Bake Me a Murder Page 4

  His voice level, he said, “The tow truck will be here in ten minutes. I’ll wait with you.”

  Still the gentleman. I blinked, surprised. My shoes smelled up his car, ruined his mats, and I could’ve gotten him injured or arrested.

  Silence fell over us again. I couldn’t stand it. “Look, I’m sorry for tonight and for the mess I made in your car. I’ll clean the mats myself if you want.”

  “You don’t need to do that. As for tonight, I asked to come along. I just wish you hadn’t brought your work into my car.” He smirked.

  Grateful he still had a sense of humor, I joked, “Bet you can’t wait for our next date.”

  He came back with, “Yeah? How could our third date top this one? We join the circus?”

  I didn’t have anything. Just as well, since the tow truck pulled up.

  A short time later, the mechanic had Bob running like a youngster. The guy wiped his hands. “Battery is about dead. Keep the car running until you get to a garage and get it replaced.”

  I didn’t know where I’d find money for a battery. My fear of choosing between living with my father again or in a cardboard box hit me. “Thanks. Um, how much do I owe you?” I hoped my credit card wasn’t over its limit. I already had enough humiliation for one night.

  He waved my question away and tilted his chin toward Alex. “It’s taken care of.” He repositioned his baseball cap. “Better get it looked at right away.” The mechanic climbed inside his truck and drove off, leaving Alex and me alone.

  I felt stupid and awkward. Hands shoved in my pockets, I gazed at my shuffling, smelly shoes. I forced myself to stand tall and made eye contact with Alex. “Thank you. Thank you very much.” I stifled myself, realizing I sounded like a bad Elvis impersonator.

  Alex opened my car door. “You’re welcome.” He rubbed his eyes. Poor guy looked dead on his feet. “It’s late. I’ll follow you home. Make sure you get there.”

  It was almost midnight, but I had paperwork to do and I wasn’t a bit tired, plus there was a Tire and Battery place across the street from my office. “That’s great, but instead of home, could you follow me to my office?”

  I put on my seatbelt, wanting to curse Bob out, but scared he’d sabotage me more, like dropping his motor on the road.

  True to his word, Alex followed me into the parking lot behind my office. I waved to him. He honked his horn and drove off.

  Having a third date with Alex seemed about as likely as me riding to work on a unicorn.

  Chapter Four

  Wednesday, 8:00 a.m.

  Corrigan called, disturbing my nap on my worn-out sofa. “Claire, it’s Brian. Where’s your client?”

  Drowsy, I thought he meant Hank Dorkowsky. “Probably cuddling with his dog.”

  “Heard about that. No. I’m talking about Merle Pokov. Has he contacted you?”

  I was awake now. “I haven’t heard from him since yesterday afternoon.” I dug out the crumpled list of attorneys Alex had given me.

  He huffed. “I called his cell and his work number and got voicemail both times. Tried Ed and got his voicemail. You have another number for Merle?”

  “No. Just the ones you have.”

  “Okay. If and when he calls you, let me know. If he’s calling you from a new number, I want that number.”

  The hairs on my neck stood at full attention. “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Police business.” He chuckled. “You don’t need to do anything. I heard from one of our city’s finest: you’ve got your own work. Dog doody.”

  “So funny.” My ears burned and must have been fire engine red. I imagined the belly laugh he’d gotten when he found out about my run-in with Dorkowsky. I wished I had a comedian writing me good comebacks because I could never think of any.

  “I’m sorry that case went bad, Claire. Just relieved the guy didn’t clobber you with his bat. I guess I should be glad Carpenter was there. But I’d rather have been the guy with you.”

  Despite still being irritated at him, my insides went a little soft. You smooth talker. As usual, he said more than he should. “But that’s not important right now. Pokov needs to turn up. Right away.”

  “Yes, sir.” I wished he could have seen me mock salute him. “Gotta go.” Before Corrigan could respond, I ended the call and headed out to take care of my car.

  Bob started up after a couple of prayers and three separate tries and I drove across the street to Tire and Battery. Since I was their first customer of the day, the guy behind the desk assured me the job would take no time at all.

