Dying to Tell (18 page)

forty

German spies. Dead bankers.
Secret vaults. And a connection to Poor Nic Bartalotta.

Of all those things, one didn't surprise me—Poor Nic at the center of it. If there was a catastrophe around, there was always a connection to Poor Nic. He was a magnet for all things holy shit. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if his family held the mooring lines for the Hindenburg while they sold helium balloons nearby. And I think a relative was a lifeboat officer for the Titanic and another sold ice cubes on deck.

Why not now?

Angel stirred in our room and I went down in time to catch her readying for a shower. She was elated, of course, to see me.

“Tuck, will you wear a bell or something? You're always popping in on me when I don't expect it.”

What's with the bell, anyway?

“Angel, I need your help.” I told her about my attic discovery and how I thought it all tied into my visit to Cairo's Shepheard Hotel.

She couldn't wait to help me and dropped her towel to climb in the shower. “It's six in the morning, Tuck. Your 1944 belly dancer and German spies waited this long; another few hours won't hurt.”

How silly of her. “Look, can you look up Hekmet Fahmy, Hussein Gafaar, and Johann Eppler for me? I'll see you later today to hear what you found.”

“Why me?” her voice gurgled under the water.

“You're the history professor, honey.”

“And you're the detective,
honey
.”

She had a point. “But it's sort of difficult for me to use a computer. And if I have to use electricity to build my strength to type all night, your electric bill will be outrageous.”

Silence. “If I don't do the search for you, will you haunt me forever?”

“Too late for that. I'm going to see Poor Nic. I'll send him kisses and hugs.”

“You do that.”

As much as I loved our shower talks, there was work to do.

With a huff and a puff I blew across town to the hospital and peeked over the shoulder of an ER nurse to find Poor Nic's room on the second floor. There, in a chair outside his door, was Bobby. He stuffed a breakfast sandwich into his mouth—in one bite—and gulped a
mucho-extra
-grande coffee at the same time. He probably had room for a side pound of hash browns and a half pig of bacon, too, if only his gargantuan hands could find the time.

I liked Bobby. He was both dependable and predictable.

Inside the room, I expected to find Poor Nic lounging in bed reading the Charles Town race forms and enjoying breakfast caviar or whatever mob bosses eat. I didn't find anything of the sort. He was sitting up in bed, one arm in a sling, the other holding the hand of the woman sobbing in his bedside chair.

Karen Simms.

“Now, Ms. Simms.” He patted her hand. “I am afraid I simply do not understand your dilemma. Perhaps you should start at the beginning, no? Bobby said you were desperate to speak with me last night. I am sorry I was unavailable. Please, tell me now.”

Karen sniffled, eased her hand away from Poor Nic's, and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I'm embarrassed to be here, Nicholas. I was told to come to you if I was ever in trouble. I never thought it would be like this—and I'm sorry to bother you after what happened to you last night. But, that's precisely why I know I'm in danger. If they'll go after you, then I'm not safe.”

“Ms. Simms, slow down. I do not understand. Who are you speaking of?”

“It's the bank.” Karen straightened. “I'm in terrible trouble at the bank.”

I said, “Oh, you are? Do tell, Karen. Do tell. And spare no details, please.”

Poor Nic's eyebrows rose and he peered past her toward the door. Then he returned his gaze to her. “Tell me.”

“With William gone, there's no one to turn to. I'm frightened—scared to death. I saw things, Nicholas. Things going on at the bank and in some of the accounts. Things I wasn't supposed to see and know about. Now William's dead. They're going to find out about me, too. I have to get out of town. I have to hide until this is all over and they catch the killers.”

“Killers?” I said. “Come on, Karen, get to the punch line. What killers?”

Nic asked her that, too.

“No, I can't say. I only suspect. You understand—I don't know for sure. But if you add it all up—the secret account, William's meetings, and the club—well, if you do, then I'm in big trouble.”

She wasn't making any sense.

“You feel yourself in danger because of something you saw?” Poor Nic watched her and put on his best grandfatherly smile, and when she nodded, he added, “And the account? Which one?”

Karen's face paled and she slid back on her chair. She looked down at her hands on her lap. “Well, I think you know, Nicholas.”

Poor Nic's eyes narrowed a little and a strange, thin smile etched the corners of his mouth. “Are you saying the Kit Kat West, my dear?”

She nodded.

