Stained Glass (19 page)

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Authors: Ralph McInerny

Tags: #Mystery

BOOK: Stained Glass
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Cy Horvath and Agnes Lamb sat in a back booth in the Jury Box reviewing developments.
“You're sure, Agnes?”
“He hasn't been home in three days.”
“You got someone watching the place?”
“I've been spelling them. I want to talk to that man.”
Carl Borloff might not have disappeared from the face of the earth, but he had been keeping clear of his apartment. Agnes connected this with what she had turned up in investigating the murder of J. J. Rudolph in her office at Argyle House. “He was scheduled to turn over one hundred thousand dollars to her, Cy.”
“He didn't?”
“There is no record of receipt.”
“You think he absconded with the money.”
“I don't want to think. You always tell me not to think.”
“It's no effort for me.”
What a sweetheart he was. For a Hungarian. Too bad his lack of facial expressions suggested a man still under the effects of Novocain.
“Cy, let me tell you why that would be a stupid thing to think.”
They were investigating the murder of J. J. Rudolph. Borloff had come into a pile of money from the Devere Foundation and had entered into an agreement with Argyle House to publish the book he was planning on the Menotti stained glass windows. The agreement involved an initial payment of one hundred thousand dollars, which apparently had not been made. Someone had done away with J. J. Rudolph. End of agreement. Argyle House and J. J. Rudolph were the same thing.
“No employees?”
“She farmed everything out. I don't know anything about publishing, but the only things done in-house were done by J. J. Rudolph. Among those things was working with authors. The overall design of the books, too. She hired artists, copy editors, printers, as needed. She apparently had acted as her own secretary.”
“Did she make any money?”
“Pots. Did you ever hear of the Empyrean Chronicles?”
Cy just looked at her.
“A series of science fiction books by our old friend Madeline Schutz.”
“Schutz!”
“The one we thought got murdered. The one who actually was murdered, Bobby Newman, did some illustrations for Argyle House.”
Of course, Cy already knew how the Kenosha publisher connected with Bobby Newman. Schutz? He might not have heard of the Empyrean Chronicles but he knew of the writer and her publisher. “Lots of connections,” Cy said.
“If only we knew what they mean.”
“Did you ever track down Bobby Newman's boyfriend?”
“Other people besides Louellen saw him around there, but nobody knows where he came from or where he went. I think he's our murderer, Cy.”
“What's his connection with Argyle House?”
“You would have to start thinking, wouldn't you?”
 
 
After she left Cy, Agnes drove to Madeline's place. Mintz, the building manager, didn't recognize her out of uniform. She reminded him of her previous visits.
“She ain't home.”
Agnes already knew that Madeline hadn't answered her phone. “I don't suppose you know when she'll be back.”
The little man rose suddenly, snatched up his rifle, and fired. The rabbit who was munching on plants near the garage didn't even move.
“Give me a try,” Agnes said.
She took the air gun, cocked it several times, and sighted in on Bunny Rabbit. What harm could a BB do? Even so, she aimed at his rear end. Pft. The rabbit lifted off the ground and took off.
“Lucky shot,”Agnes said, handing Mintz his rifle.
He was impressed. “Think you could do it again?”
“Got any more rabbits?”
“How about the weather vane on top of the garage?”
She cocked the rifle twice more than she had before. There was a slight southerly wind. The BB she had just shot had dropped a foot on its way to the rabbit's hind end. Agnes took all this into account and brought the weather vane into the rifle's sight. Pft. Bam.
“By God, you're good,” Mintz cried. “Where'd you learn to shoot like that?”
“Hey, I'm a cop.”
“Madeline went away.”
“Went away?”
“Cleared out with some guy.” Mintz looked jilted.
Agnes stared at him, then dug Louellen's sketch out of her purse. “This guy?”
“Naaw. He was middle-aged, smelled of booze. I was surprised she even talked with him.”
“You should have asked his name.”
“I did.”
“Well?”
“Nutzell, Zittle, something like that.”
Breaking the rules, Agnes thought. “Tetzel?”
“That's it.”
“Let me take another shot with your rifle.”
“I ought to give you the damned thing. I can't hit the side of the garage.”
Agnes lowered the rifle to her hip and squeezed the trigger, and a pellet bounced off the side of the garage. “That's easy.”
 
