Remember Me, Irene

22

HIS THERMOS,” she said.

“His thermos? Why would a man with so few possessions need two thermos bottles?” I asked.

“No, there’s only one in here,” she said.

“There was also one in the hotel room. At the Angelus.”

“I don’t understand…”

“There was an open thermos bottle in the room where he died. But this thermos was here, at the shelter. So someone else must own this one…or someone else owned…”

“Why are you looking like that all of a sudden?” she asked. “Is there something I’m not understanding? You’re saying this Two Toes fellow who took Lucas’s ring left this thermos behind?”

“No. The homicide detective you talked to last night-now that I think about how he put it, he wasn’t very clear with you about this. Even though Lucas died of a heart attack, the coroner was puzzled, because Lucas seemed to have a healthy heart. That’s why the coroner is doing the toxicology studies.”

“Poison?”

“He thought it was a possibility. But the studies take weeks to complete.”

“You’re saying someone brought Lucas some kind of something in that other thermos?”

“I’m saying it’s very possible. A lot of things in the hotel room didn’t make sense-the missing ring, the pennies, the scrapes and bruises. But now we know that the thermos wasn’t Lucas’s. It explains how someone could have poisoned him.”

“Someone poisoned my boy…” She was looking at me in total disbelief.

“Maybe.”

“Who? Who would want to kill him?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe someone felt threatened by him.”

“Threatened? By a man who lived like this?” she asked, motioning toward the shelter. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Big tears rolled down her face. “Why wouldn’t he come home to me?” she whispered. “Why live in these places? On the streets of this city? I could have offered him a roof and meals. I would have taken care of him.”

I didn’t say anything.

She shook her head. “Pride. That devil’s pride in him. So hard in him, like a rock. Nothing could break it.”

I looked out across the parking lot, watching a group of men walking slowly toward the shelter door. “I’m not sure the people out here always know why they stay on the streets,” I said. “Maybe there aren’t any good reasons. But as for Lucas-how old was he when his father died?”

“About twelve, I guess. Why?”

“Old enough to be aware of his father’s drinking, and maybe what it cost you?”

She sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“So maybe he just wanted you to be proud of him, and he wasn’t quite there yet. Like that money for the phone call.”

“What do you mean?”

“He probably knew you could afford the call he made to Las Piernas. Maybe he just needed to show you that he wanted to pay his own way.”

“But I would have cared for him better than these people did. He’d rather be here all alone, not a friend in the world.”

“He had friends here.”

“Who? That man in the kitchen? You?”

“I wasn’t much of a friend. I’ve admitted that to you. But Lucas made friends here. Even on the street. His friends helped me find him. They respected him. He protected some of the weak ones from the bullies.”

“That was his way,” she said. “Even as a kid.”

She pulled herself together, then began carefully replacing the contents of the grocery bag. She looked over at me, and I realized that I still had the Bible on my lap. I started to close it, saw the note again.

“Can you read this?” I asked, handing it to her.

“The Lord is my shepherd,” she began.

“Er, no, I meant the scrap of paper.”

“Oh.” She frowned over it, then said, “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“I couldn’t make it out either,” I sighed.

“Oh, I think I can make it out. It just doesn’t make any sense. It says, ‘She rubs.’”

She passed it back to me. I studied it again, now that I had a hint of how to proceed. “How did he get such good grades with such lousy handwriting?” I asked.

“Teachers are as good as pharmacists at reading bad handwriting. His teachers knew he was bright-and you wouldn’t believe how hard some of them worked with him on it. He printed lots of things-his printing wasn’t as bad as his handwriting. But mostly it was just that they knew he was trying. Might have had some kind of learning disability, I don’t know. In those days, they didn’t test for things the way they do now.”

“This is ans?” I asked, looking at the first mark on the paper.

She looked at it again. “I think so. Or maybe ac.”

“Ac? Then it would make sense. Cherubs.”

She smiled a little. “Well, that’s a more sensible note to leave in a Bible.”

