Small Vices Read online

  Livingston shrugged.

  "Had to dump it somewhere," he said. "Wouldn't want to get caught driving it around."

  "You'd think he'd have driven into the center of the campus?"

  "Might have driven until he found a spot where he was alone. Might have been traffic near the gate, people walking by on the street, how the hell do I know. They ain't always the smartest people in the world."

  "Most folks aren't," I said. "Anybody talk with the dorm residents up there?"

  "Couple of State detectives were around. They probably did. College worked pretty hard to protect the students."

  "From what?"

  Livingston looked surprised.

  "From being hassled," he said. "People pay about thirty grand a year for their kids to go here. They don't like it much having the kids grilled by some cop, you know?"

  "Where would I get the names of the students who lived in that dorm a year and a half ago?"

  "Dean of Student Affairs, I suppose. But she won't want to give them to you."

  "Of course she won't," I said.

  Chapter 7

  HAWK AND I were at the bar in The Four Seasons Hotel having a beer. It was a spacious, comfortable bar, though one of the advantages of drinking with Hawk was that even in crowded bars, you always had elbow room. Nobody ever talked loud around Hawk. Nobody ever crowded him.

  "Been talking to Tony Marcus about my man Ellis."

  "Marcus is out?"

  Hawk nodded. He was making eye contact with an elegant platinum-haired woman in a long dress, who was having cocktails with a couple of suits.

  "Tony got a lot of money," Hawk said.

  "The Russians get a wedge into his business?" I said.

  "Not after he come out," Hawk said.

  "He know anything about Ellis?" I said.

  "Knew him at Cedar Junction a little. Or so he say. Tony don't trust the truth."

  "And?"

  "And nothing much. Ellis doing the time. Tony say he a pretty bad ass."

  "Anything about the Henderson murder?"

  "Ellis say he didn't do it. But it don't mean much. Lotta cons say they didn't do it."

  The platinum-haired woman wore a wedding ring. The suit she was sitting next to was shorter than she was and a lot heavier, and somewhat older. He rested his hand on her thigh like the proud owner of a pedigreed dog, while he talked to the other suit about something that interested him but bored hell out of her. She was still looking at Hawk.

  "I can see why she's not paying attention to her husband," I said. "But why you and not me?"

  "Probably 'cause she like tall, dark, and handsome," Hawk said.

  Her husband was waving his hands as he talked to the guy across the table. A diamond ring glinted on his little finger. He started to tick off a series of somethings on the fingers of his left hand. Platinum Hair rose gracefully and walked toward the bar. She stopped in front of Hawk and said quietly, "My name is Claire Reston. I'm in room 508 and my husband will be out doing business all day tomorrow."

  Hawk smiled at her.

  "Care to sightsee?" he said.

  "Depends on the sight," she said.

  "We'll talk," Hawk said.

  "Good," she said and moved on toward the ladies' room at the back, her elegant hips swaying under the tight dress.

  "This is a positive sign," I said.

  Hawk smiled thoughtfully, and drank some beer. I ordered two more. The bartender brought them and put another dish of mixed nuts on the bar where we could reach them. The platinum-haired woman glided back from the ladies' room and walked past us and smiled. Her husband was leaning forward now, drawing an imaginary something on the tabletop with his forefinger. He didn't look up when she sat down.

  "You ever wanted kids?" I said to Hawk.

  "I like them a little older," Hawk said.

  "No, you animal, I meant have you ever wanted to be a father?"

  "Not lately," Hawk said.

  The piano player had been on break. He came back in and sat down and began to play "Green Dolphin Street." The husband of Platinum Hair looked at his watch and said something to the other suit. Then he jerked his head at his wife, and the three of them got up and left. As they went out, the husband had hold of the other guy's arm and was talking close to his face. Platinum Hair looked back at Hawk without any expression. Then she followed her husband and his cohort out of the bar.

  "Susan wants to adopt a baby," I said.

