Little Death by the Sea (23 page)

“I’m not sure he’s tied into this at all.
They had a little ruckus. Elise was strung out and testy, Alfie
probably remembers it worse than it was.” Maggie shrugs. “I can’t
see him killing anyone.”

“You do not know him very well,” Laurent
reminded her. “Coffee?” He got up and headed toward the
kitchen.

“No thanks, it’ll keep me awake.” Maggie
pulled herself up to a sitting position and rested her feet on the
light oak coffee table in front of the couch. “And he doesn’t
strike me as being clever enough to do it and get away with it, you
know? I mean, if Alfie killed her, wouldn’t there be all kinds of
circumstantial evidence leading right to his door? The cops
would’ve picked up on it, surely.”

Laurent poked his head around the corner.

“The police have not questioned the
maman
. They know nothing about his argument with Elise.”

“Boy, they really did a slack job, don’t you
think? I mean, wrapped this sucker up and moved on.” She picked up
a magazine and idly flipped through its pages. “I guess they’ve got
this drug dealer in custody now but I doubt they get a
confession.”

“Why not?” Laurent called from the kitchen.
Maggie could hear the kettle begin to boil.

“How can he confess if he didn’t do it? And
he’s not going to cop a plea to murder, for crying out loud. I
mean, why would he?”

“Cop the plea...?”

“Never mind. Maybe I will have some coffee
after all.”

He came into the room with a small tray
holding a china creamer, matching sugar bowl and two steaming mugs.
Maggie removed her feet from the coffee table and he set the tray
down.

“Mmm-mm, thanks,” Maggie said reaching for a
mug.

The phone.

“I am sure it is not for me,” Laurent said,
shrugging.

Maggie reached over and picked up the
receiver.

“Yes?” she said.

“Miss Newberry? This is Carole Wexford.
Alfie’s mom? We talked a couple days ago?”

“Yes, Mrs. Wexford, I remember.” Maggie
nudged Laurent’s leg with her foot. He nodded his head: yes, yes,
I’m listening.

“I got one more thing to tell you that Alfie
just told me but I got to have a promise from you that if I tell
you, you won’t be asking Alfie all about it, hounding him, like. Do
you promise?”

“What is it, Mrs. Wexford?” Maggie watched
Laurent with large eyes.

“Not until you promise me you won’t come
after Alfie asking him a bunch of questions. Now, he’s real upset
‘bout all this and he don’t want to talk to you again, d’ya
hear?”

“Yes, all right,” Maggie said. “I promise to
leave him alone. What did he tell you?”

“He told me he made another trip to your
apartment building that afternoon—“

“You mean about the time my sister was—“

“I ain’t gonna say this twice, lady, so you
better listen good the first time. He was deliverin’ groceries that
afternoon and saw some guy hanging out near the door where he
fought with your sister early that morning.”

Maggie licked her lips.

“Can he describe him?” she asked.

“He said he was dressed real nice. All slick
and a jacket and all. He had reddish-brown, sorta curly hair, maybe
balding, and he was a big guy. Maybe six-one. Wearing them sandals
with socks that some people wear.”

“Do the police know this?”

“God, you don’t listen, do you? I told you,
Alfie just told me. And if you ask him about it or go the cops,
he’s gonna deny ever being there, understand?”

“All right, Mrs. Wexford, I understand. Is
that all?”

“Yeah, but remember, stay away from my boy,
d’ya hear? I don’t want to hear you been snooping around him.”

“I’ll leave him alone,” Maggie said.

The phone clicked dead in her hand as the
woman hung up on her.

“What is it?” Laurent took a healthy sip of
his too-hot coffee. “More clues?”

“God, I’ll say,” Maggie said quietly as she
put the phone back in its cradle.

“Alfie’s mom just placed Gerard here at the
time of the crime.”

2

Detective Jack Burton quietly closed the
glass paneled door of the office of the Chief of Police. His ears
were burning and a flush crept up his neck and spread across his
face. He knew the open squad room was not oblivious to him, no
matter how busily they seemed to go about their duties. He’d had
his behind chewed and the world knew it.

