Suicide Season (19 page)

Discovery of the body came too late for the morning papers, but a short notice made the radio news as I joined the pulse of cross-town traffic that filled the one-way streets. A woman, age twenty-eight, found shot to death in a private detective’s office. Name withheld until next of kin notified. The story sounded like a good one, and the announcer’s voice stressed the angle of a local private detective.

Bunch was over at the hospital for the nine thirty visiting hours, and I started the day with a quick check of the previous night’s work at AeroLabs. Then I called Margaret. “I just wanted to know how you’re doing.”

“Aside from missing you, I’m doing fine.”

That was two reasons for me to feel good. We talked a bit about Susan and what Austin and Shauna had done, and about whether or not it would be safe to take them shopping. That’s when I told her about Carrie Busey’s death. The line was silent for a long time before she asked if there was any connection between that and Susan’s injury.

“Bunch and I have talked that over. I don’t think so. Granted, the Aegis Group does keep coming up—first with your husband, then those two hoods. But I don’t see any ties at all with Busey.”

“Why would anyone do that? It’s horrible.”

“Do you know if she and Loomis knew each other?”

“Professor Loomis? No, I don’t. Why?”

“His name and home telephone number were in her purse.”

She thought back. “I suppose they might have met. He’s a friend of Mr. McAllister and I’m sure he visited the offices.”

“Can you think of any reason why she would be in touch with him?”

“You mean because she was Austin’s secretary? I really don’t know, Devlin. You know I haven’t had much contact with the corporation since Austin’s death. What’s so important about it?”

“Nothing that I know of.”

“Then maybe you should ask Professor Loomis. There’s probably a commonplace explanation.” A note of quiet humor, “You’re so used to dealing with underhanded motives and devious plots, Dev, that I think you overlook the obvious sometimes.”

That was probably true, and it was as good a course of action as any. My next call was to the good professor—his home number, the one that matched the number found in Busey’s purse.

“It’s Devlin Kirk, Professor. I wondered if I might ask you something.”

The voice sounded slightly terse and strained. “Of course, Devlin. Certainly.”

“Austin Haas’s secretary, Carrie Busey, was found—”

“Shot. Yes, I know. I just finished talking with a policeman, and I’ll tell you the same thing I told him: as far as I know I never met the woman or talked with her.”

“Do you have any idea why she might have your name and number?”

“Absolutely none. She could easily have gotten it from someone at the McAllister Corporation. Perhaps she wanted my advice about an investment; perhaps she wanted information about one of my classes. It’s not uncommon for a prospective student to call and ask about my courses.”

Listening to the voice, I suddenly wished I could see the man’s eyes. “Do you know if she ever had any contact with the Aegis Group?”

“I have just told you, I did not know her at all.”

“But she was Haas’s secretary. If anyone would have known that he was dealing with Aegis, she would.”

“That may be true, Devlin. But it is beyond my ken. I repeat: I do not know the woman and I have no idea why she was murdered. I don’t wish to sound abrupt, but I’m late for an appointment already.”

“Thanks for your time, Professor.”

I was running the brief conversation through my mind and trying to trace out any threads and hints that the words generated when Bunch came into the office. “She woke up, Dev. She recognized me.”

“Great!”

“Not all that great—she’s having problems talking, but at least she’s awake and she knows where she is and who she’s talking to.”

“When can I see her?”

“Probably tonight at visiting hours. The nurse said she’d be busy today with more x-rays and tests and crap. And a lot of rest. They want her system to get over the shock so they can find out how bad the damage is.” Bunch poured himself a cup of coffee and settled into the groan of one of the leather chairs. “Mrs. Faulk says they’ve even started therapy already. Movement exercises, that kind of thing. The sooner the better, she says.”

Bunch told me a little more about Susan’s condition and the extent of possible brain damage. “A lot of times the undamaged part of the brain can take over some of the functions of the damaged part.” Bunch liked the thought of the injury being only temporary and I hoped it was true, too. “But they say it’ll take time. It’s all a lot of maybes except that it’ll take time.” We talked, too, about Susan’s mother and what we could do for her. Finally, as we settled on taking her to dinner before visiting hours, the telephone rang and an unfamiliar voice asked for Bunch. “It’s yours.”

