Lion & Lamb, page 7
One other thing, boss—and this may be nothing, but I wanted to mention it anyway: Francine Pearl Hughes does a lot of singing around the house. Her own hits, but also older show tunes and stuff from the Great American Songbook. This is not surprising, of course, because Ms. Hughes is a singer, and I’m sure she’s keeping her vocal cords in shape. Could be just habit. But is this the behavior of a woman in mourning for her husband?
More updates as I learn them. As I type these words, however, I hear there’s a visitor to the Hughes home—your old friend Veena Lion is there to talk to the nanny.
Chapter 25
4:37 p.m.
“THANKS FOR agreeing to speak with me, Ms. Rain.”
“Of course. Ms. Hughes thought I could help. I just have one request, and this is on the advice of the family lawyer. Please don’t record this interview.”
Veena Lion pretended to give it some thought. “Okay, I won’t.”
While Veena paused, she took a quick mental snapshot of Maya Rain, who did not appear to be your stereotypical home-wrecker. Her lithe body was clad in a tailored Banana Republic top and pants—rugged enough for someone who chased after children all day, classy enough for a member of the Hughes household’s staff.
“Can you say that out loud?” Rain said, smiling.
“You want me to say that I’m not recording our conversation?”
“Thank you.”
As a rule, Veena recorded all of her conversations. This was a matter of habit as well as personal protection. She was forever in pursuit of the truth, and while the truth could be twisted, tape never lied. But something told Veena it was best to relax that rule for the moment.
Veena matched Maya’s warm smile with one of her own. “How did you come to work for the Hughes family?”
“Everybody in town has a salacious story about that,” Maya said, blushing a little. “You know, rumors that Archie picked me up while I was waiting tables at Gullifty’s or stripping at Delilah’s or something along those lines.”
“Is that where you were working before you came to take care of the kids?”
“Which one, the family restaurant or the high-end strip club?”
Veena could tell Maya was teasing her. “You tell me.”
“The truth is much more boring than that, I’m afraid. I’m working toward my master’s in psychology at Villanova, and my adviser recommended me for the job. There was a lot of competition from people in the department because, you know, the Eagles and all that. But I’m not even a football fan.”
“Don’t let anyone hear you say that in this town,” Veena said.
“Tell me about it! It’s better to admit you’re a mass murderer or something.”
“Did you grow up on the Main Line?”
“No. Pretty much the opposite of the Main Line—Buckhannon, West Virginia. Ever hear of it?”
“I’m afraid not,” Veena lied. She recalled the 2006 mining disaster near Buckhannon that took a dozen lives, and she’d seen a documentary focusing on the town’s opioid epidemic. And she could hear echoes of Appalachia in Maya’s voice, which Maya took great pains to hide. She probably hadn’t become “Maya Rain” until she’d crossed the state line into Pennsylvania.
“Then you’re just like everyone else,” Maya said, examining the tops of her shoes. “I’ll admit, Buckhannon doesn’t have a lot going for it. I spent years saving up my babysitting money so I could escape. And strangely enough, all of that work landed me here, taking care of the sweetest children in the world.”
“Here’s what bothers me,” Veena said.
Maya’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”
“You’re too good to be true.”
“I’ve been told that,” Maya said. She laughed. “But all I do is clean up messes. It’s pretty simple, really.”
“Seriously, though, do you enjoy your work with the Hughes family?”
“Are you kidding? Archie and Maddie are amazing. Even now—especially now, going through the shock and grief of losing Archie…” She seemed to search for words. “I hope that someday I’ll be as strong as Mrs. Hughes and those kids. Want to meet them?”
Chapter 26
VEENA KNEW the kids were a deflection, but she went along with it; she’d wanted to meet them anyway. The boy was in sixth grade, and the girl—who was a miniature version of her famous mother—was a kindergartner. Both were absorbed in their handheld devices and barely noticed Veena’s entrance.
“This is Miss Veena Lion,” Maya said. “She’s a private investigator who is working with the district attorney.”
“Rowrr,” Maddie said, then collapsed into giggles.
