Catching Water in a Net Read online

  “If Darlene has a couch, you’re welcome to stay,” she said smiling.

  I was at a loss for a comeback.

  I drained the bourbon from my glass and led her out of the office. We climbed into the Toyota and drove in silence.

  “I really would like to employ your services,” she finally said, “and if you’re up for it you could start right now.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Could we make a stop on the way? I need some things to wear.”

  I glanced at my Timex. It was well after ten.

  “Unless you do your clothes shopping at 7-Eleven, it’s a little late.”

  “I have clothing; we just need to pick it up where I left it.”

  “Expecting someone to be waiting for you there?”

  “I don’t think so. I have a suitcase in a locker at Union Station.”

  To play it safe, I left Grace in the car and went in myself to pick up her things. I threw the suitcase into the back seat and drove. I was trying my best to avoid thinking about what I was getting myself into.

  When we reached Darlene’s, Grace made herself right at home. She kicked off her shoes, started some coffee, and asked if it would be okay if she took a quick shower. I told her that when Darlene offered a place to stay, the shower was thrown in. I sat at the kitchen table, feeling uneasy, and decided to call Sally. There was no answer at home.

  Grace walked into the kitchen wearing a white terry cloth robe, poured two cups of coffee, and sat down.

  “Are you going home?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m glad. I really don’t want to be alone.”

  “I need to know who you’re running from,” I said.

  “The police,” she answered, “they think I killed my husband.”

  “Someone killed your husband?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s just that no one seems to be able to find him and the police think that I had the motive and opportunity to make him disappear.”

  “The motive being money?”

  “Physical abuse.”

  If her husband had beat up on her, he had stayed away from her face.

  “And the opportunity?”

  “I was the last person known to have seen him alive or otherwise.”

  “Which was when?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  “Where?”

  “At home.”

  “So what happened?”

  “He tried to roundhouse me, I ducked and he punched the wall. His hand was dripping blood like a faucet and he was chasing me all over the house. Finally I locked myself in the bathroom and when I came out he was gone.”

  “You called the cops?”

  “The police just showed up. The neighbors must have complained about the commotion. They found all that blood and no body, so they took me in for questioning. One of the lady officers uncovered more than a few bruises on my arms and torso and they decided to hold me. A friend got me out on bail, but this morning the police showed up again. I went out the back door with a suitcase, thought of hoping a train but didn’t know where to go. I left my things in the locker at the train station and roamed around Fisherman’s Wharf until I saw a patrol car and panicked.”

  She paused to take a drink of coffee.

  “I ducked into the restaurant, and you know the rest.”

  “And you think that your husband is alive somewhere?”

  “Yes. I doubt he bled to death from a cut on his hand. But if I don’t locate him I’m screwed, pardon my language,” she said. “Funny, I never thought I’d ever want to find the bastard.”

  “So you want me to help you find your husband, at least prove that he’s not a corpse.”

  “That’s the general idea, yes.”

  “Any clue where to start?”

  “No. I gave every idea I had to the police and they couldn’t track him down. His friends, his family, people at his job, the guys at his tennis club; no one’s heard a word. It’s like he dropped off the face of the earth.”

  “It would be nice to have somewhere to begin,” I said.

  “His name is Frank Slater, if that’s any help.”

  “Frank Slater the Attorney?”

  “That’s him.”

  It happened to be a great help. Not only did I know of Frank Slater, the mob lawyer, I knew someone who could possibly lead me right to him. The question was; did I want to go there.

  At that time I didn’t know Joey Russo all that well.

  I had yielded to his insistence that I garage my Chevy at his place, but his world seemed a little too scary to me.

  Something about Grace Shipley inspired me to throw all caution to the wind. I’ve always been a sucker for a damsel in distress.

  I should have been thinking more about the one I had married.

  I told Grace she should get some sleep, assuring her she was safe there at Darlene’s and that I had a plan. I told her that I would get right to it in the morning.

  I actually did use the couch that night.

  I tried calling Sally a few more times before I finally fell asleep but got no answer. It was unlikely that Sally would have been out all night, unless she went to her mother’s.

  I figured she was just ignoring the phone or had unplugged the thing.

  The next morning I left Grace asleep and headed over to my office. I wasn’t looking forward to having to make the coffee myself. It was the same coffee, the same coffeemaker and the same water; but it was always better when Darlene made it.

  There was a message on the answering machine from a lawyer named Spencer asking that I call. I put it on the bottom of my list.

  I called Joey Russo and ran the story by him, and asked if he could help me locate Frank Slater. I told Joey that I was getting paid to find Slater and he would be compensated for the help he gave me. He told me not to be insulting. He said he would get back to me.

  I tried Sally again at home, no answer. I tried her mother’s, no answer. I tried her office at Bytemp and was told that she wasn’t in. I asked for Mrs. Temple and was told that she wasn’t in. I’m no rocket scientist, but I had the feeling that I was being avoided.

  I was just about to call the number that Spencer had left on my machine when the phone rang.

