HardScape (11 page)

Trooper Boyce sighed. “I checked you out, Ben. I know your background. Put yourself in my place. Remember what you thought of hunches when you were in Naval Intelligence?”

“I remember ‘Naval Intelligence' sometimes seemed like a contradiction of terms.”

She smiled her pretty smile. “Hunches are nice. Facts are better. Remember? Suppose a cute little midshipwoman reported her C.O. grabbed her ass behind the anchor. Did you look her over and think, Sweet young thing—she'd never lie. Let's courtmartial the louse? Or did you take a report, interview witnesses, and marshal your facts?”

“I remember hunches that led me to facts.”

“Fine. Call me when you get some facts. We've set up temporary headquarters at the Plainfield barracks.”

“911?”

She took a card from her bag and scribbled with a smile. “Try this number first.”

We had trout. It was great. As for the
purpose
of lunch, it was a disaster. I still wondered if I should confess about the video, but instinct still said it wouldn't help. After coffee Marian signaled for the check.

“No, my treat,” I protested.

“You get the next one—when it's not business. Call me. Anytime.”

I headed back to Newbury with the distinct impression that neither of Trooper Boyce's fellas were in for the long haul. Or was she humoring me?

I drove straight on through Newbury, on toward Danbury.

Chapter 12

Two propeller planes droned around Danbury Airport. One flew for the highway patrol, hoping to ambush the last speeder on the planet unaware that white crosses painted on the shoulder marked an aerial speed trap. The other plane, painted Chinese red, belonged to Sky Rentals. The owner was practicing approaches, apparently, touching down on the runway, skipping away, touching down again, and wobbling back up. I waited beside a hangar. At the end of the runway sprawled the gigantic Danbury Fair Mall, former site of Danbury's fairgrounds where we used to watch Pinkerton Chevalley race Renny's GTO on the stock car track.

The airport is a dinky little thing by comparison to the shopping mall. The megalith Macy's, Sears, and Lord & Taylor dwarf the hangars. The runway looks smaller than its parking lots.

At last, the red plane came down and trundled up to where I was sitting. An angry man in golfing togs stormed off to a BMW and sped away. His companion climbed out of the plane whitefaced and shaking.

“You waiting for me?”

“If you're the Roy Chernowsky who rents planes.”

“Sorry I took so long. I was checking out a renter.”

“I gather he didn't pass.”

“No, he didn't. What can I do for you? Looking to rent?”

“I'm Ben Abbott. Renny Chevalley's cousin.”

“Renny's your cousin?” Chernowsky glanced around, frightened, as if I were the coke crew's executioner.

“Relax,” I said. “I'm just trying to figure out what happened. I don't believe he was flying coke.”

“Then who shot him?”

“You tell me. Who was he flying with?”

“Just the cat.”

“What cat?”

“You don't know about the cat? The cat's the kind of thing I thought he would have told you about.”

“No, no, no. We didn't work together. I rode along freight dogging a couple of times, but this whole thing just makes no sense to me. What cat?”

“The cat belongs to this rich doctor, right? The doc's got a house on Block Island. She goes out for a week at a time. The other day, she couldn't find the cat, so she went without it. Then her housekeeper finds the cat. The doc says, Great. Box it and tell Renny to fly it out here.”

“The doctor knows Renny?”

“Sure. Renny runs her out regular. So the housekeeper gets hold of Renny, who hires my plane and flies the cat out to Block.”

“So how does this turn into coke?”

“You tell me, cousin. He's supposed to be back here by one in the afternoon. Instead he telephones and says he's keeping the plane late. I say how late, he says home by dark. Fine with me. I'm paid by the hour, and nobody else had booked it. Comes dark, no Renny. No plane. No calls. Till around ten, when a trooper shows up waving a search warrant, takes my books, informs me they're impounding my plane, and tells
me
not to leave town. Like yeah, where am I going minus a plane that ain't paid for?”

“Who's the doctor?”

“Zelda Schwartz.”

“Got her number?”

“She's still out there. Hey, you want me to fly you to Block Island?”

“I doubt I could afford it. But I would appreciate her number.”

“I think it's private.”

“Never mind, I'll call her office.…Tell me something: How far could Renny go in that plane?”

“Far as he wanted.”

“How far? I mean, could he fly to Boston?”

“Sure.”

“Chicago?”

“He'd have to refuel.”

“Let's say after he left Block Island, how far could he have gone until they found him?”

