Authors: Stuart M. Kaminsky

Vengeance (18 page)

BOOK: Vengeance

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“Stay away from Adele,” I said again.

Pirannes got up, rubbed his forehead gently with the fingertips of his right hand and said,

“You like to swim?”

“No.”

“I do. There’s a drawer of swimming suits below. Pick one out that fits you and then come up. I’ll take the
Fair Maiden
out a few hundred yards. We’ll have something to eat and you’ll have a nice swim. You do swim, don’t you?”

“A little.”

“Good, because it would be very unfortunate if we were a few hundred yards out there,” he said, pointing beyond the rising waves, “and you couldn’t make it back to the boat or the shore. Manny, help Mr. Fonesca find a swimming suit. You’ll like it, Lewis. Water temperature is eighty-one degrees.”

Manny was on the deck now, reaching for the rope that had us moored to a pile on the dock. There was probably an anchor too. I’m not fast. I’m not slow, but I didn’t think I could get past Manny. Diving into the water wouldn’t do me much good either. I had lied to Pirannes. I really couldn’t swim at all.

I reached for the bottle of champagne. My plan was to whack Pirannes and take my chances, which were not very good, with Manny. I looked at Pirannes, who had figured out my plan and nodded his head to show me I was making a mistake.

I had already made my mistake. Pirannes’s plan was simple. He didn’t even have to be involved. He could put my clothes on the shore with a towel and let the police assume I had swum out too far and drowned. Ames wouldn’t believe it. Dave wouldn’t believe it. Flo
wouldn’t believe it and I didn’t think Sally would believe it, but that didn’t do me much good. I had not underestimated John Pirannes. I had not estimated him at all. I was looking at a man who killed people who annoyed him.

“This doesn’t give me pleasure,” said Pirannes as Manny unwrapped the loose rope around a piece of metal shaped like a Y that was screwed into the deck.

I must admit it didn’t look as if Pirannes was particularly happy. He checked his watch as Manny moved to the rear of the boat toward the anchor. If I were going to run, this was the time. Pirannes stepped in front of me. Maybe I could take him. Maybe I couldn’t. He could certainly keep me busy till Manny made it across the few yards across the deck.

I think I was the first one to see the man coming. He was walking down the dock toward us, hands at his side. There was a little waddle and a little swagger to his step.

Pirannes spotted him and said, “Manny.”

Manny looked up from where he was turning a winch to pull up the anchor. He saw my guardian angel.

“Don’t do something very stupid,” whispered Pirannes. “He’s probably going to one of the other boats. If he’s here to talk to me, you stay seated and stay quiet. The best you can do is get you and our visitor killed.”

He kept coming, straight, eyes ahead, steady pace.

Manny moved across the deck to face the dock. When it was clear to all of us that the stocky bald man was not going to another boat, Pirannes shouted, “Can I help you?”

The angel said nothing, just kept coming. Manny jumped on the deck over the two-foot gap created when he had pulled in the rope. He stood facing the approaching man. Manny was four or five inches taller
than my angel. Manny had muscle. Angel looked as if he had eaten far too much lasagna. It was no contest. When the smaller man kept coming, Manny’s arms came up, one palm open, the other in a fist.

The smaller man didn’t even pause. He came faster, leaned over and plowed his head into Manny’s stomach. Manny groaned but didn’t go down. Angel stepped to the side and shoved Manny off the dock and into the water. Then he jumped for the deck of the boat, almost missed and moved toward Pirannes, who didn’t back down.

“What do you want?” Pirannes asked.

The man didn’t answer. He grasped Pirannes in a bear hug, lifted him off the deck, walked to the bay side of the boat and threw the society pimp into the water.

Then he turned to me and said,

“Let’s go.”

Manny was wading heavily toward the shore. Pirannes was swearing at us. I followed the man up the dock and back to the parking lot.

When we stopped at my Geo, he was breathing heavily. His Buick was parked right next to me.

“How did you find me?”

“I know the places you go,” he said, almost bored. “You don’t come back to your office. I check around, saw your car parked near that bar. I followed.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Do your job,” he said.

“Which job?”

“Find her,” he said.

“I found her.”

“No,” he said. “Not the kid. Mrs. Sebastian. Find her. Do your job.”

“Who are you?” I asked as he turned his back and opened his car door.

“Just do your job,” he repeated.

He got in the car, leaned over, opened his window and said,

“Get in your car and get the hell out of here.”

I got in my car and got the hell out of there.

I drove off the key and wondered how much I could count on the little man with the big body. He had probably saved my life for the second time. Was he working for Sebastian? Himself? Someone else? And why was he following me?

