Private Heat (30 page)

“I didn't lie about Randy. Randy said he loved me.” A single tear started down her cheek. “He said we would be together.” Her voice broke. “Like before.” She wiped the tear with her fingers, but it turned into a flood. Wendy fished out a tissue from God knows where—she always has them—and gave it to Karen. Karen said, “Randy left me alone, forever, in the middle of this mess he made,” and surrendered to her tears.

I sat up and said, “All right, let's put this in the best possible light. Neil Carter is a political hack. He thinks the first test of truth is expediency. Emmery is cop. I wouldn't believe him if he testified that it was raining—I mean I'd run out of the courthouse and check for myself. But your uncle? Why would he lie?”

“Uncle Martin wouldn't lie. He was always there for me. If he said that, I don't know why. I don't remember seeing him after I took the pills. I wish I had.”

I leaned into her space and said gently, “I think they all lied.” Sitting straight again, I waited for her to make eye contact with me and I went on. “Beyond the fact that they believed that they would get away with it, I can only guess why Carter and Emmery lied. But I know your uncle lied. And I know why he lied.” I turned over the picture of Fay delivering the bag to Van Pelham at his house and handed it to Karen. She showed me an open mouth and blank face. I spread out pictures of Arnold Fay, Paulie Milton, and Chuck Furbie under the highway overpass where they exchanged the bag and envelopes.

Karen's eyes reddened and turned glassy as she used her thumb to dog-ear the corner of the photo she held in her hands. “I told him everything,” she said. “Everything.” She slowly wagged her head in the negative. “And he never let on. He never told me.” She choked and wrestled out, “Uncle Martin said he would help me.” She hid her face in the crook of her arm and sobbed.

I took the photo and said, “Your uncle loved you. He hired us to protect you.”

Karen raised her head and stared at me with anger steaming through her tears. “You said he hired you to kill Randy. I thought you were crazy, but you were right.”

“Maybe that is true—your uncle was a complicated man—but what is absolutely true is that he loved you and he expected me to protect you, whatever happened. He told me that when he hired me. I just didn't understand it at the time. Your uncle was a lawyer, and what he meant to tell me was
hidden
in his words, in the pauses, in the things he didn't say, and in the half of things he did say.”

“Bullshit.”

“After you took the pills,” I said and nodded.

Karen nodded back.

“Your uncle called my office and fired me.”

She raised her eyebrows, looked at Ron, and then back at me.

“We didn't abandon you. Wendy would have kicked our asses if we had.”

Karen reached over and gave Wendy's forearm a squeeze.

Wendy patted Karen's hand.

“The point is that Neil Carter knew that your uncle had fired me. Your uncle must have made the call while he was with him. I didn't know until the next day that your uncle had called back, probably after Carter and Emmery left, and put us back on the case. So, you see, your uncle never abandoned you, either.”

Karen wiped her eyes.

“Wayne Campbell was murdered by a professional killer. Isn't that right?”

“Yes.”

“Who told you that?”

“Arnie.”

“You told Wendy some things about Arnold Fay.”

She looked at the table and said, “Maybe it was the drugs or I dreamed it.” She wiped her eyes with the tissue.

“Wendy's not the police and neither are we. We're only concerned with what's in your best interest. We took this job because we were paid to, but we all think you're a good person.”

“I tried to kill you with an axe.”

“I was never angry about that. I was puzzled at the time, but I understand it now. I'm sorry that I lied to you.”

Karen shifted her eyes back down to the table and surveyed the backs of the remaining items we had laid out.

“I want to clear things up right now,” I said.

Karen jerked her chin up. “Like what?”

“Like yesterday. Paulie didn't come to visit you. He came to kill you.”

“No! He said he'd protect me. That's the truth.”

“Paulie protects himself. Yesterday that included an attempt on your life. I told you that Chuck and Paulie decided to leave you here. That was a lie. Paulie put a plastic bag over your head and taped it around your neck. The proof is on your face. You saw it in the mirror. It's time to let the truth come out.”

