Sorrow's Anthem

CHAPTER 14

The lot on Clark Avenue was bare, the grass withered by heat, the soil baked dry. All the debris had been scraped clean, leaving only a decimated foundation behind. The scarred concrete surrounded by cracked, dried-out soil looked like something you might find alongside a lonely desert highway.

I remembered the house, though. Two stories, pale blue paint, white latticework around the bottom of the porch. I’d never been inside, but I’d walked past it almost daily for several years. The old guy who’d lived there when I was a kid had owned a snowblower, the only one on the block, probably. In the winter he’d do his own driveway, each next-door neighbor’s, and then the sidewalk all the way up to the stop sign. Wore a big furry hat with earflaps that made me think of spy movies set in Moscow. Smoked a cigar while he worked the snowblower. Waved at everybody.

This winter, if it snowed enough, the drifts might fill in the old foundation, cover it up completely, until you couldn’t tell there’d ever been a house there. I stood above the blackened stone and thought about Lily, the girl with the braids. It was supposed to have been her family’s first house. Four kids, Stacey had said.

I walked around the yard, my shoes raising a cloud of dry dust as I moved. Stood in what had been the backyard and gazed out across the top of the foundation, took in a now unobstructed view of the avenue. Two days ago I’d walked hurriedly past, hardly pausing to glance at the vacant lot, as I’d gone in search of Ed Gradduk. Ed had actually been the one to come up with the Russian spy identity for the guy who’d lived here when we were kids. Called the old guy Agent X, the house, KGB Headquarters.

That was all a long time ago.

I left the yard and walked back up the sidewalk toward my truck, lyrics from an old Springsteen song dancing through my head. I heard the voices of friends vanished and gone.

Good song, I used to think.

Joe was on the phone when I got back, but hung up quickly.

“You were gone a long time, LP.”

“Yeah.”

“Anything productive to show for it?”

“The house on Train Avenue was owned by something called the Neighborhood Alliance, an urban renewal project. Anita Sentalar was the director of the Neighborhood Alliance. Cancerno’s construction crew is working on the houses, with both Ed and Mitch Corbett involved. Another one of the group’s houses burned down last week. A place on Clark Avenue. Corbett was a demolitions expert. Knew how to start an effective fire. He was with Sentalar last week.”

“You were gone three hours,” Joe said, “and that’s all you got?”

I gave that one a bit of a smile.

“No, I’ve got to give you credit,” he said. “That’s impressive. Even in that clipped monotone you recited it with. Now run through it again. This time with details.”

“Maybe work on the voice, too? Try a sweet soprano?”

“That’s going to be different from your normal voice?”

______

It took me a little longer to tell it to him with the details. I walked him through my afternoon, trying to recall anything of significance that had been said in either my conversation with Jeff Franklin or with Stacey at the rec center.

“The second fire seems like a big deal,” I said. “And Corbett’s a demolitions expert, now missing? Who was waltzing around the near west side with Sentalar just a few days before she turned up dead in one of those fires?”

“Suspicious as hell,” Joe said. “But doesn’t necessarily clear your friend from the mix.”

“I’m not saying it does. But the best way to clear Ed is to find the person who did kill Sentalar. Right now, Corbett’s looking like an awfully intriguing fit.”

“Doesn’t mesh well with your theory about Padgett and Rabold, though. At least, not yet.”

I nodded. “Not yet. But we’ve still got Padgett camped outside Corbett’s house. That establishes some sort of connection. You get anything useful on the background checks?”

He waffled his hand. “Nothing like what you brought back, but still some interesting notes. They’re both lifelong Cleveland residents. Padgett is single, previously divorced, and Rabold’s married and has a kid. Both of them seem to live a bit beyond the means of a cop’s salary. Padgett drives a new Jeep and owns a bass boat that must go for about thirty to forty thousand. His house is modest enough but he’s also part owner of a time-share down on the Florida Gulf Coast. Could be he’s just good with money. Rabold’s house cost him almost three hundred grand, with a mortgage for only half that, and his wife doesn’t work, just helps out at the kid’s school library.”

