P. Tracy - Live Bait

Magozzi balked. ‘Maybe we should wait a few more minutes before we barge in. Just to be respectful.’

‘We’ve been plenty respectful, Leo. It’s not like we’re the first ones here, standing at the door with tape recorders and rubber hoses. Besides, in a crowd this size no one’s going to notice a couple of extra extremely handsome guys in spiffy funeral suits.’

Within fifteen minutes, Magozzi was questioning the wisdom of attending this reception, even though the reasoning had been sound. The theory was that no one, not even Morey Gilbert, was a hundred percent good, and there was no way a man could live eighty-four years without pissing somebody off. They were hoping that if they listened closely to the people who knew him, they might get a hint of something about the dead man they hadn’t heard yet; something worth looking at.

But so far all Magozzi had heard were even more weeping testimonials – if the man hadn’t been a saint, he had been damn close, and it was starting to annoy him. Morey Gilbert had given away whatever he had to give – time, money, counseling, food, lodging – and he hadn’t only helped the people he’d stumbled upon – he’d gone out looking for them. It was just plain unnatural.

Suddenly, a whirl of motion from across the room caught his eye. Jack Gilbert was careening from guest to guest like a poorly aimed pinball, obliterating any sympathy Magozzi had felt for him earlier, advertising himself as the single most obvious failure of Morey Gilbert’s good intentions.

Magozzi followed Jack with his eyes, thinking hard. It felt like his brain was bobbling over a series of speed bumps.

He found Gino loading up his second plate from a buffet table that exceeded even his wildest food fantasies.

‘Is this great, or what?’ Gino said gleefully. ‘You gotta try the noodle stuff with the raisins.’ He popped a cocktail meatball into his mouth. ‘So, did you get anything interesting?’

‘I think we’ve got to look harder at Jack Gilbert.’

Gino raised an eyebrow, which was the only movement possible with his mouth as full as it was.

‘He’s the one and only crack in Morey Gilbert’s halo, Gino.’

‘Yeah, but he’s a wuss. And a drunk. And neither one of us got feelings from him.’

‘That’s just the thing – we considered him as a suspect, and when we didn’t like that, we quit thinking about him. But what if he’s the connection? What if something he was into got his father killed?’

Gino popped another meatball, decided he could indeed talk around it. ‘What did Jack do?’

‘Hell, I don’t know…’

‘No, no, that’s what Langer and McLaren said, remember? When they were talking about Morey pushing Jack away at Hannah’s funeral? So maybe he got involved in something really bad, way below Morey Gilbert’s moral radar, and maybe the old man actually tried to get him out of it, and got popped for his trouble. He said himself there were people who wanted him dead. Maybe he really meant it. But how does Rose Kleber fit in?’

Magozzi used a toothpick with cellophane frills on the top to stab a meatball on Gino’s plate. ‘I’ve got a new plan. One murder at a time. If Rose Kleber is connected, it’ll show up eventually. So let’s talk to Jack’s mystery wife, maybe check out his office books, take a look at the kind of people he’s been representing, that sort of thing.’

Gino nodded thoughtfully. ‘You might have something there.’ He sidled a little closer and spoke under his meatball breath. ‘Besides, I’m getting a little sick of standing around listening to people talk about what a great guy Morey Gilbert was. Two weeks ago I gave twenty bucks to the Humane Society and felt like Mr Charity. Now Morey Gilbert’s making me look like a dirtbag. You know that Jeff Montgomery kid who works at the nursery? Well, turns out his folks were killed in a car wreck right after he started at the U, so Gilbert’s been paying his tuition. Can you believe that?’

‘No wonder the kid’s been crying for the past two days.’ Magozzi glanced over Gino’s shoulder and saw Lily approaching in her long, black funeral dress. Marty was at her side, as he had been all day, picking up the slack for her useless son. Magozzi gave him a lot of credit for that.

Lily stopped and looked pointedly at Magozzi’s empty hands, then nodded her approval at Gino’s obscenely stacked plate of food. ‘You have a good appetite, Detective.’

‘This food is amazing, Mrs Gilbert. Somebody told me you cooked most of it yourself.’

‘I did.’

‘Then I think you should get rid of the nursery and open a restaurant.’

She didn’t smile exactly, but it was obvious from the slight shift in her expression that even she wasn’t immune to a compliment. ‘I saw the picture of that woman who was murdered in the paper this morning.’

‘Rose Kleber,’ Magozzi said.

‘Anyway, I thought I should tell you, her face looked a little familiar, so she might have come in a couple times, but she wasn’t a regular. Regulars, I remember.’

‘Lily?’ Sol Biederman came up behind her and interrupted tentatively. ‘Have you seen Ben?’

‘Ben who?’

‘Come on, Lily. Ben Schuler.’ Sol was obviously worried, but a little impatient, too. ‘He wasn’t at the funeral, and if he’s not here, something’s wrong. His heart isn’t so good, you know, and he’s not answering his phone.’

‘He’s not here because he’s not welcome in my house and he knows it,’ Lily said sharply.

Sol’s smile was gentle as he touched her hand. ‘Frightening as you are, Lily, even you couldn’t stop him from coming to his old friend’s memorial. I’m going to drive over there, just to set my mind at ease, but I won’t be long.’

‘If he’s not dead, tell him he’s still not welcome in my house,’ Lily said. She turned on her heel, saw Jack moving toward her, then turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Gino let out a low whistle as soon as Sol and Lily had gone their separate ways. ‘Remind me never to get on that woman’s short list. What’s she got against this Ben guy?’

Marty shrugged. ‘You never know with Lily. Excuse me, guys. I should get back to her.’

‘She’s got about fifty people around her right now, Marty,’ Gino said. ‘Cut yourself some slack and take a few minutes. I just saw a meatball with your name on it.’

It was tough to watch one of your own going down, Magozzi thought. Gino knocked himself out trying to engage Marty in conversation, and because Marty was a polite man, he tried hard to pretend to be interested in what Gino was saying. But the pretense part was painfully obvious, and after about ten minutes, Magozzi began to feel like they were torturing the guy.

‘We should get going, Gino,’ he said, but at that moment, Jack Gilbert came stumbling up, sloshing a drink almost as red as his face down the front of his white oxford. He draped his arm over Marty’s shoulder. ‘Hey, guys! What a turnout, huh?’ He gestured around the room with his drink, spraying an arc of punch. ‘You’d think the fucking Pope died.’

With a suddenness that surprised everyone, Marty spun toward Jack, dislodging the offending arm from his shoulder, and snatched away Jack’s drink. For a minute, Magozzi thought he saw a trace of the old Gorilla. ‘Don’t push it, Jack. Not today.’

Jack stumbled backward and almost lost his balance. ‘Jeez, no offense, Marty. You gotta chill. You want a drink?’

A heavyset woman with maroon hair approached and handed Marty a portable phone. ‘Somebody’s calling for you.’ When Marty took the phone and stepped away, she moved in on Jack. ‘Jack Gilbert, look at you, sloshing around, spilling drinks, offending people… how could you do this to your mother?’