My Brother's Keeper (18 page)

‘No, thanks.'

‘I don't think you understand me, Mr Klein, any better than you could have understood my husband.' She made another slow elaborate production of sipping from the glass of brandy, her pinky finger outstretched, her Adam's apple bobbing in her throat as she swallowed. ‘My husband was the toughest son of a bitch you'd ever want to know, tougher than me if you can believe that.'

‘Toughness runs in your family, then. Is your son anything like his father?'

She slammed the glass down hard on the table, some of the liquid staining the white tablecloth.

‘I don't appreciate innuendo either. The difference between my son and William Haggerty is a matter of their experience. My son has had all the advantages I could afford to give him. William wasn't raised with those same advantages. He was never given anything. He fought for everything he had. That's the difference between my generation and yours, Mr Klein. We don't walk around with our hands out like beggars. Now, if you have something to ask, please ask it.'

She refilled her glass, wiping the table with a fresh napkin. She turned like a skater pirouetting on the ice, her head spinning around, followed by her shoulders and then her hips and all before she took a step, returning to the sofa and facing Lou with a set of venomous, red-rimmed eyes.

‘Everybody seems to talk about William Haggerty as if he was still alive.'

‘Some men don't die so easy. They stick around a while.' The mantle clock chimed once and she paused. ‘People have long memories, especially when it comes to the Haggerty family. Don't underestimate the power of memory, Mr Klein.'

‘I wouldn't dream of it.'

‘I'm afraid we've gotten sidetracked. I'm terribly sorry about Mr Patterson. Please believe me. But how does his death have anything to do with me? And how is poor Frances taking it? It's no secret that she and I didn't always get along. But I'm not unsympathetic. She must be devastated.'

‘I haven't spoken to her yet. She's in Lankenau hospital. I won't be able to see her until tomorrow.'

‘The hospital?'

‘She was attacked earlier tonight at her home, probably by the same person that killed her brother.'

‘My Lord!'

‘I'll be completely honest with you, Mrs Haggerty: the police think Brian had something to do with it.'

‘They would think that. They've been dying to hang a charge on him.'

‘Since the murder of your husband . . . and Valerie Price?'

She drained the second glass of brandy, stood quickly and wobbled a bit as if her first step would send her falling to the floor. She fumbled with the empty glass and it slipped from her hand and cracked on the hardwood at her feet. Lou jumped up and grabbed hold of her arm, sidestepping the broken glass and leading her back to the couch where she sat with her eyes closed and her fingers pressed to her temples. Lou knelt and picked up the larger shards of broken glass and set them onto the white napkin.

‘Do you think Brian had something to do with it, Mr Klein?'

‘No, but the police believe there might be a link between what happened to Franny and the women that are being attacked in the city.'

‘You mean prostitutes. Don't say women, Mr Klein, if you mean prostitutes.'

‘They've been dancers, Mrs Haggerty. And a few worked at the Arramingo Club. That's no coincidence. The police have been crawling all over that place. They're going to catch the guy. It's only a matter of time. The question is how many more people will get hurt before they do. There was a disturbance there tonight. The guy that caused it got away. Brian seemed to know him.'

Eleanor Haggerty seemed to recover from her momentary weakness, the color coming back to her face, her voice regaining its resonance.

‘Slipped through your fingers too, then.'

‘I guess so.'

‘The club . . . it's been nothing but a curse on this family.'

‘Brian said the same thing – called it a curse. I'll tell you what I told him. I don't believe in curses any more than I believe in ghosts.'

‘I really don't care what you believe. If you're telling me the Arramingo Club is a wretched place filled with wretched people, then we found something we can agree upon. If you told me the devil himself stopped in there for a drink every once in a while, I wouldn't be surprised. I wish it would burn to the ground and everybody inside can burn right along with it for all I care.'

‘It burned once before if I'm not mistaken.'

‘And William never should have rebuilt it. I begged him not to. It's a dirty business and it was the perfect opportunity to get out of it.'

‘I take it he didn't listen.'

