Henry looked at it. It was clear that there were two men standing in the window looking out. They were a little blurry, but it was obvious they were wearing suits and weren’t security. “You know who the guys are?”
“Not a clue. Even if I enlarged it, the exposure was too long to get a clear picture of them. Check the next picture in there, though.” Henry looked at the next one. It was a shot of the police around the spot with the body. In the background were two men wearing suits.
“When did you take this one?”
“It was about fifteen minutes after the building shots. I was talking with the officer in charge; I don’t remember his name. He came over from Brooklyn a month ago. Mike would know who it is. Anyway, we were talking, and I told him I would get the crime scene shots to him later in the day after I got some sleep. Since the body was now covered up, I thought some pictures for the paper would be a good idea. I took a few more then went back across the street to get a wider angle. I don’t know if those are the same guys, but they had time to make it downstairs.”
Henry flipped to the next photo, which was an enlargement of the two men’s faces. He didn’t know who they were, but it was obvious they were interested in the crime scene. “Did you give a copy of these to Mike?”
“No, but I could.”
“I didn’t see these shots in the paper.”
“The paper had a file photo of the deceased and decided to go with it. Was this of any help?”
Henry nodded, still thinking to himself, and answered, “Yes, it was. I owe you…again.”
Lowering his voice, Don asked, “You think you could fix me up with Celine?”
“I don’t owe you that much.”
Francis roared. “Okay, time to go Romeo. I'm starving.”
Don said, “When aren’t you starving?”
Celine came in after they left. Henry showed her the pictures. “What do you think? Are they the same guys?”
She looked at the photos for a while. “They're both wearing suits. The first picture is unclear, but…”
Henry said, “But what?”
“Look at the other people milling about?”
Henry looked at them, not sure what he was looking for exactly.
“Everyone else has a coat on. See how the woman is standing. They all look cold except for the two guys. I don’t know if they are the same guys, but they didn’t just wander past. They must have come out of the building.”
She was right. Henry was impressed. As he took the photos back from Celine, he said, “That’s an astute observation. You have a good eye.”
“Who do you think they are?”
“I haven’t a clue, but I intend to find out.”
Henry opened up the safe and put the photos inside.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Celine said, “Luna is on for you.”
Henry picked up the phone. “Good afternoon. How was the bakery, this morning?” Henry asked.
“Oh, it was fine. We had a cupcake order, so I was knee deep in pink frosting most of the morning.”
“Not literally?”
Giggling she said, “No, but you couldn’t have known it by looking at me.”
“You're so sweet…pun intended.”
“Thanks, Henry, and it's talk like that, which keeps you fully stocked with freshly baked cookies.”
“I had noticed a correlation.”
“The reason I called is that I was wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner…and possibly bring the…well…you know…closet present. I'm dying to check it out.”
“I have dinner plans tonight with Daniel Kupton’s mistress.”
Luna let out a little sound; sort of a sad, whimper almost sounding hurt, and asked, “Is she pretty?”
“I don’t know; we haven’t met, but I can’t imagine a wealthy man like Mr. Kupton cheating on his wife with an ugly woman. She is likely young and pretty.” Henry decided honesty would serve him well, but he overplayed it.
“How pretty do you imagine she is?”
“I'm sure she isn’t as pretty as you. I doubt she can bake.”
Giggling again, she said, “Well played, mister. Will you call me later?”
“If it isn’t too late, I will.”
“It better not be TOO late.” She was now feigning anger, but Henry got the message.
Henry hung up the phone. He hadn’t been in a relationship in a long time, and he wasn’t sure he was in one now. He liked being around Luna, though, and she made him happy. Henry lived each day with an overwhelming sense of contentment. Now, he saw his old life, as much grayer, more like being on an old worn carousel.
It was getting late, and he had one more errand to run.
“I'm heading out a bit early; I have to go visit the friend I told you about and then meet Ms. Pollard for dinner.”
“See you tomorrow. Oh, and I got those tickets you wanted.”
Henry had almost forgotten what day it was. Today, was the day before the best day of the year. A day better than Christmas, more exciting than New Year's Eve, and a day with better food than Thanksgiving. It was Opening Day. He would eat hot dogs, drink beer, and eat peanuts while the Brooklyn Dodgers pounded the Pittsburgh Pirates. He couldn’t wait. Henry had asked Celine to pick up four tickets; two for him and Luna, and two for Celine. She said she didn’t have anyone to bring, so she invited Bobby. He was thrilled and bounced all the way down the hall to his office. They both agreed there was something about Bobby that was strange and wonderful.
Henry walked the four blocks to his friend’s combination office and apartment. In truth, it was more a combination pig sty and junk yard.
Henry knocked.
Alan Finnegan peered through the peephole, and said, “Henry Wood, my old friend," and started to undo the numerous locks.
The door opened, and Henry extended a hand. Alan grabbed it and pulled him into a bear hug.
Alan led him past boxes of wires, transistors, and tubes. There was a single bed on one side of the room and a desk next to it. Several floor lamps bathed the desk in light. A giant magnifying glass on an arm hovered over a transistor waiting to be soldered. There were piles of papers, letters, and magazine articles lying about. Henry picked up a letter and asked, “Alan, what is all of this? You get madder by the day.”
Alan made a noise resembling laughter and said, “I know, but the world gets crazier every minute. It's hard to keep up. You see that letter there? The one you're holding.”
“It has three coffee cup stains on it. It must be important.”
“See the name at the bottom.”