I drove her over to the rental car place, wondering if she was right. Maybe the Good Book wasn’t the inspiration for the note. After all, Lucas Monroe had died surrounded by angels.

GEOFF’S GREETING DIDN’Tdo anything to soothe my nerves as I entered the Wrigley Building. The old security guard shook his head slowly and said in funereal tones, “Mr. Walters is very happy.”

“Any idea what’s caused this monumental change in affect?”

“You mean, why is he so happy?”

I nodded.

“You.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure it can’t be as bad as all that,” I said, heading for the stairs.

“And I thoughtI was an optimist,” I heard him mumble behind me.

I ignored the stares of coworkers, the drop-off in both conversation and keyboard clatter as I made my way across the newsroom. I had thought to stop by Lydia’s desk, but decided not to prolong my misery. I glanced over to see her catching the tip of her nose between two fingers, scissors-style-as if snipping it off. It was an old signal between us from our school days, one I hadn’t seen since the last time I got sent to the principal’s office.Better no nose than a brown nose, it meant, invented long ago as a response to Alicia Penderson’s shameless kissing up to the nuns. Alicia had been in serious danger of putting a new crease in the backside of Sister Vincent’s habit.

I smiled, returned the gesture, and knocked on the frame of John’s open office door. “Hello, John. You wanted to see me?”

My smile must have taken him aback, because he scowled briefly before saying, “Come in, Irene. And close the door.” Once the door was shut, he smiled again and said, “Have a seat.”

He then went back to looking at a computer monitor, where he was scrolling the wire-browsing through the long directory, looking over the lead paragraphs of stories filed on the wire service. I took a quick peek over his beefy shoulder to see what he was reading and noticed there was nothing urgent or local on the monitor. The faker.

Unfortunately for John, I recognized the trick as one that Sister Vincent herself had often used: stall and make them squirm. My immunity to this tactic built by experts, I leaned back in my chair and studied my fingernails as if they had the winning lotto numbers painted on them.

“How’s the story on Moffett coming?” he asked, not looking at me.

“Oh, just swimmingly.”

He turned to look at me, his scrutiny real this time.

“So tell me about it.

“I’ve met with Corbin Tyler and it looks like I’ll finally be able to interview Roland Hill. So I’m meeting with some people who worked very closely with him. I expect to have more by the end of the week…”

“Dammit, Kelly, you work for anewspaper, not a goddamned history journal! The man resigned on Thursday. Monday, I practically had to chain you to your chair. It’s now Tuesday and you’re strolling in here late. Maybe I should put someone else on to this. Someone who has time to be a reporter. Maybe Dorothy Bliss should be handling this one.”

That brought me to my feet. “You want a load of half-assed, meaningless bullshit on your front page, go right ahead. You’ll have a column full of conjecture and nothing to back it up. She puts more filler in her stories than a flat-chested girl could stuff into a bra on prom night!”

“At least this newspaper would appear to be looking into the matter of Moffett’s sudden resignation!”

“That’sall it would be, John. Appearance! Quotes from ten people who don’t know diddly, filled in with could-it-be crap. ‘Could it be that Mr. Moffett really needed more time to care for his ailing poodle?’ ‘Could it be that younger higher-ups were demanding more than the old commissioner could deliver?’”

“Kelly…”

“Maybe she’ll make it dramatic.” I put my hand over my heart and went into a Betty Boop voice, the closest I can come to imitating Dorothy. “‘There’s an empty office in city hall. Very, very empty. Outside, on the door of the office, an equally empty slot, a place where a narrow brass plaque bearing a very important name should be. Everyone here knows the missing name on the missing plaque. Could it be that these uneasy, silent coworkers know why it’s missing?’”

He started stabbing his blotter with a ballpoint pen. I went for broke.

“‘As this reporter looked at the sun-faded carpet, the little bitty indentations where the big oak desk used to sit, the really, really big oak desk that once had a really, really big leather chair behind it…’”

“That’s enough!”

