The Girl in White Pajamas Read online

  Randy studied the traffic. “Nothing’s moving.”

  Bogie nodded. “That’s why I’m taking the fastest route possible. I’m walking. It’s only a couple of miles.”

  It was almost four-thirty when Bogie reached the corner of Washington and State. He was used to running, but he’d forgotten how crowded the streets and sidewalks were when there was a traffic tie-up. Bogie stood across the street from One Boston Place and tried to visualize the scene of the murder with the additional information he got from the unpublished police report.

  Questions raced through his mind. Why had Bud parked here? He was driving his own car. He had to be meeting somebody. Who? Bud was in public relations. He wasn’t out meeting drug dealers or snitches. Could it have been Matt MacDonald? Did the person he was meeting carry a .45 caliber gun? That gun was fairly heavy, not easy to conceal. Elizabeth McGruder seemed to have no problem emptying a .38. Could she handle a .45? Bud’s gun was holstered so he wasn’t expecting a gun battle. Who wanted to kill him? He was a philanderer, but did that warrant the death penalty? Unanswered, Bogie’s questions continued to move through his head.

  When Bogie entered the lobby, he found his heart was pounding and his hands were sweating. He hadn’t felt this nervous since he was a teenager going on a date. This was it! For the first time in four years, he and Bailey would be face to face. She broke his heart when she wrote that letter to him. But he convinced himself that he had to go on for Amanda’s sake, and that’s when he learned that Bailey had his child. If Bailey didn’t love him, didn’t want him, why did she have his baby? She was not religious and was a strong advocate of free choice. That small flame of hope burned inside of him as he tried to believe she might still love him.

  As he pressed the button for the elevator, he had an epiphany. This was the end game. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bogie had believed that if he had been in better shape, dressed classier, learned to dance, whitened his tobacco stained teeth she’d still love him. Maybe, if he had been a better lover. He felt like an athlete entering the arena after a rigorous period of training. Let the games begin!

  When he walked into the office of Rubin Goldstein and Associates on the twenty-sixth floor, he found everything much the same as it had been four and a half years earlier. A large glass-enclosed conference room was to the right of the reception area. Bogie saw that Bailey’s office was the first office to the left.

  The greatest change here was the silence. It was four-thirty in the afternoon, and the place looked empty. This same office was bustling day and night when Bogie met with Rubin four and a half years earlier. Those were grueling meetings. Bogie’s wife, Olga, and baby daughter, Barbara, had been killed in a car accident. That car had been driven by his father, Baxter McGruder. At first, Rubin was representing Bogie while the cops and DA aggressively tried to pin an involuntary manslaughter charge on him. He and the old man had engaged in a brutal fist fight before Baxter McGruder drove off with Olga and the baby and then was involved in a head-on collision with an eighteen wheeler.

  The legal bills mounted as the cops and DA tried to link Baxter’s injuries from the fight to his inability to stop when he and the Mack truck collided.

  Rubin suggested they take the offensive and file suit against his father’s estate and the other driver on behalf of Olga and the baby. Bogie refused. He didn’t want blood money from insurance companies.

  As the police continued to badger Bogie, and his legal bills grew higher, he was more receptive to Rubin’s suggestion that they file suit. “Fuck ‘em all, sue ‘em all!” Bogie instructed.

  By that point, the pretense was over. The marriage was a business arrangement. He was paid to marry his father’s mistress and claim the child as his own. The cops thought he was the betrayed husband who found his father, a reputed swordsman, screwing his wife and then the fists flew. The truth was that Baxter McGruder had slapped fourteen-year-old Amanda across the face.

  Every night Baxter snuck out of his own back door, opened the kitchen door to the twin brownstone and joined Olga in bed. Bogie slept on the couch so Olga had plenty of room for Baxter. Baby Barbara’s crib was in the room with Olga, but the baby woke up a few times every night. Since Bogie was scheduled to do surveillances three nights in a row, Olga and the old man figured Baxter could change his normal routine. With Bogie out of the house, Baxter and Olga decided to have a honeymoon and get Amanda to keep Barbara in her room for the night. When Amanda refused, Baxter slapped her face and forced her to watch baby Barbara. The next day Amanda didn’t go to school but walked to the R & B office. She told Rose what had happened. When Bogie learned of this, he went ballistic.

