by John Misak
“Well, yes, you are being considered a suspect, but you have a rock-solid alibi, and I can’t say that you have a strong motive either.”
“I’ve heard stories where the police create a motive. Is that what you came here to do?”
“Not at all. I just need information.”
“Information that you’ll use against me?”
I was in trouble, and sinking fast.
“Listen, I came here to get information to help you, not hurt you. I personally don’t think you had anything to do with your husband’s death. But I’ll need information to help prove that. I want to know who killed your husband and I want to bring them to justice.”
“That sounds nice, but I don’t know if I trust you.”
“You don’t have to trust me. You just have to tell me the truth.”
“About what?”
“About everything.”
“Like?”
“First of all, tell me everything you know about your husband’s relationship with Harold Chapman.”
“I told you everything the first time you were here.”
“Tell me again, and try and remember everything you think might be important to this case.”
“You think Harold Chapman might be involved with this?” she asked.
“Like I said, everyone is a suspect.”
“But you suspect him more than anyone else.”
“Maybe so.”
“Harold Chapman did not kill my husband and, if that’s all you came here to talk about, then I would say it is time for you to leave.”
“Well, that isn’t all I came here to talk about, but I would like to know why you are so sure Chapman is innocent.”
“Harold Chapman might not be the most honest person I have ever met in my life, and he may have done some things that were wrong, but I could never believe that he would commit murder. That’s just not his way.”
Not his way, huh? Either Sondra was a little naive, or she knew something about Chapman that I didn’t. “Okay, so it is not his way. If that’s the case, then who do you think murdered your husband?” I asked.
“I think my husband either committed suicide, or he was the victim of a terrible accident. Nothing more.”
I wondered what led her to such a conclusion. “Right.”
“Right. So, all this investigating really doesn’t make any sense. Look, Detective Keegan, I think you are a good man trying to do your job, but I assure you, you are wasting your time trying to make more out of this situation than there is.”
It seemed that the esteemed Mrs. Mullins played from a script. Of course, I realized it could have just been my inability to let the case go at that point. She might have been telling me the straight truth right there, and I probably would have dismissed it anyway. I had lost trust in Mrs. Mullins, mainly because I had lost trust in everyone. Everything she was saying to me was complete crap, nothing more.
“Well, I appreciate your candor, but I hope you realize that I am not purposely trying to make more out of this than there is. Like I said before, your husband was an important man to this city, and I want to make sure that we explore every opportunity to find out how he died.”
“Thank you Detective Keegan. But, if that will be all, I have a lot of things to do,” Sondra said.
I got up. “I’m sorry to interrupt you.” I remembered the tape. “Oh, I need the videotape from Monday and Tuesday, you know, the one from the security camera.”
She looked at me quizzically. Well, to be honest, I’m not sure what quizzically means, but I’ve read it in a book or two.
“Your partner took it yesterday. He didn’t tell you?”
“Like I said, I haven’t spoken to him.”
“This doesn’t sound right.”
Well, that’s because it wasn’t right. “Everything’s fine.”
“Well, if you want to see the tape, you’ll have to ask your partner for it,” Sondra said. She took me by surprise with that.
I thought I cleared Calhill of my suspicion after speaking to him the day before, but then I knew he played me in the worst way. He’d faked the whole sick thing, and he made me out to be a fool. Maybe I was a fool, but I didn’t appreciate being treated like one, regardless. He would pay for that. I didn’t know exactly how.
“Okay. Sorry to put you through all of this.”
She looked at me the way she had the last two times I had been there. “It was no bother.” There was something behind her eyes. Maybe I looked for something, I don’t know. She looked scared again. It was driving me nuts. I wished I had some of that truth serum they used in movies so I could make her tell me everything she knew because, for some reason, I had a feeling she wasn’t telling me everything. As a matter of fact, I didn’t think she was telling me half the story.
“If I come up with anything else, would it be okay to call you or drop by again?” I asked.
“No problem at all. The security guards know to let you in automatically.”
“That reminds me. Where is Steve?”
“He had to leave on personal business, why?”
“Oh, no reason. I just enjoyed his cheerful attitude.”
She laughed. Maybe my timing was improving.
Doubtful.
Nineteen
So, the talk with Sondra didn’t really bear any fruit. I didn’t get the information I hoped for, and I didn’t get to run my hands all over her body like I had dreamed. Such is life. I did, however, get another piece to the puzzle. Rick and Peters had worked in my absence. I couldn’t say this surprised me. It was the way they operated, I guess. Get me off the case, and then follow someone’s agenda to make it disappear. I wondered if maybe Sondra would take the fall, or if the line they gave me when they took me in was just bullshit. It probably was. I couldn’t imagine the department wanting to get involved with something messy like that. They would probably just leave the whole thing alone, and let it sit that Mullins killed himself. Maybe he did. Whatever happened, I was determined to find out the truth.
