Joel Goldman - No way out

She smiled, knowing that most people can’t resist the impulse to reciprocate, the instinctive response building rapport and trust. She made it impossible, using her entire face, eyes lively, cheeks full and raised, mouth wide, framing her perfect gleaming teeth, adding a casual aren’t you something toss of her hair. His smile came in a flash with a soft blush-primal brain circuits picking up the subtle signal she intended loud and clear.

“You risk your life serving your country, come home, build a business, and then lose it because a bunch of greedy Wall Street speculators drive the economy off a cliff. I can see how that would make a fighter like you so angry he couldn’t see straight.”

He pulled himself up to the table. “You got that right, lady.”

“But I don’t understand how that would scare a man who’s survived two wars so badly he’d go around hiding a gun under his apron.” Staley started to rise, his eyes narrow, his jaw tight as she reached across the table and wrapped her hand around his wrist. “Tell us, maybe we can help.”

He pulled his wrist free, his voice a low growl. “We’re done here.”

“Almost,” I said, keeping my seat. “What’s Brett going to do now that you’re closing?” I asked him.

He stiffened. “How do you know Brett?”

“Met him yesterday at Roni Chase’s office.”

“Roni? What’s she got to do with Jimmy’s case?”

“Nothing, as far as I know. I’m helping her with something else. Where’s your son?”

“What do you want with my boy?”

“Did you know Frank Crenshaw?”

He nodded, dropping into his chair.

“Sure, I knew him.”

“What do you know about his murder?”

He glanced from side to side, breathing deeply, touching his hand to his temple and letting it slide across his jaw.

“Brett called and told me about Roni shooting Frank, and then I saw the rest of it on the news about Frank getting killed at the hospital.” He clasped his hands, setting them on the table, arms extended. “I been telling Brett since he was old enough to listen that those Chase women are nothing but trouble, starting with the old lady, Lilly. No reason why Roni was gonna turn out any different.”

“Did Brett know Frank Crenshaw?”

“Yeah, he knew him.”

“They ever have any problems, get into any arguments?”

He sat up. “Hey, what are you saying? You come in here accusing me of screwing Jimmy Martin’s wife, and now you’re all but saying my boy killed Frank! You got some nerve, mister!”

“Did you know that Brett came to the hospital right after Crenshaw was murdered and that the police questioned him?”

Staley shook his head, dipping his chin. “No. He didn’t say nothing about that.”

“When was the last time you saw your son?”

He let out a long breath, looked away, coming back and staring through us.

“It’s important,” Kate said. “Please.”

“Sunday night,” he said, looking away.

“When?” I asked.

“Late, close to midnight.”

“Where?”

He fell back against his chair, dropping his hands in his lap, resigned. “Here. I was finishing up the inventory, what’s left of it. The bank wanted it last week, but I figured, what the hell, what are they gonna do if I turn it in late, you know what I’m saying?”

“Was he helping you take inventory, or did he just happen to show up while you were here?”

“I should’ve been home in bed, but I haven’t been sleeping much. Figured might as well get the inventory done. Beats the hell out of lying in bed, listening to my wife snore.”

“What was Brett doing here?”

He sat up, reddened again, gripping the edge of the table, spitting his words. “Money. He wanted the cash we use to start the day. Said there was no point in leaving it lying around on account of we were out of business.”

Kate reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. “You walked in on him, didn’t you? Caught him stealing the money?”

He ducked his head again and then lifted his eyes to meet hers, his face twisted, his voice thick. “Yeah.”

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I asked him, ‘What’s the money for? Why didn’t you just ask me for it?’ But he wouldn’t tell me, just said he needed it, that’s all.”

“Did you let him have the money?” she asked.

He looked down and away. “No. I smacked him in the mouth and threw him out. Haven’t seen or talked to him since.”

“Did Brett ever talk about someone named Cesar Mendez?”

Staley spat. “Fucking greaser gangster.”

“You know him?”

“He comes in the store.”

“Where’s Brett live?” I asked.

“Shitty little rental house in Sheffield.”

I handed him the notepad I carried. “Write it down and give me a number where I can reach you. I’ll call you when I find him. Did he say anything about Roni, about buying her funeral dress?”

“Him and that damn dress! Worst thing that ever happened to my family was Vivian Chase getting herself shot. Ever since that night, the Chases and the Staleys been stuck with one another. Roni tell you about that?”

“She did. Said your father was the one who delivered Vivian’s funeral dress to the funeral home.”

“My old man,” he said, shaking his head again, “he’s what they call a real romantic. Loved to tell how he fell for Lilly Chase that night, right on the spot, but she wasn’t interested in him or any other man as far as that goes. But Pop kept after her, sending flowers, writin’ her poems, waiting for her after school until she took a shot at him one day and he finally got the message.”

“He ever get over her?” I asked.

“Pop was the kind of man who fell for pretty girls, especially if they were in trouble, and, if they were in enough trouble, they’d fall for him ’cause he was as loyal as a puppy dog, stick with them through thick and thin. Lilly had plenty of trouble, but she was the kind who handled it on her own, just like her mother. Now my mother was a different story.”

“How’s that?”

“When Pop fell for her, she said yes, but she spent the rest of her life convincing him he was a fool to have asked her ’cause she was more trouble than Pop bargained for.”

“How’d things work out?”

“They’re both gone now, so I guess it don’t matter talking about it. She was a lot like Peggy Martin in her day. Tore Pop up, her running around on him, but he kept his mouth shut all them years, looked the other way. Not me, boy. First fight I ever got in was over somebody calling my mom names. Now Brett, he’s got a lot of his grandpa in him. Been telling me he’s in love with Roni since he learned to talk, but she treats him the same way Lilly treated my Pop, only difference is she hasn’t taken a shot at him.”

“What about your son? Can you think of any reason he would take a shot at Frank Crenshaw?”

“No, sir. That’s one thing I can tell you for sure. Brett would never have killed Frank.”

“Why not?”

“Because Frank was family. My mom was Elizabeth Crenshaw, Frank’s aunt. He was my first cousin and was like a father to Brett when I was overseas. You find Brett, you tell him to come home, tell him I’m sorry. Tell him we’ll figure something out.”

Nick Staley let us out, locking the door and retreating to the back of the grocery. He’d lost his business, and now he was scared he’d lost his son, learning the hard lesson that sometimes the only thing that makes you feel better about bad news is worse news and the news about his son was not likely to get better. Brett’s relationship with Frank Crenshaw was as likely to be proof of guilt as proof of innocence. Murder in the family was the oldest of crimes.