Masquerade in Blue, page 2
“Blue water?”
“Yeah, but it was hard to tell because the windows were smoked.”
“What’d Novotny do?”
“He called the Fox a terrorist. Among other things.”
“Imagine that.”
“Yeah, and he said he wasn’t going to put the deranged judgment of a few fanatics before the good of a community. That plus he threatened to nail the Fox’s tail to the wall, so to speak.” He paused, then added, “He also said he was putting out a hefty bounty, betting that at least one of the Fox’s confidants has a price.”
“Interesting. And now the Fox won’t turn himself in, and you’re not going to cough up his name. So where do I fit into the ‘free Jeff Barlowe’ scenario.”
“When I talked to him, he said he wouldn’t come forward, but he did have some information that might help find the person who really did kill Novotny. I told him about you and he agreed to meet you and give you this information. On his terms.”
“Where? When?”
“In the bar at The Den. Four o’clock.”
“Today?”
He nodded.
Thumb and forefinger against the bridge of my nose, I silently calculated how long it would take Elaine to write me off. And at the same time I prayed for another chance.
Resigned, I took a deep breath and said, “What can you tell me about this guy? How will I know him? Will he be wearing a blue cape and Spandex pants?”
Jeff chose to ignore that. “Just show up. The Fox will do the rest. He knows who you are.” Then he cleared his throat and pulled himself up closer to the table. “If the Fox thinks you’re being followed … if he thinks anything isn’t on the up and up, you know … well, he won’t show.”
My jaw tightened and I studied Jeff for several long seconds. “How long am I supposed to sit there and wait to pass muster?”
Jeff finally looked at me and, with a small shrug, said, “Five, maybe. No later.” I didn’t respond and he quickly added, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem though. Really, he’ll talk to you.”
What the hell, apparently I’d enlisted for the duration. “You’ve been digging around on this story since it happened. Any chance you’re in here not so much because you can ID this guy but because you were on to something?”
Jeff frowned. “I wasn’t. Not that I could tell anyway. You can take a look at my notes if you want. I’ll get word to Tim. He’ll let you have them.”
I didn’t need the little voice in the back of head to tell me I was investing more than a few hours.
“Are you absolutely certain this character didn’t kill Novotny?”
“Why do you think I’m sitting here?”
I gazed at the small window in the door, which was the only indication that there was a world outside this room. When I turned back to Jeff, I could tell from the look on his face that his own thoughts were similar. “If you’re wrong,” I said, “you better be ready to break that other reporter’s record.”
Jeff sighed and shook his head. “No shit.”
As I watched him, his features taut and his eyes dull, it occurred to me that you could do a lot worse than being stranded at the airport. Now I just had to convince Elaine.
Chapter 2
IF ELAINE’S FLIGHT WAS on time, it would be on the ground by now. It probably wasn’t late enough for her to tag me a no-show, but I called my answering machine from a pay phone at the jail just in case. I had a pretty good idea how she’d react to the message I’d left her, but hell, it was better than no explanation at all. There were no calls, so I set out for my rendezvous with the Fox.
I drove with the windows down. It had turned into the kind of early fall day I’d hoped would greet Elaine – warm but with traces of fall in the air and in the trees, which were just starting to change.
When I first moved to Foxport, I used to go to The Den on a pretty regular basis. Maybe as often as once or twice a week. But since I’d moved to the second-floor apartment of a house on the river, I’d found another place that was within walking distance. I hadn’t been to The Den in a couple months.
I got there at about a quarter to four and stopped by the pay phone in the foyer. Figuring I still had some time and Elaine should have realized by now that something was wrong, I tried my answering machine again. A beep told me to hold on for a message. I held my breath.
“Yeah, uh, McCauley.” It was a man’s voice. I exhaled. “This is, ah, Dick Powers. You were, ah, doing a, you know, a job for me. Well, it’s not a problem anymore, so forget it. I hope you didn’t do any work on this. You know, I hate to shell out money just ‘cause I was a little paranoid. Well, ah, let me know.” Then, with an awkward laugh he added, “Hey, good luck with that woman you’re standing up.”