“You think they’re on the take?”

“Reasonable candidates for it, at least.”

“What about their history on the force?”

“Working on that. You remember Amos Lorenzon?”

“Of course,” I said. “He was the first cop I rode with when I was out of the academy. Good guy, but I learned fast not to ask too many questions. They seemed to make him nervous.”

“They probably did. Hear too many questions from a green rookie and you start to feel like you’re working alone. Anyhow, Amos is a desk supervisor now, reads a lot of the conduct evaluations and keeps tabs on the patrol guys. I called him and told him what I wanted.”

“I bet you made him awfully uncomfortable with that request.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I imagine so. But he told me he’d pull the records and get back to us. He’ll be more cautious about dispensing the information than some of the other guys I could have called, but the difference is he’ll also keep his mouth shut. That’s important.”

“He’ll keep his mouth shut,” I said with a grin. “I remember when he had surgery and it was six months before anyone found out why he’d been gone for those two weeks. Said it was nobody’s business, so he just took his personal days and didn’t mention the medical reason. Talk about private.”

“Right. That’s why I chose him for the job. I expect we’ll hear from him tomorrow.”

“I want to see Jimmy Cancerno again today,” I said. “He worked with this Neighborhood Alliance group, and he hired both Ed and Corbett.”

“Call him, then.”

I grabbed the phone book and looked up the number for Pinnacle Properties. The secretary there had bad news: Jimmy was out for the day. I asked if she had a cell phone number for him, and she said she couldn’t give that out. I harangued her for a few minutes and got nowhere, then hung up.

“What about your buddy?” Joe said when I told him the problem. “The one who owns the bar.”

Another flip through the phone book, this time for the Hideaway. A minute later I was speaking to Draper.

“Sure, I’ve got his number,” he said after listening to my request. “How about I give him a call instead of you, though. Chances are I can get him to come down here and talk to you, whereas he might just tell you to go to hell and hang up.”

“Good,” I said. “Call me back, Scott. And thanks.”

“Anytime, Lincoln.”

It was only a few minutes before my phone rang.

“Jimmy’ll be down in twenty,” Draper said. “He wasn’t real pleased with the idea, but I told him you’re a stand-up guy.”

Was there a hint of sarcasm in his voice, or had my imagination dropped that in? I wasn’t sure.

“Thanks, Scott. We’ll be there. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. Want me to throw a couple cheeseburgers on the grill?”

“Maybe next time.”

I hung up again and looked at Joe. “Cancerno’s on his way to Draper’s bar. You want to come along?”

“Let’s go,” he said, standing up. I thought about thanking him right then, but it felt awkward, so I didn’t. I just walked out the door beside him, the two of us stepping together in silence.

We got to the Hideaway five minutes before Cancerno showed. Draper wasn’t working the bar, and he came out to sit with us. He had a bottle in his hand and three glasses stacked atop one another. He dropped the glasses on the table and poured about three fingers of Scotch into each one. He slid a glass over to me.

“Glenlivet,” he said. “Still the favorite?”

“It’s a good one,” I said. “And so is your memory.”

“You work in this business, you better remember drinking tendencies.” He pushed the second glass over to Joe, who shook his head.

“Too early for Scotch?” Draper asked.

“He doesn’t drink anything but water,” I said.

Draper, who had probably been nursed on light beer, regarded Joe with astonishment. “Nothing but water?”

“He exaggerates,” Joe said. “I also drink milk.”

Draper handled the dilemma by dumping the contents of Joe’s glass into his own and draining a good portion of it in one swallow. Draper drank Scotch the way most men drank beer.

“So, tell me what’s up,” he said. “Why you need to see Jimmy?”

“You ever heard of the Neighborhood Alliance?” I asked.

He frowned and scratched his shaved head. “Ed did some work for them, I believe. They’re buying up houses all over the neighborhood.”

“Right. And it looks like Cancerno’s guys are fixing most of them.”

“Could be.”

“The woman who died in the fire,” I said, “was the director of the Neighborhood Alliance. I want to ask Cancerno what he knows about her, and how Ed might have come across her.”