“Oh, sure it is,” I said, dropping the act. “Give the story to Dorothy and you’ll get ten inches on the office decor alone, no sweat. Smoke and mirrors. But what the hell? You’re in a hurry. Go ahead and give it to her. Call me if you start to be curious about what really happened.” I started for the door.

“Sit down!”

I hesitated, decided to turn and face him. One look at his mottled red face convinced me I should sit down.

His eyes narrowed. “You are the most insolent, insubordinate-”

“This is so much better than what I expected.”

That stopped him for a moment. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You were in a good mood this morning. Scared the hell out of everyone in the building.”

He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Haven’t seen enough of you around here lately, Kelly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I was irritated with you, that’s all. A suggestion was made, and I thought it might solve some of our current difficulties.”

“What suggestion?”

He shook his head. “I’ve changed my mind.”

We sat there in silence for a moment. John started tapping the pen again.

“Can we start over?” I asked.

He looked up at me.

“I mean, about the Moffett story,” I went on. “I need you to forget two things.”

“Namely?”

“First, forget that I ever knew Lucas Monroe.”

His scowl returned. “And?”

“And forget that Lucas was homeless.”

“That’s quite an attack of amnesia you’re asking for.”

“Stay with me for a minute. Ben Watterson, Allan Moffett, and a handful of other civic leaders were very heavily involved in redevelopment in the 1970s, right?”

“Lotsof people got involved.”

“This group more than others. Think of how easy it would be for a group of investors to make money with the kind of inside information Allan Moffett could supply.”

“Give me your version.”

“A group of investors learns-very early on-that a certain area is going to be declared a redevelopment zone. They buy run-down buildings for a very low price. They pick up one seedy property after another. Just to stick with round numbers, let’s suppose we have two general partners who put in five thousand dollars each. They pick up a hotel for ten thousand.”

I saw him jot the numbers down on the back of a memo from Wrigley, more in the way of absent doodling than any serious preparation to do math. “Okay,” he said. “Go on.”

“Studies are done, and lo and behold, the city decides the hotel is within a redevelopment zone. The city might have reasonably decided this old hotel should be rehabilitated into low-cost housing, but the investors believe more money is to be made from office buildings. Another study is done, one that influences the Land Use Element, and somehow it reflects a need for office buildings.”

“And the tenants are evicted.”

“Maybe even beforehand. That might help to convince the city that this isn’t residential property. Now the investors get other benefits-low-cost loans, courtesy of the taxpayer; expedited permits and special construction variances; and so on. But for now, let’s just go back to our ten thousand. Their next move is to present a fancy brochure and prospectus to sell limited partnerships. Let’s say they sell one hundred shares at ten thousand dollars a share.”

“They’ve raised a million dollars,” he said. “Probably from people looking for tax shelters, maybe a group of doctors who don’t have any real estate experience.”

“Right about the real estate know-how, but these things attract teachers, firefighters, retirees-anyone with a nest egg. The general partners get ‘highest and best use’ studies and market surveys and all sorts of statistics together and dazzle the hell out of the investors. California real estate was booming then. Our general partners would work to convince everyone that the boom is permanent, that the downtown area will revive and that every lousy square foot of land in Las Piernas will be worth a fortune.”

“The downtown areahas revived.”

“Some of it. Certainly not all. You know what the office vacancy rate is. And not all of the construction was first-rate. But let’s go back to our general partners. They pay themselves administrative fees. Let’s say they charge each limited partner a five percent fee.”

“That’s five hundred each. Fifty thousand all together.”

I shook my head. “Fifty thousandper year. And since the limited partners can’t make decisions about the construction or leasing, if the hotel project goes to hell, they have no recourse-they pay those annual fees anyway.”

“Or sell their shares.”

“Which may be worthless,” I said. “The limited partners are at the mercy of the general partners.”

“Which is what the greedy little limited partners get for trying to avoid taxes.”

