Samson's Deal: A Laid-Back Bay Area Mystery (The Jake Samson & Rosie Vicente Detective Series) (21 page)

“Now look, Rebecca…”

“Oh, come on, Jake, be a sport. Admit it. How about a toast? To the conviction of Eddie Cutter. For murder.”

“I’m not sure he did it.”

“Oh, stop it,” she cut in. “Of course he did.”

This was beginning to sound like a replay of my last conversation with Harley, I was sick of them both.

“Did you invite me out to bitch at me or to have a little company on a lonely evening?” I asked.

“That’s the whole point, Jake.” The sharpness was gone. “Lonely evenings. This has got to be settled. Then Harley and I can slowly start seeing each other again and eventually not even worry if we’re seen together, and then—”

“And then,” I interrupted, “you will get married and live happily ever after.”

“Why not?” She asked the question like I’d told her she could never have another glass of wine.

“No reason. I hope you do.”

“Thank you,” she replied suspiciously. “But I don’t think you understand how it’s been. Months of secrecy, and now it’s even worse. Now I can’t see him at all.”

“And just because of a little thing like a woman’s death.” I spoke gently to take some of the sting away.

She drew her breath in sharply. It sounded like a hiss.

Even though I’d had only a salad for lunch, I didn’t feel hungry. I felt a little sick. Sizzling rice soup and a couple of egg rolls were all I thought I could handle. Rebecca’s appetite had improved since the last time I’d seen her. She ordered ginger beef.

“You know, Rebecca, your relationship with Harley wasn’t as much of a secret as you seem to think.”

She frowned at me, as if she were considering an argument.

“Cutter knew about it. So did Harley’s wife.”

She paled, then tossed her head. “Nonsense. It’s not possible.”

“I’m afraid it’s true. Tell me something. How could Cutter have known who you are?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“He told me he knew Harley was having an affair with you. He saw the two of you together once. I asked him how he knew who you were, and he told me he’d heard things. Could he have heard things?” She stared at me blankly. “How could he have heard things if you two were so good at keeping your secret?”

She collected herself enough to speak. “Maybe they had Harley’s phone tapped.”

“They who?”

“
CORPS
, naturally. Trying to get something on him so they could destroy his reputation.”

“But if they meant to do that, why haven’t they used it against him politically?”

“Maybe they decided to wait. I don’t know. How could I know?” She was no longer pale. She had a spot of color on each cheekbone, like a tuberculosis victim. “Anyway, I don’t know Cutter and he doesn’t know me. How should I know where he heard my name? Why are you asking me these idiotic questions?”

I ate an egg roll, dipping it into hot mustard.

“I don’t know,” I told her. “Just a habit. Looking in a lot of different directions. Little bits of information. Some of them matter. Some of them don’t.”

She settled back, relaxing. “Priorities, Jake. You really should learn to get them straight.” I choked back a retort. I was feeling kind and generous.

“I am looking for more evidence against Cutter, Rebecca. If my questions seem strange, it’s because I know more about this case than you do, and there are some pretty convoluted interrelationships involved. Incidentally, had you heard that they found Cutter’s prints at the scene of the killing?”

Rebecca smiled, actually smiled. She hadn’t known. “That’s wonderful! Now I know this mess is almost over.”

I smiled and patted her hand. Rebecca was in worse shape than I’d thought she was. She’d been so busy spinning happy fantasies of Cutter’s immediate indictment that she hadn’t taken his knowledge about her all the way to the logical next step. He was in custody. He had no reason to conceal her identity. The police would be visiting her.

When I pulled up in front of my house about nine-thirty that evening and parked behind Rosie’s pickup on the street, I felt a sudden flash of fear.

Oh, God
, I thought.
Her pickup
. That battered truck with the tool chest bolted to the side. Her dress, her stockings, her barrette, and a pickup truck that not only didn’t fit the image but could be traced to her.

She was home, dressed in a more familiar fashion, and she greeted me with a big smile. I walked in calmly and sat down.

“Rosie, your truck. You shouldn’t be driving your truck. It’s probably okay right now, but not again.”

She glared at me, hands on hips and one eyebrow quirked sardonically.