“I'm not following you.”

“What time did he call you from Block Island?”

“Cops wanted to know the same thing. About eleven.”

“So from eleven to dark, let's say, how far could he have flown? Obviously farther than Block Island to Newbury.”

“You're talking about nine or ten hours flying time—that's a fast plane—nearly two thousand miles, minus fueling time.”

“Chicago and back?”

“Guess so. Toronto, Montreal, Washington, Philly, Atlantic City. Anyplace east of the Mississippi. Of course, he would have been one whipped puppy flying that distance alone.”

“Did the plane have autopilot?”

“Yeah, but still it's not like he could put his feet up and go to sleep.”

“Didn't he have to file a flight plan?”

“Didn't have to. He could stay out of the patterns—which of course he'd want to do if he were smuggling coke.”

“
Did
he file any flight plan?”

“The way I heard it, he flew from Block to LaGuardia.”

“Where'd he go from there?”

“No one knows. He filed for Teterboro. Flying at the unrestricted eight hundred feet, he could have gone anywhere.”

“Wouldn't Teterboro notice he was missing?”

“Not if he radioed a course change. Could have said he was going to Atlantic City instead. You could ask the state police about this if you want. They've probably checked him out with the FAA already.”

“Thanks.”

“Listen, if you talk to the state troopers or anybody, would you ask about my plane? I hope to hell I don't have to hire a lawyer to get it back.”

“That could get expensive.”

“I'm afraid they'll keep it. They've got some kind of law about taking vehicles used in dope deals. You ever hear of that?”

“I don't see how they can take your private property.”

“They've done it so far. Sure I can't fly you anywhere?”

“Positive.” I found a pay phone, lost a quarter, and decided to bite the bullet and finally buy a car phone. I had had one, of course, back in the 'Eighties, when they ran two grand. Now, the price was down to about a hundred bucks if you went with a carrier doing a promo. I found a discount electronics outlet in the mall, paid a hundred bucks I'd have to subtract from my Yankee Drover bar budget, and rejoined the late Twentieth Century.

Dr. Schwartz's nurse agreed to ask the vacationing doctor to call me. I was nearly home when my new phone buzzed and a gravelly voiced woman asked for Ben Abbott.

“Dr. Schwartz?”

“My nurse said you're Renny's cousin.”

“I am. My mother is his father's sister.”

“Well, I'm sorry about your cousin, Mr. Abbott. How can I help?”

“I don't believe Renny was smuggling cocaine, Doctor, and I wonder—”

“I don't believe it either, but I don't know any facts to the contrary. He was a pleasant, shy man, punctual, a confident pilot, and polite—none of which would prevent him from doing what the police say he was doing.”

“When did he leave Block Island?”

“He was still at the airport when my caretaker picked me up.”

“Didn't you see him take off?”

“No. It's not that small an island. And there are plenty of planes on the weekend.”

“So you have no idea if he stayed for five minutes or five hours?”

“As I told the police, Mr. Abbott, all I know is that my caretaker gave him the telephone message and he said that he would see me next week to fly me home.”

“Someone left a message for him?”

“It sounded like another flying job: ‘Pick up Mr. Smith at two-thirty.'”

“Smith? Where?”

“Just the name and the time. Anything else, Mr. Abbott?”

“Thanks for calling back.”

“Pick up Mr. Smith at two-thirty” said nothing. Renny had filed a flight plan to LaGuardia from Block Island. He could have stopped anywhere along the way. Or he could have picked up Mr. Smith at LaGuardia and flown him damned near anywhere in eastern America. Or “Mr. Smith” could be code for a bag of coke. I had a feeling the cops hadn't learned anything that would change their original take on Renny's death. At least not from Roy Chernowsky and Dr. Schwartz.

Coming home to Newbury from the suburbs and cities south of Interstate 84 is like passing through a mirror. Behind, a world of crowds and too many automobiles; ahead, open space that people usually go on long vacations to find. By nightfall I was sitting in the deep silence of my “library,” an old thick-walled room in the back of the house—the oldest part of the house—watching apple wood burn orange in the fireplace. I was thinking about having a drink but didn't really want to get high.