  I paid cash for the battery, using crinkled dollars and change covered with fuzz from the bottom of my purse. Short fifty cents, but by that time the guy waiting behind me donated two quarters.

  Driving off, Bob purred, no doubt pleased with his new power.

  In the car, I dialed the phone numbers Merle had given me. Two had full mailboxes. The third rang but nobody picked up. Worry spread through me like red wine on a white sofa. Maybe he left town.

  I dialed Ed hoping he’d be on one of his every-ten-minutes breaks. My shoulders relaxed when he answered.

  “No worries, kiddo. Merle’s at his folk’s place down in Medina County. He goes there a lot to check up on them. The only one of the three kids who cares about them. Anyway, he called off work, didn’t even take his cell phone.” Ed gave me the number.

  Corrigan would get to talk with Merle but I wanted first dibs.

  An ancient-sounding woman answered my call. “Merle isn’t here.”

  “This is Claire DeNardo. Please, he needs to talk to me.”

  I heard murmurs in the background and a rustling noise. “Claire. Sorry I didn’t let you know where I was. Wanted to make sure my parents were okay. Plus, I just couldn’t deal with everything that’s going on.”

  “I understand, but Detective Corrigan doesn’t.”

  He sighed. “What does he want?”

  “He probably has more questions. Call him. Then get back to me right away.”

  After we hung up, I wondered if Merle was hiding something. I dismissed the suspicion. He was Ed’s cousin. He seemed like a good guy. They all do, in the beginning.

  Five, then ten minutes passed without my phone ringing. My hand itched to dial Merle’s number again, but I resisted. Before Corrigan called, I had planned on heading home to catch a few hours of sleep, but this fishiness with Merle had me on edge. I spun Bob around and drove back to my office.

  Both my desk phone and cell phone were ringing as I walked through my office door. The call on the landline was from Gino. I let that go into voicemail. The other was from Corrigan. I answered that one.

  No hello. “Did you find him yet?”

  A warning bell inside my head had been a soft ping. Now it became the ringing of Big Ben. “He didn’t call you?”

  “Where is he, Claire?”

  “He’s staying at his parent’s place somewhere in Medina County. I got the phone number from Ed, but not the address. What’s going on?”

  He ignored my question and asked his own. “Did you warn him? If you did—”

  My voice rose along with my concern. “Warn him about what? Are you going to arrest him?”

  “Give me the phone number.”

  “Only if you tell me why this extra interest in him.” My voice quivered a bit.

  “You’re interfering with a criminal investigation, Claire.” He paused. “Okay. A witness came forth. Coco had been at Merle’s apartment the day she was killed.”

  My stomach did a nosedive. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.” Corrigan huffed. “Claire? He doesn’t need a PI. He needs a good lawyer.”

  “Now you’re going to tell me to drop the case.” I tensed, readying myself for a verbal battle.

  “But you’re not willing to do that, are you? Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You’re right. I can’t do that to Ed. Plus, Merle’s grief over Coco’s death seemed genuine. And why go to the expense of hi
ring a PI if you’ve killed someone?”

  “None of what you’ve said proves anything. A lot of murderers are psychopaths. They can produce any kind of emotion that will serve them. But they don’t feel any of it.”

  “Spare me your Psych 101 lesson. Merle isn’t a psychopath.”

  Corrigan snorted. “Okay, Doctor DeNardo.”

  I ignored his dig. “I’m sure Merle wasn’t at home when Coco arrived.”

  “Doctor and now lawyer? What’s next? Indian Chief?” Not missing his irritation.

  “No. I just think—”

  “I’m not going to argue with you. Let me have his number.”

  Much as I loathed doing so, I relinquished the information. It was silent for a moment on his end and I thought he’d hung up. But no. “If he comes to you before I get hold of him, you let me know.” He hung up without even a goodbye.

  Hoping to beat Corrigan’s call to Merle, I punched in his parents’ number for the second time. Not calling Corrigan made it look worse for Merle. Went right into voice mail and I crammed my words together. “Merle, Corrigan has your phone number. If you get this message before he calls you, please, please call him.”

