Free to Die

by Bob McElwain

  Hank made no reply. Josie was adamant. “Yes. It is. Check and you’ll find that if a murderer isn’t at least identified as a possible suspect within a couple of days, chances are he or she won’t be caught at all.”

  “I hate to admit it,” Hank said with a sigh, “but she’s right. Sometimes we get a break later. Somebody speaks up. Or we get ’em for something else and make a lucky connection. But every year we get new file cabinets to hold unsolved cases.”

  “Without the killer, it can come back at me anytime. In Vegas, Josie, you suggested you might change your mind.”

  “What you want is a murder investigation, Brad,” she said softly, reaching for his hand. “It would cost much more than you can afford. Even with unlimited funds, it’s not likely we’d ever find the killer.” She tightened her grip on his hand. “What’s worse, if we did get lucky and we didn’t get killed, chances are we’d never prove a case.”

  He acknowledged her words by stroking her hand with his thumb. He looked at Hank, then back at her. “So once a fella is charged, he can only hope to win. He can never prove he’s innocent.” His look was hard. Josie withdrew her hand. “I can’t buy that.”

  “Seein’ how you feel, let Walden drag it into court,” Hank said. “That way you’d have an acquittal. Nobody’d be able to come back at you.”

  “Why take the chance of a trial?” Josie asked. “It’s an unnecessary risk.”

  “Don’t like the notion myself, now that I said it out loud,” admitted Hank.

  “It’s not just Gerald now,” Brad said.

  “I know,” said Hank. “And that bothers a whole lot. Seems to me that Josie’s got it right. Somebody’s settin’ you up or wants you runnin’ again. And I’m wonderin’ about that bug.”

  “Tell him about the CIA, Brad,” Josie said.

  Brad repeated the story. When he’d finished, Hank said, “I can buy the bug as federal. They got something about expensive gadgets. But CIA? That’s hard to swallow.”

  “There’s more,” Josie commented. “They didn’t behave like federal agents.”

  “How’s that?” Hank asked, looking at Brad.

  “They were puffed up some. A lot of God and country.”

  “It happens,” Hank said. “I’ve seen those folks take it too serious.”

  “It’s the younger man, Feldersen,” Josie said, “that worries me. Apparently he lost his temper. Not at all what you’d expect from a trained agent.”

  “How far’d it go?” Hank asked.

  “If the older guy, Cogswell, hadn’t been there, it might have been interesting.”

  “That bad?” Hank responded thoughtfully.

  Brad nodded.

  “I’ll be damned. A wild-eyed federal agent can do real damage. Feldersen, you say his name is? And Cogswell?”

  Brad nodded.

  “The feds don’t give much info, but it’d ease my mind to know more about those two, Feldersen most of all.”

  Brad watched him file the details carefully in a front corner of memory for quick reference. Josie was lost in her own thoughts.

  “I did hear something from Tuckman,” Brad said.

  “What’s that?” Hank asked.

  “He’d made a deal with Gerald to buy his part of Overnite Air. When he was killed, Lydia took it because of their dad’s will. It’s far out, but maybe she killed him to get his share.”

  “You just got my attention,” Hank said sharply. “There’s nothing in the original case file about that. And there sure as hell should be. Remember, she said she saw him killed. That would put her on the scene.”

  “Tuckman wants that airline,” Brad said. “Maybe he killed Gerald because he changed his mind about selling.”

  “Possible. Yes, indeedy.” He frowned. “There are a lot of questions all of a sudden, and they need answers.” His tight, lazy smile was back. He leaned forward. “With Gerald, there’re a couple things I can check, includin’ what you just told us about Tuckman and Lydia.” He looked at Josie. “All I need is ten more hours a day.”

  “Is there a hint in that?” Josie asked.

  “I hear you’re good.”

  “You said you might change your mind,” Brad reminded her.

  “There are things you could do,” Hank suggested.

  “Such as?”

  “Check on Lydia’s murder. My hands are tied there.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s Sgt. Broadmore’s case. He won’t stand for much of me.”

  “And while I’m solving a murder all by my lonesome, what will you be doing?”

