He went home and made some phone calls. The next morning he went out first thing and bought the Globe and the Herald and read them both over breakfast. Then he made one more phone call and caught a train.
Thirteen
“His name was Louis ‘Why Not?’ Minot,” he told Dot. “No ID on the body, but his prints were on file. He had a dozen arrests on charges ranging from petty theft to bad checks.”
“Well, you wondered what kind of man would steal another man’s raincoat. A small-time crook, that’s what kind.”
“Somebody gave him two in the head with a twenty-two.”
“Mathematically, that’s the same as one with a forty-four.”
“It was enough. Gun was silenced, would be my guess, but there’s no way to tell. Minot was walking on the Common, someone waited until there was nobody nearby, not hard to manage with the weather as bad as it was. Went up to him, popped him, and walked away.”
“Must have been a vigilante,” Dot said. “Whenever he sees someone steal a coat, he wreaks vengeance. Charles Bronson can play him in the movie.”
“What do you know about our client, Dot?”
“I can’t believe this came from him. I just can’t.”
“What must have happened,” he said, “is someone was watching the house on Exeter Street. As a matter of fact…”
“What?”
“There was a cab came along, dropped a guy in front of the place. I thought it was him, what’s his name, Thurnauer. Not that there was a resemblance, but I was seeing him from the back, watching him take a long look at the house across the street. But he walked away. Except maybe he just walked a little ways off and waited.”
“And saw you go in and come out.”
“In my pretty green coat. Then he tagged me to the place where I had lunch, and then he picked me up when I left, except this time it wasn’t me.”
“It was Louis Minot.”
“Wearing my coat. A day like that, rain coming down hard, he wouldn’t get too good a look at my face. The coat would do it. He stayed with the coat. Minot walked over to the Common, the shooter followed him, picked his moment…”
“Bang bang.”
“Or pop pop, if he used a suppressor.”
“Who knew you were going to Exeter Street? Answer: the client. But I still can’t believe it.”
“The cops believe it.”
“How’s that?”
“We already know what color Minot ’s coat was. Do you want to guess what he had in the pockets?”
“The keys and the knife.”
“Letter opener.”
“Whatever. I forgot about them, Keller. The cops made the connection?”
“Well, how could they miss it? One guy’s stabbed to death and another guy turns up dead less than a mile away with a letter opener in his pocket? They found blood traces on it, too.”
“I thought you wiped it.”
“I wiped it, I didn’t run it through a car wash. They found traces. Probably not enough for a DNA match, but they can type it, and it’ll be the same type as Thurnauer’s.”
“And the letter opener fits the wound.”
“Right. And the keys fit the locks.”
She nodded slowly. “Not hard to reconstruct. Minot moved up in class and took a contract, iced Thurnauer on Exeter Street and kept a date on Boston Common to get paid off. And got shot instead, bang bang or pop pop, because dead men tell no tales.”
“That’s how they figure it.”
“But we know better, don’t we, Keller? Minot said ‘Why not?’ to the wrong coat, and got himself killed by mistake. By somebody working for our client.”
“You just got finished saying you couldn’t believe it.”
“Well, what choice have I got, Keller? I have to believe it, whether I want to or not.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Oh?”
“I was up most of the night,” he said. “Thinking about things. Do you remember Louisville?”
“Do I remember Louisville? As if I could forget. The smell of bluegrass, the taste of a tall mint julep in a frosty glass. The packed stands at Churchill Downs, the horses thundering down the stretch. Keller, I’ve never been to Louisville, so what’s to remember?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Your trip there, the other time you had a bad feeling. And a husband tracked his cheating wife to your motel and killed her and her boyfriend in your old room.”
“Capped them with two in the head from a twenty-two.”
“Jesus Christ. But they got the husband for it, remember?”
“He didn’t do it.”
“You sure?”
“The cops are,” he told her. “His alibi held up.”
“Do they have anybody else they like for it?”
“I don’t think they’re looking too hard,” he said, “because they still like the husband. They think he arranged it, although he doesn’t seem like the kind of a guy who could arrange a three-car funeral. But they think he hired someone else to follow the wife and kill her in the act. Because it sure looked like a pro hit.”
“Two in the head, di dah di dah di dah.”
“Rings a bell, doesn’t it?”
“Ding fucking dong. A whole carillon. Give me a minute, will you? And turn that damn thing off, I can’t hear myself think.”
The TV had the sound off, the way she generally had it, but he knew what she meant. He hit the Power button and the screen went dark.
After a long moment she said, “It wasn’t the client in Louisville and it’s not the client in Boston. It was somebody else who was after you personally.”
“Only way it adds up.”
“Only way I can see, Keller. It can’t be some avenging angel, has to even the score for Thurnauer or the guy in Louisville -“
“Hirschhorn.”
“Whatever. In Boston he staked the place out, waited for you to do it, then made his move. He didn’t care if Thurnauer got killed, just so he got his shot at you.”
“And in Louisville…”
“In Louisville he must have been watching Hirschhorn’s house. After you gassed the guy in his garage, he followed you back to the motel and-“
“And?”
“Doesn’t work, does it? He couldn’t have followed you back to the room you already checked out of twelve hours ago.”
“Keep going, Dot.”
“I’ll tell you, it’d be easier if I had a map and a flashlight. I’m in the dark here. If he went to the wrong room, the old room, it’s because he already knew where you were staying. He knew about the room before you did Hirschhorn.”
“Bingo.”
“Definitely not the client,” she said, “because how would he know where you were staying? He didn’t even know who you were. Keller, I’m bumping into the furniture here. Help me out, will you?”
“Remember the drunk?”
“Looking for his friend, wasn’t he? What was the friend’s name?”
“What difference does it make?”
“None. Forget it.”
“The name was Ralph, if it matters, but-“
“How could it matter? He didn’t exist, did he? Ralph, I mean. Obviously the drunk existed, except I don’t suppose he was really drunk.”
“Probably not.”
“He knew where you were staying. How did he know? You didn’t make any calls from your room, did you?”
“I don’t think so. If I used the room phone at all, it was well after he came knocking on my door.”
“And you didn’t use your own name at the motel?”
“Of course not.”
“Must have tagged you from the airport, then. Or he put a homing device on your car, but the client gave you the car, and we already established that the client didn’t do this. Somebody else knew you were coming, or else, Jesus, followed you out from New York -is that possible?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure enough. Look, I think I know who it was.”
“Who, for God’s sake?”
“Go back to Louisville for a minute. I get off the plane and there’s a guy there to meet me.”
“As arranged.”
“As arranged, and there’s another guy, has a sign I can’t make out. I walk up to him until I’m almost in his face, trying to read what’s on his sign.”