The Disappearance of Penny Read online

  “What about Mapes?” I asked. “Did Lassiter indicate any possibility that he might know something about Eddie’s murder?”

  “Well, he seems to feel that it was a mob hit, Hank. You said yourself that Eddie was supposed to lose that race. Lassiter said he’d heard a rumor to that effect.”

  “I wonder if anyone else heard it?” I also wondered where he’d heard the rumor, around the track or through his own mob connections.

  “Did he mention Willy Donero?” I asked.

  “No, he didn’t mention anyone in particular. Why, do you feel Donero is behind it?”

  “He’s the biggest fixer I know of. He could still be pulling strings from inside. He’s the only fixer with enough pull to have a jock blown away — by out-of-town talent — rather than just by having his legs broken.”

  “Maybe it’s more than that, Hank. Maybe he was killed for more than just winning a race he was supposed to lose.”

  “Maybe, and maybe we’ll find out.”

  And then again, maybe not.

  “Okay, Shukey, thanks. I won’t call you again, I promise.”

  “Don’t be an ass, you ass. You call me anytime you need me, understand?”

  “I understand,” I told her, although I wasn’t sure I did. There was a tone in her voice I couldn’t decipher.

  Or maybe I just had enough problems with Brandy that I was reading something into her words that wasn’t there.

  Even Debby was giving me fits.

  Women can be a real pain, especially when they come in bunches. Add Lisa, and you had a bunch.

  “Bye, Shuke.”

  “One more thing you might be interested in,” she said quickly, timing it just right. I put the phone back to my ear and said, “What’s that?”

  “I found Gordie.”

  “You what?”

  She laughed. “I found — ”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that right away, you limey fink?”

  “You didn’t ask me.”

  “Cute. All right, c’mon, give.”

  “His real name is Gordon Brinks. Sound familiar?”

  I thought a moment. “No, I can’t say that it does. Why, who is he?”

  “You don’t read the racing papers?” she chided.

  “Shukey, who the hell is he?”

  “He’s an assistant trainer at the track, Hank.”

  “Lassiter’s?” I asked. “That would tie him to — ”

  “No, not Lassiter’s.”

  “Who’s, then?”

  “Woody Spencer.”

  “What?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  I made a date with Shukey for us to break into Woody Spencer’s office and sneak a look at his records. I wanted to see who some of his owners were.

  While we were at it, I figured we’d also break into Lassiter’s office and do the same with him. Thursday night was burglary night.

  “Why leave out Hopkins?” Shukey asked. “Why not do all the trainers?” she asked, sarcastically.

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Well — ”

  “But we’ll do Hopkins, too.”

  “Christ.”

  “I’ll pick you up tonight, about eleven Okay?”

  “The things I do for you, Henry, just because you’re cute.”

  “Liar. See you later.”

  When I got back to the table Brandy was stewing over her stew.

  “Try it, it’s delicious,” I told her, digging into mine with a piece of bread.

  “Don’t tell me she can cook, too?” she asked.

  “Debby. Like a dream.”

  She threw her napkins down, snapping, “Damnit, Hank — ”

  “Goddamnit to hell, Brandy,” I snapped back, “why didn’t you tell me Gordie was Gordon Brinks, Woody Spencer’s assistant trainer?”

  “What?” she asked, looking very puzzled. She even forgot her anger. “How would I know that?”

  “You’re a jockey, aren’t you? You’ve ridden for Spencer, haven’t you?”

  “Wait a second, Detective,” she shouted back. “Number one, I’m new in New York, remember? I don’t know too many assistant trainer’s by name, or sight. Number two, I’d never ridden a horse for Woody Spencer before yesterday.”

  “Never?”

  “You can check. He doesn’t like female jockeys. Mapes rode most of his horses until Aiello came along.”

  “Mapes and Aiello?”

  “Yes.”

  It made sense. Spencer was there when I chased Aiello and grabbed him. He could have figured out what I’d do with him. But the implications here were not encouraging for thoroughbred racing.

  Spencer was one of the top trainers in the country. To think that he was connected with a major fixer like Donero — but still it made sense. Brinks was his assistant, and Brinks was giving Aiello orders to antagonize Mapes. Spencer himself had told me that Aiello would soon be his regular rider.

  And Aiello was new in New York, too. All Spencer had to do was keep Brinks away from him, or just refer to him as “Gordie.” That would explain why Aiello didn’t know Gordie’s last name.

  Now I really wanted to get a look at Spencer’s list of owners.

  “Now, as far as suspecting me — ” Brandy went on.

  “Forget that,” I told her.

  “Hank, I can’t forget that you suspected me of some … some involvement … with either Penny Hopkins’ or Eddie Mapes’ death — ”

  “Look, Brandy, it comes with the territory. You wanted to meet a real live private eye, and that’s how it is. You live with suspicions, until you can prove otherwise.”

  “What about them?” she asked, indicating the kitchen. “Your two girl friends in the kitchen. Do you suspect them? I mean, racing people come here all the time, don’t they?”

  In fact, they were there tonight and taking the whole scene in.