Oh, really? The Kit Kat accounts are involved with William's murder? Funny how Marshal never brought that up.

“I assure you, there is nothing untoward with the Kit Kat accounts, my dear. I review those myself. Surely, you know I would not tolerate such possibilities.”

“No, no, I'm saying—Well, I'm saying what happened to William and those accounts are all connected. And I know you're involved in the Kit Kat, Nicholas. Everyone knows. I have to get out of town. If I tell you what I know—it'll help you. If I do, will you help me?”

Poor Nic pressed a button on his bed control and the bed sat him straighter. He slid his aged legs over the side and eased himself into a sitting position facing her. “My dear, if there is something amiss at the club, I assure you I will get to the bottom of it. You have my word. And if it has anything to do with William's murder, I will deal with that most
directly
. Now, tell me.”

“All I'll say is this: I was told to move money around, Nicholas. Lots of money. Every month I was told to take cash out and turn it over. Not enough to get anyone's attention, but plenty. And there's more. But, not until I'm somewhere safe, okay?”

Poor Nic reached a hand out, and when he did, he winced and touched his bandaged arm in the sling. “I assure you, Ms. Simms, you are quite safe with me.”

“That's what William told me, too, Nicholas.” She stood and went to the window. “Never mind, I'll find my own way. I'm sorry I came to you. I didn't know where else to go. I don't trust the police—after all, they're working with Marshal and Thorne. I don't trust them. I just thought …”

“No, no, you came to the right person, my dear.” Poor Nic beckoned back to the chair and called out for Bobby. When Bobby entered, Poor Nic gestured to Karen. “Bobby, make arrangements for Ms. Simms to have, oh, let us start with five thousand. Is that sufficient for now?”

Karen blinked several times. “No, no, I wasn't asking for …”

“It is fine, my dear.” He returned to Bobby. “Provide her with five thousand from the house money and give her one of our guest vehicles. Something small and
low-key
, you understand.”

“Yes sir, boss. Want me to take her somewhere myself?”

Poor Nic glanced at Karen. “My dear? You are welcome to stay with me. It's the safest …”

“No.” Karen stood and backed away from the bed. “I can't. No. You … . Hawkins … Marshal. No. I can't. I …”

Poor Nic held up a hand and calmed her with that schmoozy smile of his. “I understand. Trust is important. Bobby, the cash and the car—for now. And perhaps get her one of our untraceable cell phones, too. She must be free to call and know the police are not listening.”

Bobby nodded and looked at Karen. “I'll be outside.” He left the room.

I said, “Geez, Nic, pretty generous. You know she's probably the key to this case, right? And if she is, hiding a witness is obstruction of justice. Except for you. I think you call it ‘business as usual.' But you got class, Nic. Always helping out the lovely ladies.”

Karen wiped away tears. “Thank you, Nicholas. William wasn't wrong about you.”

“Who wasn't wrong about whom?” A voice said from the doorway. “The only person who's wrong is whoever thinks you're so sweet and innocent, Karen.”

Lee Hawkins walked into the room like Patton returning to the Philippines—no, wait, that was MacArthur, but you get it. Bobby was behind her holding the door open for her entrance.

“I'm sorry, Nicholas, I have to leave.” Karen retreated to Bobby and gave Poor Nic a faint smile. “I meant what I said. William wasn't wrong.”

“Oh, please.” Lee stood at the foot of Poor Nic's bed. She gave the old gangster a warm smile that metamorphosed into ice when she turned to Karen. “What are you doing here, Karen? Blackmail or another con job?”

“I don't have to put up with this, Lee.” Karen snapped her arms folded. “I know all about you and your grandfather. I know …”

“You know what? Some deep dark secret?” Lee took a quick step toward Karen and split the air between them with a stiletto finger. “More lies and innuendo? Come on, Karen, when are you gonna be happy with what you have and go?”

Poor Nic patted the air. “Ladies, please. This is not the time or place.”

A short, stout nurse brushed passed Bobby into the room. She took one look at Lee and Karen and stepped between them. “All right, ladies, everyone out. We need to discharge Mr. Bartalotta. You can take whatever this is elsewhere.”

Karen stepped back near Bobby. “Hawkins, you twist everything, don't you? I know what you two were doing to William—and I know all about that woman, too. I won't let you get away with it.” She looked to Poor Nic as tears welled in her eyes. “I'm so sorry.
Good-bye
.” She spun on her heels and rushed from the room.

