“Maybe,” I said.
“Or you know him, you know where he parks, you know when he’s going to come for his car, and you get there a few minutes early,” Belson said. “And pop him.”
“No witnesses,” I said.
“Nope.”
“No suspicious-looking people hanging around,” I said.
“None reported.”
“How come nobody ever sees a shooting?” I said.
“Shooter might try to arrange it that way,” Belson said. “And it’s a godsend for us. Give us something to do so that we’re not in the bars drinking Jameson with a beer chaser by two in the afternoon.”
“God is kind,” I said.
“Tell me about Jackson,” Belson said.
He had a notebook on the desk in front of him, and as I talked, every once in a while he wrote things in it.
“I don’t know quite what he does, but I know he makes a lot of dough, and I know all of it isn’t clean.”
“He wired?” Belson said.
“I would say so.”
“Got any names?” Belson said.
“I know a name, but it’s a guy just did me a favor, and unless I think he did Jackson, which I don’t, I won’t name him.”
“We could insist,” Belson said.
“You could,” I said.
“We can be insistent as a sonovabitch,” Belson said.
“I know.”
“But you won’t tell us anyway,” Belson said.
“No.”
“Known you a long time,” Belson said.
“And yet here we are,” I said. “Still in the bloom of youth.” Belson nodded.
“You get a suspicion,” he said, “you let me know.”
“At once,” I said.
“Sure,” Belson said. “I’ll check with the organized-crime guys.”
“I would,” I said.
“What’s your connection to him?”
I told him everything, as it was, except that I didn’t name the other women. And I didn’t mention Tony Marcus.
“And how did you resolve the problem?”
“Tireless negotiation,” I said.
“Wife buy into it?” Belson said.
“She said she did.”
“Think she might have not meant it.”
“Probably,” I said.
“Think she might have aced him?”
“She might have,” I said. “But at the time Jackson was killed she was talking to me in my office with a woman named Estelle.”
“What a coincidence,” Belson said.
“It is,” I said.
“Estelle who?”
“Don’t know her last name. She’s a trainer at Pinnacle Fitness.”
“Want to tell me why they were there?”
“Beth said her life had been threatened and wanted me to protect her. Said her husband had been threatened, too. Estelle was there for moral support, I guess.”
Belson wrote in the notebook.
“Were you planning on mentioning this?” he said.
“Sure,” I said. “But I thought it would be good training for you to learn of it through sound investigative procedure.”
“Geez,” Belson said. “With your help maybe I’ll make lieutenant.”
“I think you have to take the lieutenant’s exam first,” I said.
“I’ll get to it,” Belson said. “You want to tell me about the wife, what’s her name”-he glanced at his notes-“Beth.”
I told him about her visit the previous evening.
“You remember what the note said?”
“ ‘Your husband had betrayed me,’ ” I said. “ ‘For this you both shall die.’ ”
Belson wrote it down.
“Didn’t seem to work out that way,” he said.
“Shit happens,” I said.
Belson nodded.
“You believe all of this?”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Think she might have been setting up an alibi?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But if she was, was Estelle in it, too?”
“And Gary Cockhound?” Belson said.
“It was a fairly elaborate fake, if it was a fake,” I said.
“The kind amateurs use,” Belson said.
“True,” I said.
“On the other hand, since she didn’t actually do it,” Belson said, “who did? Eisenhower?”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“What’s your gut tell you?” Belson said.
“My gut says there’s something wrong with this,” I said. “It also says that Gary Eisenhower isn’t part of it.”
Belson wrote in his notebook.
“On the other hand,” he said, “your gut isn’t too bright.”
“True,” I said. “Mostly it just knows when I’m hungry.”
Chapter 45
I SAT WITH BETH in her expensive off-white living room, which looked like it had been decorated by the pound. Beth was in a black dress that proclaimed her mourning and showed off her body.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said.
“You told the police about me,” she said.
“I did.”
“That was mean,” she said.
“No, it wasn’t,” I said. “I’m your alibi. You would have told them you were with me, and I would have confirmed it, and the cops would have said, ‘How come you didn’t tell us about her?’ ”
“Why do I need an alibi?” she said.
“You’re the spouse of a murder victim.”
“And that automatically makes me a suspect?” she said.
“They have to eliminate you,” I said.
“I suppose,” she said.
“Any thoughts on who might have done it?”
“I should think the warning note I showed you would be a clue,” she said.
“Not much hard information,” I said. “Do you still have the envelope?”
“Envelope?”
“That it came in.”
“Oh, no,” Beth said. “I threw it away. There was no return address or anything.”
“Was it addressed in hand or typed or one of those little computer address stickers?”
“Hand,” she said.
“Remember where it was postmarked?”
“Boston, maybe,” she said. “I don’t know. I’m not used to threatening letters. I’m not a detective. I just threw the envelope away.”
“Sure,” I said. “Nice outfit you’re wearing.”
“Oh, this, well, it’s… I’m kind of in mourning. You think it’s okay?”
“Swell,” I said. “Are you his only heir?”
“There’s a couple of ex-wives,” she said. “No children. I’m the only one in the will.”
“Well,” I said. “There’s a plus.”
“It is a plus,” she said. “But there’s no need for you to be so snarky about it. My husband has just been murdered.”
“True,” I said.
“I mean, we had our problems, sure…”
“And now you don’t,” I said.
She was sitting on the ivory-colored couch. I was sitting on a straight-backed armchair across from her. She squared her shoulders and sat more upright.
“Do you suspect me?” she said.
“I remain open-minded,” I said.
“What a terrible thing to say. It’s disgusting that you could even think that.”
“Disgusting,” I said.
“Why do you even care?” she said. “Has someone hired you to work on this case?”
“No,” I said.
“Then why don’t you go off somewhere and be disgusting on someone else’s business.”
“I’ve been involved with this for a while,” I said. “It’s my line of work. I feel some obligation to see what I can do.”
“Well, don’t think you have any obligation to me,” Beth said. “I’d like it if I never saw you again.”
“You, too?” I said.
Chapter 46
I SPENT THE WEEKEND at Susan’s place, where, after some early morning excitement, we usually sat in her kitchen and had a lingering Sunday brunch prepared mostly by me. This morning was a little different; we were having scrambled eggs prepared by Susan. It was one of her two specialties, the other being boiled water. I added a ragout of peppers, onions, and mushrooms to grace the plate, and we ate it with oatmeal toast. Pearl came from her spot on the living-room couch and joined us, alert for any spillage.