Another Senseless Killing (14)
“Uh --- yes.” The hostility returned. “Look, gentlemen, I --- “ “Who has a key besides you?” Nick wasn’t going to let Carlson off the hook. He took a deep breath, then wrinkled his brow in thought. “Well --- Jesse did. But not any more --- for obvious reasons. Lorence has the only other key.” “I see.” Nick said “If a weapon is missing, it’s been missing for a long time.” The hostility left Carlson’s voice and he became defensive --- almost humble. “This case hasn’t been opened in years.” “Well, Senator,” Nick loosened his collar. “we won’t keep you any longer. There are some unanswered questions, but they can wait.” Nick took the pack of photos out of his pocket and stuck them under Carlson’s nose. “Oh, by the way. Do you recognize any of these men?” He put his glasses back on and slowly studied each picture. “Sorry.” His hands were shaking. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I recognize no one.” “We’re sorry, too.” I added. “Who are they --- if I might ask?” Carlson asked. Nick hesitated a moment, then put the pictures away. “Let’s just say these are friends of the deceased.” We shook hands with the Senator and left. I immediately lit up a cigarette, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. “So what do you think?” Nick started up the engine. “I think he’s a fucking liar!” * XX I had almost dozed off when the phone rang. It was only eleven a.m. and my body felt like it didn’t belong to me any more. I was sooo --- tired. The phone rang again. This time I lifted the receiver, which weighed at least ten pounds, with one hand and stuck a Camel in my mouth with the other hand. “Hello.” I recognized the tiny voice at once. “Hello, Ms. Delvecchio.” Now I knew why I was so Goddamned tired. I’d been trailing this schmuck for two weeks and all I was able to get were a bunch of crummy meals, two sore feet and an aching back. I relayed this disturbing news to my client. She didn’t take it too well. Carmen began screaming in Italian with a screeching high-pitched voice that did a number on my eardrum. “I know that creep is screwing around. I just know it!” Her breathing was erratic. “Ms. Delvecchio --- “ I had to restrain myself from screaming back at this hysterical paranoid bitch. “ --- just listen, okay?” I looked at my notebook. “Three times he went for lunch to --- “ I turned the page. “ --- a dumpy little restaurant called Calgie’s. Not Cardo’s. Calgies! And he went alone. He went twice to Federated Department Store. He purchased nothing.” I turned the page. “He went bowling three times with someone named Charles.” I closed the notebook and threw it on the floor. “And that’s it!” I took a long drag of my cigarette. I could feel the smoke fill my lungs. I took another quick puff and snuffed it out in the ashtray. I exhaled slowly as I waited to hear her reply. I didn’t have to wait long. “I’m telling you he’s screwing around!” She sounded like a broken record. I knew she was pissed. “That creep is --- “ “Okay.” I had to cut her off. I tried to remain calm. “I’ll keep trailing him. But I will need another three-hundred dollars.” There was a long pause and a deep sigh. “Okay. You got it! But if you don’t come up with something, I refuse to give you another cent!” She slammed down the receiver and reactivated the pain in my ear. At this point I didn’t give a shit about Carmen Delvecchio or her three- hundred dollars. I only wanted to take the telephone cord and wrap it around her skinny neck! I hung up the phone, then stared at it, wondering if I should go back to selling life insurance. Then I remembered the wasted meetings, the last second client cancellations, the miserable hours --- all the reasons I vowed never to sell another annuity or insurance policy again. I continued to stare vacantly at the telephone. Now it was eleven-thirty. I had been at the office nearly two hours and my accomplishments added up to exactly zero --- with the dubious exception of Carmen Delvecchio. I lit up another cigarette. Then I reached for the radio. I forgot it was broken “Shit!” I yelled at it as if it were alive. Then I smacked it. It still didn’t respond. I finally gave up on the radio. I lifted myself out of the chair and went to the window. I raised the blind. The