by PJ Tracy
‘Was there any indication that she ever made it to your condo last night?’
Camilla frowned and tapped a long cherry-pink fingernail on her cherry-pink lips. ‘Come to think of it, not really. The bed she normally uses wasn’t mussed, there were no dishes in the sink … but that doesn’t mean she didn’t straighten the bed, although that would have been out of character.’
A sad portrait of Alan Sommers was filling in fast for Magozzi – an obviously troubled man living a high-risk lifestyle, drunk out of his gourd, stumbling along the river
‘None. But we have security cameras at every door. I have the tapes if you think they might help.’
It had taken Camilla less than half an hour to isolate the security footage that showed Alan Sommers in full bridal regalia entering and leaving the Tiara Club the night of his murder – alone both times – which eliminated all hope of an easy conclusion with a slam-dunk suspect.
‘Why don’t we ever pull a case where our perp is so stupid he gets caught in the act on surveillance tape wearing his work uniform with the name tag in plain view?’ Gino complained as Magozzi pulled the Cadillac away from the Tiara Club’s flashing neon and headed north toward Alan Sommers’ apartment. ‘You read about that stuff all the time, but it never happens to us.’
‘That’s because the really stupid felons are almost always bank robbers.’
Gino sighed. ‘We should move over to Robbery, then.’
‘I thought you were angling for Water Rescue.’
‘A mere pipe dream. I can’t swim.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why don’t I know that about you?’
‘Why would you? It’s not like you ever asked me to go surfing or anything. Shit. It’s late. I better call Angela.’
While Gino checked on his hearth and home, Magozzi watched the neighborhoods deteriorate with each city block.
Gino clicked off his cell phone just as Magozzi pulled into the parking lot of the Stop-and-Go. ‘How’s the homestead rolling without you?’
‘It all went to hell in a handbasket. The little guy has a fever and Helen has a sore throat. Angela told me to take vitamin C.’
‘What’s that do, and where are you going to get it?’
‘Are you kidding? She tucks shit like that in my pants pockets every day, and it does absolutely nothing except keep my marriage intact.’ Gino craned his neck and looked out the windshield at the darkened Stop-and-Go sign. ‘When I was on the beat, the guys used to call this place “the Stop-and-Die.” Doesn’t look much better than it did back in the day. And it’s closed, damnit. Don’t tell me we have to come back here tomorrow for interviews.’
Magozzi shrugged. ‘My gut tells me Alan Sommers wasn’t killed by anybody he knew or worked with. Camilla said everybody loved him – and we didn’t see any Norman Bates-type stalkers on the vid.’
‘That was a bummer, wasn’t it? So Alan Sommers was
‘That’s what I’m thinking. Let’s see what turns up in his apartment and we can go from there.’
Gino nodded, then unsnapped his holster and drew his gun. ‘I’m going in armed and dangerous. This place still gives me the creeps.’
It took them a few minutes to find the battered metal access door behind the Stop-and-Go that led up a flight of stairs to a squalid, dark hallway of doors. The place was a true dump, crawling with cockroaches and rodents that didn’t seem the least bit put out by the presence of humans. If there were any other squatters utilizing the space, they were either dead, very quiet, or out for the night, because the place was as silent as an anechoic chamber. It was the kind of silence that was inherently and deeply menacing – and, oddly, the same kind of silence that kept you dead quiet. If you didn’t make any noise, the bad things might not find you.
They found Alan’s place at the end of the hall and let themselves in with the key Camilla had given them. Magozzi flipped on a light, which cast a harsh, bare-bulb glare on a surprisingly tidy, freshly painted room that bore no resemblance to the scary hallway they’d taken to get here. There was a twin mattress on the floor, made up with a clean bedspread that Magozzi had recently seen in one of the IKEA catalogs he mysteriously received every couple months in the mail, even though he’d never shopped there. The tiny kitchen and bathroom were both spotlessly clean – not a speck of dirt or a roach or rat in sight – and there
Gino ventured into the second room, which was little more than a big closet, filled with an astounding array of wigs, makeup cases, shoes, and gowns wrapped in plastic, hanging from a sagging dowel. And in shocking contrast, amidst all the finery, were two brown-and-yellow-polyester Stop-and-Go uniforms, neatly hung and ready for service. ‘Christ, look at this,’ he said. ‘It’s like Cinderella’s closet. Char girl by day, princess by night. This guy was leading a double life. And he had more wigs than Cher.’