I decided to put off looking for Dwight for a while. I wasn’t sure I could keep counting on my angel. I’d need backup when I found Dwight and I’d also need a plan—which, I had to admit, was more than I really had when I went looking for John Pirannes.

Had Dwight killed Tony Spiltz? He came to Pirannes’s apartment to be with Adele. Maybe Tony said no. They fought. Dwight had a gun or took Spiltz’s. It was over. He told Adele the story she fed me and Ames. She would do anything for Daddy.

I went back toward my office, waving at Dave, who was framed in the DQ window. He waved back and shouted, “Your friend is pulling into the lot across the street.”

“I know,” I shouted back and headed up the stairs and into my office-home. There was no one waiting, dead or alive. No one had taken the place apart.

I picked up the phone and dialed Harvey the computer whiz.

“What’ve you got, Harv?”

“Our lady is getting careless,” he said. “She’s using her credit cards.”

“Where?”

“Mostly in Bradenton, once in a gift shop on Anna Maria. Lady has a ton of cash. Is she trying to get caught?”

“I think so,” I said. “Keep looking till she lets you find her.”

“I prefer tracking to being led,” Harvey said, his zeal definitely gone.

“Stay with it, Harvey.”

That done, I decided to hurry the search. I still had a killer to find and a kid to protect from the thing she called her father. I picked up the phone again and called the office of Geoffrey Green. His secretary said he was in but that he was with a patient. I said I would call back.

I went down to the Geo and drove to Palm Avenue. The blue Buick was right behind me, not trying to hide anymore. I found a parking space near a gallery. I didn’t see where Angel parked.

The receptionist looked up at me with a smite and a hint of recognition.

“Yes, sir?” she said.

There were no patients waiting.

“I’ve got to see Dr. Green,” I said.

“If this is an emergency, I can take your name and number and—”

“Now,” I said.

“He has a patient in his office for ten more minutes,” she said. “If you’ll tell me what this is about, I’ll let him know before his next patient arrives and maybe—”

“No maybe,” I said calmly. “I’ll sit here ten minutes and then he’ll see me. Tell him it’s Lewis Fonesca. Tell him I’m here about Melanie Sebastian. Tell him there’s a full moon tonight and I’m feeling its power. Tell him I love him. Tell him whatever you have to tell him, but don’t forget to tell him that I’m coming in to talk to him in …” I looked at my watch and said, “Nine minutes.”

“I’ll tell him,” she said. “Please have a seat.”

I sat. What I really wanted to do was go back to my little room with a stack of videotapes. I wanted to watch
Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Cary Grant, Kirk Douglas, John Wayne and Errol Flynn while I ate a pizza. I wanted the search for Melanie Sebastian to be over. I wanted Dwight Handford to disappear. I wanted Adele to be a kid again and live somewhere safe. I wanted to have soft-shelled crabs with Sally Porovsky and talk about her childhood.

I sat. I waited.

“SOMEONE IS PLAYING GAMES
with me,” I said as Dr. Geoffrey Green closed the door to his office behind me.

He went behind his desk and stood while I moved in front of his desk and did the same. It was late in the afternoon. I was sure I needed a shave. I wondered why he didn’t. I guessed that he shaved between patients. Always well groomed and imperially slim.

“I have ten minutes, Mr. Fonesca,” he said. “If you want to make an appointment—”

“No, I’m in a hurry. I’ll take the carry-out analysis,” I said.

His suit was soberly dark. His tartan tie perfectly Windsored. His manner calm.

“I’m not sitting and I’m not asking you to sit because this will have to be very brief,” he said. “Someone is playing games with you? If I were going to give you the standard carry-out answer, the two egg roll, wonton soup and chow mein answer, I’d say you were possibly
paranoid. But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Who is playing games with you? What games? And why are you telling me?”

“All right,” I said, spreading my palms on his desk, invading the wall between him and his patients, “Carl Sebastian hires me to find his wife. He says she ran out with all his money. No reason. No excuse. He pushes me to you. You don’t tell me much of anything. You’re her therapist—notice I didn’t say ‘shrink.’ You hint. You send me off to the next square. I roll a six. Melanie Sebastian leads me around by the computer. She’s smart. Maybe you’re helping her to be smart. She tells me she’ll let herself be found in a few days. Why the wait? Meanwhile, a very tough, overweight muscle mass follows me around, saves my life and tells me to get back to the job of finding Melanie Sebastian. Game. I’m being pushed around the board. I’m the pawn, the silver wheelbarrow, but who are the players here, Green? You and Melanie Sebastian? Concerned Carl?”

