Who in Hell Is Wanda Fuca?

WHO IN HELL IS WANDA FUCA?

G.M. FORD

A Leo Waterman
Mystery

"Leave me alone, will you?" he pleaded. "Please just leave me
alone." I inched closer along the windowsill, hoping he wouldn't notice.
He noticed. "Stay where you are. You come any closer, I'm gonna jump, you
hear me?"

"I hear you," I said. "My feet hurt. I was just sitting
down."

Thomas Greer was standing on an eighteen-inch concrete ledge, fourteen
stories above the Third Avenue, his arms extended, palms flat against the
surface, fingers searching for any purchase among the breaks and cracks, his
back trying to press its way through the blond brick facing of the building.
All he needed to do was cross his feet.

He didn't want to talk anymore. On the other hand, he didn't look to me like
he wanted to take a dive either, but I couldn't be sure. I kept my distance and
waited for the professionals to arrive. They were taking their time. We live in
a society where pizza will get to you quicker than the police.

The hotel manager stood half in, half out of the doorway, watching the scene
in the window and keeping an eye on the hall leading to the elevators, he head
swiveling out of control as if he were watching a tennis match in fast-forward.
In spite of the weather, he had sweat all the way through his gray silk suit in
several places. I turned my attention back to the jumper. I leaned out a little
and spoke to him soothingly.

"Come on, Greer, you don't want to do this. . . " Before it was
out of my mouth, I knew I'd made a mistake. He instantly picked up on it.

"How do you know my name?" he asked without ever moving his eyes
from the street below. "How do you know my name?"

"Just a lucky guess," I said.

"Just a lucky guess," I said. It was weak.

"You found us, didn't you? You're
the one. She hired you, didn't she?"

"Come on in here, Mr. Greer. You don't want to do this. There's nothing
to be gained from this." He wasn't listening.

"That bitch. That fucking bitch. She hired you, didn't she?" He
looked at me for the first time. My assessment of the chances of him jumping
instantly changed. I knew that look. Something in him had shaken loose. There
was only the here and now. I kept talking.

"Whatever problems you think you've got," I said, "this isn't
going to help. This is only going to make things worse. You don't want your son
to remember you this way for a boy to remember his dad. Come on in here."
I held out my hand. He sidestepped two feet farther away, stopped, and
sidestepped back, reaching for my hand. His eyes showed a distinct lack of
future.

I pulled my hand back inside and braced myself against the sill with both
hands.

"Come on," he screamed. "Come with me." He bent and
extended his hand toward me. "Come on, earn your blood money."

I shook my head. He stood back up and pressed himself to the building.

"Come on back inside, Mr. Greer. You're not doing anybody any good out
there. Look, I'm sure things look pretty bad to you right now. I'm sure -
"

My babbling was interrupted by the arrival of the Seattle Police Department.
A uniformed officer swept the manager out into the hall and cleared the way for
two detectives and a woman.

The larger of the two detectives I'd seen somewhere before. Big features,
too much loose, florid skin, a pair of wide, distended nostrils that seemed to
be constantly testing the air. This was not a face to forget. Everything about
him was thick and wrinkled, as if he'd been thrown in a corner and allowed to
dry. He was fifty or so with brush-cut hair and a quarter-inch gap between his
front teeth. His deep-set eyes showed minimal interest as they swept the room.
Trask. Bill Trask, maybe. I tried to dredge up where we'd met, but at the
moment I was too scattered to recall.

His partner and the woman were strangers. She wasn't a cop. They stayed just
inside the doorway and beckoned me over. I spoke to Thomas Greer.

"I'll be right back, Mr. Greer. Just hang in there. Okay? Just hang in
there. I'll be right back."

"Go on, get outta here, you bloodsucker," he spat at me.

I slid slowly from the sill and walked over to the cops. The woman was
removing her full-length blue wool coat. She folded the coat neatly and laid it
on the nearest unmade bed. About thirty-five, a natural redhead, small features
dwarfed by oversize glasses, wearing a bright blue two-piece suit, she looked
like a grammar school teacher. Except for the eyes. An array of fine lines
radiated from the corners of her eyes and worked their way through the freckles
toward her high cheekbones.

The big detective got things rolling. Apparently, his memory was better than
mine.

"One of your creditors finally had enough, Waterman?" Failing to
get so much as a grimace, he moved on to the introductions.

"Leo Waterman." He turned to me. "It is Leo, isn't it? I said
it was. "This is Saasha Kennedy. She's a volunteer with Community
Services."

It didn't take an expert to read his tone of voice. Like most cops, he hated
social workers.

"Ms. Kennedy, this is Leo Waterman. As I remember, he p[asses himself
off as a private investigator."

"What," she asked me, "have we got here?"

"I think he's serious," I replied.

"They're all serious, Mr. Waterman. You have to be serious to get out
on a ledge like that. Are you just a bystander, Mr. Waterman, or are you part of
the problem?" she asked.

The big cops couldn't resist. "P.I.'s are never just bystanders.
They're always part of the problem."

"I'll handle this, Sergeant Trask," she snapped. "Why don't
you and your partner keep the hall clear and check on the team on the
roof."

As the detectives reluctantly shuffled off, she turned her attention back to
me. "What have we got here?" she repeated.

"Custody battle."

"I take it he's the loser."

"He seems to think so."

"Tell me about it."

"His name's Thomas Greer. He picked up his son Jason ten days ago in
Spokane for his weekend visitation and neglected to bring the boy back. The
mother hired me to find them. She wasn't getting a whole lot of help from the
local authorities. I traced them to the hotel here last night. This morning, on
their way out to breakfast, I managed to get them separated. The boy's with
hotel security. Mr. Greer here" -  I gestured toward the window -
"was quicker than he looked. He got back into the room and got the door
locked before I could get a hold on him. The rest, as they say, is
history."

