The Death Dealer (9 page)

She was shivering just from that thought, that memory, when the call came through.

“Hello?”

“Miss Star? Miss Lori Star?” The voice on the other end was cultured, courteous.

“Yes?” Her response was wary, despite the caller’s tone.

But on a different level, she already felt excitement. She just knew that this was someone who believed in her.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you on a Sunday morning, but I’m anxious to get out there with my story before anyone else beats me to it. I’m from the
New York Informant.
You’ve heard of it, I hope? We follow up on the stories other papers leave behind when they rush off to cover the latest celebrity scandal. We like to stick with things and cover them in depth.”

She sank down on her sofa, very glad that she’d been home to answer the phone.

“That’s wonderful,” she said, trying not to sound too eager. “And of course I’m familiar with the paper,” she lied.

“We’re also willing to pay, and pay well, when someone helps us with a story.”

She tried to be careful with her reply and not let on how curious she was as to just what he meant by paying well. “Of course,” she said simply, having decided not to ask how much. The amount he volunteered almost staggered her.

“Let’s meet, then,” he suggested. “And please don’t mention that you’re meeting me. I don’t want any of my competitors to get wind that I’m talking to you.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “If anyone asks me,” she said with a laugh, “I’ll just tell them I’m off visiting an aunt.”

“Perfect,” her caller purred.

“Where should we meet?” she asked.

She didn’t bother to jot down the address he gave her. She knew exactly where it was.

“How will I recognize you?” she asked.

“Don’t worry. I’ll recognize you.”

New York City.

Talk about a mass of humanity.

People moved like ants. So many of them. So busy. All in such a hurry.

The mass of people crept and crawled, stopped and flowed. They congregated at street corners. They slid past one another. A light changed; a crossing sign flickered. And they moved in a giant mass, surging forward all at once, each individual following a personal agenda that led them to become a part of the massive back and forth.

Ants.

How many times had he walked in the city, in the country, on a sidewalk, through a house, across a yard, and seen ants? How easy it was—amusing, even—to step on a few and watch the confusion, the panic, of the others, as the instinct for survival took over and became the single thing that made them rush away.

Did one ant really even care when another one was stepped on by the harsh supreme being that walked above? Or did it only care about its own survival?

They were just ants. All of them, just ants.

And there
she
was.

One of the ants. Walking, stopping, moving again.

Would anyone really notice when she was stepped on by the supreme being above? Would they care?

Or would they just be afraid? Panicking. Scattering. Seeking, searching, running…

Desperate not to be stepped on themselves.

Just as Gen had said, Bennet was in his sixties. Even so, he was as straight as a ramrod, with snow-white hair, with impeccable manners. And he wore a suit, complete with bow tie, to take care of the house.

Except, of course, he didn’t really do the housework. He directed.

And he clearly had a soft spot for Genevieve. That much was evident from the minute he let them into the house.

He had pale eyes, a faded green. Still, they lit up like stars when he saw Gen.

“Miss Genevieve, you’re looking well. Color in your cheeks, flesh on your bones…oh, not too much flesh,” he assured her as he held her hands and looked at her from arms’ length. He let out a sigh. “I’m ever so grateful things went…well, I’m quite grateful you’re still with us, my dear.”

“Thank you, Bennet,” she said softly.

“Not like Thorny,” he said.

Thorny,
Joe noted. Interesting.

“And it may be my fault,” Bennet said sadly, shaking his head. Then he stopped, his lean, wrinkled face instantly suspicious, eyes narrowed.

“You brought a friend, I see. And I know who he is,” Bennet said.

Inwardly, Joe winced. It was a lot easier to do his job if no one knew what he was. Oh, well. Too late for that.

He extended a hand. “How do you do? I’m—”

“Lawrence Levine.” Bennet started to say more, but then he drew himself up very straight and said stiffly, “Forgive my rudeness, Miss Genevieve.”

So much for being full enough of himself to think the world knew who he was, Joe thought dryly.

“I’m not Larry Levine,” he told Bennet, his hand still out. “I’m Joe Connolly.”

“Oh.” Bennet returned the handshake. “Sorry.”

“Why did you think I was Larry?”

Bennet shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never met him, but Mr. Bigelow talked about him all the time, so I just thought…” He sighed softly. “God rest his pompous old soul.”

His words surprised Joe.

But Genevieve gave Bennet a light punch in the shoulder and said, “Come on, we all know you loved him.”

“Aye, that I did,” Bennet said, and suddenly the subtle undertone in the man’s accent became clear to Joe. Though he was doing his best to impersonate a very proper English butler, Bennet was actually Irish. Did that mean anything?

Point noted and…

Shelved.

“Have you come to see Mr. Jared?” Bennet asked. “If so, I’m sorry, but he isn’t here. He has his own place, you know. Although I suppose this is his place now, too. And I’m very much hoping he’ll be keeping the house. It’s a fine piece of property, it is.”

“Actually, we’ve come to see you, Mr. Bennet,” Joe said.

