The Blackmail Club Read online

  “Donny Boy, mind your manners. These people are my friends.”

  “Yes, Mother,” he said in a tone about a buck short on sincerity.

  Jack nodded politely. “Yes. I headed up that investigation.”

  After Jack answered Donny’s questions about The Third Coincidence case, the young man downed his tea and stood.

  “I gotta run, Mom. I just came by to return the shawl you left in my car after Dad’s funeral. I put it on the cedar chest at the foot of your bed.”

  He winked at Nora before snapping his business card onto the table next to her. “In case you ever want a career change.”

  Nora turned her head from Sarah and gave Donny a look that would stop a dog in heat.

  Sarah spoke toward her son’s back as he stepped up from the sun porch. “I love you. Come back soon.”

  “I promise, Mom,” drifted back over his shoulder as he moved out of sight.

  “Excuse us,” Sarah’s face flushed, “a mother and her son, one of life’s eternal struggles.”

  Sarah got up and straightened Donny’s chair. Then opened a drawer in a side table and handed Jack a large manila envelope, the kind held closed by a short red string wrapped around a dime-sized hard paper disk.

  “This statement contains everything I can tell you that might be of help. If you need anything further, I will provide whatever you ask. As for the bank box, I considered it my husband’s. He knew I would never open it before … this. The identification of the bank box is on my statement. Christopher and I were on the signature card at the bank.”

  “Not Donny?” Nora asked, rotating only her eyes toward Sarah.

  “No!” Then after a deep breath Sarah looked at Jack. “Is that a concern?”

  “We’re just gathering information.”

  “I apologize if I upset you,” Nora said. “Jack knew your husband. I didn’t. Tell me about his work?”

  “Christopher was a psychiatrist in private practice. His office is … was on Massachusetts Avenue, NW. Jack has been there. He specialized in sexual dysfunctions.” She blushed. “A few of his patients were wealthy kleptomaniacs, but he referred most of those to his friend, Dr. Phillip Radnor. I think they saw some kind of connection between those two miscreant behaviors. They met once a week to work on a technical paper of some sort.” She paused. “Christopher paid the office rent semiannually. The lease expires in a few more days. The exact date is in there,” she gestured toward the envelope. “The key is also there.”

  “Did you tell your son about our coming today?” Nora asked.

  “I have not spoken with Donny since we discussed your coming by today.”

  Jack took Sarah’s hand. “We’ve read all the newspaper accounts and we’ll get a copy of the police reports, but tell us about your … finding Chris.”

  “I got up that morning. Took a shower. I’m an early riser. Then made myself a tea and took a cup of coffee in to Christopher. My normal routine, I would wake Christopher most mornings. His bed had not been slept in. I found him in his office, the gun still in his hand.” She stopped to wipe her eyes and cheeks. “I called the police.”

  “What did the two of you do the night before?” Nora asked.

  “I had book club, a friend picked me up. Christopher stayed home. He said he was going to work some and watch some sports thing on television.”

  Nora sipped her tea before asking, “Do you know if anyone was going to come by to see him, or perhaps meet him for dinner somewhere?”

  “I made him a cold meat loaf sandwich on rye with catsup, one of his favorites, and an apple waldorf salad before I left.” She glanced at Jack. “You know my husband was a quiet man. For him that was a great evening.” Jack nodded his head slightly, adding a small smile.

  “Did you look in on him when you got home?” Jack asked.

  “No.”

  Nora raised her eyebrows. “Why not?”

  “The study door was shut. After decades, a woman gets to know a man’s rhythms. When he shut the door he meant, ‘I don’t wish to be disturbed.’ So I didn’t. I made a cup of tea with honey and went up to bed to begin reading next month’s mystery book club selection.”

  “You said a friend picked you up for book club, so you wouldn’t have seen his car in the underground lot.” Jack said. “Can you be certain Chris was home when you got home?”

  “Oh, yes. He was here.”

  “How do you know?” asked Nora.

  “I could see the light under the door. Christopher would keep a horribly messy desk, but never leave a light on, a quirky combination for certain. The light was on; he was in the study.”

