Soft Case: (Book 1 in the John Keegan Mystery Series)

by John Misak

  After we were done, we moved into the living room, where Mom had some cookies, Entenmanns’s chocolate chip mind you, and coffee. Man, it was good to be home.

  Donny started bothering me about the case again.

  “He really killed himself?”

  “I said I don’t know.”

  “Jesus Christ, leave him alone already,” Laura said.

  Donny shot her a look, but decided not to say anything. He got up and walked toward the bathroom. Mom went into the kitchen to finish cleaning up, and Dad started to fall asleep.

  I spoke with Laura for a moment, some idle chitchat. We didn’t talk as much as we should. We really did get along. She and Donny just had marriage growing pains and I knew little about it.

  Mom came back into the room, saw us sitting next to each other, and smiled. She looked at my father who was completely passed out.

  “I don’t know why he does this to himself.”

  “He’s just tired,” I said. A feeble attempt at his defense.

  “He’s drunk. He must have had at least seven beers.”

  Nine, actually. And that was all I counted. Lord knows what he’d had before I got there.

  “He’ll be alright.”

  I stayed there for another hour or so. I would have stayed longer, but I couldn’t get my mind of my situation. I wanted answers. I wanted a solution. My father was probably right about speaking to my uncle at the FBI. I wasn’t sure what he would be able to come up with, but at least it would be something. It would offer me direction.

  After we had run the small talk down to nothing, I caught my mother in the kitchen.

  “Mom, do you have Uncle Paulie’s number?” I asked.

  She looked at me sideways, the way she did when I said something that didn’t seem to make sense. Yeah, she looked at me that way often.

  “What do you want to speak to him for?” she asked, not in such an inquisitive way. She sounded like she expected me to just tell her outright.

  “It has to do with this case. I think he might be able to get me some information that might help,” I said, knowing my soul took a ding for lying like that.

  “It’s in my blue phone book, in the drawer underneath the television,” she said, waving in that general direction.

  I went to the drawer and came up with three blue phone books.

  “Which one?” I asked,

  “The blue one,” Mom said,

  “They’re all blue.”

  “You know which one I called the blue phone book. The one with the gold lettering.” She really said this as if it were indisputable fact.

  I found it; battered, the spine shot and loose pages falling out. Why my mother didn’t just buy a new one and transfer all the names from all the books was beyond me. Each phone book held some sort of significance, but I never could decipher what that was.

  I fumbled through the book, trying to remember what my mother’s system was. Some people were listed by first name, some by last, and some by title. For instance, Uncle Paulie could have been listed under ‘P’ for his first name, ‘S’ for his last name, Shortino, or ‘U’ for Uncle. I found him under ‘S,’ surprisingly, and jotted the number down on a business card I had in my wallet.

  “Thanks Mom,” I said,

  “You sure everything’s okay?”

  “Yes. But I need one more favor.”

  “What do you need?”

  “I need to borrow the car for a few hours.”

  “The Toyota?”

  “I could use your car, that’s fine.”

  She went over to her pocketbook and handed me the keys. “When are you going to get a car of your own?”

  I didn’t want to tell her that I might have to do that soon. “When I need one.”

  “Just don’t leave me on empty, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I said my goodbyes to my mother and sister, shook Donny’s hand when I went through the living room, and walked outside. I couldn’t imagine having to face my mother and tell her that I was being kicked off the force, or worse, going to jail. She had been so proud of me when I’d graduated from the academy, and even more so when I got the gold badge. Her father had been a cop. Though she was worried about me, she beamed every time she talked about my job.

  Sixteen

  I drove aimlessly for about an hour in my mother’s Cadillac Deville. It was an older model, a 1984, the long squared one. It was a coupe, only because my mother wouldn’t drive anything else, and it was in perfect condition. I felt like an idiot with a huge statue of the Virgin Mary rising up from the dash, but there was no way to take that off. The car was a steel blue, with shiny spoke rims and whitewall tires. I didn’t even know they made those anymore.

  I looked at the odometer. The car had just a little over 27,000 miles on it. No wonder she still had the whitewalls. The tires were probably original.

  I was headed back toward my apartment when my cell phone rang.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Keegan,” was all the man at the other end replied. It was Geiger.

  “Hey, boss.” I was at first happy to hear from him, but then I remembered what my father had said about him. Even though I didn’t believe it, I couldn’t get it out of my head.

  “Big mess, Keegan. Big mess.”

  “Don’t I know it. I’m the one they are going to hang.”

  “No, they probably won’t even pursue the charges.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “They don’t have anything on you. They’ll just carry out the suspension for a short time, and then everything will go back to normal.”

  “They planted evidence on me,” I said. “It’s the only way any of this could have gone down.”

  “You really think our guys did that? Come on John, use your head. It has to be something else.”

  I couldn’t figure out what Geiger’s angle was.

  “Who else, then?”

  “How about Mrs. Mullins? Ever think that maybe she did that? Ever think she might have been looking for a sucker all along?”