  I held the phone against my cheek wondering why I’d disagreed with Corrigan. My gut screamed Merle wasn’t the murderer and I needed to do whatever I could to prove it. Okay, it was more than my belief in his innocence. It was also my need to defend those who can’t defend themselves. “Liberty and justice for all.”

  My office phone rang, interrupting my channeling the Founding Fathers. It was Gino again.

  “Hey, Claire. How ya doin’? Paid a visit to Venus Trap. Man, I seen better looking females at a kennel.”

  Gino never was one for political correctness. “Did you find anything?”

  “Yeah. Piano player liked to talk. He remembered Coco. Says she was a sweet kid until Rico Carreras, came along. Guy sold dope, some ecstasy. Allegedly got in with some mobster in Newark and added meth and crack, and most likely, heroin.”

  When he mentioned Rico’s New Jersey connection my heart hiccoughed. “Was the mobster Michael Bucanetti?” I’d already had some not-so-pleasant encounters with Alex’s uncle in the Corrozza case.

  “Yeah, that’s the guy. You know him?”

  “We’re acquainted.” I didn’t want to go into how. Why bring back old bad memories when new ones kept forming? “Go on.”

  “Coco stayed away from the hard stuff but she did smoke weed and Rico kept her supplied. When he got busted, she took off. Piano man didn’t know where to.”

  The wheels in my brain turned and I wondered if when Rico was released, he moved up to Cleveland. But that would violate his parole. Like he’d care? “That’s great information, Gino. Anything else?”

  “Only one thing. He didn’t say it, but piano man had a thing for Coco. Never went anywhere, I guess.”

  “Thanks, Gino. I hate to ask, but can you do me one more favor?”

  “You want me to find Rico?”

  “Yeah. Would you?” I slouched, like I always do when feeling like I’m taking advantage of someone.

  “Nothing else to do. Besides, I’m enjoying this.”

  “Great. Appreciate it, Gino.”

  I hung up and dialed Ed. He needed to hear what Corrigan was thinking. I only hoped Corrigan hadn’t gotten to him first.

  Chapter Five

  Wednesday, 11:00 a.m.

  “Ed, it’s Claire. Call me as soon as you get this message. It’s about Merle.” I hung up and called the number of the house in Medina County.

  The same elderly woman answered and I identified myself. In a high pitched and shaky voice she said, “Like I told Ed and that cop, Merle’s gone. He went to clear himself of killing that floozy he got tangled up with.”

  My legs refused to hold me steady and I sat on the client chair. “When did he leave?”

  “What? What’d you say?” Her television in the background was so loud, the woman couldn’t hear me.

  I yelled, “When did he leave?”

  “About half an hour ago. The news was still on. He watches it with me whenever—”

  “Thank you so much.” I hung up before she could tell me about the show. Catching Merle would prove to be more exciting than any television program.

  I tried Ed again and this time he picked up. “On my way to Merle’s apartment. I know he left his parent’s place and he didn’t go into work.”

  Relief I wasn’t the only one worried about Merle washed over me. “Do you know about Corrigan?”

  “That he’s looking for Merle? Yeah, and it ain’t to compare chicken soup recipes. He’s got it wrong though. Merle would never hurt anyone, least of all Coco. You believe that, don’t you? My God, the guy takes care of his parents and works at a homeless shelter on his time off.”

  With Merle’s disappearance I found it a little harder to keep the faith, but didn’t want Ed to know. “Sure. But it doesn’t look good that he’s MIA.”

  Ed exhaled. “Got a point there.”

  My phone beeped. “Another call is coming in. Keep me posted.”

  I hit the button on the phone. It was Merle. “Claire, I’m outside the Cleveland First District Police Station.”

  Good thing I hadn’t had breakfast. It would’ve made a second appearance just then. “Is Corrigan with you?”

  “No. I’m turning myself in. Can you come down?”

  I pushed my hair from my face. I wanted to help Merle, had assured Ed I would, but this was more than I bargained for. “You need a lawyer, not a PI. I’ve got that list I promised you. I’ll pick one for you. That’s the best I can do right now.” I added, “That and notify Ed and he can follow up.”