“I disagree, but we’ll argue that another time. Besides, what I just presented is probably a worst-case scenario. Let’s suppose the general partners just sell their own shares in the hotel building for a big profit and get out. Or maybe they don’t even bother with the limited partnerships-they sell the building for a more modest profit. No matter what happens, they’ve probably made money-and made it because they had inside information.”

“Your point being?” he said, but he was leaning forward in his chair now.

“Redevelopment was one of three things that Allan Moffett and Ben Watterson had in common. They were part of a group of men who often worked together on these projects, even if some of them-like Allan-supposedly weren’t personally profiting from it.”

“And?”

“Second, they were longtime, active civic leaders who seemed unwilling-until very recently-to step aside from their roles. No one would have predicted that Ben would commit suicide or that Allan Moffett would resign. And yet they did so within a day of each other. What are the odds of that happening, John?”

“Go on.”

“The third thing they have in common is Lucas Monroe. At least twice in each of their lives.”

“Twice?”

“Remember those studies? The earliest statistics Allan needed to set the wheels in motion-to declare an area of the city a redevelopment zone-came from a study Lucas Monroe worked on in the 1970s.”

“And Monroe saw each of them recently.”

“Contacted them anyway.” I told him about the photocopy.

“Hmm. Too bad he’s dead.” It was said in an offhand manner, a newsman’s regret for the loss of a source. But seeing my face he added, “Aw, Kelly, for Godsakes-”

“Forget it. I’ve given up getting so much as an obit for him. I just want you to realize that trying to find out what he was up to is not just a personal project.” Thou doth protest too much, a little voice said. I ignored it. “I’ll know more about Moffett’s resignation if I can learn why Lucas went to see these people.”

“You think he was blackmailing them?”

I quelled an impulse to immediately deny it. “Maybe.”

After a long silence, he said, “Suppose you’re wrong. What if your friend wasn’t doing anything more than trying to find a job?”

“Then I’m still talking to Allan’s nearest and dearest pals.” I shrugged. “I’m still trying to pry things out of Allan’s former coworkers. It would take a vast conspiracy or blackmail scheme of his own to keep that many people silent. I don’t think he could manage it, frankly. I suspect they really don’t know why he left. Even his former secretary-who would love to have her revenge on him-couldn’t offer me anything more than word of Lucas’s visit, tales of a night Allan spent shredding papers, and the story of his hastily arranged dinner party. I’m planning to try to talk to her again.”

“Anyone else?”

“The other people who were at the meeting. I may even try to track down Allan’s first wife.”

“If I allow you to keep following this angle, you suppose you could devote more of your time to this story?”

“John, as far as I’m concerned, I worked on this story over the weekend-on my days off.”

“Admit it, Kelly, that was a personal matter that happened to dovetail with this story.”

“Okay, fine. Have it your way.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. Maybe I’m not the most insolent, insubordinate-what else did you call me, John?”

“That’s as far as I got. And no one else around here comes close to being as much trouble as you are.”

“Thanks. Do I get to find out what you had planned for me this morning?”

“And like I said, follow up with the Lucas Monroe angle, too.”

“I intend to. Now what was going on?”

Finally realizing I didn’t intend to be sidetracked, he said, “A pager.”

“A pager?” I shook my head. “I hate those things.”

“I know, I know.”

“Electronic leashes. You start out thinking it will help people get in touch with you, but nine times out of ten it’s some nuisance message.”

“I know how you feel about them, Kelly.”

“It’s just that once I was talking to this city hall source-took me three days of phone calls to finally get this secretary to meet with me, and four or five hours of hanging out together before she started to drop her guard a little. Just as I think she’s about to confirm a rumor for me, on the verge of coming across with everything I need to know, the damn beeper goes off. Air raid sirens wouldn’t have caused the woman less alarm. She was out of there. And I go looking for a pay phone, finally find one that works, and now I’m madder than hell. I answer the page and it’s-” I stopped cold. Uh-oh.

“It’s me, wondering if you knew where we were supposed to meet O’Connor for drinks after work.”

