Stained Glass (21 page)
Edna spoke with obvious reluctance, and Father Dowling understood why. Any reference to Willie could create the impression that he and Edna's Earl were similar cases. Of course, that was absurd.
“Have you yourself seen any of his old associates here?”
“No. But that doesn't mean they haven't been here.”
“That's true. Of course, Willie can have visitors. I never told him otherwise. Would you want me to tell him that now?”
She looked at him with anguish. “Oh, this is awful. I know it is because I couldn't possibly mention it to Earl. How is anyone to be rehabilitated if they're treated as if they can't be?”
“Tell me about the man who asked about Willie.”
Edna seemed happy for the slight change of topic. “He was very handsome. He used his looks, too, if you know what I mean. He could wrap anyone around his little finger. He had me chattering away like an idiot, and I had never seen him before in my life.”
“Did he say why he was interested in Willie's visitors?”
“As soon as he mentioned that, I got him out of here. I sent him down to Willie if he wanted to know such things.”
“What did Willie say to you about that?”
“He's never mentioned it. I don't blame him.”
Father Dowling thought he might ask Willie that when he talked with him.
“Oh, another thing. He said he had gone to school hereâat least he gave that impressionâbut he didn't.”
“Did you ask Marie?”
An unwise question. He was kept busy trying to keep relations between Marie Murkin and Edna civil.
“I looked at all the class photographs downstairs, at least all of them in which he might have appeared. He wasn't in any of them.”
“He would have changed since eighth grade.”
“Not him. I am sure he was as pretty a boy as he is a man.”
“I'm glad you told me this, Edna.”
“It must sound silly to you.”
“Not at all.”
When Father Dowling left, he went down the stairs. At the bottom he hesitated. He felt drawn to those rows of photographs of St. Hilary's graduates, but what would he be looking for? A pretty boy? That was so vague as to be useless.
He continued down to the lowest floor and tapped on Willie's door. Silence. Then movement within. The door opened slowly, and Willie looked out. “Father Dowling. Come in, come in.”
In a corner was a television set with a muted ball game on. Portrait of a maintenance man at work.
“Marie tells me you do a good job in the church, Willie.”
“What did she say?” Willie asked, his voice rising.
“Well, she did say she had to put away your ladder and mop and things.”
“Oh, she told me that. Is she my boss, Father?”
“I wouldn't say that.”
“I wish you'd tell her.”
Father Dowling took the straight-back chair, facing Willie, who had collapsed into a very comfortable-looking recliner. He seemed to shrink in its embrace.
“This must be a lonely life for you, Willie.”
“Father, for years I dreamt of living alone.”
Father Dowling smiled. “I'm sure you did. Do you ever see any of your old friends?”
“Old friends.”
“From Joliet.”
Willie banged the arms of his chair. “She saw him, didn't she?” “I don't understand.”
“Marie. She saw Holloway. I knew it. I was dusting the stations and suddenly he was there, at the foot of the ladder. I brought him over here right away. I was sure no one had seen him.”
“Holloway is someone from Joliet?”
Willie nodded. “The way he talks, he'll be there again.”
Purists would say that parolees getting together were breaking the rules. Father Dowling asked Willie if that was what he meant.
“Father, if I were you, I would get one of those security outfits to look after the parish.”
“What in the world for?”
“Do you know what Holloway wanted to do? He wanted to lift one of the stained glass windows from the church, one of those everyone seems interested in now.”
“Good grief. Wouldn't that be difficult?”
“I told him it would be impossible. I did everything but tell him I'd snitch to his parole officer.”
Ah. “I think he was talking to Edna, Willie.”
“He? No, Holloway's parole officer is a woman, He claims she's nuts about him. She'd have to be.”
“Willie, the next time Holloway, or any of your old friends, shows up, bring him to the rectory. I'd like to meet him.”
Willie smiled a grudging smile. “He is a character.”
When he got back to the rectory, Marie told him he'd had a call from Amos Cadbury.
“Is he in his office?”
“I suppose. He didn't say.”
Amos was in his office. “Father Dowling, can I give you dinner tonight?”