‘It gets weirder,’ Magozzi said from the living room as he stared up at a framed diploma that hung on the wall. ‘Alan Sommers graduated cum laude from Billy Mitchell Law back in 1989. How the hell do you get from there to here?’
Gino joined Magozzi in the living room. ‘Huh. That’s a damn big fall. But remember what Camilla said? That he lost somebody close? She kind of implied that that was what sent him over the edge.’
He started rummaging in the apartment’s few drawers and cabinets but didn’t turn up anything except the mundane scraps of day-to-day life. ‘Man, this is the sorriest place I’ve ever tossed. There’s nothing here, not even a can of Coke in the fridge. It’s like Alan Sommers wasn’t even a real person, just a cardboard mock-up.’
‘I think the real Alan Sommers is in that closet.’
Magozzi nodded. ‘There’s nothing here. Let’s get to the jail and bribe a boy in blue to let us see Wild Jim before they let him out in the morning.’
‘I got nothing to bribe a jailer with.’
‘Give him some vitamin C.’
‘You get that I have had no sleep, right, Leo? Zero, nada, not even a Salvador Dali nap.’
‘I get it. Join the club.’
Magozzi pulled in at an angle in front of the Hennepin County Jail.
‘And you also understand that it’s three o’clock in the morning.’
‘I do.’
‘So here’s the thing. My eyes are fried eggs, my brain cells are crisp around the edges, and at the moment I’m about three levels down from any drunk coming off a high toot, let alone an ex-judge.’
Magozzi put the car in park and rubbed his eyes. ‘No choice. The golden time is wearing off on Alan Sommers. We already lost a day thinking he was an accidental, more time finding out he left the club alone, and Wild Jim is the last lead. We’ve gotta milk it.’
During visiting hours, Hennepin County Jail kept at full ballast with a cross section of society that would never mingle in the real world. There was always the predictable, en masse scum, coming to chitchat with significant-other
At this hour the lobby was calm, the sign-in deputy was bored, and Magozzi and Gino were relieved. Efficiency was at its peak, and Wild Jim was escorted immediately to the standard, Plexiglas booth that was blurry with scratches and fog from the breath of loved ones declaring their heart’s desire through a quarter-inch of plastic.
The judge looked perfectly lucid, eyes as sharp as they always had been on the bench, blood alcohol notwithstanding. He plunked down on the steel chair across from Magozzi and Gino with a gracious thanks to the jailor who’d escorted him, then lasered in on the both of them without prelude.
‘I remember you, Magozzi. You were in front of me twice. As I recall, you were trying to lock up a couple craven sociopaths that your wife at the time wanted desperately to put back on the streets, for some incomprehensible reason.’
‘She was a public defender.’
That elicited a snort from Wild Jim. ‘Bad bedmates, cops and public defenders. But I guess you figured that out.’
The comment really pissed Magozzi off. It was inc
redibly bad form to bring up his ugly divorce that had been so
‘Come on, where’s your sense of humor, Magozzi? I’ve had five divorces, so that makes you four times smarter than me. Hey, do you know what the difference is between a criminal and a public defender?’
‘No, Judge, I don’t,’ Magozzi said flatly.
‘Neither do I!’ He busted a gut laughing at his own tired joke, then his eyes honed in on Gino. ‘And I remember you, too, Rolseth. Only saw you once, but we made a good team. We exterminated some vermin that day, yes indeed. So, Detectives, assuming this isn’t a social call, what can I do for you?’
‘A body was found in the river this morning,’ Gino said.
‘Ah. That’s why there were so damn many cops in my front yard. So what happened to the poor schmuck?’
