Corpses Say the Darndest Things: A Nod Blake Mystery Page 8

  “Sit down, Reggie.” He didn't want to and, for a minute, I thought he might balk but he considered it and took his seat again. “Is the church having financial problems?”

  “I wouldn't know anything about that.”

  “Did you take a pay cut recently, Reggie?”

  “Just a small one. Everyone did.”

  “Have you seen Nicholas Nikitin recently?”

  “Nick? Where you going with all this?”

  “I'm just filling in the map; seeing where there is to go. Have you seen Nicholas…?”

  “No!” You could see it immediately; he wanted to take that back. Instead, finding his nervous whisper again, he added a caveat. “No. Not since he left the church.”

  How could I believe him when he so obviously didn't believe himself? “Do you think Nikitin killed Katherine Delp?”

  “No.”

  “You sound sure. How do you know?”

  “I just know. Nick couldn't do that.”

  “Who do you think could?” Reggie shrugged lifelessly. It looked as if his arms weighed a ton. I wasn't sure if he was resigned or merely exhausted but the poor kid did need a vacation. He wasn't getting one just yet. “Did you kill her, Reggie?”

  “No!” His eyes began to mist. “I can't even believe she's dead.”

  “Yeah, it's bad. But I'm not the cops, you know. I want to help you, if I can.”

  “Help me with what? I've been under a lot of stress. My wife and I were close to Mrs. Delp.”

  “Is that why you call her Mrs. Delp, because you were so close?”

  “I didn't have anything to do with it. Whatever happened. I don't need anyone saying I did. I'm on parole. I've tried to start a new life and it was going good.”

  “Sure it was. You've got a great wife, a great life. You got the Lord. And you didn't do anything wrong. So why are you twisting like a tuna on a hook?”

  “Cause I'm upset. That's all.”

  “No. It's because there is something that you are not telling.” From the look on Reggie's face, I might as well have stuck a fork in him. He was done and so was the interview.

  Lisa did her best to discretely close a container of cottage cheese, and choke down the bite already in her maw, as I opened the door and escorted Reggie Riaz from my office. I ignored her and, instead, told Reggie, “You're going to have to trust somebody.” I opened the outer door and stepped into the vestibule with him. I handed him a business card and, in the exchange, our hands touched.

  Son of a bitch if it didn't happen again. As if by lightning strike, I was standing in Katherine Delp's bedroom. The pain in my head vibrated my teeth. The now too-familiar hum sounded in my ears. Katherine was laying naked on the bed, surrounded by the same blue aura I'd seen in the photograph in my office, alive but with blood pouring from the wound in her head. She turned and looked up at me. Blue tears glowed as they ran down her face and she cried, “Help me.”

  “How did you get here?” I asked. “How did I get here?” She made no sign, gave no indication at all, that she had heard me. “Are you even real?”

  Again, no sign she'd heard my voice. “Help me.” Then her plea exploded into a scream. “Dear God, help me!” A hand holding a large rock drove downward through my line of vision. It landed with a crack on the already spattered blonde hair and the convex surface of her scalp became concave. It felt as if I'd received the blow myself – and I screamed in pain.

  Just like that I was in the vestibule again. I had one hand on the back of my head where the vibrating pain had been and one on the side of my skull where I'd experienced Katherine's crushing blow. I'd fallen against the paneled wall but the pain was gone, and the ringing with it, as if it had never been. Reggie Riaz was staring, eyes wide, mouth agape; scared to death. He had to have been wondering what my major malfunction was. I couldn't blame him, I wondered myself. But there was more to it than that. He wasn't just surprised by my antics, he was shaken and visibly trembling with a terrified, knowing look in his eyes. Reggie grabbed the outer door. I grabbed his shoulder and am delighted to report that, this time, all that happened was he stared back at me.

  Reggie was afraid. So was I, but I made an effort to not let him see it. I took a deep, badly needed breath, and told him, “I'm a lot easier to deal with than the cops. If you don't open up to me, you will have to open up to them.” I pointed at the card I'd given him. “You've got my numbers, Reggie, here and at home. Call me when you're ready. But don't take too long.”

