Second Shot, page 14
* * * *
The next morning, Jimmy found he could kill two birds with one out-of-town trip.
Stepping out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, he felt refreshed. Happy to have had a restful night. Rare for him, especially living with such turmoil over his cases. But that luncheon with Jonathan had produced a calm over him. The Portnoy’s were their own problem. Wu-Tin was the NYPD’s problem. He was back-up, and in a way, felt he was being used. So he made a resolution last night. However each case played out, he wasn’t responsible for either one. The guilty would fall on their own swords.
But as he woke and now dressed, he understood he had an obligation to these cases.
Fulfill them. Move on.
Before bedtime he’d tucked the badges back into their sack inside the safe. The gun, too.
He had his own code. One that didn’t require props, no matter how powerful they were.
Just before he was ready to leave, his phone rang, and rather than an unknown number, it was one he always loved to receive.
“Hey, Mal.”
“I hear your case took a bad turn.”
He hadn’t spoken to his sister since the discovery of Rebecca Portnoy’s body.
“More for Mrs. Portnoy than me.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Actually, I’m headed to Harrison this morning to meet with the detective assigned to the case.”
“Do you need representation?”
“Meaning you?”
“I am a lawyer.”
“I’ll come by afterward. I can handle this. I’m a tough guy.”
“You are the toughest gay private detective I’ve ever met.”
“We’re not that common,” Jimmy said.
“I’ll see you later.”
“Warn Hester I’m coming.”
“I heard that. My name is Grandma.”
“Sorry, I had you on speaker phone.”
Jimmy laughed and hung up, grabbed all that he needed, phone, charger, wallet, sunglasses, and made his way over to 11th Avenue, where he kept his junker of a car parked. Willie, whom he knew from school, was working the lot. He opened the metal gate and Jimmy slipped out, hitting the West Side Highway, just as he’d done most of the summer. Like he’d done the other night with Brenden, but of course, he hadn’t been in the driver’s seat. Control had been removed from him that night.
Thirty minutes he’d been guided by his GPS to the Harrison Police Station on North Street. Not your typical brick building, it actually looked more like someone’s ranch-style house. But it was welcoming, not just in structure but in personnel. Not quite Wrenn from the 10th Precinct, but the blonde woman behind the desk offered up a nice smile.
“Good morning,” she said. “How may I help you?”
More like customer service at a store. Not your usual greeting when you walk into a police station. No suspicion. Which made Jimmy suspicious.
“I’m here to see Detective Selfridge. My name is Jimmy McSwain.”
Her smile faded. “Oh, the Portnoy case. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
He wasn’t offered a seat because he didn’t need one. Selfridge emerged from behind a closed door barely seconds after the dispatch officer had put the phone receiver down. Calling central casting. Selfridge was round, balding, dressed in a suit that had seen better days. A seventies mustache accentuated the look. Dennis Franz without the Emmy.
“McSwain.”
“Selfridge.”
Might as well play along.
He was escorted through a long corridor into an interrogation room. Again, central casting. A bland table, horrible lighting, a window which was no doubt doubling as a mirror. Jimmy wondered who was on the other side. It didn’t matter. He’d done nothing wrong. This was purely informational, and he’d given as much as could the night of the murder. So why the follow-up? He supposed he was about to find out.
He was invited to take a seat. Told which one to take.
His eyes looked for the camera.
“McSwain, you’re here of your own free will. Willing to answer any questions we might have.”
“Within reason. I could insist on a lawyer.”
“Do you require one?”
“Let’s talk. See how this goes. I’ll respond to truth. I won’t speculate.”
Selfridge looked down at a yellow legal pad, where it seemed he’d made a series of notes. He wiped his brow. It was hot in this room, perhaps intentional, but Jimmy wasn’t feeling it. He’d been through this before. His jeans and T-shirt would get him through the heat.
“As you attested, you discovered the body of Rebecca Portnoy in the dining room of her house.”