"Where's the boy now?"

"He's downstairs with Jack Moody in the security office."

"Does your client know you've found the boy?"

"I called her last night. She's probably in town by now."

"We'd better get her down here."

"I don't think so," I said.

"Why not?"

"Mr. Greer seems to blame all of this on his ex-wife. Having met this
particular woman, I think he may have a point. If the object of the exercise is
to get him down off that ledge, she's not going to be much of a help."

"Let me be the judge of that, Mr. Waterman."

"No," I said. Her eyes opened wide. I got the impression that it
had been some time since anyone had dared utter that awful syllable in her
august presence.

"No? Did you say no? Perhaps you don't understand the situation here,
Mr. Waterman - "

"I understand the situation just fine, Ms. Kennedy. I've spent the last
twenty-five minutes talking to the guy. I'll tell you what we've got here.
We've got a guy here who makes good money but lives in this ratty little
apartment in Ballard because the poor bastard wanted to do the right thing and
because his ex-wife had a better lawyer. We've got a guy here whose ex-wife,
without so much as a by-your-leave, picks up and drags his son clear over to
the other side of the state. We've got a guy here who, every time he tries to
call his son on the phone, gets to talk to some new boyfriend. A new one every
time. His life's in the dumper. He feels like he needs to do something. This is
it. The right audience is all he needs for his big recital. She's it. Trust
me."

"You have a degree in psychology, Mr. Waterman?" She didn't wait
for an answer. "I didn't think so. I have a master's in clinical
psychology, and - "

"I'm sure your credentials are quite impressive, Ms. Kennedy, but I do
have a degree in irresponsibility with a minor in feeling sorry for myself. You
give this guy the right audience and he's going to take the Nestea plunge,
believe me."

"We'll see," she said and headed over toward the window.

She sat on the windowsill, leaned out, and said something to Greer. I
couldn't catch the words. She leaned out farther, exposing a length of freckled
thigh, still taking. A commotion in the hall diverted my attention from the
window.

Two more uniforms and a pair of paramedics slid silently into the room.
Without ever taking her attention from the ledge, Saasha Kennedy held up a hand
for silence. Everyone stood still. I could vaguely hear Greer now.

"I want to see her. Get her down her" - something I couldn't catch
- "She's the one."

After a series of reassuring hand gestures, Kennedy disengaged herself from
her perch and backed into the center of the room. She turned to me.

"You have a number for the wife?"

"She's staying with her brother in Magnolia, but I don't think - "

"Don't think, Mr. Waterman, just get me the number."

I pulled my notebook from my jacket pocket. I was about to read her the
number when she snatched the whole notebook and handed it to the nearest
uniform.

"Find an empty room; call her and get her down here," she said. He
scurried off. She tuned to the remaining patrolman.

"Mr. Waterman will be waiting in the hall." He started to take my
elbow, but I pulled free and turned to face him. He was young, blond, thick in
the neck. Probably only had to shave every other day. He reached for me. I
stiff-armed him back three steps. His hand crept toward the service revolver at
his side and hovered there. A voice from the doorway interrupted the standoff.

"Easy, Eagan." It was Trask. "You have any idea how many forms
you're going to have to fill out if you pull that thing?" Eagan blinked.
He relaxed his hand and took a step my way, but the big detective stopped him
midstride.

"I said easy." Trask sauntered over close to the young cop.
"First of all, there's the forms for drawing your weapon. Endless, son, I
assure you. Endless. Waterman here's" - he jabbed a thumb in my direction
- "definitely not worth the trouble." He turned to me.

"Get your ass out in the hall." Reluctantly, I complied. I put my
feet in the hall but left the rest of me in the doorway.

When his little joke failed to lighten Eagan up, Trask stepped in the still
closer and got serious. "Besides that, use a little judgment, kid. We've
got enough problems here already. Don't you think? This guy look to you like
he's going quietly, huh? Look at him." Eagan eyed me up and down. He shook
his head.

"All the way in the hall, Waterman." Trask made a grand gesture
down the hall toward the elevators. I took my time, keeping my eyes on Eagan.
Trask followed me two steps down the hall.

"Unlike you, Waterman, he's just a kid. Also unlike you, he doesn't
know any better. At least he's got an excuse."

"He stays as jumpy as he is now," I said, "he's never going
to get a chance to get educated." Trask shrugged.

The hall was filling up. The other uniform pinballed his way through the
throng and skidded to a halt in front of the door.

Trask stepped aside and let him into the room. I stepped around him so I
could see back into the room.

The uniform stood just inside the door and whispered to Eagan, who kept
glancing ominously my way, then quickly trotted over toward the window.

"She's downstairs with the boy," the kid blurted. "She saw in
on TV."

Saasha Kennedy never got a chance to register her shock and disapproval.
Greer heard it all.

I could hear Thomas Greer from the hall.

"I want to see her," he screamed. "Get her up here. Where is
she! Goddammit, is she here/ I want to see her."

Kennedy left her perch on the window and hurried back to the center of the
room, pushing the two uniforms before her.

"Great. Just great." She turned on Trask. "Get these two
morons out of here. Now." Trask quickly herded the two patrolmen past me
into the hall. She shook her head in disbelief. I wandered back in.

"Sure am glad I waited for the professionals," I said.

"Fuck you, Waterman."

"You learn that in grad school?" I asked.

She ignored me and went after Trask again.

"Get the woman up here. We don't have any choice now. He's very
unstable." Before he could leave, she stopped him. "How's the team on
the roof? Are they almost ready?"

Trask shook his head. "There's a cornice around the top of the
building. By the time they rappel down here, they figure they'll be six feet
out from the wall. I don't think we're going to get much help from above, but
they're standing by."