Another Senseless Killing (10) "Great!" Foley said disgustedly. "They put me on hold. God I hate that! It really --- oh, that was quick." Nick cleared his throat. "This is Lieutenant Nick Foley from Cleveland." "Is Lieutenant Woodling there?" Nick took out a pencil and waited. It took only a few seconds. "Uh --- yes." He began to write. Nodding and several 'hmms' dominated this end of a conversation that was decidedly one-sided. The call took twenty minutes, and the taxpayers would foot the bill. After he hung up, Foley picked up the paper he'd been writing on and read it over carefully. "Are you going to share the call with me or do I have to guess what was said on the other end?" Nick looked up at me. "Warner was definitely into drugs. He dealt it and he used it. Mostly crack. Some heroin and some cocaine. Rupert said Warner's clients were primarily in the Twin Cities. And he worked alone. His contacts were small time hoods." "So there's no evidence of any mob involvement?" "No. And if there was, no one’s talking." "Then it's best to assume that his clientele was his own." I put out my cigarette and immediately lit up another one. "Including --- " Foley put away his pencil and paper. " --- ready for this? Our friend, John Carver." "No shit!" I took a puff and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. "Well, I can't be too surprised. It sure explains why Carver recognized Warner's picture." "It seems that Carver is from Saint Paul." "So they worked together there." I added. "And when they came here, the arrangement --- whatever it was --- remained intact." "So Warner supplied Carver and Carver supplied --- " I couldn't say it. Foley said it for me. "People like Kate Blair." "I wonder who their other clients were --- assuming there were others." Nick shrugged. "Rupert didn't have any names other than John Carver." "What about the young people at the modeling agency?" I asked. "We need to question everyone associated with that agency." Nick said. "We should have enough evidence to close down Carver's place and swear out a warrant for his arrest." Nick nodded. "As soon as I get all this information from Woodling." "Then," I speculated, "Carver could have killed both Kate and Warner as drug related homicides." Nick pondered my statement. "Could be. Since, according to Morales, both bullets were fired from the same weapon." "So, if we nail this prick, maybe Margo is off the hook." "Maybe." Nick spoke to the notebook as he turned the page. "Now listen to this. Curt Warner ran an escort service in Saint Paul." I could feel myself staring. "An escort service could mean a lot of things, Nick." Nick took the cigar out of his mouth and crossed his legs. "It sure sounds crooked to me." "Yeah." I said as I put out my cigarette. "Like everything about Carver sounds crooked." "Hey. It's six fifteen." Nick stood up. "It damn sure is!" I stood to face him. "All of a sudden, I'm hungry. How about dinner?" "Any other time I'd say yes, ole buddy. But tonight I promised the wife. Sorry." "Okay. Just keep me posted." Nick stood in the doorway. I knew what he wanted to hear. "Okay. I'll talk to Margo." "It would be good to talk to her before we talk to the people at Carver's School." "Maybe she doesn't know anything, Nick." "And maybe she does." He smiled and gave me a half salute. As soon as he was out the door, I picked up the phone and dialed Margo's number. I let it ring ten times. There was no answer. * XVII "No date tonight?" Nick asked. We were seated across from each other in a dingy booth at the end of the bar. "Well, I guess you're my date." I quipped. "Lucky me." "Personally, I like my dates to have larger jugs. But --- " I lifted my glass. " --- hey." “Why in the world did you pick Mitch’s Bar anyway?” Nick asked as he took a sip of beer. “It’s dark, it’s loud, it’s smoky --- “ “Well --- “ I lit a cigarette, which added to the density of the atmosphere. “ --- normally on Wednesday nights it’s almost empty, which makes it private --- sort of.” “I don’t call this private, do you?” Nick indicated several men wearing bowling shirts. Just then two of them brushed past our table, each with a glass of beer in their hand. They had on gray shirts with a patch on the sleeve that read ABC. The back of the shirt read MILLER’S in black script. Fortunately our table was farthest from the bar so the noise level was not quite loud enough to wake the dead --- almost, but not quite. “So sue me.” I said it jokingly, but neither of us was laughing. “I picked the only Wednesday night of the year with a fucking bowling party!” The noise level kept rising and lowering like a roller coaster. At times it was impossible to hear each other. When the roller coaster was at the bottom of the track, I continued. "It could always be worse." I took a long drag of my cigarette. “Yeah.” Nick said. “I could be grocery shopping with the wife.” “Nick, the way I figure it, I don’t bother them and they don’t bother me.” “Hmmm --- sounds like a pact I once made with some mice at my office.” Foley motioned to the waiter, a young man in a light blue shirt, dark blue slacks and a crewcut. He quickly brought us each another beer and replaced the dirty ashtray with a clean one. "You want to leave?" I was yelling as the din began to subside. I felt people staring at me. Nick just shrugged. "I'm going to bed early tonight." It suddenly got quieter and I spoke at a normal level for the first time. "I'm really zonked." "I can relate to that." "Cheers." I said. We both took a sip. The bowlers were leaving and the smoke was clearing. Nick put his glass down. "Manny." Nick said suddenly. "Something is wrong with this case." I stared at him a second. "Meaning what?" Now the room had emptied except for three young men with open shirts and tight jeans, seated at one end of the bar. Two middle-aged women sat at the other end. They had short black leather skirts, very low cut tops, high heels and tons of make-up. "I don't know, Manny. I can't put my finger on it. But a piece of the puzzle is missing." "I'm sure you'll find it." "And I'm not referring to anything directly associated with any of the suspects or things like the missing page of the deceased's address book or the tire tracks or --- " Nick drained his beer and pushed it to the side. "I can't explain it. But something here isn't kosher." The three young men and the two middle aged women were now seated together. "Hey. That's my line." I said "Where do you think I got it?" We sat quietly for several minutes. The five people at the bar were now leaving. Nick and I were the only patrons left. "Manny, I'm getting tired of this shit! This fucking case is wearing me out." He took out some bills and slammed them down on the table. Then he turned toward me. "You know eventually I'm going to have to bring Margo Blair in for questioning." "You're going to drag her down to the station and grill her like a common criminal?" “You said it. I didn’t.” “Nick, you can’t be serious.” "Do you realize I haven't even met your client yet --- let alone talked to her? And we all know whose fault that is, don't we?" I raised my hand. "Guilty." "Maybe --- just maybe, she’s afraid of implicating herself. Did that ever occur to you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It sure as hell makes sense to me.” I could see arguing would be a lesson in futility. “Okay, Nick. Just do what you have to.” * XVIII The ride from Margo’s apartment had been an uncomfortable and silent one. I drove. I could almost feel the heat generated by apprehension and could almost see the air thicken with hostility. Nick was standing outside his office when we arrived. I introduced them to each other as cordially as I could. Nick smiled. Margo didn’t. “Margo,” Nick said. “I really do appreciate your coming in. I know --- “ “Am I under arrest?” She asked. Nick shook his head. His face was without expression. “No.”
Go to part: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24
Copyright © 1998 B J Bloch |