  Hank laughed easily. “I’ve got Gerald’s case. I can dig.” His tight smile had a touch of grimness now. “And I’ve friends. I can feed you a lot. I just gotta stay in the right channels officially. What do you say?”

  Brad reached out and clasped both her hands in his. “You could make a difference.”

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled. “I’ve been outvoted. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Grinning now, Brad released her hands and grabbed his wallet. Hastily he reached for her purse and stuffed a sheaf of bills inside. “Too late to change your mind. You’ve been paid.”

  “I don’t want your money. At least not yet. Amanda already paid me for a week.”

  “She’s done enough. Tear up her check.”

  “I already did.”

  Brad reached for her chin and kissed her lightly. He watched her startled look change to something he couldn’t identify. He wanted to crush her against him. Instead he sat back in his seat.

  “What have I let myself in for,” she murmured.

  “One kiss leads to another,” Hank commented.

  “I was thinking of a certain investigation. I’m a little overwhelmed.”

  “Start in my office in the mornin’,” Hank said. “I’ll give you all I’ve got and some stuff I’m not supposed to have.”

  She nodded. “And what about Brad? Amanda doesn’t want him alone, and I agree.”

  “You’re right again. He should be nowhere alone.” Hank grinned. “How about he goes with you? I can’t see him fittin’ in too well down at the station.”

  Josie was shaking her head as Brad spoke. “Look. I can’t just sit around waiting.”

  “You never could,” Hank said. “And there’s been a couple of times you almost lost your ass. Mine along with it.” He grinned, softening the complaint. “Have you got something specific in mind? Or do you just want to rattle some cages?”

  “What do Tuckman, Gerald, and Lydia have in common?” Brad asked.

  “Go on.”

  “An airline. Overnite Air. Gerald and Lydia had it; Tuckman wants it.”

  “So?”

  “Maybe I can get a job.”

  “That’s reaching a long way,” Josie said. “I don’t see what you’d gain.”

  Hank was thoughtful. “Sure. It’s probably a waste of time, but it’d get him out of our hair.”

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  “Look at it this way. You’d be with people and we need that.” He shrugged. “Who knows? You might even get lucky.” He stood up. “I best be gettin’ along. It looks like a busy day tomorrow.”

  “You don’t want Brad to be alone here in the hotel tonight, do you?” Josie asked, as she also stood.

  “I figured since Amanda gave you orders, you’d be stayin’ with him.” He grinned.

  “I’ll make my own plans along those lines.”

  “Well, buddy, I tried.” Hank said, still grinning. “My place doesn’t come with playmates, but there’s a couch.”

  “Your place’ll do fine, Hank,” Brad said. He hoped his deep blush was hidden in the dim bar light. He watched Josie’s look soften into a smile. “Luck all,” she said, and was gone. Both men watched her exit with keen interest.

  “You could do worse,” Hank commented. “I’d bet she does good with those sweet legs.”

  “I’m like her,” Brad said. “I like to do my own arran
ging.”

  “But you’re so damned slow.” Hank laughed. “I’m just tryin’ to help a buddy.”

  “You could maybe pay the check?”

  Still laughing, Hank dropped some bills on the table. He picked up the bug, then they gathered up Brad’s things from his room and left the hotel.

  * * *

  Once inside the apartment, Hank had tossed Brad fresh sheets and a blanket, pointed to a couch and headed for his own bed. Sleep had not come to Brad. Once more he looked around the living room.

  It was a bachelor’s paradise. There were half a dozen small lamps; none would have bulbs too bright. Two couches dominated the room. Large pillows scattered about the deep pile carpet added to the playpen effect. Somewhere, he knew, there was a tape deck and some good solid blues to which Hank was addicted. Four speakers were corner mounted near the ceiling. He’d noticed some video tapes near the VCR and TV. He was pretty sure Two on One had never played in local theaters. Hank, at least, hadn’t changed. Women were his true vocation.

  Why is it so hard for me? he wondered. Two consenting adults. To be near someone. To hold each other against those things that go bump in the night. Where’s the harm? What if it’s only for a few hours? The closeness is of value in itself, beyond elemental physical experience. And if the cruel light of dawn says so, find another. It’s the way of things.

