match the three cups and saucers. She poured. They all declined cream and sugar, so she left. Humphrey poured calvados into three tiny flutelike shot glasses. He carried his own coffee and calvados behind the desk and the two men helped themselves.
Mulheisen sipped the calvados with pleasure and drank the coffee. He cocked his head slightly and said, “Very good. Colombian?”
“Sumatra Blue Lintong,” said Humphrey.
“So, Humphrey,” Mulheisen said, “life is good? You're the king of the castle now. I imagine it's rather like Harry Truman found after the old man died—a lot more trouble than pleasure, eh?”
Humphrey smiled benignly, nodding his head in seeming assent. “What can I do for you, Mulheisen?” he asked. “How can I help you?” He spread his pudgy hands.
“I don't know if you can help me,” Mulheisen said. “I guess you don't know who killed Carmine? I didn't think so. I just thought I'd drop by for a visit, see how you were getting along and to ask if you knew anything about Helen Sedlacek.”
“Big Sid's girl? No. What should I know? We aren't very close. Although she used to like me. But when her dad died . . . well, she was a little angry. Grief, I guess, or shock. I could understand that. By the way, Mul, you did a fine job tracking down Sid's killer. I'm sure you will find Carmine's killer, as well. If I hear of anything that would help, I'll sure . . .”
“She's disappeared,” Mulheisen said. “Sold out her business and left, not a word to anyone.”
Humphrey was surprised. Big Sid's beautiful and fiery daughter was a successful businesswoman who ran some kind of consultant firm in Southfield. She had been outspoken about her father's death, recklessly blaming Carmine. Some said she was cooperating with the police. Well, of course, it had been a hit. The whole world could see it was a professional hit. Humphrey had hired the hitter himself, a man named Hal Good. But it wasn't as if Helen hadn't grown up knowing her father was a big man in the mob. There is a kind of discipline expected in these circumstances. But Helen, this crazy little girl—Humphrey remembered her as tiny and lively, a kind of black-haired Tinker Bell—she couldn't shut her mouth.
On Humphrey's advice Carmine had ignored her. So now she had sold out her partnership in her firm and had disappeared. This was not good.
“Just like that?” he said to Mulheisen.
Mulheisen shrugged. “Packed up and moved, bag and baggage,” he said, “except that she didn't really move. She put everything in storage. Her mother hasn't heard from her, her friends haveno idea where she went. They say she had a new boyfriend, but none of them met him, and she didn't mention a name. So . . . I just thought, since her dad used to work for you, you might have some idea. No?”
“Mul, if I could help . . .” Humphrey spread his arms and his hands helplessly. “I'll certainly ask around, and if I hear anything . . .”
“I know,” Mulheisen said, standing. “Thanks for the coffee, Fat . . . er, Humphrey. You know, Humphrey suits you. I like it. And thanks for the calvados.”
They had not cleared the lobby of Krispee Chips before Humphrey was on the phone to Rossie. “Get me the Yak,” he said.
Roman Yakovich had been a lifelong associate of the late Sid Sedlacek. He still lived in an apartment in the garage behind Sedlacek's home, looking after Mrs. Sid, as he called her. He was a good man, Humphrey knew. He had him brought in, and from him he learned that Helen had been visited by Joe Service just a couple of weeks before she had disappeared.
“I didden think nothin’ of it,” the Yak said. “They played racquetball in Sid's gym, in the basement.”
“Did he come around again?” Humphrey asked.
“I didden see him,” the Yak said. “Joe's a good guy. Liddle Helen was mad at him, at first—she thought he was one of Carmine's boys—but then she seemed to think he was all right.”
“Well, don't worry
Mulheisen sipped the calvados with pleasure and drank the coffee. He cocked his head slightly and said, “Very good. Colombian?”
“Sumatra Blue Lintong,” said Humphrey.
“So, Humphrey,” Mulheisen said, “life is good? You're the king of the castle now. I imagine it's rather like Harry Truman found after the old man died—a lot more trouble than pleasure, eh?”
Humphrey smiled benignly, nodding his head in seeming assent. “What can I do for you, Mulheisen?” he asked. “How can I help you?” He spread his pudgy hands.
“I don't know if you can help me,” Mulheisen said. “I guess you don't know who killed Carmine? I didn't think so. I just thought I'd drop by for a visit, see how you were getting along and to ask if you knew anything about Helen Sedlacek.”
“Big Sid's girl? No. What should I know? We aren't very close. Although she used to like me. But when her dad died . . . well, she was a little angry. Grief, I guess, or shock. I could understand that. By the way, Mul, you did a fine job tracking down Sid's killer. I'm sure you will find Carmine's killer, as well. If I hear of anything that would help, I'll sure . . .”
“She's disappeared,” Mulheisen said. “Sold out her business and left, not a word to anyone.”
Humphrey was surprised. Big Sid's beautiful and fiery daughter was a successful businesswoman who ran some kind of consultant firm in Southfield. She had been outspoken about her father's death, recklessly blaming Carmine. Some said she was cooperating with the police. Well, of course, it had been a hit. The whole world could see it was a professional hit. Humphrey had hired the hitter himself, a man named Hal Good. But it wasn't as if Helen hadn't grown up knowing her father was a big man in the mob. There is a kind of discipline expected in these circumstances. But Helen, this crazy little girl—Humphrey remembered her as tiny and lively, a kind of black-haired Tinker Bell—she couldn't shut her mouth.
On Humphrey's advice Carmine had ignored her. So now she had sold out her partnership in her firm and had disappeared. This was not good.
“Just like that?” he said to Mulheisen.
Mulheisen shrugged. “Packed up and moved, bag and baggage,” he said, “except that she didn't really move. She put everything in storage. Her mother hasn't heard from her, her friends haveno idea where she went. They say she had a new boyfriend, but none of them met him, and she didn't mention a name. So . . . I just thought, since her dad used to work for you, you might have some idea. No?”
“Mul, if I could help . . .” Humphrey spread his arms and his hands helplessly. “I'll certainly ask around, and if I hear anything . . .”
“I know,” Mulheisen said, standing. “Thanks for the coffee, Fat . . . er, Humphrey. You know, Humphrey suits you. I like it. And thanks for the calvados.”
They had not cleared the lobby of Krispee Chips before Humphrey was on the phone to Rossie. “Get me the Yak,” he said.
Roman Yakovich had been a lifelong associate of the late Sid Sedlacek. He still lived in an apartment in the garage behind Sedlacek's home, looking after Mrs. Sid, as he called her. He was a good man, Humphrey knew. He had him brought in, and from him he learned that Helen had been visited by Joe Service just a couple of weeks before she had disappeared.
“I didden think nothin’ of it,” the Yak said. “They played racquetball in Sid's gym, in the basement.”
“Did he come around again?” Humphrey asked.
“I didden see him,” the Yak said. “Joe's a good guy. Liddle Helen was mad at him, at first—she thought he was one of Carmine's boys—but then she seemed to think he was all right.”
“Well, don't worry
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