  Was he trying to get the information out of me that the IA guy and Peters couldn’t the day before? I didn’t even want to think that, but I did. Alarms were going off in my head. My Dad’s words echoed in that empty space too.

  “Listen, I can’t talk right now,” I said. My heart sank as I considered the man I trusted in the department above all else as the one who led me to my doom.

  “Come in and talk to me. We’ll work this whole thing out,” he said. His tone turned suspicious in my head.

  “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

  Right then I realized I could trust no one. I got pinched for someone’s satisfaction, pretty much. The rotted line of corruption ran high, from what I could tell. They had gotten to Rick, and it seemed they had gotten to Geiger. I was on my own, and had to fight my way out.

  Odds were that I would lose, but I had to try.

  I pulled over, got out the business card with my uncle’s number, and dialed it. I couldn’t speak directly to him at first. When I finally got through, I had to tell him right away that the line wasn’t safe.

  “My favorite nephew, how are you?” Uncle Paulie asked. He sounded jovial as always.

  “I’m fine, but a little tangled.”

  He knew what that meant. He was the one who taught me that line. “Yeah, it happens often. I had a feeling. You got involved with a lot of string.”

  “I just need to run a few things by you,” I said. “Do you have the time for that?”

  “Sure. Remember the last place I saw you?”

  I did. It was a steakhouse near Chelsea. Angelo and Maxie’s. “Yes.”

  “Meet me there by four.”

  “I will.”

  I hung up the phone and made my way toward Manhattan. I felt a little better because, if nothing else, I was going to give as much hell as I received.

  I had a few hours to kill before I had to meet my uncle, so I went to my apartment to pick up a fe
w things. One of the things was a gun that I hadn’t given to the guy the night before. It was a small Walther PPK 380. It fit in the back of my jeans nicely. Yeah, I was breaking the law by carrying a gun that wasn’t registered, but I didn’t feel comfortable not carrying one.

  I scanned the apartment. Part of me thought that maybe someone had been there, but I was just spooked. I didn’t trust anything or anyone. Nothing looked like it was touched. But, of course, I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t like the fact that I didn’t feel safe in my own home. I felt violated.

  The restaurant, on the corner of 21st was packed as usual for a Friday. It was a place I went to fairly often. I liked it because the food was good, the prices were decent for a city joint, and there were always a ton of women there. It was new, but it had a sort of old feeling to it, like Smith and Wolensky. The place was decorated in wood, and was dark. As soon as you walk in, you see the main bar. There were about thirty people standing around it, more than half of them female. I smiled at a few, and made my way through the restaurant, into the glass-enclosed smoking area.

  The smoking area attracted all the cigar smokers, and the air was stale with that smell. Four men were seated at the bar, which was on the right, and two of the eight tables were occupied. I sat at the bar, and the bartender came over to me.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Scotch on the rocks,” I said, “Johnnie Black.” I decided to stray from my usual. My whole life had turned upside down, so I thought perhaps I could affect some changes myself.

  He grabbed the bottle, poured my drink, and handed it to me. It was a large glass, about twice the size of the average rocks glass. The last time I was there, I had four drinks and had problems speaking my name.

  I placed a twenty on the bar, and he gave me my change, three bucks. I know I said the prices were reasonable, but I meant the steaks. Any place in the city of any status charged double figures for a drink during happy hour.

  I took a sip, and it burned. I hadn’t drunk Johnnie Walker in a while. I pulled out my pack of cigarettes, which was near empty, and the bartender was quick with the lighter. I inhaled this cigarette deeply, to get the smell of cigars out of my nose. I hated cigars, and I hated the fact that it was cool to smoke them.

  I waited about fifteen minutes for my uncle to show up. He walked in the room, dressed in his usual brown suit and tan raincoat. He smiled when he saw me at the bar.

  “Just where I expected to find you,” he said, taking a seat next to me.

  I shook his hand. “Can I get you something?” I asked.

  “Citron on the rocks.”

  I didn’t even have to tell the bartender. He poured the drink, and placed it in front of Uncle Paulie. I handed him another twenty, and he brought back the same change. What a guy.

  “How are things?” I asked Paulie.

  “Busy, as usual. Working on a couple of big things.”

  I knew not to ask him about it.

  “How are your parents?” he asked. Uncle Paulie was my mother’s other brother, the one who did things right. He didn’t talk to the drunken Uncle Ralph, and from my experience, he never mentioned his younger brother either.

  “I saw them today. They’re doing well.”

  “Your sister’s still living there, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Your father must be banging his head against the wall.” Uncle Paulie took out a pack of cigarettes, Marlboro’s, and lit one. I was happy he had smokes on him.

  “He’s dealing with it.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “It’s tough on all of them.”

  “It has to be. Hopefully they get back on their feet and make everything easier for everybody.”

  “Yeah.”

