Another Senseless Killing (19) Nick didn’t have to think about it. He looked up at the ceiling and began to count on his fingers. “Stolen car, B and E, armed robbery, carrying a concealed weapon --- a thirty-eight no doubt.” “No doubt.” I put out my cigarette. “Did he do time?” “Judge gave him twenty years.” Nick bit the end off a fresh cigar and spit it into the wastebasket. “He was out in five.” “Out in five?” I was appalled. “Since then he’s worked odd jobs. Dishwasher, house painter, service station attendant --- “ “What’s he do now?” I tossed the folder on the desk and lit another cigarette. “As far as I know,” Foley said bitterly, “nothing! He’s on welfare. Can you beat that?” “What a lousy legal system!” I echoed Nick’s bitterness, but I wasn’t the least bit surprised. “Why the hell should he work?” Nick went on. “He probably makes more on welfare than if he worked. And I’m sure he keeps young rich women around, like Kate Blair, to help support him even more.” My body temperature soared as I pictured Kate Blair and Herbie together. I was about to comment when there was a tap on the window. A tall good looking cop with a ruddy complexion opened the door. “He’s ready.” He said in a deep voice. We followed the policeman to a dingy eight by ten interrogation room. The room was musty and dimly lighted by a low watt bulb hanging from the fixture in the center of the ceiling above the table. Herb Rowland was seated directly under it. The handcuffs were off. The shadow cast from the eerie light made Herbie look more sinister. His nose looked even larger and flatter and he was staring vacantly at the floor as the three of us entered. Nick and I sat down across from the him. The cop with us moved to stand guard against the wall next to the door, his arms folded. We were all silent for several minutes. “Herbie.” I said, taking in his aroma. “You stink! When’s the last time you had a bath?” Then I lit up a cigarette and blew the smoke in his face. “Manny,” Nick said smoothly as he stepped between us, “let me do this, okay?” Then he motioned for a cigarette. I hesitated a moment, then reluctantly offered my pack. Rowland paused for a second before accepting a Camel. Nick then motioned for my Bic lighter, which I relinquished --- also reluctantly. “Why don’t you tell us the truth?” Nick said patronizingly. “Save us all a lot of time and trouble.” Rowland lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke at the ceiling. “I want a lawyer!” We both stared at the prisoner for a few seconds. Nick just shook his head as he took out a small notebook and asked him again about the three dates that corresponded to the three killings. He stared back at Nick for a long time. Then he batted his eyes and shrugged. ”I don’t know. I was probably at home.” “Probably?” Nick asked, his pencil poised. “Were you with someone or alone?” Rowland sat up straight and thought for a while. “I was home. I just remembered. And I was alone.” “On all three dates --- you were home --- alone.” Nick said. “That’s right.” He leaned forward and sneered. “On all three dates I was home and alone.” Nick forced a grin. “And there are no witnesses --- right?” “Right!” Herbie slammed his hand down on the hard oak table. It had to have hurt like hell, but he didn’t utter a sound or change his expression. “I said I was alone.” Nick and I exchanged a quick glance. “Look, I ain’t answering no more questions without a lawyer!” “It’s no good, Herbie.” Nick said scratching the back of his neck. “Somehow your alibi just doesn’t seem to fit. It sounds too --- perfect.” There was a long silence. Herbie and Nick stared at each other. I remained quiet. Rowland broke the spell. “How much longer I got to sit here?” “Until we say you can leave!” Nick roared. I threw my cigarette on the floor, quickly stamping it out. “And don’t forget, Herbie.” Nick added. “You have a record.” I shook my head back and forth mockingly. