Blue Molly (Danny Logan Mystery #5) (7 page)

“Toni, my dear,” Gus said as he kissed Toni’s hand—his customary greeting. Aside from me, and probably about tied with her mom and sister, Gus Symanski is the number one Toni Blair fan on the planet. He loves to have her take his arm and allow herself to be escorted to our table. Toni is a solid three inches taller than Gus in her normal footwear: her black Doc Martens. I suppose something about being seen with a tall, stunning Seattle beauty like Toni seemed to make the old guy come alive. (I could understand this, being familiar with the feeling myself.) When she wore tight black leather pants and jacket and the silver nose ring, as she often did on lunch days with Dwayne and Gus, he was practically giddy.

We took our seats at the counter in front of the conveyer belt and, first thing, Toni excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. “You’re going to need to throw a bucket of water on him,” I said to Dwayne, as Gus stared transfixed at Toni’s backside as she walked away.

“You got that right.”

“Dude!” I said to Gus, a few seconds later. “That’s my girlfriend’s butt you’re staring at.”

He kept looking for a few seconds. “So arrest me or something.” Finally, he turned to me. “Goddamn, Danny, I gotta tell ya, you’re the biggest idiot on the face of the planet.”

I laughed. “It’s great to see you, too, dude.”

“Hell, yeah. I mean, you gotta get yourself checked out, boy. Make sure you got a pulse. The two of you been together, what—going on two years? How could you go this long and not have a ring on that girl’s finger yet? That shit’s beyond me. I tell you, you’re just lucky I’m not twenty years younger.”

“Thirty,” Dwayne said.

“Whatever. Hell—even now, if you so much as stumble, I’m there for that sweet young lady.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it, but I hate to disappoint you: I don’t stumble.”

* * * *

We started picking items off the conveyer belt when Toni returned. After three years of eating this stuff, I’m better at it than I was. I’d always prefer a good cheeseburger, but they weren’t on the menu, so I’d learned to avoid raw salmon or tuna and anything with fish eggs or tentacles. I knew I was safe with either cooked shrimp wrapped around some rice, or cooked rice wrapped around some shrimp. The others just shook their heads at my heathenness, but at least I could get by.

Thirty minutes later, we were slowing down. “So,” Dwayne said, “tell us about your latest case.”

“It’s not the reason we asked you to lunch,” I said.

He shrugged. “I know. But it’s always interesting listening to detectives who don’t have to deal with all the bureaucratic bullshit.”

“Well,” I said, “since you asked, there is a favor . . .”

“Here it comes, boss,” Gus said to Dwayne. “I knew these guys had been quiet for too long.”

Dwayne shook his head and looked at me. “Never mind, Gus. What’s up?”

I explained the Lyon case, starting from the fight at Merchants, all the way up through our little meeting in Occidental Park yesterday.

Gus laughed. “You got tossed in the pokey?”

I nodded. “Sure did. They didn’t file charges, but they just kind of threw up their hands and arrested everybody, including me and Doc.”

“You should have called me,” Dwayne said.

I nodded. “Appreciate that. We got it all worked out pretty quickly, though.”

“Well, next time, though,” he said, sternly. “You call.”

I nodded. “Got it. Thanks.”

“Good. And then yesterday . . .”

“Same group of guys,” Toni said. “But this time, they brought along another we think might be their boss.”

I nodded. “A big, mean-looking son of a bitch named Pavel Laskin. Ever heard of him?”

“Pavel Laskin?” Dwayne leaned back and stared at the ceiling, then he shook his head. “No, can’t say that I have.”

“Me neither,” Gus added.

“Well, they sure knew who Danny was,” Toni said.

“Really?” Dwayne pursed his lips for a second, then said, “Wonder how they figured that out?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I suppose they got it from the jail somehow.”

“Hmm,” Dwayne said. “But then nothing happened yesterday?”

“No. He apologized for his man.”

Dwayne shrugged. “Well, maybe it’s over, then.”

I smiled and turned to Toni. “You get the impression that things were over?”

She laughed. “No way.”

I shook my head. “Me neither.”

An alarmed look came over Gus’s face. “This here worries me a little. I know you two are hotshots, and you know what you’re doing and all, but you’re into the case less than twelve hours and you’ve already been in a fistfight with a guy who’s running some kind of gang. Hell, he may be a Russian mobster for all you know. Those guys can be dangerous.”

“That’s crazy talk,” I said. “There aren’t any Russian mobsters in Seattle.”