The nurse looked at Lee. “All right, Miss, you're next—
out
.”

Poor Nic started to object, but the nurse held up a hand. “Not a word, Mr. Bartalotta. Not a word.”

Poor Nic surrendered and lay back on his bed, arms folded, looking submissive.

Now, there's something you don't see every day.

forty-one

“Somebody deleted all the
evidence, Bear,” Cal said and pointed to his computer screen. He leaned back, sipped his coffee, looking at Bear across the office. “They got into William's email and deleted everything.”

I'd arrived at the Task Force office on the southwest side of town just before nine and found Bear and Cal at work. It was obvious they never went home last night—tired, bloodshot eyes, the same rumpled clothes, and an empty bag of breakfast takeout lying in the trash.

“Where are we then?” Bear propped his feet on his desk and closed his eyes. “Can you undelete the emails?”

“I'll have to check with the techies.” Cal tapped away at his keyboard. “Whoever deleted William's email did it remotely—they used a computer outside the bank. So either they don't work at the bank or they're trying cover their tracks.”

Bear cursed. “The bank has everything backed up, right? How often?”

“Every morning at three a.m. They got to his account before the backup, though. He was killed around two a.m. and someone deleted his files just before the backup ran. We lost the day before his murder. Techs are sending what they found right now.”

Bear stood and went to the coffeepot across the room to refill his mug. “And the crime scene report?”

“Right here.”

I read over Cal's shoulder. “Nothing exciting, Bear. The glass fragments were from some kind of picture frame. And Angel was right, the paper in William's hand was papyrus. Not enough to make any sense of but the lab thinks its old—like
ancient-old
.”

“Skip the glass and papyrus,” Bear said, “what about the .
22-cal
bullets, fingerprints, and everything else?”

Cal smiled. “If you already read the report, man, why are you asking?”

“Just tell me.”

Cal muttered under his breath, then said, “They're gonna try to match the slug from Nic's arm to the .
22-cal
from the Agatha Christie book that took the bullet for Conti. We found fragments of the bullet that killed William, but not enough to ID. We'll have to send the two whole bullets to the lab in Richmond, but I think they'll match. And no prints in the vault or safe at all—wiped clean. The blood was all William's blood type. No surprise there. The ME won't be done with the body until tomorrow, so that's it for now.”

“Shit.” Bear sat back down and leaned back in his chair to contemplate the darkness inside his closed eyes. “And the bank perp? What's his status?”

“Nothing. No trace,” Cal said. “No reported gunshot wounds around a
three-state
area. Nothing. We canvassed Old Town but no one saw anything. As for the pickup leaving the club last night—well, do you know how many old, dark pickups there are in this area?”

I said, “That
would-be
bank robber wasn't working on his own or thinking for himself, Bear. He knew about William's vault and then went after Poor Nic. That takes inside information and balls.”

“I was thinking that same thing,” Bear said.

Cal cocked his head. “What same thing?”

“Inside job.” Bear shrugged and repeated me almost word for word. “He screwed up robbing the bank, and shooting Bartalotta was another big mistake. Two big mistakes in one day. That's not a pro.”

“Sure, right. I get that.” Cal sipped his coffee. “Thinking out loud—again.”

I said, “This is about whatever was in that safe.”

“And it's about what was in that safe,” Bear repeated, closing his eyes again.

I added, “And it's about Keys, and Holister, and Cy Gray …”

Bear repeated me.

Cal watched him and shook his head.

“Oh, and it's about Cairo and Hekmet Fahmy, the belly dancer.”

“And Cairo and the belly dancer …” Bear sat up. “Who the hell is Hekmet Fahmy?”

Cal loosed a loud belly laugh and spit coffee over his desk. “Belly dancer? Oh, man, you need some sleep, man. I'm going down to the tech boys. A belly dancer? Damn, man, get a grip.”

As Cal walked off laughing, Bear turned to me. “Dammit, Tuck. I look like an idiot. What the hell are you talking about?”

I told him about Ollie and the files I found in my attic. He didn't have a big problem with any of it considering I was explaining about my
long-dead
grandfather showing me his photo album. But he almost spilled his coffee when I replayed my trip to
1940-something
Cairo and the Youssif murder. He did spill it down his shirt over my theory that William's murder was linked to Cairo and the death of Claude Holister and Cy Gray—William and Keys's World War II buddies.