  I finished my drink and ordered another. Before I had a chance to pay, Uncle Paulie beat me to it.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “What, you think I’m gonna let some young blood like you pay for all the drinks?”

  I took a sip of the drink, and looked around the bar. A couple of women walked in, about thirty years old, with blonde hair and dressed up in their Donna Karen outfits.

  “Nice specimens,” Uncle Paulie said. He had never married, and I think that was why we got along so well. We both were incapable of such a thing. I wished I could see him more, but we both were so busy, it just didn’t happen.

  “Why don’t we get a table, so we can talk?”

  “Good idea,” I said. I turned to the bartender. “We’d like a table.”

  “Pick any one you want.”

  We walked to the far left corner, and sat down. There were two pillars around the table, so we had a good deal of privacy. I scanned the names on the cigar humidors on the wall and found Don Mattingly’s name. I wondered how often he frequented the place since his retirement. They probably just kept his name up there for stature.

  “So,” Uncle Paulie said, “what’s going on?”

  “I’m in a mess. A big mess.”

  “I figured that.”

  “You know what’s going on?” I asked.

  “Not really, but I have heard whispers.”

  I told him the story about how I was busted, and how they took me down to the station and tried to get information from me. He listened to everything I said without saying anything, just nodding and shaking his head when it was appropriate. When I was done, he looked me straight in the eyes.

  “Listen, you are my nephew, my family, so don’t be offended by what I am about to ask you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Are you guilty?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Okay. I just needed to hear you say that. Now, what is it you want me to help you with?” Uncle Paulie asked.

  “What do you know about Harold Chapman, from Techdata?”

  “Well, after I heard you were on the case, I did a little investigating into him. The FBI has been looking at him for quite some time. They originally suspected him of being involved in some junk bond schemes, but they never could pin anything on him.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me that he’d be involved in such a thing.”

  “I’m sure he was, but they never got any hard evidence on him.”

  “Now, this Mullins guy, he was the one that was going to run for Senate, right?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Okay, then this gets interesting.”

  For some reason, I hated the word ‘interesting’ then. Any time something got interesting, it meant trouble for me.

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “Well, the FBI just recently became interested in Harold Chapman again. Actually, they were investigating Techdata itself, but they suspected Chapman above all others.”

  “For what?”

  “Illegal campaign contributions.” He paused. “For U.S. Senators.”

  It took a moment to set in. “What?”

  “You heard me right.”

  “That isn’t a coincidence.”

  “I would think not. This fit in at all with what you were investigating?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. But it sure seems to.”

  “I thought it would. Being that his partner was planning to run.

  “I see that, but I’m not sure it really applies.” I took a sip of my drink. “Okay, so let’s assume that Chapman is illegally giving money to campaigns. He gives money to Senators so they look the other way for certain things. As much as I hate to admit it, that’s pretty much business as usual.”

  “It is.”

  “Okay. So now, Mullins decides to run for Senate. What would cause Chapman to want him killed, if we are going to stretch it to that point?”

  Uncle Paulie smiled. “You’re overlooking one major thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When someone runs for public office, especially on a national level, what’s the first thing the opposition does?”

  I didn’t get it, so I shrugged.

  Uncle Paul
ie tapped his temple. “Think. They dig up dirt. They go into the person’s past and go over every detail until they find something that they can use. If Mullins was going to announce his candidacy, then his opposition would take a close look at Techdata, and if they did that, they might have found what Chapman did.”

  “But wouldn’t that put them at risk, especially if Chapman had donated to their campaigns, their party’s even?”

  “It doesn’t work that way. All they would have to do is bring that up, and Chapman would be exposed. He wasn’t thinking about what the dirt diggers were going to do, he was worried about getting caught.”

  “So you think he offed Mullins for wanting to run for Senate?”

  “He might have.”

  “It just doesn’t sit with me well. Chapman seems like the kind of guy who would have those bases covered,” I said.

  “Maybe he did, and maybe there’s something that we don’t know about yet that pulls this all together.”

  I tried to think about what that was. While I did that, I looked up at the pictures on the wall of cows. Happy pictures of cows playing golf, cows having a barbecue, and stuff like that. At that moment, they seemed ridiculous to me. What the hell would cows be doing having barbecue? Cooking their relatives?

  I laughed.

  “What?” Uncle Paulie asked.

  “Nothing. I think I am getting delirious.”

  “It happens.”

  The waiter came over and we ordered. Uncle Paulie got the Porterhouse and I got the Prime Rib. We ordered garlic mashed potatoes and sautéed mushrooms on the side, and a dozen raw oysters for an appetizer, if you really care. The waiter walked away, and Uncle Paulie looked at me again.

  “You know, they went after you to shut down the investigation. They are going to try to pin this on the wife, or they might just let it rest as a suicide.”

  “I don’t think they can do that. We uncovered a few things that prove that to be wrong.”

  He shook his head. “They could squash that in a second. The real question is, do you think the woman is capable of doing such a thing?”

  “You think she was in on it with Chapman?” I asked.