  “We know Chris died in the apartment in DC,” Jack said gently. “But this was his home. Could Nora look around inside while you and I visit out here?”

  Sarah smiled at Nora. “You go right in, dear. Look wherever you wish.”

  “Thank you.” Nora scooted back her chair, taking care to push it in level with the table. “Did your husband keep an appointment book at home? Oh, and do you have a safe?”

  “We do not have a safe. The police took his appointment book. Chief Mandrake brought it back personally after Suggs closed the case. You’ll find it in the study on the desk.”

  “Did you discuss the case with Chief Mandrake?” Jack asked. “Perhaps tell him about your belief that Chris had been blackmailed?”

  “Oh, Nora,” Sarah called out just as the younger woman stepped inside. “I unlocked the file cabinet and removed the password on his laptop. You take it, dear. I have no use for it. It may help you.”

  Sarah turned back to Jack. “I did not discuss the case with the chief. We had some iced tea and talked about the good old days. Before the chief’s wife died several years ago—the four of us had some grand times. It seems so long …” She stopped talking and her face went blank as if a light had flickered off behind her eyes.

  “May I have some more of that grand iced tea,” Jack asked, “and another of your little sandwiches?”

  “Certainly,” she said. “Let me pour.” She made no move for the pitcher, but jiggled her head, as if her wiring had shorted, then stared out toward her rose garden.

  “I’m terribly ignorant about flowers,” Jack said. “Will you show me your garden?”

  “I would like that. The roses are my pride and joy.”

  The garden’s brick walkway had been set directly into the soil. Sarah held Jack’s arm while stooping to pick up a rose petal wedged between two of the bricks. “It is such a challenge to keep all of this looking just so,” she said. Her yard was as immaculate as the home had been inside. The stars of her garden were four rows of alternating white, pink, red, and yellow roses.

  “That bright red one near the middle I took from my mother’s garden after she died ten years ago. She was eighty-one and had remained a lady in the regal sense of the word, right to the end. Christopher gave me all the other roses.”

  The air was filled with the sound of the bees busily darting about the vines that climbed trellises along the side of the detached garage. The blossoms they visited reminded Jack of the lilacs his mother had grown when he was young. After a while the brick walkway circled around to bring them back to the roses.

  “Christopher worked the soil to keep it aerated and treated the roses to control the aphids. I come out here sometimes and sit in that garden chair,” she pointed, “near our roses and remember him.”

  “Your roses are beautiful.”

  “You’re a sweet man, Jack, just like my Christopher.” She absentmindedly reached up and touched the wrinkles in her cheek as if they were play buttons for her memories.

  When they were again seated, Jack asked about Chris’s friends.

  “I listed them on the statement I gave you.” She patted the envelope on the table. “I included a brief history of his relationship with each and their addresses and phone numbers—the ones I know about.” She sniffled and dabbed her nose with her hanky. “Because of his work, Christopher often socialized
without me. Those friends should be in his laptop.”

  “One thing I do know,” Jack said. “We’ll never have a client who is better organized or more cooperative.”

  Nora came out the back door. “You have a beautiful home, Sarah. I love your Early American furniture and your Persian rugs in the study and hallway.”

  “Thank you, dear. Do you have any questions?”

  Nora cleared her throat after briefly looking down. “I noticed your husband had a bedroom apart from yours.” She raised her eyes and looked directly at Sarah. “Why?”

  “My husband snored loudly and often worked late, so he used the bedroom downstairs near his study, and I the one upstairs on the opposite side. We had the same arrangement in our three-bedroom DC apartment, which also had two downstairs bedrooms, one he used as a study, I used the one upstairs.”

  “Do you still have the apartment?”

  “No. After Sergeant Suggs concluded suicide, the police released their hold—or whatever they call it—on the apartment. The manager had a new tenant waiting. I called Goodwill to donate the furniture.”

  “How do we contact your son?” Jack asked.