Someday when I had the money, I was going to swear off wandering spouse cases. Half the time they reconciled, which was swell for them, but I’d spent the better part of two days watching Powers’s wife scour Foxport’s shopping district from one end to the other. If she was trysting, she must have been using a dressing room.
There was another beep followed by a long pause, then, “I don’t believe it,” followed by a deep sigh and another pause. Then, the voice I liked to remember thick with sleep but making me laugh – Elaine woke up with her humor intact – said, “Quint, this is great. I have three dollars and fifty cents to my name. No, that’s wrong. I have three dollars and twenty cents. I just used thirty so I can spill my guts to your answering machine. I love it. Damn.” Another sigh, then, “I’m going to make a couple calls. I don’t know where I’ll end up. Maybe I’ll call you later.” And she hung up.
I called American Airlines and had them page Elaine Kluszewski. And I asked them to do it again when there was no response the first time. No good.
I was thinking that I’d just lost my last chance with Elaine when I walked into the bar, almost five minutes early. It was a fairly small room, which consisted of a long, dark wood bar lined with stools and two raised tables at each of the four windows. Except for the bartender, it was empty so I took a seat at the bar and ordered a club soda with lime. Elaine’s dad lived in Chicago. Maybe she’d call him. But we’d never met and I couldn’t imagine introducing myself to him as the guy who stranded his only daughter at O’Hare Airport. This was not going to be the reunion I’d hoped for. Even if I explained and even if she understood.
The bartender placed my drink in the center of a paper napkin. “Tab?” she asked. She was tall with shoulder-length black hair and wore a red shirt that probably could have stood to have one more button activated. Hoping to get this over as soon as possible, I shook my head and pulled a five out of my wallet. I patted my pocket for cigarettes then remembered I’d left them in the car.
A couple minutes after four, a man walked in. He looked like he had a few years on me – mid forties maybe – and he wore a pair of khaki pants and a knit shirt. He glanced at me and gave me a quick nod before sitting at the bar. There was one empty stool between us. Was this him? Not exactly what I’d expected, but then what was the Blue Fox supposed to look like? Shiny eyes? Wet pointed nose? The shirt color was right.
He cleared his throat and ordered one of the German beers on tap. The bartender, with her back to us, was aligning a row of bottles and gave no sign that she’d heard him. But after a few seconds she moved toward the tap and slowly drew the beer.
“Where’s Rob?” he asked as she set the drink in front of him.
“Doesn’t start until four during the week.”
Both the man and I consulted our watches. “He’s late,” he said.
He’s not the only one, I thought.
She lifted one corner of her mouth in what I guess you could call a smile, and shrugged. “He’ll be here.”
He gave her the once-over in a not too subtle way. “How long you been working here?”
“A few months,” she said as she moved down the bar, wiping out ashtrays that already looked clean.
“You from around here?”
I took my drink and sought out one of the window tables. I wasn’t in the mood to pick up any new lines, and if this guy was the Fox, I was prepared to eat my wedge of lime.
Ten minutes later another man came in. He wasn’t tall but solid with broad shoulders and the sort of tan you really had to work at. His hair was sandy-colored and was just starting its retreat from his forehead. Maybe he did construction. Or environmental work. Buttoning the cuffs of his red shirt, he approached the bar and said, “Hey, Julia, I’m running late. Say you forgive me. How’d it go?”
The bartender didn’t respond, just crossed her arms over her chest and tried to look grim-faced. But she could only hold the frown for a couple seconds.
“I know, I know. I just missed the rush, didn’t I?”
Julia relented and, assuming a less defensive posture, said, “I’ve learned not to expect you until a quarter after the hour.”
