Part 34 (1/2)
”It's a glorious town,” Bradford said, the nostalgia in his voice deepening his Australian accent. ”Beyond weather concerns. The art and architecture, the people and the language, are the very top of human potential.”
He was a white man and he had an accent. Maybe Charlotta didn't know any accents but the ones that Mexicans had. Maybe the word Mexican meant accent to her.
”What's your first name, Bradford? You know, if we're going to be working together. We might as well be on a first-name basis. You can call me Paris.”
”Bradford is is my first name, Paris,” he said easily. ”Bradford Craighton.” my first name, Paris,” he said easily. ”Bradford Craighton.”
”Well, Brad, I can hear how much you love Paris, not me but the city,” I said. ”Must be great now you're goin' back there in style.”
Bradford turned his head slowly, as if he really didn't want to see what I had become there next to him.
”Come again?”
”You ever meet a guy named Timmerman?” I asked.
”Timmerman? What is his first name?”
”Theodore.”
”No. I don't think so. Why do you ask?”
”Think hard, Brad. He's the man that called you after he pulled your number off a man that he had just gave a heart attack. He didn't know it, but he really wanted to speak to Maestro, but it was your number he called, your private line.”
”I, I, I don't know what you're talking about.”
”Tall white guy, ugly, likes the color brown in his wardrobe,” I said, pretending to jog his memory. ”You sent him off to look for a book.”
”What book is that?”
When he didn't want more details about the murder I knew my suspicions were true.
”I don't know what it's about but it's real old, over two hundred years. Winifred's family prizes that one handwritten ma.n.u.script over all their other possessions.”
”I don't know anything about what you're saying,” Bradford said.
”Yes you do. I know it. You know it. So let's stop playin' and get down to bra.s.s tacks.”
”I have no idea what you're talking about. Does this have anything to do with Lance or Minna?”
”Late last night, after I talked to you, this Timmerman s.n.a.t.c.hed me and my friend Fearless. When he had the upper hand he let it slip about the book and a fellah named Craighton that he met on a park bench in front of a French cafe. He even told us the time you guys met. Ten-thirty.”
”That's ridiculous. Why would he tell you all that?”
”Because I'm not a brave man, Mr. Craighton. He asked me what I knew and I threw your name at him, hoping to save myself from a beating.”
”You say that he had the upper hand?”
”My friend is tough. Theodore let his guard down and Fearless laid him low.”
”Where is this Timmerman now?”
”They admitted him to the hospital this morning. Fearless busted his leg for sure. His jaw too.”
”Why was he after you?”
”He wanted me to bring him to Winifred Fine. I think he had something for her.”
”What, what was that?”
”That's enough from me for the moment,” I said. ”That's all I got to say until I hear somethin' from you.”
”I already told you,” Bradford Craighton said, sounding almost like an Englishman, ”I don't know this Theodore Timmerman.”
”You ain't never gonna get that book lyin' like that, man. If you want to stay in the game you got to share.”
”What do you mean?”
”I got some information. You got some too. We share, and then once we trust each other, maybe then we can make a money deal.”
Bradford must have loved Paris more than he loved life and liberty. Paris was whispering in his ear, sweating through his pores. He stared at me so hard maybe he saw his beloved city in my stead.
”Timmerman called me,” he said at last. ”Like you said.”
”Uh-huh. But Kit called you first, right?”
”Yes.”
”He said that he had the book,” I prompted.
”Yes.”
”Come on, Bradford. Don't make this be like the dentist's chair.”
”Mr. Mitch.e.l.l called and said that he had the book, like you said. He wanted, he wanted money. Money I didn't have.”
”Now how does a colored farmer come up with the private number of the personal secretary of one of the richest men in L.A.?”
Bradford wasn't about to answer that question, so I did myself.
”Because,” I said, ”Lance and Minna told you about the book. They came to you to get to their father. You were the go-between. But Kit f.u.c.ked you up. He took the book for Bartholomew Perry and then kept it. BB was too conceited and gave Kit so much information that he thought that he could go out on his own. He cut out BB and Lance and Minna. But what he didn't know was that cuttin' them out put a definite crimp on you retiring to France.”
”You seem to know everything already,” Bradford said.
”Not why your boy Timmerman killed the Wexler kids,” I said. ”Did you tell him to do that?”
”Certainly not.”