Rainy City (15 page)

“Twelve years. The other guy’s name was Harold Stubbins. The co-founder. He committed suicide. Jumped off the Aurora Bridge. They never did find the body. It was kind of a weird deal. He had been on the verge of buying out Angus. Then he killed himself and left the whole schmear to Crowell.”

“Harold Stubbins? A guy like that might be nicknamed Harry, eh?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Nothing. What does Taltro do?”

“They manufacture outdoor clothing and sports equipment. Lately, they’ve gotten into running clothes and cycling stuff.”

“Why is it I’ve never heard of them?”

“Their gear is all marketed under house names. Only rarely do they use their brand name. And it’s not Taltro. It’s Corona.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of Corona.”

“What are you thinking, Thomas?”

“About his private life. What else did you find out?”

“He supports the symphony, the opera, attends all the major city functions. He’s been to the mayor’s for supper. I’m sure he knows the police chief.”

“I’m sure he’s best friends with the police chief”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. It just fits the rest of the pattern. What about his personal investments? You find out anything?” “Investments? The only thing I know about is this property he owns. I guess he’s a sucker for gold mines. He owns a whole passel of burnt-out mines. Some in eastern Washington. Some in Idaho. Some up north.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. You want me to go back and find out?”

“I doubt if you’d get any addresses anyway. How about Romano? Did that name crop up anywhere in your reading?”

“I don’t think so. Romano? He’s the one who might have been seeing Melissa on the sly?”

“He’s the one.”

“I didn’t see it. Thomas, do you have any idea where she is yet?”

“I have a vague suspicion of why she went. That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

“Why did she go?”

“Just a hunch. It’s a little sordid. When I know for certain, I’ll explain.”

“What do you mean, sordid?” We exchanged looks. Kathy had had some sort of evil premonition regarding the little girl, Angel Nadisky, or her mother, or both, and I could see it wafting through her dark thoughts again.

“You’ll find out.”

“I had Professor Creighton phone Bellingham and volunteer to represent Burton, but Burton wouldn’t have anything to do with it. He got a court-appointed attorney. Creighton ‘talked to him for a minute. He said he sounded real depressed.”

Kathy stopped in front of a jeweler’s window to stuff her notes back into her bag. When she started to walk again, she caught my eye and halted. Inside the jeweler’s window, a young woman with the biggest breasts I had ever seen was leaning over a display case. Actually, she wasn’t leaning. More like tipping. She wore a maroon sweater, an exquisitely snug maroon sweater.

“Eat your heart out,” said Kathy, snidely.

“I am.”

“They’re not real, you realize.”

“They look real enough to me,” I said, grinning, but only enough to irk Kathy.

“But they’re not real.”

“I’ve never heard such a case of sour grapes.”

“I’d bet on it.”

“Okay,” I challenged. “Let’s make a wager and go find out.”

“Who’s going to find out?”

“I volunteer.” “I just bet you do.” The woman in the jewelry shop looked up and saw, my awed and admiring eyes. Kathy stood to my left and slightly behind, so she couldn’t see the current of electricity that passed between myself and the busty woman. A guy like me ran into that sort of thing from time to time.

The woman smiled a twinkly smile and waved, using the smallest three fingers of her right hand. I waved back, grinning wickedly. It wasn’t until I cocked my head to one side to comprehend the full dizzying impression I was making upon Kathy that I realized Kathy was waving, too. Kathy trundled past me into the shop. She knew the clerk. That much was obvious. Kathy had set me up. Again.

Inside, they greeted each other with hugs and chattering and more hugs. It was plain that I had made a fool of myself. She had been waving to Kathy, not me.

After the women had gabbed excitedly for a few moments, Kathy squinted at me and motioned me in. I shook my head. She waved again. I shrugged, leaned my ten-Speed against their outer window and shambled through the doorway, my head hung low. The last time anything this lousy had happened to me had been in junior high school.

Kathy introduced me to the clerk, Barb Fensterspinner. Barb beamed, acknowledging my chagrin, and her own amusement at it. Kathy explained, “Barb and I knew each other in college.”

“Oh,” I said, grinning as if witless.

“I brought you this way purposely,” Kathy said. “Barb went out with one of Melissa’s old boyfriends. She once told me some mildly hair-raising stories about Melissa.”

