Филипп Марголин - The Perfect Alibi

“Thanks,” Carrie said.

“You know, I think Frank did tell me that he was going to take it downtown.”

“Do you remember what kind of gun Frank owned?” Dillon asked.

Janet’s brow furrowed. “It had a funny name.”

“Beretta?” Dillon asked.

“No. Something that sounded German.”

“Was it a Glock?” Carrie asked.

“Yes, that’s it!”

“Thanks, Mrs. Nylander. You’ve been a big help.”

“Are you any closer to finding out who… did that to Frank?”

“Maybe. And what you’ve told us may help.”

Robin was in court, asking the presiding judge for a setover in one of her cases. The assistant district attorney had no objection, and the request was granted. When Robin walked into the corridor outside the courtroom, she spotted Les Kreuger talking to another lawyer. She waited for them to finish before walking over to Les.

“Carrie Anders told me you were representing Rex Kellerman. I thought Vanessa went way out on a limb, charging Rex with attempted murder. How do you think the legal issue would have shaken out?”

“I’m not sure. There are good arguments for and against.” Kreuger shrugged. “We’ll never know now.”

“Have you ever had a client murdered before?”

“I’ve been practicing for twenty-seven years, and this is a first.”

“I didn’t like Rex, but I wouldn’t have wished this on him.”

Kreuger flashed a sad smile. “No one liked Rex.”

“Carrie said that Rex left you a cryptic message about finding something odd in the files.”

“He did, but I and my associates are stumped. If there’s something odd in those files, we haven’t been able to discover what it is.”

Robin got an idea. “Would you mind if I took a shot?”

Kreuger looked surprised. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I guess I’m just curious. I’ve been directly or peripherally involved in several of Rex’s cases. I’m suing Blaine Hastings, whom Rex prosecuted. I also represented Doug Armstrong when Rex charged him with murder.” Robin grinned at Kreuger. “Also, it’s slow at the office so I need something to keep me occupied.”

Kreuger laughed. “Knock yourself out. Come over to my office tomorrow. I’ll have copies of the files waiting for you.”

Les Kreuger’s law firm was housed in an historic Victorian home in Portland’s West Hills. One of Kreuger’s associates showed Robin into a spacious conference room that was illuminated by high windows and dominated by a carved oak conference table. The conference table was piled high with copies of the files Rex had been reviewing.

Robin bought a latte before walking over. She took off the lid, took a sip, and started on the files. Two hours later, she was no closer to figuring out if the killer had set the files on fire because paper burns or because there was something incriminating in them. But reviewing the files had made her think about Tyler Harrison’s murder, so Robin decided to call Herschel Jacobs in New York when she returned to her office.

“You told me to call if I got any ideas about the Harrison case, and I had a few thoughts.”

“Let me hear them.”

“Carrie Anders told me about that New York PI who was seen near the Voss house.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know if he had any connection to Norcross Pharmaceuticals?”

“We’re working on that.”

“What if Voss wouldn’t settle and the negotiations fell through? That would mean that any problems with Norcross’s product would be aired in public. From what I’ve learned, that could have cost Norcross a fortune. With Nylander, Harrison, and Mr. and Mrs. Voss dead, the suit is dead, and there won’t be any negative information about Norcross’s anticholesterol drug coming out. That gives Norcross a powerful motive for murder.”

“Detective Anders and I discussed that possibility.”

“There’s something else that happened in Portland that might be important. A DA named Rex Kellerman was murdered, and his house was set on fire. The modi operandi of his murder and the Voss murders are very similar, and he was going through files that included the files on Tyler Harrison’s murder and the civil suit against Norcross. The only problem is that I haven’t found any connection between Rex Kellerman and the case against Norcross Pharmaceuticals.”

“Actually, there is one,” Jacobs said.

“Oh?”

“Detective Anders called me with some interesting news. It seems that the bullet that killed Mr. Kellerman and Mr. Harrison came from the same gun.”

“You’re kidding!”

“The gun could have been a Glock nine-millimeter. Frank Nylander owned a Glock, and no one can find it.”

When Herschel Jacobs picked up Carrie Anders at JFK Airport, she learned the dangers of stereotyping. When she’d spoken to Jacobs on the phone, his name and heavy New York accent had made her picture the actor who played a chubby, Jewish delicatessen owner on a TV sitcom. The man who greeted her when she got off the plane was a burly six-two with curly blond hair and bright blue eyes.

“Welcome to the Big Apple,” Jacobs said.

“Thanks for picking me up.”

“First time here?”

Carrie nodded.

“I’ll point out some of the tourist attractions on our way to the Meatpacking District.”

“What’s there?”

“Ivar Gorski. I’ve had someone on him ever since you told me about the photo. My man just called. Gorski’s in his office.”

Ivar Gorski’s office was on the second floor of an old brick building near the High Line and the new Whitney Museum and a few blocks from the Hudson River. Jacobs had determined that Gorski didn’t advertise his services online or any other place. He surmised that the PI had a small list of clients who were willing to pay a lot for services that might cross the line between legal and illegal.

The lettering on the office door read GORSKI INVESTIGATIONS, and that door opened into an unmanned waiting room. Gorski was seated at a small desk in a room off the waiting area. He looked up when he heard the door open.

“Yes?” he said with obvious surprise. Anders guessed that Gorski was rarely visited by people he did not expect.

“We’re here on police business, Mr. Gorski,” Jacobs said as he flashed his shield.

Gorski didn’t look alarmed.

“I’m Manhattan homicide detective Herschel Jacobs, and this is Carrie Anders, a homicide detective from Portland, Oregon.”

“How can I help you?” Gorski asked in a heavy Eastern European accent.

The detectives took seats across from him.

“We have a few questions relating to a recent trip you took to Portland,” Carrie said.

“Yes?”

“Why were you in Oregon?” Carrie asked.

“I’m afraid that’s confidential.”

Carrie smiled. “Come on, Ivar. We know you were employed by Norcross Pharmaceuticals to follow Leonard Voss, who was suing the company.”

Gorski didn’t respond.

“Would you care to explain why you rented the car you used in Oregon under a phony name?” Anders asked.

“These questions are very aggressive. I think I should consult an attorney.”

“That’s your decision, but let me show you something first.” Carrie placed her laptop on Gorski’s desk and ran her fingers over the keyboard. Then she turned it so he could see the screen. “That’s you driving a block from the home of Rita and Leonard Voss. Does that help you remember why you were in Portland?”

Gorski smiled pleasantly. “I don’t want to be rude, but I must decline to answer any of your questions until I have consulted my attorney.”