“Huh.” Draper sipped some more of the Scotch. If I’d hoped he was going to offer an opinion on the matter, I was wrong.

Cancerno arrived then, again in jeans and a silk shirt, and again looking decidedly unpleasant. He nodded curtly at Draper and glowered at Joe and me.

“All right,” he said, pushing into the booth beside Draper. “What the hell is this about?”

“Mr. Cancerno, this is my partner, Joe Pritchard.” I pointed at Joe.

“Terrific. Now let me repeat—what the hell is this about? I got shit to do this afternoon.”

“Remember the woman who died in the fire?”

“The one Gradduk killed?”

“The one who died in the fire,” I said again.

“What about her?”

“She was the director of something called the Neighborhood Alliance.” Suddenly I wanted to test Cancerno, curious as to whether he’d be honest at all or just lie to avoid continuing the conversation. “You ever heard of that group?”

His lip curled at one side. “Of course I’ve heard of the group. My guys are fixing all their shit-hole houses.”

Okay, he had no problem with blunt honesty.

“What can you tell me about the organization?” I said.

“Not much. I don’t mind their business, you know, just my own. They want me to get the houses fixed up so they can sell them again, and that’s what I do. It’s some sort of a government project, city or county. They buy up houses that are all beat to shit, rundown and empty, neighborhood eyesores. Then they fix them up so they’re decent again, livable, and they put poor people in them. Got the Feds to insure the mortgages and finance it and all that crap. Supposed to make the neighborhood downright charming.”

“If you’re doing a fair amount of work for them,” Joe said, “you must have known Anita Sentalar.”

Cancerno shot him a glare that would have rattled anyone except Joe, who received it with a blank expression.

“I must have known her?” Cancerno said. “Afraid not, buddy. You don’t know as much as you think. This is the first time I’d heard that the dead chick had anything to do with the Neighborhood Alliance. Guy who handled the contract with me was a consultant, you know, someone who actually knows a little something about construction. They aren’t going to let some little girl with a law degree contract out house repairs.”

“What was the consultant’s name?” Joe said.

“Ward Barry. He does a lot of work with HUD on those types of projects. Used to be a city engineer. You want to know about this woman, you talk to him. I never said word one to her.”

“What about Ed Gradduk?” I said, “Would he have had an opportunity to meet her?”

Cancerno scowled. “I don’t know how, unless she came by the work site to see what was going on. I suppose that’s possible. I sure as shit never introduced him to nobody. Glad of that, too. I’m dealing with enough grief just for hiring the son of a bitch.”

I took a deep breath and sipped a little of the Glenlivet, felt the smooth burn work.

“Okay,” I said. “That makes sense, Mr. Cancerno. How many houses are you working on for the Neighborhood Alliance?”

“We got the whole contract. So however many they buy up for the first two years of this, that’ll be how many we work on. Probably got ten done already, another half dozen in the work stages.”

“There was one on Clark Avenue,” I said. “It burned down about a week ago. You know anything about that house?”

For once, Jimmy Cancerno looked interested, but before he could speak, Draper put himself into the conversation for the first time.

“One burned on Clark?”

I turned to him and nodded while Cancerno gave him a surprised look, as if he’d forgotten Draper was at the table. “Yeah, it did. A few blocks east of here.”

“I heard about it,” Draper said. “Didn’t know it belonged to that Neighborhood Alliance deal, though.” He picked his glass up again to take another drink, but it was empty. He set it back down and poured it half-full again.

“Were you working on the house on Clark?” I asked Cancerno.

“Nah, we haven’t worked any on Clark.”

“It was a Neighborhood Alliance property,” I said. “I’m sure of that.”

He shrugged. “Like I said, we work on them in the order those people tell us to. I can believe they owned the place, but we hadn’t started on it yet.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd,” Joe said, “that two of the group’s houses would burn in a week’s time?”

Cancerno coughed. “Would be odd if I couldn’t blame it on Gradduk.” He paused, then said, “Shit, I just realized what that means. If the little bastard did burn the other house, I’m going to have to deal with that, too.”