“Oh,” said Barb. Now she was the embarrassed party. “I hate to repeat anything I heard through a third party. I really do.”

“It’s not a question of spreading gossip,” said Kathy, her eyes mesmerized temporarily by Barb’s unbelievable bosoms. “Melissa may be in trouble. Thomas thinks it may have something to do with her past. There was an old boyfriend the neighbors said used to come around when her husband was gone. We have to find her.”

“All I know is a few things Hank told me. He’s really the one you should be talking to.”

“Didn’t you say something about a motorcycle gang?”

“I really don’t recall, Kathy. It’s been so long. Hank and I were more friends than anything else. He was into that leather shop on Brooklyn Avenue and then they moved over to the Fremont District. I haven’t seen him in years, but I’m sure you could find him in the phone book. Unless he took off to Walla Walla and started that vegetarian commune he was always talking about.”

“What’s his last name?” I asked.

“Waterman. Henry Waterman.”

“They’re not real,” Kathy assured me as we left.

“The boss never hires anyone who isn’t built that way. Barb knew that and stuffed some laundry into her blouse when she went in for the interview. She’s been like that ever since. Kind of a funny deal, huh?”

“Hilarious.”

“You’re just miffed ‘cause you made a fool of yourself.”

“Waterman,” I said. “Henry Waterman.”

“You’re just miffed.”

“I don’t get miffed. You know that.”

“Ho ho. He doesn’t get miffed. Take me, Lord, now I’ve heard everything.”

“I really don’t get miffed.” ?

BARB WITH THE LAUNDRY BOSOMS WAS RIGHT. WE STOPPED at a pay phone and I found Henry Waterman in the Seattle directory. A young-sounding woman answered the phone in a wheezy, high-pitched voice. She told me her name was Judy. I had not asked, but she told me anyway, as if it were habitually the first thing she announced.

“Hello. This is Judy.”

“I’m looking for a Henry Waterman.”

“Hank’s at work right now. Could I have him call you?”

“I need to see him today. Is he still working in a leather shop?”

“Oh, Jesus no. Hank gave that crap up years ago. That whole hippy gig went right out the window when Hank stopped doing acid, you know. No, he’s working at a tire re-capping plant in South Park. After hours, he plays softball for them. Pitches. You want the address?”

It was a twenty-minute drive. I pedaled the bike home ahead of Kathy, hopped into the truck and headed for South Park. It was a grimy industrial area in the city’s south end, and the roads were blanketed in mud the color of weak tea.

Parking in four inches of ooze, 1 picked my way through a fenced yard piled high with stacks of worn, shabby tires. A spindly boy who looked too young to be working legally was crouched on the roof of the building shoveling a gritty, black substance into buckets.

Hank Waterman was operating a machine in the back room, a grinder. He switched it off, and we both waited for it to stop screaming so we could hear each other.

Long, stringy hair dangling just over his shoulders, stubble on his chin, the inevitable baseball cap, tattered jeans and a plaid workshirt from Sears that might have last seen the inside of a washing machine in 1975— Hank Waterman had conscientiously cultivated slob-chic. Who said America had no. peasant class? And who said they didn’t wear a national uniform?

“You used to know Barb Fensterspinner?” I asked. Waterman nodded. “I spoke to her half an hour ago. She said you dated Melissa Nadisky.”

Hank Waterman scratched his grimy forehead with a black thumbnail and gave me a blank look. “Melissa Nadisky?”

“You knew her as Melissa Crowell.”

The light bulb lit up. “Melissa? Sure. How the hell is she?”

“That’s why I’m here, Hank. She’s missing. Her husband is in big trouble and we have to find her. Nobody seems to know where she might have gone.”

“Geez, she’s married? Somebody said she was married but I didn’t believe it. What kind of jam is her old man in? Dope? Dealin’ dope?”

“It’s a lot worse than that, pal. Murder.”

“Heavy, man. Shit, I haven’t seen her in years. Honest to God, Buddy. Ask Judy. I’m living with Judy. I been with her… oh, about three years. We even got a St. Bernard.”

“I’m trying to track down some of her old friends, that’s all. I thought you might know some of them. You see, we think she might have run off with an old boyfriend, or somebody she knew about the time she knew you.”