“You know, Samson, you’re a jerk.”

“Huh?”

“I borrowed a car. I will continue borrowing a car while I am a member of
CORPS
. A very ordinary all-American Japanese car.”

The heat of embarrassment crept up my neck and into my face.

“You should blush, Jake,” Rosie said self-righteously. I nodded. “I’m going to assume,” she continued, “that you would have said the same thing to anyone you thought was inexperienced and maybe a little dumb. Not just a woman. Not just me.” I nodded again. Then she dropped the attack and got to the important business. “I found out about a meeting tomorrow night. I’m going. Here’s the address.” She handed me a scrap of paper. A North Berkeley address.

“Can I keep this?”

“Yes,” she said, “I wrote it down for you.”

“Any problem finding out about the meeting?”

“None at all. There were notices up all over the place. Looks like they’re anxious to recruit members.”

I told her about my dinner with Rebecca.

“Poor woman,” she said. “I wonder if he really does plan to start seeing her again when this is over. I think she wonders, too.”

We talked about Cutter’s confession and his fruit-bowl fingerprints. “Maybe,” Rosie said, “he’ll confess to the murder next. Maybe that blow knocked his conscience loose.”

I snorted. “He didn’t need to have anything else knocked loose. His brains have been rattling around for a while.”

By the time we’d finished catching each other up, we were on friendly terms again. It was still early when I got in my own door, so I put in a call to Debbi.

She sounded strange: I couldn’t tell whether she was glad to hear from me or not, but I decided she probably was not. Her throat sounded tight and her words came out a little fast.

“Yes, Jake. How are you? What can I do for you?”

“It’s like this, Debbi, I’ve been talking to some more people and now I’ve got a few items I need some help with. Maybe you could answer a few more questions?”

She sighed with exasperation or exhaustion.

“I don’t know what more I can tell you, Jake.”

“Maybe there’s something you forgot. If I could come and see you?”

“Tonight? I don’t think so. No. Is there some reason why you always want to see me at night?”

Like my father always said, there’s no justice. I didn’t think it would do much good to argue with her, deny my lust, accuse her of seducing me. I had to stay on her good side. Not under her, not on top of her, but on her good side.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” I protested. “Not tonight. But soon. It’s important. You know Cutter’s in jail?”

She sighed again. “Yes. I saw the paper. Why should I care?”

“Can I see you?” I repeated.

“Oh, all right. Tomorrow morning. Before eight. Before I go to work. But I don’t know anything I haven’t told you already.”

“That’s great,” I said. “I won’t take up much of your time, I promise.”

She hung up without saying good-bye. You let them use you, and they lose respect for you.

When I awoke early Monday morning, I felt more like my old self. Cuts, bruises, and cracks healing nicely, no unusual fatigue. I even sang in the shower.

Debbi was wearing workclothes. A neat little suit that made her look efficient. Her wounds, too, were healing well. She offered me coffee but avoided my eyes.

“Before you start asking questions,” she said, “I should tell you that the police came to see me. I told them you’d been around asking questions. And I told them what I’m telling you. I don’t know anything.”

“Did you tell them that Cutter was at Bursky’s house the day she died?”

“No. And I never told you that either.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll get him without my help. I don’t have to be a witness. If I don’t know anything, they can’t drag me into it. Right?”

“Sure.” Unless the police found out she’d wanted Cutter and Bursky had gotten him.

“Ask your questions.”

“Okay. Who is Jared?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did the people in
CORPS
know Bursky had left the group some money?”

“I didn’t. Was it a lot?”

“No, not really.” Thirty-three thousand dollars was a nice sum but no fortune.

“Who’s really behind
CORPS
?”

“I don’t know. Nobody.”

She was lying transparently, with just the slightest touch of defiance in her near-monotone. She’d have to learn to do better than that if she wanted to succeed in business.

“Debbi, there’s something I’ve never asked you. And if you get brought into this at all, the police may want to know. Where were you that morning?” She just looked at me, tight-lipped. “You told me you were supposed to meet Eddie for an early lunch, but he canceled because he was going to see Margaret. Were you at work? What time did he call?”

