Driving out of Buellton, I admitted that if Flaherty had really seen Eddie Whittaker as he believed, then Eddie had to be innocent of the murder of Ileana Corrigan. So, the unanswerable question of the day became, did Michael Flaherty really see Eddie Whittaker in the Buellton restaurant, or did he simply mistake him for someone else he did see?
*
It was five of five when I pulled into the lot in front of the building where Chunky had his testing lab. A lady working in the lab said Chunky had left to deliver something, but that there was an envelope for me in case I came in before he got back. Back in my car I pulled it open to find several pages paper clipped behind a hand written note from Chunky, both were attached to one of my books. “It was good to see you again, Matt. Don’t be a stranger.” Then a P.S. “Forgot to tell you, my wife loves your novels. When I told her you were coming by, she insisted I bring this one down and ask you to autograph it.”
Right then, I heard a knock on the rear fender of my car. It was Chunky. He had just pulled in after making his delivery. I motioned him around to the passenger door. He got in.
“I see you got the book. I’ll get no sweet time for a month if you don’t sign that thing.”
“Well,” I smiled and nodded, “we can’t be letting that happen can we?” I got her name and wrote an inscription to her, signed it, and gave it to Chunky.
“I owe you, Matthew.”
“What’s this Matthew stuff? You been talking to Fidge?” He laughed. “Seriously, it’s my pleasure. I appreciate your wife reading my books. It is I who owe her.”
*
Two hours later, back at home, I went out to sit on the patio with some Irish and Chunky’s report on the DNA samples I had obtained from Karen Whittaker’s sleepover, and from General Whittaker’s bathroom.
Chapter 22
Fidge called to say the department had officially drawn the conclusion that the murder of Cory Jackson was not connected to the Ileana Corrigan case eleven years before. As soon as I hung up, my oldest daughter, Rose, called to say her mother had cried after I left following dinner at their home.
I wanted to call Helen, tell her I hoped she had not cried because of me. I didn’t want to be the reason for her being sad, but I guess I was. When in hell will that woman forgive me? After pouring a cup of coffee, I dumped it in the sink, turned off the pot, tossed Chunky’s still unread report on the counter and went out. I was hungry and didn’t feel like preparing anything at home, there wasn’t much to prepare even if I did. The truth was my daughter’s call had rattled my cage and I couldn’t sit still.
It would have been a good morning to have Axel around. Many nights he had indulged me in our cell while I talked about Helen. Why she had never come to see me, whether some day she might. It would appear the governor’s pardon had no impact on the sentence she had given me. She would keep me emotionally incarcerated as long as she felt it appropriate. I doubted she knew any more than I how long that might be.
In the lobby I ran into Clara Birnbaum, an old maid retired elementary schoolteacher with dried crust on her personality. She lived three doors down from Axel’s small condo on the floor below mine. We were both there to pick up our mail. Axel had been doing some grocery shopping for her. When he picked up our mail, he got hers as well and dropped it off at her condo. This morning he left before the mail carrier arrived so Clara and I both made our own mail runs. Maybe Axel was becoming indispensable, certainly Clara would say so. In return, Clara had promised Axel she would bake us a pie every other week, whatever kind we wanted on condition Axel bought the fixings.
I explained why Axel didn’t get her mail. Clara replied, “Then why didn’t you pick it up for me, Mr. Matthew Kile?”
“Well, I don’t know, Clara. I just didn’t think about it I guess, Axel not being here and all. Besides, Axel offered to get the mail for you, I didn’t.”
“In return I baked an apple pie and promised to bake a pie every other week, apple, cherry or cream. Did you eat part of the apple pie and do you plan on eating some of the future pies, Matthew?”
“Well, yes, ma’am, I do.”
“Then if you’re sharing in the spoils, you need to do your part. From now on, you pick up my mail when you’ve sent Axel away so he can’t. Do we understand each other, Matthew?”
I felt like one of her students claiming my dog had eaten my homework. “Yes, ma’am, I guess I do. Your pies are very good. So, yes, we understand each other. How about banana cream this week?”
“Your choice, Matthew. I’ll have it ready the day after I get the fixings. When will Axel be going to the store for me, or will you be going this time?”
“Let me get with Axel and he’ll let you know. Would you like me to escort you back to your unit, Clara?”
“I’m not feeble, Matthew. I can get my own self upstairs and inside. Besides, then you’d want to come in and it’s time for my stories.”
“Of course, Clara, I meant no disrespect. Goodbye.”
*
“Buddha,” Axel said, “it looks like this Eddie Whittaker is doing a Bill Murray Groundhog Day. His routine’s the same as yesterday: breakfast out, go by his stockbrokers, and after lunch the handball club, yesterday the golf course. That’s no real difference. Then he puts on glad rags and has dinner with some fox. Last night a blonde, tonight a blackhead; I don’t like that word, it makes her sound like something you’d squeeze.”
“I’d like to squeeze her,” Buddha said.
Axel frowned while shifting his eyes toward his big driving teacher.
“Both nights when he takes them home he goes in for an hour or so,” Buddha said. “This prick knows how to live. Sure different than before we did our time, when we was younger.”
“He turned south toward the docks.”
“What the fuck’s this about?” Buddha asked.
“That’s what we’re here to find out. Stay with him.”
“No sweat.” Buddha kept his distance as he eased into the same turn. “He’ll lose his wallet before he loses me.”
After a while, Buddha turned into a chainlink fenced yard in front of one of the industrial buildings, swung around and came out through a different gate. The traffic was light enough that he could still see Eddie Whittaker’s Lexus about a quarter mile ahead. “I did that to give him a change in the pattern of headlights behind him.”
Five minutes later, Buddha pulled to the curb. “He’s going into the lot for that biker bar. What’s an uptown swell like him doing going in that kinda joint?”
“The boss says Eddie used to have a Harley and ride with the general’s chauffeur who has one. That they used to hang sometimes with the rough bike crowd. That’s how he met his fiancee, this Ileana Corrigan woman who got murdered over ten years ago. Eddie got arrested for it, then released a few days later.”
“How’d that happen?” Buddha asked. “The cops don’t go around arresting people for murder until they’re pretty sure they got ‘em by the short hairs.”
“They thought they had him cold. Then some citizens came out of the woodwork. Solid folks whose testimony trumped the couple of witnesses they had who claimed having seen Eddie murder his woman. Well, one claimed he saw the murder. The other placed him nearby.” Axel shrugged. “So, Eddie walked.”
“And the case now?”
“An unsolved cold case.”
“So, is Mr. Kile trying to nail him for it again?”
“Not particularly. The boss wants to find who did the broad in. Doesn’t care whether it’s Eddie or someone else.” Buddha opened his driver’s door. “Where do you think you’re going?” Axel asked.