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Not looking too good, Herbie.” I lit up another cigarette. “Not looking too good at all.” “Look, Herbie.” Nick leaned in close to the prisoner again. “You’re not helping your case any by being coy.” Rowland folded his arms and sat back in his chair. “I want a lawyer.” “We’ll tell you when you need a lawyer.” I said. “Herbie.” Nick continued. “We’re trying to help you. But we can’t do it if you keep fighting us.” There was a long silence. The policeman by the door shifted his weight to the other foot. When Rowland responded his voice was barely audible. “I need my lawyer. He’s gonna really be pissed if I shoot my mouth off and he ain’t here.” “Herbie.” Nick said. “No lawyer in the world is going to help you until you tell us the truth.” Nick scribbled something in his notebook, then stared at the prisoner for a long time before he continued. “Did you and Kate do drugs?” “Herbie.” Nick paused for a moment. “Did you and Kate Blair do drugs?” “No comment!” “We’re going to find out anyway, so you might as well make it easy on all concerned.” Rowland took a deep breath. “Once. At her house.” Something inside me began to squeeze my intestines into a knot. “Once?” Nick asked. “Or once that you can remember?” “One time!” Herbie yelled. “We rolled a joint. That was it, man!” After another long pause, he asked. “Can I have another cigarette?” Nick and I looked at each other. Nick nodded and I grudgingly gave him one, then lit him up. Rowland inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “I ain’t saying one more word with my lawyer.” “Rowland.” Nick stood. “Roll up your sleeves.” Herbie sat up straight and stared. “Say what?” His eyes became slits. “I said roll up your sleeves! You’re out numbered three to one. Now roll up your Goddamn sleeves!” “I definitely need my lawyer. I --- “ “You don’t roll up your fucking sleeves, you’ll need more than a fucking lawyer!” Nick and Rowland were nose to nose. “You’ll need a fucking hospital!” “Hey, man.” Herbie pointed his finger at Nick. “That is a direct threat!” “You are very observant, Herbie.” Nick said with a smile. “Now why don’t you just do as we ask?” I put my hand on my piece. Rowland’s eyes darted all over the room. Large beads of perspiration dotted his face. Then the policeman came over. Rowland looked at me, then he looked at Nick. Then he took a deep breath and rolled up his left sleeve. Nick grabbed the arm, and I went over to look. Needle marks trailed along his wrist and disappeared under his sleeve. “Well, well. What have we here?” Nick said, glaring at the prisoner. “I thought you said you didn’t do drugs, Herbie.” “I would say you are in a shitpot full of trouble, Rowland.” I added. “Wouldn’t you say so?” He jerked his arm away and rapidly rolled down the sleeve. “I don’t do drugs no more. These is from a long time ago.” The policeman went back to his post. Nick and I kept our eyes welded to Herbie “I fucking paid my dues for it too!” “Is that a fact?” Nick asked smugly. “I’m through talking.” He answered with equal smugness. Then he sat back and folded his arms defiantly. “I demand a lawyer!” I knew we had reached a dead end, and it infuriated me. I started to respond, but didn’t. “There’s a phone in the hall.” Nick said evenly. “The policeman will take you to it. You get one call.” Rowland started for the door. Then he stopped and turned back slowly. He looked at Nick, then at the floor, then at Nick. “I --- I don’t know no lawyers.” “Tough shit!” I said triumphantly, then took a final puff of my Camel and crushed it under my heel. “You --- you got to supply me with one.” Herbie was frantic. “Rowland, you know you did it. So save us all a lot of time and aggravation and confess!” Nick exploded. “Otherwise, you can go back to prison and fucking rot there!” Herb Rowland sat down slowly and quietly and closed his eyes. His head dropped forward and his shoulders sagged. The sudden change in attitude was definitely temporary, because under the tranquil facade lay a raging inferno. Nick steered me out of the interrogation room into the long hallway, closing the door behind us. Then he opened the door and turned back to the prisoner. “I’ll contact the Public Defender’s office in the morning.” Rowland didn’t respond. Nick shrugged and closed the door again. “Nick, I hate those fucking social leeches!” “Well, I don’t especially care to bed down with them either. But we can’t lose our cool.” We walked a few minutes. “How did you know he shot up heroin?” I asked. “I remembered that was one of the charges in nineteen-seventy-five. Illegal possession and use of narcotics.” I nodded. “But he was right.” Nick said as he opened the front door. “They were old scars.” “So if they were old scars, why did you even bring it up?” “Oh --- I thought maybe we could use it somehow. You never know.” “If he’s guilty,” I said lighting up a Camel, “I guarantee we’ll use it.” * XXIX It was the middle of November and the weather was an incredible seventy-one. This was thirty degrees warmer than the norm for the day --- according to the TV weatherman on channel eight. My Browns beat Dallas last Sunday and I felt great. I decided to call Margo and see if she could leave work early to share this uncharacteristic jubilance with me. It was a perfect day for a stroll in the park. I turned off Vivaldi and reached for the phone just as it rang. “Hello.” “Mr. Gold?” The greeting was mixed with sobs. “Mrs. Delvecchio?” There was no response. She was the last person I wanted to talk to. “I thought we were finished with your case. According to your file --- “ “I think you should know --- “ Carmen cut me off. The sobbing continued. “ --- Alex and I are filing for divorce.” I wondered how I was supposed to respond to this pivotal decision. There were no indications that her husband had done anything wrong. I suddenly felt sorry for both of them. “I appreciate all you’ve done, Mr. Gold, and your final payment is in the mail. Goodby.” I sat staring at the receiver for one long minute. Then I slowly shook my head as I put it back on its cradle. I waited another long minute, then dialed Margo’s work number. I needed to be recharged. The phone was answered after the third ring by a female voice that definitely belonged to a heavy smoker. “Ms. Blair is with a client. Who shall I say is calling?” “I’ll call her later.” I hate leaving messages. I hung up, then quickly reached for a pack of Camels. As I lit up, I raised my eyes to see Nick Foley standing in the doorway. After he was inside he knocked. “Come in.” I said jokingly. I had completely forgotten about our meeting with Herb Rowland’s attorney. Nick sat down heavily across from me, looking unusually tired and suddenly old. “I really wanted to take the wife for a drive through the Amish Country today.” He said. I nodded in approval. “Good idea. Great scenery.” “Tell that to the commissioner.” Nick went to the window and peeked through the shades. “Had lunch yet?” I took a deep drag of my cigarette, then blew the smoke lazily at the ceiling. “It’s two o’clock, Manny.” Nick continued to look out the window. “Some of us are early risers.” “Some of us aren’t.” I smiled. Nick didn’t. “When is this shyster coming?” Nick looked at his watch. “Two-thirty.” A semi-truck went past, flooding the room with a humongous roar. “Nice day.” He said casually, still staring into space. “Uh --- very nice.” I put out my cigarette and sat back in my chair. “Come on. Talk to me, old buddy. Making small conversation about the weather is just not you.” He sat down in the chair opposite me and stared at the floor. I pushed forward. “Any news about the shoe --- the tire --- the thirty-eight?” “No, no and no!” He continued to stare at the floor. “As usual ballistics are dragging their feet. Men on vacation, Morales away --- one damn thing after another.” After a long pause, he looked up. Our eyes locked. “Manny, this case has got me totally baffled.” “You’ll figure it out.” I lit up and took a quick puff. “You always do.” “I don’t know. Something is out of synch. I just can’t zero in on it. First I got it, then I don’t. It’s making me crazy!” “Nick, you need a good blow job and a vacation.” I put out my cigarette. Nick laughed. “I think for now I’ll just settle for a vacation. Because if I --- “ Three hard knocks on the door made us both jump. “Come in.” I said shakily. The door opened slowly, and a middle-aged man of medium build came into the room, carrying a small black leather briefcase. He was clean-shaven and his thick greasy black hair was combed straight back. He wore a light tan suit, heavily starched white shirt and a quiet tan striped tie. He looked at us through close-set, narrow gray eyes that straddled a sharp hook nose. His chin came to a point. He spoke through unusually thin lips. “May I?” he asked as he took the remaining chair from against the wall and set it down next to Nick. He sat down almost daintily, then removed his thin leather gloves as he introduced himself. “My name is Tyler Jenkins. I represent Herb Rowland.” “I’m Lieutenant Nick Foley of the Cleveland Police Department. This is Manny Gold, private