Дэвид Балдаччи - A Gambling Man [calibre]

“How’d you hear so fast, Willie?” asked a surprised Prettyman. “I’ve only been here an hour myself.”

“Friend of a friend,” replied Dash. “Can we see the body?”

Prettyman led them into the room where Wilson Sheen lay on his stomach with a sheet partially covering him.

“How’d he die?” asked Dash.

Prettyman lifted the sheet, revealing a wide, bloody wound in the middle of the back. “Knife to the heart. Quick, silent, and efficient.”

“Was he here alone?” asked Dash.

“It was clear that he had been with…someone.”

“A woman, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Dash said, “Archer found the way that they shifted Fraser’s body from here to there.”

Archer led the way next door to Fraser’s room and showed Prettyman the ceiling access door.

“It runs over to the next room where Sheen was killed. I found bloodstains up there that might be Fraser’s. Her room is the last on the corridor, so that’s the only room that’s next to hers.”

Prettyman looked at the door and then at Dash and then at Archer. “You found this last night?”

“Yes.”

“What time?”

“Around ten.”

“Coroner thinks Sheen bought it around eleven.” Prettyman glanced at Dash and then eyed Archer. “So it’s interesting that you were here around that time, right next door. And more than that, in the space over where the murder took place.”

Dash said, “Okay, Ern, you got every right to ask questions and put the screws to Archer because he was here around the time in question. But he’s got no motive to kill Sheen. We were working for his boss.”

“Motives are funny things, Willie. They can turn on a dime if you look at things at a different angle.” He paused. “I’m sure you remember telling me that.”

“I do. And you’re right. But Archer won’t be leaving town. I give you my word on that. So he’ll be around to answer any other questions you might have. But just to add my two cents, the guy who killed Sheen is not in this room right now.”

Ern nodded slowly. “Okay, but I have to do my job.”

“Yes you do.” Dash glanced at Archer before saying, “Has this room been assigned to anyone here either now or in recent history?”

“Mabel Dawson said the last occupant was a vaudeville performer named Guy Parnell. But he left about a week ago. No one’s been in there since.” Prettyman glanced at Archer. “So you didn’t see or hear anyone while you were poking around up there?”

“Ern, come on, what do you think?” said Dash, drawing a look from Archer, who was careful to avoid Prettyman’s eye. “Now, we need to find the connection between Fraser and Sheen.”

“If there is one,” said Prettyman.

“We’ve both been doing this a long time. Two stiffs coming from the same room? There’s a connection, all right.”

“Any chance of your telling me who your client is now?”

“About the same odds as yesterday. Look, me and Archer have to get going. Things are rolling fast now, and I don’t like playing catch-up.”

“Okay, but remember, Archer doesn’t leave town.”

Dash and Archer made their way quickly down the steps and outside.

“What was the deal back there?” said Archer. “You pretty much lied to the police.”

“This line of work requires balance, Archer. And if you look at what I said, you’ll find that I threaded that needle as well as it could be. Ern is a good guy but he’s by the book, meaning whatever we tell him goes straight to Carl Pickett’s ear. And right now, I don’t want Carl knowing what we know.”

“Right.”

“One thing Wilma Darling said does surprise me,” noted Dash.

“Just one? Then you’re a better man than me.”

“She said she really thought Kemper loved his wife.”

Archer looked intrigued. “Yeah. And I believed her when she said it. And talking to the guy, well…”

“Well what?”

Archer said, “Some guys are genuine lotharios. And some guys want others to think they are. I believe Kemper falls into the latter group. He just tries too hard but then never seals the deal. I talked to the cocktail waitress who served us last night. It was pretty clear to me that he could’ve had her for the price of a Coke. She told me Kemper didn’t even ask her what time she got off when she came back to pick up his empty drink.”

“And I wonder when he actually left. And what he was doing between the time he left you and then left this place.”

“What motive would he have to kill his second lieutenant and campaign manager?” asked Archer.

“I’m not looking purely for motives right now. I’m looking for connections. Nine times out of ten when you do that, the motives become apparent.”

They climbed into the Delahaye and set off back to town.

“Drop me off at my garage. I’m getting my car back today. Then I want you to go and talk to Wilma Darling and see what you can get out of her, namely, who put her up to jumping Sheen’s bones last night. Call the office when you have something.”

“Okay. What will you be doing besides getting your car?”

Dash said, “Putting the pieces together. Gumshoeing sort of requires that.”

Chapter 51

AFTER DROPPING OFF DASH, Archer drove over to Kemper’s office, but there was a sign on the door that read: “Due to unforeseen events, the office will be closed indefinitely.”

Yeah, I guess a murder qualifies as unforeseen, to everyone except the person who killed him.

Archer ducked into a Rexall drugstore. He got a cup of coffee at the counter and smoked a cigarette while he mulled over things. Then he climbed back into the Delahaye and motored over to Darling’s bungalow. There was a new two-door brown Ford coupe in the carport, something Archer had not noticed the night before, but it might not have been there last night.

He went up to the front door and knocked. It took a minute but he finally heard footsteps.

“Yes,” said Darling in a tortured voice through the wood.

“It’s Archer.”

“Go away.”

“I don’t think you mean that.”

“I damn well mean it.”

“I need to talk to you, Wilma.”

“Why?”

“Because Sheen’s being murdered concerns you.”

“I don’t know—”

“I know you slept with him last night, Wilma. And I know he was alive when you left him. But what I need to know is who put you up to it? Because whoever did might want to clean up loose ends. If you get my meaning.”

The door slowly opened and she stood there in a thick white cotton bathrobe that went all the way to her bare feet. Her face was makeup free, her hair was a mess, and Archer thought she was more beautiful now than she had been last night.

“Come in,” she said curtly.

He sat in a chair while she perched across from him. Archer saw an ashtray full of smoked cigarettes and a pitcher of something that was nearly empty.

“You okay?” he said. “You don’t look so good.”

“No, I’m not okay. And what the hell do you mean you knew Sheen and I—”

“I saw you go into the room together. And I listen well at keyholes.”

“You son of a bitch. You rotten little sneak…” She grabbed the pitcher to throw it at him, but he was too quick for the woman and snatched it away from her.

He set it down out of her reach and said, “Calm down, Wilma. It’s my job. Sheen is dead. We need to figure this out. You have a vested interest in doing so. I know you know that.”

She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “What I know is that this is a godawful nightmare for me.”

“It wasn’t so good for Sheen, either.”

She blew her nose into the hanky. “You want a drink?”