Getting Away With Murder Read online

  The dark green Triumph was parked in front of the house. I walked around the sports car twice, taking in as much as I could before marching away up Queen Street, looking for maple buds in the trees overhead. I couldn’t see any. In the bookstore across from the Beacon I went hunting for mysteries at the back of the store. There were a few favourites in paperback, which attracted me. I may have been a little rougher than usual as I pulled them off their shelves and flipped through the pages. I was getting rid of the feelings I carried away from Duke Street with me. Then I saw McKenzie Stewart’s new book, the one I had been reading about. Five copies of Haste to the Gallows were displayed face front. They took up a whole shelf. Very impressive for McStu, I thought. Still, it was in hardcover. I paused in my resolve to buy it, flipping through the pages looking for a flaw. But McStu was a friend, the only local author I knew, although I heard there was one at Cranmer College. I hated buying hardcover books, but since I might run into McStu at any time on St. Andrew Street, I softened and carried the book to the cash.

  “You know that this one’s non-fiction, don’t you, Benny?”

  “What? Sorry, Sue, my mind was unplugged.” Susan Torres who ran the bookstore usually looked out for me. She put me on to Walter Mosley, John Dunning and William Mcllvanney.

  “This newest title by McStu isn’t a novel, Benny.”

  “You mean Dud Dickens isn’t in it?” My enthusiasm had developed a slow leak.

  “It’s about a real case, Benny. I know you’ll like it because it’s a local story.”

  “Great!” I said, “Great!” damning McStu under my breath and passing my plastic to Sue. I wouldn’t even let her put the book into a bag for me. I slipped it into a pocket and returned to Duke Street feeling as though McStu had played an expensive joke on me. The Triumph sports car that had been parked in front of Paulette’s front door was gone. I should have given it a kick when I had the chance. I rang the bell a second time.

  Paulette looked relieved when she saw me standing on her threshold. “I’ll bet you could use a drink,” she said. “I know I could.” She backed out of my way and we returned to the back room. Paulette poured shots of Scotch without asking my preference or forgetting what I had in my glass when Hart walked in. I sat where I’d been sitting, looking forward to the Scotch.

  “I hear that Hart hates his father. Is there anything in that?”

  “If there is, you won’t hear it from me. I try to be as loyal as I can. Hart sometimes tests my patience, as you’ve just seen. You mustn’t let that little drama sour you on the boy. I try to be fair to both the kids, both Hart and Julie.”

  “Julie? I don’t understand. Isn’t Julie Lily’s problem?”

  “Not when Abe gets on the telephone after midnight. God, I’ve been intimate with all of her problems from diaper rash to the present. Abe spares me nothing. In our divorce settlement, Abe got the phone and he plays it like, like a—a—”

  “Virtuoso?”

  “Yeah, like that,” she said, smiling at me with her eyes over her drink. “God knows, I tried to get Abe to show a little common sense in dealing with them. They always got their own way. Abe saw to that. As a result, they got a pretty distorted picture of what the world was like when Abe wasn’t there to put in some money or some muscle.”

  I waited. I didn’t want to fill the pause with another question until I got a good answer to the last one. She went on: “It’s not Abe they hate, you know. It’s what he’s done to them. They couldn’t tell you about it in so many words, but that’s what it is. He’s spoiled them from having ordinary decent lives. Bad enough having a criminal as a father! But having a father who’s as bull-headed as Abe is a combination that’s hard to beat. That’s another thing: Abe hates losing. That goes for bets and for people. That’s why I went to live in Hunter.”

  “Where?”

  “Hunter. It’s in New York. You know the Catskills?”

  “Oh. I think my parents stayed at a hotel in the Catskills. But as you were saying?”

  “I’m a sentimental old woman, Mr. Cooperman, and you can discount everything I’ve said, but I know that in spite of everything he has done to hurt them, in spite of everything they’ve done to hurt him, he loves his kids. I know it.”

  “But they can’t stand him. I get the picture.” Paulette didn’t respond except by making a face. I thought I’d better move on. “Paulette, I’ve tried to get Lily to talk to me. She won’t play. Do you think you could help me? I know that it’s asking a lot.”

