CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

 

Back outside, I thanked our uniformed guardian, slipping him a couple of bucks for his trouble. The cop’s scowl made me think he might arrest me for bribery, until I realized that his displeasure wasn’t with the act but with the amount. I reluctantly forked over a fiver, which seemed to satisfy him. As the pride of the force sauntered off, Mr. O’Nelligan and I began reviewing our encounter with Mazzo.

“If the man’s to be believed, this focuses our aim considerably,” my partner said.

“Who says he should be believed. Mazzo seemed to have a fast, handy answer to every question.”

“Is that not what we were seeking?”

“Too handy for my taste.”

“When one decides to unleash the truth, it oft comes swiftly.”

“Sure, maybe everything he said about the Red-hunters and Lorraine’s threats is true, and about him sneaking into her apartment. To me, the logical conclusion of all that is Mazzo somehow coaxing Lorraine to the roof, heaving her off, and eventually gunning down the PI who’s on his trail.”

“I feel the need to point out that until recently, you weren’t even willing to admit that there was a trail that required pursuing.”

I indicated my bullet-kissed temple. “Well, that’s changed.”

“And you’re convinced Anthony Mazzo was your attacker?”

“Let’s just say I’m not convinced otherwise. If I’d felt we had an ironclad case against him, I would have thrown him to our cop pal.”

Audrey joined in. “Mazzo seemed sincere to me. After all, he didn’t have to share that he’d been at Lorraine’s that night.”

“Oh, yes he did,” I said. “Remember, I’d already connected him to the note.”

My fiancée’s eyes widened playfully. “Golly, Lee, you connected him to the note? I guess I missed that part of the deductive process.”

“I mean you did,” I muttered.

“What’s that? Louder, please.”

Our Irishman intruded. “Let us, for the moment, assume that Mazzo’s account is truthful. One part of it struck me as quite significant. For the first time, we have confirmation of Cornelius Boyle’s claim that he spoke to Hector Escobar in the hallway. Again, we are brought back to the grocery boy and his refusal to admit his presence there that night.”

“Which, of course, doesn’t even matter if Mazzo is our culprit,” I said.

“True, but if Mazzo is blameless here, then Hector’s denial may have great import indeed. I suggest that I follow through on yesterday’s task and pay the boy a visit.”

“Okay, maybe it’ll prove worthwhile,” I admitted. “I’m coming with you, though. I don’t want to divide our forces right now. Don’t forget, as far as we know, whoever shot down Spires and nicked me is still out there, whether it’s Mazzo or some other gunman.”

“So we presume,” Mr. O’Nelligan said. “Although the gendarmerie is now in pursuit of him.”

“Yeah, well, pursuit isn’t the same as capture. I’m not sure how effective Smack’s cronies will be. Anyway, we’ll drive over to the grocery.” I turned to Audrey. “But not you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said matter-of-factly. “There’s no way you’re shaking me loose.”

I stood my ground. “Did you not just hear me say there’s a mean person with a pistol running about?”

“And did you not just hear me say I’m sticking with you? If you try to march off on me, Lee, I’ll just follow behind, determined and devoted.”

“Like a cocker spaniel?”

Audrey gave me the evil eye. “No, dearest. I was thinking more like a guardian angel. You are such a chowderhead sometimes.”

I turned to Mr. O’Nelligan. “Talk to her, will you?”

My partner smiled. “I fear that no eloquence on my part would suffice to avert our young lady’s obstinacy.”

“What in God’s name are you saying?” I asked.

Audrey matched Mr. O’Nelligan’s smile. “He says I’m coming with you.”

*   *   *

TWO DAYS BEFORE, Mr. Escobar had been the one stationed outside the grocery overseeing the produce stands. Today, conveniently for us, it was Hector. The kid’s focus, though, plainly wasn’t on fruit and vegetables but on the petite, pretty girl whose hand he was holding and whose eyes he was locked into. Once he saw us approaching, Hector released the girl’s hand and stared us down.

“Why are you here?” His defiant tone was clearly meant to impress not only us but his girl as well. “I already talked to you people.”

“We enjoyed it so much the first time, we came back.” I was feeling fairly defiant myself, especially with no Toro in sight.

Hector turned back to his girlfriend, and they shared an exchange in Spanish. Without understanding a word of it, I think I caught the gist: Hector wanted Rosalia—that’s how he addressed her—to leave him to his enemies, but she refused to do so. I glanced from the girl to my fiancée. Apparently, Rosalia was a small Puerto Rican version of Audrey.

Once he realized that his young lady was immovable, Hector faced us again. “So, what do you want?”

Mr. O’Nelligan took on the narrative duties, explaining how Cornelius had once again insisted he’d seen the teenager that night and adding Mazzo’s confirmation for good measure.

Hector took it all in, then shook his head vigorously. “No, no, no! I told you, that was not me.”

I started to lay into his denial but was promptly cut off by Rosalia.

“Can’t you see he’s telling the truth?” Though obviously upset, she kept her voice steady and strong. “Hector is not someone who likes to make lies. He has a very good heart. Hector! Swear on your cross. Then they’ll know you’re speaking the truth.”