  All of a sudden my conscience slapped me so hard my face burned. What about my promise to help him? I couldn’t let him down. “Know what? Changed my mind. I’ll bring the list with me and we can discuss it.”

  Merle’s voice broke. “Thank you. I, I don’t know what else to say, but thank you.”

  I closed my eyes. The gratitude in his words pricked my heart and I vowed to do whatever it took to prove his innocence. I called Ed, explained the situation, and asked him to meet me at the police station.

  He sucked air in like he was going deep sea diving. “No can do right now. My boss is breathing down my neck. Says I’m taking too many breaks and it’s destroying the department’s morale. More like wreaking his chances for a raise. Kiddo, I know Merle’s my blood and I’d spill mine for him, but…”

  Although I was scared I couldn’t, I pushed myself to say, “It’s okay, Ed. I can handle it by myself.” Before I could change my mind, I ended the call. Instead of heading to the station I pulled over, took out the list, and dialed the name of the lawyer Alex had starred.

  A man answered on the first ring. “Harold Goldfarb.”

  Taken aback by a lawyer answering his own phone, I stammered. Probably sounded like an idiot. “Oh, uh, Mr. Goldfarb, um. You don’t know me, but…” I cleared my throat and started over. “This is Claire DeNardo, private investigator. I have a client who needs your expertise right away.” Expecting him to insist he had a full caseload I hesitated, waiting for rejection.

  “Go on.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “Pardon?”

  “I said, go on.” His voice was low and even. I imagined him to be the kind who would’ve drawn up the seating chart for inside the Trojan Horse.

  I ran through the details of the case for him. He interrupted only twice for clarification. When I paused for a breath, he said, “I’m willing to represent Mr. Pokov if he approves.”

  “I’m sure he will.” We agreed to meet at the police station as soon as possible. I hung up feeling like Atlas would have if someone took the world off his shoulders. I didn’t realize we hadn’t discussed fees until I was in Bob, driving to the station.

  I tapped the steering wheel with my fingernails and my mind spun. Why was Goldfarb so willing to grant a request from a PI he’d never heard of to defend an
unknown client suspected of murder? One that may or may not want him or be able to pay him.

  Another driver honked at me, breaking my thoughts up. The light had turned green and I sped toward the police station, pulling into the parking lot behind a dark green car with more rust on it than any I’d seen outside a junkyard.

  I was tugging on my jammed seatbelt when the teenaged owner approached my car.

  “Ms. DeNardo?”

  “Yes?” I waited, hoping Goldfarb hadn’t sent his son to bow out.

  The kid stuck out his hand. “Harold Goldfarb. We spoke earlier.”

  My eyes widened. “You’re Harold Goldfarb, the attorney?” I managed an uneasy smile. “Sorry, I pictured you differently.” Like twenty years older.

  He laughed. “Everyone does. But I can assure you, no matter appearances, Mr. Pokov will get the best defense possible.”

  How was I going to explain choosing someone to defend Merle whose voice had probably just changed? What was Alex thinking when he assured me Goldfarb was one of the best?

  “Shall we go in?”

  I nodded and hoped maybe I’d wake up and realize this nightmare was because I’d eaten one too many éclairs. I should have checked this guy out myself. Instead, I’d forgotten that the ‘I’ in PI stood for investigator.

  Harold’s bouncy step contrasted with my shuffle. I felt ancient next to him. Ancient and stupid. I’d been right telling Merle I couldn’t help him.

  Harold Goldfarb and I both identified ourselves and were escorted to a room with a closed door. The officer with us knocked and opened it. I tried to see in, but the cop’s body blocked my view and announced Harold’s presence. He ignored mine.

  Before I could amend that slight, Harold crossed in front of me, charged into the room and said, “Gentlemen, I’m Merle Pokov’s attorney. Has my client been charged with anything?”

  Corrigan, elbows bent and resting on the table, shirt sleeves rolled up, cocked his head. “Not yet.”

  Harold strode into the interrogation room leaving me to hold the door open. “Then he’s done talking to you. Let’s go, Mr. Pokov.”