“Guilty as charged,” he said without a trace of remorse. He patted the shoulder of the man at the bar as he passed him. “Bissell, haven’t seen you in a while.” Then he lifted the partition at the waitresses’ station and stepped behind the bar. “How’s it going?”
“I seem to be managing.”
Maybe it was time to call this off and start looking for Elaine. Then I remembered I was supposed to give him until five. I looked out the window. I liked Foxport with its small town atmosphere, which its citizens were trying to maintain despite the steady influx of people who were moving there because of its small town atmosphere. And the Fox River was a part of all that – it was the main reason I’d invested in a small business here. I’d lived near the Pacific Ocean for about eighteen months and though there’s nothing like it, there’s still something to be said for a river. It’s like the ocean’s this outrageously beautiful and seductive woman who’s so volatile and passionate that in a matter of seconds her disposition can swing from serene to explosive. But she’s adored despite her outbursts because you put up with a lot to get a lot. The river, on the other hand, isn’t quite so gorgeous, so she works hard at being steady and soothing. But she’s got her limits and though her anger is slower to build, to see her in full fury is to understand mortality. To me, there was something about all that that was both hypnotic and affirming. I might not always live near a river, but I would always want to.
“Quint McCauley?”
I turned and met the gaze of the dark-haired bartender.
After a few seconds, I nodded. She seemed to be waiting for something more than my word on it, so I pulled out my wallet and showed her an ID. She examined it, folded it back into my wallet, and set it on the table. Then she regarded me with clear, deep brown eyes and said, “My name’s Julia Ellison. I understand we have a mutual acquaintance who couldn’t be here himself.”
I blinked and swallowed. Boy, did I feel stupid.
“Let’s go for a walk.” It was more an instruction than a suggestion. I pocketed my wallet and obeyed.
There’s a bike path along the river that stretches across three towns and then some. We walked along it, toward one of the two traffic bridges in Foxport. I’d rolled up the sleeves of my shirt and the sun felt good on my arms. Julia was watching the river, hands in her hip pockets, and seemed content to be doing this until I called the meeting to order.
“You aren’t what I expected.”
After a few steps she said, “What did you expect?”
“I’ve never heard you referred to with a female pronoun. What was I supposed to think?”
Finally she smiled. “Isn’t it amazing how people will believe everything that is fed to them in a newspaper?”
“Isn’t it silly how we assume we aren’t intentionally being lied to?”
She pulled a strand of hair away from her face and I noticed her hand was small and square, its veins pronounced. “It was a convenient lie. By the time Jeff found out I was a woman, he was already using male pronouns.” She looked up at me. “It wasn’t an intentional deception.”
“Why would Jeff assume you were a man?” Before she could interject, I added, “He isn’t like that, you know. He wouldn’t assume.”
Unconvinced, she shrugged it off. “You’d have to ask Jeff.”
“Whatever,” I said. “I guess I’m not here to make any judgments. I’m just trying to get a friend out of jail.”
She nodded and I saw that when her hair caught the light it wasn’t black – there were shades of brown and red in it. “I’m sorry that happened, but I can’t help him. Not that way.” Her eyes were large but narrow with heavy lids. The effect was both attractive and disconcerting. “What I do is important.”
“And what Jeff does isn’t?”
“Excuse me for being blunt, but there are lots of reporters.”
“And only one Blue Fox?”
She stopped walking, and waited until I looked at her before continuing. “Let’s face it. When it comes to the environment, if it’s not cute and fuzzy, it’s hard to get the public concerned. Most people out there don’t know how desperate the situation is. The movement needs extremists to let them know. People do what they can, as long as they don’t have to go out of their way. They ask for paper bags at the grocery and then fill them with plastic liter bottles of diet whatever. It’s getting late; they don’t realize how late. Sure, there’s a big environmental movement on now, but how long is it going to last? How long before it’s replaced with some other cause the politicians and media decide to shove down our throats? Now is not the time to get complacent. We’ve got to keep the environment at the forefront of today’s and tomorrow’s issues. The word is preservation, not conservation. Development and destruction of this land have got to stop. We don’t have any more of a right to this planet than the forests they’re cutting down or the marshes they’re filling in. This is war. The situation is desperate and sometimes desperate measures are called for.” Her face was flushed and I figured she did a pretty good job of firing up the troops. But what about the casualties?