The son, Archie Jr., looked up. “You’re helping the DA find out who did this.”
“I’m trying my best, Archie,” Veena replied. “What are you watching on your phone?”
“Just some stuff on YouTube.”
“The hour before dinner is device time,” Maya explained. “I don’t want you thinking the worst of me.”
“No judgments here. I live on my phone.”
“The police asked us lots of questions already,” Archie Jr. said. As he lowered his phone Veena stole a glance at the screen. Based on the graphics and framing, the boy was watching some sort of true-crime show.
“Yeah? What kinds of things did they ask you?”
Maya rubbed Archie Jr.’s shoulders. “You should probably wash up before dinner.”
“Lions go rowrr,” Maddie said, then giggled again.
“That’s right, they do.”
“Do all private eyes have animal names?” Archie Jr. asked.
Responding to Veena’s puzzled expression, Maya said, “A colleague of yours was by earlier today.”
“Ah, Mr. Cooper Lamb,” Veena said, nodding.
“Lambs go baaaaa and lions go rowrr,” Maddie announced. “Do you know his dog, Loopy? He’s so cute!”
“I know Lupe, and he is indeed adorable,” Veena said. “But watch out for Mr. Lamb. Sometimes big bad wolves like to hide in sheep’s clothing.”
This caught Maya’s attention, just as Veena had intended it to.
Chapter 27
HIGHLY CONFIDENTAL
EYES OF THE POLICE COMMISSIONER ONLY
Dear Madam Commissioner:
A quick update on the Roy Nguyen situation.
I know speculation has run wild in the media. It’s understandable—first, someone murders Archie Hughes, then, barely two days later, his former personal chef is badly beaten and shot. (I’m keeping in constant touch with the hospital, by the way, and will let you know the moment his condition improves…or worsens.)
This is why I immediately drove to Ardmore to learn what I could from the Lower Merion PD. Cutting to the chase, this appears to have nothing whatsoever to do with the Archie Hughes murder.
From what I hear, Nguyen is big into sports gambling. And while it’s true that he had a lot of money riding on the Birds this year, I understand he owes quite a bit all over town. It’s messy, but it could explain why a well-known chef would have taken a high-paying gig in the Hughes home.
I spoke to the Lower Merion detectives and forensics team. They’re still working on their report, but it’s clear that the attack was about intimidation, and things rapidly escalated. There were signs of a pretty brutal struggle inside Nguyen’s apartment (broken furniture, doors) that spilled over into the hallway, where the chef was shot in the chest twice, at close range.
If this were a professional hit, Nguyen wouldn’t have heard him/them coming, much less had the opportunity to fight him/them off. (It’s possible there were multiple attackers, but all signs point to a single perp.)
My unofficial take: A leg-breaker showed up to scare some money out of Nguyen. The chef fought back, which caught the leg-breaker by surprise. Things spiraled out of control. The leg-breaker pulled a gun, at which point Nguyen probably tried to take it away. Two shots to the chef’s chest later, the leg-breaker hightailed it out of there. (Again, had this leg-breaker been a pro, he would have made sure Nguyen was dead.)
I want to assure you that I will follow every detail of this case as it develops to see if there are any solid connections with the Hughes murder. But at this point, my gut is telling me no.
And like my dad used to say: “When your gut is talking, listen to it. Then go eat something.”
Yours,
Det. Michael Bernstein
Chapter 28
Transcript of conversation between Detective Michael Bernstein and Glenn Sable, co-owner of the Philadelphia Eagles
GLENN SABLE: Mickey, my man. What’s up?
MICHAEL BERNSTEIN: I don’t know yet. I’m calling you from Ardmore. Maybe that will tell you something.
SABLE: What the hell’s in Ardmore?
BERNSTEIN: A personal chef who may have baked his last soufflé.
SABLE: Shit, the Asian guy? Is he gonna make it?
BERNSTEIN: It’s kind of touch and go. He’s young, though, and I’ve seen people pull through worse than this.
SABLE: How could it be worse? I heard he took two in the heart.