investigator.” Jenkins’ face was like granite. He did not accept our handshakes. Well, screw you! The attorney opened his briefcase and took out a sheet of paper. “You know that you cannot hold my client forever.” he said haughtily. “I simply will not allow it.” I wanted to lift him out of his chair and throw him against the wall. “I believe --- “ He cleared his throat and put his gloves methodically in the briefcase. “ --- that unless you can show just cause, twenty-four hours is the legal limit.” Nick and I looked at each other. Neither of us responded. Tyler went on mechanically, like a toy soldier or a robot. “I would appreciate your signing this release, Lieutenant Foley, so my client can leave his jail cell.” “Mister Jenkins.” Nick started to take out a cigar then changed his mind. “I know the legal limit, as you so aptly put it. But your client was found to have in his possession a weapon that is possibly responsible for the murder of three people.” Tyler raised his eyebrows. “Possibly?” “Yes.” Nick said humbly. “We’re waiting on a call from ballistics.” “I see. Well --- in that case, I feel it is in the best interests of justice to release Mr. Rowland.” He put the paper on the desk directly in front of Nick. Then he took a gold Cross pen from his jacket pocket and laid it on top of the paper. “Sign at the bottom if you will.” “Now look here, Mr. Jenkins. We --- “ He ignored my words and continued to speak to Nick as if I weren’t in the room. “Because, until you can prove the weapon found in my client’s apartment is indeed the murder weapon --- “ He smiled like a Cheshire cat. “ --- your case against him is a big fat zero.” The smile quickly vanished. “This is entrapment, pure and simple.” “Mr. Jenkins. What you seem to --- “ “Lieutenant, Foley.” Jenkins cut me off again. “According to my client, someone called the police and said that the murder weapon was in his apartment.” After a slight hesitation, Nick nodded. “That is correct.” “And, pray tell, just who is making these preposterous allegations?” “The caller was anonymous.” I finally said. The Cheshire cat returned. “How convenient.” “Until we hear from ballistics,” Nick responded with restrained fury, “it is not preposterous!” “But you haven’t heard from ballistics.” Jenkins leaned in closer to Foley. “Now I believe it is --- and correct me if I’m wrong --- innocent until proven guilty.” I knew we were beaten. Neither of us had a response. Tyler adjusted his tie and continued. “Since there are no prints or witnesses, it is obvious the murder weapon is an alleged one.” He emphasized the word ‘alleged'. “Have my client’s alibis been checked out?” “They have neither been confirmed nor denied.” Nick said resignedly. “I repeat. Entrapment! Now, if you will please sign --- “ He pushed the pen and paper closer to Nick. “ --- here.” “Mr. Jenkins,” Nick asked innocently. “why would anyone want to set up your client?” “Why wouldn’t they?” He looked up slowly. “He has a record. He is a vagrant. In essence he is a perfect scapegoat. It’s easy pickings, gentlemen.” Nick took a deep breath before he signed the release form. Jenkins snatched the paper from Foley’s hand before the ink dried and quickly stuck it in his briefcase, which he slammed shut. As he opened the door to leave, he turned back. His tone was smug. He reeked of overconfidence. “My client advised me that you threatened him. That unless he confessed to a crime he didn’t commit, you would see to it that he would --- rot in jail. I believe those were your exact words.” “Nick’s exact words were ‘he would fucking rot in jail!” I wanted to stuff his briefcase up his ass. He took a step forward, pointing a shaky finger at me. “Don’t be glib with me, mister! And don’t you ever harass my client again!” His bright red face was two inches away. I was dying to smash it in. “If you have proof, fine. Otherwise, fuck off!” Nick and I were speechless. Now he backed away and softened his tone. A shit-eating smile appeared. “Because if you don’t, I will take legal action. And then perhaps the two of you will find yourselves rotting in a jail cell rather than my client.” He slammed the door behind him. We stared at the closed door for several seconds. “Nick, I thought you were getting Rowland a public defender.”
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Copyright © 1998 B J Bloch |