Shell Game – Chapter 12 – Claire Porter

Evan stepped up to the bank of apartment buzzers at the front door of The Walnut Grove Apartments and double-checked the apartment before pressing the button.  Sure enough, WOLF was the name above the buzzer.

“Who is it?” Came a woman’s voice over the tiny speaker.

“Evan Gold, Miss Wolf.”

A moment later, Evan heard a short buzz, and the lock on the front door release.  He went inside and headed up the flight of stairs to Molly’s apartment door.  He rapped his knuckles on the door, and a moment later, the door opened to reveal his client.  Molly wore a butter-yellow quilted satin dressing gown.  Evan thought it looked very sophisticated for a place like The Walnut Grove, with its velvet, rose appliqué running from her left shoulder and underneath the tied belt.  Molly’s hair was in tight curls that bobbed along her collar bone.  Her eyes were red and puffy, presumably from distress and her forehead was in a constant pucker, but Evan couldn’t help feeling like this was all for show – the hair, the tears – something was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Oh, Evan,” she cried as soon as she laid her eyes on him.  She embraced him, throwing both of her arms around his neck, burying her face in the shoulder of his jacket.  Evan placed his hands on her shoulders.  He felt the warmth of her frame against his and could feel her muscles tremble and quake beneath his hands.  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.  “I’ve been so scared.  I had to get out of there.  I had to.”  She whimpered quietly.

Evan pushed her away gently, holding her by her arms.  “That’s alright,” he said.  “Why don’t you let me inside, and we can talk a bit.”

She nodded and let Evan in.  As soon as the door clicked closed, she said, “Evan, I need to confess something.  I feel so stupid.  I got myself all mixed up and now…” her voice trailed off.

“Slow down,” Evan soothed.  “Take a breath and let it out.  I’m told confession is good medicine.”

Molly wiped away the tears from her cheek.  “I’m afraid a lot of what I told you yesterday was a lie.  And now your partner is dead, and Jason and…” her tears started anew and cut off the air to her throat.

Evan’s face broke out into a smile.  He waved his hat at her before tossing it on the table, “I wouldn’t worry about all that.  We didn’t believe you anyway.”  Molly looked at Evan with unblinking eyes.  “However, the money you flashed around, and that promise of more where that came from, well, that was quite convincing.”  Evan put his hands on his hips and allowed himself to take in the place.

“My money?” she looked confused.

“You paid us much better than if you had been telling the truth.”  Evan chuckled to himself, “The sob story you fed us at the office, poor girl sent like the dove from the ark looking for her prodigal pa, wouldn’t have been carrying the roll of cabbage you had in your purse.  Let’s just say it raised our interest just enough to play along.  Everyone’s got to eat, isn’t that right?”  He looked at her with a devilish arch in his eyebrows.

“Yes, well,” she started, seemingly at a loss for how to feel about such a comment, “I think you can then appreciate that my situation has shifted a bit…”

Evan cut her off.  Holding his hand up to her, he said, “We’ll get to that in time.  I’m just as curious as the next person about your shifting situation, as you call it.  However, I would like to know who it is I’m talking to.  It makes the formalities of personal address much easier.”  

“What?” Molly asked.

Evan sat in an armchair and rested his hat on his knee.  “Yesterday, you came into my office saying your name was Molly Brandt.  This morning you call my office saying your name is Wolf.  Now, I don’t much care what name you want to go by, but it would help me out not to keep a list of aliases for my clients at the ready.  So, what’ll it be?  Brandt?  Wolf?  Or is there something else you’d like to pull out of the hopper?”

She looked at the ground and wrung her hands.  “Porter,” she said softly.  “My name is Claire Porter.  I didn’t want to tell you my real name yesterday because…”

Again, Evan held up his hand to silence her.  Claire complied.

“Now here’s what I know,” Evan began to talk as if telling a fantastical story from long ago to a group of wide-eyed listeners, “there were two murders last night.  My partner and Mr. Charles.  That would be bad enough, but two murders in one night, you can imagine in a small town like Athens, the police are a bit anxious and asking some questions.  Specifically, they’re asking me some questions, and I don’t like the conclusions they’re coming to.  They seem to think I’m a link between the two murders, but I know better.  I know that you are a link between the two, so I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

Claire flung herself on her knees next to Evan and grasped his hand.  “You don’t think I had something to do with the murders, do you?”