‘Contrary to popular belief, William Haggerty never listened to a word I said. He was the kind of man who preferred to keep his business and personal life separate. He wouldn't have allowed me to set foot in his precious gentleman's club even if I'd wanted to. In other words, Mr Klein, I didn't have a say in the matter.'

‘Can you think of anyone who might have hated your husband – or you or your son for that matter, hated enough to kill?'

‘That list is a long one. My husband wasn't in the business of making friends. But he treated people fairly.'

‘So this probably isn't business related, at least not directly.'

‘How should I know? Would you pour me another brandy? I think I'm just about ready for one.'

Lou stood and went to the table and poured a glass of brandy. He filled the glass with ice first and then poured in the liquid. The two terriers, responding to Lou's movement, were suddenly up off their cushions, exercising their stubby legs and sliding over the floor and growling, more at each other it seemed than at Lou, as if they were quarreling over who would get the first bite. Lou capped the bottle and set it in line next to the others while the dogs sniffed at his heels. He thought about giving one of them a good kick but it wasn't their fault they acted like a couple of spoiled kids. They'd probably taken a few shots to the jaw already. It might have been the only attention they ever got.

Lou passed the drink and a fresh white napkin to Mrs Haggerty, pressing it into the bony fingers of her two hands, hoping she wouldn't have another accident.

‘Tell me about Valerie Price.'

The way Lou said it, making it sound more like a command than a question, caused Eleanor Haggerty's head to spin around as if she'd been slapped in the face. Her eyes were blazing behind the thick oval lenses and translucent gold frames of her glasses. She jerked them off her face and let them dangle from her neck by a strand of frayed elastic, her jaw clenched as if she was going to hiss at him and then spit like a cobra.

‘Mr Klein, I've never so much as uttered that woman's name in all my life. I'm not about to start now.'

‘She was killed right here in this house. Certainly you must have spoken to the police about her.'

‘It was more like she was exterminated. And my husband paid the price for his sins. I'm sure if he had to do it all over again, he would have thought twice before he allowed that girl to set foot in this house. The police were nothing but a nuisance, traipsing around my house with their muddy shoes, snickering and asking all sorts of ridiculous questions. The police prefer to fabricate the truth, Mr Klein, not discover it. Of all people, you should know that.'

‘And I suppose I'm just another meddlesome cop sticking his nose in where he's not wanted.'

‘You are what you are, Mr Klein.'

‘I am at that.'

Lou started for the door and Eleanor Haggerty followed, remarkably steady on her feet now even after her third full glass of brandy. The dogs began their yapping again and Lou looked down at his wristwatch and turned it until it caught the light. It was after two in the morning. He breathed out a long, groaning sigh.

‘Before you go, tell me, what kind of a name is Klein?'

‘I'm not sure I understand.'

‘Your nationality, just out of curiosity.'

‘What does that matter?'

‘I didn't say it mattered. My God, you act as if you had something to be ashamed of.'

They were standing at the front door, Lou's body half-turned and Mrs Haggerty facing him, her complexion still pallid and waxen, the blood draining again from her face but gathering in her throat which was throbbing now with a venal redness.

‘My father was Jewish.'

‘And I take it your mother was not.'

‘She was Italian.'

‘An interesting combination. I would have thought you'd be a little darker skinned.'

‘You don't seem to have a very high opinion of me, Mrs Haggerty.'

‘I have no opinion. You remind me of someone, though. Your nose isn't small but it's straight. Your parents must have been an attractive couple.'

‘My parents are dead.'

‘Both of them?'

‘My mother was murdered in her house in Overbrook Park. She'd been there a week before they found her.'

‘For heaven's sake. How often did you check on her?'

‘Not often enough apparently. Not as often as your son checks on you, I'm sure. He probably checks your pulse at night while you're sleeping.'

‘I suppose you think I deserve that. Maybe I do. And your father was a cop, like you.'

‘No, nothing like me. But yes, he was a cop, and he was killed in the line of duty a long time ago.'