“Hey, Lew!” Bunch covered the mouthpiece and gestured. “Sergeant Lewellen—White Collar Crimes.”

I flipped on the telephone speaker in time to hear the voice say “… of those names are pretty interesting.”

“How’s that, Lew?”

“Nothing definite. But they’ve turned up in a couple of operations down in Vegas. Always on the fringes, you understand—fellow travelers, like.”

“Mob? You’re telling me the Aegis Group has mob connections?”

“I can’t tell you anything that definite. It’s pretty hazy. The names have turned up, that’s all. As far as I know, they’re legitimate businessmen. What I guess is they run the straight operations; the start-up money comes from the mob, and they set up businesses to put the money to work.”

“Fronts?”

“No. Not at first, anyway. Straight businesses—clean. It’s just that they get their bankroll cheap. They might do a little laundering; it depends on the kind of business that’s set up. But the wrinkle is to use the crooked money to diversify into legitimate areas: transportation, restaurants, brokerage firms, even diaper services.”

“Real-estate development?”

“Sure. That’s a favorite. It’s got close ties with construction and the Teamsters, and it can juggle a lot of money.”

“What names paid off?”

“Three: Brewer, Jacetti, and Neeley. Neeley’s a known associate of Spilotro down in Vegas. We think he’s probably one of Spilotro’s main money-movers, but that’s just a guess. The other two we don’t know much about at all. So far they’re just names that turned up a few times in the computer.”

“Jesus, Lew, I thought Denver was pretty clean of that stuff.”

“It is. From what I can find out, the Aegis Group is clean. That’s the angle: find a location that’s away from the main operations and in an investment area with good potential, then quietly set up a legitimate business that you can run your money through and make a profit on. The only thing is, the business gets its start with a hefty loan from the mob. And who knows what happens down the road when the mob gets hungry.”

That explained a lot about Kaffey and why he had no interest in taking money from Devlin Investments. It explained their paranoia about the break-in at their office—and their type of response. And it made the late spring sunlight dim a bit with the remnants of winter’s chill when I thought about all the new implications.

“And if things get sticky, they might call in a little muscle from the godfather, is that it?”

“Yeah, that too. But the idea is not to need it. Keep a low profile, you know?” The detective added, “If you hadn’t come to me, I wouldn’t have known about this company or the people in it. There’s no reason to. How’d you get on it?”

Bunch glanced my way and I mouthed, “Not over the phone.”

“Let’s meet and talk about that,” said Bunch.

The site was a park of reclaimed river bottom where Cherry Creek joined the South Platte river. It was the original site of Denver, where gold was first discovered, and now concrete terraces made broad steps down the banks to the plunge of dark water over boulders and retaining walls. Here and there, benches offered a little rest and, in the summer, time to watch kids splash in the pools of slack water or inner tube down the chutes from one level to the next. This early in spring, the water was too cold and swift for swimming, but half a dozen kayakers were testing their strength among the bamboo poles of a slalom course marked in a near channel of the river.

“You ever do that, Bunch?” Lewellen was in his forties and wore a brown, three piece suit that wrinkled comfortably as he lounged back in the sun.

“No. Devlin has. He likes to row boats.”

“I’d be afraid the thing would turn over and I couldn’t get up again.” The man’s heavy shoulders gave a convulsive twitch. “Christ, what a way to die.” He shifted on the bench and shoved the butt of his pistol to a more comfortable spot in his back. “Okay, so what led you to Aegis?”

I told him a little of our work for McAllister.

“I remember that Haas shooting. No question about it, a suicide. The only problem was motive, and now you’ve turned that up.”

“We checked out a telephone number and it tied Haas directly to Neeley.”

Lewellen used his thumb to push a corner of his brown mustache toward his teeth to chew on the hairs for a minute. “Did Aegis find out about you?”

“What’s that mean?” asked Bunch.

Lewellen’s wide hand swept past the park and the river. “Meeting here instead of talking over the phone. There’s got to be some reason.”