Henry read aloud, “It’s from Jack Kirby."
"He has some ideas about creating miniature components and connecting them to one another. It's cutting edge stuff. Currently, it's just theoretical but looks promising.”
“Once connected, what would they do?”
“All sorts of exciting things…” He paused, not being able to explain it in such a way that he thought Henry would understand.
“It's okay. We can leave the explanation for another day. I'm in a bit of a hurry anyway. I need your help.”
“Sure thing, Henry, what do you need?”
“What does it mean when you hear a clicking sound on the phone?”
“It sounds like your line has been tapped. Or maybe it's the line of the person you called. How obvious is the clicking?”
“I can barely hear it, but it's there. I noticed it twice today.”
“Hmm, it's hard to say. It could also be a bad line. How old is the building you're in? I heard about your other place getting torched.”
“Yeah, I moved. I'm in the Flatiron, now.”
“That place is fifty-three years old...could be the wiring. You want me to check it out?”
“Could you come by in the morning? There’s twenty bucks in it for you.”
“What time?”
“Say 8:00?”
“I’ll be there. Which office is yours?”
“I'm on the third floor, end of the hall, near the point. It's number 309.”
Henry found his own way out and grabbed a cab to the restaurant. He would be early, but that was fine. He wanted to sit and jot down some notes from the day. There was a lot to think about, and, if he didn’t get it down, he might forget it. He also wanted to be there when she arrived to watch her enter and to see how she carried herself. He was expecting a diva.
He wasn’t disappointed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Henry sat at the far end of the bar. He could see the door and everyone who had come through had been with someone. She seemed confident on the phone that he would be able to know it was her. Was she just vain? Or spoiled? Or…
She walked in, head held high, wearing a long coat. As she crossed the threshold, she removed the coat and laid it over her arm. A wave of attention swept across the restaurant. Heads turned, wives became offended, and Henry noticed himself sucking in his stomach. The black dress, silk stockings, and hour glass figure moved effortlessly through the crowd. When she saw Henry, her eyes locked on his. She smiled.
How had she known it was me who was waiting for her?
he thought and then realized he was the only person sitting alone.
When she stood next to him, Henry’s throat became dry. “Mr. Wood, I presume?” She reached out her hand, expecting him to kiss it. Henry gathered his wits and shook it instead.
“Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Pollard.”
They moved to a table, and Henry spent a few minutes listening to her talk about herself. For all her beauty, her self-involvement was enough to remove the luster. When it became unbearable, he said, “I was wondering if I might ask you a few questions about Daniel Kupton.”
“What sort of questions?”
“You were close to him?”
“Yes, so?”
“No need to get defensive. I'm trying to understand what happened.”
“He jumped out of a building. That’s what happened.” She lit a cigarette, took a drag, and let out a puff of smoke.
“You and Mr. Kupton ever fight?”
“You sound like a cop. What is this about?”
“I was hired to look into his death.”
Tapping her cigarette against the ashtray she said, “By that chubby wife of his, no doubt. She wasn’t good enough for him.”
“And you were…good enough.”
“Honey, I’m great.”
“The night it happened, did you see Daniel?”
“Is that bitch trying to cut me out of the will?”
“I don’t know anything about the will. Were you in it?”
“Daniel said he would take care of me. What do you think?”
“I bet a lot of men say that to you.”
She wanted to be offended, but it was true. She took another drag from her cigarette.
Henry could see how Cynthia had gotten Daniel wrapped around her little finger. She had the looks, sure, but it was her confidence, her attitude, that was really intoxicating.
Henry said, “I’m not telling you who hired me, but I'll tell you this. I don’t think he jumped.”
This seemed to take a while to register. She had a look of confusion at first; it changed to sadness, then realization. “He said something about two men following him.”
“What men?”
“Daniel talked about his business a lot. Most of it was boring, so I would just listen and nod. For the last few weeks, he had been coming around less often. I asked him why, and all he said was he thought some men were following him. He didn’t want me to be in danger.”
“Did he say what sort of danger?”
“No, and I didn’t ask. Who would want to hurt me? Everyone loves me.”
“Did he say anything else about the men, who they worked for or how they dressed?”
“Just that they wore dark suits. I told him everyone wore dark suits.” Another drag from the cigarette and then continued, “So you don’t know anything about the will?”
“Sorry, no. Did he ever mention any business associates or anyone who might have a grudge?”
“I met a business friend once. Strange fellow, though.”
“You remember his name?”
“Sure, it was Martin Van Sythe. He kept looking at my chest and then pretending he wasn’t all while talking about some boat or something. I think he was investing with Daniel. He was a very strange man.”
“You said that twice. What made him strange?”
“He talked quickly and kept changing subjects. He seemed nervous. I told Daniel he should find new friends because this guy was weird.”
Henry wrote down the name. The waiter arrived to take their order. The food was great, and Henry enjoyed the looks of envy from the other guys in the restaurant. When he asked Cynthia what she did, she looked at him like he was crazy. She was a kept woman and her look said, "work was for the ugly." When she started to ramble on about her childhood, Henry tuned her out and started to think about tomorrow’s lineup for the Dodgers.
What Henry hadn’t noticed were the two gentlemen at the corner table by the kitchen. They had slipped in after Cynthia arrived and taken a seat at the back. They noted everything; what Henry and Cynthia had ordered for dinner, their mannerisms and the pieces of the conversation they could hear over the crowd noise. The man facing Cynthia could read lips and wrote down what she said. Neither man looked happy.