Free The Blackmail Club by David Bishop Page B

been blackmailed. Do you know his patient codes?”
    Fuller looked back and forth between Jack and Nora, her loose jowls swinging slightly. “The codes were only kept inside the patients’ jackets and in Dr. Andujar’s head.”
    “That’d be just like Chris,” Jack said. “He had a phenomenal memory.”
    “He did, didn’t he?” Fuller nodded.
    Fuller was quickly able to put names with a half a dozen of Chris’s patient codes, those who had appointments the last few days before his death. Then she pursed her lips and shook her head.
    “Who picked you up in the dark coupe after you and I spoke in the parking garage?” Jack asked.
    “My boyfriend, Arthur Tyson, he’s a local PI. Artie says he knows both of you.”
    Jack forgot his sore neck and snapped his head toward Nora. After wincing, he said, “Please tell Arthur we said hello.”
    The city had a zillion dark-colored coupes, so Jack couldn’t conclude Tyson had been the driver outside of Sarah Andujar’s house. But then he couldn’t conclude he hadn’t.
    Agnes Fuller left.
    Five minutes later Chief Mandrake came in. “I just cruised through your underground parking garage to be sure Tyson had picked up his car and I saw your car. I decided to come up and let you know we’ve identified the man in the dumpster: Benjamin Haviland, a federal fugitive who, during the late 60s and early 70s, demonstrated for every cause that needed someone to carry another sign. The Feds had nothing on the guy since ‘72. Sergeant Suggs tossed his apartment; he found nothing other than clothes and a high school track medal for winning the hundred-yard dash. He lived ready to run at any moment.”
    “Not much to leave behind at the end of a life,” Nora said.
    Five minutes after Chief Mandrake left, Max Logan came in.
    “This is more visitors than we get on weekdays,” Jack said to Nora.
    “Here’s the photo of the stranger I saw with Donny Andujar in the lot at his club.” Max dropped the picture on the table.
    Nora picked it up and immediately said, “Jack, this guy was here last night, at our open house.”
    Max perked up. “You know him, boss?”
    “Meet Troy Engels, Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. But what’s he doing with a pimply faced wannabe gangster like Donny Andujar?”
    “Any guesses, boss?”
    “No reliable ones.”
    “What else has been happening at Donny’s club?” Nora asked.
    “Boring! I’ve been singing Irish ballads just to stay awake. Donny shows up around noon, then leaves for the night sometime between dinner and closing time. Last night, it got a bit more interesting. Around six, he comes out with one of his ladies wearing a short skirt and a pair of them mid-thigh patent leather boots. The two of ‘em got into his Porsche, and after five minutes of what looked like an argument, they drove off. I followed. A Porsche is a pretty easy car to keep your eye on in traffic.”
    Max used his hands to demonstrate a turn, and then continued. “Twenty minutes later he pulled up outside the Lord & Taylor store out on Western Avenue. The doll goes in. He waited in his car. I waited in mine. Fifty-five minutes later she comes out. Wow, what a change. I wasn’t sure it was the same dish till she got back in Donny’s Porsche.”
    “How had she changed?” asked Nora.
    “She’s all dolled up, fresh as a spring morn, including a new do. She had on a plaid above-the-knee skirt and a green blazer, with one of them phony family crests on the pocket. She’d gone from a lap dancer to a good-looking fox like you in under an hour. My apology,” he added, his hands outstretched like a revivalist, “if that didn’t come out like the compliment I intended.”
    “You can call me a fox anytime, Max.” Nora smiled.
    “Donny took off with me still playing shadow, and after a while he turned into the parking for the Loews Hotel on L’Enfant Plaza SW. He and the babe got out and went inside the hotel. Neither Donny nor the doll knew