Murder in the 11th House

by Mitchell Scott Lewis

  Mort nodded, his usual demeanor subdued after the news of last night.

  “Julia, please prepare the guest rooms.”

  “What can I do?” asked Johnny.

  “You can help me,” said Julia.

  Sarah fidgeted. “I’ve got a date tonight.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to cancel it,” said Lowell.

  “But he’s a doctor.”

  “I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  “Yeah, sure he will. I can just hear it now: Sorry I can’t make it tonight, but someone is trying to blow me up. Would next week be convenient? Sure, he’ll understand.”

  “I’m sorry Sarah, but it’s for your own good. Now, can we get a little work done?”

  Everyone got up to head to different parts of the house.

  Lowell remained upstairs.

  “Andy, can I see you for a minute?”

  They went into the kitchen and Lowell closed the door.

  “What’s up, boss?”

  “I want you to keep an eye on Johnny.”

  “Of course I will. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant. I, uh, want you to watch her and let me know if she does anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Boss?”

  “She is a strange woman, and until we know exactly what’s going on here I want to be prepared for anything. Please don’t mention this to anyone, especially Melinda.”

  Andy nodded.

  “Oh, and Andy, when you go out would you mind stopping by the office and checking up on Buster and Keaton? Give them some food and maybe pet them a bit. They get lonely.”

  Andy smiled. “Sure boss, I’ll take care of your friends. Hey, do you mind my asking, why turtles?”

  “They live a long time.”

  “So?”

  “I couldn’t stand burying my dogs anymore.”

  ***

  Around ten, Lieutenant Roland and a plainclothes detective came by. The cop went downstairs to take a statement about last night from Melinda.

  Roland got right to it. “Jesus Christ, who did you piss off? Who knew where you were going last night?”

  “I don’t know. I guess everyone at the house.”

  “Including Johnny Colbert?”

  “Yes, including her.”

  “Has it occurred to you that your own client may have set up this thing?”

  “Of course it’s occurred to me. But you don’t really think that, do you?”

  “Why not? She may be a lot brighter than we think. She could have stabbed herself on Riker’s just to get your attention so you would post bail. The wound wasn’t life threatening and our investigation into that attack has turned up nothing. No witnesses, no suspects, nothing. Now maybe she figures if her lawyer gets scared off, she could get a mistrial and maybe aim our attention elsewhere. She has the ability to do this, and, since you bailed her out of jail, the opportunity.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Lowell, but his voice lacked conviction.

  “Well, perhaps not, but someone got his hands on some powerful explosives and used it to blow up that judge.”

  “That doesn’t mean that she did it.”

  “You think someone else got the explosives and waited until Johnny Colbert created a disturbance in court, and then killed Judge Winston?”

  “Well, somebody killed her.”

  “Yes, your client.”

  “Or perhaps someone was waiting for an opportunity to kill the judge and when Johnny Colbert, an expert in demolition, had an altercation in her court, then they put the explosives in the judge’s car.”

  “Just to pin it on your client? Even you can’t believe that. To what end?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “That would have to be someone who had knowledge of the judge’s calendar, and access to the explosives. You have someone in mind?”

  “I’m not ready to point any fingers yet.”

  “I think you should revoke her bail and put her in jail where she belongs.”

  “I’m not going to do that. I’m still working a few angles.”

  “Okay,” said Roland, “but if I were you I’d watch my back.”

  “That’s my plan. We are all staying here. And you said on the phone that you’ve towed in my car and are going over it, just in case?

  “Yup, we’ll let you know. And we’ll test that plastic greeting card, but I doubt we’ll find anything, especially cause of the rain.”

  ***

  While everyone quietly had lunch at the dining room table, Lowell stayed at his desk. He pulled a drawer open and touched the cover of his ratty, as Melinda called it, ephemeris. He hoped to draw some energy, some clarity from its smooth cover.

  Was Rosen less enamored with Judge Winston then he let on? Enough so to be involved in her death? Or could Lieutenant Roland possibly be right? Was Johnny responsible for all of it? Did she kill the judge? Inflict the wound on Riker’s Island herself? Shred her own possessions and threaten to blow him up?

  He closed the desk drawer, turned toward his computer, brought her chart up and tried to look at it from a fresh perspective, not as someone he had come to know.

  It was time to learn a little more about their client.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “There’s an old joke about a guy who walks into a bar and asks for a scotch on the rocks. The bartender puts the drink in front of him and says: ‘That’ll be four bucks.’ The guy gives him four singles. The bartender puts two in the register and two in his pocket. A little later the guy has another drink and again the bartender puts two singles in the register and two in his pocket. On the third round the bartender puts all four dollars in his pocket. The boss comes over and says: What’s the matter, we’re not partners anymore?”

  “Are you implying that bartenders are not all honest?”

  “Honest as the day is long. Unfortunately they work mostly at night.” He barked out a laugh.

  “Is Johnny honest?”

