Ice Blues

"What was the godfather's name?"
"Albert Piatek."
"May I have copies of the documents?"
"Of course. I have already provided Lieutenant Bowman with copies, and there is no reason I shouldn't do the same favor for you. Now I have a question for you, Mr. Strachey." He looked me carefully in the eye and said,
"Where's the money?"
"Good question."
"Jack left the impression that the money would be in your possesssion. For safekeeping, he seemed to be saying. Did you kill him for the money?"
"No."
"I didn't think so. I've asked around about you-discreetly, mind you-and your reputation is that of a pain in the ass but not a murderer."
"Thank you."
"Lieutenant Bowman-a man in love with the obvious if I ever met one Officer Bowman may have other ideas about you. He is not fond of you and this interferes with his objectivity, I think."
"Oh, hell."
"So, where's the money?"
A waitress charged up to our table and rapidly recited the menu, which consisted of four items. Kempelman picked the chicken teriyaki and I ordered the beef teriyaki rare. I asked him if he'd like to split a pitcher of beer, but he said a glass of white wine would suit him better. I went ahead and ordered the pitcher.
When the waitress left, Kempelman said it again. "Where's the money?"
"It's safe," I said. "But I have no instructions as yet concerning its disposal."
"Did Jack leave a will?"
"I don't know. I thought you'd know. You're the lawyer."
"No will has been filed in Albany County. Or Los Angeles County. I've looked into that."
"Did you tell Bowman you were meeting me here tonight?"
"No, I am giving you that much. I think it's what Jack Lenihan would have wanted. So, where's the money?"
"As I said, it's safe."
"What will become of it?"
"I don't know. That's kind of a confused area."
I had been looking over Kempelman's shoulder at a man elbowing his way through the bar crowd, and when I signaled to him, Kempelman turned around. His two bushy eyebrows shot up.
Kempelman said, "Him too?"
"I'm afraid so. He's Creighton Prell, right?"
"That's Creighton, sure enough."
The Republican county chairman was a tall dewlapped man in an alpaca coat with puffy hazel eyes and a wind-burned patrician nose. I guessed he was the man with the fifty-dollar haircut who'd been looking for Jack Lenihan at Annie's Quiche Quorner on Friday. When Prell saw Kempelman with me, he winced, hesitated, then moved toward us with a look of despair.
"Mr. Strachey?"
"I am he."
"And Sim-Sim, what a delightful surprise."
"You look more surprised than delighted, Creighton."
Prell eased himself onto his little seat. "I had no idea you were involved in this business, Sim. Or are you?"
"Involved in what business, Creighton?"
"May I speak frankly?" The question was for me.
I said, "I'm all for it."
Instead of speaking frankly, Prell went gray as his eye caught the eye of another man making his way into the dining area.
I said, "That must be Larry Dooley. Hey, over here, Lar!"
Dooley, a low heavily ballasted primate in a shiny blue suit and wet cigar in his paw, pummeled his way toward us and scowled down. "What is this crap? You Strachey?"
"Yeah, I Strachey. This Creighton, this Sim."
"I know these two buggers. What are they doing here?"
"Sit down, Larry," Kempelman said. "Come on, kid, take a load off your feet."
"You might as well join us," Prell said. "May I inquire, Mr. Strachey, if you have invited still other guests to this little fete? It's already awfully crowded in here, if I may offer an opinion."
I said, "This is it, gents. Otherwise I would have hired the Hilton ballroom."
Dooley banged the remaining chair around, then sat on it. I looked around the table and said, "Which one of you killed Jack Lenihan for the money?"
Dooley and Prell went ashen, but Kempelman just shook his head sadly.
"Not funny, Mr. Strachey. Under the circumstances, I will not permit myself to laugh."
"It was no joke, Sim. I figure Lenihan approached all three of you to find out which of you would provide a mayoral candidate who, if elected, would run Albany in a manner closest to Jack's liking. One of you picked up the impression you were about to lose out to another group, and you killed Jack so that you could grab the money or, failing that, at least keep it out of the other organizations' hands. Ned Bowman is not so dumb that this scenario won't occur to him, so you should all consider yourself police suspects in Jack's murder. Or is it possible that two of you haven't yet been in to see Ned and own up, voluntarily or involuntarily?"
Prell went neon-red. He said, "Lieutenant Bowman came to visit me, in point of fact. My name and telephone number were found by the police in Jack Lenihan's wallet."
"Mine too," Kempelman said placidly, and glanced at me. "But I didn't wait for Mr. Bowman to call on me. I went to him."
Dooley, who had sat stewing through all of this, aimed his cigar at me and said, "Bowman is after your ass, fella, you know that?"
"Did you tell him you were meeting me here tonight?"
He said, "Nah."
"You want the money. You think I have it."
Two plates of teriyaki were deftly slung in front of Kempelman and me.
"Would you gentlemen like to order now?"
"Scotch and soda," Prell said.
Dooley waved the waitress away. He then leaned up to my face and snarled, "Now you see here, Strachey. I thought I was dealing with a man of integrity in a confidential tone of voice and now I come down here and I find this fucking fireman's ball going on with half the politicians in the county waiting around for some broad to jump out of a birthday cake or some goddamn thing. Now you tell me, what is this, wise guy? Ya know, this is Albany, New York, not San Fran-pansy-town, USA, so you talk to me and you talk plain. I know all about you, Strachey, and you better not fuck with me or I'll make plenty of trouble for you and I can do it. Now, what is this shit?"
I leaned close to him and said very quietly, "Of all the foul turds floating in the cesspool of Albany political life, you, Larry, are by far the most repulsive I have met so far."
"Why, you-!"
"If you want a chance at the money, Larry, then shut your fat mouth."
He shut up and sat back big-eyed. This was fun. I was buying an Albany pol, my second-or first if I didn't count the dime I'd slipped Bowman that afternoon. Kempelman and Prell looked docile enough too.
I said, "Now here is what took place over the past two weeks. Please correct me, any of you, if I veer off the track at any point. Jack Lenihan felt each of you out on how you would spend the two and a half million he was dangling. He wanted to know what he would get in return, a time-honored tradition in Albany, though with a switch this time. It wasn't city contracts Lenihan wanted, or insurance deals, or the toilet-paper concession for city hall. He was not interested in court-clerk positions, or commissionerships, or a contract for police uniforms. Uh-uh. That wasn't Jack. He didn't go for all that business as usual. In fact, he loathed it-for his own very personal reasons. That's what this whole deal was about."