“I'm afraid not, Amos. I'm giving you dinner.”
So it was arranged that Amos Cadbury would dine with the pastor of St. Hilary's that night, in the rectory.
After dinner, with Marie fussing around the table, looking in from the kitchen at regular intervals, her antennae eager to pick up praise from Amos, praise that unfailingly came, Father Dowling and Amos adjourned to the study, the lawyer with a glass of Courvoisier, the pastor with his umpteenth cup of coffee for the day. The conversation turned to the Devere family, and Amos gave an account of the recent board meeting of the Devere Foundation. “I can speak freely because, of course, the minutes can become a public record.”
“What was on the agenda?”
“Support for the project of photographing Angelo Menotti's stained glass windows.”
“They'd better hurry. Willie is afraid one of the alumni from Joliet would like to steal one.”
“What on earth would one do with a stained glass window?”
“I hope that's a problem I will never face.”
“No word from the cardinal?”
“No.” He was tempted to go on, but that would only prompt grousing about being in such suspense. “I suppose there must be a market for one of Menotti's.”
“Father, there are times when I wish I had never heard of Angelo Menotti. His presence broods over that family. Jane Devere is excessively devoted to the man. Of course, she knew him well, long ago. He is a difficult fellow. I suppose it is the artistic temperament. Jane urged me to draw up his will, and I did. It gave him a chance to review his accomplishments, and his checkered life.”
“Has he children?”
“Children? The man is excessively philoprogenitive. At least he was.”
“How many?”
“I don't think he is sure himself.”
“How could he get them all into his will?”
“Exactly. The one he omitted was furious. Angelo offered him a bust of his mother.”
“That must be worth something.”
“It is worth a great deal, but it was not the boy's mother. His fury only increased.”
“He is ninety-something?”
“Ninety-four. A man my age should not begrudge longevity in others, but there are times ⦔ Amos waved the thought away and drew on his cigar. “Back to the board meeting. The recipient of Jane's generosity, Carl Borloff, is nowhere to be found. Of course, it is imagined that he took the money and ran. I doubt that. He very imprudently turned over a good part of the discretionary grant to a man who does seem to have debouched. James Devere has conceived
a great resentment against Carl Borloff. He asked me to hire an investigator to find him.”
a great resentment against Carl Borloff. He asked me to hire an investigator to find him.”
“Have you done so?”
“A strange thing. Margaret drew me aside after James's suggestion. âDon't bother,' she said. âI have already hired someone.'”
After increasingly anxious days in which he had not heard from his client, Tuttle blamed only himself. Had he not told Borloff to get out of sight? Of course he had. Wasn't that good advice? Of course it was. He should have specified that Borloff was to let his lawyer know where the hell he was.
“I hope you got a hefty retainer,” Hazel said. For a while there she had been a regular cheerleader, but now she was slowly reverting to her virago vices.
“Are you kidding?”
“Better let me bank it.”
“I'm using it for expenses.”
“Remember to keep records.”
Tuttle escaped his office and went slowly and meditatively down the four flights to his car. Retainer. He pulled out the single he'd asked Borloff for, to seal their bargain, lawyer and client. For all he knew, Borloff was at the bottom of the Fox River. This cheerless prospect turned his mind to Peanuts Pianone. He called Peanuts from his car. “I'll pick you up in front of the courthouse.”
“What's the deal?”
“Are you in uniform?”
A pause. “I can change.”
From what to what?
Peanuts was in uniform. Tuttle rolled down the window. “I'll put this in the garage. We'll need a cruiser.”
Peanuts actually saluted. Uniforms do that to people. Tuttle slid down the ramp into the basement garage, putting his car in Chief Robertson's spot. Tuttle got out of the car and stretched, trying not to think. He was better when he was spontaneous. How can your conscience bother you if you don't let it know what you're planning? Peanuts rolled up in a gleaming cruiser, and Tuttle got in. “This car makes getting arrested almost attractive.”
Peanuts said nothing, but Tuttle had not expected to engage his old friend in lively repartee. “Why the uniform?”