BERNSTEIN: Two in the chest. Bullets are funny things. They can follow all kinds of paths in a human body.
SABLE: You have the chance to, uh, talk to the chef?
BERNSTEIN: Glenn, the dude’s unconscious.
SABLE: No, no, I mean before. Like, about the other thing.
BERNSTEIN: It wasn’t on my to-do list. Listen, my friend, I have to ask, just to make sure…
SABLE: Ask what?
BERNSTEIN: How much was the chef into you for?
SABLE: Hold on a sec. You think we had someone do this?
BERNSTEIN: Look, I’m not judging, I’m just asking. I told you before, I need to know everything, no matter how minor.
SABLE: Far as I know, the chef was current. I didn’t even know he was part of our thing until my dad told me.
BERNSTEIN: So you had nothing to do with…
SABLE: Screw you, of course we had nothing to do with this!
BERNSTEIN: Glenn, calm the hell down, okay? And don’t get me wrong, this was not anything professional. But it does look an awful lot like someone paid the chef a visit to smack him around a little, and things went haywire. I just want to be sure I know all of the details before I, you know, massage things.
SABLE: You want a massage, Mickey, go to a rub-and-tug. Don’t call me up and accuse me of this bullshit. What, did I offend your tender sensibilities?
BERNSTEIN: No, man, I’m just sitting here enjoying my afternoon.
SABLE: Look, I’m sorry. I know how hard you’re working. Things are just tense around here. I’ve got private eyes up my ass—
BERNSTEIN: Who?
SABLE: You know. The sheep guy.
BERNSTEIN: (Chuckling) You mean Cooper Lamb?
SABLE: Yeah, him. He’s working for Francine, so I gotta play nice, but there’s a guy I’d like to put through a wall.
BERNSTEIN: A lot of people feel the same way.
SABLE: Then maybe somebody should do something about it.
BERNSTEIN: I’ll look into it.
SABLE: Yeah, you do that.
Chapter 29
Transcript of encrypted message exchange between private Veena Lion and Janie Hall
JANIE HALL: Hey, V., you know that chef you interviewed earlier today?
VEENA LION: Oh, did April find him a job already?
HALL: What job? No. Veena, this is important: He’s over at Lankenau. Someone beat the hell out of him and then shot him twice. You there? You’ve been typing a long time…
LION: Is Roy alive?
HALL: I’m waiting for a call back from one of the nurses. She’s a friend from high school, a straight shooter, so she’ll give me the real deal.
LION: Okay, I’m headed there now. Give me any updates as soon you hear.
HALL: Of course. But V., be careful out there.
LION: I appreciate that, but I’m not the person who was attacked.
HALL: Sure, but the person who did the attacking is still out there. And he might have been watching Chef Nguyen. More to the point, he might have watched you meeting with Chef Nguyen just a few hours ago.
Chapter 30
Transcript of Detective Michael Bernstein’s recorded interview with Justin Sugarman, aka Shuggie, currently residing in a homeless camp on Lemon Hill
MICHAEL BERNSTEIN: Justin? Hey, man, you around? I’m looking for Justin Sugarman!
JUSTIN “SHUGGIE” SUGERMAN: Quiet down, yo, I’m tryin’ to sleep.
BERNSTEIN: That you, Justin? It’s your old pal Mickey Bernstein!
SHUGGIE: Man, stop that Justin shit. You know everyone calls me Shuggie.
BERNSTEIN: Ah, there you are. Come on out, let me see that pretty face. How’s it going, Shuggie?
SHUGGIE: Living my best life, man. You know me. The usual ups and downs. Mostly downs, if I’m being honest. But I don’t let that keep me down, if you know what mean.
BERNSTEIN: I don’t understand half the shit you say, if I’m being honest. But I think you can help me out with something.
SHUGGIE: No way, man. I don’t help the police. Y’all hear that? (Shouts) I don’t help law enforcement, like, ever!
BERNSTEIN: Save the outrage, Shuggie. No one else is around right now. Who could handle all the raccoons and garbage?
SHUGGIE: No, that’s cool, man. You always insult people whose help you desperately need?