  “Not as much as you think, Benny. Lily and I came to an understanding a long time ago. Remember we’ve got a lot in common. Oh, we’ve had a great deal to laugh at over the years about that crazy, crooked bastard we were both married to. I hear what you’re saying and I’ll see what I can do. I can’t be fairer than that, can I?”

  I had run out of questions. I knew I could talk to her all day and hear all sorts of interesting stuff about her colourful life, but it wouldn’t get me anywhere except maybe by accident. To finish up, I asked her about Hart’s difficulties about the Triumph that she had mentioned on telephone. She gave me the details and I scribbled a few names on a piece of paper.

  Paulette poured another drink for herself and tried to refill my glass, but I covered it with my hand. The last thing I needed on this long day was to be high on top of everything else. I thanked Paulette for her help and paved the way for a return visit when I was deeper into the investigation. She put down her glass long enough to see me out of the house. I could tell that she wasn’t getting all of the company she could accommodate, but it was a busy day. I said goodbye at the front door, and she let me shake her hand, which was the only part of her that looked like it had seen more years than Abe Wise himself had.

  SEVEN

  In the Diana Sweets, between sips of coffee, I took the book out of my pocket. It looked like a novel, it was the right size for a novel, but it did say “true” on the back and on the front as well, when you really took a second look. Haste to the Gallows was a catchy title. I tried to get some idea of the contents from the back cover. A woman named Mary Tatarski was the subject of McStu’s nonfiction sabbatical. I’d seen the name somewhere recently. Yes, it was the case that Duncan Harvey, a local architect, was perennially trying to get revived. In the centre of the book was a block of black-and-white pictures: a pretty young face in a high-school year-book, a soldier in uniform, a confused-looking middle-aged woman with a kerchief covering her dark hair. There were others, but I was growing curious about the text. I started reading the first chapter and lost myself in it for some time until I felt that I was being observed. It was an uncomfortable feeling. I put the book away. Looking around the restaurant, I saw nothing unusual: lawyers were joking over coffee, storekeepers were unwinding after a bad half-hour with the bank manager. I thought saw a shadow pass across the window. For a moment, had a sense of relief when I saw that it was only Phil, one of Abe Wise’s hoods. Then I had to laugh. How quickly we adapt to any situation.

  I drove through the double line of fast-food outlets and service stations to my parents’ town house off Ontario Street. It was the first house in the row and my father’s car was not parked in front. He must have been showing off his gin rummy prowess at the club. I could picture him, still smelling of talcum and a little pink from the sauna. I let myself in and found my mother watching television.

  “Manny? Is that you?” Her eyes must have been temporarily blinded from looking at the screen.

  “It’s only me,” I said, taking off my coat and hanging it over one of the dining-room chairs. “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Up? What should be up at this time of day? I’ve got potatoes to peel, that’s what’s up. It’s a woman’s lot, Benny. But first I’ll watch the end of this program. I hope you’re not thinking of staying to dinner. I only have two steaks, one for your father and one for me. You should let me know when you’re in need of a home-cooked meal.”

  “As a matter of fact, Ma, Anna is cooking f
or me tonight at the apartment.”

  “Anna. Good! A girl that young needs all the practice she can get.”

  “By the time she gets her second set of teeth, she’ll be able to boil an egg.”

  “She’s still living with her father. I hear he has a French cook. Tell me you never eat snails, Benny.”

  “Ma, it’s a big house and Anna has her own apartment in the back. And as for the snails, I’ve only seen the dining-room twice. Both times the table was covered with drawings from her father’s collection.”

  “Why don’t you make us both a cup of tea?” I did that and when I returned to the orange living-room, Ma’s program was over and the set turned off. I put the tray down on a coffee-table.

  “Be careful of my Chinese ginger pots, Benny. I love them better than my life.” Ma wasn’t exaggerating. Once, when Sam and I were still in pyjamas with feet in them, Grantham was hit by a small earthquake. Instead of carrying her two children out of the house, Ma took the ginger pots away from danger wrapped in a blanket. Sam says the blanket came from one of our cribs, but I think that that’s big-city cynicism showing.