  “Mr. Diamond, my name is Richard Spencer. I’m an attorney retained by your wife to initiate divorce proceedings.”

  “Are you sure you have the right Mr. Diamond?” I asked.

  “Positive,” he answered.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said.

  “I assure you, Mr. Diamond, that is definitely not my intention. You will soon be receiving papers in the mail. In the meanwhile Ms. French has requested that you not try to contact her directly, but instead conduct all communication with her through my office.”

  For lack of a better term I was flabbergasted.

  “Where is she, I want to talk with her.”

  “I can see why one of her complaints was that you don’t listen. I’ll quickly rephrase it for you and then I really must be getting back to work.”

  “I heard you asshole,” I said, and slammed down the receiver.

  I truly never saw it coming. Sure, Sally and I had our differences of opinion, particularly about my day job. But I had no idea she was so close to the edge that my actions the night before would push her over.

  And now I was angry.

  And that wouldn’t help me to deal with Grace Shipley.

  There’s nothing like lack of trust to encourage untrustworthiness.

  I tried to distract myself and cool down by piddling with the papers that Darlene had left on my desk. A few bills for our services, which she wanted me to look over before mailing. A few messages requiring return calls. A copy of the bank statement for the business, which didn’t cheer me up much. The phone number where Darlene would be staying, in case I couldn’t find the start button on the coffee machine. That little note did get a smile out of me.

  I m
ade a few phone calls. One was to a woman who thought that her husband was having an affair and wanted to find out if it were true. I really wasn’t in the mood. I told her that she might be better off not knowing, but if she decided to go ahead I could see her the following afternoon.

  Nine times out of ten they didn’t call back.

  Then I called Jimmy Pigeon down in LA. He had left a message with Darlene, said it wasn’t important, just checking in.

  “Hey, Jimmy, I heard you called.”

  “Nothing urgent, Jake. Just wanted to see how you and Sally were doing and wish you a Happy Anniversary.”

  I wish now that I had opened up to Jimmy about the situation with Sally, and had mentioned my run-in with Grace Shipley.

  Things might have turned out very differently.

  Instead I just said thanks and we’re doing fine and how are you. Jimmy and I promised each other that we would make it our business to get together sometime soon, and that was it.

  And then I decided that I didn’t want to be there alone in the office anymore so I put the call forwarding over to Darlene’s home number and went back to see how Grace was doing.

  A lot more vulnerable than when I’d left.

  I stopped on the way to pick up a bottle of bourbon and made another detour at the supermarket. I didn’t know what Grace’s eating habits were, but there wasn’t much around Darlene’s for someone who enjoyed more than twigs and leaves. It looked as if I might be camping out on the couch for a while so I picked up some meat and potatoes. I thought it would be better to cook in and order in while the heat was on.

  We made lunch and talked about the weather. I told her that I was waiting for possible word on Slater; I didn’t mention my chat with Sally’s lawyer. After a few hours Grace said she was feeling cooped up and asked if we could take a ride. I thought that a drive over to Berkeley wouldn’t be too risky; we could walk around the University and envy the college kids. We spent the afternoon peering into store windows and strolling around the fountain on the UC campus.

  We had dinner in Berkeley and took in a movie. Grace seemed much more relaxed. She had adopted a sense of security, hopefully not a false one.

  For my part, I had distanced myself from the anger that I had felt after talking with Sally’s mouthpiece.

  Grace and I were helping each other to ignore reality.

  It was late when we arrived back at Darlene’s. Grace went into the bedroom to change into her sleep gear and I opened the convertible sofa. I poured a tall glass of bourbon, knowing that I’d need some help falling asleep. Grace came in and asked if there was another glass around.

  We sat on the couch, sipping our drinks, not saying much. One drink led to another; one thing led to another. I’ll spare you the details, but when the phone rang at eight the next morning the sofa bed hadn’t been slept in.

  It was Joey Russo with the story on Frank Slater.

  The critical news was that Slater was alive and the police weren’t interested in Grace anymore.

  Here were the specifics.

  Frank Slater had been working as a lawyer for the Carlucci crime family for years, unbeknownst to his wife of six months. Shortly after he married Grace, Slater was picked up by the Feds and told that if he didn’t cooperate he would be spending his new bride’s childbearing years in a federal penitentiary.

  They had the goods on him.

  The situation made him temperamental, and he began taking his frustrations out on his wife. Whoever he thought he was symbolically lashing out at, Grace became the unlucky object of his brutality.

  On the night Slater smashed his hand into the wall he was on his way to meet with Johnny Carlucci to discuss ways that John might beat a murder rap. Slater was wearing a recording devise, compliments of the Justice Department. When the ruckus began between Slater and his wife, the agents at the other end of the wire rushed in.

  They whisked Slater out of the house and tended to his damaged hand. He missed the meeting with Carlucci, which actually saved his life.

  Carlucci had discovered that Slater was working with the Feds and was planning to knock the lawyer off at the meeting. A phone tap alerted the FBI to the planned hit. The government had no choice but to settle for Slater’s testimony and rushed him and his freshly bandaged hand straight into the Witness Protection Program. The San Francisco Police were out of the loop so they were handling his disappearance as an incident of foul play and liking Grace as a suspect.

