I spent most of the weekend at my new offices. The place was a hive of activity. Kate and Jacque spent Saturday morning together shopping for office furniture, mostly for what was to become known as my lair, but also for filing cabinets, two more desks and chairs for the outer office, and a fancy handmade conference table and chairs… and a whole lot of other stuff I won’t bore you with. Suffice it to say that by the time Monday morning rolled around, the place had gone from bare bones to a fully functional business office.
Me, I didn’t spend much time there, not because I would have been in the way, which I would have been, but because I had three murders and a kidnapping to solve. I was antsy and needed to get on with it so while the girls were doing their thing, I hunkered down with Ronnie and Tim, brainstorming mostly.
By four o’clock that afternoon, I’d had enough; I gave it up. I had it in my head that Phoebe was the key to solving the case. I had to find her. To do that, I had to find Small Mouth, the guy who grabbed her that night at the Sorbonne, and that meant I needed information. I needed to know who the hell he was and who he worked for.
Goliath—JoJo James—was also a possibility, but I didn’t know where to find him either. Well, at least I had a photo of him. But there was an inherent problem with that too; I knew he killed Stitch. I’d seen him do it. I also figured him for Penelope’s murder. And I’d already made myself a promise: when I found him, I was going to kill him, after I drained him of everything he knew, of course. I took out my iPhone and opened the photo, stared at his ugly mug for several minutes, shook my head, and put the phone away.
And then there’s Benny Brown, I thought. Who killed him and stuffed him in Ronnie’s trunk, and why? Was it connected to Frank Marsh and his Ponzi scam? If it was, was he killed just to frame me or, unbelievably, Ronnie? If so, it was a pretty weak effort. Even the new kid, Tim, had been able to see through it.
And there was one more thing niggling at the back of my brain: what part was Shady Tree playing in the grand scheme, if at all? If he was involved, who was he working for? They killed his kid. I couldn’t believe even he would lie down for that. Even so, I knew him well enough to know that if there was an easy buck to be made, Shady would find a way to shove his slimy fingers into the pie.
It was a lot to think about and I needed a place to start, or should I say a whom? And who, I thought, would be better than my old friend, Benny Hinkle? That fat little bastard has his ear so close to the ground it’s a wonder he doesn’t get it stepped on… or at least kicked.
I knew the Sorbonne opened for business at four o’clock. I also knew that the place would be deserted at that time of day, any day. I wanted to talk to Benny Hinkle, and Laura too, if she was there. Early afternoon, before four, would be the best time to do it. I was hoping those security cameras in the darkened corners of the bar were just that, security cameras and not fakes just for show.
I made arrangements to meet with Kate later that evening. Then I drove my rented car to Prospect Street, a dismal alley that gave access to the rear entrance of the Sorbonne, the same one where Small Mouth had abducted Phoebe, and I parked close by.
I locked the car and stepped up to the ill-maintained—rusty, paint peeling—steel door, thumbed the bell push, and waited, and I waited, and I pushed it again. Damn it, Benny. Come on.
Finally, I heard the locks being turned and the door opened an inch. Two beady eyes peered out at me. I sighed, shook my head, put a hand on the door, and pushed, hard.
Benny staggered back, squeaking with indignation.
“Damn it, Starke. What you doin’ using the back door? Why’d you not come in the damn front door, like any other civilized dumb ass?”
Any other time I would have slapped his silly face for him, but I needed him to be cooperative, so I played nice.
“I didn’t want to be seen coming in here, Benny, okay? Lighten up a little. I just want to talk to you. You got a few minutes?”
He looked at me, frowning, then nodded somewhat mollified, I thought, then stood back and allowed me to walk through. He slammed the door behind me and locked it.
“There’s no one in the bar, not yet. We’ll go in there, c’mon.”
I followed him as he waddled along the dark corridor past the restrooms and into the bar; more than ever he reminded me of Danny DeVito playing Louie De Palma in the TV show Taxi. He even had some of the same mannerisms.
I’d been in that bar more times than I could count and it was always the same… only this time it wasn’t. It took me a couple of minutes to realize what was different: no loud music. Thank God for that, I thought, waving a hand at Laura who was behind the bar cleaning glasses.
Louie, I mean Benny, led me to a booth and we sat down opposite each other.
“Okay, Harry,” Benny said, leaning forward, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together in front of him. “Talk to me… No wait, you’re not a cop anymore. I don’t have to talk to you now, do I?”
“You’re right, Benny, I’m not a cop anymore. I’m a private investigator, and no, Benny, you don’t have to talk to me. But haven’t I always treated you nice, and Laura too? Where is she, by the way... Oh, never mind, I see her. And would you like me to continue treating you nice? The alternative could be—shall we say—painful?”
