Yesterday's News (25 page)

I lifted my wineglass as though to toast, and Rendall began to smile. Then I said, “To a marvelous performance, Cassy.”

Her smile froze.

“You played me like a fish. I give you credit there. Volunteering to get information on the old Meller articles, aiming me at Dykestra and the redevelopment stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard you out. Now you let me tell my version, okay?”

“John, I—”

“First, I don't see Dwight Meller pulling a B & E the way Hagan, Schonsy, and you all claim. I see poor Dwight, kind of a social outcast, getting his thrills in the alleys around The Strip, watching the ladies of the night service their customers. But the early seventies are times of change, right? Times of experimentation. Maybe a real kick for a journalism major to get it off with two cops in a cruiser.”

Her features stretched, the eyes protruding.

I said, “Poor Dwight happens on the scene, and probably Hagan starts after him, to threaten him into silence, because the times they weren't quite so a changin' for the cops. But something goes wrong, I believe Hagan there, and Dwight's neck snaps. Now what to do? Concoct a story about burglary and resisting arrest, and flatten Schonsy's oft-broken nose for effect. It was a nice touch to turn you from a liability into a witness for the heroes.”

“You don't know a thing.”

“It gets better. Except for Dwight, everybody survives the mess. Cassy Griffin leaves Nasharbor for the fast lane, and Hagan advances, and Schonsy sort of stays the same. When you come back, Hagan sees all the old virtues in the new Liz Rendall. Schonsy recognizes you, though it's no big problem, because everybody's friends and conspirators from the old days. But then, enter Jane Rust. Jane needs a job. Jane thinks you owe her one, or maybe she just appeals to you to recommend her. The problem, however, is that you never told the
Beacon
about your sojourn in Florida. Easy enough to delete from the resume. You were coming off a bad marriage, out of journalism for a while, no one's likely to ask embarrassing chronological questions that would show the Gainesville gap. But Jane, intentionally or accidentally, could do just that, especially with the name you were known by down there that somebody might remember up here with the right amount of prodding.”

“Bull—”

“So my guess is you decide that getting Jane the job is the easier course, since you figure she'll foul up and get fired reasonably soon. Tell me, Cassy, did you ask Jane not to mention the
Messenger
at all? Why bring up bad times better forgotten?”

“My name is Liz. Liz Ren—”

“Still, everything's going according to plan. Hagan is looking sharp for chief, Jane according to Arbuckle is shooting herself in both feet, and you just have to wait for Neil to be anointed to get him to divorce his wife and make you two an honest couple. Not something that fits well with a candidate for chief, but not something that would get him demoted once in the top seat, right?”

She didn't reply.

“Only Schonsy's son steps in the shit. On the take from Gotbaum, and Charlie Coyne can nail him for it. Ordinarily, just a little pressure in the right places, and Schonsy Senior could fix things, get Coyne to lay off. But Coyne and Jane are into it. According to Duckie Teevens and Gail Fearey, maybe even the real thing. Real enough anyway so Coyne doesn't scare off, and now Schonsy Senior has to play his hole card. We know what that is, don't we, Cassy?”

“Don't call me that!”

“Schonsy the elder tells Hagan that either Coyne and Jane disappear, or Schonsy blows the whistle on Hagan and you, both for the Meller incident and the affair. That may ding Schonsy's influence on the force, but it is his son on the line, and convicted cops don't fare so well in state prison.”

“You're saying that Neil killed Charlie Coyne and Jane Rust.”

I picked up my wineglass and threw it at her. She dodged and came down seated.

“No, Ms. Rendall. I'm saying that Hagan stabbed Coyne in that alley, and that you, after not being able to sway Jane away from writing what Coyne told her, poisoned her.”

“You're crazy!”