“Are you frequently like this?” Green asked calmly.

“I’m never like this,” I said. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I’ve got another job, which is more important than finding Melanie Sebastian. A woman I liked was battered to death with a tire iron in my office. I’ve got a long story, but you said I only had ten minutes. So …”

“Sit,” he said, considering something important, possibly my sanity.

I sat.

He adjusted his tie, scratched his left eyebrow and said, “I know where she is. If you tell Carl Sebastian, I’ll deny it. I’m sorry he brought you into this. This is really between Melanie and Carl. She is my patient and my friend. I can’t say more.”

“But you know more?”

He nodded.

“Who is this guy who keeps saving my life and insisting that I find Mrs. Sebastian?”

“I don’t know,” said Green.

“I was tired. I was frightened. A man named John Pirannes–ever hear of him?—had just tried to kill me. I should have asked the ball of muscle why he didn’t go find Melanie Sebastian.”

“Yes,” said Green. “We’ve got five more minutes.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve heard of John Pirannes. I don’t know him. And yes, you should have asked this man why he didn’t try to find Melanie. My guess is that he doesn’t know how to find people, intelligent people who don’t want to be found.”

“He had no trouble finding me,” I said. “Don’t comment. I’ll take the flattery. I know how to find smart people, especially smart people like Melanie Sebastian who want to be found, but on their schedule. Am I making sense?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Are you and Melanie Sebastian lovers?”

“I’m gay, Mr. Fonesca. I told you.”

“Why do they call it gay? Most of the homosexuals I’ve known are smiling on the outside and depressed on the inside,” I said.

“Like you?”

“There is a distinct similarity,” I said, sinking back into the chair. I considered asking him to prescribe a tranquilizer for me. I’d been on antidepressants for almost a year after my wife died. I wasn’t depressed now. I was manic. I must have looked confused. He reached over for the pad on his desk, picked up a pen, wrote something, tore off the sheet and handed it to me. It wasn’t a prescription for tranquilizers. It was two suggestions. I looked at them.

“More games,” I said.

“I’m afraid so,” he agreed. “We’re out of time.”

He got up and so did I.

“Two people have died in the last two days, both murdered,” I said. “I shouldn’t be playing games for rich people, for you, Carl Sebastian, his wife. I’ve got a girl in real trouble, not just a spoiled rich runaway wife.”

“And you think it’s your responsibility to find a murderer?” he asked. “Mr. Fonesca, it’s the responsibility of the police to find murders. Time’s up.”

“So,” I said, following him to the side door. “I’m not paranoid.”

“In general? I don’t know. In this instance, no, I don’t think so.”

He opened the door. I folded the note he had given me and placed it in my shirt pocket.

“You’re going to call her now–Melanie–aren’t you?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

I stepped out and he closed the door behind me.

The blue Buick was parked half a block ahead of me on Palm. I considered walking over to it, asking the guy who had saved my life to have a cup of coffee and help me out with some answers. From my minimal contact with him, I didn’t think he’d be a great conversationalist and I doubted if he would give me any answers.

I drove down Palm slowly and headed for the law office of Tycinker, Oliver and Schwartz. Harvey was in his computer room. He didn’t look happy to see me. I handed him the note Geoffrey Green had given me and told him to look at item one.

“I can get an answer to that one in an hour, maybe less,” he said, looking a bit happier. “But I’m working on something for Matt Schwartz now. I can have an
answer in two, three hours. You want overall? You want details?”

“Overall for now,” I said. “Details when you have the time.”

“I can’t print out,” he said. “I don’t want hard evidence.”

“I trust your memory,” I said.

Harvey grunted slightly and reached for a mug of tea with the little string and tab hanging over the edge.

“It ain’t what it used to be,” he said.

I wasn’t sure what “it” was.

“Someone’s playing games with me, Harvey—with us.”

“I like games,” he said, pushing a button on the gray keyboard in front of him. “What I don’t like is your Melanie Sebastian waving a virtual-reality carrot in front of me.”

The computer clicked musically and came to life.

“I’ll buy you dinner, you name the place, when this is over,” I said.

“My tastes are modest, Lewis,” he said. “That was not always the case.”

“Good. I’ll call you later. You’ll be here?”

“I’m always here,” he said.

“Mind if I use your phone?”

The second of the two scrawled items on Geoffrey Green’s pad was just two words: Caroline Wilkerson.

I had her number and all the other ones, plus fragments of notes I had made that I had trouble reading, in the little notebook I kept in my back pocket. Her voice came on: answering machine. I left a message, told her I still wanted to talk to her again and would call her back.