“Eddie won’t tell them about that. About me.” Her torso looked rigid, like her face.

“Then just to set my mind at ease…?”
After all, I’m a nice man, remember?

She shrugged stiff shoulders. “We were supposed to meet at eleven-thirty. He didn’t know how long he’d be with her, so he broke our date. I guess it was around ten when he called. I worked for a while, then I went out to lunch. Alone. I can’t prove where I went.”

“What time did you get back to work?”

She thought a minute, struggling between indignation and fear. “A little after noon, I think.” I decided to get back to Cutter.

“How did Cutter get Bursky’s drawings?”

“I don’t know. Is that why he went there?”

“Possibly. In any case, he did have them. And Frank sure didn’t want anyone else seeing them. Neither did Jared.” I told her about my run-in with Frank, the return of the drawings, and the meeting with Jared. She didn’t respond.

“Jared’s picture was in there. So was Frank’s. Among others.”

“Mine? Was my picture in there?” Her lip trembled. I was glad I could tell her it wasn’t. She was very relieved, and relief made her more friendly.

“What else do you want to know, Jake?”

“There’s something I can’t quite figure out, Debbi. It’s not particularly important, but it might connect with some other things.” I leaned forward, confidentially. “Cutter knew about John Harley’s affair with someone. He knew her by sight and he knew her name. Did people in the group know Harley was being unfaithful to his wife?”

“We didn’t even know he had a wife. And we certainly didn’t know it was Margaret. Not until she died.” She was confirming what she’d already told me once before. It was probably true. “I don’t remember anyone ever mentioning a wife. Or a mistress. It never came up. He was just a goat anyway.”

“What’s that?”

“A goat. The group was looking for someone to take on, just any left-wing professor. Someone to make an example of.”

“How was Harley chosen?”

She laughed. “Margaret suggested him.” She tilted her head at me. “So he was having an affair? I guess she knew about it. I suppose that’s why she sicced the group on him.” She laughed again. It was not a pleasant laugh.

“I guess so,” I said. “Sure you never heard of a man named Jared?”

“I said I didn’t know who he was. His real name. He was around. Around
CORPS
.”

“Why? I thought it was a student group.”

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore. I’m tired of this. I have to go to work. Go talk to someone else.” I got up, thanked her for her help, and left. That might be about all that could be squeezed out of her. Ever. She was going to close the whole thing off, pretend it wasn’t happening, pretend she didn’t know anyone or anything. Maybe it would work.

Bit by bit, the picture was forming. Nasty goings-on. Rivalry. Hate.

Maybe Cutter went to get the drawings, fought with Bursky and killed her. Or Jared killed her because
CORPS
needed a little money. Or because she had sketched his face. If I were Jared, I certainly wouldn’t want anyone to draw my face.

Or a stranger meandered in off the road, shoved her over the railing, and meandered off again, cackling insanely. And apples grow on walnut trees.

The story would all fit together, I knew, if I wasn’t missing something. A piece. Two or three pieces. But I was beginning to run out of places to look. Did that mean the pieces were hidden where I’d already looked or that I didn’t know where I should be looking next?

Infiltration of
CORPS
seemed an unlikely way to find the answers. The answers to the murder anyway. Rosie would probably be stuck listening to a lot of raving fanatics for a while, and that would be that.

The answers, I reasoned, would come through individuals, not through groups. But then, maybe that was just my noncollective mentality rebelling against the idea that a group could achieve anything. Even an efficient murder.

I thought I’d head over in the direction of the campus, have some breakfast, harass Billy once more, and check in with Harley. The police hadn’t shown a lot of interest in Billy, and I didn’t plan to waste much more time on him either, but it wouldn’t do any harm to mention Cutter and
CORPS
and other odds and ends and watch his reactions. He might eliminate himself once and for all, or he might come at me with a paper knife, screaming a confession.

Billy was at his usual stand, behind the counter at the Earth-light Meditation Center. He greeted me in a neutral fashion and inquired softly about what I had come for.

“Nothing much, Billy. Just to say hello. Ask what you think about some of what’s happening. Shoot the shit. So, how ya doing?”