My thought died and my voice with it. A cop knew Elena had done a bunk because he’d gone to Michael Reese specifically to see her. Just as he’d gotten me to reveal her address two weeks ago so he could go see her then.
The police didn’t give two hoots if an aging drunk on her uppers tried to pick up young men in Uptown. Michael did.
McGonnigal’s reaction to that gold bracelet came tumbling through my head and I saw it laid out for me in such complete detail that I thought my whole insides would come up through my mouth. I remembered now where I’d seen it before, the time he’d worn it last February when I’d gone to a birthday party the pals had put on for him. McGonnigal thought I’d brought the bracelet around to flaunt my long-cooled affair with Micheal. That’s why he hadn’t told me it was Furey’s.
Only Furey hadn’t left it at my apartment. Elena and Cerise had. The night they slept there they’d laid it on the floor under the mattress, the way people do. And in the morning, when Cerise was so sick, they’d forgotten it.
“Vic-what’s gone wrong? You haven’t fainted, have you?” Lotty spoke sharply; I realized I was standing like an idiot with the mouthpiece in my hand.
“No. No. I just suddenly am seeing something that ought to have hit me long ago.”
“What you need most right now is a hot meal and a night’s sleep. Why don’t I come for you-you can have some soup and sleep in my guest room. Then tomorrow you’ll have the strength to think of an advanced design in tiger traps.”
It was so enticing an offer I couldn’t turn it down, even as my mind was churning over Michael. I pulled my jeans on again and flung a few things into my backpack- including an extra clip for the Smith & Wesson.
The night Elena brought Cerise to my apartment was the night of Boots’s barbecue. Michael had driven back to my place and was waiting for me there when I pulled up. He’d had a police emergency and couldn’t stay, that was what he’d said. A triple homicide. I could check that sometime, if I lived past tonight, but I doubted it had ever occurred.
No-he’d gone into the lobby and found Elena and Cerise sitting there on Elena’s duffel bag. They’d come with their tale of Cerise’s baby, hoping they could use me to screw a little money from the insurance company. Then they’d seen Michael, put some heat on him. They’d seen him hanging around the Indiana Arms before the fire, had to be. He had the connection to Roland Montgomery. He’d be the one the pals would turn to when they wanted a building torched. Why the pals were involved I couldn’t say, except that they did favors for Boots in exchange for contracts. And Michael did favors for the pals because they were all good old boys from the neighborhood.
So Elena recognized him when he came into the lobby after Boots’s party. She told him she loved boys with gorgeous eyes and she wouldn’t tell anyone she’d recognized him if he’d just help her out, give her a little something so she could buy a drink.
He gave them the bracelet, that was the payoff, but the next day he hunted out Cerise and took her to the Rapelec site, got her shot full of heroin, left her to die. No, that wasn’t quite it. He’d gotten the heroin to someone- maybe to the pals or to their night manager. August Cray! The registered agent for Farmworks was also the night manager at the Rapelec site.
Anyway, Michael thought he could get the bracelet back but Cerise didn’t have it. That was why Bobby’s unit was there so fast once the night watchman had spotted her-he had to be the first person to see her. Another police officer might be able to identify the bracelet if she had it on her.
But then? It didn’t explain everything, but it made a certain amount of horrible sense. He needed to find Elena to get her quiet, too, but she’d skipped. When I told her about Cerise she’d hunted him out someplace and he’d said enough to make her know he’d killed Cerise. She’d run for cover. So his whole story about her trying to turn tricks in Uptown, that was made up. Bobby never asked him to find her. That was why Furey had made such a big deal out of my not calling to ask him.
My legs were cotton. They kept bending when I tried walking on them. I had to get to the Streeter Brothers fast-I couldn’t leave Elena out on the loose for Furey to find and pick off at will.
I forced myself to wobble over to the phone. When I dialed their number I reached their answering machine. I left a message, trying to sound urgent without being hysterical, and gave them Lotty’s number to use in the morning.
When I hung up I tried Murray again; he was still out prowling someplace. I checked the street from my window. The man with the dog had disappeared. A few other people were strolling along the block, coming back from their workouts or heading for dinner. I didn’t believe any of them were emissaries of Ralph MacDonald with orders to garrote me on sight, but I still waited behind the blinds until I saw Lotty’s new Camry screech to a halt in front of my building.
Before going downstairs I called Mr. Contreras to let him know his vigilance wouldn’t be required.
He was a tad miffed that I would sleep at Lotty’s but not with him. “Anyway, just because you’re not home don’t mean someone won’t try to sneak in to hit you on the head when you get back. I think me and princess’ll keep up our patrol anyway.”
Calling to tell him my plans was the farthest I could stretch my humanitarian impulses-I couldn’t summon the courtesy to thank him for immolating himself so unnecessarily. It’s true he’d saved my life last winter, but it didn’t make me any more eager to include him in my work. I trotted downstairs, waved cursorily at the dog and Mr. Contreras when they popped their heads into the hall, and got quickly into the car. I hate feeling scared-it makes me run when I’d much rather be walking.
“So you’ve ruined that Chevy of yours with your reckless driving?” was Lotty’s greeting.
I opened my mouth to retort, then shut it as Lotty made a rakish U in front of a
Lotty drives as if she were responsible for an ambulance during the Blitz-she sees the roads filled with enemy aircraft that she’s either dodging or beating to a likely target. She insists on buying standard transmissions because that’s what she grew up with, but strips the gears so mercilessly that this was her third car in eight years. Like all rotten drivers, she thinks she’s the only person who has a legitimate right to the road. By the time we’d gone the two miles to her apartment, I was thinking I should have stayed home and taken my chances with Ralph MacDonald.
When we stopped the Camry hiccoughed softly-it knew better than to complain too loudly to her. I followed her meekly into her building, up to the second floor, where a brilliant display of color always knocks me back on my heels when I haven’t been there for a time. Lotty dresses in severely tailored clothes-dark skirts, crisp white shirts or sober black knits. It’s in her home that her intense personality emerges in rich reds and oranges.
Even though I’ve stayed there a number of times, Lotty always treats me as a real guest, taking my bag, offering me a drink from her limited repertoire. She almost never uses alcohol herself and keeps brandy on hand only for medical emergencies. I turned it down tonight- my stomach still had a strong memory of the bottle of Georges Goulet I’d put away last evening.
Lotty had a stew simmering on the back of the stove, some kind of Viennese dish reconstructed from her childhood memories. Hearty and simple, it brought back the comforts of my own childhood.
“You must have known I’d be coming when you made this,” I said gratefully, cleaning the last carrot from my plate. “Just what the doctor ordered.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Lotty leaned over to kiss me. “Now a bath for you, and bed. You have black circles the size of craters around your eyes.”
Before I went to bed she checked my hands. The blisters were a bit tender from my gripping the Chevy’s steering wheel too hard, but they continued to heal. She put more salve on them and tucked me into her cool scented sheets. My last thought was that the smell of lavender was the smell of home.
When I woke up again it was past ten. The sun stuck little fingers of light around the edges of the heavy crimson curtains, striating the walls and floor. In the empty apartment all I could hear was the hum of the bedside clock, an oddly comforting noise.
I pulled on my sweatshirt and padded into the kitchen. Lotty had left a glass of orange juice for me and a note to help myself to food. My long sleep had left me with an enormous appetite. I boiled a couple of eggs and ate them with a great stack of toast.
While I was eating I tried to come up with a design for a perfect tiger trap, but as soon as I started thinking