  “Donny’s information is on my statement, including his cell number. The best place to catch him is at his disgraceful Gentlemen’s Club, although I cannot imagine a gentleman going there. Christopher and I desperately tried to stop him from opening that loathsome place. It’s on M Street, just west of Foggy Bottom.”

  Jack stepped in close and held Sarah’s frail shoulders. “You won’t hear from us for a few days while we get organized. Call us if you think of anything else or just wanna talk. Okay?”

  She circled his arm with her own, grasping it as one might a steadying pole on a bus. “You both have been so kind.”

  Sarah escorted them to the side door from her sun porch. After touching the knob she let her hand slide off and turned back. “Nora, a few minutes ago I was less than forthright. You deserve the truth.” She stepped closer. “While Christopher did snore and work late, we did not—” She looked away, toward her rose garden. “We were no longer romantic with each other. I am afraid Christopher found me a bit prudish, probably with cause. I will go to my grave regretting I failed to deal with it. I am sorry I lied to you.”

  “I know that wasn’t easy.” Nora smiled. “Thank you for your honesty.”

  Jack put his hand in front of Nora just before they stepped beyond the cover of Sarah’s house—more a slowing than a stop. She paused while he looked left and right. It was an old habit born during a covert operation when, had it not been for a young Kurdish fighter, Jack would have walked right into the beginning of a firefight between Kurdish forces and Saddam Hussein’s Republican Guard. Since then he had habitually looked both ways when he came to corners. Street corners, corners of houses, store aisles, it didn’t matter. Before stepping into the open, he looked.

  A dark coupe was parked at the curb several houses to their right. The startled driver exhaled a large gray billow of cigar smoke against the side window, gunned his engine, and sped away before the smoke cleared enough for Jack to get a good look.

  In the street where that car had been parked, Jack found a spent wooden match snapped in two, a habit suggestive of an older driver, one not concerned with fashion.

  Chapter 7

  Jack was sitting at his desk early Wednesday morning reading newspaper stories that largely sounded like the ones he read every day: politicians blaming the other party rather than solving the nation’s problems, or politicians entangled in some kind of personal scandal.

  He gladly put the paper aside when he heard the front door opening. He got up and looked out to see DC’s chief of police, the lanky Harry Mandrake. The chief’s eyebrows were bushy and set farther apart than his eyes. Jack could not recall ever seeing anyone else with that particular facial feature.

  “Hello, Chief.”

  “I thought you might be an early riser,” Mandrake said. “Can we talk?”

  Jack motioned for him to come on back to his office. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Black’s fine.”

  While Jack poured, the chief settled into one of the oxblood leather chairs and lifted off his service cap. “I ran into Nora at the supermarket last night. She mentioned you had picked up a case that was going to keep you two pretty busy and so you were looking for a part-time receptionist. I’d like to talk with you about the position.”

  Jack lowered his cup. “We’re flattered, Chief, but at the risk of sounding indelicate, aren’t you a bit old for that job? And you’d have to take a pay cut—a big one.”

  The chief’s laugh echoed about Jack’s office.

  “Well, if you’re turning me down, how ‘bout my goddaughter, Mary Lou Sanchez? She’s a law student at Georgetown with one year to go. Clean cut and presentable. After graduation she’ll pursue a law enforcement career, maybe the DA’s office or even the FBI. She wants to follow in her papa’s footsteps. Her daddy, Tino Sanchez, was my partner all my years as a detective. When I became chief of police, I made him chief of detectives. Tino was killed in the line of duty.”

  The chief leaned forward resting his forearms on his knees, turning his hat on the ends of his fingers. “I guess I sort of adopted Mary Lou. Her life’s been rough since she lost her daddy. She’s a good kid, works hard and holds top grades at Georgetown. She would need you to work around her class schedule.”

  “If she’s right, no problem.”

  The chief’s cell phone rang. Jack started to get up, but the chief motioned him to stay. “Tell the mayor I’ll stop by on my way to the station.” The chief flipped his phone shut and turned back toward Jack. “I haven’t made up my mind how I feel about these damn cells. They’re supposed to be progress but I’m not so sure I always want to be connected.” He looked at his watch. “Christ, the day’s running away on me.”

