The Dead Don't Talk Page 4

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Bobby Van’s was filled with people. Ari was outside. I had to set some rules.

  I told the guy who greeted me that I was waiting for someone. He led me to a table with two chairs. I always liked the paneling in the place, a dark mahogany, which, along with the hardwood floor and the Victorian bar complete with wooden carvings and mirrors, provided a perfect setting for the serious literary conversations that happened every night in the place. Maybe I was misjudging him, but it seemed out of place for a guy from the D.A.’s office.

  I saw Irwin Shaw taking a cigarette out of his mouth and pointing it at a young man and talking loudly about how you write about war. Once on a Sunday morning I had seen Truman Capote in the place reading a newspaper.

  Bobby Van was in back, seated at his black Steinway playing some jazz that night, although I had been in there when he played show tunes. A few people leaned against the piano listening to him.

  “Nice place, right?”

  I looked up at Flanagan. He had short curly red hair, a round face that must have been handsome a couple of decades ago, a sadness in his eyes that I suspected kept him up at night, and a bright pinkness to his skin.

  “Very nice.”

  He sat down.

  “You look like your father.”

  “I’m not like him at all.”

  “So I heard. I asked about you. You know why we never went after him?”

  “Because you couldn’t catch him.”

  “Naw. It was because he took quite a few bad players out of the game. I personally like to put people in jail, not kill them. But, believe it or not, there are police officers who think too many people who deserve death are still walking around. Some of them actually liked your father, although they couldn’t say so. But don’t believe that junk he tells how he only killed bad guys. When he needed money, he’d kill civilians. At least I think so. Like you said, we could never prove anything.”

  A waiter came over, and Flanagan ordered a scotch and a sirloin.

  I ordered water and a sirloin.

  “You should have ordered a scotch. It would have saved me from having to get another.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m still upset by that case. I couldn’t get anywhere. I got a lot of lowlifes off the street, but it’s always the ones that got away that eat at me.”

  I nodded.

  “I read the papers. I don’t know what they got right. You mind going over the basics?”

  “Sure. There’s not much to say. The poor woman comes home. Sees blood all over the place. Sees the walls with nasty stuff written on them.”

  “You tested her for gunshot residue?”

  “Sure.”

  “She ask for a lawyer?”

  “Nope.”

  “You check her alibi?”

  “She didn’t do it, Ryle.”

  “So who did? You have any good suspects?”

  “We looked at a few people. Tell you the truth, we couldn’t get anywhere. There was a lot of pressure on us. The Governor, County Executive, ADL, and other groups. Citizens going crazy. He had some members of his congregation who knew their way around politics. We took a lot of heat. Mostly it got in our way because we had to take time to deal with that. But in fact there were no good leads.”

  “You mind going over some of the people who looked interesting?”

  “Nobody looked interesting. But, yeah. There was some anti-Semite. Rolf something. Called in to radio shows. Lived alone. He fit every profile of a killer ever drawn. And no alibi. But no one could connect him to the Rabbi or place him there. There was this angry guy. Wasn’t Jewish. He wanted to marry a Jewish woman from the Temple, only Rabbi Siegel wouldn’t marry them. There was a big fight. I don’t recall all of it, but I think the relationship broke up, and the guy went right off the edge. One of the congregants had called the cops numerous times about how Siegel was stealing money. He had a temper. I remember that. But we couldn’t put him in the Rabbi’s house. Oh, do you know about the painter in the house?”

  I shook my head.

  “Nice looking girl. Real pretty. It was delicate but I asked about the Rabbi and her. He was much older, but you have to ask everything. Anyway, this artist, Penny, she was in the basement the whole time finishing the canvas and listening to a Dylan album played loudly. She didn’t hear anything.”

  “Did you check out the new Rabbi?”

  “You joking?”

  The sirloins came before I could answer, so we stopped talking and attacked the meat.

  The silence and the sirloins and the piano music made it almost all right to talk about murder.

  I went back into the conversation.

  “He’s not much of a killer type, the Rabbi who took over.”

  “No, he’s not. I didn’t look at him too closely though. I didn’t ask for an alibi.”

  “The widow got remarried.”

  “Yeah, I know. Can’t remember his name.”

  “Wendell Kruzan. He make any appearances in your investigation?”

  “He wasn’t around then, at least as far as I knew. I never talked to him. You gonna talk to the guy?”

  “I have. And I’m going to talk with everyone I can, look at them all.”

  “That’s a lot of people.”

  I shrugged.

  “Mind if I get another scotch?”

  “Not at all. Order two of them. You can say one is for me if that makes you more comfortable. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “Tell you what I’ll do. You give me your address, and I’ll make copies and have one of my assistants drop them off in your mailbox. I’ll make the copies tonight if I can still walk and see straight.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “You know, Ryle, you find anything you’re going to make me and everyone else look real bad.”

  “Not if I don’t make it all public.”

  “That would be a good move on your part.”

  “I told you. I work for the Congressman. Nobody in our office wants to embarrass any cops or anybody in the D.A.’s office.”

  “A wise decision.”

