oh, God! We're being audited!”

“So?” Renie seemed unmoved by the announcement.
“We've been audited three times. It happens when you're in business for yourself. What's the problem? Expense deductions?”

Judith scanned the two pages. “No. It's…Mother.”

“Your mother?”
Renie was aghast. “What on earth…?”

“We've been claiming Mother as a deduction. Our accountant said it was okay,” Judith said, speaking nervously and rapidly, as if Renie herself were a vicious IRS agent. “She lives with us, you see. Sort of. I mean, she's on our property.”

Renie shrugged. “Of course she is. There shouldn't be any problem. It's probably just a random check. People like you and me who are in business for ourselves automatically raise a red flag with the IRS. Don't worry about it. You'll have a hearing and you can explain. If they don't believe you, you have the perfect fall-back position.”