The old man looked at Joe again, studying him. “You’re too young to be that reporter. But I
have
seen your face. You were in the papers, right? All that business with Miss Genevieve, right? You’re that private detective.”

“Yes,” Joe said simply.

“Am I a murder suspect?”

“Of course not,” Genevieve said.

But Joe said, “Sorry, but yes. Everyone associated with Thorne Bigelow has to be a suspect until they can be cleared. I hope you understand that it’s nothing personal.”

“Aye, I do, and God forgive me, but I was right here when it happened.”

“Right here?” Joe asked.

Bennet waved a hand. “Come into the kitchen. It’s my domain for the moment. I’ll put some tea on.”

“Tea sounds lovely, Bennet, thanks so much,” Genevieve said.

A few minutes later, they were seated around the huge butcher-block table in the kitchen. Bennet told them, “Mr. Bigelow’s office is still closed off. I haven’t touched a thing in it. I believe I could now, but…” His voice faded away. Joe couldn’t help but believe that the man had felt a genuine affection for his employer of so many years. “Not even young Jared has had the heart to go in there.”

Joe looked up at the rafters where copper pots and utensils were handsomely displayed. It was a great kitchen, with a big fireplace and every conceivable appliance. Then he poured a teaspoon of sugar into his cup and stirred. “So, Mr. Bennet, you said you were here when it happened?”

“Yes.”

“But you saw and heard nothing?”

“Nothing at all. My apartment is on the third floor, you see. What was once the attic, but it’s been renovated. You’re welcome to come up and see for yourself. Once you shut that door…well, a bomb could go off downstairs, and you wouldn’t know.”

Joe smiled. “I think I know what you mean.”

Bennet stirred his own tea, then shook his head, looking distressed. “I talked to the police at length. Mr. Jared, of course, was distraught, and accused me of horrible things, but he apologized later. And the detectives cleared me. Who knows, maybe they figured I just wasn’t literary enough to pull off something like this.”

“What is your position now?” Joe asked.

“Well, I imagine Mr. Thorne left me something in his will, but who knows? Jared asked that I stay on for now, while he figures out what he wants to do. We’re keeping everything the same. The maids come in each morning still. They just stay away from Mr. Bigelow’s office. And his room,” Bennet added softly. He shrugged. “It was clean when he was killed. The police went through it, of course, looking for any information he might have kept in his personal quarters, rather than his office, but they were very diligent about putting things back as they were, and there’s been no reason for anyone to go back in and clean as yet.”

“How and when did you know something had happened?” Joe asked him.

“I heard Jared screaming.”

“But you said you couldn’t have heard a bomb go off,” Joe said lightly.

Bennet had the grace to offer a rueful smile. “You never heard anything like the way Mr. Jared was screaming when he found his father.”

“So the two got along?”

“Argued like cats and dogs—but they lived for it,” Bennet said. He leaned a little closer to speak more softly, as if they were surrounded by others and might be heard. “I think it was one of those other fellows. Jealous. Those men are fanatics. I mean, take the actor fellow. Don Tracy. He thinks he’s Lawrence Olivier! He and Mr. Bigelow fought all the time whenever they had those Poe meetings here. To be truthful, I think Mr. Bigelow would have loved to be on the stage himself. Half the time, I think he
was
acting. Or trying to aggravate Mr. Tracy.”

“Mr. Bennet, when was the last time you saw Mr. Bigelow?” Joe asked.

Bennet looked at him oddly. “Well, before the ambulance took him away, of course.”

“I meant, when was the last time you saw him alive?”

“When I picked up his lunch tray that afternoon.”

“And what time was that?”

“Let’s see…I brought lunch up to him around one, and I picked up the tray at about one-thirty.”

“And no one was here until Jared arrived?” Joe asked, knowing the answer but wondering what Bennet would tell him.

“No, no. He was expecting a guest, but he didn’t tell me who it was, and he said I shouldn’t worry, that he’d answer the door himself.”

Good enough, Joe thought. That fit with what the detectives had said.

“And what time did Jared start screaming?” Joe asked. He had the notes on the initial investigation that Raif Green had passed on to him, but it was always interesting to see if the eye witnesses’ memories stayed the same.

“I’d say it was about six-thirty. Somewhere around there. I didn’t actually look at the clock.”

“Someone dialed 9-1-1 immediately, right?” Joe asked.

“Of course,” Bennet said.

“Was it you?”

“No. In fact, when I started running downstairs, I could already hear a siren.”

“That’s amazing,” Genevieve said.

Yes, it was, Joe thought.

“But Mr. Bigelow was already gone?” Joe prompted.

“Stone cold, poor Thorny was stone cold,” Bennet said.

“Stone cold?”
Joe repeated curiously.

“Well, cold to the touch,” Bennet said. “There was so much confusion, though. Jared was trying to resuscitate his father, and Mary, his aunt, just kept saying he had to stop, that Mr. Bigelow was dead.”

“And when she said that…you touched him?” Joe said.

Bennet frowned. “I’m thinking…trying to remember exactly what I did. There seemed to be so much confusion. Um, no, no, I didn’t touch him.”

