Peter Spiegelman - Death's little helpers

It didn’t take long to find a residential listing for Frye, and he answered on the first ring. He spoke with an upper-class English accent, and his voice was young and ironical. I explained who I was and what I wanted, and nothing that I said seemed to surprise him very much.

“I heard about Greg storming out,” he said. “But I understood he’d decided to take some sort of impromptu sabbatical.”

“Maybe, but his ex-wife and his son would like to get in touch with him. Were you there when he left?”

“No. I’d resigned the week before, and Pace likes deserters off the premises straightaway.”

“Was that the last time you saw Danes- the day you resigned?”

“Yes,” Frye said. “Though I barely saw him then, they had me out the door so fast.” A doorbell chimed on his end and he called out. “Come ahead- it’s open.” There was a swell of voices and laughter on the line, and it became difficult to hear.

“It sounds like this is a bad time to talk.”

Frye laughed. “Yes, an excellent time to drink, but a bad time to talk. How about tomorrow?” We agreed on a time and place and he rang off, to the sounds of reggae and clinking glasses.

I looked at my watch and took a deep breath. It was time to call Nina.

“We’ve got things to talk about,” I said. “Can I come over this evening?”

“You found something?”

“Not Danes, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then what?”

“Something we need to discuss in person. Is this evening okay?”

“Very mysterious. But sure, come on over. Shit, you’re becoming a regular here, March. Better watch it, people might start to wonder.” She laughed and hung up.

I drank some water from a pitcher in the fridge and looked at Jane’s tulips. The stalks hung bare and limp in their vase; the petals were turning brown on the counter. I hung up my suit and pulled on a pair of jeans and sat down at my laptop. I opened the file I had saved this morning and reread the details of Sachs v. Danes.

Peter Spiegelman

JM02 – Death's Little Helpers aka No Way Home

It was past seven when I got to Sachs’s place. The temperature had continued to drop and the wind had teeth as it whipped between the old factory buildings. Across the East River, the downtown office towers were lit and limned with the last colors of sunset. There were lights in the windows of the I-2 gallery, too. I looked in and saw Ines’s skinny hipsters rearranging the partitions around a new set of crates, but I saw no sign of Ines.

She was upstairs. She answered my knock, and tension washed through the doorway with the cigarette smoke and paint smell and too-loud music and raised voices. Ines was still and quiet in the tide.

“I don’t care what the fucking guidance counselor says, I’m not staying in that shithole another fucking year!” Billy’s voice came from the far end of the apartment. It was raw and hoarse. Ines didn’t react.

“She’s expecting me,” I said. Ines nodded.

“Now may not be the best time, detective,” she said softly. I heard Nina’s voice. I couldn’t make out the words, but the anger and frustration in them were clear. Billy answered at full volume.

“I don’t care how good you say it is, you don’t have to go there. You don’t have to deal with those fucking assholes every day!” A door slammed.

“Fine!” Nina yelled. “Go to public school then! See how you like it when the fucking assholes have guns!”

“You think they don’t have ’em at my school?” Billy yelled back. “You don’t know shit.”

There were fast footsteps and Nina Sachs crossed the apartment, an angry cloud of smoke swirling behind her. She glanced at me, snorted, and went into her studio without a pause. Ines and I looked at each other.

“Is he here to see me?” Nina called. “Might as well send him in. Things can’t get much more fucked-up tonight.” She laughed bitterly. Ines nodded slightly and I stepped inside. The piles of clothes were a little smaller than they had been last time and the half-eaten meals were gone. Ines was in the midst of cleaning. She disappeared into the kitchen and I made my way to Nina’s studio.

Nina was at the drafting table, wearing jeans and a man’s blue shirt with the sleeves cut off. Her auburn hair was tied back. A new cigarette was dangling from her mouth and there was a glass tumbler full of red wine on the cart beside her. She was sketching furiously. I went to the little stereo and turned The Ramones down a few notches. Nina gave me a dirty look.

“Don’t fuck with my music.” She sounded like Billy when she said it. I ignored her.

“Have you given any more thought to the cops?” I asked. She shook her head.

“No time. Maybe you noticed: I have my hands full here.” She looked at me with narrowed eyes. “You have something to tell me?”

I nodded. “I spoke to Linda Sovitch this afternoon,” I said, and told her about my meeting at the Manifesto. When I was through, Nina Sachs pursed her lips and stared at her sketching.

“You think she’s going to put this on the news- about Greg?”

“I don’t think so- though I couldn’t tell you why not.”

She smiled a little. “It seems like Greg was having a bad fucking day, doesn’t it?” she said. It was the happiest she’d sounded since I came in.

“A bad day that got worse when he met with Turpin, later that afternoon. And Sovitch is just one more person- one more friend- who has no idea of where he’s gone. Are you worried yet?” Nina didn’t answer. We heard muffled voices, and Ines appeared in the doorway.

“I am going down to the gallery, and Guillermo is coming with me,” she told Nina.

Nina frowned and shook her head. “No, Nes, he has homework to finish, and I don’t want him bugging you.”

Ines held up a slender hand. “He is no trouble, and he will finish his schoolworks downstairs.” Ines looked at me and then at Nina. “And then perhaps you can get some work done here.” They stared at each other for a while without speaking. Finally, Nina shrugged. Ines turned and left, and in a little while we heard the door close. I looked at Nina.

“Are you worried yet?” I asked again.

She frowned at me and shook her head. “What is it with you? You think I’m some kind of… bitch? Well, fuck you, March. You don’t know me and you don’t know my dear ex-husband, either. You have no idea what a vengeful little prick he can be. And dragging the cops into his life is just the kind of thing that would set him off.”

“You’re sure that’s all that’s stopping you?”

Sachs sat up straight on her stool. She took a long drag on her cigarette and looked at me through the smoke. “There something on your mind?”

I took a deep breath, to dissipate the anger that had clotted in my throat. “Just a little something you neglected to mention, Ninathat your divorce action was reopened four months ago, after ten years. That Greg is fighting you for custody of Billy.”

Sachs screwed her face into an impatient grimace and waved her hand. “Yeah… and? What’s the big deal?” she said. “And what the fuck is it to you anyway? I hired you to look for Greg, not investigate me.” I took another deep breath and bit back my first response, which began with the words, Listen, you stupid shit. When I spoke, my voice was level and quiet.

“I am looking for him, Nina. One of the things you do in a missing persons case is look at any legal actions the missing person is involved in, the theory being that they might provide clues as to why the person disappeared- or why someone made him disappear.”

Nina laughed unpleasantly. “Is that what’s got you hot and bothered? You think I made Greg disappear?” She laughed some more. “And then what, I hired you to throw the cops off? Jesus, March, that’s some conspiracy theory you’ve got there.”