No Safe House

Thirty-six

Heywood Duggan made an early-morning call from home to his client Martin Quayle.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Quayle? Heywood Duggan here.”

“Duggan! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. I thought you’d given up on this. Given up on me.”

“There’s a reason why you haven’t heard back from Eli Goemann. Someone killed him.”

Quayle gasped. “Good God. Who did it? What the hell was the man into? You thinking I wasn’t the only person he was trying to scam? Because that’s what I’m starting to think it was. I’m thinking he never had what he said he had. That he just saw the story on the news.”

“I don’t have the details. A police detective came to see me. A woman. She found out I’d been asking around about him. They haven’t made an arrest.”

“Did he have it?”

“Looks like he didn’t. This detective, Wedmore’s her name, didn’t say anything to suggest he was found with anything on him.”

“Then someone else may have it,” Quayle said.

“If Eli even had it to begin with,” Duggan said. “Like you say, he could have been running a game on you.”

“I just... I just can’t imagine why anyone would do such a thing. Whether it was Eli who did it in the first place, or somebody else. What would possess someone to do that?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Quayle. My guess is someone thought the item itself, and not what was inside, was of value. But listen, I did come across some names yesterday I wanted to bounce off you. People Goemann crashed with over the last few months after his roommates booted him out. I’ve been doing some checking.”

“Crashed?”

“Stayed with.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“There were a couple of girls. Selina Michaels was one, in Bridgeport. And a Juanita Cole here in Milford. I don’t know if they were actual girlfriends, but he talked them into letting him sleep under their roof for a while. There was an older guy named Croft he may have done some work for, and someone I think he went to school with by the name of Waterman. But whether they had anything—”

“Did you say Croft?”

“Yeah.”

Quayle was silent on the other end of the line.

“You there?” Duggan asked.

“A long time ago, there was a man named Croft. He... he’d been a friend of mine. We fought together. In Vietnam. We were both from around here. I lived in Stratford. He was in New Haven. We stayed in touch when we got back.”

“Okay. You have any reason to believe he’d have anything to do with this?”

Again, nothing but silence from Quayle.

“Sir?”

“I stole her from him.”

“You what?”

“We both loved the same woman. There was... an opportunity, and I stole her away from him.”

“This was your wife? You’re talking about Charlotte?”

“Yes.” A pause. “It’s him.”

“Croft?”

“I know it. It’s him. He’s always wanted her back, and he finally did it. That son of a bitch. Now that I think of it, I was pretty sure I saw him. Two years ago. In the church. So he would have known.”

“You might be right,” Duggan said. “I can stick with this a little longer, see what I can find out.”

“That bastard. I’m going to confront him.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that, Mr. Quayle.”

“I’ll put the fear of God into him. That’s what I’ll do.”

“Mr. Quayle, listen to me. I think the best thing would be—”

“What if I tell him — here’s an idea — I tell him we’ve got her back. If he laughs, calls my bluff, I’ll know he’s got her. But if he doesn’t, if he sounds worried, we’ll know she’s still out there somewhere. Maybe he’ll think we got her from Eli, that the deal was made. I know! I’ll tell him—”

“Stop,” Duggan said. “This is not the way you want to go about this.”

“—tell him that we’re checking for fingerprints! That if we find his prints, he’s finished. I’ll get my lawyer involved, the police, and—”

“Mr. Quayle,” Duggan said, keeping his voice level, but firm. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m gonna get the son of a bitch. That’s what I’m gonna do.”

Quayle ended the call.

Fuck it, Heywood Duggan thought. If that was what the man wanted to do, then let him. He’d be just as happy to forget this case, move on to something else.

This file was closed.