‘Drowned.’
‘And I’m talking to two homicide detectives. Isn’t that interesting.’
Magozzi ignored the comment. ‘We understand you may have seen something last night.’
‘You wouldn’t believe the depraved shit I see down by the river, every goddamned night. People having sex, shooting up, smoking crack … I don’t know what happened to this city.’
‘Last night specifically,’ Magozzi said, trying to get him back on track. ‘The sergeant running the canvass said you mentioned a commotion.’
‘Raising hell? What does that mean?’
‘He was crashing through the brush, yodeling like a coloratura soprano on helium.’
‘Calling for help?’ Gino asked.
Wild Jim leaned back in his chair and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. ‘You know what the problem with this line of questioning is, Detectives? I’m a bourbon aficionado. And when you like Kentucky horse piss as much as I do, memories and recollections are hard to come by. If I saw something, I don’t remember it. All I can tell you is I heard yodeling, then I heard a cop shouting at me to wake up this morning. There’s nothing in between.’
Magozzi sighed audibly.
‘Don’t look so dejected, my friend. I may be a dissolute drunk, but just because I don’t remember last night right now doesn’t mean I won’t think of something later. So, are you expecting your perp to get into more monkey business down there, maybe return to the scene, or is this a one-off murder?’
Magozzi and Gino just shrugged noncommitally.
‘Well, there’s my answer. Tell you what – I’m down there every night anyhow. I’ll be your eyes and ears. And I know where to find you.’
‘We wouldn’t recommend night walks by the river for a while.’
The judge smiled. ‘I’m sure I’ll have plenty of company.
‘Should you be?’
‘Absolutely. Anybody down by that river last night should be a suspect, but I don’t have to tell you that. Anything else you need to know?’
Magozzi looked straight at him. ‘Yeah. What happened to the respected judge who sat on the bench, handing out justice for twenty years?’
The judge looked surprised. ‘Nothing happened to that respected judge. You’re looking at him. I sat on the bench handing out justice for twenty years, and for every one of them I was drunk out of my mind. Kind of puts a wrinkle in the robe, doesn’t it?’
Clint ran his red pen down the list next to his computer, crossing off the items he’d completed one by one. Feed Ruffian. Eat supper. Wash dishes. Code post.
If you’re too stupid to remember your chores, write them down, Clinton.
The only valuable advice from the dead bitch who claimed to have borne him, although the thought of such a thing still made him sick to his stomach. To have lived in the sagging, bloating belly of such a creature was more than he could imagine.
He put a gold star on the last of the one-page essays the dear children had written in class today, then crossed ‘grade papers’ off his list. Perhaps the gold star hadn’t been earned in this case – certainly not grammatically – but this particular boy always tried so hard, and needed a pat on the back every now and then.
He put down his pen, leaned back in his chair, rubbed his hands together, then keyed in the magic that would send away the post he had coded earlier. The anticipation began the moment he pushed the last key. It filled him with energy, and made him jump up from his chair. Two more items on the list: Walk Ruffian; Chesterfield’s. He could hardly wait to cross off the last one.
‘Ready for your walk, boy?’
The golden retriever rose heavily from his bed next to
Marian put away her mop and bucket, took a last swipe at the bar with her rag, checked the final load of glasses, and started turning out the lights. On nights like this, when she was especially anxious to get home, there seemed to be a million switches: one hooked to the mirror lights that reflected the polished bottles; another for the window lights; then the interior neon signs. ‘This is ridiculous, Bert. Get an electrician in here and put these all on one circuit. I spend ten minutes every night shutting them off.’
‘Can’t.’ Bert was already at the door, receipt wallet under his arm, hand on the knob. ‘All these lights on one circuit and this place would blow like a two-dollar whore. The electric’s way below code.’
‘They’re going to nail you on that one of these days and shut this place down, and there goes Alissa’s college fund.’
Bert snorted. ‘They’re not going to nail us on any damn thing. Cheetah Bacheeta did some lip service to our noble inspector in the can one night, and I got it on film.’
