Gumshoe Ghost Mystery: Dying for the Past Part 19

What? No way ...

"You call him 'Doc Gilley.'"

thirty-six.

"And you're involved with a murderer." W. Simon Hahn-"W" for worm-stood in Angel's university office, in front of her desk, shaking his finger at her like a student caught cheating on a test. "It's been bad enough you've developed a reputation-"

"A reputation?" Angel's voice rose in both octave and volume. "What does that mean?"

I walked in just in time for the "involved with a murderer" comment. "Angel, are you cavorting behind my back? You're not moonlighting at the bingo games again, are you?"

"No." She flashed me a look.

It was ill-timed and all my fault.

"See what I mean, Angela?" Professor Hahn's eyebrows raised as he followed Angel's gaze to me-where he saw and heard nothing. "There have been rumors and gossip about you for months. And I'm afraid to say it's reached the Board of Trustees, too."

I said, "Toss this weasel out, Angel. You don't need this c.r.a.p. He's talking about Andre and me and-"

"Oh, the board has heard, has it?" Angel walked around her desk and confronted Professor Hahn as he took a "polite" step back from her. "What have you told them, Simon?"

"Me? What makes you think it was me?"

"Because I've heard rumors and gossip, too. You want Ernie's Department Chair and you don't like the fact I'm in it."

He lifted a finger in the air. "Ah, yes, but only on a temporary basis until the board decides on a permanent hire. There are several in the running."

"Yes, perhaps. But we both know it's down to you and me." Angel examined him with x-ray eyes. "What did you tell them?"

"I told them nothing. However, I do understand they have heard you have been observed talking to yourself repeatedly. They also heard about you taking your lunches alone in your office and having lively conversations-with no one. And-"

"They heard or you told them?"

This was my fault. "Angel, it's because of me. I won't come to the campus anymore, promise. I'll hang with Bear and ruin his career instead."

Angel looked down and returned to her chair behind her desk. "Did you ever consider I am still grieving? I do talk to myself-to my husband, too, sometimes. It's normal and its therapeutic. Simon, you must understand?"

"Yes, yes, of course I do." Simon's mouth said the words but his beady little eyes were lying. "It's the board, Angela. And this position is too important. Perhaps you should take some time off."

"I am fine, Simon. The job isn't a problem. My life is getting back to normal and the department is in fine shape." Angel sat down. "But if you have other opinions, I'd be interested to hear them."

He had one and it was a spear to her back. "Your gala was a disaster. You lost a quarter-million dollars in donations. And your friend the Mafia Don was present. And the murder! What do you think the board will say?"

As serious as Professor Hahn was, I couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, Angel. Turn on your desk lamp and let me juice up a little. I'm going to introduce myself to him. He deserves it. Quick."

"No," she said, throwing another look at me. Then, when he followed her eyes, she looked over at him and let a thin, sarcastic smile escape. "What's the matter, Simon, you think my husband is here? If he is, he's upset with you for stirring up trouble."

"Why, no." He looked to his right at the corner of desk, then looked to his left. "Of course not."

I blew in his ear and flicked his lobe, making him grab it as he tensed to pucker-factor nine.

His voice cracked when he said, "But the board-"

"No, Simon, the board will understand. There's some cash still missing but I'm not concerned. The majority of the donations were checks. The guests-I've spoken to all of them-are more than generous and understanding. They have all committed to replacing them."

"I see. And what of the Mafia-"

Angel laughed-I would have slugged him, but she always was the reasonable one of the family. "Nicholas Bartalotta has contributed a great deal to this university. He has granted the university annual scholarship funding and provided numerous jobs for student work programs."

Professor Hahn straightened and folded his arms. "Oh? I did not know. You should have informed me-"

"It's in the minutes of the last staff meeting-you weren't there. In fact, you've missed the last several." Angel leaned back in her chair and watched the redness tie-dye his face. "Perhaps you should go to the board with your complaints about Nicholas. They'll be interested to speak with you. After all, I had lunch with Nicholas and the Dean earlier this week to discuss his job initiatives and financial contributions. And he has insisted on covering the missing cash from the theft should the police not recover it."

