Mr. Moe gestured weakly. “I... I do not know.”
“His wife, whom he hated, was the next one killed.”
“She was forcing him to go back to her. Clemente said he must. Neverman was furious, but I do not think he would have killed her. In time, he would have been able to deal with her, to work something out.”
“He certainly did.”
Mr. Moe shuddered. “I know nothing of it.”
“You can’t get off that easily, Mr. Moe,” I said with a flash of anger. “You’re in this thing all the way. You can be charged as an accessory...”
The outside door of the stockroom slammed.
I motioned for Mr. Moe to remain quiet.
Footsteps came across the room.
Gesturing with my gun, I marched Mr. Moe toward the swinging door. He walked stiffly, like a robot.
The swinging door opened, and Neverman looked in. His eyes widened, and he bolted.
I shoved the grocer out of my way and went after Neverman. He dodged through the stacked-up crates and disappeared. An engine roared. As I burst through the outer door, the blue van pulled away.
I went back inside. Mr. Moe leaned against the counter, nursing a bumped knee. His body dropped, totally defeated.
I put my gun away.
“What will you do with me now?” the grocer asked.
“Nothing. You’re not going anywhere.”
He acknowledged it with a bow of his head. “I have nowhere to go.”
“Neverman won’t get far, either. He was helping the thieves deliver the rest of the gin, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. Speed was of the essence, and they knew who they were dealing with, so we had nothing to lose.”
“He’ll probably go back to India Basin, straight into an FBI trap.”
Mr. Moe remained silent, rubbing his knee.
I moved toward the door.
“You are leaving me?”
“You won’t be alone for long.” I turned the lock and went out.
By the time I reached the curb, the double lock on the door clicked into place behind me. When I got to Ellen T’s, I looked back. The light that had streamed around the drawn shades of the Superette went out.
23
Ellen T’s was packed with drinkers getting started on the weekend a day early. I waved to Stanley and called, “Is Gus around?”
“In the back room.” He motioned toward the rear, where the pool and domino players congregated.
The two halves of the room back there were divided by an invisible gulf of time. To the left, the young pool players strutted about, guzzling beer from the bottle and eyeing one another’s shots. They wore tight jeans and T-shirts, with the inevitable bunch of keys hooked to their beltloops. The keys, a young Latino had once told me, showed a man’s standing in the community; a large number on the ring indicated he had access to and responsibility for a great many worldly places.
To my right sat the domino players: old men in khaki pants and plaid shirts, who sipped slowly at their frosty mugs and contemplated their moves in silence. Their monosyllabic conversation was drowned out from time to time by shouts from the pool players, but if they resented them, they didn’t betray it by so much as a glance.
Gus slouched over a table with three other men, his jowls resting on his balled fists as he studied the white-dotted rectangles in front of him. It might be the night before his wife’s funeral, but he had not deviated from his routine.
I went up and put a hand on his arm.
“Miss McCone!” he exclaimed. “What...”
“I need to talk to you, Gus.”
“I’m right in the middle of a game.”
“Please — it’s important.”
He shot a long-suffering glance around the table. “What say we take a break, boys?”
They grumbled, but nodded assent. Gus followed me to the front room, clutching his beer. We sat at a table near the door.
“What’s wrong?” Gus asked. “Nobody else died, did they?”
“No, thank God. I have a couple of questions for you.”
“Will it take long? I’m ahead in that game, and I don’t want any of those guys messing with my dominoes while my back’s turned.”
“It won’t take long at all. The other day you came into my apartment to wait for Molly and took some cord off the table.”
“I what?”
“You know you did, Gus. You take a lot of things, like the ashtray from Tim’s bookcase this morning.”
He colored. “How did you know?”
“Never mind. I know why Molly threw you out, though. And I know you steal brushes off Sebastian’s parka.”
Shamed, he stared down into his beer mug. Finally he said, “I try. I try all the time, but I can’t help it.” Suddenly, he glanced at the back room. “You won’t tell them, will you? They don’t know. They think I’m just a regular guy.”
“All I’m interested in is that cord. What did you do with it?”
“Didn’t do nothing with it.”
“Do you have it now?”
“Uh, no.”
“Where is it?”
“Well, I...”
“Gus, where?”
“Well, I had it in my jacket pocket. And I took it out and sort of fiddled with it while I was walking Sebastian back to the Blind Center for dinner.”
“And?”
“Sebastian, he’s sharp. He felt me fiddling with it, and he asked me what it was. He claims something comes over my voice when I’ve stolen stuff. He can always tell. Anyway, he made me admit what I’d done, and then he took the cord away from me. Said he’d take it back to your place, and you’d never have to know it’d been gone.”
But he hadn’t returned it. He had taken it to the Center.
“Okay. Another question: How well did you know Anya Neverman?”
He frowned. “Pretty well. She was Molly’s best friend. And Sebastian and me used to stop up there and sell her stuff. He was trying to make a deal to sell her all her candles and lucky charms if he could get them.”
“When you went to see her, did she always answer the door with her gun in her hand?”
“Of course. Anya was a little cracked. Always thought somebody was gonna rape her. Even her own husband didn’t want to do that.” He snickered.
Annoyed, I said, “Well, her fears weren’t so silly after all. Someone did kill her.”
He sobered instantly. “You’re right. Somebody did. I guess that’s worse than rape, isn’t it?”
“I would say so. What did you think of Anya’s having a gun?”
“Oh, I used to joke with her about it. Called her Anya Oakley. She didn’t like that none.”
I stared at him. He’d had the motive, the opportunity. But did he have the brains — especially to lie about that cord? “Wait here, Gus.” I hurried up to the bar and caught Stanley’s eye. “Can you tell me if my friend Linnea picked up the wine?”
Stanley filled a beer mug. “Yeah, she did. A long time ago. Wasn’t she out back?”
“Out back where?”
“Watching the domino players. She came in right behind Sebastian and Gus. Gus invited her to watch the game.”
“She wasn’t there when I arrived.”
Gus came up and tugged at my sleeve. “She only stayed for a little while,” he said. “Then she decided to walk Sebastian back to the Center. I thought he might like coming here, but it wasn’t much fun for him.”
“I thought Sebastian lived with you now.”
“He’s moving tomorrow if we can get Neverman and the truck.”
“Did my friend say why she was going to the Center?”
“She asked if Mr. Clemente was back from LA, and Sebastian said yes. So she decided she’d take Sebastian there and have Mr. Clemente bring her back to pick up her bags on the way to the airport. She going someplace?”