  “Ma, I’ve been thinking that it’s been a long time since you and Pa have had a holiday. Why don’t the two of you take off?”

  “What have you been smoking, Benny? Just like that, we should go away! Why? Do you need the house? What are you thinking about?”

  “I just thought that you could use a change of scene, that’s all. Is it a crime to wish you out of this cold weather? It’s been a long winter and you didn’t get away at all.”

  “Except for the two weeks in Miami Beach.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the week at Myrtle Beach.”

  “I forgot about Myrtle Beach. Okay, you don’t need a vacation. I was just thinking that Pa looked a little frail when I saw him last week.”

  “Frail? Manny frail? Why shouldn’t he be frail? He’s seventy years old, Benny. A lot of people his age have been dead for ten years.”

  “That’s why I suggested that you both get away. Treat yourselves to a second honeymoon.”

  “Are you coming up with the airline tickets?”

  “I wish I could afford to send you on a trip around the world: London, Paris, Rome!”

  “And as for a second honeymoon, the less you and Sam know about that part of our lives, the better I like it.”

  “Don’t you just want to get out of Grantham when the winter won’t stop? It’s supposed to be spring, but where are the buds on the trees? Where are the crocuses?”

  “How do you manage to boil a kettle and make cold tea, Benny?” I could see I wasn’t going to move my mother beyond the reach of Abe Wise’s influence. I could hope to do better when my father arrived. If he came down against the proposition, Ma would begin to see some virtue in it. I didn’t lose heart and I wasn’t surprised. I just had to make the attempt, that’s all. The price of a little peace of mind was cheap. It only took the effort. Half an hour later, when my father came in and draped his coat on another of the dining-room chairs, I put the idea of a southern holiday to him. He cocked his head as though I was going insane before his very eyes and said that he would think it over.

  “What’s to think over, Manny? Money doesn’t grow on trees in Ontario.”

  “I wouldn’t mind Palm Beach,” Pa said.

  “You can’t get another day’s wear out of that white suit, Manny. Forget it. Besides, it’ll be spring in no time. I love a Canadian spring. It’s over so fast. You blink and it’s gone.”

  “Why don’t you fly down to Arizona? They do a great spring in Arizona,” I said, selling the idea with as much conviction as I could muster.

  “Paul Weinberg found a scorpion in his garage in Arizona. Are you trying to send us to our deaths?” The conversation drifted from the Arizona murder plot to other things.

  “Boy, did I get a shock at the club this afternoon,” Pa said. It was his way of announcing the death of one of their contemporaries.

  “Manny, I don’t want to hear about it!” Ma always tried to postpone the news. Maybe she thought she could breathe a moment of life into the dear departed by keeping at bay the specifics of who exactly had died.

  “And he was only retired a few years.”

  “I don’t want to know!”

  “A better hand at poker you couldn’t wish for.”

  “Are you talking about Dave Kaplanski?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to know.”

  “I don’t want to know if you’ll shut up about it. If you won’t shut up, then I’ve got a right to guess. Is it Louie Stein? He played poker. And I think he just came back from Florida. I thought that such a tan was criminal. Now he’s dead. That’s the way the world goes.”

  “Sophie, what are you talking about? Lou Stein’s face told you every card in his hand. A poker player? Lou Stein couldn’t understand Snakes and Ladders! I’m talking about the old deputy police chief, Ed Neustadt, not Lou Stein. Lou’s been in his grave for six—seven months already.”

  And so it went. I tried my best to save their lives in Palm Beach or Flagstaff, but to no avail. I looked at my watch, kissed them both and left them to their steaks. I was beginning to feel hungry, so I pointed the Olds in the direction of home.

  EIGHT

  “Benny! Which way did you go?” I was sitting in my apartment at the all-purpose table with Anna Abraham staring across at me. With the certain knowledge that Phil, the hood, or one of his pals was keeping at least half an eye on my windows, I was not brilliant company.

