Robert B. Parker's Little White Lies Page 10

  “Were you with Mr. Spenser last night?”

  “Yes,” Susan said. “At least twice. What’s all this about?”

  “Johnny Gredoni is dead,” I said. “Glass here never trusts me and wants me to drive down to headquarters with them until I confess I’d always admired the Boston Strangler and I’m nuttier than Woody Woodpecker.”

  “He’s not going anywhere,” Susan said. “Not today.”

  Glass, hands still on hips, grinned a bit. “It’s not up to you, Susan,” she said. “I’m working a homicide.”

  “Today is our day off,” she said. “Some people actually have social lives outside work.”

  Captain Glass scowled. Belson looked away, smiled, and started to whistle a bit.

  “I was here,” I said. “Ask what you want to ask.”

  “Why did you go up to Lynn and threaten John Gredoni last week at his place of work?”

  “That never happened.”

  “We just left Gun World,” Glass said. “They said they have you on surveillance video.”

  “I was there,” I said. “But I didn’t threaten him. He was too short to threaten. It would have made me feel bad about myself.”

  “Why were you there?” Glass said.

  “I am a private investigator,” I said. “I was investigating.”

  “What?” Glass said.

  “That’s confidential,” I said. “Do you take milk or sugar? Or both.”

  “I’ll take a goddamn answer.”

  “Is she always so charming, Frank?” Susan said. “Or is it part of her investigative technique?”

  “I don’t know,” Belson said. “We’ve only just started working together.”

  “Oh,” Glass said. “And what would you know about investigative technique?”

  “I’m a licensed therapist,” Susan said. “I deal a lot with anger management. Pent-up aggression.”

  “And besides being my number-one groupie,” I said, “she’s a Harvard Ph.D.”

  No one spoke for a while. The coffee beeped and I poured out four cups. Pearl walked behind me while I worked. The air was thin, most of it being sucked far out of the room, leaving a little chilliness in the large open space.

  “As I can see I’m outnumbered,” Glass said, “how about we calm down, step back, and sit down. A man is dead and Spenser was seen having a heated argument with him. We can’t wait until Monday for answers.”

  Susan nodded. She picked up her coffee, Pearl at her side. They headed back to the bedroom and she gently closed the door.

  “I don’t think Dr. Silverman likes you, Captain,” Belson said, adding some sugar to his coffee. Glass glared back, picked up a cup, and followed me to the sofa.

  “I can’t tell you who I’m working for or much about the case,” I said. “But I’ll admit I wasn’t a fan of John Gredoni and can’t pretend I’m shaken by his passing.”

  “Would your client want to kill Gredoni?” Glass said.

  “No,” I said. “She barely knows him.”

  “What’s her name and connection to Gredoni?” Glass said.

  I crossed my legs and shook my head. “I was working a missing-person case,” I said. “My missing person was connected to Gredoni.”

  “Goddamn it,” Glass said.

  “You get any angrier and you might spill your coffee,” I said.

  Belson scratched at his cheek and recrossed his legs. He took a sip of coffee, looked out the window onto the black water, and back to me. “What did Gredoni tell you about the guy who was missing?”

  “That he didn’t know where to find him.”

  “What was the connection?” Belson said.

  “She already asked that.”

  “Yeah,” Belson said. “But now I’m asking it.”

  “They were business partners,” I said. “Listen, I’m tired and haven’t had much coffee. Before you two arrived, I had planned to make breakfast for Susan. To get on with my day, you might want to check with Lynn PD about an attempt on the life of a man named M. Brooks Welles. You may also want to speak with Captain Brian Lundquist with the state police.”

  “I know Lundquist,” Glass said.

  “He knows more about Gredoni than I do,” I said. “He may clue you in to who exactly might have wanted him dead. As a simple PI, I’m not privy to such details in law enforcement.”

  Belson smiled. “See, Captain,” he said. “Spenser can be as reasonable as any normal person.”

  “He seems like an asshole to me.”

  Belson shrugged. “A man of many talents.”

  24

  I’d called ahead, but Connie still seemed surprised when she opened the door to her apartment in the South End. She’d been exercising, wearing black Adidas shorts and a black sports bra. Her skin was moist with sweat, and she wiped her face with a towel as she let me in. She walked into a foyer where the furniture had been cleared on a large Oriental rug and a flat-screen TV played an instructional yoga video.

  I sat down in a wooden chair by the window and across from the television. An Asian man with a bald head had just launched into a crane pose. It looked to be highly uncomfortable and possibly painful. Susan could probably do it without breaking a sweat.

  Connie turned off the TV and offered me hot green tea. I declined. She offered me a beer and I accepted. It was Sunday, after all.

  “Have you heard from Welles?” I said.

  She shook her head and sat near me in a plushy blue chair.

  “John Gredoni is dead.”

  “Oh my God,” she said, saying the most common thing people say when people die. Rarely do you hear Good riddance or Thank God. Both being appropriate for John Gredoni.

  “Someone shot him.”

  “The men after Brooks?”

  “Probably,” I said. “But Gredoni had a lot of enemies.”