“Then how did you know that he was cold?” Joe asked.

Bennet frowned. Not like a man who had lied, but like a man who was genuinely confused. “I…I guess I did touch him,” Bennet said. “I must have.”

“Then?”

Bennet looked distressed.

“Joe…” Genevieve murmured, distressed.

He gave her a fierce frown.

“It might have been right when the paramedics came in,” Bennet said. “Yes, that was it. The first young man asked if anyone had tried to revive him, and I said that his son had tried, and I touched Thorny then, and he was cold.”

Joe finished his tea. “What about Mary? Mrs. Vincenzo?” he asked.

“What about her? She and Thorny always seemed to get along fine,” Bennet assured him.

“No, did she touch him?”

Again, Bennet appeared perplexed. “I…no. No, I don’t think so. She just kept crying, touching Jared, telling him to let his father be, he was dead. They were both so upset.”

“How did they react to you coming down?” Joe asked, filing away the question of what had made Mary so certain that Thorne was dead.

“I’m not even sure they noticed me at first. Then Jared looked at me, and he shouted, ‘Bennet, what the hell did you do to my father?’ And of course I told him I’d done nothing, nothing at all. And I asked him what had happened, and he said they’d found his father keeled over on the desk.”

“Keeled over on the desk?” Joe asked.

“Yes.”

“So Jared moved him so he could do CPR?” And didn’t notice that the man was “stone cold”? This case was getting more and more interesting by the moment.

“I suppose so. The man was beside himself. If he could have saved his father, he would have, believe me.”

“It’s kind of you to defend him,” Genevieve said. “Considering he was so quick to accuse you of killing him.”

“Jared was simply distraught, as I told you,” Bennet explained.

“Did he keep accusing you when the police came?” Genevieve asked, looking at him sympathetically.

“No, no, I don’t think so,” Bennet said.

Joe seemed to feel he’d gotten all the information he could at that point, because he thanked Bennet for the tea and for being so forthcoming, and in a few minutes he and Gen were on their way.

“I’m not sure where you’re going with your questions,” Genevieve told Joe when they were back out on the street. “All of this must be on the record already.”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“You asked me to investigate,” he said.

“But…”

“But what?”

“He’s a nice old guy, and you were practically attacking him, as if you were the police.”

“I would be willing to bet the police were much harder on him than I was.”

“And they didn’t arrest him, did they?”

“They don’t have the evidence to arrest him. Or anyone, if it comes to that.”

“We’re just going in circles,” Genevieve protested.

He arched a brow to her. “Want to fire me?”

“Of course not! I just…I just feel we should be doing more.”

“And I feel,” he told her, “as if you should be staying with your mother.”

She let out a long breath of aggravation. “I will not let this situation put me back a hundred years, do you understand?”

“You said that you were worried about her,” he reminded her.

“Yes, and when she’s at home, she couldn’t be safer,” Genevieve told him. “Bertha never leaves the mansion, and Henry is there, too. And the security system is state of the art.”

“Just like the one at Bigelow’s mansion,” he reminded her.

He was immediately sorry he’d spoken, as her face drained of color. “That’s what’s so horrifying. Bigelow must have known, maybe even trusted, his killer. How do you ever figure out who’s lying?”

“You catch them in a lie,” he said, and glanced at his watch. Sunday afternoon was waning. “I think I should take you home.”

“No way,” she told him. “I took you to talk to the butler. Now you can take me to talk to the psychic.”

He knew her. Knew the dead-stubborn set to her jaw. They wouldn’t be going anywhere or doing anything until he took her to see Candy Cane slash Lori Star.

“Joe, please.” She set a hand on his arm. It was such a little thing, but it sent a jolt of electricity through him as strongly as if he’d been strapped into the chair at Sing-Sing.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go,” he almost snapped. His voice sounded too deep, too husky, even to his own ears. He wondered if she really didn’t know how she affected people, men—
him
—and if she was truly as blind to her own assets as she seemed to be.

Fifteen minutes later, they were knocking at Candy Cane’s door.

She didn’t answer.

Joe was persistent, and he tried rapping harder. Down the hallway, a young woman poked her head out.

“Knock it off, buddy,” she said, then looked at the two of them and softened. “Sorry…I was just watching television. I didn’t mean to bite your heads off.”

“That’s okay, we’re sorry,” Genevieve told her.

“Do you know where Can—where Lori is?” Joe asked.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

Genevieve took a step forward. “Did you see her today? Did she say anything to you? I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s really important that we speak with her.”

The woman—who was probably only in her late twenties but already acquiring the pinched look of someone years older—took a long look at Genevieve. Then she smiled.

“Let me try to remember. I was just coming up from the laundry room when she was going out. She was all excited when she left,” the woman said. “Um…she did tell me that it was a great day, and that she was going to go see a man about a horse. Then she laughed and said it was a race horse and she was going to be in the money.”

“Really?” Genevieve said, frowning and looking at Joe.

Joe looked at Lori’s neighbor, and something about the way he looked at her clearly made her defensive.