“I did. I wasn’t alone. Brenden Hendricks, a lawyer and her son, was with me.”
“Indeed. Can you reiterate the reason for your presence there?”
“It was a dinner party. Its purpose still unclear to me. Mrs. Portnoy’s husband was there, his lawyer Bryon Streb, along with his associate Brenden Hendricks, too. They were the people who hired me to determine the identities of the twin brothers. The doctor attending to the husband’s twin, who lays in a coma. And then, of course, Mrs. Portnoy, and myself.”
“So, six of you.”
“That adds up.”
“One dead, five suspects.”
“Detective Selfridge, we went through all this the night of the killing. What’s changed?”
“Your alibi,” he bluntly said.
“Mine?”
“According to Chaz Portnoy and Bryon Streb, they were smoking cigars on the porch. Each have accounted for themselves during the time in question. Amanda Morgan was on the phone in the den with the Hammondsworth Institute, checking on the other Mr. Portnoy’s condition. We have the call record. Mrs. Portnoy was alone. And you, and Mr. Hendricks, you’d gone upstairs according to your account.”
“And his.”
“Yes, indeed. We noted your corroboration the night of the incident.”
“Murder.”
Selfridge ignored Jimmy’s revised word. “Can you detail me the reason the two of you went upstairs?”
“I’m investigating a case. As I said, there’s a mystery regarding the identity of the husband and the man in the coma. That night was my first chance to witness first-hand the scene of the crime—if indeed one had occurred. It might have been an accidental fall. Regardless of intent, the remaining family members stand to inherit a lot of money. I was looking for clues. Motive.”
“Except, your true reason for retiring to a bedroom afterward was…for what purpose?”
“Are you accusing me of something, Detective?”
“Just trying to establish a timeline. Mrs. Portnoy was found at eleven-eleven that night, Amanda Morgan having discovered the body. You have already stated you and Mr. Hendricks ran down the stairs moments later. Dr. Morgan admits she saw you in a state of…undress. Were you and Mr. Hendricks engaged in…shall we say, intimate relations?”
“Yeah, I’m not gonna say anything more. Because it’s none of your business.”
“I’ve spoken with the NYPD. Specifically Lieutenant Roscoe Barone. He vouched for you, on many fronts. You’re honorable, you’re persistent, and you are a trusted member of a private task force, involved in sensitive case.”
“All true.”
“And that you’re gay.”
Jimmy leaned forward. “Still true. Since this interview is being recorded, I assume you have no problem with that?”
A noticeable shift in body language. An eye drifted upward. Jimmy followed it, found the camera. “Um, will you admit that you and Mr. Hendricks were engaged in sexual activity in that bedroom?”
Jimmy imagined Mallory telling him to shut his mouth. If only Brenden had. “Detective, why don’t we stop wasting each other’s time. What the hell is the point of all this? I feel like we’re dancing around an issue, but you failed to provide the music.”
“Yeah, Barone told me you had a certain way of talking. Okay, here’s what’s going on. As the two of us sit here, the local jurisdiction is preparing an arrest warrant for Mr. Hendricks. For the murder of his mother, Rebecca Portnoy.”
“That’s ridiculous. If this is what it takes to stop this, yeah, we were together.”
“The entire time?”
That’s when Jimmy thought back to that night, and the way Brenden had led him upstairs, enticed him, dropped to his knees. How Brenden had unbuttoned his shirt to ensure he would need to clean himself up. Jimmy had been in the shower, but it had only been about three minutes, including drying off, and when he’d stepped out of the bathroom, Brenden had been on the bed, just as Jimmy had left him.
“You’re saying that in the three minutes I was in the shower, Brenden ran downstairs, grabbed a knife and stabbed his mother in cold-blood, then returned to the room where he’d just done…what he’d done.”
“Sounds like the perfect crime,” Selfridge said.
“But there was no blood on him. Wouldn’t he have been splattered as the knife hit her?”
