Body Blows by Marc Strange Read Free Book Online Page A

booze, and her. She said I was going to have to drop one of them.”
    Louis Schurr retired a few months later, died a few months after that, and I started work at a job I wasn’t particularly well-suited for, running a small staff of less-than-stalwart operatives. Nonetheless, I managed to make a go of it, predominantly because of Wallace Gritchfield.
    That was eight years ago.
    â€œHow many special keys are there anyway?” Gritch wants to know. “Keys that will get you up to the penthouse?”
    My expensive cigar suddenly tastes foul. Extravagance is an acquired habit. Gritch seems able to deal with it.
    â€œOne in Lloyd’s office. We’ve got one.”
    â€œYou carry that one all the time. Is there another one in this office?”
    I shake my head. “Maurice has one I think.”
    â€œNope. Maurice has to get the one from Lloyd’s office.”
    â€œGot to be more than two, right?” I say. “Leo has one. And Raquel. She must’ve had one.”
    That brings a moment of silence.
    â€œHousekeeping,” I say. “Mrs. Dineen.”
    â€œYeah. Her too,” Gritch says. “And there’s the fire door.”
    â€œSomeone went out that way,” I say. “Why didn’t the bells start ringing?”
    â€œMaybe they knew the security code.”
    Right, I’m thinking — keys, security codes, but no cameras.
    â€œShould have had cameras up there,” I say. “The place just got outfitted with security cameras on every floor. Why didn’t Leo install them up there?”
    â€œPrivacy,” says Gritch. “He’s a bear for his privacy.”

chapter six
    F irst thing in the morning, before toast and coffee, I check in with Lloyd Gruber and Margo Traynor, manager and assistant manager respectively, in Margo’s office (Lloyd doesn’t like me in his office, he worries that I’ll break something). Their reactions are predictable. Margo says, “Oh, my God, that poor woman. Is Leo all right?” And Lloyd says, “Christ, the papers will have a field day!”
    He can put his worries on hold for a few hours at least. The morning papers haven’t yet picked up the story. I have a look at the Emblem in the Lobby Café while Hattie butters my toast.
    â€œIt’s true, Joe?” She doesn’t want to believe it. “Raquel?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI can’t believe it,” she says. “Such a nice person.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œThe police don’t know, I don’t know, Leo doesn’t know. It looks like someone broke in somehow.”
    â€œUp there ? How?”
    â€œThat’s what they’re trying to find out.”
    â€œWho would do a thing like that? Such a nice person,” Hattie says. “She gave me a Christmas card last year. She said Mr. Alexander always spoke well of my mother.”
    â€œYes, she was very thoughtful,” I say. I’ve just remembered that Raquel wanted me to pick up something for her. Where’s the receipt? Still in the pocket of my tux, likely. Leo’s not going to feel much like celebrating a birthday tomorrow, but I suppose I’d better attend to it anyway. I promised.
    â€œIs there going to be a funeral?”
    â€œI’ll let you know, Hattie,” I say. “The police haven’t released the body yet.”
    â€œOh, the poor dear,” she says. “Such a sweet person.”
    The uniformed cop who lets me into Leo’s closet is impressed with the array. For someone who never went out, Leo has a long clothes rack. I follow Manny Bigalow’s old-school rules. “No cufflinks until evening …” White shirt, charcoal grey suit, striped tie. “Always appropriate …” Plenty to choose from — black shoes, dark grey socks. I get the socks and fresh underwear from one of the dressers in his bedroom. I’ve never been in here before.