There was something supremely humbling about seeking information from people whom the cops had already questioned. The cops were team players; when they got a new piece of information they enlisted all sorts of colleagues to follow up leads, check stories, float theories. Alone, I was in the position of trying to re-invent the wheel without the benefit of an axle and spokes. All I really had going for me was a strong conviction—which was being sorely tested—that Renny would not commit such a crime. What had Marian Boyce called me? A romantic without the facts. Yet maybe their facts just
seemed
like facts. It
looked
as if Renny had had a falling out with a partner while smuggling coke. He had cracked up in Al Bell's field. There was cocaine in the plane. Renny was shot. And Renny had had plenty of time to pick up a partner and dope somewhere between Block Island and Al's landing strip. There was no way that I alone was going to find out where else my cousin had touched down.

I needed a partner. A professional who could work his contacts in and out of the law. A sleaze in an S-class Mercedes. I didn't like Alex Rose. But at least I could afford him. I found his card. I hadn't really looked at it before. It had a neat little rose embossed on the lower left corner. His collected-sounding receptionist answered the telephone. I asked if the boss was still in.

She remembered my name and told me Mr. Rose would call right back. My phone rang as I was tossing another log on the fire.

“What's up?”

I said, “I want to deal.”

“What deal?”

“Testimony in support of Mrs. Long.”

“There's no deal. You got to testify.”

“I'll be a friendly witness.”

“I don't care if you're friendly or unfriendly.”

“You will do better if the jury likes me.”

“True,” Alex Rose conceded. “On the other hand, the prosecution's going to ask whether you've been paid to testify.”

“I don't want money.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Two things. Alison's teeth. The orthodontist.”

“No problem there. I'd like to see the state's attorney bitch about that to a jury of loving parents. What else?”

“Help me find the guy who murdered my cousin.”

“Whoa!”

“What's wrong?”

“Tall order.”

“Long can afford it. Put it down as a consulting fee or something.”

“Why don't you just wait for the cops to find out?”

“They're looking at it as a drug fight.”

“From what I hear they're looking at it correctly.”

“They're not trying as hard as if he were an ordinary businessman, which he is. They just don't see him that way.”

“You're wrong there. I spoke with Trooper Boyce. She's hungry. Bender gets the credit for Mrs. Long. Boyce'll kill to find her own murderer.”

“Boyce is starting from a prejudice.”

Rose was silent for a while. I could hear music in the background. Cocktail bar piano; the kind of “I Did It My Way” joint you drop into at six to see who wants to get laid for dinner.

I said, “I know it looks bad.”

“That's for sure.” Rose was quiet again, then he said, “You're coming from some kind of family faith. You got to tell me more—find some fact that'll help me believe before I get involved.”

“Like what?”

“Somebody believable who has reason to believe that Renny Chevalley had no intention of landing dope in that hayfield.”

“If I find that, I can take it to the cops.”

“To the cops it'll be hearsay. Self-serving hearsay. To me, it just might convince me that your cousin wasn't the two-faced son of a bitch dope smuggler the cops say he was.”

“He was just a businessman.”

“Do you have any idea how many ‘businessmen' play both sides of the street? Goes with the territory. They get ripped off by their employees and raped by the government. When they see a chance to even the score, lots take it.”

“Renny wasn't like that.”

“Did he give discounts for cash?”

“Sometimes, I suppose.”

“Did he pay taxes on the cash?”

“Hold on. Skimming cash isn't the same as running dope.”

“Would you run dope?”

“Of course not.”

“Neither would I. Would you skim cash?”

“No.”

“I might,” Rose said.

“That doesn't make Renny a drug runner.”

“Prove it.”

“That's what I'm asking you to do.”

“In exchange for fudging evidence?”

“I didn't say I'd lie for her. But I will describe the loving couple I saw. And hope to hell the state's attorney hasn't found that picture.”

“Why don't we start with the kid's teeth?” Rose replied.

The way I read him, he was having second thoughts about my testimony but was keeping his options open.

***

I was glad I had asked Vicky McLachlan to come over and help work out the logistics of the orthodontist's deal. We sat around the kitchen table—Vicky, Alison, Janet Mealy, and me—and it soon developed that things weren't going at all the way I thought they would.

Alison's mother listened, wringing her bony hands. Finally she whispered that braces weren't possible. She couldn't afford them.

Alison said she didn't want them anyway.

“All paid for, by my friend Mr. Rose.”

“It's not right. We've taken too much already.”

“But it's not costing me anything. It's a trade for something I did for him.” I glanced at Vicky for support and chose my words carefully. “Mrs. Mealy, this is the sort of thing that can make a real difference in later life. I'm just glad the opportunity has come the child's way.”