Part 13 (1/2)
”Lever... Jones...” Mize shook Rosco's hand and cracked what he considered to be a joke: ”You back with the NPD, Polycrates?” Then he c.o.c.ked his head toward the Orion. Orion. Again, the gesture resonated with Marine-Corps precision. ”What's the official status here?” Again, the gesture resonated with Marine-Corps precision. ”What's the official status here?”
”That's just what we were discussing.” Rosco gave Mize a quizzical look. ”I thought Colberg said the Orion Orion was insured by A.M.I.? What's Sh.o.r.e Line's interest in this?” was insured by A.M.I.? What's Sh.o.r.e Line's interest in this?”
”Well, let's say my boss doesn't like writing checks for five million dollars without having me poke around.”
”Whoa, whoa, whoa... come again?” Lever blurted out.
”Genevieve Pepper. Sh.o.r.e Line carried a life-insurance policy on her. Five million smacks.”
Lever lit another cigarette and spoke through the smoke. ”Kinda shoots a hole through your 'kidnapping' theory, there, Polly-Crates.”
Rosco was as shocked as Lever and Jones; he was left stammering slightly. ”What? I mean... who's the beneficiary? I'm working for her husband, Clint. He didn't mention anything about a policy.”
”Maybe he didn't know... Our records show that she paid the premiums, not him.”
”And Pepper picks up five mil?” Lever said, shaking his head. ”That's the kind of wife I need.”
Mize held up his hands and said, ”Not so fast, Al... Pepper isn't the beneficiary.”
”Who is?”
”A guy by the name of William Vauriens. Genie's half brother. He lives up in Boston. Rumor has it that Old Man Pepper sends him sizable bucks every month just so he keeps his distance. I guess there's no love lost in that family.” Mize chuckled slightly as if pleased at his witticism.
”You're saying Pepper knew nothing about this life-insurance policy?” Rosco asked.
”I can't say one way or another... I tried to get him on the line, but he's not taking my calls. h.e.l.l, he's your client... Why don't you ask him?”
Rosco's thought process had finally a.s.similated Clint Mize's news. ”What else do you know about Vauriens?”
”Not much... Can't seem to hold a regular job for any length of time. Has an on-again-off-again relations.h.i.+p with a woman in Back Bay. She's been picked up twice for kiting checks. Never served any time-”
”Have you spoken to Vauriens?” Rosco said while he jotted down the name.
”Not in person. I drove up to Boston... poked around a little... talked to his lady friend. She says she hasn't seen 'Billy' in well over a week. Same with his boss. Vauriens was working construction-part of a pickup crew... Hey, but for five mil, the guy'll turn up sooner or later. They always do.” Mize said this almost regretfully.
”I don't suppose you'd like to share the lady's name and number?” Rosco said as he offered Mize his pad and pen. ”I might take a run up to Boston tomorrow morning myself.”
”Hey, it's no skin off my teeth. The sooner I catch up with 'Billy' Vauriens the better.” As he scribbled into Rosco's pad, Mize c.o.c.ked an eye in Abe Jones's direction. ”What's your guesstimate on this fire, Abe?”
”Torch job, Clint. Torch job, all the way.”
19.
BARTHOLOMEW KERR'S ”BIZ-Y BUZZ”: CRYPTIC NEWS FROM QUEEN B.
The hive was positively humming when our paradigm of puzzlers shared a none-too-cross word yesterday. Seems Queen B received an encoded letter game apparently referring to the disappearance of the Lady The hive was positively humming when our paradigm of puzzlers shared a none-too-cross word yesterday. Seems Queen B received an encoded letter game apparently referring to the disappearance of the Lady Nevisson Nevisson. Don't tell the drones, but Begum Belle Belle is a busy biscuit-and I don't mean is a busy biscuit-and I don't mean Graham Graham flour, sweeties... flour, sweeties...
”It's me.” The male voice on the phone slurred the words drunkenly, but they didn't lose their tension or their fear.
”Where are you?” the woman demanded.
”Where I'm supposed to be,” he answered. She could hear a dangerous measure of defeat enter his tone. She was tempted to carry the phone to the window, yank wide the curtains, throw open the sash, and bring a breath of welcome fresh air into the claustrophobic room, but she remained where she was: frozen in inactivity beside the rumpled double bed.
”You saw the newspaper?” she asked. ”The gossip column?”
The response was a bitter: ”Oh, I've seen more than that... There's a crossword puzzle in the same edition... a snotty-nosed, incriminating word game only an idiot could ignore... This Graham chick's a wild card I never bargained for.”
”What are we going to do?”
Again, his reply was bitter. ”It's your call, babe... I've been dancing on live coals over here... I'm about played out.” He laughed; the sound was hollow and mean.
”You creep,” she hissed, then thought, but didn't say: You can't fall apart on me now! You can't fall apart on me now! The pause while her brain examined and reexamined the facts was deadening; at the far end of the receiver, the hiatus seemed endless. ”How much does this Graham broad know?” she finally asked. The pause while her brain examined and reexamined the facts was deadening; at the far end of the receiver, the hiatus seemed endless. ”How much does this Graham broad know?” she finally asked.
”No telling, toots...”
Rage exploded from her. ”Don't you care about this situation at all?”
His response was equally infuriated. ”You know d.a.m.n well I do!”
”Well, don't give up on me, then!” Again, the woman thought for several long moments. ”We've got to scare off little Miss Annabella Graham. Make her retract whatever comments she supplied... make her vanish vanish. She's a loose cannon.”
”And how do you propose doing that?”
”Leave it to me,” she answered. ”Cherchez la femme... , that's French, in case you didn't know.”
”Hey, you're a surprise a minute.”
Belle's phone rang at the grotesque hour of three A A.M. She fumbled for it in her sleep, first upbraiding herself for oversleeping-she imagined it was daytime, then glanced with half-closed eyes at the alarm clock's illuminated face. Her next sensation was worry-something terrible must have happened to Rosco! Her third was irritation-this was clearly a misdialed number. When she answered the phone, it was with a cross ”yes?”
”Belle Graham?”
”Speaking.”
”I didn't wake you, did I?”