"I see." Professor Hahn looked down and contemplated her desk clock. Then he lifted his chin up and took another swing. "And the complaints? The murder?"

I said, "He just won't stop, will he?"

"You cannot think I had anything to do with all this? And I a.s.sure you, neither did Andre Cartier. His credentials are above reproach."

"If they were, he wouldn't have been arrested."

Angel's face darkened and her lips lost their color. "What do you want, Simon?"

"Let me be clear." He cleared his throat and looked at her eye-to-eye. "I've received complaints on your performance at the gala. Several of them-the things people saw are disturbing." He folded his arms with a thin, "gotcha" smile. "I have no choice but to-"

"Good," she said, taking her cell phone from her purse. "I'll call Detective Braddock. You can provide the names and information to him. No one came forward at the crime scene, and since they confided in you, he'll want to speak with them again-he'll be sure to mention you provided their names."

Professor Hahn's smile evaporated and I could hear his a.s.s snapping closed like a clam under attack. "What? No. They spoke to me in confidence. I cannot disclose their information."

I said, "Do you know what obstruction of justice is, a.s.shole?"

Angel repeated me word-for-word, adding, "And falsifying information is, too. Let's ask Detective Braddock-"

"No, no, wait." He held up his hands in surrender. "W" was for "withdraw." "Perhaps I've exaggerated a bit. I'm upset. Please, Angela, forgive me. I'm-"

"What?" she demanded. "What is it, Simon? You're being very difficult."

His face dropped. "I'm worried about you. Really I am. I know you're grieving for Oliver."

"My friends call me Tuck," I said, reaching down and taking hold of Angel's cell phone for a little electric pick-me-up. "You can call me Detective Tucker. Or sir. Yeah, I like sir."

Angel smiled.

"Angela, I am worried for your health. You should take some time off and leave the department to me for a short time. I'm sure the board can postpone the decision a few months. Take the time you need and when you're ready-"

"No need for me to take time off. I am ready, Simon. I'm as ready as I can be." She waved him toward her office door. "And if you don't mind, I have work to catch up on."

He tried to smile but only formed a feeble-looking grin. Maybe it was his best work. "All right, Angela. But you will call with any news on the gala or if you just want to talk, right?"

"Of course I will, Simon."

"When she's ice skating in h.e.l.l." I couldn't resist.

W. Simon Hahn went the door and hesitated, looking like he was about to return for more a.s.s-whooping. I beat him there and grabbed hold of the door handle. I was still tingling from Angel's cell phone and it gave me a little "oomph." As he tried to open the door, I held it tight. He couldn't budge it.

He tried it again. Nothing.

When he stepped aside and looked at Angel, I swung the door open. It startled him and he jumped. But as he reached for it again, I slammed it closed and flicked his ear.

"There, a.s.shole, explain that to the board."

He wouldn't, of course, because he might have to explain the stain I swear formed in his pants when he left.

"W" was for wussy-boy.

thirty-seven.

After Professor Hahn left, Angel and I went home. I didn't tell her about my encounter with Vincent earlier. Instead, I lied and told her I hadn't found him. She had enough on her mind without wondering why he was threatening her-on top of some nut-case stalking her. I wanted to get things square with Doc first. That was impossible as Doc must have taken a vacation and disappeared for a while.

It bothered me that Doc lied. I asked him point-blank about Benjamin. Why didn't he tell me it was him? What was he hiding? And why hide it from me?

I pondered this and many mysteries of the universe-not really-until Bear arrived a little after six in the evening. He wandered in, relaxed onto our couch like he owned the place, and laid back to take a nap.

Before my death, he was my partner and best friend-more than a guest in our home. Since then, he had become a more permanent fixture. While it wasn't until today he admitted I was still around, he had been a rock for Angel for all facets of life without me.