  “Brandy, you’re not making any sense — ”

  “Oh, well, I’m sorry, it isn’t every day that you’re suspected of murder,” she said, getting up.

  “Brandy, don’t be silly — ”

  “Well, first I’m not making sense, then I’m being silly. I don’t seem to be pleasing you tonight, do I, Mr. Po. Well, I won’t bother you anymore, rest assured.”

  She marched to the door and I made no move to stop her.

  “And maybe the goddamn stewards in this town won’t have Brandy Sommers to kick around anymore, either,” she announced from the door, and then stormed out.

  I was now the center of attraction and, as good as the stew was, I wasn’t going to sit there and be stared at.

  I got up and walked to the kitchen.

  “Debby, how much do I owe you?” I asked her.

  “Don’t worry about it, Hank — ” she started to say, but I pushed some money at her and said, “Don’t be silly.”

  I started to walk away, then turned and told her, “I’m sorry about the scene, Deb.”

  “Don’t be silly, Hank. If anybody doesn’t like it, they can leave.”

  I looked at her, her beautiful face, her gorgeous blue eyes, that silky blond hair.

  I walked up to her, took her by the shoulders and kissed her on the mouth.

  “You’re a doll, Deb.”

  “Take care, Hank. See you soon.”

  Outside there was no sign of Brandy.

  Well, isn’t that what I wanted?

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  It was eight P.M. when I got home. I called my service and asked if there were any messages.

  “Yes, sir,” the girl answered. “A Mr. Louis Melendez called — ”

  “What?” I responded, gripping the phone tighter.

  “A Mr. Melendez — ”

  “No, I’m sorry. I heard that part. What’s the message?”

  “He left a number for you to call. He said that you should call it at nine o’clock this evening.”

  It was about time.

  “Okay, give me the number,” I told her, and wrote it down as
she recited it. “Thank you. Good night.”

  “Good night, sir.”

  I checked my watch, found that it was only eight-oh-five. I had just under an hour to kill. Then I had to meet Shukey at her place at ten.

  Should I call Diver?

  I decided against it. I figured I’d wait until I found out what Melendez had to say, which was probably what one of Brandy’s goddamn fictional private eyes would have done, instead of what I should have done.

  I called Shukey.

  “I just got a message from my service, from Louie Melendez.”

  “What did he have to say for himself?” she asked.

  “Nothing, yet. I have to call him at nine. Listen, if he wants to meet tonight, I’ll get back to you and let you know. We’ll have to postpone our nocturnal visit to the track, in that case.”

  “I could handle that on my own, Henry,” she offered.

  “Do you have any experience as a burglar?” I asked her.

  “Not really, but — ”

  “Just wait for my call, Shukey. If you don’t hear from me, I’ll meet you as planned. Okay?”

  “All right,” she agreed.

  At exactly nine o’clock, I dialed the number given me by my service.

  “Hello,” a timid, tentative voice answered.

  “Louis Melendez?” I asked.

  “Who is this please?” he asked.

  “My name is Henry Po, Louis.”

  Silence.

  “Hector gave you my message, I guess. Good. I saw him this afternoon in your apartment,” I told him, trying to put him at ease.

  “You are Mr. Po?”

  “That’s right, Louis. I’ve been leaving messages all over the place for you.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to help you, Louis.”

  “The police want me. You are working for the police?”

  “I’m working with them, not for them. I’m interested in finding Penny Hopkins’ killer.”

  Silence, again.

  “Are you?” I asked.

  “I — I am. I liked Penny. The police, they think I killed her?” he asked.

  “Louis, I don’t think you killed her,” I told him, ducking the question.

  “I did not.”

  “Then meet me, let me help you.”

  No answer.

  “Louis, you can’t keep hiding forever. Let me help you.”

  The only reason I knew he hadn’t hung up was because I could hear him breathing.

  “Louis?” I called.

  “Very well, Mr. Po. I will meet you — but please, no police. I will talk to only you.”

  I threw my fist into the air, but kept my voice very calm when I said, “Okay, Louis. We’ll do it your way. Where shall we meet?”

  He told me he was hiding out at the old race track on Long Island, the one that Island Downs was built to replace.

  “Meet me in the clubhouse,” he told me.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow, at one o’clock.”

  “I’ll be there, Louis.”

  I waited for an answer, but the only one I got was the click of the receiver as he hung up.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  “Hold the light still.”

  “Is this what it means to be an apprentice burglar?” Shukey asked. “That’s the fourth time in five minutes you’ve told me to hold the bloody light still.”

  “That’s because it’s the fourth time in the last five minutes you’ve moved it. Hold the light still.”

  Getting into the track while it was closed was no problem. Not for two of Howard Biel’s “boys.” We just showed our ID’s to the guards and they admitted us.

  The trainer’s offices were something else again.

  They were not as open to us as the track grounds in general. In fact, entering them was illegal.

  I mean, it wasn’t a problem — God knows I’ve bypassed enough locks in my time — but it was burglary.

  So we had to be quiet. And careful.

  It was eerie, being at the track when it was totally empty and dark. You could almost still hear the cheers of the crowd echoing throughout, hours after they’d all left.