There’s a word that can cause some difficulty—truth. I always believed that the truth changed from person to person, and that the average schmo on the street had no idea what the truth was about anything. Now that I look back, being like that is better. I’d rather not know any truths, because most of them are hard to swallow. In my desire to find the truth, I ended up destroying so many other things in my life I’d thought were truths as well. But that is jumping ahead again.
While I was on the Southern State Parkway headed basically nowhere, the cell phone my uncle gave me rang. I hesitated picking it up, mainly because it wasn’t my phone, but I decided it was him.
Guess what. I was right for once.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Where are you?” Uncle Paulie asked.
“Southern State, just before the Cross Island.”
“In English. How far away are you from the city?” He sounded eager.
“About half an hour, forty minutes.”
“I’ll meet you at your apartment. I have what you asked me for, plus some information I am sure you will be interested in.”
“Great. What’ve you got?”
“I’ll talk to you about it when I see you.”
“Okay.”
He hung up, and I got the impression that whatever it was he had for me, he couldn’t talk about it at the office. At least someone I had originally trusted came through for me. When you get as far down on your luck as I was right then, it was really nice to have someone rebuild your faith. Uncle Paulie did that for me, and I was thankful.
I couldn’t help but speed home. Even though it would have been tough to weasel out of a ticket while on suspension, not to mention I would have been screwed if it was on record that I made a trip to the Island, I wanted to get home as fast as I could to hear what Uncle Paulie had to say. It probably wasn’t anything big, but I had been coming up empty, so any little bit of info excited me. I made the trip in thirty-five minutes, including t
he usual backlog of traffic by the tunnel, parked the car and headed up toward my apartment.
Uncle Paulie stood by the doorway to the complex with a nice-sized cardboard box at his feet. Written in black magic marker was, “Don’t Mess With.” I liked Paulie’s subtlety above everything else. The man never left anyone guessing.
“That was fast,” he said, talking while having a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
“I guess you could say I was eager.”
I unlocked the door, and guided him upstairs to my humble abode. When we got to the door, he dropped the box.
“You carry this fucking thing. I lugged it two blocks from the parking garage.”
“No problem.” I picked it up, noticing its considerable weight, unlocked the door to my apartment, and walked in. I instantly noticed that I needed to clean up. So did Uncle Paulie.
“This place is a fucking pig sty.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to throw away a pizza box? Wait, make that two pizza boxes. That’s how you get bugs. If your mother saw this place, she’d have a heart attack.”
“I know. But that’s really not important now.” I placed the box in the kitchen, and opened up the refrigerator. Luckily there were two Heinekens in there. I only hoped they weren’t as old as I thought they were.
“Want a beer?” I asked.
“Sure. I’d really like a scotch right now, but I’m still on the clock.”
I walked back into the living room, and handed Uncle Paulie the beer. He took a long swig of it, didn’t pass out, so I took one myself. I guess Heineken has a pretty decent shelf life.
“To good health,” I said, albeit a little late.
“To good luck, because you really need it right now.”
“Thanks for the optimism.”
“No problem.”
“So, what’ve you got for me?” I asked.
“Well, inside that box, you’ll find some high-powered binoculars, a digital video recorder, and a long range microphone. I couldn’t get you a tape recorder, but I figured you had one of those.”
“I do.”
“Just be careful with the camcorder. It’s real high-tech, and it’s expensive.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Treat it better than you do your apartment. I don’t want pizza grease all over the damn thing.”
“Enough already,” I said, smiling.
Uncle Paulie laughed. It was the first positive sign I had gotten from him. “And I have some news for you, as well.”
“You mentioned something along those lines. What’ve you got?” I asked.
“Our friend Harold Chapman is about to be investigated for illegal campaign contributions.”
“You had said something about that the last time we spoke.”
“This is different. Before, he was suspected of such activity, now the government thinks they have something on him.”
That was interesting. I wasn’t sure how it tied in to Mullins’ death, but it sure was important. Techdata stockholders were in for quite a surprise if right after the CEO dies, the second in command is brought up on federal charges.
“Must be something big.”
“I’m not sure how big it is, and I know I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but the capper is that one of the campaigns he supposedly contributed to was Mayor Jenkins’.”
It took a moment to set in. Then it set in hard. If Chapman was being investigated for illegal campaign contributions, then maybe there was more to what happened with Mullins, who was about to run for office.
“That’s nice,” I said. I really didn’t know what to say. I was too busy thinking about it all.
“Nice, huh? I think it’s just a bit more than suspicious.”
“It could explain a lot of things.”
“Like why you got set up.”
“You think it goes as high as the Mayor?” I asked.
He nodded. Not a nod that said he thought so, either. This was a nod of certainty.
“This is getting complicated.”
