Murder With A Twist Part 6

"I told you," Frank said. "Nothing. Someone killed him. End of story."

"Not a very good story," I said. "I think it needs more detail. For instance, let's add in a man named Leo Blackwell."

"Who's that?" asked Danny.

"He's the reason your brother has a black eye," I said. "Didn't Frank tell you about him?"

Danny looked questioningly at Frank. "What is she talking about?"

Frank waved his hand as if to brush away the question. "It's nothing. Leo's just some mark. He owed me and Saul some money. Saul wanted me to collect, and I told Leo he had to pay up. Leo said he needed a few days, and I said okay. Leo took off, and Saul got mad."

"Saul give you that black eye?" Danny asked.

"Yeah," Frank said.

"Good thing he's dead then," said Danny. "How much does this Leo guy owe?"

Frank told him. Danny's eyes widened. "Jesus. No wonder Saul was mad. h.e.l.l, I'd have clocked you too if you'd let that kind of money get away from me."

"You always were a businessman first, Danny," I said. "Have you heard anything from Leo, Frank?" I asked.

Frank took a sip of his drink. "Nothing. As far as I know he's still hiding."

"And what about the money he owes?"

Frank sat back in his chair. "I'm in charge of the business now, and as far as I'm concerned, Leo owes me that money and a little more, if you know what I mean."

"I think I get the general idea. Any chance Saul might have been out looking for Leo when he was shot?"

"He might have been." Frank's eyes narrowed. "Why, you think Leo had something to do with Fat Saul's death? He might hit a woman, but I can't see him killing a man."

"Well, that certainly is a noteworthy defense," I said. "But even so, I'd like to talk to him. Any idea where he might be?"

Frank scoffed. "Seriously? You think if I knew that, we'd be having this conversation? Trust me, if I knew where Leo was, then you would too. He'd be at the hospital."

"Fair enough," I asked. "Do you know what Saul was doing last night?"

Frank shook his head. "He wouldn't tell me. All I know is that he got a call and took off without saying anything."

"Who called him?" I asked.

Frank shook his head. "I don't know. I wasn't with him when he got the call. One of the guys said that they thought it was a woman."

I thought about that. "Could this woman have been a friend of Leo's?" I asked.

"Maybe," said Frank. "Saul put it out there that we were looking for Leo, and that we'd pay to find him. Lots of people happy to make a little extra cash this time of year."

Danny shifted in his chair. "Why are you here hara.s.sing my brother?" he asked me. "He hasn't done anything. Don't you have something better to be doing?"

"Well, now that you mention it, there are a few restaurants I've heard a lot about. Maybe I should check those out. Ever hear of Little's Vittles? I wonder if my old friends in the department would like to meet up there."

Danny glowered at me. "There's nothing going on there. It's clean."

"I a.s.sume you mean that figuratively."

"I dare you to prove otherwise!" Danny shot back.

I turned back to Frank. "Frank," I said, "You want to find Leo. I want to find Leo. For different reasons, of course. But the only way you are ever going to get your money is if Leo goes home to Audrey. Now, is there anyone who might be able to help me?"

Frank didn't answer right away. He appeared to be debating some matter in his head. It could have been whether to tell me the truth, or whether to scratch a particular itch. Only time would tell. After a moment of internal debate, he looked at me. "Leo liked to have a good time, but he wasn't real particular or steady about who he hung out with, if you know what I mean."

I said that I did. "But?" I prompted.

He paused. "Well. Yeah. There is someone. But I've already talked to her. She doesn't know where Leo is either."

"That may be so, but I'd still like to talk to her."

Frank slowly nodded. "Fine. If it helps me get my money, I'll tell you. Lizzy. Lizzy Marks."

"Lizzy?" said Danny. "Our Lizzy?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah."

Danny started to say something else but stopped himself. "This Lizzy was Leo's girlfriend?" I asked.

Frank shrugged. "Might have been. Might not have been. Lizzy isn't a one-man gal, if you know what I mean."

"I do. How does she know Leo?" I asked.

Frank shrugged again. "I think she met him through some job she had."

"Do you know what job?"

Frank shook his head. "No. I just knew it was some business downtown. A legit one, too," he added proudly. "She's real smart."

Danny frowned. "Lizzy went legit? Seriously? Since when?" Danny's face held an expression of profound disappointment. Not unlike a parent discovering their golden child has taken up shoplifting.

"I didn't say she went legit," Frank clarified. "I said she was working at some place downtown that was legit. At least on the outside. She got wind of some embezzling scheme her boss was involved in. She's cashing in on it."

Danny smiled, his faith restored. "Lizzy could always sniff out a scam."

"I take it that you know her well?" I asked.

"Yeah," said Frank, taking a sip of his drink. "We grew up in the same neighborhood. She's a looker and always knew how to attract the guys. Problem was that she had lousy taste. Her first husband ended up in jail and so did her second, come to think of it."

"Well, some girls always go for the dangerous guys," I said.

Frank shot me a funny look. "h.e.l.l, Landis. In our neighborhood, everyone was dangerous. Lizzy just always seemed to go for the guys that didn't have the brains not to get caught."

"Ah, it's a subtle distinction, but I get it now," I said.

"That guy, Mickey, she went with didn't end up in jail," Danny pointed out.

"Yeah, but he got himself killed," Frank said. "Like I said, lousy taste. It's too bad, too, because Lizzy's got brains. She always knew how to work someone. As a kid, she'd just smile real big and be able to get whatever she wanted. She probably would have made a fortune by now, but she always let herself get screwed by some a.s.shole."