  He sighed. He was the original tangle foot where girls were concerned. He always had been. He knew he attracted attention. Girls liked him. But he could carry it only so far. And they wondered why. Some were willing to play at love. Why wasn’t he? But it had never been play to him. Part of him desperately wanted it to be so. But it was not. He wanted much, much more. Somebody like Josie, maybe.

  Thoughts of long, dark hair, dangling earrings, and long, strong legs flooded in erasing all others. He did not think of murder, the CIA, or Judge Tofler. He rolled over on his stomach and sought to carry further speculations into dreams.

  * * *

  Josie Botsworth looked out at the night lights of the city. It was the reason she’d taken the apartment, this view of the San Fernando Valley all the way north to the San Gabriel Mountains. This nightly sitting always brought a serenity, a sense that all is well. But tonight, that sense of inner calm eluded her. She loved the honest fragrance of soap and the feel of roughly toweled flesh soothed by the pale blue silk kimono. Tonight it didn’t seem significant.

  “Damn,” she muttered aloud. What have I let myself in for? If I get caught working an open police case, they’ll yank my license immediately and Sergeant Walters knows it.

  It was not their arm-twisting. Even Amanda’s wishes were not enough. She’d never seen such a mess. It played like a scenario of a bad daytime serial. The ingredients were unreal. Two murders, the latest victim the sexually perverted ex-wife of a Vietnam war hero. A trucking magnate trying to steal an airline. And the CIA with all the dread touches of those real covert operations, that are never revealed.

  She’d placed herself squarely in the center of the web alongside Brad Ashton and his worthy sergeant. But this was no ordinary web, for there was more than one black glob of spidery legs working toward the center. She shuddered, the silk kimono icy across her breasts and stomach.

  Some of the spiders might be stopped, even killed. But there were more than enough to arrange the quiet silken wrappings of all concerned, then to safely tuck them into a quiet corner of the great web.

  Slowly she forced grim thoughts aside, making room for plans. The mental gearing hummed as she checked off the things to be done and knew the days would be too short. As was her practice, she reviewed the day in mental playback, focusing on pertinent items and reminding herself of questions unanswered. But it didn’t work this time. There were too many questions not even asked, all blotted out with, “Why am I doing this?”

  She’d counted the money Brad had given her. It was nearly four thousand dollars. Had he given her his last dime? When he’d kissed her, she’d felt it in her loins. That had never happened before from only a kiss. And this one so lightly given. She felt a wetness creep forth now, remembering. She didn’t need that. A man did not fit into her plans. A boyfriend would be welcome. But it hadn’t worked before. And she had decided Brad did little casually.

  No. The only reason she’d agreed was the challenge itself. It had little to do with her client. Certainly she had no personal plans. She really had no desire to be kissed again. Or to be enfolded in his powerful arms. Or to be drawn to the solidity of his chest, to feel her breasts against him as a strong, tanned hand on the flesh of her buttocks pulled her to him.

  It was much later when she padded barefoot across the carpet to her bedroom, the silk kimono sliding against her thighs. She slipped it off, hung it up and lay down on the bed. Later she fell into fitful sleep.

  * * *

  That Lydia was dead changed the situation dramatically. As he reached for his drink, light from the lamp on the table was reflected momentarily in the red stone of his ring.

  The risk had been increasing lately. It was harder each day to fool the feds, bunglers though they were. Lydia’s addiction to sexual action and toys had become difficult to satisfy of late. At least this problem had been resolved. He remembered the dark stains on the white wool carpet where her blood had soaked quickly through to the pad below.

  Yes. It had been coming on. Now it was time to finish it. He set his drink on the table and picked up the short-barreled .38. With practiced ease, he fitted the silencer securely, then checked the load. It was a cold piece, a killing weapon that could never be traced to him. As he toyed with the gun, he thought of the money he was throwing away.

  Smuggling heroin was extremely profitable. He sighed, thinking of what his decision would cost in dollars. Then he smiled slightly, looking at the deadly little killer in his hand. He let himself flow into it, the pure unadulterated thrill of the hunt before him. He did not forget the ending. No. To kill was the ultimate high. The pain of lost money paled to insignificance as he let his thoughts drift, seeking to encompass the whole of what lay ahead.

