18 Explosive Eighteen (24 page)

“I stopped in last night to tel you we made an arrest on the Korda case,” he said. “Where were you?”

“Atlantic City. I was looking for a lead on the two guys who’ve been fol owing me.”

“And?”

“I didn’t have a chance to fol ow through, but I think they might be working for a food purveyor that services the casino. Bil ings.” I took a chunk of babka. “Tel me about the arrest. Who’s the suspect?”

“Carol Baumgarten. You probably don’t know her.

She’s from Lawrencevil e. We brought her in, and she total y cooperated. Claimed she never intended to kil anyone. She got tossed aside for Barnhardt, and she wanted to teach them a lesson. Her idea was to put them in the trunk, leave the car at the junkyard, and cal Korda’s wife to retrieve him.

Problem was, Korda’s wife never picked the message up on her cel phone, and Korda had a heart attack. By the time Baumgarten got worried and returned to the junkyard to rescue Korda, he’d already been compacted. So she panicked and started going through Stoli like it was water.”

“How did you find her?”

“Cab records. She cal ed a cab to take her back to her car at the jewelry store. I guess she fol owed Korda for days, waiting for the right time.”

“I’m surprised you’re sharing this with me.”

“We have a taped confession and tons of physical evidence. Her prints were al over Joyce’s car. And I’m sure there are DNA matches. The woman sheds hair like a cat. And with the way things operate in this town, every detail wil be circulated at Mabel’s Hair Salon and Giovichinni’s Market today. I don’t know how it gets leaked out, but it always does.”

“Did you talk to Berger?”

“No. We’ve been playing phone tag. I’l try to hook up today.”

Morel i left, and I went to my computer to get information on Bil ings. I found the company and scrol ed through a bunch of pages. It looked like they distributed gourmet prepared food, specialty items, and premium meat and poultry. The warehouse and central offices were just north of Bordentown. It was a private company owned by Chester Bil ings. He wasn’t exactly squeaky clean. He’d been charged with income-tax evasion three years ago, but he’d settled up and nothing more had come of it. He’d also been charged with possession of stolen goods, but nothing had come of that, either.

I plugged Chester Bil ings into a new search program that would give me some personal history.

He was born in New Brunswick. Parents were Mary and Wil iam Bil ings. Sister Brenda. Holy cow.

Brenda.

I put Brenda Schwartz into the same search program and read down. There it was … Brenda Bil ings. Brother Chester.

Okay, so I had final y made a connection. And it was interesting. But I stil had no idea why the photograph was important. Or, for that matter, what I had to do to get everyone off my back.

I shut my computer down, took a shower, got dressed, and headed out. Lancer and Slasher fel in line behind me on Hamilton and fol owed me al the way. We parked in front of the bonds office, and I walked back to talk to them.

“I know who you work for,” I said to Lancer.

“I didn’t tel you,” he said.

“No. I found out on my own.”

“I guess it’s okay then.”

“You don’t seem especial y motivated to beat information out of me,” I said.

“We’re fol owing orders,” Lancer said. “We keep our eye on you and report back where you go and who you talk to.”

“Razzle Dazzle is more aggressive.”

Lancer snorted. “He’s a freak. He used to hang out at the casino until they kicked him out. He had a way of getting the slots to pay out. Works for some Somali nutcase. Used to brag about how he could cut off a finger with a single slash of his knife.”

• • •

Connie, Lula, and Vinnie were standing at silent attention when I walked into the office.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“We’re listening,” Connie said. “Do you hear that?” I cocked my head and listened. “What am I supposed to be hearing?”

“They’re squeaking,” Connie said. “They’re having a meeting.”

“Who?”

“The rats.”

Oh boy.

“I don’t hear them no more,” Lula said. “I’m not sure I ever heard them. I think the squeaking might have been Vinnie wheezin’.”

“I don’t wheeze,” Vinnie said. “I’m the picture of health.”

“Things to do. People to see,” I said. “There’s a warehouse I need to check out by Bordentown.”