  The owner stood behind the bar with a clipboard taking a liquor inventory. Lowell was on a stool, elbows uncomfortably up on the dark-wood countertop. The bar at three in the afternoon was otherwise empty. It struck him that the only thing sadder than a full bar was an empty one.

  “Incredibly so. If one of her customers gets a load on and leaves her a lot of money, the next time that person comes in she gives it back to them and tells them to tip her now, while they’re sober.”

  “How does that work out for her?’

  “A few take the money back and leave a smaller amount. Most of them leave the original tip anyway. But boy, do they appreciate her honesty. Johnny wouldn’t steal anything. If she finds a hundred dollar bill on the floor she’ll wait at least a week to see if anyone claims it before spending it. How many people do you know would do that?”

  “Is she good with her own money?”

  “Not her own. She spends too much on silly stuff. Sometimes she’s in debt and takes an advance on her salary. But hell, I don’t mind.”

  “Still, you trust her.”

  “What do you think? This place is my whole life. Everything I have is here. She has keys to the restaurant, my private office, and even has access to the safe, in case I’m not around and there’s an emergency. But Johnny’s a hard girl to figure out. She’s got a mouth that embarrasses cops and firemen, can have a short fuse, especially when she drinks. She’s direct and honest, and expects the same from others. But you sure don’t want to get on her bad side.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Johnny’s tough. She’s been hurt a lot in her life and she knows how to hurt others. She can defend herself physically or verbally. And I’ve yet to see someone get the
better of her when she has the truth on her side.”

  “Is the truth important to her?”

  “More than anything. If you lie or cheat her or go behind her back she’ll never forgive you. But you can say anything to her face and she’ll take it.”

  “How long have you known her?”

  “I met Johnny back in ’90, I think, maybe ’91. She had been in New York for about a year crashing on people’s couches. I had a bartender I wanted to get rid of. Although I couldn’t catch him, I knew he was a thief. But he was popular, and I was afraid I’d lose a lot of business if I let him go. One night Johnny walked in and sat at the bar. This guy started acting macho and giving her lip and she let him have it with both barrels. I mean, she chewed him a new one and made some of the regulars see for the first time what a jerk he really was. I liked her right away.”

  “When did she start working for you?”

  “That very night. I fired him on the spot and the customers convinced me to put Johnny behind the bar. She needed a job, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to let her work out the night. The bar was slow, mostly regulars. They had to teach her how to make all the drinks. But they really seemed to like her. She learned fast and has been behind my bar ever since.”

  “So she has a temper,” said Lowell.

  “Oh, yes, but she usually only loses it if she’s been drinking.”

  “You don’t mind a bartender who drinks?”

  “One Christmas someone gave me a beach towel that said: Seeking honest, sober bartender. Will take either. Drinking is a professional hazard in this business. I’d rather have a bartender who nips a little than one with sticky fingers.”

  “Tell me about her temper.”

  “Well, one time she hit a guy with a left hook. Knocked him clean off the stool.”

  “You didn’t fire her for that?”

  “Nope. She was right. He was a real asshole and kept harassing some women. She warned him several times, but he ignored her. Then he reached over the bar and grabbed her tits. That’s when she slugged him. I helped throw the bum out.”

  “How about her social life?”

  “Johnny? Ha. Her idea of a seductive line is: Wanna fuck?”

  “Not subtle?”

  “Usually if she’s attracted to a guy at the bar, she just pours him free booze until he’s snockered and then sticks her tongue down his throat.”

  “What if he doesn’t respond the way she had hoped?’

  “Then he’d better be wearing running shoes.”

  “Can she be vengeful?”

  “Well, I, that is…”

  “It’s okay,” said Lowell. “I’m on her side. I need to know everything I can about her.”

  “Well, yes. If you hurt Johnny she’ll probably get you back. But it’s always upfront and in your face. I don’t think she could ever do what they said she did.”

  “So you would take her back after this murder business?”

  “In a heartbeat. Are you kidding? The customers miss her. I can’t hire anyone else until I know what her situation is. I’m tending bar during the day and put the day guy on at night. I hate it. He hates it. Christ, Johnny works twelve-hour shifts without as much as a complaint.”

  The chef stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Hey, Charlie, the meat never showed up today. I got a stew on the dinner menu I’ve got to prepare.”

  “All right, Marco, I’ll call the butcher and see what’s keeping it.”

  “Tough business,” said Lowell.

  “You don’t know the half of it. There’s always a million things to do, and never enough time to do them.”

  “So why do you stay in it?”

  “I love the people.”

  Lowell nodded.