"And now she's with Leo?" I asked.

"Yeah. From what I heard," Frank said. "But when I called to tell her about Fat Saul, I asked her about him, and she said she hadn't heard from Leo in awhile."

"Did she say anything else?"

Frank scratched his head. "Said her ex-husband was bothering her. She was thinking about changing her name or something."

"Who is this ex?" I asked.

"Billy," said Frank. "Billy Morgan."

Danny looked up in surprise. "Lizzy married Billy? That idiot?"

Frank nodded. "Yeah. I know. Anyway, it's over. He was working some insurance scam a few years back. Got sloppy and got five years. Lizzy divorced him while he was in prison."

Danny shook his head in disbelief. "Billy Morgan ..." he left the thought hang unfinished.

Frank nodded. "I know. Billy's worthless. A couple of times I offered to make him disappear, but that's not Lizzy's style. She's good that way, you know?"

"She sounds like a real gem," I agreed.

"She should have taken me up on my offer," Frank said. "Billy got out of prison early for good behavior. As soon as he did, he beat the c.r.a.p out of her for divorcing him."

Next to me, Danny shook his head. "Some system we have. It's always the rats who get out early."

"Cheers to that," said Frank before draining his whiskey.

Neither of them seemed to appreciate the irony in that statement. I decided not to enlighten them.

thirteen.

Frank gave me Lizzy's address, and Nigel and I said our good-byes. "You certainly know the most interesting people," Nigel said once we were outside. "They are an absolute delight!"

"Oh, please," I said. "I have three words for you-your Aunt Olive."

Nigel tipped his head thoughtfully. "Do you suppose there's any way that we can introduce your Frank Little and his crew to my Aunt Olive?" he asked. "I would happily exchange all my Christmas presents for the chance to watch that."

"Be careful what you wish for, my dear. The way this week is going, I wouldn't be surprised by anything."

According to Frank, Lizzy lived in the West Village. Before we paid her a visit, I called Marcy to tell her about Fat Saul's mysterious female caller. "So, he got a call from someone right before he went out?" Marcy asked. "Do you really think it's connected to his death?"

"I don't know. Probably not. But then again it might be. I just thought I'd pa.s.s along the information."

"Okay," she said. "Thanks. I'll see if we can find anything out from the cell phone records. Any luck in finding your cousin's husband?"

"Again. It's my cousin-in-law's husband. I stand by that distinction. And no. He's still missing."

"Okay. Well, keep me posted. I'll let you know if I hear anything." I thanked her and hung up. Nigel said that he wanted to eat lunch and do some more Christmas shopping before we visited Lizzy, so we headed over to Fifth Avenue. Along the way, Nigel stopped at a pet store and bought a pair of reindeer antlers for Skippy. By the time we reached Rockefeller Center, Skippy had been patted by three policemen, made friends with two horses, goosed several ladies who turned to glare at Nigel and then ended up smiling, and been introduced to three children as one of Santa's reindeer out doing last-minute reconnaissance work for the Big Man. We pushed our way through the noisy crowd and paused to watch the skaters skim across the ice rink where the hum of tourists' conversations, Salvation Army bells, and Christmas music filled the air.

"I know it's cliche," said Nigel, "but I do love New York at Christmastime. The buildings are lit, the windows are decorated, and the people are nice."

"They may be nice, but there are still too many of them," I said, as my side was a.s.saulted by yet another bag loaded with boxes. "I need a cup of something strong and a place to sit," I added as I pulled my coat tight against the cold evening air.

"Your wish is my command," said Nigel. "Skippy, lead the way." We headed up Fifth Avenue, pa.s.sing a Salvation Army volunteer as we did. Nigel paused and shoved a handful of bills into the bucket.

"Thank you," said the young man as he rang his bell. Nigel nodded, "Merry Christmas," he replied. We were a few feet away when I heard the man cry out in surprise, "Hey!"

Nigel kept walking. I glanced up at him. "Nigel, how much did you put in the bucket?"

"It's Christmas. You're supposed to be generous."

"Nigel. How much?"

He shrugged. "A few hundred."

"A few?"

"Okay, six."

"Six hundred dollars? Are you crazy? Why on earth are you walking around with that kind of money? And here of all places!"

"You're being a Grinch. It's Christmas. It's not like we can't afford it. Just enjoy the atmosphere."

I sighed. "I know you think I'm a Grinch," I said as we squeezed through the crowd, "but you didn't grow up here. And after awhile, even Rockefeller Center overloads the senses. It's too much of everything. The crowds, the music, the incessant ringing of bells ..." I paused.

Nigel paused as well. We looked at each other. Then we looked down at Skippy. Skippy looked up at us. In his mouth was a large Salvation Army bell.

"Oops," said Nigel.

"Big oops," I agreed.

Nigel began to wrestle the bell out of Skippy's mouth. "Bad dog, Skippy," he said. "No. Give me the bell. Skippy, give me the bell!" Skippy, however, treated Nigel's pleas as part of a grand new game. He artfully dodged and ducked our attempts to retrieve the bell, which clanged merrily all the while. After a few minutes, Nigel put his hands on his hips and stared at Skippy. Skippy stared back, his tail still wagging, and the bell still ringing. Without a word, Nigel turned around and pushed his way back into the crowd. When he emerged again, he calmly took Skippy's leash and resumed our walk.

"What did you do?" I asked.