  “If you had to pick one of them, just one, who would it be?”

  Flanagan took another drink and was quiet for a moment.

  “I always thought the anti-Semitic writing on the wall was phony. I had a crazy idea about it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Say I was Penny the artist downstairs. I’m in the house when the owner gets himself killed. Naturally the cops are going to look at me. Now, I’m a painter, so what can I do?”

  “Paint some messages on the wall that send the cops in another way.”

  “Bingo. No proof, mind you, but that’s what I think happened. But anyway the hate stuff wasn’t important. The murder was a crime of passion or revenge, something we don’t know, but it wasn’t hate. It was just the one guy. If it was a hate crime, somebody would have bragged about it. There would have been more crimes against Jews. Against Temples. That kind of thing. I had to check out one guy, I’d look at the guy the Rabbi wouldn’t marry. The name is gone, but it will be in the papers I give you. If I had another choice, I’d pick the guy who thought the Rabbi was taking money from the Temple. Save him until you look at most of the others. He owns a hardware store in Patchogue.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get the killer, Flanagan. You’re good at this.”

  “Yeah, I am. But not good enough.”

  We listened to the soft sounds of the piano notes floating in the air.

  I ordered a ginger ale.

  I considered what I was about to face.

  There was a murderer out there who would keep an eye on me.

  “Look out for yourself, Ryle. You’re not your father. He knows not to trust anyone. He knows how to look around corners. You need help, call me, and I’ll do what I can. I’d like to put the killer in jail or in the ground.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I went outside.


  I couldn’t see Ari Eilat. I didn’t know how he’d get back to retrieve his car. I didn’t know if he was there in the shadows.

  I shivered although the evening was not that cold.

  It was as though the world had shifted grounds. I was working with a new set of life rules, and the rules were not on my side.

  I realized that in a real way I had people to check.

  I was at the beginning of a dangerous game.

  And I wasn’t a very good player.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I had a problem. I couldn’t use anyone from the Congressional office. They were busy. But I needed someone to answer phones, do research, go places if necessary. I needed a woman who could talk in ways I couldn’t, gain confidences, understand feelings. I had involuntarily acquired a bodyguard. Now I needed someone else.

  Ari and I were having breakfast. I thought maybe he knew someone who would show up just as I needed her, the way he had shown up.

  “You could ask your father?”

  “He hung out with people who are different from what I need.”

  Ari shrugged. “Maybe someone in your office has a relative?”

  I looked at him. “Mothers will be too old. Some of this will be physical such as going places that aren’t always nice. And I don’t want to put anyone in danger. I...”

  I called Al Flanagan.

  He answered, but his voice sounded tired.

  “You let me drink too much last night,” he said.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Feel free to do it again. Only wait a few days.”

  “Thanks for having that material delivered. I just looked it over.”

  “Yeah. Good luck with it.”

  “Flanagan, I’m calling for another reason. I’m looking to hire a woman.”

  “The D.A.’s office stopped renting out women months ago.”

  “I’m serious. I need an assistant.”

  “What? Like a secretary?”

  “Yes, but who can do research and isn’t afraid of dealing with tough people. I...”

  “Betsy Revere. And don’t ask her if she’s any relation to the guy who rode his horse during the Revolution.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Ex-cop. She’s plenty tough. Real smart. Way smarter than you, Ryle. Although that wouldn’t take much. Not much of a rule follower. At all.”

  “What is she doing now?”

  “I’m not sure. She lives in an apartment building in Nesconset. Across Route 25, not far from the Mall. Check the number in a phone book. I don’t have it. Wait. I do have her telephone number.”

  It took him a minute, but he found it.

  “You think she’d want a job?”

  “I don’t know, Ryle. Hey, here’s a brainstorm. Why don’t you ask her?”

  “Thanks, Flanagan.”

  “Yeah. Like I say, I want to find the guy who killed the Rabbi. Tell Betsy hello.”

  I called Betsy Revere.

  “Hello. My name is Danny Ryle. I work for Congressman Miles, but right now I’m helping a constituent with an old problem. He wants me to solve an old murder. Al Flanagan said I might be able to hire you to help out.”

  “Flanagan wasn’t so bad. What was the case?”

  “Rabbi Gerald Siegel.”

  “I know it. What do you want me to do and how much do you pay? I’m always looking for money.”

  I told her the daily pay and that it was at least for two or three weeks.

  “I’ve got some rules. For you and anybody else who works with you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Stay away from me. Don’t ask me to dinner. Don’t pat my head or tell me my dress looks nice. Pay me on time. You can tell me what you want but don’t tell me how to do it.”

  “I’ll treat you like my very smart sister.”

  “You even have a sister?”

  “Yes, but she lives in Illinois.”

  “Good. That’s what you treat me like. Now what do I do?”

  “My assistant is named Ari Eilat. We’re here trying to figure out the first step. You’ll be in from the beginning. We’re going to use my house as our headquarters. You work from here. Come over. Bring some doughnuts. You think that’s below you, tell me and I’ll send Ari out for the doughnuts. Or I’ll go myself. We’re here and you’ll be traveling so it’s easier for you. It’s not because you’re a woman. It’s just practical.”