  “Bet you haven’t heard this one. A guy walks into an empty bar and orders a scotch on the rocks. The bartender says: ‘I’m so glad you came in.’ He points to a little black and white dog sitting on the bar. ‘This talking dog wandered in an hour ago and it will answer any question you ask it.’ ‘Buddy, just give me my drink, will ya?’ ‘Wait,’ says the bartender, ‘I’ll prove it.’ He turns to the dog. ‘What’s on top of the house?’ The dog says: ‘Roof.’ ‘Buddy, give me my drink.’ ‘Wait, what’s the opposite of smooth?’ The dog says ‘Ruff.’ ‘Look, I can go next door and get my drink.’ ‘Wait, just let me try once more. Who’s the greatest baseball player who ever lived?’ The dog says: ‘Ruth.’ ‘That’s it,’ says that customer and he storms out. The dog looks at the bartender and says: ‘DiMaggio?’”

  Lowell chuckled.

  “Where else can you hear jokes like that?”

  “The borscht belt 1965?”

  Charlie shrugged. “A good joke never gets old.”

  “Just one more question. How’s business been?”

  “Terrible. This has been the worst year since I opened the place in ’85. If I didn’t own the building I’d probably be closed by now, like so many other restaurants. But I’ve got an understanding landlord.”

  Lowell got up to leave and reached into his pocket. Charlie shook his head.

  “You don’t have to tip the owner. Just tell Johnny that we all miss her and wish her well. And let me know if there anything I can do to help.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Something’s wrong with this picture.” Lowell held up the chart to Mort.

  “What the problem?” Mort looked up from the second computer Lowell had brought in so Mort could work the hard drive full time.

  It was a little before noon and they were in the downstairs office in the townhouse.

  “The judge’s clerk.”

  “Rosen?”

  Lowell nodded. “He gave me his birth date as April 17, 1968.”

  “And you think that’s wrong?”

  “Let me give you a brief interpretation of the personality associated with this chart and you tell me if it sounds like the man you met the other day. This is an Aries Sun in trine to a Sagittarius Moon on one side and Jupiter on the other, creating a grand trine in fire. Mercury and Venus are also in Aries. This would be someone with a quick, open mind, an optimistic outlook and most likely, a more liberal attitude. It shows an active imagination that would continue to explore new ideas throughout his life. This person would also be apt to speak freely without hesitation and make decisions quickly.”

  Mort laughed. “That’s certainly not the person I met.”

  “I know. Either he’s a better actor than I think he is…”

  “Or he lied about his birthday.”

  “I never gave it a second thought. There was no reason to doubt it. I mean why would he lie about something I could easily check? So I just assumed he had told me the truth. But the other day when we visited him, the chart just didn’t jell. I’ve just been too busy to think about it. But I reexamined it last night.”

  “Don’t you sleep?”

  “I’ll have plenty of time for that soon enough.”

  “Of course the question is why would he lie?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out. But first I need to know his real birth date.”

  “I’ll get on it.”

  The phone rang. Lowell picked it up. “Starlight Detective Agency.”

  “Roland.”

  “Lieutenant, what can I do for you this morning?”

  “It’s more what I can do for you. I’ve got the report on the bomb that killed Judge Winston.”

  “What did they find?”

  “It was a very sophisticated piece of equipment set off, as we assumed, by remote control.”

  “When you say very sophisticated, what do you mean?”

  “The boys tell me the bomb itself was something that could only be put together by an expert. Whoever it was use
d Semtex, an older type of plastique explosive invented in the 1950s in the Czech Republic and first commercially manufactured in 1964. Apparently Semtex is the same product that was used in Pan Am103. The bomb and wiring were state of the art, but interestingly the detonation device was crude. Or rather, old-fashioned.”

  “Why would someone choose that particular type of explosive?”

  “Because it is soft and malleable and works well in almost any temperature, making it safer and more versatile than other types that can be more temperamental.”

  “I see. Would you say this is something your everyday run-of-the-mill criminal would know about?”

  “I doubt it. This stuff is primarily used in the military.”

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “They were able to trace the explosives. They were part of a shipment sold from a French firm to our military two years ago. We’ve been in touch with your client’s commanding officer, a Colonel Eugene Marshal. He’s ordered a complete inventory of supplies at the camp to see if anything is missing.”

  “Just one more question, Lieutenant. Could it have been set off via a cell phone?”

  “I see you’ve met the charming Mr. Milford. Well, we thought of that ourselves, but according to our experts the detonator was too outdated for any digital device and had to be set off by someone right in the vicinity.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant, I appreciate the call.”

  When he hung up Mort turned his chair around and dropped a piece of paper on Lowell’s desk.

  “The birth information of one Larry Rosen, compliments of Yearbook dot com. According to this he graduated from Glen Cove High School in 1987. They list his birthday as April 17th.”

  “That’s the date he gave me,” said Lowell.

  “Ah,” relied Mort, “but his year of birth is 1969, not 1968.”

  “Interesting. How reliable is this information?”

  “It’s on the Internet, so what do you think?”

  “I think you better double-check it.”

  “I already did. He was born on Long Island at North Shore Hospital April 17, 1969, at 5:59 a.m., according to their records.”

  Lowell punched the revised birth data into his computer and picked up the new chart.