BERNSTEIN: Often as I can. Did you happen to see Archie Hughes’s Maserati a few nights ago?
SHUGGIE: Come on, man. Get out of my camp.
BERNSTEIN: This so-called camp belongs to the city. I could tell you to leave.
SHUGGIE: Yeah, that’s just perfect. Price hardworkin’ people out of every affordable living space so we’re all forced to live in a dump like rats. And then you want to take away our dump! So what are the rats supposed to do, huh, Mr. Detective?
BERNSTEIN: I don’t know, Shug. Maybe the rat should just answer my questions. Did you see the Maserati or not?
SHUGGIE: Screw you.
BERNSTEIN: You’ll have to talk to the missus about that, but I don’t think she’s flexible.
SHUGGIE: I’m serious, man. I don’t need this grief.
BERNSTEIN: In that case, Mr. Working-Class Rat, start packing your things because I’m gonna have a sanitation crew up here in twenty minutes, and you’ll be spending the next few days fishing your crap out of the Schuylkill.
SHUGGIE: [unintelligible]
BERNSTEIN: What’s that, Shuggie? Couldn’t quite make that out.
SHUGGIE: I didn’t see no Maserati.
BERNSTEIN: But…
SHUGGIE: But…I heard about a guy who’s trying to fence a Super Bowl ring. That might be of some interest to your current investigation.
BERNSTEIN: See that, Shug? I knew you were the right man to talk to. Who’s selling the ring?
SHUGGIE: You must be high if you think I’m giving you a name.
BERNSTEIN: Dude, you’re as high as giraffe balls right now. And I know you’re going to give me a name because you don’t want me throwing your skinny little ass into the river with the rest of your junk.
SHUGGIE: Damn, man.
BERNSTEIN: Come on. Nobody’s around—it’s just you and me, brother. Tell me a name. I probably know the guy already.
SHUGGIE: Brother, my ass. You know the guy. It’s Percy.
BERNSTEIN: Crazy Percy Marshall? From Kensington?
SHUGGIE: Told you.
BERNSTEIN: What’s Crazy Percy doin’ with a Super Bowl ring?
SHUGGIE: I’m just telling you what I heard.
BERNSTEIN: Okay, Shug.
SHUGGIE: He’s killed people, you know.
BERNSTEIN: Is that a fact.
SHUGGIE: I’m serious. You’d better be careful out there.
BERNSTEIN: Always am.
SHUGGIE: No, man, don’t you get it? The line? You know, from Hill Street Blues? Probably before your time…
BERNSTEIN: Try that joke on my dad sometime. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.
SHUGGIE: Your daddy was a psycho fascist and everybody in the city knew it.
BERNSTEIN: Want to know a secret?
SHUGGIE: What’s that?
BERNSTEIN: I’m worse.
Chapter 31
8:37 p.m.
TWO SURPRISES awaited Veena Lion at Lankenau Medical Center.
One was the armada of TV reporters blocking the entrance to the emergency department. She’d known word would travel fast, and the media was starving for any crumbs they could link to the Archie Hughes murder. But it was rare for TV reporters to beat Janie Hall on a breaking development. This case was going to test all of them.
The second surprise was waiting just behind the security checkpoint, which Veena got past by telling the officer she was Roy Nguyen’s personal attorney. “How many lawyers does this guy have?” asked the beleaguered Lower Merion cop. “Your colleague is over there, by the vending machines.”
Cooper Lamb, who was no lawyer, was busy ripping open a plastic bag of turkey jerky. “Rowrr.”
“Baaaaa,” Veena replied.
“I didn’t know you were close with the chef.”
“Yeah. He makes incredible fried spaghetti.”
“If that’s an in-joke, I’m missing the gag.”
“Life doesn’t revolve entirely around you, Cooper. What’s the latest?”
The latest was that Roy Nguyen was still in surgery, and the hospital was clearly not prepared for all of the attention or the constant inquiries from private investigators.
“So we might as well go for a cocktail,” Cooper said. “Unless you want to get in on this jerky with me. We can even split a root beer.”