‘I'm so sorry.'

‘Don't be. The badge meant everything to him. He died doing what he loved.'

‘And how about you?'

‘If I cared that much, I might still be wearing it.'

‘Oh, that's right. You're a private investigator. Why aren't you still on the force? Or is that the one thing you don't want to talk about?'

‘Let's just say there's no love lost between me and the Philadelphia Police Department.'

Lou opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch. The breeze whistled through the trees and he waited for it to pass and then went to the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. Eleanor Haggerty leaned into the doorway.

‘You don't like me very much either, I'm afraid. Don't bother to answer. I know what you'll say. You'll be polite and smile and tell me it's not like that at all. You'll say that it's not that you don't like me, it's that we don't understand each other. You'd patronize me, wouldn't you, Mr Klein?'

‘I might say that.'

‘It's OK. Because I stopped caring what people thought of me a long time ago. They all have their own reasons for hating me and they all believe they're justified. They think I have money and connections and I can get away with murder. So, it's OK to hate me. But the truth is, they need someone to hate.'

‘Maybe you hate them as much as they hate you. Have you ever thought about that?'

‘Maybe you're right. Then I'm no different than they are. I'm just held to a higher standard. As a former cop, you must know how that feels.'

‘Good night, Mrs Haggerty.'

Lou started down the front porch steps.

‘Now I know who you remind me of. That statue, in Rome I think it is. The statue of David. That's it. King David. All strong and serious but with a certain weakness, too.'

‘I guess I should be flattered.'

‘Don't be. For all his greatness, he had his flaws. An eye for the women. One he couldn't control. It was his Achilles heel, Mr Klein.'

SEVENTEEN

R
oosevelt Boulevard was the fastest way out of there and all Lou could think about now was getting home. He'd had enough drama for one night and enough of the Haggertys. He circled onto the southbound ramp and had it up to sixty as he merged onto the deserted highway. He continued to pick up speed and was quickly through Rhawnhurst, coming up on the Roosevelt Mall, all dark and empty below him. He continued south, flinging the last of the cigarette out the window, North Philadelphia spreading out all around him. He passed over Harbison Avenue and then Devereaux, through Lawncrest to the west and Friends Hospital to the east, its lights like beacons in the night.

He rolled through Hunting Park, feeling the bottom of his foot cramp against the gas pedal and letting his mind go blank, just driving, on automatic pilot. He drove through Germantown, slowing as he crossed the river, deciding whether it would be West River Drive and through the park or if it would be City Avenue or the Schuylkill Expressway. Philadelphia was a city of neighborhoods connected by ribbons of highway and yet no one could really know it as a whole. It would always be divided. There would be times when the Phillies or the Eagles or the Flyers would bring people together but that unity was an illusion. He jumped on City Avenue, stopped at a 7/11 in Wynnefield for a pack of cigarettes and then he was home. Not much was moving in Overbrook and he was thankful for it.

Joey was asleep in a chair, a full cup of cold coffee still in his hand, balanced on the armrest. He hadn't spilled a drop. If Joey woke up now, the first thing he'd do was take a sip, cold or not. His head was back and he was breathing through his open mouth and snoring loudly, his chest rising and falling like a billows. The cup still didn't move.

Lou slid it out of Joey's hand. Joey's eyes opened and Lou poured the coffee into the sink while Joey got his bearings.

‘What time is it?'

‘Pushing three o'clock.'

‘Shit. I must have dozed off. Whad'ya find out?'

‘Not much. Nothing you hadn't already told me. Eleanor Haggerty is a bitch but you knew that. And you did warn me. Her son, while I wouldn't put anything past him if he was pushed hard enough, seems like just another troubled kid trying to fit into a pair of shoes way too big for him.'

‘The long shadow of William Haggerty. What did I tell ya?'

‘You'd think these people would want to bury this guy so deep they'd never hear from him again, wouldn't you? If you were his wife and he'd been cheating on you since day one or if you were his son and he'd been banging your wife. I don't care how much money they stood to inherit.'