  She nodded. Her skin was very tan and her upper arms were as muscular as a professional athlete’s. She was barefoot and wore her blond hair up in a high bun. Without makeup and professional clothes, she looked much younger than I knew her to be. How she ended up with a silver-haired gent like Welles made little sense.

  “Why didn’t you mention Gredoni when you first came to me?”

  Connie shrugged. “I didn’t think he was important,” she said. “When we were together, Brooks introduced me to a lot of people. It was hard to keep track of all of them. Gredoni didn’t seem any more important than the others.”

  “Did you know he was Welles’s business partner in the land deal?”

  “I knew he was involved,” she said. “But I didn’t know to what extent. Brooks didn’t discuss such matters with me.”

  “Did you attend any of these wilderness shindigs up in Concord?” I said. “For the other potential investors?”

  “The cookouts?” she said. “One or two. They weren’t very big. Almost like big dinner parties. Why are you asking me all these questions? Do you think I know something about Brooks and this man’s death? I barely even met this Gredoni person. He was absolutely repulsive.”

  “I can’t argue with you,” I said. “Are you sure Welles hasn’t been in touch since the other night?”

  She tilted her head, inhaled, and gave me a very stern look. “I think I would’ve known.”

  “Oh, what a tangled web he weaves.”

  “Yes, I was deceived,” she said. “I was made a fool. Now I only want my money back.”

  “But you still love him?”

  “I agreed to meet him for dinner,” she said. “I wanted to be civil. I wanted him to squirm and explain himself to me. I did not forgive him and go running crying into his arms, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Connie left for a moment and returned from the kitchen with a glass of water.

  “I may have a soft heart or be a soft touch, but god
damn it, I know I was duped. I feel bad that Brooks is in danger. But no, I’m not still in love with him.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I apologize. I get a little paranoid when people start shooting at me.”

  “It seems they were shooting at Brooks.”

  “Hard to tell the difference in the dark.”

  “Do you have something new?” she said. “Or did you just come over to inform me about Mr. Gredoni’s demise?”

  “I came to tell you that if Welles happens to call, you need to stay far, far away from him,” I said. “What exactly did he say, anyway?”

  “We’ve been over this,” she said. “He was unrepentant. Everything I asked had a pat answer. Everything was going to work out in time. He spoke down to me as if I were a little girl. When I’d ask about my money, he would talk about his love for me.”

  “What else?”

  “He wanted me to fire you,” she said. “Brooks said you would only make trouble for him. He told me some men were trying to kill him and involving you could only draw them in closer.”

  “For once, he may have been telling the truth.”

  Connie took a long, deep breath. It was raining out along Brookline Street. A man emerged from a brownstone carrying a bright yellow umbrella and headed down the steps.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I’d fire you if he brought me my money.”

  “And?”

  “He said he’d have my money by the end of the week.”

  “Check is in the mail?”

  “Something like that,” she said. “He only promised he was on the verge of a major deal.”

  “Any hints?”

  “Not a one,” she said.

  “And the rest?”

  “Boring love talk,” Connie said. “Would you think less of me if I told you I let him run his mouth? I wanted to hear his excuses and promises and all his meaningless flirtations. Maybe for the first time, I was behind the mask. It was all acting and calculations. I think he thought he could hustle me right back into bed.”

  “You know, not all men are creeps.”

  “Seems most of the good ones are taken.”

  “I wish you could have met my protégé,” I said. “Smart and tough. Loyal and dependable. Good-looking kid, too.”

  “More age-appropriate?” she said.

  “Much more,” I said.

  “I wish I could say Brooks was the only older man I’ve dated,” she said. “But somehow they’re drawn to me and I to them. I really can’t explain why.”

  I knew but nodded and kept my mouth shut.

  “I guess that’s more of a discussion for Dr. Silverman.”

  I nodded again. The rain fell harder and I watched a woman in a rain slicker and Red Sox cap jog past the window. She wiped the rain from her eyes and headed into more puddles ahead.

  “God,” she said. “What do I do?”

  “Contact me the minute Welles calls you.”

  “And then?”

  “Give me a chance to reason with him.”

  “Do you think any of it is real?”

  “I think someone is trying to kill him,” I said. “That part is real. But I doubt the reason has anything to do with government service or international intrigue.”

  “Oh, God,” she said. “The first time we met at your office, I told you I was an idiot. I have gotten involved with a liar and probably a criminal. Why didn’t I see it?”

  “Sometimes we believe what we want to hear.”

  “Do you?”

  I smiled at her. “Only the very best parts.”

  25

  Bright and early the next morning, Lundquist called to let me know the ATF wanted to meet with me as soon as possible. I was so flattered, I finished up my training with Henry, took a nice shower, and ate breakfast before heading over to Causeway Street. The ATF kept offices on the seventh floor of a nondescript office building within spitting distance of the new Boston Garden. The special agent in charge was a young Vietnamese-American man named Bobby Nguyen.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Spenser,” he said.

  “All of it’s true.”

