“I see.” I put my feet up on my old coffee table and stared at my scuffed sneakers. It was time for a new pair, but that would require going to the shoe store and having some kid dressed like a referee try to coax me into buying the hot new style. Maybe I could get a few more months out of these. “Just because a guy had his gambling under control six years ago doesn’t mean he did six months ago. Anybody who gambles regularly runs the risk of getting carried away with it.”
“I suppose.”
“Kinkaid have anything else to say?”
Joe nodded, smiling. “I asked him about Jeremiah Hubbard. Apparently Weston worked a case involving Hubbard just before he told Kinkaid he wanted to cut out on his own.”
“Maybe Hubbard wanted him as his personal lackey but didn’t want to have to pay Kinkaid as well,” I suggested, thinking of the frequent checks to Weston from Hubbard.
“That would have been an odd turn of events,” Joe said, “considering Hubbard had never been a client. He’d been a target.”
“A target?”
“You got it. Wayne Weston’s first association with Old Man Hubbard was working for Old Mother Hubbard.”
“Speak English, Aesop.”
“Aesop didn’t write about Old Mother Hubbard. He wrote fables, not nursery rhymes.”
I sighed. “Save it for Jeopardy, Joe. Just tell me what happened.”
“Weston and Kinkaid worked for Mrs. Rita Hubbard, Jeremiah’s beloved wife. She suspected he was having an affair and wanted to prove it. Weston and Kinkaid didn’t like cheating-spouse cases, but with money like that involved, who could turn it down? So they took the case, with Weston doing the majority of the work on it. And they worked a hell of a case, apparently. Kinkaid told me they had taped interviews with hotel employees who saw Hubbard and his mistress; they had photographs, video, and even some audiotapes, which must have been a real treat. A beautiful, full-service job. They were paid handsomely by Mrs. Hubbard.”
“The former Mrs. Hubbard, I assume?”
He shook his head. “Nope. She was apparently prepared to threaten divorce, but it never happened. I’m not real surprised about that. Jeremiah would probably agree to damn near anything as long as he didn’t have to lose half of his fortune in a divorce settlement, and the wife probably wasn’t real eager to give up her status. And you know how those big-money couples are; they hate the idea of a public scandal. Better to live in private misery than in public disarray.”
“Any chance Weston was still working for her?”
“Doubtful. Here’s the interesting part: Apparently Hubbard called Weston about a month after the case. Jeremiah Hubbard, I mean, not the wife.”
“Pissed off, probably.”
“You’d think so. Weston met with him, and all he told Kinkaid about it was that Hubbard told him he’d drive him out of business if he ever tampered with his life again. I guess the wife gave Hubbard Weston’s name, or maybe he found out himself.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“You think?”
“Has to be. Hubbard goes from threatening to drive Weston out of business to giving him business? No way. Either Hubbard’s wife was still hiring Weston, or Weston lied to Kinkaid about that conversation.”
“But why lie to his partner?”
I shrugged. “He didn’t want to have a partner anymore, so why not? Probably he worked out some sort of high-paying job with Hubbard and wanted to take it alone.”
Joe rubbed his temples gently with his thumb and index finger. “So Hubbard’s so impressed by the work Weston did, he wants to hire him personally, even though the guy screwed up his marriage and likely ended his affair?”
“Why not? Hubbard didn’t make millions by being petty; he made them by being smart as hell, and ruthless. If he needed an investigator and he liked what he saw of Weston’s abilities, I think he might pursue him. Maybe he wanted to get him off the wife’s team to keep future affairs quiet.”
“That’s possible. I definitely don’t believe Weston continued to work for the wife. She’s having her husband’s attorneys write the guy checks? No way.”
I got off the couch and went into the kitchen to make some coffee. I put a good Guatemalan blend in to brew and then returned to the living room with a glass of water for Joe.
“When was the last time you dusted in this dump?” he asked, tracing the edge of the coffee table with his fingertip. He lifted it up and showed the gray grime it had gathered.
“Take off your apron and leave it at the door when you come in my apartment,” I said.
“You find out anything on the Russians?”
The coffee was percolating now, clicking and clacking coming from the kitchen, the rich scent drifting into the living room.
“Dainius Belov,” I said. “That name mean anything to you?”
“Of course it does.”
I frowned. “Am I the only person who hasn’t heard of this guy?”
“You don’t know Dainius? You’ve got to be kidding me, LP. How the hell did you do two years as my partner and stay this stupid?”
“Who is he?”
“Dainius is the closest thing to a don this city has. Of course, he’s not a don, that’s the Italian Mafia, but he’s the Russians’ answer to one. He’s been here for fifteen years now, maybe more. Don’t you even remember the Chester Avenue auto bust?”
“Nope.”
He groaned and rolled his eyes to the ceiling as if searching the heavens for help in dealing with his moronic partner. “LP, I’m ashamed of you. The Chester Avenue bust was the biggest car-theft success the department had in the last decade.”
“I didn’t work on car thefts, I worked narcotics,” I said.
“So did I, but I’m not completely clueless. They found an old warehouse out on the east side, off Chester Avenue, with about twenty stolen cars inside. Arrested two of Dainius’s soldiers, but they couldn’t touch him, because no one would testify against him. Still, it was a big find, headline news, made our detectives look good.”
I vaguely remembered the recovery of quite a few stolen vehicles, but I certainly hadn’t connected it to Belov. That had happened in my early years on the force, when I was working nights and didn’t know many of the detectives.
“Is he still involved with car theft?”
“As far as I know he is, but he certainly isn’t limited to it. He’s got organized muscle and big money, I can tell you that.” He drank some more of the water and stared at the bottom of the glass as if he didn’t like what he saw there. “Are you telling me Dainius is connected to those jackasses who smashed up Ambrose’s car?”
“That’s what I was told.” I explained my conversation with Sellers to him, then went back to the kitchen to pour my coffee. When I came back to the couch he looked grim.
“I don’t like the way this thing smells,” he said. “Jeremiah Hubbard and Dainius Belov? There’s nothing good coming out of that combination.”
“Figure they’re linked?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah. As far as I’m concerned, they’re linked already.”
“By?”
He looked at me. “By Wayne Weston’s corpse.”
I nodded. “Think the Russians could have the wife and daughter?”
“Possibly, although I can’t think of any reason they’d have to keep them alive. Of course, right now, I can’t think of any reason for any of it, because we don’t know shit.” He shook his head. “If I remember right—and I always do—several of Belov’s boys used to be with Spetznatz. You know, the Soviet answer to our special forces and covert operations units.”