“My suit that was at the cleaners? They lost it.”
“Sue them.” A Pianone for a client? Whoa.
“That takes too long. You should have heard my brother.”
“I hope the cleaners are insured.”
Peanuts grinned as if he were modeling for jack-o'-lanterns. “They better have fire insurance. They had a fire last night.”
“I hadn't heard.” Tuttle did not want to hear more. The Pianone family's activities were at once notorious and unnoticed, officially. An idea came. “The Pianones got connections in Kenosha, Wisconsin?”
“Where we were?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe.”
Tuttle let it go. His friendship wth Peanuts, the white sheep of the Pianone family, was based on the fiction that Peanuts was just another cop rather than an affirmative action hire on behalf of the Pianones.
He gave Peanuts directions to the building in which Borloff lived.
Maybe the guy was dumb enough not to follow his lawyer's advice. Peanuts squeezed into a space at the curb, easing the vehicle ahead of him forward, despite the protest of its brakes.
Maybe the guy was dumb enough not to follow his lawyer's advice. Peanuts squeezed into a space at the curb, easing the vehicle ahead of him forward, despite the protest of its brakes.
“You'll never get out of here, Peanuts.”
Again the jack-o'-lantern grin. Tuttle had a sudden image of a cleaner's establishment in flames. He erased it and followed the uniformed representative of law and order to the entrance of the building. Peanuts pulled open the door and hurried in as if he were making a raid.
Inside there was a long hallway dwindling into darkness like an illustration of perspective and, to the right, a door marked STAIRS.
“He's on the second floor.”
“Who?”
“My client.”
Peanuts held the door open for him, and Tuttle huffed and puffed his way upward. It was the first door on the right on which there was a sign. SACRED ART.
“Funny name,” Peanuts said.
Two pushes on the bell got no response. Tuttle stepped aside, and Peanuts went to work. In a minute, the door was open.
“How do you do that?”
Peanuts shrugged. Tuttle stepped into the apartment. There were lights on.
“Borloff? It's Tuttle.”
Tuttle went through the living room toward the light. On the threshold he looked in at the desk, computer, bookshelves. Peanuts was crowding next to him.
“He's not here,” a voice behind them said.
Tuttle looked at Peanuts, and Peanuts looked at him. They turned. The man was seated in a chair in the living room. He reached up and turned on the light beside the chair.
“Who the hell are you?”
The man rose in a supple motion and extended his hand to Tuttle. Unable to think of an alternative, Tuttle took it. Peanuts was trying to free his pistol from its holster. Tuttle put a staying hand on Peanuts's arm.
“I am a private investigator.” The man pulled out his wallet and flicked it open.
“I won't ask how you got in.”
“I understand you are Borloff's lawyer. Surely you know where he is.”
“Are you looking for him?”
Was this the danger Tuttle's instinct had suggested, leading to his advice to Borloff to get lost?
“My client would like to speak to Borloff.”
“Who is your client?”
“Margaret Ward.”
Tuttle sank into a chair. The Deveres must think that Borloff had taken a powder with their money. Dreams of making a bundle from Borloff drifted away. “Let me know when you find the sonofabitch.”
“He appears to have left in a hurry.”
“That was on my advice.”
“Ah. Where did you send him?”
“That's privileged information.”
“Meaning he isn't there? Perhaps we should combine forces. How much do you know of his arrangements with Argyle House in Kenosha?”
“Tell me what you know.”
“Homicide is out of my line, of course.”
“Homicide?”
“Come, come, you were there when the body was found.”
Good grief, was he suggesting that Borloff had done away with J. J. Rudolph? Even to admit the thought was to see its plausibility. Borloff felt he had been robbed. He wanted his money back. In a
rage, he strangled Rudolph. Did the sequence of events make that possible?
rage, he strangled Rudolph. Did the sequence of events make that possible?
The man extracted a card from his wallet and handed it to Tuttle. “I'll leave you now. I know you'll want to look around this place. I hope you are more successful than I.” In a gliding motion, he was at the door. Before closing it, he called, “Arrivederci.”
“Ciao,” said Peanuts.
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