Read Online Death in North Beach by Ronald Tierney - Free Book Online Page B

His look was one of dismissal. He had said all he wanted to say. His curiosity had been satisfied. He had no more use for Lang.
    â€˜So, it seems you are not totally indifferent, are you?’ Lang said.
    Hawkes ignored the question. ‘If you choose to talk with Anselmo,’ he continued as he walked toward the door, ‘please, please do not give him my best.’
    On his walk back to the office, Lang called Carly.
    â€˜Lunch?’
    â€˜It’s on my desk, thanks,’ Carly said. ‘Anything?’
    â€˜I get the feeling I’m giving out more information than I’m getting. But I get a sense of these people.’
    â€˜Are either of them capable of killing Warfield . . . I mean physically?’
    â€˜Both. Richard Sumaoang is youngish. Looks pretty fit. Hawkes is maybe sixty, not particularly athletic, but it looks like he takes care of himself. Eats his broccoli. What about you?’
    â€˜I eat my broccoli,’ she said.
    â€˜What’s with your guys?’
    â€˜I’m still tracking some of them down. I’m visiting the Fog City Voice publisher this afternoon. Trying to connect with Supervisor McFarland. Frank Wiley isn’t answering his phone. And I can’t find Warfield’s son.’
    â€˜Maybe he’s with his mom, the widow . . .’ Lang said. ‘You see how this could come together?’
    â€˜I do.’
    â€˜You know, it occurred to me that if I murdered someone, it might be interesting to give someone a list of suspects that didn’t include me.’ Lang dodged a man pushing a grocery cart full of his life’s belongings. He wondered why these guys got all materialistic. He’d seen some with two carts, slaving away moving them around, and no doubt worried about vandals.
    â€˜I’d agree with you, but he didn’t have to come to us,’ Carly said. ‘He could have done that with the police.’
    â€˜So you’re set for lunch?’
    â€˜Yes,’ she said.
    â€˜OK, I’m going home, then I’ll find somebody on that list to talk to. Thanh still there?’
    â€˜No. But Brinkman is. He’s smoking on the fire escape again. From time to time he looks in through the window and smiles.’
    â€˜He never smiled at me.’
    â€˜And that makes you feel?’
    â€˜Happy.’
    It was cool inside Lang’s loft space. Buddha seemed puzzled at his room-mate’s early afternoon return. No doubt Lang was disturbing Buddha’s routine. But in moments, the golden-eyed cat adjusted. The two napped briefly on the sofa and Lang made a few calls – the ones to Elena Warfield and Ralph Chiu were fruitless. However, the mistress, Marlene Berensen, agreed to meet Lang in a public place. Eight in the bar at Enrico’s.
    Lang gave himself the rest of the afternoon off.

Seven
    Bart Brozynski was a big bear of an older man, probably heading toward 300 pounds and seventy, but at a plodding pace. He wore a somewhat bushy, wiry salt and pepper beard that added to an intimidating presence. He did not get up to greet Carly. It would have been difficult to do so because the circa 1930 wooden office chair fit him like a wedding ring on a swollen finger.
    He nodded for Carly to sit in a side chair that was no doubt chosen for its lack of comfort. No one would hang around too long. She had to remove a couple of books to sit.
    â€˜You’re here to talk about old Whitney. Is that right?’ He talked slowly and deliberately.
    â€˜And you,’ Carly said. She chose her tone carefully. She couldn’t start the conversation as a supplicant.
    Brozynski’s eyes softened. A thin grin was barely perceptible beneath the facial hair.
    He was as big as Anselmo. And both were bearded. But where Anselmo seemed harmless and moved about easily and fluidly once he woke up, Brozynski appeared as though he was repressing some sort of explosion and it took considerable effort to do