  “Huh?”

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Benny, what’s the matter with you tonight? You sulked through dinner and haven’t been listening for at least the last twenty minutes. Are you telling me that you could do with less of my company? I can take a kick in the pants as well as the next girl.”

  “I’m sorry, Anna. I know I’m being lousy company.”

  “An understatement if I ever heard one!”

  “I said I was sorry.” I stared at the wine stain on the tablecloth. I’d poured salt over it to prevent it becoming permanent, but I wasn’t sure it wasn’t just an old wives’ tale. The wreckage of two approaches to eating grilled salmon lay before us: Anna’s tidy clean plate; my chopped-up remains, partly hidden under the mashed potatoes.

  Anna had come early, letting herself in with her own key, and had a good dinner on the stove when I returned from playing travel agent at my parents’. I was delighted to see her, of course, but I knew that I had put her in danger by just knowing her. I wanted to tell her, but I was afraid of the consequences. I was sure that she would stick by me. In fact, her loyalty was the problem. The last thing in the world I needed at the moment was damn-thetorpedoes loyalty. What I needed was everyday indifference, the sort of long-standing arrangement that might allow for Anna to not see me for a couple of weeks. The last thing I wanted was to have Anna know more about Abe Wise than was good for her. I had already quizzed her during dinner about her responsibilities at the university. She couldn’t take any time off and that was that. What would have happened to her, I wondered, if she had been with me when Mickey and the Three Stooges paid their call?

  “Do you remember what I was saying?”

  “You were talking about … No, I don’t remember. You caught me fair and square.”

  “Well, you’re honest, at least.” She was looking at me. I knew it, but I couldn’t return her gaze. I wasn’t sure what I might not say once I was caught staring into Anna’s salamandrine eyes.

  “Let’s start again. Okay? I’ll try harder. I’m not the rat fink you think I am. I’m just careworn from a bad day at the office.”

  “Office. You haven’t been in your office for hours. I tried calling you there umpteen times. You’re not going to tell me what this is all about, are you?”

  “This is something you don’t want to get involved in.

  “Benny, you’re always saying that the only way to protect yourself from the consequence o
f having guilt knowledge is to pass it around. Secrets get people killed. You say it all the time! Well, why not take your own advice? What’s going on in your life that I should know about? Are you tracking down a serial killer? Are the fuzz about to bust you for non-payment of your many secret operatives spread out across the nation, around the world?”

  “Very funny!”

  “Maybe it isn’t business at all. Let me think about that. The blonde hasn’t arrived to displace me, has she?” Anna has always been kidding me about my falling for a blonde bombshell with no brain and a full bra. I know it is just a joke, but she brings it out whenever she’s feeling peculiar about our arrangements. We have been seriously not living together off and on for nearly three years. I could go on like this forever, but Anna and Anna’s father would like some resolution to the informality. My own parents are noisily silent on the subject. I get looks across the table when Anna’s name is mentioned. I catch exchanged glances and sense the undercurrent in the room. I once was kicked under the table when Pa got close to the subject of rabbis and invitations. I didn’t know how to pass along the warning from Ma, but my father got the idea from my cry of pain.

  “The blonde is in the closet under my laundry,” I said. Anna looked over at the closet door then back at me.

  “She’s very quiet.”

  “She’s well brought up. Breeding does it every time.”

  “Is that a reproach to my father’s new money?” she said, brushing a lock of hair back where it belonged.

  “You know I’m indifferent to your old man’s millions. It’s your body I’m mad about.”

  “What about the blonde under the laundry? Doesn’t she have a body? Maybe she can’t pull herself away from your smalls.”

  “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Dirty shorts are a very big kick. Maybe not my kick, but a kick nevertheless. Come over here.”

  “Aren’t you saving yourself for her?” I answered the question by getting up and walking around the table. The next half-hour has no place in the report about Abe Wise’s call on my professional services. Although I hadn’t answered Anna’s questions, I had forgotten that she had asked them. Maybe she had too. It was a long time before I thought of Abe Wise or of his minions stationed across the street.