“He could have covered himself. We’re doing a search of the property. There was no cloth on the table. Do you recall one when you all sat down to dinner.”
Indeed, there had been. Part of Becs’ elegant settings.
“Yes,” Jimmy said.
“Curious, isn’t it?”
“But is that enough for an arrest warrant?”
“Others could be in danger, McSwain, especially if he’s desperate for the money.”
“What are you saying, Brenden lured me upstairs?”
“Thus establishing an alibi.”
“But if he did it, that means…” Jimmy knew the word, he just couldn’t say it. Not about a man whom he’d slept with.
Selfridge said it instead. “Rebecca Portnoy’s murder was premeditated.”
Chapter 10
Way better than being greeted by a bulldog like Detective Selfridge, Jimmy was happy to receive a bouncing leap by Shade, Mallory’s adorable Black Lab. His tongue licked Jimmy’s face, happily wagging his long tail. Mallory McSwain was standing on the edge of the porch, cane in hand, a reminder of all she’d been through. A smile on her face a reminder of all she could look forward to, little sign of what she’d been through.
“I thought you might cancel,” she said.
“I know my priorities. What, you don’t want to see me??”
“It’s just I know my brother. He lives by motives.”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“The Portnoy Case?”
“You’ve certainly thrown me a curve with this. Too complicated, too fast.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“I don’t think I should burden you. Concentrate on your recovery.”
“Have you ever met a McSwain woman?”
It wasn’t the McSwain side of the family that intimidated Jimmy. It was the Byrnes, of which Mallory was exhibiting much of their forceful nature lately. From Hester to Maggie, even Uncle Paddy, there was a no-can’t-do approach to life, with Mallory leading the charge for the next generation. Meaghan had her own spirit. He liked to think she was more McSwain.
“Hester around?”
“Grandma’s inside.”
“I’ll say hello.”
“I’ll wait here, and then we can go for a walk. Talk.”
“What makes you think I need to talk?”
“Your eyes. Your thoughts are stuck in your head, I can see them wanting to spill out.”
“Give me a couple minutes.”
Jimmy hopped up onto the porch of the small cottage, opened the screen door. Warm still in this second week of September, so the second door wasn’t yet needed. Probably got cold at night, as autumn approached and the cool air swirled, especially up here near the lake. Jimmy entered the house where he’d spent much of his summer. His grandmother was sitting in her usual chair, a high-back wooden frame, with a cushion beneath her. A pillow on her lap, hands clasped over it. She seemed so peaceful. Rare for her. He realized she was asleep.
No wonder she hadn’t reacted to when he’d asked if Hester was around.
Unsure what to do, not wanting to disturb her, he started back toward the door. A floorboard creaked.
“I know it’s you, Jimmy.”
“Sorry if I woke you. Didn’t realize you were sleeping.”
“Just had my eyes closed. Makes thinking easier. Increases my hearing, too.”
Hester Byrne missed nothing. It’s what he loved about her. Sort of what he feared, too.
“Got a tough case?”
“Comes with the territory.”
“How’s Frisano?”
“He’s not involved in this case,” Jimmy said.
“No, but he is with your other one.”
Jimmy returned to his grandmother’s side, bent down and placed a kiss on her cheek. She touched his cheek, scratched his beard.
“Let me guess, you don’t like it. Just like Ma.”
“Jimmy McSwain, from the moment you were born, you did what you wanted. Lived by your own decisions, your own code. Be yourself.” She paused, then lifted a finger. “As for your mother, she’s always possessed everyone’s opinions.”
“Where’d she get that from, Hester?”
“Don’t push it, kid.” But she smiled, too. “Go, talk with Mallory.”
“You’re the best.”
“You bet I am,” Hester said.
Jimmy returned to the outside to see that Mallory had leashed Shade in his red harness, indicating they were ready for a walk. Jimmy asked if he could take the leash. Mallory handed it over, which gave her greater mobility with the cane. No comment on her giving in so easily, it was a reminder to him to not push her too far.