  CHAPTER 6

  Tuesday

  Shortly after nine the next morning, Brad sat down with Jeffery Walden across the desk from Sgt. Walters. Hank leaned forward. “Brad, before I turn this tape on, get this straight. Don’t volunteer anything. Just answer the questions. Got it?”

  Brad nodded. Hank leaned back in his chair and pressed the record button. With carefully constructed questions that sounded extemporaneous, Hank led Brad step by step through his movements and activities since his return. He did not mention the anonymous call, Brad’s being followed, the bug, or the visit from the CIA. He referred to an earlier statement from Josie regarding the bed being warm. He turned the recorder off and leaned back smiling. “It’s too bad you didn’t tuck that broad into bed with you.”

  The office door opened and Lt. Stratford strode inside. The atmosphere changed abruptly as he smiled at the three men. There was no expression in his pale blue eyes. Brad could feel a sudden dryness in his mouth. Walden was more attentive. Hank gave no outward indication things were different.

  “Statement?” Lt. Stratford asked politely. There was a hint of his rank in the way he asked.

  “Just finished up,” drawled Hank. “I thought you were assigned to narcotics, not homicide.”

  “True, but old cases, like old habits, die hard.” He turned his full attention to Brad. “I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you, Mr. Ashton.”

  Brad made no reply.

  “Coincidence, don’t you think? Your ex-wife killed so soon after your return?” He smiled. “I dropped by to see her, just yesterday morning.” He sat on the edge of the desk, leaning on his left arm. His coat hung open, revealing the short-barreled .44 magnum strapped to his left hip, butt forward. The pistol seemed to enhance the slight slender figure in some way Brad did not quite understand. “I wanted to ask again about her statement, the one she changed.”

  “Funny,” remarke
d Hank. “I thought that was my case now.”

  “Oh, it is. It was just a feeling I had, something I had to get out of my system. It’s difficult to let a case go, particularly one you were so close to making.”

  “Maybe you should try harder,” Hank said mildly.

  “I’m not doubting your abilities, Sergeant. It’s only that the suspect is such a good friend, I thought you might overlook something. You are good friends, are you not?” Lt. Stratford asked Brad.

  Brad nodded, desperately wishing he was someplace else. He’d had more than enough of this three years ago.

  Walden spoke. “Was there something specific, Lieutenant?”

  Stratford nodded. “It’s about Allison’s murder. Gerald’s, that is. It’s a little too soon to know much about his sister’s death, don’t you think?”

  No one answered.

  “As I mentioned,” Stratford continued, “I spoke with Lydia shortly before she was murdered.” He looked hard at Brad. “She told me something that was overlooked in the original investigation.”

  He paused, then stood up. “Now mind you, Mr. Ashton. It may be nothing. But then again it could add substantially to your motive for killing Gerald Allison.” He leaned his hands on the desk and demanded, “What can you tell us about that landing zone? LZ 307, I believe it was?”

  “Nothing special. I and my team used it a couple of times,” Brad replied quietly. His face was expressionless. He knew no one could see his hands tucked under the desk. He resisted the impulse to wipe them on his pants.

  “Come now, Mr. Ashton. I’m sure you can do better—”

  “My client has stated there is nothing to tell,” interrupted Walden.

  Lt. Stratford looked hard at Walden. “Right. Perhaps Danielson can deal with this in court Monday.” He straightened and looked down at Hank. “I’ll give you the details later, Sergeant. You seem busy at the moment.” He smiled at them and left. The door closed softly behind him.

  Involuntarily, Brad shivered. Both Walden and Hank were watching him closely. Hank broke the silence. “If you want, I’m gone. But if there’s anything at all, you’ve got to level with Walden. Else he can get jabbed and you can get hurt.”

  Brad nodded, surprised at the anger after all this time. He took a deep breath and began, “It was one of those routine patrols. You know the kind I mean, Hank.” He laughed, but there was no humor. Hank nodded his understanding.