Then I called Sally at her office. It was getting late but I knew the kind of hours she kept. I had to wait about three minutes because she was on another line.

Harvey ignored me. He sipped tea, watched the
screen, hit buttons and talked to his computer.

When Sally came on, I asked,

“How’s Adele?”

“I checked with my supervisor. We filed charges so we could hold her at Juvenile.” Sally sounded tired. “I think she’d run away otherwise. I explained it to Adele. She wasn’t happy in some ways. In others, she was. Juvenile is safe, but it’s only for a few days. We’ll drop charges. We’ll keep her in detention, try to find a foster home, hope she doesn’t run again. Hope a judge doesn’t send her back to her father. She told me what happened.”

“She told you.”

“Spiltz,” she said. “I’m writing a report now. I have no choice, Lewis. I could lose my job, maybe even be up on charges, obstructing justice.”

“You told your supervisor?”

“I told my supervisor.”

“Can I buy you dinner?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be done,” she said.

“I’m not in a hurry.”

“I told the kids I’d have dinner with them,” she said. “I’m picking up fried chicken. You want to come over?”

“You think Michael and Susan would go for that?”

“They think you’re interesting,” she said with the first touch of amusement.

“Give me a time,” I said. “I’ll show up with the chicken.”

“Eight,” she said. “That should be safe. You don’t happen to know someone who wants to become a foster parent? Someone who might want and be able to control Adele. We’re talking about a saint here. You know any saints?”

“Not exactly,” I said.

Harvey chortled. I have heard few real chortles in my life, but this was definitely one of them. He chortled
at a list of telephone numbers on the screen in front of him.

“On the other hand,” I said, “I may know someone who might be willing to take on the challenge.”

“Give me a name,” Sally said. “I’ll turn it over to the department that handles placement.”

“I’d better talk to her first,” I said. “See you at eight.”

I hung up. I was procrastinating. I was avoiding. Now that I was starting to feel alive, I was also starting to look forward to things, like a bucket of fried chicken with Sally and her kids. I had realized while John Pirannes was telling me to put on a pair of swimming trunks that I was not as suicidal as I had been only a few days ago.

Ann Horowitz would definitely be pleased. I was feeling fear, pain, possibility and anxiety. There was much to be said for the alternative, depression.

I didn’t want to go talk to Dwight Handford now, at least not for the same reasons I had wanted to before. But I did have to talk to him.

“Couple of more calls,” I said, figuring out a way to avoid Dwight.

“Many as you like,” Harvey said as telephone numbers scrolled rapidly down the screen. “Bingo. Bingo. Bing. There it is.”

“What?” I asked, pushing buttons on the telephone pad.

“Not your job,” Harvey said. “I don’t think you’d be interested, but I can tell you when I crack something like this, when it hits the screen, it’s better than any drink or the best coke I ever had.”

“Great,” I said.

Harvey had traded one set of addictions for a healthier one.

“What can I do for you?” Flo asked.

Unlike Harvey, she had not found a substitute for the loss of her husband. She bathed in the smoothness
of expensive whiskey. I could hear it in her voice.

“It’s me, Lew,” I said.

“You find the kid?”

“She’s okay,” I said.

“I screwed up, Lewis,” she said. “I let Beryl go, let her get killed. I’d like to find her bastard husband and blow a hole through his head, but that won’t bring her back.”

“I’m sorry, Flo,” I said. “I shouldn’t have brought you into this.”

“I live with more, maybe even with worse.”

“Can I come over tonight, late, maybe eleven?”

“Come ahead. Something on your mind?”

“Something’s on my mind,” I said. “I’m going to offend you now.”

“Offend.”

“Have something to eat, take a shower and—”

“Be sober,” she continued. “Okay, but that’s an agreement, not a promise. I’ve learned not to make promises.”

“See you at eleven if I’m not in jail,” I said.

“Expecting to be?”

“I’ll let you know if I am.”

I hung up. Harvey was singing softly now to the numbers on his screen. I didn’t know what he was singing.

I made one more call. It was almost six. Detective Etienne Vivaise was still on duty. He was busy. I asked the woman who answered the call to tell him Lewis Fonesca was on the phone and wanted to talk to him about Tony Spiltz.

“One moment,” she said.

Vivaise was on the phone within seconds.

“Fonesca,” he said. “You want to come in and confess to a pair of murders? You doing a murder a day? Forget it. My mind’s on something else. You know
something about the Spiltz murder? It’s got something to do with … hold it. Beryl Tree?”

“I think they were both killed by the same person,” I said.

“Do I come to you or you come to me?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I said. “I’m not far.”

BOOK: Vengeance

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