  He left without saying another word. I watched him through the window, hoofing it past Willie's car (still in my lot, damn him), and down the street out of sight. My breathing returned to normal but my mind was racing. This case was a millstone but, beyond that, what was happening to me? And why had making contact with Reggie just made it happen again?

  I went back in the office and found Lisa staring at me like a two-headed boy in a carnival sideshow. “Are you all right?” she asked. I didn't know, so I nodded. “Blake.”

  “I said I was all right,” I snapped. “Let's get back to work.”

  A blind man could have seen that I'd hurt her but I didn't know what to do about it. Suddenly I was hurting everyone I spoke to. I headed for my office, changing the subject as I went and hitching a thumb in the general direction of Reggie's departure. “He did a stretch in Stateville,” I told her. “Get a hold of Large. I want Reggie Riaz's prison records. And tell him the official stuff alone isn't going to cut it. I need to know what Reggie did in prison; how he behaved, who he hung out with, who he shared a cell with, everything.”

  The phone rang and Lisa grabbed it. “Blake Investigations.” There was a slight pause and, when she spoke again, a noticeable chill in her voice. “Yes, Miss Bridges.” I pulled up and turned around. “I'm certain he would. This morning?” I returned to Lisa's desk, reaching for the phone. She didn't actually bite my hand but she swiveled in her seat, turning her back on me, while she continued her conversation. “I'll let him know. You too. And thank you.” Lisa hung up.

  “What was that all about?” I asked.

  “Your girlfriend again. You have an appointment with Reverend Delp at two o'clock this afternoon.”

  “No, not that.” I lifted a finger and drew a downward spiral in the air, recreating the spin of her chair. “That.”

  “It's my job to make appointments for you,” Lisa said, snapping back at me. “I do that on my phone in my office. When the call is actually for you, I will make the cross-country hike to your office and ask you to pick up your phone.”

  There followed a pregnant pause during which I considered a number of different responses. I decided against them all. I had no right to be angry with her and I knew better than to smile. I said, “Okay,” and retreated.

  Chapter Eleven

  Like a living example of the Sock and Buskin, Gina was a strange mix of comedy and tragedy as I entered her church office. The slump in her shoulders and weary features were due, I imagined, to the previous week (not many laughs when you're fresh from burying someone you cared for). They were coupled with an odd exuberance despite all of the awful and mysterious goings on. She greeted me with chittering small talk, yet seemed anxious to move me along. Don't read me wrong, she wasn't trying to get rid of me, she was bursting to introduce me to her boss. Though I was eager to meet him, it struck that I didn't have any idea of the nature of Gina's relationship, her devotion to Delp. Was it hard to see? Was I pretending blindness? I enjoyed her company, but what did she enjoy? Why did I care? I was lost wondering when, with no noticeable signal, the moment apparently arrived. She excused herself and, with an excited, “Be right back,” headed for the massive oak door to the side of her desk, surely the Reverend's private office. There was no echo when the door closed behind her – but there ought to have been.

  “Nobody sees the Wizard,” I said under my breath. “Not no-body. Not no-how.”

  I took the opportunity to wander her office, snooping. The walls, as I've already mentioned, wer
e covered with framed photographs of Delp, and not a few with Delp and his secretary, hob-nobbing with senators, congressmen, governors, lesser televangelists, international heads of state (even a social studies wash-out like me recognized Menachem Begin and Margaret Thatcher, the Prime Ministers of Israel and the United Kingdom, respectively), and entertainers. On her desk, suggesting that the girl had a bad case of Delp-itis, was a too-large framed picture of the reverend and Gina alone. There was no question her eyes sparkled and little doubt it was a reflection of the sun shining out of Delp's…

  The door came open again and Gina stepped out. “The Reverend will see you now.”