“I need to talk to Roy the minute he wakes up.”
“Get in line. The police are downplaying this, but did you know that Chef Roy was fired by the Hughes family just two days before the murder?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Do you know why?”
“Of course.”
More updates as I learn them. As I type these words, however, I hear there’s a visitor to the Hughes home—your old friend Veena Lion is there to talk to the nanny.
Chapter 25
4:37 p.m.
“THANKS FOR agreeing to speak with me, Ms. Rain.”
“Of course. Ms. Hughes thought I could help. I just have one request, and this is on the advice of the family lawyer. Please don’t record this interview.”
Veena Lion pretended to give it some thought. “Okay, I won’t.”
While Veena paused, she took a quick mental snapshot of Maya Rain, who did not appear to be your stereotypical home-wrecker. Her lithe body was clad in a tailored Banana Republic top and pants—rugged enough for someone who chased after children all day, classy enough for a member of the Hughes household’s staff.
“Can you say that out loud?” Rain said, smiling.
“You want me to say that I’m not recording our conversation?”
“Thank you.”
As a rule, Veena recorded all of her conversations. This was a matter of habit as well as personal protection. She was forever in pursuit of the truth, and while the truth could be twisted, tape never lied. But something told Veena it was best to relax that rule for the moment.
Veena matched Maya’s warm smile with one of her own. “How did you come to work for the Hughes family?”
“Everybody in town has a salacious story about that,” Maya said, blushing a little. “You know, rumors that Archie picked me up while I was waiting tables at Gullifty’s or stripping at Delilah’s or something along those lines.”
“Is that where you were working before you came to take care of the kids?”
“Which one, the family restaurant or the high-end strip club?”
Veena could tell Maya was teasing her. “You tell me.”
“The truth is much more boring than that, I’m afraid. I’m working toward my master’s in psychology at Villanova, and my adviser recommended me for the job. There was a lot of competition from people in the department because, you know, the Eagles and all that. But I’m not even a football fan.”
“Don’t let anyone hear you say that in this town,” Veena said.
“Tell me about it! It’s better to admit you’re a mass murderer or something.”
“Did you grow up on the Main Line?”
“No. Pretty much the opposite of the Main Line—Buckhannon, West Virginia. Ever hear of it?”
“I’m afraid not,” Veena lied. She recalled the 2006 mining disaster near Buckhannon that took a dozen lives, and she’d seen a documentary focusing on the town’s opioid epidemic. And she could hear echoes of Appalachia in Maya’s voice, which Maya took great pains to hide. She probably hadn’t become “Maya Rain” until she’d crossed the state line into Pennsylvania.
“Then you’re just like everyone else,” Maya said, examining the tops of her shoes. “I’ll admit, Buckhannon doesn’t have a lot going for it. I spent years saving up my babysitting money so I could escape. And strangely enough, all of that work landed me here, taking care of the sweetest children in the world.”
“Here’s what bothers me,” Veena said.
Maya’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”
“You’re too good to be true.”
“I’ve been told that,” Maya said. She laughed. “But all I do is clean up messes. It’s pretty simple, really.”
“Seriously, though, do you enjoy your work with the Hughes family?”
“Are you kidding? Archie and Maddie are amazing. Even now—especially now, going through the shock and grief of losing Archie…” She seemed to search for words. “I hope that someday I’ll be as strong as Mrs. Hughes and those kids. Want to meet them?”
Chapter 26
VEENA KNEW the kids were a deflection, but she went along with it; she’d wanted to meet them anyway. The boy was in sixth grade, and the girl—who was a miniature version of her famous mother—was a kindergartner. Both were absorbed in their handheld devices and barely noticed Veena’s entrance.
“This is Miss Veena Lion,” Maya said. “She’s a private investigator who is working with the district attorney.”
“Rowrr,” Maddie said, then collapsed into giggles.
The son, Archie Jr., looked up. “You’re helping the DA find out who did this.”
“I’m trying my best, Archie,” Veena replied. “What are you watching on your phone?”
“Just some stuff on YouTube.”