“I don't think so. The younger Schonstein is on the hook, Hagan dresses up like a bum, waits for Coyne to act in character, then knifes him in the alley behind Bun's. The problem is, that doesn't stop Jane. She was ripped up about Coyne, romantically and professionally, before and after he died. At some point she came to you, her friend from the old days. She ‘idolized' you, Cabbiness said. You were the natural one she'd discuss Coyne with, both romantically and professionally. That's how Hagan and Schonsy Senior knew who the source was, to pressure first and kill later. But, like I said, Coyne's death didn't stop Jane the way you thought it would. She came to Boston, to see me. My guess is she told you about it right afterward. You were the first car her landlady heard arrive that night. The one who stayed so long. You couldn't allow a real investigation into Coyne's death. You ground up the sleeping pills, then assured Jane it was the right amount. ‘Just enough to make you drowsy, Janey, so you'll fall asleep naturally.' Like maybe you did with my wine tonight.”

Her eyelids flipped up and down like window shades.

“Mrs. O'Day said you were there for hours. How did it feel, Cassy, watching Jane on the couch? While you carefully searched her place for any hard evidence Coyne might have stashed. Her body would have been closing down as the powder seeped into her bloodstream. Could you hear her breathing falter? Did she make any noises—subconscious, vulnerable ones? Did you maybe, even just once, notice the photo on the dresser of you and her together?”

“You finished?”

“I am. But I'm afraid Captain Hogueira will be keeping you awhile.”

“Hogueira?”

“Uh-huh. I spoke to him earlier about coming by, since what I had was a little thin for the state police. His car's parked in the garage next to yours.”

A voice from the dining room level said, “That's my car, Cuddy.”

I looked up at Hagan.

Rendall said, “He knows, Neil.”

Hagan pointed a snub-nosed revolver at my chest from fifteen feet away. “All of it?”

Liz sounded resigned. “Enough.”

My best hope was to move as Hagan came down the stairs to the living room level, but cops lead their targets and count their bullets. At that distance, it wasn't enough of a hope, so I stayed where I was as he joined us.

“Another body'll be tough to explain, Hagan, even for a police captain.”

Rendall said, “Neil won't have to explain it, Cuddy. He shoots you, we take you out in the runabout a few miles, and the ocean does the rest.”

“And Hogueira?”

“You told him you were coming here? I never saw you arrive.”

Something danced behind Hagan's eyes. I thought about him in his office, describing the Meller incident.

I took a chance. “Neil doesn't seem to like your idea, Cassy.”

She glanced up at him and saw it, too. “So
I
shoot you, John. Up close and personal, after you tried to assault me. Powder burns on your shirt, my blouse ripped, scrapings of your skin under my nails.”

I forced a laugh. “They'll never buy it.”

“I look like your dead wife, right? Enough to stop you in your tracks that first day at the
Beacon.
People who knew her see me, they'll buy it.”

“The woman I'm seeing now. She's an assistant DA in Suffolk.”

Hagan said, “Jesus.”

I said, “She won't buy it.”

“We'll take that chance. Give me the gun, Neil.”

Hagan didn't move. I waited till Liz got impatient and turned toward him. I pushed backward off the floor hard with both feet, toppling over and tumbling against a table before I got oriented and lunged for the rear stairs.

Rendall screamed, “Shoot him! Shoot him, you idiot!”

I heard a scuffle as I climbed the stairs on all fours, then two shots. The first splintered wood over my head. The second smacked me in the right heel, sending me sprawling at the top step. A third bullet snuffed out a light fixture at the doorway as I heaved myself through it and onto her screened porch deckside.

Hearing someone rushing up the steps behind me, I tried to use the right foot. Numb, it wouldn't support my weight, and in the near dark, I couldn't tell if I was badly hurt. I tried it anyway, crashing through a screened panel. Grabbing to break my fall, I gripped and pulled free the spear gun assembly from the gangway next to the porch.

Rolling onto my back, I nocked both slings into the notches on the metal shaft, extending just as Liz came onto the porch. She raised a hand as a shield against the setting sun and fired, the crack of the shot jolting me into pulling the trigger on the spear gun. I felt her slug thump into the bulwark behind me, but I could see where the shaft went.