  As we crossed the stable grounds to Woody Spencer’s office, the gravel beneath our feet sounded ultra-loud as it crunched under our shoes.

  The locks on the office doors were flimsy at best, and I was able to pick them easily.

  “Wow,” Shukey had exclaimed. “You made that look like taking candy from a baby.”

  “I’ll teach you sometime,” I whispered to her, as we entered.

  We’d already checked out Lassiter and Hopkins’ offices, but their records had told us nothing. If there was mob connection there, I didn’t recognize it — which didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

  Spencer’s records were a different story.

  “Look at this,” I told her, unable to hide the excitement from my voice.

  “What?” she asked, moving the light again.

  “These horses here,” I told her, pointing to five names, “are all owned by the Palma Group.”

  She looked at the names, and commented, “One of them is a very promising three year old.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Okay, so what’s so important about them being owned by this Palma Group?”

  “Well,” I said, putting the files down, “the Palma Group is a division of the Champion Corporation, that much we get from these files. Now I had a case a few years ago, before Biel, that took me to Chicago. There I had some contact with the Champion Corporation. I found out then that Champion is a subsidiary of Italia Associates, Limited. Italia is owned and operated, in fact, Italia is Angelo DeLillo.”

  “DeLillo? Why does that sound familiar?” she asked.

  “DeLillo is big in the Chicago area,” I explained. “In fact, you may have heard of the DeLillo Family?”

  Her mouth opened as realization hit.

  “The Mafia?”

  I nodded.

  “This is the connection we’ve been looking for,” I told her. I grabbed some folders and started straightening them out.

  “C’mon, let’s get this stuff back where it was — exactly the way it was,” I reminded her.

  “Okay.”

  Once everything was back where it belonged, we left and I relocked the door.

  “You really have to teach me how to do that.”

  “It was easy,” I told her. “I turned the lock on the other side before shutting the door.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  I was up early the next morning and on my way to Island Downs, but first I wanted to stop at Howard Biel’s office and prepare him for a minor earthquake in the world of thoroughbred racing.

  “Are you sure of this, Henry?” he asked me worriedly.

  “No, Howard, I’m not. If I was I’d’ve called Diver and he’d be on his way out to the Downs with me, but it fits. Spencer’s assistant is definitely involved. Spencer’s own involvement is still up in the air, but I’m going to see him this morning, to try and make it a little clearer.”

  “What about Lassiter, and Benny?”

  “Apparently their only crime was being insensitive and driving a young girl to — ”

  “What?”

  What, indeed.

  Now I was sure I knew who killed Penny Hopkins, but I couldn’t prove that, either. Maybe Melendez would give me the proof I needed, though.

  I got up. “I’ll be in touch, Howard.”

  It all fit, I realized, riding down in the elevator. Now the diary made sense, the film made sense, even Melendez’s part made sense, but I still needed proof.

  First, however, Woody Spencer.

  There was the usual activity around Spencer’s barn, but at first glance there was no sign of either him or anyone fitting Brinks’ description, which was supplied by me and was actually all I had to go on. From the two glances I’d had of him, I wouldn’t have known him if he walked up to me.

  Instead of checking every stall
, I decided to check Spencer’s office first.

  “Ya’ll come in,” he called out in answer to my knock.

  I went in and found him alone, seated behind his desk. A quick check of the room told me that Brinks wasn’t, and couldn’t possibly have been there without my seeing him. There was no place in that small room for a man to hide.

  “Mr. Spencer.”

  He squinted at me through his glasses and there was no doubt that he remembered me from the incident with Danny Aiello in his office.

  “Hold on, boy,” he said, half rising. “You come back heah to mess up mah office again? Should ah call for security?”

  “There won’t be any need for that, Mr. Spencer. I’d just like to talk to you for a few minutes. I promise I won’t disrupt your office or your schedule.”

  “Okay, boy,” he agreed, after giving it a moment’s thought, “what’s our angle?”

  “As I told you before, I’m working for Howard Biel, as well as with the police on Penny Hopkins’ murder.”

  “A shocking thing,” he remarked. I noticed that his accent was once again fluctuating between heavy and nonexistent.

  The fact that there was no audience might have had a lot to do with it.

  “A lovely young girl,” he added, shaking his head. “Seems to me this would be strictly a po-lice matter. Why are they letting you work on it?”

  “I’m a little closer to it than they are. I started out looking for a missing girl, and I found a dead one. Along the way, Eddie Mapes got killed, and I got curious.”

  “Curious?” he asked. “About what?”

  “See, you’re curious, too?”

  “Hell, boy, what have I got to be curious about?”

  “What I know. What Eddie Mapes told me. Even what Danny Aiello told me and the police.”

  He looked at me sharply and asked, “Aiello told the po-lice something, did he?”

  “Why should you want to know?” I asked.

  “Well — I don’t, but you’re right, boy. I am curious. I mean, a man can be curious, cain’t he?”

  “Could we drop the good old boy routine?” I requested. “I mean, there’s no one here but you and me, and it’s kind of gettin’ on mah nerves, if you know what ah mean?” I mimicked.

  “Now, look, son — ” he began, but I cut him off.