weather cold and damp and just plain lousy! The sky was a dull gray, which fit in perfectly with my boredom. And the streets were unusually quiet. The eerie setting made me nervous. “Am I interrupting something?” Nick Foley came in without knocking. After the door was opened, he knocked. “Do you think you could be a little noisier next time? You scared the shit out of me!” “Sorry.” “You should be a second story man instead of a cop.” “I guarantee you, the pay is better.” “Maybe I had a broad in here.” I said jokingly. “You never know.” “Not before noon. Not you.” We both laughed. I sat down and Nick followed suit. Nick smiled and took a cigar from his vest pocket. Then he opened his vest. He had on a fresh yellow shirt. His dark green suit looked like it had just come from the dry cleaners. My casual dress of faded Dockers and a wrinkled Izod disappeared into the woodwork. “Nick, you look a helluva lot better than the last time I saw you.” He looked refreshed. Even his wrinkles looked fainter. “Twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep does wonders.” He bit off the end of his cigar and threw it in the wastebasket next to the desk. “I wouldn’t know.” I said. He turned the cigar around in his hand. “I found out a few morsels about our buddy, Warner.” “Who?” “You got a short memory, Manny.” Nick spoke emphatically. “Warner. Curt Warner. The stiff from Saint Paul.” “Oh, that Warner.” I sat back in my chair. “What about him?” “I don’t have all the data yet, so this is somewhat preliminary.” He put the cigar in his mouth and crossed his chubby legs. “Curt Warner is an ex-cop. He was on the force in Saint Paul close to thirty years.” “Really!” He had my attention now. “Three years ago,” Nick continued, “he was investigated by Internal Affairs. I guess he missed a lot of work for no apparent reason, and in general, he acted strange.” Nick uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again. “It was obvious something was wrong.” “Someone must have complained.” I added. “Some of his associates were --- let’s say, suspicious. So they began to tail him. And subsequently they caught him at a drop off point.” “A cop dealing drugs.” I shook my head. “Incredible.” “So of course they busted him.” Nick uncrossed his legs. I lit up a cigarette. “He didn’t spend much time in prison. The whole thing was very hush hush.” “To save face and total embarrassment.” I added. “Probably. Both his and the department’s.” “So he dealt drugs and all he got was a slap on the wrists.” “That’s what it looks like.” Nick moved the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “He spent a short time incarcerated, paid a small fine and was made to do some half-assed community project.” The telephone rang. I lit another cigarette with the butt of the previous one. Then I grabbed the receiver. “Hello.” There was no response. “Hello!” I said it louder. A raspy voice finally answered. “I hear you’re looking for me.” “Who is this?” I asked, looking at Nick. After another brief interlude, I was ready to yell again into the mouthpiece. I didn’t have to. “It’s Herb Rowland.” The voice said. I covered the mouthpiece with my hand and mouthed the name to Foley. “What makes you think we’re looking for you?” I asked. Nick motioned for me to hand him the receiver. “Word gets around.” The voice responded. “This is Lieutenant Nick Foley.” I put my ear next to Nick’s. I needed an extension. “It’s imperative that we talk.” “I’m listening.” “Not over the phone.” Nick said. “We need to meet somewhere.” “No way, man! Say what you got to say --- now!” Nick and I exchanged a quick glance. Foley went on. “Where are you?” “At a pay phone.” His voice made the receiver vibrate. “You got two minutes. And don’t try tracing this call.” “Two minutes isn’t enough time.” Nick took a deep breath. “Look, Rowland. What I want to talk to you about should be said face to face.” “We got nothing to talk about --- see. So why don’t you guys back off my case?” “We’re not on your case, Rowland. We just want to talk, okay?” “You guys don’t listen, do you? I just said we got nothing to talk about!” “Come on, Rowland. We --- .” “You got one minute!” Nick and I looked at each other again. We both knew we were losing the battle. “I don’t like doing it this