“And I am sure it’s going to get even more so.” Uncle Paulie finished his beer. “Got another?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Wouldn’t be smart to walk back into the office with beer on my breath.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tin of Altoids.
“Do this often, eh?” I asked.
“Don’t get wise.” He checked his watch. “Listen, I have to get back. Don’t go doing anything stupid just yet.”
“I hate to ask for another favor.”
“What do you need?”
“I’d like you to get me some information on someone.”
“What sort of information?”
“It’s the security guard over at the Mullins’ house. Steve Eckert’s his name. I’d just like to know where he came from. I have a feeling he has a military background.”
“I can do that.” He opened up a small notepad and wrote the name down. “Give me a couple of hours. You think he’s involved?” Uncle Paulie made it sound a little far-fetched, the way he asked.
“I think everyone’s involved.”
“Including your partner?” Uncle Paulie asked. He said it matter-of-factly, like I should suspect Rick.
“Yes, including him.”
“Don’t trust him. Don’t trust any of them. Listen to me on that.” Uncle Paulie had seen more than I did, so I intended to listen.
“You know something, I don’t?”
“Yeah, I know what it’s like to be caught in the middle of crap like this. You’ve been sold out, believe it.”
“I do.” I did.
“Whatever you do, watch your ass. I’m sure they are watching you, and they would love to catch you doing something you’re not supposed to. If you’re going to take a closer look at Chapman, which I am sure you are, then make sure your tail is clear before you do. Got that?”
“Yes. I’ve had a tail for the last two days.”
“Know who it is?” Uncle Paulie asked.
“I have an idea.” Peters. The guy kept redefining the parameters of a douche bag. Summer’s Eve would soon come out with a new variety named for him, the Ultra Douche.
“Well, that’s half the battle won.” He got up and shook my hand, then gave me a hug. “I hate to see you have to go through all of this, but I think, in the end, everything will be okay.”
“I hope so.”
“So do I.”
After Uncle Paulie left, I took a look through the box he brought me. It was full of all sorts of techno-crap. The camera was a high end Sony, with the ability to snap digital pictures and take digital video. The zoom on it was insane, more powerful than anything I had ever used before. If only I had such equipment available to me when I was younger, taking women back to the apartment. I could have had a lot of fun with that.
The box also contained the microphone Uncle Paulie had told me about. It was the sort that looked like an antenna, and I figured it was capable of picking up sounds from over 500 yards. There was also a pair of binoculars that looked really expensive, and a small microphone that I could hide in the lapel of a jacket. It was actually a lapel pin and, though I didn’t know when I was going to use it, I was thankful I had it. I had no idea what I was going to need to nail Chapman, but any device that might help made me happy.
I took the microphone and the camera, and I headed back downstairs to embark on my first journey. The only place I could think to go was probably the last place I should have gone— Chapman’s building. I didn’t know what I was going to find, if anything, but it seemed like the best place to start. I was going on instinct, and though I knew that my instincts did nothing but get me into trouble, I had to roll the dice on this one. I had been coming up snake eyes all week. I was due for a good roll.
On my way to Chapman’s, I noticed the tail again. It was a Mercury sedan, an unmarked, and whoever was following me looked like they hadn’t done it in a while. I cruised down 3rd Avenue, moving aw
ay from Chapman’s building. Why were they following me, anyway? Maybe they just wanted to keep tabs on me, or maybe they were trying to pin something else on me. As I thought about it, I realized I was the perfect fall guy. If they could pin some sort of unethical practices on me, then they could divert attention away from how the case was really being handled, and they could blame me for everything. I would become the center of attention instead of Mullins himself, and they would be in the clear. It pissed me off when I thought about it, and I decided to do something stupid.
I wanted to find out who was in that car.
I swerved onto 31st, moving faster than I should have. The Caddy’s wheels screeched a bit, and the suspension, old and unresponsive, really had a hard time keeping up with me. I made the turn okay, thank God, and when I looked in my rear view mirror I saw that the Mercury had kept up. I took another turn, this one at a slightly slower speed, and the Merc was still right behind me. I think they wanted me to know they were following me, otherwise, there was no reason to follow so close.
The light ahead of me was green, so I decided to make my move. Doing about 45, I slammed on the brakes right before the light, which much to my luck changed yellow, then red. The Merc couldn’t do anything but stop short as well, right behind me. My opportunity had come. I got out of the car and approached my follower. It was Peters, and he had nowhere to go.
I got to the car, and Sgt. Peters lowered his window.
“Hey buddy, did you decide that because my life is just so much better than yours that you had to follow me?” I asked. I knew I shouldn’t mess with him, but I really wanted to.
“We just happened to be going to the same place, Keegan.”
“And where might that be?”
“I was about to ask you the same question,” Peters said. I caught wind of his breath. God, ever hear of gum?