“The hour before dinner is device time,” Maya explained. “I don’t want you thinking the worst of me.”
“No judgments here. I live on my phone.”
“The police asked us lots of questions already,” Archie Jr. said. As he lowered his phone Veena stole a glance at the screen. Based on the graphics and framing, the boy was watching some sort of true-crime show.
“Yeah? What kinds of things did they ask you?”
Maya rubbed Archie Jr.’s shoulders. “You should probably wash up before dinner.”
“Lions go rowrr,” Maddie said, then giggled again.
“That’s right, they do.”
“Do all private eyes have animal names?” Archie Jr. asked.
Responding to Veena’s puzzled expression, Maya said, “A colleague of yours was by earlier today.”
“Ah, Mr. Cooper Lamb,” Veena said, nodding.
“Lambs go baaaaa and lions go rowrr,” Maddie announced. “Do you know his dog, Loopy? He’s so cute!”
“I know Lupe, and he is indeed adorable,” Veena said. “But watch out for Mr. Lamb. Sometimes big bad wolves like to hide in sheep’s clothing.”
This caught Maya’s attention, just as Veena had intended it to.
Chapter 27
HIGHLY CONFIDENTAL
EYES OF THE POLICE COMMISSIONER ONLY
Dear Madam Commissioner:
A quick update on the Roy Nguyen situation.
I know speculation has run wild in the media. It’s understandable—first, someone murders Archie Hughes, then, barely two days later, his former personal chef is badly beaten and shot. (I’m keeping in constant touch with the hospital, by the way, and will let you know the moment his condition improves…or worsens.)
This is why I immediately drove to Ardmore to learn what I could from the Lower Merion PD. Cutting to the chase, this appears to have nothing whatsoever to do with the Archie Hughes murder.
From what I hear, Nguyen is big into sports gambling. And while it’s true that he had a lot of money riding on the Birds this year, I understand he owes quite a bit all over town. It’s messy, but it could explain why a well-known chef would have taken a high-paying gig in the Hughes home.
I spoke to the Lower Merion detectives and forensics team. They’re still working on their report, but it’s clear that the attack was about intimidation, and things rapidly escalated. There were signs of a pretty brutal struggle inside Nguyen’s apartment (broken furniture, doors) that spilled over into the hallway, where the chef was shot in the chest twice, at close range.
If this were a professional hit, Nguyen wouldn’t have heard him/them coming, much less had the opportunity to fight him/them off. (It’s possible there were multiple attackers, but all signs point to a single perp.)
My unofficial take: A leg-breaker showed up to scare some money out of Nguyen. The chef fought back, which caught the leg-breaker by surprise. Things spiraled out of control. The leg-breaker pulled a gun, at which point Nguyen probably tried to take it away. Two shots to the chef’s chest later, the leg-breaker hightailed it out of there. (Again, had this leg-breaker been a pro, he would have made sure Nguyen was dead.)
I want to assure you that I will follow every detail of this case as it develops to see if there are any solid connections with the Hughes murder. But at this point, my gut is telling me no.
And like my dad used to say: “When your gut is talking, listen to it. Then go eat something.”
Yours,
Det. Michael Bernstein
Chapter 28
Transcript of conversation between Detective Michael Bernstein and Glenn Sable, co-owner of the Philadelphia Eagles
GLENN SABLE: Mickey, my man. What’s up?
MICHAEL BERNSTEIN: I don’t know yet. I’m calling you from Ardmore. Maybe that will tell you something.
SABLE: What the hell’s in Ardmore?
BERNSTEIN: A personal chef who may have baked his last soufflé.
SABLE: Shit, the Asian guy? Is he gonna make it?
BERNSTEIN: It’s kind of touch and go. He’s young, though, and I’ve seen people pull through worse than this.
SABLE: How could it be worse? I heard he took two in the heart.
BERNSTEIN: Two in the chest. Bullets are funny things. They can follow all kinds of paths in a human body.
SABLE: You have the chance to, uh, talk to the chef?
BERNSTEIN: Glenn, the dude’s unconscious.
