“Those gangsters he associated with. You know some of them, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Do they have any idea who killed Max yet?”
“None at all.”
“Good.” She threw away her cigarette and quickly lit another. “You’ll probably think me crazy. But you see, it crossed my mind that, perhaps, Dinah might have had something to do with his murder.”
“What makes you say that?”
“For one thing, my gun-the one Ernest gave me-it’s gone. It was a Russian revolver. I had it lying around the house somewhere, and now I can’t find it. Fredo-Alfredo Lopez? My lawyer friend has a friend in the police who told him that Reles had been shot with a Russian revolver. It sort of made me wonder. If Dinah could have done it.”
I was shaking my head. I hardly liked to tell her that Dinah had suspected that her own mother might be the murderer.
“There’s all that, and there’s the fact that she seemed to get over it so quickly. Like she wasn’t in love with him at all. I mean, didn’t it make any of those Mafia guys suspicious that she wasn’t at the funeral? Like she didn’t care?”
“I think people thought she was probably too upset to go.”
“That’s my point, Bernie. She wasn’t. And this is why I’m worried. If the Mafia comes around to the opinion that she did have something to do with Max’s murder, then maybe they’ll do something about it. Maybe they’ll send someone after her.”
“I don’t think it works like that, Noreen. Right now all they’re really concerned about is the possibility that Max Reles was killed by one of their own. You see, if it turns out that one of the other hotel and casino owners was behind the killing, then there could be a gang war. That would be very bad for business. Which is the last thing they want. Besides, it’s me they’ve asked to help find out who killed Max.”
“The mob has asked you to investigate Max’s murder?”
“In my capacity as a former homicide detective.”
Noreen shook her head. “Why you?”
“I guess they think I can be objective, independent. More objective than the Cuban militia. Dinah’s nineteen years old, Noreen. She strikes me as a lot of things. As a selfish little bitch, for one. But she’s not a murderer. Besides, it takes a certain kind of person to climb over a wall eight floors up and shoot a man seven times in cold blood. Wouldn’t you say?”
Noreen nodded and stared off into the distance. She dropped her second cigarette on the ground, half smoked, and then lit a third. Something was still troubling her.
“So, you can rest assured I’m not about to lay the blame at Dinah’s door.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. She is a bitch, you’re right. But she’s mine and I’d do absolutely anything to keep her safe.”
“I know that.” I flicked my cigar at the fountain. It hit one of the nymphs on her bare behind and fell into the water. “Is that really what you wanted to tell me?”
“Yes,” she said. She thought for a moment. “But it wasn’t everything, you’re right, damn you.” She bit her knuckle. “I don’t know why I ever try to deceive you. There are times when I think you know me better than I know myself.”
“It’s always a possibility.”
She threw the third cigarette away, opened her bag, took out a little matching handkerchief, and blew her nose with it. “The other day,” she said. “When you were at the house. And you saw Fredo and me coming back from the beach at Playa Mayor. I suppose you must have guessed that he and I have been seeing each other. That we’ve become, well, intimate.”
“I try not to do too much guessing these days. Especially concerning things I know absolutely nothing about.”
“Fredo likes you, Bernie. He was very grateful to you. The night of the pamphlets.”
“Oh, I know. He told me himself.”
“You saved his life. I didn’t really appreciate it at the time. Or thank you properly. What you did was very courageous.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I didn’t come to see you about Dinah. Oh, perhaps I just wanted to hear you reassure me that she couldn’t have done it, but I’d have known. A mother knows that kind of thing. She couldn’t have hid that from me.”
“So what did you come to see me about?”
“It’s Fredo. He’s been arrested by the SIM-the secret police-and accused of helping the former minister of education in the Prio government, Aureliano Sanchez Arango, to enter the country illegally.”
“And did he?”
“No, of course not. When he was arrested, however, he was with someone who is in the AAA. That’s the Association of Friends of Aureliano. It’s one of the leading opposition groups in Cuba. But Fredo’s loyalty is to Castro and the rebels on the Isle of Pines.”
“Well, I’m sure when he explains that, they’ll be happy to send him home.”
Noreen didn’t share the joke. “This isn’t funny,” she said. “They could still torture him in the hope that he’ll tell them where Aureliano is hiding. That would be doubly unfortunate, because of course he doesn’t know anything.”
“I agree. But I really don’t see what I can do.”