“Well, that’s not the point. But knowing how I feel about them, John, why make me carry one?”

“It’s nothing personal. Well…at least, not between you and me. Wrigley wants everyone who works news to wear one. Half the others wear them now. Get used to the idea.”

“If it’s not personal, why wasn’t the new policy announced in a meeting?”

“There will be one later today. But I was supposed to deliver yours to you this morning. Wrigley’s request. He’s impatient for your story.”

“You said you changed your mind-does that mean you’ve figured out how to get me out of this?”

“No. But I’ll wait until the meeting to give you yours.”

Comprehension dawned. “I see. Wrigley arranged a show. I’d be singled out, everyone in the newsroom would know it, and they’d assume I caused the change in policy.”

“Something like that.”

“And you were happy to go along with it, John?”

“Don’t try to blame me. You know you’ve made your own contribution to this mess with Wrigley,” he said.

I couldn’t argue with him about that. John was often caught in the middle of my ongoing war with Wrigley. “Well, screw it, then. Go ahead and give me the beeper now.”

“Look, Kelly-”

“Give me the beeper. And if Wrigley wonders why I’m not at the staff meeting, tell him maybe he should try to page me.”

IF THE PEOPLE IN THE NEWSROOMwondered how I had managed to return John to his crabby self, they didn’t ask me to my face. I was too busy to worry about their reactions.

I checked my phone messages. Murray was waiting to see me, and Claire had called. I had been planning to call her anyway, but I wanted to follow up on a couple of other things first.

Through his secretary, I made an appointment to see Roland Hill that afternoon. You would think the woman hadn’t been hanging up in my ear for nearly a week.

Next, I called Ivy Vines.

“I need your help with a couple of things,” I said.

“Sure. What can I do for you?”

“I’m trying to figure something out. You dated one of Andre’s friends before you got involved with Andre, right?”

“Yes. That’s how I met you, remember? I was still dating Jeff when you were with Andre.”

“Jeff, the setup man,” I said. “Whenever Andre wanted to break up with someone, Jeff made sure she walked in on Andre and his new flame.”

“I didn’t know Jeff did that for Andre until much later,” she said meekly. “Sorry.”

“C’mon, Ivy. No need to apologize. Until we all started talking to one another, none of us knew Andre’s M.O.-ancient history by then.”

“I should have guessed what Jeff was up to. I’ve thought about it a lot since then. Anyway, what do you need to know?”

“I’m trying to fill in a blank or two, Ivy. I was with Andre after Helen. Alicia was after me. Were you after Alicia?”

“No, I was a couple of women later.”

“Who was with Andre after Alicia?”

“Hmm. Alicia didn’t last too long, as I recall. I think she was just trying to take him away from you.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t the first time she went after one of my boyfriends, but it was the first time she got what she deserved.”

“Nobody deserves Andre. Not even Alicia.”

“True,” I admitted.

“I don’t remember who Andre was with after Alicia. I could try to find out-wait-I know, we could ask Lisa.”

I thought back to my conversations with Lisa. Lisa had sounded so embittered. “I’d rather avoid that if at all possible, Ivy. Lisa has enough reminders of what a jerk he is without having to recite a litany of his old girlfriends.”

“Good point,” she said.

“Actually, I don’t really need a list of people. I’m just trying to find out about one woman,” I said. “Someone named Nadine Preston.”

“Nadine! Oh, God,” she groaned. “I remember her!”

“You do?”

“Yes, because of what happened with Jeff.” She paused, then said, “Nadine really fell hard for old Andre. Wonder why we’ve never thought of her for SOS? She holds a record.”

“I’m confused. A record?”

“Burned by the same fire twice.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Andre never got back together with anyone, even if she was masochistic enough to beg him to take her back-right?”

“Right.”

“Except Nadine. Technically, anyway. A very brief reunion.”

I was astonished. “Are you saying she wentback to him?”