Marian rolled her head to release the tension in her neck. She didn’t understand the world anymore. All men were pigs, and the system sucked. ‘Jeez, Bert, you are the slimiest of slimes.’
‘Maybe. But Alissa’s going to college, and I’m all over that. Any acceptance letters yet?’
Marian smiled. ‘A couple. She’s waiting for Barnard.’
‘The grand prize.’
Bert chuckled and reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Big bills, even for a weekend night. ‘Tips, baby, for Alissa’s tuition.’
Marian thumbed through a few of them and made her mouth hard. She could take all the crap the guys dished out here every night without blinking, but kindness always brought her up short. ‘Christ. I didn’t even blow any of the guys here tonight.’
‘Yeah, well, there you go.’
‘Bert?’
‘Yeah?’
‘How many times have I got to tell you not to walk out of here with that receipt wallet? You’re going to get mugged one of these nights. Everyone in town knows you take the cash home.’
‘Everyone in this town loves me, doll baby. Kiss the kid going to college for me. Tell her the boys all want to see her down here before she shakes the dust of this town off her shoes. You gonna lock up?’
‘Don’t I always?’
Marian wiped at her cheek as the fat slimiest of all men walked out the door. She was dead tired. Six days a week for fifteen years she’d worked two shifts at the diner; then the night shift here at the bar, and most of the time she felt like she was being pulled through a knothole backwards. But Alissa was going to college, by God, and that was the brass ring.
By the time she locked up and the worn heels of her
She knew Alissa was already asleep. She also knew that there would be a freshly baked, beautifully decorated chocolate almond cake on the scarred, shabby kitchen counter, because the kid baked a birthday cake for her mother every year. There was some guilt wrapped up in that, because Marian had always had three jobs to support them, and no time to be Betty Crocker. Alissa had jumped into the role. There would be forty candles on the top of the cake, and some sloppy sentiment written on the brown icing, and wrapped presents around it with curlicue ribbons.
Marian’s face had weathered and hardened into a mask that no man would want; her knees were bad and her hips were shot, and most of the time she couldn’t feel her fingers from all those years carrying the heavy trays; and still she figured she was the luckiest woman in the world.
; Dew sparkled on the windshield of the old Ford Tempo, lighting her way, and made Christmas in July on the spruce that towered around the slab of tar cut into the forest. ‘How lucky are you?’ she whispered to herself, key out to unlock the door, heart open to the blessings of her life, and even when she saw the tripod with its mounted camera, and felt the hand on her shoulder and the cold knife on her throat, she couldn’t imagine that this could be anything bad.
Gino had the passenger seat of the Cadillac on full recline, but his eyes were wide open. Magozzi kept glancing over to make sure he blinked.
‘Close your eyes, for God’s sake. You look like you’re dead.’
‘I am dead, or might as well be, and I am never going out with you after dark again. First you take me to a drag club, then to some poor dead sap’s apartment so I can see the sorry remains of his sorry life, then to the county jail. Christ. I had a better time at my vasectomy. What time did you drop me off?’
‘Four a.m.’
‘And what time did you pick me up?’
‘Seven-thirty, just like always. Jeez, Gino, you got three hours. What are you complaining about?’
‘No, I did not get three hours, because the little man toddled into our bedroom at a quarter after five and hurled all over me. Why do little kids get the flu all the time? It’s not even flu season. It pisses me off. And why do we have to get up and work our regular shift when we worked all night? They don’t let pilots do that. So many hours in the air, you gotta take so many hours off. Shit. Even truck drivers have rules like that. But cops? Nah. No sleep? No problem. Load your weapon and get out there. I’m an armed
Magozzi yawned. ‘Tell you what. I got three hours’ sleep. Ask me before you shoot somebody.’
‘Okay.’
Magozzi pulled onto Summit Avenue, and a few blocks later through the open wrought-iron gate of Harley’s driveway. ‘Up and at ’em, partner. Time for our play date with the Feeb.’
‘You’re not going to go off on this guy and get us thrown in the pen, are you?’