“It'll hurt too many people,” said Karen, her voice quaking.

We showed her the still photographs and the videotape that Ron had shot the day before. “Chuck and Paulie don't work as ambulance attendants, do they?”

“No.”

“The ambulance was stolen. They planned to cut your body up with a chain saw, put the pieces in a barrel, and sink the barrel in the Grand River.”

“Oh, my God!” said Karen. “How—”

“We shot it out with them. Paulie's in the hospital. Not serious, I'm sad to say. You have no duty to protect him.”

“Arnie has friends. Even if they arrest Paulie and Chuck, Arnie's friends will still come and kill me. Arnie was at the house the day you came, and he said the New York guys found out how much money Wayne stole and they wanted a share. Arnie said the only way he'd protect me was if I did what he said.”

“Yes,” I said. “And Wendy has told me about the terrible way that he reinforced his threats. Yesterday, Ron and I apprehended Fay at your house and turned him over to the police.”

“Oh God,” she said. “They'll come and kill us all.”

“I don't think Fay will be getting out of jail anytime soon. We caught him trying to tow the ski boat out of your garage. That's tampering with a crime scene. When the police searched him, they found cocaine in his pocket and a wad of cash on him that would choke an ox.”

“Arnie always carried fifteen or twenty thousand in cash.”

“Believe me, that's enough money to spark official interest in Mr. Fay's activities.”

“He'll get out on bail and send his friends to kill me.”

“If Arnold Fay gets out on bail, he had better hide, because his associates have decided that they would rather kill him than try to clean up his mess.”

“How do you know that?”

I turned over the newspaper and set it in front of her. “I know that,” I said, “because yesterday your uncle was murdered in a very pointed way.”

Karen's head collapsed onto her hands on the table. “I heard it on the radio,” she sobbed into her hands. “It didn't seem real, I was half asleep. I wanted it to be a mistake.”

Wendy hugged her and fixed me with dagger eyes.

“Look!” I said.

Wendy showed me a halting hand. “Wait.”

I waited. Wendy took Karen to the bathroom. Ron and I fired up a couple of his Marlboros.

“What's the prognosis, doc?” asked Ron.

“We've got to move now,” I said. “Fay doesn't strike me as the stand-up-guy type,
and he knows a hell of a lot more than Karen.”

“If he gets stupid, he gets dead,” said Ron.

Wendy reappeared with Karen. Karen had straightened her robe, washed her face, and brushed her hair. She sat across from me, and I stubbed my cigarette out.

“Yesterday,” I said, “after good old Arnie got busted, his wife did a little house cleaning. She deposited several bags of office trash in a dumpster and departed. Ron and I picked up the bags, and they turned out to be Wayne Campbell's files.”

“The records back up everything that you told Wendy, and the feds would be very pleased to have documents of this quality to press their criminal cases and make seizures. I want you to understand that the seizures will probably include your uncle's estate. This could get very complicated, and Wendy, Ron, and I have pretty much reached the extent to which we can help you.”

Karen's face turned horrified and frightened.

“I know a man, an attorney, who can help you deal with the prosecutors and policemen that are going to litter your life until this thing is straightened out. His name is Peter Finney. I don't suggest that you do anything other than exactly what he tells you. He
is
expensive, and he
will
have to be paid, but he may be able to help you salvage some of your assets. Do you want me to call him?”

“What if I don't do anything?” she said.

“Then I turn over the pictures I have of Paulie and Chuck to the Grand Rapids Police to try to get them off the street. Arnold Fay will probably try to deal his way out. He's going to lay off as much as he can on your uncle, to cover for his associates—hoping they won't kill him. He'll probably testify against you and tell a lot of well-rehearsed lies.”

“Call Mr. Finney,” she said.

For the first time in easily recalled memory, Peter Finney, Esquire, was in his office. “Arthur,” he said, “you will be pleased to know that Martin Van Pelham sent over a check to cover your tab on the morning prior to his loud and untimely passing.”