I finished with, “Oh, and Karen Simms paid Poor Nic a visit this morning at the hospital. He's helping her hide. And you missed this great catfight between her and Lee Hawkins—”

“Lee was there?”

“Sure, she came to see Nic. They're pals.”

“Pals, huh? What did Lee have to say to Nic?”

I gave him the details. “Karen knows something, or thinks she knows something. She promised to tell Nic as soon as she found someplace to hide. He gave her a car and—”

“I'll send Cal to talk to Lee.”

“Why don't we go?”

“I'm busy.”

“So's Cal. Let's—”

“No. You stay clear of Lee, Tuck. Cal knows her pretty well from the Kit Kat. He'll have better luck.”

What was wrong with him? “Are you afraid of Lee? What's up with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Give. What's going on?”

He retrieved another cup of coffee. He took his time stirring it—odd, since it was black—and stalled long enough for Cal to return to the office.

“Tell me you have something, Cal—please.”

“Okay.” Cal laid a thick file on Bear's desk and spread several of the pages out. “I think Lee Hawkins has some explaining to do, Bear.
And I gotta tell you, I'm blown away. I always thought she was a sweet, hot lady—a tough one, but still sweet, ya know? But according to the little I read, she and Willy were really having a battle.”

Bear picked up several emails and read them. I stood beside him and read over his shoulder. The first few were an exchange between William and Lee four months ago. Lee was upset that he wouldn't invest in her grandfather's business. In another, things got heated and she used words like
traitor, coward,
and
backstabber
. A few emails later, as early as last month, Lee threatened to go to the board of directors and tell them about his “secrets and betrayals.” Nowhere did she say what those were, but she made it perfectly clear she'd ruin him with them.

When I looked up, Bear's face was sullen. His eyes were sad and I could tell by the way he put the papers down that the contents upset him. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the big lug was truly smitten with Lee Hawkins and now her being a suspect killed him.

So goes life as a detective.

“This might track with what Karen Simms said,” I said. “But, then again, people say vicious things in emails and they don't mean most of them. I used to get email offers from big shots in Nigeria who wanted to give me ten million dollars.”

“Dammit,” Bear said, closing his eyes.

Cal handed Bear another email. “You better read this one, Bear.”

Bear hesitated, then took the paper.

This one was pretty clear. It was an email from Lee to William just a week ago. It warned him that if William didn't control “that bitch Simms,” Lee would take matters into her own hands. In plain words, it read, “I'll deal with that bitch myself if you don't put her back on her leash.”

“I think it's time we look a little deeper into Lee Hawkins and Karen Simms,” Bear said in a low voice. “Let's start with Lee. Go see her, Cal, and get to the bottom of this. Ask her about her visit with Poor Nic this morning and these emails.”

“Her what with Nic?” Cal's face twisted. “You get something while I was gone?”

Bear nodded. “She was at the hospital this morning. Karen Simms was there, too. They got into it.”

“Oh?” Cal looked around the room. “And I suppose an informant told you this?”

“I got a call.”

Cal laughed. “Yeah, okay, man—you got a call.”

There was a knock on Bear's office door. A uniformed deputy stood in the doorway behind Angel.

She walked in. “Good morning. I just spoke with Nicholas. He's doing fine and on his way home from the hospital. He said for you to call him later today to compare notes. He has something, but he wouldn't tell me what.”

“Oh, he wants
me
to call
him
?” Bear growled. “To
compare notes
?”

“You know what he means, Bear.” She looked over at me leaning against the wall behind Cal and gave me a “humph.” That meant I was still in trouble after last night. She said to Bear, “I got a voicemail from Karen Simms, too. She asked me to come by her apartment later. She was very upset and said that she had some important things to tell me about the Kit Kat Club.”

I said, “Did Nic mention seeing her and Lee this morning?”

Bear asked her that, too—for Cal's sake.

“No, nothing about them. Maybe Karen will tell me about it. I think she feels safe talking to me—woman to woman. I'm going over there later this morning. I just thought you should know.”

I said to her, “What about your pal Thorne? Maybe you can interrogate him over a movie or a show next.”

“Now, that's the best idea I've heard in a long time,” she quipped, then smiled when Cal looked at her and snorted a laugh. “The idea that I get going to see Karen, that is.”

Cal grinned and picked up his coffee. “Oh, yeah, Angela, go see Simms.” He laughed all the way out of the office. “You guys crack me up.”