‘Yeah, but he’s a wuss. And a drunk. And neither one of us got feelings from him.’
‘That’s just the thing – we considered him as a suspect, and when we didn’t like that, we quit thinking about him. But what if he’s the connection? What if something he was into got his father killed?’
Gino popped another meatball, decided he could indeed talk around it. ‘What did Jack do?’
‘Hell, I don’t know…’
‘No, no, that’s what Langer and McLaren said, remember? When they were talking about Morey pushing Jack away at Hannah’s funeral? So maybe he got involved in something really bad, way below Morey Gilbert’s moral radar, and maybe the old man actually tried to get him out of it, and got popped for his trouble. He said himself there were people who wanted him dead. Maybe he really meant it. But how does Rose Kleber fit in?’
Magozzi used a toothpick with cellophane frills on the top to stab a meatball on Gino’s plate. ‘I’ve got a new plan. One murder at a time. If Rose Kleber is connected, it’ll show up eventually. So let’s talk to Jack’s mystery wife, maybe check out his office books, take a look at the kind of people he’s been representing, that sort of thing.’
Gino nodded thoughtfully. ‘You might have something there.’ He sidled a little closer and spoke under his meatball breath. ‘Besides, I’m getting a little sick of standing around listening to people talk about what a great guy Morey Gilbert was. Two weeks ago I gave twenty bucks to the Humane Society and felt like Mr Charity. Now Morey Gilbert’s making me look like a dirtbag. You know that Jeff Montgomery kid who works at the nursery? Well, turns out his folks were killed in a car wreck right after he started at the U, so Gilbert’s been paying his tuition. Can you believe that?’
‘No wonder the kid’s been crying for the past two days.’ Magozzi glanced over Gino’s shoulder and saw Lily approaching in her long, black funeral dress. Marty was at her side, as he had been all day, picking up the slack for her useless son. Magozzi gave him a lot of credit for that.
Lily stopped and looked pointedly at Magozzi’s empty hands, then nodded her approval at Gino’s obscenely stacked plate of food. ‘You have a good appetite, Detective.’
‘This food is amazing, Mrs Gilbert. Somebody told me you cooked most of it yourself.’
‘I did.’
‘Then I think you should get rid of the nursery and open a restaurant.’
She didn’t smile exactly, but it was obvious from the slight shift in her expression that even she wasn’t immune to a compliment. ‘I saw the picture of that woman who was murdered in the paper this morning.’
‘Rose Kleber,’ Magozzi said.
‘Anyway, I thought I should tell you, her face looked a little familiar, so she might have come in a couple times, but she wasn’t a regular. Regulars, I remember.’
‘Lily?’ Sol Biederman came up behind her and interrupted tentatively. ‘Have you seen Ben?’
‘Ben who?’
‘Come on, Lily. Ben Schuler.’ Sol was obviously worried, but a little impatient, too. ‘He wasn’t at the funeral, and if he’s not here, something’s wrong. His heart isn’t so good, you know, and he’s not answering his phone.’
‘He’s not here because he’s not welcome in my house and he knows it,’ Lily said sharply.
Sol’s smile was gentle as he touched her hand. ‘Frightening as you are, Lily, even you couldn’t stop him from coming to his old friend’s memorial. I’m going to drive over there, just to set my mind at ease, but I won’t be long.’
‘If he’s not dead, tell him he’s still not welcome in my house,’ Lily said. She turned on her heel, saw Jack moving toward her, then turned and walked in the opposite direction.
Gino let out a low whistle as soon as Sol and Lily had gone their separate ways. ‘Remind me never to get on that woman’s short list. What’s she got against this Ben guy?’
Marty shrugged. ‘You never know with Lily. Excuse me, guys. I should get back to her.’
‘She’s got about fifty people around her right now, Marty,’ Gino said. ‘Cut yourself some slack and take a few minutes. I just saw a meatball with your name on it.’
It was tough to watch one of your own going down, Magozzi thought. Gino knocked himself out trying to engage Marty in conversation, and because Marty was a polite man, he tried hard to pretend to be interested in what Gino was saying. But the pretense part was painfully obvious, and after about ten minutes, Magozzi began to feel like they were torturing the guy.
‘We should get going, Gino,’ he said, but at that moment, Jack Gilbert came stumbling up, sloshing a drink almost as red as his face down the front of his white oxford. He draped his arm over Marty’s shoulder. ‘Hey, guys! What a turnout, huh?’ He gestured around the room with his drink, spraying an arc of punch. ‘You’d think the fucking Pope died.’
With a suddenness that surprised everyone, Marty spun toward Jack, dislodging the offending arm from his shoulder, and snatched away Jack’s drink. For a minute, Magozzi thought he saw a trace of the old Gorilla. ‘Don’t push it, Jack. Not today.’
Jack stumbled backward and almost lost his balance. ‘Jeez, no offense, Marty. You gotta chill. You want a drink?’
A heavyset woman with maroon hair approached and handed Marty a portable phone. ‘Somebody’s calling for you.’ When Marty took the phone and stepped away, she moved in on Jack. ‘Jack Gilbert, look at you, sloshing around, spilling drinks, offending people… how could you do this to your mother?’
Jack’s head wobbled on his neck a little as he tried to bring the woman into focus. ‘Jesus, Sheila, is that you? You look like Dennis Rodman. What the fuck happened to your hair?’
She narrowed her eyes and leaned close to him. ‘Farshtinkener paskudnyak,’ she hissed, then stormed away.
Gino’s eyes were wide open. He didn’t know what the woman had called him, but he was absolutely sure Jack had deserved it. ‘You know what, Mr Gilbert? You might want to think about reeling it in a little bit. Sit down on the couch over there, maybe get a cup of coffee.’
‘Well, that’s a hell of an idea, Detective, but you see, I just poured my best bottle of bourbon in the punch bowl and there’s this Jewish tradition that says if you pour alcohol at a funeral, you have to drink it all or it dishonors the dead.’
Gino stared at him for a minute. He was pretty sure he was full of shit, but you never knew with religion. I mean, who would believe the Catholics smear ashes on people’s foreheads?
‘He was kidding, Gino,’ Magozzi said.
‘I knew that. Let’s get out of here.’
He and Magozzi started to shoulder past Jack when Marty’s hand shot out and grabbed Gino’s arm. Still a lot of strength in that hand, Gino was thinking as Marty held him fast, murmuring a low reassurance of some kind into the phone before pulling it away from his ear and pushing disconnect. ‘Thought you might want to hear this,’ he said very quietly, looking around to make sure none of the guests were close enough to overhear him. ‘That was Sol. Ben Schuler’s been shot.’
Magozzi’s face tightened. ‘Dead?’
Marty nodded grimly.
‘Who’s dead?’ Jack said much too loudly, bumbling in a little closer.
‘Keep it down, Jack,’ Marty told him. ‘It’s Ben Schuler.’
‘No shit? Poor old bastard. What was it, heart attack?’
Marty hesitated, maybe in a remnant of every cop’s reluctance to share information with a non-cop. ‘No,’ he finally said. ‘He was shot. Once in the head. Just like Morey.’
With those few words, Jack Gilbert became frighteningly sober, and every drop of blood drained from his drunken, red face. ‘Suicide?’
Marty shook his head.
Jack Gilbert got a strange look on his face then – one that Magozzi had only seen a few times in his life – a look of genuine fear. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he whispered.