“You have any idea,” I said, “who might have had a problem with this Neighborhood Alliance group? Anyone else bid on the project and lose, anything like that?”

“No. Like I said, I just worry about my end of things.”

I nodded. “Must be a nice chunk of cash in it. You said you’re getting all the work for two years?”

Cancerno snorted. “A nice chunk of cash? Gimme a break, pal. I wish I’d never made the bid. I’ll be lucky to break even on this.”

“Really?” I said, surprised.

His scowl darkened. “Yeah, really. You don’t believe it, I’ll be happy to show you my books.”

“No need for that.”

For a moment it was quiet, and then Cancerno said, “Well, is that it?”

“I guess so,” I said. “We appreciate your time, though. And we’ll be talking to this Warren Barry.”

“Ward Barry. And don’t tell him I gave you his name. Last thing I need on my hands now is somebody else that’s pissed off at me over Gradduk.”

He stood, then turned back to the table. “You have any luck finding Corbett?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“But you tried?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Well, you find him, you can tell him I tore up his paycheck today. He ever wants to go back to work, it’ll be for somebody else.”

Joe and I got up, too, and headed for the door. I turned, expecting Draper would have followed us, but I saw he was still hunched in the booth, the whiskey glass in his hand.

“Thanks again, Scott,” I said.

“Huh? Oh, right. No sweat, dude.” He nodded at me, then stood up and walked out with us. I pushed open the heavy front door and stepped into the heat, the sun glaring off the cracked sidewalk, shimmering on the street. Draper stepped out behind us and let the door swing shut. He squinted down the avenue.

“Interesting,” he said, “that the house that burned down here was connected to the one up on Train.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Interesting.”

“It was a scene out here, I’ll tell you that,” he said. “All the trucks going by, people wandering up the street, looking to see what the hell was going down. I could see the smoke, even from here.”

“That’s a serious fire.”

He nodded. “First fire I’d seen since the one when we were kids. Remember that one? We were standing with your old man.”

I hesitated, thinking, then placed it. “Right, the pawnshop fire. Shit, that’s a long time ago.”

“We were still in elementary school. I remember we were coming back from the rec center, walking with your dad. He’d come up to walk back with us because it was at night. When we came out, all the sirens were going.”

Draper looked at me and grinned. “Sorrow’s anthem, right?”

“What?”

“That was what your dad called it, the sound all those sirens made.”

I laughed. “Damn, Scott, you’re reaching back for that one.”

“Well, I remember it. Because it made sense, you know? You had the ambulance, the fire engine, the police cars. All those sirens have a little different sound to them, and blended together like that, it’s like some sort of crazy song. Sorrow’s anthem, your dad called it. Yeah, I remember that night.”

I did, too, now that I stopped to think about it, and it made me sad. I’d stood on the street with Ed, Draper, and my father. Only two of us were still alive. I could remember the tense electricity that seemed to go up and down the avenue that night, the fire at the pawnshop going strong, sirens all around us. It made sense that my dad noticed the sirens, of course, and that he had a name for the sound. He spent his career in an ambulance.

“There was another fire that summer, too,” Draper said, rubbing his bald head with the palm of his hand. “Hell, maybe two?”

“Yes. There were a couple, you’re right. And they were arsons. Everybody was worried about them. But it gave people something to talk about other than . . .”

“Other than what?” Joe said when I stopped talking. He and Draper were watching me with curious looks.

“Other than Ed’s family,” I said slowly.

Draper frowned, then nodded. “Shit, that’s right. That was the same summer Norm killed himself.”

Joe and I were looking hard at each other.

“Gradduk’s dad killed himself the same summer that a bunch of fires went up around this neighborhood?” he said.

“Yeah.”

“And now the son’s dead, and there are more fires,” Joe said.

The dull tingle I’d been feeling at the base of my skull from the Glenlivet seemed to be spreading. Draper was quiet, watching us.

“You have any idea how that old arson case turned out?” Joe asked.

I shook my head. “Nope. But all of the sudden I’m awfully damn curious.”