“What are you? A cop?”

“A private detective. I’m working for friends of the family.”

Hank Waterman inhaled deeply and weighed what

had told him. A man with short hair, conspicuously dressed much better than everyone else in the place, peeked through the open ‘concrete doorway and presented Hank with a stony look.

“Hey, man,” said Hank, using a practiced tone of servitude. It had been a while since I’d punched a company time clock. I had forgotten what it was like. “Think I could take my fifteen now and work through at two? This dude needs to rap.”

The man in the doorway shot me a surly look, scanning me for traces of seediness. He nodded and made a point of studying his watch before exiting.

“Nice guy,” I said, facetiously.

“He put an egg timer next to the shitter once. We were supposed to use it to time ourselves. Everybody used to pee on it.”

Waterman fired up a cigarette and waited for me to continue. When I didn’t, he said, “Who’d Melissa’s old man waste?”

“It’s rather involved. Think you can remember much about Melissa in the old days?”

“Man, she was wild. What do you want to know?”

“Barb, or somebody, said something about a motorcycle gang. You ever hear anything about that?”

Waterman was nonplussed. He whisked off his baseball cap and grinned crookedly. “Man, she told you about that?”

“One of her friends heard the story from her, years ago.”

“Oh man,” said Waterman, shielding his face with the back of his cigarette hand. “I don’t want anyone running to Meliss and sayin”I heard Hank Waterman says you went to the beach and got gangbanged by the Skeletons,’ ya know.”

The Skeletons were a Northwest motorcycle club that had disbanded a few years back. Once in a while you’d still see a rider wearing their colors.

“Is that what happened?”

“You ain’t tellin’ anyone, are you?”

“I’m trying to find Melissa. Anything I find out on the way is between you and me and the fence post.”

“’Cause, man, I mean like, Meliss told me not to ever tell another soul, you know. And what do I do, first thing? I spill it all to Barb. And now I find out Barb was blabbing it all over town.”

“I doubt if it went any further than me. Besides, I don’t even know ‘what the story is.”

“Melissa used to tag along with this biker. It pissed her dad off royal. I think that’s maybe why she did it. I mean the guy was a real toad. You’d get warts if you touched him. He was just a toad. But Melissa kept going back to him. He was some Harley freak she’d known since high school. The guy was twenty or twenty-five years older than us. I think he was maybe in his forties when she first ran into him.”

“You ever hear a name?”

“The Harley freak? Naw. See, I didn’t go with Melissa that long. We didn’t even have sex much. It was mostly tripping out on grass, ya know. We used to get into these long confession jags. That’s where I found out about this biker.

“It seems like the guy was almost straight when she first met him, was doing some sort of extermination work for Melissa’s father at their house…”

It was my turn for the light bulb. Extermination work? According to the neighbors, Melissa’s unwanted suitor drove a pest control van.

“Melissa wanted to get the toad out of her life, but he was the kind of jingo who didn’t really have anything better going for him and never would, so he kept popping up.”

“Tell me about her father. You said the biker was working for her father?”

“I can’t remember the whole deal. Ya wanta know how they met? The dude was out working in her dad’s yard and she invited him into her bedroom through the window. She was seventeen.”

“That’s hard to imagine.”

“Melissa was an incredible person. She was screwed up, it was hard to believe sometimes.”

“You sure about this story?”

“I wouldn’t swear to it. I was stoned, ya know, when she told me.”

“Melissa ever tell you anything about getting pregnant in high school?”

“Naw. Did she?”

“How about this biker? I heard something about her father paying him off, paying him off so he’d join the Army. Somebody thought he might have broken his neck.”

“He was still around when I knew Melissa. At least that’s the impression I got.”

“What sort of relationship did Melissa have with this biker?”

“Bad, man. I mean real bad. See, Melissa’s one of those chicks who don’t feel right unless they got some man givin”em shit, know what I mean?”

“I’ve seen it.”

“Geez, there was this guy, this little guy used to write poetry. He would have eaten a mile of her shit just to kiss her ass, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with him. He made one bad mistake. He treated her like a queen. You had to treat Melissa like shit or she didn’t know where you were comin’ from, man.”

“Is that how you treated her?”