They strolled, the dog happily leading them. His tail wagging, his eyes bright, excited. A simple life. Want to trade places? But Shade’s infectious enthusiasm gave the lakeside setting a brighter glow, with the sun beaming through the trees, still leafy. By next month, the foliage would have burst with burnt colors. No one was about, many of the cottages closed up for the season. In the distance, Jimmy could see the lake, languid waters on this calm day. Such a lovely place, about to be darkened by talk of law, death, distrust.
Mallory spoke first. “I thought this was a simple will probate, a couple questions and you could secure a nice paycheck.”
“I find your law firm likes to complicate matters. Billable hours keep the lights on,” Jimmy said, his cynicism on full display. “How well do you know this Byron Streb?”
“He came on after my…you know. But I’ve had contact with the firm in the past month, and one of my girlfriend associates was telling me about this case. She works with Streb, I guess as a paralegal. She mentioned how he had brought on this new attorney…”
“Brenden Hendricks.”
“Right, sort of to replace me. Or, fill in for me. Streb had taken over for Mr. Rothschild.”
“If you know, who brought the Portnoy case to the firm? Streb or Hendricks?”
“I think Brenden. It’s what got him hired. The money they would make on the case was too good to pass up. But it came with hiring Brenden, otherwise he would take the lucrative account to another firm.”
“So Brenden blackmailed them into a job.”
“Got them to sign a contract with him, guaranteed employment for five years.”
“He’s sharp.”
“I heard about what happened. Rebecca Portnoy stabbed at her own dinner party?”
“That’s what brings me back upstate. I just came from an interrogation with a Detective Selfridge of the Harrison Police Department. We had an interesting chat. There were only six of us at the party, which means five suspects, myself included. I have a sort of alibi.”
“Sort of?”
“Process of elimination. Brenden was the victim’s son.”
“Oh.”
“And the doctor at Hammondsworth caring for either Chaz or Bas was her daughter.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Brenden has maybe a three-minute window when he wasn’t in my sight. The police have their suspicion that he used that brief window to slide a knife into her.”
It was perhaps too much of a visual, Jimmy recognizing that Mallory had nearly taken a misstep. Still unsteady on her feet, Jimmy grabbed at her elbow, but she pushed him away, saying she was fine, she’d stepped on a rock. As they were coming up to Peach Lake’s community park and its classic gazebo, complete with latticing and wooden benches, they decided to sit. He helped Mallory up the three steps, watched as she settled uneasily onto the bench. The cane was still a third leg. As if sensing her pain, Shade lay down by his mistresses feet, offering comfort.
Jimmy felt he was doing the opposite. Burdening her with problems she didn’t need to be distracted by..
“Let’s talk about you,” Jimmy said.
“In a second. I’ve got one more question for you.”
“What’cha got?”
“Did you sleep with Brenden?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because he told someone, and that someone told me.”
“Mallory, if I can be perfectly frank.”
“Interesting choice of word, given the topic now.”
It was a stinging comment, but Jimmy gave it a pass. “Here’s what I’ll say about Brenden Hendricks. He’s good…and no, I don’t mean in that regard. He’s a manipulator, one who fails to tell the truth about his motives. I got used. I fell for his act, but not because I was hot for him. I had my own motives.”
“To be Frank about it.”
Of all the McSwain women, Mallory had liked Frank Frisano the best, and she’d always told Jimmy to stop being so obstinate about their obstacles. Granted, the last one had hit hard, but as Mallory had told him over the summer, “you’d just accomplished a lifelong goal of finding out who killed Dad. You had closure. Frisano, on the other hand, was going through a life change. Trying to be brave about the truth within himself. He failed on first attempt.” Jimmy had not forgotten those words, and they resonated now.
“Okay, let’s forget the mess that is my love life. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She didn’t even hesitate. “I’m coming home. I’m ready.”
Maybe emotionally. But she still had physical limitations, making Jimmy inwardly think this wasn’t the best idea. But he remained silent.