Rosalia reached over and drew out a thin silver chain that was hidden under Hector’s shirtfront. She placed its tiny crucifix into his palm and nodded at him.

Hector looked at us, quietly said, “I swear,” then kissed the cross and slid it back under his shirt.

“It belonged to his abuela,” Rosalia told us. “His grandmother. He loved her very much and would never swear on it if a thing wasn’t true. He just wouldn’t.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, but apparently Mr. O’Nelligan did.

“Of course he wouldn’t,” my partner said gently. “Thank you for clearing that up. We’ll leave you young people to this lovely spring afternoon.”

He gave them a little bow and led us away.

*   *   *

AUDREY AND I were leaning against Baby Blue, about two blocks from the grocery, as Mr. O’Nelligan paced slowly before us, his brow knit and his hands folded behind his back.

“So, what’s going on in that multilayered brain of yours?” I asked my colleague.

“All brains are multilayered,” he answered absently. “Mine need not be singled out.”

“Fair enough. What rollicking thoughts are filling yours right now?”

Mr. O’Nelligan stopped in his tracks. “I’m attempting to arrange the particulars of this case in a useful order. To separate the wheat from the chaff, as it were.”

“Well, I don’t know if Hector’s the wheat or the chaff here,” I said. “Just because your girlfriend defends you doesn’t make you a worthwhile person.”

Audrey turned to me. “I feel like I should say something biting. I’m just not sure what.”

“Please don’t overexert yourself.”

“Anyway, I think Hector’s being truthful,” she stated firmly. “That’s my opinion.”

I was on the verge of asking Audrey when exactly she’d obtained her private investigator’s license, but, for the sake of my health and well-being, I didn’t.

Instead I said, “If Hector is on the up-and-up, that means it’s Cornelius who’s lying.”

Suddenly, Mr. O’Nelligan made an announcement. “I’m going for a stroll. Lee, may I borrow the list of phone numbers pertinent to this case?”

“Sure, I suppose.” I handed the list over. “Why do you—”

“Everyone we’ve spoken to is accounted for here?”

“Yeah, I’ve been gathering numbers since we started.”

“Excellent, excellent.” My colleague gestured across the street. “Over there’s a pleasant-looking—though oddly named—little eatery, Trenchard’s Tomato Tavern. Why don’t you two take your lunch and I’ll meet you there in an hour or so’s time?”

With that, he spun on his heel and strode away.

Audrey seemed somewhat shocked. “What just happened? In the middle of an investigation, Mr. O’Nelligan goes off on a private little promenade? I thought he’d be much more dedicated than that.”

“Don’t knock those promenades. It’s when he gets his best deducing done and earns his dime—so to speak.”

“Speaking of dimes, Lee, when are you going to start paying Mr. O’Nelligan for his work?”

“I’ve tried! Time and time again, I’ve insisted he take something, but he refuses. He just prattles on about quests and knights and all his usual quackery. So don’t blame me.”

Audrey laughed. “You’re no match for that old rapscallion, are you?”

“I certainly am not.”

*   *   *

OVER SOUP AND sandwiches, I quickly brought Audrey up to speed on the investigation. Since she was refusing to abandon me, she might as well know what we were up against. Once I’d gotten the storyline up to today’s events, Audrey leaned back in her chair and brought her fingertips together in a contemplative pose.

“Lorraine Cobble certainly seems to have been a contentious woman,” she observed. “With many enemeies.”

“Many enemies, one killer,” I said.

“What is that, an old Eastern proverb?”

“Yes, one I just made up. Maybe I should perch myself on some mountaintop and dispense wisdom to truth seekers.”

“Maybe you should confine yourself to just babbling to your fiancée. At least I’m used to it.”

I wagged a soup spoon at her. “You know, some people consider me quite the wit. I’m not sure exactly who those people are, but I’m positive they exist.”

Audrey giggled and shook her head. “Oh, brother…”

The restaurant owner, gray-haired and congenial, approached our table. “Are you Lee?”

“I am.”

“A friend of yours just called.” He glanced down at the scrap of paper he was holding. “O’Nelligan. He said he was in a rush but wanted to get a message to you. I wrote it down.”

“How’d he reach you?”

“Not many Trenchard’s Tomato Taverns in the phone book, I guess.”

Of course, Mr. O’Nelligan wouldn’t likely forget such alliteration. Mr. Trenchard of the Tomatoes passed me the note and departed.

I read it aloud. “‘Meet at Mrs. Pattinshell’s apartment as soon as possible.’ Mrs. Pattinshell’s? Why there?”

“She’s the ghost chanter, right?” Audrey asked. “Maybe she’s got another song for you.”

I moaned a little. “Lord, I hope not. Getting sung to by dead people is not my idea of entertainment. I’ll take Nat King Cole over Casper the Friendly Ghost any day. You sure you still want to keep going with this?”

My fiancée grinned and slapped the table. “Aye, aye, Captain! Where thou goest, I go, too.”