“You saved his life once, Bernie. Maybe you can do it again.”
“So Lopez can have you instead of me?”
“Is that what you want, Bernie?”
“What do you think?” I shrugged. “Why not? Under the circumstances that’s not so very strange. Or have you forgotten?”
“Bernie, it was twenty years ago. I’m not the same woman I used to be. Surely you can see that.”
“Life will do that to you sometimes.”
“Can you do
“What makes you think that’s even a possibility?”
“Because you know Captain Sanchez. People say that you and he are friends.”
“What people?” I shook my head, exasperated. “Look, even if he was my friend-and I am not at all sure about that-Sanchez is militia. And you said yourself that Lopez has been arrested by the SIM. That means it’s nothing to do with the militia.”
“The man who arrested Fredo was at the funeral of Max Reles,” said Noreen. “Lieutenant Quevedo. Perhaps, if you asked him, Captain Sanchez would speak to Lieutenant Quevedo. He could intercede.”
“And say what?”
“I don’t know. But you might think of something.”
“Noreen, it’s a hopeless case.”
“Aren’t they the ones you used to be good at?”
I shook my head and turned away.
“You remember that letter I wrote to you, when I left Berlin?”
“Not really. It was a very long time ago, like you said.”
“Yes, you do. I called you my knight of heaven.”
“That’s the plot of
“I asked you always to seek the truth and to go to the aid of the people who needed your help. Because it’s the right thing to do, and in spite of the fact that it’s dangerous. I’m asking that now.”
“You’ve no right to ask it. Can’t be done. I’ve changed too, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I don’t think so.”
“More than you could ever know. Knight of heaven, you say?” I laughed. “More like knight of hell. During the war, I got drafted into the SS, because I was a policeman. Did I tell you that? My armor’s very dirty, Noreen. You don’t know how dirty.”
“You did what you had to do, I expect. But inside, I think you’re probably the same man you always were.”
“Tell me this: Why should I look out for Lopez? I’ve got enough on my plate. I can’t help him, and that’s the truth, so why should I even bother to try?”
“Because that’s what life is about.” Noreen took my hand and searched my face-for what, I don’t know. “That’s what life is about, isn’t it? Looking for the truth. Going to the aid of the people we don’t think we can help, but trying all the same.”
I felt myself flush with anger.
“You’ve got me confused with some kind of saint, Noreen. The kind who’s okay with being martyred as long as his halo’s straight in the photograph. If I’m going to throw myself to the lions, I want it to mean a lot more than just being remembered in some milkmaid’s prayers on a Sunday morning. I never was a man for a useless gesture. That’s how I stayed alive this long, angel. Only there’s more to it than that. You talk about the truth like it means something. But when you throw the truth in my face, it’s just a couple of handfuls of sand. It’s not the truth at all. Not the truth I want to hear, anyway. Not from you. So let’s not fool ourselves, eh? I won’t play the sucker for you, Noreen. Not until you’re prepared to stop treating me like one.”
Noreen did an impersonation of a tropical fish that was all popping eyes and open mouth, and then shook her head. “I’m sure I don’t have the least idea of what you’re talking about.” Then she laughed an off-key laugh in my face and, before I could say another word, turned on her heel and walked quickly toward the parking lot.
I went back inside the Tropicana.
The Cellinis didn’t give me much. Giving wasn’t exactly their strong suit. Nor was answering questions. Old habits die hard, I suppose. They kept on telling me how sorry they were about the death of a great guy like Max and how keen they were to cooperate with Lansky’s investigation and, at the same time, not having the first clue about anything I asked them. If they had been asked Capone’s Christian name, they would probably have shrugged and said they didn’t know it. Probably even denied he had one.
It was late when I got home, and Captain Sanchez was waiting for me. He’d helped himself to a drink and a cigar and was reading a book in my favorite armchair.
“It seems I’m popular with all kinds of people these days,” I said. “People just drop in, like this is some kind of club.”
“Don’t be like that,” said Sanchez. “We’re friends, you and I. Besides, the lady let me in. Yara, isn’t it?”
I glanced around the apartment for her, but it was plain that she’d already gone.
He shrugged apologetically. “I think I scared her off.”
“I expect you’re used to that, Captain.”
“I should be at home myself, but you know what they say. Crime doesn’t keep office hours.”
“Is that what they say?”
“Another body has been found. A man called Irving Goldstein. At an apartment in Vedado.”