Gurgling and bellowing, Liz fell to the deck and flailed wildly, the bolt through her throat, the blood cascading between her splayed fingers and onto her blouse. Hagan filled the hatchway, then dropped to his knees, helpless beside her. She was wrenching at the bolt now, the pain keeping her from pulling it free. Liz scrabbled to him, clenching the material of his pants and jacket as she tried, once and unsuccessfully, to climb up off the deck. Then she shuddered twice, and the only sound was Hagan sobbing and a car approaching, brakes squeaking on the dock below.

I edged up so I could look down on Hogueira's round face. Manos and two other officers I'd never seen before elevated their weapons to cover me.

I said, “You're a little late.”

Hogueira said, “Traffic was terrible.”

The two new officers clambered up the gangplank and around the gates while Manos kept his gun on me.

I said, “It couldn't be that having me dead made your case against Hagan stronger, could it?”

Hogueira pursed his lips and shrugged.

T
HE BULLET THAT
hit my foot put me more in need of a cobbler than a surgeon. Hogueira kept me at the station only a couple of hours. He said he thought Cardwell and the DA could wait until morning so long as I gave him my word I wouldn't leave the city. He even let me use his office telephone to make two calls: Nancy to assure her I was okay and Emil Jones to confirm a room at the Crestview.

It was about 10:45 P.M. when a cruiser took me back to my Prelude on The Quay.

He seemed surprised to see me. Not the “My God, you're alive!” look. No, more the “Gee, I didn't know you were still in town” look. We went into the living room, where he used the remote to turn off the television.

I said, “Mark doing paperwork tonight?”

“I believe so.”

“And partner Cronan home sick again?”

A broad grin. “Relapse, poor guy.”

“I'd tell you what happened tonight, but I'm sure you already know more about it than I do.”

Schonstein resettled himself in the wheelchair, neither hand holding the Browning. “Son, I don't know what you're jabbering about.”

“How about we just cut the shit and talk it out, okay? I'm not wearing a wire, and my guess is Hogueira is happy to have half a loaf in Hagan without chasing after you. So why not tell the truth, huh?”

“The truth. Why the truth?”

“Change of pace for you. I spent a lot of time this afternoon putting the pieces together and coming up with Liz Rendall, or Cassy Griffin, take your pick, and your protégé Neil Hagan. And it all worked out, except for one thing.”

“Oh, and what was that?”

“Well, Hagan couldn't have gotten close enough to Jane Rust to poison her, because she didn't trust him. She practically accused him of murder in my office the afternoon of the day she died. So that made Liz the one who killed Jane.”

“Never would have thought it.”

“Liz might have had the strength to outwrestle a drunken Coyne and stab him, but there's no way she could have fooled a derelict who witnessed it into thinking she was a ‘biggish dude.' On the other hand, the killer crawled over to Coyne, then after the tussle, got up with a knife sticking out of his leg and limped away.”

“And you think that was Neil.”

“No. I thought that was Neil. The problem is that in his office last week, I brought up the Meller boy's death. Hagan was genuinely upset about it, even after all these years. What happened on the boat tonight convinced me. Hagan's paralyzed about killing. After accidentally ending Meller's life, Hagan can't intentionally take another, even somebody like me who really threatens him.”

He rocked his head back and forth once. “That's very good, son. I told you once I'd have to keep my eye on you. And you're proving me right. Go ahead, finish it.”

I felt an unsavory sensation of pleasure, as though I really were presenting all this to get Schonstein's professional approval. My stomach turned over. “If Hagan couldn't kill me even though I threatened him, I can't see him killing Coyne. Or searching Gail Fearey's house that night. Or trying to run me down on a bridge. Or drowning a derelict in a rain puddle.”

“That last one, the bum, now that could have been an accident, you know.” He rubbed his palms down his thighs, hips to knees. “Anyway, you sure can't be thinking I did those things?”

“Because of your legs?”

“That's right.”

“Which is the higher retirement, regular or disability?”

Schonsy grinned.

“You took a brick in the face for your partner a long time ago. Why not a fall down some stairs for a higher pension?”

“Don't matter why I took the fall. Because of the fall, I couldn't very well do the things you mentioned.”

“Oh, I'm sure you were injured. Just not as badly as some medico certified to the retirement board. You have something on the doctor? Even on the board members?”

“It's your story. You tell it.”