“Well, Lew, yeah.” Bunch cleared his throat and told him about the two men attacking me, and about the hit-and-run that injured Susan.

“Was that you? I saw it on the eye. How’s the girl doing?”

“She got hurt,” said Bunch. “But she’s going to make it. It’s going to take a long time, but she’ll make it.”

“Good to hear that, anyway.” He chewed again. “How’d they get onto you?”

“I went to see Leonard Kaffey,” I said. “He thought I was pulling some deal for McAllister—trying to link Aegis with Haas so McAllister would have grounds for a suit.”

“Hell, you wouldn’t have grounds for a suit if you had pictures of them kissing each other’s ass. You got to show an unbroken chain of possession.”

“Nobody else had reason to send somebody after Dev.”

Lewellen nodded slowly. “Those people are really paranoid, that’s true. It’s not worth it. They got all the money in the world, and most of it tax free. But it’s not worth living like that. What do these two look like?”

I gave him a description.

“Can’t place either one. Probably imports. Greenies, probably, just getting started. Which”—he smiled at me—”means you’ve got a good chance of seeing them again.”

“They have something to prove?”

“You better believe it. Their first, maybe second solo job for the big boys. They do good with you, they move up in the organization, get a promotion, maybe some territory of their own for sharking or shake-downs. My guess is right now they’re waiting to see what you do. You back off, they go home and have a party. You don’t, they’ll hit on you again.”

“We’re not backing off,” said Bunch.

The detective’s eyes slanted toward the heavy figure sitting beside him. “Now I’m supposed to say to you, ‘No vigilante stuff.’ Bullshit. If you get rid of those scumbags, I’ll buy you dinner.” He held up a finger. “As long as it at least looks legal.”

“How about self-defense?”

“That’s legal. What do you want me to do?”

“Can you dig up something on the Aegis Group?”

“I’ve looked. It’s a legit business. Member of the Chamber of Commerce and everything. No complaints. Can’t hassle them without a reason.”

“You can’t screen their calls a little? Check out those Vegas connections?”

He laced his fingers together and bent the knuckles back to crack them. “The unit has to be careful about that. If we have one lawsuit that proves damages to somebody’s tender reputation, there’s no more unit—that’s a promise from the legislature. But”—he heaved himself to his feet and shook hands—”maybe a snoop here, a peek there. Who knows what probable cause might turn up?”

The first call when we got back to the office was Bunch asking the hospital for an update on Susan’s condition. “They say she’s resting comfortably.” He hung up and stared off across the roofs toward the wall of mountains where the hot sun had begun to bring out dark lines of rock through the winter snows. “Any ideas?”

I dialed McAllister’s direct number. “Just a long shot.” The man’s private secretary answered and I identified myself. “Is Mr. McAllister available?”

“One moment and I’ll see.”

Which is about all it took. “Kirk! I was just thinking of you. Carrie Busey’s murder—have you heard about that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I can’t get a damned thing out of the police. I’ve put my lawyers on it, but all they do is tell me what the police’s rights are. Damn their rights—I want to know what’s going on. Have you heard anything?”

“I know a little about it.”

“Well?”

“I know she was shot once from a close distance and that she was found in the office of Vincent Landrum, a private detective who was working for her. I don’t think the police have any idea why she was shot or who did it.”

“That’s more than my lawyers have been able to find out. But not very damned much.”

“She’d hired Landrum to look into Austin Haas’s death.”

“She what? What the hell for?”

I could see his pale red eyebrows pop up into the age spots that freckled his forehead. “She didn’t think it was a suicide.”

“That’s nonsense! You know what the police report said. And you know why he did it.”

“Apparently she was convinced that Haas wasn’t the type to kill himself. That someone else must have done it.”

“Sheer nonsense!”

“Yes, sir. But that’s what she thought.”

“For God’s sake.” The voice pulled away from the telephone to say something to someone and then came back. “Was she killed because of that, Kirk?”

“I don’t think so. I talked to Landrum and he said he found nothing to contradict the police report on Haas.”

“Damned right he didn’t.”

“And Landrum’s still alive. If he had found anything, they’d have tried for both of them. Whoever killed her knew where to find him.”