“Did you?” Evan asked.  “Have something to do with the murders, I mean?”  Claire shook her head.  “Well, there you go.  You said yourself Charles was a dangerous character.  Dangerous characters often come to dangerous ends.  It’s unfortunate what happened to Gabe, but we all know there are risks in this line of work.”

Claire began her sobs anew, “Seeing Mr. Silver’s face on the morning paper just made me sick.  He seemed so alive yesterday at your office.  He seemed like he was there, very solidly alive.  Then to read he had a wife and kids-” her voice broke again.  She buried her face in her hands.

“Like I said,” Evan said, “Gabe Silver was a grown man able to make his own choices.  He chose this occupation, and his wife went along with him.  It’s a tragedy for sure, but it all comes with the territory.”  Evan stood and went to a table near the outside window.  He watched for a moment as the misty swirls of fog drifted lazily down Copley Street.  There was a pitcher of water on the table and two clean glasses.  He poured a glass for Claire.  “You should drink this,” he said.  “All that crying’s going to leave you depleted if you don’t drink some water.”

She took the glass and sipped at it.  Claire continued to sit on the floor, her legs tucked under her like a child sitting in a schoolroom.  Evan paced the small apartment.  “I’d like us to refocus on the important matters at hand,” Evan said in a clear voice.  “There are two dead men, and the police want to find the killer: the faster, the better from their angle.  Now, I wasn’t there, which is good for us.  I’ll be able to hold off the police for a while.  But I know these guys, there’s blood in the water, and if we don’t give them a good story soon, they’re going to ask better and better questions.  Then we might discover ourselves in hot water whether we like it or not.”

Suddenly, Claire perked up, “Do they know about me?”

Evan chuckled, “You see, now that’s what I mean.  No, they don’t.  Not yet anyway.  All the police know is that Gabe was looking for a client’s missing father.  But sooner or later, they’re going to want to know the name of that client, and if you don’t shoot straight with me, you or I are going to take a trip to Leavenworth.”

“What would the police think of me if they found out I hired you under a false name?” Claire asked.

“I can’t say it helps you out, Miss Porter,” Evan said.

“Claire, please,” she said.  “I can’t handle the formality between us.”

“Fine.  Claire, it is,” Evan said.  “Now, I think I can spin a story to feed the police to keep them off of our case for a while, while we sort some other details out.”

“You’re going to lie to the police?” Claire asked.

“No,” Evan said, “lies are too hard to keep up with.  Much better to tell the truth.  But I’m not going to tell them everything either.  From what I can see, the whole truth, or at least what little of it that I know, hurts me more than it helps me.  I need to keep the police distracted until truth and reality line up.  But if your real concern is if I can keep them away from you, I think I can work that.  At least for a while.”

“Thank you,” Claire said through a weak smile.  

Evan began to pace the floor again.  He kept his arms crossed in front of him and looked at his shoes as he walked.  “Now, what exactly do we tell the police?”

“For that matter,” Claire said, pushing herself up from the floor to sit in the armchair, “do the police ever need to know about me?”

Evan sucked his teeth as he thought a moment.  “That remains to be seen,” he said, “But I’ll need to know the real story so I can figure out what to do next.”

Claire began to massage her handkerchief between her fingers.  She looked at her hands for a long time before standing suddenly and walking to the window.  Evan watched all of this with a dry smile on his face.

“I haven’t lived a good life,” Claire said.  Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.  “I can’t tell you how afraid I am, Evan.”  She turned to look at Evan.  Her eyes were wet with new tears.  She walked to him as she said, “I need you.  I’m so afraid.  I’m so tired.  So frail.”  She placed her hands on his biceps, “I need your strength to hold me up.”

Evan looked deep into her eyes before breaking out into a sardonic laugh.  “I got to hand it to you; you have style.  You may be a lot of things, but frail is not one of them.”  He laughed again.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Claire said, visibly hurt.

“Listen, I don’t know what other chumps you’ve handled in the past, but I’ve seen a lot of master manipulators in my time, and I’m sorry, but your act won’t impress me.”

“Act?” she said, and then, “I guess I deserve that.”  She walked back to the window.  “I still would like your help, though.”

“Let’s start with what happened last night,” Evan said.