  “I heard you could be a real pain in the ass,” Nguyen said. He smiled as he said it. He was of medium height and thin, his hair black and shiny and recently barbered. He had on the standard government-issue dark blue suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie.

  “Perhaps,” I said. “But I always win you guys over with my charm and resourcefulness.”

  “Some cops don’t like you,” he said. “They say you sometimes stir the pot too much.”

  I shrugged and smiled with false modesty.

  “But you used to be a cop?”

  “I worked for the Middlesex DA.”

  “Why’d you quit?”

  “I was never into team sports,” I said. “I guess I don’t play well with others.”

  “Fair enough.” We shook hands and he ushered me into a meeting room. Gray walls, a conference table, and eight black leather spinning chairs. The Feds were never much on interior decoration. Would a little splash of color kill them?

  Two men stood from the table and nodded in my direction. One looked like Larry Bird, only with a bald head and a long beard that would’ve impressed Moses. He had on a backward baseball cap with sunglasses on top of its crown. The other was older, Latino, with salt-and-pepper hair and a prominent nose. He, like Nguyen, wore a dark blue suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie.

  I’d gone for the whole devil-may-care style that day. Pawtucket Sox tee, Levi’s, and tan desert boots. I did remove my cap before taking a seat.

  Moses was Smith. Salt-and-Pepper guy was Cardillo. Just as we’d gotten to know each other, Lundquist joined us. He reached across the table for a carafe of water and filled the glass. I gave him a nod from across the table. Lundquist offered a sly grin.

  “So,” Nguyen said. “I guess you know we want to talk about John Gredoni.”

  I nodded.

  “You may, or may not, know we were working a major investigation that involved Gredoni.”

  I didn’t answer or respond an any way. I just let Nguyen talk, but I could feel Lundquist staring at me from across the table to keep my mouth shut.

  “Agents Smith and Cardillo had been watching Mr. Gredoni for nearly six months,” he said. “They were extremely close to arresting him and several of his cohorts.”

  “Cohorts?” I said.

  Nguyen smiled wide. “We’re trying to be professional here,” he said. “Mr. Gredoni’s death has wasted a ton of time in the field. To be blunt, it’s royally fucked up a major case.”

  “Just think how he feels,” I said.

  Nguyen didn’t smile this time. Smith and Cardillo looked at their hands while Lundquist leaned back in his seat. He seemed to be enjoying the festivities like an impartial observer at a poker game. His clear blue eyes flicked back from Nguyen to me before holding up a hand.

  “They want to know everything you know,” Lundquist said. “I already told them you weren’t aware of any gun deals.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Or knew of any trades being worked by your con man,” Lundquist said.

  I smiled. “The esteemed M. Brooks Welles,” I said. “Perhaps the most interesting man in the world if he switched from martinis to Dos Equis.”

  Again, no one smiled but Lundquist. I was thankful at least one person in the room had a sense of humor.

  “I don’t have to tell you anything about my case,” I said. “But for the hell of it, I’ll let you in on the basics. I was hired to find Welles. Welles is a known con man and, depending on who is telling the story, a business partner of the late Mr. Gredoni. I was looking into a land deal in Concord in which my client was cheated out of a substantial sum of money.”

  The agent
s all nodded, following me. I did not mention Connie’s name, the amount of the con, or that she had been in love with Welles. They could find that stuff out on their own.

  “Before he was found feet-up in a dumpster, Gredoni told me that he and Welles were about to strike it rich,” I said. “I understood this didn’t mean either hitting the Lotto or a successful trip up to Foxwoods.”

  “Did Gredoni mention selling guns?” Nguyen said.

  “Obviously you haven’t seen his billboard by Fenway,” I said.

  Nguyen leaned forward into the conference table. He stole a quick glance at his two agents. Smith stroked his beard and Cardillo scowled. Thoughtful.

  “Did Gredoni tell you anything about this major deal he was working?” Lundquist said.

  “Gredoni didn’t exactly confide in the man who was trying to run down his former partner.”

  “What else did he say?” Nguyen said.

  “He mainly tried to convince me that Welles was the real deal,” I said. “A real-life Jason Bourne.”

  Smith continued to stroke his beard. Cardillo remained unimpressed. “But have you heard anything about Gredoni selling illegal weapons in the past?” Nguyen said.

  I nodded.

  “Do you mind telling us from whom?”

  “Whom,” I said. “Nicely done. But no. No. I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?” he said.

  “Because that’s confidential,” I said. “But why does it matter now? You’re telling me that Gredoni did some dirty deals. I don’t think anyone is surprised.”

  “Three months ago,” Nguyen said, “John Gredoni sold more than fifty assault rifles on the black market. One of them was used in a murder last week in Roxbury. Another in Mattapan.”

  “Gangs?”

  Nguyen nodded.

  “Yowzer,” I said. “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not,” Nguyen said. “We could have arrested him then. But we wanted to find out where he got them.”

  “And did you?”

  Nguyen shook his head, looking again at his two agents. Neither man looked up from the table. I now saw they’d been brought along to the principal’s office to work it all out. I leaned back in my chair and waited.