“Glad to hear it, but I called because Karen's uncle was her attorney, and she no longer has adequate counsel.”

“She's certainly hard on her associates,” said Finney.

“Ron and I have turned up a cache of documents that would be of considerable interest to the federal authorities.”

“I thought Mr. Carter made it quite clear that the U.S. Attorney's Office is no longer interested in the matter.”

“Neil Carter is one of the people who claims to have witnessed a statement that Karen says she didn't make and that hospital records indicate she could not have made.”

“Who were the other witnesses?”

“Her uncle and Lieutenant Emmery.”

“Arthur, I'm sure there must be a reasonable explanation. Neil Carter is an officer of the court. I have seen the enmity between you three and I think we need to keep an open mind.”

I swallowed a growl and said, “There's been an attempt on Karen's life. Arnold Fay was arrested yesterday, and with Van Pelham dead, we may be in a footrace to the U.S. Attorney's Office. I have the evidence that Fay thinks his wife discarded.”

“Do you know where Karen is?” Finney asked.

“I could have her in your office in an hour.”

“Is she lucid?”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” he said. “I'll talk to her. I have a client. Could you make it at, say, three-thirty or so?”

“We'll be there,” I said and hung up the telephone. “Ladies, we have to be out of here no later than a quarter to three.”

“Good,” said Wendy. “Give me some money.”

“What for?”

“Clothes. Karen doesn't have any. The police blew up her house, and you didn't go back to the hospital for her clothes.”

“Her clothes burned up in the ambulance.”

“Well, she can't go into town in a robe and slippers.”

“Wendy, it takes you an hour to buy a gallon of milk.”

“Don't worry, I wasn't planning on shopping for any bargains.”

I handed Wendy what remained of my tire money. “Try to remember that we need money for gas and parking.”

Wendy dropped a ten on the table like a tip. “Come on,” she said to Karen and winked, “we have shopping to do.”

Ron covered his face and looked away.

“Safer if you took her sizes and went alone,” I said.

Karen's expression turned to a glower.

“Nope,” said Wendy. “Karen has to dress for success. Everything has to
fit. A Korean size four isn't necessarily the same as a NAFTA size four, and that's all that's available out here in the woods.”

“Be careful.”

Wendy kissed me on the cheek. “Not to worry,” she said. “This Little Red Riding Hood has a pistol in her basket.”

Wendy had Karen in a set of sweats, and they were out the door in record time, something akin to fifteen minutes. As Ron and I watched the old Caddy depart, I said, “One of us has to provide a little discreet security.”

“Yeah,” said Ron, “but I hate watching women shop. It's like watching buzzards eat.”

“True, but Fay may be out on bail and feeling a serious need to get his hands on Karen. You don't have to be Einstein to figure my house into the short list of places to look.”

Ron shrugged and twisted his head. I produced a quarter and flipped it.

“Heads,” he said. He lost.

“I'll pack up the stuff,” I said.

“Where are they going?”

“There's not much in Belding. Most likely, they'll hit the Kmart or Meijer's in Greenville. If they're not on the way back by a quarter after two, go ahead and show yourself. Tell them to hustle up.”

“What?” said Ron. “You think I have a death wish?”

“Maybe they'll hustle up on their own.”

“Maybe I'll sprout wings.” He trudged out the door like a kid on his way to the dentist.

I ran the surveillance tape again. Daniel wandered in and parked himself in a chair next to me.

“What's this?” he asked.

“Surveillance film. These two guys are undercover cops moonlighting as hit men.”

“You sure would never get that from what's on the tape,” said Daniel.

“The ambulance is stolen.”

“Looks about like any ambulance to me.”

“Good point.” I could hear Sergeant Franklin making the same comments.

“Run the tape back. I think I saw a number on the back door before they opened it,” said Daniel with a gleam in his eye.

I did. He was right. The number was 187. I threw my arm around him and kissed him on the cheek. Daniel bolted from the chair, wiping his face.

“What's the matter with you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “I have brilliant sons!”