  It had taken two weeks for the word to get to the SFPD that the whereabouts of Frank Slater was of no concern to them, and they were coming to tell Grace that she was cleared when she beat it out the back door.

  That was the good news.

  The bad news was that Grace could be in danger.

  “Mrs. Slater could be in danger,” said Russo.

  “Why? She doesn’t know anything,” I insisted.

  It’s what I wanted to believe.

  “I believe you, but what I believe doesn’t much matter. Carlucci needs to be convinced that his business wasn’t pillow talk. On top of that, Carlucci might be thinking that the wife can help him find out where the Feds stashed Slater.”

  “How would she know?”

  “She wouldn’t. But if Slater thought that his wife was in danger it might smoke him out.”

  “He couldn’t care less about what happens to her. All she was to him was an ornament and a punching bag.”

  “Save your arguments for Johnny Boy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The only way out of this is to set up a powwow between John Carlucci and the woman and persuade him that she’s no threat and of no use,” said Joey, “I can arrange it, and even sit in, but the verdict will be out of my hands.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Unless she wants to go to the FBI and ask them to make her disappear the same way they made Slater vanish.”

  “Okay, thanks, I’ll let you know.”

  “Don’t wait too long,” he said.

  It didn’t take long. I ran it by Grace and she insisted she wanted to meet with Carlucci. I called Joey back and asked him to set it up.

  That night we sat around a table in Carlucci’s North Beach restaurant. ‘Johnny Boy’ Carlucci, Joey Russo, Grace Shipley-Slater and myself. It had been decided that Joey would do the talking, since he was best versed in the lingo. While Russo laid out the case for the defense, Carlucci never took his eyes off Grace.

  When Joey had completed his closing statements, Carlucci asked to speak with the lady in private.

  Two orangutans escorted Joey and I to the bar and plied us with drinks while Grace and Johnny talked. Twenty minutes later we were brought back to the table.

  “So,” asked Carlucci, “how about some dinner? The food is excellent.”

  I’m sure it was. His mother ran the kitchen.

  “No thank you,” said Joey, “we really should be going.”

  Carlucci rose from his seat and thanked us for coming. Joey Russo shook Carlucci’s hand and we walked out of the restaurant.

  Joey drove us back to Darlene’s. He talked about the Giants. He didn’t say a thing about the meeting or ask Grace anything about her conversation with Carlucci. It was none of his business, and he showed me by example that it was none of mine.

  So I never knew what Grace said to John Carlucci, but whatever it was it did the trick. He seemed to lose all interest in her.

  While I was becoming more and more interested.

  All of my attempts to contact Sally were in vain. Soon I gave up.

  Everything went pretty quickly after that.

  I began spending a lot of time with Grace

  Meanwhile the Diamond vs. Diamond divorce proceeding was moving along, not rapidly but efficiently. And in Grace’s case, the government was seeing to it that Slater sign all the necessary papers for a divorce and a liquidation of his assets. Eventually Grace would be at least financially compensated for the abuse she took from her ex-husband.

&nb
sp; While we were waiting for the monetary affairs to be settled I gladly took the role of breadwinner. Grace moved out of the house she had shared with Slater and into my place on Fillmore Street.

  Then, six months later, I was called down to Los Angeles to meet with Sally and her lawyer to finalize an uncontested divorce. Sally looked fantastic. After the meeting and paperwork, Sally and I decided to have dinner together. And then a few drinks after dinner.

  Surprisingly, we got along pretty well.

  It was a lot easier since we weren’t obliged to.

  After half a year we may have forgotten most of what had made us both so angry in the first place.

  I wanted to tell Sally that it wasn’t Grace who had come between us.

  Explain that Grace happened later, after the space was already there.

  I wanted to apologize to Sally for giving up so easily. Sally could have used an apology. Sally deserved one.

  I could have forgotten for a moment that Sally had also given up without much fight and that I could have used an apology also.

  I let the opportunity pass.

  We grabbed a cab and I dropped Sally off at the apartment she kept in LA for business. I went back to my hotel. I had mixed emotions about the finality of the divorce. On the one hand, there was a sense of sadness and failure. On the other, it freed me to think more seriously about a future with Grace.

  I flew back to San Francisco the next morning, eager to see her.

  When Grace wasn’t there to pick me up at the airport I was a little worried.

  When I arrived back at the apartment Grace was gone.

  Really gone.

  Everything.

  When the phone rang I leapt at it. I was certain that it was Grace with a good explanation.

  It was an explanation, but it was Joey Russo on the telephone, and it wasn’t good at all.

  Joey had just learned it, I knew better than to ask him how.

  The money that Grace had coming to her, from the sale of Frank Slater’s house and his other assets, had been handed over to her by the Justice Department.

  Nearly a week before.

  Nearly two hundred thousand dollars.

  Grace had patiently waited until I left for my meeting in Los Angeles.