“Well, there’s always a first time,” Gus countered.

“Maybe,” I said. “But for now, I don’t see any reason to blow this up larger than life.”

“I agree,” Dwayne said. He turned to me. “You said something about a favor. I’m going to start by checking into the guys you were arrested with, and then I’m going to check out this Pavel Laskin character. Maybe there’s something in their backgrounds that will be useful. Aside from that, what else do you want us to do?”

“Apparently, the SPD told the Lyons they can’t do anything about the vandalism and crap that they’re going through unless someone is basically caught in the act—spray can in hand.”

Dwayne shrugged. “Yeah, well, they’re kind of picky that way. You know it’s always easier to convict someone if you’ve got a little evidence to work with.”

I smiled. “Thank you for that. That’s good to know. But it’s easier to come by such evidence if the patrol schedule is beefed up. We’re asking if you guys can talk to someone in the West Precinct and ask them to step up the eyes on the Lyon Building there on Main Street.”

Dwayne nodded. “That’s simple stuff. They can ask for that themselves—they don’t need our help.”

I nodded. “They have. I just thought it might get a little better reception coming from a department heavyweight like you.”

“Alright,” Dwayne said. “It’s done. What else?”

“That’s it.”

Dwayne smiled. “Really? Hell, that was easy. Almost makes a guy feel guilty about having you buy us lunch.” He looked at Gus, then they both turned to us. “Nah!”

* * * *

Dwayne and I stopped by the men’s room on the way out. We were all done, getting ready to leave, when I said, “Since you’re feeling guilty about us buying you lunch, would you mind doing me another favor?”

“Another favor? I recall I said I ‘almost’ felt guilty. What do you need, anyway?”

“I wouldn’t ask, but it’s kind of serious.”

“What?”

I told him about Rico Maroni’s visit. “I don’t know if this Maroni guy is someone I can just ignore, or if he turns out to be the psycho stalker from hell. He seems pretty shifty to me.”

“No worries. I’ll check him out and let you know.”

“That’d be awesome, man.”

He reached over and patted me on the shoulder. “That’s no problem, Danny. And because it involves you guys, Toni in particular, this favor’s on the house—won’t even show up on the favor ledger. No charge.”

“Thanks, Dwayne. I appreciate it.”

“Just don’t tell Gus. He’ll hunt the poor bastard down and string him up old-style.”

* * * *

We had gathered in the restaurant lobby to leave when we noticed an unmarked car sweep into the driveway with its lights flashing.

“Wonder what this is all about?” Dwayne said.

“Your credit card clear?” Gus joked.

I shrugged. “Most of the time.”

The car stopped, a dark-skinned lady stepped out of the driver’s seat, and a young man got out of the passenger side.

“Holy hell,” Gus muttered.

“Well, would you look at that,” Dwayne said. “That’s Gus’s other girlfriend. That’s old Inez Johnson.” He looked around, cautious-like, not knowing whether something was going down that he should be aware of.

“The hell’s she doing here?” Gus muttered.

I had absolutely no reason to start going queasy at the sight of a Seattle Police Department homicide detective, but suddenly there it was—a dread that hit me in the pit of my stomach, warning that something bad was about to happen.

“Let’s step outside and see what’s happening,” Dwayne said. We followed him through the restaurant’s double doors and met Inez and her group just as they approached.

“Inez Johnson,” Dwayne called out to the woman. “It’s been a long time.”

“Lieutenant Brown,” Inez said curtly. Her voice carried a strong Caribbean accent, noticeable even in her first two words.

“It’s so good to see you again, Inez,” Gus added, all smiles.

She looked at Gus and gave him a nasty look, then she turned to me.

“Mr. Logan, we meet again.” We had worked with Inez two years ago on a case—a Seattle mathematician the police thought committed suicide until we proved that it wasn’t a suicide after all, but a murder. She’d been okay to work with, but she stuck very much “by the book.”

“Hello, Inez,” I said. “You here for a quick bite?”

She smiled. “No, not really. We’re here on business. Actually, it concerns you. I have a few questions for you.”

“For me? Really?”

She nodded. “Yes, for you.” She turned to her partner. “You got that picture?”

He reached back on the dashboard of the car and pulled out a photograph, which he handed to her. “Do you recognize dis man?” She held up a black-and-white of a man I recognized immediately. It was Short and Bald from Merchants Café.

I smiled. “Yes, I do,” I said. “He tried to take my head off with a pool cue two days ago.”

“So I hear.” She put the photo away. “His name was Eduard Markovic.”