The Chief was right. They’d been whacking
themselves in the heads with hockey sticks over this one. Keystone
Kops, southern-style. Their only suspect had an iron-clad and they
had had to let him walk. Burton was to find the Newberry murderer
within ninety-six hours or he was off the case.

Jack headed back to his office, his head
tucked in a protected crook of determination. Out of the corner of
his eye, he could see cops looking up as he passed. He restrained
himself from running the last twenty yards to his office, pulled
open the door and forced himself to close it behind him without
slamming it.

Dave Kazmaroff sat, smoking, on the corner of
his desk, staring out the window onto Spring Street. He twisted
around to greet Burton.

“Hey, man, what’s happening?” His smile faded
and he eased himself off his cocky perch when he saw Burton’s
face.

“You bastard,” Burton snarled, fists clenched
at his side as he advanced toward Kazmaroff.

“Hey, man, what are you talking about?” The
younger detective backed away, taking a drag off his cigarette
until the filter glowed in his mouth.

“I’m talking about the shit you’ve been
feeding the Chief, you scumbag.”

“Hey, I don’t know what you’re talking about.
I haven’t said anything to the Chief.”

“Oh, no? Not even a casually dropped comment
about how good cops need to learn to agree to disagree when it
comes to developing a case? Huh? Ring a bell, asshole?”

“Look, all I said—“

“I know what you said, De-tective! I just got
outta the Old Man’s office!” Spittle had formed on Burton’s bottom
lip. He wanted to throw the yuppie bastard out the third story
window. Maybe he’d land on the hood of his own Jeep Cherokee.

“Am I supposed to pretend I agree with every
theory you’ve got? We happen to disagree on how this case is
being—“

“I’m the senior officer on this case, or had
you forgotten that?” Burton clenched his fists. “I’d like to smash
your face in,” he said, moving away from the younger man. “Fact is,
you’re as stupid as I’d always believed. Because just in case your
plan was to take my place, let me clue you in.” Burton contorted
his angry features into a sneer. A perverse part of him was
enjoying himself and he could see that Kazmaroff was nervous. “The
Chief said we’ve got four days. After that, our team is closed down
and ‘B’ team takes over. Understand, smart boy? We both lose out. I
go down, you go down.” Burton heaved himself into his swivel chair.
“Nice work, jerk-off.”

Dave Kazmaroff remained standing. He tossed
his filter into an ashtray on his desk and shook out another
cigarette from a pack in his shirt. He did not look up at his
partner.

3

Gerry peeled back the bread in his sandwich
and extracted a few imaginary hairs from his corned beef.

“Just eat it, Gerry.” Maggie picked up her
own sandwich and poised it in front of her face. “Why were you so
testy this morning? What is the deal?”

“You want to know why I’m testy? You want to
know? I’ll tell you.”

“I wish you would.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be worried about me. Worry about
yourself. I hear the cost of sheep farming is skyrocketing.”

“Very funny. You and Darla should open up an
act together. Preferably one on the road.”

“What is it, Gerry?”

“All right, you want to know? And Darla said
I should definitely keep my mouth shut—“

“Well, maybe you should.”

“...And I’m only saying this because we’re
friends.”

“Just say it.”

“I want to know how in the hell you can have
any kind of meaningful relationship with a guy who can barely
handle the basics of asking where the men’s room is.”

“Excuse me?” Maggie put her sandwich down and
frowned at him.

“Your French boyfriend. His English is so
bad, I’m surprised y’all can converse on anything more complex than
how much parsley to put in the ragu.”

“Well, it’s not your worry, is it?”

“Hey, don’t get pissed, Maggie. I’m just
saying, the guy can’t speak English.”

“I understand him fine.”

“Oh sure, the language of love. Give me a
break. Your French is shit, excuse me. Is there any substance to
y’all’s conversations?”

“None of your business.”

“Meaning, ‘no’.”

“Meaning none of your business. Where did all
this come from? I could tell you didn’t like him the other
night—“

“That’s not true—“

“Oh, bullshit, Gerry. You were practically
rude to the man.”

“That’s not true! How can I speak to him? He
doesn’t speak English! Have you two had an argument yet?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a fight. Have you two made
it to the disagreement stage?”

“Gerry, not everyone is as stubborn and
disagreeable as you are. Some people get along for great periods of
time.”