Angel came in from the kitchen and handed him two-fingers of my best bourbon. She slipped into the over-sized chair opposite him and curled up. "Any luck, Bear? Did you find anything on Bonnie or Stephanos?"

"Not a darn thing." He drained half the gla.s.s. "The FBI is blocking me every step of the way. They took the case away from me."

"Can they do that?"

"They can and they did." Another glug of bourbon. "But the stolen donations and your stalker are still my cases-and I'll use them to my advantage. I'm meeting Spence over at the Vincent place in a little while. We're going to stake the place out."

"What for?"

He winked. "Coincidences."

"I thought you didn't believe in them."

I said, "He doesn't, Angel. That's the point."

Bear emptied his gla.s.s and went to the bottle on the fireplace mantel and refilled it. "The money was stolen and there's another body out there somewhere, too."

"The one Tuck saw?" she asked, gesturing at me sitting in the leather recliner beside her. "The one he says he killed-or, well, was inside someone and killed him?"

"The word is 'possessed,' dear," I said. We both love old horror movies and spook flicks. Our favorites are those when the devil and evil spirits possess people and run amuck. Now, it's not quite as fun. "You can say it."

"Yeah, possessed." Bear followed her gaze to my leather chair, tipped his gla.s.s toward me, and took a sip. "Whoever has the house wired up left a lot of weird surveillance gear in the attic. And the same someone is following you around-one plus one is two. They have to be connected."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Some of those photos of you were at the Vincent House. And they could be the key to this case." He sat back down. "Someone had the entire house under video cameras. Our techies haven't found any recordings yet so whoever did it must have them. They might have the killer on the recordings-or-"

"He's the killer," I said. "Even odds."

Angel nodded. "Who do you think the killer is? That man stalking me?"

"I'm not sure-but he's dangerous."

"How do you catch him? Your stakeout?"

"Yes, we wait at the Vincent House. He's bound to come back for his equipment. It's too expensive to leave behind. We didn't report any of that in today's paper and didn't tell anyone else-not even the FBI or any of the guests. He hid the stuff well so I'm hoping he thinks we haven't found it. With any luck, he'll come back to get it and we'll have him."

"What about the body I saw?" I said. "What about Kravitz and Jorge?"

"I don't think there is a Stanley Kravitz." He looked at my leather chair. "I don't think there's a Jorge-the-waiter either. I think it's all just one guy-your stalker. He might be our killer, too."

Even I didn't connect those dots.

Angel eyed him. "Why do you think he's the killer?"

"There's no record of a Stanley Kravitz in this county or the surrounding counties. Petya Chernyshov is cooking his books. He's using addresses and fake names to bolster his employee roles for his boss. Then, he pays the bogus wages and pockets the money himself. When he needs the extra hands, like last night, he hires some hourly stiff to work for cut wages. He makes out all the way around."

Clever. "And how did you come to this conclusion, Bear?"

"Well first, today the old lady and building manager never saw Kravitz-they get mail and all, but he's fict.i.tious. Then I checked the roster of employees and surprise-a dozen fake names and socials-but they're cashing checks every two weeks. It's got to be Chernyshov. I'm going to bring him in tomorrow and find out."

Angel asked, "Okay, so how does it all fit in with my stalker and Grecco's murderer?"

I knew the answer. "Whoever Jorge was last night is the wild card. He must have figured a way to work for the caterer to get close to Grecco. He's a surveillance-wiz, I'm betting. He's the only one unaccounted for. And it makes sense he is your stalker, too, since the chances of two surveillance wizzes at the same time doesn't add up."

Bear nodded. "Tuck's right-as tough as it is to say, I mean, to have this conversation with him."

Angel stood up and went to look out the window. "Bear, why me? Why would Grecco's killer be stalking me, too?"

"Maybe because you're the only one at the party who knew him at all before the party. Maybe because you've got something he wants. Maybe something else."