  “Yeah it is. And don’t be so defensive. I want to be treated fair is all. I’ll do my share. Give me your address.”

  I told her.

  “Depending on traffic and how long the doughnut line is, I should be there within a half hour.”

  “Good. And thanks.”

  True to her word, Betsy Revere was at my house twenty-eight minutes later.

  She had a pale, round face with skin that was almost too white. Her light blue eyes had seen too much and not liked what she had seen.

  We all introduced ourselves and settled on using first names.

  Then we went after the doughnuts.

  After the great doughnut attack, Betsy asked, “What’s my first job?”

  “Read over this folder of materials. Read over this other folder. They came from Al Flanagan. When you’re done, look at this one guy, George Weber. He wanted to marry someone from the congregation. The only problem was that Rabbi Siegel wouldn’t marry them because he wasn’t Jewish. He got really angry. It says in Flanagan’s file that he even verbally threatened the Rabbi. Get all the information you can. Use Ari to go places. He’s not ready to interview people. If you need to do that, take him along. As...”

  “I’m going with you,” Ari said to me.

  “Ari, I’m fine. I’m going to see the woman Weber wanted to marry. Her name is Harriet Goldberg. I think I’ll be safe with her.”

  “I’m going with you,” Ari repeated.

  I sighed.

  “You stay far away from me.”

  “She won’t see me.”

  I turned to Betsy.

  “It’s complicated. Ari is my shadow.”

  “That’s fine. I like working by myself anyway.”

  Ari followed me to Coram, where Harriet Goldberg lived. I found the house and looked around. I couldn’t see Ari, but I knew he was there.

  I knocked on the door.

  A girl opened the door. She was holding one of her braids in her hands. She looked about six.

  “Hello, mister.”

  “Hi. I’m looking for your mom.”

  “She’s baking. My mom’s the best baker in the whole world.”

  “Then you’re very lucky. Can you please tell her a man at the door wishes to speak with her for a few minutes?”

  “Okay.”

  The little girl closed the door.

  Mrs. Goldberg opened it a couple of minutes later.

  “I hope you’re not selling anything, mister. I never buy from salesmen that go door-to-door.”

  “No, Mrs. Goldberg, I’m not.”

  I showed her my Congressional identification card.

  “I know about the election.”

  “This isn’t about politics. I’m investigating a crime that took place eighteen months ago.” I saw the little girl holding on to her, and I was trying to be delicate in my language.

  The woman had a quick mind. She figured it out.

  “Honey, why don’t you go to your room? You can play with that new game Pitfall!”

  “Oh, that’s a good idea, Mommy.”

  Video games as babysitter. They would do well. Maybe too well.

  “Come on in, Mr. Ryle.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You want a cup of coffee?”

  “I’m drowning in coffee. But get some yourself if you’d like.”

  “I’m fine. This is about Rabbi Siegel, right?”

  “It is.”

  “Has the killer been found?”

  I shook my head.

  “Mr. Ryle, I’m confused. I don’t
know anything about the Rabbi’s murder.”

  “I’m looking at everyone involved, Mrs. Goldberg. I’m really in the information-gathering stage.”

  “You talk well, Mr. Ryle. You’re looking at suspects. I don’t think I’m one of them. It’s George, isn’t it?”

  “I would like to find out about Mr. Weber.”

  “That was a year and a half ago, but it was another lifetime for me.” She sighed. “I loved George. My parents hated him. I still think they were the ones who told the Rabbi not to marry us. George was furious. He had a temper.”

  “Do you know where he was when the murder took place?”

  “It’s a little late to need an alibi.”

  I smiled and asked again, “Do you know where he was?”

  She shook her head. “Have you spoken to him, Mr. Ryle?”

  “I haven’t tried to locate him yet.”

  “He works at a gas station not far from the corner of 25A where you turn for the Emma Clark Library. I don’t think he ever married. I did. I’m glad I did. The little girl is really my husband’s daughter, but I think of her as my own. Life is so confusing, isn’t it?”

  “On its good days.”

  She nodded.

  “You want the truth? George wouldn’t have been right for me either. That temper. I couldn’t have stood it. But I married on the rebound. Very fast. Too fast. I should have taken a deep breath and started again. There were nice men at the Y in Commack I could have met.”

  “I’m sorry how it turned out, Mrs. Goldberg.”

  “So am I, Mr. Ryle. So am I.”

  She stared at me for a minute.

  “Are you married, Mr. Ryle?”

  “No.”

  “Ever come close?”

  I involuntarily blew some breath out of my mouth.

  “Tell me about it,” she said.

  I looked at her.

  “Could I have some of that coffee now?”

  She brought the coffee and a piece of marble cake.

  “It was rough, wasn’t it, Mr. Ryle?”

  “Mrs. Goldberg, it was very rough. I loved her. Hannah was her name.”

  “Any chance of getting her back?”

  “No. I want her but if she came to me today, I wouldn’t want her.”

  “You always talk in puzzles?”

  “Many people think so.”

  I paused again.