  Hawk never reacted to anything, and he didn't to this. But he turned his attention toward me and the weight of it was palpable.

  "Only one?" he said.

  "So far."

  "What about Pearl?"

  "In addition to Pearl," I said.

  "Pearl won't like it much," Hawk said.

  "Pearl is not alone in that."

  "Susan want you to be the papa?"

  "She says she doesn't want to do it without me."

  "Don't blame her."

  "No. I don't either."

  Hawk ate a couple of peanuts and drank a little beer. "Kind of heartwarming," Hawk said. "You changing diapers."

  "Heartwarming," I said.

  "Sort of what you do for a living anyway," Hawk said. "Good preparation."

  "I knew talking it out with you would make me feel better," I said.

  "What are friends for, Pappy?"

  "Shut up," I said.

  Hawk nodded. The place was filling up. It, was noisier now but not loud. You could still hear the piano player. He was playing some variations on "Dream Dancing." We were drinking Saranac Black and Tan.

  "Good beer," Hawk said.

  "Yeah."

  "She got the right to have a baby," he said.

  "Yep."

  "You got the right not to want one."

  "Yep."

  "You explain to her how we been bringing Paul Giacomon up since he was 'bout fifteen and that's enough parenting for us?"

  "We?" I said.

  "He a dancer?" Hawk said.

  "Yeah."

  "Well, he didn't get the natural rhythm from your side," Hawk said.

  "I hadn't thought of that," I said.

  We were quiet, the piano player had segued into "Memphis in June." My beer was gone again. I ordered more. The room was quietly full of adult cocktail sounds. Drinks being mixed, people murmuring to each other. Occasional laughter. The smell of whisky. The piano.

  "You don't want to do it," Hawk said.

  "No."

  "You don't want to as much as she do want to?" Hawk said.

  "I think so."

  "You told her that?"

  "No."

  "Well, that's a fucking mess, isn't it?" Hawk said.

  "Couldn't have put it better myself," I said.

  Chapter 8

  THE DEAN OF Student Affairs at Pemberton College, whose name, according to her desk plate, was J. J. Glidden, said that President Evans was the only one who was authorized to discuss any aspect of the Melissa Henderson matter. So I went to see her. She would be in after lunch. I waited. Surprisingly enough, after lunch she was in.

  The president was a big rangy woman with short sandy hair and humorous eyes. She was wearing high waisted black pants and a white blouse with a high collar when she met me at the door of her office and ushered me to a chair. There was a wide gold wedding band on her left hand. She looked to be about fifty-five. When she sat behind her desk the sunlight coming in the big Palladian window behind her showed up the gray in her hair. Her name was Deborah Evans.

  "How may I help you, sir?"

  "I'm looking into the Melissa Henderson murder," I said.

  "Excuse me, but I thought that had been looked into."

  "There's a feeling," I said, "that justice miscarried in this instance and I've been hired to see if that's true."

  "You are a private detective?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "How does one get to be a private detective?" she said.

  "I hesitate to generalize," I said. "I wa
s a cop, found myself restless with the hierarchy, decided to go private. I was helped to that decision by getting fired."

  "You speak rather well," she said.

  "You too," I said.

  She frowned for a moment and then her face widened into a smile.

  "Good for you," she said. "I was patronizing, wasn't I."

  "What I need is a list of the students who at the time of the murder were living in the dorm that overlooks where the body was found."

  "Do you have some sort of, I don't know the proper terminology, some sort of legal empowerment that requires me to give it to you?"

  "No."

  "Then I will not."

  "You academics are so evasive," I said.

  She smiled. It was a nice smile, but firm.

  "I'm sorry to be so blunt," she said. "But I am very clear on this, and I know the trustees will support me. The event was a severe hardship for all of us here and we do not wish it to be disinterred."

  "Even if an innocent man is inside for life?" I said.

  "Do you know him to be innocent?"