 
The pressroom in the courthouse was empty except for Rebecca Farmer.
Agnes dropped into Tetzel's chair. “How are things going in men's rest rooms?”
“Don't laugh. It's become a series. Read the one about Naples.”
“I don't have to go to Italy to be pinched.”
“Lucky you.”
“Where's your partner?”
“Partner! Did you check across the street?”
“He's not there. I understand he's writing about Madeline Schutz.”
Rebecca needed help remembering who Madeline was. She didn't know what Tetzel was working on. “He spends most of his time on his novel.”
“His novel.”
“No one's ever seen it, of course.”
“He and Madeline have a lot in common.”
“How so?”
“Two novelists.”
“Make it one.”
“Is Tetzel married?”
“Married! Have you taken a good look at him?”
“You have?”
“How can I help it, sharing this office with him.”
“I hope he hasn't tried any Neapolitan stunts.”
“I'd break his arm.”
“Apparently he's eloped with Madeline.”
“That's impossible.”
“I have it from an eyewitness.”
“To what?”
“Now be nice. Where do people elope to nowadays?”
Rebecca picked up the phone and punched numbers angrily.
“Who are you calling?”
“His cell phone.”
Rebecca scowled into the middle distance and then came alive. “Tetzel! The cops are after you.”
Pause.
“They think you eloped with Madeline Schutz.”
A frown. She slammed down the phone.
“I hope I wasn't interrupting anything.”
Willie had wet-mopped the center aisle of the church and was now balanced precariously on a stepladder dusting the tops of the stations that stood out from the wall. Jesus falls the third time. Willie was trying to avoid falling the first time. Above him, the stained glass windows were alive from the sunlight outside. They were daytime objects. Once the sun went down they weren't much to talk about. Willie was talking to himself. He considered it a kind of prayer. He always felt out of place in church, given his checkered history. On the other hand, he liked to think of God as an accomplice. He heard a door open and close, and he shut up, looking busy. Probably Marie Murkin come to call instructions to him. Footsteps approached.
“Willie?”
He turned carefully and looked down. A once familiar face looked up at him. Holloway! Willie nearly lost his balance. Holloway grabbed the ladder and kept it steady. If there were any more rungs, Willie would have climbed higher. As it was, he went slowly down to the now grinning Holloway.
“Still reading the Bible, Willie?”
They had all kidded him in the place when he got interested in the Bible. Who would have thought it would be so interesting? After
a while he had given up trying to convince them that he was into it for the story.
Holloway had been his cellmate at the end. He stood now gaping at the stained glass windows. “The chaplain told me you was working here.”
“Let's go outside.” His earlier thought that Marie Murkin might drop in had returned. He took Holloway's arm and hurried him toward the main door. In the little alcove, Holloway wanted to examine the pamphlets, but Willie kept him going.
“You don't seem glad to see me, Willie.”
“You don't want to meet the housekeeper.”
“Afraid of competition?”
Willie laughed. “Maybe you should meet her. Ever work in a church?”
“Funny you should ask.”
They sat on the front steps and lit cigarettes, and Holloway spoke of the first time he'd gotten into trouble. Prying open the poor box in his parish church. “I told the priest I thought the money was meant for me. I didn't have a dime. So he gave me a couple bucks.” Holloway might have been giving the explanation of his life of crime.
“How long you been out?”
“Doesn't the suit tell you?”
“I got rid of mine in days.”
“I've been reading about this place, Willie.”
Willie was trying to figure out a way to get rid of him. He had too good a thing going here to have it screwed up by Holloway. He could imagine Marie Murkin's reaction if she found he was being visited by former companions in Joliet.
“Is it true you live in the basement of the church?”
“Come on. I'll show you my place.”
He took Holloway along the sidewalk on the far side of the church, away from the rectory, and to what had once been the main entrance
of the school. Holloway was impressed when Willie whipped out his keys and let them in. Willie put a finger to his lips as they went down a flight. In a moment they were at his door and then safely inside.
Holloway stood where he stopped, turning slowly around, his mouth open, his eyes alight. “This is yours?”
“I thought of renting an apartment somewhere, but this is gratis.”
Holloway took off his cap and slapped it against his leg. “It's enough to make a man go straight.”
Now that he could, in the privacy of his own quarters, enjoy Holloway's envy, Willie waved him to the chair. “No, no. The easy chair.” He went to the little fridge and got out two cans of beer, tossing one to Holloway, who caught it in his lap.
“Ouch.” Holloway quaffed the beer with closed eyes. He kept them closed as he rested the can on his belly and gave out a long sigh. He opened his eyes. “Remember dreaming of moments like this?”
It would have been easy to fall in with Holloway's mood, to recall their daydreams about the outside when they returned to it. The main element of those dreams was that no one would be directing your life, telling you what to do, counting you off, looking in at you sleeping. Marie Murkin aside, Willie had it all right here, and Holloway's envy became menacing.
“Who's your parole officer?” Willie asked.
“Please. Not while I'm drinking.”
“Have him get you a job.”
“It's a her. Phyllis. I think she loves me.”
“How could she help it?”
“I said I'd been reading about this place. Those stained glass windows. Tell me about them.”
“The stained glass windows?”
“Phyllis says they are priceless.” Holloway dipped his head and looked at Willie. “I told her nothing is priceless. Except her, of course.”
“Be careful. She'll steal your heart away.”
“How are they anchored, Willie? Up on that ladder, you must get a good look. Are they cemented in or what?”
“What are you getting at?”
Holloway crushed his empty beer can and waited for another. Willie brought it to him. He felt like bringing it down on his head.
“Just one of them, Willie. Depending on how they're set in, it would be a quick job.”
Willie snatched the second can from Holloway's hand and bent over him, furious. “Cut that out! Don't even think it. You pull a stunt like that and we're both back where we belong.” He stood. “Besides, what would you do with a stained glass window if you had one?”
“You want to hear the plan?”
“No! There is no plan. Holloway, it's been good seeing you, but you are as much trouble as you ever were. What have you been out, days, weeks, and you're this anxious to go back? Grow up, for God's sake.”
Holloway looked up at him like a naughty dog, then began to nod his head. “You're right, Willie. You're right. It was just a crazy dream. Give me the beer.”
There was a knock on the door, and the two men froze. Willie saw that he hadn't thrown the latch when they came in. He split his lips with a finger, pulled Holloway from the chair, and led him to the john. Once he had him out of the way, he went to the door. It was Marie Murkin.
“You just going to leave that ladder standing like that in the church?” She was sniffing, picking up the smell of beer.
“I'm on break. I was about ready to go back.”
“You can forget that for now. I put away the ladder. I put away the mop and bucket.” Marie had her head inside the door, looking around. “What a sty.”
“Thanks for taking care of the ladder, Mrs. Murkin. I appreciate that.”
She glared at him, to see if he was smarting off, then softened. She withdrew her head. “You can finish up tomorrow.”
When Willie closed the door on her, he put up the chain.
The john door opened, and Holloway looked out. “Is the coast clear?”
Willie looked at him, angry, but pitying, too, a brother under the skin. He had to get rid of Holloway before he moved in with him. Maybe he could move in with Phyllis.

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