“They got good shopping at a flea market there,” Lula said. “I wouldn’t mind going with you.”

“I wasn’t planning on shopping.”

“Yeah, but you never know when the urge might hit you,” Lula said. “They got a kick-ass rib place there, too.”

TWENTY-THREE

I DITCHED LANCER AND SLASHER in midtown Trenton, and got onto Broad. We picked Route 295

up in Whitehorse and went south.

“I’m feeling like those guys aren’t trying real hard to tail you,” Lula said. “Seems to me they don’t got a lot of motivation.”

“They’re security guards who got promoted beyond their level of incompetence.”

“Why are we going to look at this warehouse?”

“Lancer and Slasher are employed by a guy named Chester Bil ings. Bil ings owns a gourmet food-distribution company, and his warehouse is in Bordentown. Turns out Brenda Schwartz is his sister.”

“Hunh,” Lula said. “What’s al that mean?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

“So we’re goin’ pokin’ around his warehouse?”

“Not so much poking around as riding by. I’d like to get a sense of the operation.”

The Bil ings warehouse and office were in a light industrial park. I found the service road and wound my way through the complex, final y coming to Bil ings Gourmet Food at the end of a cul-de-sac.

The buildings were relatively new. Grounds were minimal y landscaped but neat. The office was attached to the warehouse. Maybe two thousand square feet for the office. A lot more for the warehouse. Large parking lot. I drove around back to see the loading docks. Two loading docks and two rol -up garage doors. Woods behind. I thought about the charge of receiving stolen goods. He had the perfect setup.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ve seen enough.”

Lula looked at me. “That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“We rode al the way down here to do this? You don’t want to go in or nothin’?”

“Nope.”

What would I say to big bad Chester Bil ings? I haven’t got the photograph, but I’m pretty sure the guy looked like either Tom Cruise or Ashton Kutcher.

And I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone. I couldn’t see Chester Bil ings having a sense of humor about that message.

“I got the ribs place programmed into my phone,” Lula said. “Just in case you’re interested.”

• • •

Ninety minutes and ten pounds later, we were back on the road.

“That was excel ent,” Lula said. “Nothing like lunching on ribs and fries and al that other shit to make me feel like a new woman.”

I’d had absolutely no self-control. I’d eaten everything that was put in front of me, with the exception of the napkin, and I felt like
two
new women.

“What wild-goose chase we going on next?” Lula asked.

“I want to break into Brenda’s house.”

“Now you’re talking!
WHAM
. What about the nosy neighborhood, and the fact it’s daylight?”

“We’l be in disguise.”

“A covert operation,” Lula said. “I like it.” I drove back to Trenton, stopped at my mom’s house, and borrowed a mop, a bucket, and a cleaning caddy fil ed with a bunch of cleaning products.

“This here’s sexist,” Lula said. “Why do we have to be cleaning ladies?”

“Because we look like cleaning ladies. Do you have a better idea?”

“I was just sayin’. No need to get huffy. Usual y, we’re ’hos when we go undercover. I’m good at being a ’ho.”

“I didn’t think ’ho would work here.”

“I guess you got a point.”

I found Brenda’s little green house, and I parked in the driveway. We went to the front door and rang the bel . No answer. I felt around the doorjamb for a key.

Nothing. I scanned the ground for fake dog poop or a fake rock. Nada.

We carted our buckets and mops to the back and tried the back door. Locked. I lifted the doormat and looked under. There was the key. We opened the back door and walked into the kitchen. A couple bowls and coffee mugs in the sink. A box of cereal on the counter.

“What are we looking for?” Lula asked me.

“I don’t know.”

“That makes it easy,” Lula said.

It was a smal , traditional ranch. Two bedrooms and one bath. Crammed with furniture. Probably whatever Brenda had loaded on a truck before the foreclosure police padlocked her out of her former house. There was a picture on an end table in the living room of Brenda and a young man. Her son, maybe. He was slim, with shoulder-length brown hair, wearing jeans and ratty sneakers and a brown T-shirt. They looked happy.