“Yes. Jeff made a big deal out of it. He was really angry with Andre about it. It was ridiculous. I don’t think Nadine and Andre were back together for more than a couple of weeks. Jeff spent more time being upset about it than Nadine and Andre spent being back together.”

“Why should Jeff care if Andre was reunited with an ex, especially if it was only for a few days?”

“I tried to find out, but he never told me. He just said that it could only mean trouble. Nadine ended the friendship between Andre and Jeff.”

“You lost me somewhere in there, Ivy. I would think Jeff’s friendship with Andre ended because Andre luredyou from his side.”

“No, their friendship was already over. It almost ended when Nadine got together with Andre the first time. Jeff told him he was taking a big chance, because Nadine worked for Andre as a graduate assistant.”

“She was an exception there, too, wasn’t she?”

“Right. Andre used to have a rule: none of his own students, no one who worked for him.”

“And Nadine was working for Andre when they got together?” I asked.

“Yes. Jeff thought that was a mistake, but Andre told him to mind his own business. I think it must have hurt Jeff. Until Andre broke up with Nadine, Jeff stopped hanging out with him. I don’t think things were ever really the same between them after that. So when Andre got back together with Nadine, Jeff really felt betrayed. Not that I have any room to talk about betraying Jeff-”

“I don’t get it. Jeff wasn’t attracted to her himself?”

“Not at all. That much, I’m sure of.”

“Then it was a pretty severe reaction, wasn’t it? Jeff must have seen Andre with dozens of women. Why would it bother him to see Andre get back together with someone?”

“Jeff just didn’t like her. He said that Andre was nuts to date Nadine in the first place. He would never elaborate on it. I tried to smooth things out between them, but Jeff wasn’t interested. By then, things weren’t going so well with Jeff and me-he had other problems that got in the way of our relationship. But I guess Andre took advantage of that-got back at him by stealing me away from him.”

“Whew.”

“Yes. Not a time I’m very proud of.”

“Ivy, none of us left Andre with our pride intact.”

She didn’t say anything.

“So why do you think Andre broke his own rules with this woman?” I asked.

“I don’t know. They didn’t last too long the second time-like I said, a couple of weeks or maybe even less. That’s why I thought Jeff was being ridiculous. Andre used to ask me about it. Andre and I didn’t last long together. I was just looking for a way out of my relationship with Jeff. And I think Andre was more interested in trying to find out what Jeff had told me about Nadine than he was in dating me. I always had to tell him what I’m telling you-Jeff thought Andre had crossed some kind of boundary by dating someone he worked with, and he didn’t think Nadine was trustworthy. But maybe Jeff would have ended that friendship anyway. I don’t know.”

“So who arranged for Nadine to walk in on you and Andre?”

“No one.She lefthim.”

“What?”

“Yes. I think they must have had a fight out on the boat. Went fishing one day, and that was that.”

That’s three records for Nadine, I thought, becoming all the more curious about her. Andre dated his own graduate assistant, reconciled with her, and she left him before he could leave her. “Ivy-do you still have that friend in the college records office?”

“Sure. You want me to have her track down Nadine?”

“Yes. If the records office doesn’t have a current address, maybe your friend could find out if Nadine Preston has asked for transcripts to be sent somewhere.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Even if I could get her student ID number-it’s the same as her Social Security number, right?”

“Right,” she said. “You think you might be able to locate her with that?”

“Maybe. By the way, you wouldn’t happen to know where Jeff is these days?”

There was a long silence. “You honestly don’t know?”

“No.”

“I guess you weren’t around then.”

“Around when?”

“Jeff killed himself not long after I left him.”

“Jeff? I can’t believe-” I quickly realized that it was the wrong thing to say. The trouble was, there was no right thing to say. “I-I’m sorry, Ivy. I didn’t know.”

“It was a long time ago,” she said, sounding as if it wasn’t. “It happened when you were living in Bakersfield, I guess.”

“No one told me-”

“Don’t worry about it. Now, where should I call you with the information? Are you going to be in your office?”

I looked at the little black object on my desk. “Let me give you my pager number.”