SABLE: No, no, I mean before. Like, about the other thing.
BERNSTEIN: It wasn’t on my to-do list. Listen, my friend, I have to ask, just to make sure…
SABLE: Ask what?
BERNSTEIN: How much was the chef into you for?
SABLE: Hold on a sec. You think we had someone do this?
BERNSTEIN: Look, I’m not judging, I’m just asking. I told you before, I need to know everything, no matter how minor.
SABLE: Far as I know, the chef was current. I didn’t even know he was part of our thing until my dad told me.
BERNSTEIN: So you had nothing to do with…
SABLE: Screw you, of course we had nothing to do with this!
BERNSTEIN: Glenn, calm the hell down, okay? And don’t get me wrong, this was not anything professional. But it does look an awful lot like someone paid the chef a visit to smack him around a little, and things went haywire. I just want to be sure I know all of the details before I, you know, massage things.
SABLE: You want a massage, Mickey, go to a rub-and-tug. Don’t call me up and accuse me of this bullshit. What, did I offend your tender sensibilities?
BERNSTEIN: No, man, I’m just sitting here enjoying my afternoon.
SABLE: Look, I’m sorry. I know how hard you’re working. Things are just tense around here. I’ve got private eyes up my ass—
BERNSTEIN: Who?
SABLE: You know. The sheep guy.
BERNSTEIN: (Chuckling) You mean Cooper Lamb?
SABLE: Yeah, him. He’s working for Francine, so I gotta play nice, but there’s a guy I’d like to put through a wall.
BERNSTEIN: A lot of people feel the same way.
SABLE: Then maybe somebody should do something about it.
BERNSTEIN: I’ll look into it.
SABLE: Yeah, you do that.
Chapter 29
Transcript of encrypted message exchange between private Veena Lion and Janie Hall
JANIE HALL: Hey, V., you know that chef you interviewed earlier today?
VEENA LION: Oh, did April find him a job already?
HALL: What job? No. Veena, this is important: He’s over at Lankenau. Someone beat the hell out of him and then shot him twice. You there? You’ve been typing a long time…
LION: Is Roy alive?
HALL: I’m waiting for a call back from one of the nurses. She’s a friend from high school, a straight shooter, so she’ll give me the real deal.
LION: Okay, I’m headed there now. Give me any updates as soon you hear.
HALL: Of course. But V., be careful out there.
LION: I appreciate that, but I’m not the person who was attacked.
HALL: Sure, but the person who did the attacking is still out there. And he might have been watching Chef Nguyen. More to the point, he might have watched you meeting with Chef Nguyen just a few hours ago.
Chapter 30
Transcript of Detective Michael Bernstein’s recorded interview with Justin Sugarman, aka Shuggie, currently residing in a homeless camp on Lemon Hill
MICHAEL BERNSTEIN: Justin? Hey, man, you around? I’m looking for Justin Sugarman!
JUSTIN “SHUGGIE” SUGERMAN: Quiet down, yo, I’m tryin’ to sleep.
BERNSTEIN: That you, Justin? It’s your old pal Mickey Bernstein!
SHUGGIE: Man, stop that Justin shit. You know everyone calls me Shuggie.
BERNSTEIN: Ah, there you are. Come on out, let me see that pretty face. How’s it going, Shuggie?
SHUGGIE: Living my best life, man. You know me. The usual ups and downs. Mostly downs, if I’m being honest. But I don’t let that keep me down, if you know what mean.
BERNSTEIN: I don’t understand half the shit you say, if I’m being honest. But I think you can help me out with something.
SHUGGIE: No way, man. I don’t help the police. Y’all hear that? (Shouts) I don’t help law enforcement, like, ever!
BERNSTEIN: Save the outrage, Shuggie. No one else is around right now. Who could handle all the raccoons and garbage?
SHUGGIE: No, that’s cool, man. You always insult people whose help you desperately need?
BERNSTEIN: Often as I can. Did you happen to see Archie Hughes’s Maserati a few nights ago?
SHUGGIE: Come on, man. Get out of my camp.