  Bogie had a two-year verbal commitment to the sham marriage that was financed by a Palm Beach property. The marriage would keep Olga in this country while she worked on getting a green card. It also provided Baxter with the time he needed to collect a large annuity Elizabeth McGruder had given him as a retirement gift. Baxter would dump the old lady after that.

  Baxter and Olga didn’t seem to notice that Amanda hadn’t come home from school and certainly didn’t expect Bogie to be sitting there waiting for them.

  All the rage and hatred he harbored for the years of abuse he had suffered at the hands of Baxter McGruder came to the forefront as Bogie’s fists pounded into him. Baxter was in great shape for his age and gave as good as he got. By the time the two men finished, Olga was sobbing and cursing in Russian while the baby’s cries went unheard. Both men were bloody. Bogie grabbed Baxter and pushed him out the back door, telling him to take his whore with him.

  Bogie figured Baxter and Olga would regroup, come back with cops and throw him out, but he didn’t care. He pulled suitcases out from under Amanda’s bed and started packing his and his daughter’s clothes. His hands were still shaking as the adrenaline rush wore off, but he continued his movements. Bogie went into the kitchen and grabbed a box of trash bags from under the sink. Blood dripped onto the kitchen floor from somewhere on his face. He ignored it. Racing back into the bedroom, Bogie tossed Amanda’s bedding into bags. Feeling slightly light-headed, Bogie could smell his own testosterone-laced sweat that permeated the room. Racing against an invisible clock, Bogie rushed down to the basement and got cardboard boxes. He brought them upstairs and quickly packed Amanda’s lamp, charging station and her prized doll collection. When he glanced in a mirror, he almost didn’t recognize himself. His left eye was dark and swollen. There was a cut over his right eye. Blood oozed from a deep gash on his cheek, and his upper lip was split. Bogie had so much blood over his face that he wasn’t sure which of it was his and which was the old man’s. There was no time to clean up as he hurriedly gathered his and Amanda’s possessions.

  While he packed, the house phone rang. He ignored it. Amanda had his cell phone number if she wanted to call him. The phone rang several more times before he gathered their things and placed them in one corner of the bedroom.

  The phone stopped ringing about the time the doorbell chimed and the pounding on the door began. It was difficult to ignore the noise when he saw the flashing lights outside the front windows. Bogie opened the door ready to tell the cops he was leaving without a fuss, but they didn’t ask him to leave. They quietly told him his wife and daughter had been killed in a car accident. He already knew who was driving. He only asked, “Is he?” They nodded.

  *****

  Bogie shook himself back to the present, and moved straight ahead to Bailey’s office. The mass of copper curls moved as she spoke on her cell phone. Her eyes brightened and she stood up holding onto the edge of her desk when she saw him. Bailey smiled and continued to steady herself as he walked toward her.

  Bogie wanted to appear cool and calm, but the minute he looked at her, he thought his heart would stop. He knew she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Bogie studied that lovely oval face and green, cat eyes then realized that, like her brother, she had developed dark circles under her eye
s. Bailey was thin, and her hands trembled. Bogie walked toward her office and stepped inside. “Hi, beautiful,” he said as casually as possible.

  She started to smile and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Bogie! It’s so good to see you!”

  He grabbed her and held her close as he inhaled the fragrance of L’Air du Temps her signature scent. Every time he smelled that fragrance, Bailey moved into his mind and wouldn’t leave. And now he was holding her as she cried on his new silk Brooks Brothers suit.

  “Jack was right,” she finally said and sniffled. “You look great--blonde and tan...”