  "No."

  "My memory is that the man convicted of the crime is a career criminal who preyed on women."

  "So no harm putting him away," I said. "Even if he didn't do this one."

  "That may be," she said. "One could make an argument for it, I think. But that is not my issue. My issue is this college and the young women past, present; and future for whose education, in the largest sense, we are responsible."

  "Especially past," I said. "Gotta raise those funds."

  "If we didn't raise funds," she said, "the college could not survive. But there is no argument here. Until I know that the freedom of an innocent man is at stake, and I guess I mean `innocent,' also, in its largest sense, I will not help you to intrude on the life of this campus."

  "Well," I said. "I guess I'll have to just ask around." President Evans didn't seem daunted.

  "You are free to do that, obviously. But not on this campus. This campus is private property and I am reasonably certain that I can prohibit you from trespassing."

  "How do you feel about justice?" I said.

  "I am in favor of it, but I am not prepared to sacrifice this college and our young women to your definition of it."

  I grinned at her.

  "I hope I'm not intimidating you," I said.

  The amusement that always seemed to linger around the corners of her eyes expanded into a full-face laugh.

  "Not so badly that I can't breathe," she said.

  "Good," I said. "I'm clear on your position. Now here's mine. I have no desire to damage this campus or its young women past, present, and future. But I am going to find out if Ellis Alves is where he should be; and if he isn't, I'm going to get him out."

  "Since we are being frank," President Evans said, "I will tell you that the victim's mother is an alumna of this college, and the wife of the governor is an alumna of this college and our board of trustees includes two U.S. Senators. None of them, including the victim's mother, wants Melissa's death exploited."

  "Two U.S. Senators," I said. "Yikes."

  "Are you intimidated?".

  "Not so I can't breathe," I said.

  President Evans laughed.

  "Well, I must say, as adversaries go, you are a lot of fun," she said. "A small dose of charm."

  "I've found a small dose to be safer," I said. "The full wattage, all at once, and people are sometimes injured."

  "Especially women, I imagine."

  "They often hurt themselves in their frenzy to disrobe."

  "I've been able to conquer the impulse," she said. "You and I remain adversaries, however congenial, and are likely to remain so. You don't seem like someone who will give up easily."

  "Or ever," I said.

  "You also don't seem like someone who would strike a woman," she said, "Which somewhat disarms you. I imagine that your size would intimidate a lot of men."

  "The power of weakness," I said.

  "Yes," she said. "The world is quite ironic, isn't it."

  I nodded. We sat and looked at each other. I liked her. There was a calmness in her, a quality of settled self-confidence in the way she leaned back in her chair, the simplicity of her attire, the understatement of her makeup. She knew herself and was happy with what she knew. It made her formidable.

  "Is there anything you would care to tell me about the murder of Melissa Henderson?" I said.

  She smiled at me.

  "You take whatever you can get, don't you?" she said.

  "What can you tell me?"

  "It was a nightmare for this college," she said. "In personal terms, it was heartbreaking to those who knew Melissa, and frightening to all of us who are women, to whom such a thing could be done, here, in our enclosure, so to speak. It was also a nightmare in terms of publicity, in terms of student recruitment, and in many cases, alumnae support."

  "Did you know the victim?" I said.

  "Yes. Her mother graduated from Pemberton as did her grandmother. I was a student here with her mother."

  "What can you tell me about Melissa?"

  "Nothing."

  "Good student? Bad student?"

  President Evans shook her head. "She have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?"

  "How contemporary," President Evans said.

  "Did she?"

  "I don't know."

  "Was she a girl who would be likely to have one?"

  President Evans shrugged.

  "I think I'll stop wasting our time," I said.

  "Good," she said.

  I stood. She stood. We shook hands.

  "If there is something that comes up in the future," she said, "which does not threaten my college, I would be pleased to help you."