Brenda’s bedroom was as expected. Her closet stuffed with clothes. Shoes lined up everywhere. A bureau crammed with undies, dressy T-shirts, sweaters. The top of the bureau loaded with hair products, nail polish, a professional makeup chest, a spice-scented candle. A jewelry chest containing costume jewelry. So far no pictures of her and Crick.

No engagement ring in the jewelry box.

I moved to the bathroom. Medicine chest stuffed with over-the-counter decongestants, pain pil s, laxatives, antacids, sleep aids, diet aids. Some makeup scattered on one side of the sink.

Hairbrush, hairspray. Electric toothbrush. A second toothbrush, smal tube of toothpaste, razor, and travel-size shave gel on the other side of the sink.

Man stuff. Toilet seat up. Damp towel on the floor in front of the tub and shower. Definitely a guy here.

The second bedroom was being used. Bed unmade. Laptop on the bed. Men’s flip-flops on the floor, along with tropical-themed boxer shorts.

Backpack in the corner, partial y stuffed with clothes.

Nothing hanging in the closet. Nothing in the smal chest of drawers.

“Somebody living with Brenda,” Lula said.

“She has a twenty-one-year-old son. Jason. I’m guessing he’s visiting. Doesn’t look like he’s planning an extended stay.”

“That’s nice he’s visiting his mama, though. It’s gotta be hard when your kid grows up and leaves.” I looked over at Lula. She never talked about kids.

“Would you like to have kids someday?” I asked her.

“I don’t think I can have kids,” Lula said.

“Remember, I was hurt when I was a ’ho. I would have died if you hadn’t found me and saved me.”

“You could adopt.”

“I don’t know if anybody’d let me.”

“You’d be a wonderful mom.”

“I’d love the shit out of a kid,” Lula said. “I’d try real hard. I never knew much about my own mom. She was a crackhead ’ho, and she overdosed on heroin when I was young. I was a better ’ho than her, on account of I never did the drugs like that.” I walked out of the bedroom, past a closet that held a washer and dryer. A few more steps down the hal , and I came to another door. I opened the door and peeked in. Garage. It looked like there was a car under a tarp. I switched the lights on, lifted the tarp, and gave a low whistle.

“That’s a Ferrari,” Lula said. “It’s no ordinary Ferrari, either. It’s one of them special-edition ones.

This is a majorly expensive car. I bet Brenda has a orgasm drivin’ this car.”

“She doesn’t drive this car,” I said. “It hasn’t got plates.”

“Then I bet she has a orgasm sitting in it in the garage.”

We grabbed our buckets and mops, I locked Brenda’s house, and we got into my truck.

“I’m tired of fooling around with this,” I said to Lula.

“This is bul shit. I’m going to Brenda, and I want answers.”

“Wham,” Lula said. “Kick ass.”

I motored out of Brenda’s neighborhood, took Route 1, and turned into The Hair Barn’s parking lot.

“I’m coming with you,” Lula said. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

“There won’t be much to miss. I just want to talk to her.”

“Yeah, but if she won’t talk, we’l rough her up.”

“We wil
not
rough her up.”

“Jeez Louise,” Lula said. “It’s no wonder you go around in the dark al the time. You got a lot of rules.” Brenda was sitting in her styling chair when I walked into the salon.

“You came back,” she said. “You decided to get something done with your hair, right?”

“Wrong,” I said. “We need to talk.”

“I don’t need to talk anymore. I don’t care about the photograph. You can keep it.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Wel if you
did
have it, you could keep it,” Brenda said. “It’s not important to me.”

“What about Ritchy?”

“Who?”

“Your dead fiancé.”

“Oh yeah, poor Ritchy.”

“Talk to me about poor Ritchy. What was he doing with the photograph?”

“He just had it, okay? And then he didn’t have it, because he gave it to you.”