“I suppose that includes letting Jeff Barlowe sit in jail. Even though he thinks the same way about being cooped up as some people do of heights.”
She looked away briefly. “If I step forward, even if I’m acquitted, the momentum is lost. It’s gone. The movement can’t afford that. It needs me.”
“So does Jeff.”
Abruptly she turned and strode toward the river’s bank. I followed. What else could I do? When she got there, she squatted, arms wrapped around her knees, and stared into the water. I looked too, but saw nothing. After almost a full minute, she whispered, “There” and pointed at something in the shallows. At first I thought it was a bird’s shadow, but then I saw its long narrow form wagging its way along the bottom. “That’s a yellow perch. Ten years ago there were just a handful of these left in the Fox. And they were so full of pollution you wouldn’t dare eat one. Now the river’s brimming with them and the sight of a fisherman standing in the current with hip boots is a common one.” She stood slowly, dragging her gaze from the fish. “And if it weren’t for the Blue Fox dumping dead fish on the steps of the chemical companies and in the offices of the packing plants along the river, we’d still be stepping over dead fish and ducks as we take our scenic strolls by the river.”
Her jaw muscles hardened and she stepped right up to me. She had to look up to address me, but not much. “So, yes, I’m sorry about Jeff. It’s too bad he’s caught in the middle, but there’s a war going on here and he’s one of the expendable ones. I’m not.” She started to turn away, but stopped and added, “If you’re having trouble with this, maybe we’d better call it quits. Jeff understands. He said you would find out who did kill Novotny, not try to talk me into turning myself in.”
Before I had a chance to respond, she was on her way back to the bike path. What was it about this woman that made me want to forget my promise to Jeff? “Did you kill Novotny?”
“No.”
She kept walking and I jogged up behind her. “But you were there, weren’t you? You were in Novotny’s office the day he died.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Then who was?” I was keeping pace with her.
Stopping, she grabbed my arm, bringing me to a halt. “Whoever killed him. That was part of the frame. How dense are you?”
“How dense do you think I am?” And before she could tell me, I continued, “You say you weren’t there, you didn’t kill him. I say that’s good enough for me?”
She held my gaze for several seconds, then, releasing my arm, nodded, and started walking again. We reached a foot bridge and she turned east to cross the river. “So, you think maybe I killed him.” She spoke as though she were trying the idea on for size and kind of liked the way it fit.
“I think I’d be either dumb or gullible to overlook you.” I stopped on the bridge and looked down the river toward the south, hands sunk in my pockets. “I can see you busily making your statement in Leonard Novotny’s office. You’re feeling pretty good, thinking about what he’s going to do when he sees it. It’s fun to conjure up images of a red-faced man swearing vengeance on the Fox. All of a sudden, he walks in. He’s not supposed to be there. It’s Saturday, for God’s sake. Novotny always golfs or something on Saturday. He says something like ‘Aha, I’ve got you now!’ and you panic. He comes after you. You go for your gun – maybe you carry one in case of traps. So you don’t have to chew your leg off. Anyway, before you know it, Novotny’s dead. It could’ve happened that way.”
I turned and saw that she’d been watching me and found my scenario amusing. “There are lots of possibilities,” she said. “That’s only one of them. And it’s wrong.” With a slight shrug she added, “If I had killed him, wouldn’t I have tried to clean up the evidence?”
I smiled. “What? You bring paint remover with you on these little raids, just in case you have a change of heart?”
“How can you prove I didn’t do it if you don’t trust me?”