  The corner of his mouth flickered into a ‘Bogie’ smile. “It’s usually called gray, but if you want, we can call it blonde.” After she smiled, he said, “Sooooo…are we going to waltz around or are you going to tell me that I’m a father?”

  She looked down. “I’m sorry. I should have, a long time ago. I did try. I wasn’t sure what to say. I’m so sorry.”

  Bogie looked at the large picture on Bailey’s desk. The little girl with the carrot colored curls was a miniature of Bailey. “She’s beautiful!”

  Bailey smiled and nodded.

  “I want to see her, meet her,” he said quickly.

  Bailey nodded. “I was planning on it, but then this…” Her voice trailed off as they walked to the conference room.

  As they sat in the glass-enclosed room with the black marble table between them, Bogie took her hand. “Tell me about her,” he said gently.

  Bailey smiled through her tears. “She’s smart, she’s funny, she’s everything in the world to me…” Bailey stopped to stifle a cry. “I called her after I talked to Jack. She’s very excited about meeting you. Little Izzy’s making you something to eat.”

  “She’s three!” Bogie said surprised.

  “You’ll get a three-year-old dinner. It will either be peanut butter and jelly or a hot dog with chips.”

  “No Blanquette de veau?”

  Bailey’s face reddened and she smiled. “Dammit! You would remember that disaster!”

  “I thought it was heroic for your first attempt at French cuisine. It was pretty good!”

  “Jack and George disagreed. I think George reminded you that you actually thought Army food was good. What does that say about my cooking?”

  They were each lost in their bittersweet memories until Bailey said, “Jack said you were coming here after the walk through. It was getting late so I called him to make sure you were still on your way.”

  “The traffic was all tied up. The walk through had something to do with it. I hoofed it over here.”

  “From Comm Ave?”

  Bogie nodded.

  Bailey grinned. “I remember when you wouldn’t walk a half a block to the Seven-Eleven to get a pack of cigarettes.”

  “That was the old Bogie. This is the new improved version. So tell me what’s going on here.”

  Bailey smile faded. “It started about two or three weeks ago. Izzy’s cat Fluffy was killed.” When Bogie raised an eyebrow, she continued, “The cat was hung by a rope from a tree. It was no accident. Izzy freaked out. And I got phone calls at all hours, hang-ups from blocked numbers. Izzy kept saying somebody was watching her in the play yard at her pre-school. After that, I took her out of there.”

  “You’re talking harassment not attempted murder.”

  “Let me finish. Two days ago, I was leaving the parking garage next door. You know how the exit is a circular driveway all the way to the bottom?” When he nodded, Bailey added, “You don’t even need to tap the accelerator, just glide down. Well, I was somewhere around the third level and was moving too fast so I tried to use the brake. There were no brakes. I even tried the emergency brake, but the car just kept speeding downward till it crashed through the wooden barrier and onto Washington Street. It smashed into cars parked across the street. The airbags opened…otherwise I’d be dead. Thank God no cars were coming down the street or it would have been worse.”

  “When was the last time you had the brakes—”

  “Pl..lease!” she said irritably. “The police towed what was left of the car. I got a call from my insurance company this afternoon. The adjuster said that the front brake line was punctured and the back one was cut so there was probably just enough fluid left to drive a few feet to the ramp. After that, there were no brakes.”

  “That still doesn’t—”

  “Last night someone shot out the windows in my living room and dining room. I called the police. They found a shell casing and said it was from a shotgun.”

  “Holy shit!”

  “It’s fairly isolated there. No one saw or heard anything.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “I thought I did. But it turned out I was wrong.”

  “Who?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I was wrong.”

  Bogie stared at her until she said, “What?”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I’m telling you everything I can.”

  Bogie blew out a breath then reached down and opened his cell phone. When she started to speak, he held up a finger. “Rose, where are you?” After she told him she was in the garage next door, he said, “Come on up!”

  “Why did you call Rose?”

  “You need protection, don’t you? That’s Rose’s bailiwick, not mine.”