  Lucky me. I smiled and stepped past her into Delp's office, eager as a beaver to actually meet my client. I heard no declaration I was on holy ground, saw neither flames nor burning bush, so I left my shoes on. That must have been okay because Gina just smiled and, from her side of the frame, closed the door behind me, shutting me in. Jonah was more comfortable inside the whale. That was only my first thought; Hollywood-tainted religious metaphors were tumbling in my head like drumsticks in a Shake 'n Bake bag.

  If the sanctuary was the heart of the Temple of Majesty then there was no doubt I'd entered the head. A soft amber glow warmed all. The walls, in some dark wood that I knew was expensive and other materials I imagined was, were decorated like those in Gina's outer office, only more so. Endless leather-bound bookshelves, countless photographs of Delp and staff surrounded by peoples of political power and entertainment might, and a multitude of pricey framed paintings depicting religious figures and scenes. Over a fireplace hung a damned near life-sized painting of the minister. The place seemed equal parts glory to God and glory to Delp. The real living and breathing man sat stone-faced, staring my direction, in a huge carved wooden chair at the far end of what (were it not for the ornate desk between us) looked and felt like nothing short of a throne room. “Mr. Blake.” He did not stand. He merely stretched a hand, putting on a show from his seat.

  I took the offered chair on the peasants’ side of the desk. “Reverend. Thank you for seeing me. I'll try not to use any more of your time than is necessary but there are a few questions I need to have…”

  “Tell me,” he said, interrupting, “have you located Nicholas Nikitin?”

  “Not yet,” I lied again. “But I have no doubt I will. In the meantime, as I said, I have a number of questions along a different line of investigation. I apologize if they seem banal but I'm trying to get chisels into a number of places at once. With that in mind, and for the moment assuming it isn't Nikitin that is responsible, I need to ask, did your wife, or do you have, any enemies?”

  “I've already told the police. I haven't any enemies, Mr. Blake. I serve the Lord. The Lord certainly has no worldly enemies; only those who are found and those who are lost.”

  I studied him for a moment. He appeared sincere which, of course, only made me wonder more. Though my mother would disagree, I was born as innocent as the next guy but somewhere along the line I'd become a cynic. My street-honed bull detector was always on and usually twitching. I didn't have any particular aversion to organized religion or its practitioners but I didn't like unlicensed junk peddlers. I simply did not believe I had finally met a man with no enemies. “That's commendable, reverend. How about your wife?”

  “Why would it be any different for my wife?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Katherine had no enemies. The idea is ridiculous.”

  “Okay, it's ridiculous, but so is your answer, sir. Your wife was murdered.”

  “I'm aware of that.” He should have been defensive but, oddly, didn't sound it. He was merely stating a fact. “I hired you to find her murderer, not to run down blind alleys.”

  Ahh, defensiveness. The guy was human after all. I felt better. “You forget, sir,” I told him. “We're assuming for a moment that the perpetrator is not Nicholas Nikitin.”

  “I am convinced that it is.”

  “Are you also convinced Nikitin is the person who was threatening you?”

  “I don't think I understand.” For the briefest instant Delp looked confused.

  “I was led to believe you received a number of threatening letters and it seems unlikely…”

  His confusion didn't last long. He interrupted to say, “I'm afraid you're mistaken.” He smiled for the first time; an oily smile that… Okay I'll admit, if pressed, that I came in thinking I wasn't going to like the guy. It was about then I decided I'd been right; I didn't like him.

  “Mistaken?” I asked. “How?”

  “There were no letters. There have been no threats. It's preposterous. I can't even imagine where you heard such a thing.”

  I didn't know much, but one thing I did know was that Lisa Solomon was not a liar. That took the situation out of the realm of guesswork; someone in that glorious place of enlightenment was spreading manure. Since I didn't know who I shrugged and backed away for the time being. “Forgive me,” I told the minister. “In this business, you hear things. And you make mistakes.” I decided to circle round and poke the lion elsewhere. “Tell me about Reggie Riaz. You weren't concerned about bringing a convicted felon into your house of worship?”