“Great boring periods of time. And excuse me,
Miss Sweetness and Light, but you are not describing yourself. If
you haven’t had even a small fight with this guy, Larry—“

“You know his name.”

“...then y’all are just playing house. There.
I’ve said it.”

“And you feel good about it.”

“Yes. Yes, I must say I do. I wouldn’t want
to lie to you, Maggie. The fact is, I don’t like him.”

“No kidding.” Maggie bit into her sandwich
and rolled her eyes at him. “I’m a mature human being, Gerry,” she
said, her mouth full of turkey and rye. “So take notes: all my
friends don’t have to like each other. I’ll live with it. Besides,
Darla liked him.”

“She likes Dan Quayle too.”

“Look, you don’t like him, fine. Next subject
of conversation, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, I said what I had to say.”

“That’s clear.”

“May I have your pickle?”

“And while we’re being so helpful with one
another, may I ask a question about your travel plans?”

“Shoot.”

“You’re still moving to New Zealand,
right?”

“Correct.”

“And nobody in the office knows yet, am I
right?”

“Just you.”

“ And would you say that your...um...interest
in the goings on at the office has, say, slid off a bit?”

Gerry looked uncomfortable. He reached for
the mustard.

“I suppose that’s possible. After all, I
don’t intend to be there much longer.”

“Sure, I can see that. But, in the meantime,
you’ve signed off on all projects in-house?”

“That’s ridiculous! I’m in meetings all day
long.”

“Wrong. Your body’s in meetings. You are in
Bora-Bora or Ruaphehu or some such place. Gerry, we can’t afford to
have you off in la-la land while we still have clients.”

“Well! I like that! It’s my agency, if I have
to remind you, Maggie.”

“Oh, put a sock in it!” Maggie glanced around
at the diners surrounding them. A couple of them looked their way.
“Aren’t you about to dump your own advertising agency? Aren’t you
about to drop-kick it into the great unknown while you go peel
kiwis in Dunedin?”

“Will you stop with the kiwis, already? New
Zealand has other exports, you know.”

“Just stay awake while you’re with us,
please. At least until you come to your senses. You’ll hate
yourself if, after this phase passes, you’ve lost a client.”

“It isn’t a phase.”

“Yeah, okay.” She dumped some ice into her
Coke cup and shook her head. “Whatever. Hey, what about
Patti-cakes? She decide you’re not quite the man she thought you
were?”

“Seems to have, thank God.” Gerry talked
around a mouthful of sandwich. “She’s pissed at me and seems to be
sniffing around young Bob, now.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t know what to make of all
the attention, and, under the circumstances, that’s probably
good.”

Maggie laughed.

“What a place. How can you bear to think of
leaving it?”

“My sanity demands it.” He looked at her
strangely, his eyes misting.

“Oh, Ger, don’t you think this will all work
itself out?” Maggie touched his hand with hers.

“Sure, it will, Maggie. I have every
confidence that it will.” He brightened. “Finished? I believe this
is your treat?”

“You asked me to lunch!”

“Yeah, but that was before I knew you were
going to criticize my performance as an adman. I can only redeem
myself by sticking you with the check.”

She nodded. “I can see that.”

As she stood up, hoisting her purse strap
onto her shoulder, she stopped suddenly.

“Gerry, I forgot to mention Paris.”

“This sounds like a scene out of
Casablanca.”

“No, really. I’ve got to go overseas next
week. Will that be a problem”

“Not for me. Is it on account of this
investigation thing you’re doing?”

“There are some people I need to talk to over
there. I shouldn’t be very long. Four or five days.”

“Maggie, do what you have to do.” He stood up
and handed her the check. “I certainly intend to.”

Chapter 14

1

Gerry straightened the storyboards on the
floor and looked at his telephone. His desk was covered with the
various materials used to present a pickle campaign to a new client
earlier that day. Storyboards, all with green the predominant
color, were propped up against the side of his desk. Stacks of
carefully collated scripts: print copy separated from outdoor board
copy, separated from broadcast continuity, lay adjacent to stacks
of paper explaining, in great and expansive detail, media
recommendations and account-handling information. An arsenal of
radio-spot cassette tapes lay scattered about the base of the
telephone.