  “Have Mary Lou stop by. I’ll be here all day.”

  The chief gulped the last of his coffee and left the empty cup on the corner of Jack’s desk. “I appreciate your agreeing to see her. Whether you hire her or not is your call.”

  “It’ll be my pleasure to meet Mary Lou.” Jack rose to walk the chief out, then asked, “Where’s her momma?”

  “She died giving birth to Mary Lou. You don’t think that happens anymore, but it does.” He started to say something else, but his mouth closed on the first word. Then he restarted, “She just bled out. Tino was all the family Mary Lou had until the job took him. Now she has none.”

  “Except for you,” Jack said, his hand clasping the chief’s shoulder.

  “I promised her papa,” he said, twirling his hat another half a turn. “I’m glad you’re back to work. It’ll be good for you.”

  Jack smiled and accompanied the chief to the elevators. After Mandrake stepped inside one, Nora stepped out of another. She wore an above-the-knee black skirt, a black blouse, black high-heeled shoes, and a blazer the color of yellow mustard, which sounds ugly but looked great.

  “And a good morning to you, Eleanor.”

  She smiled and punched Jack on the arm. “That’s the last time I want to hear that from you, mister.” When he turned to open the office door, she slapped him on the butt. “My name is Nora.”

  Jack wondered if his growing infatuation with his partner was because her body and style of dress reminded him of Rachel. Yesterday he had lingered near her long enough to breathe in her fragrance before walking away.

  “How ‘bout I get us some coffee,” she said, “and then we can talk about the Andujar case?”

  “I’ve got a cup,” he said. “I’ll get you one. But we’ve got something else first. Chief Mandrake asked that we interview his goddaughter, Mary Lou Sanchez, for our receptionist.”

  “I’ve met Mary Lou. She’s a cutie and talks mature for her age.”

  “I told the chief to have her come by this afternoon. I’m ready to hire her unless she flat turns us off. What do you think?”

  “I ag
ree.”

  Nora followed Jack into their case room and sat on the same side of the conference table, leaving a chair between them.

  “Give me your impressions on this Andujar case,” Jack asked, “then we’ll come up with a plan.”

  “Sarah must be the honorary grandmother of all the neat freaks in the world. I kept trying to find a towel hanging crooked on a rack or a book out of kilter on a shelf.”

  Jack laughed. “I’ve always suspected that Sarah had a secret side, something like an elder leader of the flower children of the sixties, but for as long as I’ve known her she has been exaggeratedly proper. She’s going through a difficult period right now and being overly fussy may bring her some comfort. It’ll pass.”

  Nora raised her eyebrows. “I know she’s special to you, but I sensed a hard broad lurking somewhere inside that sweet, old frail lady.” She opened her notebook. “I jotted down the titles of a couple of the books that were on the shelf in the study: Perversions of Infidelity, and The Symbolism of Sexual Mutilation.”

  “They probably belonged to Chris; his practice was sexual difficulties.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I guess the bottom line is,” Nora said, “if you want us to help her as a freebie, its okay with me.”

  “Chris Andujar did more for me than I could ever repay. I’ve gotta understand his death.”

  Nora leaned toward Jack, the light reflecting off her nylon-covered knee. “Where do we start?”

  Jack took a deep breath. “Donny Boy’s a jerk; I just hope he isn’t mixed up in it somehow. It’d break his momma’s heart.”

  “Remember his comment about Sarah’s shawl?” Nora said. “Donny hadn’t seen his mother since the funeral. Her son came by to size us up, and Sarah said she hadn’t told her son we were coming.” Nora slouched forward in her chair and crossed her arms, pushing her black bra and its mounded contents into sight. “Maybe he got a call from Smokehead in the coupe.”

  “Smokehead had to have been tailing us,” Jack said. “If he was tailing Donny he would’ve split when Donny left, and we’d have never seen him. But as you say, he might have called Donny to tell him we were at his mother’s.”