  For a moment his gray brows wanted to frown but the rest of his face overruled them and ordered the works back to their unreadable position. This character was good, in what seemed to me a very bad way. “Even Jesus went to jail,” Delp said. “Yes, Reggie's criminal history was brought to my attention when I hired him. And, no, I was not concerned. God forgives, Mr. Blake, and so do I. Reggie is a faithful servant. I have no idea why you are making these inquiries but, if you suspect him of anything other than diligent service to the Lord, you have made another mistake.”

  I smiled. How could I not, this fellow was a riot. “Hard to believe I dress myself in the morning, isn't it?” I didn't wait for an answer. “I understand he's left you? Reggie, that is. The timing for that seems a little odd.”

  Delp eased back into his throne like pancake batter spreading across a grill. The relaxed position was belied by his grip on the arms of the chair. “Put it out of your mind.” He made it an order in a voice that should have been followed by a hiss but strangely wasn't. It didn't matter, I felt it. “Reggie Riaz has not left me as you so rudely put it. He goes on sabbatical at the same time every year. He offered to stay, what with all that has happened, but I insisted he go as usual. Surely, you understand my wish for affairs to return to something akin to normal?”

  “Don't you…”

  “Mr. Blake, please,” he said, interrupting me for the third damned time. It was a habit of his I had already grown tired of. Despite Gina's praise for the sentimental minister, he didn't seem to be attuned to my feelings. “I appreciate what you've attempted on my behalf. But, now that we've had this conversation, I realize I was wrong to ask your help in the first place. I was under a great deal of stress at the time and, I'm sure, you can understand that as well. Your services will no longer be required.”

  “Uhmmm. I don't understand actually.”

  “I was wrong to hire you. Let us say I should have had more faith. I should have left the affair in God's hands. What happened, happened by His will. Whatever is going to happen, will also happen by His will. Who are we to intervene?”

  “I appreciate your position, Reverend. I hope you can appreciate mine. I intervene in murder cases, among others, for a living. My only experience with being asked to leave a case before its conclusion has been when someone was trying to buy me off or shut me up. My services can be rented, you know that, but I can't be bought off. And I never shut up.” I smiled so he received it in the manner it was offered. “Now you understand my reluctance to drop the case.”

  His steely eyes stared through me. Had he not already annoyed me, I'd have been intimidated. But he was trying. “Allow me to encourage you.” Delp indicated a framed picture on his desk; a photo of himself with the country's most overrated peanut farmer. “That's the President of the U
nited States.”

  “Yes,” I said, “I recognize him.” I should have let it go but suddenly I didn't feel like exercising much self-control. “I didn't vote for him.”

  Yeah. I should have let it go. Delp wrinkled his brow. He twisted his lips. A vein appeared in the center of his forehead. It looked like he was undergoing one of those horror film transformations. I wondered what he was going to become. When the twitching ended, I was disappointed to find the reverend was still just an ass.

  “The Governor, the Deputy Mayor, the Police Commissioner (I put it down that way because Delp was suddenly talking in capital letters), they were all at Katherine's funeral. Do you have any friends, Mr. Blake?”

  If I didn't know better, I'd swear the guy was trying to hurt my feelings. It didn't deserve it, but I gave his question some thought. “I had a turtle once.”

  He smiled. “Don't think I don't appreciate all you've done for me.”

  “Yeah, you said that.”

  Delp rose from his throne and stepped around his desk. He started the length of the room and it was patently obvious that either he was going for a deep pass (which would have been silly as I had no football) or he was showing me the door. “It isn't about me,” he said as he went. “I have an obligation to my congregation, to my ministry around the world. It's time to move on, Mr. Blake.”

  Call me mule-headed but I remained seated. He reached the door, turned, and was a little taken aback that I hadn't followed. Nothing stunned that bird for long. From across the room he spoke, crisp and slow, “Don't butt heads with me, Blake. I have a hard head.”

  It had not escaped my notice that I was no longer `Mister'. I know when I'm not wanted. I stood and started for the door. As I drew near, the minister took pains… “Allow me to point out, Blake, that in spite of your complicity in my wife's murder, you haven't had the decency to apologize for my loss.”