  "Thanks," I said. "And if you ever need a thug…"

  "Maybe for fund-raising," she said and smiled. And I smiled. And she came out from behind her desk and walked with me to the door and opened it. And I left.

  Chapter 9

  THE THING I dreaded most was talking to the victim's parents, so I figured I might as well get it done. They lived in Brookline in a big red brick house with a wide porch; a couple of blocks uphill from the reservoir. Mr. Henderson was The Henderson Corporation, a firm that occupied most of the floors in the Mercantile Building that Cone, Oakes and Baldwin didn't occupy. The Henderson Corporation owned banks, and fertilizer companies, and a stock brokerage firm, and a company in Switzerland that made faucets, and a lot of other stuff that I couldn't remember, because I didn't take notes when I looked them up. He was a medium-sized guy with no hair and horn-rimmed glasses. His handshake was firm, his gaze direct. He was still in his suit, with his jacket off. He wore a white shirt and broad suspenders in a colorful pattern-the kind of no-nonsense guy that you'd trust with your money, though you might trust him more with his own. Mrs. Henderson was slim and dark with her black hair in a severe Dutch boy cut. She had on a mango-colored dress with a square neck and a short skirt. It looked good on her.

  "You wish to talk about our daughter," Mr. Henderson said when we were seated in some bentwood furniture covered in floral prints in the sunroom off the formal living room.

  "Yes, sir," I said.

  "We had hoped to put that behind us," Henderson said.

  He and his wife sat together on the sofa against the white painted brick back of the living room fireplace.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "But I've been employed by Cone, Oakes and Baldwin to look into her death more closely."

  "To what purpose?" Mrs. Henderson said.

  She held her hands folded in her lap. There was a stereo setup to my right, in front of one of the windows. On it was a picture of a young woman wearing a much too big Taft University letter sweater. The sweater had a big blue chenille T on the front. There was a pair of small tennis racquets woven into the crosspiece of the T. Beneath the racquets the word co-captain was embroidered.

  "Is that Melissa?" I said.

  "Yes," Henderson said.


  "What is the purpose of your investigation?" Mrs. Henderson said.

  "To make sure they've got the right guy."

  They were both silent for a moment, and then Mrs. Henderson said, "You mean you're not sure?"

  "I have just begun, ma'am. I'm not sure of anything. It's why I'm going around talking to people."

  "This law firm, this Cone whatchamacallit, they think Alves is innocent?"

  "They feel he got an inadequate defense," I said. "They wish to be sure it's the right man."

  Again they were quiet.

  Finally, Henderson said, "I realize you're just doing your job…"

  His wife interrupted.

  "Walton is always reasonable. He can't help it. But I don't care about your job. I care about my daughter. And I will not permit the man who murdered our only child to be set free."

  Henderson looked at his wife and at me. He didn't say anything.

  "You have no reason to question the verdict?" I said.

  "Absolutely not," Mrs. Henderson said.

  She was leaning forward on the couch, her hands still clasped in her lap. She might have been actually quivering with the intensity of her feeling, or I might have thought she was.

  "Mr. Henderson?" He shook his head. "Your daughter ever go to Taft?" I said.

  "No," Henderson said.

  His voice was still reasonable, but it was sounding a little shaky.

  "Do you know who her friends were?" I said. "Her roommate, maybe, at school."

  Mrs. Henderson stood up quite suddenly.

  "Get out," Mrs. Henderson said. "Get out of my house, you nosy fucking nigger lover."

  Her daughter was too recently dead for me to debate her about race and justice. Or even nosiness. Henderson got to his feet and put a hand on her shoulder, she shrugged away from it. The skin on her face seemed too tight, and the structure of the skull showed beneath it.

  "And if you do succeed in getting that son of a bitch out of jail I will find a way to kill him myself," she said.

  "You'd better go," Henderson said to me. "We have nothing to say to you."

  "I'm sorry I had to intrude," I said.

  "Just get out of here," Mrs. Henderson said.