way, Rowland.” Nick took another deep breath. “Okay. Tell me what you can about Kate Blair.” “I don’t know no Kate Blair.” He breathed heavily. “Next!” “Don’t get cute with me, damn it! We both know that --- “ “You don’t know shit, man! I’m clean. So don’t be harassing me!” Nick put his forehead in the palm of his hand. “We are not harassing you.” Nick spoke condescendingly. “We have to talk to you about Kate Blair --- face to face.” “I told you, I don’t know any Kate Blair.” “Look, Rowland --- .” I tried to re-enforce Nick’s position. I never got the chance. “Your time is up!” The loud click ended the conversation. Nick replaced the receiver slowly and ran his fingers through his hair. He stood up, exasperated. He said nothing. “Well.” I said, “Now what?” “I don’t know. What I do know is that he’s a lying piece of shit!” “Of course he’s lying. But I repeat, now what?” “I would arrest that bastard this second if I had a little more to go on --- “ Nick put a fresh cigar in his mouth. “ --- other than second hand conversation. There’s no weapon, no fingerprints, no witnesses --- nothing.” Nick turned to me as he opened the door. “Listen, Manny. I’m gonna see Morales again.” “Anything in particular?” Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. But he’s leaving for a few days. If he does have some new data I’d like to know about it before he leaves.” “I’ll go with you. Maybe we can get enough info on someone to build a case against them.” “Manny.” Nick hit me on the arm. “You’re beginning to sound like a cop.” “I had a good role model.” “Yeah, well --- I don’t know about that.” “Any more news on the tire tracks?” “Nope. I have to goose ballistics. Shove a fire under their ass. They really are dragging their feet on that one.” “Wouldn’t it be great if those tire tracks matched John Carver’s truck?’ “Yeah, it would.” Nick grinned. “But this isn’t L.A. Law. This is real life.” * XXI “I’m glad we took your car.” I gave the road map one final look. “I’ll bet you get twenty-seven --- twenty-eight miles to the gallon.” “Is that good?” Margo asked innocently. “That’s excellent.” I had to laugh as I put the map back in the glove compartment. “My car gets half that.” “Oh.” I threw my cigarette out the window. “You don’t know much about cars, do you?” “Nothing.” She stopped for a light. “Well, you should.” “Why?” she asked. “So people can’t take advantage of you.” Three motorcyclists sped across the intersection. The light changed and we took off. “I happen to be very trusting. I have faith in people. Deep down --- “ She threw me a quick angry glance. “--- with one or two exceptions --- I think everyone is basically good.” “You sound like Anne Frank.” We drove the next few miles in silence. I tried to stay awake. It was tough. The light traffic and the nice weather didn’t help matters. “I have so many things to do.” Margo shook her head. “I can’t for the life of me figure why I’m doing this.” “You’re doing it as a favor to me and I’m doing it as a favor to Nick.” “I see.” “He’s so damn buried in this case I feel sorry for him.” Margo only nodded as she stopped at a stop sign. After an Asian couple scurried by, she turned the corner and continued. “Plus,” I added, “I’m sort of curious.” “Curious?” “Yes, I --- hey, there’s another motel.” Margo didn’t respond. I went on. “I bet we passed at least twenty motels.” “Manny --- “ “And you wouldn’t stop at one.” I was joking but I was serious. “I stopped for gas and I stopped for dinner.” She said lightly. “That’s it.” There was another extended silence. “Look, Margo. Days Inn. Rooms are only fourteen-ninety-five a night.” She remained silent, her eyes pointed dead ahead. “Why don’t we pull over there and --- “ “Come on, Manny. You promised!” Margo slowed down as the car in front of us turned right. “We both decided to keep our relationship on a professional level.” I nodded resignedly. “Okay. But after this is over --- “ “Look.” Margo interrupted. “There’s the jewelry store.” We crossed the intersection and she parked the car. Margo took a piece of paper out of her purse. “That’s it.” She pointed to the paper in her hand. “Mendel’s jewelry store.” I looked up. There it was. The directions from the Shell station were perfect.
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