  “I can’t afford—”

  “We’ll talk about that later. Right now we have to set up a protection detail while we’re trying to figure out who wants to kill you. It would help a whole hell of a lot if you were more candid with me.”

  Bailey’s face reddened. “I don’t need a lecture from you. I thought…” After a deep sigh she continued, “I want her to know you in case…”

  Bogie said nothing. He reminded himself to keep his mouth closed since he had a knack for angering people when he opened it.

  Rose walked through the front door looking like Rose. She wore her black leather, studded jacket, form-fitting pants and decorated motorcycle boots. Rose reluctantly carried Bogie’s brown messenger bag on her shoulder and almost cringed knowing it clashed with the rest of her ensemble. Rose stepped into the room and squeezed Bailey’s shoulder. “How’s it going?”

  Bailey just shook her head.

  While Bogie removed the laptop from the bag, Rose asked Bailey the same questions Bogie had just asked and received identical responses. Listening to them speak, Bogie typed into the computer then cracked his knuckles. When Bailey cringed, the way she always did when he did that, he reminded himself to shape up and stop it. Bogie got up and stretched as he looked over the layout of the office. A wide open space in the middle of the floor housed four desks that were separated by cubicle walls and shielded from public view by fica trees in silver containers. Two small offices followed the conference room on the right. Bogie recalled that these were used for small conferences when the big conference room was in use. On the left side of the floor were six offices in a row. The last office belonged to Rubin Goldstein, who preferred to hide from clients and staff as much as possible.

  Bogie listened carefully as he heard Bailey say, “The whole living room and dining room were covered in broken glass. Kim had to take Isabella down the back stairs and through the pantry this morning. They stayed in the kitchen most of the day. George called somebody to replace the glass, and he and Kim swept out the rooms this afternoon. But I’m sure we’ll be finding shards of glass around the house for months to come.”

  Standing behind her, Bogie looked over the law books stacked on the back wall. He feigned indifference while carefully mulling over every word she said. She wasn’t lying. She was omitting.

  When Bailey finished, Rose said, “You’ll need a minimum of two people.”

  “No! I can’t afford—”

  Rose pointed at Bogie. “Bogie’s taking care of it. Like I said, you’ll need at least a couple of people wo
rking twelve hour shifts. I already called George and told him I was sending Angel over to check out the property. I didn’t want George or the cops taking a shot at him.”

  Bailey put her hands on either side of her head and rested her elbows on the table. As she sighed, Bogie glanced at the dark blood caked over a wound on the back of her head.

  23 SHUT YOUR MOUTH WHEN YOU’RE TALKING TO ME

  Bogie, Bailey and Rose were quiet as they left the office and descended in the elevator. They walked out the side door of the building and directly into a covered, narrow alley that led to the closet-sized lobby of the parking garage.

  Bogie asked, “Is this the way you leave the building every day?”

  Bailey stared. “Yes. I mean no. If it’s late or on weekends, this door is locked. You have to go through security at the front desk.” Her color deepened. “Why do you ask?”

  He studied her face and said, “Just gathering info…curious.”

  With Rose driving the Escalade and Bogie riding shotgun, Bailey sat quietly in the back. As they fought their way through downtown traffic, Bailey’s cellphone rang and she grabbed it. “No…no. Thanks, Jack. We’re on our way now.” After she hung up, she said, “Jack was checking to make sure I was coming home and wasn’t stranded in the city.” The drive on the Turnpike was no more than twenty minutes, and Loring Road was close to the exit. As they went up the dark street, Bogie noticed one of the black Escalades parked in front of a home on the right side. He realized what a security nightmare they were facing. It was a poorly lit road with houses spaced far apart and an overgrown area with untended vegetation and trees across the street—perfect for camouflage. They turned into the long driveway and faced an oversized garage structure. Bogie pointed and asked, “Is that your garage?”

  “No. That’s where Jack and George live. It’s a converted carriage house. I have a small garage under the house.” She pointed to her left. The house was an old turn of the century farmhouse made of huge, granite blocks.