He shook his head, tiredly, caught the drift of what I’d just said, looked sharply at me, and said, “Private investigator? You’re kidding me, right?”
I shook my head, saying nothing.
“You’re serious?”
I nodded, saying nothing.
“Frickin’ hell, Harry. Who you think you are, Sam frickin’ Spade?”
“Stop it, Benny. Are you going to help me or not?”
He grinned at me, leaned back on his seat, his hands still together on the table, and said, slyly, “What’s in it for me?”
I stared at him for a long moment, my eyes narrowed, my lips clamped together, slowly shaking my head. He got the message.
He leaned forward again and said, “Okay, seein’ as it’s you. What d’you want to know?”
“Last Wednesday; we played poker, remember?”
He nodded.
“There was a girl, remember her?”
He thought, then nodded and said, “Yeah. I remember. What about her?”
“Do you know who she is?”
He shook his head. “Should I?”
“No, but she was snatched out back, and I’m trying to find her.”
“You never said anything ’bout nobody bein’ snatched.”
“No, well, I thought maybe… ah, never mind what I thought. The guy who grabbed her was sitting at the bar, a mean-looking dude, small mouth, big forehead, broken nose. Do you remember him?”
“Yeah, he followed you in. I thought at first he was with you, but he sat at the bar, had a couple of drinks, and he must have left, but I didn’t see him go.”
“Who is he, do you know?”
“I seen him a couple times, well, several times. Usually there are two of ’em. Him and JoJo James.”
I stared at him, barely breathing, trying not to show my elation.
“Oh yeah?” I said. “And who’s he, this JoJo… James?”
“I don’t know who your guy is, but if he’s running with JoJo, I’d say he’s a hard case. JoJo is a freelance enforcer, muscle.”
I took out my phone, opened the photo I’d taken of James and showed it to Benny.
“This guy, right?”
He took the phone from me, stared at it, smiled and said, “You do this to him?”
I nodded. “Tough he might be, but he passed out at the sight of his own blood.”
Benny looked nervously around, then said, “You’d better go, Harry. I don’t want no trouble, and this guy is trouble. I swear to God: you did this to him—he’s after you big time.”
“I can handle him. Who’s he working for, Benny?”
“I don’t know, Harry. Really—I don’t. I told you, he’s freelance, works for anybody who’ll pay his price.”
“And you think they’re working together, JoJo and Small Mouth?”
He shrugged. “Who’s to say? But if they’re spending time together…”
I nodded, thought for a minute, then said, “And you’ve never seen the girl before?”
“I didn’t say that. She’s been in several times. Not lately, but usually she’s with a bunch of kids: students, I reckon. It’s been… Hell, I dunno… a year, anyway, maybe longer.”
That tallied with what Phoebe had told me. Well, she’d told me she knew the place.
“What about her dad, Frank Marsh? You know anything about him?”
“Are we talking about the Frank Marsh, the investment banker that screwed all those folks? If so, no, nothing. I feel for the kid, though. Can’t be fun having to handle that kind of crap.”
I nodded, couldn’t help but agree with him.
“One more question, Benny, and I’ll let you get back to whatever it was you were doing. What do you know about Benny Brown?”
He shrugged. “Used to come in here often. Not so much lately. Small-time player, mostly drugs. Don’t know if he still does, but he used to work for a friend of yours.” He paused, grinned at me and said, “Shady Tree.”
“Holy shit, Benny. Are you serious?”
“Now when did I ever lie to you, Harry?”
I was stunned. I’d been a cop for ten years and was used to being surprised. In my line of work, you never can tell what’s just around the corner. That one, though, I hadn’t seen coming, not at all.
I looked up at the camera in the corner of the room and said, “That thing work, Benny, or is it just for show?”
“Hey, Laura,” he shouted across the bar. “Harry needs the tape for last Wednesday from the security system.”
She nodded, turned, stooped down behind the bar, and came up holding a VHS tape. You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Thanks, Benny,” I said, rising to my feet and fishing out my wallet. “If you hear anything, see anything… If either of those two should drop by, I want to know, soonest. Got it?” I dropped a Benjamin on the table in front of him.
He looked up at me, grabbed the bill without looking at it, and nodded. “You got it, Harry.”
I nodded; he’d got it. I grabbed the VHS tape from the bar top, and I got out of there. I had a lot of thinking to do, and a certain fine lady cop to wine and dine. With that, and what I’d learned, I figured it was going to be a good weekend, what was left of it.
And it was.