“Was?”

She nodded. “Was. It seems Mr. Markovic met with an unfortunate accident last night.”

I looked at her but didn’t say anything.

“He got himself killed,” she said. “Apparently, he ran into a large-caliber bullet just as it was fired from a handgun. Made a big, nasty hole in his chest. Then he went and got himself tossed into a Dumpster. As a matter of fact, the very Dumpster that’s located in the parking lot at your apartment.”

I said nothing, just looked at her.

“My records say you carry a 1911, right?”

I nodded. “I do. Was this unfortunate guy shot with a .45?”

“We’re not certain. We’re still confirmin’. So we were just a-wonderin’ if, given the little altercation between the two of you on Wednesday, you might know something about this?”

“Why would I know something, unless—Inez, do you think I killed this man? Are you arresting me?”

She stared at me for a moment, then said, “Nope. Not arresting you. We’d just like it if you voluntarily accompanied us downtown to answer a few questions. Who knows? Maybe you might know something that could be helpful.”

“These are questions that he can’t answer right here?” Toni said, coming to my defense.

I held up a hand. “Nope—actually, downtown’s fine.” If Inez had questions for me, particularly regarding a homicide, the sooner I addressed them, the better. But I wasn’t going to do it here, and I wasn’t going to do it on my own. “Inez, I’m happy to answer your questions, but I won’t be doing it here anyway. And I won’t be answering any questions from anybody unless my lawyer’s present.” I smiled. “No offense.”

She smiled back. “None taken. And when you say ‘your lawyer,’ that would still be Mr. David O’Farrell, right?”

I was slightly surprised. “That’s right.”

“I figured as much. So that we’d have no delays, I took the liberty of calling him for you. He’s on his way downtown as we speak.”

I was impressed. I nodded. “Good work, Inez. No sense wasting time. Can I drive myself?”

“I’d prefer it if you’d just ride along with these guys here.”

I stared at her for a second. By the book. “Very well, Inez.” I turned to her partner. “Before Inez has to ask, why don’t you come over here and relieve me of my sidearm.” I turned to Inez. “And keep it handy, because I’ll want it back when I leave.”

There’s a small conference room on the sixth floor of the Seattle Police Department headquarters on Fifth and Cherry. David O’Farrell sat next to me, and Inez’s partner, whom she’d introduced as John Vanderberg, sat beside her. I was not handcuffed, and Inez was treating me nicely—not the way I’d expect her to treat a murder suspect if she really thought I might be guilty. Maybe she was just being nice because of David. Whatever—I wasn’t complaining.

John started his tape recorder while Inez made a few notes before she looked up at me. “You ready?” Inez asked David. He nodded that he was, so Inez got started. “We’re here in the headquarters building, sixth floor, conference room A on Friday, February 7, at two thirty in the afternoon. We’re here to interview Mr. Daniel Charles Logan in connection with the homicide of Eduard Markovic. Mr. Logan is represented this afternoon by his attorney, Mr. David O’Farrell. Okay, so let’s get started. Mr. Logan, the first question for you is where were you last night between the hours of eight p.m. and oh, let’s say, eleven p.m.?”

“Last night? I was sitting in . . .”—I thought for a second—“Benaroya Hall, Founders’ Tier, Box T, watching a surprisingly good performance by a fellow named Bryan Stokes something . . . Mitchell! Brian Stokes Mitchell. Sings show tunes.”

She looked at me, confused. “Really?”

“Really.”

“You were at the symphony?”

I nodded. “Yes, I really, really was.”

“Okay, then. Care to give me the particulars?”

“Certainly. We—my girlfriend, Toni Blair, and I—got to Benaroya Hall about seven thirty. Parked right there in their underground garage. We took the elevator upstairs and met my parents in the lobby—it’s their box, and they were already there waiting for us when we arrived—probably seven forty by this point. Show started at eight, so we went upstairs and took our seats and stayed put through the end of the first half. I talked to my dad at the intermission, then we all went back inside and stayed till the end of the performance, which was probably a little before ten. Then we went back down to the lobby. We talked to some acquaintances of my parents, whose names I don’t recall, but I’m sure my parents do. Then we said our good-byes and took the elevator to the garage, probably exited the building maybe ten thirty, ten forty-five or so. Had to stop for gas at the Chevron station up on Westlake. I can get you the receipt. We made it home probably around eleven fifteen or eleven thirty.” I thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Eight o’clock to eleven o’clock. That’s pretty much it.”