BERNSTEIN: This so-called camp belongs to the city. I could tell you to leave.
SHUGGIE: Yeah, that’s just perfect. Price hardworkin’ people out of every affordable living space so we’re all forced to live in a dump like rats. And then you want to take away our dump! So what are the rats supposed to do, huh, Mr. Detective?
BERNSTEIN: I don’t know, Shug. Maybe the rat should just answer my questions. Did you see the Maserati or not?
SHUGGIE: Screw you.
BERNSTEIN: You’ll have to talk to the missus about that, but I don’t think she’s flexible.
SHUGGIE: I’m serious, man. I don’t need this grief.
BERNSTEIN: In that case, Mr. Working-Class Rat, start packing your things because I’m gonna have a sanitation crew up here in twenty minutes, and you’ll be spending the next few days fishing your crap out of the Schuylkill.
SHUGGIE: [unintelligible]
BERNSTEIN: What’s that, Shuggie? Couldn’t quite make that out.
SHUGGIE: I didn’t see no Maserati.
BERNSTEIN: But…
SHUGGIE: But…I heard about a guy who’s trying to fence a Super Bowl ring. That might be of some interest to your current investigation.
BERNSTEIN: See that, Shug? I knew you were the right man to talk to. Who’s selling the ring?
SHUGGIE: You must be high if you think I’m giving you a name.
BERNSTEIN: Dude, you’re as high as giraffe balls right now. And I know you’re going to give me a name because you don’t want me throwing your skinny little ass into the river with the rest of your junk.
SHUGGIE: Damn, man.
BERNSTEIN: Come on. Nobody’s around—it’s just you and me, brother. Tell me a name. I probably know the guy already.
SHUGGIE: Brother, my ass. You know the guy. It’s Percy.
BERNSTEIN: Crazy Percy Marshall? From Kensington?
SHUGGIE: Told you.
BERNSTEIN: What’s Crazy Percy doin’ with a Super Bowl ring?
SHUGGIE: I’m just telling you what I heard.
BERNSTEIN: Okay, Shug.
SHUGGIE: He’s killed people, you know.
BERNSTEIN: Is that a fact.
SHUGGIE: I’m serious. You’d better be careful out there.
BERNSTEIN: Always am.
SHUGGIE: No, man, don’t you get it? The line? You know, from Hill Street Blues? Probably before your time…
BERNSTEIN: Try that joke on my dad sometime. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.
SHUGGIE: Your daddy was a psycho fascist and everybody in the city knew it.
BERNSTEIN: Want to know a secret?
SHUGGIE: What’s that?
BERNSTEIN: I’m worse.
Chapter 31
8:37 p.m.
TWO SURPRISES awaited Veena Lion at Lankenau Medical Center.
One was the armada of TV reporters blocking the entrance to the emergency department. She’d known word would travel fast, and the media was starving for any crumbs they could link to the Archie Hughes murder. But it was rare for TV reporters to beat Janie Hall on a breaking development. This case was going to test all of them.
The second surprise was waiting just behind the security checkpoint, which Veena got past by telling the officer she was Roy Nguyen’s personal attorney. “How many lawyers does this guy have?” asked the beleaguered Lower Merion cop. “Your colleague is over there, by the vending machines.”
Cooper Lamb, who was no lawyer, was busy ripping open a plastic bag of turkey jerky. “Rowrr.”
“Baaaaa,” Veena replied.
“I didn’t know you were close with the chef.”
“Yeah. He makes incredible fried spaghetti.”
“If that’s an in-joke, I’m missing the gag.”
“Life doesn’t revolve entirely around you, Cooper. What’s the latest?”
The latest was that Roy Nguyen was still in surgery, and the hospital was clearly not prepared for all of the attention or the constant inquiries from private investigators.
“So we might as well go for a cocktail,” Cooper said. “Unless you want to get in on this jerky with me. We can even split a root beer.”
“I need to talk to Roy the minute he wakes up.”
“Get in line. The police are downplaying this, but did you know that Chef Roy was fired by the Hughes family just two days before the murder?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Do you know why?”
“Of course.”
